Deeper and deeper grows the horror--more profound the shame--as the story proceeds. General Elphinstone and Brigadier Shelton lay in their cantonments with 4,500 fighting men, with guns, and camp followers to the number of 12,000. Macnaghten's bloody remains were dragged in triumph through the streets of Cabul, yet not an arm was raised to avenge him. Major Eldred Pottinger was for cutting their way out and dying on the field, but no one would listen to him: negotiations were opened with Akbar Khan, and the British force were allowed to march out, leaving all their guns except six, all their treasure and six officers as hostages. They started, upwards of 16,000 souls, to march through the stupendous Khyber Pass to Jellalabad in the very depth of winter. Akbar Khan's safe-conduct proved the shadow of a shade; either he would not, or, as seems to have been the case, he could not, protect them from hordes of fanatic Ghilzies, who hovered along the route--shooting, stabbing, mutilating the wretched fugitives. Akbar, indeed rode with Elphinstone, and probably it was true, as he declared, that he could do nothing with his handful of horse to keep off the infuriated hillmen. At last it became evident that a choice must be made of a few who might be saved either from a bloody death or from perishing of cold in the snow and searching wind. Akbar proposed to take all the women and children into his own custody and convey them to Peshawur. The awful nature of the dilemma may be imagined when such a proposal was agreed to. Lady Macnaghten was placed in charge of the assassin of her husband: with her went Lady Sale, Mrs. Trevor, and eight other Englishwomen; and, as an extreme favour, a few married men were allowed to accompany their wives. General Elphinstone and two other officers were also taken as hostages. The rest struggled on as far as the Jugdulluck Pass. Then came the end: the hillsides were crowded with fierce mountaineers; the 44th Regiment were ordered to the front; they mutinied and threatened to shoot their officers, broke their ranks, and were cut down in detail by the Afghans. A general massacre followed. Out of more than 16,000 souls who marched out of Cabul, a sorry score of fugitives were all that left that horrible defile alive. Sixteen miles from Jellalabad, only six remained: still the murdering knife was plied, until, at last, one solitary haggard man, Dr. Brydon, rode into Jellalabad to tell of the literal annihilation of the army of Cabul, and announce to General Sale, commanding in that place, that his wife was in the hands of Akbar Khan.