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.”

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—

“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:—

“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.

CHAPTER XXVII.
On Leave.

On the last day in May I went to the Durbar, for I thought that surely now I had finished all there was to do before I started. His Highness received me most kindly.

I said that in my life I had filled other appointments, but that His Highness’s kindness to me had exceeded all that I had met with before. He said:—

“Why should I not treat you kindly? You are a ‘Friend of my Heart.’ I say this not to give you pleasure, but because I mean it.”

I replied that I felt the honour he did me deeply, for I was his servant and he a King. He said:—

“I have seen many men: high and low; rich and poor; men of noble descent, and men of obscure birth; but I call no man a friend of my heart till I have watched his deeds. I judge a man by his deeds, and not by his words, and again I address you as a Friend of my Heart.”

His Highness desired me to take eight months’ leave; my pay was to continue during my absence, and, in addition, he gave me as a wedding present an order upon his Agent with the Government in India for a considerable sum of money.

The Armenian, who was to accompany me, received written instructions relating to the commissions the Amîr wished executed in London. During his absence his salary would be paid to his wife in Kabul.

The next day my packing was done. Firmans for pack-horses, tents, and guard procured, and I took a formal leave of His Highness the Amîr.

I visited Prince Habibullah, who received me most kindly, and after he had conversed with me for about an hour I took leave of him. I then rode out to Aliabad, a few miles out of Kabul, where Her Highness the Sultana was staying, and sent in my salaams to her and the little Prince Mahomed Omer. Her Highness sent a large tray of sweetmeats, and presented me with some very beautiful embroidered cashmere.

On June 4th, after a good-bye to Mr. Pyne and the other Englishmen, I started on my journey home. I will not trace the journey in detail: it was excessively hot, and I will merely mention one or two incidents that occurred.

One day the march was particularly trying. We were at Borikâb. I had breakfast at dawn—three small poached-eggs and some tea. The baggage and tents were sent off, and when the sun rose we started gaily. Gaily—I—poor fool! little did I know—but you shall hear. We trotted and trotted, and shuffled and climbed by mountain and gorge, over pebble and rock, until at midday we reached Jigdilik. We descended, and sat in the valley in the cool shade of the big trees and had lunch. Mine was a hard-boiled egg from my holster, a piece of native bread, and some tea. I thought the march was over, and lay basking in the shade. Was ever mortal so deluded!

“Sir, please you get up and start; a long way we go to-day,”—thus the Armenian after an hour.

“Start!! man alive, we started hours ago: you are not going any further to-day, surely.”

“Sir, we must make haste. Between Dacca and Lalpur, this month is very difficult hot: and slowly by slowly it makes hotter. Better this, we get through it soon: you European.”

Immortal Pluto! not the Turkestan plains over again!

“Come along, then,” said I, jumping up, “let us start at once,” and we started.

Along the narrow rocky ravine we rode—just after midday in June—and the sun shot down at us. It dried our blood, and the glare burnt into our brain, at any rate, into mine; I don’t know about the cast-iron Afghans.

Up the long winding gorge we climbed, and at the summit the breeze struck us. We caught a few long breaths of coolness, then plunged into another long winding descent with precipitous rocks on either side. On and on we trudged, hour after hour, still at last my bodily powers gave out. This, by the way, was the road that Brydon went over.

Ride further I could not, for I had not recovered my strength since last year’s illness. Nine stone five pounds is not adequate for a man of my height: it does not leave enough available muscle. Nevertheless, no one, who is not a Salamander—an amphibious animal, allied to the newts, and capable of living in fire—can comfortably rest on burning rocks. There was no shade of any sort, not a tree, nothing, but glaring rocks and stones. I got off my horse therefore, and walked. I was conscious at the time that the Afghan guard thought the sun had made me mad, and as they eyed me suspiciously, I tried to assume a fierce aspect, and stalked along down hill at the rate of five miles an hour. The change of motion rested the muscles, and the guard on horseback came shuffling along hastily behind me. Then came a climb, and I got on again refreshed and perspiring, but more internally weary, as I found after riding twenty minutes. Over the rest of the march I will draw the veil of forgetfulness. It was too terrible for words.

In the evening, we reached Gundamuk. I perceived that my tent was being put up in a garden, and between me and that garden were a stream and a wall. I had dismounted, my horse had been led away, and I was standing on my own legs. I had but little faith in them, for they seemed inclined to fail me in my hour of need. There was the wall, staring me in the face, to say nothing of the stream. True, the stream was but a foot wide, and the wall had a gap in it, nevertheless, they were difficulties to be overcome. There were two courses open to me: one was to sit on the ground where I was, and wait until someone could come and help me across: another was to take time by the forelock and get across myself somehow or other. Everyone was busy with the baggage and tents, and no one seemed to perceive my dilemma: therefore, being resolute by nature, I determined upon the latter course, and stood for a time considering how I would accomplish it.

Staggering boldly to the stream, I allowed myself to fall forwards till I caught the wall with both hands; clinging on and clenching my teeth I gave a vigorous heave to one leg, and in a moment was astride the gap: nerving myself for another violent effort I swung the other leg over.

I had conquered, and, moreover, without experiencing the loss of dignity that a fall in the stream would have occasioned. Exhilarated by my success, I reeled into the tent and sank on the carpet. “Sank,” perhaps, hardly gives the correct impression, for as soon as the legs were bent at the knee I sat down with disagreeable suddenness. I then proceeded to drink large quantities of liquid—tea, water, and sherbet—and when my charpoy was brought into the tent I climbed on to it and lay down, hoping to lose my senses in forgetfulness. It was without avail, and I rolled from side to side seeking rest and finding none.

In the course of three hours the unwilling fowl was caught, killed, and cooked, and I made a tough, moist meal. But now I could rest, and no longer in vain did I court the Goddess of sleep.

Further on in our march we found the locusts had been at work. Around Jelalabad the country in spite of the heat had the appearance of winter: the trees were bare. In the Palace gardens the oranges hung nearly ripe, but every leaf had gone. When we arrived there we had afternoon tea in the Guest-house at the Palace, and afterwards rode on some few miles beyond Jelalabad, where we camped.

I had dinner in the open and then went into my tent to lie down: but I came out again—quickly. The locusts had invaded it and had crawled up inside the tent and over the charpoy, so that all was green—a beautiful green shot with pink: but it gave me no pleasure, the colour seemed out of place. Moreover, I could not lie down without crunching my unwelcome guests; and no host, I take it, cares to lie upon the mangled remains of guests, be they never so unwelcome.

We had noticed that day as we travelled along that a careful peasant had dug a shallow pond at the foot of a beautiful mulberry tree. The locusts had perforce spared that tree: they might have tumbled off and they cannot swim; but they had spitefully nipped off every leaf that spread beyond the water. A shallow pond, therefore, was dug some little distance away in the hard-baked earth for my charpoy to stand in, and since we could not get the locusts out of the tent, we determined to take the tent away from the locusts. On further consideration, however, it seemed likely, and indeed the Armenian insisted very strongly on the point, that if I lay all night with my bed in a pond I should wake up in the morning with fever or rheumatism, or something disagreeable which would be likely to hinder our journey.

We left the pond, therefore, and moved away to a bare open space with never a blade of grass nor a leaf anywhere near. Here my tent was pitched, and with a feeling of restful security I sat upon my charpoy and enjoyed the cool of the evening. A tickling sensation at the back of the neck caused me to raise my hand, and I brushed away a great locust. Ach! the beasts were all over me: they seemed to be evolved spontaneously out of nothing. They were not so, however, for on the mountains outside Kabul we saw myriads of the young locusts about the size of black ants hopping about in the warm sand. This was one of their breeding establishments where the eggs are hatched. The life-history of the locust may be looked upon as an interesting study in colour, for when he is a babe he is black, as a youth he is pink, and in adult age green. Two and a-half inches is his length, but he looks longer: he is all legs and wings. As a creature that crawls I object to him.

I called for assistance, and the tent was cleared: but they have no tact, these Locusts, and they came in again and again like so many Afghan Page boys, welcome or not. I spent an active and shuddering evening brushing them off my neck, shoulders, and wrists. At last in despair I covered my head over with a sheet and went to sleep, dreaming I was being crawled over by scorpions and centipedes.

When we got to the “difficult hot” place (sakht, hard, difficult, severe) between Lalpur and Dacca, the sky was cloudy, and a strong wind blew. The dust was awful, but safer than the sun.

We went through the Khyber on a closed day, which, I found afterwards, is illegal. The chief of the Khyber Pathans had been a friend of the Armenian’s father, and he ordered out the guard of the Pass for us, so that we could travel on instead of waiting two or three days. At Jumrood, the end of the Pass, we were stopped by the order of the British Frontier Officer, and I heard that, if I had been in the service of the Government, I should have been liable to imprisonment in the fort for travelling on the wrong day. However, we were allowed to proceed.

In Peshawur I got rid of my horses: tipped my Afghan guard, and took the train to Simla to deliver a Despatch to His Excellency the Viceroy that His Highness the Amîr had entrusted me with.

The despatch contained nothing political, but simply concerned me personally. The Foreign Secretary kindly gave me a translation of it. This is how it runs:—

(Copy.) “Foreign Office, India.

“Translation of a letter from His Highness the Amîr of Afghanistan and its Dependencies to the address of His Excellency the Viceroy, dated the 24th of Showal, 1308 H., corresponding to the 2nd of June, 1891.

“After compliments.

“I have the honour to inform your Excellency that Dr. John Gray has asked me for some months’ leave in view to proceed to England and celebrate his marriage, and, after settling his own domestic affairs, to return to me.

“I have, therefore, given him eight months’ leave, and it has been settled with him that he should come back to Kabul at the appointed time.

“This has been written only for your Excellency’s information, so that your Excellency may be aware of the circumstance and the manner of leave of Dr. Gray. Of course, he will do everything which he thinks necessary for his domestic affairs during the period of his leave, and, having satisfied himself, he will, at the approach of the appointed period, start to come to Kabul in a happy and hopeful state of mind.”

It will be unnecessary to give details of the gay time we had in Simla. Colonel Wali Ahmad Khan, the Amîr’s Agent with the Government of India, had received orders from the Amîr to invite me to the bungalow that the Government had placed at his disposal. I stayed with him, therefore, taking the Armenian and my Indian cook. I had my formal interview with the Viceroy, dined with His Excellency: went to several dances at the Viceregal Lodge: was introduced to Lord Roberts, Lord William Beresford, the Quartermaster-General, and other gentlemen: went to numerous dinners, and, after a fortnight’s gaiety, departed for Bombay, where, accompanied by the Armenian, I took ship for London.

In India I had been struck by the remarkable whiteness of an Englishman’s skin: in London I thought I knew every second man I met. However, I soon came to the conclusion that it must be the type I was familiar with, not the individual.

The next thing that appealed to me, after I had got over the strangeness of seeing “Sahibs” drive cabs, heave baggage about, and take “tips,” was the quaint irregularity of an Englishman’s features: I do not remember noticing that English ladies appeared in the same light: on the contrary,—and the Armenian agreed with me.

I think the study of character and the endeavouring to form conclusions as to the course of action that will probably be taken up by any given individual under different circumstances, is one of the most fascinating of studies. Here was a case at hand, under my own eye, as it were.

I had studied the Armenian for a couple of years or so and had come to conclusions. I knew what he would do, and I would watch the development of his character under the altered circumstances of life in England. I would observe the enlargement of his mind as I gradually fed it with greater and greater wonders.

In India I had thought I would spare him as much as possible on the journey, lest he became bewildered by the traffic and the bustle of the railway, but, somehow, it did not seem to be necessary.

He bought a satchel, slung it over his shoulder, asked for the money—which he kept—took my ticket; paid the hotel bills; looked after my baggage; chose the best seat in the railway carriage for me; bullied other people’s servants if they tried to take the seat for their masters,—I heard one man, a Civil Service official, say, “I fancy the Amîr in all his glory must be coming down in this train”—and altogether he behaved as if he knew all about it. However, I thought, when we get to the sea and the great floating Hotel, the P. & O. boat, the education will begin. He will be astonished. Perhaps he was, but I did not see it. He took everything as a matter of course; apparently he knew it all before; doubtless in some other cycle of existence. He wasn’t even sea-sick.

London, with its thousands, its grandeur, its turmoil of business, this will take him aback: the wonder of it must needs appal him.

Appal! He hadn’t been in London a fortnight before he could tell me what ’bus to take and what the fare was. He knew all about the “Inner and Outer Circles,” which is more than I do; and before long could give an opinion on the relative merits of a considerable number of the music halls and theatres in the Metropolis.

It was I who was bewildered, not he. What manner of man is this, I thought, will nothing astonish him?

I got orders from the Government for him to visit the Mint, Woolwich Arsenal, and other places, and he compared them to similar establishments in Afghanistan, to the disparagement of the English ones! I took him to Whiteley’s, saying, in a casual way, “This is an English shop.” He took it quietly, but before he left he had accepted an invitation to a banquet at the Metropôle that the employées at that establishment were giving. Moreover, at the dinner he got up and made a fluent speech!

At my wedding he created a great sensation. He appeared before us on that occasion in Afghan costume, and attracted, next to the bride, by far the greatest amount of attention: I was a necessary, but unnoticeable appendage: a sort of after thought; and all the little girls fell in love with him. After the ceremony he came into the Vestry and signed his name, in Persian, in the Register as witness. He said it was Persian, but it was hard to tell. He explained the peculiarity of his writing by stating that a warrior is not a clerk.

It came though—the wonder and the awe: and I look back with pride upon that day.

I took him to the Crystal Palace and showed him the display of fireworks at Brock’s benefit.

“Is this anything?” I asked, feebly and almost in despair. He admitted it: “Yes!” he said,—this was really fine: even his father had never seen anything like it.

It was my education that was being completed, my mind that was developing, and as I sat and looked at the Oriental, I felt that perhaps this great London was, after all, not the “hub of the Universe.” I was bewildered. What was the “hub!” Was it Kabul?

When my leave drew to a close, I bade adieu to my little wife, and sailed for Bombay. It was as well for the Armenian that we went, for, somehow, he seemed almost a wreck when we got on board. I said as much to him, and he accounted for his condition by saying that the climate of England was too strong for him.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Welcome to Kabul.

At Peshawur I found a very kind letter from His Highness waiting for me, with an order for as many horses as I needed. The guard were to meet me at Lundi Kotal Serai.

I will not trace the journey in detail, though one incident that occurred may be worth relating, showing as it does what miracles may be worked by the magic of the Amîr’s name. I had some English firearms with me—a couple of rifles and a shot gun—packed in cases, which I wished to present to the Amîr, and when we reached Dacca the Armenian was considerably disturbed in his mind concerning the safety of these weapons. The neighbouring Pathans, he said, were exceedingly clever thieves, and they had a curious passion for English rifles.

In the evening he told me several interesting stories, laughable in their cleverness, of the way in which these Pathans managed to obtain from Peshawur weapons of English manufacture.

The tents had been put up facing the river on the edge of the high bank, in order to catch as much breeze as possible. The Armenian’s tent was just at a corner where a nullah or dry water-course cut the bank; mine was next. The nullah was perhaps twelve feet deep, and the bank of the river some twenty feet above the surface of the water.

I turned in about ten o’clock and slept soundly till about midnight, when I was awakened suddenly by the sound of a scuffle. Instantly it occurred to me, “the Shenwarris are after my guns.”

I threw a cloak round me and stepped out of the tent. It was very dark, but there appeared to be a free fight going on. I could dimly make out a body of men struggling, could hear the thuds of blows and the Armenian’s voluminous voice roaring in manifest rage. There were no reports of firearms, but it occurred to me as an advisable precaution to be possessed of a revolver before entering the mêlée. Mine, a heavy one, had been carried by the Armenian the day before, and since he was not using it I concluded it must be in his tent. Hastily, therefore, so as not to be out of the fun, I made for his tent. Remembering the high bank and the rapid river below, I groped round the back of the tent, stumbling over the ropes, until—down I went. I had forgotten all about the nullah. Instinctively throwing out a hand, I caught a tent-peg. It cracked dangerously at the sudden jerk, and for a moment I was hanging over the edge at arm’s length on this rickety concern; then I found my feet resting on a ledge. I was very annoyed at being so entirely shelved, and was considering how I could get out of the position with dignity and honour, when I heard the sound of some one running and the Armenian’s voice calling,

“Sir! Sir! Where are you?”

I answered, as it were, from the bowels of the earth, and when he had localized my whereabouts he hauled me up. I had to leave my dignity behind. He said—

“Sir, please, you go back, you not trouble; I manage these bally rascal: these dogs’ sons. A little I afraid you get hurt.”

Of course, I was not going back to my tent until I knew what the row was all about.

A light was brought. The Colonel commanding the station, and a crowd of people, all more or less excited, were to be seen. They pulled out a charpoy from one of the tents for me to sit on, and tea was brought—why, I don’t know. When we had drank tea everyone began to explain at once. The Colonel in Persian; the soldiers in Pushtu; and the Armenian in involved English. The Colonel and the soldiers spoke very fast and loudly, constantly interrupting one another, and I caught only a word here and there. What the Armenian wished to express I could not imagine. A man was then brought forward with his arms bound behind his back.

The Colonel and the Armenian seemed much disturbed that I had fallen down the nullah, but what the explanation of the bound man was I could not make out: only this, that he was not a thief after my rifles. I went to bed again.

In the morning, after breakfast, when every one had cooled down, I heard the explanation. The Colonel, it seems, had stationed the guard. All went quietly for a time until the Armenian, before he turned in, made a round of the sentries. He found one point improperly guarded, and ordered one of the soldiers to move his position. The man refused with a Pushtu oath: and high words followed. In this the soldier was no match for the Armenian, and being exasperated at receiving harder words than he could return, he endeavoured to stab his bayonet into the latter.

Such a line of action not meeting the Armenian’s views as to the eternal fitness of things, he closed with the soldier. His “education” in England had not been without effect, and scorning to use a knife, like a native, he proceeded to punch the soldier’s head. The magnetic effect of a “fight” caused other people to run up, and the thuds and scuffle of the mêlée aroused me.

After the explanation, the unfortunate man, with his hands bound, was brought forward, and the Colonel begged me to pronounce sentence upon him. He said he would carry out any punishment I chose to impose; whether of fine, imprisonment, or death. He offered me his revolver, that I might have the supreme delight of killing the man myself; or, if that did not meet my views, he would himself shoot him at once. All this excessive politeness arose from the fact that I expressed to the Colonel my sense of dissatisfaction that a distinguished foreigner could not travel through his district without being exposed to annoyances of this kind. I asked whether he thought Amîr Sahib would be satisfied with his administrative power. At the mention of His Highness’s name, the Colonel became greatly disturbed in his mind, and desired me to look upon himself as my dog. I said that I was not in need of a dog just then, and that these words did not please me. As for judging the man, I was not a magistrate in the country, how could I take upon myself to judge him. With a damp forehead and a dry tongue he begged me, as a friend to the poor, not to report the matter.

I began gradually to be appeased, to soften the severe aspect of the countenance, and unbend the knitted brow, for, as I have frequently remarked, I am a mild man. The Colonel perceiving his advantage ordered tea to be brought instantly, and waited upon me with both hands. “Slowly by slowly” the threatened storm blew off, and the Colonel, with joy in his heart, accompanied us miles on the journey, telling many yarns and amusing stories, whereat we laughed. We are now great friends—he and I: for had I not stood by him in an hour of trouble, when his heart melted within him, and his interiors were as water!

Riding along we met one of the “running postmen”: a tall, gaunt hillman without an ounce of superfluous fat on him. These men run for a certain number of miles with the sealed leather post satchel, and then pass it on to the next. There are rough sheds by the wayside where each remains till his turn comes. They carry a long bamboo lance tipped and shod with steel, and with a small bell fixed just below the blade. The post for India leaves Kabul on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and that from India arrives on Sundays and Thursdays.

At the stage before Kabul I had received a letter from His Highness directing me to take possession of the house I formerly occupied in the town: to rest for a day; and on the following day to come on to Endekki, when he would receive me.

We arrived at Kabul on a Sunday morning, in March, 1892. It was a proud day for the Armenian as he rode through the bazaar with his solar helmet on one side—no miserable native turban for him now. His hand was on his hip and his elbow pointed outwards: his uplifted head desired to strike the stars. With a lofty pity, not unmingled with contempt, he gazed around at the admiring faces of the salaaming Kabulis. Was he not a traveller of renown: one who had crossed the great river and penetrated to the very heart of the Feringhi country!

Mr. Walter, the tailor, rode out to meet us; he said to the Armenian:

“Well, did you like London?”

“Sir, what d’you think! But London is very good place for rich man, very bad place for poor man. Kabul is good for poor man.”

“What did you do in London?” asked Mr. Walter.

“O, Sir! A little I walk this way and that, and upon ladies I pinch eyes.”

By this I fancy he must have meant he winked. It was a revelation to me, and I looked at him severely. What other remarkable development might I not detect!

I heard from Mr. Walter that the two engineers, Messrs. Stewart and Myddleton, had departed, and their places were taken by two Scotchmen. Mr. Pyne had gone to England on leave and had not yet returned. He was to bring out several other Englishmen.

The Armenian had the house swept out, the carpets down, and everything straight in a very short time. Several people called in the afternoon. Some of the Armenian’s relatives: the Compounder; and some Afghans whom I knew. I found half-a-dozen letters waiting for me, one from my wife, whereat I rejoiced, and one from a lady missionary in India who wished to enter the Amîr’s service as medical attendant upon the Harem.

I had met another lady in Peshawur who also wished to enter the Amîr’s service. She was attached to the Afghan Mission in that town, and spoke Persian, Pushtu, and Hindustani, and had had some medical training. She told me she was intending to travel to Kabul, in disguise, with the Koffla, the travelling merchants. She was young, and I endeavoured to point out some of the dangers she would be exposed to from Afghan ruffians, and did my best to dissuade her from such a rash undertaking. It seemed to me the conception was an utterly mad one, but that if she desired greatly to enter the service the best thing would be to write and apply to His Highness. However, she did not write that I know of.

The other lady missionary who wrote was much older, and in due time I had her letter translated and laid before His Highness. How the Amîr received the application I will relate presently.

The day after our arrival I rode to the Endekki Palace to salaam the Amîr. In the great hall I met many of the Court whom I knew, and chatted with them. As soon as His Highness rose I was called to the inner room.

I found His Highness seated on a couch of crimson and gold. He was dressed in a black morning suit, with an ordinary English shirt and collar: he looked very European, and his hands, on which were some beautiful rings, struck me as being singularly white. He had picked up wonderfully since June, when I saw him last, was nothing like so thin, and looked exceedingly well. The room had the appearance of a lady’s boudoir, with flowers, vases, embroideries, piano, and so on.

I bowed as I entered the room, and His Highness smiled and beckoned me forwards. He held my hand some minutes while he made kindly enquiries as to my health; and he asked was my wife well and the other members of my family.

He said he was exceedingly pleased to see me again, and he thanked God that I had returned safely. He then allowed me to be seated.

He enquired the date of my wedding, and on hearing that my married life had lasted only for three months and a-half, he said: “How sorrowful your wife must be, how sorrowful she must be.” Presently he said—

“I will grant you leave of absence again soon; you shall go to your home when the winter comes.”

He promised, with great kindness, that every preparation should be made for the reception of Mrs. Gray in Kabul, and desired her to be accompanied by two English maidservants, whose salaries he would charge himself with. When she felt a longing to return to England she should go: if, however, she did not care to accompany me back to Kabul, he would from time to time give me leave of absence at short intervals. As regards transmitting pay, he said he would order any proportion of my salary that I wished, to be paid either in London or to my bankers in Bombay.

He told me that both coal and iron had been found in the country, and he said that it was his intention soon to visit England himself. He referred to the death of Prince Albert Victor, and spoke highly of him, and I remember he told me an anecdote in the life of the Prince. He spoke some little time on other matters, and then tea and cigarettes were brought. There had been no one in the room with His Highness during the interview, except myself, the Armenian, and one of the Page boys. After being with His Highness four or five hours, I asked permission to withdraw, and then visited Malek, the Page, who was ill. He seemed very pleased to see me.

The next day, Tuesday, was a military Durbar, and I visited His Highness again, taking with me the rifles I had brought, as I wished to present them to him. His Highness received me kindly, and accepted the present I laid before him. I had also brought for Prince Habibullah a plumed helmet, such as an officer in India would wear. The Prince was at the Durbar, and His Highness, after examining the helmet, kindly allowed me to present it to the Prince.

There were a great many of the Afghan military officers present: they were seated along the side of the room, and among them was the new British Agent, the Sirdar Mahomed Afzal Khan. The former agent, Colonel Attaullah Khan, having been long a resident at the Amîr’s Court, had withdrawn. Lunch was served, and at five o’clock I came away.

The next day the fast of Ramazàn commenced, and I got to work at the Hospital.

A few days afterwards I rode out to the country house where Her Highness, the Sultana, was living, and sent in my salaams with a present of silks and so on that I had brought for her and the little Prince Mahomed Omer. A kind message was received in reply, and after the usual tea, cigarettes, and sweets, I rode back to Kabul.