Every heart of those kilted soldiers thrilled as the shrill sounds of the pibroch arose from the bagpipes in the rear. Each man felt that he had a personal wrong to wipe out, the death of a murdered friend to revenge. Every man set his teeth, and clutched his rifle, as he held it at the charge, with a grip of nervous desperation. The guns of the enemy were still roaring fierce defiance, and hurling death right and left. Forward went the brave Highlanders with a ringing cheer, their bayonets flashing in the sunlight; and, though the enemy were strongly posted behind those awful guns, they were appalled as they beheld the bare-legged soldiers rushing on like an impetuous torrent. The bayonet charge of British troops was what no Sepoy had ever yet been able to stand. The rebels wavered, then gave way, and fled. The guns were in the hands of the Highlanders. “Auld Reekie” had been well remembered, but poor Sandy was lying with his dead eyes staring up to the quivering sky, and the little love-token lying over his stilled heart. The troops fell back in orderly array. But at the same moment a howitzer, that had hitherto been masked, opened fire with fearful effect. This gun was posted in a hollow--a sort of natural trench--on some rising ground. Had it been served by any other than Sepoys, it might have kept half-a-dozen regiments at bay. “Soldiers,” cried General Havelock again, “we must silence that noisy gun. Its impudent tongue disturbs the neighbourhood!” Forth bounded the Highlanders again. An inspiriting cheer, a resistless rush, the gun was captured; and, as the foe fled, the howitzer was turned upon them. But the battle was not yet ended. The rebels, in great force still, held the village, and new batteries were brought into action, and poured a murderous fire upon the British lines. A little body of volunteer cavalry, that had been held in reserve, now came forward. It was composed entirely of British officers, and their number was only eighteen. Eighteen against thousands of the enemy, who were sheltered behind walls and trees! As these heroes were preparing to go into action, there was one of their comrades who, stricken with deadly cholera, was lying in the ambulance. This was Captain Beatson. He cried out that he would not be left behind, but that he would go into the heat of the battle with his brothers. He could not sit his horse, for he was dying fast. But no persuasion could induce him to miss the chance of taking part in the act of retribution. Go he would; so a tumbrel was procured, and he was carried into action, clutching his sword with his enfeebled hands. The signal was given. Away went the dauntless few. Shot and shell poured around them, but could not stay their impetuous rush. Right into the very midst of the enemy they rode. They did terrible execution; and in a very short time had cleared the village.