"Hogree, pogree, wongree-fum (praise to Allah and the forty-nine
Imaums!)" shouted out the ferocious Loll Mahommed when he saw the
failure of my shot. "Onward, sons of the Prophet! the infidel has no
more ammunition. A hundred thousand lakhs of rupees to the man who
brings me Gahagan's head!"
His men set up a shout, and rushed forward--he, to do him justice, was
at the very head, urging on his own palanquin-bearers, and poking them
with the tip of his scimitar. They came panting up the hill: I was
black with rage, but it was the cold, concentrated rage of despair.
"Macgillicuddy," said I, calling that faithful officer, "you know where
the barrels of powder are?" He did. "You know the use to make of them?"
He did. He grasped my hand. "Goliah," said he, "farewell! I swear that
the fort shall be in atoms, as soon as yonder unbelievers have carried
it. Oh, my poor mother!" added the gallant youth, as sighing, yet
fearless, he retired to his post.
I gave one thought to my blessed, my beautiful Belinda, and then,
stepping into the front, took down one of the swivels;--a shower of
matchlock balls came whizzing round my head. I did not heed them.
I took the swivel, and aimed coolly. Loll Mahommed, his palanquin, and
his men, were now not above two hundred yards from the fort.
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