But before the match was applied, a British
officer peeped through a chink in the gates to see what the Affghans were
doing within. Behold! they were quietly smoking, and eating their supper,
not suspecting any danger! The match was applied--the gunpowder exploded,
and the strong gates were shattered into a thousand pieces; the army
rushed in sword in hand, and the Affghans fled in wild confusion.
Where was our young soldier? He was running into the fort between two
friendly soldiers, who kindly helped him on; each of them was holding one
of his arms, and assisting him to keep up with the troops, as they rushed
through the gates. As he ran, he heard horrible cries, but the darkness
hindered him from seeing the dying Affghans rolling in the dust, only he
felt their soft bodies as he hastily passed over them. He heard his
fellow-soldiers shouting and firing on every side. Some fell close beside
him, and others were wounded, and carried off on the shoulders of their
comrades, screaming with agony.
Half an hour after the gates were fired, the city was taken. The news of
the victory spread among the Affghans on the mountains, and the plains,
and the whole country submitted to the British.
The army soon marched to Cabool, that proud city. No one opposed their
entrance, and the bazaar, and the king's garden, and the royal citadel
were visited by our soldiers.
After spending two months in beautiful Cabool, resting their weary limbs
and feasting on fine fruits, the army was ordered to return home.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157