by David Ruffle
As the weeks went by in that dry, dusty city I had a huge list of patients to attend to. These were chiefly illnesses brought about by the food and drink available and the severe heat. The 66th was the only British regiment stationed in Kandahar at that time. The numbers of fighting men were bolstered by units of the Indian cavalry, infantry and artillery including the 3rd Scinde Horse and the Bombay cavalry. There was also a group of Afghan soldiers who gave their allegiance equally to Wali Shere Ali, who was set to assume control of the city when the British forces pulled out, and to our military leaders. Amongst the officers and indeed the men there was certainly a lack of confidence in these Afghan troops. The consensus was that a mutiny was in the cards and when push came to shove, they would be found fighting us as opposed to fighting with us.
In the meantime, we were in limbo, defending a city from non-existent attackers and unable to engage the enemy elsewhere. This state of affairs changed suddenly when we received intelligence that the army of Ayub Khan was intent on marching on and destroying Kandahar. The decision was made to mobilise the men and march out to intercept this Afghan force. Our fighting force was no more than 2,500 men under the command of Brigadier-General Burrows who was not exactly the most experienced of officers. The Wali of Kandahar urged Burrows to confront Ayub and his men at Girishk on the Helmond river; he feared that if Ayub Khan had the chance to march further it would only serve to strengthen his numbers.
As we marched onwards, the Afghan troops within our force, supposedly loyal to us, acted exactly how some of us had feared by deserting in droves. Our troops engaged and defeated the rebellious Afghans and captured some valuable weaponry. Burrows then fell back to a position at Kushk-i-Nakhud, halfway to Kandahar where he could intercept Ayub Khan if he headed for either Ghazni or Kandahar. We remained there a week, although it seemed longer for all of us, during which time the captured guns were added to our force with additional gunners drawn from the British infantry.
Eventually this hiatus came to an end when it was learned Ayub’s army was on the move and was making for the Maiwand pass which was just a few miles from us. We could have marched in an instant, I firmly believe that. We were ready and some would say eager for battle, my own internal conflict notwithstanding. My job was to save lives not take them, but I was a serving member of the British army and my duty was to assist in every way possible. Should that mean taking lives of the enemy then so be it. The men in the ranks had a simple view of the matter; them or us, kill or be killed.
The delay of a few hours meant as it turned out that we had no chance of reaching Maiwand before the enemy. It was apparent that the strength of Ayub’s army was still a mystery. The officers in charge, I think anyway, had recklessly and dangerously underestimated the number of men we would be facing. As we approached Maiwand, Ayub’s army could be seen marching across our front, in the swirling dust storms that swept the semi-desert area. Burrows still formed the view, flying in the face of reason and facts, that he could reach Maiwand before the Afghans and urged his troops forward. It was not to be.
We passed the village of Mundabad and found we had reached a substantial ravine, twenty-five feet deep, running along its front. Instead of taking up defensive positions along the ravine and in the village, Burrows ordered the men across the ravine into the open plain beyond. If he was given advice of a sounder nature, then he did not act on it. It was at this time that the extent of the force opposing us could be gauged. Of course, we could not actively count them, but we knew we were outnumbered by a degree.
We only found afterwards that it was by ten to one. Twenty-five thousand against our two thousand five hundred strong British and Indian force. Seeing the enemy all around us I could imagine how the defenders of Rorkes Drift[27] felt when they first caught sight of the huge contingent of Zulu warriors bearing down on them.
The word quickly passed around the ranks, not in any way an order, but advice of the most telling kind that when all hope was gone then the last round in each revolver should be reserved for self-destruction. The tales of barbaric cruelty administered by Ghazi soldiers was well-known to all of us and they delighted in slow, prolonged mutilation of those unfortunate enough to be left wounded on the battlefield. The British guns crossed the ravine and continued forward to a position where the Afghans were in range and opened fire.
The guns advanced considerably further than Burrows intended, the rest of our force hurrying up in support; the infantry in a line, with the 66th on the right, Jacob’s Rifles in the centre and the 1st Grenadiers on the left. We were sitting ducks for Ayub’s artillery who commanded the high ground. The first phase of the battle comprised an artillery duel; the Afghans out-shooting us, having a greater number of more modern and heavier guns, including six state-of-the-art Armstrong guns.
The 1st Grenadiers and the cavalry suffered significant casualties, while the 66th and Jacob’s Rifles were able to find cover from the bombardment. I was already hard at work at the rear of the advance using makeshift operating tables. I wept openly for there was so little we could do. Men were dying around us from their horrific wounds before we could even move a muscle to alleviate their suffering. I truly believed that day that I would die, that we would all die and whilst doing all I could for the men under my care I was acutely aware that all I was doing was postponing death for a few hours at most.
It was the most wretched time of my life. Following the artillery exchange, the Afghan infantry massed in front of our faltering line for an assault. In a pre-emptive move, Burrows ordered the 1st Grenadiers to attack, but then cancelled the order even though the advance was making progress, fearing that the Grenadiers were suffering excessive casualties from the Afghan gunfire. It was the mark of a man who was unused to battle and seemed to have no clear idea of how to proceed.
The advance across the open plain exposed our left flank; the threat from the enveloping Afghan cavalry causing Burrows to move two companies of Jacob’s Rifles to this flank and bolstering them with two of the smooth bore guns on their left, between Jacob’s Rifles and the troops of the baggage guard. You understand that these details were not wholly known to me at the time, but we received snippets of how the battle was unfolding from the hordes of men who were cleared out to our medical unit. Our commanders had not realised that a hidden second ravine ran beside the force’s other flank, joining the main ravine in their right rear. The Afghans used this ravine during the battle to infiltrate down our right flank, forcing the 66th Foot to wheel to face the Afghans, until the regiment faced at right angles to its neighbours, Jacob’s Rifles and the 1st Bombay Grenadiers.
The degree of confusion this caused can easily be imagined. The Jacob’s Rifles gave way and crumbled into the Bombay Grenadiers. All was chaos. The enemy taking advantage of this confusion were falling upon the men hacking them to pieces with their tulwars, a long, curved sword which inflicted the most horrible wounds.
Even now I think that they were at least granted a reasonably quick death. Even the Ghazis were too busy in the heat of the battle to spend time and effort in mutilation. There would be time enough for that later. The heat was oppressive and we were sadly lacking basic water and food supplies. Our men were dehydrated, tired and ripe for picking off. Our force was now seriously strung out, in a horse shoe formation, exposed by the abortive advance of the infantry line, with the Afghan cavalry massing on the left flank and Afghan tribesmen, infantry and guns infiltrating down the right flank, by way of the subsidiary ravine.
There was nowhere to go, no haven for those brave soldiers who fought on against overwhelming odds. In the early afternoon, the two smoothbore guns ran out of ammunition and withdrew, a move which severely unsettled the two companies of Jacobs Rifles on the left flank, already suffering from the artillery fire and the heat. With the departure of the smooth bores, the Afghan cavalry were able to infiltrate behind the British/Indian left flank. Efforts were made to counter this move with
volley firing from the two companies of Jacob’s Rifles, but the fire was largely ineffective, the companies inexperienced and commanded by a newly joined officer, almost unknown to his soldiers and shockingly, did not even speak their language. On our right flank, the Afghans continued to pass down the subsidiary ravine.
A move was made by troops of the Scinde Horse to attack these Afghans but the cavalry was recalled. Ayub brought two of his guns down the subsidiary ravine and commenced firing at short range, probably as short as two hundred yards, into the 1st Grenadiers. In the early afternoon, the guns ceased firing and a mass of Afghan tribesman charged the British/Indian infantry line. The two companies of Jacob’s Rifles on the left fled, leaving the flank of the 1st Grenadiers wholly exposed. The Afghans cut down numbers of the Bombay Grenadiers, the Indian soldiers apparently too exhausted and demoralised to resist and who really could blame them? The guns positioned in the centre of the line fired a last salvo and withdrew in haste, the Afghans reaching within yards of the retreating guns and overwhelming the left section. Seeing the guns go, the remainder of Jacob’s Rifles dissolved into the left wing of the 66th, throwing the right of our line into confusion.
We tried to move our tables and masses of wounded men further back, but they and perhaps we were too tired to contemplate it although the time for flight was approaching fast. Not approaching fast enough for the majority of the men. Burrows sent Brigadier-General Nuttall, who commanded the cavalry an order to charge the Afghans with his men, in an attempt to restore the situation. Only 150 cavalry sowars could be assembled and these men charged half-heartedly at the Afghans surrounding the Grenadiers and withdrew immediately after the contact. Burrows rode about the field attempting to bring about a further cavalry attack, but without success. Heart had all but disappeared from our troops.
The infantry fell back in two separate directions, the left wing retreating towards Mundabad, the right, comprising the 66th, the Sappers and Miners and most of the Grenadiers pushed towards the village of Khig. Many of the Grenadiers were killed during the retreat to the main ravine. The 66th, broken up by the collapse of the two Indian regiments, fell back in small fighting groups. The 66th and the Grenadiers, pursued by large numbers of Afghans, crossed the ravine into Khig, where around a hundred officers and men made a desperate last stand in a garden on the edge of the village. Overwhelmed, the survivors withdrew through Khig, with a second stand in a walled garden.
The final stand was made by eleven survivors of the 66th outside the village, two officers and nine soldiers[28]. When all hope was gone, they charged the enemy and were hacked to pieces. The remnant of the army was enabled to leave the field, the right wing of the Afghan army held off by the surviving companies of the Grenadiers, fighting until their ammunition was exhausted and then overwhelmed.
It was during this flight that a bullet struck me and I felt a searing pain in my leg. It instantly felled me and if it weren’t for the actions of Murray my orderly, who threw me across his horse then I would have been at the mercy of the pursuing Afghans who of course had no notion of mercy. Those wounded whom we had to leave behind have often been on my mind throughout the years. How they must have suffered.
My mind often dwells on the horrors of that day and its aftermath. There was, it was said, ways in which the Afghan camp followers; the wives and mothers etc could bring about the slow death of our boys. Even now, I cannot bring myself to speak of it. The terrible price of war is something we all pay. I have been paying for it over and over in my darkest moments for more than fifty years.
To return: Burrows made his way through Khig, giving up his horse to a wounded officer and being rescued by a warrant officer of the Scinde Horse, seemingly unaware that the remnant of his infantry right wing was fighting to the death behind him. The escaping British and Indian troops and camp followers streamed up the road towards Kandahar, pursued by the Afghan cavalry.
During the disorganized retreat, the pursuing Afghans were held off by a squadron of the Scinde Horse, the RHA battery and the infantry from the baggage guard, although many stragglers were caught and killed, particularly the wounded. I was slipping in and out of consciousness during this desperate flight, my mind fighting between reality and unreality. The Afghans on foot were distracted by the resistance in Khig and by the Grenadiers and the opportunity to loot the British and Indian baggage. The survivors of the brigade struggled on towards Kandahar, including all the wounded souls, until they were met by a small relieving force and the Afghan cavalry withdrew.
Upwards of a thousand men were lost on that darkest of days. I was in constant pain during the journey, journey that was made in intense heat that bit into all of us. It was a thoroughly miserable time made more so by the fact that we all were aware, although myself only in my few conscious moments, that the Afghans would pursue us all the way, for emboldened by this resounding victory Ayub would surely seek to take Kandahar.
The city was besieged, but in a half-hearted kind of way and our garrison was able to comfortably keep out Ayub’s men until relief arrived. While the siege was going on, I was recovering from my wounds, the bullet having been removed from my leg, and had reached the point of being able to move freely, if a little bit gingerly, around the wards when the siege ended. It was then I was struck down by enteric fever. Days came and went and I knew nothing about where one ended and another began. I was so weak at one point I was told afterwards, that my life was despaired of. I knew nothing of this. I was lost in another world. A world of dreams and nightmares. Somehow, I pulled through.
Although the physical signs of my illness had disappeared my mental state was unstable. I had seen and heard things on the battlefield I never hoped to experience again. My waking thoughts would not release me from this mental torture. I was a wreck. I spent a further week of convalescing at the base hospital in Peshawar before the Army Medical Board decided that I was to be returned to England. They cited my wounds and recent bout of enteric fever, but I think the state of my mind had been noted and was the deciding factor. I would be no more use to the Army now. My career, such as it had been, was over. I was assigned a train to take me back to Bombay, but only after another tortuous overland journey to get me back to what I termed civilisation.
I boarded the troopship Orontes and once more found myself in Portsmouth. Full circle. From there, the army had insisted that I book myself in at Netley for check-ups to make sure I was free from enteric fever.
A few months before I was doctoring there, full of excitement for what lie ahead. Now I was back there as a patient, a broken man and the future unknown to me. It was, on reflection, the lowest point in my life.
Once I was discharged from Netley, I spent a few days in Southsea[29]. The army had decreed I was worthy of a pension for services rendered to Queen and country. Eleven and six was scarcely a princely sum although I was also in receipt of an interim payment intended to tide me over until I could make definite arrangements to ease myself back into the life of a civilian.
Before I spent too much of this sum on the south coast I decided to gravitate towards London. There, something would come up I reasoned.
22 Florence Nightingale, OM, RRC, DStJ was an English social reformer and statistician, and the founder of modern nursing.
23 The Crimean War was a military conflict fought from October 1853 to February 1856 in which the Russian Empire lost to an alliance of the Ottoman Empire, France, Britain and Sardinia.
24 The Northumberland Fusiliers traces its origin to 1674 as one of the Holland Regiments in the service of the Prince of Orange. In 1836 it was converted into a Fusilier Regiment, as the 5th (Northumberland Fusiliers) for having defeated a French Division of Grenadiers at Wilhemstahl (1762). From that date onwards, it bore a badge of a flaming grenade with St George at its centre.
25 Sher Ali Khan was Amir of Afghanistan from 1863 to 1866 and from 1868 until his d
eath in 1879. He was the third son of Dost Mohammed Khan, founder of the Barakzai Dynasty in Afghanistan.
26 The Peshawar Valley Field Force was a British field force of around 12,000 men, a mix of both British regiments and South Asian regiments, under the command of Sir Samuel J. Browne during the Second Anglo-Afghan War (1878-1880).
27 The Battle of Rorke’s Drift, was a battle in the Anglo-Zulu War. The massive Zulu attacks on Rorke’s Drift came very close to defeating the much smaller garrison, but were ultimately repelled. Eleven Victoria Crosses were awarded to the defenders, along with a number of other decorations and honours.
28 Immortalised in verse by William McGonagall, a poet and tragedian of Dundee who has been widely hailed as the writer of the worst poetry in the English language.
29 Southsea is a seaside resort and geographic area, located in Portsmouth at the southern end of Portsea Island, Hampshire,
Cylinder 7
I drifted in every sense of the word, of that there is no doubt. I should have been applying to various hospital boards or visiting surgeries throughout the capital in search of general practitioners who needed a partner to share their workload. But, no, I drifted.
My income was inadequate for all but a basic life, yet I sequestered myself in bars, most of which I have long forgotten in company I have long since forgotten. I was an inveterate gambler and like most of those who gamble the occasional wins convinced me that there was nothing inherently wrong in what I was doing. In such a way did I fool myself that my life was actually on an even keel when in reality I was floundering, drowning you could say.
