The heroes of what became known afterwards as Dhoolie Square were, besides Home, Privates McManus, Ward, Ryan, and Hollowell. These gallant fellows, but for whom the whole company must have been massacred, formed part of the military escort. Patrick McManus, who was an Irishman of the Northumberland Fusiliers, was a noted shot. Taking up a position immediately behind one of the pillars of the archway, he coolly fired shot after shot until a number of sepoys had fallen victims to his unerring aim. The rest of the rebels retreated before his rifle and sought shelter within the houses. [Illustration: McMANUS NOW RUSHED OUT, ACCOMPANIED BY PRIVATE JOHN RYAN … AND CARRIED IN CAPTAIN ARNOLD.--_Page 98._] This pause afforded an opportunity for rescuing those of the wounded who lay within reach. With his deadly rifle in his hand, McManus now rushed out, accompanied by Private John Ryan (a Madras European Fusilier), and carried in Captain Arnold, who had been shot in both legs. A second time they ventured out, and in the rain of bullets they drew upon themselves succeeded in dragging another poor fellow from the slender security of his dhoolie to more certain safety. But their errand of mercy was in vain: though neither of the rescuers was hit, Arnold and the other wounded man (a private) were struck again and again, both dying soon after. Private Ward, a 78th Highlander but a Norfolk man by birth, had a little previously saved the life of Lieutenant Havelock. The dhoolie in which the young officer lay would have been abandoned had not Ward, by force of blows, compelled the native bearers to carry it behind the pillars of the arch. Inside the house that sheltered Home and the others the surgeon was hard at work attending to his wounded, most of whom were in worse case than when they started on their journey. If he stopped in his task it was only to snatch up a rifle and take a shot at some sepoy who was within sight. With consummate daring the rebels braved McManus and crept up to the window of Home’s room. One man, whom he shot with his revolver, was no more than three yards away from him at the time. So some hours wore away. Then the sepoys, furious at their ineffectual attempts to get at their prey, brought up a large screen on wheels, with thick planks in front, and with this shut off what was apparently the little garrison’s only exit. It was their intention to fire the roof and burn the Englishmen in their trap. There was another door at the side of the house, however, and while the flames crackled and the choking smoke filled the rooms, Home and all the able men with him seized hold of the wounded and made a dash through this across the square to a small shed that appeared to be empty. They reached it, but only half a dozen were in a condition to handle their rifles. The remnant that had struggled through with them could hardly raise themselves from the floor.