The First and Second Days

It was to be the most terrible retreat in the history of British arms. It began on January 6th, 1842 and would in end an 'awful completeness' as the historian John Kaye said, barely a week later. The nearest British garrison and therefore the only place where safety could be guaranteed was in the city of Jalalabad, and it lay over ninety miles away. It doesn't seem so far, but it was a ninety mile trek over snow-covered mountain paths and passes, through desolate country held by warlike tribesmen with a great hatred for the British. The British had little confidence in their leaders and even less in the trustworthiness of Mohammed Akbar's promises of safe conduct through the passes. It was therefore a very cold, dispirited throng, there was such confusion it could not be called an army, that left their home of the last three years and headed for the mountains. Almost 17,000 people left the cantonment that dark day. About 700 were Europeans, both soldiers and civilians, another 3,800 were Indian soldiers and more than 12,000 camp followers. There were bullock carts, mules, camels, horses, and ponies. The European women and children were carried on the carts or in great baskets slung over the sides of the camels but the Indian camp followers and their families had to struggle along on foot as best they could. Four hundred men of the 44th Foot and a hundred cavalrymen made up the vanguard. Then came the British women and children, then the main body of the army and finally the scrambling mass of camp followers.

There was no sign of Akbar's promised escort and the horror started immediately after the rearguard left the compound with the Afghans swarming over the walls into the cantonment eager for loot. The rearguard itself came under sniper fire and many men were hit in the first hour or so of the retreat. It was only to get worse. Afghan horsemen rushed the column again and again, driving off baggage animals and killing both soldiers and unarmed camp followers. By the end of the first day only five miles had been covered and much of the baggage had been lost. As the army tried to make camp, stragglers continued to stagger in asking where their units were. Nobody seemed to know. All was confusion and pointed to a lack of any effective leadership that had already led, and would again lead,to tragedy. Only one tent had survived the Afghan attacks and it was used by some women and children and senior officers that night. Everyone else had to lay down in the snow and the following morning many woke up with frostbitten limbs. Many didn't wake up at all. When the army moved off, those with frostbitten feet had to be left behind.

On the second day, the sniping and mounted attacks continued and in one the Afghans captured two mule guns, leaving only one other mule gun and two heavier pieces as the total ordnance available to the British. And then Mohammed Akbar appeared, scolding the British for leaving before his escort had been made ready. This was nonsense as the time and place for the escort to meet the British had been very precisely set; Akbar's men just hadn't shown up. Akbar suggested the British halt for the day while he negotiated safe passage through the upcoming Khoord-Cabool pass with the local chieftains who controlled it. How Elphinstone could believe such things was beyond the comprehension of the men under his command, but he did and the army dutifully halted. Akbar also asked for three British political officers, Pottinger among them, as hostages. Again Elphinstone supinely gave in to the demand. It must have seemed like a sentence of death to Pottinger and his two companions but they obeyed their commander's orders and went with the Afghans. It was to save their lives.

The Khoord-Cabool Pass

The history of the British Empire as it was taught to me at school was very often a simple narrative of the daring deeds of great men. Many of them were indeed great and their deeds seemingly superhuman. For every hero, for every Pottinger or Nicolson or Colin Campbell, however, there were a hundred fools  and incompetents and a great part of the tragedy that befell the Army of the Indus was that its commander, General Elphinstone was decidedly one of the latter. On January 9th, Elphinstone felt it prudent once more to trust Mohammed Akbar and give credence to his protestations of friendship. Akbar again offered his protection, this time to British women and children and any of their husbands that chose to go along. Nine children, eight women and two men accepted. It was a fortuitous decision they  made for though they would be held captive for many months they would live through the ordeal. 

The attacks on the column, however, didn't cease and many more fell to Afghan knives and musket balls the next day. Some went snowblind, others succumbed to the cold and the Indian troops, far from their warm plains, suffered terribly and perished by the score. By the evening of January 10th, though no accurate count could be made, estimates suggested of the 16,500 souls who had struck out for Jalalabad, only 750 soldiers and 4,000 civilians remained alive. As the incessant attacks continued Akbar sent messages relaying his difficulty in controlling the local tribesmen and whether this were true or not, no-one now believed him - except Elphinstone. On January 12th, with a mere 200 effectives at his disposal and 2,000 camp followers to protect, Elphistone rode into Akbar's camp to discuss yet another offer of safe passage. It was again a  false hope for in the camp it became obvious that even if Akbar had in fact wished to protect the British, he was certainly unable to do so. Though it does not excuse his earlier treachery, perhaps his tales of uncontrollable tribesmen were true. Elphinstone was held as another hostage by Akbar, though the general did manage to smuggle a message back to the army instructing the senior officer to move on without delay.

Relieved of the suffocating command of Elphinstone and his disgraceful inability to grasp the nettle, the desperately weak British pulled a surprise on their Afghan tormentors. A barrier of thornbushes had been built across the narrow pass and not expecting the British to move further that day it had been left unguarded. In the darkness the redcoats advanced to the barrier and cursing under their breaths tried to tear it down with their bare hands. Just as they made a breach, they were discovered and the night was suddenly rent by musket flashes, screams, war cries and the glint of flashing Afghan blades in the moonlight. The army was attacked from above and in the rear and according to Dr. Brydon, an army surgeon, the last vestiges of discipline were swept away and it became every man for himself. Brydon was pulled from his horse and only an old copy of Blackwood's Magazine, that he had stuffed in his cap and which cushioned an Afghan knife thrust, saved his life. Alone and with no mount Brydon scrambled through the thornbush barricade. He came across a terribly wounded Indian subadhar of horse. The man was still clutching the bridle of his pony and this he gave to Brydon with a muttered hope that God would send him safe to Jalalabad. Then the man died and Brydon mounted the pony and rode off never knowing the name of the man who had been the provider of his salvation.

The Last Day

Brydon's group had pushed on and only 15 miles from Jalalabad they halted for a rest at the village of Futtebad. The seemingly friendly villagers offered them food and the weary British accepted. It was another trap and as the British rested scores of Afghan horsemen  poured into the village. Five only escaped from Futtebad and soon their pursuers had killed four of them. Only Brydon was left and three more times he was attacked on the last few miles to safety. God only knows how he survived. The second last attack saw a jezail bullet come so close it broke off the blade of his sword. In the last attack Brydon in desperation threw the hilt of his sword in an Afghan face. Brydon was wounded, the pony was wounded but they struggled on and after a while Brydon found himself completely alone, his pursuers having melted away. It was then that a hawk-eyed lookout on the walls of Jalalabad saw the lone rider struggling painfully across the plain in front of the city and a cavalry patrol was sent out to bring Brydon in.

For days afterwards, a great bonfire was kept burning in front of Jalalabad's Kabuli gate, and others on the the city's ramparts. Bugles sounded out there plaintive cries in the hope that their calls might guide in any stragglers.

Before the retreat had even begun a new Governor-General, Lord Ellingburgh was on his way to Calcutta to replace Lord Auckland. The government had changed in Britain and Peel's Tories wished to withdraw all the garrisons from Afghanistan, primarily because of the exorbitant costs of maintaining them there. When the awful news reached London, however, it became obvious that Britsh prestige could only be restored by a punitive expedition. The old Duke of Wellington was particulary concerned by the blow that Britain's reputation had suffered and adamant that reputation must be regained. Unencumbered by dead wood such as Elphinstone, the British swept through the passes after the spring thaw and relieved the garrisons holding Kandahar and Jalalabad. As the armies advanced, they passed hundreds of skeletons and the men were enraged by the fate that had befallen their comrades during the retreat. As usual it was the Afghan villages on the line of march that suffered for this and many atrocities were committed by the vengeful British soldiers. When Ghazni was reached it again fell and this time the British pulled down its formidable defences. With Kabul not far away and with no hope of the British being stopped Akbar sent the hostages he had collected the previous winter, Pottinger and Elphinstone included, to Bamiyan in the north of the country. He also lured Shah Shujah out of the Bala Hissar under a promise of safe conduct and then had him brutally murdered. Although Shah Shujah was dead the Bala Hissar continued to hold out, proving the tragedy of the retreat could have been averted if only Elphinstone had listened to Pottinger's advice.

Two British armies converged on Kabul, one under the command of General Pollock, the other of General Nott. As they advanced it became apparent that Macnaghten had been correct in his assessment of the Afghan chiefs' loyalty to Akbar. Many did indeed fear the return of Dost Mohammed and strong rule and the death of Shah Shujah had brought this possibility much closer. Akbar's support dwindled and he fled before the British armies reached his capital. He sent word to Bamiyan that the hostages were to be taken to Bokhara and there sold as slaves. His plan was foiled by Pottinger, however. Resourceful as ever, Pottinger had subborned his gaoler with a bribe of 20,000 rupees and a promise of a pension of 1,000 rupees per month. The 22 officers, 37 other ranks, 19 wives and 22 children were now free but isolated in the north and they began to prepare the old fort in which they had been held to withstand a siege. Pottinger even managed to persuade the hostages' former guards to stay on and protect them from Mohammed Akbar's wrath. Pollock led his troops into Kabul on September 15th. Akbar was gone and the city fell without a fight. Pollock immediately installed Shah Shujah's son Futteh on the throne and turned his thoughts to the hostages. He despatched a Captain Sir Richard Shakespear, with an escort of 600 Kizilbashi irregular cavalrymen, to ride north and rescue them. It was a tearful meeting when Shakespear came across Pottinger and the other hostages. Tears of joy for their survival and tears of grief when they heard of what had befallen their former comrades. Elphinstone had died during his captivity and this at least saved him from the humiliation of a possible court-martial, regarding his conduct of the Army of the Indus' affairs, had he survived.

There now was left only the question of a suitable punishment of the Kabulis. Some officers wished to destroy the Bala Hissar, some to burn the whole city. In the end Pollock settled for blowing up the great covered bazaar, one of the marvels of Asia. So strong was the structure it took Pollock's engineers two days to successfully complete the job and in the meantime the British troops embarked on an orgy of looting that affected both friends and enemies of the British alike. On October 11th, the British pulled out of Kabul and withdrew all their forces to India. It would be more than 35 years before they came back.

Ranjit Singh, the dissolute ruler of the Punjab died not long after the debacle in Afghanistan and the squabbling of his heirs led to two Anglo-Sikh wars which saw the British heavily defeated at the battles of Aliwal and Chillianwalla, but ultimately victorious. They annexed the Punjab and its northwestern province of Peshawar, thus pushing the frontier of British India across the Indus and up to the very gates of the Khyber Pass.

The Afghan tribesmen remained as ferocious and surly as ever and over the next century generations of British subalterns would receive their baptisms of fire in the incessant round of border skirmish and punitive expedition that would mark Anglo-Afghan relations up to the very day the British quit India.

Shah Shujah's son was deposed soon after the British left and it became apparent to the government in Calcutta that Dost Mohammed was the only man who could bring any semblance of order to Afghanistan. During his exile in India he had come to admire the British and feel great affection for them. When finally he was allowed to return to Afghanistan and and again take up the throne, he proved himself to be a good friend to the British: just as Alexander Burnes had said he would.