Futile attempts were made to send out troops from the cantonment to stamp their authority on the city but it was too little too late; the numbers against them were overwhelming and the city impregnable. The amir was beleaguered in the Balla Hissar, protected by his own troops and a handful of British officers, including John Sinclair.
Alice was only able to piece information together through reports from Sandy, rumours from the servants, angry remarks from Vernon and witnessing for herself the scenes of distant fires and explosions. At least she had heard John was still alive.
Rebellion raged like wildfire. Within days, the surrounding forts that had held supplies of grain and weapons for the cantonment had been taken by hostile tribesmen and the British garrison soldiers killed. Alice worried for Colin MacRae, whom she knew was holding out in a more distant fort, as grim news reached them of rebellions breaking out all over the country.
Snipers with deadly jezails picked on grass cutters as they tried to gather fodder for the animals. Gita lived in daily dread of her sons being targeted. Supplies of grain were stopped and carried off before they could reach the cantonment and villagers who sold to the British were intimidated and set upon.
‘A cat could jump over the cantonment walls,’ Vernon raged, ‘and we sit here cowering like pathetic mice! Shelton should be allowed full rein to attack the city but Elphinstone can’t make up his mind about anything.’
Rationing was introduced. Troops were put on constant watch along the walls and reduced to half-rations. Soon soldiers and servants began to fall sick from fatigue and malnourishment. It grieved Alice to see how quickly the cantonment children were becoming dispirited and listless. Under pressure from Vernon, she had given up teaching at the barrack school but now she felt determined to help in some way, so went to volunteer at the hospital. Vernon could hardly complain at that. She was appalled by the overcrowding from injured soldiers and the scores of sepoys who were succumbing to pneumonia. But their great need kept her from dwelling on her own fears.
Alice’s nerves were ragged from lack of sleep and constant worry about keeping Lotty and the other children safe. Emily refused to leave her house or let Alexander or the baby out of her sight. She began to take laudanum for her nerves.
Their days were punctuated by gunshots and their nights fuelled by fear that the cantonment would be overrun by angry rebels. The authorities seemed to be paralysed by the speed and savagery of the backlash; no one appeared to have a plan as to how to save the British.
What would John do in their situation? Alice wondered, lying awake, exhausted but sleepless at the tension. What was happening in the Balla Hissar? Messengers had been sent out for news but never returned. She had no idea if he was safe and the uncertainty ate at her insides like a parasite.
In the cantonment, there was endless division between MacNaughten and the military men. MacNaughten tried once more to buy off certain chiefs and set them against each other. When this didn’t work, he urged Elphinstone to strike at the city – or at least regain some of the surrounding forts from where enemy snipers were taking potshots at the British sentries guarding the cantonment walls. Despairing of any action on Elphinstone’s part, MacNaughten dispatched increasingly desperate pleas for Sale to halt his march to Jalalabad, turn around and come to their aid.
Finally, nearly two weeks after Burnes’s brutal murder, a force was sent out under Shelton to capture guns that were firing on them from the nearby Beh-meru hills. Delays and counter-commands went on all day so that it was almost dark by the time the infantry and cavalry were ready to set out, Vernon amongst them.
Alice watched tensely with Florentia and Dinah from the walls. One of the horse-drawn artillery guns got stuck in the canal as they crossed towards the hills. The women peered in the gloom at the ensuing chaos. The infantry pressed ahead up the hill but, to the horror of the women, Afghan horsemen appeared above like a cloud of roaring bees and charged through them, firing and slaying as they went. Alice clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself retching, thankful that the battle was too far off to see distinctly.
‘Our men are fleeing!’ Florentia cried in disbelief.
Panic had set in and British troops were running back down the slope in complete disarray. Officers on the cantonments walls shouted impotently at their comrades to turn and fight. When all seemed lost, the watchers could just make out in the dying light the cavalry regrouping on the plain. To the frenzied shouts of encouragement from the cantonment, the British cavalry made a counter-charge up the hill.
It was hard to see quite how it happened, as darkness fell, but by eight o’clock that evening, the Afghan force on the hill had been driven off and their guns either captured or spiked. The exhausted men were greeted with wild cheers of relief in the cantonment.
But Vernon was not exultant. ‘They should have sent us after them – butcher them like they would us, given half the chance.’
All night, he swigged back the last of his brandy and fulminated as they watched the torchlight flickering on the hillside. ‘Look at the savages – coming back to bury their dead, and no one to stop them.’
The small victory meant that much needed supplies of grain and arms were brought back from the recaptured fort on the hill. There would be fresh bread for a few more days. Yet the cantonment hospital was now overflowing with wounded from the battle as well as the sick and feverish.
Alice continued to help with washing the bed-bound and changing their bandages, trying not to show how horrified she was by their injuries. There was at least fresh water from wells within the compound but winter was beginning to bite and the wards were cold. Gathering enough fuel to keep fires going for cooking and warmth was a daily deathly struggle. Alice stemmed her panic by keeping as busy as possible, only returning home to put Lotty to bed and tell her bedtime stories. To her relief, Vernon stayed away from home as much as possible too, as he went on the lookout for drink in the houses of his fellow officers and danced attendance on Elphinstone.
There were nights when he didn’t come home at all. Alice knew he could no longer be going to his other household in Kabul but she cared nothing for where he slept; she was just thankful it wasn’t with her. She had gone back to sleeping next to Lotty.
‘She’s having nightmares,’ Alice had told Vernon, ‘and needs comforting. I don’t want her waking you.’
To her surprise, Vernon had not objected. He was preoccupied and coldly distant; Alice realised that her husband was just as anxious as everyone else at their precarious position. So she lay awake, beyond exhaustion, and fretted about John. Would she ever set eyes on him again?
John slipped over the wall of the cantonment under cover of dark, dressed in the garb of an Afridi warrior, Azlan’s dagger glinting in his belt. The young emaciated sepoy on guard had fallen asleep at his post. He spoke rapidly in Hindustani to the guards in the lane below, two of whom accompanied him to MacNaughten’s house.
General Elphinstone was there, reclining on a sofa, hardly able to stand since falling from his horse at the beginning of the recent troubles. He looked in great pain. To John’s dismay, Vernon was also there. He appeared to have the ear of the embattled general. An hour later, John was still trying to explain the gravity of the situation both in and beyond Kabul. The room was fuggy with pipe smoke yet chilly from the lack of a decent fire. They all sat hunched in their outdoor coats.
‘But you must make a deal with Sirdar Akbar before he reaches Kabul,’ John urged. He looked around at the anxious, exhausted faces in MacNaughten’s study.
‘Perhaps Sinclair is right and we should . . . ?’ Elphinstone murmured. He looked haggard from the constant rheumatic pain he suffered.
‘We can’t be seen to be undermining Shah Shuja,’ MacNaughten countered.
‘This is a waste of time,’ said Vernon. ‘We should have nothing to do with this savage – and there’s no proof he’s anywhere near Kabul.’
‘He’s an Afghan prince and Dost Mohammed’s favourite s
on,’ John said with a withering look at his rival, ‘and he’s a matter of days away. Once he’s here, he will assume power and Shah Shuja will have no say in it. Akbar is far more popular than the amir.’
‘How come you know so much about him?’ Vernon sneered.
‘Because I met him at court when his father was in power – and again when I was negotiating for his father to hand himself over to the British,’ said John. He would not rise to Vernon’s baiting. The decisions that needed to be made were too vital to their people’s survival. ‘He’s an educated and charming man. But he’s also young and impetuous – prone to losing his temper if he doesn’t get his way.’ He turned to MacNaughten and pleaded, ‘Don’t make an enemy of Akbar – deal with him now and get him on our side.’
‘On our side!’ Vernon scoffed, ‘He already is the enemy. You seem far too close to this rebel. Sometimes I wonder whose side you are on, Sinclair.’
John sprang to his feet. ‘Don’t you dare question my loyalty! I’ve risked my life to come here with this information. I didn’t run away from the city on the night of Burnes’s death like some—’
‘That’s enough,’ MacNaughten snapped. ‘Your quarrelling doesn’t help us.’
John sat back down, glaring. Vernon gave him a smirk.
MacNaughten continued. ‘Even if Akbar does come to Kabul, he won’t threaten us British. We hold his father, Dost Mohammed, and his family in India. Akbar is not going to do anything to endanger them, surely?’
‘Quite so,’ said Vernon. ‘And we shouldn’t pander to such rabble-rousers.’
Sandy spoke up. ‘Sinclair is not saying that we should.’
‘It sounds like it to me,’ Vernon retorted.
‘I realise we are all at the end of our tethers,’ said Elphinstone, shifting in discomfort. ‘Shall we have a glass of sherry to calm things? I have some left.’
‘Sherry?’ MacNaughten sighed. ‘Good God, man! We need to keep our heads clear and make some decisions.’
Elphinstone greeted this rebuff with a sympathetic smile but ordered sherry to be fetched from his quarters anyway.
John tried again to persuade his superiors. ‘Shah Shuja wishes you to move back into the Balla Hissar for safety. Not just a small force but everyone in the cantonment – families and servants. He cannot guarantee the safety of the British out here on the plain.’
‘Are you sure that’s what the amir wants?’ MacNaughten asked.
‘Yes,’ said John. ‘It would send out a strong message to his rivals that they cannot have the run of the city. He says we must stick together – he fears Akbar’s arrival.’
‘Well, if we have his say-so . . .’ MacNaughten’s face brightened.
Brigadier Shelton spoke up. ‘Impossible! We have over seven hundred sick and wounded. If we try to move such a number, we’ll be attacked and cut to pieces.’
‘Why should we rush to the aid of the old boy anyway,’ said Vernon, ‘when he has allowed us to be besieged for a month and reduced to starvation rations? You lot in the city have no idea of the hardships our families are enduring.’
John flinched at the barb. His mind had been plagued for weeks about Alice’s well-being and how she was coping under the strain.
‘And winter is coming on,’ said Shelton. ‘Our situation is only going to get worse. If we thought there was any chance of relief coming we might be able to stick it out.’
MacNaughten shook his head, his expression once again grim. ‘Sale is besieged in Jalalabad. I’ve ordered General Nott to send troops from Kandahar but so far he’s done nothing about it.’
‘The Ghilzais are making trouble for him down there,’ said John. ‘We can’t rely on help from that quarter. Going into the Balla Hissar is the only option. The lives of all our people are in danger by staying put.’
‘I tend to agree with you on this, Lieutenant,’ said MacNaughten. ‘What do you say?’ The envoy turned to Elphinstone.
The general was sitting with his eyes closed. John thought perhaps he had fallen asleep but then he opened his eyes and spoke. ‘Our troops are dispirited. They are famished and not inclined to fight. We have thousands of people here in the cantonment who are looking to us for their survival. Going into the Balla Hissar can only be a temporary measure at best – and perhaps the time for that has already passed. As Shelton says, we risk being attacked by those chiefs who don’t want us in the city. The amir has already lost control. And London and Calcutta won’t send us any more reinforcements. So . . .’
There was a tense silence around the table.
‘So?’ MacNaughten prompted.
‘We must leave Afghanistan. As soon as possible. You must negotiate our withdrawal – a safe withdrawal back to India.’
‘But what about Shah Shuja?’ MacNaughten demanded. ‘We can’t just abandon him. We encouraged him to take back the throne. A withdrawal now would be dishonourable in the eyes of the world.’
‘The world has lost patience with us,’ said Elphinstone. ‘I don’t want to risk any more British lives. You must try to get the best terms – honourable terms – and then we will leave.’
‘I agree,’ said Vernon. ‘We’ve spilt too much good blood already in this godforsaken hole. Let’s leave them to fight among themselves.’
‘There speaks the man,’ John said, ‘who bullied Auckland into supporting Shah Shuja and pushed for the invasion.’
Vernon went red. ‘That’s before I learnt that no Afghans are to be trusted. Or the people who get too close to them.’
‘Enough,’ said Elphinstone, raising his hand. ‘We have many good and honourable friends among the Afghans. These are the men we must appeal to now. A safe withdrawal for us; autonomy for them. We will take Shah Shuja back with us if he wishes.’
‘Then it will all have been for nothing!’ cried MacNaughten.
‘And what about Akbar?’ John reminded them. ‘You need to deal with him now. Support Shah Shuja by moving a force into the Balla Hissar and then offer Akbar a position under Shah Shuja before he arrives. Whoever holds Kabul, holds onto power. Don’t let Akbar sweep in and take over. At least if you move into the citadel we can hold out there until the spring and then have a phased withdrawal. It would be madness to attempt a retreat as we go into winter.’
‘No one’s talking about retreat,’ Vernon said hotly. ‘I demand you take back that slur.’
Arguments broke out around the table. MacNaughten was adamant that a hasty withdrawal would look weak and dishonourable. The generals refused a move to the Balla Hissar on the grounds of it being too risky. John gave up and left with no clear answers for the amir.
He hung about in the dark waiting for Sandy. His fellow Scot had kept quiet for most of the meeting, giving occasional encouragement for MacNaughten’s point of view that sudden withdrawal would be disastrous.
‘Thank you for speaking up for me, Ayton,’ John said.
‘Buckley really doesn’t like you, does he?’ Sandy said, lighting up the stub of a cheroot and offering it to John.
‘I care nothing for Buckley’s opinion,’ said John with a grunt. He dragged on the cigarette and passed it back. ‘How are the women coping?’
Sandy sighed. ‘Emily is almost mad with worry. Nothing I can say pacifies her – and who can blame her. If it wasn’t for Alice, I think my wife would have gone under. She’s been a tower of strength to us all. And she helps out at the hospital too. I wish Emily would be like Alice and occupy herself more instead of . . . Oh God, where will this all end?’
John’s chest tightened in pain to think of Alice. He would give anything to hold her in his arms and reassure her that all would be well. But he didn’t believe it would be. Their superiors were at loggerheads and couldn’t agree on anything. The repercussions of the rash invasion and ill-executed occupation were only going to get worse. Damn men like Buckley who had glorified in the escapade! To think of Alice shackled to the vile Vernon was more than he could bear.
He took a deep breath and pu
t a hand on Sandy’s shoulder. ‘Give my regards to Mrs Ayton. And please tell Mrs Buckley that I was asking after her – and Lotty. I wish there was more I could do.’
‘Aye,’ said Sandy, ‘don’t we all?’
Later that night, wrapped in his blanket against the frost, John’s anger at Vernon’s destructive influence at the meeting reignited. He did not think his opinion of the cavalry officer could fall any lower. The night of Burnes’s murder had been the final tipping point. John had been incensed by Vernon’s cowardly actions. Buckley had fled the city, leaving his house to be ransacked and burnt – his guards and household massacred – and never returned. At daylight and despite the danger from a bloodthirsty mob, John had gone back with Rajban to see if they could help. The sight of the carnage had made him want to vomit; it had conjured up anew the horror of seeing his own wife and child butchered in Baltistan – memories he had tried hard to bury. Vernon’s sepoys had been beheaded and Raiza was lying in the mud disembowelled and with her throat cut. John had searched for baby Ali but there had been no sign of him; the infant had probably been burnt in his bed.
John tried to blot out the grisly images. If Vernon had been so callous as to turn his back on his mistress and child, then what hope was there that he would put Alice and Lotty’s welfare first? The cavalryman was selfish to the core. He would save his own skin before that of anyone else, of that John had no doubt.
CHAPTER 33
Within a week, Akbar Khan was riding into Kabul to rapturous crowds. The British did nothing to stop him. Shah Shuja, isolated in the citadel, sunk further into his morose state, knowing there was little he could do to stop the tide of opinion turning against him. John could not help comparing the ecstatic welcome that the handsome young Akbar received to the resentful silence of Shah Shuja’s return to the throne over two years ago.
Akbar was already receiving tribute from tribal chiefs as if he was their ruler. Soon the young Barukzai leader was harnessing the anger of the other tribes towards the foreign occupiers and at the same time courting the amir. John could not help but admire the young prince; he appeared able to charm both sides with promises and support. Akbar was conciliatory to the British officers cooped up in the Balla Hissar.
In the Far Pashmina Mountains Page 39
