I had dinner in the open and then went into my tent to lie down: but I came out again—quickly. The locusts had invaded it and had crawled up inside the tent and over the charpoy, so that all was green—a beautiful green shot with pink: but it gave me no pleasure, the colour seemed out of place. Moreover, I could not lie down without crunching my unwelcome guests; and no host, I take it, cares to lie upon the mangled remains of guests, be they never so unwelcome.
We had noticed that day as we travelled along that a careful peasant had dug a shallow pond at the foot of a beautiful mulberry tree. The locusts had perforce spared that tree: they might have tumbled off and they cannot swim; but they had spitefully nipped off every leaf that spread beyond the water. A shallow pond, therefore, was dug some little distance away in the hard-baked earth for my charpoy to stand in, and since we could not get the locusts out of the tent, we determined to take the tent away from the locusts. On further consideration, however, it seemed likely, and indeed the Armenian insisted very strongly on the point, that if I lay all night with my bed in a pond I should wake up in the morning with fever or rheumatism, or something disagreeable which would be likely to hinder our journey.
We left the pond, therefore, and moved away to a bare open space with never a blade of grass nor a leaf anywhere near. Here my tent was pitched, and with a feeling of restful security I sat upon my charpoy and enjoyed the cool of the evening. A tickling sensation at the back of the neck caused me to raise my hand, and I brushed away a great locust. Ach! the beasts were all over me: they seemed to be evolved spontaneously out of nothing. They were not so, however, for on the mountains outside Kabul we saw myriads of the young locusts about the size of black ants hopping about in the warm sand. This was one of their breeding establishments where the eggs are hatched. The life-history of the locust may be looked upon as an interesting study in colour, for when he is a babe he is black, as a youth he is pink, and in adult age green. Two and a-half inches is his length, but he looks longer: he is all legs and wings. As a creature that crawls I object to him.
I called for assistance, and the tent was cleared: but they have no tact, these Locusts, and they came in again and again like so many Afghan Page boys, welcome or not. I spent an active and shuddering evening brushing them off my neck, shoulders, and wrists. At last in despair I covered my head over with a sheet and went to sleep, dreaming I was being crawled over by scorpions and centipedes.
When we got to the “difficult hot” place (sakht, hard, difficult, severe) between Lalpur and Dacca, the sky was cloudy, and a strong wind blew. The dust was awful, but safer than the sun.
The Despatch.
We went through the Khyber on a closed day, which, I found afterwards, is illegal. The chief of the Khyber Pathans had been a friend of the Armenian’s father, and he ordered out the guard of the Pass for us, so that we could travel on instead of waiting two or three days. At Jumrood, the end of the Pass, we were stopped by the order of the British Frontier Officer, and I heard that, if I had been in the service of the Government, I should have been liable to imprisonment in the fort for travelling on the wrong day. However, we were allowed to proceed.
In Peshawur I got rid of my horses: tipped my Afghan guard, and took the train to Simla to deliver a Despatch to His Excellency the Viceroy that His Highness the Amîr had entrusted me with.
The despatch contained nothing political, but simply concerned me personally. The Foreign Secretary kindly gave me a translation of it. This is how it runs:—
(Copy.) “Foreign Office, India.