A KABUL SPRING.
Spring clothing: a grateful Afghan. Poison bowls. The dreadful
book. A haunted house: the skeleton in the garden. Increase of
patients. Called to the Palace: Amîr’s costume: flowers: Amîr’s
generous proposal. Troubles of a Ruler: Secretary in disgrace.
Amîr’s plans for the future. Geologists in the service: their
difficulties. Occidental _v._ Oriental. Mercantile commissions. The
Armenian’s leave. Delay. The locusts. Prince Mahomed Omer and his
Lâla. The Palace gardens. A military Durbar. Amîr’s thoughtfulness.
A portrait. Amîr’s opinion of his people: education of his
soldiers. The arrest: murder of the prisoner: the Amîr’s decision.
Other portraits. Ramazàn. Rising of the river. The Îd Festival.
The Physician’s plans: the Amîr’s comment. Prince Habibullah’s
portrait: the Shaghassi’s criticism. Prince Nasrullah’s portrait:
his remark.
The holidays lasted a week. The sports were continued at Asmai, and in
the evening fireworks were let off in the town.
Whatever the weather may be, postîns and winter clothing are never left
off till Naû Roz, and never continued afterwards. The weather, however,
in Afghanistan behaves more according to rule and is less eccentric
than in England. I became clothed in a tunic of camel’s hair and a
leather belt. Around the brow the awe-inspiring turban was wreathed in
many folds--heavy but picturesque and protecting. The camel-hair cloth
was given me by a grateful Afghan because I cut off his little son’s
toe. He also gave me two ancient China bowls. These were intelligent
articles, for if at any time food should be put into them containing
poison they would at once break themselves into a thousand pieces--at
least, so I was informed; I did not, however, put the bowls to the
inconvenience of exhibiting their power of discernment, for it seemed
better to keep them as they were than to take them home in a thousand
pieces.
At this time I found that the Engineers had got a book, and I borrowed
it, having had nothing new to read for many months. The book was that
ancient and gruesome collection of stories called “The Night Side of
Nature.” The narratives in it were similar to those that the _Review
of Reviews_ laid before Seekers after Truth, under the title of “Real
Ghost Stories.”
[Sidenote: A Haunted House.]
It was a dreadful book. Read it alone in the haunted wing of a house,
and in a town full of the memory of murders and midnight assassins;
where in the dead silence of the night unaccountable noises force
themselves upon the startled ear; and see how you like it.
I knew my house was haunted, because I had been told so.
One evening, absorbed in reading, I became conscious that the windows
rattled, a door slammed, and suddenly, right over my head, there was a
sound as of a heavy body rolling rapidly along; and a horrible shriek
split the air. The awe-inspiring volume slipped from the nerveless
fingers (anatomically this is not accurate), and palpitating with a
wordless horror, I sat powerless. For a long minute all was still: then
the sound as of stealthy footsteps struck on the straining ear--on the
tympanic membrane as a matter of fact. The door moved slowly on its
creaking hinge, and--
“Kîst!” “who is it!” rang in my ears.
It was my own voice, hoarse and unrecognizable, uttering the cry. I
clutched the ready revolver and cocked it.
“Sahib! dead man, all is buried in garden. His bones me see.”
It was my Indian cook who brought the information. This, then, was the
cause of the unnatural manifestations. Doubtless, the house had been
the scene of a horrible murder, and the criminals had hastily hidden
the ghastly proof of their deed in the garden; but murder will out, and
the unrestful spirit of the victim was wandering around.
Now I had studied Forensic Medicine and had read Gaboriau. It behoved
me, therefore, to work out this crime, track the murderers, and bring
them to justice.
“Ustughonha biya inja,”--“Bring hither the bones,” I said.
I know the human bones, every ridge, furrow, and knob, from the fifth
Metatarsal to the Sphenoid. Many a night in the years gone by had I sat
poring over a bone, while the stars twinkled in the heavens--at least,
I expect they did; not that it matters.
The servant returned, and with horror and disgust depicted on his
swarthy face laid a small bone on the table in front of me.
“But where are the others? Bring the skull, man--the head.”
“Sahib, other me not see.”
With an eagle glance I pierced him, and he shrunk back.
“Drivelling idiot, son of uncleanness, scoundrel, whose heart is
blacker than his face--this is not a man’s bone. Bring me human bones.”
“Sahib, other me not got.”
“Get some, then, and at once;” and he fled from the room.
Was I to be trifled with in this way; to be made small and of no
account? I was prepared to unravel the mystery, and was I to be turned
aside by a servant--an Indian servant--a black Indian servant?
But I cooled down afterwards, and by-and-bye, when he came in to
enquire if I wanted anything, I said, No! he could go to bed.
In April, the weather was beautiful, sunny and bright, without being
too hot. The number of patients coming to the Hospital increased as
travelling became easier. I saw about a hundred and thirty cases daily.
Some came great distances--from Turkestan, Kandahar, Herat, and the
borders of Kaffristan.
[Sidenote: Called to the Palace.]
On the 5th of April, His Highness sent word that he wished to see me.
When I arrived at the Palace I found His Highness alone, but for one
Secretary and the Page boys. He looked much better and stronger than he
had done for a long time. He was attired in native costume, in a bright
coloured silk robe, a small white turban wound round a gold-embroidered
cap, and loose white Oriental pyjamas.
I stopped some distance from the couch and bowed: His Highness beckoned
me to a chair near him and enquired if I were well. Then he continued
reading a letter the Secretary had just written, and cigarettes were
brought me. It seemed a pity to smoke, for the air of the Palace was
sweet with the scent of freshly-cut flowers, hyacinths, wallflowers,
and narcissi.
Suddenly, His Highness looked up and asked me when I should like to
start for England: he said the weather would soon be hot and unsuitable
for travelling in India; and before long, storms at sea were to be
feared.
I replied that I was awaiting His Highness’s orders. He asked me how
long leave I should like; and when I said I left that entirely to him,
he enquired whether six months would be sufficient.
His Highness said also, that he would let me know before my return
in what part of the country he was to be found, whether in Herat,
Kandahar, Turkestan, or Kabul, so that I could join him. He desired me
to draw the plans of a house such as I should like to live in, and he
would build it for me.
If my wife, after I were married, wished to return with me, he
should be pleased; and should she after some months find the climate
uncongenial, his permission would be granted her to return to
England. Should she, however, prefer to remain in England, leave of
absence would be granted me every two years. His Highness also told
me many interesting things: among them the reason why Afghanistan is
poverty-stricken and powerless, and he sketched methods in which the
resources of the country might be developed if only his people had
sense enough to follow out his directions; but, as he said, there were
so few he could trust.
This very man before him, the Secretary, could not be trusted even to
write a letter correctly; and yet, he said, this man and his brother
were secretaries to Amîr Shere Ali; and more, they had the keeping of
the King’s Signet. Why, therefore, with such men in power, should not
the country have become weak, poverty-stricken, and on the verge of
ruin!
[Sidenote: Geologists in the Service.]
One of his designs, he told me, was to again employ an English
geologist, and when the presence of valuable minerals was made known,
to open up roads and start mining operations.
His Highness’s words were words of wisdom: but looking back, as I do,
with a knowledge of the past, I am greatly in doubt as to whether
the nature of the Oriental will allow to any European geologist in
the Amîr’s service anything like a fair chance of success in his
endeavours. From the outset his good faith is doubted. I heard from
Captain Griesbach, C.I.E., how hampered he had been on every hand; how
impossible it was made for him to do any useful work; for the whisper
had been spread--even I heard it--that he carried a note-book, and if
he found a mineral of value it was not the Amîr to whom the fact was
reported, but the British Government. Disgusted that his efforts should
be so curtailed and his powers made useless, the Captain left the
service.
The next geologist who entered the service was Mr. Arthur Collins,
F.G.S., who was recommended to the Amîr’s Agent by the Home Office.
His experiences were very similar to those of Captain Griesbach. He
was followed about rigorously by a guard, and from whatever place he
took a specimen, from the same place an official in his ignorance
took what he considered to be a similar specimen: this was to act as
a check on the geologist! After a few months Mr. Collins, new to the
country, photographed some interesting geological formations that he
saw. At once it was reported that the new geologist was a political
agent spying out the nakedness of the land. He was recalled to Kabul
and kept, as Captain Griesbach had been, for months doing nothing,
till, in disgust, he also resigned. Whether any other able man will in
the future consider it other than waste of time to work against such
obstacles--petty, intangible, but real--I know not. The game seems
hardly worth the candle: unless, indeed, one thinks fit to descend and
meet the Oriental on his own ground: to employ bribery; or, having
learnt the language, to indulge in intrigue and trip his enemies one
by one:--not a difficult matter--for that any educated Englishman of
ordinary intelligence is a match for an Afghan or Hindustani I have
not a doubt, granted that he cares to employ his brain in such unclean
work. Pitch, however, is proverbially defiling, and the triumph is lost
if one comes out of a game besmeared.
His Highness desired me to inform him as soon as I had finished the
arrangements I wished to make at the Hospital to enable the Hindustani
assistants to carry on the work during my absence; then I was to start
on my journey home. He said many kind things to me; among others,
that he considered me a man worthy of trust. He added that there were
certain orders he should commission me to execute in London.
These, I found, were to be the sending out of materials--silks,
satins, and cloth; and jewellery of various kinds. My education,
however, having been medical, I was not in any sense a business man,
and it occurred to me that this was a suitable opportunity for acceding
to the Armenian’s request, and taking him to London with me: he could
attend to these matters better than I.
[Sidenote: The Locusts.]
A few days afterwards, therefore, I wrote to His Highness, and asked
permission for the Armenian to accompany me to England. His Highness
granted my request, and, when the time arrived, generously gave the
Armenian two thousand rupees to pay his expenses.
We did not, however, start on the journey so soon as I had expected,
for His Highness desired me to paint his portrait again. Accordingly,
a few days afterwards I went to the Palace, but I found on examination
that His Highness had not recovered strength sufficiently to enable him
to undergo the fatigue of sitting for a portrait. This seemed likely
to put a stop to my home going for an indefinite time; until a thought
struck me--why should not I paint a portrait from the photograph that
the Sultana had given me. I said nothing to His Highness, but set to
work.
While I was working at this portrait I saw some extraordinary clouds
come quivering along just above the tree tops. They seemed almost as
though they were made up of myriads of little birds. I learnt what
they were soon enough. The locusts had come. The year before I had
seen in Turkestan swarms of little black birds, the only birds, they
told me, that feed on locusts. The Amîr had made an order that all
who killed these birds were to be fined. As, however, they had a habit
of devouring mulberries as well as locusts, many of them were killed.
Curiously enough the locusts did not settle in Kabul, though on the
outskirts of the town one occasionally saw a tree leafless. They came
from the direction of Peshawur, and at Jelalabad and other places on
the way they had worked havoc.
Towards the end of April the portrait was finished, and I went to the
Palace to lay it before the Amîr.
Entering the Palace gardens I met little Prince Mahomed Omer riding out
on horseback surrounded by his guard, with his Lâla or Tutor walking by
his side. He looked very dignified and proud as he sat his horse alone.
The Lâla whispered to him, and he answered my bow by touching his cap:
he was a year and eight months old. When I reached the Palace His
Highness sent a Page to conduct me to one of the gardens where he said
he should be sitting very shortly.
We went through a passage under the wall of the fort, across the moat,
and round to the gardens on the west side of the Palace. There were
several tents erected, but the Amîr’s, which was a gorgeous one, lined
with crimson and white, with glass doors, was pitched on a circular
piece of ground, surrounded by a narrow artificial stream, edged with
Pampas grass. The circular stream was fed by a perfectly straight
stream, edged thickly with Pampas grass, and the water flowed away by a
similar stream on the right. All around were flower-beds and trees, and
in the distance, to the west, the Paghman Mountains, capped with snow.
Behind was the Palace. In front of the Amîr’s tent a large awning was
stretched.
Here on the carpets the Chief Officers of the army were seated chatting
together. Crossing the stream by a little bridge, I joined them, and
a chair was brought. For the Amîr, was an arm-chair covered with blue
velvet and old gold coloured satin, and in front of it a tiger skin
footrug. Out in the garden two or three hundred soldiers were drawn up:
it was a military Durbar.
Presently the Officers jumped up and joined the soldiers, and I found
the Amîr was approaching. He came in a palanquin with a guard of
soldiers, and in front marched the Page boys, each armed with a small
rifle. His Highness was dressed in a grey military uniform embroidered
with gold, and a grey astrakhan hat with a diamond star. He looked very
handsome, but rather pale.
[Sidenote: Amîr’s Thoughtfulness.]
When His Highness drew near I stood up and took off my turban:--this
is not a difficult matter, one seizes the top of the conical cap round
which the turban is tightly wound. The Armenian who was with me said,
“Salaam aleikoum,” and when His Highness looked up I bowed. He asked me
how I was, and then descending from the palanquin he walked slowly to
the chair. I was very glad to see him walking again. It was a cloudy
and windy day, and presently His Highness turned to me and desired me
to cover my head lest I took cold.
Then the portrait I had just painted was brought forward for His
Highness to see. He was pleased with it, and surprised that I should
have painted it without a sitting. He told me it required certain
alterations, chiefly in the colouring, and he gave directions for the
portrait I had painted in Turkestan to be taken down from the Palace
and brought to my house to correct this one by;
“For,” said he, “that is an exact likeness.”
I was at the Durbar about three hours, and His Highness told me many
things; among others was this:--There were out in the garden several
companies of soldiers drawn up before him, young men and lads, perhaps,
300. Of these there were about twenty of whom he wished to make
officers. He said:
“These men are gentlemen; their fathers and their grandfathers were
gentlemen and men of position, but such is the ignorance of the people
I govern that not one of them can read or write: they know nothing.
What work can they do? None. They can quarrel and fight; it is all they
are fit for.”
He told me that he had given orders for them to be taught, so that they
would be able, at least, to write and read a letter.
He had a regiment of boy soldiers--the “Mahomedan Regiment,” these also
he had directed to be taught reading and writing.
One incident occurred which may be interesting:
A soldier of the guard, a man whom I had attended in Mazar, a handsome
fellow who seemed to be always laughing, came up to His Highness to
report an arrest he had made. He said that while he was on guard over
His Highness’s tent an intruder approached and he challenged him. No
answer being returned he tried to persuade him to go away, saying:--
“Sahib, this is Amîr Sahib’s tent; the tent of the great King; come not
here I pray you.”
But the intruder, treating him with silent contempt, advanced. Once
more he tried persuasion. Humbly taking off his turban he implored:--
“Sahib! Barai-i-Khuda! For God’s sake, approach no nearer; it is Amîr
Sahib’s tent.”
[Sidenote: The Arrest.]
This last request being no more effective than the other, he determined
to act boldly and arrest the intruder be he whom he might. Throwing
down his rifle he pounced upon him, overpowered him, and then proceeded
to make him fast. Driving four tent pegs into the ground he fastened
his legs to two of the pegs and his head to the other two--in the
manner that unruly horses are fixed in Afghanistan.
He felt he had done his duty, and taking up his rifle he continued his
march in front of the tent. But, wai, wai! that he should have to tell
it, when his back was turned, up came two of the gardeners and murdered
the prisoner as he lay.
“Ah?” said the Amîr, with a gleam in his eye; “bring hither the body.”
The soldier withdrew, and presently returned bearing the body of the
victim. It was a little mouse.
The Amîr looked at the soldier a moment and then burst into a hearty
laugh. Everyone joined in--except the gardeners. They were called
up--forty of them--and after being reprimanded for allowing mice in the
garden, were ordered each of them to pay a fine of a certain number of
mice every year.
The next day when the Turkestan portrait arrived I set to work to
correct the new one by it; and when that was finished I copied the
first, since His Highness approved of it, on another canvas.
At the beginning of May, when both were completed, I took them to
the Palace. Hearing, however, that His Highness was not sitting, I
was coming away, when he sent for me back again. He was much pleased
with the paintings, and taking a cigarette out of his case he fitted
it in a holder and gave it me to smoke. He also said he should be
greatly pleased if I would paint a portrait of the two eldest Princes
before I left. I said that nothing would give me greater pleasure: but
afterwards, on thinking it over, my remark struck me as being somewhat
beyond the truth.
It was the month of Ramazàn, the yearly Mahomedan fast. The Prince
could not sit fasting: Religion would not allow him to eat in the day
time; and my capabilities would not allow me to paint in the night,
and we were at a standstill. Instead of sitting for his portrait,
therefore, the Prince took unto himself another wife, and invited me to
the wedding. I have described the Reception after the wedding, in an
early part of the narrative.
On May 9th the Fast of Ramazàn ended, and on the 10th was the festival
of Îd. It was a bright sunny day, which, after the most unusual storms
of hail and rain we had been having, was delightful. The hailstones of
the day before were as big as the end of one’s finger--I brought some
in to examine.
In the night, the river, which, owing to the melting snows and the
rain had been rapidly rising, became so swollen as to be a source of
no little danger to a part of the town. Fortunately the bridge had
been almost cleared away, but as it was a regiment of soldiers were
sent out to strengthen the embankment of the river. There was no moon,
and they worked away all night by torchlight; otherwise, as the river
roared along with great force and at a tremendous speed, the Chindawal
division of the town would have been flooded and the houses washed away.
Îd being a festival everyone was dressed in his smartest, and the
servants all had clean white turbans and white clothes. According to
the custom of the country I gave presents and a feast to my servants
and guard, and went to the Durbar to salute the Amîr. I told His
Highness that when I was in England I would take pains to perfect
myself in the Persian language: that I found difficulty in doing so in
Kabul, as I had neither dictionary nor grammar. His Highness laughed:
he said--
[Sidenote: The Amîr’s Comment.]
“I think not. You will take unto yourself a wife, you will visit your
friends, but you will not learn Persian.”
He was quite right.
Two days after this Prince Habibullah gave me the first sitting for
his portrait. He sat in the Salaam Khana, and when I arrived I found
him in the upstairs room, the Guest-house, which has large windows all
round. As the light came in every direction, painting there was an
impossibility.
I could not get any shadow under the brow or chin to give an effect
of relief, and I asked His Highness if he would sit in another room.
As the Prince had studied the art of photography he understood the
difficulty, and we moved at once to one of the lower rooms. Here, by
shutting the shutters of one window, and hanging a curtain over the
lower part of another, we managed to get a very fair light.
There were several of the Prince’s suite in the room, and when I put in
the preliminary charcoal sketch the Prince’s Shaghassi said:--
“Al-láh! What a colour he is making the Prince. The Sirdar Sahib is not
black!!”
If I had known that I should find photographs of these portraits of
the Princes in possession of the _Graphic_ when I arrived in London,
and that woodcuts of them would be in many of the illustrated London
papers, I should probably have postponed my holiday for a time and
put more work into the paintings. As it was, Prince Habibullah’s was
painted from four sittings and Prince Nasrullah’s from three. That of
the elder Prince was the better likeness. Prince Nasrullah’s portrait,
on being carried from my house to the Palace after I had painted His
Highness’s name on it, met with an accident and was badly scratched.
It was sent back to me, therefore, to repair. When I had it again, it
struck me that one part was not quite correct in drawing, and I worked
at it somewhat without the sitter. When it was dry I sent it in again.
The Prince approved of the alteration, and he desired to send it back
to me yet again, for he said:--
[Sidenote: Nasrullah’s Comment.]
“Behold! it is handsomer than it was; and if I send it a third time
may be it will become still more beautiful.”
By the time the pictures were finished Mr. Pyne had returned to Kabul
from India, bringing with him an English tailor. The day Mr. Pyne
arrived I joined the English party at the Workshops, and we had dinner
together.
[Illustration]