interest, and anxiety, every gallant forward step in the desert, and seemed to be moved to the heart by the stirring and pathetic tale.
Herbert Stewart was only forty-one, full of life and energy, and zeal for his glorious profession. To think of him struck down at the supreme moment when he had achieved that fame which had been his dream throughout his career; suddenly taken from the fulness of a busy life, and the intense anxiety of his most difficult and responsible task; the sudden quietness of inaction after the storm; – to picture the young general stretched on the bed of suffering on board Gordon's steamer on the Nile; afterwards tenderly carried back by his men through the long and dangerous return marches across the desert, the convoy of wounded fighting its way through the enemy; his thoughts, feelings, regrets, his bitter disappointment, – to think of these things is enough to draw tears from the eyes of strong men. Our gallant soldier, we can believe, encountered them with calmness and fortitude. Then the last scene of all at Gakdul – touchingly told by the telegram sent home by an officer of his staff: –
"We buried him in the little British graveyard near the Gakdul Wells. It was the most impressive scene any one ever went through. We formed a procession in the valley, headed by the firing-party, and the band of the Royal Sussex. Colonel Talbot read the burial service. I looked up once. It is no exaggeration to say that every one round the spot had utterly broken down. I have lost the kindest, truest friend man ever had – and England, I honestly believe, one of her best officers.
"The 19th Hussars made a forced march to try to be in time for the funeral, but arrived too late. This morning they came and asked to be allowed to do the stone-work round the grave, and have been working all day."
This is a touching testimony to the affection and respect in which he was held by his men.
Writing from Gakdul on February 20, the war correspondent of the 'Daily Telegraph' says: "Stewart was much beloved by all who enjoyed his acquaintance, and any hour of the day you may see one or more of his friends sorrowfully regarding his grave."
His was a grand life, nobly ended; and although his body lies in a soldier's grave in the desert by the wells of Gakdul, his cherished memory and heroic example still remain with us.
"Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life."
