ttack.

"The first thing to do," he shouted authoritatively, "is to take good
cover, so that the bullets and cannon-balls of the English cannot hit
us; and then, when they have expended their ammunition, we will shout
Allah! and charge them with the sword."

"Well spoken!" was the cry, and the order passed up and down the line.

Be assured that duffadar Faiz Talab did not fail to appropriate the
thickest and strongest wall in support of his tactical scheme.

"The next thing to do," yelled the unwilling general, "is to fire as
rapidly as possible, so as to frighten the English thoroughly, before we
sally forth and kill them." And suiting action to words Faiz Talab fired
off his twenty rounds with great rapidity in the safest possible
direction, and prayed God that he had not hit one of his own comrades.
At the same time he added a perhaps equally potent supplication, to the
effect that his comrades might not be so careless or inconsiderate in
their turn as to shoot him.

Having no more ammunition, Faiz Talab hugged his wall closer than a
limpet, and noticed with growing satisfaction that ammunition was
running out all along the line. On the other hand, as an inquisitive
neighbour, with two bullets in his puggery, pointed out, the English
were advancing very quickly, apparently with plenty of ammunition, and
were just at that moment fixing bayonets.

"Fixing bayonets!" exclaimed one and all; "then it is indeed necessary
that we should depart, so that, by the grace of God, we may be ready to
fight with renewed vigour on another day."

"That is well spoken, brethren," said Faiz Talab, and added with
considerable pathos, "but as for me, I shall remain and die at my post."

"Oh, say not so!" remarked one or two with polite, but not very
insistent interest.

"Nothing will persuade me to move," stubbornly reiterated the duffadar,
devoutly praying that no one else would insist on sharing his bed of
glory.

The English soldiers could now be heard talking plainly, and one,
speaking louder than the rest, said, "Cease firing, fix bayonets,
charge!" A loud _hurrah_! sounded, and then Faiz Talab found himself
alone on his side of the wall. That was all very well, but it was not of
much avail to have escaped so far, to end his days with eighteen inches
of a British bayonet through his best embroidered waistcoat. If it had
been any Indian regiment, or, better still, his own regiment, the
Guides, he could at once have secured