Some of them, in tears, asked me what I was going to do with them.
I replied, "I don't know. But at any rate I am English and not a German. What would you like me to do with you?"
They seemed bewildered at first, and without understanding, but when I assured them that I was speaking seriously, and really wanted to know what they would like to do, they soon found their tongues and made known the fact that they would like to go to their own homes.
"Is that all?" I replied. "Well then, go."
Their faces which, at first, shone with joy soon fell again. "But, Sahib, we have nothing left. You have captured all our possessions."
"But I don't want them," I returned. "Take everything that is yours and go."
Their thanks were then overwhelming, but I cut them short. "Wait a bit before you thank me so much. No Englishman ever makes war against woman and children—but there are your men. If I catch them, after all the trouble they've given me, I shall certainly kill them."
"Kill them then, Sahib," they said scornfully. "They deserted us, and ran away, when you and your lashkar came in. It is all they deserve."
As a matter of fact I learned, soon afterwards, that the Gamshadzais had not only run out of Jalk, but right out of the Sarhad, to take refuge in other districts. By thus evacuating their own country they acknowledged their final defeat.
It is reasonable to suppose that this humiliating end to their opposition would never have occurred had Halil Khan been alive. He, at least, would have been game to the last. He would have died fighting at Jalk—as he had indeed died at Gusht—or he would have surrendered with dignity. Halil Khan was a fine man, and without his leadership the spirit of his men at first faltered and then failed.