After I had visited the Hadji, who, by the way, presented me with half a pound of Orange Pekoe, I went to see the young Colonel whom the Commander-in-Chief had asked me to visit. His house was not very far from the Palace gardens, and I found him seated on a charpoy under the trees in his garden: one or two friends and a Hakim sat with him. He was a small dark man with a haughty expression, but he looked very ill. He had had fever, but was now suffering from suppuration of the parotid, so that he had a great unbroken abscess in his cheek and neck.

I examined him carefully and decided that the abscess should be opened without delay. He did not, however, view the suggestion with any favour. He told me, very politely, that he should prefer applying certain ointments that had been advised by his friend the Hakim. I do not remember the name of the Hakim. He was one of the minor practitioners whom I really never took note of.

The Colonel also explained that should the ointment not have the desired effect, he would wish to try the efficacy of prayer. After this, what was there to be said? I bowed, refused the tea he politely offered, and begged permission to withdraw.

Coming away I said to the Armenian:—

“What infernal nonsense it is calling me to fellows like that.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Armenian, “he is fool man. And that Hakim! he is nothing. His father cannot sit in your presence.” This was soothing, perhaps. As we were going home I met little Mahomed Omer, son of Perwana Khan, the Deputy Commander-in-Chief in Kabul. He was a bright little lad of about thirteen. His face was distinctly of the Tartar type. We grew very friendly, and he often came with his tutor or “Lala” to see me. I gave him my felt hat, and he walked about proudly with it over his ears.

Soon after this I went to Takh-ta-Pul, the place where my friend Allah Nûr had escaped to, in order to inspect the hospital there. The Commander-in-Chief sent a Captain—Seyd Hussain—a huge Afghan hillman, some six feet three inches high, to accompany me, so one morning he and I and the Armenian and some servants rode off together. Seyd Hussain was quite a friend of mine; he came very often to see me, and afterwards said such polite things, that the Commander-in-Chief used to call him my “son.” We took about an hour over our ride: it was so excessively hot. When we arrived at Takh-ta-Pul, I called upon the Commander-in-Chief, who was there for a few days, had tea with him, and was then conducted to a house prepared for me. I was shown into an upper chamber, carpeted and decorated, which overlooked the garden, a large square one with trees and flowers, and commanded a view of the town and the distant mountains.

My “son” came too, and five or six others, including the Armenian, to amuse me. They sang songs, told stories, and the captain read my future in the palm of my hand: I was surprised to find palmistry an Afghan accomplishment. He told me I should have two severe illnesses in the country, but should return to my native land in safety. We had grapes and tea, and, at about one o’clock, tiffin or lunch. There was roast mutton, I remember, exceedingly oily, which one of my servants, the groom, had cooked for me. This gentleman, whom I had picked up—or rather the Armenian had picked up for me—in Turkestan, was a Peshawuri. He had been a policeman in Burma, he said. He also said he could make a pudding; and he did, a watery rice pudding. Then a pillow was brought, and I lay on the floor and slept for an hour. After that we had more songs and stories, and at six, when the heat of the day had gone, I called again on the Commander-in-Chief and had more tea. He wished me to stay the night, but I remembered I had not inspected the Hospital yet, besides, for all I knew, the Amîr might want me. I decided therefore not to stop.

We started off for the Hospital, which was a little way out of the town. It was precisely like that of Mazar, except that there were only five or six patients in it. These were looked after by a Hakim. In the evening the Captain, the Armenian, and I rode back to Mazar, and I prepared my report for the Amîr. One thing I often regret: it is that I did not at this time act on the Armenian’s suggestion and ride to the ancient city Balkh, which was only some six or seven miles beyond Takh-ta-Pul. However, I had the feeling that I had taken a day off at Takh-ta-Pul, and must not waste any more time when there were so many sick waiting for treatment. Balkh, “the mother of cities,” is situated in a province capable of great cultivation, and was a flourishing city in the time of Alexander the Great. The population, however, was so nearly exterminated by Ghengis Khan, and again by Tamerlane and his successors, that it is doubtful whether it will ever again recover even a moiety of its former importance.

There is at Mazar-i-Sherif a great Mosque or Temple, from which the town takes its name. It is a huge ornate building with minarets, and a lofty cupola built of a shining blue stone. It is held in veneration by all Mussulmans, but more especially by the sect of Shiahs. The Mosque contains a tomb which is supposed to be that of Ali, son-in-law of Mahomed, though some European authorities consider that Ali was buried near Baghdad. Be that as it may, the Mosque possesses considerable revenues, the gifts of wealthy votaries and other pious people, which are used to feed the crowds of indigent pilgrims who, at certain times in the year, flock in great numbers to Mazar. Moreover, the remains of Ali, or whoever the gentleman may be, are capable of working miracles of no mean order. They restore sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and health to the sick. During one of the religious festivals which occurred while I was in Turkestan, there were no less than five men whose sight had been restored by their pilgrimage to the Mosque! I know this is true, for the Amîr told me so himself!

One morning His Highness sent for me to examine his ear. He fancied he had some insect in it. This was in July, and the weather was very hot. I found His Highness seated in a small circular pavilion in the Palace garden. I had often wondered what this little building was. It was a cool-air chamber. There was a door and one window. This window was filled in with interlaced branches of an aromatic shrub; water from a gutter trickled over the lattice work, and a current of air was driven in by a paddlewheel fan, which a man outside worked with a handle. I was ushered into the semi-darkness of the room; I bowed, and a chair was placed midway between the door and the window in an awful draught. After the hot dry air of the outside this horrible little room felt like an ice well. I literally shivered, and there sat His Highness in the full draught, and, what is most unusual, without a head covering.

It was too dark in the Pavilion to see the condition of the ear, and His Highness at once consented to come out into the open. A chair was brought, and His Highness sat with bare head in the blazing sun. “Surely there is danger of sunstroke,” I thought.

I begged permission to put on my helmet, saying I was afraid of the sun. I thought His Highness might then cover his own head; no, he did not seem to mind the heat. I examined the ear with the speculum and found nothing in it. He had, however, a slight catarrh of the throat and of the Eustachian tube leading from the throat to the inner ear. I pointed out the danger of exposing the body while the skin is acting freely to a draught of cold damp air; and indicated the line of treatment I should adopt if I were to attend to the ear. His Highness coincided with my views, said that he had the medicines I spoke of, and should certainly try them. It struck me that all he wanted really was to know if there were anything in his ear: he had not asked me to prescribe for him.

I heard that His Highness spoke highly of me after I left. I think he was not yet prepared to place himself entirely in my hands, and I had not forced him into the uncomfortable position of having to refuse my treatment and, therefore, appear somewhat discourteous.

There is, in this part of Turkestan, a disease which bears a strong resemblance to the so-called Delhi boil—or, more correctly, Delhi ulcer. It was exceedingly prevalent while I was in Turkestan, and after trying various remedies ineffectually I hit upon one which had a marked beneficial effect. Formerly, the ulcers—which appear on the exposed parts of the body, the hands, feet, and face—were very intractable and rarely healed in less than a year. Under the popular native treatment they sometimes attained enormous proportions, and became covered with most exuberant granulations—great mounds of proud flesh: now they healed rapidly in a month, or less, according to the size, so that I gained a sort of reputation in this line. One day the British Agent, Colonel Attaullah Khan, sent his Secretary to ask me to visit him, as he was suffering from one of these sores upon his heel, and his own Hindustani medical attendant had been unsuccessful in giving him relief.

I said, certainly, I would come, and was pulling on my boots, when the Armenian said:—

“Sir, please you kind, a little you wait.”

“What for?” said I, with a boot half on.

“First, I write to Amîr Sahib and ask; then you go or you not go, as he says. You Amîr Sahib’s servant.”

“Well, but——” However, I thought there was no harm in his writing at any rate, and I waited. His Highness’s answer arrived.

He acknowledged the receipt of my letter of such a date, in which I asked—Had I the Royal permission to visit—and so on. He was deeply grieved on account of the illness of the Sirdar, for whom he had the greatest affection and respect, but there were weighty matters to consider. I, though an Englishman, was his servant. If, through an unforeseen calamity God should strike the Sirdar, while under my medical care, with an illness more severe than the present one, or, God forbid, even with death, then the honourable Government of England might consider in their wisdom that I, his servant, instigated by evil men, had worked harm upon the Sirdar.

The gist of it was, that whatever His Highness’s reason might be, he did not wish me to attend the Agent. I therefore sent my apologies. At the next Durbar His Highness appeared pleased that I had asked his permission before visiting the Agent, and he entered more fully, though on the same lines, into his reasons for refusing permission.

That afternoon a Brigadier named Hadji Gul Khan, with his Staff, called upon me at my house. They all came in, about a dozen of them, and the Brigadier, in a hearty sort of way, shook hands and asked how I was. I was surprised, as he was quite a stranger to me, though it is possible I was not so to him. He was a relative of the Amîr’s, a Barukzai Durani: he had called to ask if I would attend to one of his soldiers who had a disease of the leg. I said, “With pleasure, which is he?”

“This is the man.”

I examined him, and found he had a fatty tumour on the outer side of the right thigh. I said—

“It will be necessary to remove this swelling with the knife. It consists of a mass of fat.”

“Bisyar khôb,” said the Brigadier; “very good; remove it.”

“Kai?” said I. “When?”

“Hala,” said he. “Now.”

“Certainly; come into the other room,” for I did not want to spoil my beautiful carpets. I was short of chloroform, and I said to the Armenian,

“Tell the man I shall hurt him.” The man said,

“Khair ast, it is nothing. Tell the Doctor Sahib, if he cut me to pieces I shall not speak.”

“O, all right,” I said, “tell him to lie on the ground.” He lay down. I made a longitudinal incision over the tumour, and proceeded to dissect it out. It must have been very painful, but the man said nothing, neither did I; but the bystanders, when the mass of yellowish white fat appeared between the edges of the wound, exclaimed, “Wah! wah!” in excited admiration.

I bandaged the leg, and the soldier walked back to his barracks. He had to be in bed, however, for some time afterwards. We were very good friends after that—the soldier and I. I am sure I don’t know why, except that I admired his pluck, and had hurt him.

I called on the Hadji Jan Mahomed again, and found his young son there. Both the Hadji and his son kept to the pure Afghan costume, with the turban and picturesque flowing robes. The boy afterwards became a Court Page, but he looked very out of place among the Europeanized youngsters who swaggered about at the Palace. He looked out of date and countryfied in his robes, and he felt it. I noticed when I was at the Hadji’s what beautiful feet he and his son had: they were like the feet of a Greek statue. The toes had shape. They were not degenerated like ours, by descent through a boot-wearing ancestry.

One of the Pages lived next door to me; he was an ugly little beggar, but rather amusing, and the Armenian suggested one evening, to while away an hour, that we should go and see him. He was hard at work puzzling over Euclid. It seemed very odd to see the well-known diagrams in the midst of Persian writing. We played cards—a sort of three-handed whist—and other games. They taught them to me, but I have completely forgotten how they were played. The cards used were just the same as those we have, except that they were cheap ones, made in Germany, and were exceedingly dirty.

Another Page-boy lived opposite; next door to the Mirza Abdur Rashid. He was an exceedingly pretty boy, and was, in consequence, very gorgeously dressed in a scarlet and gold uniform and Kashmîr turban. Personal beauty is a fairly certain cause of rapid promotion at the Amîr’s Court. Some of the Court Pages are the sons of nobles, of officers, or of wealthy men. Others are slaves.

CHAPTER XII.
The Inhabitants of Afghanistan.

The slaves of Kabul are those who have been kidnapped from Kaffristan, or who are prisoners of war, taken when some tribe breaks out in rebellion against the Amîr. When it is remembered that the Afghans, though at present the dominant race, form only a part, and a minor part, of the population, there being several other nations, of different physical conformity, different language, religion, and customs, inhabiting the country, the fact of frequent outbreaks and rebellions is less inexplicable than it would otherwise be.

Of the Afghans, to commence with, there are three chief divisions: the Durani or Afghan proper, of which race is the Amîr; the Ghilzai; and the Pathan or border Afghan. Each of these is divided up into many different tribes: the tribes into branches, and the branches into families.

We gather valuable information concerning Afghanistan—Ariana—and the peoples inhabiting it, from the ancient writers; but the Afghans, as a distinct people, do not appear in history until the commencement of the tenth century; and it was not until the eighteenth century that they were established as an independent nation under a king of their own race.

According to the most recent investigations, the Afghans, though they assert themselves to be a Jewish nation descended from Saul, are a conglomerate race, some tribes, or sections of tribes, having in their veins strains of Persian, others of Indian, Greek, or Scythian blood. Of the tribes at the present day some bear the very names and occupy the same positions that Herodotus tells us of as existing in the Persian satrapies of Darius, and others, the names of Macedonian and Greek tribes, who were introduced after the conquest of Alexander. Others again, especially in eastern Afghanistan, bear the names of Rajput tribes renowned in Indian history.

In the tenth century was the invasion by Tartar hordes headed by the Turk Sabaktakin, who established himself in southern Afghanistan, making Ghuzni his capital.

He and his son, Mahmûd of Ghuzni, founded a dynasty in Afghanistan. They were recent converts to Islam, and destroying the then dominant religion of the country, Buddhism, shrouded under the cloak of Mahomed the strains of different nations that existed in the country. This wild mixed race, called collectively Afghan, was at all times turbulent and difficult to govern, and the tribes fought against each other without the least scruple. Their present unsettled condition, therefore, can be somewhat better understood when we consider that it has existed, and in a far greater degree, from remote ages.

It would be tedious merely to enumerate the multitudinous divisions into which the Afghan nation is divided, and I have grouped many important tribes under the comprehensive term Border Afghans. These, as the name implies, occupy the mountains on the Indian frontier, and it is they who, by their raidings, thievings, and turbulence, cause so much trouble to the Government of India.

From their position, it has been possible for investigators among the Indian Frontier Officials to study the customs, laws, and descent of these tribes more closely than those of the Afghans occupying the interior of the country.

Of the latter, the Durani and the Ghilzai tribes are, from their numerical superiority, the more important. In addition, the Durani tribe has, from two of its branches, given to the country its Afghan Kings.

It was in the last century, 1747, that Ahmad Khan, of the Suddozai division of the Duranis, created himself Ahmad Shah and founded a dynasty. It occurred in the following manner. Nadir Shah, a Turkoman robber chief, invaded Persia, driving thence the Afghans, who had held the country for some six or seven years. He placed himself on the throne, and then proceeded to annex Afghanistan, seizing first Herat, and after a nearly two years’ siege Kandahar, and finally Kabul.

He ruled with vigour and generosity, and in such a manner that he completely won the hearts of the people, and was able to bring to the assistance of his own troops large contingents of Afghan cavalry recruited especially among the Duranis and the Ghilzais. The chiefs of the tribes commanded the troops raised from their tribesmen. These men accompanied the Turk Warrior in all his expeditions, sharing his glory and his success. So much help did they give him that he openly preferred them to his own troops, causing, thereby, great jealousy among the Persian soldiers. Finally, when in 1747, Nadir was assassinated, the Persians fell upon the Afghans with such fury that the latter, greatly outnumbered, sought safety in flight. On their return to their native country, the nobles of the Durani and Ghilzai tribes met together to decide upon the best means of organizing a Government for Afghanistan. Any union with the Persians was declared henceforth impossible, and they determined to elect a chief from among themselves. After much discussion, Ahmad Khan, the chief of the Suddozai Duranis, was elected King of the nation, his only formidable rival, the chief of the Barakzai Duranis, withdrawing in his favour. Ahmad Khan was crowned in the Mosque at Kandahar in 1747, taking the title of Shah. In the midst of the festivities there arrived a convoy in Kandahar, bearing from the Punjab and Scinde the tribute due to Nadir Shah. Ahmad Shah at once seized the convoy, which was of extreme value, and wisely consolidated his power by distributing the contents liberally among the soldiers, officers, and nobles of his newly-founded kingdom.

This was the commencement of the Durani dynasty of Afghan Kings, and Ahmad, by frequent invasions, extended his Empire from Mashad in Persia to Lahore in India. He reigned twenty-six years, and was succeeded by his son, Timûr Shah, a weak man, who, moving the seat of Government from Kandahar to Kabul, employed his time, not in strengthening and consolidating his father’s Empire, but in gratifying his senses. The result was what might have been anticipated: Law became a dead letter; no longer was any road safe from highway robbery; disorder and anarchy once more spread over the country, and the downfall of the Empire was imminent. The Persian provinces were lost; then followed the Punjab, Scinde, and Beluchistan.

At the death of Timûr, in 1793, matters became even worse, for his many sons, who were ruling singly or jointly over different provinces, plotted and counterplotted against one another in the endeavour to obtain the throne. Three of the sons came to the front. Zaman Shah, who held the throne for a brief period; Shujah-ul-Mulk, his full brother, who held Kandahar and plotted to obtain Kabul; and Mahmûd, who ruled in Herat as an independent Prince, and declared himself Shah of Afghanistan. At this time the most powerful and influential of all the Sirdars was Paînda Khan, chief of the Barakzai Duranis, and son of the man who withdrew his pretensions to the Afghan throne in favour of Ahmad Shah.

Paînda, another “Warwick,” supported Zaman, and by his power and influence placed him on the throne. The other brothers were entrapped and kept in prison on a meagre diet till they acknowledged his accession to the throne. Zaman Shah, his court in factions, his brothers plotting against him, his Treasury empty, India as a looting ground shut against him by the East India Company, and Persia threatening on the west, endeavoured, nevertheless, to rule on the autocratic principle, and though the Barakzais had hereditary right to the great offices of the State, he presently degraded and then executed the chief, Paînda Khan, to whom he owed the throne, and whose power and intellect would have been invaluable to him.

At once the sons of Paînda fled and joined the King’s brother, Mahmûd, at Herat. Him, after much solicitation, they persuaded to advance against Zaman Shah. They were joined by the whole of the Barakzai tribe, who, recognizing Fethi Khan, eldest son of Paînda as their chief, at once placed themselves under his orders. After much fighting, and some treachery, Zaman was deposed, and his eyes put out by order of his brother. He had reigned four years.

It was in 1800 that Mahmûd became Shah. His throne was an uneasy one. First, the Ghilzai tribe rebelled against him, and several encounters were necessary before they were subdued. Then a most sanguinary religious riot arose in Kabul between the two sects of Mahomedans—the Sunnis and the Shiahs, and the Shah, by supporting the Shiahs, alienated his own tribes, both the Suddozais and Barakzais, who are Sunnis. This was the commencement of his downfall, for while Fethi Khan was in Bamian subduing a rebellion of Hazaras, the other chiefs formed a conspiracy and invited Shujah-ul-Mulk, the Shah’s younger brother, to advance on Kabul, promising him their support. Shujah at once advanced, Mahmûd fled to the Bala Hissar fort, and Shujah was placed on the throne amid the greatest rejoicings.

The first act of the new Shah was to seize his brother, the ex-King, and order his eyes to be put out. This order, however, he revoked, owing to the influence of his new Wazîr or Prime Minister—one of the chiefs who had invited him to seize the throne. He imprisoned the ex-King, therefore, in the dungeons of Bala Hissar.

Fethi Khan returning from Bamian found Shujah King. He had, however, a vendetta against the new Shah for the murder of his father, Paînda, by the Shah’s full brother, Zaman.

Secretly, and with the help of his brother, he rescued Mahmûd from prison, and again placed him on the throne in Kabul, himself taking his hereditary post of Wazîr. Shah Shujah, routed by Fethi Khan, fled to India, and sought the support of Runjit Singh, the Sikh Maharajah of Lahore. But Runjit Singh held certain provinces formerly belonging to Afghanistan, and he would do nothing for Shujah. He, however, extorted from him a valuable diamond that Shujah had guarded through all his adventures. This diamond had passed from Moghul to Turkoman, from Turkoman to Afghan, and from Afghan has passed through the Sikh to England. It is the Koh-i-Nûr. Shujah, in terror of his life, escaped from the Sikh, and in 1815 threw himself on the mercy of the East India Company, who gave him a pension and a residence in Ludhiana.

Meanwhile, in Kabul, Mahmûd gave way to every kind of sensual excess. He was a puppet in the hands of his powerful minister, Fethi Khan, under whose rule the country recovered some of its former prosperity.

Mahmûd’s son and heir, Kamran, jealous of the power and increasing influence of Fethi Khan, succeeded in entrapping the minister, and, with most atrocious tortures, he murdered him. The death of this master spirit, warrior, and statesman was an irreparable loss to Afghanistan, and anarchy once more spread over the country.

Mahmûd and Kamran fled to Herat, and the rest of the country was divided among the brothers of the murdered Wazîr—Kabul, Jelalabad, and Ghuzni falling to the share of Dôst Mahomed, the favourite brother of Fethi Khan, and the most resolute and gifted.

The government of the country, therefore, with the exception of Herat, which was still held by Mahmûd Khan, fell from the power of the Durani Shah to that of the Durani Wazîr.

Dôst Mahomed took the title of Amîr of Kabul, or Military Commander, and to him British envoys were sent on missions of commerce and discovery.

At this time Russia was urging on Persia to take Herat, but as Herat commands Kandahar, and thus is, as it were, the gate of India, the British were compelled to make a counter-move. Then came the first Afghan war—the disastrous endeavour on our part to revive the extinct Suddozai Durani dynasty. Dôst Mahomed was taken prisoner to Calcutta; Shah Shujah was put on the throne at Kabul; and Mahmûd, with his son Kamran, as successor, acknowledged as Governor of Herat.

The failure of the plan is a modern story. Shah Shujah was murdered by the Afghans in 1842, and Dôst Mahomed was released and allowed to find his way back to Kabul, where he was welcomed to the throne with acclamations.

The rule of Dôst Mahomed, compared with what had gone before, was a boon to Afghanistan; merchants and caravans could travel with some amount of safety through his dominions. Trade recovered considerably, and with its growth the revenues of the Amîr increased. For a long time he made no attempt to extend his dominions, but contented himself in rendering secure and prosperous those provinces he already possessed. His brothers lacked the power, though not the wish, to compass his overthrow, for though they were bold fighting men, they possessed neither the capacity nor the resolution of the Amîr. The danger to the sovereigns of Afghanistan had, hitherto, been the difficulty in retaining the allegiance of the great Chiefs—the Barons—those men who could call into the field the thousands of their clansmen to fight for or against the King. Dôst Mahomed, though not lacking in generosity towards them, nevertheless showed them that it would be both difficult and dangerous to attempt to throw off their allegiance. As a check to their power in the field he established, for the first time in Afghanistan, a standing army. The Chiefs submitted, though at first unwillingly, to the rule of the Amîr, for doubtless it seemed better to yield to a monarch both just and generous than to attempt revolts, the issue of which was in any case doubtful, and might place them under the insecure and cruel despotism of the Suddozais. Of the extension of his dominions to Kandahar, Herat, and Turkestan I will speak later.

Dôst Mahomed appointed a younger and favourite son, Shere Ali, to succeed him, the only one of his sons whose mother was of Royal blood. In 1868 Amîr Shere Ali was deposed by his elder brothers, Afzal Khan and Azim Khan.

Amîr Afzal Khan, eldest son of Dôst Mahomed, reigned but five months and died. He left one son only, the present Amîr, Abdurrahman.

He was succeeded by his brother, Azim Khan, who, however, was not recognized as Amîr by the British, and in the following year Shere Ali again obtained the throne. His estrangement with the British, their advance, and the Amîr’s death in Mazar, I have spoken of. Yakûb, who was Amîr when Cavagnari was assassinated, was son of Shere Ali. When Yakûb was deposed Abdurrahman Khan was invited by the British to ascend the throne.

Considering the line of men through whom he is descended, it is not so surprising a thing that Amîr Abdurrahman has shown talent as a ruler, politician, and general of so high an order. Dôst Mahomed and his brother, Fethi Khan, their father and grandfather, Paînda and Jummal Khan, were the type of men who change the course of history.

I have given this very curtailed sketch of what has been happening in Afghanistan during the last hundred and fifty years, so that one may see who Amîr Abdurrahman is and why he is Amîr.

We may now go back to our former subject, the peoples inhabiting Afghanistan.

The Ghilzai Afghans are of doubtful origin: they are sometimes reckoned as Pathan. Their language is Pukhtu, and their manners, customs, and religion the same as those of the Duranis; but they are said to have come into the country with the Turkoman Sabaktakin in the tenth century, and to be the representatives of a Turk tribe from beyond the Jaxartes, called Khilichi, “swordsmen.” More recent investigation seems to point, however, to their being of Rajput (Scythian) descent; for the clans into which the tribe is divided have mostly Indian names.

The Ghilzai is a very numerous and powerful tribe occupying that part of the country which lies between the provinces of Kandahar and Kabul. They are a race of fighting men, but have not given a ruler to Afghanistan. One reason for their submission to the government of the Duranis at Kabul, is the fact that a large portion of the tribe is nomadic in its habits, moving from highlands to lowlands with the seasons. They spend the summer among their villages on the uplands of the Sufféd Kôh, Tobah, and Khôjah Amràn Mountains, and in the winter packing their belongings on camels, asses, and bullocks, and driving their flocks before them, they descend and camp on the warm plains. Without their winter quarters on the plains they could not exist, neither themselves nor their flocks.

Of the numerous tribes of Pathans or Border Afghans I will speak only of the two to which I have already referred in the course of my narrative: the Afridis, who occupy the mountains around Peshawur and the east of the Khyber; and the Shinwaris, who occupy the western extremity of the Khyber. The Afridis, who number about thirty thousand families, say they were transplanted by Mahmûd of Ghuzni from the Ghor country, which lies between Kabul and Herat, to their present hills as military colonists for the defence of the Khyber Pass. Two centuries later the colony was increased by fresh arrivals planted by Shahabuddin Ghori. They are probably of Turkish descent. The Afridis are partly cave dwellers, but live also in movable huts of matting and wickerwork—a rough imitation of the Turkoman Khirgar. They have few villages and no tents. They are described by Dr. Bellew (a keen observer, who spent many years on the frontier in the study of the Pathan) as a warlike and predatory people, “of lean wiry build, with keen eyes and hungry features, and of light complexion, but not of fine physique.”

Other of the Pathan tribes near them differ in physical conformity, for they are tall and manly, being often as fair and as strongly built as Englishmen.

The Shinwaris, whom I mentioned in the early part of my narrative as being considered dangerous even by the Amîr’s troops, are by some supposed to be of Albanian descent, and to have been placed by Nadir Shah in their present position as a guard to the Khyber. They, however, do not show a trace of such an origin, for their manners and customs are Pathan and their language Pukhtu. Bellew considers them as probably the Sanobari or Sinawàri Indians of Rajput descent. Their “peaceful” occupation is that of muleteers, and they breed herds of mules for the carrying trade.

One interesting point in the descent of the Amîr’s tribe, the Barakzai Duranis, is called attention to by Bellew. He considers that they are probably an offshoot of the Baraki mentioned by the Emperor Babar as one of the principal tribes of Kabul in the early part of the sixteenth century. These Barakis are considered a distinct race by themselves, and are not claimed by Afghan or Pathan, Ghilzai or Hazara. They use among themselves a dialect which appears to resemble a Hindi language. Bellew identifies the Baraki tribe of Kabul with the Bàrkai of Herodotus, who were recognized as Greeks by Alexander and his followers. They were a colony of Greek exiles transported from Kyrènè in Lybia, to the Logar Valley of Kabul, by Darius Hystaspes. This valley is to-day their principal settlement. The Baraki have for ages retained the reputation of being excellent and reliable soldiers, and the Royal Barakzai Durani family have always entertained a body-guard composed of Baraki. The separation of Baraki and Barakzai, with the diminution in number of the one and the increase of the other, is explained by the probable suggestion that the former reluctantly, and the latter readily, accepted the religion of Islam in the early period of its introduction.

Another nation, and in point of numbers the most important, occupying Afghanistan, is the Hazara. They are mostly of the Tartar type, and occupy the mountains of the west and north-west of Afghanistan. They, like the Afghan, are a mixed race. Though chiefly Turk they have tribes among them of Rajput, Kopt, Abyssinian, and Persian descent. The Hazara proper, who inhabit the Ghor country, claim to be descendants of military colonists planted in this country by Ghengis Khan, the Turkestan chief, in 1200. Probably, however, the influx was slow, extending over several generations, and was more the migration of a nation than a purely military conquest. The language of the Hazaras is an old dialect of Persian with some admixture of Turki words. At the Kabul Hospital when a Hazara came for treatment I found his language so difficult to understand, that in the absence of my Armenian interpreter, I often had to call upon some one to translate for me into modern Persian. With their high cheek-bones, small oblique eyes, and scanty beards, they differ much in physiognomy from the Afghan, and their form of government, manners, and morals are equally divergent.

The government of their chiefs is more despotic and less republican than that of the Afghan chiefs. Though some tribes are said to be nomadic, predatory, and the poorest and most barbarous of all the races in Afghanistan, those I came in contact with seemed, compared with the Afghans, a hard working peaceful people, unless they were roused by cruelty and oppression; then, indeed, they fought with dogged persistence. They seemed to have a certain simplicity of character which contrasted strongly with the duplicity of the Afghan. Though undersized, they are of great physical strength, and as slaves taken in war, or servants for hire, they seemed to me to do all the hard work in Kabul. In religion they are mostly Shiah Mahomedans, and therefore to the Sunni Afghans they seem almost as much infidels as the Christians. They make their own powder and rifles, are excellent shots, and, in spite of the mountainous country in which they dwell, are excellent horsemen. As a nation they have an intense love of liberty, and have been more or less independent for generations. The last monarch who subjugated them was Timûr Shah or Tamerlane. They have, however, paid tribute to the present Amîr, though many a battle was fought before they yielded.

To this day the Hazaras are constantly breaking out in rebellion, but from stories I heard in Kabul I gather they would willingly pay tribute to the Amîr as King, but for the outrages and atrocious cruelties practised upon them by His Highness’s troops.

In their day these Hazaras formed a very powerful sovereignty, which extended from the Euphrates to the Ganges. They it was who supplanted the Turk at Ghuzni, and who overthrew the Rajput dynasty, conquered India, and established the Mahomedan religion in that country.

Further north, on the banks of the Oxus river, the border line that divides Afghan from Russian Turkestan, are Turkoman and Usbàk tribes. The Turkoman is, as the name implies, of Turk descent. This people lived to the south of the Thian Shan or Celestial mountains, and in the eleventh and twelfth centuries overran Bokhara, Armenia, and Georgia. Physically they are immensely strong men, taller than the Hazara, of rough manners and coarse fibre, seeming more or less insensible to pain or sorrow: their cold insensible nature contrasting strongly with the more amorous nature of Afghan and Persian.

I had a practical illustration of their rough manners one day in Mazar. I was riding back from the Hospital, and at some little distance from the city I met a troop of Turkoman cavalry. I was interested and rode quietly on, never dreaming of getting out of their way, for I naturally thought they would do as others had done, make way for a Distinguished Foreigner. Not in the least. They just did not ride over me, but in a moment I was in the midst of the troop, and as they rode carelessly and rapidly by, one man brushed against me, ripped my boot, tore the buttons off the leg of my breeches, and nearly twisted me out of the saddle. Consider the iniquity of the act! The Amîr’s own Physician and a common Turkoman! I was indignant; but decided to ride on and take no notice; they are men of such exceedingly coarse fibre.

These people are nomads, living in tents, or, when they camp for a longer period, in temporary huts, or oftener in a sort of wickerwork wigwam, dome-shaped, and covered with felt called the “khirgar.” These wigwams can be taken down and packed on a camel in less than an hour. The Turkoman women are unveiled, and work in camp and field, and weave the beautiful rugs that are so much in demand in Afghanistan and India.

The Usbàks are a confederation of many Turk and Tartar tribes, not one race. They are flat faced, with scanty beard and slanting eyes. They speak the same language as the Turkoman—Turki—and have the same disposition, tastes, and ferocity. They do not, however, lead a wandering life, but dwell in villages, and may be considered the established and civilized inhabitants of Central Asia beyond the Oxus. Their type is occasionally somewhat altered by intermarriage with the Persians.

There are other prominent but less numerous races in Afghanistan: for instance, the Kizilbashes, who are the better educated among the townspeople. There is a colony of them in Kabul, at Chendawal, to this day. They are Persianized Turks, who were brought to Afghanistan by Nadir Shah in 1737. They speak pure Persian, and constitute chiefly the merchants, physicians, traders, and scribes. His Highness’s chief secretary, the Dabier-ul-Mulk, was a Kizilbachi. These men belong to the Shiah sect of Mahomedans.

At one time there was a colony of Armenians in Kabul, brought from Persia by Nadir Shah, and a Christian church was in existence, until it was accidentally blown to pieces in the last Afghan war.

The Armenians, however, have drifted away to the large towns in India and Persia, and only one family remains, that of my Interpreter.

I went one day to pay my respects to a Christian lady in Kabul, an aged Armenian some ninety years old. She wept bitterly as she told me of the church built by a Mahomedan King for their use and destroyed by Christians.

Of other races in Kabul, there are Tajiks of Arab descent, Hindkis of Hindu descent, and Kohestani and Pashai tribes, who are considered to be the unconverted aborigines of the Kabul province.

CHAPTER XIII.
The Birth of Prince Mahomed Omer.

I was speaking of the slaves of Kabul when the subject of the peoples inhabiting the country presented itself. Just now the majority of slaves in Afghanistan are Hazaras, probably because they have lately been fighting against the Amîr.

There are also children and women taken prisoners from other rebellious tribes, and Kaffir slaves kidnapped as children from Kaffristan. A batch of the former were brought to Mazar while I was there. His Highness took about a dozen. They were good-looking boys of the Persian type, and I was told they came from the direction of Maimana, to the north-west of Afghanistan towards Panjdeh. No one understood their language. It was not ordinary Pushtu, nor Turki, nor Persian. They, however, picked up Persian very quickly.