From the Indus to the Tigris

by H. W. Bellew

On these occasions he shuts himself up in a tower of his fort with one of his wives and a couple of African slave boys for a week at a time, his only guards being a number of savage dogs he keeps for hunting the wild boar. His son, Khán Jahán Khán, now has the management of his affairs, as the father’s fits of dissipation quite unfit him for the conduct of his business. The immense quantities of snuff he uses quite muddle his brains in the intervals when they are not deprived of intelligence by drugs. We did not discover until after he had left us that he was the actual murderer of the unfortunate Dr Forbes when he was his guest in 1842.

I learned from an eye-witness, now in the service of the chief of Lásh (whose mother is the murderer’s sister), that the murder was quite unpremeditated, and was committed in a freak of intoxication. It appears that on the eve of the melancholy occurrence a party had been arranged for shooting wild-fowl on the lake in the morning. The host and murderer, with a party of attendants, accompanied their guest to the lake, and all appeared in very good spirits and on the best terms. The wild-fowl were found too far from the shore, and the tútín, or bulrush float used by the fowlers, was brought forward to carry Dr Forbes nearer to the game. Gun in hand, says my informant, the confiding stranger took his seat on this raft, and was being poled out into the clear water by one of the attendants. When only a few yards from the shore, the murderer and his victim were conversing merrily; and the latter, laughing, observed that the unsteady motion of his little bark did not promise him a successful bag. The former, now suddenly changing his tone, took his loaded rifle from an attendant, and pointing it at Dr Forbes, laughingly exclaimed he would make a very good target. The doctor, not expecting any foul play, laughed, and said no doubt he would. At this moment the fatal trigger was pulled, and the unfortunate gentleman rolled into the water, shot through the heart. Seeing what he had done, the murderer, Ibráhím Khán, is described as having burst into a paroxysm of insane laughter at this tragic conclusion of the stranger’s career. His body was soon after recovered from the water, and the valuables removed from it. The corpse was then decently interred on the river bank, and no indignity was perpetrated upon it, as has been stated by some parties.

The murderer, it appears, had been in a more or less intoxicated state for some days previously, and, at the time he committed the crime, was under the influence of charras or bhang. Such is the account I received; and though it in no way exculpates the criminal, it divests the tragedy of much of the horrors the commonly current accounts had coloured it with.

The weather at this stage was altogether different from any we previously or subsequently experienced in this country. During the day the sky was overcast with clouds, and the air was still and oppressive. Towards sunset a strong south wind set in, and at nightfall increased to a gale for an hour or so. On its subsidence the atmosphere became close, warm, and oppressive, and a host of musquitoes and midges invaded our tents. In the flood season they are said to be a perfect plague in the vicinity of the river and the shores of the lake.

Our next stage from this was nineteen miles to Burj ’Alam. The route, at first northerly along the river course, gradually diverged from it to north-west by a beaten track across a bare pebbly tract. The country presents nothing worthy of note, except the wide extent of ruins on the opposite side of the river during the first few miles out from camp. Beyond them to the east the prospect is intercepted by the high coast of desert cliffs, and in the opposite direction, across the wide plain to the west, is bounded by the Nihbandán range of hills, which to the south are connected with the Sarhadd mountains, and to the north with those of Farráh.

Our new friends, Sardár Ahmad Khán and Mardán Khán, with their respective followers, accompanied us on the march. The former was handsomely dressed in the Afghan costume, and mounted on a richly caparisoned Persian horse. He joined us shortly after we had started, and galloping up from the rear, saluted the General with a very well pronounced “Good morning,” and merrily observed that he had learned the expression from Conolly more than thirty years ago. He spoke in high terms of that officer’s merits, and said their friendship, when he was here, was like that of brothers.

He recounted various excursions he had made in Sistan with Captain Conolly and Sergeant Cameron, and expressed his pleasure in again making the acquaintance of Englishmen after so long an interval. He said he viewed us in the light of brothers, and hoped we would consider him in the same relation, and in token of this new bond of brotherhood, he stretched out his arm and shook hands with us. His manner is very quiet, and with somewhat of the polish of the Persian about it, and was strangely in contrast with that of his countryman, Mardán Khán, who, with the characteristic roughness of the Afghan soldier, was loud and blustering in his manner, and, though thoroughly well disposed, never hesitated to “call a spade a spade,” regardless of time and place.

This latter character was in the service of Prince Kamrán at Herat at the time that Major Todd was political officer there. He was subsequently Yár Muhammad’s revenue collector for Sistan, and had his headquarters at Kimak, where he married a Sistani lady, who now resides at his home near Farráh. Later, he took service with the Amir Dost Muhammad, and was appointed commandant of a party of Farráh irregular horse, a post he still holds under the Amir Sher ’Ali. He bears the character of being a brave and successful soldier, and is said to have been engaged in most of the fights on this frontier during the past half-century, and carries the scars of some of them on his body. Though now an old man, he is remarkably active, and rules his men with a well-dreaded sternness.

We found both our companions incredibly ignorant of everything outside their own country and its immediate politics, and even with these they were not so well acquainted as one would expect them to be. Their knowledge of geography was of the scantiest; of history they knew simply nothing; whilst of European politics their ideas were of the haziest kind. “Who are these Prúss who have defeated the French?” said Mardán Khán. “Outside Islám we only know of three nations to the west—the English, French, and Russians. But now people talk of the Prúss: who are they?—where do they come from? They must be a great nation if it is true they have defeated the French.”

Having been enlightened on these points as much as he was capable of being enlightened, he exclaimed with provoking simplicity, “I see! they are neighbours of the Rúss. Of course they are the same nation.”—“Not at all,” said I in explanation. “Then they are brothers, for their names are evidently of one stock.” It was useless arguing the point, for any further explanation would only have been received with suspicious incredulity, so the conversation was turned. “But tell me,” said my companion confidingly, still hankering after the old topic, “is it true that there is such a country as Yangi dunyá?” (the New World). “There is no doubt about it; we call it America,” said I. “And is it true that they have rebelled against your government, and set up an independent government of their own?”—“That’s an old story now,” I replied. “Then it is true. Where do they live? Is their country near Farangistan?”—“You would not understand if I told you,” said I, tiring of the interrogation; “their country is straight under our feet on the other side of the world.” “Lá hanla!” (“No!”) exclaimed my astonished friend, opening his eyes to the widest with a stare of disbelief. Here, glad of the opportunity, I galloped off to the General’s party, which had reined up a little in advance to look around for a site to breakfast on.