A TALE

OF THE

RETREAT FROM CABUL

A TALE OF THE RETREAT FROM CABUL.

'In the month of October—I won't mention the year, it seems so long ago—my then regiment, the gallant old 13th Light Infantry, with the rest of Her Majesty's troops who had the ill-luck to accompany us, were in the cantonments of Cabul.

'I can see them yet, in memory, on the plain in front of the mountain city, enclosed by walls and hedges, and bordered by those pretty villas which, in their perfect confidence in the people, among whom we had come to replace Shah Sujah on his throne, our officers had built for themselves and families; on one hand the hills of the Siah Sung, on the other the haunted heights of Beymaroo, for it was affirmed that a demon of some kind did haunt them, and in the distance the city of Cabul, with its walls and streets of sun-dried bricks, the towering outline of its Balahissar, and in the background far away the summit of the Hindoo Kush, mantled with snows that never melt.

'When not on duty, or when I could not hope to meet Mabel—Mabel Berriedale, of whom more anon—I was fond of wandering about with my gun among the Siah Sung hills, and even into the Khyber Pass, in search of the hill-chuckore or Greek partridge, wild ducks, and quails, though frequently warned by Vassal Holland, a brother officer, who chummed with me in the same bungalow—and once, to my delight, by Mabel herself—that it was unsafe, because ugly rumours were afloat, rumours of which she heard more than we did, as her father was on the headquarter staff—that it was both unsafe and unwise to do so, as a rising of the tribes against us was almost daily expected.

'What took us there? you may ask. Well, the same interest that may take us there again. With the view of frustrating the presumed designs of Russia, and securing as far as practicable the integrity of Afghanistan as a barrier against the aggressive attempts of that ever-grasping power, the Indian government resolved on the restoration of the Shah Sujah, a cruel and merciless old prince, who, after blinding with his own dagger his kinsman Futteh Khan, had been exiled. We replaced him on the throne with an army of 8,000 wild Beloochees to guard it, under the Shah Zadah Timour and Colonel Simpson of the Company's service; but he soon excited again universal hatred and dislike among the fierce Afghan clans, who viewed us resentfully as unbelieving intruders. Thus the slender British force of 4,000 strong, which as allies occupied the cantonments I have mentioned, was in a perilous predicament—a very trap as it were, for between them and lower India lay savage passes, manned by hardy and warlike tribes, and everywhere the coming storm grew darker as the unwelcome Shah proceeded from one act of violence to another; while his retention of a corps of Sikhs—the enemies by blood and religion of the Afghans—as a body-guard, roused all their rancour against him, and against us, whose commander was General Elphinstone, a feeble, ailing, and incapable old man.

'Such was the state of matters when Holland warned me of my rashness, and more than once declined to accompany me, and one day I certainly had an adventure—not an exciting one—but one which I never forgot, owing to subsequent events connected with it.

'Though October, the weather was fine and clear, for there, after February, there is only hoar-frost in the mornings usually, till the middle of March. Our band had been playing at the usual promenade in the cantonments, but I had quitted early; Mabel, whom I loved very dearly, but to whom I had, as yet, said nothing of that love, had, I thought, treated me coldly, so I took my gun in a pet, and went forth among the mountains, penetrating into one of the deep sheltered glens that open off the Khyber Pass.

'Either the birds were shy, or I was preoccupied; I saw only here and there a solitary crow and stork till I came to a little ravine, in which stood a Khyber tent of black blanket, with a large stone at each corner to prevent it being blown away. Its door, a mere mat of reeds, was open, and there came forth a pretty young Afghan woman—a wife, as I could see by her hair being braided and her trousers of some dark stuff; and though evidently but the spouse of some wild hill-man, she wore strings of Venetian sequins, and chains of gold and silver. She was fair and handsome too, though her nose was very aquiline, and her cheekbones rather prominent. As she proceeded to feed a Cabul pony, from a gathered heap of juicy herbage, I was just thinking what a pretty sketch the little tableau beneath me would make, when it received one or two rather startling accessions.

'Out of a grove of wild mulberry-trees, all unseen by her, there came creeping slowly, stealthily, with cat-like action, and velvety paws, an enormous black wolf. I could, from the perch where I stood, distinctly see the hungry gleam of its eyes, its scarlet mouth half open, and the steam from its nostrils.

'At the same moment on the other side of the narrow ravine, there appeared a Khyberee, as his yellow turban and shaggy robe of camel's hair announced—a tall, strong and stately fellow, armed with his long juzail or native rifle, the lighted match of which was smoking. On his knee he took a steady aim at the wolf, but missed fire.

'A cry of rage and fury escaped him, but it mingled with the report of my unfailing double-barrelled Purdey, and struck by two balls just behind the ear, the wolf fell over on its back and pawed the air, in the agonies of death, while the Khyberee woman fled into her tent, and her husband, for such the stranger proved to be, came to me full of gratitude.

'"Sahib, from my soul I thank you," said he in Afghani, of which I had picked up a smattering. "You have saved my tent from a dreadful calamity, enter it; from this moment you are the brother of Zemaun Khan."

'For though but a poor hill-man he deemed himself a Khan, and in evidence of his position in his clan, as being what a Scots Highlander would call a dunniewassal, he carried a falcon on his left wrist. He led me within his tent, where I was in turn gratefully thanked by his pretty young wife, for though the Afghans do not, like other Mohammedan races, universally shut up their women, they are as open to jealousy as other orientals, and at Cabul frequently resented the attention our fellows paid them—and this added to those errors for which the army of Elphinstone had to atone so terribly. A snowstorm came on, and thus I passed the night in the tent of Zemaun Khan, who would by no means let me depart.

'"You are welcome," said he, as his wife placed before us food and a jar of native wine, though neither would partake of it, "for in the fashion you have come, a stranger is a holy name."

'"And yet," said I, smiling, "we Feringhees fear you like us little."

'"Little indeed!" said he, as his brow grew dark, "Sahib, I have seen and known your people—seen them at their manly sports in the cantonments yonder; seen the wonderful boat that Sinclair Sahib launched upon the Lake of Istaliff, and the flying shoes he used thereon when ice covered the standing water,' he continued, referring to a boat which was built, and skates which were made by Willie Sinclair, an ingenious "sub" of ours, to the great wonder of the Afghans, who had never seen either before. "But what brought you among our mountains? Individually you English are fine fellows—noble fellows; but collectively we hate you," he added, while his eyes and his set teeth seemed to glisten. "Could it be otherwise with us, who see that you are unbelievers who deem that Allah is but a name? But you are my guest, let us not talk of these things. We shall have our pipes of tobacco, and Nourmahal shall take her saringa and sing us the 'Song of the Rose.'"

'She brought us cherry-stick pipes, obediently assumed her native guitar, and sang to us, as her lord and master suggested. The night passed pleasantly, for the tent was in a sheltered spot; and I got up betimes to return to the cantonment, escorted part of the way by Zemaun Khan, to whose wife I presented one of the pretty charms that hung at my watch-chain.

'As we parted within a mile or so of the cantonment gate, he again expressed his gratitude to me, but said to me impressively, and with a low earnest voice:

'"If you can quit this place for Candahar or Jellalabad go at once—go, and go quickly; in three days, perhaps, it may be too late! The hills will then be alive with men."

'"You say either too much or too little," I exclaimed rather angrily.

'"I have said what I have said. The web of your existence has been spun of the thread of sorrow, and the sword of the Afghan will rend it asunder."

'"If a rising of the natives is attempted," said I, "we shall not leave one stone of yonder Balahissar standing on another."

'"Be it so; but," he added, pointing to the stupendous mountains, "you cannot destroy these—the fortresses given by God to the hill-tribes of Afghanistan! And Ackbar Khan has sworn an oath that your whole host shall perish save one man, who will be only spared to tell the fate of his comrades!"

'I had already heard something of this before, and it had been a source of laughter, but for a time only, in our mess-bungalow in Cabul; and that evening, when Vassal Holland and I were discussing my adventure, through the pleasant medium of brandy-pawnee and Chinsurah cheroots, he laughed loudly at the threat, like a heedless and handsome young fellow as he was, and stigmatised Zemaun Khan as "a melodramatic old donkey! After traversing the Bolan Pass under Willoughby Cotton, storming Ghuzni, and then taking Cabul, we won't be so jolly green as to take fright at the Afghans;" adding, "and now to talk of something else. I may mention that your absence during the storm last night, and from parade this morning, caused much speculation in the lines, and, if it is any gratification to you, not a little in the villa of the Berriedales."

'And he lay back in his long arm-chair, and watched alternately the rings of smoke from his cheroot as they ascended to the straw roof of the bungalow, and the expression of my face.

'"Was Mabel indeed interested?" I asked, with heightened colour.

'"More than interested—agitated! but I don't wish to fan the flame, for I fear it will be no joke to be the husband of such a girl as Mabel Berriedale."

'"Joke—I should think not, Holland."

'"What then?"

'"A great joy! But to what do your remarks point?"

'"To begin with—her love of dress."

'"Pshaw! every pretty girl has that—and she is lovely!"

'"In her opinion, her father the Colonel—or any father—is only the medium for supplying luxuries and pleasures, and to act as chaperon, if nothing more attractive can be had. A husband would soon come to be viewed in the same light."

'"Pleasures, luxuries!" I exclaimed; "there are deuced few of either to be had at Cabul. But you, the fortunate, happy, and accepted of her cousin Bella should not talk thus. You have surely been refused by her!"

'"Refused?" exclaimed Holland, laughing.

'"Yes," said I angrily.

'"I never asked her, even before I saw Bella; yet many an afternoon I have enjoyed her society very much."

'"I should think so; she would make a pleasant companion for a longer period than any Afghan afternoon. You mistake the girl entirely, in deeming her, as I know you do, vain, trivial, heartless, it may be."

Holland only continued to smoke in silence.

'"To-night at Lady Sale's, I shall put it to the issue, if I can," said I.

'"Both will be there."

'"Allow us then to don our war-paint."

'The claw-hammer coat, and waiter-like costume denominated "full dress," was not then etiquette in India; thus, we both set out in full uniform for Lady Sale's reception, which, though given so far away from Western civilisation as the slopes of the Hindoo Kush, was pretty much like any other. The drawing-room of her villa was made up as like one at home as possible. The ladies of the garrison, and of the C.S., had all becoming toilettes, and native servants, in white turbans, were gliding about with silver salvers of coffee and wines. A buzz of conversation pervaded the room, and though the band of "ours," the 13th Light Infantry, discoursed "sweet music" in an anteroom, the tenour of the conversation, in certain knots that gathered around the manly and gentle-looking Sir Robert Sale, the commander-in-chief, General Elphinstone, and the luckless envoy Sir William Macnaghten, sad and thoughtful in aspect, was the reverse of lively, for

'"Great events were on the gale,
    And each hour told the varying tale."

Dost Mahommed Khan, late ruler of Cabul, was remaining a peaceful prisoner of the British Government; but Ackbar Khan, the most brave and reckless of his sons, had preferred a life of independence amid the wilds of Loodiana, and now he was said to be among the Khyber mountains, concerting means for the extermination of "the meddling Feringhees," as he called the British, whom he had vowed to exterminate, all save ONE MAN!

'All this I had heard so often for some months past, that it somewhat palled upon my ear now, and I endeavoured to get near Mabel, who was seated on a sofa immediately under a chandelier, which shed down a flood of light upon her; and around her and her cousin were a crowd of gay fellows in all manner of uniforms, cavalry, artillery, and infantry; thus, I could barely touch her hand, and answer some questions concerning my adventure in the pass last night, questions which I saw she asked with dilated eyes, and considerable concern, when I had to give place to some one else, with whom she plunged at once into an animated conversation, as if to hide the momentary interest she had shown in me. This deeply piqued me, all the more as Vassal, in all the happy confidence of an accepted lover, was stooping over the pretty head and snowy shoulders of Bella, and eyeing me from time to time with a provoking smile. Mabel and I were on awkward terms. Her lover she knew me to be, though I had never declared myself, for two or three reasons, among the most weighty of which were monetary expectations from home; thus we had piques and little jealousies, even fits of coldness, that made our almost daily intercourse in the limited circle of the Cabul cantonments perilous work truly.

'Her face was indeed a sweet and winsome one, and once or twice, as a mass of her golden-brown hair, which her ayah had failed to adjust properly? fell suddenly about her neck, she gave a petulant shrug of her white shoulders, while her beautiful hands were upraised to confine the coils, showing thereby the taper form of her arms and the contour of her bust and waist, while many a "sub" looked fondly and admiringly on. Other handsome girls were present, and it was really something wonderful to see so much fair English beauty there in Afghanistan, at the very back of the world as it were!

'Her cousin Bella was a soft, yet sparkling little brunette, whose father had fallen at the storming of Ghuzni; since when she had lived under the wing and care of her aunt, Mrs. Berriedale.

'To simply eye her admiringly from a distance was not the rôle I had intended to adopt; but I resolved to wait my opportunity, when there might be some break in the circle around her, and was passing into the inner drawing-room, which was nearly empty, when I trod upon a pocket-book. It was a bijou affair—tiny, scarlet morocco, and gilt—a lady's evidently. To whom could it belong? I looked round for Lady Sale, but she had left the room. The owner's name would doubtless be inside; ere I could think of opening it, the book opened of itself, where a leaf was turned down, and where I saw—my own name, written more than once, with another added thereto: "Mabel Clinton—Mrs. Robert Clinton."

'I trembled with astonishment and joy. She had been wondering how the name would look written, and written it was, in her hand, with which notes of invitation had made me perfectly familiar. I heard the hum of voices in the next room, the sounds of laughter, and the crash of the band in the antechamber beyond, as one in a dream, for the discovery now made was rather a bewildering one.

'That I had a place in her heart, that she was more than interested in me, and that she linked the idea of me with herself, I would not doubt, despite her occasional coldness and coquetries with others; but how was I to use the knowledge so suddenly, so unexpectedly won? It was alike dangerous to keep or to return the book, though surely she would never dream that I had opened and read it, but the hand of Fate had done the former for me; and if thrown aside, it would be found by others, and become a source of secret joking in the cantonments, so I source of secret joking in the cantonments, so I placed it in the breast of my uniform, and seeing her left almost alone for a moment, hastened to capture her, and offer her my arm, which she accepted at once, and we proceeded slowly to promenade the rooms.

'"You have not been near me to-night," said she, fanning herself, though the air was cool enough.

'"It is so difficult to get near you; you are always the centre of a circle in whose unmeaning gaiety I have not the heart to join."

'"You scarcely compliment me in saying this," said she, colouring a little; "I was fond of gaiety, fun, what you will, when in Central India, and down at Calcutta, but here we have been triste enough. Cabul is simply horrible!"

'"And I wish, for your sake, and the sake of many others, that we were well out of it; but it was not of this everyday topic I desired to speak with you."

'"Of what, then?" she asked in a low voice, though we had now reached the lower end of the outer drawing-room, where the windows were open to the floor, and gave access to a veranda filled with flowers, and the green jalousies enclosing which rendered it a species of corridor.

'My heart beat lightly, and I was on the point of saying something, I know not what—pretty pointed, however, when, in an evil moment, I drew forth her pocket-book, and said:

'"Does not this belong to you, Miss Berriedale? your initials are gilded on the cover."

'"It is mine!" she exclaimed, while blushing deeply, and then growing deadly pale, as she remembered what she feared I might have seen, and more, perhaps, that I had not seen; "where did you find it?" she added with some sharpness of tone.

'"Lying on the floor, yonder, in the other drawing-room."

'"And how long have you had it?" she continued, with an increased hardness of tone which chilled me.

'"But a few minutes; young ladies should be careful——"

'"Of what?" she inquired haughtily.

'"Miss Berriedale," said I, in agitated voice, and endeavouring to take her hand; but she eluded me, and even withdrew her arm, saying, "I must rejoin mamma."

'She rejoined the large group near the chandelier, with her whole manner and bearing totally changed, while I followed her completely crestfallen, with the eyes of Vassal Holland upon me, as if inquiring whether I had put my fate to the issue, and what had come of it.

'A vague sense of having incurred her displeasure at the very moment when I was about to declare my passionate love for her, oppressed me; yet, when the time for departure came, and the carriages and palkees were announced, I hastened to cloak her, but she submitted in grim silence.

'"Will you pardon me if I have offended you?" I whispered.

'"I have nothing to pardon."

'"Forgive me, then?"

'"I have nothing to forgive."

'"Good-night."

'"Good-night, Mr. Clinton."

'She did not even take my hand, and we parted.

'"What's up, old fellow?" asked Vassal Holland, as we strolled away to our bungalow in the lines.

'"By Jove, I can't tell you."

'"You've not made your innings, any way?"

'"No," said I sadly and savagely; yet I could have enlightened him as to the situation, had I chosen, but unless I could have ensured his silence with regard to Bella, to do so might have made matters worse.

'She loved me, I could not doubt it, But she feared I had read the secrets of her pocket-book—the dear, stupid words she had written half in play; and all her maidenly modesty was up in arms, lest I should take advantage of what I had learned,—that she had given her heart to a man ere he asked for it, and that if I wooed her now, it might only be out of compassion or pity, melting into love.

'I could not doubt that, but for the unlucky advent of the pocket-book, she would have permitted me to love her, and have fully accepted me, with her uncle's consent; and now—now for days she avoided me, and began, that was patent to all in the cantonment, a very deliberate flirtation with my friend Jack Villars, of the Horse Artillery, a handsome but heedless fellow, whom she had never distinguished before; and, though I knew not quite why, the life of us both was embittered. I was indignant that she should think so meanly of me as to believe me capable of deliberately opening her pocket-book and prying into her secrets, while she was exasperated at her own folly in writing what she had written. Had I seen it? doubtless she asked of herself, and might have remembered that I had spoken of her "initials;" and perhaps, had I made the most solemn assertion that the wretched little book had opened of itself, she might have failed to believe me.

'At last the route came for our regiment, with the rest of Sale's brigade, to begin the march towards the province of Jellalabad; and I shall never forget the morning of our departure. We were armed with old and unserviceable muskets, because our final destination was Britain, and General Elphinstone, a useless, obstinate, and incapable old man, said there was no use in taking new arms home. Our men were to march with their knapsacks, a new feature in Indian warfare; and the officers reduced their baggage to a minimum, for rumour said the passes were beset, and the odds were heavy that not a man of us might live to reach the lower end of them.

'On the cold, dull, cloudy morning of the 10th of October our drums beat, and all in the cantonments at Cabul turned out to see us depart. Among other spectators on horseback were Bella and Mabel Berriedale, with the now inevitable Villars in attendance upon the latter; and if aught could add to the sorrow, bitterness, and chagrin of a parting that would be final—as she was to be left behind in Cabul—it was to behold this!

'After forming my company I drew near her, and made some commonplace remark, to which she replied in the same tone. I failed to catch the expression of her face, as a thick Shetland veil was tied over it. How little could I think that it was concealing tears! Suddenly Sale's bugler sounded; the adjutant was about to tell off the battalion. I pressed her hand; she returned the pressure firmly, and her voice as she said "Good-bye" was utterly broken, and seemed to be full of tears. I never, never forgot that; but this was no time for explanation. I rushed to join my company, and all that followed passed like a dream. The brigade was wheeled into line—it broke into sections—the bands struck up, and the homeward march for England, as all our fellows fondly hoped, began; and ere long, as we penetrated into the dark recesses of the mountains, we saw the last of Cabul and all our companions.

'I had but one thought—that Mabel Berriedale was there, and that I should never see her again!

'Even the armed clans of Afghans that were seen hovering so menacingly on the rocks that overhung the passes could not draw my thoughts from Mabel, the pressure of her beloved hand, and her tearful voice, when it was too late—all too late!

'The following night some wounded fugitives brought dreadful tidings to Cabul. Sale's brigade, they asserted, had been attacked in the passes and literally cut to pieces; how Sale himself and Colonel Dennie had been wounded, and Lieutenant Clinton of the 13th had been cut off, with a whole line of skirmishers, by the Khyberees under Zemaun Khan.

'My poor Mabel fell fainting on Bella's breast when she heard of all this, and she now for the first time knew, what I knew not, and never might know, how really dear I was to her. The startling tidings brought to Cabul were not without some grains of truth.

'Hardy and trained, the 13th, or Prince Albert's Own, marched speedily and splendidly, setting an example to the rest of the brigade, and their chorusing merrily woke the echoes of the impending rocks; but no actual hostility was displayed by the warlike denizens of these until the troops were fairly entangled in the deepest, steepest, and most perilous parts of the passes.

'Then the cliffs above us seemed to become suddenly alive with men, chiefly yellow-turbaned Khyberees, who opened a storm of fire upon us that told with dreadful effect, strewing the whole tortuous path from front to rear with killed and wounded. So skilful too were these Afghans in the art of skirmishing, that save for the red flash of their matchlocks streaking the gloom, it was impossible to detect where the marksmen lay. Rocks and simple stones—some not larger than a 13-inch shell, sufficed to shelter the lurking juzailchee, who squatted down, showing, if anything, only the long barrel of his deadly weapon, and the tip of his turban. Then might be seen the hardihood, and the majesty, with which a British soldier fights!

'Cheerily rang out the bugles of the 13th, for "the leading companies to extend," and away the skirmishers swept over the precipices, scouring the terrible hills on the right and left, using the bayonet wherever an opportunity served; and driving back the wild mountaineers, till, just as night was closing in, we came in sight of a mighty barricade of earth, stones and turf, built right across the narrow pass, for the purpose of cutting off all further passage or progress.

'Sale, who was suffering acutely from a ball in his leg, gave the order to storm it, and just as, with a loud cheer, the leading companies assailed it with a headlong rush, a ball struck me in the left ankle, and my shako flew off; an invocation to heaven escaped me, I fell heavily, my head came in contact with the rocks, and insensibility rendered me oblivious alike of peril and agony, as our men swept over me to storm the barrier, which they did brilliantly, fairly opening up a passage to Boothak, and carrying off all their wounded save me. I had fallen unseen, and in the dark was left behind, while the flashing and reports of the musketry died out in the distance.

'Bitter and terrible were my first emotions, when the falling dew roused me in that savage place; bleeding, helpless, unable to stand or crawl, a prey it might soon be to Afghan knives, or the teeth of those wild animals which would soon scent the dead that lay around me. I was not left long to reflect. I had just bandaged my wounded limb with my handkerchief, when a party of Afghans passed. One uttered a hoarse cry, and was about to decapitate me by one slash, when another interposed, and I found myself the prisoner of Zemaun Khan.

'"Death to the Feringhee!" cried the astonished Afghans.

'"Hold, I command you!" said Zemaun; "he is my brother."

'"Is he not one of those who would send our chiefs in chains to the Queen of the Feringhees in London?"

'"He is my brother!"

'By his order I was conveyed, not unkindly, to a solitary round tower among the mountains, where I remained a prisoner for longer than I care to remember, with the terrible consciousness that I might be murdered at any moment of caprice, or kept a life-long captive, forgotten by all, while Mabel Berriedale became the wife of Jack Villars, or some one else.

'My adventures after this were so numerous that they would crowd a three volume novel.

'The ball in my ankle I contrived to snip out myself, nearly fainting as I did so. I then bound up the wound, which grew well rapidly; while that in my head was bathed and bandaged tenderly by the deft little hand of the wife of Zemaun Khan, who was full of pity for, me, with much of gratitude for the service I had done her, and thus I had perhaps more of her society than the Khan might have relished; but he had much wild work to do among the mountains, and it was from her that I heard of what was doing at Cabul.

'"Sahib, your people will never escape; it will all be as Ackbar has sworn," said she in her soft Afghani, as she drew near me and spoke in a low cooing voice, lest others might overhear, in these rooms that had only hangings and no doors. "Sixty thousand citizens in Cabul, and all the mountain tribes around it are ripe for insurrection, and wait but the voice of Ackbar."

'"But our soldiers are brave, and our envoy is wise."

'"Was, you mean, Sahib,"

'"How—is he dead?"

'"Yes," replied Nourmahal, shaking her head, while all the sequins flashed and glittered among the coils of her splendid dark hair; "he was lured into a conference with Ackbar, my husband Zemaun and other Khans, by whom he was dragged away and beheaded, in the face of your whole troops, who are now hemmed up in their lines, a prey to hunger and despair, while the passes are full of snow, and all the country up in arms."

'I scarcely believed all this at the time, but she never told me aught save the strictest truth.

'Hunger, cold and peril! Poor Mabel! thought I. On how little will a lover dwell with delight! The pressure of her gloved hand at parting, her broken tearful voice, which said more than a thousand words, and the remembered signature, all seemed to make her mine, and yet I never might see her more. I must have been reported among the killed, and as such wept for by poor Mabel, and in time to come would be mourned by my dear old mother in England far away.

'Every item of intelligence that reached that lonely tower was communicated to me by Nourmahal, but, I began to perceive, only when the grim Zemaun, with his baggy breeches, black fur cap, and shawl with its armoury of daggers and pistols, was absent. I began to perceive, too, that she was enhancing her great natural grace and beauty by a costume such as she had not worn in the tent, with a white silk camise and pink silk trousers, and a thin veil of muslin embroidered with gold, the use of which she managed with great coquetry, especially when she idled over the strings of her saringa; and she made wonderful œillades under her long dark eyelashes, when singing the "Song of the Rose," and other ballads in her softest Afghani.

'"Sahib," said she one day, coming to me with her dark eyes quite dilated, "pardon and departure in peace has been offered to your people, if they will leave all their women in the hands of the Afghan chiefs; but they have refused, and only one cry is heard in their camp."

'"And that cry is?"

'"'Let us fight our way down, sword in hand! A few of us at least shall reach Jellalabad.' But they will never reach it," she added sadly; "Aziz Khan and Zemaun Khan have beset their homeward path with 10,000 wild Kohistanees, and the Ghilzies—the fiercest of Afghan warriors—hold the heights that overlook it."

'I started to my feet as I heard all this, as if I would be gone; but I threw myself back on the camel's hair divan in a species of despair, as I knew that the tower was guarded by men with loaded juzailchees that would kill at 800 yards. She regarded me wistfully, and drawing near nestled like a child by my side.

'"Has the Sahib a wife in yonder camp, that he looks so sad?" she asked shyly.

'"No."

'"A sister, perhaps?"

'"I have none."

'"That is well; you will have none to weep for."

'"How?"

'"Because, whether given as hostages in peace, or taken as spoil in war, the Feringhee women will become the gholaums—the slaves of the Afghan chiefs."

'My blood ran cold and hot alternately as she spoke, and something like an imprecation escaped me. She laid a hand upon my arm, and drawing nearer, said in her most winning voice: "But what is all this to you? If you have no wife, no sister, then what can the fate or fortune of the rest matter?"

'The name of Mabel rose to my lips, but died there, for a new light broke upon me with a knowledge of what my preoccupation of mind, during all October and the subsequent weeks, had prevented me seeing; that, influenced by pity, gratitude, and the singular respect with which I, as a gentleman, treated her—a respect to which she was all unaccustomed—the wife of Zemaun Khan actually loved me; and the knowledge of this filled me with only confusion and dismay, for if he discovered the fact our lives were forfeited, and already some of his household might be suspiciously cognisant of it.

'"What is all this to you, I repeat?" she asked, her clasp on my arm tightening.

'"More than I can tell you," said I, covering my face with my hands, and striving to think.

'"Be comforted; in losing your friends, you have not lost all who may love you—you have still me!" she added in a low voice, as she laid her head in a nestling way on my shoulder.

'This was coming to the point with a vengeance, and adding incalculably to the perils that surrounded me; and how was I to temporise with this hot-blooded and impulsive little oriental, whose sudden love might quite as rapidly change to bitter hate?

'"My God—could I but escape!" I exclaimed.

'"You can; but on one condition."

'"Oh, name it!"

'"Take Nourmahal with you!" said she imploringly; "she would die if left behind."

'"And die she shall!" said the low, concentrated and terrible voice of Zemaun Khan, with a grim and terrible expression of face, suddenly appearing in the curtained doorway.

'A low wail escaped Nourmahal, who sank at his feet.

'"I have heard all!" said he sternly.

'"All?" I repeated mechanically, and thinking the word might be my last.

'"Yes, all, Sahib, and blame not you."

'"Whom, then?" I asked.

'"Her!" he replied laconically.

'"She has done no wrong!" I urged; "I call Heaven to witness!"

'"Silence, Sahib! No actual wrong, but she is morally guilty," he exclaimed, in a hoarse, fierce, broken voice, as he spurned her with his heavy Afghan boot; and then, as she crept grovelling towards him imploring pity, but silently, like a dumb animal, he added, "and thus do I, her husband, punish her!"

'Then, quick as lightning, he drew, from among the bundle of weapons in his shawl-girdle, a dagger, and plunging it in her bosom, killed her on the spot. A crimson torrent flowed over her white camise, while the horrible dagger remained in the wound. I say horrible, for the weapon was constructed in such a manner, that after being thrust into the body the blade, on touching a spring, separated into three, thus rendering extraction impossible.

'This tragedy appalled me, and I looked wildly round for a weapon, resolved to sell my life as dearly as possible. Zemaun Khan saw the action, and smiled bitterly.

'"Your life is forfeited," said he; "but not while under my roof. I swore to be your brother for saving the life I have just taken, though I might have obeyed the fourth chapter of the Koran, and immured her till death came; but such a process would be too slow for me," he added, grinding his teeth. "You have eaten of my bread and salt, and to that salt I shall be true till we meet among the mountains; and then woe unto thee, Feringhee! Your people are departing—go forth and join them; but their fate and yours is sealed. Go—I have said."

'All that passed afterwards seemed like a dream to me then. I gladly quitted that chamber of horror, where the poor girl-wife lay weltering in her blood; a horse was given me, and a heavy tulwar or native sword. A wave of the hand towards the hills was all the farewell accorded me by Zemaun Khan, and turning my back upon the solitary tower, I rode in the direction he indicated, which proved to be the Khoord Cabul Pass.

'Night was closing in among these stupendous mountains, which were then all covered with snow; but as I rode on partly at random, thinking chiefly that I might be pursued and destroyed by Zemaun Khan and some of his followers, the sound of firing in front began to reach my ear. It became quickly louder and louder as I proceeded, and ere long there opened before me the long dark vista of a snow-covered gorge, on both sides and in the centre of which thousands of muskets were flashing redly out amid the gloom, while their reverberated reports mingled with a most horrible medley of sound. The British troops were being attacked; I could not doubt it, and I rode on madly and furiously to join my comrades.

'This was the night of the 8th of January, and, as I afterwards learned, it was but two days before that our whole garrison in Cabul had begun one of the most disastrous retreats ever recorded in the annals of war!

'It had been finally arranged by Colonel Berriedale and the rest of the staff that, on the payment of 1,400,000 rupees to Ackbar Khan, Zemaun Khan, and the chiefs of the Kuzzilbashes and Ghilzies, that our troops were to march unmolested; yet the first-named ruffian again recorded his terrible vow, "that every Briton should be exterminated save ONE, who was to have his hands and feet cut off, and be placed thus at the mouth of the Khyber Pass, with a written notice to deter all Feringhees from entering Cabul again."

'The helpless sick were left behind; the ladies and soldiers' wives were all in dhooleys or on horseback; and the number of souls who quitted the camp is estimated at 16,500 in all.

'As the troops marched on they were hemmed in and impeded by the hordes of Afghan horse and juzailchees, who with yells and shouts dashed recklessly through the ranks, in fierce and savage mockery at the wailing of the Hindustani camp followers, who saw their wives and children slaughtered before their eyes, or borne off, the prey of mounted warriors. H.M.'s 44th, with horse and artillery, under Brigadier Anquetil, formed the advanced guard; the 54th, with some other horse and four guns, covered the rear, on which a fire of musketry was opened from the captured cantonments. Soon the attack was general on every hand, and the retreat became a disorganised flight. Horse, foot, and artillery—men, women, children, baggage-horses, and ponies, were all wedged together in the narrow way, where the corpse-strewn snow soon became a bloody puddle, while a storm of matchlock-balls poured down on the helpless column as night closed in, and none could say who had escaped and who perished.