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 youth remembered them full of life and
spirits in the morning, unmindful of their dismal end; _then_ he felt how
merciful God had been in sparing his life; and when he crept into his