One sepoy was stabbed to the heart by a fanatic, who rushed at his bayonet and, pushing himself along, fell dead as he struck his fatal blow.
Things were looking very bad.

Scarce one had escaped without a wound, and the sergeant had dropped, bleeding profusely; when, to their delight, a volley burst from within fifty yards of them and, in an instant, their assailants turned and bolted.
After the sergeant had dropped, Lisle had somehow taken his place, cheering the men on and lending his aid to those most severely pressed.

Once or twice he managed, after despatching an assailant, to slip a couple of cartridges into his rifle, and so added to the execution.

Indeed, it was in no small account due to his exertions, after the sergeant fell, that the resistance was maintained.
A minute later, the active little Ghoorkhas rushed forward; and those who first arrived passed the little knot of defenders with a cheer, and set off in pursuit of the enemy.

Presently, however, one of their officers came up.
"You have had a stiff fight, lads," he said, "and by the look of the ground round about, you must have defended yourselves gallantly; for there are a dozen dead bodies lying near you, and I can see many more, a little way up the hill.