None came.
‘Very well, gentlemen. The battalion moves out at full dark, that is to say, at midnight. We shall naturally be observed from the adjacent regimental lines, but I have informed Division that I intend conducting a night exercise. No uniforms will be worn, and the men’s skins will be darkened with boot polish. They will improvise any kind of native dress, such as would be worn by bearers in a baggage train, no matter how rough and ready provided it gives an initial impression of natives rather than of British soldiers. If the boot polish wears off, that’s too bad. Remember, a lot of the Pathans are light in their colouring, and many are almost Western-looking. That fact should help us all the way along. Ammunition wagons, six in number, will be taken, with all regimental markings removed, and all rifles and machine-guns are to be stowed in these — no arms of any description will be actually carried. Iron rations and water will be taken. We shall head for the Waziristan border — some way beyond the village of Sikandar west of Thal, where Nashkar’s men will be waiting in expectation of an arms caravan. That caravan, gentlemen, will be us — the Royal Strathspeys. We shall overpower the native force, whose strength is unlikely, I think, to be very great. We then make all possible speed for wherever it was the arms were to be taken, which we shall have to find out, and we try to find Captain Ogilvie. A fast spearhead, an extended rescue force, will if necessary be formed by men acting as Mounted Infantry and riding the horses un-harnessed from the ammunition wagons. From the moment we enter Waziristan our advance will be highly dangerous, and we must expect to be under continual if distant observation from the peaks. My hope is that our dress will fool the enemy at such a distance and that we shall not too readily be known for what we are — and thus, with luck, not reported ahead. Questions, gentlemen?’
*
Throughout the remainder of the day the preparations went ahead; with a certain amount of jocular glee the men, of whom all but a handful had volunteered to take part, made ready the disguises that were to take the place of spit-and-polish. The wagons and horses were brought out and the wagons loaded with the battalion’s small-arms and with rations and water. Black shut himself in his room, and sulked with a bottle of whisky. In the early evening Pipe-Major Ross sought an interview with the Colonel.
‘What is it, Pipe-Major? Or do I know already?’
‘I’ve a feeling you may, sir. Will we take the pipes and drums, sir?’
Dornoch laughed. ‘Do men who sell arms to the tribes march in style behind the band?’
‘No, sir. I was not meaning that, sir. I meant to hide them away in the wagons, so they would be there should we have the opportunity. And the pipers’ and drummers’ uniforms, sir.’
‘Well, Pipe-Major. Far be it from me to refuse a request like that! I can see no harm in it.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘One thing, Ross. Don’t let their enthusiasm run away with them. There’s not to be one squeak of wind unless and until I myself give permission. Secrecy’s the keynote for as long as it holds out.’
‘Aye, sir, that’s well understood. Till the time comes, sir, the pipes and drums’ll be the dirtiest-looking blackguards of the lot!’
Ready on time, the battalion moved out of cantonments at midnight, passing the lines of the regiments bedded down for the night, going on their supposed night manoeuvre. Once clear of the military area they broke ranks and shambled along fast in their curious assortment of evil-smelling garments, smeared with boot-polish, their skins gleaming beneath the moon. Lord Dornoch, at their head with John Hay, was as ruffianly in appearance as anyone, with his blackened face and dirty turban and a robe like a dressing-gown. After a forced march, and shortly after dawn, having made a detour so as to appear to have come down from the north, they dropped down on the border west of Thal and continued with their wagons to skirt Sikandar and make the rendezvous at the mouth of the indicated pass into Waziristan. Two hours later, they saw the wild men on the heights ahead in the distance, the advanced scouts of the enemy, of the force that had come to make its collection and had had a long wait in the process.
As the disguised Scots approached, the scouts were seen to descend into the pass itself, waving their rifles; and a few minutes later, as the caravan of wagons came into the mouth of the pass, upwards of a hundred tribesmen were seen scrambling down the hillsides on either hand.
The caravan went on calmly, moving into the middle of the reception committee. Watching the faces of the Waziris, waiting for the dawning of suspicion, Dornoch gave his order with seconds to spare; and when he gave it twenty black-faced Scots with rifles and fixed bayonets leaped down from each of the six covered ammunition wagons. Only four shots were fired; four of the Waziris died. The rest were surrounded; it was over almost before it had begun.
Dornoch had the leader brought before him, and questioned him in Pushtu, asking him where the arms were to have been taken and where he would find the English seller of arms, Wilshaw Sahib. He had expected no answer, and he got none. He sent for Cunningham. The R.S.M.’s incongruous salute was purely automatic. ‘Sir!’ He looked a thorough-going desperado.
Dornoch stared at the native leader. ‘This man is truly ferocious,’ he said, indicating Cunningham. ‘If you refuse to speak, it will go very hard with you. Take over, if you please, Sar’nt-Major.’
‘Sir!’ Cunningham moved forward and laid hold of the man’s shoulder, throwing him forcefully against the side of a wagon. The man staggered, steadied himself against a wheel, and remained with his arms stretched out sideways against the wooden side, his eyes flickering to right and left. From somewhere in the folds of his filthy native dress, Cunningham produced a shining claymore. ‘Answer the questions, you bloody heathen!’ he roared, ‘or I’ll have your head off your shoulders and sowther it to your backside!’
Not understanding, the man shook his head.
‘By God, you’ll talk!’ Cunningham used Pushtu now. His claymore gave a close sweep that made the man’s head rock instinctively away. The steel nicked the throat, and blood ran. Dornoch felt a little sick, but it had to be done. The man was clearly terrified, and Pathan though he was, gave every appearance of weakening. Cunningham must have his head until he did so. Back in Peshawar Brigadier-General Preston had made the point to Fettleworth that a Waziri never talked. To an extent this was valid, but there was an element of exaggeration. A Waziri would not talk under the more-or-less gentlemanly methods of persuasion used by the Political Officers at Division — this was true. But here in Waziri territory no kid-glove tactics would be used; and there was the difference. Many times before, Lord Dornoch had seen Pathans break under ruthless cruelty, and Cunningham, when needs be, could be savage. The R.S.M. reached forward and grabbed the man’s clothing, bunching it in his fist and then bringing the claymore down across the material. A few more cuts, and the man was in rags, which Cunningham ripped from his body until he stood naked, his eyes blazing and flickering, a man at bay. ‘Now talk,’ Cunningham said. ‘Or else I’ll unman you, first, and leave the parts to be eaten by the vultures, while you will be taken back to Peshawar to be paraded naked before many women...and then your entrails will be cut out, and fed with your head to the barrack pigs. This I swear.’
Sweat poured down the man’s face. Cunningham pushed his claymore forward, touching the body between the thighs. The man gave a scream and moved convulsively; it may have been his movement or it may not, but blood poured down his right thigh. Cunningham laughed. ‘Talk now,’ he said. ‘Or the next cut will do the trick.’
‘I will guide you!’ the man cried out. ‘Stop!’
The claymore remained in position. ‘And Wilshaw Sahib?’
‘There is talk of an Englishman at the palace of Nashkar Ali Khan.’
‘Where’s that?’
The man nodded towards the north. ‘Outside the town of Maizar, a long distance.’
Dornoch said with relief, ‘All right, Sent-Major. Thank you. Nobly done!’
‘Ignobly, sir, beggin
g your pardon.’ Cunningham wiped sweat from his own face. ‘But I know what you mean, sir. I suppose it’s all in the day’s march, as you might say, sir.’ He added, ‘Maizar’s a long way, as he says.’
‘It is, but we’ll get there, Sent-Major, and, I trust, in time.’ He spoke then to the Waziri. ‘How far is our destination — the place where the arms were to go?’
‘In the hills this side of Maizar,’ the man muttered. ‘All this way the arms must be carried, for no wagon will make the journey.’
‘I thought as much, Sar’nt-Major, you’ll have to loose the horses and we’ll leave the wagons. With the regimental markings gone, no one who finds them will be any the wiser. Distribute the food and water among the men if you please, and the horses among the officers and senior N.C.O.s.’
‘Sir!’ His grotesque garments billowing, Cunningham swung round and marched along the line of men and wagons, giving his orders. The distribution was quickly complete and the long column set off for the southward, with the Waziri force under heavy guard, their weapons removed, marching between two ranks of the Royal Strathspeys whose bayonets were itching for a probe into native flesh. As Dornoch remarked to John Hay, any watchers along the route, at a distance as they would be, would take them for a purely native force bringing in the caravan with the addition of more tribal levies to join Nashkar’s army.
‘True, Colonel, with one provision — that this morning’s proceedings were not under observation from the hills.’
‘And that’s true too, John, though I don’t believe we were seen. I think the whole bunch came down into the pass. At any rate — let’s hope so!’
They rode on, with nine hundred-odd men of the battalion, and the captured natives, trudging on behind. They pressed ahead with all possible speed, the loud voices of the Colour-Sergeants chivvying their companies along, sparing no one.
*
Some hours after its crossing of the border, the supposed arms convoy was indeed sighted from one of the crests, where a hawk-faced Pathan warrior lay concealed. He saw the large body of nondescripts snaking along the pass below him and adjudged it to be carrying the expected weapons, the caravan that was to be strictly left alone by the khels so that its burden might enlarge the arsenal of Nashkar Ali Khan himself. That order of non-molestation would be rigorously obeyed, all along the line to Maizar. A little after this the abandoned wagons were found in the entry to the pass. Two and two were put together when these intelligences converged, and the answer arrived at could have been three or five but was certainly not four. And an erroneous but happy report was sped on its way by means of the mysterious bush telegraph to Nashkar Ali Khan in Maizar.
‘The tidings are good,’ Nashkar Ali Khan announced when, two days later, this report reached him. ‘Bring Wilshaw Sahib to me.’
‘Wilshaw Sahib,’ he said, when Ogilvie was brought in, ‘I have word that your arms are now well inside Waziristan, exactly as promised. I am indeed grateful.’ He placed his arm through Ogilvie’s. ‘Now my trust is restored and is complete. I wish to show my pleasure, Wilshaw Sahib.’
‘You are very kind, Highness.’ Ogilvie’s heart beat fast. He had some difficulty in hiding his sheer exultation in the certain knowledge that a British force must now be on the march for Maizar, or for the arsenal close to Maizar anyway; the only imponderables now were its strength, its composition, and its present whereabouts. He asked, ‘How far off is the caravan, Highness?’
Nashkar pulled at his beard. ‘I cannot say this with much accuracy, since my reports must of necessity be behind the event. But I shall expect its arrival within, let us say, two days from now.’
‘We have not yet agreed a price,’ Ogilvie reminded him.
‘You shall name your own, Wilshaw Sahib,’ the Pathan said magnanimously, ‘but first, let us see what has been sent, and of what quality.’
‘I dare say that might be as well,’ Ogilvie murmured; he was glad Healey was not present, for he was certain he would never have kept a straight face as he said that.
‘Then we shall discuss the payment on arrival. For now, Wilshaw Sahib, what is your pleasure, what can I do for you, to show the gratitude that fills my heart to overflowing?’
‘You have given me everything, Highness. Food, drink, women, all the pleasures of your palace. For that, I am grateful in my turn.’ He hesitated. ‘Yet there is one more thing, Highness, and this is freedom.’
‘Freedom?’
‘I am thinking of the woman in Peshawar, the one to whom I sent the message, and who has also been of assistance to you, Highness. When your forces move against the British, when they enter Peshawar, things may go badly for her.’
‘I shall give my personal order for her complete protection, Wilshaw Sahib. That will be obeyed on pain of instant death.’
‘I was thinking more, perhaps, of the British troops. If anything should come out...British India is a web of gossip, Highness...I would fear greatly for her safety.’
‘But she will have been most circumspect, and will continue to be so?’
‘Oh, yes, assuredly, most circumspect, Highness! I still fear, however.’
Nashkar looked at him shrewdly. ‘Yes, this is natural, but until we march, I can offer no help, Wilshaw Sahib.’
‘Quite. No direct help.’ Ogilvie hesitated, frowning, anxiously. ‘If I were to be permitted to cross into Tirah, Highness, I believe I could get her away from Peshawar before the fighting starts, which would mean complete safety for her.’
Nashkar smiled but shook his head. ‘Wilshaw Sahib, I am grateful, but I am not a fool. Certainly I trust you as I have said. But if you were to be captured by the British, if you were to be seen coming out of Waziristan...no, the risk is much, much too great! You would be tortured, and made to talk. I am sorry, but this cannot be.’ He let go of Ogilvie’s arm, and paced for a while alone, up and down his apartment, between tall stately pillars of marble, across a marble floor, dappled by shafts of sunlight coming through the high windows. Then he came back to Ogilvie and once again took his arm in a friendly fashion. ‘A little of this freedom, however, you shall have —freedom to go into Maizar, freedom to move around our beautiful hills and valleys, the finest in all India. You shall go in freedom with the Earless One, Wilshaw Sahib, and an escort of my horsemen, whenever you wish.’
‘Thank you, Highness,’ Ogilvie said. Again he had difficulty in suppressing his exultation. Expectant, really, of no bread at all, this was certainly a very good half loaf indeed.
*
‘...no one, I gather, but the 114th adjutant, one Black, more than a little drunk, and a handful of private soldiers and clerks and storemen with a Lance-Corporal named MacDunt,’ Brigadier-General Lakenham finished. ‘Otherwise, the lines were empty. Empty!’ He threw up his arms. ‘They had no orders, sir!’
‘Damn it, I know they had no orders!’ Fettleworth shouted, and slammed his fist down on his desk. ‘Didn’t anybody see them go, man? Or did they evaporate?’
‘The Connaught Rangers’ sentries saw them go, but assumed it was merely Lord Dornoch’s night exercises that were —’
‘Night exercises be damned! They’d have been back long ago, unless they’ve all been butchered by a raiding party, and that’s not very likely without Division hearing something about it!’ He fumed and raged. ‘You know what Dornoch’s done, don’t you? He’s taken his confounded Scots into Waziristan — a pound to a penny he has! Damn clansmen! No better than natives themselves, half the time. I could see the way he was thinking, at that last conference. Lakenham, I’ll have his crown and star. I’ll have his appointment. I’ll have his damn commission. I’ll have him brought before the Commander-in-Chief — and — and — and I’ll have him arraigned at the bar of the House of Lords! Damn it, Lakenham, you can start drawing up Court Martial papers now — at once!’
‘We don’t know that he’s —’
‘Oh, fiddlesticks. Don’t we! I know Lord Dornoch,’ Fettleworth said grimly. ‘I wish to very God you’d t
old me about his request for a night exercise! I’d never have allowed it, I can tell you. You may be my Chief of Staff, Lakenham, but I do like to deal with important matters myself .’
‘I didn’t regard the matter as all that important, sir.’
‘Well, you know better now, don’t you.’ He bared his teeth like a gun-shy artillery horse. ‘Now we have to decide what’s to be done about it, and frankly, I don’t know! Oh, I could send out a force to intercept — but it’s too late, of course. He’ll have crossed the border by this time, and we don’t even know where! Still, it might be worth trying — just in case he’s been delayed.’ Fettleworth’s jaw came forward. ‘My compliments to the Colonel of the Guides, Lakenham. He’s to send four squadrons immediately, to cover the Waziri border from Bannu to the Durand Line.’
‘Very good, sir. And the orders?’
‘Well, what the devil d’you imagine the orders are,’ Fettle-worth barked. ‘To instruct Lord Dornoch to return immediately to cantonments with his regiment, what else? My personal order, Lakenham, to be disobeyed at his further peril.’
‘I think, sir —’
‘See to it now, if you please.’ Bloody Francis rapped on his desk, sharply. Brigadier-General Lakenham left the room, returning a few minutes later to assure his General that the order had been despatched. Fettleworth nodded. He said frenziedly, ‘It’ll do no good, it’ll be like bolting the stable door after the horse has gone, I realize that only too damn well!’
Lakenham, still intrigued by Fettleworth’s reference to Dornoch’s ‘further peril’, for Bloody Francis seemed already to have run through a fairly comprehensive list of retributive measures, agreed; and added that in any event there was nothing else to be done, at least for the moment.
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