The next V.C., the story of which I have to tell, is that of Lieutenant Hamilton,--“Hamilton of the Guides,”--whose brilliant career was cut all too short at Cabul in the massacre of Cavagnari’s ill-fated mission. Having joined Brigadier-General Gough’s force, which was keeping clear the line of communication between Jellalabad and Cabul, Lieutenant Hamilton saw plenty of fighting with the hill-tribes in the vicinity. At Futtehabad, in April 1879, there was an engagement with a considerable body of Afghans, and in this fight he made himself conspicuous. At the moment that the scale of victory was turning in our favour, the Guides, led by their beloved commander, Major Wigram Battye, charged into the Afghan ranks. Battye fell shot through the heart at the first volley, and the leadership devolved on Hamilton, who led them on, more fierce than ever. In the mêlée that now ensued Dowlut Ram, a sowar riding by the lieutenant’s side, was bowled over and instantly threatened with death from three Afghan knives. Wheeling his horse, Hamilton cut his way to the fallen man’s side, dragged him from beneath his dead horse, and carried him off right under the enemy’s nose. For this act he was recommended for the Cross, but to everyone’s disappointment it was not awarded him. Only after he had fallen beneath Afghan swords at Cabul, five months later, was his heroism acknowledged. Then followed the tardy announcement that had he lived her Majesty would have been pleased to confer the honour of the Victoria Cross upon him. Hamilton’s end was an heroic one. Early one September morning in 1879 the Residency at Cabul in which Sir Louis Cavagnari and his staff had taken up their quarters was attacked and fired by the Afghans. The only defenders of the place were the Guides, a mere handful of men under Lieutenant Hamilton’s command. Soon the building was stormed, and Cavagnari with his suite brutally massacred. Hamilton alone remained, the last Englishman left alive in Cabul. Driven from room to room, he and his men at last reached the courtyard to make their last stand. In vain did the Afghans call on the Guides to join them, saying they had no quarrel with men of their own race. The Guides were loyal to the oath they had sworn. As one man they formed up behind their gallant leader, dressed their ranks, and flung wide “The doors not all their valour could longer keep.” Then with a cheer out they dashed at the horde before them, in the mad endeavour to cut their way through. It was a forlorn hope. The enemy closed round them like a dark sea, “And with never a foot lagging or head bent, To the clash and clamour and dust of death they went.” “The Guides at Cabul,” Henry Newbolt.