Bayonets Along the Border (30 page)

‘Good gracious,’ he muttered. ‘Is it necessary for you to look like that, Mr Fonthill? You will be riding with us, after all.’

Simon exchanged a surreptitious grin with Buckingham. ‘Sorry to shock you, Clarence. But it may be necessary for the three of us to leave you from time to time to see if we can pick up information. Either that, or we may decide to join the mullah.’

The jest passed by Appleby-Smith, although it brought obedient chuckles from the officers. ‘When do you wish us to leave, sir?’ he asked. ‘We are at your disposal.’

‘Not until after dark. This camp will have many eyes on it, passing information on about the comings and goings from it. We will slip away as soon as night falls. We will follow the river to the east and pull away from it to camp. It will be necessary to post double picquets, Captain.’

For nearly two days the squadron rode out east, following the line of the Waran river along the Waran Valley. Fonthill was less than happy with the outdated Martini-Henry short-barrelled carbines and sabres with which the men were armed, but the Guides were a native regiment and that was the issue, so there was no choice there.

Nevertheless, the 160 men of the squadron were well mounted and they looked a fine sight as they trotted along the riverbank in their smart, lightweight khaki tunics and riding breeches, set in place by tightly wound puttees. Their turbans were equally tightly wound and were of dark blue and cream cloth.

‘Smart lot, this,’ confided Jenkins. ‘And bloody marvellous to be back in the cavalry, after walkin’ all over this bloody country.’ Simon nodded. The valley of the Waran was, as Lockhart had predicted, less mountainous than the country of the south, but he was becoming a little surprised and slightly anxious that they had met no inhabitants on their ride so far. He looked up quickly, then, towards the end of the
second day, when Inderjit, who had been riding with the rearguard, came galloping up.

‘I think, bach sir,’ he reported, ‘that we are being followed.’

‘How many?’

‘Just one tribesman, on horse, which is unusual. He keeps well back from us but he is following for some time now. He seems to be alone.’

‘Inform the captain and ask that the man be brought in for questioning.’

Within the hour, the squadron had halted and a trap set for the tribesman, who had put up no resistance, and was brought in and told to dismount. He was a man of small stature, riding a good horse but wearing the anodyne dress of a typical Pathan. Yet he stood defiantly before Fonthill, albeit with downcast eyes of the greyest hue.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Alice,’ sighed Simon. ‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’

‘I am following you, husband,’ responded his wife. ‘And I could do with a cup of tea or something. And I have been very cold sleeping out at night and rather frightened. So I am glad that you have discovered me – and too far out for you to send me back, so there!’

‘Don’t be too sure of that. Where on earth did you get those clothes, and the horse, too?’

‘Clothes in the street market and I begged the nag from the horsemaster. I have to return it in good order. He thought I was only going for an afternoon hack with one of the correspondents. But I have bought a solid Webley revolver, strictly illegally.’

‘Oh Lord! Jenkins get her some tea and see if we can rustle up a little bivouac tent from somewhere. Now, we must ride on and find a
campsite before dark. Alice, you are going to be an infernal nuisance and I shall sue for divorce when we get back.’

‘And I shall grant it. On the grounds of you deserting me back there in Maidan.’

That night brought sniper firing onto the camp for the first time, forcing Appleby-Smith to give orders for the dousing of all fires and making Simon thank God that Alice had been discovered and brought in when she had. ‘Did you see any sign of anyone spying on us when you were out there?’ he asked her the next morning.

‘No. But I was too scared to fall back too far from the column.’

‘Hmmm. I can’t think we have got this far undetected. I sense an attack coming.’

And so it proved. The river had curled away a little to the south to meet the Mastura and the squadron had pulled, on Simon’s instinct, to the north and was riding towards a narrow defile, when shots were heard from it. The forward outriders came galloping back, one of them riding closely beside his comrade, supporting him in the saddle.

‘We should retreat,’ cried Appleby-Smith, riding to Fonthill’s side. ‘Bugler! Sound the—’

‘No! Take the scout’s report first. 352, ride at Alice’s side.’

The trooper reported that shots had been fired down on them from high up on the right of the gulley. One of their number had been killed outright and another wounded. They had been unable to ascertain how many men were hidden behind the rocks.

Dawson joined Appleby-Smith and Fonthill. ‘It sounds like a trap,’ said the captain. ‘They want us to ride in and then ambush us. We should retreat.’

‘No.’ Fonthill spoke firmly. ‘I agree it might be a trap. But we cannot
leave one of our men and allow his body to be defiled. And, besides, I am tired of riding without seeing anyone. We need to take a prisoner to gain information. Take the squadron back, Clarence – not too far, mind you – and form a defensive position. Give me Buckingham and ten men and we will dismount under cover of that overhang there and try to go in on foot above them and take them from the rear. 352!’

‘Bach sir!’

‘Hand Alice over to Inderjit and come with me and Buckingham.’

Appleby-Smith, of course, was nominally in command of the squadron and Fonthill sensed that, just for a moment, the captain was considering countermanding his orders. But then the man obviously thought better of it and turned away.

‘Simon, be careful.’ Alice was watching with wide eyes.

‘Stay with Inderjit and try your best to be quiet.’ Simon grinned at his wife to offset the harshness of his words. The squadron trotted back and then, as the track curved and the overhang approached, Fonthill and his little party pulled away, dismounted and left their horses in the care of two troopers.

‘I knew we’d soon be back hoofing it,’ growled Jenkins.

‘Come on. Up this rock here. There’s plenty of footholds.’

The thirteen-man party began to climb and Fonthill cursed inwardly for not instructing the troopers to leave their sabres behind. The long swords hung down from their owners’ waistbands and clattered on the rock face. ‘Be quiet,’ he hissed.

They climbed upwards quickly until they found a narrow goats’ path leading them directly towards the defile at a height of about sixty feet above the track. Fonthill led the party in single file along the path, his Lee-Metford rifle carried at the trail. Jenkins was close behind him,
attempting not to look down, and the others trailed back, perspiration dripping down everyone’s face.

At last, the path turned a corner and Simon held up his hand as, on hands and knees, he looked around the bend. Immediately, he turned back and put his mouth close to Jenkins’s ear. ‘They’re down below,’ he said. ‘Pass the word to crawl forward.’

They found themselves looking down on a party of about thirty or more Pathans, all spread out among the rocks, their rifles aimed down at the track some forty feet below. They seemed quite unaware of the men above them.

‘Seems a shame to pick ’em off from here,’ whispered the lieutenant.

‘No, it isn’t. All’s fair in this bloody war. 352, when I say the word, put a bullet through the shoulder of that chap there, the nearest one to us. Tell your men, Duke, to shoot to kill at the rest of them, as soon as Jenkins fires. I want to take that wounded man prisoner, if we can, and send the others packing.’

As soon as the word was passed, Fonthill nodded to Jenkins, who snuggled the butt of his rifle into his shoulder, took careful aim and pulled the trigger. Immediately, the man clutched at his shoulder and rolled over and the hillside broke into flame as the troopers began firing systematically.

It was impossible to miss at that range and, if the Guides had possessed the Lee-Metford magazine rifles instead of the single-shot Martinis, then few of the Pathans could have survived. As it was, some eight or more of them managed to disappear as if by magic into the rock-strewn terrain as the troopers paused to reload, leaving at least twenty bodies behind them.

‘Send two men to get that wounded man to bring back with us,’
Fonthill ordered Buckingham. ‘Get another two to retrieve the body of our own chap lying down there on the track. Then we’d better get the hell out of here. We’ll just have to leave their wounded. I am sure that there are more of the enemy about. They wouldn’t attack us with just thirty men.’

Within twelve anxious minutes the little party was back under the overhang and were reunited with their horses. To Simon’s fury, there was no sight of the squadron. ‘The bloody man would have heard the shooting,’ cursed Fonthill. ‘The least he could do would be to send a section back in case we needed help.’

Buckingham made a face and shrugged his shoulders. It was clear that nothing about Appleby-Smith could now disappoint him. In fact, the captain had halted the squadron about a mile away and had dispersed his men among the rocks. The prisoner, his eyes wide with fear as well as pain, was brought before the officers, one of whose number began tending to the wound, while Inderjit translated.

‘Tell him,’ said Fonthill, ‘that we will dress his wound and not kill him. We will, however, shoot him here and now if he does not help us. I want to know where the Mullah Sayyid Akbar is. I know he is near here. Where is he and how big a force does he have? We will know if he lies.’

The man’s reply shocked them all.

‘He say,’ translated Inderjit, ‘that mullah is in his big house over next hill directly ahead and very near. He has several hundred men with him. He has been following our progress along river and is about to attack us. Ambush was attempt to weaken us while he gathers more men.’

‘Ah!’ Appleby-Smith’s ejaculation was one of great relief, mingled
with alarm. ‘Good. Now we have what we have come for and we can ride back to Maidan.’

‘Certainly not!’ Fonthill’s tone was crisp. ‘I intend to attack the mullah as soon as possible. If we cannot capture him then we must kill him. We need five good scouts out ahead immediately to reconnoitre the way to the house and to spy out the Pathans’ encampment. When this man has been treated release him when we ride out. Tell him, Inderjit, that if we see him again with the mullah’s men he will be shot immediately. Now, we have little time before those chaps in the defile reach the mullah. So we must move quickly. I fancy this is going to be some fight.’

‘Mr Fonthill,’ Appleby-Smith’s face had turned a shade of puce. ‘I am in command of this squadron and I must protest. Our orders were clear: we should locate the mullah and return to Maidan so that a proper attack can be mounted on him.’

‘So giving him time to slip away again. Your protest has been noted and no doubt you will repeat it to the general when we return. In the meantime, gentlemen,’ he looked around at the officers, ‘I am in command. Is that understood?’

There were muted growls of assent. ‘Very well. Go about your duties. Dawson. Get those scouts out ahead, NOW.’

‘Very good, sir.’

In fact, the scouts were back within the hour, revealing how close the column was to the mullah’s house. It was situated, they said, in a little valley over the hill. It was whitewashed and surrounded by a low wall. There seemed only one entrance. The Pathans were camped irregularly all around the house and numbered perhaps about three hundred. The camp bustled, but cooking fires were still
lit and there seemed to be no formal guards posted.

Fonthill commended the scouts and called the officers forward. Alice, unbidden, stayed at the edge, notepad at the ready. ‘Now,’ said Simon, ‘the object of this exercise is to capture or kill the mullah – not to have a stand-up fight with his bodyguard. We must presume that Sayyid Akbar is in the house. He is easily recognisable because he always wears long white robes. We will clearly have to fight our way through the encampment to get to him, which will not be easy.’

The circle was silent and Appleby-Smith’s face was as white as a sheet. ‘So,’ continued Simon, ‘we will create a diversion to draw away as many of the tribesmen from the house as possible. Mr Dawson, you will take half a troop and ride to the west. At exactly,’ Fonthill drew out his watch and consulted it, ‘half past noon, you will create great noise and fuss and attack the encampment from the west. Kill as many men as possible, and then retreat, drawing away as many tribesmen as you can.

‘Then the main party, led by me, will gallop through the encampment to the house. We will line the wall outside to deter attacks, while I and a small party go inside the house and … er … extract the mullah. We will then mount up and cut our way out of the encampment. If you detect that our party is in trouble, Mr Dawson, I would be grateful if you would come to our assistance. If that is not necessary, we will meet up on the western end of the defile where we were attacked and ride like hell back to Maidan. The Pathans lack cavalry so we should not be followed closely. Any questions?’

‘What,’ asked Buckingham, ‘if the mullah is not in the house?’

‘Then we find the bastard – and quickly. Is that all? Good. I would be grateful, Mr Buckingham, if you would pick twenty of your best
men and join myself, Mr Jenkins and
Daffadar
Singh in the party to go into the house.’

‘Honoured, sir.’

Fonthill turned to Appleby-Smith. ‘I would be grateful, Captain, if you would command the men manning the wall to keep the Pathans at bay, while we enter the house to take the mullah.’

‘Humph!’

The squadron rode out within minutes and once reaching the point where the path parted, bade farwell to Dawson who rode away to the left. Then Fonthill threw aside his turban and, with great caution, led the rest of the party at walking pace ahead to where, the scouts had told him, a patch of trees looked down on the encampment. There, under their cover, the squadron halted and Simon looked up to his left to a hill where he could now begin to see a small party of horsemen gathering. Good, Dawson was in position. He pulled out his watch. 12.25. No sign of movement behind the low wall surrounding the house. But it was clear that the Pathans were preparing to leave, for fires were being doused and there was great movement between the tents.