by M. M. Kaye
‘Enemy entrenched in great strength on plateau overlooking Gandamak road,’ read Wally. ‘Estimate 5,000. No guns, but position, defences and morale tip-top. Any attempt to dislodge by frontal attack will mean heavy losses. Shelling might do it. If not, they will have to be lured out into the open, which should not be difficult as discipline nil, but warn you they mean business and will fight like demons. A.’
‘Good for Ash! I wonder if he is up there with them? – I wouldn't put it past him. Jove, I wish he was here with us. If only – Are you going to pass this on to the General?’
‘Yes, for what it's worth,’ said Wigram, writing hastily in a small loose-leaf notebook. He ripped out the page, folded it, and calling up his orderly, sent him galloping off with it to General Gough. ‘Not that it'll be needed, because his pickets will have told him as much already. But it won't do any harm to have it confirmed.’
‘Did you tell him that Ash thinks we should –’
‘No, I did not. I don't believe in teaching my grandmother to suck eggs. Believe me, Gough is no fool, and he doesn't need Ashton or anyone else to teach him his business. He'll have worked that out for himself.’
General Gough had indeed done so. He had sent out a number of patrols, and later that day he had talked with as many of the local chiefs and Maliks as could be persuaded to meet him, in an endeavour to sound out the temper of the people, and discover, if he could, which tribes were likely to fight and which could be relied on to remain neutral – or to vanish into the hills like Azmatulla and his men.
But as the day wore on it became increasingly clear to him that the whole countryside was hostile, and when patrol after patrol reported further reinforcements hurrying to the help of the Khugianis, he began to work on his plans for the coming battle. There was nothing much that could be done that day as his baggage-animals had still not arrived, and did not do so until well after sunset – plodding wearily into camp as darkness fell and the cooking-fires filled the air with the scent of wood-smoke and a heartening smell of food.
The whole column now knew that there would be a battle on the morrow, and made their preparations accordingly. Wigram had slept soundly that night, and so too had Zarin. They had, to the best of their ability, done all those things that had to be done, and could rest with quiet minds. But Wally had lain awake for a long time, staring up at the stars and thinking.
He had been seven years old when he had seen in the window of a Dublin shop a hand-tinted engraving that depicted a cavalry regiment charging at Waterloo, sabres in hand and plumes flying, and had then and there decided that when he grew up he would be a cavalry officer and ride like that at the head of his men, fighting his country's foes. Now at last – tomorrow if Wigram was right – that old schoolboy dream would come true. For though he had been in action before, he had never yet been in a major engagement, and until now his only experience of a cavalry charge had been practice ones during squadron training. Would the reality turn out to be very different from anything he had imagined? not wildly exciting, but ugly and terrifying – and not glorious at all?
He had heard countless stories of the Afghans' methods of dealing with cavalry. They would lie on the ground, their long razor-sharp knives at the ready, and slash upwards at the legs and bellies of the horses to bring the riders down. A trick, he was given to understand, that could be remarkably successful, particularly in a scrimmage: and he could well believe it. Wigram said that sabres and lances were little use against it, and that a carbine or revolver were one's best hope, since faced with the prospect of being shot on the ground, most Afghans preferred to fight and die on their feet. It was this sort of thing that no amount of practice charges could teach one. But after tomorrow he would know…
He wondered where Ash was, and what he was doing. Would he be watching the battle from somewhere up on the hills? If only the two of them could have ridden together tomorrow! Wally gazed into the darkness, and remembering the past, dropped suddenly into sleep – to be awakened in the first faint light of dawn to find the camp stirring to life and his Commanding Officer shaking his shoulder.
‘Awake, O Sleeping Beauty,’ exhorted Wigram. ‘ “Night's candles are burned out and jocund day stands tip-toe on the misty mountain tops” – jostling for standing-room with a few thousand belligerent tribesmen, I gather. The General suggests you reconnoitre the Khugiani country, so up with you, my young dreamer. “Go to the ant, thou sluggard.” Breakfast will be along in about ten minutes.’
Wally could not remember having seen Wigram in such tearing spirits before. He was by nature a quiet man, and except on rare occasions, such as the annual Guest Night in celebration of Delhi Day, was anything but boisterous. Yesterday, preoccupied by the cares of command and sobered by the tragedy at the ford, he had been even quieter than usual. But now he seemed to have shed ten years and put care behind him, and Wally, struggling to his feet in horror at finding that he had slept through all the stir and noise of the waking camp, caught the infection of those high spirits and found himself laughing instead of apologizing.
‘I believe the old fellow is every bit as excited as I am,’ decided Wally, remembering, as he shaved and dressed in haste, that Wigram had once confessed to him that the sum of his ambition was to get command of the Guides Cavalry, and that anything that came after that, however exalted, would be an anti-climax. ‘You may think it's not much of an ambition,’ Wigram had said, ‘but it's all I've ever wanted. And if I get it I shall say “nunc dimittis”, and not care too much if I end up retiring as a crusty old has-been who never even rose to be a Colonel – because I shall have had my moment of glory.’
‘Well, he's got what he wanted,’ thought Wally, ‘and I suppose today will be just as much of a red-letter day for him as it is for me, because if there really is a battle, it will be a “first time” for both of us. My first cavalry charge and the first time Wigram has led his beloved Command into action in a full-scale engagement.’
55
The sky above the deserted village of Fatehabad was brightening with the dawn as the two officers sat down to eat a hasty breakfast. And as they ate, Wigram explained between mouthfuls that the General wished to send two members of his staff south towards Khujah, the principal village of the Khugianis, to test the reactions of the tribe, and that Lieutenant Hamilton and thirty sabres of the Guides Cavalry had been detailed to accompany them and see that they got there – and back again.
A second party, with a similar escort of 10th Hussars, would be recon-noitring the road leading to Gandamak to report on its condition, and it was hoped that both parties would avoid getting involved in a premature exchange of hostilities, and report back to General Gough as soon as possible: ‘In other words,’ said Wigram, kindly translating, ‘don't try jumping the gun and starting any private battles of your own. And if the local citizenry start shooting at you, “wait not upon the order of your going”, but run like hell. What His Nibs needs at the moment is information, and not a clutch of dead heroes. So keep your eyes peeled. I should imagine you'll be all right – always provided you don't walk into an ambush.’
‘Don't worry, we shan't do that,’ said Wally cheerfully. ‘Zarin says that Ash will see that we don't.’
Wigram helped himself to chuppatti and said with a smile: ‘Of course. I'd forgotten he'd be there. Well, that's something off my mind. Hullo – here comes the gilded Staff. Time you were off, Walter.’
It was half past seven and the sun was drying the dew from the near hillside by the time Wally mounted his waler Mushki – ‘the brown one’ – and rode away with the two Staff Officers, the thirty men of the escort cantering sedately behind them. An hour later, from high ground, they came suddenly within sight of a great lashkar of tribesmen, barely a mile or so distant across the hills. It was no peaceful gathering, for Wally could see the flutter of standards and the glint and flash of metal as the morning sunlight shone on curved swords and brassbound matchlocks, and studying the vast concourse through his field-glasse
s, he came to the conclusion that there must be at least three thousand Khugianis there; and possibly many more who were hidden by the folds in the ground.
A single shot, fired from no great distance, struck a shower of splinters from a rock a few yards ahead, and as he hastily put away his field-glasses and gathered up the reins, the stillness of the morning was further broken by a vicious spatter of musket balls. The enemy had not only seen them, but had obviously taken the precaution of posting pickets; and one of these, cunningly concealed behind a tumble of stones and rock barely five hundred yards away, had opened fire on the intruders. Mindful of his instructions Wally had not lingered. His small force turned tail and galloped out of range, and by ten o'clock they were safely back in camp.
The General, after listening to the report of his Staff Officers, had ordered that a certain hill-top, from where the enemy's movements could be seen and signalled back to the camp, should be seized immediately, and Wally had gone forward with this party and remained with them for a short time, ostensibly to study the movements of the Khugianis, though in reality in the hope of locating Ash, whom he suspected of firing that first warning shot this morning, as it had certainly not come from the barrel of a Border musket. But even with the aid of field-glasses it was not possible to make out individual faces in the vast, shifting mass of tribesmen who had gathered on a stretch of high ground over a mile ahead; while a careful inspection of the nearer slopes and ridges showed no signs of life – though Wally did not doubt that at least half-a-dozen outposts were concealed among the rocks in the country between this hill-top and the insurgents.
He put away his field-glasses with a sigh and returned to camp to tell Wigram that Ash was right about the Khugianis – anyone could see that they meant business. ‘There must be thousands of them out there, four or five thousand at least, and they've got a whacking great red standard and a few white ones, and judging from some of their shooting this morning I'd say they've got quite a few carbines as well. What on earth do you suppose we're waiting for? Why don't we get started, instead of sitting around as though we'd only come out to look at the view and have a picnic lunch?’
‘My dear Walter, Patience, we are told, is a virtue. You should cultivate it,’ retorted Wigram. ‘We – or rather the General – are waiting to hear what those fellows who went out this morning to reconnoitre the Gandamak road have to say, and as soon as they have made their report I expect we'll get our orders to move. But they haven't come back yet.’
‘Not come back?’ exclaimed Wally, startled. ‘But it's half past twelve. I thought they were only going about five miles up the valley? Do you suppose – you don't think they've walked into an ambush, do you?’
‘No I don't. If they had, there would have been a lot of firing, and at least some of them would have been able to get back and fetch help. Besides, Ashton would have known and done something about it. No, they're merely doing what they were told to: spying out the land. They'll probably turn up in time for their tiffin, so we can enjoy ours with a clear conscience.’
The mid-day meal was already being served, but Wally was impatient for action and far too keyed-up to feel hungry. Having swallowed a mouthful or two standing up, he strode off to see that his men had been fed and that everything was in readiness for the order to march, and Wigram, by now as familiar as Ash with Wally's habit of singing hymns when in high spirits, noticed with amusement that he was crooning ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ – and thought that in the circumstances it was a bizarre choice of battle song, considering that the sowars were mostly Mussulmans or Sikhs with a sprinkling of Hindus, and that all of them, in the eyes of the singer's Church, were ‘idol-worshipping heathens’.
The Guides had not been kept waiting long. When by one o'clock the missing men had still not returned, General Gough had ordered the camp under arms and despatched Major Battye with three troops of the Guides Cavalry to search for them. He himself following with seven hundred Sikh, Punjab and British infantry, four guns of the Royal Horse Artillery and three troops of the 10th Hussars.
‘This is it!’ cried Wally joyously, swinging himself into the saddle, and Zarin, to whom the words had been addressed, caught the import though he did not understand the language, and grinned in acknowledgement as the squadrons formed up four abreast and spurred forward into the shimmering heat of the stone-strewn valley.
They came up with the missing Staff Officers and their escort at a point where the road crossed the sloping ground below a plateau on which the Khugianis were gathering, and the two parties turned back together to join the General, who, hearing what they had to say, halted his infantry where they could not be seen by the enemy, and went forward to assess the position for himself. A brief survey had been enough; for as Wigram had said, Gough needed no one to teach him his business or advise him on how to deal with the situation.
The Khugianis had chosen a perfect defensive position. Their line spanned the rim of the plateau, and the hillside immediately below fell away steeply for a short distance before merging into the long, gentle slope that met the Gandamak road and the comparatively level ground on the far side. Both flanks of their line were protected by steep cliffs, while their front had been further reinforced by massive stone breastworks. Had they been able to mount guns, their position would have been virtually impregnable, and as it was, to attack it head-on would be suicidal, while to detach troops in an attempt to turn it would mean seriously weakening the small British force that was already out-numbered by five to one. The only hope, as Ash had said and the General now saw, was to lure the Khugianis out into the open.
‘We shall have to take a leaf out of William's book,’ observed the General thoughtfully. ‘Nothing else for it…’
‘William, sir?’ inquired a puzzled aide-de-camp blankly.
‘The Conqueror – see Battle of Hastings, 1066. By rights Harold and his Saxons should have come off the victors, and would have done, if William hadn't tempted them to leave their position on the higher ground in order to pursue his supposedly fleeing soldiery. We must do the same and try luring those fellows down. They won't have heard of that battle, and though they don't know the meaning of fear, they don't know the meaning of discipline either, and I think we can safely trade on that.’
Trading on it, he had sent the Guides, the 10th Hussars and the artillery forward with orders to advance to within three quarters of a mile of the enemy, where the cavalry would halt while the gunners would gallop ahead for a further five hundred yards or so, fire a few rounds, and at the first sign of an advance, fall back a short distance before stopping to open fire again.
In the General's opinion, no tribesman would be able to resist the sight of British troops in apparent retreat – any more than Harold's militia had been able to resist the sight of Norman infantry running away in feigned disorder – and it was his hope that the Khugianis would leave the protection of their breastworks and rush out to try to capture the guns of the retiring artillery. Then, if the same manoeuvre was repeated, it should be possible to entice the enemy far enough down the slope to enable the cavalry to charge them: catching them out in the open and with little chance of being able to scramble back into their entrenchments. In the meantime, while their attention was concentrated upon the pusillanimous antics of the artillery below their front, the infantry would be advancing swiftly up a nullah from where, with any luck, they would emerge, unseen and unsuspected, on the enemy's right flank.
‘Told you he wouldn't need any advice,’ grinned Wigram as the Guides moved off. ‘There are no flies on the General.’ He brushed the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand and said: ‘Phew! but it's hot. Aren't you grateful you're not in the infantry?’
‘By jove yes!’ agreed Wally in heartfelt tones. ‘Faith, will you just think of having to sweat up that divil of a nullah with the sun scorching your back and every blessed rock and stone red hot. It's lucky we are.’
His spirits rose as he spurred away to take up his station at the he
ad of his troop, singing as he went, and wholly oblivious to the fact that the sun was blazing down just as fiercely on the open slope below the plateau as it was on the steep, rocky nullah and the toiling infantry; or that the tunic of his own uniform was already wet through with sweat. He was conscious only of an exhilarating chill compounded of excitement and tense anticipation, as the line of mounted men formed up and galloped forward to face the enemy position.
A trumpet blared, and obeying the signal the cavalry halted in a cloud of dust. As it settled there was a moment or two of complete silence in which Wally found himself sharply aware of innumerable small details. The way the sun gleamed along the barrels of the limbered guns; the small sharp-edged shadows under every stone, and the way the wide sweep of barren ground that sloped up ahead seemed to reflect the light like snow; the smell of horses and leather and harness oil, of dust, sweat and sunbaked earth; the tiny far-off figures of thousands of tribesmen, clustered thick as swarming bees along the rim of the plateau above, and very high overhead a single watchful lammergeyer gliding in lazy spirals – a lone dark speck in an enormous cloudless arch of blue.
The uniforms of the artillery on the right were a strong note of colour in the sun-bleached desolation of that harsh landscape, and beyond them, almost hidden by the tensely poised gun teams, he could see the khaki helmets of the 10th Hussars who, if the Khugianis could be lured down from those fortified heights, would attack their left flank while the Guides charged their centre.