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’s mishap, 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 three P.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, clouds again overcast the sky, and at three P.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 seven A.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 8.35 A.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 a kárez of 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 and kárez (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 the Saggid 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 3.10 P.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.