The Nine comprised Lieutenant George Willoughby, Captains Forrest and Raynor, Sergeants Stuart and Edwards, and four Conductors, Buckley, Shaw, Scully, and Crowe. Willoughby was in charge, a quiet-mannered, slow-speaking man, but possessed of that moral courage which is perhaps the highest of human attributes. When the shouting horde from Meerut swarmed in and began to massacre every white person they met, he called his assistants inside the courtyard and locked the great gates. At all costs the magazine must be saved from falling into the hands of the mutineers. There was not a man of the eight but shared his leader’s determination. With set, grim faces they went about their work, preparing for the attack which must come sooner or later. There were ten guns to be placed in position, several gates to be bolted and barred, and, last of all, the mine to be laid beneath the magazine. Help would surely come--come along that very road down which the sowars of the 3rd Bengal Cavalry had galloped with bloodstained swords and tunics. But if it did not, the Nine knew their duty and would not flinch from doing it. With all possible speed the front entrance and other important vulnerable points were covered with howitzers, loaded with grape-shot. Arms had been served out to all, including the native employees, but the latter only waited the opportunity to escape. In the meantime Conductor Buckley saw to the laying of the mine, connecting it with a long thin line of powder that ran out to the centre of the courtyard under a little lemon tree. Conductor Scully begged for the honour of firing the train when the fatal moment came, and obtained his desire. A signal (the raising of a cap) was then arranged to be given, at which he was to apply his port-fire to the fuse. All being at last in readiness, the Nine stood at their several posts waiting for the enemy to make the first move. They had not to wait long. Within half an hour came an urgent messenger from the Palace bearing a written summons to Willoughby to surrender the magazine. The Head of the Nine tore up the paper and gave his answer. Soon after appeared a body of sepoys, men of the Palace Guard and of the revolted Meerut regiments, with a rabble of city people. “Open the gates!” they cried. “In the name of the King of Delhi, open the gates!” Getting the same curt refusal that had greeted the previous summons, some went off for scaling-ladders, and as they heard these being fixed against the outer wall the Nine knew the moment for action had come. The sepoy employees of the Arsenal were in full flight now, but Willoughby let them go. He had no shot to spare for them. So over the walls they scrambled, like rats deserting a sinking ship, to join their compatriots without.