by John Wilcox
Alas, recent events – of which you will have had cognisance – have prevented me from issuing this invitation, and in this context I must congratulate you on your recent splendid work in helping with the defence of Malakand.
It was my old friend Field Marshal Viscount Wolseley, the Commander-in-Chief of the British army, writing to me from the Horse Guards, London, who informed me of the invitation that had been sent to you by Colonel Fortescue.
In doing so, he said that if ever the need should arise for someone outside the ranks of the army or Diplomatic Corps to give special service to British India during your time here, then he could think of no one more suitable than yourself to undertake this work.
I think that you will already realise that that need has arisen and I am taking advantage of Lord Wolseley’s advice in seeking your assistance now.
You will be very much aware that the uprising along the North-West Frontier between the Punjab and Afghanistan looks already likely to become the most dangerous conflagration in India since the Mutiny. We are despatching considerable forces to contain this revolt of the Pathans but I am most anxious that this business should not escalate into a third Afghan War.
To this end, I wish to exert every effort to persuade the Amir in Kabul not to assist the Pathans across his border, either by sending troops to their aid or by giving stimulus or succour in any way to the tribes who are revolting.
I have therefore written him a letter beseeching him to stay neutral in every way in this affair. I am unhappy to despatch this letter to him through the usual channels for two main reasons.
Firstly, the normal methods of communication cannot be relied upon during this time of great Border unrest and I do not wish the letter to fall into the wrong hands, where its publication could give the Border tribes every reason to think that their activities are causing us distress. Secondly, I wish the bearer of the letter to be a person of some distinction and ability – not merely a senior army officer or political officer – so that he can answer any questions that the Amir may direct to him.
It is important that the bearer has some knowledge of Afghanistan and the wit to be persuasive in argument in terms of whatever points the Amir may put to him. I well remember Viscount Wolseley telling me that you served a similar purpose for General Colley in the Anglo-Boer War when he sent you to deliver an appeal to the President of the Orange Free State, asking him to stay neutral in that conflict. You were successful in that mission. I pray that you will agree to my request to travel to Kabul now, with a similar intention.
I can imagine that, despite the qualifications for this task that I have outlined above, you may well still ask: ‘Why me? Is there no one already in India who could fulfil this duty?’ The answer is yes – one man, perhaps, Sir Robert Warburton, Political Officer of Khyber, who is respected by the Pathans of the Border. Alas, he is now quite elderly, near the end of his career and anyway is away on leave. I cannot delay the sending of this letter and therefore turn to you with every confidence.
My letter to the Amir, of course, must remain sealed but it is important that you know the contents and the arguments I use in it. I therefore enclose a copy herewith.
You must be escorted in your journey, of course, and I have therefore telegraphed Fortescue asking him to send a squadron of Guards Cavalry to serve this purpose. Anything larger would savour of some sort of invasion force and anything smaller would be inadequate for your safety and your rank.
In summation, my dear Fonthill, I earnestly hope that you will accept this mission. I must confess that the Amir is elderly and frail but is ruthless and as slippery as an eel. There are rumours that he has published a pamphlet describing himself as ‘King of Islam’ and is surreptitiously urging a jihad against the British.
He has denied this and I cannot therefore charge him with these acts in my letter. However, if your negotiations become difficult it would do no harm to say that evidence has emerged proving his involvement and see how he reacts.
The main thing, however, is to explain to the Amir – as discreetly as possible, without playing the bully – that if he throws in his lot with the Pathan rebels across the Border then our governments both in India and at home would have no hesitation whatever in invading Afghanistan.
If necessary, you have my permission to point out that at the time of the Mutiny we had only 16 Queen’s Line infantry battalions based in India. By the time of the Second Afghan War, in which you were involved, there were not that very many more. Now, however, we have a total of 51 such battalions, out of 141 in the Indian army as a whole. We can, therefore, deploy considerable and highly skilled resources, if we need to.
To repeat, we do not wish to threaten. But it is vital that the Amir does not deploy some of his trained troops over the Border to give the rebels backbone. His restraint in this matter would long be remembered by the British government.
If, as I hope, you are able to accede to my request, then please take every care with your journeys to Kabul and back. You will be travelling through very dangerous territory, I fear. It goes without saying that, should you be in imminent danger of capture, then you must destroy both my letter to the Amir and please destroy this one as soon as you have digested its contents.
Please telegraph your answer to me as soon as possible.
Remember, Fonthill, your Queen-Empress and country need you at this juncture!
With warmest regards,
Yours sincerely,
Elgin
Fonthill sighed and rubbed his forehead.
‘Not bad news, I trust, sir?’ enquired Buckingham.
‘No. not exactly.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Well, probably, I suppose. But you must excuse me, Duke, for I have another letter to read.’
‘Of course, sir. I shall retire. Call me when you need me.’
Simon unfolded the copy of the letter to the Amir and began to read. It opened with a brief description of the bearer, emphasising that he was a man with a wide experience of warfare and diplomacy (Fonthill raised an eyebrow at this latter reference) throughout the Empire and held the order of the Companionship of the Bath – a high honour bestowed by the Queen-Empress on him for his services to the realm. He had been entrusted with delivering the letter to the Amir because of the importance of its contents. The Viceroy then expanded a well-modulated argument, outlining the treacherous nature of the uprisings that had taken place at Chitral, in the Tochi Valley and at Malakand and of the role of the mullahs in fermenting jihad in the valleys.
The British army in India, he continued, was well capable of putting down the rebellion but it trusted its good friend, the Amir, not to give aid of any sort to the Pathans occupied in fighting the British Raj across the Amir’s border. Such aid could extend the conflict unduly and would, of course, bring the Afghanistan government into a state of open warfare with Great Britain, so undoing the years of amicable friendship that both sides had worked so hard to create.
It ended – to Simon’s surprise – with a reminder that the previous Viceroy had only recently supplied the Amir’s agent in Peshawar with a gift of 5,000 Lee-Enfield rifles as a ‘mark of his confidence in Your Highness’. The present Viceroy had every trust that that faith would be maintained in these ‘more trying times’.
Fonthill put down the letter with a sigh. With trouble imminent – witness the attack on Chitral two years before – why on earth would the then British Viceroy give 5,000 of the latest British rifles to a potential enemy? If bribery was needed, why not offer rupees, less instantly convertible into weapons of aggression?
He folded his letter and its enclosure and carefully placed them inside his jacket, called Buckingham and, with a non-commital handshake of thanks to the Commissioner, the two walked back to the hotel. On the way, Simon kept his own counsel and let the young subaltern restrain his obvious curiosity. He had some hard thinking to do.
Alice, of course, had no doubts about how he should reply.
‘For God’s sake, Simon,’ she sn
orted. ‘It’s ridiculous to expect someone whose knowledge of India and Afghanistan is nearly two decades out of date to undertake this task. You must refuse, of course. Plead old age, influenza, curry stomach or whatever. But you can’t go. Apart from anything else, it will be terribly dangerous. You will be putting your head into the lion’s – or rather the tiger’s – mouth. Surely you must see that?’
Fonthill thought for a moment. ‘Dangerous?’ he repeated eventually. ‘Well, it looks as though anywhere along the Border just now is likely to be dangerous, although things seem comparatively quiet in the south – and, particularly along the Khyber Pass, which is the route we would have to take to Kabul. As I understand it, the Waziris, whose lands line the Pass, possess reasonably good farmland which they wouldn’t want to risk and many of them are ex-sepoys who equally wouldn’t wish to risk their pensions. As for the Amir, I doubt if he would lift a finger, either openly or surreptitiously, against an envoy of the Viceroy. So I think we ought to be safe enough.’
Jenkins had joined them and had sat listening intently.
Simon turned to him. ‘What do you think, 352?’
The Welshman sniffed. ‘It’s up to you, bach sir. You know that. But if it’s a peaceful postin’ I wouldn’t object. Me shoulder’s still achin’ from firin’ that Lee-Metford, so I wouldn’t be too anxious to go chasin’ a Victoria Cross again just yet awhile. But, either way, if you go, then I go with you.’
‘And so do I,’ said Alice, with conviction.
‘Ah.’ Simon shook his head. ‘Now, that would be out of the question, my love, and you know it.’
‘And why, pray, should it be out of the question? Is this the “feeble woman” argument again? That is tosh and you know that.’
‘I can’t think of a less appropriate description for you, Alice. No. There are two strong points against you accompanying us. The first is that you know how Muslims consider women to be second-class citizens – no, don’t object. Hear me out. For me to bring my wife with me on this mission would be to portray myself either as a rather weak object who could not bear to travel without his spouse or as someone who has seriously misunderstood the purpose of the journey, making it a sort of social occasion.’
Alice opened her mouth to interrupt but Simon held up his hand and continued. ‘The second reason is more important. You are now a working journalist, known to be reporting on the situation out here for one of Britain’s leading newspapers. To take you with me would seriously compromise my position as the Viceroy’s envoy on a confidential mission for him.’
A silence fell on the gathering.
Alice sniffed again. ‘So,’ she said eventually, ‘you mean to go?’
Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t see how I can refuse, to be honest. That cri de coeur at the end of his letter – “your country and Queen-Empress need you” – is a bit emotional and penny dreadful, I suppose. The bloody man is blackmailing me, of course. But, to be equally sentimental, I must answer the call.’ He put an imaginary bugle to his lips and blew a ‘tataa-ta-taa.’
They all smiled.
Alice’s face now set in firm lines. ‘Very well, my love,’ she said. ‘I will do a deal with you.’
Fonthill frowned. ‘What sort of deal? Now don’t be frivolous, Alice. This is serious.’
‘And so am I. I won’t insist on coming with you to Kabul. But I wish to come part of the way.’
Simon’s frown deepened. ‘What do you mean, “part of the way”?’
‘You said yourself that the route to Kabul is through the famous Khyber Pass. You also said that the Pass is quiet …’
‘For the moment.’
‘Very well. But there are three fairly new-built forts that have been erected along the Pass to protect travellers and that are, by the sound of it, formidable constructions – much more capable of being defended than that sprawl of an encampment at Malakand that, despite the presence of you two, resisted the attack of thousands of Pathans.’
Simon ignored the jibe. ‘Yes. Sooo?’ He drew out the word suspiciously.
‘Sooo. I will come with you to the furthest point of the Pass where the largest of the forts is situated – it’s called Landi Kotal. You can leave me there and I should be completely safe within those great walls. I fancy the idea of writing a feature for the Post on what life is like garrisoning a fort on the very periphery of the Empire. Dull, perhaps, but not the way I would write it.’ She grinned. ‘And then you could pick me up on your return from Kabul and we could all go climbing in the Hindu Kush.’
The two ignored a groan from Jenkins.
Fonthill levelled a grim stare at his wife. ‘And you would promise that you would not do anything stupid like trying to follow me to Kabul?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Simon looked across to Jenkins who grinned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well. But don’t you dare go looking for trouble.’
‘And I could well say the same to you, my love. Now. When do we leave? I really must wash my hair.’
‘Well, Fortescue must send us his squadron, I suppose, first. Our way will not take us past Marden. And I would like to telegraph the colonel and ask that Buckingham and his troop are included in the escort. They might fancy a break.’
‘Ah, what a good idea. And Inderjit too, of course?’
‘Of course. He is the troop’s daffadar.’
Fonthill cabled his acceptance of the Viceroy’s request to Simla, keeping the message simple but giving no details of the request, to ensure confidentiality: ‘Honoured to be asked. Answer is yes, of course.’ Then, after consulting Buckingham, he telegraphed to Fortescue asking that the subaltern’s troop should be included in the escort and set about preparing for his journey.
The travelling and holiday garments that had been suitable for the long voyage out and serviceable in the mess at Marden and even at the Malakand abbatis would not do, he felt, for the demands of an Amir’s court, so he set about finding something in Peshawar more suitable for an envoy of the Viceroy. He settled for a formal dark-blue dress coat and narrow trousers, with the Maltese Cross depicting the order of the Companionship of the Bath, normally worn on a ribbon round the neck, fixed firmly to the jacket. It would, he felt, look a touch more viceregal there. A smart red sash completed the look of a diplomat who would stand no nonsense.
They found a facsimile of the Distinguished Conduct Medal to be worn by Jenkins (he had long since lost the original) on a smart warrant officer’s dress tunic. Fonthill felt that, as a representative of the Viceroy of India, he had every right to promote Jenkins on the spot – while pointing out to him that, alas, a regimental sergeant major’s pay did not come with the jacket. He persuaded, for 100 rupees (roughly £6.10s.), the armourer at the army barracks to clean and grease his and Jenkins’s rifles and revolvers and also replenish the ammunition they had expended so lavishly at Malakand. A cavalry officer’s sword was added to Fonthill’s kit, to give his mounted presence more military authority.
A pair of trustworthy and beautifully groomed army mounts provided by Commissioner Udny at Peshawar completed the more substantial elements of the provisions for the journey as the eighty-two men of the second troop of Guides sent from the Guides’ depot at Marden arrived, to complete Fonthill’s escort of a squadron, one hundred and sixty-four men in all.
Buckingham was standing with Fonthill as this second troop arrived. His face fell noticeably as the smartly attired men jingled towards them.
‘What’s the matter, Duke?’ asked Simon.
‘Ah, er, nothing important, sir.’
‘Come along. I couldn’t help noticing. You seem disappointed to see your lot arrive. I was told a full squadron was needed, you know.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s just … well … I really shouldn’t say this, sir, but as you are not actually in the army and we’ve, er, got along so well so far, if I may say so, I might perhaps confide in you. I’m afraid I don’t get along frightfully well with the chap who will command t
he squadron.’ He nodded discreetly to where a tall, heavily moustached officer was dismounting. ‘Captain Appleby-Smith, sir. Not quite my cup of tea, I’m afraid. Forgive me if I say nothing more.’
He sprang to attention and saluted smartly as Appleby-Smith approached. The salute was returned casually to acknowledge Buckingham and then the captain gave a half-deferential nod of the head to Fonthill.
‘Good day, Mr Fonthill. Appleby-Smith, sir. Good to see you again. I have the honour of commanding your escort to Kabul.’
Simon extended a hand and examined the captain carefully. The man was, of course, older than Buckingham by perhaps ten years and slimly built, with the cavalry man’s rather bowed legs. His countenance was the walnut-brown of an old Indian hand but rather more ruddy than most. And red veins coursed down the nose which hung over the great moustache. Fonthill had met him, of course, in the Guides’ Officer’s mess at the depot, but they had spoken little, for Appleby-Smith had remained rather out of the circle of officers who had cheerfully mingled with Simon, Jenkins and Alice, during their time at Marden. Almost, Simon remembered, as though he resented their presence.
The two men shook hands and the captain gestured towards a Guides’ subaltern who strode smartly towards them.
‘This is Lieutenant Dawson,’ he said. ‘He will be second in command of the squadron.’
Handshakes were exchanged again with Dawson, a rather plump young man, with a pleasant, open countenance, some two years older than Buckingham.
Fonthill turned and introduced Jenkins, who had been standing deferentially to one side.
‘Ah yes,’ drawled Appleby-Smith, ‘367, or something like that, isn’t it?’
Jenkins favoured them both with his face-breaking grin. ‘Ah, bless you bach, no. Good try, though. It’s 352, as a matter of fact.’
There was a faint intake of breath by the captain at being addressed so informally but he and his second in command exchanged handshakes with Jenkins cordially enough.
