Faint and far beyond the Goomtee
Rose and fell the pipers’ blast!
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving
Mingled woman’s voice and man’s;
God be praised! The March of Havelock!
The piping of the clans!
The rebels had not yet realised how small a force was opposing them, and when they did they rallied again to the attack undismayed. The British pushed on with desperate courage, driving the Sepoys before them, fighting every inch of the way towards the Residency. Night was falling when the last terrible struggle commenced. It was now or never. Already the Residency was almost within hail. The Highlanders, supported by the Sikhs, were in the forefront, and Havelock, placing himself at their head, gave the order to charge. Above the turmoil of the swaying street the thin scream of the pipes pierced the hubbub like the bell of a light-ship over a winter sea. Suddenly the English watchers at the Residency gates beheld the long-looked-for figures of the British soldiery.
Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,
Sharp, and shrill as swords at strife,
Came the wild MacGregor’s clan-call