"’Sergeant,’ said he, ’I can smell niggers. Come with me for a minute.’ We went forward. ’Steady!’ says he; ’there’s one asleep.’ And before I could say Jack Robinson his sword was in the nigger’s stomach. The beggar roared like a donkey, and that started the bother. In a minute the hills were ablaze with bullet flashes. The captain was shot dead; so was the subaltern. My helmet was riddled, and I got pinned in the leg. Just then the dawn broke, and I saw one chance for us all—through a little valley. ’’A’ Company, fix bayonets—charge,’ I roared. And didn’t the boys come on. All Glasgow lads—and plucky ones. We shot, bayoneted, kicked, battered, and cursed through a thousand dirty-smelling Dacoits. They made mincemeat of twenty of us in five minutes. I was bleeding like a pig, for they were cutting me up for sandwiches. But on I went with the remainder of the company. The shots, the whistling knives, the wild yells and curses made it just like hell. Yes; that’s the word. Once I looked back and saw the enemy disembowelling some of our boys. Just then our silly bugler, who got in a funk, sounded the ’Retire.’" "And did you, sergint?" asked Tamson. "No—I shot him dead. The battlefield’s no place for fools. Well, we cut, cursed, and blundered through till we got on to a hill. There were only ten of us left. You see, we had tackled the main body, so that I knew the regiment had got safely through. It was hopeless for us to follow. We were cut off. It was to be a last stand for us all. The enemy had shied clear for a while. They knew they could get us any old time. So I got the boys to build a sangar, and we lay down. There was no water, and we had only a few biscuits to last us out. Our throats were parched, our tongues hanging out, and nearly every man had some kind of wound. We tied them up with rags. But oh, my God, the sun! It burnt the sinews of our legs, and sent one fellow raving mad. He rushed down the hill like a mad priest, and in five minutes he was shot dead and disembowelled by the outposts of the enemy. All through the night the Dacoits chanted their death songs, for they were biding their time. For three days we lived like that. Four more died. And on the fourth day the enemy drew near for the final murder of us all. We were weak, but frenzy made us strong. I fired as if I was at Bisley, and potted ten of them dead. All the others did the same. That stopped their rush. But only for an hour. Then they crept on again. Nearer they came. I could smell them—their dirty, evil eyes were mocking us. But every head that popped up from behind a stone got bashed with a bullet. Then our ammunition went done. I had one round left. I heard them come on. I felt it was domino for us all. My brain was going; blood was trickling down my shoulder; but just as my memory snapped I heard the echo of a bugle and cheer. The relief column had got through. When I came to I was in hospital. I was a