Always the first to lead the way into any danger zone, so likewise Lord Bill was the last to leave it. He had been taken by surprise, but was in no way flustered, and with that thought for others for which he was so remarkable, turned for a moment in his saddle, though hotly pressed by the enemy, to make sure all his living men were away and safe; he then discovered the wounded man whose horse had run away, lying helpless and dazed on the ground, but trying to rise. He was a non-commissioned officer, Fitzmaurice by name, and at the mercy of the advancing hordes of savages who were perilously near. Quick as thought Lord William turned his Irish charger and galloped back, threw himself out of the saddle and tried to put Fitzmaurice up on to his horse, but the wounded man was as splendid as his preserver. Realising the delay only meant both being killed--one might possibly escape, but two? It seemed impossible--the Zulus were close on them, so he shook his head feebly, saying, “No,” begging Lord William to leave him and save himself. Of course Lord Bill would have none of this, and, swearing mighty swear words, yelled at the man, “Come along, you b---- f----” (meaning I suppose “beloved friend”). “If you don’t I’ll punch your b---- (beloved!) head for you.” How characteristic of Lord William. Those who knew him well will be able to picture the fierce way he would say it. Seeing Fitzmaurice was weak from loss of blood and unequal to any exertion, Lord William, though sadly impeded by the arm hurt in the previous private fight, with some difficulty lifted and shoved the man on to his horse, no easy matter on a highly-strung impetuous animal, but it was accomplished, and, hurriedly mounting behind him, galloped for life, but with little hope of escaping, the Zulus following closely. What desperately anxious moments! made doubly so by the wounded man being unable to keep his balance from weakness and loss of blood, twice his weight nearly pulled Lord William out of the saddle, and he felt all was over. Just when beginning to fear he could not support Fitzmaurice any longer, help came in the shape of Sergeant O’Toole, who had seen their danger and rode out in hot haste to the rescue, shooting Zulu after Zulu with his revolver as they came within measurable distance. He then assisted Lord William with his now helpless burden.