Sir Frederick Roberts rested for the night at Argandeh, and yesterday morning rode on to Maidan. Striking the Ghazni Road a mile from Argandeh, we followed its course over the kotal and soon began to descend. The hills on either side were as bare as any in Afghanistan, and the plain between them was only partially cultivated. After about four miles a chowki (watch-tower) was reached on a little rise, and looking to the south we saw the district of Maidan stretching before us. It is a beautiful valley, landlocked on every side, the Cabul river running through it about a mile from the foot of the western hills. The valley must be at least four miles across; and, with the exception of low rolling downs, covered with stones and rocks, for about a mile on its eastern flank is as flat as its name, Maidan (open plain), implies. Twenty or thirty walled enclosures and villages on the banks of the Cabul stream stand out from amid poplars, willows, and plane trees, which fringe the banks of the sparkling little river, and for many square miles nothing is seen but endless corn-fields, each with its little boundary of mud, along which the water slowly wanders as it does its work of irrigation. The road falls rapidly from the chowki, and a few hundred yards below bifurcates, the main route to Ghazni going straight to the south over the rolling downs I have mentioned, and a bridle-path leading down to the villages of the plain. General Baker’s camp is pitched at Naure Falad, two miles from the chowki, down in the plain near the first of the fortified enclosures, its rear being guarded by a high rocky ridge. From the summit of this a splendid view of Maidan is obtained, and the extraordinary fertility of the valley fully appreciated. To the west the ridge runs sharply down into the plain, and the valley is there narrowed to half a mile, but it opens out again to the north among the hills. The main road to Bamian, which strikes off from the Ghazni Road before the chowki in the kotal is reached, runs across this part of the valley and enters the Ispekhawk Pass, a few miles further on.
Yesterday afternoon a small party of cavalry were fired upon in the Darra Narkh, a valley running in the Bamian direction, and to-day Bahadur Khan, who was responsible for the action, and who is known to be harbouring Afghan soldiers, has been visited and punished. He had already given much trouble. General Baker, since his arrival in Maidan, has found much difficulty in inducing the maliks of the villages of the district to bring in corn and bhoosa. They have given the tribute grain and forage readily enough, but have evaded furnishing the amount we required in addition to this. Every maund was paid for at a forced rate, which, I may state, was far higher than the normal prices; but the village headmen hung back, and, though profuse in promises, made but little effort to meet our wants. Several of them were very insolent in their bearing, and no doubt thought to worry us out by their procrastination. But General Baker is not the stamp of man to have his orders disobeyed, and by confining some of the maliks to the camp for a few days, he had gradually brought them to their senses. One malik, however, trusting to the obscure valley in which he lived, wherein Europeans had never been known to penetrate, was obstinate. This was Bahadur Khan, whose fort is about eight miles from the Maidan villages, along the branch road which leads to Bamian. He not only refused to sell any of his huge store of grain and forage, but insolently declined to come into camp. He was known to have great influence among the tribesmen in his neighbourhood, and it was reported that some sepoys of the Ardal regiments were living under his protection. When Sir F. Roberts heard of the contumacy of this malik, he agreed with General Baker that it would be well to fetch him in by force, and at the same time to arrest any sepoys found in his villages. To accomplish this double object the cavalry were sent out yesterday, with the result already stated, that they were fired upon by a large body of men, including some 200 sepoys armed with Sniders. It was necessary to make an example of Bahadur Khan, and at the same time to break up the tribal gathering, which, if left alone, might grow to serious proportions. Our foraging parties would probably have been roughly handled in scattered villages, all of which boast of towers and fortified enclosures, if the rumour had been allowed to circulate that our cavalry had been driven back.
Tents having been struck at daybreak, the baggage of the force was packed up and placed within a fort near the Cabul river, under a guard of 300 men, drawn equally from the 92nd Highlanders, 3rd Sikhs, and 5th Punjab Infantry, with a squadron of the 14th Bengal Lancers and a troop of the 9th Lancers. The two guns of 9-3[prev G-3], R.H.A., were also left behind, as the road to the villages was known to be difficult for wheeled guns. The troops which marched out were 400 of the 92nd, 300 of the 3rd Sikhs, 300 of the 5th N.I., a troop of the 9th Lancers, a squadron of the 14th B.L., and four guns of the Kohat Mountain Battery. General Baker was in command of this compact little column, which was not encumbered with transport animals, as a rapid march was intended. Sir F. Roberts, with Colonel Macgregor, also rode out with his personal escort. It was bitterly cold in the early morning, and all but the swiftest running streams were coated over with ice. The troops carried with them one day’s cooked provisions, but were otherwise in light marching order. A point was made for a little to the south-west, where the Darra Narkh stream falls into the Cabul river, and then a due westerly course was followed up the narrow valley through which the former stream runs. The usual mountainous country was seen on either hand, high hills closing down on the valley, and presenting treeless slopes barren of all verdure. The two rivers had to be crossed by fords, and the men went through the icy-cold water as carelessly as if wading a stream in summer. The sepoys stripped off their putties, and made light of the floating ice which barked their shins, while the Highlanders in their kilts seemed rather to enjoy the bracing cold. The road was fairly well-defined and ran through cultivated fields, with an occasional fortified homestead or country villa relieving the monotony of the landscape. Information was brought from time to time of the movements of Bahadur Khan, it being at first stated that he had 2,000 or 3,000 men ready to meet us. About seven miles from the camp the road was commanded by a high ridge on the left, and beyond this, we were told, lay the open valley in which the cavalry had been attacked. This ridge was at its highest point 800 or 1,000 feet above the roadway, and on the previous evening had been lined with men. Now it appeared quite deserted, and the cavalry swept round it and waited in a friendly village until the infantry could come up. A local malik volunteered the news that Bahadur Khan and his followers had taken all their movable property away during the night and had fled to the hills. When the Lancers first appeared round the ridge and pushed forward into the horseshoe-shaped valley, they saw fifty or sixty men on some low hills to the north, a gunshot from Bahadur Khan’s chief fort; and as these moved down the slopes, it seemed probable that a body of tribesmen might be lying hidden behind the crests. Possibly the Ghilzais expected that only cavalry were again about to pay them a visit, and were emboldened to come to the lower levels. As soon as the advanced company of the Highlanders appeared on the road, the “enemy,” if fifty are worthy of the name, drew off hurriedly to the highest hill, a couple of miles distant, and watched our movements. General Baker directed one company of the 92nd to advance in skirmishing order, and occupy a rocky hill overlooking Bahadur Khan’s fort, and commanding it at 700 or 800 yards, and sent a company of Sikhs round to the north, with orders to drive out any men who might be occupying the lower hills. It was soon seen that the place was quite deserted, and not a shot was fired from any of the hills. The whole valley lay before us dotted over with fortified homesteads, surrounded by grain-fields already green with sprouting corn. It seemed wonderfully fertile, and extended over many square miles; other and smaller valleys penetrating between the hills wherever there was a break in their continuous line. The exact extent of these minor valleys could not be estimated, but native report stated that the fertility was equal to that of the rich plain stretching away to the north-west for five or six miles. When it was seen that no opposition was to be offered, the Sikhs doubled down upon the fort from the low hills above it, and at the same time another company raced across the fields from the southern entrance to the valley, all being anxious to be in “at the loot.” It was a pretty sight watching the sepoys doubling along and spreading out as the fort and the village near it were gained. Clouds of dust with the gleam of lance-heads shining out soon arose further to the left in the heart of the valley, showing where the cavalry were galloping off to more distant homesteads. All Bahadur Khan’s villages, some ten in number, were marked down to be looted and burnt, and Sikhs and sowars were quickly engaged in the work. The houses were found stored with bhoosa, straw, firewood, and twigs for the winter as well as a small quantity of corn, and as there was not time to clear this out, and we could not afford to leave a force for the night in such a dangerous position so near to the hills, orders were given to fire the villages and destroy the houses and their contents. No better men than Sikhs could he found for such work, and in a few minutes Bahadur Khan’s villages were in flames, and volumes of dense black smoke pouring over the valley, a high wind aiding the fire with frantic earnestness. The villagers had carried off all their portable property, not even a charpoy remaining, but the Sikhs ransacked every place for hidden treasure, and smashed down the earthen corn-bins in hope of gaining a prize. These corn-bins seemed quite a feature of every house. They are three or four feet square and made of sun-dried clay, often fancifully ornamented with scroll-work. They stand on a raised platform in the living-room, and have near the bottom a small hole in which a piece of rag is stuffed. This answers to the tap of a barrel, for when the rag is withdrawn the grain pours out, and the daily supply can he drawn just as we would draw a tankard of beer in an English farm-house. Indian corn, from which rich chupaties (unleavened cakes) are made, is chiefly stored in this way, and near the bins stand the grinding-stones, at which the women of the house prepare the flour for the household. Generally an adjoining room is turned into a kitchen, the earthen floor being skilfully burrowed to form ovens, and round holes cut out on which to place the dekchies which serve for Afghan pots and kettles. Such of the rooms as I went into were dark and dirty enough, small square holes in the walls serving as windows, and the roofs being made up of thick logs laid a foot apart, and covered over with twigs, on which a foot of mud had been plastered. The Sikhs fired house after house, and every room was soon converted into a huge reverberating furnace, the fire having no means of escape through the roofs, which were very strong. Nearly all the houses were two-storied, with narrow wooden or mud staircases, and many a sepoy in his haste first fired the lower rooms, stored with wood or bhoosa, and then rushed upstairs intent on loot, soon to be driven down again by the smoke and flames from below. The search after household goods was varied by exciting chases after the fowls, ducks, and donkeys of the village. Sikhs and kahars, who had come up with the dandies (stretchers for wounded men), scrambled over housetops, and through blinding smoke, to capture the dearly-prized moorgie, while below an unoffending donkey would be chased frantically round awkward corners and over frozen watercourses, where pursuers and pursued alike came to grief. A donkey when captured was laden with such little loot as the men thought worth while carrying off. Each fowl had its neck wrung on the spot, was thrown into a convenient bit of fire in some blazing house, and having been singed clean of its feathers, was cooked in a few minutes, and eaten with infinite enjoyment. The cavalry were fortunate enough to secure fifty sheep and a few cows, which were driven to camp. After two or three hours had been spent in firing the various villages owned by Bahadur Khan, the order to fall in for the homeward march was given, and leaving the valley draped in smoke and the fire still working its will, the troops filed off for Maidan. They reached camp by evening, having marched seventeen miles over difficult ground and through half-frozen streams without mishap. As the rear-guard left, a few men appeared on the heights of the north and fired a few shots at long ranges, but these were merely in bravado.[[27]] We could learn nothing of the body of tribesmen and the 200 sepoys, and it is believed they have dispersed. The punishment of Bahadur Khan will have a great effect upon the whole district of Maidan, as it will show the maliks that they are not safe from our troops even in their most obscure valleys. General Baker remains in the neighbourhood of Maidan until next week, all the available transport animals from Sherpur being now engaged in carrying to our cantonments the large quantities of corn and bhoosa collected. Our winter supply of forage seems likely to be assured.
CHAPTER XIV.
Deportation of Yakub Khan to India—Review of his Reign—The Scene on the Morning of December 1st—Precautions along the Road to Jugdulluck—Strengthening of the Posts—Tribal Uneasiness about Cabul—Attitude of the Kohistanis—General Baker’s Brigade ordered to Sherpur—The State of Afghan Turkistan—Its Effect upon Kohistan—Gholam Hyder and his Army—The Extent of his Power—Return of his disbanded Regiments to their Homes in Kohistan—Our Policy towards the Afghans—Failure of the Attempt to conciliate the People—Modifications necessary—Murder of our Governor of Maidan.
Sherpur, 1st December.
The ex-Amir of Afghanistan, Sirdar Yakub Khan, is now well on his way to India: the order for his deportation having been carried out so silently and quickly that, while I am writing, the majority of men in Sherpur cantonments are ignorant of his departure. As I ventured to predict in forwarding the news of the close of the Commission of Inquiry, Yakub Khan’s fate is that of an exile to India; but even now we are in the dark here as to whether he will be treated as a State prisoner, and allowed to live in luxurious comfort, or will be sent to the Andamans, to drag out his life as a common malefactor. If the latter, it will be an ignoble ending of a career which in its earlier stages promised such brilliant achievements. Yakub Khan was once the first soldier in Afghanistan, but from the evil moment when he confided in the word of his father, his fame was at an end. Five years’ captivity—and such captivity as only Shere Ali could devise—broke his spirit, dulled his intellect, and left him the weak incapable we treated with at Gundamak, and confided in so blindly until the fatal week in September. That under fairer auspices he might have proved a strong ruler, such as the Afghans require, can scarcely[scarcely] admit of a doubt; that he would have been a Dost Mahomed even his most ardent admirers would hesitate to assert. The conditions of government in a country like Afghanistan compel the sovereign either to be a tyrant or the tool of factions: Yakub Khan, during his few months of power, was the latter. His accession to the throne took place under circumstances to cope with which, even in the prime of his manhood before imprisonment had crippled him, would have taxed his power to the uttermost. After five years in a dungeon he was suddenly liberated by his father, only to find that father in the last stage of defeat and despair, his kingdom practically at the mercy of a powerful invader, and himself a panic-stricken fugitive. Left first as Shere Ali’s regent, Yakub Khan could do nothing beyond watch, with Oriental submission to fate, the advance of the two invading armies up the Jellalabad and Kurram Valleys. The help which Shere Ali expected to receive from his Russian friends over the Oxus was not forthcoming; in a few weeks came the news of the death of the Amir at Mazar-i-Sharif, and Yakub found himself in possession of a kingdom already tottering to its fall. If he had had the energy of Dost Mahomed he might have organized armies, called upon the semi-barbarous tribes still lying between Cabul and India to join his soldiers in a holy war, and make a supreme effort to check the invasion which had driven his father from the capital. But that energy was lacking; he made but a faint-hearted appeal to the fanaticism of the hill-tribes, and, unsupported as this was by any real attempt to collect the scattered units of Shere Ali’s once-powerful army, it necessarily failed. Nothing was left to him but negotiation; and, thanks to the clemency of the enemy to whom he was opposed, he was granted terms which, in his position, he could scarcely have hoped to gain. He allied himself with the most powerful State in Asia, and the safety of his kingdom was assured against all foreign aggression. If he had been a tyrant to his subjects, and thoroughly determined to make his will their law, the reception in his capital of an Embassy from the Power with which he was allied would have been fraught with no danger either to himself or to the Ambassador. But he had not the strength of tyranny sufficient to control the factions of which he was a mere tool, and it seems only too probable that he gradually drifted from his first position of sincerity towards his new allies, to that of a timid spectator of intrigues against the alliance. His weakness and vacillation could not check the danger that was growing so formidable, and, when the final outbreak came, his personal influence was even unequal to saving the life of the man who had trusted so implicitly in his good faith. That Yakub desired the death of Sir Louis Cavagnari we do not believe; that he had been led, insidiously, by men about him to coincide in the view that the Embassy should be forced to leave may be readily credited. And once that Embassy had been destroyed, there is only too much reason to suppose that he was inclined to parley with the men who had brought about its destruction, and to listen to their plausible reasoning that what had been done was irrevocable. The access of personal fear, which drove him to seek safety in the British camp, no more excuses him of responsibility for his acts of omission or commission, than does the voluntary surrender of a murderer condone the crime he has committed. So far as human canons are concerned, repentance cannot blot out guilt, however much it may modify judgment: the supreme quality of mercy is impossible under ordinary conditions of life. Taking the most pitiful estimate of Yakub Khan’s offence, putting aside the idea even of participation in the views of the men who wished him to break the engagements to which he stood pledged, there is the one unpardonable crime still clinging to him—that he stood by, and made no sign, while the lives of men were sacrificed which should have been sacred to him, even according to the narrow creed of the fanatics who surrounded him. His own words, when refusing the help that was so dearly needed, rise up against him when he appeals to our forbearance: “It is not to be done.” Perhaps, hereafter, the same answer may be given when we are asked to preserve the integrity of a country which has always repaid friendship with falsehood, trust with treachery.
From the 28th of October until his departure for India this morning, Yakub Khan had been a close prisoner in our camp, the tent in which he was confined being always strongly guarded, and no one beyond our own officers being allowed access to him. The monotony and solitude have told upon him, of course, and he is now thinner and more worn than when he first took refuge with General Baker at Kushi. Before the closing day of the inquiry he was contented and placid enough; but of late he has displayed some anxiety as to his probable fate, the irksomeness of the restraint under which he was placed having, no doubt, largely contributed to this. He could hear all the busy life in camp about him, but was as much shut out from it as if a prisoner again in the Bala Hissar. The bayonets of the sentries who quartered the ground day and night about his tent were a barrier beyond which he could not pass. The departure for India, Malta, or London, which he had expressed himself so willing to undertake nearly two months ago, must have seemed to him hopeless, even so late as six o’clock last night, when Major Hastings, Chief Political Officer, paid his usual visit to the tent, then guarded by fifty men of the 72nd Highlanders. Major Hastings said nothing of the orders which had been received from the Government, as it had been resolved to give as short a notice as possible of the intended journey, for fear of complications on the road to Peshawur. Not that it was at all likely an effort would be made to rouse the tribes to attempt a rescue, but that nothing was to be gained by an open parade of the departure. At eight o’clock Major Hastings sent word to Yakub Khan that he intended paying him a second visit; and, accompanied by Mr. H. M. Durand, Political Secretary to the Lieutenant-General, he again went to the tent. Yakub Khan was a little astonished at the unusual hour chosen for the visit; but when told that he would have to leave Cabul for India at six o’clock the next morning, he kept his composure admirably. He expressed surprise that such short notice should be given, but beyond this did not question the arrangements. He asked that his father-in-law, Yahiya Khan, and two other sirdars now in confinement should be released and allowed to accompany him. This, of course, could not be granted, and he then asked to what place in India he was to be taken, and where the Viceroy was. This was all the concern he showed. The orders received here are to convey him safely to Peshawur; so but little information as to his final resting-place could be vouchsafed him. I may here incidentally mention that he will probably go on to Umritsar or Lahore, where, perhaps, the decision of the Government will be made known to him.
All the arrangements for the journey had been carefully made beforehand. There were, this morning, at Butkhak, the 12th Punjab Cavalry, and between that post and Sei Baba 400 of the 72nd Highlanders, 300 of the 23rd Pioneers, and a wing of the 28th Punjab Infantry; while the convoy of sick and wounded, with its escort, was between Kata Sung and Jugdulluck. The escort from Sherpur was simply two squadrons of cavalry drawn from the 9th Lancers and 5th Punjab Cavalry, under the command of Major Hammond, of the latter regiment. Soon after five o’clock this morning the little camp in which the ex-Amir was lodged, not far from head-quarters, was all astir with preparations for the journey. A bright moon was shining overhead and a few watch-fires were blazing brightly among the tents, by the light of which the mules and yaboos were loaded up. The squadron of the 5th Punjab Cavalry drew up outside the gateway which leads from the cantonments near the western end of the southern wall; while the Lancers passed from their lines, opposite the break in the Bemaru Heights, to a bit of open ground between the quarters of the 72nd Highlanders and Yakub Khan’s tent. The early morning air was bitterly cold, and the usual light mist which settles nightly over the Cabul plain still hung about. The camp was silent and deserted, every soldier being at that hour asleep, except the sentries at their posts and the patrols, stalking like armed ghosts from picquet to picquet, seeking for any rabid Kohistani who might have invaded the sanctity of our lines. The Lancers moved smartly round and round in small circles to keep themselves and their horses from freezing as they stood; and through the dust and mist enveloping them their lances shone out now and again as the steel-heads caught a glint from the moon. It was a fantastical sight, this endless circling of misty horsemen, moving apparently without aim or object and growing momentarily more and more distinct as dawn began to creep up over the distant Luttabund and Khurd Cabul hills, and struggle with the clear moonlight which had before been supreme. In an hour everything was ready for departure. Yakub Khan’s horses were waiting ready saddled, and the Lancers had ceased their circling, and were formed up waiting for the order to march. Sir Frederick Roberts, Colonel Macgregor, Chief of the Staff, and Major Hastings were present to see the prisoner start on his rapid journey, and at half-past six exactly Yakub Khan rode off surrounded by Lancers. He had exchanged salaams with the General and those about him, and, if not positively elated, was seemingly quite content to leave Cabul. Captain Turner was the Political Officer to whose care he was assigned; and Abdullah Khan, son of the Nawab Gholam Hussein, was the native officer in attendance. His four body servants and a favourite attendant, Abdul Kayun, who had been released at the last moment, rode with the escort. No notice was given beforehand to his servants; and when the royal cooks heard that they were to start for India, they abandoned their master and took refuge in the city. They were afterwards sought out and sent on to Luttabund, the halting-place for the night, as the comfort of Yakub Khan is to be strictly considered. The news of the departure soon spread through Cabul, and the Mussulman population, according to a Hindu informant, are greatly depressed and uneasy. They are now convinced that the Durani dynasty is at an end; and, while not regretting Yakub personally, they mourn over the fall of that reign of turbulence which they could always carry out in the city under a Barakzai. Double marches are to be made the whole way to Peshawur, where Yakub Khan is expected to arrive in eight days. Part of the Cabul Field Force escort will accompany him to Jugdulluck, where the advanced Khyber Brigade will assume charge, and he will be passed through the various posts until the Punjab Frontier is reached.[[28]] His son, the so-called heir-apparent, remains here, as well as the members of his harem, who will be pensioned and properly cared for by the British authorities.