Loe raamatut: «Raiders of the Sarhad», lehekülg 11

CHAPTER XII
VICTORY AND PEACE

News of the herds – Towards Dast-Kird – Water! – Mutton for all – Dast-Kird – A stampede – Back to Khwash – On the track of the Gamshadzais – Twice a prophet – The Sarhad-dar's roost – Before Jalk – Rejected terms – More strategy and a bloodless victory – Remain only terms and sick leave

We had certainly won a decisive victory from a military point of view, but, according to the unwritten code regulating victory in the Sarhad, we had yet to capture the Raiders' ramas or herds of goats and sheep.

This omission still confronted us when one of Idu's special Reki scouts declared he knew the exact whereabouts of Jiand's herds, and that he could lead us there in two marches. At the end of each of these he declared we should also find a good camping ground, and a good water supply. As these men had never yet promised water and failed us, orders were given to strike camp and march out in the direction of Dast-Kird, through the valley lying between the Morpeish and Sar-i-drokan Ranges.

Although we made a very early start the heat soon became intense. There was not a particle of shade, and our route lay slightly uphill all the way, over rugged broken ground. Also, as we were confident of finding water at the camping ground, the men had emptied their water bottles before mid-day, and were enduring agonies of thirst long before we reached our proposed camping place; whilst the suffering of the animals was pitiful to see. But the prospect of a good drink at the end of the march kept up our spirits.

At last, late in the afternoon, the Reki, who had constituted himself our guide, gave a cry and ran forward, telling us that we had reached the spot where we should find water.

No sign of stream or spring showed itself, but I remembered that the Sarhadis have a way of finding water seemingly miraculous to the white man, and when the Reki proceeded to dig and scratch in the ground at the foot of a stunted tree we fully expected to see a little spring gush forth. The men, therefore, with lips swollen and tongues cleaving to the roofs of their mouths, crowded round, eager and impatient.

But, for once, Nature and the Reki failed us. For though the latter dug and dug, with the sweat pouring down his face, the dry, arid ground showed not the faintest sign of moisture.

At last he desisted and fell at my feet, saying despairingly, "Sahib, there is no water! I found water here once, in the cold season, and I thought it would always be here. The heat must have dried it all up."

Our situation was pretty desperate. We had not a drop of water for man or beast, and now could not tell when we should get any. All through the latter part of that day's march we had succeeded in getting the men along solely by encouraging them with promises of water. "Just a mile farther on" and then, "perhaps another half-mile." Only those who have marched without water in torrid countries can have any conception of the depression that grips men when they do not know when, or where, water may next be found.

I cursed the man for misleading us, and he shook with fear. "It is not my fault, Sahib. Water was here when last I came to this place. But to-morrow, without fail, I will lead you to a fine stream of water."

"To-morrow?" I echoed. "How are we to exist till to-morrow? Why should I believe you? You have deceived us to-day, why not again to-morrow?"

The man swore on the Koran he could and would lead us to a place where we should find water. "If I do not succeed, Sahib, in finding water before eleven o'clock, then take my life."

I replied grimly that if he failed again, his life would most certainly be forfeit – that was to say if any of us then remained in a condition to shoot him.

The whole force suffered horribly that night, and when we set out again it was still dark. The Reki went on ahead with the advance guard. I rather imagine he was anxious to put a safe distance between himself and my revolver, for I had, indeed, determined to have him shot if he deceived us a second time. No man could face a second day of that blinding heat and glare without water and keep his sanity.

We had only been marching a few hours when a Sawar rode back from the advance guard to report that large herds of sheep and goats had been sighted a short distance ahead.

Our spirits instantly rose. Where there were sheep there would, most probably, be water. Shouting to the men to encourage them we galloped forward and were soon pushing our way through masses of sheep to find ourselves on the banks of a stream of clear, cool water.

The difficulty, of course, was now to restrain man and beast from over-drinking; for if ever nectar flowed on this earth it flowed that day in that parched, sun-baked Saragan Valley.

Unfortunately, like the majority of streams in the Sarhad, and in Persia generally, it only flowed above ground for a short distance, to be soon lost again in the arid, sandy ground. So orders were given to halt at that spot till we were all rested, and had absorbed sufficient water to make up for the past thirty-six hours.

The thirty-four herds of sheep and goats found here were claimed as spoils of war, and I determined to give the men a real, good feast for once. Here was any amount of mutton for the killing, and well-nigh as much goats' milk as water.

The hungry Hazaras sent in a request that they might each have a whole sheep a day. I naturally thought such a request fantastic, and, not taking it literally, sent back word that they might, for once, have as much meat as they wanted.

But they took the permission literally, and actually did slaughter a sheep for each man. I discovered afterwards that their great idea had been to be able to boast, in the future, that, after their great victory over the Yarmahommedzais, led by the Gamshadzai Chief, Halil Khan, their rations had been "a sheep per man per day."

After this feast the carcasses of the uneaten sheep, and of the half-cooked meat, lay about in an orgy of waste, and the sight of the camping-ground was, as may be imagined, a sickening one. Never again was such a ration-order given!

Late in the afternoon, with the whole force in fine fettle, we continued our forward march, driving the herds with us, and, a little later, found a good camping ground with a plentiful supply of water. For many hours that night, owing to the bleating of thousands of sheep, there was little rest for anyone. But as they were now our sheep and not the enemy's, the annoyance was cheerfully borne.

Upon the following day water proved scarce, and a great deal of digging had to be done before even a trickle could be found. The unfortunate sheep and animals had, therefore, to go very short. The country was also from this point getting very difficult, and marching became a great labour in consequence. Part of our route lay through a narrow, rocky defile; one of the worst to negotiate, from a military point of view, that I have ever encountered. Had a mere handful of the enemy chosen to obstruct us it would have been utterly impossible to get through.

Much picketing of the heights had to be done, and this called for a great effort on the part of the Hazara Pioneers. These duties were well carried out under the very able direction of Major Lang.

Fortunately the Yarmahommedzais had had enough of it, and left us severely alone. In fact, the only signs we had of them were the blood tracks of their wounded, walking or carried. But even these were significant enough evidence of their losses during the fight.

The next day brought us more open ground, though marching still remained arduous, as we were tackling an uphill route. But later it fell away again towards the Dast-Kird gorge, and, by the afternoon, we were able to pitch our camp in a wild, but very picturesque, little valley, close to Jiand's Summer haunt. This valley, as I have already explained, lies between the Morpeish and Sar-i-drokan heights, which at this point rise sheer from it on either side. There are also a good many trees in the neighbourhood, and the ground round the bases of these had been flattened, and then plastered with mud, in order to form good flooring for jugis.

We spent the night here, and on the following day arrived at Dast-Kird, where we camped close to a small stream. Unfortunately this stream was so small, a mere trickle, that it would not suffice for the animals, who had had insufficient water for the last two or three days.

These herds were some little distance behind, for, poor brutes, they were feeling the heat and lack of water terribly. We, therefore, proceeded to make some provision for them, before their arrival, by damming the stream, and trying to make a small reservoir.

The first animals to arrive were the battery mules, who, when they smelt water, made a dash for it. But they had scarcely begun to drink than a mass of twelve thousand sheep and goats, also smelling water, broke from their would-be shepherds, and, in a solid phalanx, charged the mules, routed them, and took possession of the water-supply. The men pulled and tugged, and struck them with their rifles in their endeavour to stampede them and drink themselves. But those sheep knew the power of numbers and of combination. With their heads well down they slaked their thirst from a stream which, now that the dam had been trodden down, had again become a trickle, and they held that position, against all comers, for twenty minutes. Poor beasts, they paid for their orgy at the price of some two hundred lives that night.

Upon the following day we started on our return march to Khwash, and, upon our entry there, were accorded a great reception, and the story of the fight had to be told again and again.

It was during this march that we began to realise the extent of the Yarmahommedzai casualties in the recent fighting; for, during the whole of it, from the scene of the fight right through to Khwash, a distance of about a hundred miles, not a single one of the enemy did we see, nor was a solitary shot fired at us.

But I was still not quite satisfied with results. We had not yet closely engaged and beaten the Gamshadzais, nor had we put into operation that deciding factor, the capture of their herds. On the contrary, when we had attempted to pierce the Saragan defile, they had forced us to retire.

I have never yet been able to understand why Halil Khan never brought his own force against us near Gusht, but only the Yarmahommedzais, after he had persuaded Jiand to let him lead the latter into battle.

It can only be supposed that he thought he had a task easy enough to tackle with one lashkar, and that he would not, in consequence, endanger his own men's lives. The mystery is the deeper because he had previously been at great pains to collect all his scattered tribesmen, and had concentrated them in the Safed-koh. Yet these men, even when news reached them of our victory over Jiand's tribe and of the death of their leader, never made the smallest attempt to attack us or to reverse the decision of arms.

It will be understood, then, that while the Gamshadzais remained unbeaten and their herds intact, our claim to dominance in the Sarhad could not be claimed as anything but partial. If, therefore, we were to hope for lasting peace in the future, they too must have a lesson.

So, after a couple of days' rest at Khwash, we marched out with our faces once more turned towards Gusht, and with every hope of another victory. The composition of the force was much the same as that upon the previous occasion, but with the addition of a few Chagai Levies under Major Hutchinson (political officer).

A couple of days' marching across the burning plain found us camped at a place called Ab-i-kahugan, lying in a small valley closely surrounded by hills. The men were hot and weary, and, as water had been scarce on the march, they were only too thankful to fling themselves down and rest. There were a small water hole and a few stunted trees and shrubs under which a certain amount of shade could be obtained.

For myself I dropped down under one of these bushes and slept well on into the afternoon. When at last I woke, still feeling very done up with the heat, I saw one or two flashes of lightning in the distance, and felt certain that it was going to rain.

I immediately got up and gave orders for the whole camp to be moved on to higher ground, and selected a likely spot on one of the slopes of the low hills surrounding the valley.

The heat was still very great, and the effort expended in striking and re-pitching camp was not inconsiderable. The present camping-place was also infinitely cooler and more comfortable.

As an outcome of this order an officer reported that the men were grumbling at having to move when tired out with the heat and the heavy marching of the last few days.

I explained (for I knew by my own state how tired and done the men must be) that I had a presentiment that it was going to rain and that, if it did, the dry valley-bed would soon be a running stream.

The officer stared at me. "Rain?" he repeated, as though he had not heard me aright. "But it hardly ever rains in the Sarhad, and it has never been known to rain in August."

"Nevertheless," I replied, "this valley-bottom is going to be turned upside down, and the sooner you get your men out of it and up on to high ground the better."

The officer saluted and returned to his men, who sulkily proceeded to carry up their kit and tents and to form a new camp on the uncomfortable, sloping sides of the hill.

As I strolled about, seeing that my orders were being carried out, I noticed that Major Hutchinson's tent had been left in the bed of the valley. I walked up to it, found him dozing inside, and told him to have his tent moved on to higher ground as it was going to rain.

He, however, demurred, saying that he was very tired. He added, "It never rains in the month of August in Baluchistan."

I, however, remained firm, though the few light clouds flecking the sky a short while before had completely disappeared.

Despite my stringent orders some of Major Hutchinson's Chagai Levies apparently passed unnoticed amongst the low scrub, and so remained down in the shady comfort of the valley.

As the evening wore on I began to feel that perhaps I had been foolish in ignoring the dogmatic statements of the men well acquainted with weather conditions in the Sarhad, and was still chewing the cud of this reflection when, suddenly, I heard a roar in the distance. This came rapidly nearer, and very quickly resolved itself into the sound of rushing water. Almost before we realised it, a mighty spate swept into the valley, literally filling it. The water carried everything before it, and very soon small trees, shrubs and débris were being hurled along in a mighty rush.

It was pretty evident that the rain foretold had indeed fallen, though actually, in another part of the hills, forming this spate, which would have caused us serious loss but for my lucky premonition.

Torrents of rain accompanied the spate, and the kit of the few Chagai Levies who had neglected orders was carried away and never seen again.

As for the Levies themselves, they came within an ace of losing their own lives, and only saved themselves by clambering into the branches of some stunted trees, and waiting there till rescued. Nor was the rescue-work done without considerable risk to the rescuers.

The Sarhad-dar had, for some reason, been down in the valley-bed when the spate arrived, and had been nearly drawn under during the first few minutes. But he too, fortunately, managed to climb into a low tree, where for some time his position was perilous enough, for the swirling waters threatened every minute to snap or uproot the trunk, when he would have been carried away.

It was pitch dark when the spate arrived. I had seized a hurricane lamp from my tent and was watching the amazing scene by its light, when I heard the Sarhad-dar's voice shouting for help. One of our resourceful Rekis instantly grasped the situation. He jumped on to one of the horses tethered close by, urged him into the flood, and soon had the Sarhad-dar safely beside me on the high ground. He was later on recommended for the Royal Humane Society's Medal.

The next morning, as soon as I was awake, my tent was besieged by the Hazaras. They crowded round, asking me to come out. So slipping into my kit I emerged with the intention of asking them what they wanted.

But I had scarcely lifted the tent-flap when they all raised a shout, and then proceeded to tell me that I was a Buzurg (prophet), that they all owed their lives to me, and had come to thank me.

I replied with proper solemnity. It was undeniable, I said, that I was a prophet, for had they not recently had two concrete instances of my powers?

Later on, Major Hutchinson, in thanking me for saving his life, asked: "How did you know it was going to rain?"

I laughingly replied, "Because I'm a prophet, my son! Didn't you hear the Hazaras proclaim it just now?"

As a matter of fact we had very great reason to be thankful for our escape. The loss of the whole of our camp equipment, and of hundreds of our animals, would have been inevitable had the camp remained on its original site.

The day following this incident we marched through Gusht again, and camped on the site of our recent engagement.

From here we resumed our march in the direction of Zaiti, a camping ground lying just beyond the Saragan defile. But though we started at five a.m., met with no opposition and reckoned the distance only about twelve miles, we were not through the defile before midnight.

It must have been at about this hour that I called one of the native Hazara officers to my side, and remarked, "Your men were very disappointed the other day when we tried to force the pass, and the order was given to retire. You remember, they said they were convinced they could have got through, even with the heavy opposition we encountered. Do you think, now they've seen what it's really like, they are satisfied that the order was a necessary one?"

"Sahib," he replied, "of course we all see now that we could have done nothing in such a place against a determined enemy. I have never been through such a place in my life, and I am used to rough and difficult country."

As a matter of fact the defile was so narrow in places that a loaded camel could not get through it. Fortunately we had a quantity of gun cotton with us, so were able to blast the rocks here and there, and thus make the passage possible for them without unloading.

In due course we arrived at the village of Sinukan, a place some eleven miles from Jalk. Jalk at the time was a Gamshadzai stronghold, where they held two forts of some strength.

At Sinukan I received a message from the Gamshadzais saying that they wished to treat with me, and asking whether I would go into Jalk and state my terms. If these were acceptable, they said, they would instantly submit, but, if not, they undertook to withdraw their forces to a distance of five miles on the farther side of Jalk, provided we also withdrew five miles from the town on our side. This suggestion was made in order to give us both time to make our respective dispositions before fighting commenced.

An answer was sent to say that I agreed to the conditions, and that my force would come at once into Jalk to meet the Chiefs and present my terms to them.

I would say here that these terms were not drastic. They were only bare necessary safeguards for the lasting peace of the Sarhad. On their presentation, therefore, and for a time during the discussion, I hoped that counsels of wisdom would prevail, and that they would be accepted in toto. At the last minute, however, the hotheads over-ruled the moderates and they were formally rejected.

On this rejection I warned them that, if they persisted in their refusal, it meant fighting, and their reply was that they fully recognised the gravity of their decision, but that they meant to abide by it.

Accordingly, we retired not only five miles but the whole eleven miles back to Sinukan. My reason for this action was that I had already thought out a plan by which it might be possible to subdue these warlike tribesmen without the fighting I was naturally anxious to avoid. I certainly did not want to lose my own men, nor did I wish to make casualties of any more of the Sarhadis. My chief object had been, throughout, and, as has already been mentioned in this narrative, to make friends with them in the long run.

But no race, white or coloured, ever held in respect man or government showing weakness or indecision, and, as the foregoing pages prove, it was of little use attempting to make friends with these tribesmen without first inspiring them with a wholesome respect for British arms.

As we approached Sinukan I directed my Brigade Major to form two separate camps as I wished to seize Jalk by surprise that night with a portion of my force. My idea was to leave my transport and other encumbrances under a sufficient guard at Sinukan and with the remainder to move off secretly to carry out my intentions. Great care was taken to keep my idea secret, and only a few officers knew my intention. So well was the secret kept that my personal servant, Allah-dad, brought me my tea next morning only to find my bed empty.

At midnight, very quietly we roused the troops and marched off. Before dawn we arrived outside the town. It was only at the very last moment that the Gamshadzais, who had learned that I had gone straight back to Sinukan, and, in consequence, had not anticipated an attack that night, got wind of our approach. They were, therefore, taken completely by surprise, and utterly lost their heads. As we charged into the place with the cavalry they all took to their heels and rushed out on the other side, leaving many arms behind them. Within a very few minutes the two forts were in our hands.

My men soon rounded up the few Gamshadzais who had remained in the place, which seemed otherwise to be full of women and children.

To my embarrassment three large ramas of weeping women and children were presently led up to where I was sitting under a tree on the bank of a stream. I was then informed that they were all mine.

Some of them, in tears, asked me what I was going to do with them.

I replied, "I don't know. But at any rate I am English and not a German. What would you like me to do with you?"

They seemed bewildered at first, and without understanding, but when I assured them that I was speaking seriously, and really wanted to know what they would like to do, they soon found their tongues and made known the fact that they would like to go to their own homes.

"Is that all?" I replied. "Well then, go."

Their faces which, at first, shone with joy soon fell again. "But, Sahib, we have nothing left. You have captured all our possessions."

"But I don't want them," I returned. "Take everything that is yours and go."

Their thanks were then overwhelming, but I cut them short. "Wait a bit before you thank me so much. No Englishman ever makes war against woman and children – but there are your men. If I catch them, after all the trouble they've given me, I shall certainly kill them."

"Kill them then, Sahib," they said scornfully. "They deserted us, and ran away, when you and your lashkar came in. It is all they deserve."

As a matter of fact I learned, soon afterwards, that the Gamshadzais had not only run out of Jalk, but right out of the Sarhad, to take refuge in other districts. By thus evacuating their own country they acknowledged their final defeat.

It is reasonable to suppose that this humiliating end to their opposition would never have occurred had Halil Khan been alive. He, at least, would have been game to the last. He would have died fighting at Jalk – as he had indeed died at Gusht – or he would have surrendered with dignity. Halil Khan was a fine man, and without his leadership the spirit of his men at first faltered and then failed.

It seemed then that, by this last action with the Gamshadzais, the prestige of the British had been completely restored throughout the Sarhad. In the West, Juma Khan, leader of the Ismailzais, had faithfully kept his word to, and had demonstrated his friendship and loyalty for, the British cause, ever since he had pledged both at Kacha. In the centre of the district the Yarmahommedzais had been completely defeated in open action. In the East the Gamshadzais had abandoned their arms and had bolted from the country.

There was now nothing left to be done.

We, therefore, returned, marching easily to Khwash, where, very shortly after our arrival, I received letters from both the Yarmahommedzais and Gamshadzais asking to be allowed to return to their respective homes in the Sarhad, and on any terms that might be imposed.

I had had eight months of continual work in the hot weather of the Sarhad and was very near the end of my tether. As a fact I was, by that time, suffering badly in health in many ways, and our medical officer insisted upon an immediate return to India for a long rest.

As the Sarhad was now completely ours, and as it only remained for the political officers to dictate terms to the tribes, I listened to the advice of that medical officer, applied for leave to return to Simla, and was, in due course, granted it.

But, though the need for rest in a cooler climate was urgent, it was with real regret that I said goodbye to Khwash, the centre of so many hopes and fears, and the scene of such dramatic happenings.