Untitled

"Where did you say you came from?" the man who had been the spokesman of the party asked. Angus briefly named the village he had before decided upon, and then sat looking silently at the fire. He saw that his chance of being able to discover at present any plan for escape was very small. Presently one of the men said, "Let us have supper," and rising he went to a corner of the hut, where the carcass of a sheep was hanging from the rafters. He cut off a leg, divided this into slices, which he spitted on a ramrod, and then put it over the fire. In the meantime another had unceremoniously placed the four cakes that were taken from the captives in the embers to warm up. When the meat was done, the leader said to Angus: "We do not wish to starve you. We will untie the hands of one of you, and let him eat; when he has done, we will fasten him up again, and let the other eat in the same way."

This was done. When they were again securely bound Angus said in Pushtoo: "You may as well lie down now, friend. Perhaps in the morning the men who have taken us will find out that they have made a mistake and will let us go, with apologies for having treated friends so roughly." They lay down close together, but Angus was afraid even to whisper to his follower, lest it should excite the suspicion of their guard. For an hour he remained watchful, then he saw two of the Afghans lie down, but the other two lighted their pipes, and were evidently going to keep watch. He had tried quietly once or twice to see if the cords that bound him could be loosened, but he found that although they had not been tied unpleasantly tight, they were securely fastened, and did not yield in the slightest to his efforts. He therefore gave up the idea of trying to free himself from them; and indeed, even if the guards should all sleep, the prospect was hopeless, for from the noise made in rolling the rocks against the door, it was certain that this could not be opened without waking the sleepers. It would therefore be necessary as a preliminary to kill all of them, and even then he might not be able to break open the door. At any rate, there was nothing to do at present. After trying in vain to discover an explanation of their capture he fell asleep. He woke several times in the night, but found that two men were always on guard. The next morning he heard the stones removed from the door, but no one entered. The Afghans breakfasted, and this time permitted their captives to share the meal with them. From time to time one or other of the Afghans went to the door and looked out, and at two o'clock one of them said, "The infidels are moving."

The others went out. "Have you thought of any way of escape?" Angus whispered in Persian to his follower.

"I can think of nothing," Azim murmured.

As there seemed no obstacle to their going out Angus joined his captors. He could see on the snow which covered the plain below, the dark masses of the troops surrounded by a host of camp followers, while beyond these hovered hordes of Afghans. From time to time horsemen rode in, evidently delivered some message, and then went off again.

The departure of the troops had been fatally delayed. It was ordered to begin at eight o'clock in the morning, and at that hour they stood to their arms. The day was clear and bright, and although four miles from the camp, Angus could clearly see what was going on. Although it was now two in the afternoon, only a portion of the troops had left the camp, and it was not till six o'clock, when night had already fallen, that the rear-guard left it.

Already confusion had set in; the ranks of the soldiers were broken up by the terrified camp followers, and presented the appearance of a vast mob rather than an organized army. Had they started at the hour fixed they might have reached Khoord Cabul in safety, but the loss of time was fatal. Only six miles were accomplished, and it was two o'clock in the morning before the whole gathered, when it was seen that their numbers were already diminished. The wretched camp followers, accustomed to the heat of the plains of India, and thinly clad, were the first to succumb. Hundreds, especially of women and children, sat down in the snow and were frozen to death. Already the Afghans were hanging on the flanks, and sometimes making rushes and cutting down many of the unresisting multitude.

Soon after two o'clock a native came up to the hut and delivered an order to the Afghans, who at once cut up the remainder of the sheep, and divided it between them. Then their leader said, "We are to move." The ropes that bound the prisoners were loosened. One end was tied round the wrist of each captive, the other being wound round the waist of an Afghan, allowing a slack of a yard and a half. As soon as this was done the party moved off. They descended the hill for some distance, and then followed the lower slopes in the direction in which the army was moving. They kept on till long after midnight, and then halted at a deserted hut. Far behind them they could see the flames of the burning cantonments, which had been fired by the Afghans as soon as they had removed everything of the slightest value. In the morning Angus saw that their halting-place was high up above the entrance of the Khoord Cabul Pass. There was as yet no sign of the army, but in the afternoon it was seen approaching in a confused mass. The night had been a dreadful one; soldiers and camp followers, horses and baggage and cattle were huddled in a confused mass. No warm clothes had been served out to the followers, and hundreds were frozen to death during the night, while others were so badly frost-bitten that they were unable to walk.

As soon as the troops started again the Afghan horsemen attacked the rear, seizing the baggage, capturing the guns, and cutting down all they encountered. At noon Akbar Khan, with six hundred horsemen, rode up. Pottinger sent Captain Skinner with six horsemen to communicate with him. Akbar said that he had been sent out by the Nawab to protect them from the attacks of the Ghazees. His instructions were to demand other hostages as security for the evacuation of Jellalabad, and to arrest the progress of the force, supplying it in the meantime with everything it required, until news of the evacuation of Jellalabad by Sale was received. The troops, however, did not halt until they reached the entrance of the Cabul Pass. The night was even more dreadful than the preceding day had been. The Sepoys burned their caps and accoutrements to obtain a little warmth, and numbers were frozen to death. At daybreak the crowd of soldiers and camp followers began to push forward, their only thought now being how to escape death.

Akbar Khan spent some hours in negotiations. Four more hostages were demanded; Pottinger volunteered to be one of them, Captain Lawrence had been specially named, and Pottinger chose Mackenzie as the third. It was agreed that the force should move down through the Khoord Cabul Pass to Tezeen, there to await tidings of the evacuation of Jellalabad.

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CHAPTER XVI

ANNIHILATION OF THE ARMY

In terrible confusion the crowd of fugitives—they were now nothing more—all entered the terrible pass. The Ghilzyes at once commenced their attack. In vain did Akbar Khan and his chiefs endeavour to restrain the fanatics. From the hillsides, from every rocky crag they opened a murderous fire. That day three thousand men fell, either from the musket fire or from the knives of the Afghans. The dooly-bearers had all deserted on the first day, the greater portion of the camels and ponies had been captured. So far the ladies had escaped; they all rode next to the advanced guard, as this was considered the safest point, for the soldiers here maintained some sort of order, and the Afghans, therefore, devoted their attention to the helpless crowd in the rear. Again the column halted in the snow.

In the morning the camp followers made another rush ahead, but the troops, who were ordered to march at ten o'clock, did not move, for in spite of all the remonstrances of the officers, the general countermanded the order, believing that Akbar Khan would send in provisions and troops to protect them. Another terrible night was passed, and then Captain Skinner rode into camp with a new proposal from Akbar Khan, namely, that all the English ladies of the force should be placed under his charge, and that they might be accompanied by their husbands. Pottinger remembering that Akbar Khan's family were in the hands of the British, and believing that he was sincere in his wish to save the ladies and children from destruction, sanctioned the proposal. Elphinstone at once accepted it. It was the choice of two evils. On the one hand Akbar Khan had proved faithless, and on the other certain death awaited the ladies. They were insufficiently clad, had scarcely tasted food since they left Cabul, and had passed three terrible nights in the snow. Undoubtedly it was the wiser course to trust them to Akbar Khan. Accordingly a party of Afghan horse rode in, and Lady Macnaghten, Lady Sale, and ten other ladies, some twenty children, and eight officers rode away under their escort.

The next morning the survivors started. The Sepoys had already lost the greater portion of their numbers; the remainder threw away their guns, which they could no longer use owing to their hands being frost-bitten, and joined the disorganized rabble in front. They were attacked in a narrow gorge, and the pass was soon choked with dead and dying. Not a single Sepoy survived. Of the sixteen thousand men, soldiers and camp followers, that had left Cabul four days before, not more than a quarter were now alive. Akbar Khan watched the slaughter that was going on, declaring that he was powerless to restrain the Ghilzyes, whom even their own chiefs could not control. He advised that the remnant of the British army should lay down their arms and place themselves under his protection. The general very properly refused the offer, for Akbar Khan had already acknowledged that he was incapable of restraining the tribesmen.

The march was continued. The rear-guard was commanded by Shelton, and nobly they did their work, repulsing several attacks of the enemy, and giving time for those ahead to pursue their way. Before daybreak they started again in hopes that they might reach Jugduluk that day. Despair gave the soldiers strength, and they moved off quietly in order to obtain a start of the camp followers, who paralysed their action. The latter, however, were soon on their feet, and as usual endeavoured to push on ahead of the troops. For some miles the retreat was uninterrupted, but presently a heavy fire opened on the rear-guard. The camp followers then rushed in a tumultuous crowd past the troops, and when, a little later, the head of the column was attacked, they again fled to the rear, not only hampering the movements of the soldiers, but carrying many of them away by the impetus of their rush. Steadily until day broke the Afghan marksmen maintained their fire. Soon afterwards the advanced guard reached a village ten miles from Jugduluk, and halting only till the rear-guard came up again pushed forward. Shelton, with a handful of the rear-guard, kept the Afghans at bay, and covered the retreat until all arrived in Jugduluk, where they took their post behind some ruined walls. There was, however, little rest for them; the Afghans, in ever-increasing numbers, posted themselves on the heights and opened a terrible fire. Three bullocks were found among the camp followers; these were instantly killed and served out to the famishing soldiers, who devoured them raw. Again Akbar's party approached, and Captain Skinner went out to remonstrate with him for permitting the continued attacks, but the Afghan prince declared himself incapable of repressing his men, as his orders were disregarded.

A handful of the 44th Regiment issued out and made a gallant rush at the enemy and drove them back, but as the main body did not follow their example, they again retired behind the ruined walls. All night long and through the next day the force remained at Jugduluk. Akbar Khan sent in a message inviting the general, Shelton, and Captain Johnson to a conference, and promised to send in provisions. This promise he as usual broke, and insisted on retaining the three officers as hostages.

The conference was resumed the next morning. Akbar now seemed in earnest in his desire to put a stop to the slaughter; but the petty chiefs of the tribes between Jugduluk and Jellalabad were now present, and these would listen neither to his entreaties nor commands, nor to the offer of large sums of money. They thirsted for blood, and were determined to extirpate the infidels. Mahomed Shah Khan, to whose daughter Akbar was married, then came forward and asked whether the British would pay two lacs of rupees for safe-conduct to Jellalabad. The general agreed to this, and it seemed that at last the safety of the survivors was ensured. At eight o'clock in the evening the survivors, who now numbered but a hundred and twenty of the 44th and twenty-five artillerymen, again set forth. No provisions had been sent in during the two days' halt, and all were terribly reduced by famine. The Afghans rushed down among the camp followers, killing them unresistingly. The soldiers, however, held together, and, bayonet in hand, drove off their assailants until they reached the Jugduluk Pass. They struggled up the narrow and terribly steep ascent until when near the summit they came upon a barricade composed of bushes and branches of trees. Here the column was thrown into great confusion, the camp followers crowding upon the soldiers. The latter fought with desperation, while the Afghans massacred the unresisting camp followers.

Twelve officers fell here. Their number was large in proportion to that of the men. They had been no better clothed, and had suffered equally from cold and hunger; but they did not give way to the depression that during the first two marches had reigned among the troops. They were upheld, too, by the feeling of responsibility, and the necessity of keeping up an appearance of cheerfulness and hopefulness in order to encourage the men. After desperate fighting some twenty officers and twenty-five soldiers managed to break their way through the barricade, and at daybreak reached Gundamuck. There were but two rounds of ammunition remaining in the men's pouches. Most of them were already wounded, but they were resolute not to lay down their arms, and when called upon to do so they refused. Then the mob of Afghans rushed down upon them. One officer and a few privates were taken prisoners, but seven officers succeeded in cutting their way through, and being mounted, left the Afghans behind them, and reached Futtehbad, but sixteen miles from Jellalabad. Here, however, they were attacked by the peasantry. Two were cut down at once; the others rode off, but were pursued and overtaken. Four of them were killed, and one only, Dr. Brydon, reached Jellalabad alive, the sole survivor of four thousand five hundred fighting men and twelve thousand camp followers, with the exception only of those who had been taken over by Akbar as hostages.

This, the greatest disaster that ever befell a British army, was due to the vacillation and weakness that had characterized every action since the murder of Sir Alexander Burnes. Had the force pressed forward at once on the morning when it left its cantonment, the greater portion would probably have reached Jellalabad, but two days had been lost before the army reached Khoord Cabul Pass, about ten miles from the city. There were fresh halts, fresh delays, fresh futile negotiations again and again, and during the time thus thrown away the enemy from all the mountains round were gathering in the passes to oppose them, and building the fatal barricade in the pass of Jugduluk. Had the force pushed forward with only an occasional halt of a few hours, they would not have been enfeebled by hunger. By slaying the baggage animals an abundance of food could have been obtained for all, the opposition they encountered would have been comparatively feeble, and cold would have been their only formidable antagonist. Truly it seemed that a curse had fallen upon the army; that it was Divine retribution for a most unjust and iniquitous war.

Each day Angus and his followers had been taken along, always being halted in positions whence they could see the terrible tragedy that was being enacted. Angus was half mad with grief and with fury that he was not in his place among the troops. Azim in vain endeavoured to comfort him, by pointing out that it was not his fault that he was not there, but that he had been sent away from the army by the order of his superior; and that even had he not been taken prisoner, he would not be a sharer in what was going on in the pass.

"That is true, Azim, but it is a poor consolation to me. I feel sure that Pottinger foresaw what would happen, and that it was as an act of friendship, in giving me a chance of getting through safely, that he sent me down. It was no doubt kindly meant, but I would a thousand times rather have shared the fate of the rest."

"Well, master, for my part I own that I am glad we are up here. I have no wish to be killed, especially as it would do no good to anyone. Why should a man throw away his life? Allah has given it to us, and we shall die when our time comes. But it would be wicked to throw it away uselessly."

"It is all very well to talk like that, Azim, when one is in safety, but when one sees one's comrades being slaughtered, a man would not be worthy of the name did he not long to be with them and to die fighting by their side. Indeed, we know not at present whether our lives are to be saved. We know not into whose hands we have fallen, or why we should thus be taken along to be spectators of this massacre. The whole thing is bewildering to me."

ANGUS WAS HALF MAD WITH GRIEF AND WITH FURY THAT HE WAS NOT IN HIS PLACE AMONG THE TROOPS

They now generally conversed in Persian. Their guards, although keeping as strict a watch as ever on them, interfered with them but little. Fortunately the worst scenes took place at night, and were therefore hidden from those on the hill, the incessant rattle of musketry alone telling of the relentless pursuit. On the night of the 12th the roar of fire had been louder than ever. At last it ceased suddenly. Angus and his guards alike remained awake, Angus listening in agony to the sounds of the combat, the Afghans talking together in low tones.

"What do you think has happened?" he asked them when some minutes had passed without the sound of a shot being heard.

"Either Akbar Khan has succeeded in persuading the Ghilzye chiefs to spare what few there are left of the infidels, or the last man has been slain."

Angus felt that the latter was by far the more probable solution, and throwing himself down on the ground he burst into tears. The eight days of mental suffering had shaken him terribly, and now, feeling that his worst fears had been realized, he broke down altogether. Before daybreak his captors moved some distance farther up into the mountains, and by the cautious manner in which they made their way, often pausing to look back and round, Angus concluded that they were desirous of avoiding all contact with their countrymen. He had indeed before observed how careful they were to avoid the Afghans scattered on the hillside, and he now concluded that they must be taking him to the tower of the chief, to be dealt with as he might direct, either shot at once or held by him as a hostage, for whose delivery he might obtain a handsome sum should the British again advance up the passes.

All day they travelled among the hills. At last they came upon a large village. There were no men about, doubtless all had gone to take part in the fray. The women came out and eagerly questioned them as to the fighting on the night before.

"We know nothing," the leader said. "We believe that the last of the infidels has fallen, but we know nothing for certain."

Without pausing they took the two prisoners, whose appearance had created no surprise, as they were taken for natives, to the chief's tower, a much larger building than the abodes of most of the petty chiefs. Standing upon a crag of rock, it overlooked the village; entrance was only obtainable by a ladder leading to a door some thirty feet above the rock. Their coming had been observed. An old man stood at the door.

"So you are back, Suffyd?"

"Yes, as you see. Has the chief returned?"

"No; it is two weeks since we saw him last. He started then with all the fighting men from here and the other villages; but I expect it will not be long before he returns, for, from what we have heard, the work must be nearly done."

The party ascended the ladder, and the leader spoke a word or two with the old man, who looked greatly surprised. The captives were taken into a room, which by its furnishing was evidently one of the chief's private apartments.

"You are free to move about the house," the leader said, "but you must not leave it."

In a few minutes a woman entered, bringing a dish of boiled grain with portions of mutton in it. She gave the usual Afghan salutation. She was followed by another woman with a jug of water, two mugs, and a bottle. These were placed on a low table, and then without another word they left the room. A minute later they returned with a large earthenware dish full of burning charcoal.

"This is a good beginning, Azim," Angus said, his spirits rising at the sight of the hot food; for although they had not been actually starved, they had been on extremely short rations when their supply of flour was exhausted, their captors being, like themselves, reduced to a handful of unground grain each day. "This does not look as if they meant to cut our throats. Evidently our Afghan is acting under orders. Those orders must have been that we were to be well treated."

They ate a hearty meal; then Angus said:

"See what there is in that bottle, Azim."

The cork had already been taken out, and Azim poured some of the liquor into a tin, and handed it to his master. The latter smelt it.

"It is Afghan spirits," he said, "the same as they sell in the bazaars in Cabul."

He filled it up with water, and drank it off.

"Now, Azim, do you do the same."

Azim, who was not a very strict Mohammedan, and had more than once tasted the forbidden drink at Cabul, needed no pressing.

"Well, master," he said, as he put the cup down, "after all this is better than lying dead and frozen down in the pass."

Angus, warmed with the good meal and by the draught that he had taken, could not disagree with his follower.

"I begin to think that you are right, Azim, though I did not believe so yesterday. It is certain that had I joined my countrymen I should have perished with them, and assuredly I have been saved from eight days of awful suffering and from death—if, indeed, we are saved from death."

"I think we can feel certain of that, master. This is not the way the Afghans treat a man whose throat they intend to cut. They certainly do not make a pillau for him, or provide him with a bottle of spirits."

"Do you know, I have been thinking, Azim," Angus said after a short silence, "that if it had been possible for Sadut Khan to know that we intended to leave camp in disguise, this might be his work again. But he could not have known it. No one but you and I, and Major Pottinger, and the three or four officers to whom I said good-bye, knew anything about it. Besides, he would have sent the men who captured us before, and who knew us by sight. And even supposing, which seems to be impossible, that this was his doing, why not have sent us here straight, instead of taking eight days to do a journey that could have been made easily in two, and forcing me to witness the awful scenes in the passes? It is all most extraordinary."

"However, there is no question, sir, that whoever our captor may be, he has been the means of saving our lives."

"There can be no doubt of that, Azim; and though I may not feel that at present, I shall in the future be very grateful to him. Even if he were to have us shot directly he comes here, I should still be grateful, for it would be a sudden death and not a lingering one, as it has been to those below. Well, it is of no use puzzling ourselves over the matter. I suppose we shall learn how it all came about when the chief, whoever he be, returns here. In the meantime we are certainly a great deal better off than we have been for the past two months in cantonments."

"That we are, master. To begin with, I am warm for the first time since the winter set in; and in the next place, I have had a good meal, and do not feel that I could grumble at anything. As to your mission, you said yourself that nothing could come of it, even if you succeeded in getting through, so that in that respect nothing has been lost by our journey being so suddenly brought to an end."

The next day some of the men who had been away with their chief returned, and the old man in charge told Angus that only one man out of all who had started from Cabul had reached Jellalabad, but that several officers had been taken as hostages, including the two generals, Major Pottinger and Captain Johnson, and two others; also, that all the ladies and children, and the ladies' husbands, had accepted the protection of Akbar.

It was a relief, indeed, to Angus to find that his friends Pottinger and Johnson had been saved, and as Captain Boyd was one of the married officers, he also must have escaped the massacre. As to the fate of Elphinstone and Shelton he was indifferent, it was to them that the misfortune that had befallen the army was largely due; but the thought that his three greatest friends had escaped gave him much pleasure. With these exceptions, that but one man out of sixteen thousand five hundred should have escaped was appalling. That the loss had been terrible he was well aware, but he was hardly prepared for the total annihilation of the force.

Another two days passed. They continued to be well fed and treated, and the women who waited upon them seemed to regard them as guests rather than as captives, talking freely with them, and only being silent when Angus endeavoured to find out the name of their chief. It was evident that on this point they had orders to keep silent. On the third day they heard a stir in the village, and shouts of acclamation and welcome. The room in which they were confined was at the back of the house, and they were therefore unable to obtain a view of what was passing.

"We shall learn our fate now, Azim," Angus said.

"I have no fear of its being a bad one, master. We cannot doubt that orders were given that we should be well treated. If we are kept prisoners till the spring, for my part I shall not grumble if they continue to treat us as well as they have been doing."

They heard the sound of many footsteps and loud talking, then the door opened and Sadut Khan entered. He advanced with both hands outstretched to Angus.

"My dear friend," he said, "how thankful I am that you have been saved where so many have perished!"

"And so it is you, chief, to whom I owe my life?" Angus said, returning the warm grasp of Sadut's hand. "I did not thank you at first, for it seemed to me shameful that an English officer should not share in the fate of his comrades."

Sadut smiled. "But in no case would you have shared their fate. It is not from that I have saved you, but from being killed on your way down. Knowing that the passes were full of our people, I was sure that you must have been taken and murdered. No story you could have told would have availed you. You were not a Ghilzye, nor a member of any of the tribes there, and you would assuredly have been detected and killed had I not saved you."

"That is so, Sadut; and although at first I was half-mad at being unable to join my countrymen, I saw before the end came that, had I done so, my life would have been thrown away uselessly."

"Exactly; and that was why I ordered that you should be enabled to see all that passed. From what I had seen of you, I was sure that at first you would bitterly resent being taken prisoner, and that even if you knew into whose hands you had fallen you would resist; and it was for that reason that I did not this time employ Hassan and his followers to seize you, though all through your journey they kept close at hand, to use my name and authority should any party of tribesmen meet you—not that I had much fear of your detection had they done so. The men with you had orders that in case they did meet such a party, they were to treat you both, not as captives, but as forming part of their own band. Still, it was as well that Hassan should be at hand in case of need."

"I thank you with all my heart, Sadut. I could not have done so at first, but I can do so now; you have indeed saved my life. A few days ago that seemed to me as nothing, for I felt that I was dishonoured in looking on at the massacre of my countrymen. I have had time to think it over since, and I now know that the view I took was exaggerated. Could I have joined them it was plainly my duty to have done so, but if I was a prisoner no blame could attach to me. Have you, chief, taken part in this terrible business?"

"No. With twenty of my own horsemen I rode with Akbar, who is my friend and relative, but I had no intention of drawing my sword against your people. I knew that they had been promised protection, and I thought that Akbar and his force were going to escort them. His word had been given, and I did not think he would withdraw it.

"I do not think it was his intention to do so. He could have done much more than he did, but he could not have saved the fugitives. The Nawab was alone among the Afghan chiefs in the sincerity of his assurances. Akbar had no influence with the Ghilzye chiefs, and even had he influenced them they could not have restrained their tribesmen and the Ghazees. The die was cast. It was Allah's will that those who had invaded the country without any pretext, dethroned Dost Mahomed, who had eagerly sought their alliance, and forced a man we all hated upon us, should meet their fate. Over and over again we implored Akbar, for the sake of his pledge and his word, to assist your people; even if, in his efforts to do so, he fell, then his name would go down as long as our nation existed as one who died in defence of his oath and his honour. He was all along irresolute. At times he did his best short of attacking the Ghilzyes, at other times he held aloof altogether from the scene. At any rate, I can feel that my honour is not soiled. I was not one of those who signed the treaty, but I have done my best to prevent that treaty from being violated. Had your people sallied out from the cantonments and given us battle, I should have fought against them. But even had there been no treaty, I would not have taken part in the massacre of men who were practically defenceless, and who were in no way responsible for the crime of their government."

"I am glad to hear you say so, chief. I should have been grieved indeed had you taken part in so treacherous and terrible a massacre. But how did you learn that I was going to try to make my way down to Jellalabad? That I have never been able to understand."

"I kept a watch over you the whole time, my friend. Either Hassan, or one of his men who knew you, was always in the camp, dressed as one of the camp followers."

"But even then I cannot imagine how he could have told that I was going. I knew it myself but a few hours before I started, and only Major Pottinger and three or four of my friends were aware of it."

"My watch was a good one," the chief said, "and when two Afghans issued from your tent you may be sure the news was quickly brought to the men who had for some days been lying in readiness, and who were prepared to repeat the adventure in the city."

Suddenly, to the astonishment of Angus, Azim threw himself on his knees. "Master!" he exclaimed, "you can kill me, but I own that it was I who betrayed you. I had met Hassan in the camp, and he told me that assuredly no white man would escape alive, that it was settled that all should be attacked and slain in the passes. He said that Sadut Khan had resolved to save you, but that to do this with certainty it would be necessary that he should be informed as to your movements, and where you would ride when the army started. He said that unless I helped them it might be impossible to save you. Then I agreed to do so, and met him or one of his men every day. As soon as you had left the tent after telling me of your expedition, I ran to the spot where I knew I should find Hassan, and told him that we were going alone. He said at once that it would be certain death were you to try to go down the pass, and that you must be carried off as soon as you had left the camp. I knew well that you would be greatly angered, and that if you suspected me you would kill me for my treachery; but that was nothing compared to your life, and so I turned traitor to you, and am willing now that you should order me to be taken out and beheaded."

Angus held out his hand to his faithful follower. "I should have been angry at first—grieved and angry too, but I cannot be angry now. You did what you believed to be best for me, and I acknowledge that it has turned out so. Your treachery was but an act of fidelity, and undoubtedly was the means of saving my life. You did wrong, but it was with the best intentions. You ought to have confided in me."

"But I knew that if I did so you would not have consented."

"That is true enough; still, I was the best judge of what was consistent with my honour. However, next to Sadut Khan I owe you my life, and it would be but poor gratitude were I to reproach you. Let us say no more about it. I shall remember always that you saved my life, and shall forget that you somewhat betrayed my trust. I have for four years past regarded you as my friend rather than as my servant, and I shall esteem you even more so in the future."

Azim retired with tears of joy in his eyes. Sadut and Angus had a long talk together. As if by mutual consent, the subject of the late events was avoided, and the conversation was upon their journey across the Bamian and Sadut's doings since that time.

"I stayed at Khooloom until the governor, whom we had trusted implicitly, handed over Dost Mahomed's family and mine to your people. I happened to be away at the time, and on my return two days later was warned by Hassan of what had taken place. When Dost returned from captivity among the Turkomans, of course I joined him and accompanied him to Kohistan, and fought by his side in the battle of Purwandurrah. The Ameer had said no word even to me of his intention to surrender, and I was thunder-struck when I heard that he had given himself up. I remained there, and took part in the attack on the Ghoorka regiment, at Charekar. After that I returned home. My fortress, as you know, lies far to the west among the Momunds. This place does not belong to me, but to the husband of a sister of mine. She is at present at my place with her husband, who is ill; and as I wished to be nearer to the scene of action, he begged me to use his fort as a residence. I desired to hold myself aloof from the negotiations, as I knew that most of the chiefs were open at any moment to betray the cause for British gold. Still, I was often down in the city, where I own the house to which you were taken. I no longer hated your people as infidels—your kindness to me showed me that there was goodness in your religion as well as in mine—but I was still ready to fight against them as the invaders of my country."

"And now, chief, what do you propose to do with me?"

"That is for you to decide, my friend. I know what you will say, but, though I may regret it deeply, I shall certainly offer no opposition. You are my guest, and it is not for me to dictate to you. I should be happy if you would stay with me till these troubles have passed, but I place myself wholly at your disposal, whatever you may decide upon."

"Thank you, indeed. It is clear to me that if it is in my power I should immediately rejoin our forces."

"I was sure that that would be your wish, and I will send you down with a strong escort to Peshawur."