CHAPTER XXII.

HENRY HAVELOCK IN AFFGHANISTAN.

SOON after mid-day on January 13, 1842, the Englishmen on the walls of Jellalabad espied a single horseman slowly riding towards the Cabool gate. In return to their signals, the stranger faintly waved a private soldier's forage-cap over his head. It was clearly an Englishman, and his countrymen rushed out to welcome the refugee. With difficulty they were able to recognise Dr. Brydon, the first and the last fugitive of our ill-fated countrymen from Cabool. He was covered with wounds, and dreadfully exhausted. But he had strength in a few words to tell the story of the Cabool

retreat.

It was a tale of disaster, a tale of woe, a tale of death. The Englishmen, as we have seen, had left their lines at Cabool on January 6th. Through frost and snow they began their sad retreat. Without food, fuel, or shelter, they were exposed to the rigours of an icy climate, and to the attacks of a relentless enemy, who hung on their flank, thirsty for blood, and ravenous for plunder. The English soldier, accustomed in better days to full and regular diet, to warm clothing, to snug quarters, was now so starved that his arm lacked force to drive back the enemy. A few of the chief officers, and those who had wives and children, were taken as hostages by Akbar Khan, the murderer of Macnaghten. The bulk of the force,

entangled in a mass of wretched camp-followers, strove to fight their retreat towards Jellalabad, but fell slowly, yet surely, by the wayside, a prey to hunger, cold, and a pitiless enemy. Such being the fate of the English soldiers, their comrades, the native Sepoys of Hindostan, for whom the frost and snow alone were certain destruction, fell around them by hundreds. The British army, which carried some 5,000 bayonets* out of Cabool on January 6, 1842, was by the 12th a mere line of mangled bodies, stretched lifeless on the snow. Like Job's messenger, Brydon might exclaim, 'I only am escaped alone to tell thee!'

The handful of English in Jellalabad heard the sad tale with horror. The assembly was sounded, the cavalry stood ready to mount, the walls and batteries were manned, and every eye strained to see the enemy advancing. In the hope of recovering other fugitives, the cavalry patrolled on the Cabool road, a large light was shown at night near the Cabool gate, and the bugle every half hour sounded the signal to advance. But, says Marshman, 'The sound which had so often awakened the animation of the soldier now fell with a melancholy cadence on the ear. It was sounded to the dead.'

In the meantime, the garrison prepared vigorously for defence. The camp-followers, to the number of one thousand, were mustered, and armed with muskets, swords, spears, and even stones. It was determined to defend the battlements to the last. Havelock, on the Sunday after Dr. Brydon's arrival, stood up in the midst of the force to read the Church Service. Instead of the Psalms for the day he chose the forty-sixth Psalm,

* The camp-followers, natives of Hindostan, were about 12,000, most of whom perished.

† Marshman's Life of Havelock.

which seemed to suit the solemn occasion. How often, since the days of our disasters at Cabool, have Englishmen in India found comfort in this inspired strainhow often have they gratefully cried, God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble!' For all this, it is impossible to forget, when we read the present tale, that the invasion of Affghanistan was not only an error, but a crime, and that our soldiers perished the victims of a cause on which the blessing of God could hardly be expected to descend.

To this day we taste the bitter fruit of an unrighteous policy; and as we had planted briars, so we reap thorns.

Faint hearts there were none in Jellalabad, but weak heads were not wanting. At the critical moment which I have been describing, much was due to the firmness of Havelock and Broadfoot, who vigorously opposed all appearance of negotiation with a treacherous enemy. And so, whilst the Cabool chiefs were quarrelling over their booty, the Englishmen in Jellalabad were vigorously preparing for an attack. On February 15th the tents of Akbar Khan were descried from the battlements; but so complete were the defences, so hardy and vigorous the garrison, that the enemy's approach was regarded without fear.

On February 19th, Havelock was with Sir Robert Sale, writing a despatch. Broadfoot was on the ramparts, giving the last touch to his work. With secret joy his eye ran over the parapets, bastions, and guardhouses, which seemed to have sprung up by magic during the last few weeks. Suddenly there was a sound as of distant thunder. In a moment, like the vision of a dreamer, Broadfoot saw the walls of his stronghold toppling into dust. The earth heaved, the heaven was darkened, and Jellalabad was thrown open to the be

siegers. Now,' cried Broadfoot, is the time for Akbar Khan!' But Akbar Khan never came. The earthquake, which for the moment had ruined the defences of Jellalabad, had also swept away whole villages along the route to Cabool, and the followers of Akbar were distracted by the fate of their own homes. But a new enemy was at hand. No sooner had the walls been built up, and the ditch cleared, than provisions began to fail. A vigorous sally on March 10th had driven the enemy from under the fort, but they were able to establish a blockade, and to threaten the English with famine. Havelock urged General Sale to attack Akbar Khan in the open field, and thus raise the siege. His advice was taken. At early dawn, on April 7th, the troops fell silently into their ranks, and marched out of Jellalabad, the right column, under Havelock, leading the attack. A severe fight came on, in which the English, who for five long months had been at bay, gallantly drove their enemies from the field, and achieved a complete victory. From that day Sale had full command of the valley; there was no lack of food for man or beast, nor of warlike stores, and the stout English hearts in Jellalabad could await without impatience the efforts made for their relief.

go back for a moment.

Το In the autumn of 1841, the Governor-General, Lord Auckland, was in Calcutta, preparing to resign his office. The great event of his reign had been the occupation of Cabool by our army.. The fatal policy which brought about this event had been approved, nay suggested, by the Whig ministers, (Sir John Hobhouse being specially responsible, as the President of the Board of Control,) and Baron Auckland had received an earldom as the reward of his success. It was not to be expected that a line of

policy so open to criticism would escape the censure of the political party opposed to the Whigs. Above all others of the Tory leaders, Lord Ellenborough had distinguished himself by the violence of his denunciations. When his party came into power, Lord Ellenborough had succeeded to the office of President of the Board of Control. And now he was nominated to succeed to the office of Governor-General.

At this moment, and whilst Lord Auckland was earnestly hoping to hand over his government in good order to his successor, came the startling intelligence of the Cabool disasters. The Governor-General was alarmed, stunned, almost crushed to the very dust, by the news. For the first time he had to read the history of his own doings in plain English. Day after day he paced the marble halls of Government House in sorrow and despair, as each day revealed some fresh horror, some new disaster. The effect on his mind was simply this. He longed to get every English soul back across the Indus, coûte qui coûte, and to wash his hands of Affghanistan for ever. How to accomplish this without risk of further dishonour was the question.

When, on the 28th of February, 1842, Lord Ellenborough took charge of the Indian Empire, his first impulse was much the same. Eventually, after much vacillation, a tardy permission was given to General Nott, who had, during the Cabool disasters, stoutly maintained his position at Candahar, to retire by way of Cabool, if he pleased.

In the meantime, a force had been sent to relieve the illustrious garrison, under command of a sagacious and excellent commander, General Pollock. However anxious the Sepoys may have been to avenge the slaughter of their comrades, it was only by the per