THE ARMY IN INDIA: (_c_) THE ARMY OF THE QUEEN-EMPRESS--1858-96
After the great Mutiny, the disturbed districts soon settled down
to their normal calm. Discontent, if still existing, was concealed
with Asiatic astuteness. The justice of our rule was evident, even if
antagonistic to natural prejudices and antipathies. The extension of
railways rendered rapid concentration of troops more possible, and the
great increase in the permanent establishment of European troops soon
impressed the native mind with the futility, for the time at least, of
any further effort to upset the British rule.
The danger to which India was to be exposed for the future was more
external than internal, more political than domestic. The natural
extension of the Empire had brought it into intimate connection with
semi-savage peoples on the one hand, and, what was of more serious
importance, had, through the rapid absorption by Russia of the Central
Asian khanates, brought the frontiers of two mighty Empires within
striking distance. Hence the military history of India since the Mutiny
is composed of small punitive expeditions against the mountain tribes
of the Himmaleyehs and Hindu Koosh, or political campaigns such as that
in Afghanistan.
Many of the former are too unimportant to mention, and reference will
therefore be confined to those for which medals or clasps have been
given, or whose names are borne upon the colours. But all spring from
the same source. It is the contest, as old as the hills themselves,
between the people of the mountains and those of the plain. To the
former, rapine and plunder is a profitable pastime, and war an
agreeable change. Like the Scottish Highlander of the time of “Roderick
Dhu,” who looked on the Saxon or Lowlander as justifiable prey, and
to whom to “spoil the Egyptians” was not merely right, but laudable,
so all hill-tribe peoples feel with regard to the Lowlanders. Their
own land provides little even of bare necessaries, still less of
common luxuries. In many cases their condition necessitates, in their
eyes, raids for slaves or wives; in all they know they will long
enjoy comparative immunity from unpleasant consequences, provided
their hostile acts are not too pronounced. They are aware, as are the
military police and the government of the more peaceful districts,
that to punish minor acts of theft is a costly, though rarely a
dangerous, proceeding. Emboldened by immunity, and forgetful of past
punishment, they grow bolder and bolder, until at length the patience
of the other side is exhausted, and a second or a third punitive
expedition is despatched. Even when, after such a one, superficial
peace is established, the presence of foreign Residents, to see that
that peace is kept, is often a constant source of danger. Some patriot
more zealous or hyper-sensitive to the presence of the foreigner--all
the more if he be a “Feringhi”--than the rest resents this apparent
vassalage, and carries his resentment to its natural end with people
whose fighting instincts are still strong. The early history of all
dominant military nations or clans is the same. When they are fully
subdued, they become as valuable servants and coadjutors in the
principle of keeping order and the peace, as they were before hostile
to both.
Where are there better soldiers than the Highland Scotch? and yet for
generations they were deadly hostile to those with whom they now work
with absolute cordiality. So with the Sikh and Beloochee. They furnish
some of the best and most reliable of the native regiments.
Hence it is that frontier wars in India are, and will be, matters of
common occurrence, until the peoples see the error of their ways, and
learn that resistance and robbery, for it is little else, do not pay.
There is yet another reason why these wars must long continue to be
inevitable. Semi-civilised man with arms in his hand (and all such
tribes rejoice in having arms) are not content with looking at them.
They desire to use them, and therefore do. Doubtless often enough it
is a case of _cherchez la femme_, and it would be strange indeed if in
some cases the male had not been egged on by ambition, or the desire
for something which a raid would give her, by his feminine belongings.
Barbaric woman thinks little of a peace-loving man. She likes the man
none the less, but all the more, because he is strong in battle, and
fearless when danger comes.
Frontier wars, however, are at anyrate a valuable training-school
for our army, and give, in piping times of general peace, the only
practical experience of how often death, and at all times difficulties,
may be met and overcome. The first of these after the Mutiny was
that of Sikkim, a district north of Darjeeling. There had often been
friction before, and the turbulence of some of the tribes led to the
“temporary occupation” of a portion of the Rajah of Sikkim’s territory.
The natural consequences followed. The detachment was after a while
driven out. Of course, too, there was the necessity to punish the
“unjustifiable action,” and there was also the political effect such a
minor reverse might have on the neighbouring populations.
As “Ramrod Joe” wrote long since--
“Wotever ye does hout ’ere, stick hup for your pride o’ race.
Keep your _prestige_. Wot’s that? Why, keep them blacks in place.”
In 1860, therefore, an expedition was prepared under Colonel J. C.
Gawler; and, in all these cases, the physical difficulties were more
serious than the military. Only the 6th European Regiment, with the 3rd
Sikhs, the 73rd Native Infantry, etc., with some 12-pounder howitzers,
took part in these operations.
The country was difficult, consisting of rude mountain tracks, with
dense and impenetrable jungle between. One peculiarity of this jungle
was its being infested with leeches, which “penetrate loosely-woven
cloths, and deprive the wearer of a good deal of blood before he finds
them out. They get far up the noses of horses, goats, etc., and cannot
be removed without subjecting the poor animal to a couple of days
without water, which being afterwards offered to him, the leeches also
want to drink, and may be seized. If allowed to remain, the animal
becomes a mere skeleton.” The order of march, too, was peculiar in
such a terrain. Flanking patrols were impossible, and the column was
therefore protected by small bodies halted in succession, which in due
course joined the rear of the column as fresh bodies in advance took
their place.
The defence was not serious: there was some desultory jungle fighting,
with little loss on either side; there were stockades and stone
breastworks constructed, but not seriously held or for long; there were
huge masses of stone, “booby traps,” so arranged on a bamboo platform
that a few cuts with a knife would release them to roll down the
mountain side, but no loss was effected by them. Finally, the country
was pacified and war ceased; but a second expedition, in which the
Derbyshire Regiment took part, was necessary in 1888, where the same
difficulties were encountered and surmounted, and a small engagement
took place at Gnatong.
The small Umbeylah, or Ambela, campaign, as it spelt in the official
history, was somewhat more serious. There had been fanatical outbreaks
by Hindustanis in the district beyond the territory of the Buner Khels,
lying opposite the Hazara district of the Indus valley, and bordering
on the area ruled by the Akhund of Swat. This personage was a spiritual
as well as a temporal ruler, and combined theological distinction with
political power.
The force was organised in two columns. That in the Hazara district had
the 51st and 93rd Regiments, with the native troops, and was intended
to watch the frontier at first defensively. The other had at first the
71st Highland Light Infantry and the 101st Royal Bengal Fusiliers to
stiffen the Indian regiments, and to these were added later the 79th
and 7th Royal Fusiliers, with the 7th Hussars.
The operations lasted from October to December, and are noteworthy
for the heavy loss in officers and the tenacity with which the enemy,
taking the offensive, conducted the fighting. To begin with, it was a
continuous affair of outposts, for, penetrating into the mountains,
the Buner people refused to let the column pass, and the small army,
under Sir Neville Chamberlain, halted and posted outposts on commanding
points known then as Eagle’s Nest, the Craig, the Water piquet, etc.
The fighting round these was most severe. Taken and retaken frequently,
always with loss, it was impossible to advance until a secure line of
communication had been made, and reinforcements pushed to the front.
The Punjabis fought gallantly, and Lieutenants Pilcher and Fosbery won
the V.C.; but the instances of individual gallantry were most numerous.
So desperate was the continued struggle for the Craig piquet that it
got the name among the men of _Kutlgar_, the place of slaughter. But
eventually the invading force was increased to 9000 men, and then,
with a vigorous offensive, the tribal gathering was dispersed. The
medal issued to the Usafzai Field Force was well earned; 36 British and
31 native officers, and 152 British and 689 native soldiers had been
killed and wounded.
[Illustration: _Private 14^{th} Reg^{t} 1864._]
In such frontier wars, one frequently leads to another. The Bhoteas had
passively, if not actively, sympathised with their neighbours in the
Sikkim campaign, and soon in their turn became troublesome. In 1864,
therefore, an expedition formed in four columns, for which detachments
of the 48th, 80th, and the artillery, together with a large force of
native regiments, were detailed, invaded Bhotan, which is situated on
the north-east frontier, and whose people are more nearly allied to
the Thibetans than to the Hindus. There was but slight opposition to
the left column at Dhalimcote. The fort was bombarded and stormed, but
the enemy, armed with stones, matchlocks, and bows and arrows, did
not await the assault. The fort of Dhumsong and most of the stockaded
positions built to check the advance were abandoned without firing a
shot, and a brief stand was made at Chamoorchee, after which the Deb
Rajah wrote a somewhat remarkable letter to the following effect:--
“If you wish for peace, do not disturb our peasantry; it will be best
for you to go back to your own country without doing any harm to
ours. But if you will take possession of my country, which is small,
without fighting, and attach it to your own kingdom, which is large,
I shall send the divine force of twelve gods, as per margin, who are
very ferocious ghosts. Of this force 7000 stop at Chamoorchee, 5000 at
Durma, 9000 at Buxa, and 102,000 at Dhalim Dooar. You have done great
injury to our country, and should not repeat it.”
The other column on the left of the general line of advance, under
Colonel Watson, none the less took Buxa without the “ghosts” raising
any objection; while one of the right columns reached Dewangiri and
the Darungah Pass after a brief skirmish, and the other marched on
Bishensing without meeting the enemy. The formal annexation of the
country was ordered, and a chain of military posts fixed for the
garrison of the country until its government had become settled. But
the Bhotanese made a second bid for freedom in 1866, and there was some
brisk fighting at Dewangiri, which was for a time practically invested,
as the Darungah Pass was held by the enemy. Water was running short,
and, seeing little hope of reinforcement, Colonel Campbell decided on
retreating by the Libia Pass, and was compelled to abandon his guns on
the march.
Attacks were made afterwards on all the hill posts from Dewangiri to
Chamoorchee, at Bishensing, Buxa, and Tazagong, and it was evident
that the force there was insufficient to quell the now extensive
rising. More artillery, the 55th and 80th Regiments, and three native
battalions, under General Tombs, C.B., V.C., were hurried up. This
was to act on the right, the other troops under Fraser on the left
wing, for the reconquest of the country; and when Balla, Buxa, and
Chamoorchee were taken with but little fighting by Fraser, as well as
the stockades in the Balader Pass, the Darungah Pass, and Dewangiri
(where the enemy made an ineffective stand), the war practically
ceased; though after these active hostilities it was found necessary
to despatch a strong force to check a tendency to further disturbance,
though there was no more fighting.
Nothing of any note occurred until 1872, when the introduction of
tea-planting into Assam led to a considerable immigration of Europeans,
and offered greater temptations to the Lushai hill tribes to make
incursions into the richer districts at the foot of the mountains. As
far back as 1840 these people had been troublesome, and a punitive
expedition had been despatched in 1850; but numerous outrages and
forays had occurred in 1862 and 1869, and the Indian Government at
length decided on the suppression of the annoyance.
The country was to be invaded in two columns: the left, from Cachar,
under Colonel Bouchier, was composed of native troops and Royal
Artillery, and, though opposed, the loss was trifling. The march
towards Lalboora was made by Mynadhur (the last tea plantation in
Assam), Khotel, and Kalhi, where the enemy assembled in such numbers
that it was deemed advisable to fall back to the post at the Tuibuin
river, and, after some fruitless negotiations, hostilities were
continued in a haphazard fashion at Pachin Poiboi and Chelam, but the
small force was so much weakened by the numerous detachments that had
to be left to hold the more important points seized, that on more than
one occasion the main column ran serious risk of being overpowered
by numbers. Fortunately the arms of the adversary were of no great
value, being very old flintlock Tower-pattern smooth-bores, bows
and iron-tipped arrows, spears, and a species of Burmese _dah_. The
bullets were not cast, but beaten into shape. It is to this fact that
the extremely small loss, even when the jungle fighting was at close
quarters, must be attributed. Meanwhile the right column, starting
from Chittagong, had been similarly employed, and finally the whole
force assembled in the final stronghold of Lungvel, and, first hoisting
the British flag there, burned the village and returned to India. The
terms of peace were the payment of a small fine, and the admission of
Government agents in their villages, whose chief mission was to prevent
disturbances, and report if such were likely to occur.
In 1875 and 1877 troubles sprung up nearer the Afghan frontier with
the Jowakis, a branch of the Afreedis, who had persistently raided
the Peshawur Valley, and finally attached a British outpost. To burn
villages and slay defenceless villagers was one thing, to lay violent
hands on a wearer of the Queen’s uniform was far more serious. So the
second battalion of the 9th Regiment accompanied a small expedition
which effected its object with but little loss on either side, and
indeed no resistance worthy the name was offered. But of all these
frontier campaigns, that against the Afghans, 1878 to 1880, was far
more serious and prolonged. It was not a war with a small tribe only,
but with a nation, though even then that nation was built up of many
semi-independent and wholly barbaric bodies, serving under their own
chiefs. In the _casus belli_, history repeated itself exactly. Fear
of Russian influence at Cabul, and the refusal of the Ameer Shere Ali
to dismiss a Russian envoy, led to the declaration of war, this to
the occupation of Cabul, that to the placing of a British Resident
at the capital and his consequent murder, and then another “Army of
Vengeance.” The sequence of events was much as in 1844.
Space fails to tell fully the story of this remarkable contest.
Remarkable not merely for the bravery of the enemy, his extraordinary
power of recuperation after a beating, which had something very British
about it, his strong political patriotism for his mountain home, his
passion for freedom from all alien domination, especially of the hated
“Feringhi”; but also for the enormous difficulties presented by the
frowning defiles of the mountain barrier which separates the basin
of the Indus from the wide, secluded valley which runs from Cabul
to Candahar. The British seem to have been peculiarly obnoxious to
the people, for other reasons than that of faith. The Ameer, when he
proclaimed a _Jehad_ or holy war against us, struck, probably, the
keynote as far as his people were concerned, when he said, “A foreign
nation, without cause or the slightest provocation, has made up its
mind to invade our country and conquer it.”
The first advance was made direct on Cabul by the Khyber Pass. The
small fortress of Ali Musjid was attacked on the 21st November 1878,
by the 51st and 81st European, and the 6th and 45th Native Regiments,
and abandoned by the enemy after some sharp fighting; but many of the
fugitives were stopped by the first battalion of the 17th in their
retreat and taken prisoners. By the end of the year the head of this
column was about Jellalabad. Coupled with this was the penetration of
the Kurram Valley by the second column under General Roberts, which was
composed of the 10th Hussars and 12th Bengal Cavalry, four batteries
of artillery, the second battalion of the 8th, the Duke of Albany’s
Highlanders, and many native regiments, to which were added, later,
another battery of artillery, a squadron of the 9th Lancers, the 67th
and 92nd, and more native cavalry and infantry battalions, raising the
force by November 1878 to about 14,000 men. Advancing up the Kurram
Valley to Fort Azim, which was garrisoned, the Afghan position on
the Peiwar Kotal was attacked frontally by General Cobbe with a wing
of the Gordons and other troops, and turned by the Spin Gawi Kotal
with the 8th, the other wing of the Highlanders, and the 29th Native
Infantry, with the 5th Ghoorkas. Finally, troops pushed on to Ali Kehl,
which was garrisoned. Both these passes were held during the winter,
and the troops, especially detachments, were frequently harassed by
the semi-independent action of the hill tribes, rendering necessary
punitive expeditions, such as those in the Khost Valley against the
Mangals and Wazaris by Roberts’ force; and those against the Lughman
tribes, north of Jellalabad, during which occurred the disaster to a
squadron of the 10th Hussars, which, missing its way in crossing a ford
on the Cabul river, lost forty-five men and one officer by drowning.
Expeditions also on this side against the Khugranis led to fighting at
Futtehabad and at Dehowink with the Afreedis. At the same period Sir
Donald Stewart had occupied Candahar with but little opposition, and
had also seized Khelat-i-Ghilzi and Girishk. There was much outrage,
also in the Pishin and other valleys, both by the turbulent hill tribes
and the dispersed or disbanded soldiery of the Amir.
By May 1879 Yakoub Khan, who had succeeded to the throne on the death
of his father, Shere Ali, had recognised the futility of further
resistance. The Peace of Gandamak was signed, by which the control
of the foreign affairs of Afghanistan was to be vested in the Indian
Government, the Kurram, Pishin, and Sibi Passes were to be attached to
the Indian Empire, the Khyber Pass was also to be under our control,
and a British Resident was to be installed at Cabul. Sir Louis
Cavagnari accordingly proceeded there with a small escort on the 17th
June 1879.
The calm that followed on the conclusion of the first period of the war
was rudely broken. Sir Louis Cavagnari’s sanguine belief in a friendly
Afghanistan was ill founded. But unlike the close of the first period
of the previous war in 1843 to 1844, the massacre of the Resident and
his people, which caused the second “army of vengeance,” took place
while they were in apparently peaceful occupation of the Residency, and
in Cabul, and not when in full retreat on India. There was even less
warning of disaster in 1878 than in 1844.
When the news came there were troops in the Khyber, and Kurram Vallies,
and at Candahar. In the Kurram Valley rapidly assembled the brigades of
Macpherson and Baker, in which served the 72nd, the 67th, and the 92nd
European Regiments, with many gallant Sikh and Ghoorka battalions, well
provided with artillery and a cavalry brigade, in which were the 9th
Lancers. Pushing on at once beyond the Peiwar Kotal, the Shaturgardan
Pass was occupied before the enemy could get there, and garrisoned; and
then the army, pushing on by Ali Kehl, in the Logar Valley, first met
and defeated the insurgent Afghans at Charasia, where twenty guns were
taken with but little loss. Yet another skirmish, and the army reached
Cabul. The 67th was the first to enter, playing the quickstep that had
been played long years before by the unhappy 44th, and the army then
took up cantonments in the fortified district of Sherpur without the
city walls.
Here for many a week they were practically shut in. The Shaturgardan
garrison was isolated until relieved by Gough, and then that line of
communication was abandoned and a fresh one opened by Gandamak and the
Khyber. Throughout the whole of December there was almost continual
fighting. General Roberts, slender as his force was, fully recognised
the overwhelming advantage of the offensive in such a war and with such
a people. Wherever armed bands gathered, there a force was sent. Often
enough it barely carried out its purpose, and only then with heavy
loss, because of the overwhelming numbers and determined bravery of
the enemy. On one occasion the 9th Lancers suffered heavily, and three
guns were temporarily abandoned; and at length the tribal gathering was
too large to face, and, seizing Cabul, the Afghans shut up the small
British army within its defences at Sherpur. But it was not for long.
An attack on the 23rd December was beaten sternly back, and again the
hostile host melted away and left Cabul alone. A few days after, Gough,
with reinforcements, including the 9th Regiment, arrived by way of the
Khyber.
Meanwhile, Sir Donald Stewart had moved up from Candahar, as Nott
did in 1844. Meeting the enemy at Ahmed Kehl with his small force,
which included the 59th and some of the 60th, he was victorious,
though heavily outnumbered, and at one time, because of the desperate
gallantry of the Ghazi charge, in a position of some peril; while,
after entering Ghazni, he had a second “affair” at Urzoo, and then
joined hands with General Ross’s force of Sikhs, Ghoorkas, and the 9th
Foot, which had had another fight at Charasia before communication with
the relieving column was effected.
Sir Donald Stewart now assumed supreme command at Cabul. Abdul Rahman
was recognised as Amir by the Indian Government; and preparations were
made, on the establishment of his authority, to abandon the Afghan
capital and withdraw the army to India.
Meanwhile, General Primrose, with the 66th and 7th Fusiliers and some
native troops, had been left in Candahar. The total garrison numbered
less than 3000 men. But, hearing of the advance of another of the
Afghan pretenders, Ayub Khan, from Herat, a considerable portion of
the garrison, including the 66th, was pushed out to the north, as far
as the Helmund, to check his advance. In this General Burrowes, who
commanded, was unsuccessful. The battle of Maiwand was a terrible
disaster, brought on chiefly, if not entirely, by taking up a fatally
bad position to resist a powerful force furnished with a well-served
artillery.
Here the 66th lost their colours, notwithstanding the desperate bravery
of the remnant that rallied round them. Olivey and Honeywood carried
the colours on that dreadful day, and the latter was heard to cry, as
he held the standard on high, “Men, what shall we do to save this?”
when he fell dead, as did Sergeant-major Cuphage, who next tried to
take it. Colours--the _signa militaria_ still, though not of such
importance as a rallying centre in these days of extended order and
fire fight, as in the days of line formation and the Brown Bess--lost
as these were lost reflect honour, and not discredit, on the history of
a regiment.
Remarking on the use of colours in the past during battle, Sir Charles
Napier writes: “Great is the value of the standard; it is a telegraph
in the centre of the battle to speak the changes of the day to the
wings. Its importance has therefore been immense in all ages, among
all nations, and in all kinds of war. ‘Defend the colours! form upon
the colours!’ is the first cry and the first thought of a soldier,
when any mischance of battle has produced disorder; then do cries,
shouts, firing, blows, and all the combat thicken round the standard;
it contains the symbol of the honour of the band, and the brave press
round its bearer.” So it has ever been since the standard-bearer of
the Tenth Legion threw the honoured insignia of his regiment among
the British-Celtic, or Belgic, militia on the Dover coast, when
Christianity had not yet dawned. The breech-loader has caused the
colours to be omitted in the battle-order paraphernalia of modern
war, and, as gunpowder had, in the past, destroyed some of the glory
and panoply of the mediæval host, so it has lessened some of the
picturesqueness of the line of battle of to-day.
Worn-out colours have one of three endings. First, and naturally, in
the church of the district whose name the regiment bears, because
the consecrated banners find fitting resting-place in consecrated
buildings. Next, with the colonels of the regiments, who may be well
expected to revere the standards of the battalions which have honoured
them by such a gift. And lastly, as the old 50th did when it was made a
royal regiment, and when, in place of the black standard, it received
one of royal blue; then the silk of the old colours was burned with
careful reverence, and the ashes placed in the lid of the regimental
snuff-box, made out of the wood of the staff, on which is also engraven
the names of those who had borne the colours in the storm of battle.
The sentiment that dwells around the regimental colours has been very
well expressed by the late Sir Edward Hamley. Speaking of the colours
of the 43rd, now resting and rusting peacefully in Monmouth church, he
says--
“A moth-eaten rag on a worm-eaten pole,
It does not look likely to stir a man’s soul.
’Tis the deeds that were done ’neath the moth-eaten rag,
When the pole was a staff, and the rag was a flag.
For on many a morn in our grandfathers’ days,
When the bright sun of Portugal broke through the haze,
Disclosing the armies arrayed in their might,
It showed the old flag in the front of the fight.
By rivers, o’er bridges, past vineyards and downs,
Up the valleys where stood, all deserted, the towns,
It followed the French, and when they turned to bay,
It just paused for the fight, then again led the way.
And whenever it chanced that a battle was nigh,
They saw it then hung like a sign in the sky:
And they soon learned to know it--its crimson and white--
O’er the lines of red coats and of bayonets bright.
* * * * *
In the church, where it hangs when the moon gilds the graves
And the aisles and the arches, it swells and it waves;
While, below, a faint sound as of combat is heard
From the ghostly array of the old Forty-Third.”
The feeling here expressed must have been strong with those who tried
to save the colours at Maiwand. More than 1300 men had fallen there
when the relics of the little army returned to Candahar, which was then
invested, and all communication with India cut off by the destruction
of the telegraph.
The nearest force for its relief was that of General Phayre in the
Quettah Pass, where the difficulties of transport and supply were
extreme. The other available army was that under Stewart and Roberts
at Cabul. It was from them assistance was to come; but, while awaiting
relief, a most useless and injudicious sortie was made, which had
no result save the loss of valuable lives and a slight break in the
monotony of the siege of Candahar.
The country in this part of Afghanistan was fully roused, though the
northern portion, now held by the Amir, was quiet. The hatred to the
British seemed to increase day by day. The deportation of prominent
Afghan chiefs to India added fuel to the flame. The horror of such
exile, in the Afghan mind, is extreme; the suffering infinitely greater
than any death.
The fact that the tide of unvarying success which usually characterises
the action of our arms in the East had been so far checked, had
acted curiously on even the Indian mind. Hitherto there had been no
reluctance to serve beyond the borders of the Indian Empire, and no
difficulty in obtaining recruits. Now there was; and to such an extent
that bounties of £5 had to be offered, a sum equivalent with a native
to what £56 would be with an English soldier, in order to fill up the
depleted ranks. Even the often despised Madrasee was willingly taken.
Ayub’s army therefore gathered strength as it advanced, especially
after the Maiwand disaster, and with the prospect of the rich plunder
of Candahar. He certainly numbered at one time some 10,000 men, but
the numbers varied, and these irregulars, like the Highlanders in the
Jacobite wars, often returned home to deposit plunder, see to their
crops, or visit their families.
The Amir who then ruled Afghanistan was by no means averse to the
crushing of this somewhat formidable personage. His seat on the golden
throne was not yet so firmly secure that he could view with equanimity
the rise of a powerful and possibly victorious chieftain, who might
be his rival in the allegiance of the people. He assisted the British
expedition in every way, arranging, as far as he had power, for
supplies to be procured.
To General Roberts was entrusted the command of the relieving column.
It numbered about 10,000 men, with 8000 camp followers, and with it
marched the 92nd, 72nd, and 60th line Regiments, and the 9th Lancers;
but the only artillery were three batteries of 7-pounder screw mountain
guns.
The remainder of the army, including the 9th, 59th, and 67th Regiments,
under Stewart himself, marched back to India by the Khyber Pass,
unmolested by even a single Ghazi bullet, and Lundi Kotal became an
advanced post on this road, as Quettah was on that to Candahar.
Though Stewart’s march from Candahar to Cabul was an anxious one, and
seriously resisted throughout, the return journey was uneventful and
unopposed. Joining hands with Primrose, the combined troops, leaving a
weak garrison in the city, marched out to attack Ayub, who had taken
up a position north of the fortress near the Pir Paimal ridge. Here,
while the 7th and 66th, with some native detachments, freed the central
attack, the right wing movement was effected. Macpherson’s Brigade,
in which served the 92nd, and Baker’s Brigade, forming the left wing,
and having the 72nd Regiment and the 2nd Sikhs in first line, the
5th Ghoorkas and 3rd Sikhs in second line, and the 2nd Beloochees
in third line, was thrust forward on this side against the enemy’s
right. The cavalry had to make a wide detour on the left to cross
the Argandab river. The victory was complete, 31 guns and 2 Royal
Horse Artillery 9-pounders were taken, one of which was claimed by a
plucky little Ghoorka, who, rushing on the gun, thrust his cap in the
muzzle, shouting in Hindustani, “This gun belongs to _my_ regiment,
2nd Ghoorkas, Prince of Wales’s!” The loss was only 46 killed and 202
wounded.
With the battle of “Baba Wali,” or “Candahar,” all opposition ceased,
and the British troops returned to India. Quettah and Lundi Kotal in
the two main passes were garrisoned, and the former has, since the war,
been strongly fortified, while a railway has been constructed to unite
this advanced post with the Indian railway system.
Medals, with clasps, were given for Ali-Musjid, Peiwar Kotal, Cabul
1879, Charasiah, Candahar 1880, Afghanistan 1878 to 1880, and Ahmed
Kehl; while all those who took part in the 318-mile march from Cabul
received a bronze star supported by a rainbow-hued ribbon, as did those
who participated in the first Afghan war thirty years before.
Since the annexation of the Punjab, and between 1849 and 1881, no
less than forty-four expeditions have been undertaken against the
hill people, and since then there have been other minor disturbances
in Sikkim, Waziristan, on the Black Mountain, Manipur, and elsewhere.
Finally, the British army, native and European, has brought to a
successful conclusion the expedition for the relief of Chitral, which
has shown, by the rapidity and secrecy of its mobilisation, and the
skilful conduct of this last “little war,” the preparedness of the army
in India for the work it may have eventually to perform, on a larger
scale even than that of the last Afghan campaign.
Notwithstanding the difficulty of mobilising an Indian army widely
dispersed, and with often indifferent means of intercommunication,
the first division received the order on the 19th March, and was
fully mobilised by the 1st April. The men carried but ten pounds
weight of kit, and the officers forty, and there were no tents; yet,
notwithstanding, 28,000 pack animals were required for this limited
transport. The relief of Chitral, in the fort of which a small British
force, with the British agent, Surgeon-Major Robertson, was besieged
by a native rising composed of Pathans from Jandul, a state bordering
on Chitral, under Umra Khan, and Chitralis under Sher Afzul. It was
proposed to effect the invasion of this mountain district from two
sides. From the south was to advance the first division, in which
were the King’s Own Scottish Borderers, the Gordon Highlanders, the
Bedfordshire Regiment, and a battalion of the King’s Royal Rifles,
and their route lay by Sivat and Dir, with four hill ranges and three
considerable streams to be crossed. From the north-east by Gilgit
and Mastuj a second and smaller column under Colonel Kelly was to
march, having to cross in deep snow a pass 12,000 feet high. Both
expeditions succeeded. Colonel Kelly’s force overcame every difficulty
with the greatest determination, and the rapid and decisive defeat
of the enemy in the Panjkora and Jandul valleys by the main army
soon brought about the complete submission of the revolted tribes.
The defence of the fort of Chitral may be classed among the gallant
deeds English soldiers are proud to recognise, though there were no
European troops other than officers to conduct the operations. There
are some curious stories as to the indifference with which wounds are
regarded by Asiatics. After one of the skirmishes, one of the enemy
with six bullets through him walked nine miles to the British camp to
be treated, and fully recovered; while in another case a lad looking on
at the fight was wounded by a bullet in the arm, which “passed through
it in several places, splintering it badly.” The doctors gave him
the choice between death and amputation, but he declined the latter,
and “in a few days, instead of being dead, he was better, and in a
few days was out and about again.”[66] Against foes with such nerve
strength or indifference to pain, small-bore rifles will be of little
value to check a fanatic rush. The leaders of the little garrison of
Chitral richly earned the rewards bestowed on them; and Surgeon-Captain
Whitchurch won the Victoria Cross.