Confident of victory, the Sepoys had taken their stand at this place, and, with taunts and bragging, presented a most powerful front to the jaded and worn British soldiers. But Havelock knew his men; he knew his strength. He let loose his little army. The fight was long and bloody, but it ended in unmistakable victory for the General. It was the first decisive blow that had been struck at the enemy in that part of the country. Little time could be devoted to rest after the battle. Every man burned to be on the road again. They were warming to their work. Long forced marches were made, until a small river, called the Pandoo-Muddee, was reached. This river was some little distance to the south of Cawnpore, and here Bala Rao was stationed with a number of Sepoys to oppose the English crossing the bridge. Havelock’s soldiers were worn out. The men were staggering beneath their load. Some of them slept as they stood, others dropped by the wayside. But if any incentive were wanted, it came now in the shape of the news that Cawnpore had capitulated, and the brave garrison had been foully slaughtered. The news was brought by the General’s spies; and as he made it known, in a few sorrowful words, to his troops, want of rest was no more thought of. The strong sprang to their feet, and breathed silent vows of vengeance, while the sick and the weak wept because they were not able to join their comrades in wreaking retribution on the cruel enemy. The bridge across the river was a small and narrow one. Bala Rao had arrived too late to destroy it, but he had got his guns into position to sweep it, so that it seemed impossible that a passage could be made across it. He stood, with his cowardly followers, taunting the fagged white men to cross. He dared them to come. He called them dogs. “Soldiers and comrades,” cried Havelock, “we _must_ cross that bridge.” Shrill and clear rang out the bugle notes as they sounded the advance. They must have struck terror to the black foe. With lips compressed, with bayonets down at the charge, shoulder to shoulder, went the dauntless few under a merciless storm of iron hail. The passage was short, but many a brave fellow fell never to rise again. The Cawnpore side of the river was gained; and then with a ringing cheer the British “went at it.” What could stand against such a charge? The enemy was scattered; he fled in wild disorder, leaving his guns behind him. The fight over, men fell down on the spot where they stood, and went to sleep, too tired and jaded even to think of the evening meal.