Kerr’s storming party was sadly reduced in numbers by this time, and of those who had survived not one had escaped being wounded. But as soon as their leader had come to his senses, they went forward once more, cutting down the mutineers with their keen-edged curved swords, and striking terror into the hearts of those who yet again fled before them. In their extremity the rebels made for an empty disused temple, hastily barricading its door with stones and anything that would help to keep those dreaded greencoats at a safe distance. They still had a good supply of cartridges left, and with these did such execution that several more of the Mahratta warriors were laid low. But they had to reckon with a man who was bent on teaching them such a lesson as they and every mutineer in the Presidency should never forget. Seven sowars alone were left to Kerr for his last attack, seven out of the chosen seventeen who had followed him through that first hole in the outer door. Yet he did not wait to be reinforced. With this mere handful of men he flung himself on the temple door, which at once rang under the quick blows of his iron bar. The entrance to the building, however, was made of stouter material than the other doors had been. Neither he nor Gumpunt Rao could burst through the wood. The lieutenant glanced round for another weapon, and now to his delight saw a heap of hay lying by a side wall. Here was the very thing he wanted. “Quick, Gumpunt!” he shouted. “Bring that hay over here. We’ll burn the door down an’ finish ’em!” And finish them they did. As the flames crackled up and the door fell in, Kerr, Gumpunt Rao, and the other six leapt inside. A grim-looking band they must have appeared, with their smoke-blackened faces, their slashed and bloodstained tunics, and doubly so to the panic-stricken mutineers who cowered in the dark corners of the temple. “No quarter!” the wild Mahrattas had begged of their “sahib,” while they waited for the fire to do its work. “Death to every rat caught in the hole!” But Kerr would not grant them their wish. All who would yield were to be taken prisoners; he had a different fate in store for them. So when the eight emerged again from the now silent building, more bloodstained than ever, for a few of the rats at bay had shown their teeth, they brought with them a bare dozen of trembling sepoys, all that remained of the mutinous garrison of Kolapore Fort. And with these in their midst the little swarthy hill-men in the green coats some hours later rode triumphantly back to Satara, with Kerr at their head, to tell of that grim night’s work. The sparks of mutiny that might so easily have burst into a flame in Bombay may be said to have been stamped out by Lieutenant Kerr’s prompt and vigorous action. Subsequent attempts were made to create a rising, but they were fitful and half-hearted. The lesson of Kolapore had been a stern one.