Rujub, the Juggler

“I have no fear of the natives at all,” Bathurst said.

“I am only afraid of myself. At present I am just as cool as if there was not a native within a thousand miles, and I am sure that my pulse is not going a beat faster than usual. I can think of the whole thing and calculate the chances as calmly as if it were an affair in which I was in no way concerned. It is not danger that I fear in the slightest, it is that horrible noise. I know well enough that the moment the firing begins I shall be paralyzed. My only hope is that at the last moment, if it comes to hand to hand fighting, I shall get my nerve.”

“I have no doubt you will,” Wilson said warmly; “and when you do I would back you at long odds against any of us. Ah, they are beginning.”

As he spoke there was a salvo of all the guns on the three Sepoy batteries. Then a roar of musketry broke out round the house, and above it could be heard loud shouts.

“They are coming, Major,” the Doctor shouted down from the roof; “the Sepoys are leading, and there is a crowd of natives behind them.”

Those lying in the middle of the curve of the horseshoe soon caught sight of the enemy advancing tumultuously towards the breach. The Major had ordered that not a shot was to be fired until they reached it, and it was evident that the silence of the besieged awed the assailants with a sense of unknown danger, for their pace slackened, and when they got to within fifty yards of the breach they paused and opened fire. Then, urged forward by their officers and encouraged by their own noise, they again rushed forward. Two of their officers led the way; and as these mounted the little heap of rubbish at the foot of the breach, two rifles cracked out from the terrace, and both fell dead.

There was a yell of fury from the Sepoys, and then they poured in through the breach. Those in front tried to stop as they saw the trap into which they were entering, but pressed on by those behind they were forced forward.

And now a crackling fire of musketry broke out from the rifles projecting between the sandbags into the crowded mass. Every shot told. Wild shrieks, yells, and curses rose from the assailants. Some tried madly to climb up the sandbags, some to force their way back through the crowd behind; some threw themselves down; others discharged their muskets at their invisible foe. From the roof the Doctor and his companion kept up a rapid fire upon the crowd struggling to enter the breach. As fast as the defenders’ muskets were discharged they handed them down to the servants behind to be reloaded, and when each had fired his spare muskets he betook himself to his revolver.

Wilson, while discharging his rifle, kept his eyes upon Bathurst. The latter had not fired a shot, but lay rigid and still, save for a sort of convulsive shuddering. Presently there was a little lull in the firing as the weapons were emptied, and the defenders seizing the bricks hurled them down into the mass.

“Look out!” the Major shouted; “keep your heads low—I am going to throw the canisters.”

A number of these had been prepared, filled to the mouth with powder and bullets, and with a short fuse attached, ropes being fastened round them to enable them to be slung some distance. The Major half rose to throw one of these missiles when his attention was called by a shout from Wilson.

The latter was so occupied that he had not noticed Bathurst, who had suddenly risen to his feet, and just as Wilson was about to grasp him and pull him down, leaped over the sandbag in front of him down among the mutineers. The Major gave a swing to the canister, of which the fuse was already lighted, and hurled it through the breach among the crowd, who, ignorant of what was going on inside, were still struggling to enter.

“Look out,” he shouted to the others; “mind how you throw. Bathurst is down in the middle of them. Hand up all the muskets you have loaded,” he cried to the servants.

As he spoke he swung another canister through the breach, and almost immediately two heavy explosions followed, one close upon the other.

“Give them a volley at the breach,” he shouted; “never mind those below.”

The muskets were fired as soon as received.

“Now to your feet,” the Major cried, “and give them the brickbats,” and as he stood up he hurled two more canisters among the crowd behind the breach. The others sprang up with a cheer. The inclosure below them was shallower now from the number that had fallen, and was filled with a confused mass of struggling men. In their midst was Bathurst fighting desperately with his short weapon, and bringing down a man at every blow, the mutineers being too crowded together to use their unfixed bayonets against him. In a moment Captain Forster leaped down, sword in hand, and joined Bathurst in the fight.

“Stand steady,” the Major shouted; “don’t let another man move.”

But the missiles still rained down with an occasional shot, as the rifles were handed up by the natives, while the Doctor and Farquharson kept up an almost continuous fire from the terrace. Then the two last canisters thrown by the Major exploded. The first two had carried havoc among the crowd behind the breach, these completed their confusion, and they turned and fled; while those in the retrenchment, relieved of the pressure from behind, at once turned, and flying through the breach, followed their companions.

A loud cheer broke from the garrison, and the Major looking round saw the Doctor standing by the parapet waving his hat, while Isobel stood beside him looking down at the scene of conflict.

“Lie down, Isobel,” he shouted; “they will be opening fire again directly.”

The girl disappeared, and almost at the same moment the batteries spoke out again, and a crackle of the musketry began from the gardens. The Major turned round. Bathurst was leaning against the wall breathing heavily after his exertions, Forster was coolly wiping his sword on the tunic of one of the fallen Sepoys.

“Are either of you hurt?” he asked.

“I am not hurt to speak of,” Forster said; “I got a rip with a bayonet as I jumped down, but I don’t think it is of any consequence.”

“How are you, Bathurst?” the Major repeated. “What on earth possessed you to jump down like that?”

“I don’t know, Major; I had to do something, and when you stopped firing I felt it was time for me to do my share.”

“You have done more than your share, I should say,” the Major said; “for they went down like ninepins before you. Now, Wilson, you take one of his hands, and I will take the other, and help him up.”

It needed considerable exertion to get him up, for the reaction had now come, and he was scarce able to stand.

“You had better go up to the house and get a glass of wine,” the Major said. “Now, is anyone else hurt?”

“I am hit, Major,” Richards said quietly; “a ball came in between the sandbags just as I fired my first shot, and smashed my right shoulder. I think I have not been much good since, though I have been firing from my left as well as I could. I think I will go up and get the Doctor to look at it.”

But almost as he spoke the young fellow tottered, and would have fallen, had not the Major caught him.

“Lend me a hand, Doolan,” the latter said; “we will carry him in; I am afraid he is very hard hit.”

The ladies gathered round the Major and Captain Doolan as they entered with their burden. Mary Hunter had already run down and told them that the attack had been repulsed and the enemy had retreated.

“Nobody else is hit,” the Major said, as he entered; “at least, not seriously. The enemy have been handsomely beaten with such loss that they won’t be in a hurry to try again. Will one of you run up and bring the Doctor down?”

Richards was carried into the hospital room, where he was left to the care of the Doctor, Mrs. Hunter, and Mrs. Rintoul. The Major returned to the general room.

“Boy, bring half a dozen bottles of champagne and open them as quickly as you can,” he said; “we have got enough to last us for weeks, and this is an occasion to celebrate, and I think we have all earned it.”

The others were by this time coming in, for there was no chance of the enemy renewing the attack at present. Farquharson was on the roof on the lookout. Quiet greetings were exchanged between wives and husbands.

“It didn’t last long,” Wilson said; “not above five minutes, I should say, from the time when we opened fire.”

“It seemed to us an age,” Amy Hunter replied; “it was dreadful not to be able to see what was going on; it seemed to me everyone must be killed with all that firing.”

“It was sharp while it lasted,” the Major said; “but we were all snug enough except against a stray bullet, such as that which hit poor young Richards. He behaved very gallantly, and none of us knew he was hit till it was all over.”

“But how did Captain Forster get his bayonet wound?” Mrs. Doolan asked. “I saw him go in just now into the surgery; it seemed to me he had a very serious wound, for his jacket was cut from the breast up to the shoulder, and he was bleeding terribly, though he made light of it.”

“He jumped down into the middle of them,” the Major said. “Bathurst jumped down first, and was fighting like a madman with a mace he has got. We could do nothing, for we were afraid of hitting him, and Forster jumped down to help him, and, as he did so, got that rip with the bayonet; it is a nasty cut, no doubt, but it is only a flesh wound.”

“Where is Mr. Bathurst?” Mrs. Doolan asked; “is he hurt, too? Why did he jump down? I should not have thought,” and she stopped.

“I fancy a sort of fury seized him,” the Major said; “but whatever it was, he fought like a giant. He is a powerful man, and that iron mace is just the thing for such work. The natives went down like ninepins before him. No, I don’t think he is hurt.”

“I will go out and see,” Mrs. Doolan said; and taking a mug half full of champagne from the table, she went out.

Bathurst was sitting on the ground leaning against the wall of the house.

“You are not hurt, Mr. Bathurst, I hope,” Mrs. Doolan said, as she came up. “No, don’t try to get up, drink a little of this; we are celebrating our victory by opening a case of champagne. The Major tells us you have been distinguishing yourself greatly.”

Bathurst drank some of the wine before he replied.

“In a way, Mrs. Doolan, I scarcely know what I did do. I wanted to do something, even if it was only to get killed.”

“You must not talk like that,” she said kindly; “your life is as valuable as any here, and you know that we all like and esteem you; and, at any rate, you have shown today that you have plenty of courage.”