Long ere the morning’s dawn had broken, the bugle’s cheerful note had sounded the reveillÉ; from the headquarter tents the first blast arose, and its prolonged echoes rang through the mountains—now retiring far away among the dense woods—now returning and swelling upon the ear more near and more distinct than it had been at first. One by one the regiments took it up, and were followed by their drums and fifes, making the solitudes, which hitherto had known only the growl of the bear, the shrieking howl of the hyÆna, or the bellow of the wild bison, resound with the inspiring and martial sounds.

Soon all were prepared; the regiments fell into the various places allotted to them; the light artillery, to which were harnessed the strongest and most active bullocks—each piece having an elephant behind to urge it over the roughest or most inaccessible places—brought up the rear. Each man was as lightly equipped as possible, that he might not be distressed by climbing; and, as a last order, might be heard the words ‘Fix bayonets, with cartridge prime and load!’ pass from regiment to regiment, succeeded by the rattling of the muskets and jingling sound of ramrods, as each sent home the ball which he firmly hoped might in its discharge bear with it the life of one of his enemies.

Herbert and his young friend Balfour had long been ready, and waiting for the signal to advance at the head of the column; their men were impatient, and their blood was chilled with the long detention which the preparation of so large a body necessarily occasioned. They were standing around a fire which one of the men had kindled with some dry leaves and sticks gathered from the adjacent thickets. All about them was obscure; for the thick vapour which had wreathed itself about the mountain-tops early in the night, had now descended, and occupied the whole of the narrow valleys in dense volumes, so that nothing could be seen beyond their immediate vicinity; they could only hear the bugle-sounds, as they arose one by one, and the measured tramp of many feet as the corps moved to take up their various positions.

‘This is very tiresome, Herbert,’ said Balfour; ‘I wish we were off. I think we could do much under cover of this darkness; we might surprise the fellows above, and be at the top before they knew what we were about.’

‘I rather think we shall wait for daylight; but what is your opinion, Mr. Wheeler?’ he said to the young man who had just joined them.

‘I think with you. The general most likely has heard that this fog will rise with the daylight, and screen us half way up, perhaps better than the night; but here is Captain Dalton, who looks as if he had orders for the advanced guard.’

‘Where is your captain?’ they heard him ask of one of the sergeants; ‘I have orders for him.’

‘Yonder, sir,’ replied the man, whose concluding words were unheeded in the cry of ‘Here, here, by the fire!’ which arose from the trio around it.

‘Well, Philip, are we to move on? I suppose there will be no signal?’ asked Herbert, as Dalton rode up.

‘Not yet, not yet; we are to wait till daylight,’ returned the other; ‘the fellows who came in last night have offered to lead up two detachments, so that the whole force can advance and the columns support each other.’

‘That is well, so far; but we are still to have the main path, I hope.’

‘Oh yes, and the native company will lead the other—yours perhaps, Mr. Wheeler.’

‘Yes, mine; and I am glad to hear it. Now, Captain Compton, we have a fair chance; natives against Englishmen in fair emulation.’

‘Ah, here are the fellows! Will you take charge of one, Herbert? and you, Mr. Wheeler, of the other? If either of you find they have led you wrong, you are at liberty to shoot them upon the spot. Will you explain that fully to them, if you please?—though indeed they ought to know it pretty well already. And now good-bye, boys, and good success to ye all! the —th never yet yielded, and you have the post of honour to-day—so remember!’

These few words were received with a hearty shout by the sections around, and Dalton departed to deliver the other commands with which he was charged.

The short time which elapsed before the signal for advance, was passed by Herbert and his companions in examination of the men who were to lead them.

With very different feelings had these men sought the English camp. The one a Nair, a Hindoo of high birth, forcibly converted to the religion of Mahomedanism, burned for an opportunity of revenge. The other, a Mahomedan—a fellow in whose heart grew and flourished every base passion, more particularly that of gain, which had led him to proffer his services to the English commander for gold.

They had both been promised reward, which, while the one indignantly scorned, the other bargained for with the rapacity of his nature; the one was willing to hazard his life for his revenge, the other for the gold which had been promised. How different was to be the fate of the two!

Now in the presence of the two young English leaders, both were confronted and examined. The young Nair, a fellow of high and haughty bearing, ill brooked the searching and suspicious questions of the English officer; but he gave, nevertheless, clear and distinct information about the road, free from every taint of suspicion.

‘What is to be thy reward?’ asked Wheeler at last.

‘My revenge for the insult upon my faith. I was a Nair once, yet am now a vile Mussulman. I need say no more, and it concerns thee not.’

‘Thou art haughty enough, methinks,’ returned his questioner.

‘As thyself,’ was his only reply.

‘By Jove, he is a fine fellow!’ said Herbert, who guessed at the conversation; ‘let me have him with me.’

‘As you will. Now let us see what account the other can give of himself. What is to be thy reward, good fellow?’

‘I was promised two hundred rupees for this service. My lord will surely see his slave gets the money?’

‘That depends upon thy conduct: if thou art false, I swear to thee I will shoot thee like a dog. I like not thy face.’

‘Your slave’s life is in your hands—may I be your sacrifice this moment—I will lead you safely; ask him yonder whether I will or no.’

‘I cannot answer for him,’ said the Nair haughtily; ‘he guides you for gain: give me the post of danger. I know he is a coward at heart; let him take the back way, he will show it for fear of his life: I will fight for my revenge.’

‘So be it then, Captain Compton; as yours is the main column, take you the best man. I leave you my orderly, who speaks enough English to interpret a little between you and your guide. And now to our posts, for the day dawns, I suspect.’

‘How?’

‘Did you not feel a breath of wind? That tells us that the new day has awakened; you will soon hear the bugle.’

Nor did they wait long. The long-expected sound arose from the centre of the force; it was answered by the others in front and rear; and the column, like a huge snake, began its steep and tortuous ascent in perfect silence.

Herbert had received orders not to hurry, and with some difficulty restrained the ardour of his men, and the impatience of his young friend, who, with himself, was with the leading section of the advance. Long they climbed up the narrow and rugged pass, which, though a rough one, possessed the form of a road, and as yet no obstacle had been met with. The mist still hung upon the mountain; but the gentle wind which had arisen was swaying it to and fro, causing it to wheel in eddies about them; and the now increasing light showed them the track, and gave them glimpses of the deep and precipitous ravines, upon the very edges of which they were proceeding,—giddy depths, into which the eye strove to penetrate, but filled with the whirling mists which, though in motion, had not yet arisen.

For nearly an hour did they proceed thus slowly, in order that the rear corps might fully support them; and they could hear the steps of the column on their right marching parallel with themselves at no great distance among the forest trees. At length the head of the column approached a rock, which formed an acute angle with the road. Motioning with his hand for them to advance slowly, the young Nair drew his sword and ran lightly on. They saw him crouch down and disappear.

‘He will betray us!’ cried Balfour; ‘on—after him!’ And he would have obeyed the impulse of his ardour but for his captain.

‘Be still an instant, I will answer for his fidelity,’ exclaimed Herbert. He had hardly spoken, ere the young man was seen again, waving his sword.

‘Now, my lads, follow me!’ cried Herbert, dashing forward. ‘Promotion to the first who enters the defences!’

Ere the enemy could hear the cheer which followed these words, their assailants were upon them. Turning the angle, they beheld a wall of strong masonry, with loop-holes for musketry, one side of which was built against a precipitous rock—the other open. One or two matchlocks were discharged ineffectually from the rampart, but this was no check to them: hurrying on, they crowded through the side opening, where they were met by a few determined fellows, who opposed them for an instant. Vain endeavour! The deadly bayonet was doing its work; and a few slight sword-cuts only served to inflame those who received them to more deadly revenge. The Nair fought nobly. Cheered on by the soldiers, who took delight in his prowess, he threw himself headlong upon several of the defenders of the place in succession; and, though he too was slightly wounded, yet his deeply-planted sword-cuts told the strength of arm which inflicted them, and the deep hate and revenge which urged him on.

Now, indeed, ensued a scene of excitement and spirited exertion difficult to describe. The few musket-shots which had been fired, proved to those in the rear that the work had begun in earnest, and every one now strove to be the first to mingle in it. The column pressed on, disregarding order and formation, which indeed was little necessary, but which was preserved by the officers as far as possible. The gallant Macleod was soon with the leading sections, animating the men by his gestures and his cheers. They needed not this, however, for Herbert was there, and young Balfour, who emulated his example; and all hurried after the fugitives, from ascent to ascent, with various effect. Now one of their number would fall by a shot—now one of the Europeans, as the retreating enemy turned and fired. Now a wreath of smoke would burst from among the bushes and crags above them, and the bullets would sing harmlessly over their heads, or rattle among the stones around them:—again this would be answered by the steady fire of a section, which was given ere the men rushed forward with the more sure and deadly bayonet.

Herbert and his men, guided by the Nair, still fought on in the front, toiling up many a steep ascent: one by one the works which guarded them were carried; and though in many cases obstinately disputed for a few moments, yet eventually abandoned—their defenders, panic-stricken, hurried after the horde of fugitives which now pressed up the pass before them.

At length a steeper acclivity appeared in view, the sides of which were lined with a more numerous body of men than had hitherto been seen; and the sun, which now broke over the mountain’s brow for the first time, glanced from their steel spears and bright musket-barrels.

‘Let us take breath for a moment,’ cried Macleod, ‘and do all of ye load; there will be tough work yonder—the last, if I mistake not, of this affair. The enemy has mustered his strength, and awaits our coming: we are within shot, yet they do not fire. You have behaved nobly, Captain Herbert, and your guide is a gallant fellow. Mr. Balfour too seems to have had his share, as appears by his sword. But come, we are enough together now, and the rest are pressing on us. Follow me, gentlemen, for the honour of Scotland!’

Waving his sword above his head, which flashed brightly in the sunlight, he dashed on, followed by the Nair and the others, upon whom the momentary rest had had a good effect. Their aim was more deadly, their footsteps firmer and more rapid.

Urged on by his impetuosity, the gallant Colonel did not heed the motions of the Nair, who, fatigued by his exertions, vainly strove to keep pace with the commander. He hurried on, followed by nearly the whole of Herbert’s company and the young Balfour, up the broad ascent which invited their progress, but which it was apparent, from the position of the defenders, would be hotly contested. It was in vain that the Nair stormed, nay raved, in his own tongue: who heeded him? or if they did, who understood him?

‘There is no road, there is no road there!’ he cried. ‘Ah fools, ye will be lost if ye persevere! Follow me! I will lead ye—I know the way!’

Fortunately at that moment Herbert happened to cast his eyes behind him. He had missed the young Nair with the advance, and had thought he was killed: he now saw his gesticulations, and that the orderly was beside him. A sudden thought flashed upon him that there was no road, from the confidence with which the attacking party was about to be received; and hurrying back to them, he eagerly demanded the cause of his cries.

‘No road there!’ ‘no road!’ ‘he know the road!’ ‘he show the road!’ was the answer he got through the orderly. But to turn any portion of his men, who heard nothing and saw nothing but the fierce contest which had begun only a few paces above them, was a matter of no small difficulty: a steady sergeant or two of a different regiment and some of his own men at last saw his intentions; and, with their aid, he found himself at the head of a small body, which was being increased every instant.

The Nair surveyed them half doubtfully. ‘They will be enough!’ he said in his own tongue, and dashed down a narrow path which led from the main road.

Following this in breathless haste for a few moments, and in fearful anxiety lest he should be betrayed, Herbert called to the men to keep together; and as they began again to ascend, he saw the nature of the Nair’s movement. The wall which was being attacked by the main body, was built on one side up to a steep precipice, the edge of a fearful chasm; on the other to a large and high rock of great extent, which flanked the wall and defied assault from the front, but could evidently be turned by the path by which they were now proceeding. How his heart bounded with joy therefore, when, after a few moments of hard climbing, he found himself, with a greater number of men than he had expected, on the top of the rock within the enemy’s position!

Pausing for an instant to take breath, he saw the desperate but unavailing struggle which was going on below him, in the vain attempts being made by the troops to scale the wall. What could they do against a high wall, with a precipitous rock on either hand, and a murderous fire in front? many had fallen, and others fell as he looked on. He could bear it no longer; he had scarcely fifty men with him,—in the redoubt were hundreds. ‘Give them one steady volley, boys!’ he cried to his men. ‘Wait for the word—Fire!—Now on them with the steel!’

Secure in their position, the enemy little expected this discharge, by which some dozen of their number fell; and as they cast a hurried glance up to the rock, it was plain by their great consternation how admirably had the surprise been effected. Numbers in an instant threw away their arms and betook themselves to flight, while others, irresolute, hesitated. The British below soon saw their comrades above, and saluted them with a hearty cheer, while they redoubled their efforts to get over the wall; in this there was a sally-port; and, as the small party dashed down into the enclosure amidst the confusion and hand-to-hand conflict which ensued, one of them contrived to open it. Eagerly the assailants rushed in, and few of those who remained asked or received quarter.

Herbert’s eye was fascinated, however, by the Nair, his guide, who from the first descent from the rock had singled out one of the defenders of the redoubt, evidently a man of some rank. He saw him rush upon him waving his reddened sword;—he saw the other defend himself gallantly against the attack;—even the soldiers paused to see the issue of the contest. The Nair was not fresh, but he was reckless, and pressed his opponent so hard that he retired, though slowly, along the rampart. Their shields showed where many a desperate cut was caught, and both were bleeding from slight wounds. By degrees they approached the platform of the precipice, beyond which was only a blue depth, an abyss which made the brain giddy to look on. Ere they were aware of it, the combatants, urging their utmost fury, and apparently not heeding their situation, approached the edge, exchanging cuts with redoubled violence; and now one, now the other, reeled under the blows.

On a sudden Herbert saw—and as he saw it he sprang forward, with many others, to prevent the consequences they feared—the chief, who had his back to the edge, turn round and look at his position. The next instant his sword and shield were thrown away, he had drawn a dagger from his girdle and rushed upon the Nair his adversary. A desperate struggle ensued; they saw the fatal use made of the knife; but still the Nair, dropping his sword, struggled fiercely on. As they approached the edge the suspense became fearful, for no one dared venture near the combatants; in another instant they tottered on the brink, still struggling;—another—and a portion of the earth gave way under their feet, and they fell! They saw for an instant a hand grasp a twig which projected,—that disappeared, and they were gone for ever! Herbert and many others rushed to the spot, and, shading their eyes, looked over the precipice; they saw them descending, bounding from every jutting pinnacle of rock, till their aching sight could follow them no longer.

‘It was a deadly hate which must have prompted that man’s exertions this day,’ said a voice beside him, as Herbert turned away sickened from the spot—it was Philip Dalton.

‘May that Being into whose presence he has gone be merciful to him!’ said Herbert, ‘for he has fought well and bravely to-day, and guided us faithfully; without his aid, who could have discovered the narrow path by which I was enabled to turn this position?’

‘You, Herbert? I thought it must be you, when I heard how it had been done. I envy you, while I admire your courage; you have saved the army; we should have lost many men at that wall but for your well-timed diversion.’

‘Then you saw it?’

‘I did; I was with the General, down there, when the welcome red coats appeared on the rock yonder; he hailed your appearance like that of an angel deliverer, and exclaimed that Heaven had sent you.’

‘Not Heaven, Philip, but the poor fellow who lies in yonder chasm. I would to Heaven he had lived!’

‘Do not think of him, Herbert, but as one who has fought nobly and died bravely—an honourable end at any time; but have you seen Charles Balfour?’

‘He was with me, surely,’ said Herbert; ‘but no, now that I remember, I think he went on with the Colonel and the rest. Good God! he must have been in all that hot work: you saw nothing of him as you passed the sally-port?’

‘No, but let us go and look; the bugles are sounding a halt, and you have done enough to-day; so trouble yourself no further; we have gained the ascent, and the enemy is flying in all directions.’

As they spoke, they passed through the sally-port into the open space beyond, where many a poor fellow lay writhing in his death-agony, vainly crying for water, which was not immediately to be found. Many men of Herbert’s own company, faces familiar to him from long companionship, lay now blue and cold in death, their glazed and open eyes turned upwards to the bright sun, which to them shone no longer. His favourite sergeant in particular attracted his notice, who was vainly endeavouring to raise himself up to breathe, on account of the blood which nearly choked him.

‘I am sorry to see this, Sadler,’ said Herbert kindly, as he seated him upright.

‘Do not think of me, sir,’ said the poor fellow; ‘Mr. Balfour is badly hurt. I was with him till I received the shot, but they have taken him yonder behind the rock.’

‘Then I must leave you, and will send some one to you;’ and Herbert and Dalton hurried on.

Behind the rock, almost on the brink of the precipice, and below the wall, there was a shady place, formed by the rock itself and by the spreading branches of a Peepul-tree which rustled gently over it. This served for a kind of hospital; and the surgeons of the force, as one by one they came up, lent their aid to dress the wounds of such as offered themselves.

There, supported by two men of his company, and reclining upon the ground with such props as could be hastily arranged around him, lay Charles Balfour—his fair and handsome features disfigured by a gaping wound in his cheek, and wearing the ghastly colour and pinched expression which is ever attendant upon mortal gun-shot wounds. Both saw at once that there was no hope; but he was still alive, and, as he heard footsteps approaching, his dim and already glazed eye turned to meet the sound, and a faint smile passed over his countenance, evidently of recognition of his companions. They knelt down by him gently, and each took the hand he offered.

‘I thought,’—he said with much difficulty and very faintly,—‘I thought I should have died without seeing you; and I am thankful, so thankful that you have come! Now, I go in peace. A few moments more, and I shall see you and this bright earth and sky no more. You will write, Herbert, to—to—’ He could not say—mother.

‘I will, I will do all you say, dear Charles; now do not speak—it hurts you.’

‘No, it does not pain me; but I am dying, Herbert, and all is fast becoming dim and cold. It is pleasant to talk to you while life lasts. You will tell her that I died fighting like a man—that no one passed me in the struggle, not even yourself.’

Herbert could not answer, but he pressed his hand warmly.

‘Thank you, thank you. Now pray for me!—both of you; I will pray too myself.’

Reverently they removed their caps from their brows, and, as they knelt by him, offered up in fervency prayers, unstudied perhaps and even incoherent, but gushing fresh from the purest springs of their hearts, and with the wide and glorious scene which was spread out before them for their temple. As they still prayed in silence, each felt a tremulous shiver of the hand they held in theirs; they looked upon the sufferer: a slight convulsion passed across his face—it was not repeated—he was dead!

Both were brave soldiers; both had borne honourable parts in that day’s fight; yet now, as their eyes met, overcome by their emotions, both wept. Herbert passionately; for his mind had been worked up to a pitch of excitement which, when it found vent at all, was not to be repressed. But after awhile he arose, and found Dalton looking out over the magnificent prospect; the tears were glistening in his eyes it was true, but there was an expression of hope upon his manly features, which showed that he thought Charles’s change had been for the better.

They stood almost upon the verge of the precipice; far, far below them was a giddy depth, the sides of which were clothed with wood, and were blue from extreme distance. Mountains of every strange and varied form, whose naked tops displayed bright hues of colour, rose in their precipices out of eternal forests, and formed combinations of beautiful forms not to be expressed by words—now gracefully sweeping down into endless successions of valleys, now presenting a bold and rugged outline, or a flat top with perpendicular sides of two or three thousand feet, which descended into some gloomy depth, where a streamlet might be seen chafing in its headlong course, though its roar was not even heard. There were many scathed and shattered peaks, the remains of former convulsions, which, rearing themselves above, and surrounded by mist, looked like a craggy island in a sea; and again beyond, the vapours had arisen in parts and floated gracefully along upon the mountain side, disclosing glimpses of blue and indistinct distance to which the mind could hardly penetrate—a sea of mountains of all forms, of all hues, blended together in one majestic whole, and glowing under the fervent light of the brilliant sun; and they looked forth over this with heart softened from the pride of conquest, more fitted to behold it, to drink in its exquisite beauty, from the scene they had just witnessed, than if in the exultation of victory they had gazed upon it from the rock above.

‘Methinks it would take from the bitterness of death,’ said Herbert, ‘to part from life amidst such scenery, which of itself creates an involuntary wish to rise above the earth, to behold and commune with the Author and Creator of it; and if the taste of this, which we are permitted here, be so exquisite, what will be the fulness of reality? Poor Charles! his fate was early and unlooked for; yet with his pure spirit, in the hour of conquest, and here, without pain too, we may well think there was bitterness in his death.’

‘There is never bitterness in death, if we look at it steadily, Herbert, and consider it as a change to an existence far more glorious. Charles has passed away from us,—the first of our little company, in this strange and gorgeous land,—perhaps not the last; but come, we may be wanted.’

And saying this, they turned from the spot, giving a few necessary orders for the care of the body of their friend; and with some cheering words to the poor wounded fellows, who were brought in every moment, they passed on to the other duties which required their presence.