THE RETURN JOURNEY TO KABUL.
Loading up: the start. The first camp. Tropical heat: the
whirlwind. The Amîr’s khirgar. Scanty rations. Midnight marching.
The numbers on the march. Dangers in the pitchy darkness. Fever.
Stopped on the road. The hut: impure water: sleep by the road
side. The scream. Daybreak. The second camp. Lost on the plains.
Naibabad: the rain. The march to Tash Kurghan. A sketch of
the Khulm Pass. Sight seeing from the house tops. The Durbar.
Punishment of the unjust townsfolk. The Amîr’s health. The eclipse
of the sun. On the march again: the dust: jammed in the valleys.
Ghuzniguk. An Afghan “Good Samaritan.” A poisonous sting: the
Amîr’s remedy. A block on the road: dangers of by-paths in mountain
and valley. The tiger valley. A drink of milk. The dust. Haibuk.
Adventure with the elephant: the somnolent Afghan. The aqueduct.
Discomforts of a camp in an orchard.
It was June 13th when we started. The Armenian and I were up before
daybreak superintending the loading up of the medical stores and my
own baggage. We hoped to get well on the march before the heat of the
day commenced, but the men, from want of practice, were so slow and
clumsy in loading the pack-horses, that our start was delayed till nine
o’clock. It was then getting very hot.
[Sidenote: Tropical Heat: the Whirlwind.]
The first march was short, and soon after midday we reached the camping
ground on the plains, some few miles out of Mazar. I had thought my
first ride over these plains when I came to Mazar was a hot one; that
was in May--this was in June!
I dismounted and stood in the sun while some of the servants commenced
unloading the horses, and others attempted to put up my tent. They
were Asiatics, in their native climate: I was a Londoner, and I raised
my sun helmet every minute or two, hoping to catch a little breeze on
my head, but there was not the slightest breath. After standing some
time, I began to wonder, in an abstract way, which would give out
first--the heart or the nervous system--that is to say, whether it
would be a faint or a sun-stroke. The Armenian, seeing my distress,
brought me the portable iron chair that the fat Hakim had ruined, but
I found one might as well seek rest on the bars of the kitchen grate
when a dinner is in process of preparation. I therefore stood up
again--suddenly.
“When, oh, when, will they get my tent up?” I asked of my secret soul.
Receiving no answer, I begged the Armenian to hurry the men, calling
his attention to the fact that I was a European, “very soft man likes
flower, and heat is hurt it.” At last the tent was up, and thankfully I
staggered into its welcome shade.
“Great Scott!” I gasped, “carry me out.” For the tent, put up on the
red-hot plain at midday, felt like a baker’s oven on Good Friday eve. I
have never been in a baker’s oven on Good Friday eve, but I know what
it is like.
They did not carry me out, but the Armenian brought me a charpoy, also
burning hot. I lay quite still on it, simmered gently, and waited for
death.
At last, it must have been after several years, I fancy, a wind came:
it was a scorching one; there was no “healing in its breath,” and
I dried up still more. Then a whirlwind and a pillar of dust came
sweeping across the camp, tearing out the tent-pegs and overturning
the tents in its course. This roused me, and I crawled to the door
of the tent to see if the Amîr’s wigwam had escaped. His Highness
was not in a tent, but in a khirgar that had been prepared some days
before. It was interlaced with shrubs; and water had been brought, with
considerable trouble, in a trench or stream from Mazar. Men outside the
khirgar were constantly throwing up the water with wooden shovels on to
the leafy covering. The khirgar had escaped the whirlwind.
The Armenian went off to try and get me something to drink or eat,
for we had had no breakfast. All that the chief of the Commissariat
Department could give him was a small piece of bread. He begged us
not to inform His Highness, and promised that everything should be in
readiness the next day. After a search, the Armenian discovered that
my rascally cook had concealed some mutton in a dirty cloth: this he
brought me, with some brown-looking snow water, and a little whiskey
from the medical stores. I ate, drank, and was thankful.
At four in the afternoon a piece of ice arrived--the ice is saved from
the winter in ice pits--and half an hour afterwards the Amîr sent me
some ice pudding, which I devoured rapidly before it all became water.
At five came dinner, but then I was at one mind with the Armenian: he
said, “My wish is not I eat: very much drink I take it.”
At seven in the evening the troops marched off again, for the Amîr had
decided to travel at midnight to escape the heat. There were a great
many of us: the Court, the Harem, the army, and the baggage of us all.
For some time before, notice had been given to the towns and villages
on the route to lay in stores of grain and firewood, and to gather in
their flocks from the mountains. There were of us about eight thousand
men, ten thousand horses, three thousand camels, and three or four
elephants.
[Sidenote: Midnight Marching: Stopped on the Road.]
When the troops had gone my men commenced loading up the pack-horses
again. They took three hours over it, and many of the packs fastened up
in the dark slipped and fell after we started: this necessitated a halt
each time to reload. I was not in a cheerful state, either of mind or
body, for the heat had been too much for me. I had fever rather badly,
and was aching in every bone.
It was pitch dark; I could not see my horse’s head nor my own hand
held up. Before we got out of the camp on to the road I heard a
pack-horse that had broken loose tearing about like a mad thing. We
could tell where he was by the clattering of his chain. Once, in the
darkness, he rushed close by me. I was convinced he would charge into
some one, probably me, because no one could set my leg when it was
broken. However, we got on to the road at last: we could tell it by the
different ring of the horses’ hoofs.
The baggage slipped and a pack tumbled off so frequently, that at last
I had not patience to wait with the baggage men while they loaded up
again, and the Armenian and I rode on accompanied by a soldier. I had
operated on this man some time before; he therefore politely came two
days’ journey with me.
We had not ridden very far when suddenly out of the darkness came the
challenge in Pushtu,
“Sû-kè?” “Who goes there?”
It was a sentry with orders to allow no one to pass till the Amîr had
gone by!
“When is he going?” I enquired.
“Khuda medanad!” “God knows!” was the answer.
This was cheerful; and I said a great deal in English. There we sat in
the dark: we couldn’t go on, for the man would not let us. The annoying
part was that his General, who had a tent somewhere near, was that very
man who tried to bully me in the Hospital. I said to the Armenian,
“Tell him to report to the fat scoundrel who I am.” The man then
shouted to someone whom we could not see to take the report. After some
minutes, word was brought back that the General was asleep!
“Wake the devil, then!” I shouted, for I was burning and aching with
fever, and we had been waiting already half an hour. They did not dare
to, they said. The sentry communed within himself, and presently said
that, as I had attended him in a severe illness and had given him good
medicine and made him well, he would therefore risk punishment for
my sake and let me pass. He hesitated about letting the Armenian and
soldier go by too, but finally yielded, on its being explained to him
how impossible it was for me to travel alone. I never heard that he was
punished.
We rode on again, and on for four hours, and I had to hang on to the
pommel of the saddle. At last, after trying to moisten parched lips
with a dried-up tongue, I said to the Armenian:--
“Look here! You will have to make some different arrangements from
this. I can’t stand it. It is all very well for you fellows: you are as
hard as nails and are used to it. I am not.”
“Sir, I very sorry. What _I_ do.”
“I don’t know. You must do something; or else I must appeal to the
Amîr.”
[Sidenote: The Hut: Impure Water.]
I was miserable, and, like a child, struck at the nearest. The Armenian
asked if I would lie down and sleep for an hour, for, as far as he
could judge, we had come only about half-way. A little further on we
saw something darker than the sky, and riding up we made out that it
was a hut, a little way off the road. We could hear a trickle of water,
and by feeling around found a ditch or irrigation channel, or something
of the sort--we couldn’t see what--near the hut. With feverish haste I
dismounted, scooped up three or four cupfuls and gulped it down. “Here
go the microbes,” I thought. I drank knowingly; who would not? burning
with fever, in a tropical heat: but that drink nearly cost me my life.
However, the “microbes” lay low for a few days. The Armenian then went
off to the hut and hammered at the door. After some time he roused the
inmates, and we heard them moving and speaking. Presently the door
opened, and a Turkoman, with a lamp in his hand, appeared.
The Armenian told him to light a fire at once and make some tea, as
there was a Sirdar of the Court outside with fever. Very soon the tea
was brought, and I drank several cupfuls of the hot liquid. Then I took
off my spurs and helmet, and lying on the ground by the stream, put my
revolver wrapped in a cloak under my head, went off into a heavy sleep.
By-and-bye I heard a cock crow, and dimly saw that the moon had risen.
Later on, I was dreamily conscious of a trampling, and trampling, and
an incessant neighing. I remember thinking how wearisome it was, that
incessant neighing.
Suddenly there was a terrific scream, and I was broad awake in a
moment. I found, in the dim light of dawn, that several other people
had stopped where we had, and were sleeping. Two of their horses had
got loose from their tether ropes, and were reared upright striking at
one another.
The Armenian and I were close under them, and he was still sound asleep.
I woke him, and we sprang up. A little way off was the soldier holding
our horses. We mounted, while the others tried to separate the
screaming and fighting stallions by shouting and throwing sticks and
stones at them.
It was four o’clock, and we heard the larks singing overhead. Along the
road an incessant stream of baggage-horses was passing, trampling and
neighing. We had come a great deal more than half-way, for we did not
have far to go before we reached the camp. After half an hour or so my
tent and baggage turned up.
It was Gur-i-Mar where we camped: we had travelled slowly in the
darkness. The Amîr, riding on horseback, arrived with his guard soon
after dawn, but it was hours before the stream of pack-horses and
camels and elephants had come in.
I had breakfast as soon as the tent was up: cold mutton, biscuit, and
tea, and then lay on the ground with a pillow, and went to sleep again.
The fever had disappeared. Towards midday it grew frightfully hot, but
I did not suffer so much, for my tent was put up in the early morning
over cool ground.
In the afternoon the hot winds blew again, and we had a violent dust
storm. We did not have the difficulty in procuring food that we had had
the day before, and I received also a fair supply of ice.
While the hot winds blew, the rim of the glass I drank out of, though
containing iced water, was quite hot to the lips. I slept a good deal
during the day. At one in the morning I was called, and I dressed by
the light of a candle. When I got outside I found the men were loading
up. We started about three a.m. His Highness, I found, had gone on. It
was excessively dark, and the Armenian and I got off the road and lost
our way on the plains. We rode on trusting to our horses, but they were
as much at fault as we. We wandered about, down in hollows and up on
ridges, for the plain here was undulating, like downs. We were in the
neighbourhood of the Abadu Pass--the valley of death.
It seemed to me we were getting too far to the left, so we branched
to the right. Towards dawn it became very windy and dusty. At four
o’clock it became lighter and lighter, and the larks began to sing,
and after some trouble we found our way back to the road. To my great
relief the sky was cloudy, and the morning comparatively cool. I had
tucked a biscuit in the top of my boot, and I munched it with great
satisfaction: the Armenian nearly went to sleep on horseback. We camped
at Naibabad. Soon after the tents were up it began to rain: it was
delicious to hear the water come pattering down.
[Sidenote: The Amîr Lost on the Plains.]
I found we were not the only ones who had lost their way. At dawn the
Amîr himself, with his guard, was found wandering off towards Russia.
That day my demoniacal black pony untied his ropes with his fore foot
and teeth, and walked off. He was not found till late in the afternoon,
when he was brought in looking a miserable wreck.
The fourth day was windy and comparatively cool. We started at five
a.m. His Highness rode in a palanquin at the head of the army, and I
rode level some distance to the right. The mountains lay to the right
of us, the south, for we were nearing Tash Kurghàn: to the north was
the plain, and the dust was frightful. We arrived at Tash Kurghàn at
eight. We went very short stages, for when I had come to Mazar with Jan
Mahomed Khan, we did the journey from Tash Kurghàn to Mazar in the day.
I sat in the tent of one of the Chamberlains, and the Page boys came
and chatted and drank tea with me. They none of them seemed any the
worse for the journey. At eleven o’clock I went to my own tent, which
was erected on a mound outside the town, near the tent of the British
Agent. A good many sick people were brought: some with fever and other
illnesses, another with snake bite. The snake had bitten two men,
the first one died, but the other recovered. There were a good many
surgical cases, too, chiefly from horse kicks: broken legs, internal
injuries, and crushed fingers were the commonest. I turned in at eight
p.m.
We stayed the whole of the next day at Tash Kurghàn. I was awakened
at six in the morning by the bugles, and after breakfast, finding I
had a good view of the Khulm Pass, I made a careful sketch. One or two
people called upon me, and then, after dressing suitably, I mounted
the little bay horse the Amîr had sent me, and rode off to salaam His
Highness.
[Sidenote: The Durbar: The Amîr’s Health.]
The town seemed very lively and full, compared with what it did when
I first came through with Jan Mahomed. Gay-coated Courtiers and Page
boys were riding about, and soldiers were marching here and there. The
townspeople sat on their walls and stood on their housetops to see the
sights.
His Highness was occupying a large house in the town. He was very
gracious when I made my bow, but did not look at all well.
While I was there, the chief townsmen brought presents to His Highness.
There was a good deal of talking, to which I did not pay much
attention, till I noticed that His Highness became angry. Presently,
the men who had brought presents were taken outside and thrashed
severely. I was somewhat astonished, and possibly looked so, for His
Highness turned to me and explained why he had ordered the men to
be thrashed. A report had reached him, which he found on enquiry to
be true, that these men had extorted gifts from those poorer than
themselves, and had laid them before him as their own.
After lunch I asked His Highness if he were feeling quite well. He said
no: the sudden alteration in his habits, and the heat of the journey,
had upset him. He seemed pleased that I had asked.
I left the Durbar soon after lunch to see a man who had been seriously
injured on the march. He had a broken leg: a frightful smash it was:
compound and comminuted. While I was on the way there, at three p.m., I
noticed an extraordinary darkness or twilight coming over everything.
The horses and other animals seemed frightened, and made curious
noises. I glanced up and found we had a total eclipse of the sun. This
was on June 17th, 1890. Everyone was very alarmed, imagining that the
eclipse betokened some serious calamity, either to the King or the
Country.
I was up at four the next morning, for the Armenian wanted my breakfast
over, so that the tent could be packed as soon as possible. I had some
cold meat and bread, which my cook had wrapped in a piece of paper
overnight--this kept it from becoming disagreeably dry. Plates, knives,
and forks were packed, and, in lieu thereof, I used my pocket-knife and
fingers. The baggage was loaded up while I breakfasted: my tent being
left till last.
His Highness started at five, and we an hour afterwards. I had no
adventures this day worth recounting. We were among the mountains
again: winding-paths, ravines and bridges being the predominant
features. There were so many thousands on the march together that
divers discomforts arose. First, the dust was choking, making the eyes
and throat smart. Then “blocks” occurred, and we got jammed in some of
the passes. Under these circumstances the horses at once begin kicking
and fighting, and you have to look out for your shins. I had to stop by
the wayside frequently to bandage up some unfortunate who had become
damaged. I carried bandages and one or two splints with me.
We got into a series of valleys, and in one, which was regularly
cup-shaped, with precipitous mountains around it, we were jammed for
about an hour. It was quite an experience sitting in the dust and heat
among the kicking horses. However, there is an end to most things if
you wait long enough, and we got out of the valley eventually. At ten
a.m. we arrived at the valley of Ghuzniguk, where Ishak fought against
the Amîr’s soldiers. His Highness himself, I heard, was not present at
the battle: his illness prevented him leaving Kabul. Here we camped.
[Sidenote: An Afghan “Good Samaritan.”]
When I rode into the town I saw the tent of my neighbour, the Mirza
Abdur Rashid, already erected, and as my baggage had not yet arrived
I dismounted and entered it. It was empty, and I lay on the carpet to
rest. A soldier, whom I did not recognize, brought me a pillow, some
iced water, and a piece of bread. I thanked him, and when I had eaten
and drank I lay down again: he stood and fanned me, whereat I was
thankful, till finally I fell asleep. I woke by-and-bye and found the
kindly Afghan had departed. I was sitting cross-legged, leaning against
the pillow, with a look of pensive melancholy on, when the Mirza and
some others entered. After shaking hands we sat down again, and the
Mirza said,
“Doctor Sahib bisyar manda shud.” “The Doctor Sahib is very tired.”
I could not admit this before the others, and I broke out into Persian:
“Né manda na shudam--gurisna shudam.” “Nay, I am not tired, I am
hungry.”
In those days I so rarely would attempt to talk Persian that they
laughed; and I had used the colloquial Afghan-Persian _gurisna_ instead
of the correct _gursina_. A tray of cold meat cut up into cubes, and
some bread, was brought, and we helped ourselves with our fingers.
In the afternoon the Armenian sent word that my tent was up, and I
went off there and slept again for a couple of hours. After that the
Armenian suggested my using his tent one day and my own the next, so
that a tent could be sent on beforehand and made ready by the time I
arrived. Dinner came, as usual, from His Highness’s cook, and I turned
in at eight. The Armenian and the servants slept on the ground outside
the tent.
[Sidenote: The Poisonous Sting.]
The next morning, June 19th, I turned out at three, and had breakfast
at four o’clock: it was dawn. Soon after, I was sent for to see a man
who had been stung in the night by something or other. What it was
I couldn’t quite make out, for the Armenian’s knowledge of English
names was limited. He described a creature with many legs attached to
a central body. I suggested a “crab.” He said he thought that might
be it; on consideration I thought it hardly likely: and centipede and
poisonous spider occurred to me. Whatever it were, the patient was in a
state of “collapse.” Perspiration stood on his face, he had a weak slow
pulse, headache, and burning pains in the limbs. I was about to give
medicine and port wine when His Highness came riding by on a trotting
camel, followed by his guard on horseback. Seeing a group around a man
on the ground, and me in the middle of it, he stopped to enquire what
was the matter. They carried the man to him and explained. The Amîr
asked a few questions about the symptoms: whether the man’s eyeballs
ached, and whether he sweated. When he heard that the skin was acting
he turned to me and said:--
“Inshallah, jour méshowad.” “If God will, he will become well.”
He told me he had a native medicine, an excellent remedy for poisonous
stings: this he was about to administer: if it were not effectual he
would wish me to give European medicine. He gave an order in Persian
to one of the attendants, who presently brought him a little inlaid
box. His Highness unbuttoned his coat and took a small key which was
hanging by a chain round his neck. He opened the box and took out a
little egg-shaped casket of gold, and from that a stone. He directed a
little of the stone to be scraped off, mixed with water, and laid on
the wound. This stone, I was informed, was from the gall bladder of an
antelope. Then he rode on, and by-and-bye I followed. The man was to
stop at Ghuzniguk that day and be brought on in the evening. I left two
or three doses of medicine and some wine, in case they were needed.
That day’s march was pleasant: being among fields of clover and corn,
it was refreshing to the eye, and there was very little dust. We camped
at eight a.m. There was a cool breeze blowing all day, and I lay in my
tent reading Shakespeare and drinking iced-water. The night was cool,
and to me it felt almost cold. At midnight, I was called up to see
the man who had been stung: they had brought him on. He was certainly
better, but had retention, and I passed an instrument. The men looking
after him had thought they would be on the safe side, and they gave
him all the medicine and wine I had left, in addition to applying His
Highness’s remedy.
I went to bed again for two or three hours, and then got up and had
breakfast. We started at five. Hitherto, I had been riding the black
pony, “Steam-engine,” but this day, as I heard the road was good, and
through valleys, I rode the young bay horse His Highness had given me.
I found the road was not all valley.
[Sidenote: Dangers of By-paths.]
We reached a ravine where the road branched into two. One branch ran to
the left of the ravine, the other wound up the face of the mountain to
the right. When the Armenian and I arrived at the division, we found
there was a block on the left road, and, therefore, took the one on the
right. We had got some distance up when a block occurred here also.
The Armenian, who was leading, at once took a little by-path which ran
along the edge, a little below the main road, and I followed. I did not
like it. Looking directly down I could see the bottom of the ravine,
and on the other side, down below, I could see the other road crowded
with cavalry and baggage-horses, indiscriminately mixed. Imagine
yourself riding along the sill of your bedroom window on a young
untried horse, and you will get an idea of what I am trying to explain.
The path was barely three feet wide. The situation in itself was
unpleasant, and I did not know how my horse would behave in mountain
climbing. Some young horses are frightened, and instead of keeping
their attention fixed on what is before them, they look about--mine
did, and neighed when he saw the horses below--slip, become frightened,
plunge and slip more: then--various complications arise.
[Illustration]
Suddenly, I saw the Armenian pause a second--he was riding a steady
old mountain pony--glance up to the road above and put his horse
straight up the slope. There was a scramble, a scatter of sparks,
as the hoofs struck the rock, and he was up on the road. I saw why,
when he was gone, and my turn came. The path ended: rounding off into
nothing. There was no room to turn back, nor to dismount; I could not
stay where I was, and I put him at rocky slope. The horse looked up: a
little touch of the spur, and I grasped his mane with both hands: he
reared straight up, gave a spring from his hind legs, and in a moment
was on the slope. I lived a long time in the next few seconds, for it
flashed into me that, if we ever got up, the crush on the road above
would leave no room for us, and we must inevitably slip back. But,
no! he scrambled like a cat, and darting into a gap in the stream of
baggage-horses, we were safe on the path. I hoped I didn’t look very
sickly: I felt so. Presently, we were able to escape from the stream of
traffic by riding along a narrow ridge, then we descended a horribly
steep slope. This, however, was earthy and stony, not bare rock, and it
afforded a firmer foothold: the bay went down sideways, like a crab.
In the place where we scrambled up, the rock was rough and somewhat
irregular. If it had been smooth, this probably would never have been
written.
Then we got on to a wide road in a valley; presently there was another
block, and the Armenian turned off the road to the right. I shouted
angrily,
“Look here! I am not going along any more of your infernal paths.
I would rather sit in a block for an hour: we are not in such a
tremendous hurry.”
He called back, “Sir! he is all right here.”
The ground was broken-up by huge cracks, seven or eight yards wide!
A man rode out from the crush and looked, then turned his horse back
and re-entered the crowded road. Away across the broken-up plain we
could see a road running along the foot of a mountain. It was not very
crowded, and, after all, we were not on a mountain with only bare rock
under foot, so we went for it. Scrambling down the cracks or miniature
ravines, some fourteen or fifteen feet deep, we waded, or rather rode,
through pools of water, and scrambled up the other side. I don’t know
how many we climbed into and out of--but a good many. The Armenian’s
horse, though a good mountain-climber, was afraid of water, and he
refused and shied, but had to go. When he was plunging the Armenian’s
turban tumbled off into a pool, but he fished it out and clapped it on
his head again, wet, and cursed his horse in Persian.
At last we got on to the road at the foot of the mountain, and went
some distance; but it became excessively stony and rough.
The Armenian said, “He is become worse, you go further.”
We, therefore, branched off to the left from the road, and found
ourselves in a marshy valley. In the mountains, on the left, I saw the
openings of several caves, and there were waterfalls tumbling down the
rocks. This valley was infested with tigers, but there were too many
people about, and too much noise for that to be a danger.
[Sidenote: A Cheap Drink.]
Then we got among cornfields again. Where all the other roads led to I
don’t know, but we found a great many people riding along here, though
we were not badly crowded. I came alongside of the Page boy who used
to live next door to me in Mazar, but we lost him again in the crowd.
We went on and on through villages, where trees and vegetables were
growing--a refreshing sight after a life in Mazar. Further on, the
roads apparently converged, for the lanes became more and more crowded
and more and more dusty, till I was compelled to tie a handkerchief
over my nose and mouth. In one valley seeing a few cows and goats
feeding near some huts, we branched off to try and get a drink: the
peasants brought some milk in a wooden vessel which the Armenian poured
into my cup and handed to me. He preferred drinking whey, of which the
peasants had a plentiful supply, for it is a popular drink, but advised
me not to drink any as it is apt to disagree. We had as much milk and
whey as we wanted for two pice, that is a little more than a farthing.
Finally, we neared the suburbs of the town of Haibuk. The crush became
greater and the dust awful. Everyone’s hair, beard, eyebrows, and
eyelashes were white. Those who had started as youths in the morning
looked grey-haired men, and were hardly recognizable.
The people of the town turned out, and regardless of the dust and the
heat of the sun--they were used to it, I suppose--sat on their garden
walls to look at us.
I had another scare: it was in the town. As we were going along we
saw an elephant in front of us. Horses are generally frightened at
elephants, but mine went quietly enough, so long as the elephant was
going away from him, and he could see him; but just before we reached
the river we passed him. The river is not very wide, perhaps fifteen
feet, but it has very steep rocky banks. There was a narrow bridge
across, and the Armenian being ahead of me, leading the way, got
across at once. Before I reached the bank, a man sitting between the
packs of a baggage-horse, got on the bridge and went slowly. My horse
having the elephant behind him plunged furiously, and as the elephant
advanced, kept shying round, sidling nearer and nearer to the edge of
the bank. I could not get on to the bridge, because the fool on his
pack-horse blocked it. The Armenian and others, seeing the danger I was
in, shouted at the man; he did not hurry: I doubt if he understood.
When we had got to the very edge of the bank--only just in time, the
bridge was clear, and my horse darted across. The bridge was a narrow
affair, about four feet wide, made of trunks of trees and cross-bars,
with earth levelled on the top. I could not take my horse on till it
was clear, for I knew he would charge the pack-horse, and the _best_
I could hope for then would be a leg broken against one of the mule
trunks. I am a mild man, as I said before, but if I had happened to
have had a hunting crop in my hand, I would have woke up that somnolent
Afghan. The whole business did not occupy a minute, not half a minute;
but when a horse is frightened, I need scarcely say he does not look
where he is going.
Riding through the town we came to an embankment covered with grass,
an aqueduct, along the top of which ran a stream of very clear water.
I dismounted, and sat under the shade of the trees by the stream and
washed the dust off my head and hands. It was delightfully cool and
breezy, and there was an excellent view of the fort, a part of the
town, the mountains, and the river down below.
[Sidenote: Camp in an Orchard.]
The Armenian went on with the servants to find the place where the
“Quartermaster” had given orders for my tent to be pitched. As I sat
alone by the stream several people, whom I knew, went by and saluted.
After about an hour, one of the servants came back to conduct me to
the tent. We descended the embankment, and rode down a lane leading to
the river. My tent was in an orchard on the other side. The river was
rather wide but shallow, and we forded it on our horses. We got into
the orchard by scrambling through a gap in the wall.
I found there were other tents besides mine in the orchard, and some
horses were endeavouring to graze. The Armenian ordered the horses out
and the other tents to be moved further away.
My tent was put up on a mound about six feet high, and I went in and
sat on the carpet. It was stifling after the breezy hill. The trees
and high walls of the orchard kept off the breeze without sheltering
my tent from the sun. There was no view, except of dusty leaves and
brown earth--the grass was withered. I was tired, thirsty, and hungry;
there was nothing to drink or eat, and I had no tobacco. I growled at
everybody who came within reach; and the ants crawled down my neck and
up my sleeve, and black grasshoppers jumped in my face and walked up
my back. As soon as the cook arrived, which was some time afterwards,
he hurried off to the bazaar. He came back in about half an hour with
two teapots full of tea: I gulped down ten or eleven cupfuls, and then
made an enjoyable meal off some cold mutton that the cook fished out of
the baggage; after that I unearthed a cigar from one of the trunks, and
felt more at peace with the world; for the crawling creatures did not
sting, though they were disagreeable.
These are the ordinary everyday incidents of a march. As a rule
one does not find the opportunity to write them down, and they are
forgotten the next day. I, however, happened to write a letter home
that evening and I have just copied it.
There was no meat to be obtained in the bazaar, and I gave the Armenian
four shillings to buy a sheep; for although my meals came from His
Highness’s kitchen, those of the servants and the Armenian did not.
[Illustration]