A KABUL WINTER.
Hindustani intrigue: information from the British Agent: offer of
assistance: measures for protection: further intrigue. The “Royal
manner.” The two factions: Habibullah: Mahomed Omer. The question
of succession. Return to the City House and English Society: divers
discomforts: the cold of Kabul. The naked beggar boy. The old Kabul
bridge. The question of “bleeding.” Disbanding of a Shiah regiment.
Amîr’s advice to his sons. The oncoming spring: improvements in
Amîr’s health. The Hindustani again: Sabbath: the Amîr’s decision.
The Afghan noble as workshop superintendent. New Year sports. The
grand stand: the crowd: refreshments. Horse-racing: collisions.
Tent pegging and its dangers. Lemon slicing. The greater skill
of gentlemen. Displays of horsemanship. Amîr’s absence from the
sports: the result. The Naû Rôz levee. Salaam to the Sultana.
Amîr in the Salaam Khana: reception of the Maleks and merchants:
presents. The Princes standing before the Amîr. Reception of the
English engineers: the “White-beard:” his age: the Amîr’s surprise.
[Sidenote: Hindustani Intrigue.]
The interesting Hindustani whom I have designated the “Gnat,” and who,
by the way, was giving lessons in English to Prince Habibullah, began
to spread reports in the bazaars concerning my personal character. As,
however, I had done nothing to reproach myself with, I did not bother
my head about the matter, until one day the Secretary of the British
Agent, that highly-educated Mahomedan I have spoken of, called upon me
and told me the nature of the rumours. Then I was more than a little
annoyed. It was so abominable. Only the vile mind of this creature
could have conceived the indignity of charging me--not openly, but by
a whispered word here and there--with impurity. What could I do? To
attempt to defend myself against a charge that was not formulated, that
only lived, like the typhus poison, in filthy corners--invisible--was
to accuse myself.
The Agent’s Secretary very kindly enquired whether there were anything
he could do that could in any way give the lie to the rumours.
So far as I could see, the utmost that could be done was to refuse
absolutely to allow the man to interpret or translate for me on any
occasion whatsoever. I said as much to the Agent’s Secretary, and he
advised me to write at once to the Amîr and inform him of my decision.
I therefore wrote to His Highness, saying I did not trust the
man--though of course I had nothing very definite to accuse him of; and
I ended my letter by saying that rather than have this man interpret
for me before His Highness, I would ask His Highness’ permission to
leave his service.
Lest the Amîr might think I had been instigated to write this letter by
the Armenian, I asked the Agent’s Secretary to translate it for me. His
Highness did not answer my letter in writing, but whenever I was called
before him the Hindustani was not there.
Events in after years, however, showed me that the Amîr _did_ look upon
the matter as a quarrel between two Interpreters, an effort on the part
of each of them to trip the other up. He never knew the discomfort and
mental distress that I was compelled to suffer.
The Hindustani then made another move. How he worked it I do not know,
but some weeks afterwards I received a letter from Her Highness the
Sultana in which she desired me to again attend her. I was, however,
to bring the Hindustani to interpret. I at once wrote to Her Highness
and refused; sending also a letter to the Amîr acquainting him with the
facts of the case. His Highness answered that I might be accompanied by
another Interpreter if I wished. I informed the Sultana of the Amîr’s
decision, but, as might be expected, she being a woman, I was not sent
for--much to my relief.
For some weeks His Highness appeared about the same. He was better
for a day or two, then worse again. I visited him frequently, though
I did not prescribe for him. He sent, however, to Bombay for certain
medicines I thought suitable for his case.
One day, while I was there, little Prince Mahomed Omer came to salaam
his father, and the Amîr was much amused at the authoritative way the
Prince--he was not yet two--ordered about the little boys by whom he
was surrounded. He frightened one of them so much that the child began
to cry. The Amîr laughed, and gave the Prince an orange.
“The youngster has the manner of a King,” said the Amîr.
One can only guess what the future may bring forth. The past has shown
us that when the great Amîr, Dôst Mahomed, departed from this world
he deputed a younger son, Shere Ali, to succeed him, and this because
he was, on both mother and father’s side, of Royal descent. The elder
sons, not so happy, were passed over. The successes and reverses of
Shere Ali, in his contests with his brothers, is an old story.
So far as I know, Amîr Abdurrahman has never openly said whom he would
wish to succeed him. I think, however, there are many indications
leading one to infer that if His Highness continue to reign for another
ten years, Prince Mahomed Omer will be looked upon as the heir.
[Sidenote: The Two Factions.]
There are in Kabul at the present time two distinct and opposing
factions: that of the Sultana for her son’s sake, and that of Prince
Habibullah.
Much as I desired to avoid being drawn into intrigue or any appearance
of being attached to either party--for the matter was of no possible
interest to me--I know I was looked upon as belonging to the Sultana’s
party, chiefly, I believe, because of my dislike to the Hindustani
“Gnat,” who belonged to the opposing faction. Nevertheless, Prince
Habibullah was always most courteous and kind.
The Sultana had a very powerful following. She is the “favourite”
wife, and is most liberal and generous to those with whom she comes in
contact. She is of the same blood as the Amîr, and is not unlike him in
decision and strength of character.
Habibullah is a man of ability, kindly and genial, but his mother was
the handmaiden to one of the Queens (daughter of the Mîr of Badakshan),
who, having no children, said, “Go in unto my maid, that I may have
children by her.” Habibullah cannot sit in the presence of this Queen
without permission: a fact which weighs with Afghan people.
I do not know what line the Indian Government would take; but the
probabilities are that when the eventful moment arrives the matter
will be decided before ever the British could reach Kabul. Judging by
the past, I imagine the principals of one party or other would, before
many days were over, be in jail, or otherwise _hors de combat_.
Should the Amîr live till the little Prince attain adult age and the
Prince fulfil the promise of his childhood, I imagine he would hold
the throne alone. He is of the type of his father. Habibullah, with
the moral support of an English Resident ostensibly keeping in the
background, would, I take it, rule wisely. A Resident, I think, would
not need a large escort, for a man of tact would be the friend, not the
rival, of the King; and the Afghans are now accustomed to the presence
of Feringhis in their midst. However, I am talking of things that do
not concern me.
At the end of January I asked permission to move from my quarters
in the Palace and return to my house in the city. I saw more of the
English engineers, Stewart and Myddleton, at this time, and it was
infinitely refreshing to live again in an atmosphere of wholesome
English ideas, rather than breathe the air of an Oriental Court reeking
with intrigue.
[Sidenote: Divers Discomforts.]
Though I had my house to myself, and was not liable to be intruded upon
at all hours of the day by the Page boys and Chamberlains, there were,
nevertheless, I found, certain bodily discomforts and inconveniences to
undergo, arising chiefly from the intense cold. Owing to the numerous
doors and windows in the house, there was not a room that we could keep
the bitter wind out of. I had been called to the Palace in the early
winter, and had only a small stock of wood in my house. This was soon
gone, and now wood was scarce and hard to get, for the Royal workshops
had the first claim. The only way, therefore, to keep warm was to sit
crouched on the floor close up to the charcoal sandali, and draw the
quilt up to one’s chin, wearing, at the same time, postîn, overcoat,
and hat. After several hours this becomes monotonous. In order to hold
a book and read, or at meal times to use one’s knife and fork, it was
necessary to protect the hands with thick woollen gloves. One day, in
February, the weather struck me as being warmer than usual, and I found
the temperature in my sitting-room had gone up to 20 degrees Fahr. This
was not so bad, and my thermometer would register it; but when it was
really cold, I was not able to find what the temperature was, for the
mercury shrank into the bulb.
At dinner time it is exceedingly inconvenient to find you can neither
break nor cut your bread: and to be obliged to break up your drinking
water with a hammer is irritating. There is, I have heard, a large
trade in frozen meat between England and New Zealand, and in this
country I have eaten the erstwhile frozen sheep with great enjoyment.
In Kabul it was not so. The joint came smoking from the fire, brought
in over a pan of charcoal, but the centre, near the bone, was icy and
raw: this was not nice. Frozen pickles are useless: and the same may
be said of frozen ink: my letters, therefore, were written in pencil.
Why the damson jam should not have advanced beyond the glutinous stage
of freezing, I do not know, but it never froze solid. This worried
me at the time: there seemed something unnatural about it. I dislike
being hurried, and to be obliged to drink my morning cup of cocoa at
once to prevent it freezing, almost made me regret my rooms at the
Palace--Pages, atmosphere of intrigue and all: but I overcame this
weakness.
Going to bed was a function; and I dressed carefully for the purpose.
Over the woollens came a tennis coat and a sheepskin waistcoat; there
were two pairs of wool socks, a dressing-gown, a pair of gloves, and a
hat. The cotton wool mattress was laid on the earth-beaten floor: it
was warmer than a charpoy--but harder. A buffalo rug, a fox-skin rug,
and a quilt finished the arrangements. One of the soldiers of the guard
had to come and put my candle out when the performance was over.
I do not know how many people died of cold, but there were a good many
among the poorest. Going to the Hospital I used often to see a beggar
boy of about fourteen lying naked on the snow monotonously droning,
“Az baraï Khuda, yak ticca nân bidde!”--“For the sake of God, one piece
of bread give me!”
I was told he had gone about naked all his life. I missed him one day,
and thought he must be frozen to death; but, no, I saw him again a year
or two afterwards. Though he lay on the snow, he always chose a place
sheltered from the wind, and where the sun was shining brightly.
There was an unusually heavy snowfall that winter, and the Amîr gave
orders to remove the old brick bridge over the Kabul river. The bridge
was very solidly built, and was said to be two hundred years old. It
was situated below the mountain gorge, and just outside the workshops.
His Highness considered that when the snows were melting, the great
volume of water checked at the bridge piers would overflow the
workshops and swamp part of the town. Future events proved the accuracy
of the Amîr’s prognostication.
In the workshops the engineers had the greatest trouble to keep the
steam up. Dry wood could not be got, and with wet wood the fires could
not be kept going. The pipes carrying the water supply to the boiler
were constantly freezing solid, and at last work with steam machinery
came to a standstill.
My visits to the Amîr continued. His manner was exceedingly kind. He
described his symptoms daily, and frequently spoke of again placing
himself under my care. He promised me leave of absence, and said many
other things that were very pleasant to hear.
[Sidenote: The Question of “Bleeding.”]
The Hakims, however, bled him again and again, and his recovery was
exceedingly tedious. I explained to His Highness how harmful bleeding
was in Gout, and advised him not to be bled again: His Highness was
displeased with me. Some days afterwards, however, he informed me that
the Indian, English, and Russian newspapers, in commenting upon his
case, had expressed views in regard to bleeding in harmony with mine.
He has been bled many times since then.
Towards the end of February the cold began to break. I did not see
any skating during the winter, so that as Kabul is the capital of the
country, I doubt if this is a sport among the Afghans. Not realizing
that cold in that country is so intense, I had left my skates in
England, otherwise I would have astonished the natives. I have no doubt
about that, although I cannot skate.
On the 1st of March the Amîr disbanded a regiment of Shiah Mahomedans:
he himself is a Sûnni. This created a good deal of sensation in Kabul
at the time, for there is one part of the town, Chindawal, devoted to
Shiahs, though the majority of Afghans are Sûnnis.
Two days afterwards I heard there was some trouble at the Palace. I do
not know all the details, for, as I said, news from the Palace filters
out slowly and imperfectly. The Amîr was depressed, I take it, by his
long and tedious illness, for he called his sons to him and told them
that he had only some ten years to live; and that in all probability
neither Habibullah nor any other of his sons would succeed him.
Ishak, on the one hand, and Ayoub on the other, were candidates for
the Throne, and it behoved the Princes, his sons, to be amicable one
towards the other: a bundle of branches bound together was strong, but
taken separately they could be easily broken.
The sun began to grow powerful, and the snow melted rapidly. Fires and
the sandali became unnecessary; one had only to sit in the sun if one
felt the cold.
On March the 10th it was comparatively warm. As it was my birthday, I
went in the afternoon to the Palace to visit the Amîr. His Highness was
at dinner. He sent me some grapes, and I sat in one of the side rooms,
or alcoves, and waited. After dinner I talked to His Highness. He told
me he was better, and could walk a little. He was not so thin as he had
been. After talking to me for some time, he ordered a beautiful little
Kataghani horse, brown with black points, to be brought from the
stables, and asked me to accept it.
[Sidenote: Sabbath: the Amîr’s Decision.]
Shortly after this, the interesting Hindustani Interpreter--the
Gnat--endeavoured to prejudice the two English engineers, Stewart and
Myddleton, in His Highness’s eyes. He reported to Sirdar Usuf Khan,
the Amîr’s uncle, who, nominally, superintended the workshops, that
the Englishmen, though Christians, did no work on Friday. He being the
only Interpreter they had, they rode to my house one evening to inform
me. I directed the Armenian to write to His Highness and explain that
the Engineers had given up _their_ Sabbath to His Highness’s service;
had His Highness any objection to their keeping the Mahomedan Sabbath
instead of their own.
The Amîr answered that he had not the slightest objection; and he wrote
to the Sirdar that it was folly to expect the men to work every day
in the week. The Sirdar was a courtly old gentleman, but in the Shops
there were constant frictions. He no more understood the nature of an
English workman than he understood Physiology or any other Science. I
think Sir Salter--then Mr.--Pyne was also somewhat of a puzzle to him.
Pyne has strong characteristics and decided views, and the Sirdar Sahib
had not the former, though he assumed the latter, and on a subject in
which he was but ill informed.
When the thaw commenced, the Engineers endeavoured to make up for time
lost during the frost by frequently working all night. There was a
certain amount of work to be got through by the Mahomedan New Year’s
Day, in order that a good show of arms and ammunition could be laid
before the Amîr.
The last day of the old year was a Friday, and the holidays began then.
At the foot of the Asmai mountains horse-racing and sports were held.
Crowds of spectators lined the road, and the Grand Stand was the grey,
old, rocky mountain: he had put on his holiday garb; all the lower
half was crowded with gaily-dressed Afghans, sitting or standing in
thousands in the blazing sun.
For the Princes and richer men tents were erected on any sufficiently
level rock, and the servants, lighting a wood fire near, served them
with tea, and cakes, and sweetmeats. For the poorer people there were
itinerant cake merchants, sweetmeat vendors, and the Sakabi, with his
water-skin and wooden cup; and for those who could afford it, there
was iced sherbet--lemon, orange, or rose, in tumblers. There were toy
sellers, too, with paper flags, whistles, and cheap walking-sticks from
India; these were bought by the crowds who thronged the streets on
their way to the mountain.
The horse-racing, over a course some five hundred yards in length, more
or less, according to the fancy of the riders, and on a hard road, was,
compared with what we call horse-racing, somewhat of a caricature.
There were no prizes and no starters: anybody could gallop up and down
the road who wished. As many did wish, and as there was no sort of
order and much reckless riding, collisions were frequent. Sometimes,
a horse and rider would be sent spinning. I do not know if there were
many breakages, I did not go and see: I concluded they would fetch
me if they wanted me. One considerable smash occurred just opposite
where I was, and the friends came and gathered up the fragments that
remained. They threw water in the face of the riding fragment, and he
presently recovered: the ridden fragment limped painfully away.
[Sidenote: Tent-pegging: Lemon Slicing.]
There was “tent-pegging,” or something in a sense equivalent. There was
no tent-peg, but a boy’s cap was put on the ground, and the soldiers
charged at it with lances. The owner of the cap was not distressed
mentally: his cap was fairly safe. The riders were very skilful in
scoring the ground near, but only one or two touched the cap, and then
a murmur went up from the spectators. The way the small Afghan boys
gathered near to see the sport was rather horrifying: I fully expected
to see one skewered: however, it was not so written in the book of Fate.
There was also “lemon-slicing.” A lemon was stuck on the end of a rod,
which was planted upright in the ground. The soldiers dashed up one
after another, flourishing their sabres, and looking very fierce and
terrible; but they did not often hurt the lemon.
Occasionally, some man of position would join in. These were, as a
rule, more skilful with both lance and sword than the soldiers were:
possibly, they devoted more time to practice. My Turkestan friend,
the Mirza Abdur Rashid, rode in: he was not at all unskilful with the
lance. I saw, though not on this occasion, the Sirdar Abdul Kudus Khan,
son of the Amîr’s cousin, and Naim Khan, the Courtier, tent-pegging
and shooting at a mark while going full gallop: they were exceedingly
skilful.
My small friend, Mahomed Omer, son of the Deputy Commander-in-Chief,
rode in on a little white Arab. He was about thirteen, but he must have
practised considerably, for he picked up the cap on his lance the first
try.
The small boy who accompanied Prince Nasrullah on his visit to England
this year, was the younger brother of Mahomed Omer. He had grown so,
that I did not recognize him on the platform at Victoria, when the
Prince arrived, until he came up and spoke to me.
There were displays of horsemanship: standing on the saddle and
holding on to the reins, with the horse at full gallop; picking up a
handkerchief from the ground while at a gallop, and so on: however,
there was nothing but what I had seen done in England, and with greater
skill. I had imagined that the Afghans were born riders, skilful
swordsmen, and deadly shots; but whatever the hillmen, as a class, may
be, the soldiers certainly are not remarkable.
The Princes were at the “tomasha,” but His Highness the Amîr was,
of course, unable to honour the sports by his presence. I was told,
indeed, that he now very rarely does so; and the result has been that
the sports have fallen off considerably.
[Sidenote: New Year Congratulations.]
The next day was “Naû Roz,” or the New Year’s Day. I was informed that
His Highness would be able to receive me at three p.m. In the morning,
therefore, I rode to the Babur Badshah Gardens to salaam the Sultana,
who was staying in the Bungalow there. On the way I met Mahomed Omer
and complimented him on his skill with the lance. He is a bright
little fellow, and he seemed greatly pleased at being complimented. He
was gorgeous in scarlet and gold, and was at the head of a troop of
cavalry, in his exalted post of “Commander-in-Chief” to Prince Mahomed
Omer.
At the gardens we had tea and cigarettes in a tent while our
congratulations were taken in to the Sultana. I did not, of course, see
Her Highness, and she sent the New Year greetings by her messenger,
“Sirdar”--the girl-boy.
By the time we had returned to Kabul it was three o’clock, and I rode
on to the Palace.
When I arrived His Highness was being conveyed in a palanquin to the
Salaam Khana, where there were arranged for his inspection, rifles,
sabres, cartridges, sword-sticks, rupees, and other productions of the
workshops.
His Highness was kind enough to stop and enquire how I was. He
evidently remembered--as I did--that at the last big reception of this
kind _I_ had been the invalid, for he asked if I had had any return of
the illness. I was happy to tell him I was well, and that my greatest
wish was that he might soon be the same. While His Highness was
speaking. Col. Attaullah Khan, the British Agent, came and stood near
me; by the side of such a splendid man I felt a stripling, for I am but
a meagre six feet with my boots on.
When the inspection of arms was over, His Highness, followed by the
Princes and the Courtiers, entered the Salaam Khana and took his seat
on the couch in one of the end rooms. He kindly allowed me to be
seated, though everyone else stood, and taking some cigars from a box
he sent them to me by a Page boy, and invited me to smoke.
Presently, the Maleks, and Merchants, and others, who wished to make
New Year’s offerings, were admitted. They stood just inside the
doorway, and round the lower end of the room. The Court attendants took
the presents and laid them on the ground in front of the Amîr.
There were rolls of silks and satins; lamps, musical-boxes, Russian
boots, vases, Japanese cabinets, sugar, sweets, inexpensive
writing-cases, pocket-knives, flowers, and in the midst of the medley I
noticed a pair of trouser stretchers.
His Highness did not seem very much interested in the presents, though
Prince Habibullah occasionally took up an article and examined it.
When the offering of presents was completed, chairs were brought for
the Princes and they sat down. Why I should have been allowed to sit
while the Princes stood, I do not know, unless it were, as I sometimes
thought, that the Amîr wished to guard the Princes from the danger of
acquiring a too exalted notion of their own personal importance.
Prince Habibullah was always courteous, and struck me as having much
more _savoir vivre_ than Prince Nasrullah.
[Sidenote: “White-beard;” His Age.]
At five p.m. Messrs. Stewart and Myddleton were received by His
Highness. Chairs were placed for them and tea was brought. After the
usual polite salutations His Highness asked Stewart how old he was. The
question, no doubt, was suggested to the Amîr’s mind by the fact that
Stewart’s hair and beard were silvery white. Afghans, when their hair
turns grey, almost invariably, unless they are Priests, dye it black
or red. His Highness’s hair and beard were very grey when he was ill,
but were blue-black afterwards, and I could not help connecting this
remarkable fact with the many bottles of hair-dye I saw in the stores.
His Highness was surprised to hear that Stewart was only forty-eight.
He laughed when he heard it, and said he thought he must be a hundred.
After we had drunk tea permission was given us to withdraw, and we rode
home. During the reception the Armenian had translated. Waiting outside
and expecting to be sent for, was the Hindustani, but though Prince
Habibullah asked where he was, no one answered.
[Illustration]