After dressing the stump and seeing that Allah Nûr had recovered properly from the chloroform and was comfortable, I rode off to see His Highness’s old friend, the Hadji Jan Mahomed.
I found that the Hadji lived in a typical Turkestan house in the outskirts of the town. There was the row of isolated dome-shaped rooms or houses side by side, and in front a large garden almost entirely covered with grape vines. These ran along ridges of earth about six feet apart, each being some three feet high and six feet wide.
The Hadji was a venerable-looking old fellow of about seventy, with a long white beard. He was of the same tribe as His Highness—the Barakzai Durani.
After tea and fruit had been brought, and we had had some general conversation, the Hadji informed me that he had lately arrived from Bokhara, and was suffering from a disease of the leg that is prevalent in that district. On examination I found he was suffering from “Guinea worm,” a thread-like creature some two or three feet long, that burrows through the tissues of the body, generally infesting the feet and legs. The treatment adopted at the present day is the same as that pursued by the old Persian surgeons, who extracted the worm by gentle and continuous traction, winding the exposed end of the worm round a small stick of ivory, bone or wood. If the worm is broken, local and even severe constitutional mischief is apt to ensue, and this is what had happened to the Hadji. The attempt to extract the worm had been unsuccessful, it had been broken. He had been exceedingly ill, he said; and I found a large burrowing chronic abscess above the right knee. It was a troublesome case, and I visited him several times. At last, one day I had the good fortune to detect the broken end of the worm, and with the greatest gentleness and care managed to extract it. The leg then soon healed.
The Haughty Colonel.
After I had visited the Hadji, who, by the way, presented me with half a pound of Orange Pekoe, I went to see the young Colonel whom the Commander-in-Chief had asked me to visit. His house was not very far from the Palace gardens, and I found him seated on a charpoy under the trees in his garden: one or two friends and a Hakim sat with him. He was a small dark man with a haughty expression, but he looked very ill. He had had fever, but was now suffering from suppuration of the parotid, so that he had a great unbroken abscess in his cheek and neck.
I examined him carefully and decided that the abscess should be opened without delay. He did not, however, view the suggestion with any favour. He told me, very politely, that he should prefer applying certain ointments that had been advised by his friend the Hakim. I do not remember the name of the Hakim. He was one of the minor practitioners whom I really never took note of.
The Colonel also explained that should the ointment not have the desired effect, he would wish to try the efficacy of prayer. After this, what was there to be said? I bowed, refused the tea he politely offered, and begged permission to withdraw.
Coming away I said to the Armenian:—