It was of common knowledge as well in
the cantonments as in the city, that the engagements made by the chiefs
were not worth the paper on which they had been written, and that
treachery was being concerted against the force on its impending travail
through the passes. It was told by a chief to one of the officers who was
his friend, that Akbar Khan had sworn to have in his possession the
British ladies as security for the safe restoration of his own family and
relatives, and, strange forecast to be fulfilled almost to the very
letter, had vowed to annihilate every soldier of the British army with
the exception of one man, who should reach Jellalabad to tell the story
of the massacre of all his comrades. Pottinger was well aware how
desperate was the situation of the hapless people on whose behalf he had
bent so low his proud soul. Mohun Lal warned him of the treachery the
chiefs were plotting, and assured him that unless their sons should
accompany the army as hostages, it would be attacked on the march. Day
after day the departure was delayed, on the pretext that the chiefs had
not completed their preparations for the safe conduct of the force and
its encumbrances. Day after day the snow was falling with a quiet,
ruthless persistency. The bitter night frosts were destroying the sepoys
and the camp followers, their vitality weakened by semi-starvation and by
the lack of firewood which had long distressed them.
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