One need not live in the East to understand the courtesy and kindness of the Amîr’s action; but to appreciate fully the honour he did me, one must be conversant with Oriental customs. To taste a medicine before handing it to the patient is the duty of an Oriental physician when he is attending the King. I was a servant—but also a stranger and a guest—and the Amîr treated me as though I had been a Prince.
I cannot say whether the medicine would have cured me or not, for in two days’ time we had to be on the march again: which was bad for me.
Then came a time, the details of which I do not care to recall too vividly to my mind, for the “microbes” were just as venomous and wicked as if they had been Hindustani Interpreters at the Afghan Court, and that is saying much.
Instead of being in bed, I had to jog along on horseback half the day. Instead of a sick man’s diet, I got a little cold meat and bread when and how I could; sometimes after a fast of ten or eleven hours. Under these circumstances, of what use could the Amîr’s or anyone else’s medicine be?
The first day’s march was very beautiful: by the banks of a river which ran through cultivated valleys and ravines: and here and there were cascades. At the end of the march I was faint, and the Armenian rushed off to the medical stores for some brandy. He then sent a report in to the Amîr, and the next day His Highness kindly sent me his Shikari elephant. Riding the elephant was much easier work than horse riding: I could take a supply of suitable food, and I picked up again. We started at four in the morning, before the others: for an elephant goes slowly, and cavalry and baggage-horses shy, and then on the mountains, or in a crowd, accidents happen.
I was rocked along through gorges and valleys and villages. In a village, if a wall were in the way, the elephant kicked it over with his foot, and walked across the garden or orchard, as the case might be. We started at two the next morning, for the road was hilly. The cavalry horses were still tethered in line, and, as we passed them, they struggled and pulled against the foot-ropes to escape the awful creature. It was moonlight, and the deep shadows and gleaming rocks and peaks were the reality of Doré’s fantastic ideas. When we camped, patients were brought to me from the villages as well as from the army: one peasant who had brought a sick child presented me with a lamb.
The day after—Sunday—we had to make a long detour to avoid a gorge that was too narrow for the elephant to get through.
On Monday morning I turned out at half-past four. It felt bitterly cold, and I put on an ulster. We waited awhile, but no elephant turned up. Some said he was ill with fever; others said the Sultana had sent for him. They therefore saddled the black pony and I mounted.
Dangerous Passes.