At a few miles from camp we passed over a long strip of perfectly level ground, covered to redness with little bits of broken pottery, but without a trace of walls or buildings. Beyond this, at about half-way on the march, we passed the Baggat collection of huts, occupied by Popalzais. I struck off the road here down to the river, and was surprised to find it much wider and deeper than in any part of its upper course as far as we had seen of it. The Helmand here appears quite navigable, and flows in a broad stream, in which are several small islands, covered with a dense jangal of tamarisk.
On the opposite or right bank, the desert cliffs, hitherto abutting direct on the river in its course from Hazárjuft, now recede from it, and leave a gradually expanding alluvium, on which are seen corn-fields, villages, and huts, and extensive ruins. In a northerly direction, beyond this alluvium, extending as far as the eye can reach east and west, is a vast undulating desert waste. It is called Shand, or “the barren,” and is continuous with the deserts of Khásh and Kaddah. The whole tract is described as without water, and but scantily dotted with jangal patches. It is drained by a great ravine (mostly dry except in the rainy season) called Shandú, which empties into the Helmand opposite Khanishín. Vast herds of wild asses, it is said, are always found on this waste, which in the hot season is unbearable to any other animal.
Immense numbers of wild duck, geese, cranes, herons, and pelicans were feeding on the river and in the pools along its course. I stalked close up to a large flock of the last, and fired into the crowd. Several hundreds rose heavily and flew off, but two were observed to flag behind, and presently alight lower down the river. Borrowing the rifle of one of my attendant troopers, I followed these, and shortly after found them in a pool with necks craned on the alert. Covering the nearest at about eighty yards, I pulled an uncommonly hard trigger, and, to my disgust, saw the mud splash at least sixteen feet on one side of the mark. The weapon was a double-grooved rifle, manufactured at Kabul on the pattern of those formerly used by the Panjab Frontier Force, and had an ill-adjusted sight. It is to be hoped, now that the Afghans are our friends, that this was an exceptional specimen of their armoury.
Returning from the river, we joined the main party near a dismantled castle called Sultán Khán. It had been neatly and strongly built, and was destroyed, we were told, many years ago by the Bárechís in some intestine feuds with their partners in the soil of Garmsel. It is a pitiful fact that the ruins in this country, from their extent, and superior construction, and frequency, constantly impress upon the traveller the former existence here of a more numerous population, a greater prosperity, and better-established security than is anywhere seen in the country; whilst the wretched hovels that have succeeded them as strongly represent the poverty, lawlessness, and insecurity that characterise the normal condition of the country under the existing regime.
Near the castle is a ziárat, and round it an extensive graveyard, which attracted attention on account of the blocks of white quartz, yellow gypsum, and red sandstone covering the tombs—all entirely foreign to the vicinity. They had been brought, we learned, from the Karboh hill. As we rode along in front of the column, a startled hare dashed across our path ahead. My gun was at “the shoulder” at the time (for I generally carried it in hand for any game that might turn up on the route), but it was instinctively brought to “the present,” and fired on the instant. “Ajal!” sighed the Saggid, “who can resist fate?” “Yarrah khkár daghah dai” (“Verily, this is sport”), exclaimed Colonel Táj Muhammad, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Bárak allah!” (“God bless you!”) cried a trooper as he urged forward to pick up the victim from the road. Poor puss was quite dead as he held her aloft, and many were the congratulations on the accident that averted an ill omen.
The Afghans are extremely superstitious, and blindly believe in all sorts of signs and omens. Amongst others, a hare crossing the path of a traveller is considered a prognostic of evil augury, and the wayfarer always turns back to whence he came, to start afresh under more auspicious conditions. On this occasion the sudden termination of the career of poor puss short of crossing the road was hailed as a happy event, and averted the misgivings of our scrupulous attendants as to what the future held in store for us.
Our camp was pitched close to Landi, a compact little square fort with a turret at each angle. Under the protection of its walls is a hut settlement of about one hundred and fifty wattle-and-dab cabins, occupied by Isháczai Afghans. The weather was dull and cloudy throughout the day, and at sunset a storm of wind and rain from the north-west swept over our camp.
From Landi Isháczai we marched twenty-two miles to the river bank, a little beyond Calá Sabz, on its opposite shore, our course being nearly due west. At the third mile we cleared the cultivation and entered on the undulating tract sloping up to the sandy ridges extending between the Koh Khanishín and the river. The young corn, we observed, was blighted yellow in great patches by the frosts and snows of last month. Snow seldom falls on this region, but this winter having been an unusually severe one, it lay on the ground to the depth of a span for several days.
The land as it slopes up to Khanishín, which is fully twelve miles from Landi, is very broken, and stands out near the hill in long lines of vertical banks, that in the mirage assume the appearance of extensive fortifications. The hill itself is perfectly bare, and presents a succession of tall jagged peaks, that extend five or six miles from north to south. Between it and the river the country is entirely desert, sandhills and ravines succeeding each other for a stretch of twenty miles from east to west. The surface is mostly covered with a coarse gravel or grit of dark reddish-brown stones, but in some parts it is a loose sand of bright orange-red colour, and in others is caked into rocks of granular structure. Here and there are scattered thick jangal patches of desert plants similar to those seen on the route from Búst to Hazárjuft They afford excellent camel forage, and a good supply of fuel. At about half-way we crossed a deep and wide hollow running down to the river on our right; and passing over a second ridge of sandhills, at sixteen miles crossed a very deep and narrow ravine of pure red sand, without a boulder or stone of any kind to be seen in it. Beyond this we halted on some heights overlooking the river for breakfast, the baggage meanwhile going ahead.
The weather was all that could be desired. A clear sky, mild sun, and pure fresh air proved the climate to be delightful at this season. A few gentle puffs of a north-west breeze, however, now and again raised clouds of sand, and showed us what it could do in that way at times.