‘Ameen!’ said the Sultaun, quietly; ‘be it so—thou hast volunteered—go! Stir not thou, Kasim Ali, but remain here; we may require thee.’
The officer addressed his men for a few moments, formed them as compactly as he could on the narrow wall, and placing himself at their head, with loud cries of ‘Alla Yar!’ they dashed on, followed by many who had collected during the pause. Those in the enclosure reserved their fire till they were near.
‘They have no ammunition,’ cried the Sultaun; ‘Ya Fukr-oo-deen! Ya Nathur Wullee! I vow a covering for both your tombs if they take the place.’ But as he made the invocation, they saw (for all were looking from the tower where they had stayed in intense eagerness) one of the men inside the enclosure lift a match to the gun, and apply it;—it would not ignite.
‘Ya Futteh-O!’ cried Kasim, snatching a matchlock from a fellow who stood near, and aiming; ‘it is a long shot, but, Bismilla!’ and he fired.
The man was raising his hand again when the shot struck him; he fell back into the arms of those behind him.
‘Another, for the sake of the Prophet, or it will be too late!’ cried Kasim, not heeding the cries of ‘Shabash! Shabash!’ which all poured forth.
It was indeed too late: the success of the first shot had gained the advancing party a moment, but ere he could be sure of his aim a second time, the fatal match was applied, and with the explosion half of the leading division fell as one man.
‘May perdition light on them!’ cried the Sultaun, in agony; ‘may hell be their portion! My men waver too. Ya Kubeer! Ya Alla kureem! Support them—Ya Mahomed!—against the infidels!’
But his wild invocations were of no use; the commander of the party had fallen; and the men, having fired a volley at random, turned and fled as hastily as they could on that narrow, crowded way.
‘Cowards!’ exclaimed Kasim. ‘Ah, had I here fifty of the youth of my country, and their good swords—Inshalla! we would see whether we were to eat this abomination.’