Mabel had her riding switch shot away by a casual bullet; Lady Sale had one of her arms wounded by another, and several balls passed through the skirt of her riding habit.
Down below the hills into which they were advancing, and far away in the rear, a sheet of fire still enveloped the whole oblong area of the Cantonments, and the plain through which the Cabul flows was enveloped in rolling smoke, amid which the square masses of the Afghan forts loomed darkly forth; but few cared to give a backward glance as the troops toiled doggedly into the mountain gorges, where darkness, the winter-storm, and the treacherous foe went with them.
Snow, snow everywhere; the chill atmosphere was full of it; aslant the white flakes were falling to join others on the leafless planes and poplars, on the upturned faces and stiffening bodies of the dead. There was no horizon; all trace of it had disappeared; the Afghan horsemen hovering on the flanks were like shadows or spectres in the gloom—but shadows from whence a red flash came forth at times, and then a bullet whistled past on its errand of death. After a time these wild cavaliers rode into the ravines, and nothing was seen in the grey obscurity but the white flakes falling silently athwart it; and there were thawing and freezing—freezing and thawing at one and the same time.
It was misery, intense misery, all, and Denzil had but one thought, that on the ruddy, shiny, auburn billows of Rose's hair, and of her sister's too, these flakes were falling now.
With nightfall the firing had ceased; the soldiers marched sternly and silently on in the dark, and even the least callous among them had ceased to shudder now when treading softly on the limbs or breasts of the dead who encumbered the way. And to those in the rear, it seemed as if all in front were perishing.
"Meanwhile, amid all this horror, where is she?" thought Denzil; "with my precious cousin no doubt—yet, I pray God, that he may be able to protect her."
More than once on that disastrous march, however, had Audley ridden back to the rear guard to see if Denzil was safe, and to kindly proffer the use of his brandy flask. And now, by a miserable destiny, instead of advancing that night straight through the Khoord Cabul Pass, the inane old General allowed the Afghans to take possession of it, while he, most fatally, ordered his forces to encamp on the right of the Loghur river, if encamping it could be called, when the tents and baggage had alike been lost, the troops were without fuel and had only the snow to lie upon, and the falling snow to cover them.
"The bugles of the advanced guard are sounding a halt," said Waller; "it may be unwise, but I thank Heaven, as I am ready to drop, and shall have to snooze like the rest amid the snow and our glory. Glory—pah! I would rather have a glass of brandy-pawnee hot, than all the glory to be got in British India. Polwhele, make the company pile arms when we come to the halting-place—and now to look after the Trecarrels—God help them!"
As corps after corps came up and halted, friends and comrades could enquire as to who had been killed or lost on the march; wounded there could be none, as all who sank behind were certain to perish by cold or the long trenchant knives of the Afghans, who had a particular fancy for decapitating all the victims that fell into their hands.
Officers and soldiers were alike maddened with fury against the infamous treachery of those who had been paid in such terms to let them and their families depart in peace; and on all sides were heard the bitterest execrations of Ackbar Khan and his adherents. These became mingled with loud lamentations and cries of despair, when husbands found that their wives, wives that their husbands, or parents that their children, had been lost—hopelessly lost—on that long and terrible path of death and suffering, which led down the mountains to the rear, a path where none might dare to return or search for those they loved.