THE HAKIM ABOU AYOUB.
'I am on the eve of departing with Sir Louis Cavagnari to Cabul,'
Colville had written. 'With his mission the chances of future war
are over, and then I can come home with honour--home to you, love
Mary.'
But while the British troops were now retiring from every point
within the new frontier, Colville, to whom activity or action of any
kind was a species of relief till he could once again see her whose
varying expression of feature defied alike artist or photographer to
fix or do justice to, gladly undertook to convey to the viceroy at
Simla that letter from the Ameer which brought the embassy into
existence--the embassy which was doomed to have such a fatal end--and
a portion of that fulsome, false, and deluding document ran as
follows, after the usual solemn invocation which preludes every
chapter of the Koran, and the words of which, when sent down from
Heaven, caused, says Giaab, the clouds to fly eastward, the winds to
lull, the sea to moan, all the animals of the earth to erect their
ears and listen, while the devils fell headlong from the celestial
spheres:--
'Be it known unto your High Excellency that since the day of my
arrival in Cabul from the British camp at Gundamuck I have been happy
and pleased with the reception accorded me by the British officers.
I had resolved to visit Simla and give myself the boundless pleasure
of a joyous interview with your Excellency, for the purpose of
strengthening our friendly relations, but circumstances prevented me
carrying my intention into effect... After completing my tour
through the country, during which I shall inspect the frontiers, I
intend, God willing, to have a joyful meeting with your Excellency,
for the purpose of making firmer the basis of our friendship and
drawing closer the bonds of our amity and affection.
'Further, what can I write, beyond expressions of friendship?'
So, encouraged by this letter, which was framed in the genuine
Oriental spirit of fraud and treachery, a brilliant embassy was
arranged.
After delivering to the viceroy, the letter with which he had been
entrusted at head-quarters, Leslie Colville lingered for a few days
at beautiful Simla, where the Court Sanatorium is in a deep and woody
dell, called--doubtless by some old Scottish officer--Annandale,
where the forests are thickly inhabited by grinning baboons, having
white bodies with black hands and feet, and where a savage tribe,
named the Puharries, dwell among the hills, some of which are so
vast--though mere vassals of the Himalayas--as to seem like the
barriers of the world on the left bank of the Indus, from which they
slope down to the steppes of Tartary, the deserts of Gobi, and the
marshes of Siberia; and then he hastened again to the front to join
Cavagnari.
The embassy and escort, the fate of which will never be forgotten in
the history of British India, consisted of seventy-six men of the
brilliant Guide Corps, twenty-six of whom were troopers, the rest
infantry, under Lieutenant Hamilton, V.C. Their uniform was drab
colour, piped and faced with scarlet. The ambassador was accompanied
also by a staff of medical and other officers, including his
secretary, Mr. William Jenkyns, of the Punjaub Civil Service.
All set out on their perilous though apparently peaceful mission in
high glee, while the master spirit of the whole was Major Sir Louis
Cavagnari, then in his thirty-seventh year, a gallant officer who had
served with the Bengal Europeans in the Oude campaign, was present at
the capture of a brigade of guns at Shahelutgunge, and served with
the Kohat column at the capture and destruction of Gara.
He was popular personally with the natives, as he could speak several
of their languages with fluency, while his bronzed features and dark
hair enabled him to assume when he chose, any Oriental costume with
facility, and thus he was invaluable in all cases where courage,
promptitude, and adroit demeanour were necessary.
All our columns having, as stated, fallen back, the only British
troops now beyond the new frontier of Afghanistan were his slender
escort, with which he left Ali Musjid on the 17th of June, and rode
through the savage defiles of the Khyber Pass by Lalpura, Chardeh,
and once more in sight of Jellalabad, pursuing the course and bank of
the Cabul river.
They had now traversed about sixty miles of their journey amid some
of the most stupendous scenery in the world, and the evening of the
second day's march was closing in when, near the Surkab, a stream
which joins the Cabul at the foot of the Siah Koh, a man was seen
gesticulating violently and making signs to them, on which the whole
party halted in obedience to command.
Was he the harbinger of danger, the announcer of an ambush; had armed
_sungahs_ been formed across the path, or what?
Carbines were unslung, revolver cases opened, sword-blades loosened
in the sheath, and there were whispers of treachery on every hand,
and every man's face darkened, and his brows were knit, in
anticipation of a barbarous struggle and having to sell his life
dearly, for they were all picked and tried soldiers, second to none
in Her Majesty's Indian army for daring and discipline. All were
splendid horsemen too--the mounted guides--and, like their infantry,
picturesque-looking fellows in their uniform and bearing.
'The man is not an Afghan, but a European, so far as one can judge by
his face,' said Colville, who, with his bridle reins dropped on his
holsters, had been using his field-glasses intently.
'He wears a scarlet _loonjee_,' said another officer, 'and his dress
seems a uniform. Strange, is it not?'
'By heaven, he is one of the 10th Hussars!' exclaimed Colville.
'What is he doing here? His regiment fell back with the rest of the
army weeks--yes, two months--ago. Can he be a deserter?' suggested
Hamilton.
'Scarcely, when making for us in this frantic fashion,' replied
Colville.
He came close up to the party, and, halting within ten paces,
saluted. Then all could see that he was a hussar, but wan, pale,
bearded, and with his braided uniform sorely worn and tattered.
'Come on, my man,' cried Sir Louis Cavagnari; 'come on and tell us
how you happen to be here?'
'I am here through God's mercy, sir,' replied the hussar, coming
forward, adding, 'Captain Colville--Captain Colville, don't you know
me?'
'Robert Wodrow--Heavens above!' exclaimed the latter, holding out his
hand, which the former grasped warmly and energetically; 'so you did
not perish in the river?'
'It was a pretty close shave, sir,--I shall never be nearer death
again, but once,' replied Wodrow, who seemed so faint that he could
scarcely stand, and received with gratitude a pull from an officer's
brandy flask.
'Have you been a prisoner?' asked Cavagnari.
'No, sir--I was long ill in the hands of the enemy, and was well
treated.'
'Then you were not escaping?'
'No, sir--but making my way to your party when I saw it on the march,
and I blessed God when I first heard of it, for I was told that the
whole army had fallen back, and that I--alone--was left behind.'
'You are one of the Hussars who were swept away at the ford?' queried
an officer, suspiciously.
'Yes, sir, and my story is rather a long one.'
'We shall hear it in a few minutes,' said Sir Louis, and, riding on
slowly, the party reached the village of Balabagh, where it halted
for the night, and where the party found quarters.
The story of Robert Wodrow, who was full of joy to find himself among
comrades again, was a very simple one, and, though made in the form
of a species of report or explanation to Sir Louis Cavagnari as the
senior officer present, was principally directed to Leslie Colville,
whom, of course, he viewed as a friend, and from whom he heard, with
no small dismay, of the actual extent of the catastrophe to the
squadron.
Though kicked more than once by his own charger after he fell into
the stream, he had, after a time, got his feet free from the
stirrups; but was swept away like a cork by the current after he had
passed through the rapids. Being a good swimmer, he contrived to
keep his head above water, but was incapable of reaching the banks,
as they were steep, rocky, and in many places rose sheer like walls
from the bed of the Cabul. Thus he was borne for nearly three miles
below the point where so many of his comrades perished; and, feeling
that he could struggle with fate no more, was about to relinquish
further effort when suddenly voices caught his ear; he saw some
strange white figures near the bank of the river--figures like those
of witches or spectres as seen by the radiance of the stars (as the
moon was under a cloud now), and by some strange and lambent lights
that were floating on the surface of the water, and in the very midst
of which he suddenly found himself, but with a current which
shallowed so fast that he could make good his footing.
Among the Mahomedans and Hindoos there is a pretty custom--which the
former have no doubt borrowed from the latter, as they both practise
it--of going to a river or tank after the fulfilment of a vow, and
setting afloat, as an offering, small, saucer-like lamps of
earthenware, each containing oil, with a lighted wick.
After having said the _fatihar_, or necessary prayers, they watch
their votive lamps as they float down the stream, and girls often
augur their success in love by the steadiness of the journeying down
the darkening waters.
There are certain seasons of the year, such as the Shabibarat feast
in the month of Shaban, when this ceremony is carried out on a vast
and beautiful scale.
It was a fleet of votive lamps amid which Robert Wodrow now found
himself, and for a moment or two he had a striking view of some
groups of Indian girls clad in white floating drapery, their long
black hair unbound, their arms bare to the elbow, their other limbs
to the knee, half lost in shadow and half seen in light, upon the
steps of a Temple-ghaut--we say for a moment or two only, as on
beholding him rising, as it were, from the water, they fled with
shrill cries of affright.
Worn and faint, and heedless of what became of him, he reached the
marble steps of the ghaut, and lay there for a time oblivious of
everything.
When he recovered a little, though well-nigh dead with cold and
exhaustion, he could see by the light of the moon, which now shone
out clearly, a tall, thin, and venerable-looking Afghan bending over
him.
His ample beard was snowy white, his eyes were keen and glittering,
his features were of the Jewish type peculiar to the country, while
his costume was that of the primitive Afghan--wide pantaloons of blue
stuff, a brown camise with flowing sleeves, and a black fur cap.
Putting a hand on Wodrow's head, he told him in Afghani--which is the
Pushtu language spoken by all the Afghans, and the origin of which is
unknown--to take courage, as he would protect him; and Robert Wodrow,
having picked up a little Sanscrit from his father, the old minister,
made a shift to understand him, and knew also that he quoted the
fourth chapter of the Koran, which recommends charity and protection
to all helpless strangers.
And between cold and exhaustion, added to more than one kick from his
horse, poor Wodrow was helpless indeed, but he had fortunately fallen
into excellent hands--those of Abou Ayoub, a good, pious, and
intelligent hakim, or physician of the adjacent village, the
inhabitants of which were friendly to the British, or to anyone who
would protect them from the Afreedies on the one hand and the
Khyberees of the Suffaidh Koh on the other, and for defence against
these the village, which consisted of a mosque, a tank, and some
sixty houses, was surrounded by a strong wall pierced with double
rows of loopholes for musketry.
He conveyed him to his house, and there on a _charpoy_, or native
truckle bed, Robert Wodrow lay for days and weeks in fever and
delirium, attended by the hakim and his three daughters and a Belooch
slave. The former had skill enough to dose his patient with
ipecacuanha, with infusions of manna, and food, including rice,
tamarinds, and stewed prunes; but he and they believed much more in
sentences of the Koran, written on paper, and washed off into the
drink he imbibed, which was generally cool tamarind sherbet, that
proved in times of feverish thirst a delicious draught, especially
from the hands of Ayesha, the eldest and prettiest daughter of the
three.
Among the Afghans women are not secluded from all male society, as
they are strictly in other Mahommedan communities, for the women of
the middle and lower orders share in all the domestic amusements of
their husbands, who generally content themselves with one wife, and
in the country the latter is unveiled.
Young unmarried women are distinguished by wearing their hair loose
and by their trousers being white. Thus Ayesha and her two sisters
wore their long black hair loose, but interwoven with gold chains and
strings of Venetian sequins. And the hakim, who never omitted an
opportunity of quoting the Koran, duly informed Robert Wodrow that
she was so named from Ayesha--one of the four perfect women, and a
wife of Mahomet the Prophet--a lady who had a very terrible adventure
in the sixth year of the Hejira.
After a few weeks of their care, Robert became convalescent. He was
young, courageous, and buoyant with hope; he felt a trust in his own
resources and exertions, and, encouraged by the praise he had won
from Colville and other officers, had begun to take a new interest in
life--to have some hope for the future, and a desire to grapple with
any difficulties and dangers that lay before him; but certainly he
felt something akin to consternation when informed by the hakim that
the Treaty of Gundamuck had been signed; that Great Britain had made
peace with the Ameer; that all our troops had retired towards the
Indus, and that he himself was left behind among the wild mountains
by the Surkhab, some seventy miles from the frontier--a distance
which he could scarcely hope to traverse alone on foot in safety,
amid such perilous surroundings.
'Death cometh to everyone--even though he be in a lofty tower, saith
the Koran, but your time, Feringhee, is not come yet,' said the Hakim
Abou Ayoub to his guest, while smiling at the scared expression of
his face.
The house of Abou Ayoub was a low but comfortable-looking building,
surrounded by groves of tall palm-trees; it had a flat roof and a
verandah, where Robert and the Hakim sat at times in the evening
smoking, talking of the time when the former must make an effort to
get away, or listening to the girls playing the saringa, or native
guitar, and singing monotonously the odes of Rebman, the Khan of the
Khutticks.
In this verandah the Hakim received his poor patients, who gazed with
wonder and awe when the door of his sanctum or surgery was open,
though therein were only a few boxes of books and drugs--a great vase
of rose-water, and a three-lipped brass lamp suspended from a tall
iron rod--for with them the science of healing was associated with
something of sorcery and witchcraft. Robert Wodrow, with all the
Hakim's kindness, wearied of the routine of the daily life there--the
perpetual prayers and ablutions of his host. At each meal the old
man always poured water into a brass basin, in which Robert had to
dip his hands ere he could plunge them into the pilao, which Ayesha
had prepared; though, sooth to say, the Hakim, after uttering the
invariable Bismillah, usually had his fingers in first, selecting the
most delicate morsels for his guest, as knives and forks are unknown
in the land of Baber. Then would come little cups of savoury
curries, chutnees, and sweetmeats; and, when evening fell, ablutions
again; a white cloth was spread over the carpet, and, turning his
bowed face in the direction of Mecca, old Abou Ayoub devoutly said
his prayers for the night.
There is a language of the eye, and a freemasonry when hand touches
hand that all women know or learn; and ere long Robert Wodrow
discovered, to his alarm, that the eldest daughter of his host had
eyes for him alone--we say to his alarm, for, if he did not respond,
her heart might grow revengeful.
This made his situation perilous amid society so strange, and more
intently did he long to be gone, though the girl was, in her own way,
very pretty, very fair for an Afghan, and coquettishly wore the
brightest coloured camises, embroidered vests, and laced trousers of
the finest muslin to attract him,
When the Hakim was absent, there was no mistaking her languishing
demeanour, which sorely perplexed the hussar.
If she loved him, as he doubted not, he at least did not know how to
fall in love again, and to what end could it be with _her_?
Too intensely had he passed through the passion not to know how it
was crushed out of him by the agony of loss; and he had but one
desire, to get well and strong, and at all risks evade this new peril.
One morning the Hakim came to him with a face expressive of
excitement and pleasure; it was to announce that a _tchopper_, or
Cabulee mounted courier, had ridden through the adjacent pass and
seen British troops marching north-westward from Jellalabad.
'British troops!' exclaimed Wodrow, starting up, and at the moment in
haste to be gone.
'Bismillah, not so fast, my son,' said the Hakim; 'you must have food
ere you go.'
In haste Ayesha prepared for him a _kafta kawab_, or dish of savoury
meat balls, with her own hands, and, unseen by Wodrow, her tears
dropped into the pipkin as she did so; but he could scarcely eat of
it, he was in such haste to be gone.
From the loopholes in the village wall the Hakim showed him the gleam
of arms as a party of troops came defiling into the narrow valley,
through which the Surk-ab flows to the Cabul river, and then they
wrung each other's hands in farewell.
'Peace be upon you!' cried Wodrow, who knew enough of the language to
say this.
'And likewise on you be peace and the mercy of God!' cried the Hakim,
in his sonorous Afghani, and another moment saw Robert Wodrow
hurrying down the hillside, and leaving the walled killa, or village,
fast behind him.
'Things in this world wag strangely,' said Robert Wodrow to Colville,
and forgetting that others heard him. 'As you may know, I didn't
care to live; but I pulled through--pulled through when those with a
happier future and more hope might have succumbed.'
What followed has already been narrated.
'After the kindness of that old Hakim to me, I shall ever think well
of these Afghan fellows in future,' said Robert.
'Quite right too, Wodrow,' responded Leslie Colville; 'but we have
yet to see how we get on with them at Cabul.'
He had his doubts, and, curiously enough, they were prophetic.
With a sigh of genuine thankfulness, Robert Wodrow accepted a few
cigars from the proffered case of young Hamilton, of the Guides (a
gallant fellow who had already won the V.C.), as luxuries he had not
known for many a day.
'And now for the march towards Cabul--nearly eighty miles from the
village of Balabagh. As I have a spare horse, you shall ride him,
Wodrow,' said Colville.
'I shall never forget your kindness, sir.'
This was all Robert Wodrow said, but his heart was very full, for
Colville's manner and bearing to him were kind and considerate in the
extreme; and he knew that--the latter's generosity of nature
apart--much of this sprang from their mutual regard for Mary and
Ellinor Wellwood.