CHAPTER IX.
Camp Life at Cabul—Afghan Costermongers—Curiosity of Villagers—The Hazaras—Surrender of Firearms—City Traders—The Purchase of Transport Animals—Peaceful State of the Country—The Abdication of the Amir—His Reasons for the Step—Assumption of the Government by the British—General Roberts’s Proclamation—Arrest of the Amir—Progress of the Inquiry into the Massacre—The Murder of Abdul Karim—Military Executions-Seizure of Treasure.
Camp Siah Sung, 25th October.
Our lines are cast in pleasant places just at present; for, apart from the political puzzle which some of us study, and which I have already tried to explain, there is nothing to disturb our equanimity. We have a high and dry encamping ground, from which we can travel down at our leisure, either citywards, to explore the mysteries of Cabul and ponder over the Bala Hissar, now rapidly being cleared out; or else down into the Cabul plain, to exercise our horses on the racecourse, or over the water-channels which everywhere intersect the fields. The view on every side is an impressive one, for the mountains which keep watch and ward over Cabul are very picturesque, rising abruptly from the fields below, and seeming to shut us out securely from the petty world beyond. News of that outer world has been very scant of late, and it is with ill-concealed impatience that many of us turn eastward to where the Khurd Cabul and Jugdulluck Hills hide the long valley up which the Khyber column is crawling with tortoise-slowness. There comes no heliographic flash down to cheer us, and one might as well consult the impassible Hindu Kush itself. But there is a pleasanter outlook westwards. Through the gorge in rear of the city we catch a glimpse of the Chardeh Valley, a very Eden of fertility, and in the far background is the high range of mountains forming the sky-line towards distant Turkistan, over which we have gorgeous sunsets that more than atone for the chilliness which creeps over Siah Sung Ridge as the day closes. We have the sharp air of the early morning to brace us for routine work that must be gone through, and such genial warmth all day as to make the shade of our tight little tents seem almost superfluous. Whatever of cold and discomfort there may be in store for us, we are comfortable enough now, though perhaps the air bites shrewdly at mid-night to the sentry at his post. His outlook is chiefly for thieves who may think there is loot to be got in our camp; but we seem to have frightened the people into honesty, for robberies are unknown. Our camp is thronged with petty traders, and in convenient spots are little bazaars for our soldiers and camp-followers, to whom they are a rare boon. Fruit in abundance is exposed most temptingly: grapes, apples, pears, and pomegranates being sold so cheaply that a few pice will buy sufficient to satisfy even a soldier’s appetite; while melons of a flavour and succulency almost unknown to us poor dwellers in Hindustan are piled together in profusion. The usual curry-stuffs and native delicacies are ranged alongside these edibles; and occasionally some delicious beetroot or a gigantic cabbage nestling in a heap of bright-skinned onions tempts a khansamah doing his day’s marketing to halt and haggle in a lordly manner until a fair bargain is struck. The Afghan “coster” is not an easy personage to deal with, for he has learnt the value of our rupees, and is determined to make the most of the present opportunity. In our canvas streets there is all day long a busy stream of men and boys eagerly selling wares from the city and surrounding villages, and if so inclined we could spend hours in making casual purchases. In the early morning villagers with their simple produce of fowls, ducks, pigeons, eggs, jars of milk and clotted cream—the latter particularly good—come sauntering in and pass away their time in intently gazing at our strange freaks in the way of early “tubs” or substantial breakfasts. Their livestock slung across their shoulders, or carelessly carried head downwards, appears quite a secondary consideration, until they are pounced upon by some bon-vivant, who thinks life is not worth living if it is merely to be sustained by commissariat rations—now, alas! minus their redeeming feature of wholesome rum. Once the villager sees a bargain may be made, he wakes up suddenly to the fact of having something to sell, and in the patois of the country explains the number of rupees or annas he requires. That he does not get them need scarcely be said, as his first prices are exorbitant; but after some pantomimic action, or by calling in the aid of some Pathan sepoy near at hand, terms are arranged, and with the silver bits stowed away mysteriously in his waistcloth the innocent native wends his way to another part of the camp, there to dispose of more of his stock. When he has got rid of his little store he does not, as a conscientious husbandman should, go quietly home, but hangs about our tents with a face full of inquiry and amazement. He pushes his curiosity at times almost to impertinence, perhaps with the philanthropic idea of giving us a few wrinkles as to the proper mode of living in this part of the world; but at the first sharp word he “moves on” a few paces, and turns his attention to some other feature of our local life. That he is poor and strictly dishonest there can be no reasonable doubt; but his poverty will pass away if we stay long at Cabul, and his dishonesty will be covered with the cloak of simplicity as long as military law prevails. This class of peasant who comes into our midst is not of the usual bloodthirsty Afghan type; and he comes too, without arms, for our proclamation against carrying weapons is now widely known, and whatever he may be on his native heath, when his tribe is on the war-path, he looks inoffensive enough now.
Among our other visitors are the Hazaras: the hewers of wood and drawers of water, as they have been called, of all Afghanistan. Their Mongol type of face, beardless and with the true slanting eyes of their race, is noticeable at once among the Jewish-looking Afghans whom they serve so well. Sunburnt, and with many coats of dirt upon them, they look the real labourers of the land; and as their stalwart backs are generally bent under heavy loads of firewood or huge sacks of forage, it can be seen they are no drones. They are always very intent upon their work, never loitering or wonder-struck; and in this respect they resemble the Ghoorkas. They are good-humoured and happy enough, and any stray salutation cast to them is always answered by a smile and a nod of their felt-crowned heads, as if kindness were too rare not to be acknowledged. Sometimes their burdens are very different from those just mentioned, for they come staggering in with a score of matchlocks or Enfield rifles on their backs which their village maliks have sent in to be bought up and destroyed by the Sirkar. This bringing in of arms has been quite a feature of camp life, it being by no means unusual to meet a file of these men, each laden with the guns that are to be given up. They are thrown down, and counted by soldiers told off for the duty, and the idlers from the city gather round to stare at our contemptuous examination of the weapons. As most of the guns are loaded and even doubled-loaded, it is somewhat risky to meddle with them; but curiosity prompts us to look down muzzles and cock triggers in a most reckless way. The Sniders are safe enough to handle, as the breech can be opened and any cartridge withdrawn; but with the others it is different. Tower-marked Enfields rest side by side with the old two-grooved Brunswick rifle; while Cabul-made smooth-bores and imitation Enfields are mixed with jhezails and the “Brown Besses” the Indian Government gave away so lavishly in the days of their foolishness. We are destroying these arms—locks, stock, and barrel—except in the case of such Sniders as seem really serviceable. The Afghan Snider is by no means a badly-made weapon, and the cartridges from the Bala Hissar Arsenal are equally good. The latter are of a kind known as solid-drawn, with strong bases, and if recapped can be used several times with perfect safety. Where machinery and skilled mechanics are scarce, this is, of course, a great consideration. We do not find many cartridges delivered up, and it seems a pity that a small price was not fixed upon powder and lead so as to make disarmament more complete. There are thousands of good rifles still scattered over the country, in the hands of the Amir’s soldiers; and, in the future, ammunition will be greatly in request, now that the Bala Hissar has fallen into our hands. A few swords, bayonets, and knives, have come in, but they are of no account. We have received over 3,000 rifles and guns of the different kinds mentioned, and more will, perhaps, be given up.
Far removed from the villagers and the Hazaras are the more pretentious city traders, who bring poshteens, furs, native cloth, chinaware, old coins, Bokhara silks, Persian carpets, jewellery, and precious stones for sale. They are mostly Kizilbashes and Cabul-born Hindus, many of whom have travelled far and have seen most of the cities of Central and Western Asia. As traders they are as keen as Jew pedlars: as visitors they make themselves as much at home as our intimate friends. To bargain with them is an exercise in chicanery that would quicken the wits of a Shylock: to listen to their soft flattery as they extol the benefits of British rule is to believe that we are the finest race in the world. The chicanery is glossed over and hidden by the soothing praises of our benevolence, and the crimson-turbaned Kizilbash or caste-marked Hindu, who has sat himself on our stool or squatted in our tent is enriched accordingly. We buy furs that would cost us less in Peshawur, and silks that, perhaps, have never seen a Bokhara loom, and think we have done well in our bargaining; whereas, most likely, the worthy traders have netted excessive profits. It is the old story of our rupees filling the coffers of the people we have come among as conquerors, and of our pride forbidding us to acknowledge it. And yet we enjoy the chaffering with these rascals, and find an amusement in making them turn out their pockets. From one will be produced a rare fox-skin, from another a Russian tea-cup and saucer (made in England, but stamped with the Moscow dealer’s name); from a third a little packet of diamonds or turquoises—the latter often of a beautiful colour, but marred by flaws. Then the rings on the man’s finger are taken off and examined, the owner fixing a price that is almost prohibitive on each stone; or a curiously-worked belt and pouch is unbuckled at our insistance, and appraised in the usual way. And so on to the end of the chapter. But Kizilbash or Hindu is more than a match for the Western Kafir; and one is tempted to believe that the Caucasian is really “played out” as far as astuteness in trading goes. Perhaps we may be more successful in dealing with the genuine Afghan in the city bazaars which we are now beginning to visit.
Besides the mercenary bartering that wiles away our leisure, there is plenty of stir and excitement in our camp life. Maliks and chiefs from a distance are met in little knots, seeking out the political officers, or waiting upon the commissariat officers to enter into contracts for food supply; gaily-apparalled horsemen come to show off the graces of their Turcoman steeds; while ragged urchins on yaboos, the strong ponies peculiar to the country, ride here and there in easy confidence, halting occasionally to exchange opinions on local affairs. Near the head-quarters of the 1st Brigade is quite a little horse-fair, where General Macpherson passes in review some hundreds of yaboos daily, and purchases largely for transport purposes. The noisy, chattering crowd is densest here, and the yaboo fights are numerous, each pony choosing his nearest neighbour as a fit object of attack. Near by is the Amir’s tent with its little cluster of attendants’ pals about it, and a sentry from a guard of Europeans stationed over them pacing smartly to and fro. At times a few prisoners with an escort of sepoys are marched past on their way to the tent in head-quarters, where the military commission sits which is to try them; or on “execution days” a company of Europeans swing past with one or two men in their midst, and take the path down the ridge to the Bala Hissar, where the gallows is waiting ready. On the circular bit of raised ground, at the western end of the head-quarters’ camp and overlooking the city, is a little party of signallers near a large brass field-piece captured at Sherpur, and now used as a time-gun. The heliograph flashes up in response to one on the Bala Hissar ridge, which is speaking to Kushi, and we know that news is travelling to and from the Shutargardan. In the evening one of the bands plays on this natural band-stand, around the flag-staff which is reared in the centre, and with the last strains of “God Save the Queen” our day closes, the flag is furled, and we pass into the warmth and comfort of our snug little tents. Beneath all this surface of visible camp-life is the steady current of routine work, which goes on unceasingly and smoothly, no outside influences acting as disturbing agents. Our men are healthy and contented; their wounded comrades are doing well; supplies are coming in abundantly; and, looking down upon Sherpur, we see that warm winter quarters are being got ready; so all, apart from political questions, is rose-coloured.
Camp Siah Sung, 28th October.
This morning only did it become publicly known that Yakub Khan had abdicated the Amirship, the newspapers brought in by the mail from India giving all beyond General Roberts and his immediate advisers their first news of the occurrence. It was, of course, on account of possible mischief ensuing if the abdication were made known and the Government afterwards refused to accept it, that secrecy was observed regarding the Amir’s act; and, singularly enough, while people in India and England have been speculating as to the probable consequences of the step, we on the spot have been in happy ignorance of the under-current of events. The incidents of the abdication were as follows:—October 12th was the day appointed for the Proclamation in the Bala Hissar, at which the Amir had been ordered to attend. At six o’clock in the morning of that day he left his camp below the Siah Sung Ridge, and went with only two servants to Major Hastings, Chief Political Officer, and asked for an immediate interview with General Roberts. In a few minutes he was ushered into the General’s tent, and at his request a private interview was granted. Yakub Khan was greatly excited, and he abruptly announced his intention of resigning the Amirship. His life, he said, had become so miserable that he could no longer endure it. Sir F. Roberts at once asked him to consider what he was saying, as abdication was a very serious step. The Amir persisted in saying that his mind was made up; he had intended to resign at Kushi, but was persuaded by his Ministers not to do so. Now he would sooner be a grass-cutter in the British camp than remain Amir of Cabul. He earnestly wished that his resignation should be accepted; and, for himself, he was ready to go to India, London, Malta, or wherever the Viceroy should choose to send him. General Roberts again requested him to reconsider the matter, and placed a tent at his disposal near head-quarters. At ten o’clock, the hour fixed for falling in for the procession to the Bala Hissar, the Amir again visited the General, and announced that his decision was fixed: he wished to resign at once. Sir F. Roberts replied that he himself could not accept the resignation without having consulted the Viceroy, and he asked the Amir to let matters remain in statu quo until an answer could be received from Simla, the British authorities in the meantime carrying on the Government in the Amir’s name. Yakub Khan agreed to this without further parley, but asked permission to absent himself from the Bala Hissar that morning, as the excitement and trouble he had undergone had made him ill. He would order his eldest son and all the principal sirdars to attend and hear the Proclamation read. He was accordingly excused, and the same afternoon his tents and those of his personal attendants were moved to the head-quarters. He knew nothing of the contents of the Proclamation of October 12th, and was quite unaware of the intended arrest of his Ministers. Such were the circumstances attending his abdication.
Up to this afternoon it was believed that the ex-Amir was acting in good faith, but within the last few hours we have had reason to change our opinion. Since the entrance into the Bala Hissar, on October 12th, Yakub Khan has been living in a large tent close to head-quarters, and has had about him a little army of servants, whose tents also have been pitched about that of their master. He was reported to be much happier in his mind now that his scheming Ministers had been removed from about his person, and once or twice he had shown himself among us in the evening, walking with General Roberts up and down the row of tents in which the Staff are lodged, and listening with much delight to the band playing near. The restraint placed upon him after he had come voluntarily into our camp from among his own people on the lower slope of the Ridge, was merely that a guard of twenty European soldiers was stationed over his tents, while two sentries paced before them night and day. This was his “guard of honour” nominally, though if he had tried to escape they would instantly have become his gaolers. It was most important that we should have him with us while we were examining into the guilt of the various persons concerned in the Massacre; for if once he had been a free agent, he would probably have been made an instrument of intrigue by such men as the Mustaufi and the Wazir. This was proved by the episode of Nek Mahomed’s visit to him at Charasia the day before the action of the 6th, the commander-in-chief of the rebel army returning to Cabul and proclaiming that the Amir had ordered all men to resist the British force. Thus was there every reason to keep him under fairly close surveillance, as the scattered units of his disbanded army are still capable of doing harm if once gathered together. In my letter of the 23rd I pointed out very fully the anomalous position we were occupying here: proclaiming the Amir’s authority on the one hand, and appropriating all his stores and munitions of war on the other. This was, of course, written without knowledge of what had occurred on the 12th; and, viewed in the new light that has now scattered the political darkness here, the anomaly at once vanishes. Yakub Khan had voluntarily cast away all power and responsibility, and the only course remaining for Sir F. Roberts was to assume the discarded authority and take every means to secure order in Cabul. The clearing out of the Bala Hissar and the appropriation of all that it contained, except Yakub Khan’s personal property, now stands out as merely an ordinary taking over of effects surrendered to us, and not the spoliation of a sovereign whose authority we were re-establishing. We could not, in fact, have done otherwise, unless we had waited for a declaration of the ministerial policy at home, and the delay might, perhaps, have had mischievous results.