Untitled

"I have no faith in any treaty that could be made," Boyd said. "An Afghan is only bound by his word as long as it pays him to keep it. They will take Macnaghten's money, and will promise that we shall be allowed to go down the passes without molestation; but I am mistaken indeed if we shall not be attacked the moment we enter them. If they do so, few of us will ever get through. The men are weak now from want of sufficient food. They are utterly dispirited and demoralized, as is shown by their shameful flight yesterday. Besides, they will be encumbered with a host of camp followers, women, and children. I am still of opinion that our only hope is to take refuge in the Bala Hissar, and Shelton's vehement opposition has already put a stop to that. For myself, I would rather that they attacked us here, even if the attack meant our annihilation. It would be better to die so than cooped up hopelessly in the passes. At best the march would be a terrible one. The cold is severe already, and we hear that the snow is deep in the passes; not so deep as to render them impracticable, but deep enough to render the passage a terrible one."

"Of course we are bound to stay with the rest and do our best to the end. Were it not for that, we three might escape. We all speak the language well enough to pass as natives. You, indeed, have already done so. However, of course that is not to be thought of; indeed, it would probably amount to the same thing in the end, for we could scarcely hope to reach either Jellalabad or Candahar."

"No, it is not to be thought of, Johnson," his companion said. "We have to do our duty to the last. I still hope that the general may yet have an hour of inspiration and deliver battle in good order. I believe that the troops would fight well if they did but see that they were properly handled."

On the following day they learned that Akbar Khan had arrived. He was greeted with great enthusiasm and much firing of guns. Macnaghten had a faint hope that he would side with us, as his father, mother, and brothers were in our hands in India; but, on the other hand, he had every reason for bitter animosity against the British, who had, without any ground for complaint, invaded the country and dethroned his father. The prince bore the reputation of being frank, generous, and far brighter and more cheerful than the majority of his countrymen; at the same time he was passionate and impulsive, given to sudden bursts of anger. The wrongs that he and his family had suffered were, indeed, at present predominant in his mind. For two years he himself had been an exile from his country. His father, who had tried so hard to gain the friendship of the British, had been dethroned by them; and as it was notorious that their captives were always honourably treated, he felt that no action upon his part would recoil upon their heads.

He himself was now the heir to the throne if he could win it. He was extremely popular among the people, who hailed his advent as giving them a leader whom they could rely upon, under whom the chiefs of the tribesmen could lay aside their mutual jealousy and animosity and join in the effort to drive the foe for ever from their country. He did not, however, at once assume the chief authority. The Nawab Mahomed Zemaun Khan, a cousin of Dost Mahomed, had been proclaimed Ameer by the tribesmen, and all orders were sent forth in his name. He was a man of humane and honourable nature, of polished manners, and affable address.

As soon as he learned the state of affairs, Akbar Khan took immediate steps to prevent further supplies being taken into camp. He burned the villages where grain had been sold, and placed bands of men to attack any parties coming out from the camp to purchase grain. Day after day passed, messengers came and went between Macnaghten and the Nawab, but nothing was done; the food supply dwindled; only three days' rations remained in camp.

The supplies doled out were scarcely sufficient to keep life together. The oxen and other baggage animals were in such a state of starvation as to be wholly unfit for service. The store of fuel had long been used up, some men died of cold, and all suffered much. Macnaghten was still hopeful, and early in December again urged a retirement, but in vain. The enemy had now guns planted in several positions, and kept up an almost constant cannonade on the camp. On the 8th there were but three days' half rations left, and the general informed Macnaghten by letter that it was absolutely necessary to surrender upon the best terms that could be obtained; and the three senior officers also signed the letter, saying that they concurred in it. On the 11th there was but one day's food left for the fighting men, the camp followers were starving. Again and again Macnaghten urged that a force should sally out and at all costs bring in provisions, but the general knew that the men could not be relied upon to fight. The time had come when even Macnaghten saw that all hope had gone save in surrender. He drew out the rough draft of a treaty, and met the leading chiefs of the Afghans at about a mile from the river.

By this treaty the British were to evacuate Afghanistan. They were to be supplied with provisions for the journey, Shah Soojah was to abdicate, and to have the option of accompanying them; but if he did so, his wife and family were to remain as hostages until Dost Mahomed and his family were released. The troops at Jellalabad were also to retire, as well as those at Ghuznee and Candahar. Four British officers were to be left as hostages, to return to India on the arrival of Dost Mahomed and his family on the frontier. The conference lasted two hours, and its main stipulations were agreed to. The meeting then broke up, on the understanding that the British troops were to evacuate the cantonments in three days, and that provisions should in the meantime be sent in. The treaty was a humiliating one, but Macnaghten was not to blame for it. When the three military chiefs had declared that there was nothing for it but surrender, he was forced to make the best arrangement he could, and the terms of the treaty were as good as could have been expected in the circumstances.

When the conference broke up Captain Trevor, one of Macnaghten's staff, accompanied the chief to the city as a hostage for the sincerity of the envoy. On the 11th the Bala Hissar was evacuated. Akbar Khan pledged himself to conduct the garrison safely to the cantonments, and kept his promise, succeeding in inducing the crowds of horsemen who gathered round to let the little detachment pass. The provisions, however, were not sent in as agreed, and the chiefs refused to send them until the garrisons were withdrawn from the forts they occupied round the cantonments. The parties were each suspicious of the other's good faith. On the 18th snow began to fall heavily. Macnaghten tried desperately to win over some of the chiefs, lavishing money among them. The Afghans made fresh demands, and demanded more hostages, and Lieutenants Conolly and Airey were handed over to them.

On the 22nd Akbar Khan sent in fresh proposals, to the effect that the British were to remain in Afghanistan till the spring, and then to withdraw as if of their own free-will. Shah Soojah was to remain as Ameer, and Akbar as his minister. As a reward for these services Akbar was to receive an annuity of £40,000 and a bonus of £300,000. Macnaghten accepted the terms, and agreed to meet Akbar. The offer was so strange that Elphinstone and others thought that it was probably a plot. Macnaghten replied that he did not think that it was so, but in any case he would go. After breakfast he sent for the officers of his staff, Lawrence, Mackenzie, and Trevor, who had returned, and begged them to accompany him to the meeting. An hour later they set out with a few horsemen. As they rode on Macnaghten admitted to his officers that he was well aware that it was a dangerous enterprise, but that he was playing for a heavy stake and the prize was worth the risk. "At all events," he said, "a thousand deaths are preferable to the life I have of late been leading."

The parties met at some hillocks six hundred yards from the cantonments, where some horse-cloths had been spread upon the snow by Akbar Khan's servants. Macnaghten presented to Akbar a splendid horse he had admired. They dismounted, and Macnaghten took his place on the blankets. Trevor, Mackenzie, and Lawrence sat behind him. Suddenly the envoy and his companions were violently seized from behind. The three officers were dragged away, and each compelled to mount horses ridden by Afghan chiefs, who rode off through the crowd. Trevor unfortunately slipped from his insecure seat, and was instantly cut to pieces, while the other two reached Mahomed Khan's fort alive. In the meantime the envoy himself was struggling desperately on the ground with Akbar Khan. Exasperated by the resistance of his victim, whom he had only intended to seize, the Afghan's passion blazed out, and drawing from his girdle a pistol, which Macnaghten had given him the day before, he shot him through the body. Instantly his followers closed round and hacked him to pieces.

Thus died a gentleman who, in other circumstances, might have made a great reputation for himself. Possessed of unusual talent, his course was marred by his propensity to believe all that he wished, to disbelieve all that ran counter to his own sanguine projects. During the last month of his life he did all that man could do to avert a catastrophe, but he had been unable to instil his spirit into any of the military commanders, or to induce them to take the only course to redeem the position, by giving battle to the foe that surrounded them. He was the author of the ill-fated expedition to Afghanistan, he was its noblest victim. His peculiar temperament was fatal to him. Even when there was no longer any ground for hope he still continued to be sanguine. He had all along believed in himself, and scoffed at the warnings of men who knew the country and people—of Burnes, Rawlinson, Pottinger, and others.

He was thoroughly sincere; he was always able to convince himself that what he believed must be true, and he acted accordingly. He was not a strong man; had he been so the course of events might have been altered. He deferred in every way to Shah Soojah's wishes, however much these might be opposed to his own judgment. He allowed him to misgovern the country, to drive the natives to desperation by the exactions of his tax-gatherers, and to excite the bitterest animosity of the chiefs by the arrogance with which he treated them. A strong man would have put a stop to all this—would have intimated to the Ameer that he held the throne solely by the assistance of British bayonets, and that unless he followed British counsels he would at once yield to the oft-repeated wishes of the Indian government and order the retirement of the troops.

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CHAPTER XV

A DOOMED ARMY

Even the murder of the British envoy within sight of the camp failed to arouse the military authorities from their deadly lethargy. Sullenly the troops remained in their cantonments. Not a man was put in motion to avenge the deed or to redeem the honour of the army. The only idea was to renew the negotiations that had been broken short by the murder of their political chief. The commissariat had nothing to do. Beleaguered as they were, it was impossible to collect provisions unless a strong force was sent out, and the military authorities refused to allow a man to be put in motion. They had no confidence in their soldiers, and the soldiers had none in them. It was their leaders who had made them what they were. Macnaghten in his wrath had spoken of them as miserable cowards, but they were not cowards. They had at first full confidence in themselves, and if ordered would gladly have attacked the Afghan forces in the open and have carried Cabul by storm. But kept in enforced inactivity, while fort after fort was wrested from them without an effort being made to relieve the garrisons, while the whole of their provisions for the winter were carried off before their eyes by an enemy they despised, and feeling that on the few occasions on which they were led from their entrenchments there was neither plan nor order—no opportunity for showing their valour, none for engaging in battle, they lost heart. Day by day they were exposed to continual insults from their exultant foes, day by day exposed to a heavy cannon and musketry fire, while the food served out was insufficient to maintain their strength—almost insufficient to keep them alive. It is not wonderful that their fighting powers were lost, and that they had become little more than a rabble in uniform.

Angus had now no official duties to perform, and he spent much of his time with his old friend Eldred Pottinger, now a major, who, after Macnaghten's murder, took his place, by right of seniority as well as of energy and talent, as chief political officer. He had been employed in the west, but had been sent to Cabul, and very shortly afterwards had proceeded to Kohistan, returning almost the sole survivor of the little force that was stationed there. His counsel since then had always been for energetic measures, but his voice, like that of Macnaghten, availed nothing. He had, however, taken no prominent part in affairs, having been confined to his bed by the wound he had received. He was now recovering from it, and took up the work with the same energy as he had displayed at Herat. As he said to Angus, "It seems to be my fate to have to do with incapable men. At Herat it was Yar Mahomed and Kamran, here it is Shelton and Elphinstone. Elphinstone and Kamran have both in their younger days been fighting men. Both are utterly worn out bodily and mentally by disease and age.

"Shelton is a brave man, a hard fighter, but his temper overmasters him. When in the field he shows personal gallantry, but no military capacity whatever. At first he was always in opposition to the general; he has given that up as useless, and beyond always endeavouring to thwart his chief when the latter was roused to momentary flashes of energy by Macnaghten, he has sunk into a deep gloom, as if he regarded it as absolutely hopeless to struggle further. I would that any other than myself had been placed in the position I now hold. The terms proposed to Macnaghten were hard enough, they will be still harder, still more disgraceful, now. But however disgraceful they may be, they will be accepted by the military leaders, and my name will be associated with the most humiliating treaty a British officer has ever been called upon to sign."

His previsions were correct. Negotiations were renewed without the slightest allusion being made to the murder of Macnaghten, and as if such an event had never happened. While these were going on, little food was allowed to enter camp—enough to sustain life, but no more. At last the terms were settled. The Afghan chiefs agreed to supply provisions, and to send in baggage animals, upon payment being made for them. Six officers were to be handed over as hostages, all muskets and ordnance stores in the magazines, all money in the treasury, and all goods and property belonging to Dost Mahomed, were to be surrendered, and Dost himself and his family to be returned. No provision whatever was made for the safety of the man we had placed upon the throne. Pottinger endeavoured in vain to obtain better conditions. He received no support from the military chiefs; and even when at last he agreed to the terms, he did so with little hope that they would be observed.

Warnings came from friends in the city that no dependence whatever could be placed upon the chiefs, and that in spite of all promises the force would certainly be attacked on its way down through the passes. No step was taken by the chiefs to send in either provisions or carriage animals, and the escort that was to accompany them did not make its appearance. On the 5th of January the military authorities determined to march out, contrary to the advice of Pottinger, who argued that without carriage and provisions, and without the protection of the chiefs as promised, the prospects of four thousand troops and twelve thousand followers being able to make their way down through the passes was small indeed.

Angus had come to rely very much upon Azim for information as to what was passing outside the cantonment. The latter had during the three years come to speak the Afghan language perfectly, and in the attire of a peasant often went out after dark, mixed with the insurgents, and entered the city. He had each time he went out brought back a less hopeful report than on the previous one, and Angus was the more impressed since the young fellow was generally cheery, and disposed to look on the bright side of things, taking indeed comparatively little interest in what was going on around him, having absolute confidence that his master would find some way out of any difficulty that might confront him.

"I quite agree with all you say, Azim, but I am powerless to act in any way. If I were here as a private person I should certainly disguise myself and endeavour to make my way down to Candahar, but as an officer I must remain at my post, come what may, and share the fate of the rest. But if you are disposed to try and get down, I will not throw any obstacle in your way, and will furnish you with money sufficient to pay your way either back to Persia or down into India, where, with your knowledge of languages, you will have no difficulty in finding employment."

Azim laughed. "No, master, whatever comes, I will stay with you. Just as you are in the employment of government and cannot leave, so am I in your employment."

Angus did not attempt to push the matter further, for he felt that it would be useless; and indeed, although he would have done what he could to procure his follower's safety, he felt that he would be a great loss to him in many ways. They had been so long together, and had gone through so many dangers in companionship, that he regarded Azim as a friend rather than as a servant.

"When you have been in the city, Azim, have you ever seen our friend Sadut?"

"No, sir; I have heard that he has been in the city many times, and that he was with the Afghan horsemen who drove our people in, but I have not seen him. Should I speak to him if I do so?"

"Yes, you might thank him in my name, and your own, for having saved our lives the other day; but on no account say anything to him about the future. I cannot make any overtures for help to a man who, though a friend of my own, is fighting against us. And indeed, however willing he might be to aid me to the best of his power, he could not do so. If we are really attacked in the pass, mixed up as we shall be with the camp followers, we could not be found in the crowd; and you may be sure that the tribesmen and the Ghazee fanatics will be mad with bloodshed and hate, and that even a chief would be unable to stand between them and their victims. Even if he were to send a messenger to me to say that he and his men would again save me, if I would let him know in which part of the column I shall ride, I should refuse to do so. It would be an act of treachery on my part to others, weaker and less able to take care of themselves than I am."

On the afternoon of the day when the force moved out of the cantonments Eldred Pottinger sent for Angus.

"Are you ready to undertake a hazardous mission?" he asked. "It is so hazardous that I would send no one upon it, were it not that I consider that those who stay here are running as great a risk. After the murder of Burnes and Macnaghten, I have not the smallest faith in the chiefs keeping to their promises, and the manner in which they have failed now to carry out the terms of the treaty heightens my distrust in them. I do not believe that any of the messengers that have been sent down of late have succeeded in getting through; and indeed, until to-day it was impossible to say whether we should really start or not. The messages sent down were necessarily vague, and were indeed only requests for aid. I know, and no doubt Sale knows, that it is as difficult for him to fight his way up the passes as it is for us to make our way down; but now that, in spite of my advice, Elphinstone and Shelton and the other officers have decided to wait no longer, but to start at once, a specific message must be sent."

"I am ready to try to get through," Angus said. "I have no doubt that while we have been negotiating here, the tribesmen from all the country round have been gathering in the passes. The only way would be for me to join some party of men from the villages going that way. Once fairly in the pass and among the tribesmen, I could leave the party and mingle with others. Of course it would be slow work going on afoot, but I should say that it would be quite impossible on horseback."

"I have not much hope that the mission will be of any real use, for Sale is himself besieged in Jellalabad. Still, one must make an attempt. I shall enter in my journals—trusting that they will some day be recovered—that as a last hope I have accepted the offer of Mr. Angus Campbell to carry a message to General Sale saying that we are starting, and begging him, if it be possible, to make a diversion in our favour by advancing as far as he can to meet us. I will not give you any written document. You are well known to many of the officers who went down with Sale, therefore no question can arise as to the message you bear being a genuine one. If you were searched and any letter found upon you, it would be your death-warrant. Still, I believe if anyone could get through alive, you can."

"I will do my best anyhow," Angus said, "and I will start as soon as it becomes dark. It is all easy enough as far as Khoord Cabul, after that I shall keep a sharp look-out; if I overtake any party of villagers I shall join them."

"I shall come and say good-bye to you before you start, Campbell."

Angus returned at once to his tent. "You have my disguise ready and your own, Azim?"

"Yes, sir, I have both ready, and have two of their long guns and some daggers and pistols."

"I have my own pistols, Azim."

"Yes, master, and it will be as well to take them; but they would be seen directly if you had them in your girdle."

"No doubt they would, Azim, but there are a good many English pistols among them now. There were three pairs they got at Sir Alexander's house, and there have been several officers killed since. I can give out that I took part in the fight at Sir Alexander's and got these pistols as my share of the plunder."

"Are you going anywhere, master?"

"Yes, I am going to try to get down through the passes to Jellalabad. We shall start as soon as it is dark. It will be a terribly dangerous journey, but I hardly think it will be more dangerous than going down with the troops."

"What are we to take, master? I will get it ready."

"There is not much that we can take. I will go down to the store myself and get eight or ten pounds of ground grain. There is not much of it, for the mills have all been smashed, and we have had to serve the grain out whole; but I know that there are two or three sacks left in the stores. There is no meat to be had, nor spirits—not that I would take spirits if I could get them, for if they were found upon me it would excite suspicion at once. Another thing, I must stain myself. My face and hands are nearly as brown as those of the Afghans, but if we were searched and they took our things off, they would see in an instant that I was a white. I don't know how we are to get stain."

"I should think, master, that if we were to bake some grain quite black, and then pound it and pour boiling water over it so as to make it like very strong coffee, it might do."

"A very good idea. Well, I shall not want you for the next two hours. I shall go round and see some of my friends and say good-bye to them. Mind, whatever you do don't say a word to anyone about our leaving."

"I will be sure not to do that, master."

Azim went out to a little tent of thick native blanket a few yards from that of his master. There he sat looking through the entrance until he saw his master leave his tent. Five minutes later he issued out in his Afghan dress, long coat lined with sheep-skins, black lamb's-wool cap, high boots, and sheep-skin breeches, and at once set off at a brisk walk. There were at all times many Afghans in the camp, and indeed many of the camp followers had, since the cold set in, adopted the same dress; therefore no attention was paid to him, and no questions were asked by the sentries as he passed out at the gates. As soon as he got among the gardens and enclosures he broke into a run, which he continued until he reached a village a mile and a half away, and here he entered one of the cottages.

"Have you news for us?" one of the four men sitting there said.

"Yes, and good news. My master starts as soon as it is dark. He will be on foot, and he is going to try and make his way down through the passes."

"That is good news indeed," the Afghan said. "I was afraid that we should never get a chance. Which road will he go by?"

"I can't say exactly, but he is sure to leave by the western gate. He would have more chance of getting away unnoticed on that side. Of course we shall both be in our Afghan dress."

"We will be on the look-out. I suppose that he will be armed?"

"Yes, he will carry one of your long guns and a brace of pistols. You had best choose some spot where you can close on him suddenly, for he would certainly fight till the last."

"We will be careful," the man said. "I don't want to get a pistol ball in my body. We shall follow at a distance until we find a convenient spot."

"He is sure to keep along at the foot of the hill so as to avoid your people on the plain."

"It will suit us best also, as we shall not have far to carry him."

"Mind, you must make a struggle when you seize me as if I was violently resisting. Then, when we start you must order me to walk, and threaten to blow out my brains if I try to escape. My master can learn the truth afterwards. If he were to know it now, he would be furious with me; but in a few days, when fighting is going on in the passes, and a great disaster occurs, he will thank me for having prevented him from throwing away his life, especially as he knows perfectly well that the English in Jellalabad could not come out to assist those here."

When Angus returned to the tent he found Azim busy roasting the grain. The Afghan costume had been laid aside.

"Everything is ready, master. The grain is nearly done, and it won't take me long to pound it up. I got a few sticks down at the stores and the kettle is just boiling."

"Then as soon as it is ready I will stain myself, but I sha'n't put on the Afghan dress until the last thing. Have you cooked some of the flour?"

"Yes, sir, I have made four cakes. They are baking in the ashes now. I thought perhaps you would eat one before we started, and we can carry the others for to-morrow."

"I wish, Azim," Angus said, "that there was some chance of this journey being useful, but I feel convinced that no good can come of it. The moonshee has sent in a report that confirms the rumours we heard. There can be no doubt that General Sale is strongly beleaguered in Jellalabad, and will have all his work to do to hold the place, and therefore it will be absolutely impossible for him to fight his way up the pass."

"Then why should you go, master?"

"Because I have been asked to go as a forlorn hope; and also because, however great the risk I may run, I do not think that it is greater than it would be if I went down with the army. We have no baggage animals. We have food for only three days more, and it will only last that time by cutting down the rations still further. The unfortunate camp followers are for the most part without warm clothing of any sort, and will die by thousands. As to the troops, I have no doubt that most of them will fight when they know that unless they cut their way through they are doomed, but their chance of victory is small. Here in the open plain they might even now, if well led and worked up to enthusiasm by a stirring speech, thrash the Afghans, numerous as these may be; but pent up in the passes, under a fire from every hillside by a foe they cannot reach—for in their present weak state they could never scale the mountains—I believe it will be a massacre rather than a fight. At any rate, if we are to be killed, I would rather be shot as a spy than go through such awful scenes as there will be before a bullet finishes me."

"I don't want to die at all, master; but if it be the will of Allah, so be it. But, as you say, I would rather be killed straight off than struggle on through the snows in the passes and get killed in the end."

As soon as it became dusk, Angus and his follower put on their disguises. A few minutes later Eldred Pottinger came in.

"Well, as far as looks go you will pass anywhere, Campbell, and certainly as regards language there is no fear of your being suspected. The real difficulty will be in explaining where you came from. Every village has sent its contingent of fighting men, and if it happened that you met anyone from the place you pretended to come from, the consequences would be very awkward."

"I intend to give out that I have come down from Arcab, which is a little village to the south of Ghuznee. I went out there once with a detachment to buy some cattle. It is hardly likely that any of the men from that place would have come here, for they would naturally join the bands that are threatening our garrison there. Of course I can invent some story to account for my not doing the same."

Pottinger nodded. "Well, Campbell, I hope that you will get well through it. As I told you, I have not a shadow of hope that Sale will be able to lend a hand to us. Still, although it is but one in a thousand chances, I feel that it ought to be attempted; and in your case I say honestly that I consider there is no greater risk in your going down by yourself, and having your own wits to depend upon, than in going down with the army—if one can call this broken and dispirited soldiery an army—for in that case the bravest and clearest head would share the fate, whatever that may be, of the dullest and most cowardly."

"I quite see that, and agree with you that nothing can be slighter than the chances of the army getting down safely. Be assured that whatever happens, so far from blaming you, I shall consider that you did the best for me by sending me on this mission."

"I will walk with you to the gate," Pottinger said. "In the daytime there is no check upon anyone passing in or out, but at night the sentries are on the alert, and as you are both armed, you would certainly be stopped."

A minute was spent in packing their scanty stores into the pockets of their coats, then they started for the gate. Here Pottinger, after seeing them through, shook hands cordially not only with Angus but with Azim, whom he had learned to like and value for the devotion he showed to his master in Herat. They proceeded on their way without meeting any parties of Afghans until they neared the foot of the hill, then, as they were passing along a path through an orchard, a party of men suddenly sprang out upon them, and they were thrown down on their faces before either had time to offer any resistance. Angus, indeed, had repressed the natural impulse to try to draw one of his pistols. Resistance would have meant death, and it seemed to him that these could only be plunderers.

"What are you doing, fools?" he exclaimed. "Do you not see that we are friends?"

No answer was given. His captors were binding his hands tightly to his side; then before raising him they muffled his head in a blanket. He was then lifted to his feet. He heard the men say to Azim that he was to accompany them, and that if he attempted escape he would at once be shot. A man on each side of him put his hands on his shoulder, and one said: "You are to walk quietly with us; escape is impossible, and it were well for you not to attempt it."

Angus indeed felt that escape was out of the question. He was unable to conjecture into whose hands he had fallen. They were not bent upon plunder, for had they been so, they would have taken his arms, searched him, and probably cut his throat afterwards. It seemed impossible to him that they could know he was a British officer, and the only conceivable explanation he could think of was that men had been scattered all round the cantonment to prevent anyone from leaving, or going out with messages to one or other of the chiefs, and that they had seen him and Azim come out, had followed and seized them, and were now taking them to some chief to be questioned as to why they were in the British camp after dark, and for what purpose they had left. Certainly the affair reminded him of his friendly capture at Cabul; but it seemed to him altogether impossible that Sadut could have learned that he was about to start on a mission, or that had he even learned it, he could have known that he and Azim would have followed the road on which they had been captured. He soon found that the path they were following was an upward one, and as it became steeper and steeper, he was sure that he was being taken into the hills.

Once or twice he addressed his captors, but received no answer. He walked, as far as he could tell, for two hours. At last there was a pause. He heard a door open, and felt that he was being taken into a hut. Then for the first time the pistols and knives were taken from his sash. His captors, after addressing a few whispered words to some men who were already in the hut, retired, closing the door behind them and piling heavy stones against it. The blanket was then taken off his head. A bright fire was burning in the hut, which he saw was some fifteen feet square. Four men, armed to the teeth, were standing by the fire. There was no door save the one by which they had been brought in, and it was evident that the hut consisted only of this room.

"You are unhurt, I hope," he said to Azim.

"Yes. I was knocked down before I had time to think of doing anything."

"Do you know where they have brought us?"

"No. They threw a cloth over my head."

"How could this have happened, Azim? I cannot understand it at all."

"No more can I, sir."

"When we started to fight against the infidels we never thought that we should be attacked by our own countrymen. It seems to me that there must be some mistake." Then he turned to the Afghans. "Why are we brought here? What harm have we done?"

"That I know not," the man said. "You must have done something, or our comrades would not have brought you here. That is their business."

"It seems to me," Angus said angrily, "it is our business too. Our tribe are not at war with any others, and it is a new thing that Afghans should attack each other when all are uniting to fight the strangers."

"I know nothing about it. I only know that our comrades brought you here, and left us to look after you. There are plenty of traitors among the men who have taken the infidel's gold. They will all be reckoned with when we have finished with the white men. Well, they did not tell us to keep you bound, and we will take off the cords if you swear by the faith that you will make no attempt to escape."

Angus hesitated. It seemed to him that if two of the four men slept he and Azim could, if unbound, snatch at their weapons, and at least make a fight for it; that chance would be gone if he gave his word.

"No," he said; "I will make no bargain with men who have deprived me of my liberty."

"Well, just as you like," the other said, seating himself by the fire, "it makes no matter to us."

"We may as well sit down too," Angus said, and advancing near the fire he sat down by the side of the Afghans. Azim did the same.