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FOR NAME AND FAME
Or Through Afghan Passes
by
G. A. HENTY.
Contents
Preface.
Chapter 1: The Lost Child.
Chapter 2: The Foundling.
Chapter 3: Life On A Smack.
Chapter 4: Run Down.
Chapter 5: The Castaways.
Chapter 6: The Attack On The Village.
Chapter 7: The Fight With The Prahus.
Chapter 8: The Torpedo.
Chapter 9: The Advance Into Afghanistan.
Chapter 10: The Peiwar-Khotal.
Chapter 11: A Prisoner.
Chapter 12: The Advance Up The Khyber.
Chapter 13: The Massacre At Cabul.
Chapter 14: The Advance Upon Cabul.
Chapter 15: The Fighting Round Cabul.
Chapter 16: The Fight In The Pass.
Chapter 17: At Candahar.
Chapter 18: On The Helmund.
Chapter 19: The Battle Of Maiwand.
Chapter 20: Candahar.
Chapter 21: The Battle Of Candahar.
Chapter 22: At Home At Last.
Illustrations
Sam Dickson finds little Willie Gale.
Will and Hans in Search of a Shelter.
Captain Herbert saved.
William Gale in the hands of the Afghans.
One of the Gunpowder Magazines had Exploded.
Letters from the General.
Will saves Colonel Ripon.
Gundi carried by the Bayonet.
Preface.
In following the hero of this story through the last Afghan war,
you will be improving your acquaintance with a country which is of
supreme importance to the British Empire and, at the same time, be
able to trace the operations by which Lord Roberts made his great
reputation as a general, and a leader of men. Afghanistan stands as
a line between the two great empires of England and Russia; and is
likely, sooner or later, to become the scene of a tremendous
struggle between these nations. Happily, at the present time the
Afghans are on our side. It is true that we have warred with, and
beaten them; but our retirement, after victory, has at least shown
them that we have no desire to take their country while, on the
other hand, they know that for those races upon whom Russia has
once laid her hand there is no escape.
In these pages you will see the strength and the weakness of these
wild people of the mountains; their strength lying in their
personal bravery, their determination to preserve their freedom at
all costs, and the nature of their country. Their weakness consists
in their want of organization, their tribal jealousies, and their
impatience of regular habits and of the restraint necessary to
render them good soldiers. But, when led and organized by English
officers, there are no better soldiers in the world; as is proved
by the splendid services which have been rendered by the frontier
force, which is composed almost entirely of Afghan tribesmen.
Their history shows that defeat has little moral effect upon them.
Crushed one day, they will rise again the next; scattered--it would
seem hopelessly--they are ready to reassemble, and renew the
conflict, at the first summons of their chiefs. Guided by British
advice, led by British officers and, it may be, paid by British
gold, Afghanistan is likely to prove an invaluable ally to us, when
the day comes that Russia believes herself strong enough to move
forward towards the goal of all her hopes and efforts, for the last
fifty years--the conquest of India.
G. A. Henty.
Chapter 1: The Lost Child.
"My poor pets!" a lady exclaimed, sorrowfully; "it is too bad. They
all knew me so well; and ran to meet me, when they saw me coming;
and seemed really pleased to see me, even when I had no food to
give them."
"Which was not often, my dear," Captain Ripon--her husband--said.
"However it is, as you say, too bad; and I will bring the fellow to
justice, if I can. There are twelve prize fowls--worth a couple of
guineas apiece, not to mention the fact of their being pets of
yours--stolen, probably by tramps; who will eat them, and for whom
the commonest barn-door chickens would have done as well. There are
marks of blood in two or three places, so they have evidently been
killed for food. The house was locked up last night, all right; for
you see they got in by breaking in a panel of the door.
"Robson, run down to the village, at once, and tell the policeman
to come up here; and ask if any gypsies, or tramps, have been seen
in the neighborhood."
The village lay at the gate of Captain Ripon's park, and the
gardener soon returned with the policeman.
"I've heard say there are some gypsies camped on Netherwood Common,
four miles away," that functionary said, in answer to Captain
Ripon.
"Put the gray mare in the dog cart, Sam. We will drive over at
once. They will hardly expect us so soon. We will pick up another
policeman, at Netherwood. They may show fight, if we are not in
strength."
Five minutes later, Captain Ripon was traveling along the road at
the rate of twelve miles an hour; with Sam by his side, and the
policeman sitting behind. At Netherwood they took up another
policeman and, a few minutes later, drove up to the gypsy
encampment.
There was a slight stir when they were seen approaching; and then
the gypsies went on with their usual work, the women weaving
baskets from osiers, the men cutting up gorse into skewers. There
were four low tents, and a wagon stood near; a bony horse grazing
on the common.
"Now," Captain Ripon said, "I am a magistrate, and I daresay you
know what I have come for. My fowl house has been broken open, and
some valuable fowls stolen.
"Now, policeman, look about, and see if you can find any traces of
them."
The gypsies rose to their feet, with angry gestures.
"Why do you come to us?" one of the men said. "When a fowl is
stolen you always suspect us, as if there were no other thieves in
the world."
"There are plenty of other thieves, my friend; and we shall not
interfere with you, if we find nothing suspicious."
"There have been some fowls plucked, here," one of the policemen
said. "Here is a little feather--" and he showed one, of only half
an inch in length "--and there is another, on that woman's hair.
They have cleaned them up nicely enough, but it ain't easy to pick
up every feather. I'll be bound we find a fowl, in the pot."
Two of the gypsies leaped forward, stick in hand; but the oldest
man present said a word or two to them, in their own dialect.
"You may look in the pot," he said, turning to Captain Ripon, "and
maybe you will find a fowl there, with other things. We bought 'em
at the market at Hunston, yesterday."
The policeman lifted the lid off the great pot, which was hanging
over the fire, and stirred up the contents with a stick.
"There's rabbits here--two or three of them, I should say--and a
fowl, perhaps two, but they are cut up."
"I cannot swear to that," Captain Ripon said, examining the
portions of fowl, "though the plumpness of the breasts, and the
size, show that they are not ordinary fowls."
He looked round again at the tents.
"But I can pretty well swear to this," he said, as he stooped and
picked up a feather which lay, half concealed, between the edge of
one of the tents and the grass. "This is a breast feather of a
Spangled Dorking. These are not birds which would be sold for
eating in Hunston market, and it will be for these men to show
where they got it from."
A smothered oath broke from one or two of the men. The elder signed
to them to be quiet.
"That's not proof," he said, insolently. "You can't convict five
men, because the feather of a fowl which you cannot swear to is
found in their camp."
"No," Captain Ripon said, quietly. "I do not want to convict anyone
but the thief; but the proof is sufficient for taking you in
custody, and we shall find out which was the guilty man,
afterwards.
"Now, lads, it will be worse for you, if you make trouble.
"Constables, take them up to Mr. Bailey. He lives half a mile away.
Fortunately, we have means of proving which is the fellow
concerned.
"Now, Sam, you and I will go up with the Netherwood constable to
Mr. Bailey.
"And do you," he said, to the other policeman, "keep a sharp watch
over these women. You say you can find nothing in the tents; but it
is likely the other fowls are hid, not far off, and I will put all
the boys of the village to search, when I come back."
The gypsies, with sullen faces, accompanied Captain Ripon and the
policeman to the magistrate's.
"Is that feather the only proof you have, Ripon?" Mr. Bailey asked,
when he had given his evidence. "I do not think that it will be
enough to convict, if unsupported; besides, you cannot bring it
home to any one of them. But it is sufficient for me to have them
locked up for twenty-four hours and, in the meantime, you may find
the other fowls."
"But I have means of identification," Captain Ripon said. "There is
a footmark in some earth, at the fowl house door. It is made by a
boot which has got hobnails and a horseshoe heel, and a piece of
that heel has been broken off.
"Now, which of these men has got such a boot on? Whichever has, he
is the man."
There was a sudden movement among the accused.
"It's of no use," one of them said, when the policeman approached
to examine their boots. "I'm the man, I'll admit it. I can't get
over the boot," and he held up his right foot.
"That is the boot, sir," the constable exclaimed. "I can swear that
it will fit the impression, exactly."
"Very well," the magistrate said. "Constable, take that man to the
lockup; and bring him before the bench, tomorrow, for final
committal for trial. There is no evidence against the other four.
They can go."
With surly, threatening faces the men left the room; while the
constable placed handcuffs on the prisoner.
"Constable," Mr. Bailey said, "you had better not put this man in
the village lockup. The place is of no great strength, and his
comrades would as likely as not get him out, tonight. Put him in my
dog cart. My groom shall drive you over to Hunston."
Captain Ripon returned with his groom to Netherwood, and set all
the children searching the gorse, copses, and hedges near the
common, by the promise of ten shillings reward, if they found the
missing fowls. Half an hour later, the gypsies struck their tents,
loaded the van, and went off.
Late that afternoon, the ten missing fowls were discovered in a
small copse by the wayside, half a mile from the common, on the
road to Captain Ripon's park.
"I cannot bring your fowls back to life, Emma," that gentleman
said, when he returned home, "but I have got the thief. It was one
of the gypsies on Netherwood Common. We found two of the fowls in
their pot. No doubt they thought that they would have plenty of
time to get their dinner before anyone came, even if suspicion fell
on them; and they have hidden the rest away somewhere, but I expect
that we shall find them.
"They had burnt all the feathers, as they thought; but I found a
breast feather of a Spangled Dorking, and that was enough for me to
give them in custody. Then, when it came to the question of boots,
the thief found it no good to deny it, any longer."
That evening, Captain Ripen was told that a woman wished to speak
to him and, on going out into the hall, he saw a gypsy of some
thirty years of age.
"I have come, sir, to beg you not to appear against my husband."
"But, my good woman, I see no reason why I should not do so. If he
had only stolen a couple of common fowls, for a sick wife or child,
I might have been inclined to overlook it--for I am not fond of
sending men to prison--but to steal a dozen valuable fowls, for the
pot, is a little too much. Besides, the matter has gone too far,
now, for me to retract, even if I wished to--which I certainly do
not."
"He is a good husband, sir."
"He may be," Captain Ripon said, "though that black eye you have
got does not speak in his favor But that has nothing to do with it.
Matters must take their course."
The woman changed her tone.
"I have asked you fairly, sir; and it will be better for you if you
don't prosecute Reuben."
"Oh, nonsense, my good woman! Don't let me have any threats, or it
will be worse for you."
"I tell you," the woman exclaimed, fiercely, "it will be the worse
for you, if you appear against my Reuben."
"There, go out," Captain Ripon said, opening the front door of the
hall. "As if I cared for your ridiculous threats! Your husband will
get what he deserves--five years, if I am not mistaken."
"You will repent this," the gypsy said, as she passed out.
Captain Ripon closed the door after her, without a word.
"Well, who was it?" his wife inquired, when he returned to the
drawing room.
"An insolent gypsy woman, wife of the man who stole the fowls. She
had the impudence to threaten me, if I appeared against him."
"Oh, Robert!" the young wife exclaimed, apprehensively, "what could
she do? Perhaps you had better not appear."
"Nonsense, my dear!" her husband laughed. "Not appear, because an
impudent gypsy woman has threatened me? A nice magistrate I should
be! Why, half the fellows who are committed swear that they will
pay off the magistrate, some day; but nothing ever comes of it.
Here, we have been married six months, and you are wanting me to
neglect my duty; especially when it is your pet fowls which have
been stolen.
"Why, at the worst, my dear," he went on, seeing that his wife
still looked pale, "they could burn down a tick or two, on a windy
night in winter and, to satisfy you, I will have an extra sharp
lookout kept in that direction, and have a watchdog chained up near
them.
"Come, my love, it is not worth giving a second thought about; and
I shall not tell you about my work on the bench, if you are going
to take matters to heart like this."
The winter came and went, and the ricks were untouched, and Captain
Ripon forgot all about the gypsy's threats. At the assizes a
previous conviction was proved against her husband, and he got five
years penal servitude and, after the trial was over, the matter
passed out of the minds of both husband and wife.
They had, indeed, other matters to think about for, soon after
Christmas, a baby boy was born, and monopolized the greater portion
of his mother's thoughts. When, in due time, he was taken out for
walks, the old women of the village--perhaps with an eye to
presents from the Park--were unanimous in declaring that he was the
finest boy ever seen, and the image both of his father and mother.
He certainly was a fine baby; and his mother lamented sorely over
the fact that he had a dark blood mark, about the size of a
three-penny piece, upon his shoulder. Her husband, however,
consoled her by pointing out that--as it was a boy--the mark did
not matter in the slightest; whereas--had it been a girl--the mark
would have been a disfigurement, when she attained to the dignified
age at which low dresses are worn.
"Yes, of course, that would have been dreadful, Robert. Still, you
know, it is a pity."
"I really cannot see that it is even a pity, little woman; and it
would have made no great difference if he had been spotted all
over, like a leopard, so that his face and arms were free. The only
drawback would have been he would have got some nickname or other,
such as 'the Leopard,' or 'Spotty,' or something of that sort, when
he went to bathe with his school fellows. But this little spot does
not matter, in the slightest.
"Some day or other Tom will laugh, when I tell him what a fuss you
made over it."
Mrs. Ripon was silenced but, although she said nothing more about
it, she was grieved in her heart at this little blemish on her boy;
and lamented that it would spoil his appearance, when he began to
run about in little short frocks; and she determined, at once, that
he should wear long curls, until he got into jackets.
Summer, autumn, and winter came and passed. In the spring, Tom
Ripon was toddling about; but he had not yet begun to talk,
although his mother declared that certain incoherent sounds, which
he made, were quite plain and distinct words; but her husband,
while willing to allow that they might be perfectly intelligible to
her, insisted that--to the male ear--they in no way resembled
words.
"But he ought to begin to talk, Robert," his wife urged. "He is
sixteen months old, now, and can run about quite well. He really
ought to begin to talk."
"He will talk, before long," her husband said, carelessly. "Many
children do not talk till they are eighteen months old, some not
till they are two years. Besides, you say he does begin, already."
"Yes, Robert, but not quite plainly."
"No, indeed, not plainly at all," her husband laughed. "Don't
trouble, my dear, he will talk soon enough; and if he only talks as
loud as he roars, sometimes, you will regret the hurry you have
been in about it."
"Oh, Robert, how can you talk so? I am sure he does not cry more
than other children. Nurse says he is the best child she ever
knew."
"Of course she does, my dear; nurses always do. But I don't say he
roars more than other children. I only say he roars, and that
loudly; so you need not be afraid of there being anything the
matter with his tongue, or his lungs.
"What fidgets you young mothers are, to be sure!"
"And what heartless things you young fathers are, to be sure!" his
wife retorted, laughing. "Men don't deserve to have children. They
do not appreciate them, one bit."
"We appreciate them, in our way, little woman; but it is not a
fussy way. We are content with them as they are, and are not in any
hurry for them to run, or to walk, or to cut their first teeth. Tom
is a fine little chap, and I am very fond of him, in his
way--principally, perhaps, because he is your Tom--but I cannot see
that he is a prodigy."
"He is a prodigy," Mrs. Ripon said, with a little toss of her head,
"and I shall go up to the nursery, to admire him."
So saying, she walked off with dignity; and Captain Ripon went out
to look at his horses, and thought to himself what a wonderful
dispensation of providence it was, that mothers were so fond of
their babies.
"I don't know what the poor little beggars would do," he muttered,
"if they had only their fathers to look after them; but I suppose
we should take to it, just as the old goose in the yard has taken
to that brood of chickens, whose mother was carried off by the fox.
"By the way, I must order some wire netting. I forgot to write for
it, yesterday."
Another two months. It was June, and now even Captain Ripon allowed
that Tom could say "Pa," and "Ma," with tolerable distinctness; but
as yet he had got no farther. He could now run about sturdily and,
as the season was warm and bright, and Mrs. Ripon believed in fresh
air, the child spent a considerable portion of his time in the
garden.
One day his mother was out with him, and he had been running about
for some time. Mrs. Ripon was picking flowers, for she had a dinner
party that evening, and she enjoyed getting her flowers, and
arranging her vases, herself. Presently she looked round, but Tom
was missing. There were many clumps of ornamental shrubs on the
lawn, and Mrs. Ripon thought nothing of his disappearance.
"Tom," she called, "come to mamma, she wants you," and went on with
her work.
A minute or two passed.
"Where is that little pickle?" she said. "Hiding, I suppose," and
she went off in search.
Nowhere was Tom to be seen. She called loudly, and searched in the
bushes.
"He must have gone up to the house.
"Oh, here comes nurse. Nurse, have you seen Master Tom? He has just
run away," she called.
"No, ma'am, I have seen nothing of him."
"He must be about the garden then, somewhere. Look about, nurse.
Where can the child have hidden itself?"
Nurse and mother ran about, calling loudly the name of the missing
child. Five minutes later Mrs. Ripon ran into the study, where her
husband was going through his farm accounts.
"Oh, Robert," she said, "I can't find Tom!" and she burst into
tears.
"Not find Tom?" her husband said, rising in surprise. "Why, how
long have you missed him?"
"He was out in the garden with me. I was picking flowers for the
dinner table and, when I looked round, he was gone. Nurse and I
have been looking everywhere, and calling, but we cannot find him."
"Oh, he is all right," Captain Ripon said, cheerfully. "Do not
alarm yourself, little woman. He must have wandered into the
shrubbery. We shall hear him howling, directly. But I will come and
look for him."
No better success attended Captain Ripon's search than that which
his wife had met with. He looked anxious, now. The gardeners and
servants were called, and soon every place in the garden was
ransacked.
"He must have got through the gate, somehow, into the park,"
Captain Ripon said, hurrying in that direction. "He certainly is
not in the garden, or in any of the hothouses."
Some of the men had already gone in that direction. Presently
Captain Ripon met one, running back.
"I have been down to the gate, sir, and can see nothing of Master
Tom; but in the middle of the drive, just by the clump of laurels
by the gate, this boot was lying--just as if it had been put there
on purpose, to be seen."
"Nonsense!" Captain Ripon said. "What can that have to do with it?"
Nevertheless he took the boot, and looked at it. It was a
roughly-made, heavy boot, such as would be worn by a laboring man.
He was about to throw it carelessly aside, and to proceed on his
search, when he happened to turn it over. Then he started, as if
struck.
"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed, "it is the gypsy's."
Yes, he remembered it now. The man had pleaded not guilty, when
brought up at the assizes, and the boot had been produced as
evidence. He remembered it particularly because, after the man was
sentenced, his wife had provoked a smile by asking that the boots
might be given up to her; in exchange for a better pair for her
husband to put on, when discharged from prison.
Yes, it was clear. The gypsy woman had kept her word, and had taken
her revenge. She had stolen the child, and had placed the boot
where it would attract attention, in order that the parents might
know the hand that struck them.
Instantly Captain Ripon ran to the stable, ordered the groom to
mount at once, and scour every road and lane; while he himself rode
off to Hunston to give notice to the police, and offer a large
reward for the child's recovery. He charged the man who had brought
the boot to carry it away, and put it in a place of safety till it
was required; and on no account to mention to a soul where he put
it.
Before riding off he ran in to his wife, who was half wild with
grief, to tell her that he was going to search outside the park;
and that she must keep up her spirits for, no doubt, Tom would turn
up all right, in no time.
He admitted to himself, however, as he galloped away, that he was
not altogether sure that Tom would be so speedily recovered. The
woman would never have dared to place the boot on the road, and so
give a clue against herself, unless she felt very confident that
she could get away, or conceal herself.
"She has probably some hiding place, close by the park," he said to
himself, "where she will lie hid till night, and will then make
across country."
He paused at the village, and set the whole population at work, by
telling them that his child was missing--and had, he believed, been
carried off by a gypsy woman--and that he would give fifty pounds
to anyone who would find him. She could not be far off, as it was
only about half an hour since the child had been missed.
Then he galloped to Hunston, set the police at work and, going to a
printer, told him instantly to set up and strike off placards,
offering five hundred pounds reward for the recovery of the child.
This was to be done in an hour or two, and then taken to the police
station for distribution throughout the country round. Having now
done all in his power, Captain Ripon rode back as rapidly as he had
come, in hopes that the child might already have been found.
No news had, however, been obtained of him, nor had anyone seen any
strange woman in the neighborhood.
On reaching the house, he found his wife prostrated with grief and,
in answer to her questions, he thought it better to tell her about
the discovery of the boot.
"We may be some little time, before we find the boy," he said; "but
we shall find him, sooner or later. I have got placards out
already, offering five hundred pounds reward; and this evening I
will send advertisements to all the papers in this and the
neighboring counties.
"Do not fret, darling. The woman has done it out of spite, no
doubt; but she will not risk putting her neck in a noose, by
harming the child. It is a terrible grief, but it will only be for
a time. We are sure to find him before long."
Later in the evening, when Mrs. Ripon had somewhat recovered her
composure, she said to her husband:
"How strange are God's ways, Robert. How wicked and wrong in us to
grumble! I was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the
darling's neck, and now the thought of it is my greatest comfort.
If it should be God's will that months or years should pass over,
before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know
him. No other child can be palmed off upon us, as our own. When we
find Tom we shall know him, however changed he may be!"
"Yes, dear," her husband said, "God is very good, and this trial
may be sent us for the best. As you say, we can take comfort, now,
from what we were disposed to think, at the time, a little cross.
After that, dear, we may surely trust in God. That mark was placed
there that we might know our boy again and, were it not decreed
that we should again see him, that mark would have been useless."
The thought, for a time, greatly cheered Mrs. Ripon but, gradually,
the hope that she should ever see her boy again faded away; and
Captain Ripon became much alarmed at the manifest change in her
health.
In spite of all Captain Ripon could do, no news was obtained of the
gypsy, or Tom. For weeks he rode about the country, asking
questions in every village; or hurried away to distant parts of
England, where the police thought they had a clue.
It was all in vain. Every gypsy encampment in the kingdom was
searched, but without avail; and even the police, sharp eyed as
they are, could not guess that the decent-looking Irishwoman,
speaking--when she did speak, which was seldom, for she was a
taciturn woman--with a strong brogue, working in a laundry in a
small street in the Potteries, Notting Hill, was the gypsy they
were looking for; or that the little boy, whose father she said was
at sea, was the child for whose discovery a thousand pounds was
continually advertised.