Just underneath Affghanistan, lies Beloochistan, by the sea coast. It is
separated from India by the river Indus. You may know a Beloochee from an
Affghan by his stiff red cotton cap, in the shape of a hat without a
brim; whereas, an Affghan wears a turban. Yet the religion of the
Beloochee is the same as that of the Affghan, namely, the Mahomedan, and
the character is alike, only the Beloochee is the fiercer of the two: the
country also is alike, being wild and rocky.
Beloochistan has not been conquered by the British: it has a king of its
own; yet the British have fought against Beloochistan. On one occasion a
British army was sent to punish the king of Beloochistan for not having
sent corn to us, as he had promised.
The army consisted of three thousand men, and amongst them was the young
soldier, of whom you have heard so much already. His father was ill at
the time, and could not fight; but the youth came upon his pony, with a
camel to carry his tent, and all his baggage.
The troops as usual marched in the night. In the morning, about eight
o'clock, they first caught sight of Kelat, the capital of Beloochistan.
It was a grand sight, for the city is built on a high hill, with a
citadel at the top. The dark Beloochees were seen thronging about the
walls and the towers, gazing at the British army, but not daring to
approach them.
Our soldiers, when they first arrived, were too much tired to begin the
attack, and therefore they rested on the grass for two hours. At ten
o'clock the word of command was given, and the attack was made. The
British planted their six cannons opposite the gates, and began to fire.
Where was the young soldier? He was commanded to run with his company
close up to the wall, and there to remain. As he ran, he was exposed to
the full fire of the enemy. The youth heard bullets whizzing by as he
passed, and he expected every moment that some ball would lay him low;
but through the mercy of God he reached the wall in safety. _Close_
underneath the wall was not a dangerous post, for the bullets passed over
the heads of those standing there.
About noon, the British cannons had destroyed the gates. Then the British
soldiers rushed into the town. Amongst the first to enter was the young
soldier; because when the gates fell he was standing close by. As he
passed along the streets, he saw no one but the dead and the dying; for
the Beloochees had fled for refuge to their citadel on the top of the
hill. The king himself was there.
The citadel was a place very difficult for an enemy to enter; for the
entrance was through a narrow dark passage underground. Into this passage
the British soldiers poured, but soon they came to a door, which they
could not get through, for Beloochee soldiers stood there, sword in hand,
ready to cut down any one who approached. "Look at my back," said one
soldier to his fellow. The other looked, and beheld the most frightful
gashes gaping wide and bleeding freely. Such were the wounds that each
soldier, who ventured near that door, was sure to receive.
At this moment a cry was heard, saying, "Another passage is found." When
the Beloochees heard this cry, they gave up all hopes of keeping the
enemy out of the citadel; so they left off fighting, and cried "Peace."
But their king was already dead; he had fallen on the threshold of the
passage last found. The _first_ man who tried to get in by that way the
_king_ had killed; but the _second_ had killed the king. The British, as
they rushed in by this new way, trampled on the body of the fallen
monarch. He was a splendid object even in death; his long dark ringlets
were flowing over his glittering garments, and his sharp sword, with its
golden hilt, was in his hand. The British hurried by, and climbed the
steep and narrow stairs leading to the top of the citadel, and the enemy
no longer durst oppose their course.
On the terrace at the top of the citadel, in the open air, stood the
nobles of Beloochistan. There were princes too from the countries all
around. It was a magnificent assembly. These men were the finest of a
fine race. Some were clad in shining armor, and others in flowing
garments of green and gold. Thus they stood for a _moment_, and the
_next_--they were rolling on the ground!!
How was this? Had not peace been agreed upon on both sides? Yes, but a
British soldier had attempted to take away the sword of one of the
princes. The prince had resisted, and with his sword, had wounded the
soldier; and instantly every British gun on that spot had been pointed at
the nobles of Beloochistan.
This was why the nobles were lying in the agonies of death.
Our young soldier was not one of those who slew the nobles. He was
standing on another part of the terrace, when, hearing a tremendous
volley of guns, he exclaimed to a friend, "What can that be?" Going
forward, he beheld heaps of bleeding bodies, turbans, and garments--in
one confused mass. The dying were calling for water, and the very
soldiers who had shot them, were holding cups to their quivering lips,
though themselves parched with thirst. But water could not save the lives
of the fallen nobles: one by one they ceased to cry out, and soon--all
were silent--and all were still. The VICTORY was WON! But how awful had
been the last scene! How cruelly, how unjustly, had the lives of that
princely assembly been cut short!
The conquerors returned that evening to their camp. On their way, they
passed through the desolate streets of the city; the mud cottages on each
side were empty, and blood flowed between. The young officer, as he
marched at the head of his company, was struck by seeing a row of his own
fellow-soldiers lying dead upon the ground. They had been placed there
ready for burial on the morrow. Their ghastly faces, and gaping wounds
were terrible to behold. The youth remembered them full of life and
spirits in the morning, unmindful of their dismal end; _then_ he felt how
merciful God had been in sparing his life; and when he crept into his
little tent that night, he returned him thanks upon his knees; though he
did not love him _then_ as his Saviour from eternal death. Wearied, he
soon fell asleep, but his sleep was broken by dreadful dreams of blood
and death.
The next day he walked through the conquered town, and saw the British
soldiers dragging the dead bodies of their enemies by ropes fastened to
their feet. They were dragging them to their grave, which was a deep
trench, and there they cast them in and covered them up with earth.
Such is the history of the conquest of Kelat.[10] How many souls were
suddenly hurled into eternity! How many unprepared to meet their Judge,
because their sins were unpardoned, and their souls unwashed! But in war,
who thinks of souls and sins! O horrible war! How hateful to the Prince
of Peace!
[10] September 13, 1839.