Bayonets Along the Border (26 page)

‘He say,’ said Inderjit once they were out of earshot, ‘that big army is up ahead. Many of them come from the fighting at Fort Gulistan off to the right there, about five miles. We have big climb to do …’

‘Oh, bloody ’ell,’ interjected Jenkins.

‘… over Chagru Kotal Pass, when we are in mountains proper. Once over Pass, road which forked to left behind us rejoins this one. So both forks go in same direction, like a loop. Soon after Pass there is big hill to the left, called Dargai. It overlooks road. He say that Pathans are massing there to stop British going by. From what he say, Dargai is strong position.’

‘Very well. Where does this road take us? Did he know?’

‘Oh yes. It go all the way to Maidan. But long way. After Dargai road crosses Khanki river, just past place called Karappa.’

‘Is the river fordable?’

‘If no great rains soon, yes. But difficult later in year.’

‘Go on.’

‘Then we go very high over Sampagha Pass, then cross another river, the Mastura, but it smaller. But then another pass, the Arhanga Pass, which will be blocked with snow before too long. Then road takes us down to Maidan. After that he don’t know.’

‘Well,’ growled Jenkins, ‘that sounds like a nice little stroll, look you. Just what my feet need just now.’

‘What about the mullah?’ asked Fonthill. ‘Did he know where his camp is?’

‘He think the Mullah Sayyid is with Pathan fighting men waiting for British at this place Dargai. They expect to fight British there.’

They trudged on in silence for a moment. Then Simon asked, ‘Is there any way around Dargai without having to take it?’

Inderjit frowned. ‘Shepherd not soldier, so could not give answer to military questions. Did not like to question hard on this in case he become suspicious of us.’

‘Quite right. You did well. Thank you.’

‘Right then,’ puffed Jenkins. ‘What next, bach sir? ’Ave we learnt enough, d’yer think?’

‘Certainly not. One thing is for sure. Lockhart is going to need his sappers to work on this road if it is going to take a whole division. But we need to know more. On to this pass, over it and then we must assess the situation at Dargai. It sounds as though it will be the key to Lockhart’s advance, or at least the early part of it. No. Onwards and upwards.’

‘Oh, bugger it. I liked it when we were in the cavalry.’

They toiled on with the ever-present sun beating down on them from a canopy of blue and the heat of its rays reminding them of why Pathans wore such clumsy but effective head coverings. All around them the brown, jagged-topped hills towered above with not another living thing in sight, except for the occasional lizard that scuttled out of sight as they approached.

Eventually, the road steepened to form a narrow defile before it fell and curled away, revealing a vista of more jumbled hilltops stretching before them.

‘Why the ’ell would the general want to bring ’is bloody army this way?’ panted Jenkins. His turban had become unwound, of course, and one end trailed down his back. ‘There’s nobody livin’ ’ere except earwigs an’ snakes.’

Fonthill leant on his rifle and wiped his brow. ‘This must be the Chagru Kotal Pass,’ he said. ‘We must be getting near to the top of the Samana Range.’ He pointed far ahead and to the left, where a succession of rocky billows seemed to end in two peaks, one sharply pointed and nearest to the road, forming the near horizon and
shimmering in the heat. ‘That must be the Dargai Heights. From here they look completely deserted.’

Inderjit squinted into the distance. ‘Too far to tell,’ he said. ‘But plenty of rocks everywhere. Could hide an army …’

Simon nodded. ‘Hmm. But they are just about within range of artillery based on that hill ahead.’ His gaze turned to Jenkins. ‘Oh, for goodness sake, Inderjit. Would you please tidy up his bloody turban? No self-respecting Pathan would walk around looking like that.’

He had hardly finished speaking before a rifle cracked and a bullet sang past his head. Then another hit the top of a boulder by Jenkins’s shoulder, sending splinters of rock spinning upwards, one of them cutting his cheek.

Fonthill spun round. ‘Off the road,’ he cried. ‘Behind the rocks quickly.’

The three ducked and ran as two more shots rang out, their echoes dancing back from the rocky walls around them.

‘Where the hell are they?’ demanded Simon.

‘There are four,’ replied the Sikh. ‘High up on the right, there.’ He pointed to where two wisps of smoke could still be seen hanging to a patch of scrub about fifty feet above them on the steep hillside.

Jenkins wiped his cheek. ‘The buggers don’t bother to shout “Oo’s there, friend or foe?”, do they?’ he growled. ‘I could ’ave been Ali Barber comin’ up with the beer ration.’

Inderjit gave his slow smile. ‘They don’t care who we are,’ he murmured. ‘They want our rifles. Perhaps wrong to bring these Lee-Metfords. They much prized in these hills.’

‘Well, they’re not goin’ to get mine.’ The Welshman took off his turban, bent on his hands and knees and crawled away to the left.
Then he propped his turban just below the edge of a high rock, so that only its top showed. He levered a round into the breech of his rifle and knelt before carefully aiming his Lee-Metford round the side of the rock. Two reports sounded as one, as Jenkins and the Pathan both fired at the same time.

The turban jumped as a bullet caught its top but a cry rang out as the Welshman’s round found its target. A figure slumped and crashed into the shrub before rolling down the hillside and coming to a stop just above them.

‘Good shot, bach,’ said Inderjit, the Welsh term sounding alien coming from his bearded lips. Then he stood, released a shot and crouched down again.

‘Damned if I can see them,’ grunted Fonthill. ‘Are you sure there are only four of them?’

‘Only three now,’ replied the Sikh. ‘Odds even now. But don’t expose yourself, sahib. They good shots.’

‘Not as good as old 352, here, though.’ Simon gestured to his right. ‘Look. You two get ready to shoot because I’m going to make a run across here to draw their fire. They will have to expose themselves to have a go at me.’

Jenkins sucked in his moustache. ‘Not a good idea, bach sir. I don’t want to ’ave to carry you all the way back to the fort, now do I?’

‘Well, we can’t stay here all day. I’ll count to three and then I’ll go. Ready? One, two, three.’ And, head down, Fonthill scuttled away and was just able to reach the shelter of a rock barely large enough to shelter him when two bullets cracked into it, showering rock fragments everywhere.

Two other shots rang out from Jenkins and Inderjit at the same time, however, and cries showed that they had found their marks.

‘Well done, lads,’ cried Simon. ‘Now, Inderjit, shout to whoever is left to come out with his hands raised, holding his friends’ rifles above his head. If he does that, we will spare his life. Otherwise, it will be only a matter of time before we get him.’

The Sikh nodded and raised his voice. There was no reply but moans could be heard coming from the rocks above them.

‘Let’s give him a volley to make up his mind,’ said Fonthill. ‘Right. Now – fire!’

The three stood and delivered six shots into the rocks fringing the shrub. The bullets cracked into the stone and then ricocheted away down the Pass, their echoes thundering back as though a company of troopers had fired them. ‘Shout to him again,’ said Simon. ‘Repeat the offer, but tell him it’s the last time.’

After a few seconds, a ragged figure emerged, holding three rifles above his head and shouting something in dialect.

‘He say,’ interpreted Inderjit, ‘two others are wounded and cannot shoot. Fourth rifle is lying on body of man Jenkins bach killed.’

‘Very well. Ask him to come down to us. But keep him covered. Jenkins and I will cover the other rocks.’

Slowy, the Pathan began slipping and sliding awkwardly down the scree covering the steep slope, his eyeballs showing white in his black face. He came to a stop before the three and threw the rifles onto the ground. He made a poor sight, for his clothes were ragged and torn and his cheeks sunken.

Fonthill lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Ask him how badly hurt are his friends.’

‘He say one bullet took man in head and he is dying. Second man hit in shoulder. First man killed.’

‘Right. 352, hand me the first-aid kit from my bag. I will climb up and see what I can do. You come with me. Inderjit, tell this chap we are going to help the wounded but then question him and ask why they shot at us and what they are doing here. Try to find out if there are any of the Pathan army around here.’

Simon had brought a very basic medical kit with him and he and Jenkins now scrambled upwards carrying it. They found one man now clearly dead, with a bullet hole in his cheekbone, and the other lying in the shale, clutching his shoulder and moaning softly. His eyes widened as Fonthill took out his knife and he flinched backwards as the knife cut into his clothes at the shoulder. Simon revealed the wound and found that the bullet had gone completely through the shoulder and out the man’s back. It was an ugly but clean wound.

‘Bloody shoulder is the worst part to try and bandage,’ muttered Simon as he cut away scraps of cloth from the wounds. He bathed the ugly holes with water, applied antiseptic ointment to two cotton wads and, as Jenkins helped him, he began bandaging them in place. After several attempts he managed to tie the bandage around the shoulder, watched all the time by the wounded man, whose eyes never left Simon’s face. They gave him water from Jenkins’s flask and left him lying in the shade.

Back with Inderjit, Fonthill drew the Sikh to one side out of the Pathan’s earshot, leaving Jenkins with the prisoner. ‘What did you find out?’ he asked.

‘They from village near here,’ he said. ‘Not part of mullah’s army, which is at Dargai Mountain waiting for British army. Shepherd I talk with from same village. He go back and tell them that three foreigners walking on road, so they come to shoot at us here on the Pass and kill us and rob us.’

‘Humph. Friendly lot. Do they suspect we were spies from the British camp?’

‘No. They think we come from Persia to fight the British. He very impressed with our shooting.’

‘Ah. So was I. Well done, you two. Where did they get these Martini-Henry rifles?’

‘From sepoys killed at Fort Gulistan.’

‘Very well. Do you know how far their village is from here?’

‘He say about two miles. Not many other villages near here. Nowhere to graze animals.’

Simon wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t doubt it. Now. I have done what I can for the wounded man, who is more or less able to walk. The other is dead. Tell this fellow that he must cover the dead man with stones and then help his wounded friend to walk back to their village. Tell him that if we see him again we will put a bullet in his stomach and we will surely kill anyone else from his village who tries to ambush us. We are good fighters.’

The Sikh grinned and nodded. ‘I think he know that.’

They waited long enough to see the tribesman and his wounded companion limp away back in the direction of Shanawari, then the trio continued to trudge down the road, now gently descending. They met no one else after the attempted ambush on the Pass, although they walked slowly – not only because they were tiring in the hot sun but also so that they could scan the close hills on either side. As the sun was setting, the peak and squat ridges of the Dargai Heights came into sharp relief and Fonthill felt that it would be prudent to camp off the road. If the Pathan army was, indeed, at Dargai, then it would not do to blunder into its outposts in the dusk.

They found a tiny stream springing from the rocks and they were able to fill their water bottles from it. They chose not to light a fire and, as the darkness fell all around them, causing them to shiver at the sudden change in temperature, Fonthill wound a blanket around him and sat, cradling his rifle, to stand the first watch of the night as the other two crawled under their own blankets.

The night proved uneventful and as the three huddled together in the predawn, their blankets around them, Fonthill gave his instructions.

‘If we carry on along this road we will soon be able to get a good look at Dargai,’ he said. ‘That’s really all I want to do, so, if possible, I want to avoid having to explain ourselves to the mullah or anyone from his army. And I certainly don’t want to join it.’

Inderjit nodded slowly. ‘So we change our story, yes?’

‘We do indeed. Trouble is,’ Simon wrinkled his brow, ‘I’m damned if I can think of an alternative likely tale to tell.’

Silence fell. Then Jenkins grunted. ‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘that we should stick to our original story – about comin’ from Persia, with me bein’ deaf and dumb and the village idiot, see, but we change the bit about us coming to join this mullah’s bloody army. Just say we’ve got business, or somethin’, further down the line, so to speak.’

Inderjit nodded. ‘Yes. Horse-traders from Kandahar who sold our horses in Kabul and then were attacked near Border on way to Peshawar. We fought off bandits and took these rifles from them. We crossed border but lost our way.’

Simon pulled a face. ‘It’s a bit far-fetched but it will have to do. We met villagers who told us that there were horses to buy in Maidan and that’s where we are heading. Yes, that will give us an excuse for marching on. It will have to do. Come on, let’s go. If we are stopped,
you will have to do the talking, as always, Inderjit. We must try and keep the rifles – or at least the magazines – covered so as not to invite envy.’

The Sikh nodded and they collected their meagre belongings, refilled their water bottles and made their way back to the road. As they walked they had their first close-up view of the Dargai Heights, looming to their left some 2,000 yards away. They could clearly see, at the top of the nearest ridge, hundreds of men moving like ants among the rocks.

At its nearest point, the road passed within about 1,500 yards of the base of the rocky hill and Fonthill could see that it would be almost impossible for Lockhart’s force to pass it without coming under very heavy fire from the Heights. They increased their pace to obtain a better view when suddenly a group of Pathans, obviously a guard post or picket, suddenly materialised from rocks beside the road and advanced towards them, rifles levelled.