Chapter III

Border Warriors

I was standing on a pine-clad spur of the Sufed Koh Range, which runs westwards towards Kabul, between the Khaiber Pass on the north and the Kurram Pass on the south. The snow-clad peaks of Sika Ram, which rise to a height of fifteen thousand feet, tipped by fleecy white clouds, were just behind me, while in front was the green valley of the Kurram River, spread out like a panorama before me, widening out into a large plain in its upper part, where numerous villages, partly hidden in groves of mulberry and walnuts, nestled among the lower spurs of the mountains, while farther down the hills on either side of it closed in and became more rugged and bare, and the river wound its circuitous path through defile and gorge, till it debouched on the plains of India. Immediately before me was the pine-covered Pass of Peiwar, which will always be memorable as the scene of the great battle fought between the forces of the Amir, Sher Ali, and the advancing column of Sir Frederick Roberts. There were the pines covering the crest where the Afghan batteries were ensconced, and one could trace without difficulty the circuitous path up the stony bed of the mountain torrent, through a deep ravine, and then winding up among the pine-woods, by which the gallant regiments of the advancing army stormed and finally captured the Afghan position. Westward of the pass was a fertile valley, dotted over with villages here and there, forming part of the territory of the Amir of Afghanistan. A few miles below the top of the pass could be seen the fort where the soldiers of the Amir guarded his frontier. Turning eastward, some dozen miles off, could be seen the cantonments of Parachinar, the westernmost cantonments of British occupation, and the seat of administration of this trans-border valley. There was a fort garrisoned by the local levies of the Kurram Militia—Afghans from the villages round, who, under the training and influence of three or four British officers, have become part of the “far-flung battle line” of the defences of the Empire.

I had been spending some weeks among the people of this district, and the time had come for reluctantly leaving the shady groves and cool breezes of the Upper Kurram for the sweltering plains of Bannu, which even now I could see in the eastern distance covered by heat haze, recalling the punkahs and restless nights which were soon to be my lot instead of the bracing air of the Sufed Koh. Our tents and baggage had been loaded up on some mules, which we could see winding along the white road below us, while we were lingering behind to take a last leave of the hearty Afghans, who had been both our hosts and our patients. Three times had we to pitch our nightly camp before we crossed the border of British India and entered the border town of Thal, which is the first town in British India which a traveller from Afghanistan enters. From the time of crossing the Afghan frontier till now, he has been going through what is known as an “administrative area.” Here was a fort, occupied by troops of the Indian Army, under command of a British officer.

Thirty-four miles still remained in a direct line between us and our destination in Bannu, and before accomplishing this special arrangements had to be made with the tribes occupying it for our escort; for this tongue of country running up between Thal and Bannu was not British India, nor even an administrative area, but independent, and owned by the marauding Wazir tribe, who owed allegiance to neither Amir nor Viceroy. A couple of ruffianly-looking Wazirs arrived to escort us down. Their rifles were slung over their shoulders, and well-filled cartridge belts strapped round their waists; a couple of Afghan daggers were ensconced in the folds of the dirty red pagaris which they had bound round their bodies, and they carried their curved Afghan swords in their hands. We had now left the fertile valley of Upper Kurram behind us, and wandered through a succession of rocky mountain defiles, over precipitous spurs, and along the stony bed of the river for more than thirty miles. The lower mountain ranges separating Afghanistan from India form by their intricacy and precipitate nature a succession of veritable chevaux de frise, which by their natural difficulties maintain the parda or privacy of the wild tribes inhabiting them, who value the independence of their mountain fastnesses more than life itself. Here and there is a patch of arable land in a bend of the Kurram River, overlooked by the walled and towered village of its possessors, who have won it by force of arms, and only keep it by their armed vigils, even the men who are ploughing behind their oxen having their rifles hung over their shoulders, and keeping their eyes open for a possible enemy. In some places a channel from the river has been carried with infinite labour on to a flat piece of ground among the mountains, where a scanty harvest is reaped. For the rest the hill seems to be almost devoid of animal or vegetable life. A few partridges starting up with a shrill cry from a tuft of dry grass in front of one are occasionally seen, and stunted trees of ber and acacia supply a certain amount of firewood, which some of the Wazirs gather and take down to the Friday Fair in Bannu.

The Afghans will tell you that when God created the world there were a lot of stones and rocks and other lumber left over, which were all dumped down on this frontier, and that this accounts for its unattractive appearance. There is one more range of hills to surmount before we reach the plains of India. We have toiled up a rocky path, from the bare stones of which the rays of the summer sun are reflected on all sides, without any relief from tree or shrub, or even a tuft of green grass, till the ground beneath our feet seems to glow with as fierce a heat as that of the blazing orb above us. We have reached the summit, and the vista before us changes as if by magic. Five hundred feet below us is the broad plain of India, irrigated in this part by the vivifying waters of the Kurram River, which, liberated from the rock-bound defile through which they have wandered for the last thirty miles, now dashing over their stony bed, anon hemmed in by dark overhanging cliffs, are at last free to break up into numberless channels, which, guided by the skill of the agriculturist, form a labyrinth of silver streaks in the plain below us. As far as the life-giving irrigation cuts of the Kurram River extend are waving fields of corn, sugar-cane, maize, rice, turmeric, and other crops, spread in endless succession as far as the eye can reach.

Scattered among the fields are the teeming villages of the Bannuchies, partly hidden in their groves of mulberries and figs and their vineyards, as though Cornucopia, wearied by the barren hills above them in Afghanistan, had showered down all her gifts on the favoured tribes below. Such is India as it appears to the Pathans inhabiting the hills on our North-West Frontier, and when we see it thus after some time spent with them in their barren and rocky hills, we can readily understand that two thoughts are dominant in their minds. The one is: “Those rich plains have been put there, in contiguity to our mountains, because God intended them to be our lawful prey, that when we have no harvest we may go down and reap theirs; and when we are hard up, and have a big fine to pay to the British Government, we may lighten some of the wealthy Hindus of the money that they have accumulated through usury and other ways which God hates.” The other thought is: “What possible reason has the British Government, the overlord of such rich lands, for coming and interfering with us in our mountain homes, which, though nothing but rocks and stones, are still our homes for all that, where we resent the presence and interference of any stranger?”

The reader will have observed that in the journey above described, from Peiwar down to Bannu, four different territories have been passed through. The first and the last—viz., Afghanistan and British India—are two well-defined, easily comprehensible geographical areas; but it is seen that betwixt the two are various other tribal areas, in varying relations with the Indian Government. A few words must be said to familiarize the reader with the political conditions obtaining there. The frontier of British India is well defined, but that of Afghanistan was more or less uncertain until the year 1893, when Sir Mortimer Durand was deputed by the British Government to meet the officers delegated by the Amir Abdurrahman, in order that the frontier might be delimited. This frontier is since known as the “Durand Line.” The intervening area between the Durand Line and the British frontier is in varying relations to the Indian Government.

Some parts of this, such as Tirah (the country of the Afridis and Orakzais) and Waziristan (the country of the Wazirs and Mahsuds), are severely left alone, provided the tribes do not compel attention and interference by the raids into British territory, which are frequently perpetrated by their more lawless spirits.

These raids are no doubt disapproved of by the majority of the tribesmen, who recognize the fact that they must stand to lose in any conflict with the British Government; but such is the democratic spirit of the people that every man considers himself as good as his neighbour, and a step better if he has a more modern rifle. As in the interregnums of the days of the Israelitish Judges, each man does what seems good in his own eyes, and bitterly resents any effort of his neighbour, and even of the tribe, to control his actions or curtail his liberty. Thus it happens that it is really very difficult for the tribal elders to prevent their bad characters from perpetrating these raids. The raiders are usually men with nothing to lose, owning no landed property within the confines of British India, and guilty of previous murders or other crimes, which make it impossible for them to enter the country, except surreptitiously, as they would certainly be imprisoned, and perhaps hanged, if caught.

A great number in the tribe own lands on both sides of the border, and find it to their interest to take no overt part against the Government; while at the same time, unless they give asylum to the desperadoes, and conceal them on occasion, they are liable to be themselves the victims. Thus it happens that in nearly every frontier expedition there are some sections of the tribe which desire to be on good terms with the British, and are known as “friendlies.” It is difficult for a military commander who has not previously known the people to appreciate this, and when he finds his camp being sniped from a supposed “friendly” village, he not unnaturally doubts the sincerity of the people. As likely as not, however, the recalcitrant sections of the tribe have been at pains to snipe from such points as to implicate the friendly sections and force them into joining the standard of war. On one occasion the exasperated General refused to believe the representations of the Political Officer that the villages from the neighbourhood of which the sniping came were friendly until he left the camp and went over to live in the (supposed) enemies’ village himself! The well-disposed clans would welcome an administration of the country by which these lawless spirits could be kept in check.

Then, there are certain semi-independent States, such as Chitral and Dir, where there are rulers of sufficient paramount power to govern their own country and to render it possible for the British to maintain that amount of control of their external relations which is considered desirable, by means of a Political Agent attached to the court of the chief, while still leaving the latter free to manage his own internal affairs in accordance with the customs of his tribe and the degree of his own supremacy over the often conflicting units composing it.

Thirdly, there are what are known as “administered areas,” such as the Upper Kurram Valley, above mentioned. These are inhabited by tribes over whom no one chief has been able to gain paramount authority for himself, where, as is so often the case among Afghans, the tribe is eaten up by a number of rival factions, none of which are willing to acknowledge the rule of a man from a faction not their own. The Government official, therefore, is unable to treat with one ruler, but has to hear all the members of the contending factions. So great is the democratic spirit that any petty landowner thinks he has as much right to push his views of public policy as the representative of an hereditary line of chiefs. This naturally greatly complicates official relations, and the Political Officer, however much he would like to refrain from interference in tribal home policy, finds that, amid a host of conflicting units, he is the only possible court of appeal. This results in an intermediate form of government: the Indian Penal Code does not obtain; tribal laws and customs are the recognized judicial guides, and there is a minimum of interference with the people; yet the Political Officer is the supreme authority, and combines in himself the executive and judicial administration of the area.

Notwithstanding the exclusiveness of the religion that these people profess, they find it impossible to do their business or live comfortably without the help of the ubiquitous and obsequious Hindu. Just as much as the great Mughal Emperors of old found it best to have Hindus for the posts of treasurer, accountant, adviser, etc., so the frontier chief of to-day has his Hindu vassal always with him, to keep his accounts, write his petitions, and transact most of his written and judicial business. The majority of the shopkeepers also are Hindus. Even under the settled administration of British India the Muhammadan has never become such an adept at bargaining, petty trade, and shopkeeping as the more thrifty and quick-witted Hindu. Thus in every village of any pretension there are the Hindus, with their shops, who make their journeys to the big market-towns on the frontier—Peshawur, Bannu, and Dera Ismail Khan—and return with piece-goods, matches, looking-glasses, and a variety of Western trinkets, as well as the food-stuffs which the Afghan covets, but cannot produce himself, such as white sugar and tea. These Hindus are regarded as vassals by the Muhammadan community they supply, and each Hindu trader or shopkeeper has his own particular overlord or Muhammadan malik, who in return for these services guarantees his safety, is ready to protect him—by force of arms, if necessary—from rival Muhammadan sections, and to revenge any injury done to him as if it were a personal one to himself.

The Hindu supplies the brains and the Muhammadan the valour. The Hindu is ever ready to outwit his overbearing but often obtuse masters, and under British rule avails himself of the protection the law affords to do things he would not venture on across the border. Once when travelling across the border my guide was an outlaw, who had been obliged to fly from British territory after committing a murder. He told me that he had gone into partnership with a Hindu for an extensive contract for road-making: the Hindu was to supply the capital and keep accounts, and he was to recruit the coolies and do the supervision of the work. “While I,” he said, “was broiling and sweating in the summer sun, that pig of a Hindu was comfortably seated in his office falsifying the accounts, and I never got an anna for all my labours. I thought I should get justice from the Sarkar, so I brought a civil action against him; but I was a plain man, and he learnt all about the ways of the law from some pleader friend of his, and I lost the case. Then I paid another pleader a big sum to take my appeal to the Sessions Judge, but he had manipulated the accounts and paid the witnesses, so that I lost that too. Allahu Akbar! The Judge gave his verdict before the shadow had turned [before midday], and before the time of afternoon prayers had arrived that son of a pig was as dead as a post. But then I had to come over here, and I can only pay an occasional night visit to my village now.”

A story which he told me to illustrate the mercantile genius of the Hindu will bear repeating. A Muhammadan and a Hindu resolved to go into partnership. The Muhammadan, being the predominant partner, stipulated that he was to have the first half of everything, and the Hindu the remainder. The Hindu obsequiously consented. The first day the Hindu brought back a cow from market. He milked it, got the butter and cream, made the dung into fuel-cakes for his fire, and then went to call the Muhammadan because the cow was hungry and wanted grass and grain. The Muhammadan said he was ready to do his share if the Hindu did his. The Hindu blandly replied that he had already done his, while the stipulated “first half” of the cow included the animal’s mouth and stomach, and fell clearly to the lot of the Muhammadan.

Now let us see what is the position of the missionary in each of these areas. In British India he has a free hand so long as he keeps within the four corners of the law. In Afghanistan there is an absolute veto against even his entry into the country, and there is no prospect of this changing under the present régime. A convert from Muhammadanism to Christianity is regarded within the realms of the Amir as having committed a capital offence, and both law and popular opinion would decree his destruction. In the intervening tribal areas there is no reason why a cautious missionary, well acquainted with the language and customs of the people, should not work with considerable success. A medical missionary who did not attack their religion with a mistaken zeal would undoubtedly be welcomed by the greater number of the people, though the Mullahs, or priests, would be an uncertain element, and certainly hostile at the beginning. The local political authorities have the final say as to how far the missionaries may extend their operations. I shall revert to this subject in the concluding chapter (Chapter XXV.), where I shall show that in no part of the country are medical missions more obviously indicated, not only for Christianizing the people, but equally so for pacifying them and familiarizing them with the more peaceful aspects of British rule.

Chapter IV

A Frontier Valley

Among the various tracts of border territory that have recently been opened up and brought under the influence of civilization by the frontier policy of the Indian Government, none is fairer or more promising than the Upper Kurram Valley, on the lower waters of which river Bannu, the headquarters of the Afghan Medical Mission, is situate. The River Kurram rises on the western slopes of Sikaram, the highest point of the Sufed Koh Range (15,600 feet), and for twenty-five miles makes a détour to the south and east through the Aryab Valley, which is inhabited by the tribe of Zazis, who are still under the government of the Amir, and form his frontier in this part. The river then suddenly emerges into a wider basin, the true valley of Upper Kurram, stretching from the base of the Sufed Koh Range to the base of a lower range on the right bank, a breadth of fifteen miles, the river running close to the latter range, and the north-western corner of this basin being separated from the head-waters of the Kurram by the ridge of the Peiwar Kotal, where was fought the memorable action of December 2, 1879, by which the road to Kabul was opened. This wide valley runs down as far as Sadr, thirty miles lower down towards the south-east, being narrower, however, below. Here the valley narrows down to from two to four miles, and runs south-east for thirty-five miles to Thal, where it ceases to be in British territory, but winds for thirty miles among the Waziri Hills, until it emerges into the Bannu Plain, and flows through the Bannu and Marwat districts into the Indus at Isa Khel. Thus, with the exception of the head-waters and some thirty miles just above Bannu, the territory is all now subject to British rule, and is steadily becoming more peaceful and civilized.

Below the Zazis the valley down as far as Waziristan was originally possessed by the Bangash, a Sunni tribe of Pathans, who came themselves from the direction of Kohat. The Turis were a Shiah tribe inhabiting some districts on the eastern bank of the Indus near Kalabagh, who, being ardent traders and nomads, were accustomed to visit the cool regions of Upper Kurram every summer for trade, health, and pasturage. One summer, some two hundred years ago, a quarrel arose between them and the Bangash of a village called Burkha, and resulted in a battle, in which the Turis came off victorious, and, destroying or driving away the inhabitants of Burkha, made it their first settlement in the valley. Soon after this they attacked and possessed themselves of two of the most important villages of the valley, Peiwar and Milana, and to this day every Turi with aspirations to importance claims land in one of these three villages, though it may be only the fiftieth part of a field, as proof of his true lineage.

Year by year the Turis gradually strengthened their position, driving the Bangash farther down the valley, except in some cases, such as the inhabitants of the large and beautiful village of Shlozan, the Bangash of which, all becoming Shiahs, amalgamated with the Turis, and retained their lands.

Finally, having made their position secure, and realizing the charms of the valley, the Turis ceased to return to the plain, and remained in the valley all the year round. Hence to-day we find the upper part of the valley inhabited only by Turis, while below this, as far as the Alizai, the Turis and Bangash are mingled, their villages being often side by side; and further down still the Bangash have the land all to themselves.

Since the people have realized the peace resulting from English rule, and have begun to beat their swords into ploughshares, many of the hill tribes bordering the valley have taken every opportunity of settling in allotments in the valley, and enjoying the larger produce of its richer soil. These are the Mangals and Makbals above, and the Zaimukhts below, thus introducing a fresh element into the population. Over and above these any worker in the valley has to count on dealings with the neighbouring tribes, who still cling to their mountain fastnesses, and sometimes still show their old disposition to loot the more peaceable inhabitants. These are the Ningrahars, Spinwars, and Paris on the north, and the Zazi-i-Maidan on the south; while the Afghan country of Khost being in close proximity, its people also would be easily reached. To make the enumeration of the inhabitants complete, it only remains to mention the Hindus, who, mostly of the Arora caste, are in large numbers in the valley, and retain most of the trade, and do much clerical and business work for the Muhammadans.

In the time of the Hindu Rajahs of Kabul they were probably in the ascendant here, and the little archæology which the valley presents is all of Hindu origin. Apart from the variety of tribes who are thus brought into close proximity in the valley, it has a special interest and importance from its being one of the two routes from Kabul to India (the other being the Khaiber). Hence many nomads from Afghanistan frequently visit and temporarily inhabit the valley. Prominent at present among these are the Hazaras, numbers of whom have been driven out from their own lands by the Amir, and have come here to labour on the roads.

The Khorotis and Ghilzais also frequent the valley. It is owing to this peculiarly central and cosmopolitan position, and partly to the character of the people themselves, that this district presents so many advantages as a centre of mission work and influence. There is a great opportunity for mission work among the Turis. These, as above mentioned, are Shiahs, while all the tribes round belong to the orthodox sect of Sunnis; consequently, previously to the English occupation in 1891 they were subjected to persistent, relentless persecution at the hands of the Amir, and to frequent inroads from their Sunni neighbours. They naturally, therefore, look on the Christians as deliverers from the throes of Sunni rule and persecution, and are ipso facto inclined to look on Christianity favourably, since it has brought them so much peace and freedom from oppression. And still, as a wordy warfare is carried on by their respective Mullahs, both sides endeavour to find in Christianity points of resemblance by which they can magnify their own sect, rather than, like the Muhammadans of Bannu, to be constantly cavilling at every word from a Christian tongue or a Christian book.

This has resulted in a wonderful (wonderful, at any rate, to a missionary from bigoted Bannu) openness to conversation about the Christian Scriptures, and readiness to receive Christian teaching. For instance, in Bannu a well-inclined Mullah dare not read a Bible except in secrecy, while in Kurram I have frequently seen Mullahs publicly reading and commenting on the Holy Word to large groups of Khans and other men.

Again, in Bannu mention of such doctrines as the Sonhood, the Crucifixion, or the Sinlessness of Christ, or the Fatherhood of God, is as often as not the signal for an uproar; while here the same doctrines, even if not partially accepted, may yet be freely talked about, with the certainty of nearly always getting a fair hearing.

The first summer during which I spent some time among these people I nearly everywhere had a hospitable, not to say cordial, reception. This, of course, was partly attributable to the medical benefits they received, but it was markedly different from the reception often accorded to the bearer of Gospel tidings in Hindustan. At no place was there any open opposition from the Mullahs, and most of them came to see me, and had long talks about the Injil (Gospel), and asked for and gratefully accepted copies of it, which I have reason to believe they preserved carefully and read regularly; while the people often besought us to partake longer of their hospitality or to visit them again next year, or, better still, to start a dispensary in their midst.

A reference to the map shows how intimate are the relations of this valley with Afghanistan, and relics of Afghan rule frequently present themselves to the doctor when going about their villages—men who have been crippled for life as a punishment for some crime, or it may be merely because they incurred the displeasure of someone of influence, who manufactured a case against them. I have seen men who have had their right hand cut off for robbery, and others whose feet were completely crippled by long-continued incarceration in the stocks, or by a torture often inflicted to extract evidence, in which the foot is tied with cords to a piece of wood like a magnified tent-peg fixed in the ground. This peg has a cleft in it, and a wedge is then hammered slowly into this cleft, thus gradually tightening the cords till they cut into the foot and cause its mortification.

In every village there are one or more matamkhanas, where the Shiahs hold their annual mournings for the martyrs of Kerbela (Hasan and Huseïn) at every Muharram. Under Afghan (Sunni) rule these ceremonies were often interdicted, or at least restricted; but now they are able to carry them on unhindered, and pray for the continuance of British rule in consequence. These places form convenient centres for the men to gather together and talk, and in them many of my religious discussions have been held. They are all the more ready to accept the Christian account of the Crucifixion and its meaning (which is such a stumbling-block to the Sunnis), because they look on the martyrdom of the two brothers at Kerbela as having a vicarious efficacy for those who perform the memorial rites, and regard ’Ali, the fourth Khalifa from Muhammad, as being indeed a saviour.

If we could have visited this valley in the days long before the Christian era, when the first Aryan immigrants were passing down from Central Asia into the Panjab, we should have seen it covered with their settlements, and seen them engaged in the simple Nature-worship depicted in the Vedas, which record this stage of Aryan civilization. This region was probably much better watered and more fertile in those days than it is now. Not only does geological evidence point to a greater rainfall and vegetation, but as these early immigrations were mostly of large bands of pastoral people, moving with their flocks and herds, their families and household possessions, and as they probably only gradually moved down the valley into the plains below, they must have found more pasturage than the desolate frontier ranges would now afford.

The Kurram Valley above described serves as a good example of an administered area fairly well advanced in the civilizing effects of a settled and just Government.

The independent tribes, on the other hand, go down the scale till you find tribes, such as some sections of the Wazirs and Afridis, who are utter barbarians, entirely devoted to a nomadic life of systematic highway robbery.

A Political Officer was once seated, with a number of the head men of some of these independent tribes, on the top of one of their rugged mountains, from which you look down on Afghanistan to the west and India to the east. They had been touring with him as his escort for some days. He had fed them well, and could chat familiarly with them in their own lingo, so that they had learnt to talk with him without reserve about even their tribal secrets.

“Now, tell me,” said the officer, “if there were to be war—which God forbid—between Russia and England, what part would you and your people take? whom would you side with?”

“Do you wish us to tell you what would please you, or to tell you the real truth?” was their naïve reply.

“I adjure you only tell me what is the ‘white word’” (meaning the true statement).

“Then,” said an old greybeard among them, voicing the feelings of all present, “we would just sit here up on our mountain-tops watching you both fight, until we saw one or other of you utterly defeated; then we would come down and loot the vanquished till the last mule! God is great! What a time that would be for us!”

No doubt he spake truly, but such is the discord of the Afghan tribes that no doubt the spoil would scarcely be gathered in before they would begin to fight among themselves over the division of it. These tribal jealousies and petty wars are inherent among the Afghans, and greatly diminish their formidableness as foes. If you ask them about it they will acknowledge this defect in their character, and tell you how that one of their ancestors displeased the Almighty, who, to punish him, wove the strands of discord in the web of their nature from that time onwards. Hence the saying, “The Afghans of the frontier are never at peace except when they are at war!” For when some enemy from without threatens their independence, then, for the time being, are their feuds and jealousies thrown aside, and they fight shoulder to shoulder, to resume them again when the common danger is averted. Even when they are all desirous of joining in some jihad, they remain suspicious of each other, and are apt to fail one another at critical moments; or else one tribe will wait to see how it fares with those already in it before unsheathing their own swords. Thus it was in the frontier rising of 1897 that the difficulty of quelling the rising would have been immensely greater had it not been that the tribes rose seriatim instead of simultaneously, and the rising in one part of the frontier had been put down before another broke out.

Two policies have at various times been advocated with equal warmth by their respective partisans. The earlier policy, which was supported by Lord Lawrence in the days of his Viceroyalty, was generally known as the “policy of masterly inactivity.” Later on the “forward policy” received more general approbation, its chief exponent being Sir Robert Sandeman. Those who advocate the former point out the great expenditure involved in all interference with the internal tribes across our border, and that almost inevitably we become sooner or later involved in wars with them. They would therefore have the British Government strictly abstain from all trans-frontier politics, and leave the tribes severely alone, so long as they give no trouble to us on our side of the border. The “forward” party, on the other hand, point out the danger of having this extensive area on the most vulnerable part of our Indian Empire outside our own control, and they advocate a system of controlling all the political affairs of the trans-border tribes, while leaving their internal policy in the hands of their own chiefs, who, though guided by our political officers, would be free to maintain the ancient tribal customs.

Sir Robert Sandeman is, perhaps, the most remarkable instance of the power which a single officer has been able to exercise over these border tribes, and it was through him that the large tract on the border between Quetta and the Deras was organized under our Political Officers, working through the tribal chiefs. Allowances are made to the tribes, in return for which they guarantee the safety of the British posts on the highroads, and become responsible for any misdemeanours on the part of other members of their tribe. Tribal levies are organized under young officers of the British Army, who train them in military discipline, drill, and marksmanship. The pay received by these soldiers becomes a valuable asset to the tribe, and a strong inducement to give up their more predatory habits, in favour of the pax Britannica. Still, it was found necessary to place regular troops of the Indian Army in some of the more important and critical situations. The frontier is, for the most part, composed of intricate, and in many parts inaccessible, mountain ranges, which form an absolute barrier to the passage of troops; but piercing through these are the passes, of which the best known are the Khaiber and the Bolan, which from time immemorial have formed the highways through which hostile armies have invaded India, and it would be through them that any enemy of the future would endeavour to bring its forces. It is therefore a paramount necessity to the British Government that these passes should be securely guarded, and therefore each one of them forms part of one of the areas administered by British officers, and guarded either by native troops or tribal levies.

It is through these passes, too, that the great merchant caravans pass down from Afghanistan and Central Asia into British India. In former times the merchants had to subsidize the tribes through which they passed, who would otherwise have blocked the passes and stolen their goods; and it is partly to make up to the tribes for the loss of this income that the tribal subsidies were arranged. Near where each of these passes debouches on to the trans-Indus plain is a city, which forms an emporium for the merchandise brought down, and a military station for the protection of the pass. While Peshawur serves this purpose for the Khaiber, Kohat commands the Kurram, Bannu the Tochi, and Dera Ismail Khan the Gumal.

When Lord Curzon assumed the Viceroyalty, the frontier districts formed part of the Panjab, and the Lieutenant-Governor of that province was in administrative control of them. Lord Curzon wished to bring them more directly under his own control, so in 1901 a new province, composed of five frontier districts of the Panjab, was constituted, and called the North-West Frontier Province. The five districts composing this province are Hazara, Peshawur, Kohat, Bannu, and Dera Ismail Khan. These are all beyond the Indus, except Hazara, which is to the east of that river.

A Chief Commissioner was appointed over the whole province, directly responsible to the Viceroy, and he had his headquarters and the centre of government at Peshawur.

Lord Curzon’s next move was to advance the railway systems of the Panjab along the frontier, bringing their termini to the mouths of the Khaiber and Kurram Passes. As this enabled a rapid concentration of troops at any point along the frontier, he was able to withdraw the regiments of the Indian Army which garrisoned the more outlying districts, and to replace them by tribal levies.

No doubt it is the desire of the Government not to make any further annexations of this barren, mountainous, and uninviting border region; but it is not always equally easy to avoid doing so, and it is a universal experience of history that when there are a number of disorganized and ill-governed units on the borders of a great power, they become inevitably, though it may be gradually and piece by piece, absorbed into the latter. There are, however, financial considerations which induce the Government to refrain from annexing a country which has few natural resources, can pay little in taxes, and must cost a great deal to administer.

But these frontier tribes form some of the finest fighting material from which the Indian Army is recruited, and it may be that years of regular and peaceful administration will destroy the military qualities of these people, as has been the case in South India. The many opportunities afforded by the frontier to the Indian Army for active service, and the training that they get in the little frontier expeditions, may also be looked upon by some as a valuable asset.

The usual sequence of events is as follows: First, the more unruly sections of the tribes carry on a series of raids on the frontier villages of India, as has been their custom from time immemorial. Sometimes the miscreants are captured and meet their fate; more often they escape, and, in accordance with the system of tribal responsibility, a fine is put on the tribe from which they come. These fines go on accumulating, the tribe running up an account with the Government for its misdeeds.

Thus we come to the second stage, when the patience of the Government is exhausted. The tribal heads are called in, and an ultimatum offered to them. They must pay so much in fines and deliver the criminals demanded, or an expedition will be organized. Much time—it may be many months—is occupied in councils, while the tribe is endeavouring to gain time or to make the terms more favourable.

The third stage is when the tribe fail to meet the Government’s conditions, and a punitive expedition is organized against them. This expedition enters their hills, raises their parda, burns their villages, fights a few actions—usually of the nature of ambuscades or rearguard actions—realizes more or less of the fine, confiscates a number of rifles, and comes back again.

The tribe is now free to commence its depredations afresh with a clean sheet, and to begin to run up a new account, and, in order more effectually to prevent this and keep a greater control over them, the Government find themselves compelled to enter on the fourth stage, which is that of annexing some points of vantage where military posts can be erected, which will overawe and control them.

It is thus that a gradual, though it may be reluctant, annexation of territory becomes inevitable.

Then, it must be remembered that there is always a section of the tribe, and often a majority, who are favourable to annexation, for the more settled and peaceful rule of the British brings many advantages in its train. While before they were not able to cultivate their crops at any distance from the village, and even then only when fully armed, now they are able to till the ground in peace even miles away from their habitations, and land which was before unculturable becomes of great value. They are able to trade and carry on the ordinary avocations of life with a security to which they have been hitherto strangers. They learn the value of money, and begin to amass wealth.

There are always, however, two parties in the tribe who are opposed tooth and nail to British rule, and as they have got power far in excess of their more peacefully disposed brethren, they are usually able to terrorize the more peace-loving majority into a false acquiescence in their own opposition. These two parties are the outlaws and the Mullahs.

The outlaws have made their living by raiding and robbery for generations, and have no inclination to give up their profession for more peaceable but less exciting and less profitable employment.

Not only have the Mullahs an antipathy to those whom they consider kafirs, or infidels, but they know that under the changed conditions of life, their influence, their power, and their wealth must all suffer.

Besides this, there are two elements in our rule which are equally repugnant to all. One is the protection which we give to the money-lender, and the other is the dilatory nature of our justice. Usury is unlawful to the Muhammadans, but as they are spendthrift and improvident, the Hindus are able to make a living among them by lending them money in times of necessity. The Hindu was formerly prevented from charging too high a rate of interest or running up too long an account, by the fact that if he did so, his Muhammadan masters, who held the sword, would come one night and burn his house over his head, and let him start afresh. Under British régime, however, the usurer is protected. He is able to recover his debts from the impecunious Muhammadan by a civil action, and may get the latter thrown into prison if he does not pay; while if the Muhammadan tries to burn his account-books, he will find himself an inmate of His Majesty’s gaol.

The justice which the Muhammadan of the frontier appreciates is a rapid and appropriate justice, such as used to be meted out by officers in the days of Nicholson, when the offender might find himself accused, arrested, judged, and visited with some punishment appropriate to the crime all within the course of a few days. At the present time he can, if rich enough, call in a pleader, and get any number of false witnesses, and his case is inevitably dragged out by the magistrate by successive postponements for getting the attendance of these witnesses, or through some technicality of the law; and even when he does—it may be after the lapse of some months—get a judgment, the losing party in the suit is at liberty to bring an appeal to the Sessions Judge, and from him another appeal can be lodged at the High Court of Lahore, which has so many cases on its lists that it may be his case will not be taken till after the lapse of two or three years.

The real strength of our administration on the frontier is the personnel of our officers, for it has always been the man, and not the system, that governs the country; and there are names of officers now dead and gone which are still a living power along that frontier, because they were men who thoroughly knew the people with whom they had to deal, and whose dauntless and strong characters moulded the tribes to their will, and exerted such a mesmeric influence over those wild Afghans that they were ready to follow their feringi masters through fire and sword with the most unswerving loyalty, even though they were of an alien faith.

As an example of this, it is related that on a certain frontier expedition the regiments were passing up a defile on a height, above which some of the enemy had ensconced themselves in ambush behind their sangars. The Afghans had been soldiers in the Indian Army, who had now completed their service and retired to their hills, and were, as is often the case, using the skill which they had learnt in their regiments against us. They were about to fire, when one of them recognized the officer riding at the head of the regiment as his own Colonel. He stopped the others, and said: “That is our own Karnal Sahib. We must not fire on him or his regiment.” That regiment was allowed to pass in safety, but they opened fire on the one which succeeded.