Soldier of the Raj

by Philip McCutchan

‘The order of Nashkar Ali Khan, who is in Maizar.’

  ‘What does he want of me?’

  ‘This you will see.’ Healey stood upright again. Looking at his lean brown legs, Ogilvie heard him talking to the guard and his two companions. Soon after this two of the men bent and dragged away the securing boulder. Hands reached in and laid hold of his shoulders, and heaved. It was a painful business, and his head banged hard against the rock roof of the hole and he lost some skin from his arms and body, but the feeling when he was stretched out on the open track was one of sheer relief and joy. Healey bent and gave him water from a goat-skin, and forced him to take more of the rough food on which he had lived over the past days. His limbs were twitching still, and he was cruelly stiff in his joints, so much so that he doubted if he would ever move again. But Healey was patience itself. He was well prepared to wait until Wilshaw Sahib was fit to move. This was as Nashkar Ali Khan himself wished it.

  ‘Then he wishes me no further harm, Earless One?’

  ‘In certain circumstances, under certain conditions, he wishes you nothing but good. Now, Wilshaw Sahib, I shall bring life back to your limbs.’ Healey squatted beside him on the ground and started massaging, rubbing warmth into arms and legs, easing away the stiffness and the restlessness that was making him twitch so badly. Healey’s hands were strong, and this massage worked effectively. After half an hour’s hard sweaty work, Healey sat back on his haunches and said, ‘Now try to stand, Wilshaw Sahib.’

  Ogilvie did so, but staggered. Healey and one of the Pathans caught him and steadied him. Panting with the effort, he tried to take a step, but his legs crumpled. Over the next two hours, no less, he learned to walk all over again, and at last Healey was satisfied, but said he would be carried down the track to the pass by the two bearers. ‘Horses are waiting,’ he said. ‘The ride to Maizar will not take too long.’ Shading his eyes, he looked upward at the holy man on the peak. ‘Up there is someone who has a longer wait than you have had, Wilshaw Sahib. Truly a man of patience, and of a godly strength.’

  ‘Still there is no sign?’

  ‘Only the sadhu can say, and he has not spoken.’

  ‘And Nashkar Ali Khan?’

  ‘Still awaits the sign.’

  ‘All else is ready, Earless One?’

  ‘All else will be very ready, Wilshaw Sahib, when you have played your part.’ Healey, who happened to have his back to all three Pathans at that moment, gave Ogilvie another wink, accompanied this time by a cheerful grin. Ogilvie was much intrigued by this, but had to wait in patience for some explanation. ‘You are ready to start now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Healey signed to the bearers and Ogilvie was lifted like a baby and the procession, losing no more time now, started the descent. Now the sun was high, spreading a harsh glare over the mountains, and the clarity of the atmosphere was such that Ogilvie could see many scores of miles into Afghanistan and could pick out the crevices like old scars on the hillsides, and the deep rocky gorges that formed the high sides of the passes, the ancient caravan routes. Along those passes, for centuries before the British Raj and its regiments from every corner of the British Isles had arrived like a roll of drums along the Afghan border, wild men had surged on their expeditions of plunder and rape and killing, men who had formed the spear-heads of the rise of empires or the destruction of dynasties. In his mind’s eye he saw them again — or their descendants, equally wild and bloodthirsty men — marching and riding along those same age-old passes to wage war against the present enemy, the most persistent and presumptuous enemy of all, the men from the west, the soldiers of the Queen, men with womanish white skins and a curious way of dressing that made them all look alike. The thunder that could come out of Afghanistan to join with that of the Waziris and the tribes to the north could all too possibly rise to the crescendo of a storm that would tear the British flag from its pre-eminence in the Empire of India, rip it from cantonment and residency and fortress and scatter its defenders, as one of the Pathans guarding his prison-hole had said, back into the seas over which they had come to conquer.

  He took a last glance upward at the sadhu. It was all in his hands. Eagle faced, old bag of bones, skinny, clad only in an animal’s skin, with sandals on his feet, probably sitting in his own excreta if his foodless vigil had left him anything to excrete, you could knock him to oblivion with the gentlest push —yet, if she were a wise woman, Her Majesty Queen Victoria herself would have the greatest respect for his potential.

  Had Ogilvie had the strength in his body at that moment, he would have kicked the Pathans down the hillside and climbed to the peak to do O’Kelly’s bidding. But the moment passed and with it passed his disturbing vision of the embattled tribesmen. Why, they were all poorly armed and equipped, and surely to goodness all the fervour in the world was not enough to arm them against the power and might of the British Army in India? There would be slaughter, yes, wickedly long casualty lists and much human misery and heartache, and no doubt many more Joneses screaming in their death agonies on the parade-grounds of Peshawar. But — surely — the final issue could never be in doubt!

  They reached the pass, gloomy between its rock sides. The horses were waiting, tethered to scrubby trees. Healey asked, ‘You can ride now, Wilshaw Sahib?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ He did; and successfully mounted and sat, though it was a painful process still. When he was ready they moved off in procession along the pass, and after a while Healey announced that he wished to discuss their master’s business in private with the Englishman. The Pathans went ahead obediently, out of earshot. When it was safe to do so, Healey spoke. He said, ‘So far, so good, old man. At least you’re out of the frying pan!’

  Ogilvie grinned. ‘Where’s the fire — and what are the chances of falling into it, Healey?’

  ‘The fire is all Waziristan, but I suppose you could say it’s likely to be burning more brightly in Maizar. As to the chances...how does fifty-fifty strike you?’

  ‘Fair enough, I suppose.’

  ‘Quite. It’s all I can promise you, anyway’ Healey chuckled. ‘I’ve been a busy man the last few days.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Ingratiating myself further, chiefly. Nashkar’s a damn sight simpler than he imagines, actually — not that it’s been child’s play. It hasn’t. I’ve worked like a nigger, if you’ll forgive something of a pun.’

  ‘It’s come off?’

  ‘You bet it has, old man. Nashkar thinks the sun shines out of my backside. Some of that has rubbed off on you. I’ve built you up, my boy! Very trustworthy, and likely to blossom into a first-rate supplier of arms. I took my cue from you — what you said about belonging to the rival firm and all that. I insisted that it sounded absolutely genuine and now Nashkar’s willing to take a chance. Your case has been aided by something else as well: Nashkar’s put out feelers towards Peshawar.’ He glanced sideways. ‘You’ve been disowned, it seems. I don’t know how that feels to you, but it’s worked wonders with Nashkar, who has been put in a very believing frame of mind — you see, the way he put out the feelers was pretty subtle.’ He outlined the facts. ‘All the same,’ he added, ‘it’s going to be up to you and you alone to produce the pudding that gives the proof.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try! You’ll have to give me some more information to go on, Healey.’

  ‘Of course.’ Healey drew his horse back a little, for they were catching up with the Pathans. ‘Between us, Ogilvie, we’re going to find out the entire plan of campaign and also we’re going to inhibit the long awaited sign before it materializes. Right?’

  ‘Right!’

  ‘But to do it, we need time. Time, time, time — that’s the thing. And that’s where you come in.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You guarantee an arms supply from Abbottabad. I know I’ve said I’ve done the groundwork, and that’s true, I have. But it’s you yourself Nashkar has to trust. You’ll need all your wits about you to keep his trust while you’re milking him
of full information, but I’ve a feeling it’s our last remaining hope and I can promise you one thing for sure: Nashkar won’t move till he does get your arms delivery, or someone else’s! We know he’ll not get yours, but at least we’ll get the time we need if you talk convincingly.’

  ‘He said he had all the arms he needed for the assault, Healey.’

  ‘Quite right. He had — when he said it.’ Healey seemed full of mirth. ‘Did you — er — happen to feel a small ground tremor a few nights ago?’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it was a minor earthquake somewhere.’

  ‘You could call it that,’ Healey said modestly as they jogged on through the pass. ‘As a matter of fact it was me — blowing up Nashkar’s biggest arsenal, a few miles this side of Maizar.’ Ogilvie gave a whistle of surprise. ‘It’s a long story, of course, but in point of fact the actual deed was quite easy. The place was virtually wide open — in a guard sense I mean, the actual site was underground, and simply vast. No wonder you thought it was an earthquake! So did a certain maiden — wrong word, that — whose bed I beat it to afterwards at breakneck speed. The dump was guarded by just a handful of rather seedy Waziris on whom I was able to practise my thuggee.’ He clasped his fingers around his throat. ‘You know — army boot. laces. I thought they might be useful and I brought them into the country made up into a sort of net arrangement to support an indecent part of my anatomy. Next day, Nashkar went berserk, but he never connected the business with me. And now, you see, he’s in the market for arms, and fast.’ He glanced at Ogilvie’s anxious face. ‘We have to beat the sadhu, old man. God could well be in His heaven if things go right for us, but in the meantime His rival’s self-styled prophet is very much on earth. If the sign comes before we’re ready...well, Nashkar will march, buggered-up arsenal or not. Frankly,’ he added, ‘I wouldn’t consider the loss vital, though I’ve persuaded him it is, naturally.’

  ‘So it’s still back to that confounded holy man!’

  Healey nodded. As if he had connected in some way with Ogilvie’s earlier thoughts, he said, ‘The Queen-Empress, long may she live, is by way of being up against Allah or whoever it is that communes with our holy man. I should have said Mahomet. It’ll be like a clash with the Dean of Windsor, if one regards the sadhu as being of the same sort of seniority.’ He paused. ‘Shall we join the Pathans?’

  Healey seemed in a very good humour, and full of confidence, which was more than Ogilvie felt. They sent their horses ahead faster and caught up with the tribesmen, and with a practised ease of manner Captain Healey reverted to the severe gravity of the Earless One.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Back into the smells of Maizar; but not for long. Nashkar Ali Khan, whose liveried mounted escort met them outside the western gate and conducted them arrogantly through the crowds of men and women, occupied a splendid fortress-palace built on high rock away beyond the town to the north-east. The Pathan leader looked out of place here, Ogilvie thought, as though he and his garments were more suited to the rigours of the open mountains and the freedom of the plains. It was possible, he imagined, indeed likely, that Nashkar had seized this palace by force from some princeling whose power and fol. lowers he had usurped.

  They walked, soon after arrival, on the battlemented roof of the building — Ogilvie, Nashkar Ali Khan, and Healey. The Pathan, who had apologized for the lengthy imprisonment, was polite and friendly, though there was still a reserve about him in his dealings with a man who had yet to offer conclusive proof of his trustworthiness.

  ‘You will, of course, have been told by the Earless One, Wilshaw Sahib, that a further shipment of arms would be welcome. I have enough, and more than enough, to put my immediate plans into full effect, but...’ he shrugged ‘avenues of supply are never to be lightly turned away.’

  ‘They are not too easily come by, Highness?’

  The Pathan laughed good-humouredly. ‘You wish to prepare the ground for bargaining! I shall not be ungenerous in my offer, Wilshaw Sahib, but first I shall want to know what you can supply, and how quickly.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Ogilvie paused. ‘Your plans are, of course, against the British positions along the Frontier?’

  ‘Yes. Does this cause you to have second thoughts, Wilshaw Sahib? Do you not understand, as a seller of arms about the world, that to have your products used against your own people is a risk you must take, you and all other sellers of arms?’

  ‘Yes, certainly. I do understand that. It is never a welcome thought, though.’

  ‘You prefer to forget it?’

  ‘Let us say, it is not necessary to stress it, Nashkar Ali Khan! I asked the question because it occurs to me that after your first assault you might well find yourself able to take over arms captured from the soldiers, and will not need a replacement supply.’

  Again the Pathan laughed. ‘Such honesty does credit to your gentlemanliness, but scarcely to your pocket, Wilshaw Sahib! I shall not rely, however, on such imponderabilities. Your British soldiers seldom leave their arms behind, and have a habit of destroying what is not transportable in a retreat. No, I must be assured of my own independent supply-line, Wilshaw Sahib.’

  ‘Very well. What kind of quantities are we discussing, Highness?’

  ‘All you can promise.’

  ‘Quite so, but I would like a basis to work on, Highness. If you would, perhaps, indicate, however roughly, the size of your armies in the field, this would help.’

  ‘My armies?’ Nashkar Ali Khan stopped his measured pacing. He waved an arm towards the peaks surrounding the brooding palace. ‘Here in Waziristan I command sixty thousand warriors. Along the North-West Frontier of your Raj —from Kohat to Chitral — I have the promise that another eighty thousand men are ready to march. From Afghanistan a virtually limitless number, of whom some fifteen thousand have already crossed the Frontier to join me. Does this help?’

  ‘Yes, Highness.’ One hundred and fifty-five thousand already, plus that inexhaustible reservoir in Afghanistan — a continual reserve to flow in like a mighty river. The whole of Northern Army Command contained some one hundred and seventy thousand troops, consisting of forty thousand British plus native troops, native reserves, volunteers and Imperial Service troops. A mixed bunch, and not all of them fighting men. Many were medical orderlies, many were clerks, cooks, storekeepers and so on. And they were spread around all of the northern half of India, whereas Nashkar Ali Khan’s fighting hordes were nicely concentrated, poised, probably, for a pincer movement on Peshawar and Nowshera. If those two great garrisons fell, the hordes would sweep on to Murree and Northern Command would disintegrate. In spite of Fettleworth’s awareness of the threat, Nashkar’s attack could carry him right through the British positions unless Fettleworth had already acted to reinforce his Division. Speed was essential now. Admitted the British garrisons were grouped around the railway system so as to facilitate movement, but the railways could handle only a certain number at any one time. And if troops had to be sent north from Southern Army at Ootacamund in the Madras Presidency, why, then the request for them, and the first entrainments, should already have been made. That would be up to Ogilvie’s father, of course, but Fettleworth was the man first responsible for notifying Army Headquarters of his needs. Ogilvie found he had broken out into a heavy sweat as he thought of the numbers the Pathan had so lightly quoted.

  He asked, ‘And the men from Afghanistan? Do they come with their own arms?’

  ‘In most cases, yes. There is a supply from the Russians, but their pieces are old-fashioned, and I prefer the British rifle and the British machine-gun. Now, Wilshaw Sahib. Can you supply such an army as I have described?’

  ‘Not all of it, Highness — at any rate, not quickly. But I can help. In and around Abbottabad I have some eighty thousand rifles...and perhaps five thousand machine-guns, and much ammunition. Also explosives, and loose powder.’ He could only hope he had not over-quoted unreasonably.

  ‘These can be delivered, Wilshaw Sahib?’

&nb
sp; Ogilvie tried to say it casually: ‘Of course, Highness, if I go to make the arrangements.’

  Once again the Pathan laughed, and laid a hand on Ogilvie’s shoulder. ‘My dear Wilshaw Sahib, you cannot for one moment think that I would let you cross my borders into British-held India! Do you take me for a madman?’

  ‘You don’t trust me enough to let me help you?’

  ‘Of a certainty I do not trust you enough to let you leave my country, which is a different thing, and a natural thing with which you must agree. Come, Wilshaw Sahib, let us walk again.’ He let his hand fall from Ogilvie and they resumed their pacing of the battlements, looking out across the barren peaks reaching skyward in solemn and barbaric majesty. ‘The Earless One believes you are to be trusted, and I trust the Earless One. There is another thing also, but even this is yet not enough for me to let you go, Wilshaw Sahib.’

  ‘What is this other thing, Highness?’

  Nashkar said, ‘I have trailed what you, I think, would call a red herring into your garrison at Peshawar.’ He repeated what Healey had already told Ogilvie about the goat-skin message hurled through Surgeon-Major Warrender’s window. ‘Enough time has elapsed, but the British have neither replied nor made one single move. I believe — all my past experience tells me — that they would not leave a British officer to be tortured and broken by the tribes who are their enemies. This heartens me, Wilshaw Sahib, in my trust. I believe the name Wilshaw is perhaps genuinely not known to the British command.’

  ‘I can assure you it is not,’ Ogilvie said earnestly. He had in fact had very mixed feelings ever since Healey had told him of his disownment. Fettleworth’s apparent non-activity on his behalf suited his book of subterfuge well enough, certainly —but at the same time left him with an alarming sense of aloneness and abandonment. He had expected no less if such circumstances had ever arisen, but now that they had, he’d still found it a shock to be told that his predicament was being officially ignored. He was aware now of a sudden blinding and unreasoning hatred for Fettleworth and O’Kelly and the whole vast, unwieldy system of the British Army in India that could send any man into the unknown, into terrible danger and distress and the certainty, if caught, of an end like Jones had met — and then wash their hands of him, shrug him off, cable his family with formal regrets after the worst had happened, and then carry on with the meaningless ritual of military social life with no more than one backward glance of pity. God damn them all. Then he steadied, and looked objectively at the facts. Perhaps Fettleworth had been dead right — or his advisers had been. Perhaps, even, Fettleworth had handed him salvation on a plate. At least, the British non-action seemed to have led to a wondrous buttressing of trust!