“A moth-eaten rag on a worm-eaten pole,
It does not look likely to stir a man’s soul.
’Tis the deeds that were done ’neath the moth-eaten rag,
When the pole was a staff, and the rag was a flag.
For on many a morn in our grandfathers’ days,
When the bright sun of Portugal broke through the haze,
Disclosing the armies arrayed in their might,
It showed the old flag in the front of the fight.
By rivers, o’er bridges, past vineyards and downs,
Up the valleys where stood, all deserted, the towns,
It followed the French, and when they turned to bay,
It just paused for the fight, then again led the way.
And whenever it chanced that a battle was nigh,
They saw it then hung like a sign in the sky:
And they soon learned to know it—its crimson and white—
O’er the lines of red coats and of bayonets bright.
* * * * *
In the church, where it hangs when the moon gilds the graves
And the aisles and the arches, it swells and it waves;
While, below, a faint sound as of combat is heard
From the ghostly array of the old Forty-Third.”
The feeling here expressed must have been strong with those who tried to save the colours at Maiwand. More than 1300 men had fallen there when the relics of the little army returned to Candahar, which was then invested, and all communication with India cut off by the destruction of the telegraph.
The nearest force for its relief was that of General Phayre in the Quettah Pass, where the difficulties of transport and supply were extreme. The other available army was that under Stewart and Roberts at Cabul. It was from them assistance was to come; but, while awaiting relief, a most useless and injudicious sortie was made, which had no result save the loss of valuable lives and a slight break in the monotony of the siege of Candahar.
The country in this part of Afghanistan was fully roused, though the northern portion, now held by the Amir, was quiet. The hatred to the British seemed to increase day by day. The deportation of prominent Afghan chiefs to India added fuel to the flame. The horror of such exile, in the Afghan mind, is extreme; the suffering infinitely greater than any death.
The fact that the tide of unvarying success which usually characterises the action of our arms in the East had been so far checked, had acted curiously on even the Indian mind. Hitherto there had been no reluctance to serve beyond the borders of the Indian Empire, and no difficulty in obtaining recruits. Now there was; and to such an extent that bounties of £5 had to be offered, a sum equivalent with a native to what £56 would be with an English soldier, in order to fill up the depleted ranks. Even the often despised Madrasee was willingly taken.