Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The historically important campaign group of three awarded to Lieutenant V. Hughes, 35th Sikhs, Indian Army, who was killed in action at Shahi-Tang, high in the Mamund Valley, on 16 September 1897 whilst leading a rear-guard action to prevent the dangerously exposed Winston Churchill from being overrun and killed by the Pathan tribesmen.

Hacked to death by the leading tribesman, Hughes’ death was personally avenged by the future Premier: ‘I forgot everything else at this moment except a desire to kill this man. I pulled out my revolver, took, as I thought, most careful aim, and fired’

Queen’s Sudan 1896-98 (Lieut: V. Hughes, 35: Sikh B. Inft:) impressed naming; India General Service 1895-1902, 2 clasps, Punjab Frontier 1897-98, Malakand 1897 (Lieut. V. Hughes. 35th. Sikhs.); Khedive’s Sudan 1896-1908, no clasp (Lieut: V. Hughes. 35th. Bl. Infy.) engraved naming, good very fine and better (3) £8,000-£10,000

Bought Baldwins, November 1955 (£3 10s.)

Victor Hughes was born on 8 April 1866 and was first commissioned into the Lincolnshire Regiment on 9 May 1888. He transferred to the Indian Army Staff Corps on 4 January 1890, and was posted as Lieutenant and Quartermaster of the 35th Sikhs, Bengal Infantry, on 15 January 1891. He served with them as part of the Sudan Field Force in 1896, returning to Peshawar in December 1896, and then saw further service with the Malakand Field Force the following year.

With Winston Churchill in the Mamund Valley
In the summer of 1897, following a series of disturbances on the North West Frontier of India, a large punitive force, the Malakand Field Force, was assembled under General Sir Bindon Blood. News of this proposed expedition reached Winston Churchill, then a young subaltern with the 4th Hussars on leave in England, whilst he was a spectator at Goodwood Races. Having previously extracted from Blood a promise that he would be accommodated on his Staff if ever the opportunity arose, Churchill immediately proceeding to India, and at length joined the Force as a War Correspondent. The Malakand Field Force proper consisted of three Brigades, with the 2nd Brigade, under the command of Brigadier-General Jeffreys, composed of the 1st Battalion, East Kent Regiment; the 35th Sikhs; the 38th Dogras; and the Guides Infantry. Proceeding up Malakand Country, by the night of 15-16 September 1897 the 2nd Brigade, including both Hughes and Churchill, was camped at the mouth of the Mamand Valley

Churchill sets the scene in The Story of the Malakand Field Force:
‘The story has now reached a point which I cannot help regarding as its climax. The action of the Mamund Valley is recalled to me by so many vivid incidents and enduring memories that it assumes an importance, which is perhaps beyond its true historic proportions. Throughout the reader must make allowances for what I have called the personal perspective. Throughout he must remember how small is the scale of operations. The panorama is not filled with masses of troops. He will not hear the thunder of a hundred guns. No cavalry brigades whirl by with flashing swords. No infantry divisions are applied at critical points. The looker-on will see only the hillside, and may, if he watches with care, distinguish a few brown-clad men moving slowly about it, dwarfed almost to invisibility by the size of the landscape. I hope to take him close enough to see what these men are doing and suffering; what their conduct is and what their fortunes are. But I would ask him to observe that, in what is written, I rigidly adhere to my role of a spectator. If by any phrase or sentence I am found to depart from this, I shall submit to whatever evil things the ingenuity of malice may suggest. On the morning of 16th September, in pursuance of Sir Bindon Blood's orders, Brigadier-General Jeffreys moved out of his entrenched camp at Inayat Kila, and entered the Mamund Valley. His intentions were to chastise the tribesmen by burning and blowing up all defensible villages within reach of the troops. It was hoped that this might be accomplished in a single day, and that the brigade, having asserted its strength, would be able to march on the 17th to Nawagai and take part in the attack on the Bedmanai Pass, which had been fixed for the 18th. Events proved this hope to be vain, but it must be remembered that up to this time no serious opposition had been offered by the tribesmen to the columns, and that no news of any gathering had been reported to the General. The valley appeared deserted. The villages looked insignificant and defenceless. It was everywhere asserted that the enemy would not stand. Reveille sounded at half-past five, and at six o'clock the brigade marched out. In order to deal with the whole valley at once the force was divided into three columns ... ’

But as coming events would shortly confirm, the assertion that the enemy would not stand was woefully inaccurate. Churchill continues the story in his autobiography, My Early Life:
‘We got to the head of the valley without a shot being fired. Here we dismounted, perhaps fifteen carbines in all, and opened fire at seven hundred yards’ range. Instantly the whole hill became spotted with white puffs of smoke, and bullets began to whistle through our little grove. This enjoyable skirmish crackled away for nearly an hour, and meanwhile the infantry toiled nearer and nearer to us across the plain.
When they arrived, it was settled that the leading company of the 35th Sikhs should attack the conical hill and two more companies should proceed up a long spur to the left of it. The cavalry meanwhile would guard the plain and keep connection with the reserve of our force.

I decided to go with the second party up the long spur towards the village [of Shahi-Tang]. I gave my pony to a native and began to toil up the hillside with the Infantry. It was frightfully hot. The sun, nearing the meridian, beat upon one's shoulders. We plodded and stumbled upwards for nearly an hour. As we ascended, the whole oval pan of the Mamund Valley spread out behind us, and pausing to mop my brow, I sat on a rock and surveyed it. It was already nearly eleven o'clock. The first thing that struck me was that there were no troops to be seen. Where was our Army?
It occurred to me for the first time that we were a very small party: five British officers including myself, and probably eighty-five Sikhs. That was absolutely all; and here we were at the very head of the redoubtable Mamund Valley, scrambling up to punish its farthest village. I was fresh enough from Sandhurst to remember the warnings about “dispersion of forces”, and certainly it seemed that the contrast between the precautions which our strong force had taken moving out of camp in the morning, and the present position of our handful of men, was remarkable. However, like most young fools I was looking for trouble, and only hoped that something exciting would happen.
It did!

At last we reached the few mud houses of the village [of Shahi-Tang]. A quarter of an hour passed and nothing happened. Then the Captain of the company arrived.
“We are going to withdraw”, he said to the subaltern. “You stay here and cover our retirement till we take up a fresh position on that knoll below the village.” He added, “The Colonel thinks we are rather in the air here”.
It struck me this was a sound observation.

Suddenly the mountain-side sprang to life. Swords flashed from behind rocks, bright flags waved here and there. A dozen widely-scattered white smoke-puffs broke from the rugged face in front of us. Loud explosions resounded close at hand. From high up on the crag, one thousand, two thousand, three thousand feet above us, white or blue figures appeared, dropping down the mountain-side from ledge to ledge like monkeys down the branches of a tall tree. A shrill crying arose from many points.
Yi! Yi! Yi! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The whole hillside began to be spotted with smoke, and tiny figures descended every moment nearer towards us. Our eight Sikhs opened an independent fire, which soon became more and more rapid. The hostile figures continued to flow down the mountain-side, and scores began to gather in rocks about a hundred yards away from us.
The targets were too tempting to be resisted. I borrowed the Martini of the Sikh by whom I lay. He was quite content to hand me cartridges. I began to shoot carefully at the men gathering in the rocks. A lot of bullets whistled about us. But we lay very flat, and no harm was done. This lasted perhaps five minutes in continuous crescendo. We had certainly found the adventure for which we had been looking!’

Unknown to Churchill, he and his little band of men had become dangerously exposed, and were a sitting target for the Pashtun tribesmen. Hughes, the Battalion Adjutant of the 35th Sikhs hurried to the scene, with a number of sepoys:
‘“Come on back now. There is no time to lose. We can cover you from the knoll”.’ (ibid).

The spur along which the British force was retreating consisted of three interconnected knolls. As Con Coughlin recounts in Churchill’s First War:
‘One group of Sikhs served as the rearguard and provided covering fire as the rest of their comrades withdrew from the village to the first knoll. Once this had been accomplished they in turn provided cover as the rearguard left the village to join them. The first manoeuvre was accomplished without incident, but as the Sikhs sought to repeat the ploy by moving to the second knoll they came under intense fire. Churchill, another officer and eight sepoys were left to hold the second knoll and provide cover as the rest of the unit withdrew to the third knoll below. But when the turn came for Churchill’s group to retire, they came under heavy fire from the advancing tribesmen, who had already seized the first knoll.’

Churchill continues the narrative in My Early Life:
‘The rest of our party got up and turned to retreat. There was a ragged volley from the rocks; shouts, exclamations, and a scream. I thought for the moment that five or six of our men had lain down again. So they had: two killed and three wounded. One man was shot through the breast and pouring with blood; another lay on his back kicking and twisting. The British officer was spinning round just behind me, his face a mass of blood, his right eye cut out. Yes, it was certainly an adventure.

It is a point of honour on the Indian frontier not to leave wounded men behind. Death by inches and hideous mutilation are the invariable measure meted out to all who fall in battle into the hands of the Pathan tribesmen. Back came the Adjutant, with another British officer of subaltern rank, a Sikh sergeant-major, and two or three soldiers. We all laid hands on the wounded and began to carry and drag them away down the hill. We got through the few houses, ten or twelve men carrying four, and emerged upon a bare strip of ground. Here stood the Captain commanding the company with half-a-dozen men. Beyond and below, one hundred and fifty yards away, was the knoll on which a supporting party should have been posted. No sign of them!

I looked around to my left. The Adjutant [Hughes] had been shot. Four of his soldiers were carrying him. He was a heavy man, and they all clutched at him. Out from the edge of the houses rushed half a dozen Pathan swordsmen. The bearers of the poor Adjutant let him fall and fed at their approach. The leading tribesman rushed upon the prostrate figure and slashed it three or four times with his sword. I forgot everything else at this moment except a desire to kill this man. I wore my long cavalry sword well sharpened. After all, I had won the Public Schools fencing medal. I resolved on personal combat à l'arme blanche.

The savage saw me coming. I was not more than twenty yards away. He picked up a big stone and hurled it at me with his left hand, and then awaited me, brandishing his sword. There were others waiting not far behind him. I changed my mind about the cold steel. I pulled out my revolver, took, as I thought, most careful aim, and fired. No result. I fired again. No result. I fired again. Whether I hit him or not I cannot tell. At any rate he ran back two or three yards and plumped down behind a rock. The fusillade was continuous. I looked around. I was all alone with the enemy. Not a friend was to be seen. I ran as fast as I could. There were bullets everywhere. I got to the first knoll. Hurrah, there were the Sikhs holding the lower one! They made vehement gestures, and in a few moments I was among them.’

Churchill’s stirring account of the action at Shahi-Tangi in the Mamund Valley illustrates just how close the young subaltern with a thirst for adventure came to losing his own life, and instead it was his brother officer, Lieutenant Victor Hughes, who, after coming to Churchill’s aid, paid the ultimate price. Despite Churchill’s valiant attempt to avenge Hughes’ attackers, the remains of his body were never recovered, and he is commemorated in the Church of St. Thomas the Martyr, Oxford, not far from where Churchill himself was buried at Bladon nearly 70 years later. The inscription on his memorial tablet reads:
‘To the glory of God and in the loving memory of Lieutenant Victory Hughes, killed in action at Shahi-Tang whilst leading his men against the Mamunds on the frontier of India, 16th Sept. 1897.’