He hardly knew whether, when he shouted, thirty, or twenty, or only ten shouted back.

All he knew was the enemy had not got the guns yet, and that was sufficient! A bugle! Five minutes more, and they might still laugh at the foe.

The bugle-note came from Atherton's men, who at the first sound of the gun had vaulted with a cheer to their horses and dashed towards the sound.
Many a brave comrade they left behind them, and many more dropped right and left as they cut their way forward.

Atherton, at their head, peered eagerly through the dust and smoke.

All he could see was a surging mass of human beings, in the midst of which it was impossible to discern anything but the flash of sabres, and at one spot a few British helmets among the turbans of the enemy.