Coolly as if on parade, Lieutenant S--halted his men and wheeled them into line. "We must cut our way through those fellows," said he as he fitted fresh caps to his double-barrel. [When in action most of the officers of the C.M. Riflemen carried double-barrelled sporting rifles.] "But first we'll give them a volley. Take it quietly, my lads, and don't throw a shot away if you can help it." The volley was delivered-- somewhat hastily, it must be confessed, though not altogether without effect, for several of the Caffres fell before it. Then, bursting over the rough ground that intervened between them and their enemy, the little band of horsemen charged down upon the yelling, surging horde. The majority of the Caffres broke before this gallant charge, scattering right and left to take refuge in the bush and amongst the rocks; but many stood their ground bravely. Then for the space of six or seven minutes there ensued a regular melee; the troopers, urging forward their half-maddened steeds, wielded their sabres right manfully, and slashed and thrust at their opponents, who in their turn offered a stubborn resistance, striving to drag the soldiers from their saddles, and stabbing furiously at the horses' bellies as they were ridden down; until at length the escort cut their way right through "the black shining wall of human flesh," and rode onwards at a swinging canter. Tom Flinders--who had borne himself in the melee as gallantly as any veteran _sabreur_--was one of the last to get clear through; and he was racing to catch up his comrades when he heard a voice shout out: "Tom! Tom Flinders! for Heaven's sake don't leave me!" He at once turned in his saddle, and to his horror saw Frank Jamieson standing across the body of his gallant "mooi paard," [grey horse] and defending himself against half a dozen Caffres, who were attacking him with their assegais. Wheeling his horse round like lightning, Tom galloped to the rescue of his friend, and swooping down upon the group rode clean over two of the Caffres, knocking them right and left like nine-pins. A third--a herculean warrior, whose leopard-skin kaross bespoke the chief--sprang at his horse's head and clung to the bridle; but the brave lad, rising in his stirrups, threw all his strength into one downward cut, and the big chief, cloven clean through the brain-pan, fell beneath the horse's feet. "Well done, young Flinders!" cried a cheery voice--"well done, my boy!" And the next moment Lieutenant S--dashed up and put to flight the other Caffres, just as they were on the point of assegaiing Frank Jamieson, whose sword had broken short off at the hilt, leaving him entirely at the mercy of his assailants. "Jump up behind me, Jamieson," Mr S--said as the Caffres made off, "and let us get out of this before those savages come on again. I've had enough fighting for one day! Now, Flinders, ride for your very life!"