Chapter Eleven.
Which was Braver?
“Steady, there; steady, my lads. Not too fast. Seize upon every bit of shelter, and have a few steady shots at them. They’re beaten, and we shall soon scatter them now.”
The lads were as steady as the most exacting officer could desire; and though the two sides of the narrow, winding defile were lined with the enemy, who made good use of their clumsy jezails, of whose long range several of the Fusiliers had had bitter experience, the deadly fire which searched out every sheltering crag was too much for the Dwats, who were retiring as fast as the difficult nature of the ground would allow.
Bracy felt that, the enemy was beaten, and knew that the fierce tribes-men would be only too glad to escape as soon as they could: but as the tight had gone against them, their supposed to be secure hiding-places were one by one growing untenable as the Fusiliers advanced; and consequently, as giving up was about the last thing they thought of doing, their action was that of rats at bay—fighting to the bitter end. The men of Roberts’s company knew, too, what they must do—drive the enemy completely out of the defile, or they would return again; so, partly held back by their officers, they advanced by a series of rushes, taking possession of every bit of fallen rock for shelter, and driving their enemies on and on, farther into the mountains, fully expecting that in a short time they would completely take to flight.
But disappointment followed disappointment. No sooner was one niche high up on the rocky sides cleared than there was firing from one on the other, and the work had to be gone through over again. Still they advanced, and the enemy retired; while the officers knew that sooner or later, in spite of numbers, this must come to an end, for nothing could withstand the accurate fire of the young Englishmen whenever they obtained a chance. Men dropped from time to time; but they had to lie where they fell till the fight was at an end, some to rise no more; others, knowing as they did the nature of the enemy, managed to creep to the shelter of a rock, where they laid their cartridges ready, and sat back watching the faces of the defile in anticipation of some marksman opening fire.
The company was in full pursuit, under the belief that they had completely cleared the defile as far as they had gone, when, in the midst of a rush led by Roberts and Bracy, both making for a rough breastwork of rocks built a hundred feet up one side and held by two or three score of the enemy, the latter uttered a sharp ejaculation, stopped short, and then dropped upon his knees, his sword, as it fell from his hand to the full extent of the knot secured by the slide to his wrist, jingling loudly on the stones. Roberts was at his side in a moment, and leaned over him.
“Not badly hurt?”