Free Bayonets Along the Border by John Wilcox

forward almost onto our bayonets, so to speak. We have made some bayonet charges straight back at ’em in counter-attacks through the dark hours and that’s shaken ’em a bit. But they have still kept coming in the darkness and there has been a lot of hand-to-hand stuff.’
    He turned back to Fortescue. ‘I have deployed men to extend our defences out behind stone sangars along the ridge up to the fort on our right. The Pathans haven’t shown much interest in the fort, so I’ve taken some of the two hundred 24th Punjabis defending it to man our perimeters.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘We’ve taken a fair number of casualties through the night, including some of my officers, but now that you’re here I’m sure we can hold out. I doubt they will attack us during the heat of the day, but they are showing no sign of retreating.’
    Fonthill nodded. ‘Who are they? I mean, what tribe?’
    ‘They’re Swats, from directly north of here. We are just about in their territory.’ He gestured up the road. ‘But there are new fellers arriving in considerable numbers, as you can see. They’re the chaps dressed in brown coming from the hills to the left. They’re Bunerwals from the west. We’ve not had trouble with them since 1863, but obviously the word has got out that there is rich pickings to be had and the vultures are gathering for the feast.’
    He lowered his voice. ‘Trouble is … see that little mud-walled building beyond our defences on the road that forks to the north-east?’
    The three men nodded. ‘That was our
serai
, where we held our ammunition reserves. There was no time to evacuate it with the ammunition, so it was held by one of our
subedars
and a handful of sepoys for six hours during the night. Most of them were killed but the
subedar
and five men were just able to get away in the final onslaught. Wonderful chaps but they couldn’t bring the ammo with them. So I’m afraid we are running low. What have you brought, Fortescue?’
    ‘Enough to share with you, and the infantry will have reserves.’
    ‘Splendid. Now, the attacks have eased since you have come, so get some rest and perhaps we can talk about deploying your men. Are you happy, old chap, to put yourself under my command?’
    ‘Of course. It’s your show.’
    The two men walked away in deep conversation and Fonthill and Jenkins exchanged glances.
    ‘I’d say, two of the old school, bach sir,’ observed Jenkins.
    ‘Yes. Better than at Isandlewana. Just as brave but with more sense, it seems to me.’
    ‘Well, I do ’ope so. It all sounds a bit Rorke’s Drift to me, look you – though you were there and I wasn’t.’
    ‘No. Not as bad as the Drift. We’ve got the best part of a brigade here. There, we had only a company of half invalids, although the Zulus only had a handful of rifles, of course. This lot seem to have a veritable arsenal supplying them. Ah well, never mind.’ He tightened the bandage. ‘Now, how’s that? Too tight? It’s stopped bleeding, anyway. Do you want to see the doctor?’
    ‘Gawd no, thank you kindly. I am now once again a splendid example of a Welsh fightin’ machine. Though a bit tired, look you.’
    ‘Let’s see if we can find a bit of shade and curl up somewhere. I can hardly keep my eyes open.’
    They found a patch of shade behind one of the huts in the centre of the Crater, unravelled their
poshteens
and were soon blissfully asleep, in spite of the sporadic rattle of rifle fire from the low hills around them.
    They woke, some three hours later, to eat what was left of their sandwiches and drink water from their canteens. Some of the Guides were now manning the perimeter wall of the Crater and Simon could see others lining the stone sangars up the ridge to the right. Fonthill unslung his field glasses and focused them up the roads that wound down and round to the right and left after they split just down below the Crater. He frowned. The narrow gaps in the hills from both directions were