Part 3

Pass, after which we descended into the plain or valley of Kirta, an extensive plain more than 20 miles across, and almost circular in shape, the mountains rising to a considerable height all round it. About six miles further ride brought us to the rest house of Kirta, where we were to put up for the day, and where, on arriving, I received the agreeable information that the camel carrying my two small trunks, which contain every stitch of uniform, clothing, linen, towels, sheets, socks, warm clothing, &c.,&c., in fact, everything I possess, except what was on my back, had fallen down in one of the fords, and that the two portmanteaus had been well under water for five minutes at least. The first and only thing to do was to open the boxes and dry the things (for which purpose there was no lack of sun, at any rate), and ascertain the amount of the damage done. Every single thing was more or less wet, but fortunately, except my cloth uniform, my few books, and my stock of writing paper, there was little to spoil seriously; my patrol jacket had got off wonderfully, having been well in the centre of one box, and was only damp, and my other cloth things had not much suffered, and the rest of the things (except my paper, books, and papers, which are ruined) will, I daresay, be all right after they have been washed and done up. On the whole, I got off wonderfully well, but it was a great business unpacking everything, drying them, and then repacking all again, which, however, I managed to do in a fairly satisfactory way. At Kirta is another large depot for the transport and commissariat departments, and also a rather superior kind of hut for the accommodation of passers by. The plain of Kirta itself is one vast scene of desolation, not a tree, or a blade of grass, and nothing but fine sand, thickly strewn with round stones of all sizes and forms.

[Sidenote: Dust storm at Kirta.]

MONDAY, 5th APRIL, continued--At the Kirta rest-house we found a very scientific party of engineers (Mr. Molesworth, Col. Lindsay, and Major Peters), who had been prospecting the railway line to Kandahar, and were returning by no means impressed with the delights, use, or value of Afghanistan. I don't wish to form too hasty a judgment, but I must say as far as I have gone I have seen no reason to modify the opinions formed eighteen months ago, namely, that a more useless and unnecessary thing than an expedition into this country could not be imagined. Committed to it as we now are, a sudden withdrawal would be madness, and in any case, it would be a wise man who could form an idea as to the final results, or what and when the end will be. Up to the present, though the days have been intensely hot, the nights have been very pleasant, and the mornings charming, but at Kirta just as we were looking for the change from the heat of the day to come (half-past five o'clock), the wind suddenly chopped right round and blew a hurricane, like a red-hot blast of a furnace, bringing with it thick clouds of dust, which made breathing, or keeping one's eyes open almost an impossibility. Of course I have been in many dust storms in all parts of India, but it has never been my fortune to spend so entirely miserable a time as we had to undergo between 5.30 on Tuesday evening, and 8 o'clock the next morning. The rest-house has no glass in the windows, and even had it been possible to close the wooden shutters, they were so roughly made that they would have been useless to keep out either the burning wind or the dust; but even the wind and dust were preferable to the suffocation of no air at all, and so, through a very long dark night, we could do nothing but toss about on our beds and long for morning.

[Sidenote: March into Beebee-Nani.]

TUESDAY, APRIL 6th.--About 3 A.M. the hurricane seemed to moderate, so we got up and dressed and set to work to pack our camels, in the middle of which operation the gale recommenced with greater force than ever, and made our work almost impossible; however, by 4 o'clock, with the assistance of some men from the transport depot the work was finished and the camels with their escort started for a nine mile march in the teeth of the gale and dust. I waited on in the rest-house till 6 o'clock in hopes of the weather changing when the sun rose, but finding no change likely, had also to face the dust and wind, and continued to ride against it for about two hours, when, getting under the shadow of a big mountain, we ceased to get the dust and the gale grew much cooler, and to our great relief we found a much more bearable climate at our halting place, a little transport depot called Beebee-Nani, where I am now writing. It cannot be called pleasant here, but compared with the past 18 hours the change is distinctly for the better. Desolation reigns here also, no trees or vegetation to be seen; nothing but sand, stones, and barren rocky hills rising in tiers one behind the other, till the last and highest range is barely visible in the hot and dusty haze. At this halting place there is no rest-house, but instead a good-sized tent, which answers the purpose very well. A stream of beautiful clear water flows past the tent, being brought in a small canal or channel (made by our troops) from the Bolan River, which is two miles off. The water is bright, and pure, and good, and quite cold, and is accordingly in this land of bad and scanty water a priceless luxury to all. The hill tribes near this are not very well-disposed, and they frequently cut off the water by damming up the place where it leaves the river, but a small party of native soldiers, who are at once sent out, soon hunts the enemy off, and sets the water flowing again. We are now beginning to ascend, and it is decidedly cooler than it was (speaking comparatively), but the air is unpleasantly dry and harsh, and our lips and skin generally are suffering accordingly, all the more, no doubt, that of late we have been accustomed to the damp, relaxing climate of Bombay. This morning we passed many of the migratory tribes who, during the winter, leave the districts round Quetta on account of the cold and go with their flocks and herds down towards Sibi, where they remain till it gets too hot, when they return to Quetta. They are wretched-looking people, evidently very poor in everything except children, of whom there seems to be no lack. Their whole household goods are carried on camels, and the women and children trot along behind seemingly very happy and light-hearted. On one camel to-day we saw an uncommonly pretty young donkey rolled up in a blanket with his head only to be seen, looking quite pleased with himself, and being balanced on the other side of the camel by a jolly but extremely dirty baby of 8 or 9 months old. They make very picturesque groups these people, but certainly among them the men carry off all the good looks, as the women seem to be singularly plain and unprepossessing. We are getting very bad hay for our horses now, which is very unfortunate, but as it has all to be brought from places miles away we ought, I suppose, to be very thankful that we get any at all. So far my three are very well, and I am quite pleased with my new purchases, and very glad, indeed, that I brought my old friend up with me, as he is a most pleasant horse to ride. To give an idea of the sort of country this is I may mention that the ground is too hard to allow of our driving in even iron picketing pegs for the horses, and we have therefore to collect a heap of heavy big stones and fasten their picketing ropes to these!

[Sidenote: March to Mach.]

WEDNESDAY, 7th APRIL.--We had a very long march before us (17 miles) to a place called Mach (pronounced Much), so started off the heavier portion of our baggage and all our servants in charge of half of my escort at 10 o'clock the previous night, keeping only 2 camels to carry our camp beds and bedding, and the warm sheets and rugs of the horses we were to ride. We had a fairly good night's sleep, although the high wind was not pleasant, and towards morning became bitterly cold, for which some of the party were not prepared, and were consequently very cold indeed. I had my two thick blankets, and found them nothing too much, although 12 hours previously we had been undergoing a heat of nearly 100°. These changes are very trying to people who are not thoroughly strong, but barring slight colds all round, we have not suffered on this occasion. Colonel Anderson's horse had hurt itself, so I had to give him a mount on "Rufus," which, as he weighs 15 stone and the march was 17 miles, I would altogether have preferred not to do, but as the alternative was his walking while I had 2 led horses I could not possibly have done otherwise. The road for the first 8 miles took us over a barren, desolate plain, across which the cold wind whistled and drove in a way that made us all wish much we had kept our great coats out, and which made us hail with delight the appearance of the sun, which up to this had been our greatest enemy. Eight miles from Bibi Nani we came to a small transport depot called Abigoom, where I changed my horse "Akhbar" for Selim, who had gone on with the heavy baggage the night previously. Here Captain Collis, who had been riding some way in rear, came up to tell me that one of my Syces (grooms) declared he was so seriously ill that he could not possibly go on, even though he knew that if left behind by himself on the side of the road he would probably be murdered by some of the ruffians who hang about to wreak their vengeance on any one who is defenceless. Fortunately I was able to get a cart and pair of bullocks at the transport depot at Abigoom, and we went back and picked the man up and brought him into Mach, and he is all right to-day. I don't think there ever was much the matter with him beyond having eaten too much, which these people, now that they are fed by us and not by themselves, are very ready to do. The morning, once the sun was up, was most enjoyable, although the country we passed through was of the same desolate, dreary sort that is met in this part of the world. Brown arid mountains and red clay plains covered thickly with enormous boulders; no trees, no water (except when now and then we cross the Bolan River), no habitations, and no cultivations. As a sergeant of the 66th, who was in charge of one of the transport depots, said to me, "Why, sir, there are no birds in this awful country, and when I see a country as has no birds I think badly of that country." The poor fellow's views of life and of the pleasures of campaigning had been jaundiced I fancy by a lonely residence for 4 months in a desert without a single European near him, although he said on the whole he did not dislike it, as he had heaps to do all day, and the nights were much too short for the amount of sleep he would like to have had. Ascending gradually from Abigoom we reached an elevation of 3,500 feet at Mach, and found ourselves in an European climate, which Captain Collis and I celebrated by drinking hot whiskey punch for dinner!!

[Sidenote: Receive English letters at Mach.]

Mach is quite a big place, and there is a post office and telegraph office there, and a good rest house, and we spent a very comfortable time there, especially when we recollected the disagreeables of the previous days. We were able to replenish our larder and stores from the Commissariat, getting from them bread, mutton, tea, sugar, potatoes, preserved soups, &c., &c. To my great delight I got my English letters here,--those of the 12th March, which had reached Bombay 30th March,--and we posted our letters for home, as, although it was a little too early, it was our only chance, as there is no other post office till we get to Quetta, and the English mail will have left that place before we arrive. As the next day's march was not a long one we decided to have a good sleep, and not start till 4 A.M. (which meant getting up at 3 o'clock), and as we all turned in at half-past 8, we had had a very fair night of it, when at 3 A.M. on Thursday, April 8th, I was woke by Colonel Anderson with the extremely unpleasant news that the native officer of the escort reported that the whole of our camel drivers had disappeared--run away to their homes it was supposed. The question was what was to be done, as we had no wish to lose a day at Mach, so I sent and woke up the transport officer (a smart young fellow of the 15th Foot), who before I at all expected it, was in the rest-hut fully dressed, asking to see "the General," who being extremely cold was quite invisible among his blankets. I had a further search then made for the camel men, but it was clear they had bolted, so I was forced very unwillingly to take advantage of my being "the General Sahib," and take carts to take us into Quetta. Carts are not, as a rule, given to officers, as they are used for Commissariat stores, and so up to this time I have resisted the temptation of appropriating some (they are far pleasanter means of carrying baggage than camels), not wishing to have any advantages over other officers, especially at the expense of the General Transport Service; but now that the camel men had deserted I felt I might fairly take carts, as it was clearly not advantageous that I should remain idle for days at a place like Mach. I, however, kept the demands of my friends and my servants as low as possible, and we succeeded in getting off without reducing perceptibly the carrying power of the transport, or causing any stores to be delayed. Carts drawn by bullocks are very slow, as they barely do more than 1¾ miles an hour, but they are very sure and steady, and require no elaborate packing as camels do. On the other hand they are very liable to break down or to fall over the precipices, so their possession is not an unalloyed satisfaction. On the whole I think if I had good camel men I would prefer camels. At Mach we found a Major Greig of the Artillery, trying to work his way up alone, taking advantage of any convoys or escorts he could meet, and as this was very dismal and very slow, I asked him to join our party, which now numbers 6. It was 5 o'clock when we succeeded in getting away from Mach, and it was then so cold that I rode the first half of the way in my great coat. The road was very up and down, and at places very steep, but still wonderfully good; the country still as barren and uninteresting as ever. Four miles from Mach we came to a place called Sir-i-Bolan, which means the head or source of the Bolan, and here are the springs from which the river rises. They rush out of the solid rock in a splendid stream, but curiously one of the jets is distinctly some degrees hotter than the others are.

[Sidenote: Maidenhair Fern--Sir-i-Bolan.]

THURSDAY, 8th APRIL.--The place (_i.e._ Sir-i-Ab) is covered with Maidenhair Ferns, a piece of which I enclose; I have also taken a root of it, and intend to send it to Florence to see if she can force it back into life, as a plant of Maidenhair Fern from the source of the Bolan would be a kind of curiosity, I dare say.[FOOTNOTE.--The Fern mentioned above is now in the Stove House at Narrow Water, and has grown to quite a large healthy plant.] After passing Sir-i-Bolan, the road led through a very narrow valley, with high and precipitous cliffs on both sides, quite overhanging the road, and not more than 50 yards apart at some places. The effect is wild, and the morning air being sharp and fresh, with a bright sun, the ride was quite enjoyable. Our halting place for the day was Dozan (or the place of thieves), which is a good sized Commissariat and Transport Station, possessing a good rest-house and quite a large number of people of sorts. There is not, however, naturally any water here, but we have brought it by an aqueduct from some spring 2 miles off, and there is now a plentiful and excellent supply--the last really good water we shall see for some days. This station is in charge of a very nice young fellow of the 83rd, named Adye, quite a boy, but a very good style of fellow, and one who does his work well, as his bullocks, carts, and everything in his charge shows. The life these young fellows lead does not seem very delightful, but it is wonderful how clearly one can see which are the really good officers who take interest in their work, and have no time or inclination for grumbling about themselves, and I am delighted to say the great majority are of this sort, indeed it is the exception when the reverse is the case, and as the same can truly be said of the Sergeants similarly employed (all quite young men), I don't think the army is going to the dogs quite so much as dismal prophets would have us think. It is also most satisfactory to see how well our native soldiers (non-commissioned officers and men) on this detached and independent employment get on, as they develope in intelligence and readiness in a remarkable way, and show that what they really want (as do our English soldiers) is less nursing and coddling, and care, and being made at all times to do more for themselves than they now are.

[Sidenote: Dozan--Cantonment--Abandoned.]

FRIDAY, 9th APRIL.--After starting off our baggage we took a detour to the right to visit a plateau about 1,000 feet higher than Dozan, where, during last summer, General Phayre's brigade had been encamped, and where, thinking the place would become a permanent station, he had expended much labor and trouble in making roads and laying out the future cantonment. Now, however, the troops are withdrawn and the place is deserted. Among other things which had been made was an excellent lawn tennis ground which looked very English and civilized in the midst of the desolation. At this place are the springs from which the halting place is supplied with water, and here, as elsewhere in this extraordinary country, it is wonderful to see the rush of water which pours out of the solid rock, reminding one (all the surrounding circumstances having also a considerable similitude) of the water rushing out of the Rock when struck by Moses during the travels of the Israelites in the Wilderness. We rejoined the road about 4 miles from Dozan, and for 4 miles our way continued through the narrowest and wildest part of the Bolan Pass, till at 8 miles from Dozan we crossed an abrupt ridge of hills which lie across the mouth of the Pass, and descended into a plain surrounded by mountains the tops of which were still tipped with snow. Two miles farther on we came to our halting place, which is called Darwaza, or the door or gate, this being the entrance to the Bolan Pass, the journey through which we had then completed. There was a good rest-house at Darwaza, and a small fort, inside of which we were glad to find shelter for our horses and servants, as a piercingly cold wild wind was coming from the mountains, and there were decided threatenings of snow or rain, and very shortly after we arrived it did begin to rain. I had an anxious day with my Australian horse as he was very ill, and, being almost without medicines, I was afraid I should have lost him. He had not taken at all to the bad grass or hay which we have had through the Pass, and had not been really well for some days. This was what I feared in bringing him with me, as Australian horses are notoriously dainty about their food, whereas Arabs eat anything and seem to flourish on anything. We tried all the native remedies at our disposal, and the old horse pulled through all right, and before night was able to eat a bran mash and was quite out of danger. He has, however, got a cracked heel, the result of the cold dry wind after crossing the numerous fords which we have had to pass over daily, and I fear I shall not get much riding out of him, which is a disappointment, as he is a steady old boy who goes along without any trouble, while the other two are young and foolish, and as yet not contented to plod along at a walking pace for any time. The evening at Darwaza turned out very wet and cold, and the night threatened to be so bad that we had to give up the idea of an early march which we had intended to make, so as to get over the long and wearisome journey which lay between us and our next halting place. Darwaza is one of the highest points on the road to Kandahar (the highest except the crossing of the Khojak Pass), being 6,000 feet above the sea level, and until a month ago the whole country round had been covered with 18 inches of snow, some of which still remained on the mountains near.

[Sidenote: March across the Dusht-i-Bedaulat Plain.]

SATURDAY 10th APRIL.--We started at 6 a.m. to march to Sir-i-ab, to reach which place we had to cross a great plain (16 miles across) which, owing to its miserable and wretchedly desolate appearance, is called the Dusht-i-bedaulat (the au has the sound of ow) or the plain of poverty or wretchedness, and certainly it well bears out its name, as for mile after mile nothing is to be seen but sand and stones, and desolation everywhere. No one lives in the place, and no one crosses it except when obliged to do so, as almost always a howling wind, which is either hot as a furnace or cold as ice, drives across it, carrying clouds of dust with it, and making the journey not only wretched but even, to weakly people and animals, dangerous. There is no water from Darwaza to Sir-i-ab, a very serious consideration in the hot weather. We, however, were singularly fortunate, as the storm of the previous day had spent itself, and the rain had laid the dust, and we crossed the Dusht without the slightest inconvenience, indeed with some enjoyment, as the morning was lovely and fresh, and the mountains covered with the snow, which had fallen in the night on their higher peaks, were looking beautiful, and took away in a great degree from the otherwise desolate appearance of the scene. As we approached Sir-i-ab, we saw more signs of civilization (though of a very rude kind) than we had met since we left Jacobabad, as there were numerous villages to be seen, each surrounded by its orchards, containing peach, plum, and mulberry trees, which were all in full leaf, and looked green and bright to us who had not seen a patch of green for so many days. At Sir-i-ab we put up in a deserted village, in which was established our Commissariat and Transport Depot, and a few houses which were set apart and kept clean for the use of officers and men passing through. The people to whom the village belong had migrated to the lower regions during the winter, and were now on their way back, and had sent word that after the middle of this month they would require the place for their own residence, and we were, in consequence, clearing out our Commissariat Stores and Transport animals into a camp outside the village. Although the people had left the village for their own convenience, as they would have done whether we had been there or not, we had actually been paying them rent for the empty houses, and now at their request were quietly submitting to be turned out. This is the curious way we make war, and add to the terrible expenses of it quite unnecessarily. An Afghan village is a collection of mud huts, with flat mud roofs, and so arranged, and the huts joined together with high walls, as to form a kind of Fort, as in this country every man's hand is against his neighbour's, and every one goes armed and prepared for treachery and violence. The people are a distinctly warlike race, and fight bitterly among themselves.

[Sidenote: March into Quetta.]