Chapter XIII: With Roberts' Column

'Welcome back from the other world, Bob Wodrow!' exclaimed Toby Chace. 'The stable-call won't be new to you, though a good meal and a deep drink may be, I have no doubt. So we are to have a shy at these Afghan beggars again!' and while grooming his horse he began to sing the stable-call in verse, while rubbing down his charger after hissing away through his teeth in the most orthodox fashion,

'Come, come to your stable as quick as you're able,
Come, come to your stable, my jolly dragoon;
See your horse groomed well, and give him some hay,
With corn and water for night and for day;
Then come to your stable as fast as you're able,
Then come to your stable, my jolly dragoon.'

So sang to Wodrow that jovial English trooper, Toby Chace, light of heart, if unsteady of purpose, while bustling about his horse--Chace, who, in his more palmy days, had more than one hunter of his own in stall; who had once handsome rooms in Piccadilly, a snug corner in his club, and was never without an invitation for cub-hunting in the shires, or to pot the deer in the Highlands; the heir to an old English baronetcy, and yet, in his fallen estate, was wont to designate himself 'jolly as a sandboy, whatever the devil kind of boy that is!'

Left behind his regiment sick, Toby Chace was now, like Robert Wodrow, attached _pro tem._ to a squadron of the 9th Lancers ordered to the front.

'So we march to-morrow to clear off the score we owe these fellows at Cabul,' said he.

'In that business, then, I have lost the best friend man ever had,' said Wodrow, sighing; 'Captain Colville.'

'A right good sort; we'll drink his health--his memory, I mean. I wonder if Fred Roberts will let us sack the town?'

'I think not, Toby--but why?'

'It would be rare fun prying into the harems, or having them escaladed by reprobates in regimentals.'

Toby's naturally elastic spirits rose at the prospect of more fighting, for his disposition was always to make the best of everything, and it served him in good stead now.

Ignorant of all that was transpiring to those most dear to him far away in Europe, Colville was still a prisoner in the hands of Mahmoud Shah.

The cruel and barbarous murder of the young and gallant Hector Maclain, after he had been so many weeks the prisoner and guest of Ayoub Khan, proved that our Afghan enemies could be true or false to their salt, exactly as suited their caprice or cruelty; thus, though Leslie Colville was in precisely the same position in the Cabul fort, it by no means followed that his life might not be taken in any moment of fear or hatred.

Life in India has often been described as one long and listless yawn, born of weariness, heat, and indolence; but it was certainly not so at this crisis on the borders of Afghanistan, which, to the average British mind, is considered a part of India.

An army was now detailed to punish the infatuated fanatics who had destroyed our Embassy, but, though infatuated, they were also

'Souls made of fire and children of the sun,
With whom revenge is virtue!'

So we now resolved to take a leaf out of their own book, and have our revenge in turn.

Once more our troops would have to toil along the stony and boulder-strewn banks of the gloomy Khyber, up and down the awful chasms of the Lundi Khana Kotal, by the mountain clefts and deep defiles of Khoord Cabul, with every prospect of being harassed, perhaps decimated, by thousands of hardy hillmen--the Khyberees, Afreedees, Shinwarris, Mohmonds, Mongols, and Ghilzies.

The gallant and active Sir Donald Stewart again seized Candahar; Massey occupied the Shutargardan Pass; Baker took Kushi, and Roberts--whose name is second to none in glory--was soon ready to begin that campaign which all hoped would end in the conquest of the blood-stained Cabul.

The Viceroy of India made the greatest efforts to grapple with the new difficulty, and hurry forward the army that was to uphold the power of the fickle Ameer as our nominal ally--for nominal indeed he was--and there was every prospect of his being slain by his insurgent troops, led by Mahmoud Shah and other sirdirs, unless he took to flight, or put himself at their head against us as intruders and unbelievers.

'This devil of an Ameer,' remarked old Colonel Spatterdash, 'is true to the words of Swift--"The two maxims of every great man are always to keep his countenance, and never to keep his word."

Three columns were to advance simultaneously, and open communication between Cabul and Peshawur, but we shall confine ourselves briefly to that under Sir Frederick Roberts, which consisted of three batteries of Artillery, a squadron of H.M. 9th Lancers, some Bengal and Punjaub Cavalry, the Gordon and Albany Highlanders, the 67th Regiment, 3rd Sikhs, 23rd Pioneers, and Spatterdash's Punjaubees--making a total of barely eight thousand men.

Scarlet, blue, and gold, had for the time been discarded by the cavalry, and, like most of the infantry, they wore _karkee_, or mud-coloured costumes--uniforms they could scarcely be called--with the inevitable tropical helmet, and _putties_ or linen leg bandages. The Scottish infantry, however, retained their tartans, wearing respectively the green Gordon and red Royal Stuart; but the Lancers laid aside their scarlet and white bannerettes.

The 19th of September saw our advanced parties reconnoitering close to Kushi, within thirty-five miles of Cabul, where twelve strong battalions with many guns were reported to be in garrison; and on that night the Duke of Albany's Highlanders were suddenly fired into, when all was supposed to be quiet in the vicinity, and a group of officers were chatting and smoking round a wood fire, which was instantly scattered and extinguished that the enemy might have nothing to aim by.

The Highland pickets stood to their arms, and by a few half-random volleys swept away the assailants, who proved to be Ghazis or religious fanatics, armed with juzails, or long matchlock guns, with a forked rest, which enables the marksman to take a steady aim. They are formidable weapons in mountainous districts, and, though their range exceeded that of old 'brown Bess,' it is far inferior to that of the rifles now in use.

Three days after, the Mongols attacked a convoy of provisions, borne on mules, in a solitary pass, and killed about twenty-three of the escort, chiefly by knives, and resistance proved useless, as the mountain band was so numerous that they next attempted to storm a tower at the summit of the Sirkai Kotal, or Red Pass, so named from the peculiar colour of the narrow path which led to it, but were repulsed and finally driven off by two companies of the Albany Highlanders. But skirmishes such as these were now of daily occurrence.

A few days after saw General Baker, C.B. and V.C., with the brigade of cavalry at Kushi (or 'the Village of Delights'), in a very barren district, whence, however, could be seen the lovely Logur Valley--fresh, green, and fertile; and then he pushed his patrols and reconnaisances along the Cabul Road towards Zargun Shahr.

The advanced camp at Kushi received some very unexpected guests on the 23rd of September, when, at the head of twenty-five splendidly clad and accoutred horsemen--including old Daud Shah--the Ameer Yakoub Khan rode in and surrendered himself!

'I have no longer any power left,' said he; 'I have been dethroned by my own mutinous troops; but Inshallah! it is the will of God!'

'What his true reason for this startling step may have been, we never knew,' wrote an officer, 'certainly not the one he gave, for no Afghan ever told the truth intentionally.'

Handsome tents were given to him and his suite, and a guard of honour, furnished by the Gordon Highlanders, was accorded him. Next day General Roberts and his staff rode in amid the cheers of the troops, and every face brightened, as all knew that the stern work of vengeance was soon to begin, and the pitiful slaughter of the gallant Cavagnari and his companions would be atoned for.

Stolidly proud or stupidly unimpassionable, the Ameer did not condescend to leave his tent, but lounged on a silken divan in the doorway of it, with a lorgnette in his hands, and evinced no excitement till he heard the pipes of the Gordon Highlanders, and saw the kilted sentinels around him.

'He is a man of about six or seven and thirty,' says Major Mitford, of the 14th Bengal Lancers, in his narrative, 'with a light almond complexion and a very long, hooked nose, the lower part of the face hidden by a black beard and a moustache, the eyes having a dazed expression like those of a freshly caught seal. This is said to have been caused by the five years' confinement in a dark cell to which his father, Shere Ali, subjected him, for conspiring against him.'

By order of the Viceroy, Sir Frederick Roberts issued a manifesto to the Afghan people to the effect that the British troops were advancing on the capital to avenge the treachery of its armed inhabitants, but that all who were peaceful would be unmolested; and non-combatants, women, and children were advised to leave Cabul and betake themselves to places of safety.

After some necessary interviews or consultations with the dethroned and fugitive Ameer, General Roberts concentrated his whole force at Kushi prior to attacking the city or any force it might send into the field against him.

Meanwhile the so-called guard of honour furnished by the Gordon Highlanders kept a close watch over Yakoub Khan, as all in camp mistrusted him, and believed that he only made a pretence of giving himself up, and had in reality come to spy our numbers and weak points.