We kept our line, though, one and all, retiring in good order to the mouth of the second court, which ran down by the south side of the palace; when, as if maddened at the idea of losing us, a whole host of them came at us with a rush, breaking our line, and driving us anyhow, mixed up together, down the alley, which was dark as pitch; but not so dark but that we could make out a turban or a calico cloth, and those bayonets of ours were used to some purpose. Half-a-dozen times over I heard the captain's voice cheering us on, and shouting: "Gate, gate!" Then I saw the flash of his sword once, and managed to pin a fellow who was making at him, just as we got out at the other end with a fierce rush. Then I heard the captain shout, "Rally!" and saw him wave his sword; and then I don't recollect any more, for it was one wild fierce scuffle--stab and thrust, in the midst of a surging, howling, maddened mob, forcing us towards the gateway. I thought it was all over with us, when there came a cheer, and the gate was thrown open, a dozen men formed, and charged down, driving the niggers back like sheep; and then, somehow or another, we were cut out, and, under cover of the new-comers, reached the gate. A ringing volley was then given into the thick of the mutineers as they came pouring on again; but the next moment all were safely inside, and the gate was thrust to and barred; and, panting and bleeding, we stood, six of us, trying to get our breath. "This wouldn't have happened," says a voice, "if my advice had been taken. I wish the black scoundrels had been shot. Where's Captain Dyer?" There was no answer, and a dead chill fell on me as I seemed to realise that things had come now to a bad pass. "Where's Sergeant Williams?" said Lieutenant Leigh again; but it seemed to me that he spoke in a husky voice. "Here!" said some one faintly, and, turning, there was the sergeant seated on the ground, and supporting himself against the breastwork. "Any one know the other men who went out on this mad sally?" says the lieutenant. "Where's Harry Lant?" I says. There was no answer here either, and this time it was my turn to speak in a queer husky voice as I said again: "Where's Measles? I mean Sam Bigley." "He's gone too, poor chap," says some one. "No, he ain't gone neither," says a voice behind me, and, turning, there was Measles tying a handkerchief round his head, muttering the while about some black devil. "I ain't gone, nor I ain't much hurt," he growled; "and if I don't take it out of some on 'em for this chop o' the head, it's a rum un; and that's all I've got to say." "Load!" says Lieutenant Leigh shortly; and we loaded again, and then fired two or three volleys at the niggers as they came up towards the gate once more; when some one calls out: "Ain't none of us going to make a sally party, and bring in the captain?"