by Craig Murray
On 12 May, Brigadier Sale with 1,000 men including artillery and cavalry set out towards the Helmund to take the Barakzai fortress of Girishk. The force crossed the Helmund by firing across a rope attached to a howitzer shell. The crossing was made on a raft of empty rum casks – the strong grog ration still being part of the pay of British troops: the daily free alcohol intake per soldier was the equivalent of five pints of standard lager today. The Dil Khan Barakzais fled further towards Persia, while Girishk was garrisoned by the Shah’s contingent under Macnaghten’s nephew, Edward Conolly. Girishk was the centre of conflict for British forces in 2002–14, where scores of British troops died fighting the Douranis. The false appellation ‘Taliban’ was part of the propaganda of the ‘War on Terror’. They were just locals fighting British invaders, yet again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Death in St Petersburg
On the morning of 9 May 1839 the body of Jan Prosper Witkiewicz was discovered in his room at the Paris boarding house in St Petersburg, his brains blown out, apparently by his own revolver. His superior L G Sinyavin, Director of the Asiatic Department, wrote to Count Perovsky, Governor at Orenburg: ‘[W]ith him perished all the information about Afghanistan which would now be particularly […] useful to us. Only what he managed to relate to me about it is known.’1
Witkiewicz had left a businesslike suicide note:
Not knowing anyone who would care about my destiny in any way I find it sufficient to explain that I am taking my own life voluntarily. As I am currently employed by the Asian Department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, I humbly beseech the said Department to dispose of the 2 years’ wages due to me […] in the following way: 1. Settle the bill for officer’s uniform articles, for the total sum of about 300 roubles; 2. Give 500 roubles to the tailor Markevitch for the dress I ordered from him but haven’t collected; 3. Allow my man Dmitry the use of all my belongings that I have with me at the moment. I have burnt all the papers relating to my last journey […] I have settled the bill with the landlord of the Paris Inn up until May 7, but should he have any other requests I humbly beseech the Department to satisfy him from the above-mentioned sum. May 8, 1839, 3a.m. Vitkevitch.2
So it appears that Jan’s last thoughts were about his accounts. There is nothing for his family. There is nothing about the Polish nationalist cause he was once prepared to die for.
Sinyavin does not mention the possibility of foul play in his letter though he notes, ‘He burned our papers without handing them over. Those papers constituted various observations to assist him in drawing up a report on the affairs of Afghanistan and copies of the despatches of British agents to various individuals in Afghanistan.’ Witkiewicz specifies in his note that the papers he had burned were those relating to Afghanistan – why burn them?
There is a divergence between British accounts of Witkiewicz’ death, which claim that he was in official disfavour, and Russian accounts which state that he was in high favour. Burnes received this account of 15 September 1839 from Nazir Khan Ullah, his Bokhara newswriter.
The Russian agent here […] said that when Vicovitch returned from Cabool to Russia, he told the Russian authorities that he had sent them many letters soliciting Military and Pecuniary assistance [for Dost Mohammed Khan] and that they never sent him any reply […] and that this neglect had made him out a liar in the country of Cabool and Candahar, and therefore he felt disgraced, and on hearing of the answer of the Cabinet of St Petersburgh, he shot himself.3
This sounds plausible, and ironic because Burnes himself had seen his own tenders to Dost Mohammed rejected by his superiors. It is also consistent with what the British Ambassador in St Petersburg, Lord Clanricarde, wrote to Palmerston, that ‘the cause is said to be the disapprobation & disavowal of his conduct in Afghanistan by the Russian Government instead of the reward and promotion he expected’.
This, however, is flatly contradicted by Senyavin’s letter to Perovsky, written the day before Clanricarde’s letter:
He was extremely well received by the Ministry and on the very day of his death the report came through authorising his transfer to the guards, and on top of that, rewards of promotion, honours and money […] I recounted […] how before your departure you had especially recommended that I organise a decent reward for him for such a difficult expedition. He seemed very satisfied and merry, and a day before his death I saw him at the theatre, where he sat the whole evening and chatted with Prince Saltykov. On the eve of his suicide they saw him again […] and again he was merry; in the evening he visited Count Simonitch […] It is all very strange.
If official disapprobation had caused Witkiewicz’ death, the Russian government may have wished to hide the truth from the wider world; but it seems far-fetched for Sinyavin to lie to Perovsky about it, as Perovsky would be bound to find out.
Nesselrode told Palmerston that Simonicz’ and Witkiewicz’ actions in Persia had been unauthorised. From the same motive, he would have ensured that Clanricarde believed that Witkiewicz had been spurned. We can take Sinyavin’s account of Witkiewicz’ rewards as a true one. Indeed the transfer to be a guards officer necessarily implies that his titles of nobility, stripped from him at fifteen, were being returned to him. There is further evidence for Sinyavin’s version, in that Nesselrode had agreed to the request of Shah Mohammed to invest Witkiewicz with the Persian Order of the Lion and the Sun. They would not have agreed if he had been in disfavour.
I do not lay great weight upon the story that Witkiewicz was visited by an old Polish revolutionary comrade, Tiszkiewicz, and killed himself in shame following reproaches for serving Imperial Russia. This was not first recorded until fifty years after the event, and then at second-hand by Tiszkiewicz’ brother.4
The last person, other than staff or servants, we know Witkiewicz saw before his death was Simonicz, whom he met that evening after the theatre, so presumably quite late. Witkiewicz had been under Simonicz’ direct orders in Afghanistan. After meeting him he apparently burnt his Afghanistan papers and shot himself – six weeks after the British Parliament had published the correspondence with the Russian government5 in which Nesselrode had brusquely disowned Witkiewicz. This diplomatic climbdown had not been published in Russia, and it is plausible that news would reach Witkiewicz of this public humiliation around the time of his suicide – possibly from Simonicz.
I F Blaramberg, who had ridden with Witkiewicz from Tiflis to Tabriz, said he found him continually depressed on that journey and he had stated that one day he would blow out his brains. This would have been more convincing had Blaramberg written it up before the suicide.
There is one further element to the mystery. Some sources state that a Kirghiz servant died with him.6 If that is true, it could be either murder suicide, or suicide pact. More likely is that both were murdered by a third party. Whether or not the valet was killed, in accepting that we do not know the answers, we should acknowledge the possibility that Witkiewicz was murdered by a Russian, Polish or British agent. The Witkiewicz family tradition is that Jan Prosper was all along a Polish nationalist agent code-named Wallenrod and was killed by the Russians. Alternatively the Tiszkiewicz story may indicate the Poles killed him as a turncoat serving the Russian Empire. As for the British, it is plausible that news of the impending Russian attack on Khiva would lead the secret service to assassinate Witkiewicz, a key Russian asset. As the British were willing to launch an invasion of Afghanistan to counteract Russia in Central Asia, a single assassination to the same end is not improbable. The British secret service, for example, were running arms to anti-Russian fighters in Dagestan. One assassination in a boarding house in St Petersburg was a simpler operation. For now, Witkiewicz’ strange death remains a mystery. One thing is certain; as with Burnes, a proper biography is long overdue.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ghazni
The condition of the British Army at Kandahar had been slowly improving. Both basic foods and luxuries became available, though prices escalated, and t
here was plenty of pasturage. There was still much dysentery. British officers were concerned that, while Shuja set up in state, no great nobles were coming in. Attempts to bribe the Ghilzai tribes into tendering submission failed. Haji Khan Kakar was created by Shuja ‘Nasir-ud-Dowlut’, or ‘Defender of the State’ and granted the jaghir of Pishin, but was rumoured to have higher ambitions.
Mohan Lal complained that the British had made a great many promises to leading nobles, in letters organised by Burnes and sent by Leech and Lal, but once the British had secured Kandahar ‘we commenced to fail in fulfilling them’. There were ‘numerous instances of violating our engagements and deceiving the people in our political proceedings’.1 Mullah Nasu and Abdul Wahhab Popalzai were among those who did not receive promised rewards.
Burnes was enjoying life. On 25 May he received a consignment of champagne, burgundy and preserved foods from Forbes and Company in Bombay, and went on a two-day bacchanal on the banks of the Argandab with Colonel Arnold, Commander of the Bengal cavalry. The veteran had been shot through the lungs at Waterloo, and was a famous drinker. He died of liver disease a few weeks later.2
In May 1839 Macnaghten proposed that Mehrab Khan be punished by the annexation to Kabul of his provinces of Kacchi, Shawl and Mustung, giving the British control of their entire route of march. Macnaghten argued that Kelat was historically subject to Kabul and therefore Shuja was Mehrab Khan’s sovereign, and could dispose of his provinces as he wished. That was a whole series of highly disputable assertions.3 Furthermore the land grab ignored the tribal migrations of the Baluch pastoralists who spent summer on the Kelat plateau, and winter in the lowland pastures it was now proposed to annex. Kelat was the closest entity in the region to a nation state, so its dismembering provoked fierce resistance from the Baluch and Brahuis.
Auckland’s reply queried why Mehrab Khan should not be deposed and the whole of Kelat annexed to Afghanistan. Macnaghten responded that the Brahuis had for centuries been autonomous and would rebel against direct rule; and suggested that Mehrab Khan be replaced with Nawaz Khan.4
The political officer for Upper Sind, Ross Bell, requested substantial troop reinforcements to act against the ‘Doomkies, Jakranees and Boogtees and other plundering tribes subject to Mehrab Khan’.5 Auckland suggested that Bell rather try to persuade these tribes to accept permanent British rule: ‘the Governor-General […] is anxious to see these turbulent and semi-barbarous tribes induced by a conviction of our justice and moderation to place themselves in willing dependence on our power’.
But the Baluch showed no interest in British rule, and in August Bell wrote again: ‘there is the clearest evidence […] of marauders acting under instructions received direct from Mehrab Khan’.6 In fact, these were more of the wazir’s ‘planted’ letters, for which Bell enthusiastically fell:
it would be inexpedient to leave him in possession of any portion of Kelat […] Mihrab Khan […] is not entitled to any consideration from the British Government. He did not oppose us as a fair and open enemy. On the contrary he avowed his desire of entering into friendly relations with us […] at the very time he was encouraging his half-savage tribes to attack our convoys. The system […] has led to such […] cold-blooded atrocity, that he has fully merited the fate of a felon.7
On 21 June D’Arcy Todd set out for Herat, accompanied by Richmond Shakespear and James Abbott. They carried with them £20,000 in gold to repair the defences, and hopes of a Saduzai federation between Kamran and Shuja under British protection.
Burnes was still trying to mitigate the horrors of war. Having caught two raiders who had murdered camel guards, the British ‘decided to make a terrible example […] in the hope that it would have some effect on their comrades’. The men were sentenced to be blown from the mouth of a gun. In Kandahar’s central square, in front of Shuja and his court, serried British troops and a large crowd, one teenaged prisoner disdained the drawing of lots to see who went first, and calmly walked up to embrace the cannon’s mouth; he was instantly executed. The second prisoner, a bearded elder, had been equally stoical, and sat smoking a hookah while his colleague was obliterated. Then, with no apparent fear, he was strapped to the cannon; the execution was stopped at the last second, ‘the Shah influenced, it is said, by the entreaties of Sir Alexander Burnes, having granted his pardon’.8
Food price increases were becoming serious. Major William Hough noted bluntly, ‘We nearly starved the inhabitants of Candahar.’9 British popularity was plummeting.10 Distress ended on 23 June when a Lohani caravan swept into camp carrying a vast quantity of grain and other supplies from Shikarpur, led by Burnes’ friend Sarwar Khan Lohani. Wartime proved the good sense of what Burnes had proposed in peace. This caravan had been arranged by Mohan Lal at a meeting at Multan in September 1838. Sarwar received just over one lakh for the carriage, paid in advance by Lieutenant Eastwick. The convoy had been harassed by the Ghilzai, but Sarwar Khan had won through, aided by a dashing yellow-jacketed squadron of Skinner’s Horse under Rissaldar Azim Khan.
Unfortunately the Lohanis, who were continuing on their pastoral migration, could not be induced to act as transport with the army to Kabul. They explained their families were at the mercy of Ghilzai raids. Therefore the advance continued on half rations, with most stores left at Kandahar.
The division of command resulted in an unseemly row between Macnaghten and Keane. The General wished to leave a large garrison in Kandahar; Macnaghten wanted almost the full force to march on Kabul. Keane was infuriated. This row may have sparked Keane’s decision to leave his siege train with the garrison in Kandahar, though lack of draught animals was a genuine problem.11
The army marched by columns, the Bengal division on 27 June, Shah Shuja’s contingent on 28 June and the Bombay division on 29 June, following the same path. It arrived, with just two days’ half rations remaining, before the great fortress of Ghazni, exactly three weeks after leaving Kandahar.
Minor attacks on baggage by Ghilzai tribesmen had increased. On 12 July an important Ghilzai chief Abdul Rahman requested a parley, which was refused by Shuja, who declared him deposed. On 18 July a body of Qizilbash horse came in, having deserted Dost Mohammed. They were followed two days later by representatives of Hazara tribes; the Shia communities were taking the lead in switching allegiance.
As the army marched from Kandahar to Ghazni, two regular columns of Ghilzais had been tracking parallel on each side for a fortnight, under Abdul Rahman and Gul Mohammed. As the British Army defiled onto the plain before Ghazni, large groups began to gather on surrounding hilltops beneath green and black silken banners of jihad.
Alexander was riding in uniform in the vanguard.12 Approaching Ghazni he was joined by Willoughby Cotton and the staff officers of the Bengal division, eager to see the famous fortress, when they came under fire from the fortress’ cannon, and jezzails from surrounding gardens. There was sharp fighting with British light companies clearing the vineyards, gardens and outlying forts. The engineers carried out a reconnaissance and declared the fortress stronger than they had supposed. They were in a dangerous position, with no siege guns. Horse artillery and howitzers would not be effective against the walls; the moat was too deep and the walls too high for escalade. Several thousand Ghilzais were shadowing the army, The British could not leave Ghazni controlling their line of communications, yet had no food to stop and besiege.
Colonel Dennie wrote home scathingly, ‘Our leader had left his battering train behind him at Kandahar, after dragging those guns over rivers, mountains, and awful passes, by manual labour in great part, for one thousand eight hundred miles; and when within two hundred miles of the object for which they had been carried from Indostan, they were left behind.’13
Ghazni was reputed the strongest fortress of Asia. The British Army deployed to surround Ghazni on 21 July, but ravines and strong streams led to their being strung out. Several hundred of the Suleiman khail, sworn to holy war against this infidel invasion, swept down and headed straight for
Shuja’s tents, led by Sayyids holding the Koran. They were repelled by the disciplined cavalry of the Shah’s contingent. Several senior Ghilzai chiefs were killed, including a father-in-law of Dost Mohammed. About sixty prisoners were taken into Shuja’s camp and, refusing to recant, were all beheaded after one of their number wounded an attendant of Shuja. There was no effort by the British command to stop this atrocity.
Nineteen-year-old Ghulam Haidar Khan, Dost’s younger son and Governor of Ghazni, was exasperated. He had called a meeting to suggest that all the town’s women be moved into the inner citadel, the Bala Hissar, for protection. Today, 23 July 1839, the British force had sent columns round both sides of the fortress town, meeting at the Kabul road. Haidar Khan had spent all day on the battlements observing them through his telescope – a present from his friend Alexander Burnes, whom he had accompanied for miles on Burnes’ ignominious departure from Kabul. His communications with the capital through the Kabul Gate – the only one not built across in preparation for this siege – were now cut.
He was not, however, greatly worried. He had 4,000 troops, provisions for three months and the strongest fortress in Central Asia. He had seen the Ghazi banners flying, and though the British had driven them back, they would return. His brother, the great fighter Sher Afzul, was only two days’ march away with 6,000 men and an artillery train. His father Dost Mohammed was gathering a great host at Kabul, and could arrive within a fortnight.
At the same time, he had heard about British military prowess; the encircling army had already killed a few dozen of his men with artillery fire of astonishing rapidity and accuracy. Everyone knew what happened when a defended city was taken. That was why he had ordered all the women brought into the inner citadel. But this had caused an outcry. There were, of course, many soldiers within the citadel, and he could understand the reluctance to send the burqa-clad womenfolk. He had called this council to reassure the elders about arrangements to protect honour and decency. Some of the interminable speakers even seemed to doubt his own motives, and he did not receive the deference he felt was due. He was not quite sure what to do about it. Now the wind was howling so that he could not hear what the old men were saying, shutters kept banging, and some of the oil lamps were guttering, creating even more smoke than usual. But he could not enforce his will on these proud tribesmen without hearing them first; it was their right.14