“All but one--Dr. Brydon! We saw from the top of the gateway a man riding on an old pony. He seemed to be wounded; he was bending over the pommel. We sent two horsemen out to bring him in--it was Dr. Brydon. He could not speak at first. Then he murmured: ‘The only survivor of Cabul army!--all killed.’” [Illustration: THE LAST OF AN ARMY The whole of the Cabul army but one man, Dr. Brydon, was destroyed.] After thinking this over in silence for a minute or two, they went outside and saw Sale and his staff at the Cabul gate hoisting up the colours, a sign to any poor fugitive who might have escaped. A hearty cheer went up as they looked on their country’s glorious colours. Their spirits were still high. Instantly the cavalry rode out. About four miles from Jellalabad they found the bodies of three of Brydon’s companions--Lieutenant Harper, Collyer, and Hopkins--all terribly mangled. At night lights were hung out over the Cabul gate, and two buglers were put on duty in the south-west bastion to sound the advance every quarter of an hour, in hope that some poor fugitive might hear it and be saved. “The terrible wailing sound of those bugles I shall never forget,” says Seaton. “It was a dirge for our slaughtered soldiers, and had a most mournful and depressing effect.” Dr. Brydon’s tale struck horror into the hearts of all who heard it, but mingled with the sorrow and pity came a fierce desire for vengeance. Little was said, but the stern looks of the soldiers, the set teeth, and the clenched hands, showed how deep was the feeling that had been stirred, and how stern the vow registered in each man’s heart. On the 19th a servant of Captain Bazette came in, and on the 30th a Goorkah. On the 31st they had the pleasure of welcoming another white face--a sergeant-major. From the accounts of the sergeant they gathered many particulars of this tragedy--how, after the murder of our Envoy, General Elphinstone agreed to evacuate the country and retire with the whole of his force, Akbar, on his part, undertaking to escort the Cabul force and guarantee it from attack; how the Afghans rushed into our cantonments, even before the rear of the British force had got outside the walls, and began their plundering; how our men were shot down in the Khoord Cabul Pass; how Akbar pretended he could not control his men, and advised the English officers to surrender to him; how the native soldiers, chilled to death in the snow, went over to the enemy in hundreds. The sergeant said in their excuse: “I can’t blame the natives. I myself was born in a cold climate. I was well clad, yet my sufferings from the cold were terrible: my fingers were frost-bitten, and all my joints were sore. Why, sir, in the next pass the Afghans, after slaughtering our men till they were tired, stripped hundreds of poor Hindoos stark naked and left them there to die in the cold.”