Perchance it was the kindly act
of a friend, or perchance the rough chivalry of one who had watched his
heroic deeds.
It might be thought that a day so full of great deeds, of patient
courage, and unshaken loyalty could, as the sun sank slowly down,
produce no further spark from those exhausted, starving few. But it
remained for the evening hour to produce, perhaps, the brightest flash
of all.
It was apparent to all the besiegers, fighters or spectators, that one
by one all the sahibs had been killed or sore wounded, and that now none
remained to lead their men. At intervals during the day loud voices, as
of those in command, had shouted to the garrison of Guides: "We have no
quarrel with you. Deliver over the sahibs, and you shall all go free,
with what loot you can take. Be not foolish thus to fight for the cursed
Feringhis against your own kith and kin." But for answer all they got
was fierce showers of bullets, and fiercer still the staunch defenders
cried: "Dogs and sons of dogs, is this the way you treat your nation's
guests? To hell with you! we parley not with base-born churls!"
And now, again, when all the Englishmen were dead, the voices cried:
"Why fight any longer? Your sahibs are killed. Save yourselves, and
surrender, before you are all killed. We will give you quarter." Left in
command was Jemadar Jewand Singh, a splendid Sikh officer of the Guides'
cavalry, and not one whit behind his British officers in brave resolve.
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