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.  Of these, Lieutenant Archer and ten men were told to stay as the last band to cover the retreat, and the enemy made a determined attempt to annihilate them.  McGregor was with Henry and his ten.  All the pluck that ever animated hero inspired those twelve men.  Each felt the honour of being chosen for such a post.  No time for words; no time for more thoughts than one, namely, “England expects every man to do his duty.”

But of course Malcolm McGregor had a thought underlying the thought of duty to Queen and country; he remembered his promise to the widowed mother:  he must “have an eye to Henry!”

The path that led down the hill was a most difficult one, being winding and very rocky.  Above the soldiers rose a precipice, manned by parties of the enemy, who harassed them incessantly by throwing fragments of rock down upon their heads.  These immense stones were hurled from a height of fifty yards; but the companies wound round the mountain in good order.

Last of all came Henry Archer and his ten men, attended by the Doctor.  Theirs was the chief post of honour and of peril.  Henry’s foot slipped; he tried to recover himself, but in vain.  Down he rolled with the loose stones that had been hurled from above.  McGregor stopped, and two of the men with him; the other eight men pushed forward.  Henry’s leg was broken; he could not move.  Here was, indeed, an anxious dilemma.

“We must carry him, of course,” said the surgeon.  “You are the best man of us three, Henderson; we’ll hoist him on your back.”

To stagger along such a path, bearing a heavy burden, was well-nigh impossible, even for the stalwart soldier.  Dark faces might have been seen looking over the ridge, had they glanced upwards.  They knew of the presence of these foes by the falling of the rocks about their ears.  The peril of the situation demoralised the second soldier; he picked up his rifle, which he had laid on the ground while he helped the surgeon to lift Henry upon Henderson’s back, and ran.

“Oh, Doctor dear, he’s too weighty for me,” groaned Henderson.  “I canna carry him anither foot o’ the way; sure, sure he’s the biggest man in the regiment.”

“Lay me down, Henderson, and save yourself; why should I sacrifice you?” groaned the wounded man.

“I’ll take him from you, man; quick, quick, help me to get him on my back.”