The third day the attack was repeated. The resources of genius are
never at an end. Yesterday I had no ammunition; to-day, I
discovered charges sufficient for two guns, and two swivels, which
were much longer, but had bores of about blunderbuss size.

This time my friend Loll Mahommed, who had received, as the reader
may remember, such a bastinadoing for my sake, headed the attack.
The poor wretch could not walk, but he was carried in an open
palanquin, and came on waving his sword, and cursing horribly in
his Hindustan jargon. Behind him came troops of matchlock-men, who
picked off every one of our men who showed their noses above the
ramparts; and a great host of blackamoors with scaling-ladders,
bundles to fill the ditch, fascines, gabions, culverins, demilunes,
counterscarps, and all the other appurtenances of offensive war.

On they came; my guns and men were ready for them. You will ask
how my pieces were loaded? I answer, that though my garrison were
without food, I knew my duty as an officer, and HAD PUT THE TWO
DUTCH CHEESES INTO THE TWO GUNS, AND HAD CRAMMED THE CONTENTS OF A
BOTTLE OF OLIVES INTO EACH SWIVEL.

They advanced,--whish! went one of the Dutch cheeses,--bang! went
the other. Alas! they did little execution. In their first
contact with an opposing body, they certainly floored it; but they
became at once like so much Welsh-rabbit, and did no execution
beyond the man whom they struck down.

"Hogree, pogree, wongree-fum (praise to Allah and the forty-nine
Imaums!)" shouted out the ferocious Loll Mahommed when he saw the