Peering through the wicket, the sepoys stare in sheer astonishment at this handful of mad Englishmen charging at them, and four or five of the party have got safely across, each depositing his precious bag in its place, ere the rebel muskets speak out. Then the slender wooden beam becomes indeed a bridge of death. A sheet of flame flashes from the wicket of the Gate, and one man after another falls, wounded or killed outright. Enough bags, however, have been flung down into position, and Home calls upon Salkeld to finish the job. With Sergeants Smith and Carmichael, and the corporal by his side, Salkeld, who has been in waiting, dashes for the frail bridge. He gains it and is over, as a volley rattles out from the Gate, but before he can light the fuse he falls, shot through leg and arm. “Here you are, Burgess!” he cries, holding out the slow match. “Quick, man!” The corporal takes the slow match in turn and bends low over the powder, only to fall back the next instant mortally wounded. We have it on Lord Roberts’ authority that Burgess actually succeeded in lighting the fuse, but opinions are at variance on this point. It seems probable, however, that he did perform his task, for when Sergeant Smith, seizing the slow match in his turn, now goes forward to ignite the powder, he sees that the fuse is fizzling. A leap into the ditch, where he lands beside Home and Bugler Hawthorne, saves him just in time. A moment later and there is a loud explosion, a cloud of smoke, and stones, pieces of wood, and other débris raining down all around. In the noise of the firing and the confusion that prevails, the bugler is meanwhile sounding the “advance,” not once but thrice, though it is extremely doubtful if it is heard at all. Colonel Campbell has seen the explosion, however, and the storming party, straining like hounds in leash, are no more to be held back. With a wild cheer they spring forward, to find--not the big Gate itself destroyed, but the little wicket, which was all that had been blown in. One by one they creep through, stepping over the scorched bodies of the sepoy wardens within, and form up in the open space by Skinner’s Church, where all are to meet. But what of the survivors of the explosion left behind in the ditch? Home is alive, and so are Hawthorne, Smith, Burgess, and Salkeld, though the two last are grievously wounded. Carmichael and several others lie still for ever on the damp ground. With some assistance, brave John Smith and Bugler Hawthorne get Lieutenant Salkeld into the doctor’s hands, though it is evident nothing can be done for him. Burgess, too, has a mortal wound, and he is dead before friendly hands have carried him a score of yards. Of the wounded only the havildar, who had fallen with Carmichael before the deadly rain of bullets, has any hope of recovery. * * * * *