CHAPTER X
1896
QUETTA
On November 10, 1895, a few familiar words were read once more in a village church in Sussex, the old-world troth was given and plighted, and the face of the earth was changed thereby for the two persons most concerned.
The General had been unable to take more than ninety days' privilege leave, and therefore had to be back in Bombay early in January. The drill season was already far advanced, the programme for the inspection of the various regiments in the outlying stations included in the Bombay Command was already laid out, and trips to Baroda, Ahmedabad, Surat, and Cutch-Bhuj followed one another in close succession.
These trips, which made a welcome respite from the heavy office-work and town-life at Headquarters, sometimes included a day's sport and recreation.
On Friday, February 21, the General, his staff officer, and the writer disembarked from the S.S. Kola at Mandvi, in the Gulf of Cutch. This coast is so shallow that the steamers have to lie a long way out, and the process of disembarkation includes transfer from the mail-boat to a steam-launch, thence to a rowing-boat, which runs aground alongside some bullock-drawn waggons. Across the highest timbers of these carts nets are stretched, on which the passengers seat themselves, while the final stage is a chair borne by four natives who are waist-deep in water as they cross the pools in the interminable stretch of sea and sand. A forty-mile drive in a carriage provided by the Rao Saheb of Cutch brought us to the capital where the 17th Bombay Infantry were then quartered. The Resident, whose guests we were, the Commandant of the regiment, four other officers, the doctor, and four ladies made up the whole British contingent.
The inspection went off without memorable incident. The real interest of the trip lay in the native races and the pig-sticking camp, which the Rao Saheb had arranged to fill in the blank days while waiting for the weekly mail-boat.
The Rao Saheb was a man of about thirty, who, together with his younger brother, Karloba, had taken kindly to English ways; they played lawn-tennis on even terms with the officers and their wives, and when on horseback their costume was entirely English except for the brilliant puggri. The camp and all its accessories were furnished by the hospitality of the Rao Saheb; he was our companion throughout the day, dinner alone excepted, and nothing was omitted for the comfort of his guests.
Pig-sticking
We reached Wanoti Camp early in the morning, and the seven men who were carrying spears were soon on horseback. The country was flat and sandy, and bare except where patches of low scrub provided excellent cover. A few beaters were sent forward to drive out the game, and before long you could see some very solid-looking bodies, very low on the ground, moving amongst the bushes at a surprising pace: these were a "sounder" of pigs. The Rao Saheb selected one, the General another, and, being mounted on a capital white pony, I was close at his heels. This boar, which was scored to the General's spear, turned out to be the biggest of the seven which was the total for the day. But he was no sooner dispatched than we were off after another. Again the same spear was the first to touch him; then we lost sight of him as he crashed through a thick hedge. When we emerged through the nearest gap we found that the Resident had picked up his line, but while taking a thrust at him the pig jinked and tripped up the horse, so that both he and his rider rolled in the sand, while the pig went off with the eight-foot spear stuck in his body like a pin in a pin-cushion. If we had not been close at hand the savage creature would have turned and rent the fallen man, who, though unhurt, would have been defenceless.
In the afternoon the beaters started on the other side of the camp, and a most thrilling incident occurred. After a chase of about two miles our pig disappeared over the edge of a forty-foot precipice, which was the cliff-like side of a dry nullah; we had to look for a chine, and after a scrambling descent found him again, rather winded, hiding in a ditch about five feet deep and six to eight feet wide. The General had broken his spear in a previous conflict, and was therefore unarmed. There were two officers only with us, one of whom cried out, "If you do not know how to tackle him yourself, give your spear to the General, and let him try."
He took the proffered spear, and, handing over his pony, stepped down into the nullah, just opposite the boar, and with the lance under his elbow stood facing the fierce creature for some four or five minutes, till the latter suddenly rose up and plunged forward; but the spear was in readiness, the charge was stayed, and the animal fell back, run right through the throat.
While at Bhuj the following telegram reached the General:
"From Military Secretary, Chief, Calcutta: Chief proposes to select you to officiate in command Quetta District during absence of General Galbraith proceeding on leave to England. Please wire if agreeable to you."
It was followed two days later by another, from Sir Charles Nairne, Commander-in-Chief Bombay Army:
"I congratulate you both on going to Quetta. You will have a wide enough field there."
Throughout the month of March the General was kept busy with the preparation and execution of some extensive manoeuvres which took place on the hills near Khandalla. There was also a Horse Show in Bombay to attend to; this was on a bigger scale than had hitherto been attempted. The General rode in several classes, and won the first prize for Arab chargers, and also for the best turn-out in the driving classes. The cheers that greeted him as he appeared in the prize-winners' parade were significant of the public appreciation of the energy that, as chairman of the committee, he had thrown into the undertaking.
Leaves Bombay
On the evening of April 7, as the General Officer Commanding sailed in the transport Warren Hastings for Karachi, en route for Quetta, the nine-gun salute boomed out its farewell greeting in the summer night.
This First-class District, with its headquarters on the lofty plateau known as Quetta, about 6,000 ft. high, was a command wholly congenial to Gatacre's temperament. The office-work was very light; there was a garrison of two battalions of British infantry, one regiment of Native cavalry, and two of Native infantry, besides a complement of artillery, equipped both with oxen and mules, a splendid transport train, and other details. The outposts are on the actual frontier of the British Empire; their very distance and inaccessibility exercised a great attraction for him, so that the official visit to each station became a picnic pleasure-party in a very literal sense. Nothing was wanting, not even battle, murder, and sudden death, to create that sense of danger and adventure that casts its fascinating shadow over this wild frontier land.
As the season in which marching could be accomplished in comfort was already advanced, and the days were fast growing hot and long, it was decided to start very soon after our arrival on a tour of inspection to Fort Sandeman, Lorelai, and other outlying posts. Fort Sandeman lies to the north-east of Quetta, and is in the Lower Zhob Valley; it is 180 miles from Khanai station on the Quetta Railway. A squadron of the 5th Sind Horse, under Captain Sherard, furnished the escort. No supplies could be reckoned on by the way, so that transport had to be drawn to carry six weeks' food for five mounted officers, their servants and horses, and also for the hundred Sowars and their horses, and for the transport animals themselves. This made quite a long line of horses, camels, and mules on the march, and one of the duties of our daily routine was a walk down the transport lines at sunset.
There is not space here to do justice to this delightful ride. We covered between six and seven hundred miles in the six weeks we were out. The early starts while the moon shone brilliantly, the long leisurely days in camp, the evening scramble over the nearest hills, and the nights passed under the clear stars, with no sound but the steady tramp of the sentries; the puzzling alternation of sandy desert and rocky rift, dry nullahs and roaring torrents,—all make up memories of strange and delightful doings never to be spoilt, even by the counter recollections of sun and dust.
In the autumn of the same year Fort Sandeman was the scene of a shocking tragedy. A Sepoy of the 40th Pathans ran amok while on sentry duty one evening outside the officers' mess. According to his deposition later, he had been waiting to get all the five officers into line as they wandered round the billiard-table, so that he might strike them all with one bullet. But the finesse of his idea was defeated by his own impatience; he fired his shot when only three men were covered. Two young officers were so seriously wounded that they fell immediately, and died a few hours later. With great presence of mind and courage, and undismayed by a severe wound in the arm, Mr. Maclachlan gave chase to the murderer, and by raising the alarm and calling out the guard contributed to his capture, though unfortunately this was not effected till the tehsildar and two native clerks had been shot dead.
It was the custom to make the last afternoon of an inspection visit the occasion for a social gathering; sports and trials of skill would be arranged, the native regiments would perform feats of horsemanship, and organize a display of national dancing and wrestling. One peculiarly striking effect was worked out by an officer in the 15th Bengal Lancers at Lorelai. Thirty-two Sowars in their white undress uniform, mounted on white or grey horses, cantered past doing sword-practice, their curved blades flashing in the sun; but the ghostly effect of these white horsemen was enhanced when they were followed by another group mounted entirely on chestnuts, doing lance-practice, the red and white pennons and scarlet cummerbunds adding to the colour scheme.
Lorelai also contributed its note of tragedy, for very shortly after our departure from Beluchistan, Colonel Gaisford (soldier and civilian) was treacherously assassinated in the very dak-bungalow in which we had resided.
The object of a short tour planned for September was formally to take over a strip of land known as the Toba Plateau, which had been recently ceded to the Government of India under an arrangement effected by a Frontier Delimitation Commission. As this was a desolate land with few inhabitants, the General planned to combine this political object with military training in the way of practice in field-firing. He arranged that detachments of the 1st Bombay Grenadiers and of the 26th Beluchis should take part in the manoeuvres, and that the 25th Bombay Rifles should meet him at the camping-ground. It was the first time a white man had been seen in the country. The march abounded with picturesque and amusing incidents. For instance, there was the day when the camel transport lost their way. Their pace being a little slower than that of the mules, and the country that day with its low round sandhills being peculiarly puzzling, they lost touch with the tail of the column. A transport duffedar was sent back to look for the string of camels, but came not again; a corporal was sent on a mule to look for the duffedar, and he came not again. It was now getting late, and darkness would soon fall, so the General himself started on a pony to look for the corporal. It was six o'clock before the camels, who were carrying our tents, mess kit, and clothing, reached the camp, from a point exactly opposite to the direction whence they were expected.
Field-firing
When the rendezvous on Toba Plateau was reached, after about three days' march from Chaman, we settled down for a week, and field-firing in the miniature valleys took place daily. The day before the proposed attack newspapers are spread out with the help of stones in the positions where tribesmen defending their homes would be likely to erect sangars and make a stand. The attacking column, being supplied with ball cartridges, shoot at these targets till they disappear, and then advance till a bend of the valley discloses another imaginary concentration of the enemy. This device presents a very realistic counterfeit of hill warfare.
It seems to me now that all our time at Quetta was spent in such mimic fighting. The wild and desolate country, in which the cantonments lay like an oasis, lent itself admirably to military training; the garrison, complete in all its units, provided the necessary troops of all arms, so that a succession of field-officers were sent up for tactical examination, the practical side of which meant a series of field-days. The General's A.D.C., when called upon for reminiscences, sends the following anecdote:
"His good temper and quiet way of rebuking people was, I have always thought, remarkable. I remember a field-day when an officer had got a company in a very badly chosen spot. The General, in his usual innocent sort of way, went up to him to gather, as it were, information. He always did that: he looked as if he was dying to learn, while really he was leading on the man to talk and show what he knew, or else to convict him out of his own mouth. The Major had no good reason for his dispositions, and when cornered began to quote the drill-book. The General quietly said: 'It's not very good form to throw the drill-book at your General.'"
On a similar occasion, at an outpost parade, the captain in charge of the picquet was unaccountably nervous, and had great difficulty in explaining the "idea." With two words the General put him out of his pain and signalised his incompetence: "You're shot," he said. "Who is next in command?"
On the Sind-Pishin Railway, as the branch line is called that runs from Ruk Junction on the Indus through Quetta and on to Chaman, there is only one train in each direction in the twenty-four hours. The railroad runs for miles over the wildest and most desolate tracts. It is 150 miles from Quetta to Sibi, and Sibi is 100 miles north of Jacobabad. The roadside stations consist merely of a few planks as platform, a hut for the station-master, who is commonly an Eurasian, and a standpipe; sometimes there is a second hut, in which a bunnia does business in food-stuffs and other simple trading.
A massacre
Sunari Station, lying about 100 miles east of Quetta, must have been a place of slightly more importance, for when the Marris fell upon it they found fifteen persons to murder. Unfortunately for him, a European youth, named Canning, a sub-inspector of the line, and son of the station-master at Sibi, happened to be there that fatal morning. As the daily train approached the station between 9 and 10 a.m., the engine-driver was puzzled at not receiving the customary greeting on the signals, but decided to crawl on carefully into the station. It was only too clear that a wholesale slaughter with swords had been perpetrated; the place was strewn with dead bodies, terribly slashed about, and the bunnia's shop had been set on fire. The terrified driver and guard found the station-master with his arm cut off, but still breathing, and carefully laid him on the train, but even this sole survivor of this unparalleled outrage died before the next station was reached. In the meantime the pointsman had fled on foot to the next station, and telegraphed the startling news from there to Quetta.
Very shortly after the arrival of the news the telegraph wires were found to be cut; to imaginative minds a rising of the whole powerful tribe of Marris was imminent. The railroad, which ran for miles through the Marris' country, might be destroyed, the telegraph lines were already severed, all communication with India would thus be cut off, and Quetta isolated might have added another picturesque story to the romantic series of frontier annals.
Very naturally a panic took place at the adjoining railway-stations, some of the station-masters actually constructing amateur wire entanglements with the telegraph stores. A new staff was established at Sunari with a strong guard, and detachments of the 25th Bombay Rifles were posted all along the line. The Political Department offered the very handsome reward of 2,500 rupees for the capture of the three ringleaders, and Gatacre, who had been on short leave at Simla, hurried back to take a hand in the search.
Early in the morning of October 23 the following letter was sent back to Quetta:
"To-day I am going out with some of the Pathans to look over the ground where we hear some of these men have been, possibly are now. I do not think we shall get back to-night, as the ground is said to be very bad, but we have taken our blankets and some food. I should much like to catch these Ghazis; it would be highly satisfactory. The Marris promise Gaisford much, but I think they are humbugging him."
The party left Dalujal Station at 5.30 a.m. The troops were drawn from the 24th Beluchistan Regiment. At nightfall they bivouacked near Dirgi Springs; and next morning, with a view to scouring the hills, the party was divided into four groups. Besides the General there were two British officers, two Native officers, and forty-four Pathans. One British officer was allotted to each party, and a subadar took charge of the fourth; the rendezvous was to be a well-marked peak in the range in front of them. The General, with five Sepoys and a Marri whom he had impressed as guide, took a middle line and made straight for the summit, instructing the other parties to take a wider sweep. He had regarded this peak as a likely place, because he had heard that there was a musjid or small shrine built there, to which the murderers might have resorted for purification after contact with the Feringhi.
As the handful of men crept up the rocky slope a sangar came into view, which was suggestive. The leading Pathan signalled with his hand that all should go silently, and crouch; a few more yards were covered in this way, and then the sangar was rushed. The Sepoys flung themselves upon the two men who were found sleeping behind the rocks with such splendid dash that they all rolled together as the enemy made frantic efforts to get at their knives. But no one was hurt, and in an instant the prisoners were securely bound with the puggris of their captors.
The other search-parties now appeared on the scene, and very soon discovered the third Ghazi, who, being also asleep in fancied security, had no chance to get away. Three others, who had been sent away to draw water, were now seen approaching, but they turned and fled. The nature of the ground made it impossible to follow them on their own mountains with any chance of success.
At noon the little force started back. On this return journey the General shifted his position from leading to bringing up the rear; for he anticipated that a stampede might be made on the part of the prisoners with the intention of knocking him down the khud, while in the scuffle and panic they would hope to effect their escape. This reasoned caution in protecting his life against obvious and purposeless dangers was as habitual and spontaneous with the General as was his forwardness in disregarding the risks when occasion demanded. He was punctilious in protecting himself against sunstroke, and wore a pad down his spine as well as the universal topee, and by such personal heedfulness safeguarded his life and general health.
However, on this particular occasion his precaution nearly proved disastrous. As the string of men crept down the mountain-side a jemadar noticed that one of the Sepoys had failed to uncock his rifle, and gave the necessary order. A shot rang out. The General's helmet was blown off his head, and was picked up blackened with the smoke of the charge. He is said to have smiled, as he rescued the Sepoy from the jemadar's wrath and secured the empty cartridge as a memento.
Beluchi murderers.
When the party reached Sunari Station, after a march of seventeen miles, the General discovered that there was no political officer there to whom he could hand over the prisoners, so that there was no choice but to march another six miles to Dalujal. Here the murderers were taken over by the Civil Department. The irons with which they were immediately loaded seemed fantastically medieval in their weight and simplicity. But on the other hand, nothing could have been more fantastic than the proceedings of the Englishman who had effected their capture. This was the view taken by Sir George White, the Commander-in-Chief, though he little guessed when he wrote how very nearly his words had come true.
"I congratulate you on the way in which you managed and executed the capture. I am also very glad to know we have General Officers commanding first-class districts who take to the hills for amusement, but I must also say that I don't think the job was quite one for the G.O.C. to conduct personally. If they had managed to get a bullet into you it would have made the affair one of very sinister importance. However, from that point of view, 'all is well that ends well.'"
A death sentence
A few days later the headmen of the Marri tribe handed over the other three men implicated, and at Sibi, on November 2, the three Ghazis, Fakir Kala Khan, Jalamb, and Rahim Ali, atoned for their misdeeds. The sentence was death by hanging followed by public cremation.[[1]]
[[1]] Compare Beluchistan Gazette, October 29, November 5, 1896, and Civil and Military Gazette, November 12, 1896.
On the return of the troops to Quetta great excitement prevailed when, through the presence of a strong guard at the station, it became known that the promised treasure was on the same train. Of course this was divided amongst the Sepoys only; all those who went to the mountain had a share, with extra money to those who actually took a hand in the fray. It was evening when the train came in, so that it was not till we reached the house that I noticed the blackened helmet, and saw the rent cut by the bullet. When called upon for an explanation, the emotion of that moment took possession of him again: it was the only time that I heard his voice break.
Throughout that summer Mr. Curry and the railway engineers had been busy over the new railroad that was to connect Sibi and Quetta via the Bolan Pass. This line is shorter than the Hurnai route by fifty miles, but it had hitherto presented insuperable difficulties to the engineer. Two previous attempts had been made; but the floods rise so high in the gorges and had twice so completely wrecked the permanent way, that this route had been discarded by Sir James Browne, who preferred to tackle the Chupper Rift with his magnificent suspension bridge. But owing to the unreliability of the shifting sands at Mud Gorge it was imperative for military purposes to have an alternative line. The new Bolan-Mushkaf railroad was completed in November 1896. To give the General an opportunity of seeing this triumph of construction, Mr. Curry decided to initiate the new service on the day of our departure from Quetta. The eight months' acting appointment reached its conclusion on November 30, 1896, and the first mail train left Quetta for Sibi on that day at 10 a.m., carrying Gatacre back to resume his substantive appointment at Bombay.