The March into Afghanistan:

1838-1839

Sita Ram begins this chapter with a criticism of the new Bengal Army that had arisen phoenix-like from the ashes of the old army which had mutinied in 1857. It is hard to say whether his criticisms are justified, or whether there is any truth in his allegations of disloyalty among the Punjabi sepoys. As a soldier of the old school of pipeclay and close-order drill, Sita Ram probably resented the freer and easier ways of the new army. The fact that it contained a much larger number of Moslems than the former army also aroused his religious prejudices. But it must be remembered that he was old, tired and disillusioned by the time he wrote his memoirs. There undoubtedly was a good deal of discontent in the years immediately after the Mutiny, as well as a break in relations between Indians and British, but there can be no doubt that the Bengal Army post-Mutiny was a much better disciplined and officered force than its predecessor.

For the most part, however, Sita Ram deals in this chapter with his experiences at the outset of the First Afghan War. The causes for that war have already been discussed in the Introduction, and it suffices to say here that it was the greatest disaster British arms were to suffer in Asia until the surrender of Singapore almost exactly one hundred years later. Fortescue has written that the campaign brought 'nothing but disgrace', and that harsh verdict is probably true. It severely damaged the prestige of the Company in India and had far-reaching effects on the discipline and morale of the Bengal Native Army.

Sita Ram took part in the campaign as a havildar in a force recruited in India by Shah Shujah-ul-Mulk. It was known as Shah Shujah's Levy and was intended to ensure Shah Shujah's security on the throne of Afghanistan after the British had withdrawn from that country. In fact the Shah succeeded in alienating his own troops, British officers and sepoys alike, as successfully as he had alienated his own countrymen.

It will be recalled that the aim of the British was to restore Shah Shujah on the throne from which he had been ousted by Dost Mahommed Khan. They believed he would prove to be a more trustworthy and dependable ally than Dost Mahommed, but seldom has any government been proved more wrong. After four years' campaigning, and at great cost in blood and treasure, the British were to learn how grievously they had miscalculated the respective worths of Shah Shujah and Dost Mahommed. In this chapter we are told of Sita Ram's experiences during the first phase of the campaign—the assembly of the expeditionary force and its march across the Sind desert and through the Baluchistan mountains to Kandahar. It was virtually bloodless so far as battles were concerned, but thousands died of hunger, thirst, and disease. Most of these were followers, of whom 38,000 accompanied the Bengal Division alone, but both the British and Indian troops also suffered severely from privations.

From the outset the campaign was mismanaged. There was friction between the generals; between the generals and the political officers who were supposed to be advising them; between officers of the Royal Army and the officers of the Bombay and Bengal Armies; between the officers of the Bombay Army and those from Bengal; while all were united in despising the rag-tag and bobtail who had joined up in Shah Shujah's Levy. No wonder that Sita Ram expresses his astonishment at the inceptitude of his generals, and the evident mismanagement of the campaign.

And now, my Lord, I shall say something about the Sirkar's new army, and by this I mean the army which has been raised since the Mutiny.¹ As far as I know, everyone dislikes the service nowadays—Hindus, Mahommedans, Sikhs, Pathans, and Dogras. They get no leisure; they never know their work; they have to learn one kind of drill this year, and another the next, and they are punished for not remembering the new drill. They now have examinations and promotion goes by supposed merit, which means in effect at the pleasure of the Commanding Officer, which is a very precarious thing to depend upon for promotion.² The Punjabis and Sikhs only entered the Sirkar's service because they thought there would be opportunities for plunder, and not because they were pleased at joining the service, or looked on it for bread and pension. They do not respect the Government as we used to respect the Company Bahadur. If Delhi had not fallen at the time it did, the British would not have persuaded so many Pathans and other northern men to enter their service. It is well known that these men hung back, waiting to see which side was likely to win. Their great hope was that the Punjab would also have been disturbed,³ in which case they would have gone against the Sirkar with the same alacrity as they displayed when entering its service.

Their sole object was love of loot. More than half the men of these regiments now want their discharge, and the other half only remain because they think there may be a chance of plunder for them in China or elsewhere. But thanks to the amazing good fortune of the Sirkar, all prospect of war has been extinguished, like hot ashes after sprinkling from a water-skin, and as peace is likely to last for many years to come, most of these men will wish to leave the service. If they are prevented from doing this they will only be unwilling servants.

Numbers of young men can always be found to enlist but once the novelty has worn off they will soon want to leave a service which is daily becoming more distasteful to them. Their officers will have had all the trouble of drilling them for nothing. In the Punjab the Sikhs will take service because they are near their homes, but they do not care for any other country.⁴ There is also an uneasy feeling about pay. The cavalry trooper has had his pay increased, but the foot soldier's remains the same. Since throughout Hindustan everything nowadays has become so much more expensive, and since the Government allows the moneylenders to do as they please, the pay of seven rupees a month will not support either Sikhs, Punjabis, or Mahommedans. So far as the latter are concerned, they always think they will reconquer Hindustan from the foreigners and they look forward to that day, flattering themselves that it is not far off. They have not seen what I have, or they would not entertain such foolish notions, but they love to boast of what they have done and what they one day will do again. They might have some idea of the absurdity of these ideas when they remember that they could not hold Delhi even with the Company's army in their service, and its artillery in their possession, against four or five European regiments and a few hastily raised regiments of dirty Punjabis. After the Mutiny I was posted to a Punjabi corps, and I know what I have said to have been the general feeling. I also know that if the people of the Punjab should rebel and fight the Sirkar, there would be 100,000 Hindustanis ready and willing to take service against them, if only to pay off old scores.⁵

The Government's practice of keeping several regiments of Native troops together at the same station is unwise. It is then that the young men become full of their own importance and swagger about the bazaars puffed up with vain conceits and talking about things they had better not. They forget the giver of their salt. There are plenty of rascals in every city, and in most Suddar bazaars,⁶ who encourage the sepoys in every kind of villainy. This idle behaviour has much increased since the Mutiny. Before that time I never heard much about it, but now that calamity has afflicted Hindustan, it has become common practice. These bazaar ruffians have nothing to lose, and they reckon that in times of confusion and disorder they will benefit, as many of them did during the rebellion. Meerut, Cawnpore, and some other cities are full of these men who escaped punishment for their evil deeds and boast of the fact. Some bad men will be found in every regiment and their influence should be well guarded against—especially among the young soldiers.

For several years nothing happened in my regiment. My son became a fine young man and was enlisted into my corps. In the year 1837 it was common gossip throughout India that the Sirkar was going to assist Shah Shujah-ul-Mulk, the Amir of Kabul,⁷ to regain his throne. Every day the rumours grew stronger and there was great excitement throughout Hindustan. Some said the Sirkar would meet the Russians in Afghanistan and that they had promised to help the Amir Dost Mahommed Khan, who was the favourite ruler among the Afghans. Therefore the whole country, supported by a large army of both Russians and Persians, would be against the English. Many people said that the Sirkar's army would be beaten, while others considered that the English would succeed in taking Kabul because there was a strong party which favoured the deposed king, Shujah-ul-Mulk. The sepoys dreaded crossing the Indus because it was beyond Hindustan; this is forbidden by our religion and the very act means loss of caste.⁸ Consequently many sepoys obtained their discharge, and many deserted. The Mahommedans said that a large army was coming to invade India and tried by every means to excite the feelings of the people. They gave out that this invading army was supported by a large force of Russians; when it made its appearance on the plains on this side of the passes, it would be a signal for the entire Mahommedan population to rise against the Sirkar and drive the foreigners out of India.

These reports daily gathered strength until fear filled the mind of the whole Native Army. The Russians were said to have an army of hundreds of thousands and untold wealth. Their soldiers were represented to be of enormous stature and as brave as lions. The end of the Sirkar's rule was predicted, for how could they withstand their enemies with only twelve or thirteen regiments of Europeans, which were all that were then in India?⁹ There were some people, however, who still believed that the Company's astonishing good luck would enable it to overcome everything, but even they were appalled when they learned of the mighty armies that were being assembled to invade India. Nevertheless troops began to be moved up-country, and a force was assembled at Ferozepore, where my corps was stationed in October, 1838.¹⁰ Ten thousand soldiers were collected, and also an army in the pay of Shah Shujah, but which was officered by English officers.¹¹ It was composed of men from all over India who felt inclined to try the fortunes of war.

I was offered a havildar's appointment in this Legion, with higher pay, and I joined one of the regiments, having lost any chance of promotion in my own because I had been tried by court martial. It was said at the time that this army would be paid by the Company Bahadur, We marched by the side of large rivers¹⁴ with thick low jungle along their banks. It was a vile country and the people were very wild. After a march lasting two months, during which half the army was attacked with low fever, we arrived at Rohri on the river Indus. A bridge of boats was constructed after a good deal of toil and trouble, and the army crossed over to the dreaded other bank of the Indus, which was now trodden for the first time by the Hindustani sepoy. The country was much the same on the other side as this, and the people were also the same; they were a nasty and dirty lot. I was crossing with my company when the bridge broke and three boats were carried away and swept down past Fort Bukkur with frightful force. The boatmen were unable to stop the boats until they had gone six miles. Four sepoys were drowned and the company had to remain out all night in the thick wet jungle. No-one knew the way, but in the morning we discovered the headquarters.

The Commander-in-Chief suffered so much from fever that he went away to Europe.¹⁵ The Bombay army joined the Bengal army and we marched on to Shikarpur. The people of the country were all Mahommedans whose language we did not understand and everything belonging to them was unclean. They offered no opposition to our force and no robberies or murders occurred at first; it was only after leaving Shikarpur that our real troubles began. The whole country was a vast sandy desert. The water in the few wells was bitter and everything, even firewood and water, had to be transported on camels. The Baluchis now began to harass us by night attacks and drove off long strings of our camels. Their method of carrying off these camels was very curious. A Baluch horseman would watch a line of them going out to feed, or detached with the baggage. He would then thrust a spear with a rag covered in camel's blood in the face of a bull camel, and would excite the animal with it until it rushed after the robber, followed by the whole string. The Baluch would thus lead off twenty camels at a time for many miles into the hills. This frequent loss of camels was a great problem for the army. Although many others were procured, many of them were unbroken, and almost invariably threw off their loads and ran off into the desert.

Our march was in the middle of the cold weather and yet the heat was such that numbers of European soldiers and sepoys died from the effects; on one day thirty-five men fell victim to it. At this stage the sepoy army had almost determined to return to India and there were signs of mutiny in all three armies.¹⁶ However, partly on account of the lavish promises of Shah Shujah, and partly for fear of the Baluchis who grew in numbers every day, the armies marched on, and the sahibs did all in their power to encourage their men. Our sufferings were frightful and the livers of all the Hindustanis were turned to water. We went through one valley called Dadhar¹⁷ which was the mouth of hell. It was low-lying and surrounded by hills so that no air ever came there. It was worse than my tomb in Bundelkhand. Then we came to the Bolan Pass,¹⁸ and here many people were killed by the tribesmen. They murdered everyone whenever they had the opportunity, and rolled large boulders down the mountain sides.

it was decided that he would not command the force entering Afghanistan, he decided to sail down the Indus to Karachi, accompanying the Bengal contingent as far as Bukkur in Sind.

Sirkar's army, fear seemed to fill their hearts, and they ran away.²¹ If they had defended the Bolan Pass, which took seven or eight days to pass through, half our army might have been destroyed.

It was during this march of unheard of hardship that I saw, for the first time in my service, dissensions arise among the officers. The Bombay Commander-in-Chief and the Bengal general quarrelled.²² The former thought his army the best. All the Bombay officers looked with contempt on the Bengal Army, and we²³ were much abused by the regular sepoys who called us 'irregulars'. 'Lad Kain' sahib was of higher rank than our general and he gave orders for some of the force to be left behind in Sind. The good management, for which the Sirkar is so celebrated, seems to have left the heads of both the commanders. As we approached Kandahar the truth began to dawn on us that despite all the assurances Shah Shujah had given us in Hindustan, that the Afghans were longing for his return, in reality they did not want him as their ruler.

Once again fear and remorse entered into the hearts of the sepoys. They imagined they had been deceived by Shah Shujah's promises and even thought that the Sirkar itself had been misled. However, as a result of the wonderful example set by the British officers, the army marched on with nothing worse than lamentations and grumblings, and our hearts were cheered by the thought we should in the end be rewarded by the Government if we survived, and this despite Shah Shujah's failure to live up to his promises. When we saw the fertile country around Kandahar, where gardens with flowers and many kinds of fruit abounded, we began to feel happier. I cooked my food beneath the shade of fine trees with pure water running beside me. None of us had ever enjoyed a good meal since leaving Shikarpur. All we had had to eat was parched grain or barley, or a small quantity of musty flour. The country we came through must surely have been on the confines of hell! It was a land of stones with nothing green except the camel-thorn, and no birds apart from the vultures that feasted on the carcasses of our baggage animals, and on the bodies of our comrades we were unable to bury.

There were no animals in that vile country until our army came there, for what was there for them to live on? Troops of jackals followed in our track right across the desert and grew sleek and fat by their attendance. There was no wood with which to perform the funeral rites when a Hindu died, and he was far from holy Benares and the pure Ganges. His fate was unhappy for he was conveyed about in divers places in the bellies of hungry jackals! Now I understood why it was forbidden to cross the Indus. The fate of those who do so is truly bad, and our misfortunes were increased by the knowledge that we had done that which is forbidden by our religion.

The armies entered Kandahar,²⁴ Shah Shujah-ul-Mulk was restored to his throne, and there were rejoicings among the people. The Shah's army entered first, before the Sirkar's, and there were great celebrations. At first the people seemed to be pleased at his return, but it was said that they despised him in their hearts, and only the fear of the Sirkar's army kept them civil. I think that the common people did not much mind who ruled them, but the sirdars²⁵ and head people were offended that Shah Shujah had returned with a foreign army. They said he had shown the English the way into their country, and that shortly they would take possession of it. They would use it as they had done all Hindustan and introduce their detested rules and laws. It was this that enraged them. They said that if the Shah had come with his own army alone, all would have been well.

After the king had been a short time in Kandahar, I knew the people did not care the least about him, and their anger grew when they saw that the English army was not returning to Hindustan. Instead they turned the place into a regular cantonment. We found many Hindu merchants²⁶ in Kandahar who had forgotten even when their ancestors had arrived there. We were all surprised by this, but a merchant will go wherever he can cheat. We found them afterwards in Ghazni and Kabul, and I have heard that some of them have even penetrated into the land of the Russians. We remained some time in Kandahar doing nothing, but the time for harvest was approaching and we had to wait until the corn was ripe before we could march on. So miserable was this Kandahar that sufficient corn could not be found. Either the storekeepers buried all their stores, or they really did not possess the amount required. It took a long time to collect sufficient for our onward march.

Kandahar was in reality a very poor city and not to be compared with many smaller places in Hindustan. The people did not dare to build any large houses on account of the earthquakes, which are stronger and more frequent here than in Hindustan. The only large building is the tomb of Ahmed Shah.²⁷ The sahibs had expected stiff fighting and were disappointed. The sepoys could see no signs of Shah Shujah giving them the presents he had promised. In fact he only reigned in Kandahar and its vicinity. He was not King of Afghanistan at all. I never knew why the Sirkar's and the Shah's armies halted there so long. By doing so they gave Dost Mahommed time to prepare things better for defence and call up support from the tribes. The presence of the Europeans aroused the feelings of the people who regarded them as unwelcome intruders. Although they were told that the English had not come to conquer or take their country away from them, they remembered the history of Hindustan. They could not believe that they had come only to put Shah Shujah-ul-Mulk Sudozai on his rightful throne.

but all I know is that when the Shah regained his throne, he could not pay his own bodyguard. This army consisted of artillery, cavalry, and infantry, and was called Shah Shujah's Levy. Only one weak regiment of Europeans from the Company's army accompanied us to Kabul, as well as the Burdwan, Castor, and Grand infantry regiments, and two others.¹² The nearest road to Kabul would have been through the Punjab, which at this time was ruled by Maharajah Runjeet Singh who was a great ally of the Sirkar. I believe he offered to let the army march through his territories, but he told Lord Fane sahib that his force was too small and a collision might therefore take place with some of his own troops, whom he could hardly control, up in the northern part of the Punjab. The order was therefore given for the force to march down into Sind and enter the country of the Afghans by the Bolan Pass.¹³

The watercourses were all blocked, and the wells were filled with pilu wood¹⁹ that made the water stink, so as to make one sick even when approaching the well.

We next arrived at Quetta. Here it was very cold and the sudden change in temperature caused many of us to fall sick with fever. Eventually Kandahar came in sight. All the opposition came from the Baluchis and the hill tribes—we were not opposed by the people of Kandahar. It was said that the Afghans had never expected the Sirkar's army to enter their country by such a circuitous route. They believed it would come over the Khyber Pass, near Peshawar, or through some of the other northern passes. Consequently they had defended those places and all their forces were collected there. I dare say the Commander-in-Chief knew this and put out information through his secret agents that the English army intended to come by the Khyber Pass, but I know that all the sahibs with our army were much astonished that there was no enemy, and that we were not resisted on the Kabul side of the passes. The hill men do not like venturing far into the plains and seldom leave their homes for more than a few miles to raid a village or attack a caravan. They are very formidable behind their rocks from where they can fire their long jezails²⁰ that throw a ball three times the size of a musket-ball with accuracy at 400 yards, but they could never withstand a volley of our musketry at close quarters. They fight as individuals, and not in formed bodies like the Company's troops.

Everyone passing through these hills is robbed and attacked, no matter if he be friend or foe. They are often bribed to allow caravans to traverse their country, and these are accustomed to visit India with dried fruits, skins, and other products of their country. They return with the produce of Hindustan. These caravans pay large sums of money to ensure safe conduct, but there is always one tribe or other that declares it has never received any money and loots the caravan. These hill tribes are supposedly subject to the ruler of Kabul, and Shah Shujah sent frequently to inform them that the English were his friends. However, this made no difference—they fired at, and attacked, the Shah's soldiers just as much as the Sirkar's. Truly they were a lawless set of bloodthirsty savages. In a short time our army arrived at Kandahar, and it was hot when we arrived there, although not as hot as in Hindustan. The Sirdars came out at first with a small force, but suddenly, when they saw the red coats of the