“Captain,” he said, “it is of no use; we cannot feed upon elephants for ever; we have not a grain of powder left, and must give up the fort when the attack is made to-morrow. We may as well be prisoners now as then, and we won’t go elephant-hunting any more.” “Ruffian!” I said, “he who first talks of surrender, dies!” and I cut him down. “Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?” No one stirred. “Cowards! miserable cowards!” shouted I; “what, you dare not move for fear of death at the hands of those wretches who even now fled before your arms—what, do I say _your_ arms?—before _mine!_—alone I did it; and as alone I routed the foe, alone I will victual the fortress! Ho! open the gate!” I rushed out; not a single man would follow. The bodies of the elephants that we had killed still lay on the ground where they had fallen, about four hundred yards from the fort. I descended calmly the hill, a very steep one, and coming to the spot, took my pick of the animals, choosing a tolerably small and plump one, of about thirteen feet high, which the vultures had respected. I threw this animal over my shoulders, and made for the fort. As I marched up the acclivity, whizz—piff—whirr! came the balls over my head; and pitter-patter, pitter-patter! they fell on the body of the elephant like drops of rain. The enemy were behind me; I knew it, and quickened my pace. I heard the gallop of their horse: they came nearer, nearer; I was within a hundred yards of the fort—seventy—fifty! I strained every nerve; I panted with the superhuman exertion—I ran—could a man run very fast with such a tremendous weight on his shoulders? Up came the enemy; fifty horsemen were shouting and screaming at my tail. O Heaven! five yards more—one moment—and I am saved. It is done—I strain the last strain—I make the last step—I fling forward my precious burden into the gate opened wide to receive me and it, and—I fall! The gate thunders to, and I am left _on the outside!_ Fifty knives are gleaming before my bloodshot eyes—fifty black hands are at my throat, when a voice exclaims, “Stop!—kill him not, it is Gujputi!” A film came over my eyes—exhausted nature would bear no more. CHAPTER IX Surprise of Futtyghur When I awoke from the trance into which I had fallen, I found myself in a bath, surrounded by innumerable black faces; and a Hindoo pothukoor (whence our word apothecary) feeling my pulse and looking at me with an air of sagacity. “Where am I?” I exclaimed, looking round and examining the strange faces, and the strange apartment which met my view. “Bekhusm!” said the apothecary. “Silence! Gahagan Sahib is in the hands of those who know his valour, and will save his life.” “Know my valour, slave? Of course you do,” said I; “but the fort— the garrison—the elephant—Belinda, my love—my darling— Macgillicuddy—the scoundrelly mutineers—the deal bo- “