e doctor
willingly undertook the office of guardian. He had known Ahmed's father;
it was the likeness between them which had awakened a vague remembrance
of having seen Ahmed before. With these good friends Ahmed Khan left the
shores of India, but among the passengers who disembarked at St.
Katharine's Docks there was no one of that name; he had become
accustomed to hearing himself called Mr. James Barclay.

EPILOGUE

It is a bleak, raw day in November, 1863. A field force of all arms,
under Sir Neville Chamberlain, is encamped in the rocky country of
Umbeyla; their duty is to punish the tribesmen who, led by a fierce and
fanatical mullah, have long been giving trouble. Above their camp towers
an abrupt and precipitous rock, known as the Crag, and its summit is
held by a picket of the 1st Panjab Infantry, a hundred and twenty
strong. Twice already has the enemy, creeping up in thousands on the
other side from the lower hills, driven the picket from its post, and
twice has the position been recaptured at the point of the bayonet. And
on this 13th of November the wild tribesmen have for the third time
swarmed up to the attack, in such overwhelming force that the Crag's
handful of defenders is driven back, and comes in full flight down the
narrow rocky path that leads to the encampment below.

A panic seizes the camp-followers; they run hither and thither, crying
that all is lost. But detachments of the Guides and the 1st Panjab
Infantry gallantly climb the steep ascent, and press doggedly up and up
in face of a murderous fire from the summit. They have nearly reached
the top; but what can a few hundreds, even of British troops, do against
the horde of fierce warriors above them? They halt; their leader sends
down word that he can barely hold his own, much less retake the Crag,
and asks for supports. He is almost giving way when up comes Major Ross
with more Guides and more Panjabis, who scale the precipitous bluff and
almost gain the crest. They, too, are checked; the dauntless fanatics
above will not yield; their numbers are continually increased, and with
furious and exultant cries they withstand every assault upon their
vantage ground.

From the camp below Sir Neville Chamberlain watches the fight. The
moment is critical; if the enemy maintain their hold on the Crag he will
have to retire. It must be retaken at all costs. He orders the 101st
Royal Bengal Fusiliers to the front, and more companies of the Gui