approaching on the road from the plain, now abandoned their small
cannon and joined the retreat. Bappoo could only follow them with
tears in his eyes. It did not matter that the battle was not lost,
that the Inner Fort still stood and was likely to stand through all
eternity, he had been humiliated by the swiftness of the defeat.
“Hurry, sahib,” one of his aides said.
“The British aren’t following,” Bappoo said tiredly, ‘not yet.”
“Those British,” the aide said, and pointed west to where the road from
the plain climbed to the ravine. And there, at the bend where the road
disappeared about the flank of the steep slope, was a company of
redcoats. They wore kilts, and Bappoo remembered them from
Argaum. If those men hurried, they might cut off Bappoo’s retreat and
so he quickened his pace.
It was not till he reached the bottom of the ravine that he realized
something was wrong. The leading groups of his men had reached the
Inner Fort, but instead of streaming into the gate they were milling
about on the slope beneath.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“The gates are shut, sahib,” his aide said in wonderment.
“They’ll open any minute,” Bappoo said, and turned as a musket bullet
whistled down from the slope behind him. The British who had captured
the Outer Fort had at last advanced to the edge of the ravine and
beneath them they saw the mass of retreating enemy, so they began to
fire down.
“Hurry!” Bappoo shouted, and his men pushed on up the hill, but still
the gates did not open.
The British fire became heavier. Redcoats were lining the hilltop now
and pouring musket fire into the ravine. Bullets ricocheted from the
stone sides and flicked down into the press of men. Panic began to
infect them, and Bappoo shouted at them to be calm and return the fire,
while he pushed through the throng to discover why the Inner Fort’s
gates were closed.
“Dodd!” he shouted as he came close.
“Dodd!”
Colonel Dodd’s face appeared above the rampart. He looked quite calm,
though he said nothing.
“Open the gate!” Bappoo shouted angrily.
Dodd’s response was to raise the rifle to his shoulder.
Bappoo stared up into the muzzle. He knew he should run or twist away,
but the horror of fate kept him rooted to the path.
“Dodd?” he said in puzzlement, and then the rifle was blotted out by
the smoke of its discharge.
The bullet struck Bappoo on the breastbone, shattering it and driving
scraps of bone deep into his heart. The Prince took two shuddering
breaths and then was dead.
His men gave a great wail as the news of their Prince’s death spread,
and then, unable to endure the plunging fire from the Outer Fort, and
denied entrance to the Inner, they fled west towards the road which
dropped to the plain.
But the road was blocked. The Highlanders of the 78th were nearing its
summit and they now saw a great panicked mass surging towards them.
The Scotsmen had endured the artillery fire of the Outer Fort during
their long climb, but now those guns had been abandoned. To their
right the cliffs soared up to the Inner Fort, while to their left was a
precipice above a dizzying gorge.
There was only room for twelve men to stand abreast on the road, but
Colonel Chalmers, who led the 78th, knew that was space enough. He
formed his leading half-company into three ranks with the front row
kneeling.
“You’ll fire by ranks,” he said quietly.
The panicked defenders ran towards the kilted Highlanders, who waited
until every shot could kill.
“Front rank, fire!” Chalmers said.
The muskets started, and one by one the three ranks fired, and the
steady fusillade tore into the approaching fugitives. Some tried to
turn and retreat, but the press behind was too great, and still the
relentless fire ripped into them, while behind them redcoats came down
from the Outer Fort to attack their rear.
The first men jumped off the cliff, and their terrible screams faded as
they plunged down to the rocks far beneath. The road was thick with