Draw Swords! In the Horse Artillery

by George Manville Fenn

So intent were they upon the little council of war which they were holding in front of the guns, that they had noted nothing of what was going on elsewhere, and they turned as one man and stared in wonder as a hoarse shout was uttered, and even Dick imagined that a horse had suddenly turned restive on seeing Stubbs come tearing at them, sword in hand, shouting, and waving the steel.

But the next moment they saw that he was pointing, and wheeled round to defend themselves, for, from the enemies’ side, a body of about fifty horsemen were charging at full gallop, in a bold dash to cut down or take prisoners the leaders of the Rajah’s force.

It was so sudden that scarcely anything was done. The matchlock-men were unprepared, the irregular cavalry were away behind, and the artillery, fully ready as they were, with men at the trail and others standing linstock in hand, could not fire for fear of sweeping their own officers and their friends away.

It was a wild dash, and the first help likely to come was from the little knot of horse artillery-men mounted by the guns, who spurred forward at a word from Hulton.

The enemy came upon the group of officers like a whirlwind, taking them at a terrible disadvantage; and, for the first time in his life, Richard Darrell found himself in the midst of a fierce mêlée where discipline went for naught, and all depended upon the strength of a man’s arms and his skill in the use of the sword he bore.

Wyatt shouted to him, but in the wild rush and concussion his words were inaudible. Whether it was to follow him or save himself he did not know, and he wanted no orders then, for he was nearly unseated by the shock, one of the friendly officers having his horse driven against Burnouse, making him plunge violently, bound three or four yards, and then rear up, saving his master from a savage cut delivered from the left, which passed within a few inches of his neck as a horseman swept by. Still, it was from Scylla into Charybdis. Dick kept his seat, but received a blow from a man on his right, who rose in his stirrups and struck downward at the lad’s head.

There was a sharp, ringing clang as the blow fell upon the young officer’s helmet, glanced off, and the man fell forward over his saddle-bow.

“Well cut, sir!” yelled a hoarse voice a short distance away; but Dick’s blood was up, and he hardly realised the fact that the words were meant for him. He had the Rajah’s keen tulwar in his hand, and he had long tried hard to become a master in the use of the sword, so that it was almost instinctively that he cut with all his might from his left shoulder, his blade flashing in the morning sunshine, with terrible effect upon the back of his enemy’s neck, his horse bearing him on to meet another attack.

For another horseman rode at him following his fellow’s tactics of rising in his stirrups to deliver a cut at his young enemy’s head.

It was a fierce blow, but Dick’s guard was ready, his hilt close up to his right ear, blade perpendicular, and edge outward—that thin, keen edge which seemed so slight a defence from a cut which might have meant death by an active swordsman—instant decapitation.