Bayonets Along the Border Read Online Free PDF Page B

before leaving Afghanistan.
    ‘Do you know I had forgotten that,’ Simon confided at the end of his story. ‘And he’s turned out to be a good soldier?’
    ‘Remarkably so,’ said Buckingham. ‘Born to the job, so to speak. He’s very young to be a
daffadar
but everyone respects him and he rose through the ranks quickly. He’s a splendid horseman, a good shot and as brave as a lion.’
    ‘Just like ’is da, then,’ interjected Jenkins. ‘Wonderful bloke, old Gracey, look you. Miss ’im still.’
    ‘Well,’ said Fonthill, ‘he must have been only about four when I saw him for the only time, so no wonder I didn’t recognise him. I look forward to reminiscing with him about his father. Thank you for bringing him along.’
    ‘Humph.’ The young man snorted. ‘Wouldn’t dream of going out into the hills without him. Come along. I could do with a drink.’
    ‘What a splendid idea, bach,’ rejoined Jenkins.
     
    They rode into Marden some three hours later and Simon and his two companions looked around them with interest. It was hardly a town, or even much of a village in its own right, for it was dominated by the Guides’ cantonment on its edge. Nestling between towering mountains on a small plain through which a small, gin-clear stream trickled, the garrison was similar to many that Fonthill had seen in India: barracks, bungalows, a church, a club and, inevitably, a cemetery, all surrounded by a low wall. The buildings were all of red brick and seemed, amidst the grandeur of their surroundings, to possess an air almost of melancholy, something perhaps that had leached out from the nearby graveyard, with its many stained and leaning headstones telling their sad stories of deaths in action and from cholera. Attemptsto enliven the club and the bungalows had been made with the planting of shrubs and flowers, but Simon could not help but feel that this outpost of Empire was rather a sorrowful place.
    The welcome, however, was warm enough. A short, khaki-clad full colonel, his Sam Browne belt trying but failing to restrain his corpulence, bustled out to greet them. His red face boasted a clipped, salt-and-pepper moustache and a wide smile.
    ‘Nigel Fortescue,’ he cried, pumping each of their hands in turn. ‘You are all most welcome …’ Then his voice trailed away as he took in the dust still engrained on Jenkins’s figure and his trained eye observed the traces of cordite on Fonthill’s cheek. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You’ve had trouble. Damnit. Those idiots at Peshawar shouldn’t have let you come on your own. Tell me about it.’
    Simon related the story of the attack on them and of the deaths of the Pathans.
    ‘Wazirs by the sound of it,’ said the Colonel. He turned up to Buckingham. ‘Eh? What, Duke? Wazies, eh?’
    ‘Yes, Colonel. But, by George, the captain and Mrs Fonthill here knocked ’em off – all four of ’em – before we were able to get there. Remarkable stuff.’
    ‘Well,’ interjected Simon, ‘Jenkins here got one before we were forced to send him for help.’
    ‘Not surprised, from what I’ve heard about you all. Now, enough of all this. You must be in urgent need of a bath, all of you – ah … er … particularly you, Mr Jenkins, eh?’
    ‘Very true, Colonel bach. And p’raps a drink of somethin’ cold d’ yer think?’
    ‘Most certainly. All in good time.’ He turned back to Simon. ‘Thebad news is, I’m afraid, that you’ve missed our main celebrations by just a couple of days, don’t you know. Our fault. Should have given you a notification that we had had to bring it forward to accommodate our colonel-in-chief and, indeed, Lord Roberts, C-in-C India. Yes, both of them were here. Great honour. But they’ve had to leave for Simla. Bit of trouble about, as you have already probably heard. Oh, by the way, Lord Roberts sends his warmest regards to all three of you. Most insistent that I should pass them on. He’s sorry he’s missed you.’
    Simon and Alice