The Baluch Saddle Consists
Simply Of Two Sharp Pieces Of Wood Bound Together By Leathern Thongs,
And The Exchange Was By No Means A Welcome One So Far As I Was
Concerned.
Had it cut me in two, however, I would have borne it, if
only to punish this boorish ruffian for his insolence of yesterday.
Malak's chief failing was evidently vanity, and he was very reluctant,
even for an hour, to cede the place of honour to a European.
The road for the first ten miles or so lay along the dry bed of
a river, which, I ascertained with difficulty from my one-eyed
companion, is named the Mashki. Large holes, from eight to ten feet
deep, had been dug for some distance by the Dhaira natives, forming
natural cisterns or tanks. These were, even now, after a long spell of
dry weather, more than half full, and the water, with which we filled
barrels and flasks, clear, cold, and delicious.
The Shirengaz Pass, which crosses a chain of hills about five hundred
feet high, separates the Dhaira Valley from the equally fertile
district of Gwarjak. The ascent and descent are gradual and easy, and
by ten o'clock we were in sight of Gwarjak, before midday had encamped
within half a mile of the town, if a collection of straggling
tumble-down huts can so be called. The news of our arrival had preceded
us, and before tents were pitched the population had turned out _en
masse_, and a mob of quite two hundred men, women, and children were
squatted around our camp, watching, at a respectful distance, the
proceedings of my men with considerable interest. Malak had meanwhile
disappeared, ostensibly to warn the Wazir of our arrival.
Gwarjak is situated on the left bank of the Mashki river, and consists
of some thirty huts, shapeless and dilapidated, built of dried palm
leaves. About two hundred yards north of the village rises a steep
almost perpendicular rock about a hundred feet high, on the summit of
which is perched a small mud fort. The latter is crenelated, loopholed
for musketry, and mounts six cannon of a very primitive kind. It was
at once apparent that we were anything but welcome. The very sight of
my armed escort seemed to annoy and exasperate the male population,
while the women and children gathered together some distance off,
flying in a body whenever one of our party approached them. I looked
forward, with some impatience, to Malak's return, for Kamoo's request
for the loan of a knife from one of the bystanders was met with
an indignant refusal, accompanied by murmuring and unmistakable
expressions of hostility. We were well armed certainly, but were only
ten men against over a hundred.
Our camping-place was wild and picturesque, and, had it not been for
the uncomfortable sensation of not quite knowing what would happen
next, our stay at Gwarjak would have been pleasant enough. Even Gerome
was depressed and anxious, and the Beila men and escort ill at ease. I
was sorely tempted more than once to accede to Kamoo's request, strike
tents and move on to Gajjar, the next village, but was restrained by
the thought that such a proceeding would not only be undignified, but
a source of satisfaction to my _bete noire_, Malak.
[Illustration: MALAK]
After a prolonged absence of four or five hours, the latter returned,
together with his Wazir and about a dozen followers. A more cut-throat
looking set of ruffians I have seldom seen. All wore long black-cloth
robes trimmed with scarlet, and white turbans, and carried a Snider
rifle and belt stuffed with cartridges slung over the left shoulder. I
now noticed with some anxiety that Malak's quiet and undemonstrative
manner had completely altered to one of swaggering insolence and
bravado. "The chief wishes you to know he has twenty more like this,"
said Kamoo, pointing to Malak's villainous-looking suite. "Tell him
I am very glad to hear it," was my reply, politely meant, but which
seemed to unduly exasperate the King of Gwarjak. Brushing past me, he
burst into the tent, followed by his men, and seated himself on my
only camp-stool. Then, producing a large American revolver, he cocked
it with a loud click, placed it on the ground beside him, and called
for his kalyan.
Patience has limits. With the reflection that few white men would have
put up with the insults I had; that "Tommy Atkins" was, after all,
only three hundred miles away; and that, in the event of my death,
Malak would probably be shot, if not blown from a gun, - I ordered him
(through the trembling Kamoo) to instantly leave the tent with all his
followers. The fire-eating chieftain was (unlike most Baluchis) a poor
creature, for to my intense relief he slunk out at once, with his
tail between his legs. Having then re-appropriated the camp-stool,
I ordered in the escort, fixed bayonets, loaded _my_ revolver with
ostentation, and commanded my friend to re-enter alone, which he did,
and, as Americans say, "quickly."
Then ensued an uncomfortable silence, interrupted by the arrival of
one of my men to say that the villagers had refused to sell provisions
of any kind, although eggs, milk, and rice were to be had in plenty.
"I am not the king of these people," said Malak, passionately, on
being remonstrated with. "Every man here is free to do as he pleases
with his own." As our stores were now running uncomfortably short,
this "Boycotting" system was anything but pleasant. "Will _you_ sell
us some eggs and milk?" I asked, as my unwilling guest rose to go. It
was eating humble-pie with a vengeance, but hunger, like many other
things, has no laws. "I am not a stall-keeper," was the answer. A
request to be permitted to ascend the hill and visit the fort was met
by an emphatic refusal. I then, as a last resource, inquired, through
Kamoo, if my hospitable host had any objection to my walking through
the village.
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