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  THE
  FIRST AFGHAN WAR.

  BY
  MOWBRAY MORRIS.

  London:
  SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
  CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
  1878.

  [_All rights reserved._]




PREFACE.


The following pages pretend to give nothing more than a short summary
of events already recorded by recognised authorities.




THE FIRST AFGHAN WAR.


It was in the year 1808, when the power of Napoleon was at its height,
that diplomatic relations were first opened between the Courts of
Calcutta and Cabul. Napoleon, when in Egypt, had meditated on the
chances of striking a fatal blow at England through her Indian
dependencies; some correspondence had actually passed between him and
Tippoo Saib on the subject, and subsequently, in 1801, he had concluded
a treaty with the Russian Emperor Paul for an invasion of India by
a force of 70,000 men, to be composed of equal parts of French and
Russian troops. The proposed line of march was to lie through Astrakhan
and Afghanistan to the Indus, and was to be heralded by Zemaun Shah,
who then ruled at Cabul, at the head of 100,000 Afghans. There was but
little danger indeed to be apprehended from Afghanistan alone, but
Afghanistan with Russia and France in the background was capable of
proving a very troublesome enemy. In such circumstances the attitude
of Persia was of the last importance, and Marquess Wellesley, then
Viceroy of India, at once proceeded to convert a possible enemy into
a certain and valuable ally. A young officer who had distinguished
himself under Harris at Seringapatam was selected for this delicate
service. How the young captain, whom Englishmen remember as Sir John
Malcolm, fulfilled his mission is matter of history. A thorough master
of all Oriental languages, and as skilful in council as he was brave in
the field, Malcolm soon pledged the Court of Persia to the interests
of England, and not only was it agreed that the two contracting
parties should unite to expel any French force that might seek to gain
a footing on any of the islands or shores of Persia, but the latter
Government bound itself to "slay and disgrace" any Frenchman found
in the country. This treaty, which may be thought to have somewhat
dangerously stretched the bounds of diplomatic hostility, was, however,
never formally ratified, and internal dissensions, culminating in the
deposition of Zemaun Shah by his brother Mahmoud, removed all danger
from our frontier for a time.

But the idea still lived in Napoleon's restless heart. The original
treaty with Paul was discussed with his successor Alexander, and in
1808 a French mission, with the avowed design of organizing the
proposed invasion, was despatched, not to Cabul, but to Teheran. The
magic of Napoleon's name was stronger even than British eloquence and
British gold, and Malcolm, once all-powerful in Iran, when he sought
to renew the former pledges of amity, was turned back with insult from
the Persian capital. A second mission, however, despatched direct from
London under the guidance of Sir Harford Jones, was more fortunate.
Napoleon had been defeated in Spain, and the news of his defeat had
spread. Russia was something less eager for the French alliance than
she had been in 1801, while between the Muscovites and the Persians
there had long existed a hereditary feud, which the proposed league
had by no means served to extinguish. The English envoy, skilfully
piecing together these broken threads to his own ends, was enabled with
little loss of time to conclude an offensive and defensive alliance
between Great Britain and Persia, the earliest result of which was the
immediate dismissal of the French mission. By this treaty the Persian
King bound himself not to permit the passage through his dominions
of any force hostile to India, and, in the event of war arising
between England and Afghanistan, to invade the latter at the cost of
the former; furthermore, he declared null all treaties previously
concluded by him with any other European power. The English, in their
turn, pledged themselves to assist him, should his kingdom be invaded,
either with men or money and arms, but should the war be one only with
Afghanistan, they were not to interfere unless their interference was
sought by both parties. Though this treaty was concluded in 1808-9, it
was not formally ratified till November 15, 1814.

Not on Persia alone, however, was the English Government content to
rely. In a friendly Afghanistan was a second most serviceable string
which it had been the height of imprudence to let another fit to his
bow. The two countries stood in almost precisely similar relations
to English India; each as an enemy contemptible single-handed, but a
dangerous item in an invading force; each a useful ally, and each a
salutary check upon the other. At the same time, then, as Sir Harford
Jones was neutralizing the French influence at Teheran, the Honourable
Mountstuart Elphinstone was despatched by Lord Minto, who had succeeded
Lord Wellesley at Calcutta, to the Court of Cabul.

Previous to the year 1808 Afghanistan was practically a _terra
incognita_ to Englishmen. Zemaun Shah, the once terrible Ameer whose
threatened invasion had disturbed even the strong mind of Lord
Wellesley, was, indeed, in their hands, living, dethroned and blinded,
a pensioner on their bounty at Loodhianah, but of the country he had
once ruled over and of the subjects who had driven him into exile but
little was known in Calcutta and still less in London. Before the close
of the eighteenth century but one Englishman had ever penetrated into
that unknown land. Forster, a member of the Bengal Civil Service, in
1783-84 had crossed the Punjab to Cashmere, and thence had descended
through the great Khyber and Koord-Cabul passes to the Afghan
stronghold, whence journeying on by Ghuznee, Candahar, and Herat he
had won his way to the borders of the Caspian Sea. His book was not
published till some fifteen years after, and shows chiefly, to use
Kaye's words, "how much during the last seventy years the Afghan Empire
and how little the Afghan character is changed." But the labour and
intelligence of one man, however much they may profit himself, have
rarely by themselves added much to the knowledge of a nation. Many
well-read Englishmen could still own to little more than a vague idea
of Afghanistan; that it was a bare and rocky country, which the heat of
summer and the cold of winter alike rendered impervious to travellers,
happily shut out from more civilised regions by a mighty barrier
of mountains, topped with eternal snow, through which, by passes
inaccessible to all save the mountaineers themselves, hordes of savage
warriors had in earlier days poured down in irresistible flood on the
fertile valleys of the Indus. Elphinstone let in more light on the
gloomy and mysterious scene. Though with his own eyes he saw but little
of the country and the people, as his journey was stayed at Peshawur,
he acquired from various sources a vast amount of information, which
he reproduced with extraordinary distinctness. His book rapidly became
the acknowledged text-book of the history and geography of the country,
and may still be read with pleasure and studied with profit. It would
have been well if one of the lessons he taught had been better laid
to heart; and thirty years later his unfortunate namesake must have
recalled with peculiar bitterness all he had once read of the ingrained
treachery of the Afghan character. The mission was in itself entirely
successful, though the rapid march of events soon neutralised, and
eventually wholly destroyed its work. Shah Soojah, a name to be before
many years but too familiar to English ears, received the envoys at
Peshawur, then one of the chief cities of his kingdom. He appeared
to them in royal state, seated on a golden throne, and blazing with
jewels, chief among which shone forth in a gorgeous bracelet the
mighty Koh-i-noor. Nor were the English outdone in magnificence. The
entire mission was on a scale of profuse splendour, and the presents
they brought with them so numerous and so costly that when, thirty
years later, Burnes arrived in Cabul the courtiers turned in disgust
from what Kaye contemptuously calls "his pins and needles, and little
articles of hardware, such as would have disgraced the wallet of a
pedlar of low repute." The envoys were most hospitably received, and
Elphinstone formed a very favourable opinion of the character of
Soojah, whom he described as both affable and dignified and bearing
the "manners of a gentleman." He listened attentively to the envoys'
proposals, and declared that "England and Cabul were designed by the
Creator to be united by bonds of everlasting friendship," but at
the same time he confessed his country to be in such an unsettled
condition, and his own throne so insecure, that, for the present,
the best advice he could give the English gentlemen was that they
should retire beyond the frontier. On June 14th, 1809, therefore, the
mission set out on its homeward journey, having, however, arranged a
treaty, which was shortly after formally ratified by Lord Minto at
Calcutta, by which Soojah bound himself to treat the French, if allied
with the Persians, much as the Persian monarch had pledged himself to
behave to them if allied with the Afghans. But even at the very time
of ratification this treaty had been practically rendered null by
the success of Sir Harford Jones's mission to Teheran, and within a
year Soojah had been deposed by his brother Mahmoud, from whom he had
himself wrested the crown, and was a captive in the hands of Runjeet
Singh.

The final overthrow of Napoleon in 1815 removed all fears of a French
advance on India, but in its stead arose the still more imminent shadow
of Russia. For many years past that shadow had been looming larger
and larger to the eyes of the kings of Teheran, till the annexation
of Georgia brought the eagles of the Czar over the Caucasus up to the
very frontier of their northern provinces. The English alliance, and an
army drilled under the supervision of English officers, had, however,
turned the head of the Persian king, and his heir, Abbas Mirza, at the
head of 40,000 troops, of whom half were drilled and equipped after
the English fashion, dared, in 1826, to throw down the gauntlet to the
Czar. He paid dearly for his daring. English drill and English arms
availed him little without English officers. His son, Mahomed Mirza,
was utterly routed with the division under his command, and soon after
he himself was defeated in open battle by the Russian Paskewitch with a
loss of 1200 men. The English help, promised by the treaty of 1814 in
the event of Persia becoming involved in war with any European power,
was not forthcoming. Mediation took the place of armed men, and with
the help of Great Britain a peace was concluded in 1828 between the two
powers, humiliating to Persia, and ultimately disastrous to England.
By this treaty Persia lost the Khanates of Erivan and Nakhichevan, and
practically her whole defensive frontier to the north. In Sir Harford
Jones's words, "Persia was delivered, bound hand and foot, to the Court
of St. Petersburg." The territory acquired by Russia was nearly equal
in extent to the whole of England, and her outposts were brought within
a few days' march of the Persian capital. From that time, up to Lord
Auckland's arrival at Calcutta in 1836, Persia was little more than
a minion of the Czar, used by him to cover the steady advance of his
battalions eastward. The death of Futteh Ali Shah, at Ispahan in 1834,
snapped the last link that bound Persia to our interests. Futteh Ali,
as far as lay in his power, had ever striven to remain faithful to his
English allies, and to resist, as far as he dared, Russian intrigue
and Russian influence within his kingdom. But his son and grandson had
welcomed the Muscovite alliance with open arms, and when the latter
ascended the throne on his grandfather's death, it was evident that the
Czar would be paramount at the Persian Court. Mahomed Mirza Shah, the
new king, had long dreamed of the conquest of Herat and the extension
of his eastern frontier, and had more than once, in his grandfather's
lifetime, striven to turn his dreams to facts. Nothing could have
been more favourable to the Russian plans, and no sooner was Mahomed
secure upon the throne than he was urged to the immediate execution of
his long-cherished designs. Such was the state of affairs when Lord
Auckland was despatched by Lord Melbourne in 1836 to take the reins of
Indian Government from the hands of Sir Charles Metcalfe.

Meanwhile many changes had taken place at Cabul. The weak and dissolute
Mahmoud, the deposer of Soojah, proved no more than a puppet in the
hands of his Vizier, Futteh Khan, the head of the great Barukzye tribe.
The youngest of the twenty brothers of this able and powerful chief
was the celebrated Dost Mahomed. Born of a woman of an inferior tribe,
he had entered life as a sweeper of the sacred tomb of Lamech. From
thence he was promoted to hold a menial office about the person of his
great brother, into whose favour he at length rose by the murder, when
only a boy of fourteen, of one of the Vizier's enemies. From that time
his rise was steady, and as he rose so did he discard the follies and
excesses of his youth, displaying a daring and heroic spirit, great
military address, and a power of self-discipline and self-control
unparalleled among the chiefs of Central Asia. To his hands was
entrusted the execution of the Vizier's project for establishing the
Barukzyes in Herat, then held by a brother of the reigning king. The
design was completely successful for the moment, owing to the daring
and also to the treachery of Dost Mahomed, but the blow recoiled
with fearful force on the person of the Vizier. Returning from his
raid against the Persians, which had been the ostensible pretext for
his march to Herat, Futteh Khan was seized by Prince Kamran, son of
Mahmoud; his eyes were put out, and persisting in his refusal to give
up his brother to the Prince's vengeance, he was hacked to pieces
before the whole court. This brutal act finally overthrew the long
tottering dynasty of the Suddozyes, who had been kings in Cabul since
Ahmed Shah founded the Afghan Empire in 1747. Dost Mahomed's vengeance
was sudden and no less brutal. But it is impossible in this limited
space to enter into all the details of his rise to the chief seat of
power. It must suffice to say that when Lord Auckland entered on his
government Dost Mahomed was firmly seated on the throne of Cabul, and
the whole of the country in the hands of the Barukzye Sirdars, with the
exception of Herat, where Kamran still reigned, the last remnant, save
the exiled Soojah, of the legitimate line.

Shortly after Lord Auckland's arrival at Calcutta Dost Mahomed
addressed to him a letter of congratulation on his assumption of
office. Adverting to his quarrel with the Sikhs, who, under Runjeet
Singh, the old one-eyed "Lion of the Punjab," had wrested the rich
valley of Peshawur from the Afghan Empire, he said, "the late
transactions in this quarter, the conduct of the reckless and misguided
Sikhs, and their breach of treaty, are well known to your Lordship.
Communicate to me whatever may suggest itself to your wisdom for the
settlement of the affairs of this country, that it may serve as a rule
for my guidance." And he concluded with a hope that "your Lordship
will consider me and my country as your own." To this complimentary
effusion the Viceroy returned a suitable reply, assuring the Ameer
of his wish that the Afghans should become a "flourishing and united
nation," but declining to interfere in the Sikh quarrel, on the plea
that it was not "the practice of the British Government to interfere
with the affairs of other independent states." It was hinted, too, that
"some gentleman" would probably be deputed to the Ameer's Court to
discuss certain "commercial topics." This plan, which had originally
commended itself to Lord William Bentinck, shortly after took effect in
the despatch of Captain Alexander Burnes to Cabul.

But by this time affairs in Persia had reached a crisis. Though
Mahomed Shah, breathing fire and sword against Herat, had ascended the
throne in 1834, it was not till 1837 that his threats took practical
shape. Despite the ceaseless promptings of the Russian minister at
Teheran (who, it is perhaps needless to say, had, according to his
own Government, done his best to dissuade Mahomed from any advance on
the Afghan frontier), the Shah still hung back. If Kamran would send
hostages and a large present, would own the Persian king as sovereign,
coin money, and have prayers read in his name, all should be well.
The hostages and the present Kamran was content to allow, but the rest
he could not stomach. The Barukzye chief who ruled at Candahar viewed
the proposed invasion with complaisance, hoping to secure Herat for
himself, and being perfectly willing to hold it as a fief of Persia. He
even went so far as to propose to send one of his sons to the Persian
camp as hostage for his fidelity, and to secure the best terms for
himself and his brothers. Dost Mahomed warned him that if he did so he
would be made "to bite the finger of repentance," but the warning was
disregarded. Egged on by the flattering assurances of the inestimable
advantages to be derived from a Persian alliance, that the Russian
agent did not cease to lay before him, Kohun Dil Khan disobeyed the
commands of his chief; the boy was to be sent, and the alliance was
to be completed. Mahomed Shah then commenced his march against Herat,
and at the same time Burnes appeared at Cabul. "Thus," says Kaye, "the
seeds of the Afghan war were sown."

Burnes had been at Cabul before. He had gone there in 1832, with the
sanction of Lord William Bentinck, and had been courteously received
by Dost Mahomed, of whom he had formed a very favourable opinion, in
contrast with that which he entertained of the weak and vacillating
Soojah. His opinion of the Ameer was, probably, in the main a correct
one, but he scarcely seems to have exercised his usual judgment when
he declared the Afghans to be "a simple-minded, sober people, of frank
and open manners." Returning in the following year, Burnes was sent
to England to impart to the authorities at home the results of his
travels and observations. In London he was received with the greatest
enthusiasm. His book was published, and read by every one. He became
the "lion" of the season, and the name of "Bokhara Burnes" was to be
seen in every list of fashionable entertainments. Returning to India in
1835, he was soon removed from Cutch, where he had acted as Assistant
to the Resident, on a mission to the Ameers of Sindh. While still
engaged in that duty he received notice to hold himself in readiness
to proceed to Cabul, and on November 26, 1836, he sailed from Bombay
"to work out the policy of opening the river Indus to commerce."
That Lord Auckland had at that time any idea, much less any definite
plan, of interfering in Afghan politics is most unlikely, as it is
certain Lord William Bentinck had not when he first thought of this
"commercial" mission. It is worthy of note, however, that when Burnes
first broached the plan to the Court of Directors at home they refused
to countenance it, feeling, in the words of the chairman, Mr. Tucker,
"perfectly assured that it must soon degenerate into a political
agency, and that we should, as a necessary consequence, be involved in
all the entanglements of Afghan politics." Mr. Grant, of the Board of
Control, held similar views, and Sir Charles Metcalfe in an emphatic
minute pointed out the evils of this "commercial agency." The die,
however, was cast, and on September 20, 1837, Burnes for the second
time entered Cabul.

As before, Dost Mahomed received him with all courtesy, and with "great
pomp and splendour." The navigation of the Indus soon disappeared
into the background. From Burnes's own letters to Macnaghten, the
Political Secretary at Calcutta, it may be seen how much of importance
he himself attached to his commercial character. Nevertheless, at a
private interview, "which lasted till midnight," with the Ameer, he
talked a good deal about the Indus, and about trade, and other such
harmless topics. The Ameer listened with the greatest attention, but
when it came to his turn to speak, he substituted for the Indus the
word Peshawur, and for commerce, the ability and resources of Runjeet
Singh. If only he could regain Peshawur it was very evident that
whoso would might hold the trade of the Indus. On this head Burnes
was cautious. He suggested that possibly some arrangement might be
concluded with Runjeet Singh by which Peshawur might be restored to the
Ameer's brother Mahomed, from whose government the Sikhs had originally
won it. But the Ameer wanted it for himself, and by no manner of means
for his brother. Further than this, however, Burnes would not commit
himself. He distinctly stated, moreover, that neither Dost Mahomed
nor his brothers (should they decline the Persian alliance, of which
the Ameer, and probably with sincerity, declared himself in no way
desirous) must found any hopes on British aid. Sympathy he promised
largely, should they behave themselves well, but not a single rupee nor
a single musket. Still, even after this, the Ameer persisted in his
professions of friendship to the English, nor is there any reason to
doubt that he, at that time, meant what he said. Nay, he even offered
himself to compel his brothers at Candahar to break once and for all
with the Shah; but this Burnes declined, exhorting him, however,
to use all pacific means to influence them, and himself writing
to Kohun Dil to threaten him with the displeasure of England if he
continued his intrigues with the Persian and Russian Courts. At that
particular time the Candahar chiefs had rather cooled in their desire
for the Persian alliance, and began to have suspicions that instead
of obtaining Herat they were not unlikely to lose Candahar. Burnes
thereupon despatched Lieutenant Leech, an officer of his mission, to
them, promising them that should the Persian army after the fall of
Herat advance on Candahar, he would himself march with Dost Mahomed to
their defence, which he would further with all the means in his power.
It was a bold step, but as many thought at the time, and as nearly
all were agreed afterwards, it was by far the best that could have
been taken. Lord Auckland, however, thought, or was advised to think
otherwise. Burnes was severely censured for having so far exceeded his
instructions--though he might well have pleaded in excuse that he knew
not what were the instructions he had exceeded--and ordered at once to
"set himself right with the chiefs." There was nothing left for him but
to obey, and the result of his obedience was a treaty concluded between
the chiefs and the Shah under a Russian guarantee.

Such a risk was not to be run again, nor was Burnes for the future
to be able to plead any want of definite instructions. From this time
forward his instructions were, indeed, explicit enough. Briefly they
may be defined as to ask for everything and to give nothing. In vain
did Dost Mahomed point out that in desiring to regain Peshawur from the
Sikhs, he was doing practically no more than England was avowedly bent
on doing, on guarding his frontier from danger, and that to exchange
Runjeet Singh for his brother Mahomed was but to make his last state
worse than his first. Burnes himself fully recognized the justice of
his arguments, but Burnes's masters remained obstinately deaf. All
they would promise was to restrain Runjeet Singh from attacking Dost
Mahomed, provided Dost Mahomed in return bound himself to abstain from
an alliance with any other state. At this, says Burnes, the Sirdars
only laughed. "Such a promise," said Jubbar Khan, the Ameer's brother,
and a staunch champion of the English cause, "such a promise amounts
to nothing, for we are not under the apprehension of any aggressions
from Lahore; they have hitherto been on the side of the Ameer, not of
Runjeet Singh, and yet for such a promise you expect us to desist from
all intercourse with Russia, with Persia, with Toorkistan, with every
nation but England." To make matters still worse, at this crisis a new
actor appeared on the scene, the Russian Vickovitch, bearing letters
from Count Simonich and from the Czar himself, though the latter was
unsigned, so as to be repudiated or acknowledged as events might
require. The Ameer, still willing to please the British, offered to
turn the Russian back from his gates, but that, Burnes pointed out,
would be contrary to the rule of civilised nations, and Vickovitch was
therefore allowed to enter Cabul and to present his letters, which
were ostensibly, as those of Burnes had been, of a purely commercial
bearing. What Burnes, however, thought of the arrival, he showed
plainly enough in a letter written a few days after to a private
friend. "We are in a mess here," he writes. "The Emperor of Russia has
sent an envoy to Cabul with a blazing letter three feet long, offering
Dost Mahomed money to fight Runjeet Singh.... It is now a neck-and-neck
race between Russia and ourselves, and if his Lordship would hear
reason he would forthwith send agents to Bokhara, Herat, Candahar,
and Koondooz, not forgetting Sindh." His Lordship, however, would not
hear such reason as Burnes had to offer, and when on March 5th, 1838,
certain specific demands were presented by the Ameer, that the English
should protect Cabul and Candahar from Persia, that Runjeet Singh
should be compelled to restore Peshawur, and various others of the same
tendency, Burnes could only, in the name of the British Government,
refuse his assent to any and all of them, and then sit down to write
a formal request for his dismissal. One more attempt was made by Dost
Mahomed to come to terms, but it was of no use. The old ground was
traversed again, and only with the old result. As a last resource the
Ameer wrote to Lord Auckland in terms almost of humility, imploring him
"to remedy the grievances of the Afghans," and to "give them a little
encouragement and power." This was the last effort, and it failed. Then
the game was up indeed. Vickovitch was sent for and received with every
mark of honour; one of the Candahar chiefs came up in haste to Cabul,
and on April 26th, 1838, Burnes turned his back on the Afghan capital.

As the Russian here disappears from our story a a few words as to
his subsequent career and end may not be out of place. After the
departure of the English envoy he flung himself heart and soul into his
business; promising men, promising money, promising everything that
the Ameer asked. He even proposed to visit Lahore and use his good
offices with Runjeet Singh, but that plea failed, owing chiefly to
the address of Mackeson, our agent at Lahore. For a time the Russian
was all-powerful throughout Afghanistan, but after the repulse of the
Persians from Herat and the entry of the English into Cabul his star
paled. He proceeded to Teheran to give a full report of his doings to
the Russian Minister there, and by him was ordered to proceed direct
to St. Petersburg. Arrived there, flattered with hope, for he felt he
had done all man could do, he reported himself to Count Nesselrode. The
minister refused to see him. "I know no Captain Vickovitch," was the
answer, "except an adventurer of that name who is reported to have been
lately engaged in some unauthorised intrigues at Cabul and Candahar."
Vickovitch understood the answer thoroughly. He knew that severe
remonstrance had been sent from London to St. Petersburg; he knew his
own Government only too well. He went home, burnt his papers, wrote a
few lines of reproach, and blew his brains out.

To return to Cabul. Notwithstanding the Russian promises, and the
exultation of his brothers at Candahar, the Ameer felt that he had
acted unwisely. Very soon he saw that Russia could do little more than
promise, and that England had made up her mind to perform. Despite
Russian money and Russian men, the Shah could not force his way into
Herat while Eldred Pottinger stood behind the crumbling walls, and
a vast army was assembling on the banks of the Indus to drive Dost
Mahomed and the whole Barukzye clan from power.

To keep friends with the Afghan ruler and to preserve the independence
of his Empire was the obvious policy of the British Government. But
the authorities at Simlah, Lord Auckland, Mr. Macnaghten, Mr. Henry
Torrens and Mr. John Colvin, had determined that that ruler should be,
not the Barukzye Dost Mahomed, a man of proved energy and ability, who
had shown himself anxious to cultivate the friendship of England, and
who possessed the confidence and the favour of his subjects, but the
Suddozye Shah Soojah, who, though born of the legitimate line, was
no less a usurper than Dost Mahomed himself, who was regarded by the
majority of his countrymen with indifference and contempt, and who
more than once had proved alike his inability to administer and to
maintain dominion. By what process of reasoning the Viceroy arrived
at this remarkable conclusion has never been made perfectly clear,
but though he alone, notwithstanding Sir John Hobhouse's generous
declaration from the Board of Control, will be, rightly or wrongly,
held by posterity responsible for the disastrous events which followed,
it is at least to his credit that he left no stone unturned to arrive
at the opinions of all competent advisers before deciding on his own.
Prominent among these was Mr. McNeill, then our envoy at the Court of
Teheran, a man of keen powers of observation and undoubted ability,
who may be said to share with Pottinger the glory of the Persian
repulse from Herat. His plan, as he impressed more than once on Burnes,
was to consolidate the Afghan Empire under Dost Mahomed. Placing no
reliance on the sincerity of the Candahar chiefs, he yet entertained
a high opinion of the Ameer himself, whom he would have been well
pleased to see established in Herat and Candahar as well as in Cabul.
McNeill's correspondence, however, had to pass through the hands of
Captain, afterwards Sir Claudius, Wade, himself also well versed in
the politics of Central Asia, and at that time holding the responsible
post of Governor-General's Agent on the North-Western Frontier. Wade
forwarded a copy of McNeill's letter to the Governor, and forwarded
with it one from himself in which he strongly deprecated the policy of
consolidation. To him it seemed better that the Afghan Empire should
remain, as it then was, sub-divided into practically independent
states, each of whom, as he conceived, would be more likely in their
own interests to court our friendship and to meet our views, than
if brought under the yoke of one ruler, to whom they could never be
expected to yield a passive obedience. "Supposing," he continued, "we
were to aid Dost Mahomed to overthrow in the first place his brother
at Candahar, and then his Suddozye rival at Herat, what would be the
consequence? As the system of which it is intended to be a part would
go to gratify the longing wish of Mahomed Shah for the annexation of
Herat to his dominions, the first results would be that the Shah-Zadah
Kamran would apply to Persia, and offer, on the condition of her
assistance to save him from the fate which impended over his head, to
submit to all the demands of that General, which Kamran has hitherto
so resolutely and successfully resisted, and between his fears and
the attempts of Dost Mahomed to take it, Herat, which is regarded by
everyone who has studied its situation as the key to Afghanistan, would
inevitably fall prostrate before the arms of Persia, by the effect of
the very measures which we had designed for its security from Persian
thraldom." That it was our interest to maintain the independence of
Herat was obvious, so long as Herat was able to remain in the position
it was then assuming, that of a barrier against Russo-Persian invasion.
Prince Kamran was, in fact, then playing our game as well as we could
have played it ourselves. But the question was, how long would Herat be
able to retain its independence? The fall of Herat meant the fall of
Candahar, and the absorption of all Southern and Western Afghanistan
into a Persian province, and a Persian province was then but another
name for a Russian province. Could it have been possible, and that
McNeill thought it possible was a strong argument in its favour, to
consolidate the various states under one ruler strong enough to retain
the reins when once placed in his hands, Herat and Candahar would
have been secured for ever, and there would have arisen in a united
Afghanistan a perpetual barrier to Russian ambition. Had we come to
terms with Dost Mahomed, in all human probability we should not have
had to chastise the insolence of his son. Burnes for his part still
championed the cause of the Ameer, urging that it was not yet too late
to secure his friendship, that, despite all that had taken place, he
still wanted only the smallest encouragement to range himself on our
side, and that as whatever action was taken could not be taken save at
some cost, the money could not be better spent than on Dost Mahomed.
But when Burnes's opinion was asked, the Government had already decided
on their policy, and as Dost Mahomed was to go, he was only asked to
pronounce on the expediency of choosing Soojah as his successor. It
seemed to him that McNeill's plan, of which he was a staunch advocate,
would be better served by restoring Soojah to his crown than by giving
it to Sultan Mahomed or any other of the chiefs, who would probably
be but a tool in the hands of the Sikhs, themselves objects of bitter
hatred to the Afghans. As the Government, then, were committed to one
of two evils, Burnes gave his vote in favour of that which seemed to
him the least, and which he, in common with the rest of the Council,
believed could be accomplished with little danger and at comparatively
little expense.

Lord Auckland's first idea was that the deposition of Dost Mahomed
should be effected by the combined forces of Runjeet Singh and Soojah,
raised and drilled under British supervision, and assisted by British
gold--in Kaye's words, "England was to remain in the background,
jingling the money-bag." Such were the first instructions issued to the
Mission sent in May, 1838, to sound Runjeet Singh on the design, but
scarcely had they been written when the thought of employing British
troops seems first to have dawned in, or been introduced into Lord
Auckland's mind. He would have preferred that the two Princes should
undertake the work on their own account, while he contributed merely
his countenance and perhaps some money, but he was very doubtful
whether the Princes would see the matter in the same light. Macnaghten,
the leader of the mission, was instructed therefore to suggest the
first course to Runjeet Singh, and should he view that with disfavour,
to hold out the possibility of some sort of "demonstration" being
undertaken by British troops from some convenient point. The event
proved that Lord Auckland's doubts were just. The Sikh Prince heard
the proposal for restoring Soojah with pleasure, and at once gave his
consent to the plan; but when Macnaghten, cautiously feeling his way,
hinted that an army of Sikhs, together with such a force as Soojah
could raise with British help, would be amply sufficient, the crafty
old man stopped him with an emphatic refusal. That England should
become a third party to the treaty already existing between him and
Soojah was, in his own phrase "adding sugar to milk;" he was willing,
moreover, himself to play such a part as England might deem necessary;
but with the independent expedition he would have nothing to do.
Macnaghten therefore at once returned to his original proposal, and
after a good deal of fencing and delay on Bunjeet Singh's part, the
treaty was concluded. From Soojah, of course, little difficulty was
to be anticipated, but he, unlike Runjeet Singh, though willing to
employ British gold and British skill in equipping and disciplining the
forces he declared his ability at once to bring to his standard, was
by no means anxious to see a British force in the field with him. He
was doubtful what effect such an apparition in their strongholds might
have upon his countrymen, nor was he at all desirous to appear as owing
his throne to British bayonets. He proposed that his own force should
proceed by way of the Bolan Pass on Candahar and Ghuznee, while the
Sikhs, with whom should go his son Timour, should march on the capital
through the Khyber and Koord-Cabul defiles. Already, he said, had he
received offers of allegiance from numerous chiefs discontented with
the Barukzye rule, and offended at Dost Mahomed's alliance with the
Persians, prominent among whom appeared, strangely enough, the name of
Abdoolah Khan, destined to become the prime mover in the insurrection
which ultimately cost Soojah his life, and restored the Barukzye
dynasty. "The <DW19>s," they wrote, "are ready; it only requires the
lighted torch to be applied." Soojah therefore was urgent with
Macnaghten that he should be allowed to accomplish his restoration with
his own troops, as he expressed himself confident of doing; a feat
which would greatly tend to raise his character among his countrymen,
while the fact of his being "upheld by foreign force alone could not
fail to detract in a great measure from his dignity and consequence."
Soojah's wishes, in fact, tallied precisely with Lord Auckland's
original design, but every day brought fresh complications, with fresh
confirmation of the impracticability of that design. First Soojah and
Runjeet Singh alone were to be the agents; then a British force was to
"demonstrate" in reserve at Shikarpoor; next a few British regiments
were to be added to Soojah's levies. Finally, all these plans were
dismissed, and one wholly different to any Lord Auckland had hitherto
dreamed of was substituted in their stead.

Sir Henry Fane, Commander-in-chief of the British army in India,
was then at Simlah, with Lord Auckland. That he had from the first
disapproved of English interference with Afghan politics the following
passage from his correspondence with Sir Charles Metcalfe, written
in 1837, sufficiently proves. "Every advance you might make beyond
the Sutlej to the westward, in my opinion, adds to your military
weakness ... if you want your empire to expand, expand it over Oude or
over Gwalior and the remains of the Mahratta Empire. Make yourselves
complete sovereigns of all within your bounds, _but let alone the far
West_." But as it had been decided that the work was to be done, he
was vehement in his opinion that it should be done as thoroughly as
possible. With a "fine old Tory" contempt of anything approaching to
economy, he advised the employment of a regular British force, horse,
foot, and artillery, with which there could be no possibility of a
reverse, a contingency in the peculiar circumstances of the case to be
guarded against with more than common care. There were, still nearer
to the Viceroy's person, other and even warmer advocates of the same
policy; so after some weeks of suspense and oscillation Lord Auckland
yielded, and the fiat for the "Army of the Indus" went forth.

In August the regiments selected were warned for field service, and
in September a General Order published the constitution of the force.
It was to be divided into two columns, the Bengal column and the
Bombay column. The former was to consist of a brigade of artillery
under Colonel Graham; a brigade of cavalry under Colonel Arnold;
and five brigades of infantry under Colonels Sale and Bennie,
of Her Majesty's, and Colonels Nott, Roberts, and Worseley, of the
Company's service. The latter were told off into two divisions under
Sir Willoughby Cotton, an officer of Her Majesty's army, who had seen
service in the Burmese war, and Major-General Duncan, of the Company's
army. The whole was to be under the personal command of Sir Henry Fane
himself. The Bombay column was to consist of a brigade of artillery
under Colonel Stevenson; a brigade of cavalry under Major-General
Thackwell; a brigade of infantry under Major-General Wiltshire; the
whole to be under the command of Sir John Keane, Commander-in-chief
of the Bombay army. The English regiments selected were, besides the
artillery, in the Bengal column, the 16th Lancers and the 3rd and 13th
Regiments of the Line; in the Bombay column, the 4th Dragoons and the
2nd and 17th Regiments of the Line. Besides these troops, Soojah's
own levies were being actively raised on the other side of the Indus,
under the supervision of Captain Wade, who found it no easy matter
to quiet the Afghan's not unfounded fears lest he should come to be
no more than a puppet in the hands of the English officers, and his
restoration finally effected, not by his own arms, but by the English
bayonets. Though the sympathies of the majority of our army were
rather with Dost Mahomed than with Soojah, and it was far from clear
to them on what pretext they were to invade the former's kingdom, the
prospect of active employment after so many years of repose was popular
with all classes of military men, and from every quarter of India
officers, leaving without a murmur the luxurious ease of well-paid
staff appointments, made haste to rejoin their regiments. Scarcely
less important than the selection of the military commands was the
selection of the envoys who were to accompany the different columns
in a political capacity. Wade of course was to march with the Sikh
force destined to escort Prince Timour through the Khyber Pass to his
father's capital, but it was not so easy to determine on whom should
devolve the delicate duty of directing the mind of Soojah himself,
and shaping the political course of his operations. Sir Henry Fane
not unreasonably wished that the entire control, political as well
as military, should be vested in his own hands, and proposed to take
Burnes with him as his confidential adviser. But Lord Auckland
had other views, and, contrary to general expectation, his choice fell
on Macnaghten, under whom Burnes, after a momentary, and not unnatural,
fit of disgust, agreed to serve in a subordinate capacity, believing,
in common with others, that Soojah once firmly seated on the throne,
Macnaghten would return, and the chief control of affairs would then
devolve upon him.

On October 1st the Declaration of War was issued. If our officers
were doubtful before as to the right of their cause this document
certainly tended but little to solve their doubts. Hardly, moreover,
had the Simlah manifesto had time to penetrate through India when news
arrived of the raising of the siege of Herat. As the deliverance of
Herat, and Western Afghanistan generally, from Persian rule had formed,
according to the proclamation, the principal object of the expedition,
it was supposed that the English army would now be disbanded, and
Soojah and Runjeet Singh left to their own devices. Even those of the
authorities at home who had allowed that, while a Persian force was
still at the gates of Herat, Lord Auckland could not do otherwise than
prepare for its defence, were unanimously of opinion that the motive
for the expedition had now ceased to exist. Among such authorities
conspicuously appear the names of the Duke of Wellington, Lord
Wellesley, Sir Charles Metcalfe, Mountstuart Elphinstone, and others of
scarce less weight and experience. Lord Auckland and his advisers were
not, however, of this number. The army was to be reduced in strength,
it is true, since there was no longer any prospect of an encounter with
Persia, or possibly with Russia, but the expedition was in no way to be
abandoned. Instead of two divisions the Bengal column was to consist
only of one; two brigades of infantry were to be left behind; and the
cavalry and artillery were to be proportionately reduced. Nor was Sir
Henry Fane inclined to retain the command of a force whose numbers
were so diminished, and whose probabilities of action were so limited.
The Bengal column was therefore placed in the hands of Sir Willoughby
Cotton, and on its junction with the column from Bombay the chief
command was to fall to Sir John Keane, who led the latter force.

All things were now ready, but before the army broke ground a grand
ceremony was to take place, a ceremony which had indeed been arranged
before any note of war had been sounded. On November 29th Lord Auckland
and Runjeet Singh met at Ferozepore. It was a magnificent pageant. The
Viceroy's camp was pitched about four miles from the river Gharra.
The English army lay on the plain, a noble force, in perfect order and
condition, and brought together, according to Havelock, in a manner
that had never before been equalled. Escorted by the principal military
and political English officers, Runjeet Singh rode up on his elephant
through a splendid guard of honour, amid the thunder of artillery and
the clash of innumerable bands, to the Durbar tent. Lord Auckland and
Sir Henry Fane rode out to meet him, and as the two cavalcades joined
such was the crush and uproar that many of the Sikh chiefs, thinking
there was some design afoot on their prince, began "to blow their
matches and grasp their weapons with a mingled air of distrust and
ferocity." With some difficulty a passage was cleared, and the little
decrepit old man, supported by the Viceroy and the Commander-in-chief,
entered the tent where the costly presents prepared for him were laid
out. Ordnance of British make, horses and elephants magnificently
caparisoned, were all inspected and admired, and, while a royal salute
thundered without, the prince bowed low before a picture of Queen
Victoria, borne into his presence by Sir Willoughby Cotton. As the
infirm old chief was being conducted round the tent he stumbled and
fell to the ground at the very muzzle of one of the British guns. A
murmur of horror arose from his Sirdars at so dire an omen, but as the
Viceroy and Sir Henry Fane hastened to raise him to his feet, their
hearts were comforted by the reflection that though their chief had
fallen before the British guns, the highest representatives of the
British Queen had raised him again to his feet.

On the following day the visit was returned amid a scene of still
greater splendour and variety. According to an eye-witness "the Sikhs
shone down the English." All the great Sirdars were present in their
most gorgeous trappings and mounted on their finest steeds, while from
a Sikh band the strains of our own national anthem rose upon the air,
and from the Sikh guns pealed forth the salute ordained for royalty
alone. It must be confessed, however, that Runjeet Singh's ideas of
ceremony were not all of the same exalted nature. At a later period
of the day, after all the due formalities were over, the Viceroy was
required to be present at "an unseemly display of dancing girls, and
the antics of some male buffoons." The two following days were devoted
to military exercises. On the first Sir Henry Fane manoeuvred the
British force with elaborate skill and display; and on the second
the Sikh cavalry executed some less intricate movements with the
unqualified approval of their experienced critics.

With this the ceremony was at an end. Runjeet Singh returned to
Lahore, and the Viceroy followed him on his first visit to the Sikh
principality. The final dispositions and selections were made by the
Commander-in-chief. A few weeks previously Soojah's levies, about 6000
strong, horse, foot, and artillery, under the command of Major-General
Simpson, had left Loodhianah on their way to the front, and on December
10th, 1838, the British troops marched out from Ferozepore on their
first stage to the Afghan capital.

A glance at the map will suffice to show that a more direct route
might have been found from Ferozepore to Cabul than down the bank
of the Indus to Bukkur, thence, across the river, by Shikarpoor and
Dadur, through the Bolan Pass, to Quettah, and from Quettah, through
the Kojuck, by Candahar and Ghuznee to Cabul. In short, as Kaye points
out, the army was about to traverse two sides of a triangle, instead of
shaping its course along a third. But there were two important reasons
for the choice of the longer route. In the first place, Runjeet Singh
had strong objections to opening the Punjab to our troops; and in the
second place the Ameers of Sindh were to be "coerced."

Shikarpoor, on the northern bank of the Indus, had originally formed
a part of the great Douranee Empire, handed down by Timour to Zemaun
Shah and his brothers, intact as it had been received from the founder,
Ahmed. But piece by piece the kingdom had been dismembered through
the quarrels and weaknesses of its rulers. Cashmere, and Mooltan, and
Peshawur had been won by the Sikhs; Herat had risen to independence;
while Shikarpoor with a fair slice of the southern frontier had passed
to the Ameers of Sindh. But though Shikarpoor was theirs, they held, or
had held it, in consideration only of a yearly tribute, which tribute,
unpaid through many years, had now swelled, as Soojah maintained, to no
less a sum than twenty lakhs of rupees, a sum gratuitously increased by
the English Government to twenty-five lakhs, that the terms of Runjeet
Singh (who was to have received half, but had lately increased his
wants) might be granted without Soojah being the sufferer. The Ameers
themselves, however, told a different tale. Independently of their
not unreasonable objections to the validity of a claim that had been
suffered to slumber for upwards of thirty years, they were enabled
triumphantly, as they supposed, to point to two releases of the debt,
written in Korans, and signed and sealed by Soojah. Thus fortified,
they declared to Colonel Pottinger, our agent at Hyderabad, that "they
were sure the Governor-General did not intend to make them pay again
for what they had already bought and obtained, in the most binding way,
a receipt in full"--a mark of confidence which Pottinger was instructed
to demolish without delay. Nor was this the only difficulty that the
passage through Sindh promised to present. In the treaty which had
opened the Indus to navigation, it had been expressly stipulated that
the river should be free to commerce only, and it became therefore
necessary, for the transport of our army, that this treaty should be
broken. Pottinger, sorely against his will, was ordered to point out
to the Ameers that if they placed any obstacles in the way of the
"first and necessary" undertaking on which their English friends had
embarked, it would be the painful duty of those friends to take steps
to ensure a more ready and hearty co-operation. In other words, the
Ameers were told that if they did not do what was wanted of them, they
would be turned out to make room for those who would. They must pay
the twenty-five lakhs of rupees, the greater part of which would go
into the pockets of a man to whom they were indebted not one single
anna; they must consent to the violation of the treaty of the Indus,
and they must further the advance of our army through their territory
in every possible way. If they did not agree to these demands, they
would find the consequences disagreeable. It did not at first appear
that they were likely to agree. Burnes had, indeed, managed to settle
the difficulty of the Indus, and the Ameers of Khyrpore, more tractable
than the Hyderabad princes, had agreed temporarily to cede to the
British the fortress of Bukkur, the point selected for the passage.
Soojah with his levies, who were some days' march in advance of the
Bengal column, had already crossed, and was waiting our arrival at
Shikarpoor, but for a while it seemed extremely doubtful when we should
be able to join him. The Ameers were waxing turbulent. They had grossly
insulted Pottinger, and were openly collecting forces for the defence
of their capital. It was feared that the "painful duty" would be found
necessary, and orders were despatched to Keane (who had landed with the
Bombay army at Vikkur in the end of November, but had been temporarily
delayed at Tattah for want of carriage) to prepare to co-operate with
Cotton against Hyderabad. As the Bombay column moved up the right bank
of the river, the Bengal column, against the urgent remonstrances of
Macnaghten, moved down the left bank to meet it. Both forces were in
the highest spirits. The defences of Hyderabad were known to be weak;
its treasures were believed to be immense, and a prospect of unbounded
loot danced before the eyes of a soldiery who had almost forgotten what
the word meant. At the eleventh hour, however, the enchanting prospect
faded. The Ameers consented to our demands; a part of the tribute was
paid, and Hyderabad was saved for a time; while, what was then of
still more importance, a collision between the military and political
authorities was avoided.

On February 20th, 1839, Cotton was at Shikarpoor, and again differences
between him and Macnaghten seemed imminent. Soojah had found himself
short of carriage, and Macnaghten had asked Cotton to supply him with
1000 camels from his own train. But the General expressed himself
strongly to the effect that if Soojah was unable to advance his men,
it were far better that Soojah and his men should be left behind than
that their wants should be relieved at the expense of the English
troops. It was but too apparent, even at that early stage, that the
English military officers were inclined to look upon Soojah and his
6000 soldiers as altogether superfluous. He was, indeed, a king who
was to be restored to his throne, but until the throne was ready for
him it would be better for all parties that he should remain in the
background. Macnaghten, keenly alive to the danger of such sentiments,
and feeling himself especially bound, both in honour and interest, to
uphold the cause of our ally, combated the military policy resolutely.
A collision was happily averted by the timely arrival of despatches
from the Viceroy, strongly tending to confirm Macnaghten's views;
nevertheless, when the English force advanced, three days afterwards,
the carriage difficulty had not been solved, and Soojah with his levies
remained at Shikarpoor. Keane, who came up with the Bombay army some
days later, though little less willing, was more able to help; but the
king, who had fondly hoped to head the advance into his own kingdom,
was, for the time, compelled to content himself with a second place.
Cotton's march through the Bolan Pass to Quettah, though arduous and
painful, was unopposed. Many of the camels and other beasts of burden
dropped dead on the route from want of water; there was considerable
desertion among the camp followers, and some plundering on the part of
the Beloochees, but progress was steadily made, and on March 26th the
column reached Quettah, "a most miserable mud town, with a small castle
on a mound, on which there was a small gun on a ricketty carriage."
Here there seemed a fair prospect of sheer starvation. Stores, as well
as baggage, had been abandoned among the rugged defiles of the Bolan
Pass, and Mehrab Khan, the Beloochee Prince of Khelat, with whom Burnes
had concluded a treaty in our favour, either could not, or would not,
help. He declared that there was very little grain in his country,
and Burnes could not prove that he did not speak truth, while he was
bound to allow the Khan's plea that much of the alleged scarcity was
owing, though unavoidably owing, to our own presence. He could not,
therefore, conscientiously recommend Macnaghten to sanction Cotton's
proposal for a movement on Khelat, though convinced in his own mind of
our ally's treachery, and when Keane, arriving at Quettah on April 6th,
assumed the chief command, it was decided to push on for Candahar with
all possible speed. Save for the heat, and the scarcity of water, the
advance proceeded uneventfully enough. Our soldiers behaved admirably
under circumstances peculiarly trying to Europeans, and experienced
by many of them for the first time. George Lawrence (one of the three
owners of a name which is a household word throughout India, at that
time a captain of the 2nd Bengal Light Cavalry) relates how he saw a
trooper of the 16th Lancers pour the contents of a soda-water bottle
half full of water, a treasure then worth its weight in gold, down
the throat of a native child on the point of perishing from thirst.
As the army neared Candahar, Soojah was moved up again to the front,
and many of the chiefs and people of Western Afghanistan hastened to
his standard. It was known that Kohun Dil Khan had fled, that there
was open dissension among the Barukzye brotherhood, and it soon became
clear that if a stand was to be made it would be made at a point nearer
Cabul. On April 25th, Shah Soojah-ool-Moolk, after more than thirty
years of exile, re-entered in bloodless triumph the southern capital of
his kingdom.

Till June 27th the army lay at Candahar, waiting the ripening of the
crops. So long a period of forced inactivity was distasteful to the
troops, while daily the conviction forced itself on the more observant
of the officers that the popularity which Soojah had claimed for
himself existed only in his own imagination. The Douranee tribes had,
indeed, long yearned to shake off the hateful yoke of the Barukzye
Sirdars, by whom they had been systematically plundered and oppressed;
but they lacked both spirit and strength to make common cause with
their promised deliverer, while both their national and religious
feelings were alike stirred by the appearance within their gates of
the accursed infidels. When the first cravings of curiosity had been
gratified, their attitude to their king was one rather of indifference
than devotion, and to us one of undisguised if not active enmity. It
needed not the warning of Soojah to remind the English that they were
no longer in Hindostan. Two young officers, Inverarity, of the 16th
Lancers, and Wilmer, were attacked at a short distance from camp;
Inverarity was murdered, and his companion escaped with difficulty.
The Ghilzyes, a fierce and lawless tribe, the original lords of the
soil, alike rejecting British gold and British promises, began, too,
to give early promise of the stern opposition that was hereafter to
be experienced from them. When, a fortnight after his arrival, Soojah
held a grand state reception, scarcely one of his subjects appeared to
do homage to their king. A royal salute of 101 guns was fired in his
honour; the British troops marched past his throne in imposing array,
and Soojah, highly elated, declared that the moral influence of the
ceremony would be felt "from Pekin to Constantinople." But in reality,
the whole affair, so far as what should have been its most important
features were concerned, was a miserable failure. Lawrence relates a
significant speech made to him by an Afghan of distinction, whom he
fell in with while on reconnoitering service to the front. "What could
induce you," said the man, "to squander crores of rupees in coming to
a poor rocky country like ours, without wood or water, in order to
force upon us an unlucky person as a king, who, the moment you turn
your backs, will be upset by Dost Mahomed, our own king?" The order to
advance given on June 27th was heard therefore with pleasure by all;
and on July 21st the army was encamped before the famous citadel of
Ghuznee.

It became soon evident that a serious mistake had been committed.
Ghuznee was deservedly considered the strongest fortress in the
country, and its defences were the boast of all Afghanistan. Keane had,
indeed, been advised to the contrary, but he knew at least that it was
garrisoned by about 3000 of the enemy under Hyder Khan, one of the
Ameer's sons, while another was reported to be in the neighbourhood
with a strong body of horse. Nevertheless, discarding the battering
train, which had been tugged up to Candahar with immense labour and
expense, he resumed his march with light field-pieces only, and found
himself accordingly before a place subsequently described by himself as
one "of great strength, both by nature and art," without the means of
effecting a breach in its walls.

Our light companies soon cleared the villages and gardens surrounding
the fort, not, however, without some loss, and at daybreak on the 22nd
Keane and Cotton, with a party of engineers, reconnoitred the place
from the heights commanding the eastern face. It was perfectly evident
that the field-pieces might for all practical purposes have been left
behind with the siege train at Candahar, but treachery was to show
us a way in, which we could have found for ourselves only at immense
loss. One of the garrison, a Barukzye of rank, nephew to the Ameer
himself, had deserted to our camp; the gates, he assured us, had all
been built up with the exception of the Cabul gate, and by the Cabul
gate therefore it was decided that the entrance should be made. That
very night was chosen for the attack. Four English regiments were
detailed for service; the 2nd, 13th, and 17th of the Line, and the
Company's European Regiment. Colonel Dennie, of the 13th, was to lead
the advance, consisting of the light companies of the four regiments,
and the main column was placed under Brigadier Sale. Captain Thomson,
of the Bengal Engineers, was to superintend the explosion party, with
his two subalterns, Durand (afterwards Sir Henry Durand) and Macleod,
and Captain Peat, of the Bombay corps. The night was dark and stormy.
The light guns were ordered to open fire, to distract the attention
of the garrison, while the powder-bags were piled at the gate. The
work was done quickly, quietly and well. Durand, according to one
account, finding the first application of the port-fire of no effect,
was obliged to scrape the hose with his finger-nails; then the powder
exploded, and with a mighty crash, heard above the roaring of the
guns and the noise of the storm, down, amid a column of black smoke,
came huge masses of timber and masonry in dire confusion. In rushed
Dennie at the head of the stormers, and after him pressed Sale with the
main column. The resistance, though short, was stubborn. The breach
was still so narrow that entrance was difficult and slow. Dennie had
won his way inside, but between him and Sale a strong party of the
garrison had made their way to the gate. The Brigadier himself was
cut down, but after a desperate struggle regained his feet, cleaving
his opponent to the chin. The supports, under Colonel Croker, pushed
forward manfully, and as the day broke the colours of the 13th and 17th
Regiments were flung out to the morning breeze on the ramparts of the
Afghans' strongest fort. Ghuznee was ours, with a loss of 17 killed and
165 wounded, of whom 18 were officers. The loss of the garrison was
never accurately known. Upwards of 500 were buried by our men, and many
more were supposed to have fallen beyond the walls under the sabres of
our cavalry; 1600 prisoners were taken, and large stores of grain and
flour proved a welcome addition to the value of the prize.

With the fall of Ghuznee fell the hopes of Dost Mahomed. Within little
more than twenty-four hours the news had reached him, and his brother,
Jubbar Khan, was forthwith despatched to the English camp, proffering
submission to Soojah, but claiming for his brother the office of
Vizier, which had come to be considered a sort of hereditary appanage
of the Barukzye clan. The offer was declined, and what Kaye calls the
"mockery" of an honourable asylum in the British dominions suggested
in its stead. With an indignant refusal the envoy returned to his
brother, and Dost Mahomed then resolved on one last attempt. He moved
out from the capital, designing to take up his ground at Maidan, a
well-chosen spot on the Cabul river. But when he had reached Urgundeh,
he saw too clearly that the game was up. Hadji Khan, a man in whom
he had placed peculiar reliance, had gone over to the enemy; the
Kuzzilbashes were leaving him fast. With the Koran in his hand, he rode
among his troops. "You have eaten my salt," he said, "these thirteen
years. If, as is too plain, you are resolved to seek a new master,
grant me but one favour in requital for that long period of maintenance
and kindness--enable me to die with honour. Stand by the brother of
Futteh Khan while he executes one last charge against the cavalry of
these Feringhee dogs; in that onset he will fall; then go and make
your own terms with Shah Soojah." The appeal was in vain. Dismissing
all of his followers who were minded to purchase safety by bowing to
the new allegiance, he turned his horse's head, and rode towards the
Hindoo-Koosh.

A party of horse under the gallant Outram was despatched in hot
pursuit. Twelve English officers rode with him, Lawrence among the
number, and about 200 of our own men. Had the party been no larger
it is probable that it would not have been left to Dost Mahomed to
surrender at his own discretion. But in an evil hour it was decided
that Hadji Khan with 500 Afghans should be added, and the dilatoriness
of our "allies" wholly neutralised the energies of our own men. Hadji,
a traitor once, remained a traitor still, and though quick to leave his
master in the hour of his misfortunes, he had no intention, with an
eye to future contingencies, to commit himself beyond hope of recall.
The harder, then, Outram and his troops rode, the slower rode the Khan
and his following; every pretext that the ingenious Eastern mind could
devise for delay was turned to account, and as the country was wholly
unknown to the English leader he could not leave Hadji to his devices
and push on alone after the fugitive. His orders were not to continue
the chase beyond the Afghan frontier. On August 9th he reached Bamean,
to find that his game was but a day's march before him; but that one
day's march had sounded the recall. Dost Mahomed was over the frontier,
and there was nothing left for Outram but to return, to be laughed at
for his "wild-goose chase," and to hear from the Commander-in-chief
that "he had not supposed there were thirteen such asses in his whole
force!" It is satisfactory, however, to know that the traitor Hadji had
this time over-reached himself. Outram reported his conduct on his
return; other proofs of his treason were forthcoming; he was arrested
by order of the king, and spent the remainder of his life a state
prisoner in Hindostan.

So Soojah was once more seated on the throne of Cabul. He had entered
the city on August 6th in royal pomp, resplendent with jewels (among
which the mighty Koh-i-noor was this time conspicuous by its absence),
mounted on a white charger, half smothered in golden trappings;
Macnaghten and Burnes, in diplomatic costume, rode with him, and all
the chief officers of the English army swelled his train. But there was
no popular enthusiasm; there were no loyal cries of welcome. The people
flocked to stare at the show, but it was at the white-faced strangers
they stared, not at their restored king. Still, the work had been
done. The English flag had waved over Candahar and Ghuznee; an English
army was encamped before Cabul. The usurpers were in flight, and the
"rightful" king had returned again to his own.

According to the original terms of the proclamation, the British
troops, their mission accomplished, were at once to withdraw from the
country. Soojah himself was anxious to be rid of allies in whose hands
he was conscious he was and could be no more than a puppet, and whose
presence in the kingdom was a standing testimony to the absence of
that loyalty which he had so loudly vaunted. Nothing would have better
pleased the English themselves than to have acquiesced in the king's
wishes; nothing would have pleased Lord Auckland better than that they
should do so. But it could not be. Unprotected by British bayonets
the throne of the new king would not have stood for a day, and with
it would have fallen the feeble fabric on which the "justice" of the
expedition rested. The Simlah manifesto had declared that Soojah's
"popularity throughout Afghanistan had been proved to his lordship
by the strong and unanimous testimony of the best authorities;" how
then could his lordship leave Soojah alone to give the lie to his own
manifesto? But though it was expedient that an English force should
still, at least for a time, continue at the king's right hand, it was
neither expedient, nor, as it was thought, necessary that the entire
army should remain. A garrison at Cabul and Candahar, and others at the
principal posts on the main roads to Hindostan, Ghuznee and Quettah on
the west, and Jellalabad and Ali-Musjid on the east, would be amply
sufficient. These could be furnished by a portion of the Bengal army,
and the remainder could be withdrawn by way of Jellalabad and the
Khyber Pass, while the Bombay column could return _en masse_ through
the Bolan Pass. Such was the advice of the Commander-in-chief, and
such, as it soon appeared, was the opinion of the Viceroy himself.
Before, however, the homeward march began, Wade had brought Prince
Timour to his father's court. Wade's share in the expedition, though
dwarfed by the more brilliant exploits of Keane, had, notwithstanding
the disaffection of the Sikhs (who, after Runjeet Singh's death, had
not cared to conceal their dislike of their English allies), been
performed with complete success, and had moreover materially assisted
the march of the larger force. For a long time Dost Mahomed had
regarded the advance through the Khyber with far greater anxiety than
that along the Western route, and though his troops had never actually
encountered Wade in the field, a considerable detachment had been
withdrawn for that purpose from the main army at a very critical moment.

The official order for the departure of the troops appeared on October
2nd. It was at once seen that the first plan had been considerably
altered. Nearly the whole of the Bengal division was to remain behind
under Cotton, and only a comparatively small detachment was to return
home with Keane and the Bombay army. Though Dost Mahomed had fled the
kingdom, he was known to be still near at hand, a guest among the fiery
and hostile Oosbegs, with whom he might at any rate seriously harass
the frontier, if not, indeed, find himself strong enough to hazard an
advance upon the capital. A detachment had therefore been sent up in
September to the Hindoo-Koosh, and it became necessary to supply their
place at Cabul. The 13th, 40th, and 41st were the English regiments
that remained. Of these, the first named, with the 35th Bengal Native
Infantry and three light field guns, was stationed at Cabul, under
Dennie. Jellalabad was garrisoned by the 48th Bengal Native Infantry,
the 3rd Bengal Light Cavalry, some Sappers and Miners, three light
guns, and a detachment of Skinner's Horse. At Candahar, under Nott,
were the 40th and 41st Regiments of the Line, the 42nd and 43rd
Regiments of Bengal Native Infantry, a company of the European Bengal
Artillery, two regiments of Soojah's Irregular Infantry, one of his
Cavalry, and a troop of his Horse Artillery. MacLaren held Ghuznee with
the 16th Bengal Native Infantry, some of Skinner's Horse, and certain
details of Soojah's levies. At Quettah was a small force composed of
Soojah's troops only, while the Kojuck Pass was watched by a body of
Afghan horse, under Bosanquet, of the Bengal Infantry. At each of these
posts was also stationed a political officer.

Shortly after the departure of Keane with the homeward-bound column,
Soojah left the cold of the capital for the milder air of Jellalabad,
and with him went Macnaghten, leaving Burnes in charge at Cabul. The
winter months were passed in comparative quiet. Macnaghten busied
himself with an attempt to win the favour of the turbulent Khyber
tribes, and by lavish payments did succeed in lulling them to temporary
quiet. There, too, was received news of the fall of Khelat, which had
been determined on during the upward march as punishment for Mehrab
Khan's treachery, and still more important news from the Bamean of the
further flight of Dost Mahomed to the court of the Ameer of Bokhara,
where our own envoy Stoddart was then a close prisoner in imminent
danger of death. But as a set-off against so much that was good to hear
there came from Burnes the disquieting intelligence of the advance of
a large Russian force from Orenberg on Khiva, ostensibly to release
certain Russian merchants from captivity, and to punish the Khan,
not too severely, for general misconduct--a pretext which, it will
probably be remembered, was used with great effect on a subsequent
occasion. Macnaghten was inclined at first to make light of the news,
on which Burnes had, on the contrary, laid the greatest stress; but as
rumour grew he consented at last to despatch a mission to the Russian
camp. Conolly and Rawlinson were selected--Burnes, when the post was
offered to him, having only replied "that he would willingly go if he
was ordered"--when, on the eve of their departure, the welcome news
arrived that there was no longer a Russian camp for them to visit.
Snow, pestilence and famine had done the work that neither Tartar
sabres nor English diplomacy would have probably availed to do then,
any more than they have availed since, and of Peroffski's 6000 men
scarcely a man found his way back to Orenberg.

Towards the end of April the court returned to Cabul. Affairs were
far from satisfactory. The unpopularity of the English, and even of
Soojah himself, became daily more and more obvious to all observant
people. The dual Government was a failure. The English, pledged not
to interfere with Soojah, were obliged to permit much of which they
strongly disapproved to pass unchallenged, and were only called upon
to intervene to pass measures which Soojah himself was not strong
enough to enforce. Whenever therefore their presence did make itself
conspicuously felt it had the natural result of only increasing their
unpopularity. The expense had already been enormous, and showed no
signs of decreasing. The wealth and liberality of the English had
been a tradition in Afghanistan since the days of Elphinstone, and
the Afghans, though they hated the infidel soldiers much, loved the
infidel gold still more. Unfortunately, too, the dislike borne to the
English by the Afghan men was not shared by the Afghan women, and the
passion of jealousy, with but too good cause, was thus added to the
passions of distrust and hate. Evil news, too, came from every quarter;
from the Bamean frontier on the north, from Herat on the west, from
Candahar on the south, from Peshawur on the east. Macnaghten had never
ceased importuning the Viceroy to sanction the restoration of Herat
and Peshawur to the Afghan dominions. The Sikhs were now open in their
declarations of enmity to the English, though they had refrained as yet
from any actual hostilities, and Macnaghten, with considerable reason,
declared there could be no safety in Afghanistan till, to use his own
words, "the road through the Punjab was macadamised." At Herat, too,
Yar Mahomed, the Vizier, a man of boundless avarice and treachery,
though living on British bounty, was openly intriguing with Persia, and
had behaved with such gross and repeated insolence to our Envoy that
the latter had at last left his court in disgust. But Lord Auckland,
though not insensible to Macnaghten's arguments, did not dare at that
time to increase either his responsibilities or his expenses, both of
which were already sufficiently heavy. Grave complaints were heard
from Candahar, where the old system of taxation that had made the
Barukzye rule so irksome was still in force, and still in the hands
of the same hated collectors. The Ghilzyes, who had already received
severe punishment from Outram, were again in the field, and further
still to the south the whole country was in revolt. Khelat had been won
back from us by Mehrab Khan's son, and Loveday, the English officer
in charge, barbarously murdered. In the far north our outposts had
pushed on over the Bamean range, and were in frequent collision with
the Oosbegs, and other supporters of the Barukzye cause. It is true
that wherever our troops met the enemy in the open field the victory
remained with the former, but that such meetings were as frequent as
they were showed the angry temper of the country but too plainly to all
who had eyes to see and ears to hear. Still the sanguine temperament
of Macnaghten refused to recognise the impracticability of the game.
Still he persisted in believing in the popularity of Soojal, and in the
ultimate settlement of his kingdom, and as a proof of his confidence he
about this time sent down to Bengal for his wife, an example which was
followed by most of the other married officers.

The news from the north soon became still more alarming. Jubbar Khan
was at Khooloom with the Ameer's family, living on the bounty of the
Wullee, or chief of that place, who still upheld with fidelity rare
for an Afghan the cause of the fugitive king. Other once staunch
supporters, however, had "come in," as the phrase went, among them
Azim Khan, one of the Ameer's sons, and it was reported that Jubbar
himself was vacillating. A forward movement of our troops would, it
was believed, soon bring him to his senses. A forward movement was
accordingly made and the Khan did "come in." On July 3rd he arrived at
Bamean with his brother's family, and a large party of retainers.

But now the Ameer himself was once more in the field. At first a guest
in the court of Bokhara, he had afterwards become the prisoner of that
treacherous chief, who, had he dared, would have murdered his captive,
and his sons with him, as he would have murdered the English Envoy.
But Dost Mahomed, who as he said of himself, "was a wooden spoon, to
be thrown hither and thither without hurt," contrived in some way to
effect his escape, and, after infinite hardships, to make his way to
his old ally of Khooloom, who welcomed him with open arms. The Oosbegs
gathered to the popular standard. The Ameer was reminded that his wives
and children were in our power; "I have no family," was his answer,
"I have buried my wives and children," and at the head of 8000 men he
advanced on Bamean early in September. Our troops had been compelled to
abandon the outposts they had established beyond the frontier. They had
never failed indeed to repel the frequent attacks that had been made on
them, but it had become at last painfully evident that such isolated
posts were no longer tenable. They fell back therefore to Bamean,
losing everything on the retreat, and to make matters still worse a
regiment of Afghan infantry that had been lately raised went over in a
body to the enemy. Meanwhile, however, Dennie had come up with strong
reinforcements, and on September 18th a decisive battle was fought. The
enemy were immeasurably the stronger both in numbers and position, but
the victory was ours, and for the second time Dost Mahomed only escaped
death by the speed of his horse. But though he saved his life, he lost
a valuable friend. Dennie's guns had a salutary effect on the Wullee,
and within a few days of the battle the old man prudently came to terms
with the English, pledging himself no longer to harbour or assist Dost
Mahomed or any of his family. Great was the delight in the camp at
Cabul, where affairs had begun to look very black indeed, and serious
apprehensions at one time entertained of an insurrection;--but they had
not yet done with the Ameer.

Driven out of the Hindoo Koosh, our gallant enemy next re-appeared in
Kohistan, a district only too ripe for revolt. Sale was ordered out
to meet him and Burnes went with him, while Wade was despatched from
Jellalabad to act against the refractory Wuzzeerees. After a series
of small successes, in one of which Edward Conolly, a young cavalry
officer of great bravery and promise, was killed, and one repulse at
Joolgah, Sale, on November 2nd, met the Ameer at Purwandurrah, in the
Nijrow country, a name disastrous among many other disastrous names in
the annals of the Afghan war. The latter had no original intention of
giving battle, but a chance movement of our horse changed his mind.
Lord, one of our political agents, had proposed that our cavalry, the
2nd Bengal Light Cavalry, should take up new ground on the Afghan
flank. The order had been given, and the two squadrons, numbering
something over two hundred sabres, had already gone "threes about,"
when Dost Mahomed, seeing, as he supposed, the British in retreat,
rode straight down on them at the head of about 400 horsemen. Fraser,
who was in command, at once facing his men about, gave the order to
charge, and dashed, with his officers behind him, full at the advancing
squadrons. Not a trooper followed. At an irresolute walk they met
the onset, and scarcely even waiting to cross swords, fled in every
direction, leaving their officers to their fate. Of these, two, Crispin
and Broadfoot, were instantly cut down; Lord managed to win his way
through the sabres, only to fall immediately afterwards by a shot from
one of the forts; Fraser, severely wounded, was saved only by the
strength and speed of his horse; how the others escaped no man could
say. Our infantry managed in a measure to retrieve the fortunes of the
day. The Afghans were driven from their position, but their leader once
again escaped from out our very grasp. Lawrence has generously tried
to find excuses for the conduct of his men (he was not himself with
them, for at that time he was acting as assistant agent to Macnaghten),
but the fact remains that a native regiment, hitherto famous for its
bravery and fidelity, refused to follow its English officers on the
field of battle, and fled like sheep before a horde of irregular
horsemen not twice their number. Burnes wrote off to Cabul forthwith
to announce, perhaps somewhat to magnify, the disaster, and implored
Macnaghten to concentrate all our troops at once on the capital, in
anticipation, which all then believed to be certain, of the Ameer's
instant advance. Far other, however, were at that time the plans of
Dost Mahomed. He did, indeed, advance on the capital, but attended only
by a single attendant, and within twenty-four hours after his victory
he had placed his sword in Macnaghten's hands.

Force would never have driven him to such a step, but he was weary
of fighting in a cause which, so far as he then could foresee, could
but be hopeless, and he felt that after his brilliant triumph of the
previous day he could lay down his arms without disgrace. Macnaghten
and the other English officers received him with the utmost courtesy.
Nicholson, an officer of great bravery and intelligence, was appointed
to take charge of him, but the indignity of a guard was spared him.
Soojah refused to see him, on the ground that he should be "unable to
show common civility to such a villain." Many, however, who had held
persistently aloof from Soojah, came to pay their respects to one
whom they still regarded as their lawful ruler; one of them, Shere
Mahomed, known as the swiftest mounted messenger in all Afghanistan,
exclaiming, as he grasped his chief cordially by the hand, "Ah, Ameer,
you have done right at last; why did you delay so long putting an end
to all your miseries?" Within a few days the Ameer's son, Afzul Khan,
followed his father's example, and on November 13th the two illustrious
prisoners set out for India, under the charge of Nicholson and a strong
escort of British troops.

As in the previous year the court passed the winter months at
Jellalabad. Cotton was already there on his way down to India, "anxious
to get away," and only waiting the arrival of his successor, General
Elphinstone. Elphinstone was a brave, kindly, and courteous old
gentleman; he had seen service in the Peninsular, and bore the Waterloo
medal, but he was entirely without experience of Indian warfare; was,
moreover, sadly crippled in health, and unfortunately destitute of the
very qualities of energy and foresight which were peculiarly necessary
to his position. His appointment was made against his own personal
inclinations, nor was it precisely clear on what grounds it had been
made, save on the grounds that he was a relation of Lord Elphinstone,
at that time Governor of Bombay. But he was ordered to assume the
command, and, as a soldier, he obeyed his orders. Cotton handed over
his charge, and took his leave with these words, "You will have nothing
to do here; all is peace." Never was there made a more unfortunate
remark.

The winter passed in tolerable quiet, but with the return of spring
came back the old troubles. The first symptoms of disquiet appeared
again in the neighbourhood of Candahar. Two admirable officers were
in charge there, Nott and Rawlinson, the former holding the military,
the latter the political command. The irrepressible Ghilzyes were
again in revolt, and the Douranees had risen to join them. Soojah was
particularly eager to conciliate the latter tribe, and had, when at
Candahar, remitted many of the impositions which had rendered the
Barukzye rule so odious; but he had also, as has been already said,
retained in office the equally odious tax-collectors who had been
employed under the latter dynasty, and the Douranees, anticipating
complete redress, and probably substantial rewards, were irritated
past endurance to find their state no better under their own king
than it had been under the usurper. Long ripe for revolt, their
disaffection had been secretly fomented by that indefatigable traitor
the Herat Vizier, Yar Mahomed, whose intrigues found a willing tool
in Aktur Khan, a chief of the Zemindawer country. Rawlinson, anxious
to try the effect of conciliatory measures, and believing with Burnes
that Afghanistan was not to be settled at the point of the bayonet,
despatched his assistant Elliot to confer with the insurgents. The
mission was successful for the time; Aktur Khan "came in;" certain
concessions were made, and certain honours conferred upon him, in
return for which he promised to disband his followers. But the peace,
as Rawlinson anticipated, was short-lived. The gallant but imprudent
conduct of Lynch, our political agent among the Ghilzye tribes, in
storming a small fort near Khelat-i-Ghilzye, to avenge an insult
offered him by the garrison, had set that turbulent country in a
flame. Wymer was sent out by Nott to settle matters, which he did
effectively enough. The Ghilzyes, under a famous leader known as the
"Gooroo," fought like madmen, holding our troops in check for five
fierce hours; but they gave way at last, and fled, leaving the greater
part of their number dead or dying on the field. Aktur Khan, fired
by the example, scattered his promises to the winds, and instead of
disbanding, collected anew his forces for another struggle. Woodburn, a
dashing officer, met him on the banks of the Helmund, and defeated him
after a smart engagement, but the British forces were insufficient to
follow up the victory, and on reaching Ghiresk Woodburn was compelled
to await the arrival of more troops from Candahar. Thence, strongly
reinforced, he moved out on August 17th, and after a short but sharp
struggle, in which the Janbaz, or Afghan Horse, for once in a way
behaved with great gallantry, Aktur Khan fled, completely routed, and
for a time again there was peace among the Douranees. The Ghilzyes,
too, at the same time had received so severe a repulse from Chambers,
that even they were forced to abstain from action for a while, and the
dreaded "Gooroo" was at last prevailed on to "come in" to the English
camp. On the north-western frontier our troops had been equally
successful under Nott and Wymer. Akrum Khan, a close ally of Aktur
Khan, was in arms in the Dehrawut country, and would submit neither
to promises, threats, nor force. Treachery, however, did its work at
last. One of his own countrymen offered to betray him, and by a rapid
night march the rebel was seized, and carried down a close prisoner to
Candahar. Macnaghten, at times humane almost to a fault, had at length
resolved to give a terrible example to these continued disturbers of
the public peace. Orders were sent down to Prince Timour, who governed
for his father at Candahar, and who would have obeyed any orders
emanating from his English allies, and Akrum Khan was blown from a gun.
By the end of October, 1841, there at last seemed really a prospect of
peace in Western Afghanistan.

Despite the warnings of Rawlinson, who could see farther below the
surface than most of his comrades, and who knew well that there was
something more than mere discontent at an obnoxious tax lurking in
the hearts of the western tribes--despite, too, the shadow of Akbar
Khan, Dost Mahomed's favourite son, who was still hovering about our
northern frontier--Macnaghten's spirits rose higher than they had
ever risen before. Of a temperament peculiarly susceptible to the
influence of the hour, he was alternately depressed and exalted beyond
reason, as the varying fortunes of our arms favoured or threatened
the ultimate success of his plans. After the disaster of Purwandurrah
he was convinced that the game was lost; after the discomfiture of
the Ghilzyes and the death of Akrum Khan he was equally convinced
that the game was won, and in one of his letters, written about this
time to a private friend, he boasted that the country was quiet "from
Dan to Beersheba." The well-earned reward of his labours had come at
last in the shape of the Government of Bombay; within a few weeks he
hoped to turn his back on the scene of so many anxieties and so many
disappointments, leaving to his successor the legacy of an accomplished
task. That successor would of course be Burnes; Burnes, who had
a clearer eye for the future than his chief, and who felt in his
inmost heart that the end of such a system as had been established in
Afghanistan could not be far off, yet who, impatient for Macnaghten's
departure, was willing to dare all risks, so that he might at last
touch the goal of his ambition. And at this very time, in that serene
sky, the cloud was gathering that was to break when least expected,
and overwhelm Macnaghten and Burnes and the whole English cause in
utter ruin.

Elphinstone, as has been said, was now in command of the British
forces. Next in rank to him were Sir Robert Sale, of the 13th Light
Infantry, and Brigadier Shelton, who had come up in the spring of the
year with his regiment, the 44th of the Line. Soojah's own troops
were under Brigadier Anquetil, who had superseded Roberts, much to
Macnaghten's satisfaction, for Roberts was too much of an "alarmist"
to please the sanguine Envoy. The main body of the garrison lay in
the new cantonments. These remarkable works had been erected in the
previous year. Situated in low, swampy ground about two miles from the
citadel, they were defended only by a low mud rampart and ditch, over
which a pony had been ridden for a wager by one of our own officers;
they were commanded on every side by hills and villages, while, to make
matters still worse, the Commissariat supplies were stored in a small
fort without the wall. The authority for this unfortunate arrangement
has been the subject of much discussion, into which it would be neither
profitable nor pleasant to enter here; but it should not, at least, be
forgotten that our engineer officers had always urged most strongly
the expediency of posting the troops in the Bala Hissar, or citadel,
a strong position on a hill commanding the entire city and suburbs. At
first, indeed, this had been done, but the soldiers were soon required
to give way to the ladies of Soojah's harem, and it was then deemed
necessary, by some person or persons, to build what Kaye aptly calls
"the sheep-folds on the plain." Elphinstone, at any rate, was not to
blame, whoever was, for the folly had been committed before Elphinstone
had assumed the command.

But familiarity, as usual, soon begot security, and in this dangerous
position our officers and men soon learned to live as tranquilly
and easily as in the strongest fortress in the world, or as in the
luxurious quarters they had left in peaceful Hindostan. The time passed
pleasantly enough. Lady Macnaghten and Lady Sale had joined their
husbands, and nearly all the married officers had followed the example
of their chiefs. The climate was fine and bracing, nor was there any
lack either of amusement or society. Englishmen carry their sports with
them into every quarter of the globe, and the stolid Afghans looked in
amazement and admiration on the races, the cricket, and the skating
with which the white-faced infidels beguiled the idle days. But there
were unfortunately other habits in which some of the English chose
to indulge which stirred up in the native heart feelings of a very
different nature, habits which have already been briefly touched upon,
and which were growing fast into an open and notorious scandal. "There
are many," wrote Kaye in 1851, "who can fill in with vivid personality
all the melancholy details of this chapter of human weakness, and
supply a catalogue of the wrongs which were soon to be so fearfully
redressed."

Macnaghten proposed to set his face towards home in November. His last
days, as ill-fortune would have it, had been again embittered with
revolt, arising from an unpopular measure which he had felt himself
obliged to sanction. Our sojourn in Afghanistan had been a fearful
drain on the resources of the Indian Government, and the need for
economy had been urgently pressed upon Lord Auckland by the authorities
at home. Macnaghten, casting about for the means of obeying his
chief's instructions, unluckily hit upon the most unfortunate means
he could have chosen. He determined to inaugurate a general system
of retrenchment in the stipends, or subsidies, paid to the chiefs,
and as a beginning, the sum of £3000, which had been yearly paid to
the Eastern Ghilzyes to secure our communications with Hindostan, was
forthwith stopped. As a natural result they at once flew to arms,
occupied the passes on the road to Jellalabad, commenced an organised
system of plundering, and entirely cut off the communications it
was our greatest interest to keep open. But the Envoy was not very
seriously disturbed. Sale's brigade, which was under orders for
India, could "thresh the rascals" on its homeward journey, and clear
the passes easily enough. Monteith was accordingly sent out with the
35th Native Infantry, a squadron of cavalry, and some guns, and Sale
followed with his own regiment, the 13th Light Infantry. The task was
not so easy as the Envoy had anticipated. Sale himself was wounded and
Wyndham, of the 35th, killed. It was found necessary to despatch more
troops before the work could be done. It was done, however, partly by
force and partly by diplomacy; the Khoord-Cabul defile was once more
cleared; detachments of troops were posted at intervals along the pass,
while Sale himself, halting at Gundamuck, put away his ideas of home
for a time.

November 1st was the day fixed for Macnaghten's departure. He was not
without warnings that for some days past there had existed strong
symptoms of disaffection in the city, where the shopkeepers were
closing their shutters, and refusing to sell their wares to the
English. John Conolly, a relative of the Envoy's, had got an inkling
of what was meditated, while Mohun Lal, an interpreter, who had served
us faithfully from the time of our first entry into the country, had
directly warned Burnes of a conspiracy of which Abdoolah Khan, one of
our most uncompromising opponents, was the prime instigator, and in
which the chiefs of all the tribes then assembled in Cabul were alike
implicated. But Burnes was still under the orders of Macnaghten, and
Macnaghten still refused to listen to the "croakers." On that very
evening the conspirators met for the last time, and on the morning of
the 2nd the city rose in insurrection.

Burnes himself was the first victim. His house was within the city
walls, next to that of Captain Johnson, the paymaster of Soojah's
troops. On the previous night Johnson had slept in the cantonments,
but Burnes was at home, and with him his brother Charles, and William
Broadfoot, an able officer, who had been selected by the expectant
Envoy for the post of military secretary. Before daybreak he had again
been warned of his danger by a friendly native, and at a later hour
came Osman Khan, the Vizier himself, with the same tale, imploring him
to seek safety either in the citadel or the cantonments. Burnes could
no longer disbelieve, for already an angry crowd was gathering under
his windows, and angry voices were raised in clamour for the lives of
the Englishmen. He consented to write to the Envoy for aid, and to send
messengers to Abdoolah Khan, promising him that if he would restrain
the citizens his grievances should receive prompt redress. Why no
immediate answer was returned to the first of these messages has never
been made perfectly clear; the latter resulted only in the death of
the messenger. Meanwhile Burnes himself was haranguing the mob from an
upper gallery, while his brother and the guard were firing on them from
below. In vain he appealed to their avarice; the only answer was that
he should "come down into the garden." A Cashmerian, who had found his
way into the house, swore to pass him and his brother out in safety
to the cantonments, if the latter would bid the firing cease. Hastily
disguising themselves, the brothers followed the man to the door, but
scarcely had they set foot beyond it, when the traitor shouted with
a loud voice, "This is Sekunder Burnes!" In a moment the mob were on
them, and, hacked to pieces by the cruel Afghan knives, then fell the
first, but not the last victims of a long series of mistakes.

The paymaster's house was next sacked; upwards of £17,000 of the public
money and £1000 of Johnson's private fortune fell to the share of
the murderers. No force came from the cantonments to check them, and
the only effort made in the early part of the day was made by Soojah
himself, who sent one of his own regiments down from the Bala Hissar
into the city. Entangled in a network of narrow lanes and bazaars,
they could do no good, and Shelton, coming up later with a small body
of infantry and artillery, was in time only to cover a disorderly
flight. It is difficult to decide on the true cause of the lateness
of Shelton's arrival, but it is certain that had Burnes's message
received prompt attention, the insurrection, for that time at least,
would have been nipped in the bud. That such was the opinion of the
Afghans themselves many of our officers were subsequently assured, and
the fact that none of the chief conspirators took any part in the first
outbreak seems to give colour to the supposition that it was not the
original design to proceed to such extremities as followed, but rather
to convey to the British such a warning as might convince them of the
hopelessness of their cause, and induce them at last to take measures
to leave the country to its own devices. Be this, however, as it may,
nothing was done till the time had passed for anything to be of use,
and a riot which 300 resolute men could have quelled with ease in the
morning, would in the afternoon have taxed, if not defied, the best
energies of 3000.

The history of the days which followed between the first rising and
the opening of negotiations is as difficult to write as it is painful
to read. So many and so conflicting are the accounts that have been
received, that it is impossible within a limited space to present a
distinct and coherent narrative of events, or, without the risk of a
hasty conclusion, to apportion, even were it desirable to do so, the
precise share of responsibility to each actor in that dismal tragedy
of errors. It is certain, at least, that from the 2nd to the 25th
November the utmost confusion and dismay prevailed within the British
cantonments. No two of the authorities seem ever to have counselled
alike; there was disunion between Elphinstone and Macnaghten, and
disunion even between Elphinstone and Shelton. Orders were issued one
hour to be countermanded the next, and then re-issued. There was no
lack of individual boldness in council, and, among the officers, no
lack of individual bravery in action, but want of co-operation rendered
both alike useless. Our strength was frittered away in a series of
petty sorties, conducted by insufficient numbers, and generally ordered
when the time for immediate action was past. Our soldiers, even our own
English soldiers, disheartened and demoralized by repeated defeats,
for which they felt that they themselves were not to blame, lost
confidence alike in their commanders and in themselves. It is said that
it was actually found necessary to employ a Sepoy guard to prevent the
soldiers of an English regiment leaving their post, and it is certain
that on one, if not on more than one occasion, our men fairly turned
their backs and ran before the Afghan hordes. At an early day, as
might well have been foreseen, the forts containing the Commissariat
supplies and stores fell into the enemy's hands, and though this
disaster was for a time remedied by the energies of our Commissariat
officers, who had fortunately not been lost with the stores, and who
managed to collect supplies from some of the neighbouring villages,
there soon arose a new danger in the doubt whether the the siege would
not outlast the ammunition. Urgent and frequent messages had been sent
to bring up Sale's brigade, which was supposed to be still among the
Khoord-Cabul hills, and to Eldred Pottinger to join the garrison with
his detachment from Charekur, a place about 60 miles north of Cabul.
But Sale's brigade was already on its march to Jellalabad, and of
Pottinger's detachment only he and another officer reached Cabul alive.
To crown all, it was known that Akbar Khan was moving down from Bamean.
On the 23rd a strong force of cavalry and infantry, but accompanied,
through what strange process of reasoning it is impossible to say, by
only one gun, moved out under Shelton to occupy a hill commanding the
sources of our supplies, which had been recently threatened by the
enemy. The expedition was a total failure. Shelton himself behaved with
conspicuous gallantry, and his officers nobly followed his example;
but the men, discouraged by frequent defeat, and finding their muskets
no match for the Afghan jezails, were mown down like grass, till,
having lost their solitary piece of artillery, they fled in disgraceful
panic back to the cantonments. With this disastrous attempt concluded
all exterior operations, and on the same day Macnaghten received
instructions from Elphinstone to open negotiations for surrender.

At the first meeting the terms offered were so insulting that
Macnaghten refused to continue the conference. His hopes, too, had
somewhat revived of late by a communication from Mohun Lal, whom he
had secretly employed to sow, with offers of large bribes, dissensions
among the hostile chiefs, and by the news of the death of two of our
bitterest foes, Abdoolah Khan and Meer Musjedee. Whether these men
died from wounds received in battle, or by assassins set on by Mohun
Lal, is not certain, but it seems tolerably clear that the interpreter
was instigated by some one in the British camp to offer large sums
of money for the heads of the principal insurgents. As a set-off to
this, however, came grave reports from the Commissariat department,
and the news that there was little prospect of Maclaren's brigade,
which had set out from Candahar to their relief, being able to win
its way to Cabul. On December 11th, therefore, negotiations were
renewed. Akbar Khan, who had by this time joined his countrymen amid
uproarious expressions of delight, with the chiefs of all the principal
tribes, met the Envoy on the banks of the Cabul river, about a mile
from the cantonments. Macnaghten read in Persian the draft treaty he
had prepared, of which the main stipulations were to the following
effect:--That the British troops in Afghanistan should be withdrawn
to India as speedily as possible, accompanied by two Sirdars of rank
as guarantees of safe conduct; that on their arrival at Peshawur
arrangements should at once be made for the return of Dost Mahomed
and all others of his countrymen at that time detained in India; that
Soojah should be allowed to depart with the troops, or to remain where
he was on a suitable provision, as he might prefer; and that four
"respectable" British officers were to be left at Cabul as hostages for
the due fulfilment of the treaty until the return of Dost Mahomed and
his family. After a discussion of two hours the terms were accepted,
and it was agreed that the evacuation of our position should commence
in three days' time. Such a treaty is not to be read with pleasure,
but it was possibly the best that could have been concluded under the
circumstances that had arisen; for which Macnaghten himself appears, at
least, to have been less responsible than his military colleagues, at
whose urgent and repeated instigations he had undertaken the work.

It became soon apparent how little dependence was to be placed on
the Afghan word. On the 13th, according to the stipulation, the
British troops stationed in the citadel left their quarters, about
six o'clock on a winter's evening. Scarcely had they cleared the
gates, when an ugly rush was made for them by the crowd outside. The
gates were immediately closed, and the guns of the citadel opened an
indiscriminate fire on friends and foes alike. Akbar Khan declared
that at that late hour he could not undertake their safe conduct to
the cantonments, and the men were therefore obliged to pass the night
on the frosty ground, without tents, without food, and without fuel.
On the following morning they reached the cantonments in safety, but
half-dead with hunger and exposure. It had been agreed that the Afghans
should supply the necessary provisions and carriage for the march; but
it had also been agreed that the British forts in the neighbourhood of
their position should be given up. The Afghans refused to play their
part till we had played ours, and the forts were accordingly placed in
their hands. Still, provisions came in but slowly, and carriage not
at all. A horde of robbers and fanatics swarmed between the city and
the cantonments, plundering under our very eyes the few supplies that
were sent in, but as they were now to be considered "as our allies" not
a shot was permitted to be fired. Yet even then Macnaghten continued
to hope against hope, that "something might turn up" to spare the
humiliation of an enforced retreat, and on the evening of the 22nd it
seemed to him that such a chance had arrived. It came in the shape of
a proposal from Akbar Khan that he and the Ghilzyes should, in the
face of the concluded treaty, unite with the English to re-occupy the
citadel and the abandoned forts; that our forces should be allowed to
remain in Afghanistan till the spring, and then withdraw as though of
their own free-will; that the head of the formidable Ameen-oolah Khan
should be sent to the Envoy, and that in consideration of all these
good offices Akbar Khan himself should receive an annuity of four
lakhs of rupees from the British Government, together with a bonus of
thirty lakhs. The offer of murder was indignantly rejected, but with
the others Macnaghten closed at once, and on the following morning,
having requested that two regiments with some guns might be held ready
for instant service, he rode out to the proposed place of conference,
accompanied by Lawrence, Trevor and Mackenzie. The latter, indeed,
learning the new design, ventured to expostulate with his chief on the
risk he was about to run, while Elphinstone earnestly implored him
to pause before he committed himself to so perilous and so crooked
a course; but despising warnings and advice alike, Macnaghten rode
hopefully out to his death.

Among some small hillocks about 600 yards from the cantonments
the meeting was appointed; salutations were exchanged, the party
dismounted, and the Envoy and the Khan seated themselves on the
ground. Scarcely had the conversation been opened, when the chiefs
began to close in on the little group. It was pointed out to Akbar that
as the conference was a secret one, they should be advised to withdraw;
he answered that it was of no matter, as they were all in the plot
with him. The words had not left his lips when the Englishmen were
seized. Trevor, Lawrence and Mackenzie were flung each behind a mounted
Afghan and galloped off to one of the forts, through a crowd of armed
fanatics, who cut and struck at them as they passed. On the way Trevor
slipped from his seat and was instantly hacked to pieces, but the
others got safely through. As they were hurried away, Lawrence turned
his head and saw the Envoy struggling in the grasp of Akbar Khan, "with
an awful look of horror and consternation on his face;" a pistol shot
was heard soon after, and no English eye ever saw Macnaghten alive or
dead again. Such was the end of the attempt of an honest Englishman to
outwit the most treacherous people in the world.

On the following day new terms were sent to Elphinstone to be added to
the existing treaty--that first treaty which Macnaghten had lost his
life in attempting to evade. These required that the guns with the
exception of six, and all the muskets, save those in actual use, should
be given up, and that the numbers of hostages should be increased.
Eldred Pottinger, who had succeeded to the Envoy's place, strongly
combated this additional insult, giving his undaunted voice for the
immediate seizure of the citadel, or at least for one last attempt to
fight their way sword in hand down to Jellalabad. His brave counsel was
overruled; the guns and muskets were given up, a few at a time, in the
vain hope that in some way the treaty might yet be averted, or perhaps
to alleviate, if possible, the humiliation of the surrender; Captains
Walsh and Drummond, with Lieutenants Warburton and Webb were sent to
join Lieutenants Conolly and Airy, who were already in the hands of the
chiefs, and such of the sick and wounded as were unable to bear the
fatigues of the march were conveyed into the city under Doctors Berwick
and Campbell. On the 6th of January, 1842, before the promised escorts
had arrived, the British army, contrary again to Pottinger's advice,
moved out from the cantonments, and the fatal march began.

The British troops that marched out on that 6th January numbered
4500 fighting men, of whom 700 were Europeans, and about 12,000 camp
followers. Of this force two men reached Jellalabad alive, one of
whom died on the following day. The married officers and their wives,
with all the women and children, and a few of the wounded, were on
the third day of the retreat placed in the care of Akbar Khan, who,
to give him such credit as is his due, for once kept his word when
he promised to treat them honourably and well; six more officers,
including the General himself and Shelton, at a later period fell or
were surrendered as hostages, into the same hands, and were carried
back up country, though Elphinstone, sick in body as in heart, prayed
hard to be allowed to die with his men; Captain Souter, of the 44th,
who had wrapped the regimental colours round his waist, was taken
prisoner with a few private soldiers at Gundamuck, where the last
stand was made by the gallant handful who had survived the horrors
of the pass. The rest of the Europeans perished to a man beneath the
knives and bullets of their "allies." Among the Native troops and camp
followers the loss was probably less than was at the time, and has
been generally since, supposed. Some of the former deserted in sheer
terror to the Afghans, and some of the latter it is possible found
hiding-places among the mountains, whence, when the noise of battle had
passed on, they contrived to make good their escape; yet thousands
fell beneath the murderous rain that poured down night and day upon the
defenceless rabble, and thousands, untouched by shot or steel, from
utter weariness sank down into the snow to rise no more. Had the march
been pushed on from the first with more expedition, it is probable
that at least a far larger number would have been saved; but that,
owing to the general demoralisation that had set in, inspired by the
irresolution of the commander, and aggravated by the disorderly crowd
of camp-followers, whose terror quenched all notions of discipline,
was precisely what could not be done. From dawn vast hordes of Ghazee
fanatics had hung on the rear, cutting off stragglers, plundering the
baggage, and from every coign of vantage firing indiscriminately into
the struggling line. The roads were slippery with ice, and on the
evening of the first day the snow began to fall; on the second day
the march became but "a rabble in chaotic rout." The European troops
indeed, set a glorious example. The officers did all that mortals
could do to preserve discipline, and the men, obeying so far as it was
possible to obey, nobly redeemed their former errors; but hampered by
a helpless crowd whose one thought of safety was not to fight but to
fly, it was but little that they could do. Here and there a stand
was made by gallant handfuls of our men, and where the English stood,
there the Afghans fled, but these momentary triumphs served rather to
increase than to check the fury of our foes. Enough of a melancholy and
shameful tale--let it be sufficient to say that when Brydon reached
Jellalabad on the 13th the army of Cabul had for all practical purposes
disappeared from off the face of the earth.

The news came upon the Government like a thunder-stroke. The last
days of Lord Auckland's administration were drawing near, and as he
read Macnaghten's sanguine despatches he fondly hoped that it would
be his fortune to return to England, not only the conqueror, but the
tranquilizer of Afghanistan. Towards the close of the year, indeed,
rumours of a disquieting nature had found their way down to Calcutta,
and when all rumours ceased it became evident that our communications
were interrupted, and that something serious had happened; but not even
the gloomiest dared to anticipate the worst: on January 30th the worst
was known.

Though there was anything but unanimity in the Calcutta Council, some
preparations, chiefly through the energetic representations of George
Clerk, our agent on the north-western frontier, had been made before
the full tidings of the disaster came down. It had appeared to some,
of whom was Sir Jasper Nicolls, then Commander-in-chief in India,
that it was better to accept the blow, and withdraw altogether behind
the Indus, than by attempting to retrieve still further to deepen our
disgrace. Sale still held Jellalabad in the teeth of overwhelming
numbers; Nott was still master of Candahar;--let them yield up the
charge they had so nobly kept, and if too weak to find their own way
down to India, let troops sufficient for their help advance, but for
no other purpose. Lord Auckland, unwilling to commit his successor to
a task which had already proved too strong for his own energies, was
inclined to listen to the advocates of retreat, and though the news
of the annihilation of the army of Cabul roused him for the moment
into a proclamation that the awful calamity was but "a new occasion
for displaying the stability and vigour of the British power, and the
admirable spirit and valour of the British-Indian army," he quickly
followed it by an intimation that when Sale and Nott had been relieved,
it were better that the British troops should withdraw to Peshawur.
Still, fresh forces were to be raised, and a fine soldier was to
head them. The offer had been first made to Major-General Lumley,
Adjutant-General in India, but Lumley's health forbade him to accept so
important a post, and Lord Auckland's choice--a choice as popular as it
was judicious--finally fell upon Pollock, a distinguished officer of
the Company's service, who had seen fighting under Lake and Wellington,
and wherever, indeed, it was to be seen since the year 1803, when he
had first landed in India, a young lieutenant of artillery. Pollock
hastened up to his command without a moment's delay, but before he
could reach Peshawur our troops had suffered yet another repulse.

Mr. Robertson, Lieutenant-Governor of the north western frontier, and
George Clerk, already mentioned, had counselled from the first prompt
measures, not of retreat, but reprisal. At their earnest request
Colonel Wild had been moved up to Peshawur with four native infantry
regiments, the 30th, 53rd, 60th and 64th, but without guns. It was
supposed he could procure them from the Sikhs, and with a great deal
of trouble he did manage to procure four ricketty guns, which seemed
likely to do as much harm to his own men as to the enemy, and one of
which broke down the next day on trial. Reinforcements were coming up,
which it was probable would contain artillery, but Wild did not dare
to wait. His Sepoys were anxious to advance; the loyalty of the Sikhs
was doubtful, and he feared the contamination might spread. On January
15th he commenced operations.

The key of the Khyber Pass, as we have all heard more than once within
the last few weeks, is the fortress of Ali Musjid, occupying a strong
position some five miles down the pass, and about twenty-five from
Peshawur. It had been recently garrisoned by some loyal natives under
an English officer, Mackeson; but, straitened for provisions, and hard
pressed by the Khyberees, it was doubtful whether the brave little
garrison could hold out much longer, and on the night of the 15th the
53rd and 64th Regiments, under Colonel Moseley, were despatched with a
goodly supply of bullocks to its relief. The fort was occupied without
loss, but the bullocks, save some 50 or 60, had meanwhile disappeared,
and there were now more mouths to feed in Ali Musjid and less wherewith
to feed them. Wild was to have followed with the other two regiments,
his Sikh guns and Sikh allies, on the 19th, but when the time came the
latter turned their backs on the Khyber and marched to a man back to
Peshawur. The Sepoys met the enemy at the mouth of the pass, but the
spirit of disaffection seemed to have spread. After an irresolute and
aimless volley they halted in confusion: in vain Wild and his officers
called on them to advance; not a man moved; the guns broke down, and
one of them, despite the gallant efforts of Henry Lawrence, had to
be abandoned. One of our officers was killed, and Wild himself, with
several more, was wounded; the retreat was sounded, and the column
fell back on Jumrood. The two regiments which held the fort had soon
to follow their example. They could have held the post for any time
indeed, so far as mere fighting went, but they had no provisions,
and the water was poisonous. On the 23rd, then, they evacuated their
position, and after a sharp struggle, in which two English officers
fell, and some sick and baggage had to be abandoned, made good their
way back to their comrades. Such was the state of affairs Pollock found
on his arrival at Peshawur.

Despite urgent letters received from Jellalabad the General saw that
an immediate advance was impossible. The morale of the defeated Sepoys
had fallen very low; the hospitals were crowded with sick and wounded,
and there was still an insufficiency of guns. Reinforcements of British
dragoons and British artillery were pressing up from the Punjab,
and Pollock decided to wait till he could make certain of success.
He decided well; nor was the time of waiting lost. He visited the
hospitals daily, cheering the sick, and reanimating by his kindness
and decision the wavering and disheartened Sepoys. On March 30th the
long-desired reinforcements arrived, and orders were at once issued for
the advance.

At three o'clock on the morning of April 5th the army moved off from
Jumrood to the mouth of the pass. It was divided into three columns;
two of these were to crown the heights on either side, while the third,
when the hills had been sufficiently cleared, was to advance through
the gorge; each column was composed of a mixed force of Europeans
and Sepoys; four squadrons of the 3rd Dragoons and eleven pieces of
artillery accompanied the centre column. The attack was as successful
as it was ingenious. A huge barricade of mud and stones and trunks
of trees had been thrown across the mouth of the pass, while the
heights on either side swarmed with the wild hill-tribes. So quietly,
however, did our flanking columns advance, that they were half-way up
the heights before the enemy became aware of the movement. From peak
to peak our men, English as well as Sepoys, clambered as agile as the
mountaineers themselves, pouring from every spot of vantage a steady
and well-directed fire on the disconcerted Khyberees, who had never
dreamed that the white-faced infidels could prove more than a match
for them in their own fastnesses. Then Pollock with the main column
advanced. The Afghans, finding themselves out-flanked on either side,
gradually withdrew; the barricade was removed without loss; and the
huge line of soldiers, camp-followers, and baggage-waggons passed
unopposed on its victorious way to Jellalabad. The dreaded Khyber Pass
had been forced with the slightest possible loss of life, and the
boastful Afghans beaten at their own tactics. On the 16th Jellalabad
was reached. With what intense delight Sale's noble brigade saw once
more from their walls the colours of a friendly force may well be
imagined. For five weary months the little band had resisted every
offer of surrender, and beaten back every assault. In February the
fortifications that had been raised and strengthened by Broadfoot with
infinite labour were destroyed by an earthquake; and at that very
time they learnt that Akbar Khan was advancing on them. The works,
however, were restored, and in a dashing sortie, commanded by Dennie,
the Afghan chief, with the flower of the Barukzye Horse, was driven
from his position without the loss of a single man to the garrison.
A few days before Pollock arrived a still more daring enterprise had
been attempted. On April 5th another sortie in force was sent out under
Dennie, Monteith, and Havelock, which bore down on the Afghan camp,
and sent Akbar Khan flying with his 6000 men far away in the direction
of Lughman--a dashing exploit, and a complete victory, but dearly won,
for it was won at the cost of the gallant Dennie. The meeting between
the two armies was, wrote Pollock to a friend, "a sight worth seeing;"
according to Mr. Gleig the band of the 13th went out to play the
relieving force in, and the entry was performed to the tune of "Oh, but
ye've been lang o' coming."

Still there was plenty yet to be done, if only the English soldiers
might be allowed to do it. At first it seemed doubtful whether Lord
Ellenborough, who had succeeded Lord Auckland in February, would be
more willing to sanction a forward movement than was his predecessor.
On his first landing, no one could have been more eager than he to
avenge the humiliation of Cabul, but as he went up the country his
opinions began to suffer a change. Soojah had been murdered about the
very time that the Khyber Pass was forced, by the treachery of a
son of Zemaun Khan (a faithful friend to the English, by whose good
offices the English captives were still living in safety, if not in
comfort); his son Futteh Jung had been nominally appointed to succeed
him, but his government was no more than a farce. Jealous of each
other, and jealous particularly of the rising power of Akbar Khan, it
was plain that the Afghan Sirdars would never rest till the strength
and popularity of Dost Mahomed was once more among them to restore and
maintain order. Was it not better to accept the inevitable, to withdraw
our troops, now that it could be done with comparative honour, and to
leave the country to its own king and its own devices? It was doubtful
how much longer the brave Nott could maintain himself in Candahar, and
the force that had been sent out from Sindh under England to relieve
him had been beaten back at the Kojuck Pass; Ghuznee, after a stubborn
resistance, had fallen, and the British officers sent prisoners to
Cabul. Lord Ellenborough cannot be blamed for hesitating at such a
crisis; but the urgent prayers of Pollock, Nott, and Outram at last
prevailed, and orders were given that the military commanders might
use their own discretion, while they were at the same time warned that
failure meant the inevitable fall of the British Empire in the East.
The responsibility was gladly taken, and the advance commenced which
was to retrieve, as far as it was possible to retrieve, the shame of
all former failure.

The advance was an unbroken series of victories. England, reinforced
with some British troops, had moved out again from Quettah, cleared
the Kojuck Pass, and joined Nott at Candahar. With a force now raised
to a strength equal to that which lay at Jellalabad, Nott, resolute
to "retire to India" by way of Ghuznee and Cabul, lost no time in
setting to work. Dividing his troops, he took with him the 40th and
41st Regiments of the Line, and the "beautiful Sepoy" Regiments that
had stood by him so well, and despatched the rest back to India in
charge of England, in whose hands also he placed Prince Timour, whom,
after his father's death it was alike dangerous to take to Cabul or to
leave at Candahar. About the same time Pollock, with 8000 men of all
arms, including the 31st Regiment of the Line and the 3rd Dragoons,
moved out from Jellalabad on the Khoord-Cabul Pass, that blood-stained
theatre of an awful tragedy. The enemy were in force at Jugdulluck,
but Pollock, employing the same tactics that had been so efficacious
among the Khyber hills, sent out flanking parties to clear the
heights, while from below his guns kept up a hot fire of shells on
their position. The Ghilzyes fought bravely, but they could not stand
against the English troops in open fight, and with as little loss as
in his first engagement Pollock led his men into the pass. Seven miles
within, in the little valley of Tezeen, Akbar Khan, with 16,000 of his
best troops, resolved to make one last throw for victory. He threw and
lost. While the English Dragoons met and broke the charge of the Afghan
horse, the English infantry, gallantly seconded by the Sepoys and
Ghoorkahs, pressed up the heights under a heavy fire. Sale himself led
the advanced column; Monteith and Broadfoot and McCaskill followed. Not
a shot was fired by the stormers; thick and fast flew the bullets among
them from the long Afghan jazails, but not an English musket answered.
The work was done with the bayonet, and driven from crag to crag by
that "beautiful weapon" alone, the enemy fled in confusion, till
amid the ringing cheers of the whole British force the British flag
waved on the highest pinnacle of the pass. This was Akbar Khan's last
attempt; leaving his troops to shift for themselves, he fled northward
to the Ghoreebund Valley; Pollock, over the crumbling skeletons of the
comrades whom he had so worthily avenged, led his men in triumph to
Cabul, and the British ensign once more flew from the heights of the
Bala Hissar.

On September 15th Pollock reached Cabul, and on the 17th he was joined
by Nott. After a slight check to the cavalry of his advanced guard, at
an early period of his march, the latter's success had been as complete
as Pollock's. At Ghoaine he had utterly routed a superior force of
the enemy under Shumshoodeen Khan. Ghuznee had been evacuated before
even our preparations for the assault were completed; the works were
dismantled and blown up, the town and citadel fired, and the famous
sandal-wood "gates of Somnauth," which, according to Afghan tradition,
had adorned their famous Sultan's tomb for upwards of eight centuries,
carried off in accordance with Lord Ellenborough's expressed desire.
At Syderabad, where in the previous November Woodburn and his men had
been treacherously massacred, Shumshoodeen turned again; the stand was
stubborn and for a while the issue seemed doubtful; but the news of the
defeat at Tezeen had spread, the Afghans lost heart, and abandoning
their position left the way for Nott clear into Cabul.

The honour of the British arms was at last complete; 15,000 British
troops were encamped in the Afghan capital, and from every quarter
round submission was pouring in. Ameen-oollah Khan, who held out to
the last, had been utterly routed in the Kohistan by a force under
McCaskill, and Akbar Khan had also intimated his wish to treat for
terms. The miserable Futteh Jung, who had already once been forced to
fly for his life, was formally installed on his throne, but as formally
warned that he was to expect no further aid or protection. The prospect
before him was too much for his weak and timorous mind, and, in truth,
it was far from a pleasant one; after a few days' nominal rule, he
voluntarily resigned a crown which he would never have been able to
keep, and Shahpoor, a high-spirited young boy of the Suddozye House,
was seated in his stead.

Two things had yet to be done. The captives were to be recovered, and
some unmistakeable mark of British retribution was to be stamped on
Cabul.

Before Akbar Khan took the field for the last time he had despatched
all the English hostages, together with the prisoners from Ghuznee,
towards the Bamean frontier, under Saleh Mohamed. Pollock immediately
on reaching Cabul had sent Sir Richmond Shakespeare, with a party of
horse in hot haste after them, and subsequently a stronger force under
Sale. Before, however, the rescue arrived the prisoners had effected
their own deliverance through the medium of Saleh Mohamed's cupidity.
On a promise, duly drawn up and signed by Pottinger, Lawrence and three
others, of a heavy bribe, the Afghan had consented to escort them
not to Turkestan and slavery, as had been intended, but back to the
English camp, and it was at Kaloo, on their way down to Cabul, that,
after more than eight months' daily expectation of death, they once
more found themselves among English friends and safe under the English
flag. Despite the many hardships and anxieties they had undergone,
their health, even of the women and children, had been marvellously
preserved, and their condition had, on the whole, been far better than
any they could have hoped for when they exchanged the certain dangers
of the retreat for the uncertain security of Akbar Khan's word. Two
only of the little band that had turned their backs on the miseries of
the Khoord-Cabul Pass were missing when they rode into Sale's camp,
amid the cheers of the men and a salute of welcome from the guns.
John Conolly, mourned by all who knew him, had died at Cabul a few
days before the march for Bamean began, and in the previous April,
after Pollock's victory had heralded the triumph which was to atone
for the disasters that the British arms had experienced under his
command, poor Elphinstone, after days of intense suffering in body
and mind, and bewailing to the last that he had not been permitted
to die with his men, passed away amid the affectionate sympathy of
all his fellow-prisoners. His body was sent down to Jellalabad, and
there interred with military honours in the presence of his victorious
successor.

To set the seal of our triumph on Cabul it was determined to destroy
the great Bazaar, where the mutilated body of Macnaghten had been
exposed to the insults of his murderers. It had been first intended to
demolish the citadel, but the Suddozye chiefs pleaded so earnestly for
this last remnant of their royalty, that Pollock consented to spare
it. During two days, October 9th and 10th, the work of destruction
went on, and though every precaution was taken to prevent any farther
loss beyond that ordered, and particularly any excess on the part of
our soldiers, many suffered, and there was much excess. On the 11th
the homeward march began. Futteh Jung had implored the safe conduct
of the British from a kingdom where he was no king, and from subjects
with whom his life was not worth an hour's purchase, and with him went
for the second time into exile his blind old grandfather Zemaun Shah.
By the Khoord-Cabul and Khyber Passes, the scenes of so much misery
and such grievous humiliation, the victorious army returned in triumph
to Hindostan, and ere Ferozepore was reached they heard that the last
of the Suddozye line had fled, that Akbar Khan had seized the throne
in trust for his father, and that Dost Mahomed himself was even then
on his way through the Punjab to resume his old dominion. And so the
English army left secure on the throne of Afghanistan the dynasty they
had spent so many millions of treasure and so many thousands of lives
to overthrow.




  LONDON:
  GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
  ST. JOHN'S SQUARE, E.C.




Transcriber's Notes


Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Inconsistent hyphenation fixed.

P. 22: He proceded to Teheran -> He proceeded to Teheran.

Pp. 19 (twice), 57: Dost Mohamed -> Dost Mahomed.

P. 30: to be be applied -> to be applied.

P. 32: five brigades of of infantry -> five brigades of infantry.

P. 33: Burnes with with him -> Burnes with him.

P. 51: you own terms -> your own terms.

P. 85: salutatations were exchanged -> salutations were exchanged.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Afghan War, by Mowbray Morris

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