The enemy, emboldened by the diminished numbers of the garrison, and undervaluing what might be accomplished by a small number of good soldiers, had assembled in force, and occupied the crest of the mountain, the only place from which heliographic communication with me could be kept up.  Money very properly decided that this could not be permitted, and considered it best to take the initiative before the enemy should become still stronger, so ordered an advance.  Under cover of the Mountain battery’s fire, Major Griffiths, of the 3rd Sikhs, with 200 of his own men and 50 of the 21st Punjab Infantry, supported by 150 rifles of the latter corps, stormed the Afghans’ position.  The assault, delivered in a most spirited manner, was perfectly successful.

Major Griffiths, however, was wounded, also a signalling sergeant of the 67th Foot and five men of the 3rd Sikhs, while the enemy left thirty dead on the ground, and were pursued down the slope of the hill without making any attempt to rally.

On the 3rd we marched fifteen miles to Zahidabad, where we first came in sight of the fortified hill above Kabul.  The rear guard was fired into on the way, and we had considerable difficulty in crossing the Logar river, as the water from a large irrigation cut had been directed back into the stream just above the ford.  Our only casualty on this day was Captain ‘Dick’ Kennedy, who was wounded in the hand.

It was plain from these occurrences, and from the attack on the Shutargardan, that the people generally were not disposed to be friendly.  From the Amir I could extract no information on this head, although he must have been fully aware of the feelings and intentions of his subjects.  He was in constant communication with Kabul, and was frequently being met by mounted messengers, who, from the haste with which they travelled, as evidenced by the exhausted state of their horses and the eagerness with which the Amir read the letters they brought, appeared to be the bearers of important tidings.

It may be imagined how irritating and embarrassing was Yakub Khan’s presence, since his position in my camp enabled him to give the leaders at Kabul accurate information as to our numbers and movements.  That he felt pretty sure of our discomfiture was apparent from his change of manner, which, from being at first a mixture of extreme cordiality and cringing servility, became as we neared Kabul distant, and even haughty.

On the 5th October, one month from the receipt at Simla of the evil tidings of the fate of the British Embassy, we reached the pretty little village of Charasia, nestling in orchards and gardens, with a rugged range of hills towering above it about a mile away.  This range descended abruptly on the right to permit the exit of the Logar river, and rose again on its other side in precipitous cliffs, forming a fine gorge[5] about halfway between our camp and Kabul city, now only from ten to twelve miles distant.