Bayonets Along the Border

by John Wilcox

  ‘No.’ He paused for a moment and his face took on a slight frown. ‘However, it is true that my spies tell me that a new mullah has, it seems, arrived in the hills further west and is attempting to spread the same gospel. But I hear that General Blood has cleared up things beyond Malakand and I should be very much surprised if rebellion takes hold in this area. The Afridis along the Pass are too used to having their annual pension handed down to them. And there is the influence of Warburton, too, of course, although he has gone now.

  ‘However, as I explained to you and your husband, I have taken precautions in the form of replenishing our supplies and ammunition. We could withstand quite a siege here, if we had to, don’t worry. We are in a far better position than the forts along the Pass towards the Punjab end. At Masjid they have no proper water supply and Maude is overlooked, even more than we are here. But we are all interdependent to some extent and reinforcements would soon come our way if we are seriously attacked.’

  Alice scribbled away. ‘And I presume you send out patrols?’

  ‘Oh yes. There is no way we could be taken by surprise.’

  Putting down her pencil, Alice directed at Barton one of her most winning smiles. ‘It would be fascinating, Captain, for me to go on one of those patrols. You know – to pick up the atmosphere, a sense of the discipline and routine and so on. Would you be kind enough to arrange this?’

  Barton smiled back. ‘Alas no, madam. I really could not allow that. You would not only be in danger but you could impair the safety of the patrol. In these troubled times, these chaps have enough to do to look after themselves, let alone a white lady of some distinction. I am sorry.’

  ‘Ah well,’ Alice let her beguiling smile slip into a comradely grin. ‘It was worth a try. Although I am not all that distinguished, I must say.’

  ‘Oh, but you are. I remember reading your reports about the Second Afghan War in the Morning Post when I was a cadet at Sandhurst. It’s an honour to have you here.’

  Alice nodded at the compliment. ‘You are far too kind, Captain – but not in reminding me of my age. Really, a lady must have her secrets, you know.’

  Barton blushed. ‘Oh, I say. I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘Don’t apologise. I was just joking. Now,’ her pencil reappeared ‘do tell me how many men you have here.’

  The next two days presented more cloudless skies and hot sun. Alice strode around the fort and studied the soldiers’ routines and found one or two who could speak English – particularly one, rather elderly havildar (sergeant), who came from a nearby village and was proud that his son was serving with the regiment and in the garrison. She also took note of the firing sight lines from the surrounding hills and was a touch depressed to see how overlooked the fort was.

  At the end of the third day, she had written a colourful, pen picture of life in this fort on the far corner of the Raj – and then wondered how she was going to fill the rest of her time until Simon returned. It would be terribly dull, she reflected that evening, sitting on her favourite spot on the firing step on the ramparts, if she was not allowed to step outside Fort Landi Kotal to go into the hills. It was, of course, oppressively hot still. Was it the heat, she reflected, as she studied the guards on duty, or was there an air of unease amongst the men? They seemed, somehow, restless and even sullen – an unusual trait among the Afridis she had met so far. Perhaps the men, too, had now become rather bored, like herself. She shrugged. The sun, of course, and the monotony of garrison life.

  The next day just before noon, Captain Barton knocked on the door of her room. He took off his helmet and perched on the little chair by her dressing table as she sat on the bed.

  ‘Bit of bad news, I’m afraid,’ he said.

  She sat upright. ‘Not about Simon?’

  ‘No, no. And it might be rubbish. But one of my spies has just come in from the surrounding villages. It seems that the people around here are agog with the news that a mullah from Afghanistan – the one I mentioned to you the other night, his name is Sayyid Akbar, a real troublemaker by the sound of it …’

  Alice grabbed her pencil and wrote down the name. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Allegedly he is raising the tribes all along the valleys up the Khyber and he is on his way here with a force numbering more than ten thousand men to attack the forts along the Pass. We, of course, could be the first one to be hit.’

  ‘How reliable is this information, do you think?’

  Barton wiped his brow with his handkerchief. ‘Oh, pretty reliable, I think. This man has never got things wrong before.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I have telegraphed the news to Peshawar to my commanding officer there and have requested that he send me reinforcements, particularly mountain guns. The Pathans hate these.’

  Alice scribbled away and looked up. ‘Well, Captain,’ she said with a level smile, ‘I was just becoming a teeny bit bored. It looks as though there will be no fear of that.’

  He gave an answering grin. ‘No. They will undoubtedly have a go at us. But they will bounce off the walls of this fort, I can tell you that.’

  ‘And you can trust your men, of course – if the neighbouring people join in, they sound as though they will be fighting their own people.’

  ‘Yes, but it has always been thus. My chaps won’t break and run. I can assure you of that.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear. Please keep me informed. May I use the telegraph to cable a story back to Peshawar?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. If and when these chaps arrive the line will undoubtedly be cut and I must keep it open until then for military purposes, you understand.’

  ‘Of course.’

  That afternoon, Alice scribbled a story in cablese ready for despatch as soon as the line became clear. Then, as an afterthought, she rummaged among her belongings and extracted the Webley revolver that Simon had left with her. She cleaned it with a piece of rag and made sure that it was loaded, with six cartridges. Then she placed a small box of ammunition nearby.

  She looked out of her small window at the hills and gulped. It had been a long time since she had been in danger without Simon by her side. Ah well. She put the revolver down on the dressing table. If she would wander down places like the Khyber Pass to the very edge of the Empire . . !

  Early the next morning, Barton knocked on her door again. ‘I am most sorry,’ he said. ‘But my CO has ordered me to ride immediately back to Jamrud to report. It is only about twenty miles back up the Pass and if I push hard I should be back in a couple of days. Now, do come with me, if you wish, but I warn you that it will be a hard – a very hard – ride, so I would prefer it if you stayed here because I must set a fast pace and you would almost certainly be safer here. There is no sign of the Pathans approaching us yet and I should be back with reinforcements before they do.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alice put a hand to her mouth and immediately regretted this sign of weakness. ‘Of course I shall stay. I must be here when Simon returns. Who will be in command while you are away?’

  ‘The senior subedar, Subedar Major Marshal Akbar Khan. He’s a first-class man. You can rely on him. But I must ask you, ma’am, to follow his instructions if we do come under attack. However, I am sure that won’t happen before I get back. Now, you must excuse me please, for I must leave.’

  ‘Of course. Good luck, Mr Barton.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  Alice climbed back up to the battlements to watch the captain and his escort of three men, gallop away to the east. She looked down on the inside working of the fort: guards mounted high on either side of the open gate, pacing back and forwards, almost nonchalantly; a cook coming out of the cookhouse, as though to smell the air; a small group of off-duty riflemen, sitting in vests playing cards. Everything seemed quiet and in order. And yet … she sensed that she was sitting on some sort of powder keg. Why was that man on the other side of the battlements, hardly moving, but staring intently to the west? Why was the fort, housing
all these men, so strangely silent? Why had she let herself be left here, the only woman among 370 Afridis?

  She tossed her head. It must be the heat getting her down. Barton said that she would be safe and the fort, he had insisted, was impregnable. She had no need to worry. Alice opened her window wide to catch what she could of the almost imperceptible breeze and lay down on the bed and directed her thoughts towards Simon.

  That evening, not quite liking to embarrass the jemadars with her presence in the mess, she remained in her room with a bowl of rice and retired early, although sleep eluded her in that hot little room. Eventually, she walked out onto the battlements, wrapping a shawl around her and exchanging nods and smiles with the sentry patrolling there. She sat staring up at the blue bowl of stars – was there anywhere but here, far away from street lights and other urban illuminations, where they shone so brightly? The hills, coloured indigo now in the semi-darkness, loomed everywhere. It was not cold but she found herself shivering and crawled back onto her bed, managing to find sleep just before dawn.

  She spent the next day, rewriting her copy and staying in her room. She emerged disgracefully late the next morning and decided not to draw attention to her tardiness by asking for something from the cookhouse. She was not hungry anyway. Later she sought out Subedar Major Khan, a tall man with a face as black as soot and a few threads of silver beginning to appear in his equally black beard. He, in particular, had been cordial to her, in an avuncular way, in the mess.

  ‘Congratulations, General,’ she greeted him. ‘I hear that you are now in command.’

  The Afridis teeth flashed amidst the blackness. ‘Ah, yes, memsahib. Soon I shall be Viceroy, you know.’

  ‘I am sure it won’t be long.’ Then Alice allowed the smile to leave her face. ‘I hear that we might have visitors before long. Do you think that these men will be here soon?’

  Before the question could be answered, a patrol of riflemen appeared trotting down the hill towards the great gate. Then, in the distance, Alice’s ear picked up a faint thumping sound that, as she strained, grew gradually louder. It was the sound of hundreds of drums being beaten.

  The subedar major inclined his head towards the west. ‘There you have your answer, memsahib. They will be here within one quarter of an hour, I would say,’ he gave a sad smile. ‘At least my family will be reunited.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ah, memsahib, you will find this strange. You see, I have one son who is serving in the garrison here and two more,’ he pointed up the Pass to the west, ‘with those tribesmen coming here. We fight each other.’ He shrugged. ‘It is the way of our people.’

  ‘Good gracious.’ Alice drew in her breath to question him further, but the tall soldier leant over the parapet and barked an order. The gate swung open to allow the patrol to enter, then it was locked and a bar of timber lowered across it to secure it. Then, at a further command, a bugler sprang to attention in the square below and the alarm was sounded.

  Subedar Major Khan turned back to Alice. ‘That patrol will tell me that we are about to be attacked by many men, madam,’ he announced gravely. ‘We shall be fired upon down from those hills,’ he indicated with his head. ‘It would be better, then, if you would go to your room and stay there, memsahib. You will be safe there.’

  ‘Of course, Subedar. But is there any news of Captain Barton? He hoped to be here with reinforcements by at least today, I understood.’

  ‘No, madam and the telegraph line to the other forts and to Peshawar has been cut. Now, if you will excuse me.’

  She bowed her head and retreated to her room. There, for a moment, she reflected on the strange ways of the Pathans. If brother was fighting brother here and sons fighting their father, could the slender allegiances to the Queen Empress created by the British be relied upon? She shook her head. God knows. Then, she thrust her loaded revolver through the sash at her waist, grabbed her notepad and pencil, wound a scarf around her head as protection against the sun and crept back to the embrasures.

  As she watched, she saw the garrison, all dressed in their field service uniforms of sand-coloured khaki and with tightly wound turbans of the same colour on their heads, trot out and fall into line in the square within the walls. They all carried Martini-Henry rifles and had long sword bayonets swinging from their belts. Alice felt reassured as the men fell into impeccable lines, as straight as those of guardsmen, and then, on the commands of their havildars, deployed and quietly climbed to man the ramparts.

  Alice retreated to her room quickly and then reappeared carrying the field glasses that Simon had left with her. She levelled them up the Pass towards the west and focused them. The road was empty, so she swung the glasses up to the right and higher, refocussing them to gain more distance onto the mountain slopes that swept down to the road. She caught her breath as she saw them now: hordes of tribesmen dressed in a variety of colours, swarming over the landscape, looking like ants at that range as they undulated over the swelling hillside. She tightened the focus and she could see that they all seemed to be carrying rifles and many were bearing flags and banners of green and black. The drums were now louder and the noise boomed back down from the hills.

  She drew in her breath again. There were so many of them! How could the fort withstand attacks from such a host – particularly if they could fire down onto the interior of the fort from the hills? She looked upwards around her. The sides of the hills, of course, did not rise vertically and she estimated that the nearest firing positions commanding the interior would be at a range of some three hundred yards, so it was true that this fort was better sited than Fort Maude. The distance, at least, would demand expert marksmanship to kill at that range. Yet the Pathans were supposed to be splendid shots!

  Turning the binoculars back to the road, she saw the vanguard of the attackers now appearing around the bend and swelling out from behind so that they completely occupied the Pass. So many, again! She pulled out her small dress watch. It was exactly twelve noon. How long could the fort hold out against such a host?

  The bugle rang out again and the defenders were now lining the walls, with enough men, it seemed to Alice, for each embrasure to be occupied. She took up position just outside her room, behind the kindly old havildar to whom she had spoken earlier. He turned his head to her and gave her a warm smile. She forced herself to smile back reassuringly. It wouldn’t do for a memsahib, even less a havildar, to display concern.

  Orders were now shouted and the men rested their rifles on the stonework, some kneeling, some standing, according to the varying levels of the firing step. None of the men yet aimed their rifles for the Pathans were not within range. Alice looked keenly to see any sign of anxiety among the riflemen. But there seemed none. They merely settled down, waiting, comfortably it seemed, not even adjusting the sights on their rifles, for no range orders had yet been given.

  Alice was immediately reassured at the cool discipline exhibited by these Khyber Riflemen. It could have been soldiers of a foremost British regiment of the line that she was observing. Despite the sun, now at its highest, they seemed to be as cool as guardsmen.

  Picking up the glasses again, Alice saw that the Pathans were now climbing higher up the hills and spreading out, obviously to gain better vantage points for sniping. Clearly, they were not just a rabble. Someone was directing the attack. Someone was in command.

  The defenders still held their fire and Alice noted the subedars and the havildars were now walking carefully, fully erect, behind the riflemen. She caught the eye of Subedar Major Khan, who brusquely waved her back from the firing positions and to her room. Chastened, she crept back inside.

  She opened the box of cartridges and took handfuls and deposited them in the pockets of her riding breeches, so that they exaggerated the curve outwards of the jodhpurs. She looked again at the Webley. She had no idea of its range but, obviously, it would be useless at long range, so having no effect on the snipers. It was a close-quarters weapon. Useful only
if the fort was overcome and the Pathans swarmed up the stairway to her room … She gulped. Well, that wouldn’t happen, she had been assured of that.

  Sitting on her bed disconsolately, Alice heard an order barked outside and then repeated around the walls. To hell with this! She was not going to stay in this stuffy little room waiting for her door to be knocked down by some knife-carrying tribesman! She crept outside again and realised that some shots were now being fired on the fort from the surrounding hillside. Nothing, however, seemed to be having any effect on the defenders, who were now all studiously adjusting the rear-sights on their rifles in response to the orders given.

  Alice crouched next to the old havildar, who had now taken up his position at one of the embrasures. He turned, with a frown, and she grinned and put her finger to her lips, indicating her revolver. His frown disappeared and was replaced by a grin. ‘Be careful, memsahib,’ he grunted. ‘These men are good shots.’ He pointed towards the lines of tribesmen, now gradually approaching the walls.

  Whatever she was about to say in reply was drowned by an outburst of firing from the hills and the road below. It evoked no response from the defenders for the firing was badly directed and still at long range and the officers were showing no sign of giving orders to return the fire. They were clearly biding their time – in for the long haul.

  Then there was a huge shout from without the walls and, looking over the havildar’s shoulder, Alice saw that the mob was now rushing towards the walls. An order was shouted by Major Subedar Khan, to be repeated by the other subedars commanding the firing positions. Immediately, all the riflemen at the embrasures nestled their rifle butts to their cheeks and sighted down the long barrels of the Martini-Henrys. But still they waited. Then a second command was shrieked and repeated and the embrasures came to life in a volley of flame.