A DOOMED ARMY
Even the murder of the British envoy within sight of the camp failed to
arouse the military authorities from their deadly lethargy. Sullenly
the troops remained in their cantonments. Not a man was put in motion
to avenge the deed or to redeem the honour of the army. The only
idea was to renew the negotiations that had been broken short by the
murder of their political chief. The commissariat had nothing to do.
Beleaguered as they were, it was impossible to collect provisions
unless a strong force was sent out, and the military authorities
refused to allow a man to be put in motion. They had no confidence in
their soldiers, and the soldiers had none in them. It was their leaders
who had made them what they were. Macnaghten in his wrath had spoken
of them as miserable cowards, but they were not cowards. They had at
first full confidence in themselves, and if ordered would gladly have
attacked the Afghan forces in the open and have carried Cabul by storm.
But kept in enforced inactivity, while fort after fort was wrested from
them without an effort being made to relieve the garrisons, while the
whole of their provisions for the winter were carried off before their
eyes by an enemy they despised, and feeling that on the few occasions
on which they were led from their entrenchments there was neither plan
nor order--no opportunity for showing their valour, none for engaging
in battle, they lost heart. Day by day they were exposed to continual
insults from their exultant foes, day by day exposed to a heavy cannon
and musketry fire, while the food served out was insufficient to
maintain their strength--almost insufficient to keep them alive. It is
not wonderful that their fighting powers were lost, and that they had
become little more than a rabble in uniform.
Angus had now no official duties to perform, and he spent much of his
time with his old friend Eldred Pottinger, now a major, who, after
Macnaghten's murder, took his place, by right of seniority as well as
of energy and talent, as chief political officer. He had been employed
in the west, but had been sent to Cabul, and very shortly afterwards
had proceeded to Kohistan, returning almost the sole survivor of
the little force that was stationed there. His counsel since then
had always been for energetic measures, but his voice, like that of
Macnaghten, availed nothing. He had, however, taken no prominent
part in affairs, having been confined to his bed by the wound he had
received. He was now recovering from it, and took up the work with the
same energy as he had displayed at Herat. As he said to Angus, "It
seems to be my fate to have to do with incapable men. At Herat it was
Yar Mahomed and Kamran, here it is Shelton and Elphinstone. Elphinstone
and Kamran have both in their younger days been fighting men. Both are
utterly worn out bodily and mentally by disease and age.
"Shelton is a brave man, a hard fighter, but his temper overmasters
him. When in the field he shows personal gallantry, but no military
capacity whatever. At first he was always in opposition to the
general; he has given that up as useless, and beyond always
endeavouring to thwart his chief when the latter was roused to
momentary flashes of energy by Macnaghten, he has sunk into a deep
gloom, as if he regarded it as absolutely hopeless to struggle further.
I would that any other than myself had been placed in the position I
now hold. The terms proposed to Macnaghten were hard enough, they will
be still harder, still more disgraceful, now. But however disgraceful
they may be, they will be accepted by the military leaders, and my name
will be associated with the most humiliating treaty a British officer
has ever been called upon to sign."
His previsions were correct. Negotiations were renewed without the
slightest allusion being made to the murder of Macnaghten, and as if
such an event had never happened. While these were going on, little
food was allowed to enter camp--enough to sustain life, but no more.
At last the terms were settled. The Afghan chiefs agreed to supply
provisions, and to send in baggage animals, upon payment being made for
them. Six officers were to be handed over as hostages, all muskets and
ordnance stores in the magazines, all money in the treasury, and all
goods and property belonging to Dost Mahomed, were to be surrendered,
and Dost himself and his family to be returned. No provision whatever
was made for the safety of the man we had placed upon the throne.
Pottinger endeavoured in vain to obtain better conditions. He received
no support from the military chiefs; and even when at last he agreed to
the terms, he did so with little hope that they would be observed.
Warnings came from friends in the city that no dependence whatever
could be placed upon the chiefs, and that in spite of all promises
the force would certainly be attacked on its way down through the
passes. No step was taken by the chiefs to send in either provisions or
carriage animals, and the escort that was to accompany them did not
make its appearance. On the 5th of January the military authorities
determined to march out, contrary to the advice of Pottinger, who
argued that without carriage and provisions, and without the protection
of the chiefs as promised, the prospects of four thousand troops and
twelve thousand followers being able to make their way down through the
passes was small indeed.
Angus had come to rely very much upon Azim for information as to what
was passing outside the cantonment. The latter had during the three
years come to speak the Afghan language perfectly, and in the attire
of a peasant often went out after dark, mixed with the insurgents,
and entered the city. He had each time he went out brought back a
less hopeful report than on the previous one, and Angus was the more
impressed since the young fellow was generally cheery, and disposed to
look on the bright side of things, taking indeed comparatively little
interest in what was going on around him, having absolute confidence
that his master would find some way out of any difficulty that might
confront him.
"I quite agree with all you say, Azim, but I am powerless to act in any
way. If I were here as a private person I should certainly disguise
myself and endeavour to make my way down to Candahar, but as an officer
I must remain at my post, come what may, and share the fate of the
rest. But if you are disposed to try and get down, I will not throw
any obstacle in your way, and will furnish you with money sufficient
to pay your way either back to Persia or down into India, where, with
your knowledge of languages, you will have no difficulty in finding
employment."
Azim laughed. "No, master, whatever comes, I will stay with you. Just
as you are in the employment of government and cannot leave, so am I in
your employment."
Angus did not attempt to push the matter further, for he felt that it
would be useless; and indeed, although he would have done what he could
to procure his follower's safety, he felt that he would be a great
loss to him in many ways. They had been so long together, and had gone
through so many dangers in companionship, that he regarded Azim as a
friend rather than as a servant.
"When you have been in the city, Azim, have you ever seen our friend
Sadut?"
"No, sir; I have heard that he has been in the city many times, and
that he was with the Afghan horsemen who drove our people in, but I
have not seen him. Should I speak to him if I do so?"
"Yes, you might thank him in my name, and your own, for having saved
our lives the other day; but on no account say anything to him about
the future. I cannot make any overtures for help to a man who, though a
friend of my own, is fighting against us. And indeed, however willing
he might be to aid me to the best of his power, he could not do so. If
we are really attacked in the pass, mixed up as we shall be with the
camp followers, we could not be found in the crowd; and you may be sure
that the tribesmen and the Ghazee fanatics will be mad with bloodshed
and hate, and that even a chief would be unable to stand between them
and their victims. Even if he were to send a messenger to me to say
that he and his men would again save me, if I would let him know in
which part of the column I shall ride, I should refuse to do so. It
would be an act of treachery on my part to others, weaker and less able
to take care of themselves than I am."
On the afternoon of the day when the force moved out of the cantonments
Eldred Pottinger sent for Angus.
"Are you ready to undertake a hazardous mission?" he asked. "It is
so hazardous that I would send no one upon it, were it not that I
consider that those who stay here are running as great a risk. After
the murder of Burnes and Macnaghten, I have not the smallest faith in
the chiefs keeping to their promises, and the manner in which they have
failed now to carry out the terms of the treaty heightens my distrust
in them. I do not believe that any of the messengers that have been
sent down of late have succeeded in getting through; and indeed, until
to-day it was impossible to say whether we should really start or
not. The messages sent down were necessarily vague, and were indeed
only requests for aid. I know, and no doubt Sale knows, that it is as
difficult for him to fight his way up the passes as it is for us to
make our way down; but now that, in spite of my advice, Elphinstone and
Shelton and the other officers have decided to wait no longer, but to
start at once, a specific message must be sent."
"I am ready to try to get through," Angus said. "I have no doubt that
while we have been negotiating here, the tribesmen from all the country
round have been gathering in the passes. The only way would be for me
to join some party of men from the villages going that way. Once fairly
in the pass and among the tribesmen, I could leave the party and mingle
with others. Of course it would be slow work going on afoot, but I
should say that it would be quite impossible on horseback."
"I have not much hope that the mission will be of any real use, for
Sale is himself besieged in Jellalabad. Still, one must make an
attempt. I shall enter in my journals--trusting that they will some
day be recovered--that as a last hope I have accepted the offer of Mr.
Angus Campbell to carry a message to General Sale saying that we are
starting, and begging him, if it be possible, to make a diversion in
our favour by advancing as far as he can to meet us. I will not give
you any written document. You are well known to many of the officers
who went down with Sale, therefore no question can arise as to the
message you bear being a genuine one. If you were searched and any
letter found upon you, it would be your death-warrant. Still, I believe
if anyone could get through alive, you can."
"I will do my best anyhow," Angus said, "and I will start as soon as it
becomes dark. It is all easy enough as far as Khoord Cabul, after that
I shall keep a sharp look-out; if I overtake any party of villagers I
shall join them."
"I shall come and say good-bye to you before you start, Campbell."
Angus returned at once to his tent. "You have my disguise ready and
your own, Azim?"
"Yes, sir, I have both ready, and have two of their long guns and some
daggers and pistols."
"I have my own pistols, Azim."
"Yes, master, and it will be as well to take them; but they would be
seen directly if you had them in your girdle."
"No doubt they would, Azim, but there are a good many English pistols
among them now. There were three pairs they got at Sir Alexander's
house, and there have been several officers killed since. I can give
out that I took part in the fight at Sir Alexander's and got these
pistols as my share of the plunder."
"Are you going anywhere, master?"
"Yes, I am going to try to get down through the passes to Jellalabad.
We shall start as soon as it is dark. It will be a terribly dangerous
journey, but I hardly think it will be more dangerous than going down
with the troops."
"What are we to take, master? I will get it ready."
"There is not much that we can take. I will go down to the store myself
and get eight or ten pounds of ground grain. There is not much of it,
for the mills have all been smashed, and we have had to serve the grain
out whole; but I know that there are two or three sacks left in the
stores. There is no meat to be had, nor spirits--not that I would take
spirits if I could get them, for if they were found upon me it would
excite suspicion at once. Another thing, I must stain myself. My face
and hands are nearly as brown as those of the Afghans, but if we were
searched and they took our things off, they would see in an instant
that I was a white. I don't know how we are to get stain."
"I should think, master, that if we were to bake some grain quite
black, and then pound it and pour boiling water over it so as to make
it like very strong coffee, it might do."
"A very good idea. Well, I shall not want you for the next two hours.
I shall go round and see some of my friends and say good-bye to them.
Mind, whatever you do don't say a word to anyone about our leaving."
"I will be sure not to do that, master."
Azim went out to a little tent of thick native blanket a few yards from
that of his master. There he sat looking through the entrance until he
saw his master leave his tent. Five minutes later he issued out in his
Afghan dress, long coat lined with sheep-skins, black lamb's-wool cap,
high boots, and sheep-skin breeches, and at once set off at a brisk
walk. There were at all times many Afghans in the camp, and indeed
many of the camp followers had, since the cold set in, adopted the
same dress; therefore no attention was paid to him, and no questions
were asked by the sentries as he passed out at the gates. As soon as
he got among the gardens and enclosures he broke into a run, which he
continued until he reached a village a mile and a half away, and here
he entered one of the cottages.
"Have you news for us?" one of the four men sitting there said.
"Yes, and good news. My master starts as soon as it is dark. He will
be on foot, and he is going to try and make his way down through the
passes."
"That is good news indeed," the Afghan said. "I was afraid that we
should never get a chance. Which road will he go by?"
"I can't say exactly, but he is sure to leave by the western gate.
He would have more chance of getting away unnoticed on that side. Of
course we shall both be in our Afghan dress."
"We will be on the look-out. I suppose that he will be armed?"
"Yes, he will carry one of your long guns and a brace of pistols. You
had best choose some spot where you can close on him suddenly, for he
would certainly fight till the last."
"We will be careful," the man said. "I don't want to get a pistol ball
in my body. We shall follow at a distance until we find a convenient
spot."
"He is sure to keep along at the foot of the hill so as to avoid your
people on the plain."
"It will suit us best also, as we shall not have far to carry him."
"Mind, you must make a struggle when you seize me as if I was violently
resisting. Then, when we start you must order me to walk, and threaten
to blow out my brains if I try to escape. My master can learn the
truth afterwards. If he were to know it now, he would be furious with
me; but in a few days, when fighting is going on in the passes, and a
great disaster occurs, he will thank me for having prevented him from
throwing away his life, especially as he knows perfectly well that the
English in Jellalabad could not come out to assist those here."
When Angus returned to the tent he found Azim busy roasting the grain.
The Afghan costume had been laid aside.
"Everything is ready, master. The grain is nearly done, and it won't
take me long to pound it up. I got a few sticks down at the stores and
the kettle is just boiling."
"Then as soon as it is ready I will stain myself, but I sha'n't put
on the Afghan dress until the last thing. Have you cooked some of the
flour?"
"Yes, sir, I have made four cakes. They are baking in the ashes now. I
thought perhaps you would eat one before we started, and we can carry
the others for to-morrow."
"I wish, Azim," Angus said, "that there was some chance of this journey
being useful, but I feel convinced that no good can come of it. The
moonshee has sent in a report that confirms the rumours we heard.
There can be no doubt that General Sale is strongly beleaguered in
Jellalabad, and will have all his work to do to hold the place, and
therefore it will be absolutely impossible for him to fight his way up
the pass."
"Then why should you go, master?"
"Because I have been asked to go as a forlorn hope; and also because,
however great the risk I may run, I do not think that it is greater
than it would be if I went down with the army. We have no baggage
animals. We have food for only three days more, and it will only last
that time by cutting down the rations still further. The unfortunate
camp followers are for the most part without warm clothing of any sort,
and will die by thousands. As to the troops, I have no doubt that
most of them will fight when they know that unless they cut their way
through they are doomed, but their chance of victory is small. Here
in the open plain they might even now, if well led and worked up to
enthusiasm by a stirring speech, thrash the Afghans, numerous as these
may be; but pent up in the passes, under a fire from every hillside by
a foe they cannot reach--for in their present weak state they could
never scale the mountains--I believe it will be a massacre rather than
a fight. At any rate, if we are to be killed, I would rather be shot
as a spy than go through such awful scenes as there will be before a
bullet finishes me."
"I don't want to die at all, master; but if it be the will of Allah,
so be it. But, as you say, I would rather be killed straight off than
struggle on through the snows in the passes and get killed in the end."
As soon as it became dusk, Angus and his follower put on their
disguises. A few minutes later Eldred Pottinger came in.
"Well, as far as looks go you will pass anywhere, Campbell, and
certainly as regards language there is no fear of your being suspected.
The real difficulty will be in explaining where you came from. Every
village has sent its contingent of fighting men, and if it happened
that you met anyone from the place you pretended to come from, the
consequences would be very awkward."
"I intend to give out that I have come down from Arcab, which is a
little village to the south of Ghuznee. I went out there once with a
detachment to buy some cattle. It is hardly likely that any of the men
from that place would have come here, for they would naturally join the
bands that are threatening our garrison there. Of course I can invent
some story to account for my not doing the same."
Pottinger nodded. "Well, Campbell, I hope that you will get well
through it. As I told you, I have not a shadow of hope that Sale will
be able to lend a hand to us. Still, although it is but one in a
thousand chances, I feel that it ought to be attempted; and in your
case I say honestly that I consider there is no greater risk in your
going down by yourself, and having your own wits to depend upon,
than in going down with the army--if one can call this broken and
dispirited soldiery an army--for in that case the bravest and clearest
head would share the fate, whatever that may be, of the dullest and
most cowardly."
"I quite see that, and agree with you that nothing can be slighter than
the chances of the army getting down safely. Be assured that whatever
happens, so far from blaming you, I shall consider that you did the
best for me by sending me on this mission."
"I will walk with you to the gate," Pottinger said. "In the daytime
there is no check upon anyone passing in or out, but at night the
sentries are on the alert, and as you are both armed, you would
certainly be stopped."
A minute was spent in packing their scanty stores into the pockets of
their coats, then they started for the gate. Here Pottinger, after
seeing them through, shook hands cordially not only with Angus but
with Azim, whom he had learned to like and value for the devotion he
showed to his master in Herat. They proceeded on their way without
meeting any parties of Afghans until they neared the foot of the hill,
then, as they were passing along a path through an orchard, a party of
men suddenly sprang out upon them, and they were thrown down on their
faces before either had time to offer any resistance. Angus, indeed,
had repressed the natural impulse to try to draw one of his pistols.
Resistance would have meant death, and it seemed to him that these
could only be plunderers.
"What are you doing, fools?" he exclaimed. "Do you not see that we are
friends?"
No answer was given. His captors were binding his hands tightly to his
side; then before raising him they muffled his head in a blanket. He
was then lifted to his feet. He heard the men say to Azim that he was
to accompany them, and that if he attempted escape he would at once be
shot. A man on each side of him put his hands on his shoulder, and one
said: "You are to walk quietly with us; escape is impossible, and it
were well for you not to attempt it."
Angus indeed felt that escape was out of the question. He was unable
to conjecture into whose hands he had fallen. They were not bent upon
plunder, for had they been so, they would have taken his arms, searched
him, and probably cut his throat afterwards. It seemed impossible
to him that they could know he was a British officer, and the only
conceivable explanation he could think of was that men had been
scattered all round the cantonment to prevent anyone from leaving, or
going out with messages to one or other of the chiefs, and that they
had seen him and Azim come out, had followed and seized them, and were
now taking them to some chief to be questioned as to why they were
in the British camp after dark, and for what purpose they had left.
Certainly the affair reminded him of his friendly capture at Cabul; but
it seemed to him altogether impossible that Sadut could have learned
that he was about to start on a mission, or that had he even learned
it, he could have known that he and Azim would have followed the road
on which they had been captured. He soon found that the path they were
following was an upward one, and as it became steeper and steeper, he
was sure that he was being taken into the hills.
Once or twice he addressed his captors, but received no answer. He
walked, as far as he could tell, for two hours. At last there was a
pause. He heard a door open, and felt that he was being taken into a
hut. Then for the first time the pistols and knives were taken from
his sash. His captors, after addressing a few whispered words to some
men who were already in the hut, retired, closing the door behind them
and piling heavy stones against it. The blanket was then taken off
his head. A bright fire was burning in the hut, which he saw was some
fifteen feet square. Four men, armed to the teeth, were standing by
the fire. There was no door save the one by which they had been brought
in, and it was evident that the hut consisted only of this room.
"You are unhurt, I hope," he said to Azim.
"Yes. I was knocked down before I had time to think of doing anything."
"Do you know where they have brought us?"
"No. They threw a cloth over my head."
"How could this have happened, Azim? I cannot understand it at all."
"No more can I, sir."
"When we started to fight against the infidels we never thought that
we should be attacked by our own countrymen. It seems to me that there
must be some mistake." Then he turned to the Afghans. "Why are we
brought here? What harm have we done?"
"That I know not," the man said. "You must have done something, or our
comrades would not have brought you here. That is their business."
"It seems to me," Angus said angrily, "it is our business too. Our
tribe are not at war with any others, and it is a new thing that
Afghans should attack each other when all are uniting to fight the
strangers."
"I know nothing about it. I only know that our comrades brought you
here, and left us to look after you. There are plenty of traitors among
the men who have taken the infidel's gold. They will all be reckoned
with when we have finished with the white men. Well, they did not tell
us to keep you bound, and we will take off the cords if you swear by
the faith that you will make no attempt to escape."
Angus hesitated. It seemed to him that if two of the four men slept he
and Azim could, if unbound, snatch at their weapons, and at least make
a fight for it; that chance would be gone if he gave his word.
"No," he said; "I will make no bargain with men who have deprived me of
my liberty."
"Well, just as you like," the other said, seating himself by the fire,
"it makes no matter to us."
"We may as well sit down too," Angus said, and advancing near the fire
he sat down by the side of the Afghans. Azim did the same.
"Where did you say you came from?" the man who had been the spokesman
of the party asked. Angus briefly named the village he had before
decided upon, and then sat looking silently at the fire. He saw that
his chance of being able to discover at present any plan for escape was
very small. Presently one of the men said, "Let us have supper," and
rising he went to a corner of the hut, where the carcass of a sheep was
hanging from the rafters. He cut off a leg, divided this into slices,
which he spitted on a ramrod, and then put it over the fire. In the
meantime another had unceremoniously placed the four cakes that were
taken from the captives in the embers to warm up. When the meat was
done, the leader said to Angus: "We do not wish to starve you. We will
untie the hands of one of you, and let him eat; when he has done, we
will fasten him up again, and let the other eat in the same way."
This was done. When they were again securely bound Angus said in
Pushtoo: "You may as well lie down now, friend. Perhaps in the morning
the men who have taken us will find out that they have made a mistake
and will let us go, with apologies for having treated friends so
roughly." They lay down close together, but Angus was afraid even to
whisper to his follower, lest it should excite the suspicion of their
guard. For an hour he remained watchful, then he saw two of the Afghans
lie down, but the other two lighted their pipes, and were evidently
going to keep watch. He had tried quietly once or twice to see if the
cords that bound him could be loosened, but he found that although
they had not been tied unpleasantly tight, they were securely fastened,
and did not yield in the slightest to his efforts. He therefore gave up
the idea of trying to free himself from them; and indeed, even if the
guards should all sleep, the prospect was hopeless, for from the noise
made in rolling the rocks against the door, it was certain that this
could not be opened without waking the sleepers. It would therefore be
necessary as a preliminary to kill all of them, and even then he might
not be able to break open the door. At any rate, there was nothing to
do at present. After trying in vain to discover an explanation of their
capture he fell asleep. He woke several times in the night, but found
that two men were always on guard. The next morning he heard the stones
removed from the door, but no one entered. The Afghans breakfasted, and
this time permitted their captives to share the meal with them. From
time to time one or other of the Afghans went to the door and looked
out, and at two o'clock one of them said, "The infidels are moving."
The others went out. "Have you thought of any way of escape?" Angus
whispered in Persian to his follower.
"I can think of nothing," Azim murmured.
As there seemed no obstacle to their going out Angus joined his
captors. He could see on the snow which covered the plain below, the
dark masses of the troops surrounded by a host of camp followers, while
beyond these hovered hordes of Afghans. From time to time horsemen rode
in, evidently delivered some message, and then went off again.
The departure of the troops had been fatally delayed. It was ordered to
begin at eight o'clock in the morning, and at that hour they stood to
their arms. The day was clear and bright, and although four miles from
the camp, Angus could clearly see what was going on. Although it was
now two in the afternoon, only a portion of the troops had left the
camp, and it was not till six o'clock, when night had already fallen,
that the rear-guard left it.
Already confusion had set in; the ranks of the soldiers were broken
up by the terrified camp followers, and presented the appearance of a
vast mob rather than an organized army. Had they started at the hour
fixed they might have reached Khoord Cabul in safety, but the loss
of time was fatal. Only six miles were accomplished, and it was two
o'clock in the morning before the whole gathered, when it was seen that
their numbers were already diminished. The wretched camp followers,
accustomed to the heat of the plains of India, and thinly clad, were
the first to succumb. Hundreds, especially of women and children, sat
down in the snow and were frozen to death. Already the Afghans were
hanging on the flanks, and sometimes making rushes and cutting down
many of the unresisting multitude.
Soon after two o'clock a native came up to the hut and delivered an
order to the Afghans, who at once cut up the remainder of the sheep,
and divided it between them. Then their leader said, "We are to move."
The ropes that bound the prisoners were loosened. One end was tied
round the wrist of each captive, the other being wound round the
waist of an Afghan, allowing a slack of a yard and a half. As soon as
this was done the party moved off. They descended the hill for some
distance, and then followed the lower slopes in the direction in which
the army was moving. They kept on till long after midnight, and then
halted at a deserted hut. Far behind them they could see the flames of
the burning cantonments, which had been fired by the Afghans as soon
as they had removed everything of the slightest value. In the morning
Angus saw that their halting-place was high up above the entrance of
the Khoord Cabul Pass. There was as yet no sign of the army, but in
the afternoon it was seen approaching in a confused mass. The night
had been a dreadful one; soldiers and camp followers, horses and
baggage and cattle were huddled in a confused mass. No warm clothes had
been served out to the followers, and hundreds were frozen to death
during the night, while others were so badly frost-bitten that they
were unable to walk.
As soon as the troops started again the Afghan horsemen attacked the
rear, seizing the baggage, capturing the guns, and cutting down all
they encountered. At noon Akbar Khan, with six hundred horsemen, rode
up. Pottinger sent Captain Skinner with six horsemen to communicate
with him. Akbar said that he had been sent out by the Nawab to protect
them from the attacks of the Ghazees. His instructions were to demand
other hostages as security for the evacuation of Jellalabad, and to
arrest the progress of the force, supplying it in the meantime with
everything it required, until news of the evacuation of Jellalabad by
Sale was received. The troops, however, did not halt until they reached
the entrance of the Cabul Pass. The night was even more dreadful
than the preceding day had been. The Sepoys burned their caps and
accoutrements to obtain a little warmth, and numbers were frozen to
death. At daybreak the crowd of soldiers and camp followers began to
push forward, their only thought now being how to escape death.
Akbar Khan spent some hours in negotiations. Four more hostages were
demanded; Pottinger volunteered to be one of them, Captain Lawrence
had been specially named, and Pottinger chose Mackenzie as the third.
It was agreed that the force should move down through the Khoord Cabul
Pass to Tezeen, there to await tidings of the evacuation of Jellalabad.