THE CHOLERA.
Ramazàn. The outbreak of Cholera. Precautions. Notices in the
bazaars. Rapid spread. European medicine. The overwhelming dread.
Processions to the Mosque. Oriental fatalism. Exodus of the Court.
The shadow of death. Cases. Removal of the Court to the mountains.
Closure of the Workshops. The Armenian as an Inspector. The
Prince’s chamberlain. Death of the Dabier-ul-Mulk. The mortality.
An incident. Afghan appreciation of British motives. Arrival of
an Englishman with thoroughbred horses. Dying out of the Cholera.
Visit to Paghman. The soldiers in chains: their iniquities. Anger
of the Amîr: his decision: the choice. An earthquake: the Amîr
as a scientist. Illness of the “Keeper of the Carpets.” Arrival
of Mr. Pyne and other Englishmen. Another visit to the Amîr. His
Highness’s description of a Royal illness: the cure: the comment,
and the other patient. Dinner from the Palace: the sealed dishes.
[Sidenote: A Fatal Ramazàn.]
Four days after this was Good Friday, April 15th, and three cases of
cholera occurred in the town. It was “Ramazàn,” when good Mahomedans
fast all day and eat enormously at night. Knowing as I did something
of the careless nature of Asiatics: of the awful condition, sanitarily
speaking, of the town of Kabul: of the insufficiency and impurity of
the water supply: it seemed to me that the disease _must_ spread with
deadly rapidity.
The conjecture was only too correct.
The Europeans in Kabul readily understanding the serious condition of
affairs, were easily induced to take suitable precautions, such as the
avoidance of fruit and uncooked vegetables; the drinking of water only
after it had been boiled and filtered; and the careful abstention from
any kind of excess in either eating or drinking.
For the natives, I ordered to be posted about in the bazaars, notices
in Persian advising similar precautions; and described a simple filter
in which after water had been boiled it could be run through sand and
charcoal; for sand and charcoal were both of them to be easily obtained
in the town. I sent an inspector--my Burma policeman--with a band of
soldiers to examine if the city scavengers did their duty, and to order
the removal from the town of all filth that they could get access to. I
brought forth all the barrels of disinfectant powder that the Hospital
contained, but which was of necessity pitiably insufficient, and
ordered its free use in all suspicious places.
At first, cases among the soldiers were reported to me, and I attempted
isolation: but soon this was utterly impossible, for the men fell
in numbers that increased alarmingly day by day. In the town the
disease, as is usual with cholera, was most erratic in its onslaughts.
I endeavoured to institute the reporting of cases to me as soon as
they arose, but it was a useless attempt, and scores died before I
even heard of them. Two days after the commencement, namely, on April
17th, it was reported, that between six a.m. and six p.m. there were a
hundred and eighty-five corpses carried out of Kabul for burial. The
number of deaths was, I heard, reported daily to His Highness, though
to me this was of less importance than the daily number of fresh cases.
The sick soon ceased calling for Hakims, and their friends came in
increasing crowds to my house for European medicines.
I gave them pills containing opium and acetate of lead, to be taken at
certain intervals, to the number of three. No food nor drink was to
be taken; but to allay the intense thirst the patient might suck ice.
For the severe abdominal pain mustard poultices, and for the agonizing
cramps in the limbs massage, were to be employed. This was the general
treatment, varied of course for special cases and complications.
[Sidenote: The Dread.]
Day by day the great shadow deepened over the city. A sickening dread
was in the heart of each; for who might not be the next victim? Men
gathered together and cheered themselves with forced gaiety, and bhang,
or sat with terror-stricken faces waiting for death. Wailing was in
every house, and one could not ride ten yards without meeting parties
of mourners carrying out fresh victims to the graveyard.
“The cholera is in the air,” they said.
The Amîr ordered processions to march to the Mosques with banners and
music and pray for deliverance. Can one believe it! but such was the
paralysing effect of “Kismet,” or of terror, in the town, that the men
were driven to the Mosques with sticks by the soldiers ere they would
move.
With the fatalism of their nature it was not to be hoped that they
would take the precautions to avoid infection--ordinary and simple
though they were--that I had pointed out.
The bodies of the dead were washed in the Kabul river, from which most
of the drinking water of the town was obtained! They were carried
through the gorge by the river-side and buried near the road at the
foot of the Asmai Mountain.
If a man were thirsty he drank whatever water was at hand: out of an
irrigation ditch fouled with wayside filth, from a polluted well,
or the Kabul river. So far from avoiding fruit and vegetables the
townspeople ate of them largely.
When men dropped down in the Durbar, and the Palace attendants were
seized, the Amîr and the Court moved from Endekki to Rish Khor, in the
direction of the Paghman Hills.
As I was needed among the sick, His Highness did not withdraw me from
the town. I was living between Chandawal and the gardens around Timur’s
Tomb, and soon the cholera spread its wings over us. The houses near me
were made desolate, and one of my servants lay dying in the garden.
This man was an Afghan hillman, a good fellow, cheery, and really, it
seemed to me, honest. No one told me when he was first taken, for he
said--
“Why should the Doctor Sahib be troubled for such as I, he has enough
work with others.”
The next day when the pains and the cramps came on, one of the servants
reported the matter to me. I went to the man at once, but it was too
late; he was collapsed, with sunken eyes, his nose was peaky and blue,
the skin of his body cold and his hands shrivelled. I looked at the
other servants and asked why I was not told of this before.
None of them answered. The man seemed grateful that I had seen him, but
he died in the night.
I visited a good many at their houses. It would have been absurd to
wait for an order from the Amîr at a time such as this; sometimes I
took the Armenian to translate, at other times I went alone, for I
knew enough Persian to get along with. My guard--often a single or a
couple of soldiers--waited outside the house while I went in. A guard
was really superfluous, for no one was likely to hurt me: on the
contrary, I was welcomed with every sign of gratitude.
As regards the form of treatment I had adopted, I found it successful
in a great many cases, though the proportion of those who recovered,
compared with the number of deaths in the town, was doubtless
excessively small. Hundreds, however, took the medicine whom I never
saw. Some would carry out the instructions I gave them to the letter,
others would take the medicine but consult their friends as to the
instructions. These cases did not do so well, and I ceased attending
where I was not obeyed.
[Sidenote: Exodus of the Court.]
On the 21st of April, the cholera spread to Rish Khor, and there was
an exodus of the Court to the Paghman Mountains. Here the water was
good, tumbling down in many little cascades from the hills. One day I
was seized with vomiting and was ill, and the Amîr hearing of it sent
to enquire how I was. Happily by the time the messenger arrived I was
better. Soon the road between Paghman and the infected city was closed,
and sentries were posted to cut off all communication.
In the Arm Foundry the native workmen dropped down at the benches, and
work was stopped for want of men to do it.
I was called to see one of the storekeepers of the foundry, Gholam
Nuksh Ban, who was seized. I had hopes for him, and the second day he
was better. After that he ceased following the instructions I gave,
and took the advice of Hakims and friends. I found him drinking curds
and whey, and large quantities of water: I left him therefore. Vomiting
returned with excessive violence and he died. Before he died, however,
he gave into my hands a magazine rifle that I had bought for the Amîr
in London, but which had been detained at the Frontier and afterwards
sent on.
The Armenian went the round of the bazaars to inspect the food sold. He
was not a skilled inspector, but he could at least distinguish rancid
butter, sour milk, putrid meat, or decomposing vegetables, when he saw
them.
At this time the Hazaras broke out in rebellion, and the locusts
invaded Kabul again. The latter, wise creatures, did not stay; they
passed on.
I received an order to attend one of the Chamberlains of Prince
Habibullah, and I went to his house. To see a stranger in the grip of
cholera is bad; but to see a man you know, is a horror that catches
you in the throat. There were the shrunken features and ashy-grey face
of a dreadful ghost of the man I knew. I tried hard to save this man’s
life. Visiting him time after time, I made his men do as I said. The
look in the eyes of a man when he greets you, feeling the dread phantom
loosening its hold and his life coming back to him, is a thing to
remember.
The Dabier-ul-Mulk, Chief Secretary to the Amîr, and the man, I
suppose, most trusted by His Highness, was seized. I was sorry I
received no order to attend him. He died.
Of the four Englishmen who were in Kabul at the onset of the disease
none were ill--with the exception of my own slight attack.
At the end of six weeks the cholera lessened in severity in the town
and spread more in the surrounding villages. It returned, however,
again and again, and the mortality was excessive. By the beginning of
June I was informed that eleven thousand deaths had been reported to
His Highness in Kabul and its neighbourhood.
Among other stories I heard at the time was one of a man falling and
dying just outside the town, near the execution ground. The body was
not seen till the following morning, when a man riding by saw the
pariah dogs that prowl in that neighbourhood snarling and worrying over
something.
[Sidenote: “British Motives!”]
Another story, less hideous and perhaps more interesting was this: A
man coming up to a group standing in the street said--
“A relative of mine is ill with this disease.”
Said one of the group--
“Why go you not at once to the English Doctor, he is giving medicine.”
“Nay,” answered the man, “the British Government sent him here to
poison as many as he can.”
“Khair,” said a third, “not so. To my wife, ill with this disease, he
gave a medicine: she is now well.”
“Beshak,” said a fourth. “Undoubtedly; but the Sirkar-i-Engrez send him
that by curing us he may gain our friendship. Thus they hope to draw
away the people and the country from Amîr Sahib, that they may come
themselves and rule us.”
Meanwhile another Englishman, Mr. Clemence, had arrived. He brought
with him from England two or three thoroughbred stallions and some
hackneys, for the improvement of the Amîr’s stud. He had, however, been
directed to make a detour and avoid Kabul, and had been conducted to
Faizabad, where he took up his quarters. Shortly afterwards he rode
into Kabul to visit the other Englishmen: a woeful time to arrive in a
strange town.
About the middle of June we had violent thunder storms and heavy rain,
a most unusual occurrence at that time of the year, and the weather
became cool, much cooler than it was in April.
The cholera now appeared to be dying out, and men began to draw their
breath again and to recover from the oppressive dread. I wrote to His
Highness and enquired his health. He replied that he was well, and
invited me to visit him at Paghman.
It is a beautiful ride of about fifteen miles. First there is the
Chahardeh Valley, with cornfields, hedges, and gardens; then the
incline at the foot of the mountains; the Paghman Valley, and a last
steep climb to the Royal residence.
It was very cool at Paghman; there were trees, flowers, and waterfalls,
but the corn instead of being ripe was green. Almost directly we
arrived at the Palace I was shown into the room where His Highness was
sitting, and he greeted me most kindly. He referred to the cholera, and
reminded me that I had told him at my last interview how very little
sickness there was, so that Doctors and Hakims had very little to do.
Tea and cigarettes were brought, and His Highness directed the Pages
to offer me the cakes and biscuits that were brought for his own
breakfast.
By-and-bye there were some soldiers brought in, in chains. His Highness
called my attention to them, and told me the story of their offences.
[Sidenote: Anger of the Amîr.]
It was quite a long story. They had formed a conspiracy against their
Captain, whom they had accused of oppression and other evils. His
Highness dilated at some length upon their iniquities, and finally
said--
“What can one do with such men?”
They threw themselves on the ground, crying--
“Tobah! tobah!”--“Alas! alas!”
The Amîr said--
“Nay! the time is past for ‘tobah.’ You have admitted before the Priest
that the accusation you made against your officer was false.”
One began to say that he was “Amîr Sahib’s servant.”
“What word is this?” thundered the Amîr, “my servant!! This General
is my servant, this man and this (the Treasury Officer and the Deputy
Commander-in-Chief), these are my servants. You? You are the dog of my
servants!”
“What shall I do to you?” he said, as they stood quaking. Then he added,
“You shall be taken from here to a room apart, there shall you sit and
debate among yourselves what your punishment shall be, and to-morrow
you shall again be brought before me.”
Then they were hurried away.
What the choice of each one was I do not know, but I had occasion to
learn the choice of some of them. A few days afterwards on visiting the
Sherpur Hospital I saw four or five of the men. They each greeted me
with a wan smile and held up the left arm--the hand had been severed at
the wrist joint.
His Highness then continued talking to me concerning the causes of
cholera, and he ordered a specimen of Paghman drinking water to be
brought. While I was examining it, the windows commenced rattling, and
I thought vaguely that the wind must have risen very suddenly. Hearing
a bustle I looked up and saw the Pages hurrying together and the Amîr
standing. I jumped up at once. A moment or two afterwards His Highness
sat down again, motioning me to do the same. He said--
“Did you not recognize the cause of that noise?”
“No, Sir,” I answered, “I thought it was the wind.”
He laughed and said--
“It was an earthquake! Another time you must be quicker and get out of
the house.” He said that the motion of the earth in an earthquake, at
any given spot, was in a vertical, not a horizontal direction. Were
it in a horizontal direction, he said, the very mountains would fall.
Being in a vertical direction the pressure on the beams of a house,
owing to the weight of the roof, becomes excessive, and they are likely
to give way. For this reason it is advisable to get out into the open
when an earthquake commences.
Soon after this His Highness wrote a few words on a slip of paper,
and calling the Armenian to him he handed him the paper. When the
Armenian returned to me he whispered that the Amîr had increased my pay
considerably. I commenced to thank His Highness, but he smiled, and
silenced me by raising his hand.
About four o’clock, dinner was brought. For me a European one was
provided, the only peculiarity of which was that the soup followed the
fish.
After dinner, His Highness asked me if I was returning to Kabul that
night, or whether I would remain at Paghman till the morning. As I had
six horses with me I decided to return. His Highness asked me before I
left to visit the “Ferrash-bashi,” or “Keeper of the Carpets,” who was
ill. This was the gentleman I met first in Turkestan, who struck me as
being “not such a villain as he looked.”
Accordingly, I called upon him at his house in Paghman, which was some
distance down the hill.
I found he had had a stroke, and was paralyzed on one side. I gave him
advice, and said I would ride over in a day or two to see him again.
Night came on as we were riding home, and we had to do the last two or
three miles at a walk.
[Sidenote: Arrival of English.]
At this time Mr. Pyne was on his way back to Kabul after the
termination of his leave; and two days after my visit to Paghman he
arrived in the town, bringing with him Mr. Arthur Collins, who had
entered the service as geologist. Being well mounted they had ridden
the last two stages in a day, arriving in Kabul in the evening. Coming
so quickly they were ahead of their baggage, and had had nothing to eat
since the early morning. A dinner was soon provided, and I sent them
plates, knives, and forks; and blankets for the night.
Several other Englishmen had entered the service, who arrived the
next day with the baggage. There were two more assistant engineers;
a mining assistant to Mr. Collins; a gardener, and a lapidary. The
last did not stay long, as it was found that the native lapidaries
could do ordinary work; and extraordinary work, such as the Amîr hoped
for, was, I understood, only possible with special machinery. About a
month afterwards two other Englishmen arrived, a tanner and a currier
from Yorkshire: so that at this time there were no less than fourteen
Englishmen in Kabul.
The day after the arrival of the Englishmen I rode over to Paghman
again to see the Ferrash-bashi. Mr. Walter, the tailor, who wished to
try a coat on the little Prince Mahomed Omer, accompanied me. I found
my patient no worse, and after lunching off some delicious Paghman
cherries I went on to the Palace to salaam His Highness.
After salutations, tea, and cigarettes, His Highness told me the story
of a severe illness he suffered from when he was a youth. He was a
General in his father’s army, and was so ill that he had to be carried
to the wars on a charpoy. He was hoisted on to men’s shoulders, or on
to a house top, or hill, to see the battles. The Hakims told him that
the illness he suffered from was due to the presence of a large worm or
snake in his stomach. Medicine after medicine was used without avail:
and large quantities of iced water were drunk with the intention of
chilling the creature and driving it out. This being unsuccessful an
idea struck the Amîr: he abstained from food for many hours, and then
ordered to be prepared a very delicious and savoury dinner, and he sat
with this in front of him hoping to tempt the worm. It was successful,
and feeling the creature crawling up his throat he waited; then seizing
the head he drew it forth.
[Sidenote: The Amîr’s Comment.]
“Thus did I succeed in getting rid of the vile creature,” said the
Amîr, and, suiting the action to the word, he appeared to be drawing a
rope from his mouth, hand over hand.
In a serious and profoundly interesting account of a Royal illness and
cure, it was exceedingly improper for me to be affected by the humorous
side of the narrative; but, try as I would to prevent it, a shadow of a
smile appeared. His Highness noticing it looked very straight at me and
said--
“I tell you this for your own guidance. I have here a man suffering
from the same disease. Him I desire you to examine. Administer such
medicines as you deem suitable, giving also due weight to the narrative
I have related of my own sufferings and cure, that thus his recovery
may be ensured.”
I found that the patient was suffering from a disease that was,
perhaps, less interesting than that His Highness suffered from: he
had cancer of the stomach. I am sorry to say I was of necessity less
successful in treating him than His Highness had been in treating
himself.
After some further talk with His Highness, I retired and rode back to
the Ferrash-bashi’s. It seems that the last time I had gone to see His
Highness, he had ordered tents and dinner to be brought for me to the
patient’s house: they arrived about half-an-hour after we had left.
This time, therefore, we stayed. The tents were put up on the grass in
the cherry orchard: a couch, covered with yellow and purple silk, was
brought from the Palace and dinner arrived. The dishes had been taken
before His Highness for approval: the tray was then covered with a
white cloth and sealed before him. I was informed of the arrival of
dinner: the seal was broken in my presence; and the dishes made hot at
a fire on the grass outside my tent. I dined: then after more cherries
and a smoke, I retired to my gorgeous couch, well-pleased with myself
and everybody else.
The next morning, after breakfast, we rode back to Kabul. I was going
down the long slope from the Paghman Hills at a smart trot, when I
heard a sudden exclamation, and, looking back, saw the Armenian and his
horse go headlong: he was riding the brute of mine that stumbled. I
shouted to a soldier to catch my bridle, and sprang off to see what the
damage was, for the horse had rolled over the Armenian’s leg. He was
crushed and bruised a good deal, and the skin scraped off his leg, but
there were no breakages. He had, however, a bump on his head big enough
for all practical purposes. We sat for a little by the wayside till he
had recovered, then he got on another horse, and we went the rest of
the way at a walk.
After dinner, I luxuriated in a long chair opposite the window. The
view was the sky and an apple-tree laden with fruit: beyond were vines,
apricot, and almond trees; in the distance over the tree-tops was the
purple and shadowy summit of a mountain. The doves were coo-cooing, and
the sparrows chirping. Later, the moon came out and the hoophoe cried
“Hood-hood.”