CHAPTER IV.
30th January.—Snow fell during the night, and this morning covers the whole plain to the depth of about six inches. We set out from Shál Kot at 9.10A.M., under a salute from the fort as on arrival, and proceeded across the plain northwards to the foot of Tokátú mountain, where we came to the village of Kiroghar. This is a collection of some sixty detached huts on the stony hill skirt, and is about seven miles from the fort. It is occupied by the Bánzai section of the great Kákarr tribe. They have small colonies all along the hill skirts on the northern and eastern limits of the valley, and are said to number nearly five thousand families. They have been settled in these tracts for the past five generations, but were only properly reduced to the subjection of the Khán of Calát last year, previous to which they used to cause infinite loss and trouble by their plundering excursions on the Taghaghi Lak and Nishpá Pass, between Shál and Mastung. No caravan in those days was safe from their attacks. Last year the Náib led an expedition against them, and secured some of their chief men as hostages, and they now confine themselves to their own limits.
The Kákarr tribe, to which they belong, is one of the most numerous and powerful of the Afghan clans. They occupy all the hill country between this and the limits of Ghazni, where their border touches those of the Waziris and Ghilzais. To the eastward, their territories extendup to the base of Koh Kassi of the Sulemán range. To the westward, between Toba Márúf and Tokátú, they share the hill slopes that drain to the Kandahar plain and Peshín valley with the Achakzai and Spin Tarin tribes respectively.
The strength of the Kákarr tribe is variously estimated, but they are probably not less than fifty thousand families. They are mostly a pastoral people, but some are settled in the valleys of the country as cultivators of the soil, whilst those to the westward are engaged in trade, and almost exclusively collect the asafœtida imported into India. For this purpose their camps spread over the Kandahar plain up to the confines of Herat.
We stopped a few minutes at Kiroghar to procure guides, for the snow had obliterated all traces of the road. None of the villagers, however, seemed at all inclined to help us in the difficulty. The Náib, Abdul Latíf, took this want of attention on their part as a personal affront, and very quickly lost control over his temper. His rotund figure visibly swelled with wrath as he peremptorily summoned the head man to his presence. Three or four horsemen at once scampered off to one of the huts, and presently Malik Jalál (the head man), accompanied by half-a-dozen men, were seen to emerge, and leisurely measure their steps across the snow to where the Náib stood.
This quiet indifference was more than the Náib could stand. He bounced about in his saddle in a tempest of anger, and, flashing his bright eyes from side to side, poured out a torrent of anathemas, and vowed a sharp vengeance nothing short of annihilation of the dog-begotten breed of Bánzai. At this moment I happened to inquire from one of the escort standing near mewhether some finemárkhor, or wild goat horns, that adorned an adjoining hut, were the produce of the mountain above us, but before he could reply, the infuriate Náib’s mandate went forth to bring them to us; and in less time than it has taken to relate the occurrence, half-a-dozen of the largest horns were torn from their attachments, and laid on the snow before us. We hardly had time to examine them before the head man and his following came up, looking as unconcerned and independent as their circumstances entitled them to be. There was no thought on either side of the customary exchange of salutations, nor was thesalám alaikum, and its reply,wa alaikum salám, uttered. Instead thereof, the Náib turned on the Malik with a volley of abuse, and demanded why he was not on the road to meet him. “Where,” said he, “is thechilam? (pipe of friendship). Is this the sort of hospitality you show to your governor?” The unfortunate Malik was not allowed time to plead any excuses, but was summarily dismissed, and two of his men pushed to the front to point out the road. “Dishonoured wretch! dog!” said the Náib, “go and prepare for my return. I shall be your guest to-night.” So saying, he ordered a couple of troopers to stay behind and see that an entertainment suited to himself and retinue was ready against their return, and our party proceeded forward.
In exchange for a couple of rupees, the owner of the horns willingly carried a couple of the largest pairs to our camp at Cushlác, and I subsequently sent them to Peshawar from Kandahar, for the purpose of comparing them with those of the Himalayan animal. I have since done so, but without discovering any appreciable difference.
From Kiroghar we proceeded westward along the stony skirt of Tokátú for a couple of miles, and thenwinding round the mountain by a considerable rise to the northward, at about another mile came to a clump of trees at the spring-head of a strong stream issuing from the side of the hill and flowing down to the plain behind us.
We halted here awhile to await the arrival of the Afghan Commissioner, whom we saw in the distance advancing towards us with a troop of cavalry from the Murghí Pass in our front. Meanwhile the Náib Abdul Latíf took the opportunity to express his regret that he had not been able to entertain us more hospitably owing to the rapidity of our movements and the unfavouring condition of the elements. He assured us of his admiration of the British Government; that he considered all Englishmen his friends; and that he was proud to remember his association with Colonel Stacey and Captain Beam so long ago as 1839-40—names that are still remembered with gratitude and good-will in many a household in Shál and Mastung.
Whilst waiting here, I emptied my gun at a couple of red-legged rooks flying overhead. One of them with outstretched wings came down in a very graceful and slow pirouette, and fell dead at my feet; the other glided down very quickly in an oblique line, and fell against the rocks a hundred yards or so off. I was speculating on the nature of the causes that produced such different modes of descent, when my attention was diverted to our Afghan friends.
The cavalry were drawn up in a double line on one side of the road about five hundred yards off, whilst the Afghan Commissioner, Saggid Núr Muhammad Sháh—whom I shall henceforth always speak of as “the Saggid”—accompanied by three horsemen, rode down to where we stood. At fifty yards he dismounted, and we steppedforward to meet him. As we raised our hats, he doffed his turban with both hands and made a low bow, and then replacing the costly Kashmir shawl, he embraced us successively Afghan fashion with sincere cordiality, repeating the while the usual string of salutations and complimentary inquiries. This ceremony over, we mounted, and proceeded up the slope, the Náib Abdul Latíf accompanying us with only three or four attendant horsemen.
As we came up to the cavalry, they saluted, and then followed in rear of our procession. They are a very fine set of men, with bold independent bearing, but with thoroughly friendly looks. They were excellently mounted, and the general superiority of their equipment quite took us by surprise. They wore blue hussar-jackets, top-boots, and scarlet busbies, and altogether looked a very serviceable set of men.
Before we reached the top of the Murghí Pass, about two and a half miles from the spring, we were caught in a snowstorm, which completely obscured the hills around, whilst the flakes, adhering to our beards and clothing, presently gave our whole party a grotesquely uncouth and hoary look. From the pass we descended through a narrow defile into the Peshín valley or district, near a couple of fine springs issuing from the rocks on our right. They are led over the plain in deep cuts for purposes of irrigation.
I was here so numbed by the cold, that I was glad of an excuse to dismount and warm myself by a trudge over the snow; so I followed down the course of one of the water-cuts in the direction of a couple of wild ducks I had marked down upon it. I had not proceeded far, gun in hand, when they rose from a pool on the other side of the stream. They both fell to a right and left shot, at onlya few paces from each other. I was considering how I might get them, when a trooper, who had followed me, urged his horse forward to a gap in the bank a little way off. The horse very naturally refused to slide down the gap into the water, and I told the rider to desist from urging him, remarking that the water was evidently deep, and he would certainly get wet. But the Afghan’s spirit was roused by the sport, and he knew he was observed by his comrades. “My horse can swim, and that shot is worth a wetting,” he said, as he struck his heels into the horse’s flanks, and forced him into the stream. The plunge was so sudden, that the horse nearly lost his footing, but the trooper, cleverly recovering him, brought him out on the further bank through water half-way up the saddle-flaps, picked up the birds, and recrossed without misadventure. His spirited conduct excited our admiration, but amongst his comrades the shot was the theme of applause. The one was to them a matter of everyday occurrence, the other they had rarely if ever before witnessed. With us it was just the reverse. The one was an act seldom necessitated, the other only an ordinary occurrence. And thus it is that acts are valued out of all proportion to their real merits by the mere force of habitude, both by governments and individuals, whether civilised or uncivilised.
At about fourteen miles from Shál we crossed the Cushlác Lora, a small stream flowing on a pebbly bottom between high banks of shingle and clay. It marks the boundary between the territories of the Amir of Kabul and the Khán of Calát.
At this place Náib Abdul Latíf took leave of us, and returned to sup with his Kiroghar subjects. I can fancy that in him they found anything but an easily pleased guest. His temper had been ruffled by the morning’smishap, and it was not improved by the inclement weather he had been exposed to in our company, for his beard was frozen into thick tangles, and a row of pendant icicles fringed the edge of his turban, whilst his crestfallen features betokened discontent, and an eagerness in his eyes spoke of a desire to wreak his vengeance on somebody or other. I fear his Bánzai hosts must have had a trying time of it on this memorable evening.
Beyond the Lora rivulet we came to a company of regular Afghan infantry drawn up on the roadside. They are a remarkably fine set of fellows, and were evidently picked men, meant to make an impression on us. They saluted as we passed on our way to the Saggid’s camp, a little beyond the Shahjahán village.
Here we alighted at a tent prepared for us by the Saggid, and were hospitably regaled with tea and refreshments, our host joining us in the repast. The tent was richly furnished with thick Persian carpets and Herat felts, and was comfortably warmed by a large dish of live coal set on a movable platform in the centre. The shelter and comfort provided for us were most grateful to our numbed sensations and frozen limbs. We had marched the last five miles in a temperature of 22° Fah., with driving snow beating against us nearly the whole way, and, but for our friend’s forethought, must have endured a hard time of it till our own tents arrived and could be pitched. It was threeP.M.before we reached the Afghan camp, and our baggage did not come up till three hours later, having marched a distance of sixteen miles over snow.
31st January.—Halt at Cushlác, weather-bound. The thermometer sunk to 10° Fah. during the night, but this morning the sun shone out in a clear sky, and brought about a rapid thaw. In the afternoon, however, cloudsagain overcast the sky, and at threeP.M.snow commenced to fall, and continued all night, with a keen driving north wind. The fire inside our tent melted the snow on its roof, and as it trickled from the sides it formed great icicles upwards of three feet in length, and as thick as a man’s arm above.
Our Afghan escort is sheltered in neat rows of comfortable little tents floored with thick felts, on which the men sleep. The horses, too, are completely encased in great rolls of thick felt clothing, which effectually protects them from the wind and weather.
1st February.—At sevenA.M.the thermometer stood at 11° Fah. in the open air. The sky was clear, and a hard frost prevailed. We set out from Cushlác at 8.35A.M., and marched eighteen miles to Hykalzai on the plain of Peshín, the ground covered with snow for most of the way. At two miles we crossed the Surmaghzi Tangí or pass, a low ridge of red marly mounds, which, but for the hard frost, would have proved very miry and slippery.
Beyond the pass we descended to the Peshín valley, which here presents a great open plain of undulating surface, here and there, where free from snow, showing a red clay soil, much furrowed by the action of water. At a mile beyond Hydarzai we halted half-an-hour near the village of Yár Muhammad, at akárezof the same name, and had a fire lighted to warm ourselves whilst the baggage passed on. Whilst so engaged, Yár Muhammad himself, the founder of the village andkárez(water conduit) bearing his name, with half-a-dozen villagers, came up, and with genuine Afghan freedom seated themselves amongst us. He was a rough old man, with blear-eyes and snuff-stained nose. Without taking any notice of us, he bluntly inquired of theSaggid who and what we were. On being told our errand, “That’s all right,” he replied; “our book tells us that the Christians are to be our friends in the hour of adversity; but it’s well for them that they are travelling this way under your protection.” The Saggid laughed, and said, “Such are Afghans! they put me to shame;” and his secretary, to prevent any further disclosures of sentiment on the part of our visitor, jocosely observed, “You talk too fast, old man: your speech is understood,” tossing his head in my direction. The old man gave me a full stare, and inquired where I had learned Pushto. A minute later he put up his face towards me, asked me to look at his eyes, and give him some medicine to restore their failing sight.
From this place we proceeded over an undulating tract furrowed by water-cuts, and crossed from north-east to south-west by a succession of red clay banks, and beyond them reached the level plain. Here we crossed a branch of the Surkháb rivulet, and passing the ruins of two extensive villages, destroyed in 1841 by the army under General Nott, camped midway between Hykalzai and Khudáedádzai or Khwáezai at 3.10P.M.
The whole plain is a sheet of snow, from beneath which here and there crop out red banks of miry clay. The general surface is dotted all over with numerous clusters of black tents, four or five in each, of the nomad Tarins. On the plain to the north-east is seen the castellated mound of Sea Calá or Red Fort, now in ruins. Beyond it are the large villages of Old and New Bazár, and by them flows the Surkháb or Red River, a tributary of the Peshín Lora. To the northward the valley is bounded by the Khwájah Amrán range, which runs north-east towards the Sufed Koh, which it joins to the eastward of Ghazni. Its several spurs to the southward have different names,which are, from west to east, as pointed out to us, Khojah, Arnbí, Toba, and Surkháb. To the north of the Toba spur is the Sehna Dág or flat of the Sehn section of Kákarrs. It is described as an elevated tableland covered with rich pastures. Over it is a road to the Zhob valley of the Battezai Kákarrs. In the Surkháb hills rises the river of that name, and between it and Tokátú is a low range of hills, over which is the direct road from this to Dera Gházi Khán by Tal Chhotiyálí. All these hills, as well as the plain, are now covered with snow, but in summer they are covered with rich pasture, and swarm with the flocks and camps of the nomad Afghans of the Tarin and Kákarr tribes.
The Tarin tribe comprises four great divisions, viz., the Abdáls or Durranis, the Tor Tarins, the Spin Tarins, and the Zard Tarins or Zarrins. The first occupy Kandahar and the valleys to its north-west. The second are settled in Peshín, of which they hold four-fifths, and in the Arghasán district south of the river Tarnak. The Spin Tarins occupy the Surkháb hills and the valleys at their eastern and western bases. And the Zarrins are settled in the valley of Zhob and in part of the Arghasán district. All except the Abdáls are mostly nomads, who retire with their flocks to the hills in summer, and move down to the plains for the winter. From their camps which we saw on the plain—and they were remarkably distinct on its white surface, the tents being all black—their numbers are nothing like what they are estimated.
Throughout this march the air was extremely cold. Icicles repeatedly formed on our beards and mustaches, and hung in long pendants from the necks of our camels. Our hands and feet were painfully benumbed for want of efficient protection. Several of our Afghan escort, Iobserved, wore thick felt casings inside their capacious top-boots.
On the march, before reaching Hydarzai, we passed a couple ofkhinjaktrees over a roadside shrine, at the foot of a low mound. Their trunks were studded with innumerable iron nails and wooden pegs driven into the bark—the tokens by which pilgrim-visitors ratify their vows to the saint.
From Hykalzai we marched next day fifteen miles to Aranbí Kárez. Our route was north-westerly across the plain, at this time everywhere covered with snow. The surface is marked here and there by the traces of cultivation, but for the most part is occupied by a thin scrub of wormwood, saltworts, and camel-thorn. At about half-way we crossed the Lora rivulet, which flowed in a slow stream twenty feet wide and two feet deep. Its bottom is soft and sandy, and abounds in quicksands. The channel of the river is much wider than its actual bed, and is formed by high shelving banks of clay. Over these are several narrow paths down to the river. We found them very slippery, and many of our escort and baggage animals fell in the descent, but without any material injury.
This Lora, or the Peshín Lora as it is called, drains the north-western portion of the plain, and receives as a tributary the Surkháb, which drains its eastern tracts. The united streams then flow over the plain south-westward towards Shorawak, being joineden routeby the Cushlác Lora and the Shál Lora. From Shorawak the river flows northwestward towards the Helmand, but is lost in the sands of the desert before it reaches that river. None of the Loras are much utilised for purposes of irrigation in their own valleys, but on reaching Shorawak their united stream is almost exhausted by thequantities drawn off from it for the fields. Shál and Peshín are irrigated bykárezstreams and springs from the mountains, but the former are much more fertile than the latter. In Peshín one misses the gardens and trees so plentiful in Shál, and finds instead a wide pasture tract more or less uncultivated, and, in place of villages, dotted with nomad camps. Most of the irrigated land in Peshín is in the hands of the Saggids, who have for many generations been settled in this valley. They pay one-third the produce of their lands in kind to Government as revenue. The nomad Tarins, who hold the unirrigated tracts, pay only one-fifth to Government. The soil of Peshín is a red stiff clay, highly charged with salts of sorts. In the tract between Aranbí Kárez and Sra Calá quantities of alimentary salt are obtained from the soil, and sold in the Kandahar market at one and a half to two rupees permanof eighty pounds. The salt is dissolved in great pits filled with water. The clear solution is then filled into earthen pots and boiled down to a granular mass, which takes the form of the pot.
Peshín, owing to its inferior soil, is not a fertile valley, but corn is grown in quantity sufficient to meet the wants of its people. The seed is first cast over the surface and then ploughed over. In Shorawak the seed is sown by means of a kind of drill. It consists of a stiff leather funnel fixed to the tail of the plough, and furnished with a series of holes at the bottom. From this the grain drops into the furrow as it is cut by the plough.
The kangaroo-rat or jerboa, here calledkhanrai, abounds in Peshín, and is trapped for the sake of its fur. Thedalkafak, a species of tree-marten with a short tail, is also found here and in the hills around.
After crossing the Lora, the Saggid left us to pay avisit to his father’s family at Pitao, a collection of five villages at the foot of the hills a few miles to the right of our road. His own sister was amongst them, and as he had not seen them for more than five years, he could not pass the home of his youth without going to see its inmates. He was not long about his business, for he rejoined us before we reached camp; and to our expressions of surprise at his haste, and hopes that he had not curtailed his visit on our behalf, he replied, “No; I only went to see my sister, and to come away at once. My uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces, and cousins there on my father’s side alone exceed two hundred in number; and, to tell you the truth, I am afraid to go amongst them, for they always want some token whereby to keep me in their memories.”
Snow and sleet showered upon us nearly throughout this march, and the hills around were completely obscured by heavy clouds. On the line of march we passed a number of nomad camps of the Kákarr and Tor Tarin tribes, and some hundreds of their black tents dotted the surface, in clusters of four or five together, on either hand of our route. We dismounted at one of these tents orkizhdíto examine the interior, and were surprised to find how comfortable, roomy, clean, and warm it was, notwithstanding that camels, men, goats, sheep, and poultry were sheltered under one roof with their human owners, and sacks of grain and other provisions. The tent we examined was about thirty feet long by fifteen wide. The centre was supported by slim poles seven feet high, and the sides by others four feet high, and across them were passed light ribs of wood. Over this framework was stretched a single sheet of tough and waterproof black haircloth, woven in lengths a couple of yards wide, and sewn together. The interior was dividedinto two portions by a row of sacks of corn. The one was excavated to a depth of two feet for the camels and oxen, &c.; the other was smooth, and clean swept. In its centre was a circular pit for fire, for the smoke of which there was no outlet except at the openings at either end of the tent. Around the sides were spread coarse woollen druggets and piles of the household property, and at the end opposite were set a couple of cots. The family we found to consist of three women, two men, and two boys. The women were much fairer than the men, and, with their general look of hardiness, were well featured, displaying much more character in their faces than the men. They were all large-limbed and robust people, and certainly lead the healthiest and happiest of lives.
Snow ceased to fall in the afternoon, and towards sunset the sky cleared, and we got a good view of the country around. Near our camp are the villages of Utmankhel, Torkhel, and Majai, all belonging to the Tor Tarins. Along the foot of the hills extending to the north-eastward are Pitao (a collection of five hamlets close together), Semzai and Alizai, all held by Saggids. They lie at the foot of Toba mountain. To their eastward are seen old and new Bazár and Sraculá on the plain.
3d February.—We left Aranbí Kárez at 8.15A.M., in a heavy fall of snow, and proceeding north-west for about three miles, then diverged towards the hills on our right to avoid the heavy ground on the plain. We followed the stony hill skirt of Aranbí, a spur from the Toba mountain, for a short distance to the westward, and then passing round some low mounds ending on the plain, turned to the north. Here the clouds broke and the sun shone out, and we presently got an extensive view of the whole plain, on which towards the south are scattered many villages, remarkable for the absence of trees aboutthem. To the west, in the Dihsúri glen, we got a full view of the populous village of Abdullah Khán, surrounded by fruit gardens. This is the chief town of the Achakzai tribe, and during the Afghan war was held by Lieutenant Bosanquet with a detachment of troops.
Proceeding, we crossed two wide water-courses coming down from the Melán and Máchika glens on our right, and entered the Khojakdarraor glen, which winds up to the foot of the Khojak Pass. It is narrow, and flanked on each side by low ridges of fissile slate. Its upper part is occupied by a forest ofkhinjaktrees, and in its lower it receives, on the right and left respectively, the drainage from the Sanzali and Shamsikhán glens, in which we spied a number ofkizhdícamps of the Achakzai.
The snow at Aranbí was only five or six inches deep. In this glen it was in some parts over three feet in depth, and where we camped, at the very foot of the ascent, in a gully called Churza (little gully), it was twenty inches deep. The last part of the march was most laborious, owing to the cattle sinking in the deep snow, and it was besides very trying on account of the painful glare from the snow under a bright sun. None of us had our spectacles at hand, and the only way I could at all bear the exposure was by hanging my handkerchief, quadruply folded, in front of my eyes. The intense reflection from the snow was exquisitely painful, even with the eyes closely blinked, and produced a copious flow of tears, and left a headache for the rest of the day. We arrived at Churza at 12.35P.M., but the baggage did not all come up till late in the afternoon, though the distance was only twelve miles. A party of Achakzai cleared away the snow from a small piece of ground twenty feet square, to enable us to pitch a tent, but our escort and camp-followers passed the night on the snow, which here laybetween twenty inches and two feet deep. The space was very narrow, and all were much crowded together. Our Afghan escort, I observed, spread their thick felts on the snow, and went to sleep rolled up in their fur cloaks.
The hill above Churza is called Puras, and it is crossed by three paths, all very steep, and difficult at the best of times, but particularly so now. To the west, at a short distance, is a very narrow gully, down which flows a tiny little stream. This is the usual pass, but it was now blocked with drifted snow. A party of Achakzai were consequently sent off to clear a way through it for us, and next day we crossed the Khojak by it. The pass had been improved by the British army in 1839, but its difficulties are still many and great.
4th February.—Crossed the Khojak range to Chaman Choki—distance, six miles. At 7A.M., our baggage with the infantry escort commenced moving out of camp up the hillside. In three hours and a half the last of it had left camp, and half-an-hour later we ourselves followed with the cavalry escort. The ascent was by a steep and narrow gully between close-set and almost vertical banks of slaty rock, which only admitted of our horses proceeding in single file. There was not so much snow as I expected, and what there was had been trodden down by the baggage. In half-an-hour we reached the summit of the ridge, and were at once enveloped in a dense mist of snowflakes, slowly settling on the ground, and completely obscuring the prospect. We stood here a few minutes to allow the baggage cattle to get out of the way, and then led our horses down the other side by a steep and slippery path trodden in the snow. In fifteen minutes we arrived at the foot of the steep, where commences a forest ofkhinjaktrees, as on the other side. This place is called Cháokáh,and from it the descent is by a gentle slope down a long glen drained by a shallow gully. As we descend, the snow lessens, and at the lower end of the glen disappears altogether, disclosing the ground, which is here of a bluish-brown colour, and made up of loose splinters of slate. Beyond the glen we passed between a succession of hummocks, and arrived at Chaman Choki, which, as the name implies, is a turfy hollow watered by a good spring.
The weather proved very unfavourable all day. Snow, sleet, and hail succeeded each other till late in the afternoon, when the sun struggled out from the clouds for a brief interval, preparatory to setting for the night. Between four and five o’clock a violent hailstorm swept over our camp and whitened the ground.
Our baggage did not all come into camp till the afternoon was well advanced, but the passage was effected without loss or injury, and the snow was warm compared with the bleak and barren highlands of Calát and Cushlác. Probably this was owing to the absence of the north wind. The Saggid’s arrangements for crossing the Khojak were well made, and the result most satisfactory. By sending the baggage ahead of our own party, we avoided leaving any of it behind, and moreover deprived the Achakzai of any opportunity for pilfering or plundering, at either of which practices they are very ready when there is a chance of their effecting a safe retreat with the booty.
By the aneroid barometer, I estimated the elevation at Churza, on the southern foot of the Khojak Pass, to be 7000 feet; at the top of the pass, 7410 feet; and at Cháokáh, on the northern foot of the pass, at 5600 feet. The aneroid indications at each respectively were 22·82, 22·47, and 24·00. At the top of the pass there was very little snow—in fact, the slate was apparent in many places;on the slopes were seen somekhinjaktrees and a number of shrubby bushes, mostly of a prickly nature. In spring the whole range is covered with excellent pasture, and produces great quantities of rhubarb, which is here calledpsháe. Its stalks are preserved in the dried state under the name ofíráe, and they are used as a relish, cooked up with meat, &c.
5th February.—The day broke with a clear sky, and we got a splendid view of the wide sweeping plains of Kandahar, and the mountain ranges bounding it to the north and east.
We left Chaman at 8.30A.M., and marched twenty-two miles to Gátaí. Our route was north-westerly down a gentle slope on to the undulating sweep of the plain, everywhere covered with rich pasture just commencing to sprout above the surface. Here and there are scattered a few camps of the Ashezai and Adozai sections of the Achakzai tribe, and at short intervals are the shallow water-runs that drain the plain to the westward by the Kadani river. We crossed this little stream at about half-way, and beyond it came to the isolated Baldak rock or hill, which marks the boundary here between the lands of the Núrzai and Achakzai.
We halted here a while to view the prospect behind us. The whole range of the Khwájah Amrán, running north-east and south-west, was seen to great advantage, and presented a very beautiful sight. The whole range formed a vast ridge of snow, here and there thrown up into higher masses, and all set upon a dark foundation of slate rocks, on which the snow-line, by contrast of colour, was marked with singular distinctness and regularity.
The most prominent peak, about the centre of the range, is the Nárín mountain, held by the Kákarrs. It is the source of the Kadani stream (we have just crossedit), which, after a south-westerly course over the plain, is turned to the northward by the sandhills of the desert, and, under the name of Dorí, joins the Arghasán near Dih Hájí.
To the south-west of Nárín is the Toba mountain, and between the two are the Sehna Dúgúna, or tablelands of the Sehn Kákarrs. The continuation south-west from Toba, is the Khwájah Amrán, which ends at Shorawak, where is the shrine whence the range takes its name. Over it are the Khojak, Rogháni, and Ghwája passes. The two first arekotalsor “hill passes,” and are very difficult; the last is adarraor “defile,” and is easily traversed by laden camels; it is the road usually taken by caravans. To the west of Khwájah Amrán is the plain of Shorawak, held by the Bárech tribe. It is continuous with the Kandahar plain, and both are separated from the desert by a high coast-line of sand-cliffs. Though I could gain no confirmation of my views from the natives, I am inclined to think that the Peshín and Shál Loras, which are now lost in the sands of Shorawak, were formerly directed in one stream northerly by the desert cliffs, and ultimately joined the Kalani, or its continuation the Dorí, because the Kandahar plain is so much lower than the country in which these rivers rise. By the barometric indications I recorded on the march, the elevation of Shál is estimated at 5675 feet, Cushlác at 5150, and Hykalzai at 4800 feet. These three Loras unite before they reach Shorawak, and if their common stream, as I suppose, took a northerly course thence to Kandahar, it would descend several hundred feet, for the elevation of Kandahar is estimated at 3190 feet only.
To the north-east of Nárín is the Márúf mountain, and north-east of this again is the Sámai mountain, due south of Caláti Ghilzá. It is occupied by the Hotab section ofthe Ghilzai tribe, whose clans extend from this right up to Kabul and the Sufed Koh. The Arghasán river rises by two branches in the Márúf and Sámai hills.
After a halt of three-quarters of an hour, we proceeded over a wide plain, here and there cultivated, and traversed in all directions by decayed and dry water-cuts, and at threeP.M.arrived at the foot of a great granite rock, where we camped, near some springs issuing at the foot of an opposite granite hill. We ascended the hill near our camp for a view of the country, but on reaching its summit were overtaken by a thick mist and hailstorm, which completely obscured the distant view.
The general character of the plain, however, was clearly visible. It presents a wide surface, stretching east and west, and traversed by irregular broken ridges of bare rock, coursing from north-east to south-west. At distant intervals on the plain are seen a few domed villages, and two or three forts. But the most remarkable feature of the scene is the entire absence of trees—not even a shrub is to be seen. Even the nomad camps are few and far between. In the summer months the heat here must be, as it is described, quite unbearable. The plain is then a parched desert.
The springs near our camp are said to have made their appearance above the surface only three years ago. Previous to that time this place was entirely without water, and was not used as a camping-stage. The old stage was at Dand Gulai, at the foot of a hill five or six miles away to the south-west. But its waters having dried up, it is now deserted as a camping-ground.
From Gátaí we marched fourteen miles in a north-westerly direction, and camped at Mel Mándah, or the Mel ravine, near akárezon its bank. A most trying north-wester blew against us with considerable force allthe way, and chilled us to the very bones. For the first ten miles our route was across a great plain, bounded towards the west by the cliffs of the desert, and on the east by the range of hills connecting the Nárín and Márúf mountains. The rest of our route was over a succession of undulating downs, backed in an irregular and broken line, from north-east to south-west, by a series of bare rugged hills. Throughout the march we saw no signs of habitation or cultivation; not a village nor a tent was seen on the whole route, nor even a single tree, nor any sign of cattle; nor did we see any water, except a brackish little pool about the tenth mile, where the road rises from the plain on to the downs. About a mile east of our camp is the Hardo hill, on which are said to be the remains of ancient walls. Its ridge separates the Kadani plain from that of Mulhid to its north, which extends north-east to the Arghasán river. The Mel Mándah, at this time a dry stony ravine, drains Hardo hill westward into the Dorí river.
Our next stage was eighteen miles to Mákú Kárez, near the village of that name. Our route led north-westerly across the Mulhid plain. From it we got a good view of the Hardo ridge, and saw the outline of walls on its crest. There are said to be some extensive reservoirs here, excavated in the solid rock. Our companions could tell us nothing of these ruins, more than that they were once the habitations of thekáfir(infidel) who in ancient times occupied this country. Probably they are Buddhist remains.
At about half-way we arrived at the top of the Barghanah Pass, in the ridge of the same name, and halted a few minutes to view the country. Away to the south, through gaps between the scattered ridges intersecting the plain, were seen bits of the Khojak range in its snowydrapery. To the eastward was seen the great snowy mass of Sámai, and to its north-east appeared the Súrghar, or Redhill peak, whose offshoots are continuous with those of the Sufed Koh. Both Súrghar and Sámai drain westward into the Arghasán, which is formed by tributaries from these and the Márúf hills. To the east, Súrghar drains direct to the Gomal river and Sámai, by means of its tributary the Zhob stream. A great snowy spur is seen to project south-east from Sámai. It is said by our attendants to join the Zhob peak, and separate the Zhob and Bori valleys as a watershed, all to the north of it draining into the Gomal by the Zhob rivulet, and all to the south of it draining into the Nárí river by the Záo and Síbí streams, and tributaries from the Toba mountain. The Khwájah Amrán range and its continuation north-east in fact form a great watershed between the drainage of the Indus and the Helmand.
To the northward the view was obstructed by the Barghanah hills, but to the west and south-west were seen the red sand-cliffs of the desert, through gaps in the intervening ridges, right down to the northern limits of Shorawak. At the top of the pass the aneroid figured 25·38, thus giving its elevation at about 4100 feet. From the pass the road leads along the course of a great ravine, wide and stony, and here and there retaining pools of water, round which grew the tamarisk, and a tall reed calleddurmaat Peshawar anddargahere. After winding along the ravine for a few miles, we rose out of it on to the Barghanah plain, and camped on a goodkárezstream at the little village of Mákú—elevation, 3500 feet; air, sharp and frosty; no wind, fortunately. About five miles to the west of our camp is the Tangí ridge of hills. On its further side is the Fathullah camping-ground on the old road between Kandahar and Peshín.
From Mákú we marched sixteen miles to Mund Hissár, a short distance from the river Tarnak. Our route was northerly across an undulating plain closed to the east-north-east by the Márúf mountain, which projects forwards from the Sámai range to the Arghasán river. Márúf was the favourite residence of Sháh Ahmad, Durrani, the founder of the Afghan monarchy. He had a strong fort here, in which his family used to reside, and in which he himself ended his eventful career. Sháh Ahmad for many years suffered from a foul disease, which destroyed the nose and palate by ulceration, and during the latter years of his life he used to wear a silver plate to mask the hideous deformity. When he felt his end approaching, he had himself conveyed in a small sedan covered with scarlet cloth, and carried by two men only, from Kandahar to his family seat at Márúf. He dismissed his courtiers at the gates of the city, and would allow no one to accompany him except a few mounted attendants. Thus quietly he retired from the scene of his labours and exploits, and expired in the midst of his family in the summer of 1773, shortly after his arrival at Márúf. His remains were carried back to the city he founded, and now rest under the mausoleum which is its only ornament.
Sháh Ahmad was only fifty years old at the time of his death. He is said to have been a wise and just ruler, and of very simple and unostentatious habits. His repeated invasions of India enriched his country, whilst his successful campaigns against the Uzbaks and in Khorassan established the independence of his kingdom. He is always spoken of as the best of the Afghan sovereigns, and his memory is free from the vices and crimes that have so freely characterised the rule of his successors. His stronghold at Márúf was destroyed inOctober 1839, by a detachment of the Bombay army marching from Ghazni to Peshín, in revenge for the massacre there of a body of four hundred camp-followers proceeding from Kandahar to India.
After marching six miles, we came to the river Arghasán. It is separated from the valley of the Tarnak by a long ridge of hills that extends away to the north-east, and where we crossed it flows in a wide shallow bed, hardly sunk below the level of the plain. Its channel is about one hundred and eighty yards wide, and the river is divided into two streams by an intervening strip of low tamarisk jangal. The river was about a foot deep, and not very swift. Its water was clear, and is said to be very wholesome. In flood seasons the water flows broadcast over the plain, which is then quickly covered with excellent pasture herbs.
The Yúsufzai and Mahmand tribes of the Peshawar valley and hills were, according to their own accounts, originally settled as nomads on the banks of the Arghasán and the highlands of Ghwara Margha, to the north-east, sharing the former pastures with the Tarin tribe. But in a season of drought they fought with the latter, and were driven off to the eastward; and gradually working their way to Kabul, ultimately seized their present possessions from the Indian occupants, about four centuries ago.
Beyond the river, on either bank of which is a good irrigation canal, we wound round the end of the ridge of hills separating the valleys of the Tarnak and Arghasán; and passing the Naodih collection of domed huts, rose over some undulations and descended to the Tarnak valley; and going across it in the face of driving sleet and a biting cold north-west wind, camped close to the village of Mund Hissár. There is a large mound here with traces of ancient walls upon it. The village takes it name fromit. The weather here was bitterly cold, owing to the blasts of the north-west wind that swept the plain. At midday the ground was hard frozen, as were all the lesser irrigation streams. This village is crown property, and is the most prosperous-looking one we have seen since entering Afghanistan. It is surrounded by a wide extent of cultivated and freely irrigated land, but not a tree is to be seen anywhere about it. Its people are a mixture of various races and tribes, who hold their lands on condition of rendering one half the produce to government.
The whole country between this and Khojak, though entirely devoid of timber, and even brushwood, in the spring and autumn months is covered with a rich pasture, and supports vast flocks of goats and sheep. During the summer and winter months the country is almost entirely deserted, owing to the excessive heat of the one season, and rigorous cold of the other, as well as the scarcity of pasture. I was told by a merchant engaged in the trade, that the average export of wool from Kandahar to Karáchí for the past ten years has been about five thousand candies (kaodí) annually. Each candy sells at Karáchí for from one hundred and fifty to two hundred rupees, thus giving a profit to the province of from seventy-five thousand to one hundred thousand rupees a year, or £7,500 to £10,000. The trade is capable of considerable extension, for large quantities of wool are still retained for home consumption in the manufacture of the felts callednamadandkhosai. The former are used as carpets and horse-clothing, and the latter is the ordinary winter dress of the peasantry.
During the march from Peshín we had noticed a large flock of sheep being daily driven along with our camp. We now learned that they formed part of the liberalsupplies provided by order of the Amir for our party, which the Saggid informed us he reckoned would have numbered at least two hundred people. But, as we did not exceed thirty in number all told, they were going back to Kandahar.
9th February.—Marched twelve miles from Mund Hissár to Kandahar. At about a mile we crossed the river Tarnak, the edges of which were lined with snow-wreaths. The river flows in a wide pebbly bed between two gravelly banks. Its stream is strong and rapid, and mid-stream is about three feet deep. The water is muddy just now, and is said to be always more or less turbid, in which particular it differs from its tributaries the Arghasán and Argandáb, both of which have clear streams.
Beyond the river we passed through a gap in a ridge of bare hills of naked rock, and at once emerged on the plain of Kandahar by a short descent from the hill skirt. The plain presented a wide hollow extending for many miles from north-east to south-west. Its general aspect was dreary in the extreme by comparison with the mass of villages, and gardens, and corn-fields crowded together about the city at its western extremity. Though yet in the poverty of its winter state, this part of the plain bore a decidedly fertile and flourishing look. On the verge of a desert plain to the north-east stood out the fortified parallelogram of Ahmad Shahí, the city of Kandahar, and to its west in attractive contrast rose the tall rows of dark cypresses, marking the sites of the pleasure gardens of its former brother chiefs. South of these lay a crowded mass of gardens, fields, and villages down to the banks of the Tarnak, whilst to the north and west the whole was shut in by the rocky heights of Baba Walí and Husen Shahr. Altogether it formed an oasis in the midst of a desert.
At three miles from the city we were met by a numerous and gaily-dressed company, who had come out for ouristicbál, or ceremonial reception, with a troop of regular cavalry and a company of infantry. First of all, the cavalry formed a line on each side of our procession to keep off the crowd, whilst the infantry marched in front. We proceeded a little way in this order, when we came to a roadside mound on which were collected the party who had come out to do honour to the General. Here the infantry wheeled round and formed a street up the slope of the mound. General Pollock and our party dismounted, and then the leader of theisticbál, rising from the carpet on which he was seated, stepped forward to meet us, attended by four or five other nobles of the province. The Saggid introduced us to each in succession, and we shook hands all round with Sardár Mír Afzal Khán, Núr Muhammad Khán, Núr Ali Khán, and two others.
Sardár Mír Afzal Khán is a fine specimen of an Afghan noble of the old style. His bearing is courteous and dignified, with a tinge of hauteur. He was very richly dressed, and mounted on a handsome Arab horse with trappings of solid gold. At his side hung a scimitar with a gold embossed handle, and gold ornaments on the scabbard. His head was close shaven and covered with a splendid Kashmir shawl, the folds of which were not so closely adjusted as they might have been, for the motion of his horse more than once caused the headpiece to rock dangerously, as if about to fall. Mír Afzal Khán is about sixty years of age, and wears a short beard dyed red. He has sharp Jewish features, and a very prominent nose, and is said to bear a strong resemblance to the late Amir Dost Muhammad Khán. He is a son of the late Sardár Púrdil Khán, one of the many sons of the celebrated Páyandah Khán (who was executed at Kandaharin 1806 by Sháh Zamán), by a Durrani mother. Dost Muhammad was another son of Páyandah Khán by a Juwansher Cazilbash mother. Páyandah Khán was a Bárakzai of the Muhammadzai branch, and was the first who raised the Bárakzai tribe to the distinction and influence they have since his death enjoyed. He left a great many children, but twenty-two of his sons acquired notoriety by the parts they enacted in the political revolutions that convulsed the country on the death of Sháh Tymúr, the son and successor of Sháh Ahmad, the founder of the independent Afghan nationality. Of these, Fath Khán, whose mother was a Bárakzai, was for many years the most important and powerful chief in the country, and thrice placed Tymúr’s son Mahmúd on the throne at Kabul, against his brothers Zamán and Shuja. He was inhumanly butchered in 1818 by Kamrán the son of Mahmúd, and then his brothers all divided the country between them, and Dost Muhammad became Amir of Kabul. He was succeeded in 1863 by his son Sher Ali Khán, the present Amir. Sardár Mír Afzal Khán is consequently a cousin of the present Amir, and he is also his son-in-law, his daughter being Sher Ali’s favourite wife, and the mother of the heir-apparent, Abdullah Ján. He has for many years past been governor of Furrah, and has been a stanch supporter of the Amir’s cause during all his adversities, and was wounded in the arm by gunshot at the battle fought at Kajbáz, near Caláti Ghizli, by the Amir against his rebel brother, Sardár Muhammad Amin, on 6th June 1865.
The Saggid was present in the fight, and described it to us only yesterday. It appears that both armies came into action suddenly, and by surprise. The Amir’s eldest son, Muhammad Ali, was killed by a cannon-shot, and his uncle, Muhammad Amin, pushing forward to takeadvantage of the confusion thus produced, was hit in the head by a rifle-bullet and killed at once. Mír Afzal Khán is now looked on as the most influential chief in the country, and his coming out in person to meet and do honour to the representative of the British Government is considered a mark of sincere good-will on the part of the Amir’s Government.
But to return from this digression to our procession to Kandahar. After a hurried interchange of salutations we mounted our horses, and, in company with a brilliant crowd of cavaliers, proceeded towards the city. The cortége numbered about a hundred and fifty of the nobility and gentry of the province, and gave us a good idea of the chivalry of Kandahar. A better-mounted and more picturesque body of men I have never seen. The variety of costume and colour, the easy independence of the men, their courteous yet self-confident bearing, and the variety of their arms, formed an interesting spectacle, of which no description I can give will convey a proper idea. Some wore rich velvets or bright-coloured broadcloths, cut to the national pattern; others wore the national dress made of the finest kinds of home material, and a few there were who had adopted a semi-European style of costume, an ill-judged mixture, which did not show to advantage amongst the handsomer and more costly native costumes. Next to the riders, the horses attracted our attention. They were all uncommonly well mounted. The quality of the horse with most seemed to be a greater object of solicitude than either that of their dress or their arms. The favourite weapon was a dagger stuck sideways in the folds of the waistband; but many wore a sword hung at the side, and some carried an English rifle or a native matchlock slung over the shoulder or across the back.
At first starting there was a slight confusion, owing to the eagerness of all parties to occupy the foremost ranks; but our troop of regular cavalry, forming a line on each side of our party, kept the crowd from pressing too closely upon us, whilst the company of infantry, marching ahead, kept the road clear.
Our path led across a succession of corn-fields andkárezstreams, and passing between the villages of Dih Khojah and Hodera, took us round by the Bardurrani gate to the north side of the city. We proceeded along this, past the Hazrat-jí shrine and the city cemetery, and then turning down the other side, turned off from the Topkhana gate, and crossing thepátáocanals, entered the road leading from the Herat gate westward to the garden of Rahmdil Khán. When I was here in 1857-58, with Lumsden’s mission to the court of the heir-apparent, the late Sardár Ghulám Hydar Khán, this road was adorned by an avenue of tall poplar-trees. I now missed them, and inquiring the cause of their disappearance, was told that they had been, one by one, cut down, and used as fuel by the townspeople during the troublous times following on the death of Dost Muhammad.
As we proceeded we found the latter half of the road, this erst avenue, was lined by a large body of troops, and behind them, in a field to the left, was drawn up a half battery of artillery. The troops comprised nearly the whole of the Kandahar garrison, and were paraded in the following order:—First, a regiment of regular cavalry, of which a troop was on duty with our party, next three regiments of regular infantry (two of Kabulis and one of Kandaharis), and lastly, a small body of Kandahar militia. The men were not as fine a body as I had expected to see, judging from the company that had escorted us from Peshín. These men belonged to oneof the Kabul regiments, and had evidently been picked for the duty, for the purpose of making an impression. Their colonel, Táj Muhammad, Ghilzai, had come down with the Saggid to meet us at the Calát border, and was evidently proud of his men, and somewhat enthusiastically used to try and persuade us that all the Kabul army were just as fine, if not superior fellows.
We now saw the rest of the regiment to which they belonged, for there was no possibility of mistaking its identity, their uniform of its kind being unique. Their uniform was a tight jacket and trousers, cut on the old English pattern, but of a striped material calledticken, the same as is used for making mattress-cases at home. The head-dress was the native quilted conical cap ortopi, with a boss of scarlet wool stuck on to its point. The other Kabuli regiment wore red jackets, and the Kandahari one a uniform of dingy yellow colour. The militia were the most sensibly dressed of all, and, encased in their great sheepskin coats, looked the only comfortable people on the parade.
As we came up to the troops, a startling object pranced his horse to the front of the line, and gave the word for a general salute, but the words were not yet out of his mouth, when our horses stood stock-still, and, pricking their ears, commenced snorting with fear. Our own persuasive measures, aided by the banging of the guns close beside us, presently overcame their objections, and they shied and shuffled past the object of their terror—whom we now discovered to be no other than our road-companion, Colonel Táj Muhammad—in no very dignified manner. The Colonel had left us, on approaching the city, to superintend the arrangements for the parade, and he now completely took us by surprise by the wonderful change in his dress. A Russian-pattern forage-cap, witha broad gold band and straight peak, adorned his head, but the body was covered by a capacious overcoat of chessboard pattern, in great squares of brightest red, white, and blue. Having passed him, our steeds recovered their equanimity, which was more than we had, and enabled the General to acknowledge the honours of “dipped colours” and “God save the Queen” with becoming grace and dignity.
At the end of the line we ran the gantlet of another apparition similar to the first, and entered Rahmdil Khán’s garden, where his summer palace had been prepared for our reception. Sardárs Mír Afzal Khán and Núr Muhammad Khán conducted us to our quarters, and after partaking of some tea and sweets that had been provided for our refreshment, took their leave of us, and we saw no more of them here. The first thing we did on being left alone was to stop the pendulums of no less than five American clocks, which, whether they figured or not, most decidedly ticked, and that too with a vigour and rapidity that gave rise to the surmise that they were racing to make up for lost time, having been only just wound up and set agoing for the occasion.