In the Far Pashmina Mountains

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘These tales are wild nonsense,’ Sandy insisted. ‘We must wait for the escort. Zemaun has promised it will come and I trust him more than any of the chiefs. He says we mustn’t move without an Afghan guard. It would be sheer folly to leave the cantonment without it. Akbar needs time to bargain with the chiefs who hold the mountain passes.’

  ‘I don’t trust any of them – least of all Akbar,’ said Vernon, echoing the opinions of the military commanders. ‘We need to go now and rely on our own forces to protect us on the march.’

  Elphinstone and Shelton prevailed over the injured and beleaguered political officer, Pottinger. On the night of the fifth of January, Sturt and his fellow engineers were given the order to cut through the low ramparts of the cantonment to allow the flow of troops to leave with the six large guns the army had been permitted to keep.

  ‘We march at moonrise,’ announced Vernon, ‘so there’s no point in going to bed.’ He sat huddled in his coat beside the empty grate and swigged at a bottle of local spirit.

  Alice stayed dressed in her clothes and went to lie next to Lotty. She curled up under the chilly bed clothes and held her daughter close.

  ‘Are we going on the big picnic tomorrow?’ Lotty asked.

  ‘Yes, my sweet,’ Alice said, kissing her forehead. She stroked the girl’s cheek, marvelling at its softness. It comforted Alice and yet made her acutely anxious. How much more vulnerable would her daughter be once they left the flimsy safety of the cantonment?

  ‘Will Gita come too?’

  ‘She will.’

  ‘And Ravi and Adeep and Bali?’

  Alice nodded.

  ‘And Zander?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Alexander.’

  ‘And Daddy?’

  Alice swallowed. ‘And Daddy.’

  ‘Then it will be the best picnic ever,’ said Lotty, smiling.

  She put her thumb in her mouth and sucked in contentment. Alice held her and watched her drift off to sleep, praying fervently that Lotty would be spared and reach the safety of Jalalabad alive.

  CHAPTER 34

  They should have left by moonlight but it was eight in the morning before the first baggage animals filed through the gap in the wall. Alice and the other families watched tensely as the snorting, whinnying beasts and their attendants ploughed through the glistening snow; it was ponderous progress.

  ‘The poor drivers have hardly got a coat between them,’ Alice fretted, stamping her feet for warmth in the bright, frosty, crystal clear air.

  The first baggage train was followed by the advance guard of cavalry and horse artillery pulling 6-pounder guns, along with the sappers and miners of the mountain-train. Then it was time for the envoy’s entourage and the officers’ families to leave before the main body of the army got underway.

  ‘It’s the safest part of the column,’ Sandy assured a petrified Emily. ‘The vanguard with Vernon is in front and Shelton and his infantry are protecting you from behind.’

  He gave an encouraging smile as he helped his wife into a pannier strapped to a camel and handed her the baby. Alexander wanted to ride a horse like Alice and Lotty but was persuaded to climb into the second pannier. Emily continued to scan the hilltops for signs of tribesmen ready to attack. Alice thought how their labouring army of pack animals and scarlet-jacketed troops would be visible from miles away. She could see Emily getting worked up.

  ‘Why aren’t we moving?’

  ‘We’ll be through the Khoord-Kabul Pass and at Tezeen by tonight,’ Alice said. ‘Then after that we’ll be out of the snow and descending to Jalalabad – you’ll like it there. It’ll be so much warmer and Alexander will be able to play outside again.’

  ‘And me!’ Lotty piped up, grinning at her mother. Alice kissed her cold cheek, amazed by how much her daughter understood.

  They took all morning to jostle through the broken walls. Alice tried to distract Lotty from Emily’s panicky comments by pointing out where Vernon was riding up ahead.

  ‘And over there is Kabul, the big city where the king lives and where your nice thick coat came from.’

  ‘Is that where the kind man lives?’ asked Lotty.

  ‘Kind man?’

  ‘Lieutenant John.’

  Alice’s heart squeezed. How she wished that John was with them!

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant John lives there too.’

  ‘Can we say goodbye to him?’

  Alice’s eyes watered. ‘I’m afraid not. Lieutenant John has to stay in the city.’

  ‘I’ll wave,’ said Lotty. ‘He might be looking.’

  Alice kissed the top of her daughter’s head. It was all she could do to hold her tears in check as Lotty raised a hand and waved at the distant citadel.

  By early afternoon, half the cantonment force was still waiting to depart. There was a log jam at the Kabul River. Word came back that the gun wagons that were to be used as a bridge for the infantry had not been sent out early enough.

  ‘Elphinstone was too busy eating breakfast to give the order,’ said a frustrated Sturt as he rode by. ‘Tore a strip off Shelton for interrupting him.’

  Alice thought it was so unlike Sturt to criticise his superiors that she knew he must be under great strain. But the long delays began to cause unrest. Camp-followers who had been told to fall in at the rear started to pour out of their encampments and mill around the stranded soldiers, terrified of being left behind. Soon there was chaos by the river as thousands tried to cross at once. There was uproar. Camels bellowed in distress, men shouted in anger, children wailed and troops attempted to keep order.

  Alice watched in agitation. About her, officers chivvied on the families. Emily was whimpering in fear and a frightened Lotty began to cry. Alice tried to soothe them both but resisted the order to cross.

  ‘I’m not going without my servants,’ Alice declared. She wheeled around and grabbed at the pony that was carrying Gita and the boys. She couldn’t see Ravi and his mules, which were heavily burdened with Vernon’s possessions, but knew that he would do his best to follow.

  In a cacophony of noise that could probably be heard from the city, they clattered across the makeshift bridges. Others plunged into the icy water, trying to keep up.

  All afternoon the convoy lumbered on, the overladen baggage cattle struggling through fresh snow and hampering progress. Behind, Alice could see that hundreds of troops still waited on the ramparts to depart. The whole withdrawal was a disorganised disaster.

  Perhaps it was the sight of such slow progress or the temptation of rich spoils laid out for all to see, but before they had gone a handful of miles, the air was suddenly filled with the yells of plundering tribesmen.

  They came out of the surrounding hills and orchards, the thunder of their hooves muffled by snow, and swooped on the startled camel drivers and sepoys. The screams of their victims filled the air.

  The cavalry protecting the envoy’s entourage rallied around the women and forced their horses into a canter. Glancing back, Alice saw in horror the snow stained red with blood. She pulled her cloak over Lotty’s head so that the girl would not witness the carnage.

  The army lines broke up in confusion and the troops scattered towards the village of Begramee and the way to the Khoord-Kabul Pass. By the time nightfall descended, they had gone six short miles instead of the planned thirty. Vernon managed to find them as they pitched camp in the snow. They looked back in horrified awe at the flames leaping in the frosty dark like a lurid sunset over the abandoned cantonment.

  ‘The barbarians are setting fire to our houses,’ Vernon said in fury. ‘There’s no going back now.’

  Alice felt sick at the destruction: the homes and the lovingly tended gardens that their Afghan friends had admired, the hospital and school, the bazaar and native camps. A once thriving community reduced to burning embers in hours.

  ‘At least we’re alive,’ said Alice, eyes smarting at the thought of the men cut down in the snow and left to die. ‘I thank God for that.’

&
nbsp; The morning brought stunned disbelief. The rear guard had caught up with the main army during the early hours of the morning, bringing tales of pillage and arson as they fled the cantonment. But worse was revealed by the daylight. Groups of sepoys and camp-followers, who had huddled together for warmth in the dark, lay dead in the snow or crippled by frostbite.

  Alice and a frantic Gita went in search of Ravi. They found him crying with pain, keeping watch over his mules. They bound his frozen feet and ankles with strips of horse blanket from Alice’s horse but the man could hardly walk. Alice told him to jettison the furniture and ride one of the mules himself.

  Before the bugle call or order to march could be given, the mass of humanity began to move off in the same disarray as the day before. Camp-followers surged around the troops at the front, in a panic not to be left. Lotty was crying with the cold and Alexander with hunger. Florentia poured sherry into a tumbler and handed it round for the children to drink.

  ‘Warms them and it’ll dull the hunger,’ she said before the children were bundled into panniers and lifted onto ponies.

  Then the horror began again. The baggage train was once more targeted by snipers in the surrounding hills and Alice watched in helpless distress as cattle were driven off and their handlers butchered. Drivers deserted rather than wait to be picked off by the deadly gunshot. Panic ensued. The rearguard attempted to cover the most vulnerable part of the column but discipline was breaking down and guns had to be spiked and abandoned. Some of the troops were so debilitated by frostbite that they could not fire their matchlocks and watched, helpless, while raiders swooped and plucked them from their frozen hands.

  Alice gripped onto a frightened Lotty and tried to comfort her with trite words as they pressed on, guarded by Sandy and others of Pottinger’s entourage. She didn’t believe her babbling words but saying them aloud was the only way to keep her gut-wrenching fear at bay.

  By afternoon they had only covered another four miles and were barely at the mouth of the Khoord-Kabul Pass. Surprisingly, Elphinstone gave the order to halt. At this rate, Alice worried, they would take at least a week to reach Jalalabad, not the planned three days. A tense Vernon appeared and handed round a flask of brandy. Alice hadn’t known he still had any but took a swig for courage.

  Sandy came with news. ‘Zemaun has sent word that we should stop here until they can disperse the fanatical tribesmen in the Pass. It’s not safe to go on.’

  ‘It’s not safe to stay here!’ Vernon argued. ‘We need to press on and leave all this rabble behind. By the way,’ he said, turning to Alice, ‘where are my things?’

  ‘I told Ravi to discard them,’ she said with a defiant look. ‘They were slowing us up. We’ve still got the tent and blankets.’

  ‘How dare you—’

  Then a cry went up that cut off Vernon’s tongue-lashing. A fast-moving phalanx of Afghan riders had been spotted from the direction of Kabul. No one knew if it was the promised guard or a hostile band. But it had the effect of dispersing the bands of raiders, who melted back into the hills. While the officers and families attempted to get campfires going, Pottinger sent Sandy to meet the messenger being dispatched from the Afghan troop. He returned in excitement. Alice pressed forward to hear what the envoy and military leaders had to say to Sandy’s news.

  ‘I’ve spoken with Lieutenant Sinclair!’ Sandy said. ‘He says Akbar is offering six hundred horsemen to see us safely through the pass. The Sirdar will go ahead in person to restrain the more hot-headed Ghilzais to let us retreat.’

  ‘What welcome news!’ said Alice, her heart thundering to think of John so close by.

  Vernon was dismissive. ‘Another trap. Why would we trust anything Akbar or his hangers-on say?’

  ‘Sinclair wouldn’t be involved in anything treacherous,’ Sandy retorted. ‘He believes that Akbar is genuine in wanting us to leave safely. He knows that is the only way his father, Dost Mohammed, and family will be returned unharmed to Afghanistan. But Akbar wants something he can bargain with when dealing with the Ghilzais.’

  ‘Good God!’ Vernon swore. ‘He’s taken everything already.’

  Pottinger held up his hand impatiently. ‘Let the man speak, Buckley.’

  ‘Akbar wants four more hostages – prestigious ones that the chiefs will respect.’ Sandy turned to Shelton. ‘They want you to be one of them, sir.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ Shelton protested. ‘I’d rather die than abandon my men. Akbar is just trying to decapitate our army.’

  Sandy said, ‘Sinclair told me that Zemaun has gone to great trouble to persuade Akbar to give us protection. We have to give the Sirdar something in return so he doesn’t look weak.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to play his underhanded little games,’ Shelton replied. ‘If any of the commanders give themselves up we’ll all perish. Discipline is already going to the dogs.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Vernon. ‘If there are any hostages to be sacrificed it should be from the political ranks.’

  Pottinger looked grey with fatigue. Alice knew he was still in pain from his previous injuries. He asked Elphinstone what he thought. The general was sitting in a camp chair; he appeared even more ill.

  ‘I think we should trust Akbar but perhaps not give him so many hostages?’

  Argument broke out as to who should be handed over. Pottinger put an end to the wrangling.

  ‘Let the military commanders stay. I’m injured and already a liability to the column. I shall go.’ He looked at Sandy. ‘Ayton, will you come with me?’

  Alice saw Sandy trying to hide his dismay. She knew he wanted above all else to keep Emily and the boys safe but his duty was to his superior officer. He only hesitated a moment.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Sandy said with a nod.

  Emily crumpled at the news. ‘How can I manage without you?’ she sobbed. ‘Please don’t leave me and the boys.’

  ‘You will be well protected,’ Sandy said, putting an arm about her. ‘My going should make it safer for you all.’

  ‘I’ll never see you again!’ she wailed.

  ‘Please, my dearest, be brave for the boys.’

  Alice stepped in. ‘We’ll all stick together and help each other.’

  Florentia joined in. ‘Come, come, Mrs Ayton; you don’t want to alarm young Alexander now, do you? We women must stay strong and show the men we are equal to them in courage.’

  The words of the formidable general’s wife seemed to calm Emily. She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Sandy gave the women a grateful look. Within the hour, the political officers had ridden off into captivity.

  ‘You wish it was you, don’t you?’ Vernon accused Alice. ‘Riding off to be with Sinclair and his savage friends.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Alice snapped and turned away quickly. She blushed to think how easily her hateful husband could read her thoughts.

  That night, the officer families shared the last of the food – cold fowl and flat breads that Zemaun had sent over on their departure – and tried to keep the children warm under the frost-covered blankets. But Alice could hardly eat; she was choked with guilt at the moonlit sight of thousands of sepoys and servants – women and children among them – moaning in pain as they crowded together in the snow to stay alive. They had no food or fires. In a desperate attempt to keep warm, the Indian soldiers were burning their caps and pistol cases and pressing around the temporary heat of the ashes.

  Alice felt a huge weight of foreboding. How would any of them survive another night, let alone several? They should have been through the pass by now and below the snowline where food supplies might be more readily available. Fear smothered her. She hugged Lotty tighter. The girl gave a fretful whimper in her sleep. At least Gita and the boys were inside under canvas – Alice had insisted on that – and Vernon had taken himself off in protest to camp with fellow cavalry officers.

  The third morning of the march began as chaotically as the others. This time, hundreds more ill-equ
ipped soldiers and camp-followers had perished in the freezing night. Alice retched at the sight of stiff corpses half-buried in the snow.

  ‘Are those people still sleeping?’ Lotty asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Alice said, hating herself for lying. But how could she possibly begin to explain such horror to a girl not yet three years old? She turned Lotty away from the sight. There was a hurried departure. Alice was aghast at the pitiful state of their ponies; they were half-frozen and whinnying for food. Alice scooped up handfuls of snow and fed it to her pony, throwing her arms around its neck for temporary warmth.

  The rush to get to the front of the column by desperate and half-crazed men made the progress slow and disorderly. The soldiers could hardly keep in their lines or hear the commands being barked at them by frustrated officers.

  Soon the column was pushing its way into the Khoord-Kabul Pass. The way narrowed and the black icy cliffs of the gorge pressed in around them. No sunlight penetrated or melted the frozen slopes. They had to keep crossing mountain streams, the animals slipping on the banks and threatening to tip their passengers into the gorge. Dinah Sturt’s pony went lame. Alexander jumped at the chance to give up his pannier for the engineer’s wife and ride behind Alice. Earlier, he had wanted to ride with the young chieftain, Osman, but his mother had forbidden it.

  ‘Hold on tight,’ Alice ordered.

  Just when Alice thought they would get through the dark pass without incident, the attacks began. Snipers appeared from above, picking off troops and followers with their long-range jezails. Screams echoed around the black rock. Bullets seemed to come from the very boulders themselves. Animals thrashed around in fright, throwing off their riders and trampling infantry.

  Terrified, Alice gripped onto a shrieking Lotty and tried to shield both her and Alexander while keeping her pony steady. Then scores of tribesmen came rushing down the slopes to harry the back of the column and carry off the spoils.