s no time for thought, it was a hand-to-hand struggle now, but
still the loud cry, "Ye fight for your wives and children, men!" rang
out, answered by a feeble cheer, from race stand and stockade, and a
storm of yells from the swaying, panting crowd of assailants below.

The day was dawning clear now, but the cheers from the stockade became
more and more feeble, as man after man went down. No time to load, but
the bayonet and clubbed musket are doing their work, doggedly,
desperately, and in silence. The British force is melting away, when
hark! the feeble cheers from the battered race stand are at last
answered, as a long line of tall shakoes and red uniforms comes into
view in rear. It was his regiment, the 150th, commanded by its senior
captain, Curtis.

"Hurrah, my lads, we are safe now!" shouted Hughes, as he swung himself
from the rear of the stand, a desperate leap; and the next moment,
without his forage-cap, his face streaked with blood, and begrimed with
smoke, stood among his men. "Halt!" shouted his powerful voice, as he
waved his sword in his right hand, his left hanging powerless.

"Men of the 150th, prepare to charge!"

The muskets came down with a clang, as of one man.

"Charge;" shouted Major Hughes, and round the stockade, round the stand,
with a loud howl for vengeance, came the British line. The shock was
tremendous, for the men fought like fiends, while from the two positions
which had been so hotly contested, the bright flashes of musketry came
thick and fast, mingling their reports with the roar of the heavy guns
from town and entrenchment.

The men of the Gwalior Contingent were literally borne back by that
terrible bayonet charge, then the whole mass became mixed, the scene
more resembling an Irish row than a fight among disciplined men.

Pandies and English were jumbled together, fighting for life, and for
revenge more than for victory, the red glare of the guns seen through
the rising mist, the shouts and cheers of the men in the race stand,
maddening still further the already savage combatants below.

"Clear the way, my hearties," shouted a hoarse voice, as with a loud
cheer, the men of Peel's Naval Brigade came laughing and shouting along,
after forming behind the grand stand, dragging along a 24-pounder.
"Starboard, you may. Heave ahead with the gun."

"Who is commanding officer?" asked Captain Peel. "Here, bugler, sound
the recall. Now, my lads, give them Number one broadsi