Foolish political policies and military incompetence lead to bloody disaster for the British in the First Afghan War!
In 1876, George Armstrong Custer and some 268 some members of the US Army’s 7th cavalry were “massacred” in battle against native Lakota and Cheyenne warriors in the valley of the Little Bighorn River. This signal, but ultimately meaningless, defeat of a “modern” military force by technologically inferior tribal warriors is very well known in America thanks to countless books and not a few films that deal with the subject.
What is almost universally forgotten is the far greater and more politically significant destruction of a much larger British army just 34 years earlier, by Afghan tribesman in the snowbound passes of eastern Afghanistan.
Afghanistan was a pawn in the “Great Game” for control of Central Asia and India. Seen here in a political cartoon of the day, Afghanistan is courted (and squeezed between) its two suitors, the Russian bear and the British lion.
The First Afghan War (1839-1842) is best understood in context of the so-called “Great Game”: the contest for influence and ultimate control of Central Asia, between the Russian Empire and Great Britain. India, “Jewel in the Crown” of the British Empire, was governed from Calcutta by the Honorable East India Company (colloquial known as “John Company”). The vast sub-continent was garrisoned by an army of largely British-led native troops, called sepoys (from a Turkic/Persian term for professional soldier, sipahi). These sepoy regiments were supported by a core of British “Queen’s Regiments”, units of the British Army rotated into India from the United Kingdom.
“John Company” Sepoy soldiers. Though brave, loyal, well-trained and equipped with the same weapons as their British counterparts (in “the Queen’s regiments”), the Bengali sepoys often lacked shoes or wore sandals; and suffered terribly in the Afghan winter
The great fear among Britain’s leaders was of a Russian invasion of the Indian Sub-continent. With reinforcement from England half-a-year’s journey by sea from India, an invasion in force by Russian forces based in Central Asia had every chance of prying the “Jewel in the Crown” from Britain’s grasp.
To invade India from their dominions in Central Asia, the Czar’s forces would need to transit through independent Afghanistan. In 1838 Russia’s ally, the Shah of Persia, laid siege to the western Afghan city of Herat. This caused ripples of fear within government circles in Calcutta, that this was the prelude to just such an invasion.
The Kingdom of Afghanistan at that time was ruled by Shah Dost Mohammed of the Durrani dynasty. For a variety of (irrational) reasons, it was felt that Dost Mohammed should be replaced with a ruler more pliable to British interests. The British Governor General of India, Lord Auckland, decided that the deposed and aged former ruler of Afghanistan, Shuja Shah Durrani, would be restored by armed force to his lost throne in Kabul; as a British client-ruler.
The stage was thus set for the First Afghan War.
MARCH ON KABUL
In the early months of 1839 an East India Company army of 20,500 men, commanded by Sir John Keane (a veteran of the Peninsula War and the Battle of New Orleans), invaded Afghanistan. The British entered the country through the Bolan Pass, initially meeting no resistance. Once in Afghanistan, they marched north toward Kabul, Dost Mohammed’s capital. The “John Company” troops proved irresistible, storming the “impregnable” fortress of Gazni; the Medieval capital of the 11th century conqueror, Muhammad of Ghazni. Marching on Kabul, Dost Mohammed fled and the British captured the city.
The Afghans were overawed; impressed by the seeming unbeatable British forces. Shuja Shah was installed within the massive walls of the Bala Hissar, Kabul’s Medieval fortress. The fugitive Dost Mohammed was soon captured and taken back to India as a “guest” of the British Raj.
With Shuja Shah in place, the war seemed over, a complete and very lopsided British victory. With the “mission accomplished”, the majority of the conquering forces withdrew back to India. To keep order in the country and forestall Russian invasion, garrisons were established at Kandahar, Gazni, Jalalabad, and, primarily, in unfortified cantonments outside of Kabul. In total, only 8,000 troops were left to hold down the entire country.
Unfortunately for British fortunes, the main force of some four Brigades at Kabul were placed under the command of one of history’s most ineffectual generals: Major General Sir William George Keith Elphinstone.
Known as “Elphy Bey” by the sepoy troops under his command, Elphinstone was a veteran of Waterloo, where he had commanded a battalion of foot. By the time he was assigned to command the Kabul garrison, he was a Companion of the Bath and former aide-de-camp to King George IV. Sadly, he was also a doddering 60 years old; and by his own admission, not fit for command.
He was not only old, he was also perpetually ill. Beyond that, he was a man who seemed at every turn incapable of making a decision, and vacillated constantly between one option and another. To make matters even worse, he was peevish and jealous of his younger subordinates, refusing to delegate decisions.
It was a myopic appointment and the best argument against a strict seniority system: granting command of an army in one of the most dangerous countries in the world to a dithering old man. The blame for what was to follow rests equally on the frail shoulders of Elphinstone and those in Calcutta who appointed him.
A flattering portrait of Lord Elphinstone (“Elphy Bey” to his troops). At the time of his appointment to command the Kabul garrison, he was a doddering 60 years old; far to infirm to be placed in command of an army occupying one of the most warlike and volatile places on earth. His dithering indecisiveness allowed a series of minor provocations to go unchecked and ignite a general uprising.
The late historical fiction writer, George McDonald Frasier, through the mouth of his creation, that incomparable rascal Harry Paget Flashman, sums up Elphinstone’s contribution to what followed thus:
“Let me say that when I talk of disasters I speak with authority. I have served at Balaclava, Cawnpore, and Little Big Horn. Name the biggest born fools who wore uniform in the nineteenth-century – Cardigan, Sale, Custer, Raglan, Lucan – I knew them all. Think of all the conceivable misfortunes that can arise from combinations of folly, cowardice and sheer bad luck, and I’ll give you chapter and verse. But I still state unhesitatingly that for pure, vacillating stupidity, for superb incompetence to command, for ignorance combined with bad judgment – in short, for the true talent for catastrophe – Elphy Bey stood alone. Others abide our question, but Elphy outshines them all as the greatest military idiot of our own or any other day.
“Only he could have permitted the First Afghan War (to spiral out of control) and let it develop to such a ruinous defeat. It was not easy: he started with a good army, a secure position, some excellent officers, a disorganized enemy, and repeated opportunities to save the situation. But Elphy, with the touch of true genius, swept aside these obstacles with unerring precision; and managing to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, wrought out of order complete chaos. We shall not, with luck, look upon his like again.”
An excellent assessment of the incompetent General Lord Elphinstone!
With the British occupation forces reduced, and with the Afghans becoming familiar with their occupiers (and with familiarity came contempt), trouble soon began.
It started with minor incidents in the distant hills, where tribesmen began sniping at isolated British garrisons and columns.
In Spring of 1841, despite these signs of simmering discontent among the hill tribes, and following the misguided advice of the British Emissary in Kabul, Sir William Hay Macnaghten (who as Lord Auckland’s senior aid had been the principal architect of Britain’s Afghan involvement), the Government in Calcutta further reduced not only the garrison strength of Elphinstone’s Army of Kabul from four to two brigades. At the same time it was decided to reduced the subsidies (i.e., bribes) paid to the tribes in the hills to keep open the vital passes connecting the British forces with their base in India.
The result was predictable. Taking insult, the tribes rose in rebellion, immediately closing the passes. Throughout the hill country that summer and into the autumn, British patrols found themselves engaged in running skirmishes with local tribesmen; and every remote outpost subject to desultory harassment. In November, one of the withdrawing Brigades, under the command of General Robert (“Fighting Bob”) Sale, in route though the passes back to India, found itself under attack; and had to cut a bloody path out of Afghanistan.
On the afternoon of November 2, a mob rose in Kabul and marched on the house of the British political agent in Kabul, the celebrated Sir Alexander “Sekunder” Burnes. Burnes had been warned by his Afghan servants that there was a stir in the city, and that, if he remained his life would be in danger. With a insouciance bordering on arrogant stupidity, Burnes dismissed these warnings. An “old hand” in the region and fluent in several of the Afghan languages and dialects, he was sure he had the measure of the local temperament, and that there was little danger from “the Kabul shopkeepers”.
Burnes in local garb. Fluent in the local languages, Burnes liked to go out among the population to “take the temperament” of the man on the street; and to fraternize with local Afghan girls. This latter activity earned him resentment which ultimately flamed to hatred.
When the mob attacked and set fire to the gate to his home, attempting to storm the compound, Burnes and those inside (his younger brother Charlie, his political assistant Major William Broadfoot, and a guard of 15 sepoys) fought back fiercely. Burnes was informed that help was on the way from Shah Sujah in the Bala Hissar. Burnes took to the roof, watching for relief; but none was forthcoming. For hours he waited in vain. When an Afghan offered to lead them safely out of the compound to the Bala Hissar, Burnes and his party disguised themselves in local garb. However, two blocks away the mob caught them in a garbage-strewn back-alley, and butchered all with knives and cleavers. The mutilated bodies of Burnes, his brother, and Broadfoot were hung from meat hooks in the city’s bazaar.
Murder of Burnes and his party.
Elphinstone, with an army only 1.5 miles outside the city, could decide on no course of action in response. For hours, while the Kabul mob besieged Burnes’ residence, the furious troops, ready to rush to the aide of their famous countryman, remained idle in their cantonment. When word came of Burnes’ death, the soldiers were eager to be led into the city to exact retribution. But, at Macnaghten’s urging, Elphinstone decided to take no action other than retrieving the remains of Burnes’ and the others; then retreating back into their camp. This humiliating failure to protect their own against a mob of “shop keepers”, or to seek revenge after the fact, was seen by the Afghans as evidence of British weakness, and only fanned the flames of revolt.
The British cantonments outside of Kabul; seen here in an almost idyllic painting, before the rising of the tribes. In the far background is the city of Kabul; the Medieval walls of the Bala Hissar rising up the hill on the left. The Beymaroo Heights, from which Afghan snipers fired down upon the camp, can be seen on the right of the painting.
Afghan warriors began streaming down from the hills, to strike a blow against the hated ferengi at Kabul. By mid-November, the British found themselves under virtual siege in their lightly defended camp; with Afghan snipers firing into the camp from the surrounding high ground. On November 23, a large force of Afghans occupied the Beymaroo Heights, overlooking the British cantonments; laying down a deadly fire with their jezails (the ubiquitous Afghan long-barreled rifle) and from a pair of guns.
Two attempts were made to drive the Afghans off the heights. The first time the Afghans retired, but returned soon after the British withdrew back into their cantonment. A second attempt was made ten days later, this one led by Elphinstone’s second-in-command, the equally incompetent Brigadier John Shelton; leading the single British regiment on scene, the 44th Regiment of Foot. The Brigadier had lost an arm earlier in his career, but despite this handicap was a pugnacious fighting leader. Stubbornly brave, he was unfortunately not blessed with an abundance of good judgement. Where angels feared to tread, Shelton bulled his way through. Taking the 44th up the sloops of Beymaroo, he occupied the heights, his command taking heavy casualties to long-range fire from the Afghan’s jezails. These out-ranged the British soldier’s smooth-bore Brown Bess Muskets, and the Afghans quickly learned exactly how close they could safely come to a British formation.
Once atop the crest of the heights, the British stood for hours while under sustained long-range fire from all around, to which they could not reply effectively. Compounding their dilemma, Shelton had the men form squares; a formation suitable for repelling cavalry attack, but which made the closely-packed troops better targets for the Afghan skirmishers harassing them. One officer, Lieutenant (later Major General) Vincent Eyre, scathingly observed:
“All have heard of the British squares at Waterloo, which defied the repeated desperate onsets of Napoleon’s choicest cavalry. At Beymaroo we formed squares to resist the distant fire of infantry, thus presenting a solid mass against the aim of perhaps the best marksmen in the world, the said squares being securely perched on the summit of a steep and narrow ridge, up which no cavalry could charge with effect …” 
Captain Colin Mackenzie, wounded during the battle, wrote:
“The front ranks had been literally mowed away … Our ammunition was almost expended and by one pm the men were faint from fatigue and thirst. But no water was procurable and the number of killed and wounded was swelled every instant. I tried to persuade Shelton to effect a retreat only to be told: ‘Oh no, we will hold the hill some time longer.’ On Shelton’s refusal to retire, Colonel Oliver, who was a very stout man, remarked that the inevitable result would be a general flight to cantonments, and that, as he was too unwieldy to run, the sooner he got shot the better. He then exposed himself to the enemy’s fire and fell mortally wounded.
For hours Shelton kept the 44th sitting on top of the barren heights, exposed to a destructive fire. Finally, the troops could take no more and Shelton (himself having sustained five wounds) attempted to withdraw back to camp. Carrying the numerous wounded was slow going, and as the British were still descending the slopes, Afghan cavalry, brandishing wickedly-sharp talwars, swarmed up to and occupied the crest of the heights they had just abandoned. Stragglers, many of whom were wounded and unable to keep up with the main body of the regiment, were were cut off and butchered. The horsemen then charged down upon the retreating 44th. The regiment responded with a massive volley of musketry. So old and inaccurate were their Brown Bess Muskets that when the smoke cleared, not a single Afghan appeared to have had been hit. Astonished and demoralized, the regiment broke, pursued back to the safety of the camp by whooping Afghan horsemen. George St. Patrick Lawrence, who had watched helplessly from his post in the cantonment during the battle, wrote of his horror at witnessing how “our flying troops [were] hotly pursued and mixed up with the enemy, who were slaughtering them on all sides: the scene was so fearful that I can never forget it.”
As can be expected, this disastrous engagement had a terrible effect on the army’s morale. Shelton came under general opprobrium for his disgraceful lack of judgement. Captain Mackenzie (quoted above), who like most of the officers blamed the reverse on Shelton, wrote that the Brigadier’s incompetence “neutralized the heroism of the officers. Their spirit was gone and discipline had almost disappeared.” No less an observer than General Charles Napier, conqueror of Sind, later went so far as to blame Shelton for the debacle about to unfold, writing after the fact, “It seems to me that to Shelton may be traced the whole misfortune of this Army.” Napier went on to suggest that Shelton should have been shot as “the author of all ill”. While all this may be warranted, Elphinstone was the man in command of the Army of Kabul, and bears ultimate responsibility. It should be noted that Elphinstone showed not the least initiative, doing nothing to support his Second-in-Command in his (ineffectual) efforts on the Beymaroo Heights.
After this, no more effort was made to clear the heights of snipers. Shelton recommended an immediate withdrawal from Kabul back to India, before the tactical situation grew worse and the winter closed passes. Elphinstone however dithered, unable to come to a decision. Instead, he held daily “command meetings”, scornfully described by Eyre as “Jackdaw Parliaments”, during which Elphinstone seemed to be swayed by the argument of the last man speaking. By this time even the most junior officers held their commander in contempt, and spoke to him in a manner “most insubordinate and at times down right rude”.
Time was running out for a decision to withdraw, yet still Elphinstone vacillated, unable to decide. He sent for reinforcements from Kandahar to the south, but the snows of winter had by now closed the southern passes. Sale’s Brigade, which had reached Jalalabad on November 12 after weeks of fighting; was unwilling to come back through the blood-stained passes they had just traversed. The decision made in the spring to reduce the size of the Kabul army (not to mention cutting of the subsidies paid to the hill tribes) must have, on reflection, seemed foolish in the extreme.
At this moment the situation worsened for Elphy Bey and the British at Kabul with the arrival on the scene of Akbar Khan, Dost Mohammed’s deceitful but charismatic and capable son. Possessed of great charm and some degree of military ability, Akbar Khan soon became the rallying point and leader for the anti-British/anti-Shuja forces.
At the instigation of Akbar Khan, peace talks were initiated. Macnaghten and an escort of British officers met the young Afghan prince outside the cantonments. Arriving at the designated location, an open meadow beside the river, the British party found a carpet spread and Akbar waiting with a small band of warriors.
The British reined-up, but had no sooner dismounted to greet the Afghans than Sir William was seized and murdered; along with several of the officers of his escort. Thus ended the less-than-illustrious career and life of William Hay Macnaghten, the man whose foolishness had done much to create the disaster unfolding at Kabul.
The seizure and murder of Macnaghten and his escort by Akbar Khan and his guards.
Again, as when Burnes was murdered, Elphinstone did nothing but dither.
Finally, in late December, negotiations were renewed. With troop morale in complete collapse, and his subordinate officers incapable of agreeing on a course of positive action, Elphinstone accepted Akbar Khan’s offer of safe conduct for the British army out of Kabul, back to India.
DISASTER IN THE PASSES
The retreat from Kabul started on January 6, 1842. Snow was falling, and the temperatures were dropping rapidly. The mountains before them were already ice-capped, and the passes promised to be treacherous.
Elphinstone’s army at this point consisted of the one British infantry battalion, the 44th Regiment of Foot; three Sepoy regiments of regular Bengal Native Infantry; one regiment of Afghans loyal to Shah Shujah (who was retreating out of Afghanistan along with his patrons); two regiments of Bengal Horse; and six guns of the Bengal Horse Artillery. In total, there were 700 British and 3,800 Indian troops. Including camp followers (mostly the families of the soldiers, British and Indian), 16,000 souls set out under the nominal leadership of Elphy Bey for Jalalabad, some 140 km away.
Between them and safety lay 85 miles of high mountains and icy cold, snow-bound passes.
With the 44th forming the vanguard, the column set off with some attempt at military order. The march started late, as arrangements between the British and Akbar concerning where the column was to camp that first night were still not complete. Despite Akbar Khan’s guarantees of safe passage, the rear guard of the column had not yet completely marched out of the cantonments when bands of Afghan horsemen descended upon the camp like jackels. The stores of supplies meant to feed the column on the march were lost, before the British had even gotten free of the cantonments. Stragglers were cut down by Afghan horsemen, who hovered at the rear and flanks of the column like packs of hungry wolves. The British wounded, left behind under pledges of protection, were butchered in their sick beds in the camp hospital.
1879 panoramic photo of the Bala Hissar
As they passed the grim battlements of the Bala Hissar, the British could even at this late moment have saved themselves by turning and occupying the fortress; which course many officers (and Shah Shujah) begged Elphinstone to take. The Bala Hissar was well-provisioned and situated for defense. From its safety the army could have held Kabul until spring opened the passes for a relief column to reach them.
Instead, the column trudged on fatefully towards the glowering mountains, and the shadowy passes winding their way through.
Though it was militarily necessary to push through the first of the great passes ahead, the looming Khord-Kabul Pass, on that first day; the column, encumbered by 12,000 cold and terrified camp followers and 2,000 camels and other animals loaded with stores and baggage, moved at a snail’s pace. Instead, Elphinstone chose to halt the march that first day at 2pm just 6 miles outside Kabul and stopping for the night make a cold camp. Without tents or food, the army shivered all night long in the snow.
This pass, through some of the highest mountains in the world, was covered with snow and ice when Elphinstone’s column retreated through it those terrible day in January 1842
The next day was wasted in frequent halts while Elphinstone attempted negotiations with Akbar, who continued to promise food and firewood, as well as escort; none of which appeared. Instead, Afghan tribesmen sniped continuously from the heights above, which the British failed to picket in advance. Occasionally, bodies of Afghan horsemen would savage the column, cutting down the shivering and miserable fugitives.
Oddly, no attempt was made by Elphinstone or Shelton to send detachments to clear and picket the heights overlooking the passes. This was rudimentary tactics in mountain warfare, and by just such expedient Alexander the Great had moved through these same mountains unmolested. It was not as if such history was unknown to the educated British officers: Even Lady Sale, the formidable wife to Brigadier Robert Sale and among the non-combatants in the column, noted the lack of pickets and suggested (to no effect) that Elphinstone correct the situation.
The British soldiers time-and-again sallied forth with bayonet to drive marauding Afghans from the way; or to protect women and children. But at every turn, their efforts were hampered by the narrowness of the terrain (in places the passes were only yards wide and the cliffs thousands of feet high); and by the throngs of terrified and stampeding non-combatants.
This was the pattern that would continue for the next five days, as the Army of Kabul slowly died in the snow. Each morning those strong enough to go on rose out of the snow that had covered them in the night, and trundled along on bloody and frozen feet. Like sheep, the non-combatants would at times break into panicked flight, as harassing Afghan cavalry galloped among them, slashing and killing with wicked sharp blades.
In the myriad of vicious little skirmishes over those terrible eleven days, Shelton found some measure of redemption. Responding to attacks up and down the column, Shelton led a small “fire brigade” in attempting to repulse the reivers. Captain Hugh Johnson wrote:
“Nothing could exceed the bravery of Shelton. He was like a bulldog assaulted on all sides by a lot of curs trying to snap at his head, tail and sides. Shelton’s small band was attacked by horse and foot, and although the latter were fifty to one, not a man dared to come close.“
At one point, Akbar demanded that Elphinstone, Shelton, and the senior non-combatants such Lady Sale, be handed over to his “protection”; and to the shame of the British Army, Elphy Bey and his senior officers surrendered themselves while their troops pushed on without them. (To his credit, Shelton protested and demanded to be allowed to return to his men.)
The bottleneck passes of the Khord-Kabul, the Huft Kotul, the Tezeen, and the Jugdulluk were scenes of unspeakable nightmare; as women and children were butchered and left in piles. The Sepoys were particularly affected by the cold (many had no shoes); and in the end merely huddled like sheep, waiting for the butcher’s knife to put them out of their misery.
Jugdulluk, seen in the spring 1842 when the British Army of Retribution returned through the pass. They found the way carpeted with the skeletal remains of the dead from Elphinstone’s column.
In this last pass, Jugdulluk, the Army of Kabul finally died. In this grim, mountain-shadowed place the Afghans blocked the way with logs of prickly holly-oak. The soldiers tore at the sharp spiny branches with bloody hands, to clear the way; all the while the Afghans poured deadly fire from the heights above. With scimitar in hand, tribesmen rushed down on the column, butchering the defenseless women and children. Finally, the few surviving men of the 44th fought through the blockage and gained the relative safety beyond. Of the 4,500 soldiers Elphinstone had departed Kabul with just 6 days earlier, only twenty officers and forty-five soldiers survived the Jugdulluk massacre.
These surviving scarecrows reached the village of Gandamack on the 13th of January. At first the villagers came out to greet them and engaged in seemingly friendly conversation. But they soon attempted to seize the soldier’s muskets from their hands. Driving them fiercely away, the British sealed their doom.
They were surrounded on a hillock by gathering villagers. When called to surrender, one British sergeant gave the famous answer, “Not bloody likely!”
The last stand of the 44th at Gandamack
The Afghans swarmed about, shooting the soldiers down at their leisure; then rushed in with sword. Only a bare 6 men of Elphinstone’s army survived to be taken prisoner.
At Jalalabad, General Sale’s Brigade, ignorant of what was befalling their comrades in the passes, waited for the army to arrive. At last a lone horseman, an army surgeon named Dr. William Brydon, rode up to the gates. Asked where the Army of Kabul was, he replied: “I am the Army”!
Dr. Brydon rides into Jalalabad, the sole man of Elphinstone’s army to make it through the passes.
The First Afghan War didn’t end there. The British returned that summer and exacted bloody revenge on the populace of Kabul, destroying much of the city in the process. They relieved their remaining garrisons; and the hostages and prisoners were returned, including Shelton (who was subsequently court martialed) and Lady Sale. Elphinstone died in captivity, his last words reportedly being, “‘It really is too bad.”
Then, Britain’s policy having changed, they withdrew from the country altogether; returning Dost Mohammed once more on his throne with a treaty of friendship in place.
The disaster was forgotten by many in the years that followed. But it was not without lasting consequences.
Before Afghanistan, the British and John Company’s army had an almost mythical reputation, an aura of invincibility. After The Retreat, that myth was forever shattered. Following Kabul, the Sikhs of the Punjab, a strong military state, lost their fear of Britain’s displeasure. The bloody Anglo-Sikh Wars would follow just a few years after Kabul; and just a few years after these, the Great Mutiny would shake the Empire to its core.
Blame for the disaster must be placed squarely upon the foolish appointment of one frail, dithering old man to command an army on deadly ground. But a lesson from today can also be drawn here: In the rugged mountains of Afghanistan, where every tribal male was a marksman and a warrior; where tribes fight each other constantly, only uniting to eject foreigners; no effort to modernize and “nation build” by an outside power has any chance to succeed. The Afghans are best left to their own devices, a good buffer state but an impossible vassal.
Modern British soldiers patrolling the fields of Afghanistan, where their red-coated ancestors once fought and bled; pawns in the “Great Game”.
1. Fraser, George MacDonald, Flashman; Barrie & Jenkins, 1969
2. Burnes was a famous explorer of the remote regions of India and central Asia in the 1820s and 30s. His 1834 book, “Travels into Bokhara”, was a bestseller in England. He spoke Persian fluently, as well as Pashtan and several other dialects of Central Asia. Burnes was particularly hated by the local Afghans in Kabul, not only as a visible symbol of British occupation; but because he was very active with the local Afghan women. Burnes was not alone in “fraternizing” with Afghan women, who at least in Kabul were more-than-willing to engage in relations with the foreign conquerors. However, in a land where women were and still are routinely killed in “honor killings” for the mere suspicion of engaging in extramarital sex, and which is seen as a slur against the manhood of their male family members, this activity fanned the flames of hatred against the British and Burnes in particular.
3. William Broadfoot was the brother of the more celebrated George Broadfoot ; who had gained a great reputation with the Afghans and was then serving with Sale’s Brigade at Jalalabad. George Broadfoot would himself die in battle 4 years later, in the First Sikh War.
4. Ferengi, the Arabic term for “foreigner”; deriving from the Persian word for “Franks”, or Europeans.
5. Eyre, Sir Vincent (1843). The Military Operations at Cabul: Which Ended in the Retreat and Destruction of the British Army, January 1842. With a Journal of Imprisonment in Affghanistan. John Murray. pp. 115–16.
6. Dalrymple, William (2013). Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan. Bloomsbury Publishing, p. 332
7. Macrory, Patrick: The Fierce Pawns; J.B. Lippincott Co., 1966; P. 208. The author is working off of the first-hand accounts of eye witnesses.
8. Eyre, p. 123
9. Dalrymple, p. 372
10. Dalrymple, p. 380