“Well, that’s a rummy go!” he murmured under his breath. “What on earth should she blub for now that she knows he’s safe?”
As the flying, panic-stricken mutineers approached the beleaguered house, they received a fresh and hardly less deadly fusillade from the jubilant garrison. They scattered in all directions, staggering in blind terror. Through the narrow streets ran and stumbled the defeated sepoys, and after them rushed fifty of the terrible men in drab, the active little Gurkhas being ever to the front. So thorough was the panic evoked by the surprise, that here and there a dozen or even a score of the rebels might be seen running with terrified eyes and panting breath from a single fierce Afridi or Yusufzai of the hills, or still fiercer Gurkha from the Himalayan snows; and Ted acknowledged his error of judgment as he saw one of these little Nepalese Highlanders charge single-handed a group of ten or a dozen Wahabi fanatics who were attempting a rally. Cutting down four in rapid succession with his kukri, heeding the long knives no more than cardboard, the fearless little fellow scattered the remainder like sheep, and chased them until their long legs carried them far out of his reach.
Up flew the Union Jack to the top of the fort flagstaff, and Captain Russell, recalling his pursuing men, posted guards around the place. The loyal Rajputs, rejoicing now that they had not accepted Major Munro’s permission to desert, had not dared join in the fray except by their fire from windows and roof, for had they shown themselves outside they would undoubtedly have been slain by the rescuers.
But now the little garrison marched out in safety, carrying the wounded in their midst, for not a rebel was to be seen. Never had surprise been more complete! At the same moment Captain Russell issued forth at the head of half his men to escort the survivors inside the wing of the fort that had not been demolished.
There was no time for more than a hasty grip of the hand and a look exchanged between two pairs of eyes, telling more eloquently than any speech of the lips its tale of love, anxiety, and deep, grateful joy. Ethel had thought her lover dead; Jim had hardly dared to hope that both sweetheart and brother had survived the massacre. We can imagine the unspoken joy. Leaving Leigh and Ted with a strong guard within the fort, Munro, Captain Russell, and Paterson sallied forth at the head of one hundred and fifty Guides and no less eager Rajputs, and chased the panic-filled pandies from street to street to prevent them from reassembling. Long before mid-day the rebels had streamed out of the town in all directions, a wholesome fear planted deep within their breasts.
One room had been apportioned to the ladies, and others to officers and sepoys, but all the Europeans came together to cheer their rescuers. Colonel Woodburn was now well enough to greet his future son-in-law, whose exciting story all gathered round to hear. Jim told it simply.
“Well, for a gang of double-dyed traitors commend me to the Guides and their English and native officers!” exclaimed Munro, his eyes twinkling with delight at the thought of the trick.
“All Bahram Khan’s idea,” laughed Jim. “We’d sent scouts ahead, and yesterday we heard of the arrival of the 138th and learned that they possessed artillery. I felt that I’d no right to risk my handful against such overwhelming odds, so I consulted the ressaidar[1]. That gentlemen also thought the task hopeless at first, then he suddenly burst out into a demoniacal laugh.
[1] A native officer of cavalry.
“‘Why, Captain Sahib,’ said he,’why shouldn’t we mutiny? We could kill you and make friends with the poorbeahs. Then I’d take command of the rebels—the curs will only be too glad to have me—and I could get possession of the guns and post the men as I choose. With our men at the guns and behind the guns, we can sweep the poorbeahs from off the earth!’