the others to take up the movement." In a few moments Brooklyn was near the head of the regiment, but could not find the Colonel, for the very good reason that the latter was engaged in single combat with one of the Ghoorchurras who, infuriated with bhang, had charged straight at him.

"Sound the retreat!" shouted the aide-de-camp to Wat Jones, who had followed him; the 'Prodder' trumpeter, nothing loth to have it to say that he had blown for the 'Gallopers' to retire, sounded the call at once. For a second no one heeded it; Jones blew it again with all his power. "Threes about!" shouted the armourer-sergeant, who thought he had some idea of what was meant. The regiment went about-still at the walk; the Ghoorchurras raised a loud yell of derision, and came rushing on like fiends, while the enemy's infantry and artillery poured in murderous volleys. In a few seconds the 'walk' increased to a trot; presently some of the horses broke into a canter-the canter became a gallop-the whole regiment, as if one man, were seized with panic-they broke, with a loud cry of rage and terror, and in another second the 'Gallopers' were flying from their foes in the wildest confusion as fast as horse could lay legs to ground! Blunt had heard the disastrous trumpet-call while trying to hasten the native cavalry, had turned at once to gallop up and

declare it could not have been meant, in his route had freed the Colonel by cutting down his opponent, and when the two arrived at the fast retreating ranks of their regiment, they luckily met the trumpet-major, who was at once ordered to sound the 'halt!' But it was of no avail; the regiment was beyond power of recall now, the horses of the Colonel, Blunt, and the trumpeter, became infected with the panic and beyond all control, and the three found themselves, most involuntarily, taking part in the flight.

In the meantime young Brooklyn and Wat Jones were almost surrounded by the fierce pursuing fanatics; they made their way towards the Brigadier (who had already received a tulwar cut on the head), but before they could reach him, they were both cut down and despatched on the spot-their old chief escaping with the aid of some of his native soldiers. Some of the 'Prodders,' and most of the native cavalry, joined in the headlong flight of the 'Gallopers,' though it is only fair to state, that some squadrons of the former turned manfully, and stayed in a slight degree the fierce pursuit of the Sikhs. Young Irewell and Mick Redmond were swept away in the general sauve qui peut, and found themselves tearing across their broken ground-their horses quite beyond all control.

But the flight of the 'Gallopers' grew faster and

faster; the horses, and men too, seemed wild with terror; they dashed through the infantry, carrying all before them; they crashed in amongst the two troops of artillery, separating the horses from the guns, and the gunners from both; nearly all the latter, with their officers, were cut down by the Ghoorchurras in full chase of the English dragoons, and six of the guns were captured. But not for that did the Gallopers' pull up— on they went-now far out of the battle-but still going at wild speed, till they rode in amongst the wounded, lying in their dhoolies,* many of whom were trampled to death; and the whole regiment went racing like madmen right through the hospital tents. Yet still they never drew rein! At last the horses became quite exhausted, and, incapable of further exertion, they stopped of their own accord, but not until incalculable mischief had been done, not alone to the general fortune of the day, but also to their own immediate comrades of the artillery as well as to the wretched wounded who had been killed in the miserable panic. The 'Gallopers' did not appear in action again that day-for them the disastrous battle of Chillianwallah was at an end!

By dusk the Sikhs were supposed to have been

* Field-litters, borne by natives.

beaten along their whole line, and the fighting was suspended. But there was no pursuit; on the contrary, the English had to retire for a mile or two, leaving all their wounded and dying on the field to be subsequently murdered by the relentless enemy, while nearly all the Sikh guns taken during the battle were recaptured and carried off in triumph within the entrenchments, whence a royal salute was fired in honour of Shere Sing's victory. We also claim it as a victory, inscribe it on our roll of conquest, and emblazon it on our regimental colours; but, as Captain Blunt aptly remarked when telling the tale of the Disastrous Trumpet-Call, “If it was a victory at all, it was a most imperfect one. I should be inclined to term it, rather, a drawn battle, and particularly hard drawn against ourselves. We 'Gallopers' ran away like real steeple-chasers and perhaps if we hadn't boasted so much beforehand, we should have been less laughed at than we were. For years we were the laughing-stock of the British army, and, say I, 'serve us right too!""

A LITTLE GAME.

MR.

CHAPTER I.

A GOOD STROKE OF BUSINESS.

R. JABEZ CLICKER sat in his comfortable offices, Rampart Row, Bombay, meditating deeply on men and things. It was the middle of the hot season, so Mr. Clicker had flung off his coat, opened his waistcoat, removed his shirt collar and cumbrous necktie, and sat under the punkah, tilting himself gently to and fro in an American rocking-chair, while he smoked a Manilla cheroot and sipped at some iced brandy and soda-water. There was but little furniture in the large and lofty room : an office-table of considerable dimensions, in front of which Mr. Clicker was sitting, littered with papers and writing materials; a smaller table, between the two large open and greenshaded windows, holding a few mercantile books of reference; two or three chairs scattered here and there; and a washing-stand in one corner, completed the equipment. A side-door led into a sort of passage common to other offices in the same building; while one behind the large table opened into a smaller