"I fear the worst is yet to come," Will said. "We are fifty miles from Candahar; and when we came out we had to carry water with us, for there was none to be found, on the way. We have a fearful march before us.
"What on earth has become of the cavalry? They have done nothing to cover the retreat."
"They have ridden on ahead," the captain said, bitterly, "without having drawn a sword in this day's fight; and will ride into Candahar tomorrow morning, without losing a man, save the few who were knocked over by the artillery."
Presently an officer rode up.
"Ah! Gale," he exclaimed, "thank God you are safe. I rode back to see."
And Colonel Ripon shook hands warmly with the young officer.
"I am glad to see that you are safe, sir," Will answered. "This has been a terrible day."
"It has, indeed," the colonel said, mournfully, "terrible! There has been nothing like it, since the retreat from Cabul in 1848. And how many of these poor fellows will reach Candahar, God only knows! The water bottles wore emptied, hours ago. The men are already exhausted with the long day's work, and parched with thirst; and we have fifty miles' tramp before us. Have you any wounded men here with you?"
"Several, sir, some of them badly hurt."
"Put one of the worst on my horse," Colonel Ripon said, dismounting; "and push on briskly, lads. There are some carts ahead. We will turn out the stores, and put the wounded in.