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Authors: John Wilcox
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a brigade in there defending the post and the road to the north but God knows how many are left now. The geography there is this.’
He cleared his throat of dust. ‘Commanding the Pass itself is a fort, on a spur to the left of the road looking north. From this spur the road runs down to a kind of bowl, some six hundred yards in diameter, called the “Crater”, if I remember rightly. Originally therewere about two hundred men manning the fort – it’s not much of a place I’m afraid – but the camps of the 24th Punjabs and 45th Sikhs, with some sappers, miners stores and so on are, or were, in the Crater, surrounded by a line of protective
abattis
and a bit of wire.
‘The rest of the brigade – the 31st Punjabis, a cavalry squadron, a mountain battery and the transport – are, or were, camped about thirteen hundred yards away up the north-west road, protected by a low
abattis
and breastworks. In short, the whole place is a bit of a defensive mess, spread out in three places. Things will have changed now, I suspect, with some integration. But we shall have to see.
‘Now. We will probably have to cut our way through, so we will go in at the walk, then, at the order, canter and then, at the order,
daffadars
will lower lances and other ranks draw their sabres and charge. We will make for the fort as the nearest point, if, of course, it has not yet been taken. If the defenders are still there, they will hear our bugles and open their gates to us. Once inside, handlers take the horses and the rest disperse to the walls. I may need to change these orders in the light of circumstances. Now see to your men and horses and good luck, gentlemen.’
The relieving pickets had been waiting until the colonel had finished and he now turned to them. ‘You heard all of that,’ he said. ‘I want you to ride ahead now and spy out the disposition of the enemy. I may have to change my plan of attack in the light of what you tell me.
Daffadar
, when you have seen where the defenders are and how the enemy is placed, ride back and report to me. The rest of you stay on picket to ensure we are not attacked. Had your breakfasts?’
‘Yes, Colonel sahib.’
‘Good. Off you go.’
Fonthill and Jenkins, on the periphery of all this, exchanged glances and Simon nodded in appreciation. Colonel Fortescue undoubtedly knew what he was doing – and he cared for his men. The best type of British senior officer and typical, Simon was beginning to feel, of the Queen’s Royal Corps of Guides.
As anticipated, the 2,000ft climb up to the Malakand Pass proved to be the most demanding sector of the whole march, for horses and men were tired, caked in dust and thirsty. In addition, the climb was now steep and, towards the end, Fortescue felt it necessary to dismount and lead the horses, leaving the column at a great disadvantage should a flank attack be mounted. But none came and the Pass was reached just as the
daffadar
in charge of the forward picket came riding in.
He reported tersely to the colonel and Fortescue immediately ordered his officers forward – by gesture this time, for he did not wish to signal his presence yet by bugle call.
‘Change of orders, gentlemen,’ he announced, speaking quickly. ‘The good news is that the garrison has held out throughout the night. But the bad is that, while the fort and the Crater have withstood what looks like continuous attacks, the forward camp, up the North-West Road, has had to be abandoned, by the look of it. At the moment, it looks as though the attackers have retired but are massing for a further attack. Our pickets can see a considerable number of tribesmen approaching from the north. There remains considerable sniping, so we must ride through that.
‘Once over the summit, we will now pass the fort and instead canter down to the Crater and reinforce our people there. Now mount and draw sabres.’
Fonthill drew out his watch again. It showed 8.30 a.m. Theyhad been on the road for just
He cleared his throat of dust. ‘Commanding the Pass itself is a fort, on a spur to the left of the road looking north. From this spur the road runs down to a kind of bowl, some six hundred yards in diameter, called the “Crater”, if I remember rightly. Originally therewere about two hundred men manning the fort – it’s not much of a place I’m afraid – but the camps of the 24th Punjabs and 45th Sikhs, with some sappers, miners stores and so on are, or were, in the Crater, surrounded by a line of protective
abattis
and a bit of wire.
‘The rest of the brigade – the 31st Punjabis, a cavalry squadron, a mountain battery and the transport – are, or were, camped about thirteen hundred yards away up the north-west road, protected by a low
abattis
and breastworks. In short, the whole place is a bit of a defensive mess, spread out in three places. Things will have changed now, I suspect, with some integration. But we shall have to see.
‘Now. We will probably have to cut our way through, so we will go in at the walk, then, at the order, canter and then, at the order,
daffadars
will lower lances and other ranks draw their sabres and charge. We will make for the fort as the nearest point, if, of course, it has not yet been taken. If the defenders are still there, they will hear our bugles and open their gates to us. Once inside, handlers take the horses and the rest disperse to the walls. I may need to change these orders in the light of circumstances. Now see to your men and horses and good luck, gentlemen.’
The relieving pickets had been waiting until the colonel had finished and he now turned to them. ‘You heard all of that,’ he said. ‘I want you to ride ahead now and spy out the disposition of the enemy. I may have to change my plan of attack in the light of what you tell me.
Daffadar
, when you have seen where the defenders are and how the enemy is placed, ride back and report to me. The rest of you stay on picket to ensure we are not attacked. Had your breakfasts?’
‘Yes, Colonel sahib.’
‘Good. Off you go.’
Fonthill and Jenkins, on the periphery of all this, exchanged glances and Simon nodded in appreciation. Colonel Fortescue undoubtedly knew what he was doing – and he cared for his men. The best type of British senior officer and typical, Simon was beginning to feel, of the Queen’s Royal Corps of Guides.
As anticipated, the 2,000ft climb up to the Malakand Pass proved to be the most demanding sector of the whole march, for horses and men were tired, caked in dust and thirsty. In addition, the climb was now steep and, towards the end, Fortescue felt it necessary to dismount and lead the horses, leaving the column at a great disadvantage should a flank attack be mounted. But none came and the Pass was reached just as the
daffadar
in charge of the forward picket came riding in.
He reported tersely to the colonel and Fortescue immediately ordered his officers forward – by gesture this time, for he did not wish to signal his presence yet by bugle call.
‘Change of orders, gentlemen,’ he announced, speaking quickly. ‘The good news is that the garrison has held out throughout the night. But the bad is that, while the fort and the Crater have withstood what looks like continuous attacks, the forward camp, up the North-West Road, has had to be abandoned, by the look of it. At the moment, it looks as though the attackers have retired but are massing for a further attack. Our pickets can see a considerable number of tribesmen approaching from the north. There remains considerable sniping, so we must ride through that.
‘Once over the summit, we will now pass the fort and instead canter down to the Crater and reinforce our people there. Now mount and draw sabres.’
Fonthill drew out his watch again. It showed 8.30 a.m. Theyhad been on the road for just
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