pened again. They
now made a great hole in the wall of the village, through which about a
dozen men fired with terrible effect. Others began loopholing the
walls. The guns fired case shot at twenty yards' range at these fierce
pioneers, smashing the walls to pieces and killing many. The enemy
replied with bullets, burning bhoosa and showers of stones.

So the hours dragged away. The general and Captain Birch were both
wounded, early in the night. Lieutenant Wynter, while behaving with
distinguished gallantry, was shot through both legs at about 11.30. He
was thus twice severely wounded within forty-five days. He now continued
to command his guns, until he fainted from loss of blood. A native
gunner then shielded him with his body, until he also was hit. The whole
scene, the close, desperate fighting, the carcasses of the mules, the
officers and men crouching behind them, the flaming stacks of bhoosa,
the flashes of the rifles, and over all and around all, the darkness of
the night--is worthy of the pencil of De Neuville.

At length, at about midnight, help arrived. Worlledge's two companies
had gone in search of the Guides, but had not found them. They now
returned and, hearing the firing at Bilot, sent an orderly of the 11th
Bengal Lancers to ask if the general wanted assistance. This plucky
boy--he was only a young recruit--rode coolly up to the village although
the enemy were all around, and he stood an almost equal chance of being
shot by our own men. He soon brought the two companies to the rescue,
and the enemy, balked of their prey, presently drew off in the gloom.
How much longer the battery and its defenders could have held out is
uncertain. They were losing men steadily, and their numbers were so
small that they might have been rushed at any moment. Such was the tale.

No operations took place on the 17th. The soldiers rested, casualties
were counted, wounds were dressed, confidence was restored. The funerals
of the British officers and men, killed the day before, took place
at noon. Every one who could, attended; but all the pomp of military
obsequies was omitted, and there were no Union Jacks to cover the
bodies, nor were volleys fired over the graves, lest the wounded should
be disturbed. Somewhere in the camp--exactly where, is now purposely
forgotten--the remains of those who had lost, in fighting for their
country, all that men can be sure of, were silently interred. No
monument marked the spot. The on