The cloths were lifted and I found that His Highness had conferred upon me the gold Afghan Medal of Honour and had presented me with five thousand rupees.

The medal was for the work I had done among the sick during the past year, and the rupees for the portrait.

From the Sultana was a gold English lever hunting watch and chain, and six or seven yards of stuff, the prevailing tint of which was Indian red, but which was so woven with gold threads that it seemed red gold. I heard that the medal was unique: it was the only one of the kind that had been struck.

I do not think I have said anything about the coinage of Afghanistan. The ordinary medium of exchange is the rupee. It is a smaller coin than the kaldar, or Indian rupee, being about the size of a shilling. Nominally, it is worth twelve annas, though there is no such coin as an anna in circulation. A half rupee is called a kran. The copper coins in circulation are called pice. Five pice go to the anna. There are sixty or more pice in a rupee, according to the exchange, which can always be found out by reference to the money-changers in the bazaars. Formerly the coins were struck by hand. Quite recently His Highness has established a minting machine in Kabul. I think the new rupee is scarcely as artistic as the old: it is Europeanized, and it is said to be worth an anna less. Pice, too, are now being made in the minting machine. The Amîr is introducing the new rupee into circulation by paying the soldiers of his army with that coin.

There is no gold Afghan coin in circulation, though the Bokhara “Tilla,” worth about twelve shillings, is current. Many of the richer Afghans hoard their wealth, and for this purpose they buy Bokhara Tillas, or bar gold, from the alluvial deposits of the Oxus.

On New Year’s day, “Nau Rôz,” the Amîr held a Levee in the Palace Gardens. I went about ten o’clock.

His Highness wore a white uniform, and over his shoulders was thrown a dark green cloak, slightly embroidered with gold. He wore the otter skin busby and diamond star that I painted in the portrait. He looked very handsome.

Every one was as gorgeous as he could make himself; some looked uncommonly well; a few ridiculous.

There was a great awning of crimson and white, supported on eleven masts. Under it were seated, in rows—or rather kneeling, for they were in the presence of the King—the Maliks and Governors of neighbouring villages and towns, who had come to salaam His Highness. These were almost all dressed in native costumes, with turbans.

The Guard, who had new uniforms, were in line, and the people of the Court were grouped about near His Highness, who was seated in an arm-chair.

I had a chair to the right of His Highness the Amîr, and somewhat behind him. The rest stood or sat on the ground. The Armenian stood behind my chair. The day was cold and the sky grey. I was dressed in European costume with an overcoat, on the left breast of which the Armenian had with great pride fixed the medal. He wanted me to wear the watch and chain outside as well. As there was no sun I wore an astrakhan hat of the Royal shape which had been presented to me. Bands with European and native instruments played alternately. Tea was brought to everyone by the servants, and I had a cigar. Then came cakes and sweets. A special tray was brought to His Highness, and he was kind enough to send me some from it, otherwise after my first bow and his enquiry after my health, I did not occupy much of his attention.

Col. Attaullah Khan, the British Agent, who is a very tall fine man, a Punjabi, came escorted by his guard, and attended by his native Doctor and his Secretary, the highly educated Munshi Amin Ullah.

He made his salaam, and was invited to sit on the Amîr’s left, on the ground. The Secretary and Doctor were seated away under the awning.

Then presents were brought and laid at His Highness’s feet. He seemed just to glance at them, and they were taken away. There were all kinds of things, the cost depending upon the wealth of the giver: silk handkerchiefs, brass work, lamps, vases, fruit, crockery; but what interested me most were the products of the Government workshops in Mazar—rifles, swords, saddles, boots, sun helmets, and two tables of carved wood uncommonly well made, and looking as though they came from Europe.

As a picture, the whole scene was brilliant with colour; and the grey sky, with the delicate pink and white of the blossoms covering the trees and the faint green of the just budding leaves, made a very sweet and harmonious background.

Presently the Amîr’s portrait was brought out and exhibited. Afterwards breakfast (or lunch) was brought. His Highness’s table was placed in front of him, and a little one was brought for me. The rest had theirs on the ground, as usual. The chief cook waited upon me. After breakfast a copper ewer and basin (aftabah and chillimchi) were taken to the chief guests, and they washed their hands.

For the others long narrow damp towels, each reaching from end to end of a row of guests, were passed along, so that a dozen or more could wipe their hands at the same moment.

After another cigar I rose, made my bow, and retired, much to the Armenian’s disgust. I think I was the first to go. Many people asked to look at my medal, and the Commander-in-Chief, who was some little distance from me, gave a congratulatory smile and bow as he touched his breast.

I got home about half-past two; some sick people were brought, and after a cup of tea I set to work again.

In the evening I played chess. I had been playing with different people, and had always been beaten. I determined, therefore, to play the Armenian. He knew the moves, and we sat down to a game. We played rapidly, and he grew very excited. He muttered in Pushtu, or shouted in a mixture of Hindustani, Persian, and English. He swooped with his Wazir or Queen, and cried “Kisht! check!” I took his Queen with a Pawn, at which he was indignant: he said it was not fair, and he wanted his Queen back. I began to doubt if he would ever make, so to speak, a good player; he was too impulsive: he swooped and slaughtered right and left. We had one game where in the end we had nothing left but a King and a Pawn each: then he took my Pawn. I told him the game was drawn, because I saw he would get across and have a Castle before I could stop him; but he said—No, he had won. I appealed to the onlookers, and they said politely, “Undoubtedly the game is drawn.” However, I consented to a compromise, and allowed it to be drawn in his favour.

Chess as played in Afghanistan is slightly different from chess as played in England.

In the first move, the Pawn goes only one square. The Queen is called the “Wazir,” or Prime Minister, and stands on the King’s right. The Bishop is called the “Fil,” or Elephant. The Knight is called “Asp,” or Horse, or sometimes the “Sowar,” that is “Rider,” or Knight. The Castle is called the “Rookh,” and is supposed to be a Redoubt or Fort. Sometimes it is called the “Tôp,” or Cannon. There is some slight difference in the castling, though I forget exactly what, otherwise, the pieces have the same moves as in England.

My “fool-horse”—the fighter, with tooth and nail (that is to say, hoof)—developed “cracked heels.” This was unfortunate, for I knew nothing about horse doctoring, and he got into the habit of stumbling and coming down on his nose. Twice did I remain on under these circumstances, and proudly I said to the Armenian,

“Behold, now! I am as a great rider among men.”

“Yes, sir?” said the Armenian, “I think it you fall off.”

But, alas! Pride cometh, then cometh the fall. Then next time he came down I went over his head. There was a sentence I had to learn in my Persian lesson that day that seemed appropriate, it was:—“Ba zamin ûftad, Ustoghonash rèz rèz shud,” which means, “He fell to the earth and his bones were broken to pieces.” Not that mine were, but they might have been. I seemed, as it were, to have lost confidence in my horse, and I said to the Armenian, “This must not occur again; see to it.”

“Sir! what I do?” he asked.

“Sell him, or shoot him.”

But he said No; he would report the matter to Amîr Sahib at the next Durbar.

Tuesday arrived and we went to the Durbar. After I had saluted His Highness, and was seated, a case of epilepsy was brought. His Highness described to me the symptoms the man was exhibiting, told me the Persian name of the disease, and gave his own views as to the pathology. He told me the old books said, that a man in this condition was possessed by the Devil, “Shaitân;” but, that this was, of course, absurd. He went on to say that he considered the disease was due to an organism—probably, animal—having found its way into the ventricles of the brain: the irritation caused by its presence culminating in a nervous explosion; the outward signs of which were a convulsive seizure, a thrusting forward of the tongue, spasm of the jaws, a foaming at the mouth, and insensibility. He said, he wished to administer a native medicine, but, at the same time, I was to give such European drugs as I thought suitable for the case.

I asked, then, if some wooden stethoscopes might be made for the Hindustani assistants, as neither of them possessed one. I had been giving them some instructions, and had been holding classes in the evening for the compounders. I found there was not a great deal I could teach the Priest compounder “Hafiz.” He was very well up in his work, and was an intelligent man, the only one I could really rely on in an operation.

Then the Armenian considered that the time had come to speak about the horse, and he waxed eloquent.

His Highness said, “Why ride a horse so dangerous; I have many horses.”

He told me he had a black horse, a remarkable animal, whose speed was like that of a steam-engine. This he would send for. It had been coveted by many of the Courtiers: one wanted it for his son, another for himself; but His Highness would not give it to anyone. I had never seen it. The horse was sent for. I pictured a lovely creature, like an Arab, with a small head, slender limbs, and broad chest. Judge of my surprise when I beheld a black shaggy pony, all mane and tail. I thought within myself: “They are playing it low down upon the stranger within their gates.”

But, at a sign from the Amîr, the head-groom mounted and off the pony started. He did not gallop, canter, trot, nor walk: he simply “skated” over the ground at terrific speed. They said he could keep the pace up for thirty miles without stopping, and could travel from Mazar to Kabul in four days!

Hence, if one found it necessary to move from one place to another hurriedly, this horse seemed likely to be invaluable.

His Highness said that as this horse was not beautiful I was to choose two other horses, handsome and swift. The pony I was to keep at my house, and the other two should be kept in his own stable, and when I needed them I was to send for them.

That black pony was uncanny. An evil spirit—several evil spirits—possessed him. The first thing he did, when we got him home, was to deliberately untie his halter, walk off to the “fool horse,” though he was only about half his size, and fight him. He went so quietly and seemed so gentle—just at first: but he was a fiend. They fought furiously, striking, kicking, and tearing at each other with their teeth. If we had not succeeded in separating them the “fool horse” would have been killed.

Shortly after that, and without any hurry, he slipped his head out of his headstall and walked off to a horse belonging to the Armenian, a young one he had lately bought to trade with in Kabul. The young one was frightened, and the “Steam-engine,” seeing it was an adversary not worthy of his steel—or teeth—merely nipped him in the neck and walked back again.

The next day I rode him to the Hospital. The Armenian was riding a grey—a cross between an Arab and a Kataghani, a swift animal—and one of the compounders was on the “fool horse,” who stumbled. When we got through the bazaars I gave the pony his head, and off he skated. I leant back and occupied myself in hanging on. He kept the grey at a gallop all the way to the Hospital: about a quarter of an hour afterwards the compounder arrived on the “fool horse.” I saw my patients, cut off a man’s thumb at the wrist, then we skated back again.

One afternoon, it was in April, as I was coming back from seeing a patient, I met the two little Princes, Hafiz Ullah and Amin Ullah, who were aged respectively about nine and three. They were in their palanquins, and there was a guard of about thirty soldiers. As the sun was hot, a large umbrella was held over each Prince.

I pulled up my horse and saluted, and the elder of the two Princes asked if I would not accompany them. The Armenian and I, therefore, turned our horses and rode with them. I wondered where we were going.

We marched through the streets and bazaars, the guard flourishing their almond sticks to clear people out of the way, till we reached the gates leading into the grounds around the Temple or Mosque of Mazar.

Here the Armenian and I dismounted, and I walked by the side of the elder Prince’s palanquin: the Armenian came behind. The Prince’s Kaffir Page boys were there, his tutor, and other young men, officers of his household. I had never been so near the Mosque before. They say it is about two hundred years old. It is truly Oriental in style, with cupola, pierced stone (lattice work) windows, and minarets. The blue-stone—or porcelain—bricks of which it is built are of different tints, the contrasting tints being arranged in patterns. In the immediate grounds, or square, of the Temple, were a number of shops, or booths, where they sold handkerchiefs, porcelain articles, and strings of beads, or rosaries. In the front of each shop was an awning of rush matting, supported on two poles. The sun shone brilliantly, and in the distance the mountains glimmered shadowy blue in the heated air. The crowds of people, and the shopkeepers, salaamed as the Princes went by. We marched through and on into the Park of Mazar—the Chahar Bagh. The park is about a mile in width each way. We went along the paths under the trees till we reached a large open space, where I found there was to be a wrestling contest. At one end of the space was a mound or platform, about six feet above the level. On it were spread carpets; and supported on poles was a brilliantly-coloured awning to keep off the glare of the sun.

There were two chairs for the Princes and a chair was given to me. The guard was arranged round, the Page boys stood in a line behind us, and the others, including the Armenian and the tutor, were seated on the ground.

The tutor was a smart young fellow, very polished in manner, who used to cheat at cards in the most amusing and barefaced way. I had met him before. Around the open space were crowds of spectators, all in national costume: most of them with white turbans, long loose coats of various colours, and white, baggy pyjamas, tight at the ankle. The front ranks were seated, cross-legged, on the ground; behind them were rows standing. The ground sloped upwards for about three feet, so that all could see. Forming a background were the trees, all covered with green, for the summer comes rapidly in Turkestan; the roses were blooming in April.

First, the band played. The musicians stood in the centre, their musical instruments being drums and pipes, or flageolets. The latter were large, black instruments, bound with brass, and with a tone not unlike that of the bagpipes.

They played an Afghan tune, most quaint to my ear, and the drums beat rhythmically, but with a rhythm quite different from anything I had heard in Europe.

Then there came forward about thirty Afghan soldiers, belonging to an artillery regiment. They were to dance an Afghan dance. Their dress was the usual costume of the Pathan soldier—the conical cap and small turban, white vest hanging loose over the white pyjamas, and a short jacket. The Princes, by the way, both wore military uniforms and belts, with gem-bedecked buckles, and astrakhan hats of the Royal shape. The tutor wore a plain grey tunic and an astrakhan hat of a different shape. I sported a turban, for I was afraid of the sun, and the turban is an excellent protection to the head. The Kaffir Pages had grey tunics and trousers and soft grey felt hats. The Princes and their suite therefore were European in dress.

The thirty soldiers formed a ring round the musicians; the drums beat a sort of slow march, and the dancers walked slowly round singing a chant in falsetto—one-half sang a verse, the other half answered. Presently the pipes began their shrill wailing, and the dancers moved faster, with a step something like a mazurka. Quicker and quicker grew the music, and quicker and quicker the dance: turbans and shoes were tossed off without a pause. The circle widened and lessened at regular intervals, and arms were waved and hands clapped simultaneously. The dancers became excited, uttering at intervals a sharp cry. Still continuing the mazurka step, every dancer at each momentary pause in the music whirled round on his toes to the right, then to the left. Some were, of course, more graceful than others. One in particular, I noticed—a huge man with a short black beard, and long wavy black hair parted on one side; he was a most enthusiastic and graceful dancer. It was a curiously stirring sight. One could imagine fiery Afghans worked up to a pitch of excitement almost approaching frenzy. In time the dancers became exhausted, and dropped off one by one.

Then came a dance by about a dozen boys, aged about thirteen or fourteen; they wore their hair long, and were dressed as girls. I was not interested. Their dancing was not to be compared with, though it somewhat resembled, that of the European ballet.

When the dances were over, tea was brought to us under the awning, and then the wrestling commenced. This was excellent.

First came Turkoman soldiers matched against Mazarîs. They were barefooted, and wore the small skull cap of the Turkoman, short cotton breeches, and long loose coat unfastened.

A pair advanced and took their stand a few paces apart, near the Prince’s platform. They watched each other a moment, then warily sidled round. Suddenly one rushed forward and they closed, each seizing the other by the collar and elbow. Rarely could a wrestler manage to get both his arms under those of his opponent: when he did, the bout was over in a moment. By collar and elbow each tried to twist the other off his feet or trip him. It was necessary to throw the opponent, so that he should be flat on his back on the ground. Often there was a long writhing struggle when they both were down, till one could disengage. Some of the bouts grew very exciting, but the Turkomans invariably came off winners, they were so immensely strong, with such Herculean muscles. The Mazarîs showed plenty of pluck and endurance, but they were no match for the Turkomans. Finally, seeing that the Mazarîs were out-matched, the elder Prince pitted the Turkomans one against the other. The men were not very keen upon wrestling their comrades.

There happened to be two Turkomans of enormous size; the biggest men I ever saw. It would have been folly for anyone there to stand up to either of them, and the Prince, after some persuasion, induced them to have a bout together.

They stood up—great giants—and walking deliberately up to one another they grappled. There was no sudden movement. It was a sheer trial of strength. At the end of the first round neither had any advantage. After that they got warmed to their work, and each grew a little jealous of the other. They commenced now in good earnest, and what had gone before was play to what came after. The knotted muscles, the clenched jaw, and the distended veins showed the enormous strain of the mighty heaves. At last, with a supreme effort, one threw the other backwards, and, like the fall of two great oaks, the giants came to the ground together.

Then came the Kabulis, who wrestled stripped except for a cincture round the waist. Theirs was a more complicated style than that of the Turkomans: they seemed in excellent training.

One Kabuli, a well-built fellow, threw man after man who came forward, though each was a practised wrestler. He had wonderful powers of endurance. The last man but one who came against him was a strong young fellow. He heaved the champion off the ground, carried him a step or two and tried to fling him down. He might as well have tried to fling a tiger down. How it came about I could not tell, they were so locked and writhing, but in a second or two the champion was on his feet and the young man down. These men belonged to the artillery regiment that had danced.

During the wrestling, when the spectators became excited, and a popular champion was in the ring, they shouted for success or groaned for failure nearly as much as Englishmen would have done.

Then came the distribution of prizes. To the successful wrestlers the Prince gave Turkoman coats of brilliant colours—such as the Oriental loves.

While the sports were going on the Commander-in-Chief and some Officers arrived. They saluted the Princes and bowed to me; but they would not sit on the ground while I had a chair. In the presence of the Amîr they had, at first, been greatly offended at sitting lower than I, and had made some remark on the subject after I had left: they received, however, such a severe reprimand from His Highness that they never repeated it.

When the sun began to set the air became cool, and the Princes rose and took their departure. I accompanied their Highnesses, leaving the Commander-in-Chief and the Officers in the Park.

CHAPTER XIX.
The Young Princes.

On the following day, after I had finished my work, I heard that the infant Prince, Mahomed Omer, was leaving the Harem Serai, where he had been living since his recovery from the vaccination, to take possession of a house that had been freshly prepared for him. I sent to enquire if he would receive me that afternoon. This may seem a great deal of ceremony when a baby is the principal personage, but as a matter of fact it was really paying a ceremonial visit to the Sultana. She being a Mussulman, of course did not give audience to anyone: her son received for her. At the time of which I write the baby Prince certainly took precedence of his brothers, the Princes Hafiz Ullah and Amin Ullah, who were in Turkestan; but whether he now takes precedence of his two eldest brothers, Habibullah and Nasrullah, I cannot say.

I was informed that the Prince would receive me. I started accompanied by the Armenian. The house was near the Harem Serai.

We were first shown into an outer garden, containing a house in which lived my small friend Mahomed Omer, son of the Deputy Commander-in-Chief in Kabul. Mahomed Omer was the infant Prince’s “Commander-in-Chief.” He was dressed in scarlet and gold, and marshalling the Kaffir Page boys in military order, he fancied himself quite a soldier. From this garden a screened doorway led into an inner and larger garden, the Prince’s. In this were two adjoining pavilions, or summer-houses, one larger and the other smaller. They were open and airy, without doors or window sashes, and were carpeted, and hung with crimson and white. The larger pavilion had about a dozen chairs arranged against the wall: there was no other furniture. It was apparently a waiting-room, or perhaps a reception-room for visitors of lower rank. As no one had arrived I sat there with the Armenian.

Presently we heard a trumpet, and a few minutes after the hoarse voice of an officer as he shouted some word of command.

The Armenian said,

“Shahzada, Sahib, meaiyad.” “The Prince is coming.”

First entered the Kaffir Pages, marshalled by Mahomed Omer, then came the Prince, carried in the arms of the old Hakim Abdul Wahid—the only Hakim in the country, so the Amîr used to say, who was really learned. Then came three of the nurses: the young one I have spoken of and two older ones. These were brought from the Harem Serai in a covered palanquin: after them two or three officials in uniform, whose faces I recognized, though in what capacity they served I did not know; and lastly, the guard of a hundred soldiers.

I came outside the larger pavilion to receive the Prince, and followed him into the smaller one. In this was a couch covered with silk and supported on silvered legs, modelled in the shape of conventional or heraldic birds. There was a child’s high chair of carved oak with a tapestry seat in the room, and a small table with ornaments on it in the corner.

The Prince was placed in the chair, and he sat upright like a little man nine months old. He wore a tunic of gold-embroidered silk, white pyjamas and astrakhan hat, of the royal shape. In his hand he had a gold rattle.

A chair was placed for me, and the others stood or sat on the ground. After the usual courteous enquiries and some conversation, in which, of course, Hakim Abdul Wahid was the Prince’s deputy, a large tray of sweetmeats with loaves of sugar was placed at my feet. I do not quite know the significance of this custom: I know it is symbolical, and I think to symbolize the wish of the host that his guest’s future existence, in this world and the next, may be filled with sweet emotions. By and bye, little Prince Amin Ullah arrived, accompanied by his tutor, but with very little State, compared with that of his brother.

After the inevitable tea, I took leave of their Highnesses and departed. On the way home, I saw the tutor of Prince Hafiz Ullah at the window of his Prince’s house. He smiled and beckoned me to come in. There was a sentry at the door, and the Armenian and I went in. The house was not so good as that of the Baby Prince, nor was it as good as mine.

Prince Hafiz Ullah was seated on the ground on a leopard skin, and as there were no chairs I also sat on the ground on a sort of mattress. The Armenian went off to my house, which was quite near, for some cigarettes, and I stayed with the Prince for about an hour and a-half, till the heat of the afternoon was less. His Highness courteously said that I was not a servant in Afghanistan, but his friend and his brother. He asked if I would go again with him to the park to see the wrestling, as the sports were not over.

As this was my first visit to little Hafiz Ullah Khan, he asked me to accept a present: a leather pocket-book, a pocket-knife, and a walking-stick, the best he had.

I have often been somewhat surprised at the inability of most Afghans to distinguish a genuine article from an imitation. Merchants make a harvest in the country, by taking advantage of this want of knowledge.

At half-past four we started for the park. The wrestling and dancing were a repetition of the exhibition of the day before. The Turkomans still carried all before them. They were not all such hugely tall men, though they were all excessively muscular. There were no Kabuli wrestlers this day, but, as I happened to say I thought the Kabulis were specially good wrestlers, the Prince gave orders for a display of Kabuli wrestling for the morrow.

We got home at half-past seven in the evening, and I sent some photographs to the Prince—I had nothing else to give him—one of our Queen, one of the Prince of Wales, and two or three more that I had. He was pleased, as he is fond of pictures, and he was particularly interested in the portraits of the Queen and Prince of Wales.

The next day was Friday, the Sabbath, and the Prince sent me an invitation to lunch with him in the Palace Gardens. His Highness, the Amîr, was away out on the plains shooting, and there was no garden attached to the Prince’s house. Two soldiers came to escort me—not with fixed bayonets, for I was not a prisoner, at any rate, not nominally, though perhaps actually; for the position was, with all its interest, not very far removed from honourable confinement.

The sun shone brilliantly, and we sat under the almond trees. The Prince, in native costume, sat on a sort of divan with carpet and cushions. I had a chair and table. The tutor and others were there, and the guards were posted around under the trees. I smoked cigarettes and talked. It was very pleasant, surrounded as we were by flowers and grass, and there were so many trees that we seemed almost in the heart of a wood. I actually saw the Prince laugh!—for the first time. He was a dignified and polished little man, and has, the Amîr says—with one other son—the “Royal manner.”

At one o’clock lunch was brought.

Afterwards the Prince asked if I would accompany him to the Chahar Bagh, to see the sports again. I said I should enjoy doing so, and he went away with his tutor to be attired in “purple and fine linen,” or in other words, in European military dress. They were some time gone, and I wandered about under the trees by myself.

When the Prince returned we started. Being the Sabbath there were a greater number of spectators than on the previous occasions. So much time was taken up in finding suitable Mazarîs to oppose the muscular Turkomans, that there was no opportunity for the Kabuli wrestlers to come into the ring. Otherwise the dancing and wrestling were a repetition of the former days.

When we got home the Prince sent me some oranges, and a Russian knife, fork, and spoon, in a case, and a Turkestan cap embroidered with gold, worked by his mother. This lady, a wife of His Highness’s, is from Kaffristan. She is said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country, and is called, on account of her perfect pink and white complexion, “The Pomegranate Flower.”

I made a careful pencil drawing of the Prince one day. He is a fair-haired little fellow, with good features and dark eyes. It was a pretty picture, and I heard that His Highness was very pleased. The Sultana, they said, was not so well pleased: the Prince is not her son.

About this time, it was in April, I had some trouble with one of the Generals, a fat man—not that I object to fat men unless they interfere with me—with a voice like that of a full-grown bull. This fat man attempted to bully me.

I reached the Hospital that morning at ten a.m., having seen thirty or forty patients at my own place first. General M—— A—— Khan, who was visiting the Hospital, enquired why I did not come earlier. I politely explained that I was seeing patients at my own house. He said I ought to come to the Hospital first, and attend to the others afterwards. I was surprised and somewhat annoyed, and looking him in the face, I said—

“Chira?” “Why?” He let the matter drop.

We then went into the different wards, or rooms, where the patients were, and he said that such and such men had been in the Hospital for so long, why did I not cure them and send them out. I said—

“Because their disease does not admit of cure,” and added, through the Interpreter, “Tell him he can take that, and that, and that man away, if he likes.”

I had no intention of being cruel to the men; speaking in English it did not strike me they would understand, though of course they did when it was interpreted. They seemed to give up hope at once. One shut his eyes and died the same day, another the next. I could, at first, hardly believe the report when I heard it: then I cursed that fat man.

When we had gone the round of the patients we came out into the garden. There he stood, this man, surrounded by his staff, and he commenced to take me to task. He said I was to give the patients good medicine and see that I cured them—one had Bright’s disease, another advanced Phthisis, and so on! and was continuing his tirade, when it struck me quite suddenly—for I am a mild man—that I was being ill-treated. At once I thirsted for his blood with a dreadful thirst—the effect of the climate probably—and I desired greatly to assault him with fire arms or with steel. Fortunately, I had neither at hand, or the situation might have become complicated. The Persian I had learnt went back on me, as it were, and I had to speak English.

“Does this son of a pig, whose ancestors were pigs for many generations; this iniquitous mass of vileness, with much body and little brain, does he——;” but this was enough for the Armenian, he guessed at the rest, and he turned on the General.

In vituperation—for volume of sound and rapidity of words—I never met the Armenian’s equal. I have heard talk of the ladies of Billingsgate, and I should like to put one in the ring with the Armenian.

It grew alarming. I thought so, and so did the General. He backed and looked exceedingly uncomfortable. He tried feebly to stem the torrent: he might as well have tried to stop the Kabul river when swollen by the melting snows. Then he essayed the playful, he smiled an apologetic smile and offered me a rose: and still the Armenian foamed:—The whole matter should come before Amîr Sahib, he was the only master in Afghanistan; if he had a complaint let him bring it then, and so on. Many times the General tried to speak, to explain, to remonstrate, but straight ahead went the Armenian, never pausing one moment. At last the General thought he had better go, and he went.

He had not escaped yet: a letter from the Armenian followed him. In it he was solemnly warned never to attempt that sort of thing again (he never did), that a European will not bear it, and that this particular European would proceed at once, on the slightest attempt at a repetition of the offence, to “very much kick and blow.”

At the next Durbar the General happened to be standing not very far from my chair, and the Armenian said to him—

“The English doctor wishes to speak to Amîr Sahib about that little affair at the Hospital.”

The General said, “For God sake don’t let him. I am not his master; I am his slave, his dog, his anything!”

So the matter ended.

While the Amîr was out shooting on the plains, one of the Page boys was thrown from his horse and the inner end of his collar-bone was dislocated upwards. His Highness on seeing the displacement said there was no need to send for the English doctor.

“Bandages,” he said, “are useless. Leave it alone.” He was quite right.

On April the 22nd, began the Mahomedan fast, “Ramazàn.” They fast for a month, neither eating, drinking, nor smoking during the day. Directly the twilight commences, however, that is when they can just no longer distinguish a white from a black thread, they commence, and go on pretty much all night.

Fortunately, the year had been very cool; cloudy, windy, and rainy, so that there was much less sickness than usual in the month. Generally both during and after Ramazàn there is a great prevalence of fever and bowel complaints. The first thing an Afghan does, when he breaks his fast in the evening, is to light the chillim and fill his lungs with tobacco smoke. It is a tremendously big dose, and often produces serious consequences, such as giddiness, vomiting, and insensibility. During the fast they brought a man to me one evening on a charpoy. He was a great big fellow, and they said he was insensible from smoking. He was dead. The dose of tobacco he had taken had been too much for his heart. As soon as I said he was dead, the brother and the other soldiers who had brought him were greatly upset. They wailed and wept aloud.

The first Durbar I went to after His Highness’s return from his shooting expedition on the plains was during the month of Ramazàn. The Durbar was, of necessity, held in the evening, at seven o’clock, and, the weather being fine, it was held outside the Palace, in the gardens.

For some reason or other His Highness, I could tell, was pleased with me. For instance, in addressing me, he used a familiar form of expression, such as one uses to a friend. He said, it was quite a long time since he had seen me. He enquired if the Hindustani assistants were working well, and congratulated himself that the year was cool and healthy compared with the last. He said he himself did not fast during Ramazàn: that there were duties a King owed to his people, for when a man fasts he has not that control over himself and his temper that a King, with life and death in his hands, should have. He said, “Ramazàn” should be called “Marazàn.”—“Maraz” meaning “disease.”

Then the Armenian brought forward two or three people on whom I had had to operate for “stone,” and exhibited them with much pride. His Highness was pleased, and gave presents to the patients. One, I remember, received a horse and a hundred rupees.

The Durbar was one of the most striking and picturesque sights I have seen. The background was formed by the deep shadows of the trees: under a brilliantly coloured awning, lit up by a multitude of lamps, sat some two hundred officers, in every kind of uniform, resplendent with gold embroidery; and at intervals, around the awning and Palace, stood an Afghan soldier in native costume, holding a blazing torch in one hand and an oil flask in the other, and the gleam from the torches on the billowy masses of leaf gave those soft touches of light in the background which prevent it being heavy.

We had dinner somewhat early, as the men had been fasting all day. When we got home the Armenian gave an explanation as to why the Amîr was so particularly charming. It was this:—During the shooting expedition, a great deal of wild pig had been killed, and the chief Cook sent a messenger to enquire whether I would have roast pork for dinner. I was highly indignant, thinking, that as the pig is unclean, an insult was intended. I ordered the messenger to be thrashed—he was the bearer of evil tidings—and threatened direful things if such a message were repeated. The Sultana then sent for the Armenian and enquired if I would not like a young pig or two, and whether it were not a fact that Christians ate pig.

The Armenian said that Christians were indeed allowed by their religion to do so; but that neither Christian Priests nor Christian Doctors ever suffered anything unclean to pass their lips!!

The same evening a man was brought on a charpoy suffering great pain from a “strangulated hernia.” To save his life it was necessary to operate that night. He was moved to the Hospital, where all the instruments were, and I did the operation by the light of two or three tallow candles. The next morning the brother of the patient was lying in wait for me at the Hospital with several large knives, seeking to slay me. He said I had killed his brother!

“On the contrary,” I explained, “I have saved his life.”

Then the Armenian came forward in all his strength.

“Harem Zada!” he shouted, “thou base-born scoundrel, thy Father could not speak in the Sahib’s presence!” and he laid his stick across the man’s shoulders with such vigour and energy that presently he broke it. He then flung the pieces at him and told him to “get”—“Birau” in Persian. He “got” accordingly.

Coming back from the Hospital we met an old lady walking. She was well dressed but wore no veil. I knew her very well to speak to, but who she was I didn’t quite know. I had heard that she was nurse to the Amîr when he was a child. She seemed equally at home in the Harem and in the Durbar. The Armenian related the incident at the Hospital, and she was suitably indignant and sympathetic. Perhaps she did not treat me with that profound respect one would think was the due of a distinguished Foreigner, for she called me “Buchcha,” “Youngster”!!! I overlooked it; for the opportunity of speaking to a lady was rare, and I enjoyed it in direct proportion to its rarity.

The next Durbar evening during Ramazàn was cold and showery. His Highness sat at the window of the Palace. I was invited inside. The scent was sweet from great clusters of roses arranged in vases. After dinner (we had two kinds of ice pudding, among other things) an Usbàk was ushered in, bringing a design he had drawn on paper for a wall decoration—flowers and leaves treated conventionally.

His Highness examined the design and said it was not bad and it was not good. This just about expressed my own opinion. The drawing was good but the colours were gaudy and clashed with one another. His Highness said he had some work of that kind done by a Kabuli which he would show me, and he sent for it.

It was an illuminated Manuscript book, and the cover inside and out was painted with flowers and birds treated decoratively. It was beautiful. The drawing was excellent; the colouring was quite harmonious, and the balance of each design was, to my eye, perfect. I said I had never seen anything of the kind better. The book itself, I was told, was His Highness’s diary.

During the evening some presents were laid at His Highness’s feet. Among them were two huge loaves of white sugar, about 20 lbs. each. These he directed to be given to me. Knowing something about the meaning of the custom, I was very pleased.

Before we left, His Highness said that shortly after the termination of Ramazàn we should leave Mazar for Kabul.

His Highness had promised me leave of absence for some months after his arrival in Kabul, and when I got home that night I grew enthusiastic in my description to the Armenian of the wonders and sights of London. After talking some time, I said I had seen a man seize the back of a chair with his teeth, hold it out straight, and put another on the top of it. The Armenian was not to be outdone. He said he had seen a man take a charpoy—a bedstead—balance it on one leg on the tip of his tongue, and then dance! He also described to me a curious European sweetmeat that he had met with in his travels.

“I saw him in Lahore,” he said. “Like this you catch him, tear him up, and he is call ‘Bang’!”

I concluded that he wished to describe the ordinary Christmas cracker.