till bundled together, did us the most damage we received that
day; indeed it was a very terrifying thing to suddenly hear the roar
of artillery so close at hand, and see men falling right and left from
shots fired by an invisible foe.

Under these circumstances it was wonderful to see the coolness of
Colonel Clive, who continued to give his orders without appearing the
least dismayed, and deployed the men into line again as steadily as
though we were in our own camp, and not in the midst of the Moors.
Abandoning all thoughts of the causeway, he ordered the column to
resume its course to the southward, so as to reach the main road into
Calcutta, by which we might cross the ditch and return in safety. This
necessitated our leaving the wounded, about twenty in number, who
broke into grievous cries at the prospect of being deserted to the
cruelty of the Moors.

Among the voices raised in complaint I heard one which I believed I
knew. I hastened to look among the figures on the ground, and
presently made out the form of old Muzzy himself, who lay with his
right leg doubled up under him.

"Is that you?" I exclaimed, bending over him. "Where have you been
hurt? Is it serious?"

"Athelstane!" He looked up, turning his eyes on me with an appeal
which went to my heart. "They've riddled my leg with their cursed
heathenish small shot, curse them! If it had been a Christian bullet,
now, I shouldn't ha' minded so much. Give me a hand, my boy, and I'll
see if I can stand up."

I put my arms round him and lifted him partly from the ground, while
he clutched at me with both hands. The next instant a groan broke from
his clenched teeth.

"It's no good, lad, I can't do it. Go, and save yourself if you can;
and leave old Muzzy to take his rating below decks at last!"

CHAPTER XVII

_A MISSION OF DANGER_

I got up and called to some sailors who were falling into the rear of
the now departing column.

"Here, my men, here's a comrade wounded and unable to walk. Will you
leave him to be butchered by the Indians?"

They stopped, and cast hesitating looks at the old boatswain, where he
lay groaning.

"There's a-many of 'em about," observed one man. "We can't save them
all, sir."

"But this is an old friend of mine, who has saved my life before now,"
I pleaded. And seeing them undecided, I went on, "What do you say; I
will give you a hundred rupees--two hundred--apiece if you carry him
safe into Calcutta?"

They bris