The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [606]
A humorist among them called out that if there was no money to be had here either, they could always help themselves to the equipment in the stables, and the suggestion was received and acted upon with enthusiasm, the invaders rushing to get their hands on saddles, bridles, sabres and lances, horse-blankets, buckets and anything else that was movable.
Within minutes the stables were stripped bare and fights had broken out between the looters over the possession of the more highly prized items, such as English saddles. A panting sowar, his clothing torn and his turban awry, fought his way clear of the boisterous mass of looters and managed to get to the Residency to report to his Commanding Officer that the Afghans had stolen everything from the stables and were now stoning and stealing the horses.
‘Mushki!’ thought Wally with a contraction of the heart, visualizing his beloved charger gashed by stones or in the hands of some Ardali lout. ‘Oh no, not Mushki…’
He would have given anything at that moment to have been able to run to the stables himself, but he knew very well that he would be unable to stand by and see Mushki stolen, and also that even if he did not lift a hand to prevent it, the mood of the crowd could change in a moment and the sight of one of the hated feringhis might act on it as a red rag to a bull. There was nothing for it but to order the breathless sowar to return and tell the Guides that they must leave the Cavalry lines and get back into the barracks.
‘Tell the Jemadar-Sahib that we need not fear for our horses, because tomorrow the Amir will recover them from these thieves and restore them to us,’ said Wally. ‘But we must get our men back into the barracks before one of them starts a fight.’
The man saluted and ran back to plunge into the frightening mélée in the lines where the terrified horses squealed and reared, lashing out at the Afghans, who snatched at them, pulling them this way and that as they quarrelled among themselves for the possession of each animal or cut at them for sheer sport while sowars and syces struggled to save them. But the message was delivered, and because the Afghans were pre-occupied with looting, all but one of the Guides had been able to obey that order and retreat in safety to the barrack block, angry, bitter and dishevelled, but unharmed.
Wally came out to them and ordered twenty-four sepoys of the infantry to take their rifles and go up to the roof to stand behind the high parapet that surrounded it, but to keep their rifles out of sight, and on no account open fire unless they received an order to do so. ‘Not even when those reputation-less ones come this way, as they will do as soon as they find nothing left to steal in the lines or the stables. See that they find no weapon here. Now up with you – and the rest of you bring your arms and come into the Residency. Quickly.’
He had not been a moment too soon. As the last of the twenty-four sepoys disappeared up the steep flight of steps that led to the roof, and the door in the wall of the Residency courtyard closed behind the rest of the Escort, the riotous crowd that had been milling around at the far end of the compound in search of plunder began to break up.
Those who had been lucky enough to gain possession of a horse, or (less enviably) a saddle or a sabre or some such desirable piece of loot, were hastening to leave with their spoils before their less successful comrades succeeded in robbing them of these ill-gotten gains. But the empty-handed, who numbered several hundred, abandoned the deserted lines and ransacked stables, and suddenly recalling the purpose for which they had come, surged in a body across the compound and through and around the barracks, to gather before the Residency and shout once more for money – and for Cavagnari.