With all possible speed the front entrance and other important vulnerable points were covered with howitzers, loaded with grape-shot. Arms had been served out to all, including the native employees, but the latter only waited the opportunity to escape. In the meantime Conductor Buckley saw to the laying of the mine, connecting it with a long thin line of powder that ran out to the centre of the courtyard under a little lemon tree.
Conductor Scully begged for the honour of firing the train when the fatal moment came, and obtained his desire. A signal (the raising of a cap) was then arranged to be given, at which he was to apply his port-fire to the fuse.
All being at last in readiness, the Nine stood at their several posts waiting for the enemy to make the first move. They had not to wait long. Within half an hour came an urgent messenger from the Palace bearing a written summons to Willoughby to surrender the magazine. The Head of the Nine tore up the paper and gave his answer.
Soon after appeared a body of sepoys, men of the Palace Guard and of the revolted Meerut regiments, with a rabble of city people.
“Open the gates!” they cried. “In the name of the King of Delhi, open the gates!”
Getting the same curt refusal that had greeted the previous summons, some went off for scaling-ladders, and as they heard these being fixed against the outer wall the Nine knew the moment for action had come. The sepoy employees of the Arsenal were in full flight now, but Willoughby let them go. He had no shot to spare for them. So over the walls they scrambled, like rats deserting a sinking ship, to join their compatriots without.
As the last man of them disappeared the rush of the mutineers began. Swarming up the ladders they lined the walls, whence they fired upon the brave group of defenders, while the more intrepid among them leapt boldly down into the yard. The rifles of the Nine rang out sharply; then at the word “Fire!” the big guns poured their charges of grape into the huddled mass of rebels.
By this time a gate had been burst open, and here the 24-pounder was booming its grim defiance. The sepoys hung back in check for some minutes before the rain of shot. Behind them, however, was a rapidly increasing crowd, filling the air with the cry of faith--“Deen! Deen!” and calling on their brothers in the front to kill, and kill quickly. At this, though the ground was littered with dead, the rushes became more daring and the yard began to fill with dusky forms, driving the Englishmen farther back.