hing forward at the charge.
It was a splendid sight, as emerging from the heavy smoke cloud, the
long line of bayonets glittering in the sun, with one mighty shout for
vengeance, the English force buried itself in the heavy opposing masses
of the murderers of Cawnpore.

"Forward--remember Cawnpore," shouted Hughes, as at the head of his men
he dashed on, leaving a long line of dead and dying in his rear.

Utterly astonished at the attack, the mutineers of the Gwalior
Contingent gave way, then came the ringing cheer of the 8th Regiment, as
the men dashed onward with the bayonet, and the enemy fairly doubled up,
turned and fled.

At this moment, and just when the first runaways carried dismay into the
ranks of the still resolute right wing, the Highland scream was heard as
the little army moved forward, and emerging from the smoke, hurled
itself in one glittering line on the mutineers, who broke at once.

"General Mansfield," shouted Sir Colin, as he rode on through the
enemy's camp, among whose white tents the Highlanders and the men of the
32nd Regiment were bayoneting right and left.

"General Mansfield, take Greathead's brigade, and storm the enemy's left
at Subadar's Camp."

"Colonel Hughes, let your bugles sound the recall, and fall into line at
once," cried General Mansfield, as he rode up in obedience to the order.

The men of different regiments were now fairly mixed, and a motley corps
was hastily got together. There were the uniforms of the 23rd, 64th,
the 90th Regiments, with the 150th, and some dismounted troopers of the
9th Lancers.

"You will take the command, Colonel Hughes," said General Mansfield, as
they moved hastily forward against the enemy's left, "one volley only,
and then the bayonet. Steady men, you will have enough to do soon."
The enemy's fire now reached them, and man after man dropped as the line
moved forward. A withering volley was poured in, and then came the
irresistible charge of the British soldier, and the next moment the
150th were among the tents, and the whole Gwalior Contingent in full
flight.

Gun after gun was spiked; the English Artillery playing upon the masses
of retreating and disorganised mutineers. Grape and canister being
poured into their broken masses at two hundred paces distant, while the
Lancers and Dragoons rode them down, sabring right and left.

Sir Colin himself led the pursuit, and for fourteen miles along the
banks of the river the carnage contin