A Shameful
Episode
Before following the fortunes of
the Administration formed by Sir Robert Peel,
reference must be made to mournful news which, while
people at home were crowding round the hustings and
polling booths, were slowly approaching this country
from Central Asia. The most serious reverse to
British policy and the greatest disaster to British
arms which have happened in the present century were
the outcome of events which may thus briefly be
recapitulated. In 1837 Captain Alexander Burnes,
Orientalist and traveller, arrived as British agent
at Cabul, capital of the province of that name, in
the north of Afghanistan. The Prince of that
fragment of the ancient empire of Ahmed Shah was
Dost Mahomed Khan, n usurper, it is true, but a
popular hero, a soldier of remarkable ability, and a
sagacious and bold ruler. Dost professed the
friendliest feelings towards England, but, for some
reasons now unknown, was profoundly distrusted by
the Foreign Office. Captain Burnes thoroughly
trusted Dost, but his repeated assurance failed to
convince his employers that in his disputes with
neighbouring States, Dost greatly preferred relying
on English influence to accepting the advances
continually made to him by Russia and Persia. Burnes
was instructed to regard Dost as dangerously
treacherous, and at last Lord Auckland,
Governor-General of India, made a treaty with
Runjeet Singh, hostile to Dost, and with the purpose
of restoring Shah Soojahool-Moolk, whom Dost had
deposed from the throne of Cabul. A British force
invaded Cabul, overthrew
the brave Dost, and enthroned 'Soojah, whom nobody
wanted. But Dost Mahomed was a foe of no ordinary
mettle. On November 2, 1840, he encountered the
allied force of the English and Shah Soojah at
Purwandurrah and if he did not actually win the
battle, the gallantry of his Afghan cavalry caused
it to be drawn. Dost, however, was too wise to
believe that he could resist for long the force of
England. On the evening after the battle he rode
into his enemy's camp and placed his sword in the
hand of Sir W. Macnaghten, the British Envoy at
Soojah's Court. Dost was honourably treated, his
sword was returned to him, he was sent to India and
provided with a residence and pension.
But Dost was the darling of his
people. They hated Soojah, whom the English had
forced on them, and they rose in revolt against him.
Burnes was the earliest victim, for although, in
truth, he had all along stood stoutly for Dost, the
insurgents believed him to have betrayed their
ruler. He and his brother and all their party, man,
woman, and child, were hacked to pieces. Akbar Khan,
second and favourite son of Dost Mahomed, now put
himself at the head of the insurrection, and the
shameful part of the story began. Hitherto, there
had been blunders enough in English dealings with
this brave people : but there is nothing to blush
for in blunders provided they are clear of disgrace
; one cannot, however, ignore the truth that, after
a few weeks' fighting, British troops, having been
repeatedly beaten, became so demoralised that their
officers could not get them to stand before the
fierce Afghans. General Elphinstone, the chief in
command, was an experienced, able soldier ; but his
health had broken down before the insurrection
began, and he had written to the Governor-General
begging to be relieved of his command, which he felt
he was physically unfit to continue. Unfortunately
there was some delay in appointing his successor,
and the trouble came before Elphinstone could be
relieved. Against the personal courage of Brigadier
Shelton, the second in command, no reflections have
ever been made, but he proved lamentably supine at
moments when prompt action was most required.
Affairs went from bad to worse with the British
force in cantonments outside Cabul, until at last
Elphinstone, grievously weakened by disease, could
be brought to contemplate no course but abject
surrender. Abject surrender ! Not quite
unconditional, it is true, but on most humiliating
terms, including the release of Dost Mahomed and the
immediate evacuation of Cabul by the British.
Bad as this was there was darker
disgrace to come. The evacuation was delayed—on the
part of the British from a foolish " Micawber " hope
that " something would turn up "—on the part of the
Afghans, no doubt, in order that the advent of
winter should make the passes impracticable.
Macnaghten, the British Envoy, seems to have been
infected by the prevailing demoralisation, and fell
into a trap prepared for him by Akbar Khan. At the
very moment when he (Macnaghten) was negotiating
openly with the chiefs in Cabul he entered into a
conspiracy with Akbar to destroy them, to establish
Shah Soojah as nominal monarch, and to secure the
appointment of Akbar as Vizier. Macnaghten's
punishment made no long tarrying, for Akbar was
acting a subtle part. Macnaghten, accompanied by-
three officers, rode out one morning to a conference
with Akbar on the west bank of the Cabul river. It
was a solitary place, a befitted the discussion of
the contemplated treachery, but they had not been
conferring long before they were surrounded by a
crowd of armed country people. The British officers
remonstrated with Akbar ; at that moment Macnaghten
and his companions were seized from behind; a
scuffle took place; Akbar drew a pistol, a gift from
the Envoy himself, and shot him in the body.
Macnaghten fell from his horse and was instantly
hewn in pieces ; Captain Trevor was killed also, and
the other two officers, Mackenzie and Laurence, were
carried off to the town.
Deeper and deeper grows the
horror--more profound the shame—as the story
proceeds. General Elphinstone and Brigadier Shelton
lay in their cantonments with 4,500 fighting men,
with guns, and camp followers to the number of
12,000. Macnaghten's bloody remains were dragged in
triumph through the streets of Cabul, yet not an arm
was raised to avenge him. Major Eldred Pottinger was
for cutting their way out and dying on the
field, but no one would listen to him : negotiations
were opened with Akbar Khan, and the British force
were allowed to march out, leaving all their guns
except six, all their treasure and six officers as
hostages. They started, upwards of 16,000 souls, to
march through the stupendous defiles to Jellalabad
in the very depth of winter. Akbar Khan's
safe-conduct proved the shadow of a shade; either he
would not, or, as seems to have been the case, he
could not, protect them from hordes of fanatic
Ghilzies, who hovered along the route—shooting,
stabbing, mutilating the wretched fugitives. Akbar,
indeed rode with Elphinstone, and probably it was
true, as he declared, that he could do nothing with
his handful of horse to keep off the infuriated
hillmen. At last it became evident that a choice
must be made of a few who might be saved either from
a bloody death or from perishing of cold in the snow
and searching wind. Akbar proposed to take all the
women and children into his own custody and convey
them to Peshawur. The awful nature of the dilemma
may be imagined when such a proposal was agreed to.
Lady Macnaghten was placed in charge of the assassin
of her husband: with her went Lady Sale, Mrs.
Trevor, and eight other Englishwomen ; and, as an
extreme favour, a few married men were allowed to
accompany their wives. General Elphinstone and two
other officers were also taken as hostages. The rest
struggled on as far as the Jugdulluck Pass. Then
came the end: the hillsides were crowded with fierce
mountaineers ; the 44th Regiment were ordered to the
front ; they mutinied and threatened to shoot their
officers, broke their ranks, and were cut down in
detail by the Afghans. A general massacre followed.
Out of more than 16,000 souls who marched out of
Cabul a sorry score of fugitives were all that left
that horrible defile alive. Sixteen miles from
Jellalabad, only six remained: still the murdering
knife was plied, until, at last, one solitary
haggard man, Dr. Brydon, rode into Jellalabad to
tell of the literal annihilation of the army of
Cabul, and announce to General Sale, commanding in
that place, that his wife was in the hands of Akbar
Khan.
Annihilation of the British Force.
[From Sketches obtained on the spot.]
The gate shown is the Cabul Gate of Jellalabad. It
was from the top of that gate that the sentry on
duty first caught sight of the solitary figure, clad
in sheepskin coat and riding a bay pony, lean,
hungry, and tired, who alone survived the massacres
in the Huft Kothal and Jugdulluck Passes. Dr.
Brydon's form was bent from weakness, and he was so
worn out with fatigue that he could scarcely cling
to the saddle. The snow-covered mountain in the
background is the Ram Koonde.
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