THE COLONEL’S DREAM.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 10, Issue 46, 16 June 1899, Page 5 (Supplement)

THE COLONEL’S DREAM.

(A TRUE EPISODE.) BY PERCY CROSS STANDING.

THE TWENTY-THIRD OF DECEM-

BER, 1841

It is noon of an Afghan winter’s day. The hills surrounding the city of KhoordKabul are white with enow, and in their dazzling whiteness, as the sun succeeds in breaking through, they present a very beautiful appearance. The dark waters of the Kabul River flow in proximity, imparting a look of gloom to the whole landscape. On a gentle slope close to the city are gathered a knot of officers wearing the uniform of the Queen—save one man, who, conspicuous by reason of his civilian attire, has all the appearance of a diplomat. He is, in fact, none other than Sir William Macnagh ten, Plenipotentiary. from the Court of Great Britain to the Ameer of Afghanistan. A little apart, in charge'of a syce, stands a magnificent Arab charger, which, from its rich trappings and generally “ glossy” appearance, one would think is going to change owners. Such, indeed, is the case.

The person for whom this steed is intended is striding across the snow, attended by several Afghan officials, towards the little knob of Europeans. He is a tall, commanding figure, richly dressed and, after the fashion of his countrymen, having an infinity of formidable-looking daggers stuck in his girdle. There is withal a certain ring cf insincerity' about (he tones of this man’s voice when he addresses you,and a certain something that makes his face appear more than sinister when he smiles, that fail to impress one very favourably. Such is His Highness Ackbar Khan, son of the Dost Mahomed Kban, sometime Ameer of Afghanistan.

He greets Sir William cordially though certainly not deferentially, and expresses himself highly delighted with the horse, as well as with a pair of very handsome pistols which Sir William presents to him—yet there is a covert insolence in the expression of his thanks, as much as to sayi “ 1 know you are in my power ; I know you are giving me presents because you would make good terms with me.” And now they proceed to “ palaver.” But the Englishmen, noticing that a number of villainouslooking Afghans are drawing near, reminds JAckbar that the conference is or should be private, when he repiles in the following extraordinary terms ;

f “ Their presence can do no harm, as they are all in the secret.” - The nature of that secret does not remain long in doubt. At a given signal tthe British officers are seized suddenly from behind, each tied on a horse behind an Afghan trooper,and borne away over the enow 1 At first they are all too much astonished by this gross treachery to speak a word—and, indeed, speaking a word would ,*erve no useful purpose— and afterwards r hey are going at too great a rate to make •conversation possible. Two of them are carried hastily to a fort near by, another (Lieutenant Trevor), who loses his seat and frails to the ground, is despatched by the ynurderous Ghazis thronging round. The jpfficers’ cowardly escort have fled. Sir W illiam Macnaghten has been grasped i by' the perfidious Ackbar, and a desperate though unequal struggle was now waged .{between the two men on the ground. It is uncertain to this hour whether Ackbar intended to kill Sir William, though subsequent events would tend to show that the prime was premeditated. Be that as it tray, we will assume that in the fury of che moment Ackbar did not realise what he was doing. Drawing a pistol—irony of fate ! it was one of the beautiful little weapons with which the envoy had just presented him—the miscreant shot Sir Vv illiam dead. Those who saw the deed done never to their dying day forgot the took of wondering horror that distorted the .Englishman’s face as he was struck down. •The only words he was heard to utter were, ' Az barae Khoda ’-(For God’s sake !). Sir W. Macnaghten has been blamed for /eposing any confidence in such a man as [Ackbar Khan. But Sir William was nothing if not an English gentleman ; it was part of his nature to trust people implicitly, and he paid the penalty. | His lifeless body was mutilated by Ackjbar’s barbarous followers, the head being taken into the city, and with a barbarous refinement of cruelty, shown to Captain Conolly, an English prisoner. And so the fatal 23rd of December, 1841, passed into history.

IL- AT JELALABAD: THE COLONEL’S

STORY.

The scene is changed. We are still in Afghanistan, and it is the evening of a festival known to the English-speaking race as Boxing Day—as is evidenced by the attempts at decoration,and by the little crowd of gay subalterns seated around a blazing fire in the officers’ mess-room at Jelalabad. For we are now inside of that, historic fortress, which is unpleasantly “ threatened ” by'the wily Afghans. It is a few days after the tragic event just recorded, and it is that fact which imparts a grave tinge to the young officers’ conversation to-night. But itis impossible for them —particularly in war time—to remain grave for very long, and a heartly laug h is ringing through che room when the door opens to admit a soldierly-looking figure, attired in the undress uniform of an infantry regiment. This is Colonel Dennie, of the 13th approved soldier, and one born to cope with grave crises. He is in a very abstracted mood just now, in no humour for badinage, and he says not a word as room is made for him within the circle that surrounds the fire.

‘ Why is this thus. Colonel V asks one young fellow, adopting that air of wellbred familiarity assumed by “ subs.” towards their chiefs when not on dqty. ‘ Yo i seem quite “ off colour ” this evening.’

‘ Yes, Courtney, and I feel “ ofi colour,’’ as you so elegantly express it,’ says Colonel Dennie ; ‘ the fact is 1 have had a dream - an ominous dream—and one which I cannot forget.’

He is instantly assailed with a chorus of shouts.

‘ A dream, Colonel ? A dream ? We must hear it, so none of your shirking. We’ve had,a ghost story, and we must certainly have your dream ! On Boxing night too —come, fire away.’ Thus pressed, he has to give way, and

he says, smilingly, ‘ Well, gentlemen, it is soon told. 1 dreamed that Kabul had been evacuated, and that for little time we had been without definite tidings of the garrison. Then one day, when all the hills were covered with snow as they are now (only more so), we heard that a single horseman was in sight, coming slowly, and (apparently) painfully towards the place. Well, you fellows all flocked on to the outworks, as you are accustomed to do on the slightest provocation, and brought your glasses to bear upon the unfortunate man. As he slowly enunciated the word ‘glasses,’ the Colonel meditatively refreshed himself by taking a long pull from a glass of something hot that stood at his elbow, and, drawing a deep breath, continued : ‘ I can see the man of my dream now, though I cannot distinctly re-call his features. He was very pale and bloodstained, and grasped tightly in his right hand a broken sword— in fact, was so covered with wounds that he could scarce keep bis saddle. His horse, too, was wounded, and bore all the marks of hard riding.’ Here the irrepressible one of the party takes advantage of a brief hiatus in the Colonel’s recital to ask—- “ What colour was he, Colonel ?”

“ Who, the man or the horse 1” returns Dennie, smiling. * The horse appeared to be of a brown colour, and both man and beast seemed in such a groggy condition that I thought—and it was all so real—l sent a party to bring them in. But here comes in the most impressive part of my dream, or at all events the pare that has impressed me most. When we had succeeded in bringing the man round, it was elicited from him that of all the fine army commanded by General Elphinstone at Kabul a few months before he was the sole survivor—that our troops had evacuated the city in the depth of winter, had been surprised in the passes by the treacherous Ghuzis, and had all been destroyed save this one man.” The nature of this story in conjunction with the Colonel’s, way of telling it, had some effect upon his hearers, albeit the irrepressible was understood to remark, in muffled tones, that it was “ a nice thing to give a feller the horrors at Christmas time.”

“ But what conclusions do you deduce from the dream yourself ?” inquired Courtney. “ I have an impression that it was mo-e (ban a dream, that it was a revelation,” replied Colonel Dennie, thoughtfully. “ I believe Che Kabul Army will be destroyed to one man, and that he will come to us to tell the tale.”

THE DREAM PARTLY REALISED. In 1837, the Indian Government of the day, attracted by the movements of certain supposed Russian spies in the country westward of the Indus, had opened negotiations with Dost Mahomed, the Ameer ol Kabul, with a view to counteracting the Muscovite plans. The Dost, who was in reality a most unscrupulous and crafty fellow, had recently possessed himself oi the government by driving out the ruling monarch, Shah Sujah. Finding that the Dost declined to come to terms, the British decided to aid the exiled Shah Sujah in a determined effort to regain his lost throne. Now, Dost Mahomed had at Kabul some fourteen thousand troops,while his brothers held the scarcely less important city of Kandahar with other four thousand. The British opposed to these a powerful force, styling it “ The Army of the Indus,” and giving the command, to Major-General Sir John Keane. This army numbered in all some 4G,000 strong, and as a large proportion of these were Europeans, Kabul was quickly captured, the Dost forced to flee, and Shah Sujah re-established on the throne of his ancestors. Having accomplished its mission and proclaimed a protectorate over the country our army then withdrew, merely leaving a contingent behind to support the Ameer. Dost Mahomed had submitted, it is true, but he was “ scotched,” not killed, whilst the minor chieftains, headed by his hopeful offspring Ackbar, were eager for a renewal of hostilities. These events occurred during 1839-40, and on November 2nd. 1841, a sudden terrible outbreak took place in the Afghan capital, culminating in the brutal assassination of Sir Alexander Burnes and other English officers. Shah Sujah proved perfectly incapable to grapple with a great crisis, and sat helpless in his palace, while his very bodyguard deserted to Dost Mahomed. The British garrison at Kabul was commanded by Major-General Elphinstone, who for his part showed himself utterly inadequate to act with any degree of firmness, and whose dread of Afghan treachery led him to metaphorically bow the knee before Dost Mahomed. As it turned out, his halfhearted negotiations were interrupted by the terrible murder of Macnaghten, and afterwards the Dost proposed conditions—humiliating enough in themsevles -for the evacuation of Kabul by its British garrison. These terms included the surrender of all artillery, spare arms, and treasure, and the giving up of all married officers, with their families, as hostages. This last degrading condition was not carried out, because it could not be enforced ; but eventually it ended in Lady Sale and other ladies being left in the enemy’s hands. The New Year of 1842 had arrived, and on January 6th our unfortunate people, to the number of 4,500 fighting men, and 12,000 camp followers, marched out of Kabul. Their way led through the sombre mountain passes, which by this time presented a magnificent, yet terrible picture. Vast piles of snow\ of dazzling whiteness, upheaved against a cold blue sky, whilst the atmosphere was so cruelly keen that clothing seemed hardly a protection. It was noticeable at the outset that the promisedsafeguard for the passage of our troops through the country was not forthcoming, and what this portended was quickly perceived in the large, suggestive-looking bands of Ghazees and other robbers who flocked around and hung upon the outskirts of the tiny' army. A repetition of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow, on a smaller scale, was in store for our poor fellows.

The power and treachery of the villainous Ackbar, like a hydra-headed monster, were apparent at every turn. First occurred the desertion to the enemy of one of the native regiments—a sufficiently ominous sign—and the close of the first day’s march left hundreds of the wretched camp-followers, men, women, and children,

lying frozen on the ground. Anon the snow became so deep that the horses could not drag the guns, and several pieces were accordingly spiked and abandoned. Other pieces were all but lost in a sudden onslaught by the enemy’s cavalry, and these guns, too, had ultimately to be left. Hordes of plunderers hung about the rear of our force, murdering Lieutenant Hardyman and fifty sowars of the sth Cavalry, until gradually the British lost all semblance of cohesion and ceased to resemble an army. The horror of the scene was heightened by the glare of a great conflagration, Kabul having been set on fire in several places by Ackbar and his friends. General v Elphinstone had blundered already, but the egregious error that he now committed surpassed anything he had yet been guilty of. Ackbar, with a refinement of feeling well worthy the murderer of Sir William Macnaghten, had conceived the diabolical idea of decoying the retreating force into the Khoord-Kabul Pass, that fearful gorge, five miles in length, so narrow that the rays of the sun are unable to penetrate its depths, and through which flows a rapid torrent that is crossed by the slippery, stony path no fewer than twentyeight times. With this plot in his mind Ackbar. at the head of six hundred horsemen, made haste to overtake the English,and presented himself before Elphinstone with the lying statement that he had been appointed to safeguard them through the passes, and at the same time to demand hostages for the evacuation of the fortress of Jelalabad (where Sir Robert Sale was commandant) If these hostages were refused, he was to detain the force, but furnish it with supplies. As the Afghan’s determination manifestly was to destroy the entire force, Elphinstone should have indignantly spurned the proffered terms, and continued the retreat of his troops with all speed ; instead of which he weakly gave up three gallant officers as “ hostages,” and again endeavoured to make terms. Ackbar’s end was achieved, however; the line of retreat lay through the defiles of the Khoord-Kabul. The disordered mob— I can term it nothing else —pressed wildly on through the pass, whose heights were lined by bands of the enemy, pouring down a relentless fusilade. And it must be borne in mind that delicate ladies, sometimes bearing infants in their arms, were mixed up in that seething mass, having to run the gauntlet,of rifles that carried death at a thousand yards. January 9th found the remnant of our people through the pass, but in what a condition ! Reduced to less than five hundred Europeans, with a flock of frightened camp-followers, there were few murmurers when Elphinstone called another of those fatal halts. The presence of Ackbar in their midst enhanced the irony of the situation, and his continued demand for the surrender of the married officers and their families was at length complied with. Yet the rear-guard retained strength sufficient, to beat off two very severe attacks. But a master-stroke of treachery now enabled Ackbar, by inviting General Elphinstone, Brigadier Shilton, and Captain Johnstone to a conference, to got those officers into his power. To do them justice, they were so far forgetful of self as to implore him to preserve the lives of the few survivors by staying the hands of his followers. He was as usual profuse in his promises, stating that he would engage his father-in-law (a powerful and equally unscrupulous chieftain) by the payment of two lacs of rupees, to pilot the unhappy creatures through the country. The money was accordingly extorted.

Aekbar returned ab evening with the announcement that he had carried out his part of the contract; but even as he spoke the roar of musketry in the distance gave the lie bo the villain’s words. ‘ Tel pere, tel fils and Aekbar and his worthy sire, having pocketed the rupees and got the persons of the officers and ladies into their possession, had deliberately barricaded the Yugdulluk Pass with trees, lined it with riflemen, and left the infidel dogs to their fate, what time bheii General sat hopelessly in thtf enemy’s camp, a prisoner. Brought tp bay once more, the handful of British fought desperately, and taught their cowardly assailants a severe lesson. Here, however, fell Anquetil, Chambers, Browne, and other brave men. But why dwell upon this scene ? By a wretched combination of incompetence and timidity on the part of the British commander of unparalleled treachery and double-dealing—-certainly nob of skill in battle—on the part of the Afghans, Elphinstone’s army of the Indus, which had left Kabul numbering 16,500 of all ranks, was in the brief space of a week, destroyed off the face of the earth I

HOW A VISITOR CAME TO JELALABAD.

The country still presents one dazzling sheet of white, with the accompainment of piercing cold and dull blue sky. One could stand for hours (but for the fear of being frozen !) without beholding a solitary living thing cross those trackless plains, though on this January day you might have descried a single speck on the horizon moving so slowly amid the yet drifting snow that even v/ibh the most powerful of fieldglasses you could scarcely discern that it moved at all. An hour or two later it has resolved itself into a horse and rider, coming slowly and painfully over the plain. In point of fact, both horse and man are so sorely wounded that one marvels they are able to move at all. The man has evidently struggled hard. He is dressed in semi-military attire, bub so torn and blood stained as to be scarcely recognisable for the Queen’s uniform. It is seen that he droops half fainting from the saddle, while grasping in his right hand all that remains of his sword, namely, the hilt. His horse struggles on, though fast losing strength. The officers of the garrison have gathered on the walls of Jelalabad, aud no sooner is it seen that the slowly approaching object is a horseman, and a sorely wounded one to boot, than Colonel Detmie lowers his glass and exclaims ; ‘Didn’t I tell you so, gentlemen ? The Kabul Army baa been utterly destroyed, and yonder man is the man of my dream—the one survivor of whom I spoke to you !’

Then it is that his words of less than a month ago are forcibly recalled to their memory, and a thrill runs through the little group, as with mingled wonder and apprehension they await the advent of the coming horseman.

The Colonel hastily despatches a party to bring him in ; and though they find him in such an exhausted condition as to be almost incapable of speech, it is quickly

elicited that he is indeed the sole survivor

of fifteen thousand men 1 As soon as he is in a condition to describe the terrible events of the week, he tells how he and five others —escaping by reason of the fleebness of their horses—were overtaken by an armed mob, how two of them were cub down on the spot, how the remaining four separated and rode different ways, closely followed by the cowardly foe, and how that the ladies are now the captives of Ackbar Khan. And the speaker is Dr. Brydon, a Scotch man.sometime surgeon to Shah Sujah’s 6th Infantry.

Colonel Dennie, on hearing bhi 3 story of treachery and disaster, sets his teeth very firmly and says “ The- first thing is to recover the ladies, and then for our revenge!”

THE CLOSING SCENE. One scene more and we have finished. A year has come and gone. The English ladies and children have been recovered' without harm befalling them, and English soldiers are taking that revenge of which the Colonel spoke. Havelock and Sale, Pollock and Courtney, and others famous in Indian history, are here ; and Afghan treachery is being rewarded with cold steel.

It is only fitting, boo, that Colonel Dennie himself should be present to bear his share in the work of retribution. He is seen at his best to-day—with the light of battle on his face, dealing death with his flashing sabre, and sitting his grey charger with the grace of a centaur. He is at the head of the regiment he loves so well—the old I3th. The British general had felt strong enough to assume the offensive, though the traitorous Ackbar’s force exceeded his own by three to one, and though the latter was strongly entrenched. Dennie had pleaded hard that his regiment should be allowed to lead the attack on the enemy’s camp, and this being acceded to, he cheered on his troops with a vigour such as struck terror into the hearts of the enemy. Already they are giving way, and he turns to Courtney with the smiling remark that * if the progress made on the right wing be equal to our own, Ackbar will have cause to remember to-day I’—when he is seen to reel in his saddle. But for the help of the young subaltern’s strong arm, his Colonel would have fell bo the ground. It is evident that he is badly if not dnagerously wounded. A rifle bullet has, in fact, entered his side through his waist belt, reaching a vita part ; and while bidding Courtney press on the advance, he feels for himself that he has not many moments to live. Supported in Courtney’s arms—and the ‘sub, is moved to tears as he watches his chief’s life blood ebbing away—he keeps his saddle, and with eyes that are fast growing dim sees his brave fellows drive the Afghans into the Kabul River.

‘lb is good bo see that, Courtney,’ he says, with a faint smile, ‘ but 1 fear 1 have not long to live.’ ‘Surely the wound is not mortal,Colonel?’ replies Courtney, -in a voice that he vainly endeavours to keep steady, for he feels that the Colonel has indeed received his death wound.

Then Sale and the rest come up to say good-bye, and Dennie, with fast failing breath, says, ‘ But I was a true i ropheb about the,Kabul Army, wasu bI ?’ And somehow—it seems like poetical justice that I should meet my death in helping to avenge them. Their hearts are too full to answer in words.

So dies—as he would have wished, with the sound of battle in his ears—one of the most gallant officers and true hearted gentleman her Majesty’s army has ever known or her Majesty’s uniform ever graced. And so, too, ends the history of our Indian Empire. Since first be coming involved in Afghanistan, our arms have, alas ! frequently met with disaster, but nothing so terrible has had to be deplored as the events foretold by the Colonel’s Dream.