breast-on into the crowd, and the long dog-whip with which he had armed himself was never still.
"They know we haven't enough Police to hold 'em," he cried as he passed me, mopping a cut on his face. "They know we haven't! Aren't any of the men from the Club coming down to help? Get on, you sons of burnt fathers!" The dog-whip cracked across the writhing backs, and the constables smote afresh with baton and gun-butt. With these passed the lights and the shouting, and Wali Dad began to swear under his breath. From Fort Amara shot up a single rocket; then two side by side. It was the signal for troops.
Petitt, the Deputy Commissioner, covered with dust and sweat, but calm and gently smiling, cantered up the clean-swept street in rear of the main body of the rioters. "No one killed yet," he shouted. "I'll keep'em on the run till dawn! Don't let em halt, Hugonin! Trot 'em about till the troops come."
The science of the defence lay solely in keeping the mob on the move. If they had breathing-space they would halt and fire a house, and then the work of restoring order would be more difficult, to say the least of it. Flames have the same effect on a crowd as blood has on a wild beast.
Word had reached the Club and men in evening dress were beginning to show themselves and lend a hand in heading off and breaking up the shouting masses with stirrup-leathers, whips or chance-found staves. They were not very often attacked, for the rioters had sense enough to know that the death of a European would not mean one hanging but many, aud possibly the appearance of the thrice-dreaded Artillery. The clamour in the City redoubled. The Hindus had descended into the streets in real earnest and ere long the mob returned. It was a strange sight. There were no tazias—only their riven platforms—and there were no Police. Here and there a City dignitary, Hindn or Mahommadan, was vainly imploring his co-religionists to keep quiet and behave themselves—advice for which his white beard was pulled with contumely. Then a native officer of Police, unhorsed but still
