he order to fire. At the same moment Desmond called to his men
to lie flat on the ground and aim at the enemy from behind the solid
wooden wheels of the hackeris. Being on the flat top of the mound, they
were to some extent below the line of fire from the plain, and when the
first volley was delivered no harm was done to them save for a few
scratches made by flying splinters struck from the carts.

But the crack of the matchlocks struck terror into the pale hearts of
some of the hackeriwallahs. Several sprang over the breastwork and
scuttled away like scared rabbits. The remainder stood firm, grasping
their lathis in a manner that showed the fighting instinct to be strong,
even in the Bengali.

Many anxious looks were bent upon Desmond, his men expecting the order to
fire. But he bade them remain still, and through the interval between two
carts he watched for the rush that was coming. The crew of the Good
Intent, headed by Sunman, the cross-eyed mate, and Parmiter, had come up
behind the natives. These, having emptied their matchlocks, were now
retiring to reload. Diggle had dismounted, and was talking earnestly with
the mate. They walked together to the edge of the nullah, and looked up
and down it, doubtless canvassing the chances of an attack in the rear;
but the sides were steep; there was no hope of success in this direction;
and they rejoined the main body.

Evidently they had decided on making a vigorous direct attack over the
carts. Dividing his troop into two portions, Diggle put himself at the
head of the one, Sunman at the head of the other. Arranged in a
semicircle concentric with the breastwork, at the word of command all the
men with firearms discharged their pieces; then, with shrill cries from
the natives, and a hoarse cheer from the crew of the Good Intent, they
charged in a close line up the slope.

Behind the barricade the men's impatience had only been curbed by the
quiet imperturbable manner of their young leader. But their self
restraint was on the point of breaking down when, short, sharp and clear,
the long-awaited command was given. Their matchlocks flashed; the volley
told with deadly effect at the short range of thirty paces; four or five
men dropped; as many more staggered down the slope; the rest halted
indecisively, in doubt whether to push forward or turn tail.

"Blockheads! cowards!" shouted Diggle in a fury. "Push on, you dogs; we
are four to one!"

He was now a very di