At the Court of the Amîr: A Narrative

by John Alfred Gray

I had at first some little trouble with the Hindustanis. Work was uncongenial to them. Only one of them, my friend the drunkard, had any medical knowledge, even such preliminary attainment as the use of the stethoscope. Of the other two, one I made a compounder, and the other a dresser of wounds.

Having one day to amputate a thumb, I desired the dresser to remain at the hospital and administer chloroform. He objected, saying he had finished his work for the day. He did not understand English, but spoke in Hindustani, in which language my Armenian was fluent. I said several things, more or less severe, which my interpreter translated, but the Hindustani went on his way. Had I then been acquainted with Afghan customs I should at once have ordered a soldier to thrash him, but such a procedure would have been unprecedented in a London hospital, and I did not do so. Instead, I wrote to His Highness to enquire if I had authority over the Hindustanis or not. His Highness answered that I had authority over all the Hindustanis and Hakims in the kingdom, with the exception of three men—one Hindustani and the two chief Hakims. He added, that if there were any insubordination I was at liberty to order the offender to be whipped or put in irons.

The Two Chief Hakims.

The Hindustani over whom I had no authority was a qualified man, who had been hospital assistant in the British Army, but who, accused of murdering his superior officer, an Englishman, had escaped into Afghanistan. The Amîr found him a beggar by the wayside and took him into his service, appointing him to attend to the slaves of the harem. He was at the time of which I am writing, in Kabul. The Hakims who were excepted were two old men who had attended the Amîr’s father. One, the Mirza Abdul Wahid, was an interesting old man, with wrinkled face of a Roman type. I read of him in a Russian book that Captain Griesbach lent me. For a Hakim he was an intelligent man, and I had a respect and a liking for the courtly old fellow. He died while I was in Turkestan, and I went to see him shortly before his death. With a courtesy that pained me he rose from his sickbed and ordered tea and sweetmeats to be brought.

The other Hakim, Abdul Rashid, was a fat old fool, pompous and ignorant, with many words. He came to see me—but I will relate that presently. The chair he sat on never recovered. It was rickety ever afterwards.

Hindustani Intrigue.

I knew now what my powers were. The Hindustanis did not openly rebel again, but they hatched a plot which, had they been more careful, might have led to unpleasant results. First, as I afterwards heard, one of them, the one whom I had made compounder, appealed to the Amîr for protection. I was his enemy, he said. His enemy! But the Amîr waited and watched. It might be true, India is a conquered country. His Highness appeared to take but little notice of me. He was courteous as always, and allowed me to be seated in his presence; but he spoke very little to me. The Hindustani, however, marred his own plot, for, not content with opposing me, he needs must quarrel with his countrymen instead of standing by them. He made a false accusation against the “dresser,” who, on his part, made a countermove. They were arrested and brought before the Amîr, each swearing a contradiction to the other. They were both put to the torture—the “wedge and post”—and the compounder, screaming with fright, gave in at once and confessed. He was dismissed the service.

He knelt, imploring pardon and permission to stay; but the Amîr said, “I send you away for your own good. Twice you were taken in adultery, and, as a foreigner, I spared you. Now you falsely accuse and endeavour to ruin your own countryman. Go, before I kill you.”

I think I have not described the “wedge and post.” It is a simple thing. There is an upright post in the earth. The criminal is seated on the ground and his feet lashed to the post; wedges are inserted between the sole of the foot and the post, and are hammered home. It is a painful process, they say, but a dogged Afghan will sit till the bones of both feet are crushed, before he will utter a sound.

The Hindustani before he departed came to take leave of me—his enemy! the coachman is not an enemy to the horses. I gave him some tea and sent him away, but I noticed he did not limp; he must have given in soon at the post.