‘They mean to kill us all,’ Barbara Sturt cried.
‘We always knew it would come to this,’ her mother said. Now we must just face it out.’
Laura could only hug Mary against her as the mule plodded on, listening to the terrifying noises from behind them. Soon the gunfire ceased, however; they never saw the rearguard again.
*
Now the Afghans surrounded the main body, hooting and jeering, and firing into the shapeless mass as the fancy took them, while occasionally they even rushed at stragglers and cut them to pieces. Laura could not believe that this was actually happening, that a British army was allowing itself to be systematically destroyed. Surely it would have been better to have stood their ground, and fought to the last man. When she thought of the way Guy had commanded his men to do or die against Batraj...but his men had abandoned him then, as these men had clearly abandoned all obedience to their officers. No orders were being given. If a soldier chose to fire back at their tormentors, that was entirely up to him. For the main part they merely plodded onwards, and the women and children followed them.
When darkness fell, the mass just stopped moving. Again there were no orders, and no attempt to make a defensive perimeter. Men and women fell where they stood. Laura and Mary, Barbara and Florentia, Wu Li and Miljah huddled together as the temperature plummeted below zero. They had only a few cups of cold soup to drink. Sturt joined them to make sure his wife was all right, but had to return to his batteries; already two guns had had to be spiked and abandoned as their mules had been shot.
All night the Afghans kept up their cacophony from every side, but even this was often drowned by the wails and shrieks of the camp followers, few of whom had any warm clothing or food.
*
When dawn came it was possible to see that they had moved no more than six miles from the cantonments. Now the very last of the discipline had broken down. Again no order was given, no bugle blown. The mass of people merely heaved itself to its feet and commenced moving, save for those who had died of exposure during the night, or who were incapable of going on; these shouted and screamed and begged for help, but there was none forthcoming.
Almost in a dream, Laura and Mary mounted their mule and resumed their march, following Barbara and Florentia. Laura had no feeling in her feet, and her cheeks were equally numbed. Her belly ached with hunger and every muscle protested at every movement. The alternative was to lie down and die.
It looked as though death might come more quickly than that. In the middle of the morning a large body of Afghan horse, who had been keeping pace with the refugees, suddenly charged into their midst, waving their tulwars and screaming. People scattered in every direction as blood flew. Some of the soldiers rallied sufficiently to open fire, but most just kept on marching, their brains numbed by the cold. Both Laura and Mary were thrown heavily as their mule went down, and Mary screamed as she struck the ground. Laura rose to her knees, the little girl clutched in her arms, and looked up to see a mounted warrior coming straight at her, his sword raised for the blow. She bowed her head, thinking what a waste of a life hers had been, when there was a shot. The Afghan gave a shriek and tumbled from his saddle to discolour the snow with his blood, and Laura raised her head again to see Sivitraj standing beside her, a smoking pistol in his hand.
‘Oh, Sivitraj!’ she wept, and hugged him against her.
*
The Afghans departed again, and the refugees tried to nerve themselves to continue. Mary was alternately screaming and whimpering, and it was obvious that she had severely hurt herself in her fall. Laura sent Sivitraj to find Dr Bryden, and he came as soon as he could, examined the child, and diagnosed a broken rib. He bound her up as best he could, but had no laudanum with which to dull the pain.
‘I should recommend rest,’ he said. ‘But as that is impossible...’
‘What is to become of us, John?’ Laura asked.
‘I am afraid we are doomed,’ he said. ‘I do not know whether Akbar is practising treachery, or whether his people are really unable to restrain these brigands, still...’ he smiled at her, ‘we must do the best we can. Nil desperandum.’
The mule had run off or been killed. Most of the ladies were now on foot, and struggled on until they arrived at the village of Boothak. Here there was a considerable force of hillmen and, to Laura’s dismay, Akbar.
Akbar professed his concern at what had been happening, and again professed that he was unable fully to control the Gilzhai tribesmen. He offered personally to escort the refugees the rest of the way, but demanded hostages...in case the Company soldiers should attack him! Elphinstone was now totally incapacitated by a violent attack of gout, and what was left of the command devolved upon Pottinger, for Shelton merely rode at the head of his men in a brown study of depression.
Pottinger believed that his sole duty was to rescue as many of his people as possible, and felt forced to agree to the terms. Thus Captains Lawrence and Mackenzie were surrendered. The harassed political officer then was forced to beg for some food, for there was absolutely none left for either man or beast. Akbar assured him that supplies would be forthcoming, and with this the refugees were forced to settle down for another night of endless misery, as the temperature again fell and the snow with it.
By this time all attempts to find mounts for the white women had been abandoned, there were no mules or horses left, and they were struggling through the snow on foot like the Indians; those who were unable to walk for a variety of reasons — one was nursing the baby born on the very day they had departed from Kabul — were again loaded into panniers on the sides of camels.
Florentia Sale had been shot through the arm during the day’s skirmish, but bore her wound with her usual indomitable resolution, although even she burst into tears when Lieutenant Sturt’s body was brought to her. Barbara fainted, but when she had recovered, the lieutenant was buried with full military honours in the freezing darkness.
Bryden was right, and we are all going to die, Laura thought, as she huddled between Mary and Sivitraj, Miljah and Wu Li, all shivering, their teeth chattering, their bellies rumbling with hunger. How I have fought and struggled and prostituted myself to keep these two children alive, and all for no purpose.
And dear Guy, writing his letters and seeking her rehabilitation, would not even know how she had died, because assuredly there were going to be no survivors from this catastrophe.
*
During the night the Afghan attacks continued, and several white women and children were carried off, screaming piteously. The Hindus were particular targets of the Muslim Afghans, and some of these unfortunates were found terribly mutilated, the women with their breasts, noses, and ears cut off, and their throats slit, while some of the children had been hacked in two at the waist.
In the morning, when they heaved themselves to their feet, Miljah did not move: she had frozen to death during the night.
There was no time even to bury her, for the mass which had once been an army was already on the move, and Laura dared not be left behind. She could only mutter a prayer to Vishnu; Miljah had been her most faithful friend.
The third day of the march was the worst, as they entered the Khoord-Kabul Pass, known even by the Afghans as the Jaws of Death. Here the hillmen could no longer come amongst them, but they kept up a steady fire from the heights to either side, and someone fell every few minutes.
Now entirely without food, forced to cram snow into their mouths as a substitute for water, many of the refugees were on their hands and knees. All the artillery had been abandoned, save for a single gun, and the soldiers merely staggered forward, using their muskets as crutches. When they finally emerged from the Pass any resemblance to a military force was gone.
Now they again encountered Akbar and his men, again apologising for the attacks of the hillmen.
‘It grieves me sorely to see such gallant ladies and their children exposed to such horrors,’ Akbar said. ‘If you will yield them to me, I will
make myself personally responsible for their safety.’
Pottinger and Shelton looked at each other in some perplexity.
‘That we could never do,’ Shelton declared.
‘I give you my sacred word, sworn on the Koran, that no harm shall befall any of your wives or children,’ Akbar said.
Again the two officers exchanged glances. They knew that the army was doomed to almost certain destruction, and everyone with it, including their women. If there was the slightest chance that the Afghan leader could be trusted...
‘Their husbands will never give them up,’ Pottinger objected.
‘Then let their husbands accompany them,’ Akbar said jovially. ‘Once I can protect them from these mountain men, they will be safe.’
For a last time Pottinger and Shelton looked at each other. Then Pottinger agreed. ‘Be sure that if our women are massacred, Akbar Khan, or violated, the Company will never rest until you are destroyed.’
‘I am a man of honour,’ Akbar said. ‘Have all your women brought to me. Including the wife of Prince Batraj, the Dowager Rani of Sittapore.’
Part Three THE SWORD OF EMPIRE
Peshawar, 1 February, 1842
All British India is in a state of shocked misery.
An entire British army destroyed! Four thousand five hundred men, with but a single survivor, the gallant Bryden, who reached the fortress of Jellalabad alone, unarmed, beaten and bloody...but unbowed.
My own grief and loss are almost too overwhelming to bear. Laura is gone, this time, I fear, irretrievably.
I must strive to write coherently.
How did it happen? A multitude of mistakes, is the answer. And I will be the first to admit that I shared the overconfidence of last year. Then there was the appointment of Elphinstone, a decrepit desk general who happened once, many years ago, to cover himself with glory, and the replacement of Sale by Shelton.
But the true cause of the disaster, of course, was McNaghton. The assault on, and occupation of, Afghanistan was his idea in the first place. He it was who convinced Auckland of the practicability of the scheme, in the face of the most determined criticism from anyone who knows anything about India. Well, he has paid for his folly, for his belief that the Afghans were ‘children’, as he kept repeating, with his life. But what of all the other lives sacrificed to pander to his ambition and over-confidence?
I will be brief; the tale is too tragic for expansion. Suffice to say that despite all the warnings, some, according to Lady Sale, given by my own dear Laura, the occupying force persisted in its blind confidence while a storm brewed all around it, to erupt in the murder of Burnes at the beginning of November. There can be no doubt that prompt action on the part of the British would then have nipped the revolt in the bud; Elphinstone disposed of more than four thousand men, and our reputation was still high.
But nothing was done! Elphinstone himself was incapable. He is now in the hands of the Afghans, but nothing can excuse his dreadful supinity, or the incompetence of those who appointed him. Well, then, what of Shelton, a brave and experienced officer, but a man of well-known sullen temperament, who was so at loggerheads with his own troops that they would not follow him. Ah, if only Sale, gallant fellow, had still been there! But he was fighting his way into Jellalabad, in a desperate attempt to keep open the passes into India, aware all the time that his wife and daughter were trapped in Kabul.
The only sensible thing anyone did was send for help. A messenger was despatched to old General Nott, holding Kandahar, but he too was beleaguered and could do nothing more than hold. But the message was also received in Delhi, and forwarded with the greatest despatch to Bombay and Calcutta, as the seriousness of the situation was immediately realised. By then it was understood that the British forces with their noncombatants were besieged in the cantonments outside Kabul, that Sale was similarly besieged in Jellalabad, and that an expedition at least as massive as that of 1839 was required to retrieve the situation.
Auckland, whatever his many shortcomings, is a man of decision, notwithstanding that he had been informed that he is to be relieved this year. He immediately mobilised every man who could be spared, called for volunteers in addition, and appointed, Sir George Pollock to march to the rescue. He could not have made a better choice. Sir George has campaigned in India virtually all his life, and is a man of unbounded energy and determination. Within a fortnight of his appointment he was on his way and, realising that to travel by way of Kandahar would take too long, negotiated with Ranjit Singh’s successor to allow us to proceed directly through Sikh territory in order to take the Khyber Pass, the most direct route to Kabul. Fortunately the Sikhs had also been alarmed by reports coming out of Kabul, and were willing to agree to our request. Thus we are here in Peshawar, only two months after receiving the appeal for assistance, with less than two hundred miles to go. And yet I feel the dreadful certainty that we are too late.
I naturally volunteered my services, and however bad the odour I may be in with certain of my superiors, Sir George was happy to accept me, both because of my reputation as a fighting man, and because I know the country over which we will be campaigning. I conceived that I was setting out to rescue Laura!
It was only on our arrival in Peshawar yesterday, that we learned the awful truth of the situation.
Having done nothing to retrieve their position, or adequately to strengthen their defences, the garrison lingered, surrounded, until they ran out of food, and had to treat. It was then that McNaghton was murdered. And still the garrison saw no alternative but to treat, and accept the most humiliating terms from the Afghans, unaware that we were already on our way.
Thus, offered safe passage by the dastardly Akbar, they set off, men, women and children, horse and guns, through the Afghan winter. Can any one possibly imagine the conditions under which those poor people marched and died? For those not slaughtered by the Afghans soon perished of starvation and exposure.
At every halt, Akbar Khan and his generals appeared, apologised for their inability to control their hill people, promised food and protection and took hostages, thus robbing the expedition of all its commanders. And the murderous rascal then demanded that they hand over the women and children, for their protection! One can only imagine the feelings of our gallant Englishmen at that moment. But there was nothing for it.
Thus the remnant, struggling on through the snow and constant harassment, having lost all their guns and most of their ammunition, lacking their officers, died one by one. Only Bryden, alone, rode into Jellalabad!
There is one remarkable thing about this story, which would be unbelievable were it not attested by Lady Sale, wife of the gallant defender of Jellalabad. Her son-in-law was murdered by the enemy and she is therefore not disposed to regard them as any better than they are. The women were not violated! In fact, they seem to have been treated with a good deal of kindness, clothed and fed and restored to health. All this is contained in a letter written by Lady Sale to her husband, and the mere fact that the captured women were allowed to write at all is a measure of their treatment, nor can we doubt for a moment that if Lady Sale had been forced to write lies she would have found some secret way to inform her husband of this.
For me, what the good Lady Sale had to say of Laura is the most important thing in her letter. It seems that my darling girl not only played the heroine by risking her life to warn the supine McNaghton of his danger, but she then helped to defend a beleaguered position against the enemy. She yet again proved her worth during the catastrophic march. Surely now the clearing of her name is certain.
But, alas, her ladyship can give no good news of Laura’s safety at this moment. She knows that Batraj was amongst the Khan’s generals, and that he sought the return of his wife and family. On the surrender of the women, Laura and her children were removed from the rest and have not been seen since, so there can be little doubt that she was indeed returned to her husband. Lady Sale fears for her life, as it was well known that my beloved had
attempted to warn the British of their situation. But there is another thing, known only to me: she had agreed a pact with Batraj, many years before, that if he spared my life she would remain forever at his side. That pact she obviously broke when she sought to escape with the British.
My poor Laura! I am forced to envisage her with her throat cut, and no doubt her children in a similar state, after having suffered heavens knows what indignities. My blood boils, and then becomes ice-cold.
She will be avenged. They will all be avenged. We are here, and we are more than twenty thousand strong. We shall relieve Sale, who still holds Jellalabad, and then march on Kabul. We shall reclaim our women and any other of the hostages who may still be alive, and we shall wreak the most terrible vengeance upon Akbar and his cohorts. My only dream is that I shall at last discover Batraj at the end of my sword.
And perhaps I shall look upon dear Laura’s grave.
11 The Avengers
The women and children were gradually gathered together. The beleaguered troops watched with sad and sullen eyes; whatever was going to happen to them, none of the soldiers had much hope of survival.
The husbands were outraged, and at first reluctant to abandon the main body. Shelton had to order them to do so. They left the British ranks and trudged or limped towards the waiting Afghans.
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