A howl came from the road that they had left, a hundred sepoys had
rushed down to block their passage the moment that their cheer had
rung above the noise of battle.
"Action--front!" roared young Bellairs, and the muzzles swung round
at the gallop, jerked into position by the wheeling teams.
"With case, at four hundred!"
The orders were given and obeyed almost before the guns had lost their
motion. The charges had been rammed into the greedy muzzles before
the horses were away, almost--and that takes but a second--the horses
vanish like blown smoke when the game begins. A howl from the mutineers
told that they were seen; a volley from the British infantry announced
that they were yet in time; and "boom-boom!" went both guns together.
The grapeshot whined and shrieked, and the ranks of the sepoys wilted,
mown down as though a scythe had swept them. Once, and once only,
they gathered for a charge on the two guns; but they were met half-way
up the rise by a shrieking blast of grape that ripped through them
and took the heart out of them; and the grape was followed by well-
aimed volleys from behind.
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