Two days afterwards His Highness and the Court, including myself, started on the journey. We saw little or nothing of the Harem and guard, for they kept two days’ march ahead of the main body during the whole journey.
CHAPTER XX.
The Return Journey to Kabul.
Loading up: the start. The first camp. Tropical heat: the whirlwind. The Amîr’s khirgar. Scanty rations. Midnight marching. The numbers on the march. Dangers in the pitchy darkness. Fever. Stopped on the road. The hut: impure water: sleep by the road side. The scream. Daybreak. The second camp. Lost on the plains. Naibabad: the rain. The march to Tash Kurghan. A sketch of the Khulm Pass. Sight seeing from the house tops. The Durbar. Punishment of the unjust townsfolk. The Amîr’s health. The eclipse of the sun. On the march again: the dust: jammed in the valleys. Ghuzniguk. An Afghan “Good Samaritan.” A poisonous sting: the Amîr’s remedy. A block on the road: dangers of by-paths in mountain and valley. The tiger valley. A drink of milk. The dust. Haibuk. Adventure with the elephant: the somnolent Afghan. The aqueduct. Discomforts of a camp in an orchard.
It was June 13th when we started. The Armenian and I were up before daybreak superintending the loading up of the medical stores and my own baggage. We hoped to get well on the march before the heat of the day commenced, but the men, from want of practice, were so slow and clumsy in loading the pack-horses, that our start was delayed till nine o’clock. It was then getting very hot.
Tropical Heat: the Whirlwind.
The first march was short, and soon after midday we reached the camping ground on the plains, some few miles out of Mazar. I had thought my first ride over these plains when I came to Mazar was a hot one; that was in May—this was in June!
I dismounted and stood in the sun while some of the servants commenced unloading the horses, and others attempted to put up my tent. They were Asiatics, in their native climate: I was a Londoner, and I raised my sun helmet every minute or two, hoping to catch a little breeze on my head, but there was not the slightest breath. After standing some time, I began to wonder, in an abstract way, which would give out first—the heart or the nervous system—that is to say, whether it would be a faint or a sun-stroke. The Armenian, seeing my distress, brought me the portable iron chair that the fat Hakim had ruined, but I found one might as well seek rest on the bars of the kitchen grate when a dinner is in process of preparation. I therefore stood up again—suddenly.
“When, oh, when, will they get my tent up?” I asked of my secret soul. Receiving no answer, I begged the Armenian to hurry the men, calling his attention to the fact that I was a European, “very soft man likes flower, and heat is hurt it.” At last the tent was up, and thankfully I staggered into its welcome shade.