Already he has been offered honourable terms and a bribe of money if he will but yield. He has rejected both with the utmost scorn and defiance, though he knows full well that the capture of the fort means the death of every man in it. In haughty tones the young Englishman has told the prince who commands the besieging army that his father is a usurper, that his forces are a mere rabble, and that he will do well to think twice before he sends such poltroons against English soldiers. It is now the 14th day of November, and on the 30th of August last he and his little army marched through a violent storm of thunder and rain, and captured the fort without striking a blow. He has already held out for seventy-five days, hoping hourly for relief. But he has not been inactive. Time after time he and his little band have sallied forth and inflicted considerable damage on the besiegers. The artillery of the enemy has already made much havoc; two great breaches gape in the walls. Every attempt to storm them has failed. Now the enemy is in overwhelming force, and to-day an assault is to be made; yet the commander of the post lies calmly sleeping, though a touch on the shoulder will awaken him and bring him on to the walls to direct the defence. He has made all arrangements; he has done all that man can do. Now he is recruiting his exhausted strength for the critical struggle that awaits him. To-day is the most solemn festival in the Mohammedan calendar, a day on which the followers of Mohammed believe that he who falls in fight against the infidel will enter at once into Paradise. The religious enthusiasm of the besiegers is almost a frenzy, and they have further increased their madness by a free use of the intoxicating drug which they call bhang. They are ready to go to death with eager joy; no man of them will flinch from the most dangerous duty; all are zealous for the privilege of sacrificing their lives. Suddenly you hear the discharge of three bombs. It is the signal for the attack. Our young Englishman is awake now, and you get your first glimpse of him. One glance at his face convinces you that he is a warrior of warriors, that there is not a particle of fear in his whole composition, that he is a born leader of men. His Sepoys positively worship him. They believe him to be more than mortal. Whatever he commands they obey. Their devotion to him exceeds that of the Tenth Legion to Cæsar and of the Old Guard to Napoleon.