ANNIHILATION OF THE ARMY
In terrible confusion the crowd of fugitives--they were now nothing
more--all entered the terrible pass. The Ghilzyes at once commenced
their attack. In vain did Akbar Khan and his chiefs endeavour to
restrain the fanatics. From the hillsides, from every rocky crag they
opened a murderous fire. That day three thousand men fell, either from
the musket fire or from the knives of the Afghans. The dooly-bearers
had all deserted on the first day, the greater portion of the camels
and ponies had been captured. So far the ladies had escaped; they all
rode next to the advanced guard, as this was considered the safest
point, for the soldiers here maintained some sort of order, and the
Afghans, therefore, devoted their attention to the helpless crowd in
the rear. Again the column halted in the snow.
In the morning the camp followers made another rush ahead, but the
troops, who were ordered to march at ten o'clock, did not move,
for in spite of all the remonstrances of the officers, the general
countermanded the order, believing that Akbar Khan would send in
provisions and troops to protect them. Another terrible night was
passed, and then Captain Skinner rode into camp with a new proposal
from Akbar Khan, namely, that all the English ladies of the force
should be placed under his charge, and that they might be accompanied
by their husbands. Pottinger remembering that Akbar Khan's family were
in the hands of the British, and believing that he was sincere in his
wish to save the ladies and children from destruction, sanctioned the
proposal. Elphinstone at once accepted it. It was the choice of two
evils. On the one hand Akbar Khan had proved faithless, and on the
other certain death awaited the ladies. They were insufficiently clad,
had scarcely tasted food since they left Cabul, and had passed three
terrible nights in the snow. Undoubtedly it was the wiser course to
trust them to Akbar Khan. Accordingly a party of Afghan horse rode
in, and Lady Macnaghten, Lady Sale, and ten other ladies, some twenty
children, and eight officers rode away under their escort.
The next morning the survivors started. The Sepoys had already lost the
greater portion of their numbers; the remainder threw away their guns,
which they could no longer use owing to their hands being frost-bitten,
and joined the disorganized rabble in front. They were attacked in a
narrow gorge, and the pass was soon choked with dead and dying. Not
a single Sepoy survived. Of the sixteen thousand men, soldiers and
camp followers, that had left Cabul four days before, not more than a
quarter were now alive. Akbar Khan watched the slaughter that was going
on, declaring that he was powerless to restrain the Ghilzyes, whom even
their own chiefs could not control. He advised that the remnant of the
British army should lay down their arms and place themselves under his
protection. The general very properly refused the offer, for Akbar
Khan had already acknowledged that he was incapable of restraining the
tribesmen.
The march was continued. The rear-guard was commanded by Shelton, and
nobly they did their work, repulsing several attacks of the enemy,
and giving time for those ahead to pursue their way. Before daybreak
they started again in hopes that they might reach Jugduluk that day.
Despair gave the soldiers strength, and they moved off quietly in order
to obtain a start of the camp followers, who paralysed their action.
The latter, however, were soon on their feet, and as usual endeavoured
to push on ahead of the troops. For some miles the retreat was
uninterrupted, but presently a heavy fire opened on the rear-guard. The
camp followers then rushed in a tumultuous crowd past the troops, and
when, a little later, the head of the column was attacked, they again
fled to the rear, not only hampering the movements of the soldiers, but
carrying many of them away by the impetus of their rush. Steadily until
day broke the Afghan marksmen maintained their fire. Soon afterwards
the advanced guard reached a village ten miles from Jugduluk, and
halting only till the rear-guard came up again pushed forward. Shelton,
with a handful of the rear-guard, kept the Afghans at bay, and covered
the retreat until all arrived in Jugduluk, where they took their post
behind some ruined walls. There was, however, little rest for them; the
Afghans, in ever-increasing numbers, posted themselves on the heights
and opened a terrible fire. Three bullocks were found among the camp
followers; these were instantly killed and served out to the famishing
soldiers, who devoured them raw. Again Akbar's party approached, and
Captain Skinner went out to remonstrate with him for permitting the
continued attacks, but the Afghan prince declared himself incapable of
repressing his men, as his orders were disregarded.
A handful of the 44th Regiment issued out and made a gallant rush at
the enemy and drove them back, but as the main body did not follow
their example, they again retired behind the ruined walls. All night
long and through the next day the force remained at Jugduluk. Akbar
Khan sent in a message inviting the general, Shelton, and Captain
Johnson to a conference, and promised to send in provisions. This
promise he as usual broke, and insisted on retaining the three officers
as hostages.
The conference was resumed the next morning. Akbar now seemed in
earnest in his desire to put a stop to the slaughter; but the petty
chiefs of the tribes between Jugduluk and Jellalabad were now present,
and these would listen neither to his entreaties nor commands, nor to
the offer of large sums of money. They thirsted for blood, and were
determined to extirpate the infidels. Mahomed Shah Khan, to whose
daughter Akbar was married, then came forward and asked whether the
British would pay two lacs of rupees for safe-conduct to Jellalabad.
The general agreed to this, and it seemed that at last the safety
of the survivors was ensured. At eight o'clock in the evening the
survivors, who now numbered but a hundred and twenty of the 44th and
twenty-five artillerymen, again set forth. No provisions had been
sent in during the two days' halt, and all were terribly reduced by
famine. The Afghans rushed down among the camp followers, killing them
unresistingly. The soldiers, however, held together, and, bayonet
in hand, drove off their assailants until they reached the Jugduluk
Pass. They struggled up the narrow and terribly steep ascent until
when near the summit they came upon a barricade composed of bushes and
branches of trees. Here the column was thrown into great confusion,
the camp followers crowding upon the soldiers. The latter fought with
desperation, while the Afghans massacred the unresisting camp followers.
Twelve officers fell here. Their number was large in proportion to that
of the men. They had been no better clothed, and had suffered equally
from cold and hunger; but they did not give way to the depression that
during the first two marches had reigned among the troops. They were
upheld, too, by the feeling of responsibility, and the necessity of
keeping up an appearance of cheerfulness and hopefulness in order to
encourage the men. After desperate fighting some twenty officers and
twenty-five soldiers managed to break their way through the barricade,
and at daybreak reached Gundamuck. There were but two rounds of
ammunition remaining in the men's pouches. Most of them were already
wounded, but they were resolute not to lay down their arms, and when
called upon to do so they refused. Then the mob of Afghans rushed
down upon them. One officer and a few privates were taken prisoners,
but seven officers succeeded in cutting their way through, and being
mounted, left the Afghans behind them, and reached Futtehbad, but
sixteen miles from Jellalabad. Here, however, they were attacked by the
peasantry. Two were cut down at once; the others rode off, but were
pursued and overtaken. Four of them were killed, and one only, Dr.
Brydon, reached Jellalabad alive, the sole survivor of four thousand
five hundred fighting men and twelve thousand camp followers, with the
exception only of those who had been taken over by Akbar as hostages.
This, the greatest disaster that ever befell a British army, was due to
the vacillation and weakness that had characterized every action since
the murder of Sir Alexander Burnes. Had the force pressed forward at
once on the morning when it left its cantonment, the greater portion
would probably have reached Jellalabad, but two days had been lost
before the army reached Khoord Cabul Pass, about ten miles from the
city. There were fresh halts, fresh delays, fresh futile negotiations
again and again, and during the time thus thrown away the enemy from
all the mountains round were gathering in the passes to oppose them,
and building the fatal barricade in the pass of Jugduluk. Had the force
pushed forward with only an occasional halt of a few hours, they would
not have been enfeebled by hunger. By slaying the baggage animals an
abundance of food could have been obtained for all, the opposition they
encountered would have been comparatively feeble, and cold would have
been their only formidable antagonist. Truly it seemed that a curse had
fallen upon the army; that it was Divine retribution for a most unjust
and iniquitous war.
Each day Angus and his followers had been taken along, always being
halted in positions whence they could see the terrible tragedy that
was being enacted. Angus was half mad with grief and with fury that
he was not in his place among the troops. Azim in vain endeavoured to
comfort him, by pointing out that it was not his fault that he was not
there, but that he had been sent away from the army by the order of his
superior; and that even had he not been taken prisoner, he would not be
a sharer in what was going on in the pass.
"That is true, Azim, but it is a poor consolation to me. I feel sure
that Pottinger foresaw what would happen, and that it was as an act
of friendship, in giving me a chance of getting through safely, that
he sent me down. It was no doubt kindly meant, but I would a thousand
times rather have shared the fate of the rest."
"Well, master, for my part I own that I am glad we are up here. I have
no wish to be killed, especially as it would do no good to anyone. Why
should a man throw away his life? Allah has given it to us, and we
shall die when our time comes. But it would be wicked to throw it away
uselessly."
"It is all very well to talk like that, Azim, when one is in safety,
but when one sees one's comrades being slaughtered, a man would not be
worthy of the name did he not long to be with them and to die fighting
by their side. Indeed, we know not at present whether our lives are to
be saved. We know not into whose hands we have fallen, or why we should
thus be taken along to be spectators of this massacre. The whole thing
is bewildering to me."
[Illustration: ANGUS WAS HALF MAD WITH GRIEF AND WITH FURY THAT HE WAS
NOT IN HIS PLACE AMONG THE TROOPS]
They now generally conversed in Persian. Their guards, although
keeping as strict a watch as ever on them, interfered with them but
little. Fortunately the worst scenes took place at night, and were
therefore hidden from those on the hill, the incessant rattle of
musketry alone telling of the relentless pursuit. On the night of the
12th the roar of fire had been louder than ever. At last it ceased
suddenly. Angus and his guards alike remained awake, Angus listening in
agony to the sounds of the combat, the Afghans talking together in low
tones.
"What do you think has happened?" he asked them when some minutes had
passed without the sound of a shot being heard.
"Either Akbar Khan has succeeded in persuading the Ghilzye chiefs to
spare what few there are left of the infidels, or the last man has been
slain."
Angus felt that the latter was by far the more probable solution, and
throwing himself down on the ground he burst into tears. The eight
days of mental suffering had shaken him terribly, and now, feeling
that his worst fears had been realized, he broke down altogether.
Before daybreak his captors moved some distance farther up into the
mountains, and by the cautious manner in which they made their way,
often pausing to look back and round, Angus concluded that they were
desirous of avoiding all contact with their countrymen. He had indeed
before observed how careful they were to avoid the Afghans scattered on
the hillside, and he now concluded that they must be taking him to the
tower of the chief, to be dealt with as he might direct, either shot at
once or held by him as a hostage, for whose delivery he might obtain a
handsome sum should the British again advance up the passes.
All day they travelled among the hills. At last they came upon a large
village. There were no men about, doubtless all had gone to take part
in the fray. The women came out and eagerly questioned them as to the
fighting on the night before.
"We know nothing," the leader said. "We believe that the last of the
infidels has fallen, but we know nothing for certain."
Without pausing they took the two prisoners, whose appearance had
created no surprise, as they were taken for natives, to the chief's
tower, a much larger building than the abodes of most of the petty
chiefs. Standing upon a crag of rock, it overlooked the village;
entrance was only obtainable by a ladder leading to a door some thirty
feet above the rock. Their coming had been observed. An old man stood
at the door.
"So you are back, Suffyd?"
"Yes, as you see. Has the chief returned?"
"No; it is two weeks since we saw him last. He started then with all
the fighting men from here and the other villages; but I expect it will
not be long before he returns, for, from what we have heard, the work
must be nearly done."
The party ascended the ladder, and the leader spoke a word or two with
the old man, who looked greatly surprised. The captives were taken
into a room, which by its furnishing was evidently one of the chief's
private apartments.
"You are free to move about the house," the leader said, "but you must
not leave it."
In a few minutes a woman entered, bringing a dish of boiled grain with
portions of mutton in it. She gave the usual Afghan salutation. She was
followed by another woman with a jug of water, two mugs, and a bottle.
These were placed on a low table, and then without another word they
left the room. A minute later they returned with a large earthenware
dish full of burning charcoal.
"This is a good beginning, Azim," Angus said, his spirits rising at
the sight of the hot food; for although they had not been actually
starved, they had been on extremely short rations when their supply of
flour was exhausted, their captors being, like themselves, reduced to
a handful of unground grain each day. "This does not look as if they
meant to cut our throats. Evidently our Afghan is acting under orders.
Those orders must have been that we were to be well treated."
They ate a hearty meal; then Angus said:
"See what there is in that bottle, Azim."
The cork had already been taken out, and Azim poured some of the liquor
into a tin, and handed it to his master. The latter smelt it.
"It is Afghan spirits," he said, "the same as they sell in the bazaars
in Cabul."
He filled it up with water, and drank it off.
"Now, Azim, do you do the same."
Azim, who was not a very strict Mohammedan, and had more than once
tasted the forbidden drink at Cabul, needed no pressing.
"Well, master," he said, as he put the cup down, "after all this is
better than lying dead and frozen down in the pass."
Angus, warmed with the good meal and by the draught that he had taken,
could not disagree with his follower.
"I begin to think that you are right, Azim, though I did not believe so
yesterday. It is certain that had I joined my countrymen I should have
perished with them, and assuredly I have been saved from eight days of
awful suffering and from death--if, indeed, we are saved from death."
"I think we can feel certain of that, master. This is not the way the
Afghans treat a man whose throat they intend to cut. They certainly do
not make a pillau for him, or provide him with a bottle of spirits."
"Do you know, I have been thinking, Azim," Angus said after a short
silence, "that if it had been possible for Sadut Khan to know that
we intended to leave camp in disguise, this might be his work again.
But he could not have known it. No one but you and I, and Major
Pottinger, and the three or four officers to whom I said good-bye, knew
anything about it. Besides, he would have sent the men who captured
us before, and who knew us by sight. And even supposing, which seems
to be impossible, that this was his doing, why not have sent us here
straight, instead of taking eight days to do a journey that could have
been made easily in two, and forcing me to witness the awful scenes in
the passes? It is all most extraordinary."
"However, there is no question, sir, that whoever our captor may be, he
has been the means of saving our lives."
"There can be no doubt of that, Azim; and though I may not feel that at
present, I shall in the future be very grateful to him. Even if he were
to have us shot directly he comes here, I should still be grateful, for
it would be a sudden death and not a lingering one, as it has been to
those below. Well, it is of no use puzzling ourselves over the matter.
I suppose we shall learn how it all came about when the chief, whoever
he be, returns here. In the meantime we are certainly a great deal
better off than we have been for the past two months in cantonments."
"That we are, master. To begin with, I am warm for the first time since
the winter set in; and in the next place, I have had a good meal, and
do not feel that I could grumble at anything. As to your mission, you
said yourself that nothing could come of it, even if you succeeded in
getting through, so that in that respect nothing has been lost by our
journey being so suddenly brought to an end."
The next day some of the men who had been away with their chief
returned, and the old man in charge told Angus that only one man out of
all who had started from Cabul had reached Jellalabad, but that several
officers had been taken as hostages, including the two generals,
Major Pottinger and Captain Johnson, and two others; also, that all
the ladies and children, and the ladies' husbands, had accepted the
protection of Akbar.
It was a relief, indeed, to Angus to find that his friends Pottinger
and Johnson had been saved, and as Captain Boyd was one of the married
officers, he also must have escaped the massacre. As to the fate of
Elphinstone and Shelton he was indifferent, it was to them that the
misfortune that had befallen the army was largely due; but the thought
that his three greatest friends had escaped gave him much pleasure.
With these exceptions, that but one man out of sixteen thousand five
hundred should have escaped was appalling. That the loss had been
terrible he was well aware, but he was hardly prepared for the total
annihilation of the force.
Another two days passed. They continued to be well fed and treated,
and the women who waited upon them seemed to regard them as guests
rather than as captives, talking freely with them, and only being
silent when Angus endeavoured to find out the name of their chief. It
was evident that on this point they had orders to keep silent. On the
third day they heard a stir in the village, and shouts of acclamation
and welcome. The room in which they were confined was at the back of
the house, and they were therefore unable to obtain a view of what was
passing.
"We shall learn our fate now, Azim," Angus said.
"I have no fear of its being a bad one, master. We cannot doubt that
orders were given that we should be well treated. If we are kept
prisoners till the spring, for my part I shall not grumble if they
continue to treat us as well as they have been doing."
They heard the sound of many footsteps and loud talking, then the door
opened and Sadut Khan entered. He advanced with both hands outstretched
to Angus.
"My dear friend," he said, "how thankful I am that you have been saved
where so many have perished!"
"And so it is you, chief, to whom I owe my life?" Angus said, returning
the warm grasp of Sadut's hand. "I did not thank you at first, for it
seemed to me shameful that an English officer should not share in the
fate of his comrades."
Sadut smiled. "But in no case would you have shared their fate. It is
not from that I have saved you, but from being killed on your way down.
Knowing that the passes were full of our people, I was sure that you
must have been taken and murdered. No story you could have told would
have availed you. You were not a Ghilzye, nor a member of any of the
tribes there, and you would assuredly have been detected and killed had
I not saved you."
"That is so, Sadut; and although at first I was half-mad at being
unable to join my countrymen, I saw before the end came that, had I
done so, my life would have been thrown away uselessly."
"Exactly; and that was why I ordered that you should be enabled to see
all that passed. From what I had seen of you, I was sure that at first
you would bitterly resent being taken prisoner, and that even if you
knew into whose hands you had fallen you would resist; and it was for
that reason that I did not this time employ Hassan and his followers to
seize you, though all through your journey they kept close at hand, to
use my name and authority should any party of tribesmen meet you--not
that I had much fear of your detection had they done so. The men with
you had orders that in case they did meet such a party, they were to
treat you both, not as captives, but as forming part of their own band.
Still, it was as well that Hassan should be at hand in case of need."
"I thank you with all my heart, Sadut. I could not have done so at
first, but I can do so now; you have indeed saved my life. A few days
ago that seemed to me as nothing, for I felt that I was dishonoured in
looking on at the massacre of my countrymen. I have had time to think
it over since, and I now know that the view I took was exaggerated.
Could I have joined them it was plainly my duty to have done so, but if
I was a prisoner no blame could attach to me. Have you, chief, taken
part in this terrible business?"
"No. With twenty of my own horsemen I rode with Akbar, who is my friend
and relative, but I had no intention of drawing my sword against your
people. I knew that they had been promised protection, and I thought
that Akbar and his force were going to escort them. His word had been
given, and I did not think he would withdraw it.
"I do not think it was his intention to do so. He could have done much
more than he did, but he could not have saved the fugitives. The Nawab
was alone among the Afghan chiefs in the sincerity of his assurances.
Akbar had no influence with the Ghilzye chiefs, and even had he
influenced them they could not have restrained their tribesmen and
the Ghazees. The die was cast. It was Allah's will that those who had
invaded the country without any pretext, dethroned Dost Mahomed, who
had eagerly sought their alliance, and forced a man we all hated upon
us, should meet their fate. Over and over again we implored Akbar, for
the sake of his pledge and his word, to assist your people; even if,
in his efforts to do so, he fell, then his name would go down as long
as our nation existed as one who died in defence of his oath and his
honour. He was all along irresolute. At times he did his best short
of attacking the Ghilzyes, at other times he held aloof altogether
from the scene. At any rate, I can feel that my honour is not soiled.
I was not one of those who signed the treaty, but I have done my best
to prevent that treaty from being violated. Had your people sallied out
from the cantonments and given us battle, I should have fought against
them. But even had there been no treaty, I would not have taken part in
the massacre of men who were practically defenceless, and who were in
no way responsible for the crime of their government."
"I am glad to hear you say so, chief. I should have been grieved
indeed had you taken part in so treacherous and terrible a massacre.
But how did you learn that I was going to try to make my way down to
Jellalabad? That I have never been able to understand."
"I kept a watch over you the whole time, my friend. Either Hassan, or
one of his men who knew you, was always in the camp, dressed as one of
the camp followers."
"But even then I cannot imagine how he could have told that I was
going. I knew it myself but a few hours before I started, and only
Major Pottinger and three or four of my friends were aware of it."
"My watch was a good one," the chief said, "and when two Afghans issued
from your tent you may be sure the news was quickly brought to the men
who had for some days been lying in readiness, and who were prepared to
repeat the adventure in the city."
Suddenly, to the astonishment of Angus, Azim threw himself on his
knees. "Master!" he exclaimed, "you can kill me, but I own that it was
I who betrayed you. I had met Hassan in the camp, and he told me that
assuredly no white man would escape alive, that it was settled that all
should be attacked and slain in the passes. He said that Sadut Khan
had resolved to save you, but that to do this with certainty it would
be necessary that he should be informed as to your movements, and where
you would ride when the army started. He said that unless I helped them
it might be impossible to save you. Then I agreed to do so, and met him
or one of his men every day. As soon as you had left the tent after
telling me of your expedition, I ran to the spot where I knew I should
find Hassan, and told him that we were going alone. He said at once
that it would be certain death were you to try to go down the pass, and
that you must be carried off as soon as you had left the camp. I knew
well that you would be greatly angered, and that if you suspected me
you would kill me for my treachery; but that was nothing compared to
your life, and so I turned traitor to you, and am willing now that you
should order me to be taken out and beheaded."
Angus held out his hand to his faithful follower. "I should have been
angry at first--grieved and angry too, but I cannot be angry now.
You did what you believed to be best for me, and I acknowledge that
it has turned out so. Your treachery was but an act of fidelity, and
undoubtedly was the means of saving my life. You did wrong, but it was
with the best intentions. You ought to have confided in me."
"But I knew that if I did so you would not have consented."
"That is true enough; still, I was the best judge of what was
consistent with my honour. However, next to Sadut Khan I owe you my
life, and it would be but poor gratitude were I to reproach you. Let us
say no more about it. I shall remember always that you saved my life,
and shall forget that you somewhat betrayed my trust. I have for four
years past regarded you as my friend rather than as my servant, and I
shall esteem you even more so in the future."
Azim retired with tears of joy in his eyes. Sadut and Angus had a long
talk together. As if by mutual consent, the subject of the late events
was avoided, and the conversation was upon their journey across the
Bamian and Sadut's doings since that time.
"I stayed at Khooloom until the governor, whom we had trusted
implicitly, handed over Dost Mahomed's family and mine to your people.
I happened to be away at the time, and on my return two days later
was warned by Hassan of what had taken place. When Dost returned from
captivity among the Turkomans, of course I joined him and accompanied
him to Kohistan, and fought by his side in the battle of Purwandurrah.
The Ameer had said no word even to me of his intention to surrender,
and I was thunder-struck when I heard that he had given himself up. I
remained there, and took part in the attack on the Ghoorka regiment, at
Charekar. After that I returned home. My fortress, as you know, lies
far to the west among the Momunds. This place does not belong to me,
but to the husband of a sister of mine. She is at present at my place
with her husband, who is ill; and as I wished to be nearer to the scene
of action, he begged me to use his fort as a residence. I desired to
hold myself aloof from the negotiations, as I knew that most of the
chiefs were open at any moment to betray the cause for British gold.
Still, I was often down in the city, where I own the house to which you
were taken. I no longer hated your people as infidels--your kindness
to me showed me that there was goodness in your religion as well as in
mine--but I was still ready to fight against them as the invaders of my
country."
"And now, chief, what do you propose to do with me?"
"That is for you to decide, my friend. I know what you will say, but,
though I may regret it deeply, I shall certainly offer no opposition.
You are my guest, and it is not for me to dictate to you. I should be
happy if you would stay with me till these troubles have passed, but I
place myself wholly at your disposal, whatever you may decide upon."
"Thank you, indeed. It is clear to me that if it is in my power I
should immediately rejoin our forces."
"I was sure that that would be your wish, and I will send you down with
a strong escort to Peshawur."
"I would rather join Sale at Jellalabad."
Sadut Khan shook his head. "In that case," he said, "I shall have
rescued you in vain. Sale's force is already besieged, and it will
be but a repetition of Cabul. By orders of Akbar Khan, the Ghilzye
chiefs have all risen. The town is practically without fortifications,
though I hear that the white soldiers have been labouring hard to put
the place in a state of defence. But if the army at Cabul could not
withstand us, still less will Sale's force, which is only a third of
its strength, hold Jellalabad."
"You forget, chief, that they are commanded by a man, and not by an
utterly incapable person. They are not dispirited by forced inaction
or want of food. I do not say that Jellalabad may not be taken, but I
feel sure that it will offer a sturdy resistance, and the news of what
has happened in the passes will only fill the soldiers with fury. At
any rate, Sale's is the only force that remains of the army to which I
was attached, and it is there that it is my duty, with your permission,
to go. I am sure that were you in my place that would also be your
decision."
"So be it," Sadut said after a long pause. "Were you to go to Peshawur
you might meet your death there also, as doubtless a force will
endeavour to relieve Jellalabad, and in that case you would certainly
go with them. They will never force their way through the Khyber
Pass. From what I hear the Sepoys at Peshawur are almost in a state
of mutiny. The Sikhs have sapped their loyalty, and have assured them
that they will never be able to force the pass; and when they do move
forward they cannot be depended upon to stand by the British troops
so that your danger may be as great one way as another. However,
Jellalabad is your choice and not mine. The citadel there is strong,
and when the town is captured, as it certainly will be soon, the troops
can retire there, and may hold out until they make terms and are
allowed to return to India."
"I do not think they will make terms, Sadut. They have had a terrible
lesson as to the manner in which treaties are respected by the greater
portion of your chiefs, and are not likely to trust again to any
promises, but will hold out until they have fired their last cartridge."
"They cannot hope to defend themselves," Sadut said positively. "Akbar
Khan will himself head the army."
"I do not think, Sadut, that you know yet what a British soldier can do
when well led. There has been no great battle fought since we entered
Afghanistan, and you must not judge them by the small fights that took
place round Cabul; the soldiers there had lost heart and confidence in
their commander. It will be a very different thing when you meet them
confident in themselves and in their leaders. Believe me, your hosts,
however large, do not frighten them. You know how they have overcome
many of the best fighting races in India, and that in the teeth of odds
as great as can be brought against them here. I say not a word against
the courage of your people, but they want discipline and training, and
even a host of men fighting each for himself, cannot withstand the
charge of well-disciplined soldiers."
"Why did they not come up the passes, then, to aid their friends."
"Because they were deficient in carriage, they were in a country
altogether hostile to them, they had many sick, and must have left a
strong force to guard them. There may have been other reasons of which
I know not, but these are sufficient. For a force to enter these passes
without animals to carry their food and their wounded would have been
madness. And I believe that Sale has not more than twelve hundred
bayonets, a force sufficient to do wonders in the plains, but which
could hardly fight their way up the passes against thousands of good
marksmen, as the Afghans assuredly are, armed with guns which carry
much farther than their own, and firing in safety behind inaccessible
rocks. But whether Jellalabad can resist all attacks, as I believe,
or whether the place falls, is a matter which does not affect my
resolution. It is my duty to be there, and if you will afford me means
of getting there I will assuredly go."
"We will start to-morrow, then, and the sooner we are off the better.
The news of what has happened in the passes will spread like flame
through the country, and every fighting man will turn out to complete
the work. There is a pathway from here which goes straight down to
Gundamuck. I will ride with you with half a dozen of my followers;
there are plenty of ponies on the hills. Certainly no questions will be
asked, no suspicions can arise. When we get near Jellalabad we shall
see how you can best enter. I will ride round the place with you. As
I am a friend of Akbar's, it will be supposed that I am examining the
place to see where an attack had best be made. There are many orchards
and small villages round. When we are as near the town as we can get,
you can slip from your horse as we go through an orchard. Keep under
cover in the gardens until close to the walls. When you get within
musket-shot you can tie a white cloth to your gun, and you will then be
safe."
This plan was carried out, and two days later, after a grateful parting
from his preserver, Angus stood at the edge of the moat opposite one of
the gates.