“They think some poor creatures have taken refuge here,” whispered Brace. “The bloodhounds!”
I lay there with my sword drawn, and the knot tight about my wrist, my heart beating, and a curious sensation of dread troubling me, for I was going to face armed men for the first time in my life.
But I had no time for thinking; the sepoys were close at hand, and as they reached the edge of the tope, one, who seemed to be their leader, gave the order, and the men lowered their bayonets, and were about to open out to search the tope, when Brace sprang up right in their way.
What followed did not take a minute. The first movement of the mutineers was to turn and flee, but their leader yelled at them savagely, and dashed at us with his levelled bayonet, when a shot from Brace’s pistol rang out, and the man threw up his piece, bent back, fell, and clutched at the broken twigs upon which he had fallen, while, uttering a fierce yell of rage, the others came on.
But Brace was equal to the occasion. He shouted an order to our lads, and then one in Hindustani to the sepoys, who, on seeing a party of our men spring up behind us, stopped short, and then turned to flee, but only to find themselves face to face with the dozen men by whom they had passed.
“Down with your arms!” roared Brace, rushing at them. And with a sullen growl, seven of them threw down their muskets, but the eighth made a fierce thrust at Brace, which would have been deadly, had he not deftly turned it aside to his left with his sabre, and then striking upward with the hilt, he caught the man a terrible blow in the cheek, and rolled him over stunned.
Our men gave a cheer as they closed in round the sepoys, and the next minute two stout gunners were breaking the bayonets from the muzzles, snapping some off, and doubling the others completely back before taking the muskets by the barrels; and then crash, crash, crash, the stocks were splintered off by blows against the largest trees, while the sepoys stood together closely guarded, their faces turning of a horrible drab tint, as their eyes rolled in anxious quest from face to face, for they evidently expected moment by moment to hear the order for their execution.
One poor wretch, with his lips ashy, glanced up at the trees, and then wildly round, as I interpreted it, to see if any one was bringing ropes; and a shudder ran through him, and he closed his eyes, but opened them widely, showing a ring of white about the iris as the doctor strode up.
“Soon got a job ready for me, then, Brace?” he said.
“Poor wretch!” was the reply. “I am sorry I shot him.”