As the noble Beatson was brought in, he heard the cries of victory; and, as his life was passing away, he raised his sword, gave a faint cheer, and, with a smile upon his face, fell back dead. Baffled and beaten, the Sepoys fled. They appeared to be in full retreat upon Cawnpore. To the Peishwah all seemed lost. It was the crisis of his fate, and he was determined to make one desperate effort more to turn the tide. He was arrayed in the most costly and imposing garments. He wore a robe of cloth of gold, and his waist was encircled with a zone of pure gold, set with brilliants. Pendant from this was a massive tulwar, also jewelled, and round his head was an embroidered turban, that was literally ablaze with diamonds. He knew the effect of gaud and glitter upon the native mind, and so, putting spurs to his charger, he got ahead of his troops, and then faced them, and bade them halt. “Why do you fly?” he cried, flashing his tulwar in the sun. “Are you not men, and your pursuers dogs? Do men fly from dogs? Shame on you! Remember our cause, and for what we fight--Liberty! Will you throw this away, and become slaves again? Turn, and face the enemy, who is weak and worn. We can hold this road to the cantonment. Let a battery of guns be planted. The enemy must not, and shall not, enter Cawnpore. An hour ago, I despatched messengers back to the city, and reinforcements are already coming up.” “We will stand!” was the answer from hundreds of throats. The battery was planted right on the road that led into the cantonment, and in about half an hour fresh troops came pouring out. They came down with a terrible clatter, and amid the clashing of cymbals and the roll of drums. As they got into position, Nana Sahib rode along the lines. “Taunt them, boys--taunt them! Dare them from their shelter, and then blow them to atoms!” And, in response to this, the native band ironically struck up “Cheer, Boys, Cheer.” It was a taunt of the right sort. It reached the ears of the English; and, tired and worn out as they were, it gave them fresh vigour. The grey-haired veteran, Havelock, rode forth before his troops. “Soldiers,” he cried, “the enemy is bearding us; let us teach them a lasting lesson!” The infantry rushed into line; their impatience could scarcely be restrained. The noble Highlanders, looking fresh and inspirited, as if they had only just come into action, again struggled to take the lead. It was an awful moment, for they must ride right upon the death-dealing battery, which was planted in the centre of the road, and was belching forth storms of grape and twenty-four pounders with astonishing rapidity. But not a man quailed.