THE 10TH HUSSARS.
And now to detail how the catastrophe referred to came about.
The evening of Monday, the 31st of March, saw Leslie Colville in his
saddle, and busy conveying orders in the camp and cantonments of
Jellalabad, where drum and bugle gave the notes of preparation for
the field.
This was between five and six o'clock, when two columns were suddenly
ordered out for another expedition towards the Lughman Valley.
One, to be led by Brigadier Gough, was to consist of seven hundred
men furnished by the 17th and 27th regiments, three hundred native
infantry, four Royal Horse Artillery guns under Major Stewart, and
two squadrons of the dashing Guide Cavalry.
This column, according to the orders repeated by Colville, was to
march out at one o'clock next morning.
'In what direction?' asked old Spatterdash and others.
'I know not,' replied Colville; 'but Lughman, I suppose, is the
object in view with it, as well as the other column, under Brigadier
Macpherson.'
The command of the latter consisted of three hundred Rifles, six
hundred Ghoorkas and Punjaubees, with a mountain battery under
Lieutenant E. J. de Lautour, of the Royal Artillery, who had served
in the expedition of 1863 against the tribes on the North-West
Frontier, some sappers, and a squadron each from the 10th Hussars and
11th Bengal Lancers, who, like the former corps, wear blue uniforms
faced with red and laced with gold.
The latter column was to be in readiness to march at nine that
evening, with four days' provisions in the haversacks.
The moon, in a sky flecked with clouds, was gleaming brightly on the
Balla Hissar, the domes and walls of Jellalabad, though it was little
more than a quarter old, as Macpherson's column got under arms; and
the rolls were called, the ammunition served out, the inspection of
saddlery and accoutrements was proceeded with.
Our soldiers always muster merrily for work such as they had in hand
that night; and, before they were called to attention. Redhaven had
on more than one occasion to speak almost sharply to Robert Wodrow,
who was--for him, at least--unusually noisy and jubilant.
'Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die!' he heard him say.
'Can't make that countryman of yours out, Colville,' said the
hussar-officer, as he scraped a vesta and lit a cigar. 'He is
usually the most silent and taciturn fellow in the troop, and
to-night he makes as much noise as all the Ghoorkas put together.'
'And that puzzles you?'
'Yes; he looks like a man with a past.'
'He has indeed a past history, poor fellow, a sorrowful and not a
happy one.'
'Every broken-down fellow takes to the cavalry now,' grumbled
Redhaven; 'but I was certain he has some secret by the expression of
his eyes, and the inflections of his modulated voice at times.'
'Poor fellow!' said Colville again.
He knew, what Redhaven did not, that Robert Wodrow was often a prey
to sad and bitter thoughts; that in the dreams of the night and of
the day when asleep in the wet-flapping tent or the comfortless
bivouac--when on solitary vidette duty, under the blazing Afghan sun,
he saw oftener before him--not the fair face of her for whom he had
sacrificed everything, and whom, he doubted not, would soon become
the bride of another--but the face of his loving mother--a kind and
happy old face--that ever beamed with love for him; and opposite her
fancy saw his silver-haired old father, reading some good or musty
volume--Wodrow's _Analecta Scotica_ perhaps; and often from such
visions of home he was roused by the trumpet blowing 'boot and
saddle,' or the yell of an Afghan scout armed with _juzail_ and
_charah_.
As a Scotsman, Colville was superstitious enough to regret that at
such a time the young fellow should show such exuberance of spirits
as the foreboding of evil, and was in the act of urging his horse
forward to accost him kindly, when the brigadier came on the ground,
the component parts of the column were called to 'attention,' and in
a few minutes after, the whole force was on the march, and, with the
glittering of sword and bayonet blades, section after section quickly
disappeared from the eyes of those who watched them in the cold
wintry moonshine that had turned to diamonds the thick hoarfrost on
every wall and tree; and the march began which was to prove the last
to many in this life.
'The line of ground between Jellalabad and Cabul, so far as it is
connected with India,' says a writer, 'is a line of tragedy and
misfortune. That line of tragedy and misfortune may now be extended
a couple of miles further to the east, for that will give very nearly
the point where forty-six lives were on that Monday evening suddenly
swept out of existence.'
The troops moved westward, the cavalry leading. The squadron of the
10th Hussars was under Captain D'Esterre Spottiswoode, that of the
Bengal Lancers was under its own captain, and Major E. A. Wood of the
first-named corps commanded the whole.
Guided by an Afghan mountaineer who had offered his services, and to
whom Colville paid a high bribe therefor, the orders of the officers
were to cross the Cabul river at a point where most unluckily a
temporary bridge had shortly before been removed. On achieving that,
they were to move up the left bank of the stream, to march through
Besoot and Darunta, and enter the Lughman Valley, to which the
infantry were moving by the Jellalabad side of the Cabul.
The guide, who was mounted on a powerful and wiry yaboo, or Cabul
pony, was a singularly taciturn fellow, and Colville remarked a
circumstance which soon became a painful memory, that by twisting the
end of his loonghee, or head-dress, across the lower part of his face
he effectually concealed his features, permitting little more than
his keen, black, and glittering eyes to be seen, reminding him of the
muffled men he had read of in old Scottish Border forays.
Macpherson's column had not been long gone when the troops at the
camp of Jellalabad were roused and alarmed by numbers of cavalry
horses, all riderless, galloping wildly among the tents, with their
bridles trailing, and their saddles, valises, and trappings soaked in
water.
'What has happened--what can have happened?' were the questions asked
on every side.
No one could anticipate the catastrophe that had really occurred, as
at that season the bed of the Cabul is not always full; but when the
sun melts the accumulated snow in the Katcha range and other
mountains it is not so. The water then rolls through many channels,
and it was in anticipation of this that the wooden bridge had been
removed to a point further up.
Where our cavalry were to cross at the Fort of Isaac, the stream now
formed two branches; the first was thirty feet broad, with an average
of only thirty inches of water, and the crossing was to be made under
the light of a dim and fitful moon, at a point where an irrigation
channel diverged at right angles from the stream. Beyond that point
stood a kind of sandy islet covered with great boulders, and again
beyond it lay a hundred and fifty feet of water; but as the line of
this fatal ford was _not straight_, three hundred and fifty feet of
water had to be traversed upon it, as the ford formed at one point an
acute angle.
Led by the local guides, the squadron of Bengal Lancers crossed in
safety, wheeling at the given point on the acute angle.
The mules of the squadron followed next, our hussars, now riding at
ease, waiting till their turn came to cross; and to amuse the rest,
one of them, the identical Toby Chace, who was one of Robert Wodrow's
earliest comrades, and well known as a reckless fellow, began to sing
a soldier's ditty, part of which ran thus:
'There's Bill Muggins left our village,
Just as sound a man as I;
Now he goes about on crutches,
With a single arm and eye.
'To be sure he's got a medal
And some twenty pounds a year
For his health, and strength, and service,
Government can't call that dear;
Not to reckon one leg shattered,
Two ribs broken, one eye lost;
'Fore I went in such a venture,
I should stop and count the cost.
'Lots o' glory, lots o' gammon----'
'Silence there--in front!' cried the commanding officer, and
Colville, who had some undefinable suspicion of the hussar guide,
placed himself near that personage, with his revolver case loose and
at hand.
'Do not lose the direction, men,' cried an officer, 'but keep well up
against the stream,' he added, knowing that when crossing thus there
is always a tendency to edge lower down with the current.
The leading sections began to enter the stream, the rippling eddies
of which went past them, tipped with silver by the pale moonlight;
the rest followed closely, the guide directing, and erelong Colville
and others found the water rising to their feet, then it rose as high
as their knees, and was beginning to get higher, while the pony of
the guide had quitted the angled line of the ford, and was swimming
away to another point.
'Treachery,' thought Colville; at that moment the _loonghee_ fell
from the face of the guide, and he recognised Mahmoud Shah, the
sirdir with the slashed cheek--Mahmoud, the hadji, whom he had saved
from the Wahabees!
'This is getting awkward!' exclaimed Redhaven, 'there must be some
mistake.'
'We are betrayed!' cried Colville.
He put his hand to his pistol-case, but too late, for now his horse
rolled over, and with an exulting shriek in English of 'Pigs! dogs!
Kaffirs!--drown and be damned! Eblis and hell await you! In vain
will ye seek the Lord of the Daybreak!' cried the treacherous guide;
then he reached the Jellalabad side in safety and vanished--pony and
all.
All was confusion, consternation, and death now, for the water,
flowing at the rate of nine miles an hour, had risen to the saddle
bows and holsters of the Hussars, whose spirited horses, finding
their footing gone, ignored the use of spur and bridle.
The line of the ford was lost now; the current pouring over it soon
forced the horses downward into deeper water, sweeping the squadron
away towards the swifter rapids, and in a mass of confusion our
gallant Hussars, with their terrified horses, were struggling
desperately and madly for existence, under the dim moonlight and amid
the fiercely rushing waters, while the bewildered Bengal Lancers
could only sit in their saddles and look helplessly on.
An officer whose horse had kicked Robert Wodrow, rendering him nearly
insensible, failed to escape, and both were swept away, so,
natheless, his reckless quotation from St. Luke's Gospel, there was
to be no 'to-morrow' for the latter.
Captain D'Esterre Spottiswoode--afterwards colonel--was mounted on a
very splendid and powerful horse, which was able to swim well, and
bore him to the other bank in safety, but not to the end of the ford.
In dangerous quicksands it sank twice to its girth, on the last
occasion falling on its rider, whose head was thrust so far below
water that he was nearly drowned ere he scrambled breathlessly to dry
land.
Colville, who had been riding with the captain and three subalterns
at the head of the troop, which mustered seventy-six sabres, felt his
horse become restive when the water flowed over his holsters; the
animal kicked and plunged till at last he was thrown off its back,
and found himself floundering in deep water. Being a good swimmer he
thought to get rid of his sword and belt, but failed, as he sank each
time in making the attempt, and each time he came to the surface with
an invocation to heaven on his lips.
The men in the squadron were all in heavy marching order, fully
accoutred and supplied with ammunition--circumstances sufficient to
drag down a good swimmer even in smooth water. Nearly all were
thrown by their terrified horses, which, as they rolled over and
over, lashed out with their hoofs, maiming and stunning many of our
poor fellows as they were swept into the dark rushing current of the
rapids, and where these ceased lay a little pool of deep water, and
there it was that all who had strength left to struggle succeeded in
reaching the land, but many failed, alas!
As Colville was swept downward, while in the desperate agonies of
seeking to save his own life, he could take in the terrible details
of the tragedy, and saw how the river was crowded with men, horses,
and white helmets rolling past; how heads, hands, and spurred heels
rose momentarily and vanished to rise again, and then sink for ever
beneath the cruel and greedy current.
Amid all this scene of death and horror, there came not one cry from
our perishing hussars; each battled with the waters of the hostile
river as they would have battled with the Afghans.
Colville struck out to reach the bank, after he sank a third time;
but, encumbered by his heavy boots and putties (or leg bandages), his
sword, revolver, and ammunition, he was unable to keep himself
afloat, and the agony of a helpless death was in his heart!
He knew that at the time all this was happening Mary Wellwood would
probably be sleeping, sweetly and peacefully, on her pillow; and even
in that moment of supreme anguish and terror, he wished that if death
came, his soul might flash home to her in a dream--a farewell dream!
He felt himself sinking at last, as he had only been getting
occasional breaths of air; the last of his strength seemed going, and
all hope with it, when suddenly his feet touched the bottom, and a
prayer rose to his lips.
Rousing himself for a final effort, he pushed forward, and hope began
again to dawn on him as he found the water getting shallower; but he
was too weak to reach the river's bank, and, grasping some wild
jasmine trailers that grew between two boulders, he propped himself
up to rest and breathe.
At this point, seeing neither man nor horse near him, he thought that
all must have perished--perished through the diabolical hatred and
treachery of Mahmoud Shah!
Suddenly he heard a voice cry out,
'Is this you, Captain Colville?'
The questioner, whose grammar was not very choice, proved to be the
hussar Toby Chace, who was sitting bareheaded, dripping, and
disconsolate on the river bank.
Colville was almost voiceless, so Toby waded in, and assisted him to
dry land, where he could scarcely stand from exhaustion, but was able
ultimately, with the assistance of Chace, to reach the camp, where he
found that his horse had arrived before him.
All the troop horses were heard to snort wildly as the current swept
them away, and, being overweighted by their saddles, the slung
carbines, and other trappings, they beat the air with their hoofs as
they rolled about; but only twelve were drowned.
When the roll was called, forty-six hussars, who would never hear it
again, were missing, with Lieutenant Harford and another officer.
Many of their bodies, when found, showed broken limbs, the result of
kicks from iron-shod hoofs, and many of them had their hands raised
to their heads, either for protection or through pain from blows, and
in that position they had stiffened in death.
One poor fellow was swept a long way down the Cabul river, but
clambered into a native boat, where he was found next day, dead from
exhaustion and cold.
'An awful calamity! A devil of a business!'
'How did it happen? Whose fault was it?'
Such were a few of the exclamations heard on every hand in camp, from
whence, on the first arrival of the riderless horses, soldiers had
rushed to the river side with lanterns and ropes, and staff-surgeons
with restoratives.
Ten rupees reward was offered for every body recovered from that
fatal river, and some were buried severally near the places where
they were found. Colville made many inquiries about that of Robert
Wodrow, as the one in whom he was personally most interested, but no
trace of him could be discovered.
In one eddy of the river nineteen of our gallant hussars were found
huddled together in one ghastly heap.
These and the bodies of others were all buried in one vast grave at
the western end of the camp; and those who saw that solemn
scene--that grim row of bodies, each rolled in a blanket, and lying
side by side in close ranks, shoulder to shoulder--never forgot it.
Neither did they forget the funeral service of the following evening,
when the body of Lieutenant Francis H. Harford and that of a private
of the Leicestershire Regiment, who had been mortally wounded in
action, were interred about dusk.
Solemn and strikingly impressive was the episode.
The red Afghan sun had set amid dim and sombre clouds beyond the
snow-clad summits of the Ramkoond Mountains, but some ruddy light yet
lingered on the awful peaks of the Suffaidh Koh. There had been rain
and thunder all afternoon, and the clouds were gathered in sombre
masses that were edged by the radiance of the now nearly full moon.
Athwart the clouds ever and anon shot gleams of ghastly lightning,
producing strange and sudden effects of light and shade, adding to
the weird effect of the funeral cortége--the coffins on
gun-carriages, draped with the Union Jack, followed by officers and
other mourners in long, spectral-like cloaks, preceded by the
dark-clad band of the Rifle Brigade playing a low and wailing
dirge-like piece of music.
So ended the tragedy of the 10th Hussars.
In the meantime, in perfect ignorance of that event, our troops under
Macpherson and Gough had proceeded to the scene of their services
elsewhere, to fight the Khugianis and win the battle of Futteabad,
which, as Leslie Colville was not present, lies somewhat apart from
our story.
After the defeat of the Khugianis and the subsequent dispersal of the
Afreedis, the summer of the year was drawing on, and as Yakoub Khan
showed a disposition to come to terms with Great Britain, and the
hostilities seemed to be drawing to a close, Leslie Colville began
fondly to hope that he might with honour resign his appointment for
'special service,' and return home after the treaty of peace was
signed.
The negotiations for the latter were placed in the hands of Major
Louis Cavagnari, and, after some hesitation on the part of the new
Ameer, it was eventually signed in the British camp at
Gundamack--that place of ill-omen, where the Red Hill of _Lal Teebah_
marks the spot on which the last men of Elphinston's army perished
under Afghan steel in the year 1842.
Its chief objects were to place the foreign affairs of Afghanistan
under British control, and to guarantee that country against Russian
aggression by the aid of our money, arms, and troops, to provide for
the maintenance of a British Embassy in the dominions of the Ameer,
and other details.
Thus the war came to an end--as Mary Wellwood, with many more at
home, read with joy, and our troops in the valley of Jellalabad were
withdrawn within the new frontier, lest the prolonged presence of
foreigners might inflame the ready susceptibilities of the fiery
Afghans, and render them less amenable to the influence of Ayoub Khan.
For some reasons the latter was suffered to depart from Gundamack to
Cabul alone, and the despatch thither of a British resident was
deferred for a time. When the time came, Leslie Colville--afterwards
to his own great regret--instead of resigning and returning home,
suffered himself to be named in general orders as one of the staff to
accompany the new Resident--Major, then Sir Louis Cavagnari--on that
perilous and, as it proved, most fatal and calamitous mission, and
when Mary heard of it she sighed bitterly with apprehension, she knew
not of what.
'He should not have allowed himself to be thus prevailed upon--surely
he has done enough for honour, by winning his Victoria Cross!'
exclaimed Mrs. Deroubigne, with surprise, and poor Mary quite agreed
with her; but Colville was under certain military influences which
they could not quite understand.
Thus he wrote to Mary, stating that, when once the Embassy was fairly
established, he would lose no time in returning home.
'Does he not know how I am yearning for him,' thought the girl in her
heart.