On the last day in May I went to the Durbar, for I thought that surely now I had finished all there was to do before I started. His Highness received me most kindly.

I said that in my life I had filled other appointments, but that His Highness’s kindness to me had exceeded all that I had met with before. He said:—

“Why should I not treat you kindly? You are a ‘Friend of my Heart.’ I say this not to give you pleasure, but because I mean it.”

I replied that I felt the honour he did me deeply, for I was his servant and he a King. He said:—

“I have seen many men: high and low; rich and poor; men of noble descent, and men of obscure birth; but I call no man a friend of my heart till I have watched his deeds. I judge a man by his deeds, and not by his words, and again I address you as a Friend of my Heart.”

His Highness desired me to take eight months’ leave; my pay was to continue during my absence, and, in addition, he gave me as a wedding present an order upon his Agent with the Government in India for a considerable sum of money.

The Armenian, who was to accompany me, received written instructions relating to the commissions the AmÎr wished executed in London. During his absence his salary would be paid to his wife in Kabul.

The next day my packing was done. Firmans for pack-horses, tents, and guard procured, and I took a formal leave of His Highness the AmÎr.

I visited Prince Habibullah, who received me most kindly, and after he had conversed with me for about an hour I took leave of him. I then rode out to Aliabad, a few miles out of Kabul, where Her Highness the Sultana was staying, and sent in my salaams to her and the little Prince Mahomed Omer. Her Highness sent a large tray of sweetmeats, and presented me with some very beautiful embroidered cashmere.

On June 4th, after a good-bye to Mr. Pyne and the other Englishmen, I started on my journey home. I will not trace the journey in detail: it was excessively hot, and I will merely mention one or two incidents that occurred.

One day the march was particularly trying. We were at BorikÂb. I had breakfast at dawn—three small poached-eggs and some tea. The baggage and tents were sent off, and when the sun rose we started gaily. Gaily—I—poor fool! little did I know—but you shall hear. We trotted and trotted, and shuffled and climbed by mountain and gorge, over pebble and rock, until at midday we reached Jigdilik. We descended, and sat in the valley in the cool shade of the big trees and had lunch. Mine was a hard-boiled egg from my holster, a piece of native bread, and some tea. I thought the march was over, and lay basking in the shade. Was ever mortal so deluded!

“Sir, please you get up and start; a long way we go to-day,”—thus the Armenian after an hour.

“Start!! man alive, we started hours ago: you are not going any further to-day, surely.”

“Sir, we must make haste. Between Dacca and Lalpur, this month is very difficult hot: and slowly by slowly it makes hotter. Better this, we get through it soon: you European.”

Immortal Pluto! not the Turkestan plains over again!

“Come along, then,” said I, jumping up, “let us start at once,” and we started.

Along the narrow rocky ravine we rode—just after midday in June—and the sun shot down at us. It dried our blood, and the glare burnt into our brain, at any rate, into mine; I don’t know about the cast-iron Afghans.

Up the long winding gorge we climbed, and at the summit the breeze struck us. We caught a few long breaths of coolness, then plunged into another long winding descent with precipitous rocks on either side. On and on we trudged, hour after hour, still at last my bodily powers gave out. This, by the way, was the road that Brydon went over.

Ride further I could not, for I had not recovered my strength since last year’s illness. Nine stone five pounds is not adequate for a man of my height: it does not leave enough available muscle. Nevertheless, no one, who is not a Salamander—an amphibious animal, allied to the newts, and capable of living in fire—can comfortably rest on burning rocks. There was no shade of any sort, not a tree, nothing, but glaring rocks and stones. I got off my horse therefore, and walked. I was conscious at the time that the Afghan guard thought the sun had made me mad, and as they eyed me suspiciously, I tried to assume a fierce aspect, and stalked along down hill at the rate of five miles an hour. The change of motion rested the muscles, and the guard on horseback came shuffling along hastily behind me. Then came a climb, and I got on again refreshed and perspiring, but more internally weary, as I found after riding twenty minutes. Over the rest of the march I will draw the veil of forgetfulness. It was too terrible for words.

In the evening, we reached Gundamuk. I perceived that my tent was being put up in a garden, and between me and that garden were a stream and a wall. I had dismounted, my horse had been led away, and I was standing on my own legs. I had but little faith in them, for they seemed inclined to fail me in my hour of need. There was the wall, staring me in the face, to say nothing of the stream. True, the stream was but a foot wide, and the wall had a gap in it, nevertheless, they were difficulties to be overcome. There were two courses open to me: one was to sit on the ground where I was, and wait until someone could come and help me across: another was to take time by the forelock and get across myself somehow or other. Everyone was busy with the baggage and tents, and no one seemed to perceive my dilemma: therefore, being resolute by nature, I determined upon the latter course, and stood for a time considering how I would accomplish it.

Staggering boldly to the stream, I allowed myself to fall forwards till I caught the wall with both hands; clinging on and clenching my teeth I gave a vigorous heave to one leg, and in a moment was astride the gap: nerving myself for another violent effort I swung the other leg over.

I had conquered, and, moreover, without experiencing the loss of dignity that a fall in the stream would have occasioned. Exhilarated by my success, I reeled into the tent and sank on the carpet. “Sank,” perhaps, hardly gives the correct impression, for as soon as the legs were bent at the knee I sat down with disagreeable suddenness. I then proceeded to drink large quantities of liquid—tea, water, and sherbet—and when my charpoy was brought into the tent I climbed on to it and lay down, hoping to lose my senses in forgetfulness. It was without avail, and I rolled from side to side seeking rest and finding none.

In the course of three hours the unwilling fowl was caught, killed, and cooked, and I made a tough, moist meal. But now I could rest, and no longer in vain did I court the Goddess of sleep.

Further on in our march we found the locusts had been at work. Around Jelalabad the country in spite of the heat had the appearance of winter: the trees were bare. In the Palace gardens the oranges hung nearly ripe, but every leaf had gone. When we arrived there we had afternoon tea in the Guest-house at the Palace, and afterwards rode on some few miles beyond Jelalabad, where we camped.

I had dinner in the open and then went into my tent to lie down: but I came out again—quickly. The locusts had invaded it and had crawled up inside the tent and over the charpoy, so that all was green—a beautiful green shot with pink: but it gave me no pleasure, the colour seemed out of place. Moreover, I could not lie down without crunching my unwelcome guests; and no host, I take it, cares to lie upon the mangled remains of guests, be they never so unwelcome.

We had noticed that day as we travelled along that a careful peasant had dug a shallow pond at the foot of a beautiful mulberry tree. The locusts had perforce spared that tree: they might have tumbled off and they cannot swim; but they had spitefully nipped off every leaf that spread beyond the water. A shallow pond, therefore, was dug some little distance away in the hard-baked earth for my charpoy to stand in, and since we could not get the locusts out of the tent, we determined to take the tent away from the locusts. On further consideration, however, it seemed likely, and indeed the Armenian insisted very strongly on the point, that if I lay all night with my bed in a pond I should wake up in the morning with fever or rheumatism, or something disagreeable which would be likely to hinder our journey.

We left the pond, therefore, and moved away to a bare open space with never a blade of grass nor a leaf anywhere near. Here my tent was pitched, and with a feeling of restful security I sat upon my charpoy and enjoyed the cool of the evening. A tickling sensation at the back of the neck caused me to raise my hand, and I brushed away a great locust. Ach! the beasts were all over me: they seemed to be evolved spontaneously out of nothing. They were not so, however, for on the mountains outside Kabul we saw myriads of the young locusts about the size of black ants hopping about in the warm sand. This was one of their breeding establishments where the eggs are hatched. The life-history of the locust may be looked upon as an interesting study in colour, for when he is a babe he is black, as a youth he is pink, and in adult age green. Two and a-half inches is his length, but he looks longer: he is all legs and wings. As a creature that crawls I object to him.

I called for assistance, and the tent was cleared: but they have no tact, these Locusts, and they came in again and again like so many Afghan Page boys, welcome or not. I spent an active and shuddering evening brushing them off my neck, shoulders, and wrists. At last in despair I covered my head over with a sheet and went to sleep, dreaming I was being crawled over by scorpions and centipedes.

When we got to the “difficult hot” place (sakht, hard, difficult, severe) between Lalpur and Dacca, the sky was cloudy, and a strong wind blew. The dust was awful, but safer than the sun.

We went through the Khyber on a closed day, which, I found afterwards, is illegal. The chief of the Khyber Pathans had been a friend of the Armenian’s father, and he ordered out the guard of the Pass for us, so that we could travel on instead of waiting two or three days. At Jumrood, the end of the Pass, we were stopped by the order of the British Frontier Officer, and I heard that, if I had been in the service of the Government, I should have been liable to imprisonment in the fort for travelling on the wrong day. However, we were allowed to proceed.

In Peshawur I got rid of my horses: tipped my Afghan guard, and took the train to Simla to deliver a Despatch to His Excellency the Viceroy that His Highness the AmÎr had entrusted me with.

The despatch contained nothing political, but simply concerned me personally. The Foreign Secretary kindly gave me a translation of it. This is how it runs:—

(Copy.) “Foreign Office, India.

“Translation of a letter from His Highness the AmÎr of Afghanistan and its Dependencies to the address of His Excellency the Viceroy, dated the 24th of Showal, 1308 H., corresponding to the 2nd of June, 1891.

“After compliments.

“I have the honour to inform your Excellency that Dr. John Gray has asked me for some months’ leave in view to proceed to England and celebrate his marriage, and, after settling his own domestic affairs, to return to me.

“I have, therefore, given him eight months’ leave, and it has been settled with him that he should come back to Kabul at the appointed time.

“This has been written only for your Excellency’s information, so that your Excellency may be aware of the circumstance and the manner of leave of Dr. Gray. Of course, he will do everything which he thinks necessary for his domestic affairs during the period of his leave, and, having satisfied himself, he will, at the approach of the appointed period, start to come to Kabul in a happy and hopeful state of mind.”

It will be unnecessary to give details of the gay time we had in Simla. Colonel Wali Ahmad Khan, the AmÎr’s Agent with the Government of India, had received orders from the AmÎr to invite me to the bungalow that the Government had placed at his disposal. I stayed with him, therefore, taking the Armenian and my Indian cook. I had my formal interview with the Viceroy, dined with His Excellency: went to several dances at the Viceregal Lodge: was introduced to Lord Roberts, Lord William Beresford, the Quartermaster-General, and other gentlemen: went to numerous dinners, and, after a fortnight’s gaiety, departed for Bombay, where, accompanied by the Armenian, I took ship for London.

In India I had been struck by the remarkable whiteness of an Englishman’s skin: in London I thought I knew every second man I met. However, I soon came to the conclusion that it must be the type I was familiar with, not the individual.

The next thing that appealed to me, after I had got over the strangeness of seeing “Sahibs” drive cabs, heave baggage about, and take “tips,” was the quaint irregularity of an Englishman’s features: I do not remember noticing that English ladies appeared in the same light: on the contrary,—and the Armenian agreed with me.

I think the study of character and the endeavouring to form conclusions as to the course of action that will probably be taken up by any given individual under different circumstances, is one of the most fascinating of studies. Here was a case at hand, under my own eye, as it were.

I had studied the Armenian for a couple of years or so and had come to conclusions. I knew what he would do, and I would watch the development of his character under the altered circumstances of life in England. I would observe the enlargement of his mind as I gradually fed it with greater and greater wonders.

In India I had thought I would spare him as much as possible on the journey, lest he became bewildered by the traffic and the bustle of the railway, but, somehow, it did not seem to be necessary.

He bought a satchel, slung it over his shoulder, asked for the money—which he kept—took my ticket; paid the hotel bills; looked after my baggage; chose the best seat in the railway carriage for me; bullied other people’s servants if they tried to take the seat for their masters,—I heard one man, a Civil Service official, say, “I fancy the AmÎr in all his glory must be coming down in this train”—and altogether he behaved as if he knew all about it. However, I thought, when we get to the sea and the great floating Hotel, the P. & O. boat, the education will begin. He will be astonished. Perhaps he was, but I did not see it. He took everything as a matter of course; apparently he knew it all before; doubtless in some other cycle of existence. He wasn’t even sea-sick.

London, with its thousands, its grandeur, its turmoil of business, this will take him aback: the wonder of it must needs appal him.

Appal! He hadn’t been in London a fortnight before he could tell me what ’bus to take and what the fare was. He knew all about the “Inner and Outer Circles,” which is more than I do; and before long could give an opinion on the relative merits of a considerable number of the music halls and theatres in the Metropolis.

It was I who was bewildered, not he. What manner of man is this, I thought, will nothing astonish him?

I got orders from the Government for him to visit the Mint, Woolwich Arsenal, and other places, and he compared them to similar establishments in Afghanistan, to the disparagement of the English ones! I took him to Whiteley’s, saying, in a casual way, “This is an English shop.” He took it quietly, but before he left he had accepted an invitation to a banquet at the MetropÔle that the employÉes at that establishment were giving. Moreover, at the dinner he got up and made a fluent speech!

At my wedding he created a great sensation. He appeared before us on that occasion in Afghan costume, and attracted, next to the bride, by far the greatest amount of attention: I was a necessary, but unnoticeable appendage: a sort of after thought; and all the little girls fell in love with him. After the ceremony he came into the Vestry and signed his name, in Persian, in the Register as witness. He said it was Persian, but it was hard to tell. He explained the peculiarity of his writing by stating that a warrior is not a clerk.

It came though—the wonder and the awe: and I look back with pride upon that day.

I took him to the Crystal Palace and showed him the display of fireworks at Brock’s benefit.

“Is this anything?” I asked, feebly and almost in despair. He admitted it: “Yes!” he said,—this was really fine: even his father had never seen anything like it.

It was my education that was being completed, my mind that was developing, and as I sat and looked at the Oriental, I felt that perhaps this great London was, after all, not the “hub of the Universe.” I was bewildered. What was the “hub!” Was it Kabul?

When my leave drew to a close, I bade adieu to my little wife, and sailed for Bombay. It was as well for the Armenian that we went, for, somehow, he seemed almost a wreck when we got on board. I said as much to him, and he accounted for his condition by saying that the climate of England was too strong for him.