History of the War in Afghanistan, Vol. 3 (of 3) / Third Edition

by Sir John William Kaye

Ellenborough.

No document that ever emanated from the bureau of a statesman has been overwhelmed with so much ridicule as this. It is still fresh in the recollection of men who dwelt in India at this time, how the authenticity of the proclamation was gravely doubted—how many, at first, declared their conviction that it was a newspaper satire upon the Napoleonic style of address which Lord Ellenborough had recently adopted; and how at last, when it came to be known—thoroughly known and understood—that it was a genuine emanation from the “Political Department,” with the right official stamp upon it, such a flood of ridicule and censure was let loose upon it as had never before descended upon an Indian state-paper. The folly of the thing was past all denial. It was a folly, too, of the most senseless kind, for it was calculated to please none and to offend many. It was addressed to “all the Princes and Chiefs, and People of India.” The “Brothers and Friends” thus grandiloquently apostrophised, were a mixed family of Mahomedans and Hindoos. Upon the Mahomedans it was an open and most intelligible outrage. To the Hindoos, the pompous offer of the polluted gates of Somnauth was little better than a covert insult. The temple to which it was to have been restored was in ruins, and the sacred ground trodden by Mahomedans. Looking at the effusion from the Oriental side, it was altogether a failure and an abortion.[336] Among Europeans, worldly men scouted the proclamation as a folly, and religious men denounced it as a crime. It was said to be both dangerous and profane. The question suggested by the latter epithet I do not propose to discuss; but of the dangers of such a proclamation it may be said that they existed only in the imaginations of those who discerned them. It was altogether an event of no political importance. In Afghanistan, the rape of the Gates created little or no sensation. In India, the proclamation produced no excitement among the “brothers and friends” to whom it was addressed. The effect of the measure was personal to Lord Ellenborough himself. It damaged his reputation, and left the rest of the world as it was before.

But there was another proclamation published about this time—launched into the world, indeed, before the proclamation of the Gates, but of a somewhat later conception. The Afghan drama was now well-nigh played out. The Afghan policy of Lord Auckland had been publicly declared a failure, and the grounds on which it had been originated wholly a mistake. Everything, indeed, was to be reversed. The Tripartite treaty was at an end. Shah Soojah was dead. The people of Afghanistan had felt an obvious distaste for foreign interference, and had evinced it in a very unmistakeable manner. The Suddozye Princes had demonstrated the feebleness of the tenure by which they could hope to maintain possession of the throne. It was impossible wholly to revert to the state of things that had existed in 1838, for thousands of lives and millions of money had been buried in the passes of Afghanistan—and there was no earthly resurrection or restoration for them. But there was one victim of the war in Afghanistan for whom restoration was yet possible. The first victim of our national injustice was yet a prisoner in the hands of the British. The Governor-General had publicly announced, in his proclamation of the 1st of October, that Dost Mahomed was only “believed to be hostile to British interests,” and that Shah Soojah was only “represented” to be friendly to those interests, and popular with his own people. It was announced, too, in this proclamation, that the British Government had determined to leave the Afghans to form a government for themselves, and to recognise that government when formed. After such announcements as these, the retention of Dost Mahomed in captivity would have been confessedly inconsistent and unjust.

Ever since the intelligence of the outbreak at Caubul had reached the provinces of Hindostan, Dost Mahomed had been watched with greater suspicion, and guarded with greater care. It was believed that he would place himself in communication with the leaders of the revolutionary party, and would make an effort to escape from the captivity which embittered his lot. It does not appear, however, that he manifested any feelings of exultation at the thought of the calamities which had befallen his captors, or, in any way, desired to increase the difficulties which surrounded them. On the other hand, he seemed willing, if not anxious, to impart to the British Government, through Captain Nicolson, such local information as he thought would be serviceable to them in the conjuncture which had arisen; and even offered suggestions tending to facilitate their re-invasion of his country. The vigilance with which he was guarded, and the consequent inconveniences to which he was subjected, seemed to cause him much vexation and annoyance. He always protested that he knew nothing of the secret history of the Caubul outbreak—that it was his belief the Suddozyes had instigated it, as no other family in Afghanistan, since the overthrow of the Barukzyes, had sufficient influence to initiate a great national movement. Any expression or intimation of a doubt of his honesty seemed to pain him. “Recollect,” he said, on one occasion to Captain Nicolson, “that I have, from the first day I came in, been on your side, heart and soul. I swear by the most holy God, that since my submission I have not communicated with Caubul and its people, except through you. But it is possible that news may have reached my sister at Loodianah through her other brothers. I am your guest or your prisoner, whichever you please. I came to you in the hope of being in time employed by you; and I should say what is not true, if I denied still entertaining that hope; and I am ready to lay down my life in your service.”[337] It may be doubted whether he entertained any hope, or any desire to regain the dominion he had lost. He had resigned himself submissively to his fate. If it seemed to be the will of God that he should return to Caubul, he was willing to retrace his steps to the Balla Hissar. But he was little inclined to take into his own hands the shaping of his future destinies, and to win his way back to empire by violence or fraud.[338]

It has been seen that the Government of India, ever since the disastrous downfall of our efforts to prop up the Suddozye dynasty, had contemplated the possibility of restoring Dost Mahomed to the country from which we had expelled him. Lord Auckland had hinted at the restoration of the ex-Ameer as a measure to which, under certain circumstances, he would offer no opposition. He would gladly, indeed, have availed himself of the opportunity afforded, by a proposed interchange of prisoners, to render tardy justice to the man whom he had so palpably wronged. The subsequent progress of events had tended to render more and more obvious the propriety of this resolution. It was now plainer than ever that the retention of Dost Mahomed as a prisoner of state could no longer be justified, on the score of either political rectitude or expediency. So Lord Ellenborough did, as it became him to do. He issued a proclamation, setting forth that when the “British army returning from Afghanistan shall have passed the Indus, all the Afghans now in the power of the British Government shall be permitted to return to their country.” This was equally reasonable and just. But the proclamation was not without characteristic disfigurements, for the Governor-General, who had set his heart upon a grand pageant at Ferozepore, added a codicil, to the effect that the released Afghan Princes were to present themselves, before returning to their desolated country, at the Durbar of the Governor-General in his camp at Ferozepore.

The popular feeling against this contemplated outrage was strong and universal. There was not a generous mind in the country which did not feel deeply the wrong that was to be done to these unfortunate Princes. But the Governor-General, in a better hour, conscious of error, consented to forego the pitiful delight of gracing his triumph with the presence of a dethroned monarch, whose national feelings were not so wholly extinguished by exile as to render his appearance at the Ferozepore festivities anything but a painful and humiliating trial. The order issued in thoughtlessness was revoked in good feeling; and Dost Mahomed, without suffering this last crowning injury at the hands of the British Government, returned to Afghanistan, with hopes and expectations falling far short of the long years of restored dominion, which actually lay before him.

Quitting Simlah, the Governor-General moved down to the plains of Ferozepore. There an army, under the personal command of Sir Jasper Nicolls, was now assembled. It had been originally projected by Lord Auckland, at a time when it was believed that the presence of such an army on our north-western frontier would have a great moral effect upon the neighbouring states. It has been said, that when it did assemble, at the commencement of the cold season of 1842-1843, it was intended to answer no other purpose than that of a vast pageant; that the Governor-General had determined on celebrating the return of the victorious armies with all possible pomp; and that he looked forward, with childish delight and anxiety, to the magnificent fête champêtre of which he had appointed himself director-in-chief. It must be admitted that Lord Ellenborough took a somewhat undignified interest in the details of these puerilities; but the justice of the assertion, that the army was kept together for no other purpose than that of presenting arms to the “Illustrious Garrison” of Jellalabad, and turning out for a grand field-day, may be reasonably disputed. The fidelity of the Sikhs had long been suspected. It was now considered by no means an impossible event, that the march of our army, worn, sick, and incumbered, through the Punjab, would offer a temptation too strong to be resisted by the mutinous Sikh soldiery, whose real feeling had betrayed itself early in the year at Peshawur. Had the Governor-General felt secure in the reality of the formal alliance with the Punjab, he might have dispersed the Army of Reserve when the Afghanistan force crossed the Attock. Such expositions of the military resources of a great nation are never wholly without profit in such troubled times; and as doubts, and not unreasonable doubts, of Sikh fidelity had arisen, it was sound policy to keep a force on the frontier until the returning troops had actually crossed the Sutlej.

On the 9th of December the Governor-General arrived at Ferozepore. The Army of Reserve was drawn out to receive him. A noble sight, it must have stirred the heart of one who loved to express his regret that circumstances had not made him a soldier. There was much work to be done; and he flung himself into it with characteristic energy, resolute to give the returning warriors an honourable reception, and to dazzle the eyes of all the native potentates who could be lured to the scene of triumph. Four years before there had been a grand gathering at the same place, when Runjeet Sing and Lord Auckland had exchanged courtesies, and the army of the Indus had commenced its march for the invasion of the Douranee Empire. The war in Afghanistan had opened with a grand spectacle at Ferozepore; and now, with due dramatic propriety, it was to close with a similar effect. The Maharajah of the Punjab, with his ministers of state and his principal military chiefs, were invited to grace the festival.[339] The Princes of Sirhind, and other “brothers and friends,” were asked to take part in the rejoicings. And everywhere from the neighbouring stations, under lordly encouragement, flocked our English ladies to Ferozepore—the wives and daughters of the returning warriors and of the officers there assembled—and everywhere was a flutter of excitement, such as had not been known in those regions for years.

Day after day, as Lord Ellenborough busied himself with his preparations for the reception of the victorious Generals, tidings reached him from their camps. There was nothing in this intelligence to dim the pleasure which was animating his Lordship’s breast. Pollock had brought back his army with little loss through the formidable passes of Afghanistan, and was now making an uninterrupted march through the Punjab. The withdrawal of the force had been looked forward to with some anxiety by many, who believed that the tribes would harass the rear of the retiring army, and work them grievous annoyance. But so completely had the strength of the Afghans been broken by continual defeat, that they made no energetic or combined effort to annoy the British columns on their line of march. Pollock wrote that he had not seen an enemy; but M’Caskill and Nott, who followed with the centre and the rear divisions, were not quite so fortunate. From Caubul to Jellalabad, however, there was little to contend against, except some desultory night attacks on our baggage.[340] There was, indeed, no organised resistance.

The entire force assembled at Jellalabad; and halted there for a few days. Pollock had determined to destroy the defences of the place. When the British army was halting at Peshawur in the spring, the question of the transfer of Jellalabad to the Sikhs, as a douceur to ensure cordiality of co-operation with us, had been earnestly discussed, but at that time the project had fallen to the ground. It was felt, that so long as Shah Soojah survived, and the Tripartite treaty had not been annulled, any design to dissever the Douranee Empire, and to invite the Sikhs to share in the partition, would be premature, both as regarded the justice and the expediency of the measure. But the death of Shah Soojah gave a new aspect to the state of affairs; and the British Government lost little time, after authentic intelligence of that event had been received, in communicating to Mr. Clerk its willingness that certain territories on the right bank of the Indus should pass into the possession of the Sikh Government or of the Jummoo Rajahs, with the permission of the Lahore Durbar; and it was intimated that the British Government would facilitate the accomplishment of this object by placing Jellalabad in the hands of the Sikhs. The offer was formally made; but, in the then uncertain position of affairs, prudently declined. It was not unreasonably urged by the Durbar, that until they were in possession of the ultimate intentions of the British with respect to Afghanistan, it would be hardly politic in the Sikhs to place themselves in a prominent position, or in any way to identify themselves with measures the future out-turn of which they could as yet but dimly foresee. But it was believed, that as soon as ever our withdrawal from Afghanistan was fully determined upon, and about to be put in execution, the Sikhs, without further explanation, would be willing to take possession of Jellalabad. And they were so; but not having fully made up their minds upon the subject (probably from some mistrust of our intentions) until the British force had actually marched from Caubul, their acceptance of the offer came too late to save the place from destruction. General Pollock had, in accordance with instructions, destroyed the fortifications of Jellalabad before he received a communication from the Government, intended, if possible, to arrest such proceeding, and ordering him to make over the place uninjured to our allies. It may be doubted whether either party very much regretted the accident.