camp-followers, half-frozen, tried to force their way, not only into the tent, but actually into our beds, if such resting-places can be so called – a poshteen (or pelisse of sheepskin) half spread on the snow, and the other half wrapped over one. Many poor wretches died round the tent in the night. The light company of the 54th Native Infantry, which left Cabul thirty-six hours previously eighty strong, was reduced to eighteen. This is only one instance which may fairly be taken as a general average of the destruction of our force."[1]
To this miserable night succeeded a morning that brought with it a repetition of the confusion, woe, and butchery which had marked the preceding. Two hours before the time fixed for marching on the morning of the 9th, a large portion of the troops and nearly all the camp-followers moved off, the only order appearing to be, "Come along; we are all going, and half the men are off, with the camp-followers in advance!" As many as could had appropriated to themselves all the public yaboos and camels, on which they mounted. They had not gone more than a mile, however, when the whole were remanded back to their former ground; and a halt for the day was ordered, in accordance with the wishes of the Sirdar, who had represented to the General, through Captain Skinner, that his arrangements were not made, as regarded either the security of the troops or their provisions. This palpable juggling of Akbar Khan, for the purpose of wearing down and ultimately destroying the unhappy remnant of the force with the greater facility, was tamely yielded to with the same unhappy imbecility which marked the whole of this deplorable catastrophe, in almost every measure that had been taken since the outbreak in Cabul. "There can be no doubt," says Lieutenant Eyre, "that the general feeling in camp was adverse to a halt; there being scarcely even a native soldier who did not plainly perceive that our only chance of escape consisted in moving on as fast as possible. This
- ↑ Lady Sale's Memoirs.
