Many months had passed since
the two friends first saw the Black Mountain, compared with which the
mightiest highland in wild Donegal, land of mountains, was an anthill.
Dear Gartan Lough was as a drop of water in their eyes, their
snipe-haunted marshes as a potato garden, when they saw the gigantic
scale of Indian scenery. Henry had fought well in many a skirmish and
had escaped without a wound. Malcolm had used his surgical skill pretty
often, generally with good effect. He was beloved by officers and men
for his kindness of heart. Was there a letter to be written for any poor
fellow--a last message to be sent home, words of Christian hope to be
spoken, Dr. McGregor was called upon.
On the 4th of November, the first column began the retreat, the enemy
"sniping," as usual, and a party had to be sent out to clear the flank,
before the troops left camp. The retiring column then got carefully
along the Chaila Ridge as far as the Ghoraphir Point, where some of the
5th Fusiliers were placed with a battery of guns, and ordered to remain
until all were passed. The enemy, in force, followed the last regiment
and were steadily shelled from the battery. The guns were then sent down
and the men, firing volleys, followed the guns, only two companies being
left.
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