The Sarhad-dar had, for some reason, been down in the valley-bed when the spate arrived, and had been nearly drawn under during the first few minutes. But he too, fortunately, managed to climb into a low tree, where for some time his position was perilous enough, for the swirling waters threatened every minute to snap or uproot the trunk, when he would have been carried away.
It was pitch dark when the spate arrived. I had seized a hurricane lamp from my tent and was watching the amazing scene by its light, when I heard the Sarhad-dar's voice shouting for help. One of our resourceful Rekis instantly grasped the situation. He jumped on to one of the horses tethered close by, urged him into the flood, and soon had the Sarhad-dar safely beside me on the high ground. He was later on recommended for the Royal Humane Society's Medal.
The next morning, as soon as I was awake, my tent was besieged by the Hazaras. They crowded round, asking me to come out. So slipping into my kit I emerged with the intention of asking them what they wanted.
But I had scarcely lifted the tent-flap when they all raised a shout, and then proceeded to tell me that I was a Buzurg (prophet), that they all owed their lives to me, and had come to thank me.
I replied with proper solemnity. It was undeniable, I said, that I was a prophet, for had they not recently had two concrete instances of my powers?
Later on, Major Hutchinson, in thanking me for saving his life, asked: "How did you know it was going to rain?"
I laughingly replied, "Because I'm a prophet, my son! Didn't you hear the Hazaras proclaim it just now?"
As a matter of fact we had very great reason to be thankful for our escape. The loss of the whole of our camp equipment, and of hundreds of our animals, would have been inevitable had the camp remained on its original site.
The day following this incident we marched through Gusht again, and camped on the site of our recent engagement.
From here we resumed our march in the direction of Zaiti, a camping ground lying just beyond the Saragan defile. But though we started at five a.m., met with no opposition and reckoned the distance only about twelve miles, we were not through the defile before midnight.