John Nicholson | Page 4

chances of ultimate
escape seemed hopeless. The houses were filled to overflowing with
sepoy soldiers and camp followers, men, women, and children, and
when by and by the large guns of the fortress were trained upon them
the slaughter was very great. The British officers, it is stated, expected
nothing less than death. They even began to burn the regimental
colours to prevent them falling into the enemy's hands.
In this extremity the Afghan leaders made fresh proposals of
honourable treatment on surrender, and Colonel Palmer at last
consented to yield. How Nicholson regarded this move was very clear.
In his anger at the base treachery he had witnessed he would have
fought to the last gasp ere trusting again to the word of an Afghan.
When the command came to surrender he refused to obey, and it is
recorded that he "drove the enemy thrice back beyond the walls at the
point of the bayonet, before he would listen to the order given him to
make his company lay down their arms." Then, with bitter tears, he
gave up his sword, and allowed himself to be made prisoner.
Of the five months' captivity at Ghuzni, from March to August 1842,
we learn most from Lieutenant Crawford's narrative. From the first the
prisoners were treated miserably. The British officers--ten in
number--were confined in a small room "only 18 feet by 13," and for
several weeks deprived of any change of clothing. What possessions
they had were taken from them by their guards; watches, money, and
jewellery, and even their pocket-knives, thus being lost to them.
Only one officer succeeded in retaining a cherished trinket, and this
was Nicholson himself. Captain Trotter, who records the incident,[1]
quotes from a letter sent by Nicholson to his mother in which the writer

says, "I managed to preserve the little locket with your hair in it . . . and
I was allowed to keep it, because, when ordered to give it up, I lost my
temper and threw it at the soldier's head, which was certainly a
thoughtless and head-endangering act. However, he seemed to like it,
for he gave strict orders that the locket was not to be taken from me."
The severities of the confinement increased when in April news came
of the death of Shah Soojah at the hands of an assassin, and the little
prison in the citadel became almost a second "Black Hole of Calcutta."
The one window was shut and darkened, making the air of the room
unbearable. To add to the horror of the situation, Colonel Palmer was
now cruelly tortured before his comrades' eyes, one of his feet being
twisted by means of a tent peg and rope. This was done in the hope that
he or some one of his fellow-captives would reveal the hiding-place of
a phantom "four lakhs of rupees," which the Afghans declared the
British had buried in the vicinity.
But in June came a change for the better. The prisoners were now
allowed to sleep out in the open courtyard in the postins, or rough
sheepskin coats, supplied them. Two months later they learned that
they were to be sent to Cabul, where Dost Mahomed's son, Akbar Khan,
was keeping captive Lady Sale, Mrs. Sturt, George Lawrence, Vincent
Eyre, and other Europeans. The exchange was a welcome one. Slung in
camel panniers, they were jolted along the rough country roads for
three days, arriving in the Afghan capital on the 22nd of August, when
they were generously dined by the chief and his head men.
The quarters in which the party were now housed, together with Lady
Sale and the other survivors of the Cabul massacre, were a paradise
compared to their former lodging. They had a beautiful garden to walk
in, servants to wait upon them, and an abundant supply of food. Their
satisfaction, however, was shortlived. In a few days the prisoners were
hurried off to Bamian, in the hill country to the north-west, and thence
to Kulum. The reason for this move was apparent. Generals Pollock
and Nott had already commenced their victorious advance upon Cabul,
and Akbar Khan resolved to keep his captives as hostages for his own
safety.

To Nicholson and his companions it looked as if their fate was sealed,
but a ray of hope dawned for them. The Afghan officer in charge of
their escort showed himself ready to consider the offer of a bribe. A
bond was eventually drawn up ensuring him a handsome recompense
for his services did he lead them to safety, and in the middle of
September they found themselves once more free.
Late one afternoon the rescue party sent to their aid by General Pollock
met them toiling along the dusty road on the other side of the Hindu
Kush