Sir Louis Cavignari, soldier when diplomacy ceased, was the first to seize a rifle, and, lying prone on the flat exposed roof, with quick precision, one after the other, shot dead four leaders of the assault.  But raked as he was from the higher positions, a splintered bullet hit him in the forehead, and he had to be taken below to have his wound dressed.  Yet undaunted, when the first shock passed, he must have risen again, for an eye-witness from a neighbouring house declares he saw four sahibs charge out at the head of their men, and one of these must have been Cavignari.  And that was the last of the fight for that brave soul, for the only further glimpse was that of a hurrying soldier, who saw him laid on a bed, with his feet drawn up, his hand to his head, and the doctor at his side.

This was all early in the day, perhaps before ten o’clock, and from this time forth the whole burden of defence lay on a young subaltern of the Guides, Walter Hamilton.  Yet he was not alone, for sharing his glorious toil, and rising to the heights of heroism, was Jenkyns, a man of peace, bred not to war or the sword, and Kelly, physician and healer, but no fighting man.

And now in addition to the heavy fire from the house-tops the mutineers bored loop-holes through the compound walls, and through these, themselves protected, poured a murderous fire into the devoted building.  Covered by this fire, escalading ladders were run forward at a dead angle, and in a moment the roof was reached, and the small remnant of Guides, six or seven in all, still manning the little parapet were driven below.  After them, gallantly enough, the besiegers rushed down the steps; but there they met their fate, for, turning fiercely on them, the Guides killed many, and drove the survivors back to the roof.  It was at this time that the first signs of fire were noticed, whether intentionally ignited by the storming party, or accidental, is not clear, though later conflagrations were undoubtedly intentional.

But though the fight had now waxed stronger and stronger for five hours, and though nearly one-half of the garrison were killed or wounded, though the British Envoy lay dead or dying, no thought of surrender occurred to the stout hearts within.  Only, for the third time that morning, was an attempt made by letter to remind the Amir of his sacred obligations as a host and sovereign of a friendly Power.  On this occasion the bearer selected was Shahzada Taimus, a Prince of the Sadozai dynasty, but a plain trooper in the ranks of the Guides’ cavalry.  The two preceding letters had been sent, one by the hand of an old pensioner of the Guides, slipped through an unguarded postern, but not seen again and supposed to be killed; and the second by a Hindu, who was indeed killed before the eyes of the garrison in his brave attempt to get through.