n the ramparts of Jelalabad, a fortified post held by the
British in Afghanistan, looking out over the plain that extended
northward and westward from the town, saw a singular-looking person
approaching. He rode a pony that seemed so jaded with travel that it
could scarcely lift a foot to continue, its head drooping low as it
dragged slowly onward. The traveller seemed in as evil plight as his
horse. His head was bent forward upon his breast, the rein had fallen
from his nerveless grasp, and he swayed in the saddle as if he could
barely retain his seat. As he came nearer, and lifted his face for a
moment, he was seen to be frightfully pale and haggard, with the horror
of an untold tragedy in his bloodshot eyes. Who was he? An Englishman,
evidently, perhaps a messenger from the army at Cabul. The officers of
the fort, notified of his approach, ordered that the gates should be
opened. In a short time man and horse were within the walls of the town.

So pitiable and woe-begone a spectacle none there had ever beheld. The
man seemed almost a corpse on horseback. He had fairly to be lifted from
his saddle, and borne inward to a place of shelter and repose, while the
animal was scarcely able to make its way to the stable to which it was
led. As the traveller rested, eager questions ran through the garrison.
Who was he? How came he in such a condition? What had he to tell of the
army in the field? Did his coming in this sad plight portend some dark
disaster?

This curiosity was shared by the officer in command of the fort. Giving
his worn-out guest no long time to recover, he plied him with inquiries.

"You are exhausted," he said. "I dislike to disturb you, but I beg leave
to ask you a few questions."

"Go on sir; I can answer," said the traveller, in a weary tone.

"Do you bring a message from General Elphinstone,--from the army?"

"I bring no message. There is no army,--or, rather, I am the army," was
the enigmatical reply.

"You the army? I do not understand you."

"I represent the army. The others are gone,--dead, massacred,
prisoners,--man, woman, and child. I, Doctor Brydon, am the army,--all
that remains of it."

The commander heard him in astonishment and horror. General Elphinstone
had seventeen thousand soldiers and camp-followers in his camp at Cabul.
"Did Dr. Brydon mean to say----"

"They are all gone," was the feeble reply. "I am left; all the others
are slain. You may well look frightened, sir; you wo