LIFE IN CENTRAL AGAIN the course of events is directing the progress of British influence and empire towards the savage mountains and wild deserts of Central Asia, which, possibly enough, may never directly repay the cost of occupation, but constitute not the less on that account the citadel of the East, and would be most valuable to us in political and military points of view. Our first occupation of Affghanistan promised well for a time; Kabul, Kandahar, and Khelat, willingly yielded to our troops; but incapacity and infatuation were so predominant in our councils, that the fierce mountaineers soon asserted their independence by those terrible massacres which, for a time, turned the eyes of Englishmen with such intense anxiety upon the distant East. We repassed the Kyber, in order to vindicate our power, but after reoccupying Kabul, retired from the then unprofitables conquest, and were content to leave the Belooches undisturbed, and the blood of Loveday and his soldiers unavenged. Shortly before, and during our occupation of Affghanistan, much was done by enterprising travellers to extend our knowledge of that and neighbouring parts of the world: Conolly passed from the Caspian to Herat, from Herat to Kabul, and thence through the north of Beloochistan into Sind; Wood discovered the sources of the Oxus; Moorcroft perished to the north of the Hindu Koosh; even Khiva, and Bokhara, and ancient Samarkand, beheld adventurous wanderers from England. But after the disastrous events just alluded to, Central Asia was tabooed, and remained for many years a subject of unmentionable horror to the Anglo-Indian official mind. A very strong reaction set in against any further attempts to advance the western boundaries of British India. All the passes which opened on British territory were closed except to a few Affghan and Hindu merchants. Intelligent officials were politely reproved whenever they made representations on the subject ASIA. to the Supreme Government. Sir Charles Napier, indeed, backed by Lord Ellenborough, contrived to annex Sind, but his conquest was looked upon with no favourable eyes by the Court of Directors and by the Government of Bombay; it was submitted to as a necessary evil, rather than welcomed, which it might have been, as an inevitable and important measure. Even the conquest of the Punjaub was avoided as far as possible, although that country is the crown of India, and though Hindostan, from the first invasion down to the establishment of the Delhi empire, has always been conquered from the North. In vain Sir Charles Napier desired to proceed against it while it was threatening us, and he was in Sind. And when at last we did cooquer it, the East India Directors and their Governor-General were volunteers in the matter, only in the sense in which the word was used by the sepoy officer of a forlorn hope who, on being taunted for his backwardness, and being asked if he and his hand were not volunteers, candidly replied, "Ha, Sahib hum Bolumteer hain, lekun kushe se nuhin jate" — Yes, Master, we are volunteers, but we do not go of our own free will. New circumstances, however, bring new views, and the feeling against interference with the affairs of Central Asia appears to have diminished in strength. In warfare against the wild tribes, our military operations would no more be dependent on the enmity or friendship of native rulers, their intrigues or precarious assistance; for any military force may now be con, centrated to the west of the Indus with a plentiful supply of food and military stores, and with the certainty of these being replenished regularly. It is beginning now to be seen that the key to the Punjab and Hindostan, to Balkh, Bokhara, Tartary, and the Russian possessions on the north, to Herat and Persia on the west, lies in Kabul among the mountains of Kabulistan. It is also felt that a great nation cannot lay down any frontier, and resolve not to be tempted past that. There was as much wisdom in the Saxon king's attempt to stay the advancing waves, as there is in the policy of those statesmen who fancy that they can confine the advance of a nation within certain geographical limits. In fact, the very powers which we desire not to disturb often compel us to encroach, by beseeching us to interfere in their internal affairs, or attacking and annoying us if we refuse to do so. Thus, for instance, Dost Mohammed himself besonght us, in 1855, to make a treaty of friendship with him; in 1857 we see, among other consequences, British troops not far from Kabul. Considerable sums of money have been paid to the Khan of Khelat and other chiefs. A large fleet of vessels has conveyed a strong land-force to the attack of Persia. Old books of travel in the East have been sought out and eagerly studied. The vast district of country which lies westwards of the Indus is no longer a forbidden land, but one in which the English name is again powerful for a very great distance, and one in many parts of which an Englishman will be made heartily welcome. And thought it is neither right nor prudent to push an action in this matter, yet possibly enough the day may not be far distant when English stations will be established in the Bolan and Kyber passes; when the mystery and savagery of Central Asia will vanish under British enterprise and rule. In these present circumstances, and under the first shadow of coming events, it may not be amiss for us to give some sketches of Central Asia, of its inhabitants and their singular life. Abundance of interesting material on this subject exists in works already published; but these works are in themselves so well worthy of perusal, that we prefer drawing on the stock of our own personal experience, not without the hope that even a few slight sketches may direct some readers to the writings of more enterprising and accomplished travellers. For, perhaps, there is no literature more peculiarly Brit ish, and almost none more worthy of careful perusal, than that which relates to explorative travel. The peculiar genius which enables a man both to undertake and describe such travel, involves many high qualities of mind and character. Instinctive it may be, even as that of the statesman, the warrior, or the poet; but it is a rare and noble instinct, wisely implanted by the hand of God in a few of our race. It is an instinct which was necessary to the progress of the world, which opened the path to the founders of our Indian empire, and tracked over the wild Atlantic the way to the wide-waving cornfields and sugar-brakes of America. Far be it from us to make any pretensions to such peculiar distinction. Indeed, it is rather difficult now to find an explorable new country, and the enterprising traveller will soon have to mourn, like Alexander, over a conquered world. In the loneliest dell of Cachmere, Alastor would meet, not the Spirit of Solitude, but some sporting officer or sallow Punjaub civilian enjoying a few weeks' leave. The ascent of the "heaven-ascending" peaks of the Gavahir themselves would be embittered by the recollection of a book having been published with the impertinent title, "A Walk over the Himalayas," as if the walk was quite insignificant-a mere Saturday afternoon's exploit. From Baghdad to the Caspian, and from the Caspian to Herat, the Hindoo Koosh, and farther Bokhara, we may tread in the footsteps of our countrymen who have gone before, and add our stones to the lonely cairns of those who have fallen by the way. But though Central Asia affords no field for geographical discovery, yet it presents vast districts almost unknown and peopled by singular savage nomads, and may readily afford more interesting material for description than any which can be gathered on the great highways of the world. More particularly, we hope to entertain the reader when he passes with us through the Hala mountains into Beloochistan, and encamps (in fancy as we in recollection) by the wells of ancient Gedrosia, from which not more than two or three Europeans have drank since the ground was trampled roun them by the hosts of the retiring triumphant. Hindus, old and young, army of Alexander. bunyas and brahmins, with red turbans and white, pass in streams through the bazaars, where the waving lights of the open shops make everything bright as day. Here a lemoncoloured Chinaman displays his ivory toys; there a row of Arab horsedealers sit smoking and drinking coffee. The ancient fire-worshipperlook far more fat and fair than the miss erable Indo-Portuguese, who move, in dirty white jackets and trousers, as if all their stamina were gone. In side streets there are black Jews from Cochin, and golden-coloured ones from the banks of the Euphrates. An experienced eye will soon detect stranded Italians, Germans, and Poles, who have reached India in mysterious ways, with vague notions of making their fortune there, but who find themselves more wretched than ever. Hideous sounds, meant for music, with doleful howling, induce us to glance into the temples, where the followers of Siva are worshipping ugly stones smeared with red paint and oil. Where the air is heavy with the fragrant perfume of tropical flowers, and the tall palms are rustling gently above, the lights and music of the wealthy native merchant's nautch invite us to enter his bungalow and behold how Paphian girls of varions climes can sing and smile. Then it is not only the mere outside life, such as the streets of a European town present, which is disclosed. It is rather as if we walked the streets of a European town with the power of seeing through window-curtains and stone walls. Through the broad plantain leaves the English party is seen dining under the waving punkah. We hear the coolie asking his wife, while he beats her for not having made enough bread, if she wants him to die starving. Household matters are unconcealed. And the life of half a million of the human race-for such population has the town of which we speak-is laid open, so that he who walks or rides, may read. There are many centres where the intelligent traveller may place himself in contact with numerous varieties of Eastern race and character. In Cairo we may see Arabia, Syria, and all the north-east of Africa. Aden is not a bad point, about the time of the Hadj, for meeting with Mohammedans; but no one feels inclined to stay longer than he can help in that fiery, dusty, extinct volcano. Bombay is the great port of the Arabian Gulf, and presents greater variety of nationality and costume, than any other town it has been our fortune to visit. When the cool evening breeze is sweeping over the pale blue of the sea, or still later, when the distant ghauts have been veiled by the night, so welcome to the wild beasts with which they abound, it is like enjoying a dream of the Arabian Nights to wander slowly through the crowded bazaars and the palm-groves of Bombay. In the open carriage which swiftly passes, we get a glimpse of the pale face of some English lady, languidly reclining beside her husband, the Secretary to Government, too tired with his day's labour to do more than passively enjoy the coolness of the night. The buggy which tears along behind has in it a couple of intoxicated English sailors, who make the buggywallah goad on his wretched horse, by punching and kicking him, he consoling himself with thinking of Jack's drunken generosity. In the neighbourhood of the bunders, all varieties of the African homo are to be seen; the lithe Somal, with nothing but a blanket around him; the stout, short, brown Abyssinian; and the huge coal-black Seedy, newly arrived from the Mozambique coast, with his incomprehensible alternations of savage sulkiness and maniacal good-humour. Short but brawny Mahratta coolies, from the ConcanGhaut-Mahta, trudge sturdily along with palanquins, or bearing great loads upon their heads. They always prefer to carry loads in that way; and when a benevolent gentleman gave wheel-barrows to a number of them, the coolies whipt up the barrows upon their heads, whenever he was out of sight, and went off gratified and But for Central Asia, Kurrachee, the port of Sind, is the most convenient point of observation. Surely no one ever approached it with the intention of remaining there for some time, without feeling a little dismay and sinking of the heart. The Red Sea, wind, until the country is changed the Persian Gulf and the upper part from dust and sand into mud and of the Arabian Gulf, are bounded by water. Oh! the pleasant relief the waste places of the earth-hot from those eternal blue skies, about sandy shores, spotted with dreary which romantic young ladies in Engmangrove swamps, and rising up in- land, who have never experienced to red precipitous mountains which them, talk so enthusiastically! The seem to flame even in the summer European in Sind, who has escaped heat. The broken malaria-covered from the Indian eight months of swamps through which the waters of eternal blue, will undoubtedly, when the Indus find their way into the he rises, on the first wet, cold, raw, sea, are succeeded, as we approach misty morning of December, be inKurrachee, by low sand-hills extend- clined to use the language of the ing along the coast to Cape Monze, Madras Colonel, who came on deck a huge promontory of red sandstone the first misty morning in the Engending a vast range of sterile moun- lish Channel, rubbing his hands and tains which stretch away to the north- exclaiming "Ah! that's the thing; east for hundreds of miles beyond none of your d-d eternal blue skies eyesight till lost among the ranges here!" No doubt the dry heat, and of distant Affghanistan. Dreary enough looks the aspect of things after we cross the bar and prepare to land. A long bunder-road, with Arab budgerows loading and unloading on one side of it, and on the other a dark muddy swamp, full of dead fish and shell-fish, excrement of aquatic birds, and rotting plants, leads up to a barren sandy plain, on a slight elevation of which stands the cantonment. Clouds of sand and dust dash furiously at the astonished visitor. The dry heat, if the wind is from the land, cracks his skin. He is ready to curse the country as bearing nothing but sand, salt, and soldiers. the great changes of temperature, are somewhat dangerous to human life, inducing fever and dysentery of the most inexorable kind; but then, until he becomes seriously ill, he finds himself healthy and active in an unusual degree. There being an average of 70 deaths annually at Kurrachee for every 780 Europeans, the ratio of deaths must be between 9 and 10 per cent annually, while in England it is only between 1 and 2 per cent. That fact, when he discovers it, may make him look upon the cold mornings as treacherous in their pleasantness as pleasing, indeed, like "pegs"-glasses of brandypaunee-so called from their supposed effect in closing the coffin-lid upon the son of Adam; but, like these, certain to be fatal in the long, or rather short run. -- A very little acquaintance with it, however, will convince him that it has many compensating advantages. The dry, elastic, invigorating air of the desert is very exciting, so much so, indeed, that for some days the Perhaps this may have the effect stranger feels his brain painfully of impressing upon him, if he be of active, and strongly suspects that a serious reflecting mind, the duty of the European residents in Sind are taking example from the busy bee, all insane. From October to March and improving each shining hour, in the weather is very pleasant, and a country where the hours are very though it may be very hot during the shining indeed. What would most of day, yet towards sunset, and on till us not give could we place ourselves morning, he finds a sharp cold, un- for a few months in Perth, not in the known in Hindostan, which enables year 185-, but in the days of the him to enjoy once more the luxuries Fair Maid? And in the year 185of a fire and of hot punch. Con- Sind borders on countries where the sidering that Sind is in what is called state of society is as wild, irregular, a "rainless district," he is agreeably clannish, freebooting, hospitable, gratified by seeing magnificent ranges and murderous, as it ever was of of heavy clouds lying along the hills old in the Scottish Highlands. Gone of Beloochistan, which are only about is the romance of the Highland twenty miles distant, and these com- clans. Still the stag may drink at ing down in rain on heavy blasts of "Monan's Rill," and make its lair deep in "hazel shade," but no hunter's horn or chieftain's whistle shrill can people the lone hill-side with five hundred warriors keen. No more the hardy Cateran drives the Sassenach's fat cattle before him, on scanty paths to his inaccessible retreat; he only drives down nowt to Falkirk Tryst, from "ta ponny land o'ta whiskey still." "Donald of the Smithy, the Son of the Hammer," puts large stones at the Inverness Games, instead of filling "the Banks of Lochawe with mourning and clamour." Only an Edinburgh professor roams disconsolate among the hills of Braemar, crying, "Woes me, woe! what dole and sorrow, From this lovely land I borrow!" While an unfeeling public asks, "Why borrow?" and advises him to pay back his loan as soon as possible. But the primitive virtues still remain among the mountains of Central Asia, and Kurrachee is sufficiently close to these hills to allow an opportunity (even to respectable persons like professors) of making tolerably safe acquaintance with living "lords of the glen." On the one side of the Hala (not indeed at their base, where the Belooch still rules, but nearer the banks of the royal Indus), we find the bungalows of Europeans open to receive us, active English magistrates superintending public works, or administering justice in their cutcheries, companies of European artillery and Sepoy regiments, with young beardless English officers, drilling in the cool of the morning. Everywhere our white faces command respect from the natives of the country, and our impedimenta are in no danger of being taxed or taken by roving chiefs. Very different is the behaviour of the Sindians to us, from what it was in 1613 to Sir Robert Shirley, a British ambassador to Persia who was detained at the mouth of the Indus, saw Mr. Ward, one of his companions, shot dead before his face, and experienced the greatest difficulty in escaping to Agra, where he was courteously received by Jehangir. Even in 1801 the English mission to the Ameers was subjected to many annoyances and insults. But all that is changed now; for we are the Sahib Log-the ruling people, the masters of the hour, masters of the destinies of India and of Sind. Even the erewhile Belooch chief who fought against Sir Charles Napier on the fields of Meeanee and Hydrabad, humbly makes to us his salaam. On the other hand, again, when we have approached the Hala, or passed through them into the country beyond, it is very necessary to wrap ourselves in the cloak of prudence. No white faces meet our eye, but only swarthy Belooches, brown Brahuis, and travelling Affghans. No forehead will touched at our approach ; and to our respectful Salaam Aleikoom, there will sometimes not even be vouchsafed a scowling Aleikoom Salaam. Instead of cantonments and bungalows, we find the mudbuilt and mud-walled town of some Jam or Khan, or other territorial chief, the black tents of some wandering Belooch tribe, or the loose branches which form the only shelter for the encampments of the Lumri and the Brahui. The journeys are from well to well, or from valley to valley. We require to travel with fire-locks in our hands, or near us, in the care of some trusty servant; when lying down to sleep, they must be at our side. The Affghan and Belooch are not inclined to regard us with either overwhelming admiration or very tender affection; and when they catch us in their own hills, it is just possible they may think us fair game, for robbery and warfare are familiar to them from childhood. However, even without entering into the dangerous country, much may be seen of its inhabitants. The Sindees themselves are a timid fusionless people much given to the use of opium and bhang (Cannabi Indica), but some amusement may be got from them as they appear in the gardens of the Fakeers, close to the native town of Kurrachee. These gardens contain some splendid trees, chiefly banyan, and during the day afford umbrageous protection to the debauched Fakeers, who require rest after the exertions of the night. In the evening these faithful few make great efforts, by trumpet and voice, to intimate that the time for evening |