cated- to those in advance, and soon there are left only a few facing Kirke's men, who in their efforts to turn and get away are all cut down. But the victorious party are too broken up to pursue them far, and the enemy gets off with a loss of about thirty killed, and nearly as many horses captured, while of Kirke's horse eight are killed, including the advance-guard which was surprised, and sixteen wounded, some slightly. "A sharp thing while it lasted," said Kirke to his subaltern, wiping his long sword, "and might have been awkward if Subahdar Tej Singh had not been up to time. All's well that ends well; but this will be a lesson to you for all your life, young man, to take care how you march round a corner."
On another day, Kirke's regiment, in advance of a detached column moving across country, had made out the enemy occupying a line of villages in strength, and apparently intending to await an attack in the position. The officer commanding the force on coming up determined to make a flank movement to turn the position, and accordingly diverted the main column to the right, leaving Kirke's horse still in front to occupy the enemy's attention and cover the manœuvre. It was a clear bright morning of the cold season, and every object could be distinguished plainly in the still, clear air. In front were the low mud walls of a couple of villages, about half a mile apart from each other, and connected by a grove of well-grown trees. Between Kirke's men and this position, more than a mile distant, was a perfectly open plain, green with young corn, and unbroken by a single obstacle; the view was bounded on the right and left by the still unreaped crops of the previous wet season, as high as a horseman's head.
Kirke, with his orderly, and trumpeter behind him, advanced over the plain, reconnoitring, a little distance ahead of his regiment, which moved at a walk in column of squadrons at deploying distance. They had arrived pretty near to the line of villages, when fire was suddenly opened by a battery which had been concealed in the grove. The practice was bad, but Kirke ordered the regiment to retire; and it fell back, deployed in line so as to offer a smaller obstacle to the artillery-fire. On seeing this, a large body of the rebel cavalry emerged from the grove and formed up in front of it. The effect of this movement was to stop the fire from the guns, as the new-comers were in the way. They too deployed into line, which somewhat overlapped Kirke's force, and they moved forward as if intending to attack.
"Now look out," said Kirke jocosely to his orderly, in Hindustani; "we may get a chance."
Kirke continued to retire the regiment, the enemy's cavalry following. He even gave the word to trot. The rebel cavalry began to trot too, halting, however, when Kirke halted, and advancing whenever he retired.
In this way the two bodies of horse moved across the plain till they had got to be a full mile from the enemy's main position. The rebel cavalry meanwhile were getting nearer to Kirke's men, coming so close that their faces could be distinguished, and it looked as if, were a determined rush made, Kirke and his attendants would be cut down before the regiment could turn to help them. And the rebels, seeing that the retreat continued, began to grow excited. Shouts were raised, and swords waved. Some of them broke their ranks and began curveting about in front of their line, abusing the Feringhee runaways.
"It's about time now," said Kirke to himself, drawing his sword. Then he gave the order, and his trumpeter sounded the halt, and then immediately afterwards, as the regiment turned to its front, the canter; and putting himself at their head, he led the way towards the enemy.
The enemy's line continued to move on at a slow trot, and the interval between the two was rapidly diminishing; but a spectator looking merely at the British line might have thought he was viewing a parade exercise, so cool and leisurely did the advance appear. Kirke, in front of the centre on Kathleen, with drab felt turban-covered helmet and tunic and breeches, and high boots of untanned leather, riding with stirrups somewhat short, and a strong seat, erect, his long straight sword held upright, a sinister smile on his dark resolute face. In front of the right squadron comes Braddon, tall and heavy, under whom even the big steed he bestrides seems undersized, a powerful Australian recaptured during the campaign, which perhaps erst bore some portly civilian in more peaceful times. Before the centre squadron rides Egan, dapper and light, horse and man seeming as one. Yorke leads the left squadron, spare and little, and with an easy seat, riding Selim with a light hand, the little horse bounding along with the short springy action of the Arab, like a mad thing, as if panting for the fray.
When barely fifty paces remain, Kirke's
