_ man who tried to get in by that way the
_king_ had killed; but the _second_ had killed the king. The British, as
they rushed in by this new way, trampled on the body of the fallen
monarch. He was a splendid object even in death; his long dark ringlets
were flowing over his glittering garments, and his sharp sword, with its
golden hilt, was in his hand. The British hurried by, and climbed the
steep and narrow stairs leading to the top of the citadel, and the enemy
no longer durst oppose their course.

On the terrace at the top of the citadel, in the open air, stood the
nobles of Beloochistan. There were princes too from the countries all
around. It was a magnificent assembly. These men were the finest of a
fine race. Some were clad in shining armor, and others in flowing
garments of green and gold. Thus they stood for a _moment_, and the
_next_--they were rolling on the ground!!

How was this? Had not peace been agreed upon on both sides? Yes, but a
British soldier had attempted to take away the sword of one of the
princes. The prince had resisted, and with his sword, had wounded the
soldier; and instantly every British gun on that spot had been pointed at
the nobles of Beloochistan.

This was why the nobles were lying in the agonies of death.

Our young soldier was not one of those who slew the nobles. He was
standing on another part of the terrace, when, hearing a tremendous
volley of guns, he exclaimed to a friend, "What can that be?" Going
forward, he beheld heaps of bleeding bodies, turbans, and garments--in
one confused mass. The dying were calling for water, and the very
soldiers who had shot them, were holding cups to their quivering lips,
though themselves parched with thirst. But water could not save the lives
of the fallen nobles: one by one they ceased to cry out, and soon--all
were silent--and all were still. The VICTORY was WON! But how awful had
been the last scene! How cruelly, how unjustly, had the lives of that
princely assembly been cut short!

The conquerors returned that evening to their camp. On their way, they
passed through the desolate streets of the city; the mud cottages on each
side were empty, and blood flowed between. The young officer, as he
marched at the head of his company, was struck by seeing a row of his own
fellow-soldiers lying dead upon the ground. They had been placed there
ready for burial on the morrow. Their ghastly faces, and gaping wounds
were terrible to behold. The y