He remained a close prisoner until December 1st. On the
early morning of that day he was brought out from his tent, and after
taking farewell of the General and his staff, started on his journey to
Peshawur, surrounded by a strong escort. If the hill tribes along his
route had cared enough about him to attempt his rescue, the speed with
which he travelled afforded them no time to gather for that purpose.
During those uneventful October and November days, when the little army
commanded by General Roberts lay in its breezy camp on the Siah Sung
heights, there was no little temptation for the unprofessional reader of
the telegraphic information in the newspapers to hold cheap those
reputedly formidable Afghans, whose resistance a single sharp skirmish
had seemingly scattered to the winds, and who were now apparently
accepting without active remonstrance the dominance of the few thousand
British bayonets glittering there serenely over against the once
turbulent but now tamed hill capital. One may be certain that the shrewd
and careful soldier who commanded that scant array did not permit himself
to share in the facile optimism whether on the part of a government or of
the casual reader of complacent telegrams. It was true that the
Government of India had put or was putting some 30,000 soldiers into the
field on the apparent errand of prosecuting an Afghan war.
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