This land is not a desert. Yet there are but few trees, and because there
is so little shade, the rivulets are soon dried up. Yet it might be a
fruitful land, if the inhabitants would plant and sow. But they prefer
wandering about in tents, and living upon plunder, to settling in one
place and living by their labor. The Tartar has good reason for roaming
over his plains, because the land is bad; but the Affghan has no reason,
but the _love_ of roaming.
The plains of Affghanistan are sultry, but the mountains are cool; for
their tops are covered with snow. The shepherds feed their flocks on the
plains during the winter; but in the spring they lead them to the
mountains to pass the summer there. Then the air is filled with the sweet
scent of clover and violets. The sheep often stop to browse upon the
fresh pasture; but they are not suffered to linger long. The children
have the charge of the lambs; an old goat or sheep goes before to
encourage the lambs to proceed, and the children follow with switches of
green grass. Many a little child who can only just run alone, enjoys the
sport of driving the young lambs. The tents are borne on the backs of
camels. The men are terrible-looking creatures, tall, large, dark, and
grim, with shaggy hair and long black beards. They wear great turbans of
blue check and handsome jackets, and cloaks of sheep-skin; they carry in
their girdles knives as large as a butcher's; and on their shoulders a
shield and a gun.
Besides these wild wanderers, there are some Affghans who live in houses.
Cabool, the capital, is a fine city, and the king dwells in a fine
citadel. The bazaar is the finest in all Asia. It is like a street with
many arches across it; and these people sell all kinds of goods.
But what is a fine _bazaar_ compared to a beautiful _garden?_ Cabool is
surrounded by gardens: the most beautiful is the king's. In the midst is
an octagon summer-house, where eight walks meet, and all the walks are
shaded by fruit-trees. Here grow, as in Bokhara, the best fruits to be
found in an English garden, only much larger and sweeter. The same kind
of birds, too, which sing in England sing among its branches, even the
melodious nightingale. It is the chief delight of the people of Cabool to
wander in the gardens: they come there every evening, after having spent
the day in sauntering about the bazaar; for they are an idle people,
talking much and working little.
The noise in the city is so great that it is difficult to make a friend
hear what you say: it is not the noise of rumbling wheels as in London,
for there are no wheeled carriages, but the noise of chattering tongues.
The Affghans are a temperate people; they live chiefly upon fruit with a
little bread; and as they are Mahomedans, they avoid wine, and drink
instead iced sherbets, made of the juice of fruits. In winter excellent
_dried_ fruits supply the place of fresh.
But the Affghan, though living on fruits, is far from being a harmless
and amiable character; on the contrary, he is cruel, covetous, and
treacherous. Much British blood has been shed in the valleys of
Affghanistan.
We cannot blame the Affghans for defending their own country. It was
natural for them to ask, "What right has Britain to interfere with us?"
A British army was once sent to Affghanistan to force the people to have
a king they did not like, instead of one they did like.
I will tell you of a youth who accompanied his father to the wars. This
boy looked forward with delight to going as a soldier to a foreign land,
and his heart beat high when the trumpet sounded to summon the troops to
embark. Joyfully he quitted Bombay, crossed the Indian Ocean, and landed
near the mouth of the Indus. When the army began its march towards
Affghanistan, he rode on a pony by his father's side.
At first it seemed pleasant to pitch the tent in a new spot every day, to
rest during the heat, and to travel in the dead of the night, till the
sun was high in the sky. But soon this way of life was found fatiguing,
for the heat was great, and the water scarce. The air, too, was clouded
by the dust the troops raised in marching; and green grass was seldom
seen, or a shady tree under which to rest. The food, too, was dry and
stale, and no fresh food could be procured, for the Affghans, before they
fled, destroyed the corn and fruit growing in the fields, that their
enemies might not eat them. The camels, too, which bore the baggage of
the British army, grew ill from heat and thirst; for it is not true that
camels can live _long_ without water; in three or four days they die.
Besides this, the hard rocks in the hilly country hurt their feet, and
hastened their death. Many a camel died as it was seeking to quench its
thirst at a narrow stream in the valley, and its dead body falling into
the water, polluted it. Yet this water the soldiers drank, for they had
no other, and from drinking it they fell ill. The father of the youthful
soldier was one of these, and he was compelled to stop on the way for
several weeks; and because the heat of a tent was too great, he took
shelter in a ruined building. Here his son nursed him with a heavy heart.
Where was the delight the youth had expected to find in a soldier's life?
At last the British army reached a strong fort built on the top of a
hill; Guznee was its name. Its walls and gates were so strong that it
seemed impossible to get into the city; yet the British knew that if they
did _not_, they must die either by the Affghan sword, or by hunger and
thirst among the rocks. For some time they were much perplexed and
distressed. At last a thought came into the mind of a British captain,
"Let us blow up the gates with gunpowder." The plan was good; but how to
perform it,--there was the difficulty. Soon all was arranged. In the
night some sacks of gunpowder were laid very softly against the gates;
but as no one could set fire to the sacks when _close_ to them, a long
pipe of cloth was filled with gunpowder, and stretched like a serpent
upon the ground; one end of the pipe touched the sack, and the other end
was to be set on fire. But before the match was applied, a British
officer peeped through a chink in the gates to see what the Affghans were
doing within. Behold! they were quietly smoking, and eating their supper,
not suspecting any danger! The match was applied--the gunpowder exploded,
and the strong gates were shattered into a thousand pieces; the army
rushed in sword in hand, and the Affghans fled in wild confusion.
Where was our young soldier? He was running into the fort between two
friendly soldiers, who kindly helped him on; each of them was holding one
of his arms, and assisting him to keep up with the troops, as they rushed
through the gates. As he ran, he heard horrible cries, but the darkness
hindered him from seeing the dying Affghans rolling in the dust, only he
felt their soft bodies as he hastily passed over them. He heard his
fellow-soldiers shouting and firing on every side. Some fell close beside
him, and others were wounded, and carried off on the shoulders of their
comrades, screaming with agony.
Half an hour after the gates were fired, the city was taken. The news of
the victory spread among the Affghans on the mountains, and the plains,
and the whole country submitted to the British.
The army soon marched to Cabool, that proud city. No one opposed their
entrance, and the bazaar, and the king's garden, and the royal citadel
were visited by our soldiers.
After spending two months in beautiful Cabool, resting their weary limbs
and feasting on fine fruits, the army was ordered to return home. They
began to march again towards the coast, a distance of fifteen hundred
miles, over cragged rocks, and scorching plains.
In the course of this terrible journey, the father of the young soldier
again fell ill, and was forced to stop by the way. His affectionate son
nursed him night and day; closed his eyes in death, and saw him laid in a
lowly grave in the desert. With a bleeding heart the youth embarked to
return to Bombay.
During the voyage, a furious storm arose, and all on board despaired of
life. _Then_ it was the youth remembered the prayers he had offered up by
his dying father's bed; _then_ it was he felt he had not turned to God
with all his heart, and _then_ it was he vowed, that if the Lord would
spare him this _once_, he would seek his face in truth. God heard and
spared.
And did the youth remember his prayers and vows? He did, though not at
_first_,--yet after a little while he _did_. He read the word of God, he
prayed for the Spirit of God, and at length he enjoyed the peace of God;
and now he neither fears storm nor sword, because Christ is his shelter
and his shield.