The sentence remained unfinished. Diggle’s expression had become blacker and blacker as Desmond spoke, and seeing with fury that he was being played with he suddenly wheeled round, and, cantering back to his men, gave the order to fire. At the same moment Desmond called to his men to lie flat on the ground and aim at the enemy from behind the thick wooden wheels of the hackeris. Being on the flat top of the mound, they were to some extent below the line of fire from the plain, and when the first volley was delivered no harm was done to them save for a few scratches made by flying splinters from the carts. But the crack of the matchlocks struck terror into the pale hearts of some of the hackeriwallahs. Several sprang over the breastwork and scuttled away like scared rabbits. The remainder stood firm, grasping their lathis in a manner that showed the fighting instinct to be strong, even in the Bengali. Many anxious looks were bent upon Desmond, his men expecting the order to fire. But he bade them remain still, and through the interval between two carts he watched for the rush that was coming. The crew of the _Good Intent_, headed by Sunman the cross-eyed mate and Parmiter, had come up behind the natives. These having emptied their matchlocks were now retiring to reload. Diggle had dismounted, and was talking earnestly with the mate. They walked together to the edge of the nullah, and looked up and down it, doubtless canvassing the chances of an attack in the rear; but the sides were steep; there was no hope of success in this direction; and they rejoined the main body. Evidently they had decided on making a vigorous direct attack over the carts. Dividing his troop into two portions, Diggle put himself at the head of the one, Sunman at the head of the other. Arranged in a semicircle concentric with the breastwork, at the word of command all the men with firearms discharged their pieces; then, with shrill cries from the natives, and a hoarse cheer from the crew of the _Good Intent_, they charged in a close line up the slope. Behind the barricade the men’s impatience had only been curbed by the quiet imperturbable manner of their young leader. But their self-restraint was on the point of breaking down when, short, sharp, and clear, the long-awaited command was given. Their matchlocks flashed; the volley told with deadly effect at the short range of thirty paces; four or five men dropped; as many more staggered down the slope; the rest halted indecisively, in doubt whether to push forward or turn tail. "Blockheads! cowards!" shouted Diggle in a fury. "Push on, you dogs; we are four to one!"