FIGHTING THE AFGHANS.
After a five months' voyage Nicholson reached Calcutta safely. Here he
spent a little time with certain of his uncle's friends, until at last
he was temporarily appointed to the 41st Regiment of Sepoys quartered
at Benares. At this station he studiously mastered his drill and
prepared himself for the permanent appointment which was promised him.
This followed at the end of the same year, 1839, when he was placed in
the 27th Native Infantry at Ferozepore, on the Sutlej.
The young ensign was now to experience his first taste of war. Soon
after he had joined his new regiment, the 27th was ordered up into
Afghanistan and despatched to Jellalabad. At that time Afghanistan was
occupied by British troops, and to all intents and purposes was well
disposed towards us, but appearances were deceitful. Though hardly
anyone knew it, trouble was brewing in the Amir's capital. Below the
surface of calm, feeling ran high against Shah Soojah, the unpopular
Afghan ruler, and his supporters, the British; and the followers of
Dost Mahomed, the rival claimant to the throne, had no difficulty in
fomenting a general revolt. The blow fell on the 2nd of November 1841.
On that day Sir Alexander Burnes, the British envoy at Cabul, was
assassinated, and the streets of the city ran red with blood.
When the insurrection thus blazed forth, John Nicholson was at Fort
Ghuzni, nearly a hundred miles to the south of Cabul. His regiment had
been ordered there some months previously to relieve the 16th. In
three weeks' time the hill fortress was surrounded by Afghan warriors,
and Colonel Palmer, the commandant, found himself in a state of siege.
Unfortunately for the little garrison, the winter was now upon them.
Situated very high up, Ghuzni was exposed to the full severity of the
pitiless snowstorms which swept over the neighbourhood. These not only
added to the discomfort of the troops, but had the effect of checking
the advance of a relief column under General Maclaren that had started
from Candahar.
For a time the enemy was kept at bay without the city, their
old-fashioned _jezails_, or matchlocks, failing to produce much effect.
Then treachery made itself felt. Actuated by humane motives, Colonel
Palmer had refrained from expelling the Afghan townspeople, and the
latter now repaid this act of kindness by undermining the city walls to
admit their countrymen. One dark December night the Afghans poured in
through the breach, driving the Sepoys and their British officers into
the shelter of the citadel.
For a month the little garrison held out bravely, suffering some loss
from the enemy's bullets and suffering even more from the scarcity of
water. While the snow fell it was possible to melt it and replenish
their store, but when the storms ceased they were in a desperate case.
Instructions now came from General Elphinstone at Cabul that the
fortress should be surrendered. Colonel Palmer, who was loth to
believe the message, prolonged negotiations as long as he could, but
reflection showed him that he had no choice but to submit. The water
supply was at an end, and the Afghans threatened to renew the siege in
a more determined manner than before. Very reluctantly, therefore, he
yielded, having first bargained that the garrison should be permitted
to march out with the honours of war and should be escorted in due time
to Peshawur.
To this course the enemy's leaders agreed. But an oath counts for
little in the Afghan mind, and Nicholson quickly learned of what depths
of treachery this people were capable. No sooner had the sepoys of the
27th marched out to the quarters assigned them in the city than a crowd
of _ghazis_ fell upon them, massacring many of the poor fellows in cold
blood. Nicholson himself, with Lieutenants Crawford and Burnett, was
on the roof of a house near by and saw the terrible deed. In the
building were two companies of sepoys. Joining these without delay,
the officers prepared to make a bold stand.
The attack on the house was not long in coming. Storming the door in
their furious desire to get at the hated infidels, the Afghans
endeavoured to effect an entrance. When it was seen that this could
not be done, the place was set on fire, and soon the flames and smoke
drove the inmates from room to room. Before very long the position
became untenable. With the few men remaining Nicholson and his brother
officers cut a hole with their bayonets in the back wall of the house,
and one by one dropped through into the narrow street below.
Fortunately, the two other buildings in which Colonel Palmer and his
sepoys had taken refuge, were close by. In a few moments the fugitives
had joined forces with their comrades.
[Illustration: "One by one dropped through into the narrow street
below."]
But though safety for a time had been gained, the chances of ultimate
escape seemed hopeless. The houses were filled to overflowing with
sepoy soldiers and camp followers, men, women, and children, and when
by and by the large guns of the fortress were trained upon them the
slaughter was very great. The British officers, it is stated, expected
nothing less than death. They even began to burn the regimental
colours to prevent them falling into the enemy's hands.
In this extremity the Afghan leaders made fresh proposals of honourable
treatment on surrender, and Colonel Palmer at last consented to yield.
How Nicholson regarded this move was very clear. In his anger at the
base treachery he had witnessed he would have fought to the last gasp
ere trusting again to the word of an Afghan. When the command came to
surrender he refused to obey, and it is recorded that he "drove the
enemy thrice back beyond the walls at the point of the bayonet, before
he would listen to the order given him to make his company lay down
their arms." Then, with bitter tears, he gave up his sword, and
allowed himself to be made prisoner.
Of the five months' captivity at Ghuzni, from March to August 1842, we
learn most from Lieutenant Crawford's narrative. From the first the
prisoners were treated miserably. The British officers--ten in
number--were confined in a small room "only 18 feet by 13," and for
several weeks deprived of any change of clothing. What possessions
they had were taken from them by their guards; watches, money, and
jewellery, and even their pocket-knives, thus being lost to them.
Only one officer succeeded in retaining a cherished trinket, and this
was Nicholson himself. Captain Trotter, who records the incident,[1]
quotes from a letter sent by Nicholson to his mother in which the
writer says, "I managed to preserve the little locket with your hair in
it . . . and I was allowed to keep it, because, when ordered to give it
up, I lost my temper and threw it at the soldier's head, which was
certainly a thoughtless and head-endangering act. However, he seemed
to like it, for he gave strict orders that the locket was not to be
taken from me."
The severities of the confinement increased when in April news came of
the death of Shah Soojah at the hands of an assassin, and the little
prison in the citadel became almost a second "Black Hole of Calcutta."
The one window was shut and darkened, making the air of the room
unbearable. To add to the horror of the situation, Colonel Palmer was
now cruelly tortured before his comrades' eyes, one of his feet being
twisted by means of a tent peg and rope. This was done in the hope
that he or some one of his fellow-captives would reveal the
hiding-place of a phantom "four lakhs of rupees," which the Afghans
declared the British had buried in the vicinity.
But in June came a change for the better. The prisoners were now
allowed to sleep out in the open courtyard in the _postins_, or rough
sheepskin coats, supplied them. Two months later they learned that
they were to be sent to Cabul, where Dost Mahomed's son, Akbar Khan,
was keeping captive Lady Sale, Mrs. Sturt, George Lawrence, Vincent
Eyre, and other Europeans. The exchange was a welcome one. Slung in
camel panniers, they were jolted along the rough country roads for
three days, arriving in the Afghan capital on the 22nd of August, when
they were generously dined by the chief and his head men.
The quarters in which the party were now housed, together with Lady
Sale and the other survivors of the Cabul massacre, were a paradise
compared to their former lodging. They had a beautiful garden to walk
in, servants to wait upon them, and an abundant supply of food. Their
satisfaction, however, was shortlived. In a few days the prisoners
were hurried off to Bamian, in the hill country to the north-west, and
thence to Kulum. The reason for this move was apparent. Generals
Pollock and Nott had already commenced their victorious advance upon
Cabul, and Akbar Khan resolved to keep his captives as hostages for his
own safety.
To Nicholson and his companions it looked as if their fate was sealed,
but a ray of hope dawned for them. The Afghan officer in charge of
their escort showed himself ready to consider the offer of a bribe. A
bond was eventually drawn up ensuring him a handsome recompense for his
services did he lead them to safety, and in the middle of September
they found themselves once more free.
Late one afternoon the rescue party sent to their aid by General
Pollock met them toiling along the dusty road on the other side of the
Hindu Kush mountains. Within a few hours they were safe inside the
British lines.
Nicholson duly marched with the main army to Cabul, and had the
satisfaction of seeing the Afghan capital suffer the punishment it
justly merited. On the way home, however, he experienced the first
great loss in his life. His youngest brother, Alexander, who had but
recently joined the Company's service, was killed in the desultory
fighting outside the city, and to Nicholson fell the sad duty of
identifying the boy's body as it was found, stripped and mutilated, by
the roadside.
[1] _Life of John Nicholson_.