Each man repeated the oath with his teeth set, and with an earnestness that was startling. Then the tresses of hair were stowed carefully away, to be counted at leisure. The body of Zula was lifted tenderly up and carried to a little clump of bushes, where a rough grave was hastily dug; and the murdered lady was laid to rest. Scarcely was the mournful duty completed, when the officer cried-- “On your guard, men--we are surprised!” The movements of the Englishmen had been observed from the city, and a large number of Sepoys were instantly sent out to attack them. They came on at the “double quick.” The Englishmen fixed their bayonets, and dropping on their knees behind the bushes, which afforded them excellent shelter, waited patiently. When the enemy was within fifty yards, the British officer stood up, and, waving his sword, cried-- “Remember your oath, men--fire!” For every bullet that went forth from the muzzles of those rifles a native tottered to the ground. The survivors staggered for a moment, but quickly recovering themselves, came on again. But the deadly Enfields were quickly loaded, as if they were all worked by one piece of intricate mechanism, and another volley strewed the ground with dead and dying Sepoys. “Load quickly, men. Another volley, and then charge,” cried the officer. The Sepoys, exasperated by the terrible effects of the fire from their hidden foe, were coming on with a rush, but again they reeled and staggered, as the rifles belched forth fire and lead from the bushes. “Up and charge, men, and remember your oath,” cried the officer once more. Each man sprang to his feet, and then, with a ringing cheer, the little body charged the enemy. It was a short and desperate struggle. The Sepoys were completely surprised. They offered but a feeble resistance. The oath of the English soldiers was indeed remembered, and though the number of lives taken was not equal to the number of hairs, the retribution was terrible. The deadly bayonet did its work, until the few surviving Sepoys, stricken with fear, turned and fled back to the city. The English followed right up to the gate, bayoneting many of the cowards in the back as they ran. “We can return now,” said the officer, as he collected his men, not one of whom was missing; “we have had a good night’s work.” Flora Meredith witnessed the fight from the terrace. She could not make out things very distinctly, but she gathered that the Sepoys had been beaten, and had she known that the very men who had murdered Zula, by order of the King, were amongst the number who were lying out on the plain, pierced by English bayonets, she might have felt that her prayer to Heaven for retribution had, indeed, been heard. CHAPTER XXXIV. A SURPRISE.