Only an Ensign: A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul, Volume 3 (of 3)Grant, James
General
Only an Ensign: A Tale of the Retreat from Cabul, Volume 3 (of 3)
Grant, James
Afghan Wars -- Fiction
As they proceeded, past groves of drooping willows, past rows of
leafy poplars, rice-fields where pools of water glittered in the
starlight, and past where clumps of the flowering oleaster filled the
air with delicious perfume, Mabel began to recognise the features of
the landscape, and knew by the familiar locality that she was once
more within a very short distance of Cabul. Again, in the light of
the rising moon, as she sailed, white and silvery, above the black
jagged crests of the Siah Sung, Mabel Trecarrel could recognise the
burned and devastated cantonments, where in flame and ruin the
fragile bungalows, the compounds of once-trim hedgerows, and all, had
passed away,--the bare boundary walls and angular bastions alone
remaining. She saw the site of her father's pretty villa, a place of
so many pleasant and happy memories--the daily lounge of all the
young officers of the garrison; and there, too, were the remains of
the Residency, where Sir William Macnaghten, as the Queen's
representative, dispensed hospitality to all. Yonder were the hills
and village of Beymaru; and further off a few red lights that
twinkled high in air announced the Bala Hissar, the present residence
of Ackbar Khan; but to take her in that direction formed then no part
of the plans of Zohrab Zubberdust.
He rode straight towards a lonely place which lay between the Beymaru
Hills and the Lake of Istaliff; and as the locality grew more and
more sequestered he slackened the speed of his horse, now weary and
foam-flaked. After a time he drew up, and, requesting her to alight,
lifted her to the ground, and politely and gently urged her to rest
herself for a little space.
"My sister?" said Mabel, tremulously.
"Is not here," replied he.
"But where, then?"
"Patience yet a while," said he with a smile, which she could not
perceive; while he, to be prepared for any emergency, proceeded at
once to shift his saddle, rub down his horse with a handful of dry
grass, give it a mouthful or two from a certain kind of cake which he
carried in his girdle; and then he looked to his bridle,
stirrup-leather, and the charges of his pistols. Accustomed to arms
and strife of late, Mabel looked quietly on, taking all the
preparations for uncertain contingencies as mere matters of course.
Breathless and weary with her strange mode of progression, she had
seated herself on a stone close by; and while the careful rider was
grooming his steed and making him drink a little of the shining
waters of the long narrow lake, she looked anxiously around her,
surmising when or in what manner of habitation she should find her
sister. Not a house or homestead, not even the black tent of a
mountain shepherd, was in sight. On all sides the lonely green and
silent hills towered up in the quiet moonlight, and the still, calm
lake reflected their undulating outlines downward in its starry depth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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