“Call it what you like, Doctor, the result is precisely the same. I do not mind taking a strong dose of quinine if you will give it me, for I feel as weak as a child, but no spirits.”
With an impatient shrug of the shoulders the Doctor mixed a strong dose of quinine and gave it to him.
An hour later a sudden outburst of musketry took place. Not a native showed himself on the side of the house facing the maidan, but from the gardens on the other three sides a heavy fire was opened.
“Every man to the roof,” the Major said; “four men to each of the rear corners, three to the others. Do you think you are fit to fire, Forster? Had you not better keep quiet for today; you will have opportunities enough.”
“I am all right, Major,” he said carelessly. “I can put my rifle through a loophole and fire, though I have one arm in a sling. By Jove!” he broke off suddenly; “look at that fellow Bathurst—he looks like a ghost.”
The roll of musketry was unabated, and the defenders were already beginning to answer it; the bullets sung thickly overhead, and above the din could be heard the shouts of the natives. Bathurst's face was rigid and ghastly pale. The Major hurried to him.
“My dear Bathurst,” he said, “I think you had better go below. You will find plenty of work to do there.”
“My work is here,” Bathurst said, as if speaking to himself: “it must be done.”
The Major could not at the moment pay further attention to him, for a roar of fire broke out round the inclosure, as from the ruined bungalows and from every bush the Sepoys, who had crept up, now commenced the attack in earnest, while the defenders lying behind their parapet replied slowly and steadily, aiming at the puffs of smoke as they darted out. His attention was suddenly called by a shout from the Doctor.
“Are you mad, Bathurst? Lie down, man; you a throwing away your life.”