Whilst waiting instructions from the Indian Government as to the disposal of our Sarhadi prisoners I turned my attention to the slave question. This had long been one of my pre-occupations. The chief trouble lay in the fact that not only the Yarmahommedzais and the Gamshadzais, but also the friendly Rekis—the men of Idu's tribe—possessed large numbers of these unfortunate women and children. The consequence was that, when I announced that an order was about to be issued commanding the surrender of all slaves throughout the Sarhad, Idu openly groused.

He pointed out that it would be a great hardship on his fellow-tribesmen. Many of them had not actually engaged in raids, but had honourably bought, and paid for, the women from their captors, and that, in consequence, they would not only be out of pocket to the extent of the purchase price but would, also, be without servants to do their menial work.

Idu's point of view was clear enough, but he was asked, "what about the unfortunate slaves?"

The Sarhad-dar backed me up for all he was worth, and at last a compromise was made. The order went forth that the slaves must all be liberated without question, but that, as the Rekis had aided us in every possible way, the Government would purchase their slaves at the rate of three hundred rupees for a woman, seventy-five for a girl, and twenty-five for a boy.

In due course slaves began to arrive from every direction, though undoubtedly the order was ignored in every instance where it was possible to do so. At last, in order to accelerate delivery, it was necessary to promise to purchase all slaves, no matter by whom owned. From that moment it was astonishing how the number increased, some arriving on camels, others on foot. The condition of these wretched women and children was pitiable in the extreme. Some of them were those whom Izzat had captured during his recent big raid, but the majority had been in captivity for many years and were in a wretched state, half-starved, half-naked, and cowed, as the outcome of evident ill-treatment. Many appeared to have lost all hope in life.

These poor folk were given quarters amongst the Khwashis, special jugis being set aside for them, and were gradually restored to some semblance of civilised humanity. White army drill and brightly coloured prints, were requisitioned from Kacha. With these materials the Khwashi ladies made garments for our enfranchised slaves. It was pitiful to see their joy and gratitude when told that they were now free, and would shortly be sent back to their own homes.

One of our new guests became a constant source of wonder to us all. She was a fine, well-grown, attractive young woman of about nineteen or twenty, and had been a captive in the hands of a Gamshadzai Chief. When she heard of the order that all slaves were to be released she claimed her freedom, and her right to go to the British General at Khwash, where safe asylum was offered to all Persian slaves. Her Gamshadzai master, however, had not the slightest intention of letting her go. She was far too useful.

But this Persian girl possessed both grit and powers of endurance. One night she escaped in the darkness, and, though pursued for a long distance by her captor, managed to elude him, and made good her escape. Apparently she ran all through the night, covering fully forty miles over rough precipitous hills and sandy plains. It seemed an incredible feat—at first none of us believed the tale—but she provided such striking evidence of it that we had at last to believe her.

Poor soul, she was very dirty, her feet were bare and her clothing torn to ribbons, but in her pride and joy at being free once more, she was a moving picture.

The emaciated condition of these slaves filled us all with commiseration, and when it was commented upon amongst ourselves the Sarhad-dar remarked grimly, "You can't have seen their staple food. If you had, you wouldn't wonder. They carry it in those little bags they all bring in with them."

My curiosity was aroused and I asked some of the women to show me what was contained in those bags. They promptly told me that they contained the only food they were allowed by their captors, apart from any green stuff they were themselves able to gather wild on the hillsides. Some of the bags were then emptied, and quantities of dried beetles were poured out on the ground.

Incredible as it seems close inquiry confirmed their statement—that these dried beetles formed the greater part of their diet. With this evidence one could no longer wonder that these poor creatures were in such a wretched, cowed and hopeless state.

When as many slaves were collected as could be accommodated it became needful to send them off in order to make room for others, and also to obviate the necessity of feeding them. Moreover, now that this batch had begun to regain its humanity, its members were very anxious to return to their own homes, and when it was announced that we were going to repatriate them under escort they fell to laughing and crying with joy. When they were told that this would be done under the charge of Izzat—the Yarmahommedzai who had captured so many of them—their joy was turned to dismay, and they implored me not to trust them to his tender mercies, but to send them with anyone else, for he would surely take them back again into captivity.

"I have decided on Izzat," I replied, "because he is a Chief who has plenty of camels of his own for your transport, and, as he stole so many of you, he will know exactly where to return you. But you shall hear yourselves what I am going to say to him. If, then, you are not satisfied, I will choose someone else. You shall decide for yourselves."

Accordingly Izzat was sent for, and informed of this order. I considered it a piece of poetic justice that he should be the one to restore the people whom he had stolen, and whose lives he had ruined. Izzat listened grimly and I fancied I could detect in his dark eyes a hint of what he proposed doing when these women were once again in his power.

"And," I added quietly, "you will bring back and place in my hands a letter from every one of the women I put in your care. I have the names of all of them written down. These letters must be written individually by each woman after she has safely reached her own home, and must also state that she has been well used on the way. If there is lacking a letter from any single one of these women, when you return to Khwash, I shall hang every member of your family on the tree under which I am now sitting, and you will then be able to count their dead bodies for yourself. They will remain in my charge during your absence."

Izzat could see that I meant what I said. "Sahib, I am in your hands. I will do whatever you say."

I then turned to the eager Persian women.

"You have heard what has been said. You have listened to the conditions made, and which Izzat has accepted. Are you willing now to go with him?"

They all assured me they were, and a day or so later the cavalcade set out, Izzat taking sufficient camels to allow for the accommodation of all who were infirm and weak, and for the fitter members to be able to ride turn and turn about, also for the portage of sufficient food for their long trek of some one hundred and fifty miles into the Narmashir.

As may be imagined it was a great relief to us all when we had seen them safely on their way. I should here record the fact that, in due course, Izzat returned, bearing letters from every one of the slaves to the effect that they had safely arrived at their own homes. He dared not risk the penalty he knew would have surely been exacted had he failed in his trust.

After some little delay I received from Quetta an answer to my request for instructions as to the disposal of the Sarhadi prisoners. This answer directed that they should be sent straight to Quetta, a distance of something like four hundred and fifty miles.

Naturally I had not sufficient troops to spare for an adequate escort on such a long march, and sent an answer to that effect; but, at the same time, suggested that if the Government could arrange for escort, by Indian troops from Saindak (about nine marches from Khwash), I could arrange to police them that distance.

After waiting another two weeks, word came that three hundred of the 106th Hazara Pioneers would be sent to Saindak to take them over, and I was requested to send the prisoners there, under escort, without delay. I was also informed that a wireless troop was immediately being dispatched to Khwash, the purpose being to open up easier communication with India. At this period the only method of such communication was by wire from Robat, or Kacha, to Quetta, and camel messengers had then to be employed to take messages from Robat, or Kacha, to Khwash, a not always reliable, and often lengthy, proceeding.

Accordingly, when I knew the exact date of the Hazaras' arrival at Saindak, I made my own dispositions for sending the Sarhadi prisoners there. It should be clearly understood that the whole of the rough, roadless district lying between these two places was over-run by the enemy, and, moreover, an enemy deeply resentful of the fact that so many of their Chiefs were in our hands. It must be remembered, too, that our numbers were, compared with theirs, ludicrously small.

We calculated, however, and reasonably I think, on the unlikelihood of an attack by the Yarmahommedzais on the column, owing to the presence of the more important prisoners, whose lives they would not dare to endanger. It was, therefore, thought absolutely safe for the wireless troop, who would be accompanied by a small escort only, to come through to us at the same time as, and on a parallel route to, that of the prisoners, though the two parties were marching in opposite directions. The wireless troop had orders to come South along the Eastern slopes of the Koh-i-taftan, and the prisoners were to be marched North over the Western slopes of the same peak.

I decided also to send as large an escort as possible with the prisoners, my object being to ensure against any contretemps prior to their receipt by the Hazaras—a magnificent type of fighting man—for conduct to India. I also had another reason, for I had been warned, by repeated rumour, that Halil Khan was then occupied in gathering his entire forces together for the rescue of Jiand and his men whilst being marched northward to Saindak.

Our own garrison was, therefore, practically reduced to a skeleton, whilst a force consisting of three troops of cavalry, seventy-five infantry (about three-fourths of our total numbers) and two maxims, under the command of two white officers, was detached for escort duties.

This column started early one morning in July, and was to march eighteen miles on the first day.

That same night, or rather early on the following morning, for it was about two a.m., I was awakened in my tent and informed that a sawar had just arrived with an urgent message for me. A moment later one of the cavalrymen composing the escort, which had started so gaily about twenty hours before, came in, breathing quickly and heavily with the speed at which he had ridden. He told me that he had ridden as he had never ridden before to bring me a message from the officer commanding the prisoners' escort. It was to the effect that every one of the prisoners, save Jiand and one of his sons, had escaped in the darkness, and that he awaited further orders in the circumstances.

For a moment I thought I was still asleep and dreaming. How could it be possible that forty-five unarmed men had succeeded in escaping from an armed, and numerically larger, escort?

But the stark truth was at last forced upon me, and it amounted to nothing short of absolute disaster. The whole of my four months' work had been undone in a few hours, and I was confronted with the knowledge that I should now have to make a humiliating confession of utter failure, and at the very moment when the work I had been sent to do seemed so nearly and successfully finished.

The situation resolved itself into this; not only would it now be impossible to hand over our enemy and ringleaders to the large armed escort now on its way, and especially detailed to receive them, but these escaped Chiefs would be able to reorganise and hearten up their people, who had remained quiet during the past few weeks simply because they had been without their leadership.

These same Chiefs, of course, knew to a man the strength of our force, and were naturally bitter with resentment as an outcome of their recent captivity. They would, I knew, now leave no stone unturned in their endeavour to wipe us out. My feelings can be better imagined than described.

The Sawar was questioned closely as to this disastrous affair, and I obtained the following details.

The escort had pitched its camp before sundown on an open hillside. An enclosure, or sort of rough zareba, had been constructed with a few strands of barbed wire, and the prisoners, with the exception of Jiand and his son, had been placed inside, and sentries set over them. Jiand and his son had been kept apart, in a small jugi, with a sentry in front of it.

It was a very dark, quiet night, and the camp had soon settled down to sleep.

Suddenly, strange stealthy sounds had been heard close to the zareba, and the sentries had fired wildly into the darkness. Instantly the whole camp had been roused, and the officers had rushed to the prisoners' quarters.

Lamps were brought, and it was quickly found that the zareba was empty. What had happened seemed fairly obvious. The prisoners had evidently taken off all their clothes and flung the heavier garments over the barbed wire. This done, and acting in consort, they had broken or borne it down by sheer weight. In any case the whole lot of them had escaped, absolutely naked, leaving their clothes behind on the barbed wire!

Of course an immediate search was instituted, but the Raiders had escaped into the rough, broken hills during the few minutes succeeding the alarm, and not a single one was re-taken. The only prisoners now left in our hands were Jiand and his son.

After such a set-back a man may be pardoned for being at his wits' end. Not only did it spell failure to keep faith with the Indian Government in regard to the prisoners, but it became plain that the wireless troop, whose safe passage I had practically guaranteed, was now in peril; for they would, almost certainly, be attacked, as they must by this time be right in the heart of the enemy territory, whose fighting men would now be elated beyond bounds at their successful coup.

I quickly realised that we must act without an instant's delay. We must first rescue that wireless troop with its small escort at any cost. The best thing to be done at the moment was to order the prisoners' escort—who now had no one to escort! except Jiand and his son—to proceed instantly in the direction along which the wireless troop was coming, whilst Sanders and myself, with every man we could collect after leaving some sort of garrison for Khwash—goodness knows we were few enough already!—set out to join up with the escort, which would have to march due East that day.

I could then take some of the men forming that escort and go in the direction of Kamalabad with the object of holding off the Gamshadzais under Halil Khan; I was convinced they would now, without question, put into execution the threat they had so repeatedly made of trying to rescue Jiand. As will be seen my objective was the Kamalabad valley, where I should at least have a better chance of holding them up than elsewhere.

The messenger was thereupon directed to return at once to the officer commanding the escort, with a letter directing the new move and telling him at what point I would intersect his march that evening.

As soon as he had been dispatched a servant was sent to awaken Sanders, Idu and the Sarhad-dar, and summon them immediately to my tent. When they were told the bad news their dismay was fully equal to mine. The Sarhad-dar seemed to think the world had come to an end. The situation was in any case quite black enough, and it was a very depressed little party that an hour later set out from the camp.

It was not until well on into the evening that the force composing the prisoners' escort joined us at the appointed rendezvous, but when it did I proceeded to re-arrange the composition of units without delay. I took twenty-five cavalry, some fifty of the infantry, also the two machine guns, and ordered the officer commanding, who was desperately downcast at the disaster, to march at top speed with the force left him in the direction along which the wireless troop must now be coming. His further orders, on getting in touch, were to tell them what had happened, and, as I did not now consider it safe for them to come at present to Khwash, to go back with him to Saindak, where he was to hand over Jiand and his son to the Hazaras now waiting to receive them.

He was further instructed to say that I was marching in another direction, towards Kamalabad, in an endeavour to hold up Halil Khan and the Gamshadzais, who, according to rumours reaching us that evening, were on their way in great force to Gusht, at the end of the Kamalabad valley.

My little force started then and there, marching a distance of about twelve miles through the night, and reached Kamalabad before daybreak. It must be remembered that campaigning under conditions obtaining in a district such as the Sarhad is utterly different from that of any other type of warfare.

Amongst my own little force, and especially amongst the camp followers, were both friends and potential foes, traitors and spies. In addition to this the whole population of the country was its fighting force, nearly every man being armed and trained to fight. Rumour, and news carried by runners, take the place of the dispatches and newspapers of the West, the consequence being that one's movements are conveyed from mouth to mouth immediately upon that movement taking place. This fact will in itself account for our being able to hear such constant and detailed news of both the enemy's movements and intentions—and vice versa.

No sooner had we reached Kamalabad than we learned that Halil Khan had just been there, but had taken to the Morpeish Hills as we approached. He had every intention of fighting, but wanted to do it on ground of his own choice. In any case he did not want to fight in the open, where our Maxim guns would undoubtedly have given us a great advantage.

It was a great relief to hear this, for it meant that we had intercepted him, and now stood between him and the escort with Jiand. It meant in effect that he could not attack it without first meeting and defeating us. Jiand and his son at any rate—and, after all, Jiand was the supreme Chief—would now be safely handed over at Saindak.

But my satisfaction on this point was very short lived. Soon after reaching Kamalabad another messenger, sent off post-haste by the officer in charge of the escort, arrived with the news that they had been attacked in force, and that Jiand and his son had been rescued!

I questioned the man closely as to what had happened, and discovered that Jiand and his son had been actually snatched from the very hands of their gaolers. The fight had been a long and hard one; many men on our side had been killed, both the British officers wounded, and many rifles and much ammunition captured. It seemed that the whole force might have been annihilated but for the opportune arrival on the scene of the wireless troop with their escort. The Yarmahommedzais evidently thought this troop the advance guard of reinforcements and retired, taking Jiand and his son with them.

I learned later that the rescue party consisted of nineteen of the very men who had escaped from the prisoners' escort two nights before. It appears that they had run all the way to Kamalabad naked, had clothed and re-armed themselves, and had gone back to rescue their Chief.

One could not but admire such a magnificent feat of daring and endurance, even though it added enormously to the difficulties of our own position.

The Gamshadzais, in all probability, already knew what had happened. They would also know that I had brought only a very small detachment to Kamalabad, that merely a beaten remnant of the escort, now without British officers, was left on the slopes of the Koh-i-taftan, and that there was a still smaller force in Khwash.

It was obviously hopeless now to attempt to fight where we were. It was equally obvious that our best course would be to get back to Khwash with all speed. Khwash still remained a dominating factor, and was still in our hands. From that vantage point it might yet be possible to collect our scattered forces, and obtain reinforcements.

Flushed with victory, and elated at his escape, Jiand would also remember the importance of Khwash, and would doubtless soon be on his way thither, if, indeed, he was not already marching upon it.

So, once again, it was to be a race between us for the capital of the Sarhad.

And, as on that former occasion of a few months ago, we won the race, but our return was a very different affair to that of our previous triumphant entry.