BOOKS,
THE WARDEN OF THE KHYBER.*
SIR RORERT WA.RBURTON, with a unique opportunity, enjoyed a unique career. The son of a British officer and an Afghan lady, he was born (so to say) on the battlefield, and he spent the many years of a useful and honourable career among the wild and savage tribes which he accounted his friends. Not only a perfect knowledge of Persian and Pushtu, but the sympathy of blood, gave him an understanding of the Afghan character, and helped him to avoid many of the mis- takes which have more than once involved our British arms in disaster. Above all, he was for eighteen years the Warden of the Khyber Pass, he lived long among the Afridis, whose native vice and virtue he appreciated perfectly, he witnessed their defeat in 1897, and he has many a wise counsel to offer to his Government, the fruit of a long experience. For eighteen years he did his work and then saw it (as he thought) all undone in a day. "My mind is very heavy over this hideous disaster," he wrote to a friend, " which I feel could have been staved of even up to the day of mischief. It makes me quite sad to think how easily the labour of years—of a lifetime—can be ruined and destroyed in a few days." But the labour is not all destroyed. The example and precept of Sir Robert Warburton live after him, and, despite the campaign of '97, the loyalty of the Afridis, in which we have a sure faith, must be considered the child of his devotion and diplomacy.
Like all books written in sincerity and with a fulness of knowledge, Eighteen Years in the Khyber is the best of good reading. More justly even than most books of its kind, it may be described as the raw material of romance. There is a horse-thief, for instance, who robs the British Colonel, and recalls at once the "Ballad of East and West"; there is a dying rissaldar, who had fought against the British between 1845 and 1848, and who on his death-bed wished to see Captain Battye. His ancient hostility had long since changed to a loyal devotion. " Sahib," he said, " if at any time that I have been serving under you I have committed any fault or made any mistake, please forgive me now." That is the true spirit of loyalty, which should give us confidence in the future of our Empire. The warriors who will fight as long as they can, and then with the gallantry of sportsmen delight to serve their victors, should furnish forth such an army as would defend India against all comers. Bat of course the old savagery is not (and never will be) extinct. There will still be such chieftains as Amin Khan, whose turbulent career was brought to a sudden close when he was no more than thirty-four. "He was murdered at Jam," says Warburton, "on December 6th, 1898. No particulars reached me as to who did this act, but Amin Khan had waded knee-deep through blood and murder, and it seemed certain that vengeance would overtake him sooner or later." Nor are the popular beliefs without curiosity. In 1870 three officers built them- selves a house near the Cabal River. But on the site they selected there was a ziarat or shrine, the resting-place of a departed saint, and the keeper of the shrine prophesied that evil would overtake them and their house. Two of the officers were thrown from their horses and killed, the third was drowned in the Ganges, and a heavy flood swept away every trace of the house. One other story deserves quotation, as it proves again the hopeless impossibility of disguise. Arminins Varn- bery visited Ameer Yaknb Khan at Herat, and the Ameer recognised him instantly for a foreigner. "I was seated in an upper chamber," said the Ameer, " watching a parade of my troops, and the band was playing on the open ground in front of my window. I noticed a man beating time to the music of a band with his foot. I knew at once he must be a European, as Asiatics are not in the habit of doing this. Later on, when the man came to my durbar, I charged him with being a Feringhi, which he denied. However, I did not press the matter, being afraid that if suspicions had been roused against him, his life might not have been safe." Thus it is that the most skilful are betrayed, and possibly no traveller ever mastered all the details of deception.
But Sir Robert Warburton's book is not merely picturesque. It contains much political wisdom, and it is to be hoped that
* Eighteen. Years In the Khyber, 1879-1893. By Colonel Sir Robert Warburton, London : John Murray. Ltua.]
the Government will not allow the admonition of this faith- ful servant to pans nnregarded. With a certain hesitation, he ascribes the last outbreak of the Afridis to the insults heaped upon the Sultan by English politicians. The Afridis themselves neither know nor care aught about Euro- pean complications, bat the rascally Moollaha, inspired from Constantinople, travel up and down the country eager to make mischief between us and our allies. The intriguing middleman, indeed, is to Sir Robert Warburton a constant bogey. It was the middleman, says he, who dictated the insolent message which led to the campaign of 1897, and who involved the loyal Afridis in ruin and misery. To prevent this dangerous intrigue, he would abolish utterly the native Arbab or middleman agency, which at present deals with our neighours across the border. Following the counsel of Lord Lytton, he would appoint a Government official to pay the chief's allowance, and to transact every sort of business.
Again, he complains that when he left the Khyber there was none to take his place. No English colleague had assisted him ; consequently there was not a single English-
man who knew the tribesmen well enough to conciliate their ill-humour. Moreover, he declares that the Punjab system has completely failed after a trial of thirty-five years. He would, in fact, separate the North-West Frontier districts from the Punjab, and so create another and a separate province. " No Government of the Punjab," says he, " has ever been able to converse with the border people in both Persian and Pashtu, and without this colloquial knowledge no man should be allowed to remain permanently in the Trans-Indus districts, or be chief over them." So
he would appoint a Chief Commissioner, specially equipped, who should visit every spot wherever his presence is required. And since a little diplomacy may prevent a disastrous and expensive campaign, it would be well if this suggestion, made by Lord Lytton and approved by Lord Salisbury, should once again be seriously considered.
For not only is our North - West Frontier of infinite importance, but the tribes which inhabit it are of a difficult and uncertain temper. Here, for instance, is the Afridi character sketched by Sir Robert Warburton, who knew it well:- " The Afridi lad from his earliest childhood is taught by the circumstances of his existence and life to distrust all mankind, and very often his near relations—heirs to his small plot of land by right of inheritance – are his deadliest enemies. Distrust of all mankind, and readiness to strike the first blow for the safety of his own life, have therefore become the maxims of the Afridi. If you can overcome this mistrust, and be kind in words to him, he will repay you by great devotion, and he will put up with any punishment you like to give him except abuse. It took me years to get through this thick crust of mistrust, but what was the after result ? For upwards of fifteen years I went about unarmed among these people. My camp, wherever it happened to be pitched, was always guarded and protected by them. The deadliest enemies of the Khyber Range, with a long record of blood-feuds, dropped these feuds for the time being when in my camp."
The moral of that is the moral of Sir Robert Warburton's book : Send to the North-West officials who are properly equipped with knowledge and sympathy. It is worth while, even on the grounds of economy, and England has no lack of devoted servants who, like Mackeson, the god of Warburton's idolatry, and Warburton himself, are content to spend many useful years on the dreary outposts of our Empire.
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