"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?" "Silence, there, in the ranks!" shouts Lieutenant Leigh; and though it had a bad sound coming from him as it did, and situated as he was, no one knew better than I did how that it would have been utter madness to have gone out again; for even if he were alive, instead of bringing in Captain Dyer, now that the whole mob was roused, we should have all been cut to pieces. It was as if in answer to the lieutenant's order that silence seemed to fall then, both inside and outside the palace--a silence that was only broken now and then by the half-smothered groan of some poor fellow who had been hurt in the sortie--though the way in which those men of ours did bear wounds, some of them even that were positively awful, was a something worth a line in history. Yes, there was a silence fell upon the place for the rest of that night, and I remember thinking of the wounds that had been made in two poor hearts by that bad night's work; and I can say now, faithful and true, that there was not a selfish thought in my heart as I remembered Lizzy Green, any more than there was when Miss Ross came uppermost in my mind; for I knew well enough that they must have soon known of the disaster that had befallen our little party. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ STORY ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN. Whatever those poor women suffered, they took care it should not be seen by us men; and, indeed, we had little time to think of them the next day. We had given ourselves the task to protect them, and we were fighting hard to do it, and that was all we could do then; for the enemy gave us but little peace--not making any savage attack, but harassing us in a cruel way, every man acting like for himself, and all the discipline the sepoys had learned seeming to be forgotten.