It would have fared ill with the poor potail if it had not so happened that Lieutenant Wood arrived at this juncture, after a long march, at Sindhora, the post where his regiment was stationed. Though worn out with his long march, he no sooner heard of what had happened than he resolved at once to attempt a rescue. Hastily collecting a Duffadar and four Sowars of his own regiment, and a Naick and six Sepoys of the Bareilly levy, he started with this small body of men in search of the rebels. He knew that success depended not so much on the numbers as the courage of his men, and forced his way into the jungle in the direction where the rebels were supposed to be concealed. After proceeding twelve miles from Sindhora, without perceiving any traces of the enemy, his practised eye detected the glare of a fire in a dense part of the jungle. He at once suspected that this had been kindled by the robbers whose lurking-place he was trying to discover, and made up his mind to attack them before they were aware of his presence. He dismounted, and leaving three Sowars to take charge of the horses, advanced through the jungle on foot with the other two of his party. For three miles they crept through the dense bush, using every precaution so as not to attract the notice or excite the alarm of the robbers. At length their perseverance was rewarded: at one o’clock P.M. Lieutenant Wood witnessed a _tableau vivant_ in the dense jungle of Sindhora, which he is not likely ever to forget. There, in the midst of the bush, at the distance of twenty-six feet from the place where the party of rescue lay concealed, were the whole of the robbers, stretched on the ground, and fast asleep, some five of their number, who kept drowsy watch over their comrades, and the unfortunate potail, who was waiting his doom with all the calm indifference of Oriental fatalism. They were roused up in a manner they little expected. The party of rescue fired a volley; and Lieutenant Wood rushed forward into the nullah amongst the rebels, followed by the Duffadar and Sowar of his regiment. The latter, inspired by his example, followed him into the thickest of the danger; but the Naick and six Sepoys of the Bareilly levy consulted their safety by remaining in the rear. If he had been properly supported, the whole body of the rebels might have been killed or captured; as it was, they were seized with a panic and fled into the jungle, leaving their arms and several of their comrades who had fallen, behind. Thus one brave man, with two native followers, routed and put to flight a body of seventy rebels, who were well armed and familiar with the country. While such a deed may not be altogether unrivalled in the annals of the suppression of the Indian Mutiny—a period when our countrymen seem to have vied with one another in the display of the most daring courage—it may at least be affirmed that it has never been surpassed, or accompanied with more excellent effect. The band of