Chapter XIX: The Hakim Abou Ayoub

'I am on the eve of departing with Sir Louis Cavagnari to Cabul,' Colville had written. 'With his mission the chances of future war are over, and then I can come home with honour--home to you, love Mary.'

But while the British troops were now retiring from every point within the new frontier, Colville, to whom activity or action of any kind was a species of relief till he could once again see her whose varying expression of feature defied alike artist or photographer to fix or do justice to, gladly undertook to convey to the viceroy at Simla that letter from the Ameer which brought the embassy into existence--the embassy which was doomed to have such a fatal end--and a portion of that fulsome, false, and deluding document ran as follows, after the usual solemn invocation which preludes every chapter of the Koran, and the words of which, when sent down from Heaven, caused, says Giaab, the clouds to fly eastward, the winds to lull, the sea to moan, all the animals of the earth to erect their ears and listen, while the devils fell headlong from the celestial spheres:--

'Be it known unto your High Excellency that since the day of my arrival in Cabul from the British camp at Gundamuck I have been happy and pleased with the reception accorded me by the British officers. I had resolved to visit Simla and give myself the boundless pleasure of a joyous interview with your Excellency, for the purpose of strengthening our friendly relations, but circumstances prevented me carrying my intention into effect... After completing my tour through the country, during which I shall inspect the frontiers, I intend, God willing, to have a joyful meeting with your Excellency, for the purpose of making firmer the basis of our friendship and drawing closer the bonds of our amity and affection.

'Further, what can I write, beyond expressions of friendship?'

So, encouraged by this letter, which was framed in the genuine Oriental spirit of fraud and treachery, a brilliant embassy was arranged.

After delivering to the viceroy, the letter with which he had been entrusted at head-quarters, Leslie Colville lingered for a few days at beautiful Simla, where the Court Sanatorium is in a deep and woody dell, called--doubtless by some old Scottish officer--Annandale, where the forests are thickly inhabited by grinning baboons, having white bodies with black hands and feet, and where a savage tribe, named the Puharries, dwell among the hills, some of which are so vast--though mere vassals of the Himalayas--as to seem like the barriers of the world on the left bank of the Indus, from which they slope down to the steppes of Tartary, the deserts of Gobi, and the marshes of Siberia; and then he hastened again to the front to join Cavagnari.

The embassy and escort, the fate of which will never be forgotten in the history of British India, consisted of seventy-six men of the brilliant Guide Corps, twenty-six of whom were troopers, the rest infantry, under Lieutenant Hamilton, V.C. Their uniform was drab colour, piped and faced with scarlet. The ambassador was accompanied also by a staff of medical and other officers, including his secretary, Mr. William Jenkyns, of the Punjaub Civil Service.

All set out on their perilous though apparently peaceful mission in high glee, while the master spirit of the whole was Major Sir Louis Cavagnari, then in his thirty-seventh year, a gallant officer who had served with the Bengal Europeans in the Oude campaign, was present at the capture of a brigade of guns at Shahelutgunge, and served with the Kohat column at the capture and destruction of Gara.

He was popular personally with the natives, as he could speak several of their languages with fluency, while his bronzed features and dark hair enabled him to assume when he chose, any Oriental costume with facility, and thus he was invaluable in all cases where courage, promptitude, and adroit demeanour were necessary.

All our columns having, as stated, fallen back, the only British troops now beyond the new frontier of Afghanistan were his slender escort, with which he left Ali Musjid on the 17th of June, and rode through the savage defiles of the Khyber Pass by Lalpura, Chardeh, and once more in sight of Jellalabad, pursuing the course and bank of the Cabul river.

They had now traversed about sixty miles of their journey amid some of the most stupendous scenery in the world, and the evening of the second day's march was closing in when, near the Surkab, a stream which joins the Cabul at the foot of the Siah Koh, a man was seen gesticulating violently and making signs to them, on which the whole party halted in obedience to command.

Was he the harbinger of danger, the announcer of an ambush; had armed _sungahs_ been formed across the path, or what?

Carbines were unslung, revolver cases opened, sword-blades loosened in the sheath, and there were whispers of treachery on every hand, and every man's face darkened, and his brows were knit, in anticipation of a barbarous struggle and having to sell his life dearly, for they were all picked and tried soldiers, second to none in Her Majesty's Indian army for daring and discipline. All were splendid horsemen too--the mounted guides--and, like their infantry, picturesque-looking fellows in their uniform and bearing.

'The man is not an Afghan, but a European, so far as one can judge by his face,' said Colville, who, with his bridle reins dropped on his holsters, had been using his field-glasses intently.

'He wears a scarlet _loonjee_,' said another officer, 'and his dress seems a uniform. Strange, is it not?'

'By heaven, he is one of the 10th Hussars!' exclaimed Colville.

'What is he doing here? His regiment fell back with the rest of the army weeks--yes, two months--ago. Can he be a deserter?' suggested Hamilton.

'Scarcely, when making for us in this frantic fashion,' replied Colville.

He came close up to the party, and, halting within ten paces, saluted. Then all could see that he was a hussar, but wan, pale, bearded, and with his braided uniform sorely worn and tattered.

'Come on, my man,' cried Sir Louis Cavagnari; 'come on and tell us how you happen to be here?'

'I am here through God's mercy, sir,' replied the hussar, coming forward, adding, 'Captain Colville--Captain Colville, don't you know me?'

'Robert Wodrow--Heavens above!' exclaimed the latter, holding out his hand, which the former grasped warmly and energetically; 'so you did not perish in the river?'

'It was a pretty close shave, sir,--I shall never be nearer death again, but once,' replied Wodrow, who seemed so faint that he could scarcely stand, and received with gratitude a pull from an officer's brandy flask.

'Have you been a prisoner?' asked Cavagnari.

'No, sir--I was long ill in the hands of the enemy, and was well treated.'

'Then you were not escaping?'

'No, sir--but making my way to your party when I saw it on the march, and I blessed God when I first heard of it, for I was told that the whole army had fallen back, and that I--alone--was left behind.'

'You are one of the Hussars who were swept away at the ford?' queried an officer, suspiciously.

'Yes, sir, and my story is rather a long one.'

'We shall hear it in a few minutes,' said Sir Louis, and, riding on slowly, the party reached the village of Balabagh, where it halted for the night, and where the party found quarters.

The story of Robert Wodrow, who was full of joy to find himself among comrades again, was a very simple one, and, though made in the form of a species of report or explanation to Sir Louis Cavagnari as the senior officer present, was principally directed to Leslie Colville, whom, of course, he viewed as a friend, and from whom he heard, with no small dismay, of the actual extent of the catastrophe to the squadron.

Though kicked more than once by his own charger after he fell into the stream, he had, after a time, got his feet free from the stirrups; but was swept away like a cork by the current after he had passed through the rapids. Being a good swimmer, he contrived to keep his head above water, but was incapable of reaching the banks, as they were steep, rocky, and in many places rose sheer like walls from the bed of the Cabul. Thus he was borne for nearly three miles below the point where so many of his comrades perished; and, feeling that he could struggle with fate no more, was about to relinquish further effort when suddenly voices caught his ear; he saw some strange white figures near the bank of the river--figures like those of witches or spectres as seen by the radiance of the stars (as the moon was under a cloud now), and by some strange and lambent lights that were floating on the surface of the water, and in the very midst of which he suddenly found himself, but with a current which shallowed so fast that he could make good his footing.

Among the Mahomedans and Hindoos there is a pretty custom--which the former have no doubt borrowed from the latter, as they both practise it--of going to a river or tank after the fulfilment of a vow, and setting afloat, as an offering, small, saucer-like lamps of earthenware, each containing oil, with a lighted wick.

After having said the _fatihar_, or necessary prayers, they watch their votive lamps as they float down the stream, and girls often augur their success in love by the steadiness of the journeying down the darkening waters.

There are certain seasons of the year, such as the Shabibarat feast in the month of Shaban, when this ceremony is carried out on a vast and beautiful scale.

It was a fleet of votive lamps amid which Robert Wodrow now found himself, and for a moment or two he had a striking view of some groups of Indian girls clad in white floating drapery, their long black hair unbound, their arms bare to the elbow, their other limbs to the knee, half lost in shadow and half seen in light, upon the steps of a Temple-ghaut--we say for a moment or two only, as on beholding him rising, as it were, from the water, they fled with shrill cries of affright.

Worn and faint, and heedless of what became of him, he reached the marble steps of the ghaut, and lay there for a time oblivious of everything.

When he recovered a little, though well-nigh dead with cold and exhaustion, he could see by the light of the moon, which now shone out clearly, a tall, thin, and venerable-looking Afghan bending over him.

His ample beard was snowy white, his eyes were keen and glittering, his features were of the Jewish type peculiar to the country, while his costume was that of the primitive Afghan--wide pantaloons of blue stuff, a brown camise with flowing sleeves, and a black fur cap.

Putting a hand on Wodrow's head, he told him in Afghani--which is the Pushtu language spoken by all the Afghans, and the origin of which is unknown--to take courage, as he would protect him; and Robert Wodrow, having picked up a little Sanscrit from his father, the old minister, made a shift to understand him, and knew also that he quoted the fourth chapter of the Koran, which recommends charity and protection to all helpless strangers.

And between cold and exhaustion, added to more than one kick from his horse, poor Wodrow was helpless indeed, but he had fortunately fallen into excellent hands--those of Abou Ayoub, a good, pious, and intelligent hakim, or physician of the adjacent village, the inhabitants of which were friendly to the British, or to anyone who would protect them from the Afreedies on the one hand and the Khyberees of the Suffaidh Koh on the other, and for defence against these the village, which consisted of a mosque, a tank, and some sixty houses, was surrounded by a strong wall pierced with double rows of loopholes for musketry.

He conveyed him to his house, and there on a _charpoy_, or native truckle bed, Robert Wodrow lay for days and weeks in fever and delirium, attended by the hakim and his three daughters and a Belooch slave. The former had skill enough to dose his patient with ipecacuanha, with infusions of manna, and food, including rice, tamarinds, and stewed prunes; but he and they believed much more in sentences of the Koran, written on paper, and washed off into the drink he imbibed, which was generally cool tamarind sherbet, that proved in times of feverish thirst a delicious draught, especially from the hands of Ayesha, the eldest and prettiest daughter of the three.

Among the Afghans women are not secluded from all male society, as they are strictly in other Mahommedan communities, for the women of the middle and lower orders share in all the domestic amusements of their husbands, who generally content themselves with one wife, and in the country the latter is unveiled.

Young unmarried women are distinguished by wearing their hair loose and by their trousers being white. Thus Ayesha and her two sisters wore their long black hair loose, but interwoven with gold chains and strings of Venetian sequins. And the hakim, who never omitted an opportunity of quoting the Koran, duly informed Robert Wodrow that she was so named from Ayesha--one of the four perfect women, and a wife of Mahomet the Prophet--a lady who had a very terrible adventure in the sixth year of the Hejira.

After a few weeks of their care, Robert became convalescent. He was young, courageous, and buoyant with hope; he felt a trust in his own resources and exertions, and, encouraged by the praise he had won from Colville and other officers, had begun to take a new interest in life--to have some hope for the future, and a desire to grapple with any difficulties and dangers that lay before him; but certainly he felt something akin to consternation when informed by the hakim that the Treaty of Gundamuck had been signed; that Great Britain had made peace with the Ameer; that all our troops had retired towards the Indus, and that he himself was left behind among the wild mountains by the Surkhab, some seventy miles from the frontier--a distance which he could scarcely hope to traverse alone on foot in safety, amid such perilous surroundings.

'Death cometh to everyone--even though he be in a lofty tower, saith the Koran, but your time, Feringhee, is not come yet,' said the Hakim Abou Ayoub to his guest, while smiling at the scared expression of his face.

The house of Abou Ayoub was a low but comfortable-looking building, surrounded by groves of tall palm-trees; it had a flat roof and a verandah, where Robert and the Hakim sat at times in the evening smoking, talking of the time when the former must make an effort to get away, or listening to the girls playing the saringa, or native guitar, and singing monotonously the odes of Rebman, the Khan of the Khutticks.

In this verandah the Hakim received his poor patients, who gazed with wonder and awe when the door of his sanctum or surgery was open, though therein were only a few boxes of books and drugs--a great vase of rose-water, and a three-lipped brass lamp suspended from a tall iron rod--for with them the science of healing was associated with something of sorcery and witchcraft. Robert Wodrow, with all the Hakim's kindness, wearied of the routine of the daily life there--the perpetual prayers and ablutions of his host. At each meal the old man always poured water into a brass basin, in which Robert had to dip his hands ere he could plunge them into the pilao, which Ayesha had prepared; though, sooth to say, the Hakim, after uttering the invariable Bismillah, usually had his fingers in first, selecting the most delicate morsels for his guest, as knives and forks are unknown in the land of Baber. Then would come little cups of savoury curries, chutnees, and sweetmeats; and, when evening fell, ablutions again; a white cloth was spread over the carpet, and, turning his bowed face in the direction of Mecca, old Abou Ayoub devoutly said his prayers for the night.

There is a language of the eye, and a freemasonry when hand touches hand that all women know or learn; and ere long Robert Wodrow discovered, to his alarm, that the eldest daughter of his host had eyes for him alone--we say to his alarm, for, if he did not respond, her heart might grow revengeful.

This made his situation perilous amid society so strange, and more intently did he long to be gone, though the girl was, in her own way, very pretty, very fair for an Afghan, and coquettishly wore the brightest coloured camises, embroidered vests, and laced trousers of the finest muslin to attract him,

When the Hakim was absent, there was no mistaking her languishing demeanour, which sorely perplexed the hussar.

If she loved him, as he doubted not, he at least did not know how to fall in love again, and to what end could it be with _her_?

Too intensely had he passed through the passion not to know how it was crushed out of him by the agony of loss; and he had but one desire, to get well and strong, and at all risks evade this new peril.

One morning the Hakim came to him with a face expressive of excitement and pleasure; it was to announce that a _tchopper_, or Cabulee mounted courier, had ridden through the adjacent pass and seen British troops marching north-westward from Jellalabad.

'British troops!' exclaimed Wodrow, starting up, and at the moment in haste to be gone.

'Bismillah, not so fast, my son,' said the Hakim; 'you must have food ere you go.'

In haste Ayesha prepared for him a _kafta kawab_, or dish of savoury meat balls, with her own hands, and, unseen by Wodrow, her tears dropped into the pipkin as she did so; but he could scarcely eat of it, he was in such haste to be gone.

From the loopholes in the village wall the Hakim showed him the gleam of arms as a party of troops came defiling into the narrow valley, through which the Surk-ab flows to the Cabul river, and then they wrung each other's hands in farewell.

'Peace be upon you!' cried Wodrow, who knew enough of the language to say this.

'And likewise on you be peace and the mercy of God!' cried the Hakim, in his sonorous Afghani, and another moment saw Robert Wodrow hurrying down the hillside, and leaving the walled killa, or village, fast behind him.

'Things in this world wag strangely,' said Robert Wodrow to Colville, and forgetting that others heard him. 'As you may know, I didn't care to live; but I pulled through--pulled through when those with a happier future and more hope might have succumbed.'

What followed has already been narrated.

'After the kindness of that old Hakim to me, I shall ever think well of these Afghan fellows in future,' said Robert.

'Quite right too, Wodrow,' responded Leslie Colville; 'but we have yet to see how we get on with them at Cabul.'

He had his doubts, and, curiously enough, they were prophetic.

With a sigh of genuine thankfulness, Robert Wodrow accepted a few cigars from the proffered case of young Hamilton, of the Guides (a gallant fellow who had already won the V.C.), as luxuries he had not known for many a day.

'And now for the march towards Cabul--nearly eighty miles from the village of Balabagh. As I have a spare horse, you shall ride him, Wodrow,' said Colville.

'I shall never forget your kindness, sir.'

This was all Robert Wodrow said, but his heart was very full, for Colville's manner and bearing to him were kind and considerate in the extreme; and he knew that--the latter's generosity of nature apart--much of this sprang from their mutual regard for Mary and Ellinor Wellwood.