“Thanks, Carlton, my dear fellow, for this good service; I will not forget it, should it ever come to my turn to assist you in any way,” was all that could be said in the hurry and excitement of the conflict, for the tide of battle still rolled on.  A two gun sheet battery which had been committing great havoc on a column of infantry, was still throwing grape and canister with murderous effect.  These discharges had again and again swept through the little party.  The Seik gunners stood manfully to their guns until the Infantry came within fifty yards of them.  “Charge, men, charge,” shouted a very handsome officer of the Bombay Fusiliers, “they cannot stand the bayonets of the old Toughs.  Forward.”  The men sprang to the charge, and about one hundred of the Fusiliers to the very teeth of destruction, facing inevitable death with a coolness and fearlessness so characteristic of the British soldier.  But a body of the enemy’s horse suddenly appeared on the flank of the column of Infantry compelling them to form square to resist cavalry, and thus the brave little party were placed in a precarious position, being cut off from their supports.  A withering volley from the right and rear face of the square, followed by a rapid file-firing from the standing ranks, emptied quite a number of saddles and drove the troopers off.

An officer of Dragoons at the head of a party of his men rode at the Seik artillerest, who, with the exception of two, abandoned their guns and were endeavouring to escape by retreat, but they were all either cut down or captured.  The two who yet remained at their post waited for the Infantry to advance sufficiently close to make their fire tell with murderous effect, they then raided their lintstocks to fire, which must have proved horribly fatal to the Fusiliers, when Arthur Carlton, for it was he who led, appeared out of a cloud of dust and smoke close to the Battery.  Leveling his pistol, he shot down one of the Seik gunners, the lintstock of the other was within a few inches of the vent.  A second more and a frightful gap would have been made in the ranks of the advancing Fusiliers.

A shout that can only be given by a British throat, broke on the ear of the unfortunate artillerest, who hesitated for a moment.  It was his last, for a down stroke from Arthur’s flashing sabre fell upon his neck, separating the head from the body.  The Fusiliers dashed up, and the battery that dealt so much destruction among the Infantry was captured at last.

“Splendidly done, by Jupiter.  Those men are the Fusiliers of the Bombay column, are they not? and who is that cavalry officer?”