these were diligently disinterred from dusty shelves where they had long slumbered, and studied in the belief that they would shed a new and divine light on modern troubles and perplexities. Gothic architecture and art, of a purer type than had been known for nearly five hundred years, were cultivated as a means of influencing the public mind in favour of the strictest ecclesiasticism. Symbolical forms were interpreted in a deeply mystical sense, and gradually the conceptions of the reformers began to find their way, not merely into the churches, but into general literature, especially into poetry of a tender and emotional order. Then arose the battle of surplices, intonings, candles, and altars, which at first shocked, and afterwards exasperated, the average Englishman. It must be admitted, however, that the arguments of the Tractarians had sometimes an apparent cogency, which produced a great effect on such as were already half-disposed to be convinced. They urged with no little plausibility that the subjection of Church doctrine to the decision of a Lord Chancellor who might be a free-thinker, or a man of questionable life, was an absurdity and a scandal. But this was simply an argument against the existence of a State Church, and in that sense it was not put forth. If the Church is united with the State, it must be either as master or servant. To adopt the homely phrase of Dogberry, “An

two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind;” and it is in the highest degree improbable that Englishmen will ever again consent to “ride behind” any ecclesiastical corporation in the world. Still, we may grant this truth without denying the earnestness, devotion, and moral purity of the Tractarians—qualities which have borne good fruit, and which will be remembered to their credit when Time has obliterated their follies.

In the early part of 1841, Mr. Newman published the celebrated “Tract No. 90,” the object of which was to show that subscription to the Thirty-nine Articles need not deter a man from holding various doctrines which are commonly regarded as Romish. This was going a little too far for the patience of the authorities, and, on the 15th of March, the Vice-Chancellor and heads of houses at Oxford censured the offending Tract, in a resolution which set forth—“That modes of interpretation such as are suggested in the said Tract, evading rather than explaining the sense of the Thirty-nine Articles, and reconciling subscription to them with the adoption of errors which they were designed to counteract, defeat the object, and are inconsistent with the due observance, of the statutes of the University.” Next day, Mr. Newman addressed a letter to the Vice-Chancellor, acknowledging himself as the author of the Tract. Some time after, he resigned the Vicarage of St. Mary’s, Oxford, and in 1845 he seceded to the Church of Rome. There cannot be a doubt that in his earlier years he had no intention of quitting the Church of England. Throughout the whole of his career, he has been thoroughly honest, conscientious, and self-devoted; but he has a mind of the acutest logical perceptions, and ultimately, though with great distress to himself, he came to the conclusion that the legitimate development of his opinions conducted him to Rome, and nowhere else. This conclusion being reached, he was not the man to tamper with his innermost convictions. His retirement from the Tractarian field concentrated additional power in the hands of the Rev. Mr. Pusey, who had long been the chief leader of the movement. Indeed, the very word “Puseyism” attests the depth and breadth of his influence.

It is no secret that neither the Queen nor Prince Albert liked the extreme views of the Tractarians, but would have preferred a broader and more liberal interpretation of Church doctrines. But the movement was of course entirely independent of Royal influences, and the time was one of awakened enthusiasm in all matters appertaining to religion. In Scotland, as in England, men’s minds were being agitated by conflicting views as to the proper character of a Church; and the dispute at the North terminated in a disruption of an important nature. A party had arisen in the Kirk of Scotland which desired, like the Tractarians in the Church of England, to emancipate the religious body from the control of the State in all matters of doctrine and discipline; but this was no easy task. An Act of Parliament had been passed in 1712, which subjected the power of the Presbytery to the control of the law-courts. Until then, the appointment of pastors had been with the Church-courts of Scotland; but now the minister was in many instances nominated by a lay patron, and the Presbytery thereupon admitted him as a matter of course, unless there was some flagrant objection which could not be evaded or overcome. The popular element in the Scottish Kirk was thus subordinated to aristocratic influence, and in time many sincere members of that body were so much disgusted as to secede from the Established Church, and form separate communions of their own. Matters had reached such a pass by 1834, when the “Evangelical,” as opposed to the “Moderate,” party had obtained the upper hand, that the General Assembly of the Kirk affirmed the right of each congregation to exercise a veto on any presentee, in accordance with a fundamental law of the Church, “that no pastor should be intruded on any congregation contrary to the will of the people.” This was the celebrated Veto Law, which soon became the subject of much controversy. The lay patrons, finding themselves deprived of what they considered their rights, resisted the ruling of the General Assembly, and appealed to the law-courts. Sometimes the decision was in favour of the one party, sometimes of the other; and at length the Strathbogie case brought the law-courts and the General Assembly into open conflict. The Presbytery of Strathbogie supported a certain minister who, in 1837, had been nominated for the parish of Marnoch. The General Assembly issued its edict that the minister was to be rejected. The majority of the local Presbytery still continuing defiant, seven of their number were, by the General Assembly, finally expelled from their places in the ministry on the 7th of May, 1841; and, from that time forward, Dr. Chalmers, who had moved their expulsion, became the great leader of the reforming party. The controversy went on with increasing bitterness; the decisions of the Court of Session, upheld by the House of Lords, completely over-ruled the decisions of the General Assembly of the Kirk; and, on the 18th of May, 1843, nearly five hundred ministers of the Church of Scotland, under the leadership of their distinguished and eloquent champion, seceded from the Establishment, and began what is called the Free Church of Scotland. These ministers had no quarrel with the older body on matters of doctrine; but they would not submit to the dictation of lay patrons, or the control of the law-courts. Such, in brief, is the history of this memorable revolt.

In the midst of so many perplexities, it was fortunate for the new Government, and also for the Queen herself, that they had an intermediary so highly qualified to fill the part as Prince Albert. In resigning the seals of office, Lord Melbourne felt that he left her Majesty in safe hands. He confessed that it was very painful to him to bid farewell to his Royal mistress. For four years, he remarked, he had seen her every day; but he added that it was now different from what it would have been in 1839. The Prince, he observed, understood everything, and had a clever, able head. Again, on the following day, when taking his final leave of her Majesty, he said:—“You will find a great support in the Prince; he is so able. You said, when you were going to be married, that he was perfection, which I thought a little exaggerated then, but really I think now that it is in some degree realised.” In commenting on these opinions in her “Journal,” the Queen writes:—“Nothing could exceed the Prince’s kindness to the Queen at this (for her) trying time of separation from her old friend;” and in a letter to King Leopold she quotes the following written opinion of Lord Melbourne on his Royal Highness:—“Lord Melbourne cannot satisfy himself without again stating to your Majesty in writing what he had the honour of saying to your Majesty respecting his Royal Highness the Prince. Lord Melbourne has formed the highest opinion of his Royal Highness’s judgment, temper, and discretion; and he cannot but feel a great consideration and security that he leaves your Majesty in a situation in which your Majesty has the inestimable advantage of such advice and assistance. Lord Melbourne feels certain that your Majesty cannot do better than have recourse to it whenever it is needed, and rely upon it with confidence.”

It was natural, and inevitable that Lord Melbourne should feel a deep regret in parting from her Majesty after so long an association. It was equally natural that Sir Robert Peel should approach the Court with something of nervous apprehension. He had opposed the Queen’s wishes with respect to the Ladies of the Bedchamber; shortly afterwards, he had been mainly instrumental in procuring the curtailment of the Prince’s income. Nevertheless, he was received by the Prince with an unaffected cordiality which immediately put him at his ease. Like Lord Melbourne, he soon formed a very high opinion of his Royal Highness’s abilities, and the new Minister was as willing as the old to keep the Prince well acquainted with the development of the national affairs. He was also desirous to take advantage of the Prince’s known proficiency in art, by placing him at the head of a Royal Commission to inquire whether the rebuilding of the Houses of Parliament did not offer a fitting occasion to promote

and encourage the Fine Arts in the United Kingdom. The position was accepted by his Royal Highness; and when Sir Robert Peel announced the fact to the House of Commons, he was gratified to witness (as he afterwards reported) the cordial satisfaction with which the intimation was received in every quarter. Prince Albert had very properly made it a condition of his accepting the chairmanship of this body that in the selection of its members there should be an entire exclusion of all party distinctions. The principle was carefully observed, and the noblemen and gentlemen thus brought together were appointed with the single consideration of their fitness. This was the first of those numerous services to intellectual culture which Prince Albert rendered to his adopted country. He had now acquired an almost perfect command of English, though, when he came over to be married, in the early part of 1840, he knew but little of the language. The first of his speeches in public, however, had been delivered as early as the 1st of June, 1840, at a meeting to promote the Abolition of the Slave Trade. The speech was brief, carefully written beforehand, and committed

to memory; but the Prince was naturally very nervous in delivering it. On the 25th of June, 1841, he laid the foundation-stone of the London Porters’ Association; so that he was now coming out into the light of publicity, to an extent from which he at first shrank, feeling himself a stranger in a strange land, and not being very confident as to the cordiality of the general sentiment. His acceptance, in October, of the Chairmanship of the Fine Arts Commission was another step forward in the direction to which he had recently been turning his thoughts. For several years, Prince Albert did admirable service in educating the English mind to a higher sense of artistic beauty; and, in the fulness of time, the suggestion of Sir Robert Peel bore more ample fruits than he himself could have anticipated.

On the 9th of November, 1841, the Prince of Wales was born at Buckingham Palace. As on the occasion of her previous confinement, the Queen recovered rapidly, and was able to celebrate the first anniversary of the Princess Royal’s birth on the 21st of the same month. On the 6th of December, the Court removed to Windsor Castle. Addressing the King of the Belgians on the 14th of December, her Majesty wrote:—“We must all have trials and vexations; but if one’s home is happy, then the rest is comparatively nothing. I assure you, dear uncle, that no one feels this more than I do. I had this autumn one of the severest trials I could have in parting with my Government, and particularly from our kind and valued friend, and I feel even now this last very much; but my happiness at home, the love of my husband, his kindness, his advice, his support, and his company, make up for all, and make me forget it.” Christmas was again spent at Windsor, and the New Year was danced in after a very jovial fashion. While the dance was yet proceeding, the clock struck twelve, and at the last stroke a flourish of trumpets was blown, according to the German custom. The Queen records in her “Journal” that this peal of instruments had a very grand and solemn effect, and that it caused a sudden agitation in Prince Albert, who turned pale, while the tears started to his eyes. He was thinking of his native country and his early days.

Shortly after the birth of the young Prince—namely, on the 4th of December, 1841—the Queen created him, by Letters Patent, Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester. The Letters Patent went on to say:—“And him, our said and most dear son, the Prince of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, as has been accustomed, we do ennoble and invest with the said Principality and Earldom, by girding him with a sword, by putting a coronet on his head and a gold ring on his finger, and also by delivering a gold rod into his hand, that he may preside there, and direct and defend those parts.” By the fact of his birth as heir-apparent, the Prince inherited, without the necessity of patent or creation, the dignities and titles of Duke of Saxony, by right of his father, and, by right of his mother, those of Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, and Great Steward of Scotland.

The christening of the Prince of Wales took place on the 25th of January, 1842, in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor. In the midst of great pomp and splendour, the ceremony was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury with water specially brought from the river Jordan. The sponsors were the late King of Prussia (Frederick William IV.); the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg, represented by the Duchess of Kent; the Duke of Cambridge; the Duchess of Saxe-Gotha, represented by the Duchess of Cambridge; the Princess Sophia, represented by the Princess Augusta of Cambridge; and Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg. King Frederick William was chosen as being the ruler of the chief Protestant kingdom on the Continent; but the leading politicians of Germany, France, and Russia, saw in the selection a degree of political significance which was doubtless entirely absent. Some among the Prussians themselves feared that the King would take advantage of his presence in England to effect that Anglicanising of the Prussian Church which was dear to his heart. When his Majesty arrived in England, however, he proved to be nothing more than a stout, middle-aged gentleman, who could tell a good story very well, and who even consented to dance a quadrille with the Queen, though his person was little suited to such exercises, and his time of life was hardly favourable to their graceful performance. The names given to the infant Prince at his christening were Albert Edward. At the conclusion of the ceremony, a silver-embossed vessel, containing a whole hogshead of mulled claret, was brought in, and served out liberally to the company, that the health of the Prince might be drunk with due honour.

Before his departure, the King of Prussia attended the meeting of Parliament on the 3rd of February, 1842. An admirable description of this ceremony is given in a letter by the Baroness Bunsen, an English lady married to the celebrated Prussian scholar, at that time Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s. This lady speaks of the Queen as being “worthy and fit to be the converging point of so many rays of grandeur;” and she adds that “the composure with which she filled the throne, while awaiting the Commons, was a test of character—no fidget, and no apathy.... Placed in a narrow space behind her Majesty’s mace-bearers, and peeping over their shoulders, I was enabled to hide and subdue the emotion I felt, in consciousness of the mighty pages in the world’s history condensed in the words so impressively uttered in the silver tones of that feminine voice—Peace and War, the fate of millions, relations of countries, exertions of power felt to the extremities of the globe, alterations of Corn Laws, the birth of a future sovereign, mentioned in solemn thankfulness to Him in whose hands are nations and rulers!”

These were the serious sides of royalty; but the young Queen, and her equally young husband, were not indifferent to the lighter graces of their position. A splendid new ball-room was added to Buckingham Palace, and a number of brilliant entertainments took place in that magnificent saloon. A bal costumé, on the 12th of May, 1842, is believed to have been the first ever given in England by a member of the House of Brunswick. On this occasion, her Majesty appeared as Queen Philippa, consort of Edward III., and Prince Albert as Edward III. himself. The Duchess of Cambridge was received in State as Anne of Brittany, accompanied by her Court; and, after dancing had been enjoyed for some hours, supper was served with surroundings of remarkable splendour. The salvers, vases, tankards, and jewelled cups, are described by writers of the period as of unusual cost and richness. A tent belonging to Tippoo Sahib was erected within the Corinthian portico adjoining the green drawing-room, and in the course of the evening this Oriental pavilion was used as a place for refreshment. Later in the season, a second ball of a similar character was given by her Majesty, in which the dresses were confined to the reigns of George II. and III. A grand banquet at Windsor Castle on the Ascot Cup day appears also to have been conspicuous for its lavish splendour. Luncheon had been previously served in Tippoo Sahib’s tent; but the dinner itself was in St. George’s Hall, the ceiling of which was emblazoned with the arms of the Knights of the Garter, from the institution of that Order down to modern times, and also with portraits of the British Kings from James I. to George IV. Immediately opposite the Queen was a pyramid of plate, crowned by the tiger’s head captured at Seringapatam, and comprising the “Iluma” of precious stones which Lord Wellesley, when Governor-General of India, presented to his sovereign. The display of gold

plate, the brilliant light shed from numerous candelabra, the music furnished by two bands of the Guards stationed in a balcony, and the picturesque appearance of the Yeomen of the Guard, who stood on duty at the entrance, contributed to an effect which was truly regal in its pomp and grandeur. In the drawing-room, after dinner, the celebrated French actress, Madame Rachel, gave recitations from her principal performances; and the entertainment came to a close a little before midnight. In the then excited state of the public mind, some persons condemned these amusements, which they contrasted with the hunger and suffering to be found in other quarters; apparently not perceiving that the circulation of money must be an advantage to the community in general. But

when the Queen and her ladies appeared in dresses of British manufacture, the agitation ceased, and it was admitted that trade and labour derived benefit from the outlay.

It was about the period of these gorgeous ceremonials that some other attempts were made (or apparently made) on the life of the Queen. The first of these occurred on Sunday, the 29th of May, when a young man, named John Francis, attacked the Royal party while returning from the Chapel Royal, St. James’s Palace. As they were driving along the Mall, near Stafford House, a man stepped out from the crowd, and presented a pistol at Prince Albert. The Prince heard the trigger snap, but the weapon missed fire. He turned to the Queen, and asked, “Did you hear that?” adding, “I am sure I saw some one take aim at us.” No other person, however, seems to have been aware of the attempt, and it was considered advisable that the Queen and Prince Albert should drive out again on the following day. They went towards Hampstead, and, on their return, when approaching the Palace, were again shot at. A policeman was standing close by, and Francis was immediately seized. Strange to say, the second attempt was very nearly on the same spot as that of Oxford in 1840. The culprit was the son of a machinist at Drury Lane Theatre, and had for some months been out of employment. “A little, swarthy, ill-looking rascal,” is the account which Prince Albert gives of him; but he conducted himself before the authorities with a good deal of spirit, or rather, perhaps, with a good deal of impudence. Having been found guilty of high treason, he was condemned to death; but the sentence was afterwards commuted to transportation for life.

The very day after the commutation became known—namely, July 3rd—a further attempt was made by a hunchback named Bean. As in the other cases, a morbid vanity appears to have been the feeling which prompted the act. Bean escaped at the moment, but was soon afterwards arrested, and, being tried for misdemeanour—not, like the others, for high treason—was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment. The folly of charging such offenders with high treason, when it was quite certain that they would not be visited with the penalty of that offence, but with a much lighter punishment, uncertain, capricious, and variable in its nature and operation, had suggested a change of the law, and the Bill, which was in progress through Parliament at the time of Bean’s attempt, received the Royal sanction a few days later. Sir Robert Peel, while consulting with Prince Albert shortly after the attempt, was so overcome by the sudden entry of her Majesty that he burst into tears, although usually a very self-contained man. The frequent repetition of such outrages was indeed a serious matter, and after the Francis affair the Queen admitted that for some time she had had a presentiment of danger hovering over her. On the occasion of Bean’s attempt, her Majesty was not aware that anything had occurred until after her return to the Palace. Being informed of the fact, she calmly observed that she had expected a repetition of these attacks as long as the law remained unaltered by which they could be dealt with only as acts of high treason. The change in the law was doubtless advisable, since it is well known that it is not so much the severity as the certainty of punishment which deters the evilly-disposed; yet such acts will occur from time to time as long as vanity and envy remain passions of the human heart.

CHAPTER VII.

CONVULSIONS IN THE EAST.

For some years there had been proceeding in the East a series of events which, in the early part of 1842, eventuated in one of the most tragical catastrophes of modern history. To the west of Northern India lies the independent kingdom of Afghanistan, or Cabul, as it is sometimes called after the capital city. The country is mountainous, barren, and austere; the people—to whom some attribute a Jewish origin, but who are certainly a very mixed race—are courageous, warlike, revengeful, predatory in their habits, yet not wanting in some manly virtues. They are Mohammedans of the Sunnite communion, and consequently regard the Turkish Sultan as the head of the Moslem world; yet their tolerance is so great that they allow several Persian Shiites to occupy high official posts, without any restriction on their distinctive rites. Afghanistan has from time to time been a conquering State. In the fifteenth century, it planted a dynasty on the throne of Delhi, which lasted until overthrown by the Mogul Baber in 1526. In the early years of the eighteenth century, it gave two monarchs to Persia, of which it had in ancient times formed a part; but the intruders were speedily expelled. The military genius of the Afghans, however, was not to be long kept down; and after the founding of the Durani dynasty by Ahmed Khan, in 1747, an immense Afghan Empire was rapidly created, which spread from Herat into Hindostan, and from the banks of the Oxus to the Arabian Sea. This dominion broke up early in the present century, and in 1836 the Ameer Dost Mahomed was ruling at Cabul over a territory not very extensive or important.

This somewhat petty sovereign had at his disposal a revenue of 1,400,000 dollars, and an army of 18,000 men. But his dominions were in a disturbed state, and, at the same time, he was at war with Lahore in the east, while, in the west, the Persians had attacked Herat, at that date ruled by one of the Durani princes. Dost Mahomed was therefore very desirous of securing the friendship of the British in India. Lord Auckland, then Governor-General at Calcutta, was disposed to enter into negotiations with the Ameer, conceiving that English power in the East was menaced by the intrigues of Russia, Persia, and Afghanistan. He therefore, in September, 1837, despatched Captain Alexander Burnes to Cabul, with instructions to discuss certain matters. Unfortunately, Captain Burnes was not authorised to promise Dost Mahomed the assistance which he required, to assume a position of independence towards Persia and Russia. Both these Powers were acting for the advancement of their own interests; and, although the Ameer had listened to their suggestions, he told the British envoy that he would much rather co-operate with England, if he could obtain the terms he needed. Burnes urged upon the Governor-General of India the policy of guaranteeing the integrity of the Ameer’s realm, or at least of promising him a subsidy in case of attack. But Lord Auckland would do neither, while at the same moment ordering the distracted chieftain to abandon all negotiations with the rival Powers. The natural consequence was that Dost Mahomed again leant towards the liberal, though interested, offers of Russia; but even then he would gladly have considered the proposals of England, had any been made. The Governor-General, however, preferred to enter into a treaty with Runjeet Singh and Shah Soojah—the former a leader of the Sikhs, the latter a descendant of Ahmed Khan, who had once before ruled in Afghanistan, who had been expelled from the throne, and who was generally detested by the people. Runjeet Singh was to be maintained at Peshawur (to which the Afghans considered they had a claim), and Shah Soojah to be restored to the throne of Cabul with the assistance of an English army. A more unjustifiable, a more fatal, choice was never made.

In his despatches to Lord Auckland, Captain Burnes repeatedly expressed a strong opinion against the abandonment of Dost Mahomed; but these despatches, when published by the British Government long after the writer’s premature and miserable death, were so shamefully garbled that they seemed, by implication, to show that Burnes had actually supported the very policy he strenuously condemned. The fact subsequently came out, and nothing like a defence—not even a decent palliation—could be offered. The English people were kept studiously in the dark as to these manipulations; indeed, they knew very little as to what was passing on the North-western frontiers of India and beyond. Yet those events were of the gravest character, and carried with them a train of consequences which involved the whole of the United Kingdom in a black cloud of mourning and dismay. For a while, however, matters seemed to go very well. The Persian attack on Herat—which was in truth a Russian attack in disguise—had been held in check by the courage of the garrison, led, instructed, and inspirited by the skill and heroism of a young officer, named Eldred Pottinger, who was staying there at the time. Nevertheless, the place

would not have been saved but for the action of the Anglo-Indian Government, which in 1838 sent a naval squadron to the Persian Gulf, and gave the Shah to understand that, if he carried his operations any farther, his persistence would be regarded as a proof of hostility to England. This had the desired effect. The blockade of Herat was abandoned, and the position was saved. The discomfiture of the Persians was a triumph effected without bloodshed, and really valuable in its results. Herat has always been regarded as the key of India, and justly so, when we consider that all the great roads from the west converge within its territory, and that it is capable of producing whatever an army may require.

Captain Burnes left Cabul on the 26th of April, 1838, and met Lord Auckland at Simla. On the 1st of October in the same year, a manifesto was issued by the Governor-General, which was virtually a declaration of war against Dost Mahomed. Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Macnaghten, Secretary to the Government of India, was appointed Minister at the court of Shah Soojah, before any such court existed; and he was to be helped in his operations by Sir Alexander Burnes, for the discredited envoy had now been made a knight. Unanticipated alterations of plan, consequent on the bad faith of Runjeet Singh, who at the last moment refused to allow a passage through his dominions, as he had promised, delayed the starting of the expedition, which did not get on its way until the late winter of 1839. The army, which was in three divisions, consisted of British troops, Afghans, and Sikhs; and it was encumbered with a large number of camp-followers and baggage-animals. The routes pursued were beset by all those difficulties which belong to a mountainous and rocky land. Numbers of men and camels were lost; the soldiers were disheartened by fatigue, and by the gloom of their surroundings; food began to fail; the supplies which were expected at Quetta, beyond the further end of the Bolan Pass, were not forthcoming; and the two principal divisions of the invading force, which had now effected their junction, pushed forward, in a half-famished state, and by a long and difficult defile, to Candahar, which was reached on the 25th of April. The city surrendered without a blow; but the army was now greatly reduced in numbers, and could not reckon more than 10,400 fighting men. Shah Soojah was proclaimed at Candahar, and Sir John Keane, who had command of the whole invading force, while attached more particularly to the Bombay column, then set out for Ghizni, two hundred and thirty miles distant from Candahar, which was itself more than a thousand miles from the points of departure.

Ghizni offered a determined resistance, but was taken by storm on the 23rd of July, when the son of Dost Mahomed, Gholam Hyder Khan, who held the command, was captured. Sir John Keane next pushed on to Cabul, where the fall of Ghizni had produced a feeling of such extreme consternation that the Ameer found himself unable to act against the enemy, and therefore fled with a few attendants to the mountain solitudes of the Hindoo Koosh, on the north-eastern boundary of Afghanistan. The English army, accompanied by Shah Soojah, entered Cabul on the 7th of August; but the demeanour of the people was cold, and the British were detested as strangers, as conquerors, and as Christians. On September 3rd, the invaders were joined by the third division, consisting for the most part of Afghans and Sikhs, under the orders of Colonel Wade, who had taken the fort of Ali Musjid (situated in a narrow part of the Khyber Pass) and the city of Jelalabad. It now seemed as if the Afghans were entirely subdued, and, in its premature satisfaction, the British Government showered honours on the persons principally concerned. Lord Auckland was made an Earl; Sir John Keane a Baron, with a pension of £2,000; and Mr. Macnaghten a Baronet. Other officials received inferior distinctions, and Shah Soojah created an Order of the Durani Empire, the insignia of which were bestowed on many English officers. Nevertheless, the people were thoroughly discontented, and surveyed with a sullen eye the military reviews and splendid ceremonials which it was hoped would reconcile them to the restored rule of Shah Soojah. They were not reconciled, for the new sovereign was regarded as the mere creature of the British authorities, whose pensioner he had been for many years, and by whom he was now forcibly imposed on a reluctant people, who had never invited his return.

The new settlement was believed to be so entirely safe that many of our troops were sent back long before the close of 1839, and the occupying force then consisted of 8,000 men, Europeans and Sepoys. As if inspired by some evil fate, the English officers wrote to India for their wives and children. In the spring of 1840, the British and Sepoy regiments were removed from the Bala Hissar (a fortified palace of great strength), and stationed in cantonments on the neighbouring plain, where they had scarcely any protection against the sudden attack of an enemy. These attacks speedily came. The country began to seethe with insurrection. British outposts were assailed, and, as the summer advanced, the fighting became serious. Dost Mahomed was again in arms, moving about rapidly from place to place, and sometimes gaining the advantage. In one of these encounters, he discomfited a British force under Sir Robert Sale, by whom he was attacked, on the 2nd of November, in the Purwandurrah valley. The disaster was chiefly owing to the misconduct of some Hindoo cavalry, who precipitately retreated, and sought shelter among the English guns. Everything was thrown into confusion, and Sale’s force was only just able to cut its way back to Cabul. It might reasonably have been supposed that, after this brilliant success, Dost Mahomed (whose heroism and capacity have been warmly acknowledged by English writers) would have advanced with all his warriors to the capital. But he felt his inability to cope with such a power as England, and on the following day he rode up to the quarters of Sir William Macnaghten, introduced himself as the deposed Ameer, and delivered up his sword. When the British Minister had recovered from his surprise, he returned the sword, treated his prisoner with due honour, and, on the 12th of November, sent him to India under a strong escort. Again, apparently, had Fortune smiled upon the English cause.

But the insurrection against the authority of Shah Soojah still continued with unabated violence. In spite of this obvious danger, however, the British army of occupation was still further reduced in 1841, and the pension to native chiefs for abstaining from plunder was considerably lessened. The peril increased with every day; yet only a few of the military or civil officers could perceive its existence. Sir William Macnaghten and Sir Alexander Burnes appear to have been perfectly contented with the existing state of things; though Sir Robert Sale, having been sent to quell an insurrection of the Ghiljies, found his communications with Cabul seriously threatened, and though Major Pottinger (Eldred Pottinger, the defender of Herat) warned Sir William of the danger by which he was menaced. Sir John Keane having returned to England, the chief command of the British forces devolved on Sir Willoughby Cotton, who had previously led the Bengal column. Cotton was a man of approved ability, but

he was soon afterwards superseded by General Elphinstone—an old and infirm officer, whose nerves were quite unfitted to sustain the shock by which they were soon to be entirely shattered. Sir William Macnaghten having been appointed to the Governorship of Bombay, his position as British Minister at Cabul was conferred on Sir Alexander Burnes; but, owing to the disturbed state of the country, the former was unable to leave the Afghan capital, and consequently fell in the massacre which shortly afterwards broke out. Cabul burst into a flame of excitement on the morning of November 2nd—the very day after that on which Burnes had assumed his new functions, and when he congratulated Macnaghten on leaving Afghanistan in a state of “profound tranquillity.” The mob surrounded the residence of Burnes, threatened him and his brother, and shot his military secretary, Lieutenant Broadfoot. One of the insurgents, who

had sworn by the Koran that he would escort the brothers in safety to the fort, treacherously betrayed them to the rioters, by whom they were slain with knives. All the other inhabitants of the house, including women and children, were also murdered, and the edifice itself was burnt to ashes. General Elphinstone, who was in the cantonments with his troops, seems to have been utterly prostrated by the news, nor were any of his officers better prepared for the emergency. No steps were taken against the insurgents, and Elphinstone contented himself with saying that they must wait until the morning, and then see what could be done.

All he did when the morning came was to send urgent messages to Sir Robert Sale, who was then on his way to Jelalabad, to proceed as rapidly as possible to Cabul. Sir Robert, however, thought it a matter of such paramount importance to keep open the communications with India, that he pursued his way to Jelalabad, and fortunately so, as was proved by after events. General Nott despatched three regiments to Candahar, in the hope of relieving the Cabul garrison; but the difficulties of the way and the severity of the weather were so great that they turned back, after accomplishing a portion of the distance. The cantonments at Cabul were now commanded by two guns, which the Afghans had planted on a neighbouring hill; and the British troops failed in an attempt to break out into the open country. The supplies of food ran short, and ultimately failed altogether; so that an agreement of some kind became an absolute necessity. The last act of Sir William Macnaghten was to open negotiations with the Afghan chiefs; but on the 23rd of December—a few days later—he was treacherously murdered by Akbar Khan, the eldest son of Dost Mahomed, who was now the leader of the insurrection. The two had entered into some rather obscure negotiations for making Akbar the Vizier and virtual master of Shah Soojah, and putting down the other chiefs. An interview was arranged for discussing this project; but a misunderstanding arose, and Macnaghten was shot by Akbar Khan, who afterwards, however, expressed great remorse for the deed. Shah Soojah appears to have acted with energy and good faith; but at the very commencement of the revolt his troops were overpowered by superior numbers, and he could now do nothing. The action of the malcontents was characterised by the utmost treachery. They had undertaken to furnish supplies, if the forts which guarded the cantonments were placed in their hands. The terms were accepted, but no food was forthcoming, while the possession of the forts by the enemy placed the cantonments wholly at his mercy. Matters therefore proceeded from bad to worse, and at length it was agreed that all the guns, excepting six, together with all the treasure, should be relinquished; that four officers should be put into the hands of the chiefs as hostages; and that 40,000 rupees, in bills drawn upon India, to be negotiated on the spot by some Hindoo bankers, should be paid to the Afghans. In exchange for these concessions, Akbar Khan promised to conduct the English regiments to Jelalabad; but he had not the power, even if he had the will, to make good his words. Our share of the agreement was honourably carried out to the minutest tittle; that of the Afghans was murderously broken.

The cantonments were quitted by the British troops on the 6th of January, 1842. The troops not unnaturally murmured at having to give up the guns and ammunition; but there was no help for it, and the doomed regiments filed out towards the desert in a condition little capable of successful defence against attack. The number of fighting men was not more than 4,500 (chiefly Asiatics); but they were accompanied by 12,000 camp-followers, including the wives and children of the officers. An inclement winter, with deep snow encumbering all the roads, added to the horrors of the time, and the Ghiljies began to attack the rear-guard immediately it had got clear of the cantonments. The fugitives entered the Khoord-Cabul Pass on the 8th of January, 1842, and attacks now became frequent and unsparing. The Afghans were posted on the surrounding crags, and the English officers and troops began to fall rapidly. Many of the women were carried away; many of the children were killed. Fatigue, cold, and deprivation slew as many as the bullets of the lurking foe. Some of our men became mutinous, and intoxicated themselves with the stores of brandy which they had violently seized. Ere long, all military discipline was lost. The men thought only of themselves, and, disregarding the commands of their officers, hurried on towards Jelalabad as fast as horses, camels, or their own legs, could carry them. Several were frozen every night by the intense cold; and those who woke in the morning, woke simply to a prospect of despair. One gloomy and rugged pass succeeded another; but the relentless Afghans were stationed at every point, and their matchlocks brought down the scattered fugitives with unresting activity. More than once, Akbar Khan entered into communication with the English officers, and, upon receiving further hostages, made promises of assistance which were not fulfilled. Occasionally the British troops and the Sepoys made a desperate stand, and for a moment drove back their assailants; but, as day succeeded day, their numbers became fewer, and the spirit of resistance died within them. On the 12th and 13th of January, the force was reduced to a mere fragment; but, in proportion to the smallness of their numbers, the men seemed to recover the habits of discipline they had lost, and, standing close together, entered into hand-to-hand conflicts with the Afghans, in which the latter suffered severely. The position, however, was absolutely hopeless, and, in the course of January 13th, thirty soldiers—all who were now left, though the camp-followers still numbered two or three hundred—took up their station on the slopes of a hill, and fought with wonderful resolution until overpowered and slain. Setting aside the hostages, all were now exterminated—English, Sepoys, and camp-followers; all, with the exception of one man, who, wounded, and in a state approaching exhaustion, rode up to the walls of Jelalabad on that fatal 13th of January, still holding in his nerveless grasp a broken and unavailing sword. The survivor of the great catastrophe was Dr. Brydon, one of the medical officers, who had somehow managed to escape the massacre, and who conveyed intelligence of what had happened to General Sale and his gallant companions, then holding a position which in itself was desperate.

On one of the occasions when Akbar Khan held parley with the fugitives, he suggested that the ladies and children should be given up to him, and he undertook to convey them in safety to Peshawur. These terms were accepted, with the single modification that the husbands of the married ladies should accompany their wives. As the women and children could not have escaped massacre, or death from cold and fatigue, had they remained with the army, the arrangement was a wise one, as it offered them at least a chance of life. They were treated with some consideration, and ultimately rescued during the military operations of a later period. Two days later—namely, on the 11th of January—Akbar Khan again entered into negotiations with the English officers, and demanded that General Elphinstone, Brigadier Shelton, and Captain Johnson, should be given up to him as additional hostages. This was done, and the chief commander of the British forces went into captivity with his two subordinates. The treaty concluded by General Elphinstone and Akbar Khan, before the former quitted Cabul, contained an article stipulating that the English force at Jelalabad should march for Peshawur before the Cabul army arrived, and should not delay on the road. Information of this agreement was conveyed to Jelalabad by a band of horsemen, who, under cover of a flag of truce, presented