‘I want to improve the situation in the cantonment,’ he said with a look of concern. ‘We will send in supplies.’
But John also picked up intelligence that Akbar was at the same time promising the opposite to the hardline chiefs. His Kazilbashi friend, Khan Shereen Khan, warned John.
‘Akbar is saying that the quickest way to get rid of the feringhis is to starve them out. Don’t trust him.’
Yet when John tried to get word to MacNaughten, he was prevented from leaving the citadel. Akbar flattered the officers and said he enjoyed their company but even going into the lower part of the city was now impossible. They were prisoners in all but name.
As December wore on and the first snow appeared on the hilltops, John knew they were running out of options. Akbar told Shah Shuja with glee that a brigade of feringhis marching from Kandahar to relieve the cantonment had been beaten back by bad weather. The day came when John was summoned to the river to be interpreter for Akbar and the chiefs at a meeting with the British.
John put on his officer’s uniform and rode out. He managed a quick exchange with Sandy. The garrison was down to its last supplies and could hold out no longer; they had to make terms with the chiefs. John realised that none of Akbar’s promises to provide food and fuel had been kept – either that or the provisions had been intercepted by others.
The British agreed that they would withdraw from Afghanistan as soon as the spring came. But the exchanges were short-tempered.
‘We must have food and fodder,’ MacNaughten insisted. ‘Our flocks of sheep have been stolen from under the walls of the cantonment. Our people are being starved out.’
‘You will have all that you need once you hand over your guns and give up the forts that you still occupy,’ Akbar countered.
There was much dissension among the British. Elphinstone was inclined to be conciliatory but Shelton said it was madness to give up their weapons.
‘We want to get out of here alive,’ he muttered.
‘We have to give them something,’ Elphinstone said.
But even the mild-natured general drew the line at the demand for the women and children to stay behind as guarantee that Dost Mohammed and his family would be safely returned from India.
‘Certainly not!’
‘Then we want a high-ranking officer,’ said Akbar. ‘Shelton will do.’
Shelton refused. In the end, MacNaughten offered his own nephew, Lieutenant John Connolly, as a hostage.
‘Fine,’ Akbar consented, ‘and I shall keep the officers that already live in the Balla Hissar.’
John caught Sandy’s look of dismay. John gave a fatalistic shrug; he was already Akbar’s prisoner. They retreated back to Kabul with the chiefs firing their jezails in the air, excited about the capitulation of the British. John felt bleak about his situation but at least a treaty was being drawn up that would be signed by leaders of all the major tribes. There should be temporary relief for the cantonment and, come the spring, a safe passage out of the country – as long as Akbar could keep control of the other chiefs.
But soon John was picking up rumours of British treachery and double-dealing; the feringhis were trying to drive a wedge between the Barukzai, Ghilzai and Kazilbashi. He did not believe it but even Khan Shereen Khan was wary.
‘Akbar wants to meet alone with MacNaughten and do his own deal,’ the Kazilbashi chief told John. ‘He is promising to let Shah Shuja stay on as king if he is allowed to be chief minister – and the British pay him four hundred thousand rupees a year.’
‘Is it a trap?’ John asked in alarm.
His friend shrugged. ‘I would not meet with Akbar unless I was well-armed – and certainly not alone.’
John put himself forward as interpreter for the meeting. It was a raw December day – two days before Christmas – when they rode out to meet the envoy and a handful of officers. John was uneasy from the start. Although the meeting was to be private, a large excitable crowd had gathered at the riverside where blankets had been spread on snow-sprinkled hummocks for the negotiating men. The tribesmen were heavily armed and seemed to know all about the meeting.
‘We cannot speak while these men threaten us,’ MacNaughten complained.
Akbar grew agitated. He began to set about the crowd with a whip. John saw the sudden frenzy in his eyes and knew they were about to lose control of the situation.
‘Mount your horse, sir,’ John ordered, ‘and get back to the garrison at once!’
The envoy tried to calm the situation. ‘Let us be reasonable. We have come here to speak with the Sirdar.’
‘Ayton!’ John appealed to Sandy. ‘Get the envoy away now – I think he’s been betrayed. This has been planned.’
As the officers scrambled to retrieve the horses, the crowds pressed in around them. John mounted and fired his pistol above the mob to draw their attention away from MacNaughten. But, as the others turned to ride away, Akbar grabbed at the envoy and pulled him to the ground.
‘How dare you turn your back on me!’ cried the Sirdar. ‘Treachery! You wanted me killed, didn’t you?’
MacNaughten lay sprawled on the ground. ‘Of course not—’
John wheeled around to go to his aid. Akbar, furious, drew out a silver pistol. He aimed it at his adversary.
‘No!’ John bellowed.
‘For God’s sake!’ MacNaughten pleaded.
Akbar fired point blank at the envoy’s chest. In seconds, Afghan fighters were pressing around the mortally wounded MacNaughten and drawing out their long knives. John watched, stunned, as they plunged their blades into the prone figure and hacked him to death. John kicked his horse forward and drew his dagger, slashing about him while exhorting the other officers to retreat. Maybe it was the sight of Azlan’s Afridi knife, but the attackers fell back in momentary confusion.
Then other Afghans were surrounding him, grabbing his bridle and forcing him back towards the city. Only later did John realise that they were Kazilbashis sent by their chief to keep an eye on him and save him from harm.
By that time, the blood lust had spread to the city and MacNaughten’s dismembered body had been strung up in the Char Chouk as a grisly trophy. In the Great Bazaar, people stood in horrified awe at the sight but no troops came to avenge the murder. It showed more than anything that the mighty British were just men of straw.
John had no idea what had happened to Sandy and his fellow officers. He was locked up in the citadel with the other hostages – for their safety, Akbar insisted – and he could do nothing to help his comrades. Akbar now appeared full of remorse at the shooting in cold blood of MacNaughten.
‘I only wished to talk to him,’ he insisted. ‘You must believe me.’
But the deed was done. John could only imagine the consternation and upset that the envoy’s death must be causing in the cantonment. Their main negotiator – and the only man who seemed to show a degree of leadership in the garrison – was dead. What now would become of Alice and those he cared for? Frustration and dread clawed inside John at the thought of what lay ahead.
On Christmas Day, Alice insisted that the Aytons came round and spent the day with them. It was only two days after MacNaughten’s horrific murder and everyone in the cantonment was still stunned. There had been bitter rowing between MacNaughten’s staff and the military over the lack of action to save the envoy. No troops had been sent out to help, nor retribution taken against the city. It was thanks only to the intervention of two Afghan chiefs that Sandy and a couple of other British officers had been rescued and returned to the cantonment alive.
Captain Trevor had not been so fortunate; the crowd had cut him to pieces too. He left a widow and six children. Florentia had asked Alice to go with her to break the terrible news to both Mrs Trevor and Lady MacNaughten. Alice’s heart still twisted at the memory of their howls of grief and the crying of the children.
‘We’ve precious little to eat ourselves,’ Vernon complained, ‘without inviting others.’
‘Our friends will bring what they have,’ said Alice. ‘Emily’s in a terrible state. Sandy was very nearly killed too. The least we can do is share a meal with them – and the boys will be company for Lotty.’
The Aytons were grateful for the diversion but the conversation was tense around the meagre dinner of roast pigeon and kale. Gita’s son Adeep had managed to barter for some sweetmeats at the cantonment gates, so the children had treats. Vernon made a big show of presenting Lotty with a doll’s house that he’d had made in the bazaar, filled with miniature figures and furnishings. He was still adept at being prodigal with her money, Alice thought, but she did not resent it being spent on the children. Alexander and Lotty played happily with it all afternoon and Alice’s heart was gladdened by the sight.
With the children distracted and a listless baby Walter asleep on his mother’s lap, the adults talked in hushed voices about the future.
‘Major Pottinger is taking over as envoy,’ said Sandy.
‘I thought he was still badly wounded from battle in the Kohistan?’ said Alice.
Sandy sighed. ‘He is, but he’s our most experienced political officer and he’s dragging himself out of his sick bed to help.’
‘It’ll all be over soon,’ said Vernon, knocking back cheap spirit that he’d procured from the bazaar. ‘Pottinger will just have to sign a treaty that guarantees our safe passage out of this barbarous place.’
‘Do you mean we’ll have to march down to India in winter?’ Emily asked in alarm. ‘What about the children?’
‘It won’t be till the spring,’ Sandy reassured her.
Alice kept her doubts to herself. She saw no signs that Akbar and his chiefs had kept their promises to allow supplies into the cantonment. The traders and troops were harassed every day in their attempt to bring in food and fodder. But Emily spoke her fears aloud.
‘How can we trust this Akbar,’ said Emily, ‘when he killed poor MacNaughten in cold blood?’
Walter woke up, snuffling with cold and fretful, and the question went unanswered.
At the end of the year, bitter winds brought snow to the valley bottom. It lay a foot deep in the cantonment streets. The last of the fruit trees in the compound’s gardens were cut down for fuel. After that, there would be nothing to burn on the fires. The temperature plummeted at night-time to below freezing. Sepoy guards were regularly fainting with the cold and the numbers dying of pneumonia were rising. The women waited anxiously for daily news of Pottinger’s negotiations with Akbar and the chiefs.
The major’s initial suggestion that they fight their way into the Balla Hissar and hold it until the spring was roundly rejected by the military leaders. So he attempted to secure terms that would allow the British to stay on in the cantonment until the spring, with guarantees that they would be provided with food, fuel and medicines. The Afghans agreed, as long as they were paid the dues they were owed and the British gave up their guns. At first, Pottinger refused.
Florentia came to visit Alice, stamping the snow from her boots at the door, pink with indignation.
‘The Afghans are demanding that we women and children be kept in Kabul as hostages until Dost Mohammed and his family are returned from India. Is there no end to their insolence?’
‘You mean they will only allow our men to march and we will be left behind?’ Alice asked in alarm.
‘That’s what they’re saying,’ Florentia said. ‘But I’ve told the major in no uncertain terms that we won’t be sacrificed. I said, “You men can do as you please but no one is going to order us women about.”’
Alice laughed despite her fear. ‘Oh, Lady Sale, I wish I’d been there to hear you!’
Florentia smiled. ‘I suppose I was a bit high-handed on our behalf.’
‘Good for you,’ Alice encouraged.
Florentia said, ‘I’m utterly ashamed of the way our commanders have been so spineless. The Afghan warriors put us to shame. We wouldn’t be in this situation if our leaders had acted with more vigour months ago. I don’t care for my own safety but I worry for you young women with your children and trying to keep them healthy and alive. And now Dinah . . .’
‘What about Dinah?’ Alice asked in concern. ‘Is she ill?’
Florentia gave a bleak smile. ‘No, she’s with child. It should be good news but it just makes me worry all the more.’
Alice squeezed the older woman’s hand. ‘It is good news. Captain Sturt must be thrilled.’
Florentia sighed. ‘Dinah hasn’t told him yet. He’s so fretful about her safety she doesn’t want to burden him with more to worry over.’
‘Poor Sturt,’ Alice sympathised. ‘He’s such a nice man.’
Alice realised that this was the real reason for Florentia’s visit; she needed to share her concern for her daughter with someone.
‘We’ll take good care of Dinah,’ Alice assured her friend, ‘and your future grandchild.’
In place of the women, several of the officers were offered up as hostages. To Emily’s huge relief, Sandy was not one of them. Alice knew that John was already a prisoner and, according to Sandy, a valuable one because of his language skills. It was some small comfort to think that John would be kept alive as long as he was of use to Akbar and his insurgents.
On New Year’s Day, 1842, a treaty between the British and the Afghans was ratified and signed by eighteen chiefs from all the major tribes.
‘At least this means that the chiefs will keep their tribesmen in check,’ Sandy said in hope, ‘and we should see supplies being allowed into the cantonment.’
But the brief flare of optimism in the British compound was soon extinguished. Supplies were not forthcoming. The Afghans demanded that British guns should be handed over first. In desperation, Pottinger ordered the surrender of two guns each day, trying to delay their disarmament. Behind the scenes he was urging the military leaders to make a dash for Jalalabad, leaving behind all the baggage and moving out swiftly before the passes closed with snow. Staying would be a certain death sentence.
It was Vernon who told Alice of this desperate measure.
‘I agree with Pottinger on this one,’ her husband said. ‘We could move much more quickly without being bogged down with all the baggage animals and camp-followers.’
Alice looked at him in dismay. ‘But what would happen to them? There are thousands of servants and tradesmen – and all their families.’
‘Precisely my point,’ said Vernon. ‘There are three times as many of them as us soldiers. They will only hold us back and make us more vulnerable to attack.’
Alice felt distaste at his callousness. ‘We can’t just leave them – they’ll die of starvation or be slaughtered with no one to protect them.’
‘We don’t know that. The chances are they will get employment in the city, then come the spring they can make their own way back south.’ Vernon frowned. ‘Don’t give me that look, woman. I’m sorry for these wretches but if it’s a choice between saving them or my comrades and family then I wouldn’t hesitate to leave them behind.’
Alice turned away, sickened by his cold-heartedness.
In the end, Elphinstone vetoed a quick dash to Jalalabad. There were too many lives at stake and he worried about the growing numbers of sick who would be unable to march. A bargain was made to allow the ill and wounded to be escorted to the Balla Hissar, along with two army doctors, Berwick and Campbell, who would stay behind to tend them.
The situation deteriorated rapidly. In a few short days, guns, ammunition, money, supply forts and hostages had been surrendered to the Afghans, yet nothing had been gained in return. The British were now under pressure to withdraw. If they went at once then Akbar would provide an escort to keep them safe from attack in the high passes towards Jalalabad. The hostages would be kept in Kabul until word had come through that the British garrison under Sale were retreating back to India.
Suddenly orders were flying around to prepare for quitting the cantonment.
‘Everyone must trav
el as lightly as possible and leave their possessions behind,’ Sandy came round to tell them, breathless with the news.
‘Thank God,’ said Vernon, ‘and about time too.’
‘As soon as Akbar sends an escort, we march,’ said Sandy.
Alice couldn’t tell if his feverish expression was from anxiety or relief.
‘Let me know if Emily needs any help,’ she said.
‘Your first concern is packing up our house,’ Vernon insisted. ‘Ayton can look after his own household, I’m sure.’
Sandy gave a brief nod and left.
It soon transpired that Vernon intended to take all his personal furniture – his camp bed, tent, portable bath, armchair and dining table – along with his whole wardrobe of clothes, brushes and lotions.
Alice lost her patience. ‘None of this matters. You can’t expect Ravi and the boys to carry so much. All we need is our winter clothing and as much food as we can find.’
Vernon would not be swayed. ‘If we have to travel with all our hangers-on then they might as well be useful. I’ve paid a lot for my possessions and you’ll be the first to thank me when we have a tent over our heads when it drops below freezing.’
‘It’s more important that we take things to keep Lotty warm,’ said Alice. ‘What use is all this furniture? We’ve been told to travel light.’
Vernon hesitated and then called for Ravi. ‘Make sure Charlotte’s doll’s house is dismantled and packed up too. It cost me a small fortune from those thieves in the bazaar.’
In frustration, Alice gave up and went to help in the hospital where they were preparing the transfer of the sick and wounded to Kabul.
Rumours of treachery swept through the cantonment like a fever. Akbar did not intend to send armed horsemen to escort them to safety; he planned to seize all the women and kill every last British soldier save one, who would be allowed to reach Jalalabad and tell the tale of massacre. Pottinger and his political officers tried to allay people’s fears to no avail.
In the Far Pashmina Mountains Page 40
