At five o'clock Jiand arrived riding a camel, and followed by a few attendants.

I went forward to meet him, and treated him with all the courtesy due to his position.

He dismounted and offered his salaams. He was a fine but pathetic-looking figure—a tall, spare man—but the weight of years, and the strain of recent events, were beginning to bow his shoulders. His thick beard was quite grey, but his eyes could still flash with passion and anger, though, at present, they were dulled with grief and humiliation.

I immediately offered him my condolences on the death of his son, and told him I had heard that he believed that I personally was responsible for his death. I assured him that this was not so, and that I greatly regretted that so valiant a father should suffer the loss of a valiant son. I then invited him to sit down on a small rise of ground where a few sparse bushes offered some shade from the sun, and as we had no seats we sat down on the ground round him.

I pointed out to Jiand his folly in having proved false to the traditional friendship which had existed between him, his tribes and the British Raj. I also told him that I knew perfectly well he had been misled by German lies as to the breaking of British power, coupled with advice to harry the British lines of communication, and to help himself to all supplies upon which he could lay his hands before the German forces advanced into India, for, when they did, nothing much would be left to take. But, I asked him, how could a man of his intelligence have ever allowed himself to be gulled in such a manner? Had he thought, he must have known that British might was far too firmly established to be overthrown by anything so despicable as the German race, and he must have known too that, in deserting his old friends the British, and in fighting against them, he was only courting disaster.

I further asked him if he had ever, with his own eyes, seen one of the German airships which they had been boasting were flying everywhere, destroying enemy's lands, towns and herds. Jiand admitted that he had not.

I asked him how it came about that, if he had really believed so much in the strength and power of the Germans, not one of them was to be found in the district to come to his help in his present difficulties? Either they were cowards and had run away, or they had lied to him and there had never been any German forces sweeping on victoriously to wipe out the British Raj.

Jiand admitted the force of all my arguments, and replied that he, and all the Sarhadis, had been grossly deceived, but pleaded that he himself had done his best to restrain his men from interfering with the British lines of communication, warning them that it was neither safe nor wise. However, he could not seriously have expected that I would swallow this excuse, as he was known to be held in such awe by his followers that not one of them would have dared to dispute his authority.

I demanded the return of all government camels and stores and of my kit, captured between Nushki and Robat, and he assured me that everything should be sent back in full.

While we were talking I noticed his eyes kept wandering round, and, at last, he could restrain his curiosity no longer, and asked me point blank where the vast mass of troops was which had conquered his own.

I replied, "It was not necessary to bring all my men to Kamalabad. I only came here with my advance guard to make you my prisoner. We have yet to capture Khwash."

The rest was left to his imagination.

His parole was then demanded, which he promptly gave, and solemnly swore, on the Koran, that neither he nor any of his tribe, would raise a hand again against the British Raj.

Neither he nor the handful of men he had brought with him, were disarmed. We had to continue our game of bluff and had to show that we were not in the least afraid of him.

After I had dismissed him, telling him he would accompany me wherever I went under open arrest, Landon, the Sarhad-dar, Idu and myself took counsel together as to the best way to obtain the surrender of Khwash with its fort, the main stronghold of the Yarmahommedzais.

We decided to send a couple of Landon's scouts direct to Khwash—about nineteen miles distant—with a message to Mahommed-Hassan, telling him that Jiand was a prisoner in my hands, and that he himself admitted a loss of seven hundred men killed in open fight with my forces, but that the figure was an under-estimate. Shah Sawar was also a prisoner in my hands. I called on him, therefore, to surrender the fort of Khwash to me before twelve, noon, on the following day, or warned him I should blow the whole place to the skies. Nor should I hold myself responsible for the future action of my troops.

Idu's eyes twinkled. "Just suppose, General Sahib, that Mahommed-Hassan refuses; may I ask how you propose to blow Khwash to the skies—or anywhere?"

I replied with becoming dignity that I should of course blow it to the skies with my artillery.

Idu roared with laughter. He said he had seen my pop-guns firing and he was afraid that, unless our bluff could do the trick, I should be unpleasantly surprised at the strength of the walls of Khwash.

The next morning our entire force of two mountain guns, two machine guns, seventeen cavalrymen, nine trained and sixty-five untrained infantry and a handful of Chagai Levies, moved forward to the assault of the Raiders' stronghold. By eleven o'clock, and while we were still about three miles distant, we came into full view of the fort. Even from that distance I could see that Idu's boast as to its strength was no idle one, and that if Mahommed-Hassan elected to put up a fight we could not possibly expect to be able to take it by assault.

Our anxieties were now further increased by rumours that Halil Khan, with all his Gamshadzais, was on the way to reinforce Jiand, of whose personal surrender he had not yet heard.

Our objective, Khwash, lay on a plateau about six miles wide, bordered on either side by two ranges of hills. These hills have an altitude of some six thousand feet and run parallel to each other on the North-East and South-West sides of the fort. The fort itself is somewhere about four thousand five hundred feet above sea-level. This plateau was at one time well populated, well wooded and cultivated with some seventy-three karezes running along it, all tapping the great underground stream which flows from the Southern slopes of the Koh-i-taftan.

We were hot and played out after our sixteen-mile march, so halted to rest, and to speculate as to whether Mahommed-Hassan would surrender on, or before, the time-limit given him.

We had not long to wait, however, for hardly had we halted when we saw a messenger, on foot and carrying a white flag, coming towards us.

He salaamed as he reached us and said he bore a message from Mahommed-Hassan, imploring me not to blow Khwash into the skies, as he had heard all about the defeat of the Yarmahommedzais under Jiand, and that, under the circumstances, he recognised the folly of attempting to oppose my advance. Moreover, he was now on his way to surrender himself and the fort.

So bluff still held the day!

And sure enough, a few minutes later, Mahommed-Hassan, a miserable-looking creature, arrived and tendered his formal surrender.

As we marched forward in style to enter the fort the Yarmahommedzai garrison marched out and joined the local population of "Khwashis," who have lived in and around the fort for many generations. These latter are peaceful cultivators of the soil, and are allowed to exist because they are useful servants to Jiand and his fighting men.

They and their womenfolk are graciously allowed to keep a certain proportion of the crops they grow, the bulk of which goes to Jiand. These Khwashis are a much lower type of humanity than the Raiders, and only ask to be allowed to exist in peace.

The fort, on closer inspection, proved to be some seventy yards square, with two gates, one to the South-East and one to the North-West. The outer walls rise to about thirty feet with towers at the four corners, three of which are about thirty-five feet high, while the fourth is probably fully fifty feet. This latter tower was the one occupied by the garrison.

Of the seventy-three fine karezes originally existing in and around the fort we could only find two. But one of these was a particularly good one whose waters came to the surface and flowed outside the South-East walls in an extraordinarily clear and limpid stream, in refreshing contrast to so many of the tepid, brackish streams found throughout the Sarhad.

But the one feature of the neighbourhood which struck me most forcibly was the quantity of beetles to be found everywhere. Never in my life have I seen so many. They were of the variety commonly known as dung-beetles. This kind is larger than the ordinary house beetle, round and flat, jet black, and can fly, which adds to its unpleasantness. Directly occasion offers it flies from every direction and is soon rapidly and effectively at work. As a scavenger, unpleasant as it is, it undoubtedly represents a provision of nature to keep the place—where sanitation is unknown—clean and healthy.

A few trees are scattered round Khwash, and a welcome sight these were after unending vistas of sandy waste and bare hillside.

The country in the close vicinity of Khwash was well cultivated, whilst I noted with satisfaction that some of the hill slopes were covered with a tall grass. This would prove invaluable as fodder for the horses.

That same day another piece of good news reached us, to the effect that Halil Khan, the great leader of the Gamshadzais, had just heard of the surrender of Jiand, also the full details of his great defeat, and loss of seven hundred men. But beyond this the news ran that he was coming himself to surrender, and to tell me that he had seen the folly of his past actions.

Upon receipt of this news Landon and I looked at each other and then roared with laughter. We began to realise that the Battle of Koh-i-taftan had indeed been a decisive victory!

That same evening Halil Khan, and about fifty of his chosen men, arrived, and, formally salaaming, surrendered themselves. I was immensely impressed by the appearance of this Raider Chief. He was not very tall, but was magnificently proportioned and developed, with an intelligent, handsome head, and a peculiarly alert look. He certainly looked what he was well known to be, namely, one of the best fighting leaders in the Sarhad.

He and all his men were armed with Mauser rifles and an abundance of ammunition. Halil Khan seemed wedded to his, and when he was informed that the General Sahib was going to extend to him the same terms as to Jiand and allow him to keep his rifle, his joy was very apparent.

These German rifles had either been provided by the Germans, and sent direct across Persia, or were the outcome of the gun-running in the Persian Gulf prior to the War.

The price of a Mauser in the Sarhad, at that time, was about one thousand one hundred rupees, though I was glad to learn that the British Lee-Enfield was valued at one thousand two hundred rupees. The real cost of manufacturing these rifles is, I believe, from six to ten pounds or sixty to one hundred rupees, so that it will be seen what sort of a price the Raiders are prepared to pay for their arms.

Halil Khan was particularly anxious to learn how we had managed to defeat Jiand, and was of course curious to know where the vast British forces were. But he gathered no more information than Jiand had done.

My own private opinion is that Halil Khan was disgusted with Jiand for surrendering, and that he himself would have dearly loved a fight, for—as I was afterwards to learn to my cost—he was not only a magnificent fighter, but did not know the meaning of fear.

The only way in which I can account for his own surrender—for only a day or so previously he had been fully prepared to fight us—is that he had just become aware of the fact that Jiand was a prisoner in our hands. He was afraid, therefore, that if he attacked us the proud old Chief might suffer, and that, on the whole, it would be wiser to appear submissive—for the moment.

But Idu warned me at the time, and again and again in the immediate future, "Jiand and Halil Khan will never rest until they have fought you again. Unless you can get a much larger force, at the very first opportunity, and almost certainly when they learn that you have at present practically no troops, they will turn and attack you. Place no reliance on their word or their oath, even though it be given on the Koran."

That same evening I learnt of a great raid that had recently been made into Persia by a section of the Yarmahommedzais, under a leader called Izzat. As an outcome of this raid hundreds of Persian ladies and children had been dragged from their homes and brought by Izzat into the Sarhad, there to be bartered as slaves. Their sufferings, both from the indignity and shame of their present state, and the hardships they must inevitably have undergone amongst their nomad captors, after the comparative luxury of their own homes, can well be imagined.

The Sarhad-dar, a well-educated and sensitive man, as well as a brave fighter, was so overcome by the picture drawn of the sufferings of these wretched women and children that he burst into tears, and sobbing like a child, pleaded with me to ignore everything else and to at once set about returning these Persians to their homes.

Strongly as my own wishes coincided with his, I knew such a course to be impossible. I had still more important things to do. Moreover, our own situation might become desperate at any moment. Although Jiand and Halil Khan, with a handful of their followers, were prisoners in my hands, their tribes were at large, and at the first suspicion of the trick that had been played on them would be on us like a swarm of bees. It must be remembered too, that Juma Khan of the Ismailzais was still at liberty, in a position to learn that we really had no troops, and might bring his men against us at any moment.

It was obvious, therefore, that I had to deal with him before I dared attempt the rescue of any Persian women, though the thought of them and their plight, and the determination to endeavour to rescue and return them to their homes at the first possible moment never left me.

The following day I decided to hold a Durbar, so gave orders that all the Sarhadi Chiefs were to be present, and that they could bring as many of their followers as they chose.

The Durbar was held on the banks of the stream, just outside the fort, and under the shade of one of the trees. We all sat on the ground, and I opened the Durbar as I thought a commissioner might do in India, though, truth to tell, I knew very little indeed about Durbars!

I explained to the Sarhadi Chiefs, Jiand, Halil Khan, Shah Sawar, and Mahommed-Hassan, that the Sirkar (literally, ruling power) was not represented in force by what they saw at Khwash. They might be interested to know, however, that some four millions of the very finest troops in the world were then fighting under the British flag in various theatres of war all over the world, and that, as surely as night follows day, Germany would be defeated, because right and might were on our side.

I explained to them collectively, as I had explained to Jiand individually, that they had been misled by German lies and propaganda into believing that Germany was winning, and also that the Germans had turned Mussulmans. I told them that it was quite the other way about, for, in point of fact, their own fellow-Mahommedans, the Turks, had really become Germans, taking their orders from their new masters, and had taken to drinking wine and to doing other acts absolutely contrary to the teachings of the Koran.

I told them that Christians never became Mahommedans, though it was easy for them to say so to secure their own ends. I also told them that I would give them a lakh of rupees for every German they could produce who had really become a follower of the Prophet. I advised them that on such matters they should look for decision to the Sherif of Mecca as their spiritual head, and that he was entirely on the British side.

They were then recommended no longer to make fools of themselves, for I had originally come to the Sarhad as their friend, and that, though they had fought against me, I was willing to let bygones be bygones and to be friends with them in the future. I also pointed out that all their interest lay in retaining the friendship of the Sirkar, for they would surely lose their country for ever if they persisted in the mad course of opposing us.

I asked them why their new friends had not helped them to oppose me, with advice if with nothing else? And, if these friends had really been sweeping victoriously on to overcome the British Raj, why they were not there with them?

Jiand, Halil Khan, Shah Sawar and Mahommed-Hassan all expressed their keen regret at what had occurred, promised that they would return to their old allegiance, and that, instead of fighting me any more, they would help me to restore order in the Sarhad. They also promised to bring Juma Khan and his Ismailzais to book.

I then explained my plans for the immediate future. I told them of my intention to retain Khwash as a pledge for their good behaviour, and until such time as a benign Indian Government might see fit to return it to them. But I promised that I would send in a faithful report of their repentance for their past misdeeds, and of their promise to assist us in the future, and told them they might rest assured that the Government would do all that was right and fair.

The following day we marched out once more with the object of attacking Juma Khan at Galugan, leaving the head of the Reki clan (I think his name was Mirza Khan) in command of Khwash, with a few of his own tribe, and five of my nine infantrymen who could handle a rifle. Not, it will be considered, a very formidable garrison to leave in charge, but it was impossible to spare any more men.

We marched in the following order: Shah Sawar and his men were in front as advance guards, Halil Khan and the Gamshadzais on the left flank, and Jiand and his Yarmahommedzais on the right flank. Our infantry went with the baggage, and the guns and ammunition brought up the rear. The cavalry and a few infantrymen formed my personal escort.

I hoped by this arrangement to keep the various Sarhadi Chiefs well apart so that they might be unable to compare notes. My own small force was kept in the rear, and well together.

I was asked by the Raiders why I was making all these careful arrangements to protect my camels.

I replied that in war one had to be prepared to meet any emergency, and that I was not at all satisfied with what I had heard concerning the conduct of the Khan of Bampur, for there had been rumours that he might be foolish enough to try conclusions with me.

Bampur is situated in Persian Baluchistan, fully six marches away to the South of Khwash, and is overlooked by the Koh-i-Bazman. Bampur, it will be remembered, was the old capital of Baluchistan, but to-day it is only a squalid collection of mud-built huts and deserted gardens, clustered round a semi-ruined fort standing in an unhealthy, malarial district.

It was held at this date by a Baluchi Chief, apparently as cowardly as he was arrogant. The fear I expressed of his intention was to lull any possible suspicion of the Sarhadi Chiefs—nominally my prisoners—as to the formation of my battle array; but there remained a modicum of truth behind the reason given.

When we halted that night Landon, the Sarhad-dar, Idu and myself, as usual, took counsel as to the next day's movements, and finally decided to send two of Landon's spies to Bampur. Arrived there they were to tell the Khan that they had run away from us to warn him, because my mighty army, now on the march, might possibly take Bampur in its stride. In addition they were to tell him that, whilst it was true that the General commanding had given out that he was only going to march along the borders of the Bampur district in order to reach Galugan, where he intended to crush Juma Khan, they fully believed this to be only a blind, and that Bampur was to be first destroyed. Khwash itself had recently been threatened, and had only escaped destruction by surrender. It was now left in charge of five hundred of the British General's best troops, with ample supplies for a month.

It was only later on that I learned the success of this mission. The two spies arrived on a certain night at about one a.m. and did their part so well that, by two a.m., the terrified Khan had mounted his camel, and set forth for Makran.

Makran is an arid region lying along the shores of the Persian Gulf, and stretching inland for a distance of about sixty miles. It is filled with bare, dry mountains, and hills with curiously serrated edges. From the more fertile parts large quantities of dates are grown and exported.

Arrived at the headquarters of the British political officer, Colonel Dew, the Khan flung himself on his mercy, and implored him (so I have been told) not to allow General Dyer to attack him, though I have never seen Colonel Dew since to obtain an authentic account of the interview.

But this was another potential enemy cleared from our path, at any rate for the moment, and this was all that mattered to us.

On, or about, the 15th of April we continued our march towards Galugan, and on the second day came in view of the Koh-i-Bazman, an extinct volcano. This is an imposing mountain of between ten and eleven thousand feet, covered with snow and rising, a sheer, solitary peak, out of the plain.

At one point on the march Idu asked me whether I would like to see a curious hole in the ground lying only a little way off our line of route.

We turned aside for a few hundred yards, and, on a plain as flat as a billiard-table, with a surface coated with hardened clay—obviously, at one time, the bed of a lake—we came upon it. The perfectly level, smooth lips of the hole offered no suggestion that it had been excavated by human agency. On the contrary, it gave the appearance of having been punched in the ground by some tremendous force. The hole was about one hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred and twenty feet wide, and about fifty feet deep, with absolutely perpendicular sides.

Idu asked whether I could suggest any explanation of this formation, and, after examination, I admitted I had none to offer, asking him in turn whether any tradition was attached to it.

He replied that the hole had once been only half its present size, but twice as deep, and that his grandfather remembered how and when the hole was made.

The old man had told him that, one night when he was a youth, something had exploded in the sky and fallen to the earth, punching a hole one hundred feet deep in the plain. Owing to weather and climatic conditions, the sides of this hole had gradually fallen in, hence its present width and shallowness.

There can, therefore, be little doubt that an enormous meteorite fell here, and that it lies buried at the bottom of this hole. Its locality is about seven hundred yards from a hill called Gwarko, and could easily be found by anyone interested in such phenomena.

This is not the only natural feature which would repay a visit from those interested in natural science, for, though I am no geologist or scientist myself, I was greatly interested in the numerous gorges in the vicinity of Kacha, a post in the hills near Robat, where, at certain seasons of the year, violent spates occur, and the rushing water has so burnished the sides of the rocks that they glisten in the sun like polished, variegated marble. The sections so made show a close mass of fossils, which, apparently, were once oysters, centipedes, crabs, etc.