I never saw in my life a nobler figure than the leader of the
troop--mounted on a splendid black Arab: he was as tall, very nearly, as
myself; he wore a steel cap and a shirt of mail, and carried a beautiful
French carbine, which had already done execution upon two of my men. I
saw that our only chance of safety lay in the destruction of this man.
I shouted to him in a voice of thunder (in the Hindustanee tongue of
course), "Stop, dog, if you dare, and encounter a man!"
In reply his lance came whirling in the air over my head, and mortally
transfixed poor Foggarty of ours, who was behind me. Grinding my teeth
and swearing horribly, I drew that scimitar which never yet failed its
blow,* and rushed at the Indian. He came down at full gallop, his own
sword making ten thousand gleaming circles in the air, shrieking his cry
of battle.
* In my affair with Macgillicuddy, I was fool enough to go
out with small-swords--miserable weapons only fit for
tailors.--G. O'G. G.
The contest did not last an instant. With my first blow I cut off his
sword-arm at the wrist; my second I levelled at his head. I said that
he wore a steel cap, with a gilt iron spike of six inches, and a hood of
chain mail. I rose in my stirrups and delivered "ST. GEORGE;" my sword
caught the spike exactly on the point, split it sheer in two, cut
crashing through the steel cap and hood, and was only stopped by a ruby
which he wore in his back-plate.
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