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Updated: May 25, 2025
Even their memory comes seldom, save to the pure in heart. And one night he hit on a plan. The fort was almost at its last gasp. All day Sumbal Khân, Humâyon's famous artillery general, had been pounding away at the Iron Gate with deadly aim. A few more well-sent shots would leave the bastion crumbling, and then Then would come the assault through the breach, and Kumran knew he could not face it.
No human being greeted him, only one or two starving dogs rushed forth to snap, bristle, and be chased away by a well-sent stone. Here and yonder in the fields were still the clusters of crows picking at carrion,—more tokens that Mardonius’s Tartar raiders had done their work too well.
He strode up and down in the deadliest part of the valley where a well-sent musket ball would never lose him, and played a tune they call "The Galley of the Waves," a Stewart rant with a hint of the zest of the sea in it Nobody thought of firing at him, though his work was an encouragement to our foes, and anon the hill-tops rang with a duel of pibrochs between him and a lad of our garrison, who got round on the top of the wall near the governor's house and strutted high shouldered up and down, blasting at the good braggart air of "Baile Inneraora."
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