“Sauve qui peut!” cried Brace, as orders were given for a fresh advance. “We cannot pursue them. Now forward for the town.”
“Some one coming,” I said, as the galloping of a horse was heard.
“Their last man,” said Brace. “Open out, my lads, and capture him.”
The horseman came on at a swinging gallop, and made straight for us, checking his charger as he drew near, and we saw that the face of the rider was white.
“Where’s your officer?” he cried hoarsely, as he reined up, with his sword hanging by the knot from his wrist.
“Here,” replied Brace.
“Thank God!” cried the new-comer. “I’m Mason—Captain Mason, 04th Highlanders. You fired on those bloodthirsty scoundrels.”
“And scattered the regiment. I could do no more.”
“Ah, if you could have shot them to a man! We were called away to help at Miapore, where a sepoy regiment mutinied. It was a long march, and as soon as we had gone—the European officers of that cursed regiment answering for their men’s fidelity—they rose and murdered the poor fellows who trusted them, and then—”
He stopped there and groaned.