At the Court of the Amîr: A Narrative

by John Alfred Gray

The room was small, but very pretty. There were mirrors let into the wall, which made the room seem larger.

Outside the large wide window opening into the gardens was erected a crimson and white awning. Here were grouped the officials who had to see His Highness on business. I sat inside, near the Amîr’s couch, and the air was sweet with scent from the clusters of roses which filled the vases in the room. A few Page boys were there. His Highness described to me the trouble he had had in getting down stairs with his gouty knee; and he gave me further details as to the treatment he was undergoing for the gout: how that he had been bled and leeched frequently, and that when the pain in his foot was very severe it had been necessary to plunge the foot into iced water!

Tea was brought in: His Highness said that green tea was not good for me in my state of health; he therefore ordered black tea to be brought, and he made me a present of several pounds.

I then gave my report as to the Spirit. It was made from the fermentation of raisins, and distilled in a proper still; but the so-called Brandy, Whisky, and “Old Tom” were simply the raw spirit coloured and flavoured with native drugs: none of it was fit for human consumption, and those who drank it became ill.

The Amîr’s Perplexity.

Presently, Mr. Pyne was announced. He also gave an opinion concerning the spirit: he said it was not good, but at the same time admitted that it would sell in Peshawur. The Hindustani interpreted for him: I do not know what he said, I could not follow the Persian, but His Highness seemed perplexed. He said that since the opinion of two of his European servants disagreed he would send the spirit to Calcutta to be tested.

The maker of the spirit was a Hindu, who, I understood, had been imported into the country by the Hindustani Interpreter.

I remember that one of the objections the Hindu and the Hindustani made to my report was that I had said “Gin” instead of “Old Tom.” They said the spirit was not gin (they were quite right), but that it was “Old Tom”! I let the matter pass: it seemed too absurd to argue on the point. Meanwhile the making of Spirit was to be continued, but that of “Brandy, Whisky, and Old Tom” to be stopped till further information on the subject was obtained.

A few nights after the Durbar I was awakened about midnight by an extraordinary and mysterious noise that seemed to come “whiffling by.” It was followed in a few seconds by a shorter and sharper noise which literally made the earth shake. I had never felt an earthquake like that before, and I wondered what was coming next. Dogs were barking, horses neighing, and men shouting. The noise woke up everybody. We listened and listened, but there was no repetition, and I went to sleep again. The next morning we heard the solution of the mystery. The rocket and firework factory in Kabul had blown up. It was not very far from the workshops, and Pyne told me he thought he should have been thrown out of bed. I enquired as to the loss of life, and heard that some people had been killed, but no one seemed very interested in that line of enquiry. Nor did I ever hear the cause of the explosion accounted for. Doubtless it was “Kismet.”

We had an epidemic of “mumps” in Kabul at the time, I remember, and the Hindustani Hospital assistant, the gentlemanly Dipsomaniac, had it rather badly.