After several years spent in Kabul, one experiences a sense of elation when the time comes for leaving it. The thought of being back soon in civilization, among one’s friends and the people of one’s own country, produces so keen a desire to be with them again at once that the time occupied in making ready to start, and that spent on the journey, seems interminable. When in Kabul there is a remoteness in the thought of home and England so great that the memory seems to deal with the land and people of another planet, and if one were a Buddhist it might easily be conceived that the memory dealt with a former incarnation, for one is so cut off from the outer world, and all things are so different, that it appears like a separate existence.

Afghanistan is a difficult country to get into, for not only is the Amir’s written permission necessary, but the Indian Government must consent also, for no European is allowed to go through the Khyber Pass and cross the frontier without a permit, and that is only granted on producing the Amir’s firman; and even then one is not allowed to start until the Afghans across the frontier have been communicated with and the escort arranged to meet the traveller on a certain day. It is also difficult to leave it, for the Amir is chary of giving leave to those who have spent some time in the country. I was there for over eight years without a break, and although I repeatedly asked for leave I was always put off on one pretext or another. When permission to leave has been given there always occurs another two or three weeks’ delay in getting together the pack-horses required for carrying luggage, and the escort of sowars (cavalry) necessary for protection on the journey, and the tents and carpets, etc. With a desire to start as soon as ever possible, the casual to-morrow-or-next-day habit of the people, to which one has got accustomed more or less, becomes of a sudden a prominent characteristic, and proportionately irritating. But as all things come to those who wait, provided they wait long enough, everything is at last ready, and one morning all the boxes and packages are fastened on the backs of the pack-animals, the servants are seated on those horses which carry the lightest loads, and the baggage is got off, and an hour or two later one mounts and starts off one’s self.

It is an eight days’ journey from Kabul to Peshawar if long marches are undertaken each day, but the people who travel up and down that way usually take eleven or twelve days. I have done it in six days, but to do it in this time all the riding and pack-horses must be of the best, for the mountainous country traversed, and rough stony character of the tracks (there are no roads excepting round Kabul itself), make it very trying for the horses, and on a very long day’s march some will drop from fatigue, and cases of horses dying on the road are not at all uncommon.

When the valley of Kabul has been left behind the country appears very desolate, for there is nothing but mountains, rocks, and sand to be seen. The second day’s journey takes one over the Latabund Pass which lies at a considerable altitude above Kabul, which is itself seven thousand feet above sea-level, and the rest of the journey until Jelalabad is reached is all over mountains. Camp for the night is pitched near small villages set in valleys where a little water makes the cultivation of a few patches of sandy soil possible. It is the very small amount of rainfall which makes the country so barren generally for the disintegrated rock which collects in the valleys, and the foot of the mountains forms a prolific soil when it can be irrigated, and it is also the want of verdure and trees on the mountains, and absence of clouds with their accompanying haze of moisture, which is the cause of the monotonous colouring of the landscape, for there are many fine mountain scenes which would be magnificent, but for the dryness of the atmosphere which makes the hills and mountains, far and near, shades of one dirty looking colour. At the beginning of a day’s march, the sameness of the prospect makes one almost sigh at the dreary stretch of country to be ridden over, for it offers nothing of interest to lessen the sense of fatigue, and the only desire while riding is to get it done with, and look forward to the camping-place.

The usual stopping-places between Kabul and Jelalabad, which is about halfway to Peshawar, are Budkhark, twelve miles; Barikab, thirty-two miles; Jagdalak, sixteen miles; Gandamak, twenty-eight miles; Fatehabad, eighteen miles; and Jelalabad, nineteen miles. These distances are only approximate, for they are estimated from the time occupied in riding from one to the other. There are other places at which one may camp for the night if necessary, according to the number of days in which it is desired to make the journey; but the above are best if one wishes to make each day’s journey equal in fatigue for the horses and pack-animals. The shorter marches are over bad mountain tracts, which tire the horses quite as much as a longer journey over fairly level country. The sixth day’s journey to Jelalabad is over ground which slopes down gradually from the foot hills, but almost the whole of it is through sand mixed with small stones in which the horses’ feet sink deeply, and makes the going hard and tiring. Those who have walked any distance in dry sand by the seashore will appreciate the fatigue of the horses in getting over such country.

When I left Kabul snow was falling, and had been doing so for the past two days, and the mountains and plains were covered with it, and to make matters worse a blizzard was blowing. The coldness of a blizzard must be experienced to be appreciated, and I heard afterwards that two or three soldiers on night-guard had been frozen to death; but this is a common occurrence during the severe winters experienced in Kabul, when the wind gains in piercing intensity as the cold increases during the night.

After riding through the snow for some hours, with limbs stiffened and senses benumbed by the icy wind, it was with a feeling of thankfulness that I saw the walls of the serai, showing through the driving snow; and when we reached the place and dismounted, I found that the circulation in my right hand had stopped, and it was only after having it rubbed for some time that it got right again. The serais, which are stationed at intervals along the route, are intended for the use of the caravans, and they are made in the form of a square, with a high wall surrounding it, and the rooms are built against the inner side of the wall. There is a verandah outside the rooms, under which the packages carried by the caravans are stored for the night in bad weather, and which also forms a shelter for the camels and pack-animals. Over the gate of the serai, in which we lodged for the first night, was an upper room, built for the use of travellers of position and standing, and this was placed at my disposal; but as regards its comforts, I can only say that it was better than being outside. One of the lower rooms which are used by the men of the caravans travelling up and down would have been warmer, but they are filthy, and mostly contain a vigorous population undesirable to those of clean habits; and the room I occupied was fairly clean, but it was unfurnished, and had no fireplace, while the window was composed of wooden shutters, and round the frame were cracks an inch wide, where the wood had shrunk away from the wall and left open spaces, and in the wall itself were large cracks, due probably to earthquakes, through which the wind whistled; so while waiting for the baggage to come up, I had an open fire lighted on the top of the verandah outside, and warmed myself one side at a time. It was not until night had fallen that the baggage animals came in, and I was able to get a cup of hot tea, and an hour or two later I got some food, and it was rather a dreary time waiting for it, when tired and hungry, and the thermometer below zero. To undress and go to sleep with the blizzard blowing in at all the cracks in wall and window was not to be thought of, so I took off my boots only and lay down, covering myself with all the rugs I had; and in the morning when I woke, I found that the water in the wash-basin was frozen solid, and fine drift snow covered the floor and bed.

The morning was clear and bright, and the dazzling whiteness of the snow in the sunlight was blinding, until the eyes became a little used to it; but the wind continued in all its severity, and while riding over the Latabund Pass, we found it far too cold at that altitude to sit in the saddle with comfort, for our hands and feet became so numbed and useless that we feared frostbite, and therefore the escort and myself dismounted and walked, in order to keep ourselves warm, and led our horses, until about two o’clock in the afternoon, we reached the summit. Once on the other side of the pass, we were protected from the wind, but I thought it still too cold to ride, and so walked on the rest of the way to Barikab, where I reached camp at six in the evening, very tired with a long day’s walk. The pack animals, which are too heavily laden to take the short cuts over the mountains that the riding horses follow, did not reach camp until nine o’clock, so that it was again very late before I got my dinner, and by the time I got it I wanted it.

Thence to Jelalabad, as each successive range of mountains brought us still lower down it got warmer day by day, but the warmth was comparative only, for it was still very cold when we reached Jelalabad. Here I spent a day, having a day extra in hand in which to reach the Khyber Pass, which is open for travellers twice a week only, and occupied myself in looking over the city and inspecting the Amir’s palace and gardens there. The city is a small one, and is walled round, as usual, but the wall is broken down in places, and everything has a most dilapidated look, and many parts are in ruins. There is no attempt to keep the city clean, and the inhabitants of each house make their own sanitary arrangements, which practically means none at all, as each one throws the refuse of the house outside to lie there and rot, if not eaten up by the dogs and crows. The water of the place stinks, and it is not at all surprising that when cholera visits it, being brought up from India with the caravans, it makes a long and effective stay. One wonders that it does not wipe off the whole of the population, but the dry climate and frequent winds, no doubt, help towards the sanitary condition of the city, and perhaps long-continued successive visits of cholera have made many of the people immune.

It was in Jelalabad that I first saw the Usbeg game of “Buz-bazee” (literally, “goat play”). It is played on horseback, and the first thing done is to kill a goat or sheep by cutting its throat in the usual manner while the Usbeg horsemen gather around. When this has been done, a signal is given, and all the riders make a dash at the carcase, which lies on the ground. The man who gets it flings it across the saddle in front of him, and goes off at full gallop, the others chasing him until one or another catches him up, and then ensues a struggle, while still at full gallop, for the possession of the body. The man who gets it is chased in turn by the others, and when the carcase falls to the ground, as it does at times, it is picked up as the rider gallops by, the horseman riding with one leg and arm thrown over the horse to enable him to reach low down to the ground. So the game goes on until the limbs are wrenched apart and the victors ride off at last with the portion they have been able to secure, and which the speed and agility of their horses prevents others from taking from them.

The usual journey from Jelalabad to Peshawar occupies five days. Girdi Kutch, the first stopping-place, is twenty miles; Basawal, eighteen miles; Daka, the Afghan frontier post, sixteen miles; and Lundi Kotal, the British frontier post on the far side of the Khyber Pass, twenty miles. The last day’s journey is from Lundi Kotal through the Khyber Pass, and past Jumrood, the fort which guards the mouth of the Khyber on the Indian side, and on into Peshawar, where one enters once more into civilization.

From Jelalabad to the Khyber mountains the country is a comparatively flat one, and for the greater part of the journey the route follows the course of the Kabul river, which is here broad and shallow, though the current is swift, on account of the considerable fall in level between Jelalabad and Peshawar. This portion of the river contains several whirlpools, which render navigation a matter of difficulty and danger to all who are not well conversant with the currents. The whirlpools are said to be mostly situated in the narrow gorges of the Khyber mountains, through which the river flows, and that it is here where the skill of the raftsmen is called into play to prevent sudden disaster, for the swiftness of the current gives little opportunity of correcting a mistake in steering.

Jelalabad is one of the few spots in Afghanistan where there are many trees. The forests are situated some few miles from the city, and may be seen covering some of the hills in the distance. The timber, a description of the pine tree, after being cut down, is roughly squared into logs and dragged down to the river, where they are formed into rafts and floated down into Peshawar for sale. A small amount of produce is also carried on the rafts and sold in India.

On one of my journeys down to Peshawar the governor of Jelalabad, by order of the Amir, sent me several large melons which are grown in the district. The size of the melons was so great, about two feet long and one and a half feet in diameter, that I had no means of carrying them with me, and on this being represented to the governor, he gave instructions for them to be carried by raft into Peshawar and handed over to me there. The raftsmen told me that they would be in Peshawar twelve hours after leaving Jelalabad, and as the distance between the two points is about a hundred miles, some idea of the speed of the current may be gained.

The water of the river is fed by the melted snow from the mountains, and is intensely cold, and I was told that any one who attempted to swim across the river would be carried so far down by the current before reaching the other side that the coldness of the water would make him numbed and powerless, and he would drown. The people of the district, when they have to cross the river, do so on musaks distended with air, which keep the body clear of the water, while allowing the use of the legs and arms as a means of propulsion; but even then the limbs get so numbed and paralyzed that only strong men can make use of the musak as a means of crossing the river, or floating down to another village some miles lower on the same side; and I was told that the frequent use of it brings on rheumatism in the legs and arms—and one can quite understand that it would do so.

The musak is the same as that used by watermen all over the East for carrying water. It is made of a goat or sheepskin, which is treated to make the skin soft and flexible, and afterwards sown up, so that it has the original form of the animal, minus head and legs; the joints are made watertight, and the whole skin when distended by air being blown into it forms a very buoyant vessel. The villager lies face downwards on it, and pushing off into deep water, strikes out with arms and legs, much as if he was swimming, and those I have seen travelling down the river in this way were going at a speed which I estimated at a good ten miles an hour.

Close to Jelalabad, where the river narrows as it runs between some low hills, the villagers have stretched a thick rope across from bank to bank, fastening it to large iron bars fixed in the rocks at the side, and by means of this rope they ferry a rickety-looking raft, which is built up of frail-looking poles roughly tied together, and supported on musaks, from one bank to the other, and carry freight, passengers, and animals as required. The rope is a country-made one of unequal thickness, and ragged with loose strands, and has a good deal of stress thrown on it by the swift current which surges against the raft, and swings it from side to side on its passage, and it struck me that a passenger addicted to nerves would find the crossing a rather trying time. I was not surprised to learn that the raft occasionally broke away with disastrous results to those on it, for few of the people can swim.

The people of the district once petitioned the Amir to make a bridge over the river, and to ensure the free communication which would benefit the people on both sides, a bridge is badly wanted. The Amir, who was averse to making any fixed structure which might benefit some future enemy, decided on having a pontoon bridge made; but the men he put in charge of the work being altogether inexperienced, their efforts were made short work of by the river, and the idea was abandoned.

I once suggested a scheme to the Amir of taking advantage of the river for carrying freight between the Jelalabad district and India, and such a scheme is quite feasible; for, by cutting a deep channel in the wider portions of the river, and blasting away the rocks which cause the whirlpools and other dangers to navigation, the journey down to India could be made easy, and steam tugs could be employed for drawing barges up on the return journey. At present pack-animals are used, and the cost of freight every year is a large item to the Government, and for several months in the year the heat of the lower country between Jelalabad and the Khyber, and consequent high death-rate among the pack-animals, prohibits the carriage of anything but very necessary articles, which must be brought up at all costs. The Amir was at first disposed to have the scheme gone into, but eventually he let the matter drop, as he did all schemes which did not offer immediate reimbursement.

The country between Jelalabad and the Khyber is well cultivated, and there are many villages on both sides of the river; but a good deal of ground is allowed to lie idle which could be made profitable, and the reason for this is, no doubt, that there are no cheap means of carrying produce for sale in India, and the people have no incentive to grow more than is sufficient for their own consumption. The soil is very productive, and most of the cereals, fruits, etc., suitable for a hot climate, grow well. The heat during the summer months is great, though not so much so as in the Peshawar district. It is, however, quite hot enough to render riding over that part of the country a very trying experience; and I remember when travelling up once in June how my mouth became so parched that I dare not let my tongue touch the roof of the mouth, as I was afraid it would stick there and choke me, and I was ready to drink from any of the stinking wells we came to, to get relief. Fortunately there was no cholera about at the time, or I might have fared worse, for no thought of disease would have deterred me from drinking. The temperature is made more trying than it would be because the rocks absorb the heat of the sun and become very hot, and the heat given out by them, together with that of the sun, makes the narrow defiles here and there feel like ovens, and they are so stifling that breathing more resembles gasping, until they are left behind, when the hot wind of the plains comes as a perfect relief after what has been gone through. “Like unto the shadow of a great rock in a dry land” has a fuller meaning to those who travel in such places.

The route from Kabul to Peshawar is the shortest and the recognized one for those who travel to India. There are other roads which might be used to get there; but even if one had the opportunity of using them, there are few who would care to prolong the time spent on the journey by electing to travel that way.

When the last day’s journey through Afghan territory brings one at last to the point where British territory begins, the line of demarcation is readily defined. Up to the point where the Afghan rule extends, one travels over the country as Nature made it, and the way is strewn with rocks and boulders, which are allowed to lie in the path, and necessitate the horses walking round, or in and out between them, and making them traverse thereby a much longer distance than a clear road would give. But from that point where British authority begins, there is a smooth graded road, which leads one high up over the hills and mountains of the Khyber to Lundi Kotal, and thence through the difficult mountain country of the Pass, and on into Peshawar, with gradients so easy that one can take a dog-cart and drive at a sharp trot the whole of the distance, and cover ground in a few hours which, on the Afghan side of the frontier, takes a long day’s tedious riding to get over.