by George Bruce
Colonel Dennie praised ‘the fearless manner in which the men of the 13th, chiefly young soldiers, ascended heights, nearly perpendicular, under the sharp fire of the insurgents’. Thus the pass was cleared, the Afghans, afraid of being taken in the rear, quickly retreating towards Tezeen.
Colonel Monteith and his force was now left to camp in the Koord-Kabul valley beyond the pass, while Sale and Dennie marched their contingent back again to await further reinforcements at Butkhak.
General Sale, awaiting reinforcements, kept his force divided in this way for several days, Monteith being isolated in a vulnerable position. Soon he was joined by Captain Macgregor, a political officer highly thought of by Macnaghten. Through Macgregor a party of ‘friendly’ Afghans now obtained permission to camp next to the British. On the night of 17 October, just when British sentries had reported the advance of a column of Ghilzyes, the friendly ones opened fire, killing Lieutenant Jenkins and thirty sepoys. Monteith was soon heavily engaged on all sides with the ferocious Ghilzyes. He eventually drove them off, though not without more casualties and the loss of 80 camels laden with 30,000 rounds of ammunition, some gunpowder and medical stores. For the Ghilzyes it was an encouraging encounter.
Macnaghten now decided to crush these rebels — they were delaying him. He strengthened Sale’s force from the Kabul garrison with some 2,000 more fighting-men, two 9-pounders of the Horse Artillery under Lieutenant Walker; a battery of mountain artillery, 300 more of Broadfoot’s sappers, a squadron of cavalry and a few hundred Afghan irregular troops.
On the morning of 20 October, Sale marched the column safely through the Koord-Kabul Pass once more and joined Monteith in the valley beyond.
Macnaghten had now supplied Sales with a force which vigorously led could end the Ghilzye rebellion finally and make the links with India safe again. He could then have ridden triumphantly away to Bombay, for the reverberations of a decisive victory would have sobered the chiefs all over Afghanistan.
But now, Macnaghten’s political subordinate Macgregor, upon whom he had put so much store, interfered at the decisive moment. Khoda Buxsh, the Ghilzye chief of Tezeen, had deployed his men in the valley, instead of above on the precipices. In doing so it seemed he had thrown away his most valuable advantage and exposed his men to the full power of the British artillery. But his force being the weaker, he knew what he was doing.
Early in the morning, Colonel Dennie formed up to attack, the long column of red-coated infantry on either side of the black barrels of the artillery, the cavalry a mass of pale blue at the rear of each flank. Overwhelmingly superior in numbers, weapons and discipline, victory under Dennie’s bold leadership was certain.
The bugles were ready to sound ‘forward’ at Dennie’s command, the men were tense and impatient, when an Afghan rode furiously up to Macgregor’s tent with a message from his master, Khoda Buxsh — a declaration of surrender and a request for negotiations.
Macgregor must at once have persuaded Sale to countermand the attack. Perhaps affected by a painful leg wound that still kept him on his back, Sale immediately agreed, Dennie was informed just in time. The bugles sounded the retire and the men, hot for battle, returned once more to their tents.
Negotiations now could gain the British nothing, lose them the chance of effectively crippling the Ghilzyes and enable Khoda Buxsh to avoid defeat. But Macgregor failed to realise this. Sale, too, made a fatal error in agreeing to talk when an easy victory was at hand — a victory which assuredly would have freed the British from the Ghilzye danger and calmed the entire country.
Macnaghten had left matters ‘very much to your discretion’ in his letter of 18 October to Macgregor. If the rebels ‘were very humble’ he did not wish to be too hard upon them. But he stipulated that ‘the defences of Khoda Buxsh’s fort must be demolished’ and for the other chief Gool Mahommed, there was to be ‘nothing but war’. He concluded: ‘I should be sorry to hear of their bolting, probably to renew their depredations…’
Macnaghten expected Sale to deal them a crushing blow.
But instead there were only negotiations, in which the pliant Macgregor was worsted at every point. It was agreed that Khoda Buxsh’s fort should be left intact. The supplies in it and his other property, which rightly should have been seized as recompense for the robberies carried out by his tribesmen, were instead bought at a high price by the British. The claim of the two chiefs that their annual payments — recently cut by Macnaghten — should be restored to the former level, was also agreed.
To cap it all, Macgregor supplied them with 10,000 rupees on the understanding that the chiefs needed it to call out the tribes to keep the passes clear. Finally, there was to be no British garrison at Tezeen to prevent the Ghilzyes rising again and even massing against the British in Kabul.
The day before, while awaiting a report of the stern measures for which he had asked, Macnaghten had written impatiently to Major Rawlinson at Kandahar: ‘I had hoped ere evening to have announced to you the capture or dispersion of the Tezeen rebels; but of this there is no hope until tomorrow. Our people in this quarter have a happy knack of bitching matters. However, let that pass. All’s well that ends well. In the meantime it is very satisfactory to think that, notwithstanding we had rebellion at our very doors not a single tribe had joined the rebels. The interruption of our communications is very provoking, but the road will soon be opened…’
Macnaghten had no doubt whatsoever that the rebellion would not last long. His letter went on: ‘I do not think I can possibly get away from this before the 1st proximo. The storm will speedily subside; but there will be heaving of the billows for some time, and I should like to see everything right and tight before I quit the helm. Burnes is naturally in an agony of suspense about the succession to me. I think and hope he will get it… And now that tranquillity is restored (or will be in a day or two) all that is required will be to preserve it.’
Macnaghten’s policy at this time was sound. He assured everyone that there was little to worry over, and so tried to keep an optimistic spirit alive while at the same time furnishing the troops needed to put down rebellion. If Macgregor and Sale had done as he ordered, the Ghilzye rising would indeed have ended quickly.
Then came Macgregor’s report, with all its implications of danger. Bitter indeed must have been Macnaghten’s sorrow to learn that Macgregor had snatched away Dennie’s sword when it was raised for the decisive blow — only to let himself be tricked by the guile of a wily Afghan chief.
Macnaghten put as good a face on it as possible, merely saying that he thought the terms far too favourable. Shah Shuja also was dissatisfied, but Macnaghten, true to his habit of making the best of a bad job, backed up his subordinate as well as he could. ‘I do not entertain the smallest doubt of the policy of your proceedings or of the wisdom of your granting such favourable terms,’ he wrote Macgregor on 27 October.
‘I shall probably make a start on Monday morning, the 1st proximo, that is, if everything is quiet; but matters still have a threatening appearance in the direction of the Kohistan, and I dread to open the letters I receive from Pottinger… I am a good deal bothered, as you may imagine, just now. Now that my departure is so near, every fellow is having at me.’ On the same day he wrote bitterly of the Ghilzye treaty to Rawlinson: ‘Nothing has annoyed me so much as the mode in which this settlement has been effected…’
His worst fears were soon to be justified. Sale had marched onwards on 26 October, not in peace and safety as the treaty guaranteed, but with serious shooting between his rearguard and the enemy. Sale saw at once what he had lost by not fighting, and the danger that threatened him.
Ahead was the quaintly named Pass of the Fairy, a narrow winding gorge with steep precipitous sides. Sale guessed there would be a mass attack in the close confines of the pass, so he took instead the road south which bypassed it and led his column safely into the valley of Jugdulluk on the other side without opposition.
The Ghilzyes were, in fact,
massed in thousands along the brink of the pass of the Fairy, hoping to trap Sale where his artillery would be useless and their accurate jezail fire would tell. Sale now led his column on to Gundamuk, the next stage of the journey and camped there, on 30 October, among orchards and a sparkling stream. His rearguard and baggage-train were attacked on the way and 120 of his men killed.
In face of this breach of the treaty, Sale should now have launched a punishing attack on the treacherous Ghilzyes. Once he knew the facts, Macnaghten would no doubt have agreed — it was the only way of ensuring safe communications with India. Sale had in men, weapons and supplies ample resources, and in Dennie a fighting, capable leader.
But instead, Sale sat in camp among the orchards at Gundamuk awaiting further orders — passiveness that heralded among a primitive fighting race the belief that the British could be cheated without fear of retribution. The moollahs and the chiefs spread the fiction that Sale had purchased permission from the Ghilzyes to pass unharmed through their territory.
All this blew like a strong wind on the smouldering embers of rebellion in Kabul.
Rumours later began to drift in to Sale with friendly tribesmen that all was not well there. Some spoke of a rising. Sale might now have sent loyal Afghans as spies to find out the truth of this, so that, if necessary, he could march back to the rescue. But he sat there awaiting further orders.
Several days later, on 10 November, came an alarming letter to the political officer Macgregor, from Macnaghten. Dated 9 November, it read: ‘My dear Macgregor, I have written you several letters, urging you in the strongest manner to come up with Sale’s brigade to our relief, but I fear you may not have received them. Our situation is rather a desperate one unless you arrive, because we can neither retreat in any direction, nor leave the cantonments to go into the Bala Hissar; but if we had your force we should be able to hold the city, and thus preserve both the cantonment and Bala Hissar.’
What precisely had happened in Kabul?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kabul at the end of October and the beginning of November was strangely calm and quiet. Neither General Elphinstone, who was packed and ready to leave; nor Macnaghten, who wanted to go, but was held there by ever more frequent risings, nor Burnes, who longed for the departure of his chief so that he could take over, suspected that the storm of rebellion that had been threatening them would soon break.
Lady Sale was now keeping a journal in which she noted down events, often hourly, intermingled with her comments upon them, but she neither saw nor heard anything significant at this time. Her husband had written from Tezeen that his wound was healing well and that the chiefs were very polite… she was to leave for India any day, together with Macnaghten and his wife and Elphinstone… she was happy to go, but she regretted having to say goodbye to the snug little house in the cantonments which Sale (this was how she always referred to her husband) had caused to be built to his own plan. She was sorry too at leaving the little kitchen garden — in which when not away chasing rebels her husband grew cauliflowers, artichokes, peas and potatoes — as well as the flower-beds which she herself had grown and which the Afghan gentlemen who came to visit admired so much…
But General Sale was now encamped among the orchards near the village of Gundamuk with Colonel Monteith and a brigade of some 5,000 troops, separated from his wife and daughter by 70 miles of mountains held by rebellious and bloodthirsty tribes. General Nott was far south at Kandahar, and already the winter snows had blocked the high mountain passes between the two cities.
In the cantonments General Elphinstone waited anxiously to leave, too ill now to command his 5,000 troops effectively. Shah Shuja looked anxiously down at them from the impregnable heights of the Bala Hissar, with 3,000 troops of his own, not a very capable force. Macnaghten and his wife resided in lordly style in the British mission buildings next to the cantonments, while Burnes enjoyed himself in his mansion in the middle of the crowded, mob-ridden city.
But even Sir Alexander, who had the best intelligence service in Kabul, had decided that all was well at this time, having chosen to ignore warnings that his life was in danger.
Staying with him on 1 November were his brother, Lieutenant Charles Burnes, and Lieutenant William Broadfoot, brother to George Broadfoot, then in Gundamuk with General Sale. William Broadfoot had just arrived at Kabul to start work as military secretary to Burnes and the day was doubly meaningful for him — it was also the first anniversary of the death of his brother James in the forlorn cavalry charge against Dost Mahommed at Purwundurrah.
Burnes’s mansion in the city’s centre was built round a courtyard and with a gallery overlooking the street, and here Burnes lived well. For Dr. Kennedy, the Bombay force medical chief who had returned to India with General Keane, the dinners and the wine with which Burnes had plied him were one of the memorable events of his stay. On the evening of 1 November the three young men had doubtless dined equally well, on pheasant or quail, with two or three bottles of Burnes’s fine claret, to celebrate Broadfoot’s arrival.
But Burnes was anxious about his promotion to Envoy. Confirmation had not yet come from the Governor-General and his anxiety was reflected in his journal: ‘What will this day bring forth?’ he had written on 31 October, the day before. ‘It will make or mar me, I suppose. Before the sun sets I shall know whether I go to Europe or succeed Macnaghten.’
But by the evening of 1 November he was still awaiting Lord Auckland’s fiat. Other men, however, not the Governor-General had decided his fate — and it was a grim one.
The same evening, not far off through Kabul’s twisting alleys, several of the most fanatical among the rebellious chiefs had gathered in a large towered house — the home of Sydat Khan, chief of the Alekozye tribe. Most influential of those there was Abdoollah Khan, a chief whom Shah Shuja had dispossessed and kept as a hostage at the court. A proud and vindictive man, he had spread discontent and spurred on the other chiefs to rebellion. Burnes had learned about these dangerous intrigues and in an angry message had called him a dog, threatening — merely to frighten him — to advise Shah Shuja to cut off his ears.
At this, Abdoollah Khan’s ferocious nature asserted itself. Years earlier, he had got rid of an elder brother, the heir to the family inheritance, by burying him up to his neck, hitching to it a wild horse and driving the animal round in a circle. He looked for blood now. Supported by Aminoollah Khan, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who hid hatred for Shah Shuja beneath professed friendship, he urged three immediate acts.
First, the use of the Shah’s name as a rabble-rouser by washing the text from a document bearing Shuja’s name and above it forging a letter to the chiefs ordering them to kill all infidels. The second act, dear especially to Abdoollah Khan, was the murder of Burnes, feared because of his intelligence service and hated because of his believed treachery in paving the way of the British into the country. The third act was an attack on and pillage of Captain Johnson’s treasury, in his house opposite — he was the paymaster of the Shah’s troops. The chiefs agreed to put the plans into effect that night — including the murder of Burnes.
But the conspiracy leaked before midnight. One of the first to hear of it was Mohun Lal, a British agent, who rushed off to tell Burnes, seemingly with little effect. Taj Mahommed, son of a Durani chief and a friend of Burnes’s, also heard what was afoot, stealthily entered Burnes’s house and warned him that the chiefs had marked him for death before daylight. But Burnes again refused to take the report seriously.
Next came Naib Sherrif, who enjoyed the same tastes as Burnes — together they had spent many convivial evenings. He told the same story and went as far as to offer to send his own son with 100 armed men to guard Burnes day and night till things calmed down. This could have saved Burnes’s life and possibly fended off the major disaster that was to come, but Burnes stubbornly refused Naib Sherrif’s offer.
Finally, came the fourth would-be Samaritan, no less a person than Usmin Khan, the Shah’s new Viz
ier, and even while a mob could be heard clamouring at the gate, he pleaded with Burnes to come with him and his escort to the safety of the Bala Hissar. Again Burnes refused; the Vizier said goodbye and went.
To all these warnings Burnes’s attitude was that the Afghans had never received any injury from him, but on the contrary he had done much for them and he was quite sure they would never harm him.
So he scorned to run for it, but at about six o’clock in the morning when the mob was yelling outside he sent a messenger with an urgent note to Macnaghten asking for troops to be sent to guard him and suppress the uproar, for such it was at this time. Mohan Lal, watching from the roof of his own house saw shortly after six o’clock four horsemen, whom he recognised as Abdoollah Khan, Aminoolah Khan, Sikander and Abdul Salam, ride up to the mob before Burnes’s house with a crowd of armed retainers.
Burnes, he says, sent out two servants to ask the chiefs why they had risen against him, and assuring them of his wish to restore their stipends and privileges. In reply, Sikander Khan drew his sword and struck off one servant’s head. His fellow conspirators cut at the other man with their swords. Badly wounded he managed to escape into the house and covered in blood reported back to Burnes.
The conspirators now ordered their men to climb to the housetops and open fire into Burnes’s house and garden. Soon the crackle of musketry mingled with the howls of the mob. Shots crashed through the windows and ricocheted about the rooms. Burnes had ordered his sepoy guard of several men not to fire and now in a final effort at conciliation he faced and harangued the mob from the gallery above the street, promising a handsome reward, says Mohan Lal, if the chiefs would call off the violence. But in reply there were more shots and yells for blood.
Burnes ordered his sepoys to fire back. He, his brother and Broadfoot, determined to save themselves until the troops arrived, also fired at the mob. Almost at once Broadfoot fell with a wound in the heart. Burnes and his brother carried him dying to a downstairs room.
