"For goodness' sake say something to buck him up," whispered Lawrence, "or he'll damp their courage with his lugubrious manner."
"Look here, Babu," said Bob, "Major Endicott is telegraphing for reinforcements. They should be here in a week."
"Can I believe my ears?"
"You can believe me. The Government knows all about us. The commander-in-chief himself has asked us to hold the place for a week, and we're going to do it."
"That's jolly bucking, sir," said the Babu in his usual manner. "The hour brings forth the man. The King-Emperor will dub you knight, or at least baronet, for thus stepping into deadly breach, and----"
"We're wasting time," Bob interrupted. "Just tell the men what I say."
"Right-o, sir. My voice is recovering wonted rotundity. Fire away!"
Lawrence's eyes twinkled more than once during the Babu's address to the garrison. Bob's words were simple and direct, with no surplusage of rhetoric: Ditta Lal transformed them into an oration.
"Sikhs and Pathans, Rajputs, Gurkhas and Chitralis," he said, "misfortune makes brothers of us all. In a thunderstorm the lion and the ass are friends. The thunderstorm is about to burst upon us. We have heard the first rumblings; we have seen the lightning flash in the lurid sky; and the huzur having been taken from us by the hand of the Kalmucks, we have lost our chief defence and stay.
"Yet in the blackest night we behold a star of hope. My brother the chota sahib" (the Babu spoke as though translating) "has even now returned from a frontier house where the Sirdar who for one brief day shed the light of his countenance upon us, spoke to the Sirkar along the quivering wire, that carries men's thoughts swifter than speech. The Sirkar far away knows us what we are, and how we, a handful of men, are beset in this narrow valley by a host of evil-doers, in number like the stars of heaven. The Sirkar knows that though we be few, yet are we stout of heart and strong of hand. The lurid storm-cloud does not oppress us, nor does the lightning fire appal our souls. We are not the men to quail before a host of flat-nosed dogs. The order is given that we sharpen our swords and resist to the uttermost, and within a week--such is the word--the Sirkar will send a great army to strengthen our hands and smite the enemy until not one of them is left. I have said that we will do even as the Sirkar has commanded. Will you put me to shame? Will you not rather brace yourselves to the conflict, and oppose yourselves like a wall of adamant to these off-scourings of the plains?"