On the day of Stewart’s arrival at Kabul news of the Liberal election victory was received. ‘The result of the elections has called forth a good many d.. .s from the soldiers here/ wrote White. ‘I fancy Sir F[rederick].R[oberts]. is about as much put out about it as anyone can be.’ He had reason: Lytton noted that he was ‘specially obnoxious to a powerful section of Liberal party and I fear he will be made victim of party feeling.’ Lytton resigned – Roberts had lost his patron – and Ripon, a severe critic of Conservative policy in Afghanistan, was the new Viceroy. Stewart wondered about the fate of his old friend who had been a particular target of Radical criticism:
There is no telling what may happen after Lord Lytton goes. It will be a great shame if they don’t do something for Bobs ... There can be no doubt about his military capacity. He has done great service here, taking it at the estimate of those who are least friendly to him; and it will be an infamous shame if any petty feeling of jealousy is allowed to stand in his way.13
Early in June, Roberts, feeling that his policy was discredited and his protector Lytton about to sail from India, telegraphed Simla to ask permission to leave Kabul. T am not required here now. It is not possible to take an interest in the work and my health is not as good as it was. I am quite happy with General Stewart but my wish to leave is so strong I trust your Lordship will approve of my doing so.’ Lytton replied sagely: T deeply sympathise, but as your sincere friend most strongly urge you not to leave your post till close of war ... I feel sure your premature retirement would be generally misinterpreted to your detriment.’ Stewart was also keen to keep him: ‘He [Roberts] is very true to me, and is of great use to me in many ways, and if there is to be fighting he will be my right hand.’ To the new Viceroy he wrote on 11 June trying to reverse his unfavourable impression of Roberts’s misdeeds at Kabul, insisting that he had blown up several of the fortified towers which made villages such strongholds as punishment, but inflicted only one burning. The destruction of a tower was often the only way of repressing disorder.14 Roberts was fortunate indeed in his friends; his ill-judged wish to resign his command, if carried out, would have altered his whole career. What would his future admirers have thought of his abandoning the army in mid-campaign?
That he felt under pressure from disapproving articles in the English press is shown by Lady Roberts’s activity on his behalf. She had returned to England in early 1880 and had established ‘my headquarters while at home’ at Evercreech in Somerset, the home of her sister and brother-in-law, the Sherstons. From there she wrote to the young Lord Melgund thanking him for his letters to the press defending her husband, sending him maps marked with the cavalry charges near Kabul and enclosing copies of useful correspondence which might help him deal with hostile correspondents. Later in the year, from the seaside resort of Exmouth, where she had gone for ‘for six weeks sea bathing & air for my chicks’, she encouraged him to write against Captain Norman whose articles in The Times George White had so deprecated – ‘nasty unfair letters’ Lady Roberts called them. He had been writing to MacGregor behind Roberts’s back, but MacGregor defended his chief.15
Lytton’s wisdom in persuading Roberts was soon to be evident to his successor, but his Viceroyalty is generally judged a failure, despite its colourful opening in the Durbar and the spirited defence in later biographies by his daughter, Lady Betty Balfour, and grand-daughter, Lady Emily Lutyens. His Afghan policy left him grasping for a means to escape a difficult conflict. In 1878, to silence vociferous critics of the war, he passed the Vernacular Press Act singling out Indian language newspapers for censorship. This united educated Indians in opposition and appeared to contradict the Queen’s post-Mutiny declaration that the races of her empire would enjoy equal rights. In fact, Lytton held enlightened views on race relations and determined not to compromise his principles. When Fuller, an English barrister at Agra, struck his groom who died of injuries, he was fined thirty rupees. Lytton decided to take official notice: ‘If I could help it, the case should not be allowed to drop, until it dropped upon the head of Mr Fuller.’ He published with full approval of council his letter to the Council of the North-West provinces, deploring Fuller’s conduct, suspending the magistrate, and criticizing both the provincial government and the High Court. His statutory civil service attempted, with limited success, to throw open one-sixth of reserved official posts to Indians. His repeal of duties on Lancashire cotton imports against the advice of most of his council struck at the recently restarted Indian cotton mills of Bombay. The greatest blow to his rule was famine. The terrible famine of 1877-8 and official shortcomings were publicized by the editor of the Madras Times, William Digby, who used his influence to call for the alleviation of suffering. Largely owing to his representations a relief fund was opened at the Mansion House in London, £820,000 was subscribed, and the relief distributed through 120 local committees in India. Despite this the immediate effect was a tragic loss of life. Some good, however, came from the human disaster. Lytton’s new famine code and procedures for monitoring drought and price levels proved effective in detecting and preventing potential famine. Roads built under programmes organized to combat the crisis improved India’s infrastructure. A Royal Commission on Famine in India (1880) explored the conditions behind the original disaster and gave its approval to the new famine code, which served down to the end of the twentieth century. A sum of £11/2 million was laid aside each year for future emergency. After 1876-8, no subsequent famine was to cause remotely so much devastation and loss of life, and between 1901 and 1943 India was safeguarded from famine entirely. The salt tax was rationalized and reduced. These achievements, however, were the work of other men, John and Richard Strachey and Allan Octavian Hume. Lytton’s successor repealed his press law, but it was too late to reverse his Afghan policy entirely; the negotiations with Abdur Rahman continued at the point Lytton and his agents left them.16
The new Viceroy, Ripon, arrived at Simla on 8 June. He was one of the Liberals’ foremost experts on India, having supported policies of conciliation after the Mutiny; he believed British rule must lead to self-government, and in the meantime wanted to prepare the way with political, administrative, and educational reforms. He corresponded with Florence Nightingale to implement new sanitary policies to fight disease. Although he disliked his predecessor’s policies, he inherited that of bringing forward Abdur Rahman as Amir, maintaining the Wali, Sher Ali, at Kandahar, protecting the Khan of Khelat and preventing border tribes from falling under the power of Kabul. Ripon and Hartington, Secretary of State for India, were both against the proposed division of Afghanistan. In a memorandum dated 9 May 1880 sent to Hartington before he left London, Ripon had laid down the principle points of his Afghan policy: evacuation of Kandahar as far as consistent with pledges to the Wali; retention of Sibi and Pishin on the North-West Frontier and linking them to India by railway; evacuation of Kabul and the establishment of a ruler there to be aided by grants of money and arms, but not troops; a native not British agent to be at Kabul; the ruler of Afghanistan to be allowed to take Herat if he could; and the policy of Afghanistan’s disintegration to be repudiated. In the event these were carried out and substantially maintained until 1919.17
Abdur Rahman, astute as he was, realized that in the absence of other candidates acceptable to the British, and with the steady swing of tribal support, he was their best choice. Friendly greetings from local chiefs and joyful fusillades of rifle shots from tribesmen heralded his advance. Stewart told his wife on 5 July that Mushk-i-Alam and the former insurgent chiefs were ready to acknowledge any amir the British wished to recognize, but he knew it was because they saw Abdur Rahman as their man. He marched steadily towards Kabul, more and more chiefs voicing support, unwilling to accept the separation of Kandahar to which Ripon still felt committed by previous negotiations. Stewart was keen to evacuate the army before the morale of Indian regiments, too long far from home, suffered seriously. It was increasingly difficult to gather supplies and costs of the cam
paign had soared. On 27 June, Abdur Rahman seemed to accept Ripon’s terms: ‘You have resigned to me Afghanistan up to the limits which were settled of old by Treaty with my noble grandfather, the Amir Dost Mohammed Khan.’
He cleverly did not say which treaty. Ripon decided to agree and on 20 July, Stewart was ordered to send Abdur money and artillery, and signify that the British accepted him as de facto ruler of northern Afghanistan. At a durbar at Kabul on 22 July, he was declared Amir.18
On the last day of July, Griffin met him 16 miles north of Kabul and was struck by the new Amir’s ‘exceedingly intelligent face, brown eyes, a pleasant smile, and a frank, courteous manner. The impression that he left on me and the officers who were present at the interview was most favourable ... In conversation [he] showed both good sense and sound political judgement. He kept thoroughly to the point under discussion and his remarks were characterized by shrewdness and ability.’ Griffin told him he would receive a gift of ten lakhs of rupees and all the Afghan guns and equipment left at Sherpur and in the Bala Hissar. A formal treaty would await consolidation of his rule.19
Into these smooth negotiations, bad news burst like a whirlwind on 28 July.
* Genesis 23:13: ‘And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket of thorns; and Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his son.’
Chapter 9
Fateful Decisions
As if sluices had been opened from some great dam, the raging torrents of screaming tribesmen poured forward, a rushing tempest of fury, surging on to desperate encounter.
Colonel Leigh Maxwell
A regular bad business ...and worse than anything in my time in India.
Colonel Charles MacGregor
A British brigade had been defeated at Maiwand near Kandahar with a loss of over a thousand men, more than 40 per cent of the force engaged. The victorious army, the Herati regiments which had mutinied at Kabul and killed Cavagnari and his escort, were led by Abdur Rahman’s cousin and rival, Ayub, brother of the ex-Amir Yakub. At Simla, Ripon had been doubtful he would march: ‘Ayub has cried wolf, wolf, so often, he will never come,’ he said at council, but he had misquoted the fable, as the Commander-in-Chief, Haines, remarked after the meeting: ‘Ayub is the wolf, we are the heedless shepherds ... Ayub will come, we shall have a disaster, and I shall be hanged for it.’1 Ayub’s declared aims were to drive the infidel British from Afghanistan and then wrest the throne from his cousin. A series of attacks on British outposts had heralded his advance, and towards the end of June 1880, with an 8,000-strong force of infantry and artillery, gathering support as he went, Ayub set out for Kandahar as his first objective on the way to the throne. Scanty intelligence failed to show quite how formidable was his force and his modern artillery. His every action showed the qualities of a general and a politician; many Afghans looked on him as a leader of Muslims against the infidel and a true fighter for the Prophet.2
Major General Primrose, who had succeeded Stewart at Kandahar, had about 4,800 men of the Bombay Army. At this stage, British indecision reflected poor intelligence and divided counsels. The political advisor at Kandahar, St John, reported the Wall’s views that troops should be despatched before the country rose in Ayub’s favour, and recommended a brigade, over 2,000 men, be sent. The Commander-in-Chief at Calcutta, Haines, did not think the Kandahar force strong enough to detach one, so at first nothing was done. On 27 June, with Ayub’s force halfway to Kandahar, St John repeated his recommendation. Although sensibly cautious, Haines, distracted as he was by news of the sudden death of his wife, does not appear to have been properly focused on events, and Ripon was fresh to the situation. As Ayub continued to advance and gather troops, Primrose requested reinforcements, but there was not time to send them and he had to make do with the available forces. He despatched 2,600 men under Brigadier Burrows, who had held desk jobs and had no experience of fighting since the Mutiny. The force was greatly outnumbered and the cavalry commanders were inexperienced. Burrows’ first difficulty was dealing with a mutiny of the Wall’s troops at the River Helmand on 14 July. He promptly crossed the river, disarmed the mutineers, captured their guns and recrossed the same day. The Wall’s disarmed troops fled, some towards Kandahar, but many joined Ayub’s force. Ripon became anxious and told Haines that he was prepared to take responsibility for an attack on Ayub. He called a meeting with Haines and his other military advisors, and proposed that Primrose be ordered to advance to strengthen Burrows, leaving only a small force in the citadel of Kandahar. Haines and Sir Edwin Johnson, the Military Member, strongly objected to the plan, and Ripon did not think he could overrule them. It was agreed that Haines should send a message to Primrose giving full liberty to attack Ayub if he considered himself strong enough, and stating it was of the greatest importance that Ayub’s force should be dispersed and prevented reaching Ghazni. Primrose passed this on to Burrows, who in his later account said he interpreted it, not as a matter of choice, but as a definite order to strike a blow against Ayub. New information reaching Simla made clear that Ayub’s force was much larger than expected, but the Council did not send further instructions. Primrose did not use his initiative and reinforce Burrows, who had not arranged cavalry patrols to scout the enemy nor made good use of intelligence gathered by St John. His movements were slowed by an enormous convoy of over 3,000 transport animals.3
Burrows marched on 27 July to intercept Ayub, who was moving towards Maiwand, but did not leave early enough. His plan appeared to have been to prevent Ayub reaching Ghazni by forcing him into battle, opening fire with his guns, then falling back to a less exposed position where his inferior numbers could better defend themselves. The armies encountered each other on the march on a flat plain ideal for artillery, with two ravines which provided cover for Ayub’s troops to stage a surprise. The British-Indian force comprised 2,000 rifles, 500 sabres and 12 guns against an enemy of 8,000 regular troops, 32 guns and 3,000 mounted men supported by possibly as many as 15,000 tribesmen and religious warriors. Whereas the odds were heavy against Burrows, Ayub could scarcely believe his luck. Confronted with such a small force, he planned to surround the Anglo-Indian brigade with his unwieldy but vastly superior army, and after softening them up with a bombardment launch a simultaneous assault from all sides.
The British guns were outmatched from the start; indeed, the Afghan artillery was so superior in the initial exchange that some assumed they had Russian gunners. Burrows deployed his three infantry battalions in line, right to left, the 66th Foot, a veteran British battalion, Jacob’s Rifles and the Bombay Grenadiers, both with good reputations, but with too many raw recruits and too few British officers known to their men. These young Indian soldiers fought on beyond normal expectations against vastly superior numbers, which began to lap around both flanks, particularly on the left of the Grenadiers where two companies of Jacob’s, separated from their regimental comrades, were under an inexperienced 21-year-old subaltern. As the desperate afternoon wore on and the Snider rifles became too hot to hold with endless firing, this subaltern was smashed into a bloody pulp by an Afghan cannonball, and a jemadar, the lowest rank of native officer, had to take charge. Burrows had kept no infantry in reserve, a gap which he tried to remedy in part by holding back the cavalry from the firing line; but they were exposed to enemy artillery, which took a toll of both men and morale. Major Hogg of the staff later wrote: ‘It was quite clear to me soon after 1 pm that nothing but a miracle could save us.’ The day was incredibly hot, the bare, rocky ground radiating heat, the men desperately thirsty.
Battle of Maiwand, 27 July 1880
After more than four hours’ fighting the end came suddenly when the British smooth-bore battery, out of ammunition, withdrew to refill their limbers. Already Afghans were lapping round the Indian flanks, and, as the artillery fire ceased, a horde of Afghan soldiers and Ghazis rose from folds in the ground, and the two companies of Jacob’s Rifles on t
he left gave way. One of the companies of the Grenadiers followed suit and began to press back. The Battalion, which had fought hard, was pushed into an awkward V-formation, and men were cut down, many unable to bring their rifles to play. The cavalry had been demoralized and crippled by the artillery, but prepared to charge. Unfortunately a blunder by the officer in command meant that half the force sheered off without charging home. Broken into small groups, the cavalry could not save the day. So confused was the situation that two majors found themselves carrying out a spirited two-man charge against most of Ayub’s army, but managed to extricate themselves after hand-to-hand sabre fighting. The 66th continued to fire deadly volleys until a flight of sepoys from the two native regiments pushed them out of line. The British formation now broken, the force fell back, the infantry mostly to their right towards the village of Khig, the cavalry in the opposite direction. At Khig over one hundred officers and men of the 66th and some survivors of the Grenadiers made a series of desperate stands in gardens and orchards, young Ensign Honeywood, holding a colour high above his head, shouting, ‘Men, what shall we do to save this?’ before he was shot down. Surrounded by most of the Afghan army, they fought until only eleven men were left. These charged out of the garden with fixed bayonets to sell their lives dearly, to the admiration of all that witnessed it, according to an artillery colonel of Ayub’s army. There were other scenes of heroism. A party of the Bombay Grenadiers faithfully guarded the treasure chest of 13,000 rupees in silver through the retreat; Burrows gave up his horse to Major Iredell whose leg had been broken by a bullet; and the Wordi-Major (native adjutant) of the 3rd Sind Horse took up Burrows behind his saddle. The flight continued through the night, Ayub’s force delayed by the stand of the 66th and plunder, but peasants came out of the villages to kill and steal. The Revd Alfred Cane recorded that he saw wounded men lying down and giving up all hope, and everyone begging for water. A mounted jemadar and his troop reached Kandahar before 2.00 a.m. on the 28th with news of the defeat, saying they were the only survivors and the whole force had been cut to pieces. The arrival of more fugitives and of a veterinary surgeon of the Royal Horse Artillery gave the lie to the story of annihilation. Brigadier Henry Brooke, the garrison’s man of action, left with a relief force and met the survivors – gun carriages loaded with sick, wounded, dead and dying, horses themselves dying of thirst and fatigue, ‘many poor fellows,’ as Brooke wrote, clinging to the back of a horse or camel, knowing well the Afghan knives that waited if they fell off. Almost last of all, with the cavalry rearguard, came Burrows. He broke down completely when he saw his old Bombay Army compatriot, Brooke, and could not speak. His friend made him get off his horse, take a little whisky and water and a bit of biscuit, and then he became more composed. T had never seen the retreat of a panic-stricken military force before,’ wrote Brooke, ‘and I trust that I may never do so again, as it is too horrible for description, and this retreat excelled in terror any that I have ever heard of.’
The March to Kandahar- Roberts in Afghanistan Page 15