The Argosy — page 257: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

240 A STORY FROM CABUL. Just a handful of Sikhs, and an Englishman at their head: But the enemy swarmed by scores, an endless, pitiless mass, So ‘* Draw swords and charge!” the very last words he said, And the handful, a handful less, broke down the mountain pas;3, His troopers held him up, with a bullet hole in his breast, And they laid him under a rock; there was no time to spare— Into Sherpore by gunfire, that was the chance for the rest, To ride for fifteen miles with the enemy’s shot in the air! Scarcely more than a boy, they laid him dead on the rock: Never a kiss, nor a holy word, nor a tear to hallow the place, For the foe were rallying behind from the sudden shock; Only they crossed his arms on his breast, and covered his face. But the grey horse he had ridden stood close.at the master’s side— Bridle, nor spur, nor word of command, he heeded them not. Into Sherpore by gunfire, and fifteen miles to ride; So they were bound to press on, and leave him guarding the spot. Into Sherpore by gunfire: they did_it, the brave little band, And told the sorrowful tale of the charge that the Captain led. Had we laid him to rest in the stateliest church of his land, We had not mourned more deeply, more truly, our friend that was dead. That was a night of alarms; the enemy showed in force, So we doubled our guard at the gates and waited the first attack, And just before morning, sounded the nearing steps of a horse. ‘“'Who comes there ?”’ cried the sentry, and got no answer back. ‘“Click!” went the carbine, ‘‘ Fire!” and the steps were still: Silently something fell in the dark, with the fall that is dead, And when the morning light struggled over the crest of the hill, There lay the Captain’s grey charger, ‘‘Favorite,” shot through the head, Was it lone on the hillside, and did he seek our aid ? How can we tell what stirrings of love were strong in the beast ? He had fed from the master’s hand; and it seemed that his grief essayed, In this dim, dumb way, to bring us the last sad news, at least. Ie who fired the shot had often groomed him and fed— One of the Captain’s troop: an ignorant fellow, of course; So he primed the carbine again, and put the charge thro’ his head. Strange, how the stirrings of love worked both in man and horse! G. B. STvARt Gomicbooks, Go m