THE GHILZIE.
In avoiding the village of Gundamuck by making a detour to the right,
Robert Wodrow came upon a handsome Moslem edgah built in a solitary
place. The mausoleum--for such it was, erected over the remains of a
santon or holy man--was built of white marble, with a dome and finely
carved horseshoe-shaped entrance door.
The oleander and rose shed perfume around it, with many a flower
grown wild, as the garden which once environed it, either by
dissensions incident to Afghanistan or the departure of a tribe, was
completely neglected now. The custard apple, the pomegranate, and
the citron hung their golden but untasted fruit around it, and the
snow-white blossoms of the sweet jasmine hung in garlands from tree
to tree.
The tomb looked solemn and picturesque, and Robert Wodrow was in the
act of pausing in his lonely way to admire it, when, somewhat to his
consternation, there stalked forth from the interior a tall and
grim-looking Afghan warrior, completely armed.
His rosary of ninety-nine beads--each representing an attribute of
the Diety--dangled at his left wrist; thus he had evidently been
saying his prayers at the shrine of the santon.
By some of the details of his costume he was evidently a Ghilzie, a
tribe above seven hundred thousand in number, who occupy the central
portion of that mountainous district which lies between Candahar and
Cabul--fierce, hardy, and warlike people, led always by many chiefs
of undoubted valour, under whom they have always given, and will yet
give, the British troops infinite trouble.
His long, aquiline face was fair for an Afghan, being what they term
'wheat-coloured,' but his glittering eyes were dark and keen, and his
beard was black as the conical fur cap that surmounted his beetling
and shaggy eyebrows.
Seeing that Wodrow's hand instantly wandered to the hilt of his
sword, as if instinctively he saw a foe, the Afghan became alarmed,
suspicious, and, pausing close by the door of the edgah, scrutinised
the stranger; and whether it was that some of the dark paste had left
the latter's face, or that there was some discrepancy in his costume,
it is impossible to say, but the Afghan unsheathed his sword and
shouted,
'Feringhee!'
He then levelled a pistol at the head of Wodrow, but it hung fire,
and the latter, ere he could draw another, instantly closed with him.
He was a man of enormous stature and great muscular strength; he was,
moreover, fresh and well-fed, while the luckless Robert Wodrow was
faint, weary, and worn, having been feeding on fruit and wayside
herbs, or little better, since the morning that saw the slaughter at
the Residency inaugurated.
Wodrow carried an Afghan shield of tanned buffalo hide, elaborately
gilded and furnished with four brass bosses; but simply as a portion
of his disguise, which the Ghilzie had so quickly penetrated, but he
knew not how to use it effectively, while his antagonist had a small
one, not much larger than a dinner-plate, on his left arm, and when
grasped in his left hand, it proved a defence which he used with
wonderful skill and dexterity.
Both men were brave, completely master of their weapons, full of
perfect confidence in themselves, and what Wodrow afterwards called
'a rattling set-to, in which the pot-lid,' as he styled the little
Afghan shield, 'bore a great part,' now ensued.
The Ghilzie fought in the spirit of rancour, excited by difference of
race and religion; Robert Wodrow in a spirit of desperation, to
preserve his life and liberty, and to achieve this nothing was left
him but to kill his assailant outright, if he could; but all that he
had been taught by the hussar drill-sergeant and fencing, master--cut
one and left point--two and right point--three and right point
again--cut four and left point, &c.--was useless here.
They both used tulwars of equal weight, keenness, and length, but the
Ghilzie was fresh for the combat, and his tiny shield of tempered
steel grasped by a strong and active hand, if small, was handy,
impenetrable, and was ever opposed to the shower of cuts and thrusts
that Wodrow intended for its owner.
Ever and anon they paused to gather breath, though they panted rather
than breathed, and their eyes glared into each other, as the rage of
conflict and lust of destruction grew in their hearts--Wodrow the
while feeling that every moment was to him most precious, as he knew
not what succour or comrades his foe might have at hand.
He hewed, slashed, and thrust away, but there was no circumventing
the use of that pestilent little iron shield, which rang and emitted
red sparks beneath his strokes, and which there seemed no means of
getting over, under, or round about.
The Ghilzie warrior was compelled, by the activity and desperation of
Wodrow's attack, to stand more on the defensive than he expected, and
his mountain blood waxed hot. Drawing back a pace or two, he hurled
three pistols in succession, which he snatched from his girdle, at
the head of Wodrow, who adroitly 'dodged' them, and suddenly closing,
struck the Ghilzie's tulwar from his hand to the distance of some
yards.
The sudden wrench this action occasioned his wrist disconcerted him,
and Wodrow's sword having completed the sweep of the stroke, was
descending on his head ere he had time to draw the deadly _charah_
which, among other weapons, was stuck in his girdle, when up went the
tiny shield, and in saving his head he left his face exposed, and
right into it Robert Wodrow planted his clenched hand with such force
and fury that the Ghilzie stumbled backward, and in falling was twice
run through the body and slain. Choking in blood, his last words
were:
'I am gone. Oh, place my feet towards the Keblah.'
Robert Wodrow felt neither pity nor remorse just then, as his blood
was boiling in fever-heat, and the Ghilzie had sought his own
destruction.
The victor cast a rapid and furtive glance around him, and then
hurried on his way. Save the dead man, no other enemy was in sight.
In a little time Wodrow looked back to the place where the Ghilzie
lay, and already he could see hovering over the latter in mid-air
several great black vultures wheeling in circles prior to swooping
down to begin their horrible banquet.
That his disguise had been seen through by this unfortunate fellow
greatly disconcerted Robert Wodrow, and deprived him of much of the
confidence he had hitherto possessed, and he thought of travelling
only by night, and lurking in the woods or among rocks by day; but
his ignorance of the country, and the necessity of studying such
landmarks as he remembered, and keeping to the beaten path as much as
possible, together with the necessity for procuring food at all
risks, compelled him to relinquish the idea.
He untwisted another cartridge, and again, with water from a runnel,
made some dark dye in a leaf, and carefully rubbing therewith his
face, neck, and ears, betook himself to the mountain ridges that
overhung Bahar; the latter is only twelve miles from Gundamuck, but
so rugged was the way he had to pursue, and so many the detours he
had to make to find fords on the streams he had to cross, that
evening was drawing on by the time he had passed on the right flank
of the village.
He continued his way a few miles beyond it, and then, feeling
overcome by profound weariness and prostration after the events and
toil of the past day, he lay down among some thick, soft grass a
little way apart from the road, and, oblivious of snakes, wild
animals, and dew, dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
How long he lay thus he knew not, but he was roused by voices and
other sounds. Starting up he found a moon of wonderful brilliance
shining clearly as if a second day had dawned, and close by him a
group of men with laden camels--a group that had halted on finding
him prostrate there, in doubt whether he was alive or dead.
On seeing the turbans and dark faces, Wodrow thought all was over
with him, and his hand went at once to the hilt of his sword, and he
longed for the ring of Gyges, or anything that would render him
invisible.
But the men among whom he found himself evidently took him for an
Afghan, and evinced no sign of hostility, though they were all well
armed.
They proved to be five merchants from Ghuznee, having camels laden
with those dried fruits which constitute the principal article of
trade between Afghanistan and India, and these, together with
oranges, citrons, tobacco, and jars of red and yellow Derehnur wine,
they were now conveying to the banks of the Indus to exchange for
British goods, or sell, if possible, at the first British fort.
Like themselves, their _syces_ and _bheesties_ (grass-cutters and
water-carriers) were all well armed, but were Hindoos, and with the
whole party Robert Wodrow had no occasion for much fear, as his
residence in the house of the Hakim, together with his knowledge of
the natives, picked up elsewhere, stood him in good stead now.
'What are you?' asked one of the merchants.
'A tchopper of Cabul,' replied Wodrow.
'Then where is your horse?'
'He fell under me on the way,' replied Wodrow, seeing at once his
mistake, for in Afghanistan, as in Persia, State despatches are
carried by mounted messengers called _tchoppers_, or mounted
couriers, and private letters by cossids, or foot-messengers, who
will sometimes travel seventy leagues in four consecutive days.
'Then you are the bearer of a royal despatch?'
'From the Ameer, whom God long preserve, to the officer commanding
the outpost at the Lundi-Khana Kotal. In the name of the Prophet,
give me some food; I am starving.'
The unsuspecting merchants hastened to supply his wants, and one said,
'Your despatch, no doubt, refers to the vengeance of heaven which has
overtaken the Feringhee dogs at the Bala Hissar?'
'I presume so,' replied Wodrow, eating cold meat and buttered
chupatties with infinite relish. 'If it isn't an angel they are
entertaining unawares, they little think it is one of the 10th
Hussars,' was his thought. 'As for the Feringhees, they are now
eating other food than this,' said he aloud.
'True,' added the merchant; 'the tree of Al Zakkum, which issueth
from the bottom of hell, and the fruit whereof resembleth the heads
of devils.'
'May all their kindred come, as they have done, to a knowledge of
their fiendish idolatry,' said another, his voice becoming hoarse in
the extremity of his hatred; 'the heathens--the savages that they
are--dogs who come among us to cast a slur upon civilised men and a
holy religion--who eat of the unclean pig, a brute like themselves;
but we shall not cease to strike and slay, Bismillah! till not one
of them remain alive on this side of Attock!'
'Oho, my friend,' thought Robert Wodrow; 'by Jove, I must keep my eye
upon you, now that I know the amiability of your sentiments.'
He then learned with extreme satisfaction that they meant to pass
Lundi-Khana Kotal. He was accommodated with a seat on one of the
camels, which, though laden, travelled at a good average pace, and he
resolved to be very taciturn and careful in his bearing and
demeanour, especially after the morning dawned.
'Fate and fortune have long seemed dead against me,' thought he;
'yet, heaven knows, it is not because I have been faint of heart; and
heaven always helps those who help themselves.'
With these merchants he now travelled in ease and security for the
remainder of his journey, passing undiscovered through Sador, Baru,
Basawul, and other villages, and traversing the upper end of savage
Khoord Khyber Pass. Ere long he found himself approaching
Lundi-Khana Kotal, a post two thousand four hundred and eighty-eight
feet above the level of the sea, just as dawn was breaking, and there
came to him on the morning wind a sound there was no mistaking--the
pipers of a Highland regiment playing the morning reveille, 'Hey,
Johnnie Cope,' among the white tents of the British camp, and then he
knew that he was safe.