troops and about 2,500 camp-followers having perished in that fearful pass.
But, after all these horrors, what awaited our doomed warriors at this their second encamping ground? "On the force reaching Khoord Cabul," says Lieutenant Eyre,[1] "snow began to fall, and continued till morning. Only four small tents were saved, of which one belonged to the General, two were devoted to the ladies and children, and one was given up to the sick; but an immense number of poor wounded wretches wandered about the camp, destitute of shelter, and perished during the night. Groans of misery and distress assailed the ear from all quarters. We had ascended to a still colder climate than we had left behind, and were without tents, fuel, or food."
Then hear the pitiable tale told with such fortitude by Lady Sale: "Poor Sturt was laid on the side of a bank, with his wife and myself beside him. It began snowing heavily: Johnson and Bygrave got some xummuls (coarse blankets) thrown over us. Dr. Bryce, H.A., came and examined Sturt's wound: he dressed it, but I saw by the expression of his countenance that there was no hope. He afterwards kindly cut the ball out of my wrist, and dressed both my wounds. Half of a Sipahee's pall had been pitched, in which the ladies and their husbands took refuge. We had no one to scrape the snow off the ground in it. Captain Johnson and Mr. Mein first assisted poor Sturt over to it, and then carried Mrs. Sturt and myself through the deep snow. Mrs. Sturt's bedding (saved by the ayah[2] riding on it, whom we kept up close with ourselves), was now a comfort to my poor wounded son. He suffered dreadful agony all night, and intolerable thirst, and most grateful did we feel to Mr. Mein for going out constantly to the stream to procure water; we had only a small vessel to fetch it in, which contained but a few mouthfuls. To sleep in such anxiety of mind and intense cold was impossible. There were nearly thirty of us packed together without room to turn. The Sepoys and
