ken their cages,
than men resolved on war.

"At this period, had a rush been made at the officers' quarters by one
half (they were more than 200 in number), and the other half surrounded
the building, not one could have escaped. Instead of this they continued
to shout their war-song, and howl their war-notes; they loaded their
pieces with ball cartridge or blank cartridge and small stones, and
commenced firing at the long range of white buildings in which Colonel
Bush and his officers slept. They wasted so much ammunition on this
useless display of fury that the buildings were completely riddled. A
few of the old soldiers opposed them and were wounded, but it
fortunately happened that they were, to an inconceivable degree,
ignorant of the right use of fire-arms--holding their muskets in their
hands when they discharged them, without allowing the butt-end to rest
against their shoulders or any part of their bodies.[48] This fact
accounts for the comparatively little mischief they did in proportion to
the quantity of ammunition thrown away.

"The officers[49] and sergeant-major[50] escaped at the back of the
building, while Colonel Bush and Adjutant Bentley came down a little
hill. The colonel commanded the mutineers to lay down their arms, and
was answered by an irregular discharge of balls, which rattled amongst
the leaves of a tree under which he and the adjutant were standing. On
this Colonel Bush desired Mr. Bentley to make the best of his way to St.
James's Barracks[51] for all the disposable force of the 89th Regiment.
The officers made good their retreat, and the adjutant got into the
stable where his horse was. He saddled and bridled the animal while the
shots were coming into the stable, without either man or beast getting
injured. The officer mounted, but had to make his way through the
mutineers before he could get into San Josef, the barracks standing on
an eminence above the little town. On seeing the adjutant mounted, the
mutineers set up a thrilling howl, and commenced firing at him. He
discerned the gigantic figure of Daaga (alias Donald Stewart), with his
musket at the trail: he spurred his horse through the midst of them;
they were grouped, but not in line. On looking back he saw Daaga aiming
at him; he stooped his head beside his horse's neck, and effectually
sheltered himself from about fifty shots aimed at him. In this position
he rode furiously down a steep hill leading from the barracks to the
ch