The Sirdar's Chess-Board.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XVIII, Issue 1216, 23 January 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Sirdar's Chess-Board.

When my husband came back from that interview he seemed greatly dispirited. To all my questions he replied briefly that the Sirdar had received him with great . friendliness, and had been much pleased with a present of handsome fire-arms sent to him from the Home Office in England; that he was to spend that evening in his company at his tumble- down serai in the citadel, and that I was invited to accompany him. There was nothing alarming in all this. I questioned him further, and after a while I learned that the Sirdar had, given him unpleasant news from India ; that he felt it his duty to hasten forward and rejoin his regiment, and that the sooner he could get his visit paid to the Afghan prince then living under the protection of a tribe of freebooters in the mountains, the sooner we could be en route fox the remainder of our journey. " Shall we start' for the hills to-morrow, then?" I asked, a little dolefully. I had looked forward to a comfortable rest at Herat, and was, indeed, worn out by constant riding. " There's the rub," said my husband. " The Sirdar has not yet been able to establish his authority in the hills. He will send a strong escort with me, but it will not be under my command. I might go and return within a week if I took no luggage, and only Bruce with me." " Not me, Charle3 ?" " Dear wife," he said, " I am miserable at the thought of leaving you behind me. But you are a soldier's wife, you know. You have kept your promise faithfully, thus far, that you would never be a drag upon your husband. Croisset wiil stay, and Porson, and the Sirdar invites you to be the guest of His head wife, a Turcoman lady, and to pass your time among .his women." My heart sank within me. A week in a harem, with its ennui, its familiarity, its noise, ite dirt, its want of privacy and delicacy I Then, too, for a whole week I should be dumb no better than an idiot or an animal. It was not probable that any one in this inland place could speak any of my languages. •' Oh Charley 1" , But thoae words, " You have never been a drag upon me yet," determined me. I nestled closer to my husband, who was sitting on the . divan with his arm around my wai3t, and said, as firmly as I could, " I accept the Sirdar's invitation." That evening, after the muezzin's summons of tbe faithful to their prayers, we went to the serai. The Sirdar received us in a room -which had little furniture. Some divans round the walls, 'some tables covered with thick carpets, some other carpets like them under foot, were all tbat it contained. Ahmed Khan was a good-looking dark man about forty-five, with pleasant manners tend- } ing to joviality. To my surprise and great! delight, I found he could speak a little Levan- 1 tine Italian, familiar enough to me, as my' father's regiment had once been in garrison > at Malta. We were received, of, course, with pipes, i coffee, and sweetmeats, the former being offered ( us straight from the attendants' mouths. Bruce and Croisset were there besides our-i selves. They got on comfortably, as they both i spoke Persian. The Sirdar was fall of talk, j not alluding, of course, to that part of his; history which connected him with the mas-} sacre of our people at Cabool in 1841, nor to^ his riding at the head of some hundreds of • Afghan horsemen against us in the Bikh war.; He talked about the late seige of Herat by the> Persian forces, about the future policy of his principality, about Lieutenant-Colonelf Taylor's mission in his capital, and finally he' related how he had been imprisoned by the savage Vizier of Bokhara twenty-seven years previously in the same prison as poor Captain Stoddart. The Sirdar had got away dißguised as a melon seller, and Stoddart'a gallant bearing in misfortune impressed him that he had> offered to share with him his chances of escape and had prooured a disguise for him. But Stoddart would not leave his dungeon secretly Every day he expected deliverance at the hands of his government. That deliverance never reached him. The brave and trustful Englishman paid with his life for his oonA fidenoe in the power of the English name, r All this was interpreted to me by Croisset.\ After a while the Sirdar and my husband be- , gan*fo play chess, and a beautifully inlaid ; board was brought forward, together with the most elaborately carved chess-men I had ever seen. ' I eat looking at the game, and as nobody spoke to me, indulged my own thoughts during its progress. Croisset and Bruce smoked and probably conjugated the verb s'enrmyer. My husband beat the first two games, and then allowed the Sirdar to beat him. He was a good player but not equal to my husband. At ten o'clock my husband rose. It had been settled I should remain After he left, as he would sfcart'before daybreak in the morning. He led me into a recess apart. I hung upon his neck with frantio kissep. " You won't mind it so much, dear Sophia," he said, " now that you have seen the Sirdar. You are to have a chamber to yourself I ventured to tell him that that was always the custom with us, as English ladies" needed privacy. Remember, dear, do nothing that will shook their prejudices. Efface, yourself for these few days as much aj possible. I

thought you a little hasty under the roof of Abdul Beschid. Oh, oy-the-way, Sophia, don't mention his name to the Sirdar. He has never made bis submission. I have cautioned Croisset not to say we visited his stronghold on our journey. Don't be afraid, mylcve. Nobody here will harm you. Ahmed sincerely seeks the friendship of our government. Croisset ia to stay at the Missionhouse, and Porson with him. If you need either, the Sirdar will send for them. Goodby, my darling wife. Get into no scrapes. Don't let vaic fancies run away with you. Don't allude- to politics. Don't shock their prejudices. Don't mention Abdul Beschid. My dear— dear— precious wife I" And he kissed me with the fervor that a woman loves so dearly from her husband. Eeturning to the Sirdar, he took courteous leave of him, and pressed my hands again as he went out of the room. Croisset at parting whispered, "I hold myself at your orders, madame, night and day. I have discovered the apartments of the anderoiin are in the eastern tower of the citadel, looking toward the Mission-house. If at any time you need me, hang your red Ecarf from the parapet, and I will find some way of procuring an interview."

" If I need you, I will send a message to yon through the Sirdar," I replied, stiffly. Croisset looked crest-fallen, and without replying left the room. When they were gone, the Sirdar courteously turned towards me, and taking me .by the hand, led me across the andienoe chamber to a low doorway. " I greatly fear," he said, " you may not like the bustle, noise, and other disagreeables of the harem. Ido not myself. I have therefore oaused to be prepared for you an apartment separate from those of my women. I hope yon will often give me the pleasure of conversing with you. They can not converse. They are stupid. You will find them dull, as I do," be added, as we found ourselves before a leathern curtain, litfing which we entered the apartments of his women. These, as I afterwards found, consisted of one principal room and five or six small chambers, in which cooking, eating, sleeping, dressing, and everything else belonging to domestic life were carried on. The chief lady of the harem came forward as we entered. She had been beautiful, but she was dreadfully bedaubed with paint, black, white, and red. Her hands were stained yellow, bo were the soles of her feet, though they were then thrust into embroidered slippers. Her eyebrows were unnaturally arched and black, being painted and stained high up upon her forehead. Her hair was black, though very little of it showed. Being the daughter of a Turcoman chief, she wore the costume of her people, a long wrapper of red silk, open on the breast, which was only partially concealed by a chemisette of silk gauze. Her head-dress was most wonderful. It was like a canopy fastened to tbe head, rather than like a head-dress— an elaborate frame, out of proportion to the picture. It was composed of many scarfs and handkerchiefs, the former cashmere, and rich red, the latter silk, Persian, and many-colored. These were entwined with yards and yards of sheerest India muslin. Over her forehead, for a foot above her face, hung strings and strings of. golden coins, and stuck about the head-dress, apparently to keep its materials in their place, were sprays of diamonds, gold pins, and more bezants and sequins. Bound her throat were several tigb t collars of jewels and large pearls. As this lady and I could not converse, all we could do was to stare at each otherV finery, like shy, strange children, and ex change a compliment or two through the Sirdar as interpreter. '•They can't talk much. They are very stupid," he said again to me, with a little sigh. But here the conversation, such as it was, was broken in upon by the entrance of three more wives, followed by a troop of little children and servant-women.

The ohildren at once threw themselves upon the Sirdar, who caressed them affectionately. The women, whether slaves or cooks or wives, got round me in a group, and began to finger me. Not all, however. There was one poor girl, tall, beautiful, with auburn hair and a blonde Circassian look, who seemed to shrink away from all the rest, and kept her eyes rivetted upon the Sirdar* countenance. I heard one of the group call her " Hafiza"—that first drew my attention toward her. Among those who surrounded me I noticed one who looked like a Hindostanee woman. I addressed her in that language, whioh my husband had been teaching me, and she answered me in a strange mixture of broken English and Hindostanee. Here was a new channel of communication. The Sirdar seemed very glad to give up his office of interpreter. He immediately ordered that she should attend me during my stay, and make her bed in my apartment. Finding conversation still differed (for my Hindostanee was as imperfect as her English, both being about equal to a school-girl's Frenoh after one quarter's instruction), I bethought me of suggesting some music to the company. The Sirdar, on discovering my w*sh, ordered one of the women to bring a lute and to perform on it. What she executed was very ugly, and had little harmony to my ear. When she had finished I took her instrument, and contriving to extraot music enough from it for an accompaniment 1 , 1 began to sing a negro melody. It delighted their uncultivated tastes. It went straight to the hearts of all of them. " 'Way Down upon the Swannee Eiber," "Uncle Ned," who lived so long ago, " Miss Lucy Neal," and tbe disjointed history of Susapna, with her buckwheat cake, her banjo, and her tears, followed each other. I had to explain in broken Italian patois to the Sirdar the events in -the biography of Uncle Ned, his infirmities and strange appearance, the sad history of Lucy. Neal, the " yaller gal," and of the letter with .the jet-black seal delivered to her forsaken (lover; but " Susanna" and " The Old Folks' -were too hard for me. Then I tried " Go' ■save the Queen" and " Isle of Beauty," bu 1 < these did not strike a chord of sympathy among my auditors. At last the party was broken up by the retirement of the Sirdar, who had resigned to me his own sleeping-room, and who was to sleep upon a divan in his audience-chamber. I was conducted to my apartment by tb> ayah, who had onoe served an English iad* j in India.

My room was in the eastern angle of tht citadel, and looked, as Croisset had foretold it would, toward the Mission. The walla were cracked in many places, and presented a ruined and crumbling appearance. There were two window, narrow and long, glazed with oiled paper, but o"ne pane had been torn out, so that I could look down on the town. ! There was also the luxury of a wooden shutter. ■ Water had been sprinkled over the mud i -floor, and the whole had been lately swept, i though hardly cleansed. At one end was spread a thick felt carpet; on this lay an enormous red silk pillow. My own bedding , had been brought in from the Mission-house, and my ayah*loon arranged things as she /had learned to do for her English lady. i " Who is that girl they called Hafiza ?" I ) eaid to her aa she undressed me. "Wild girl. Strange girl from the hills. Just come," she answered. " Just come ?" I cried, throwing down my comb and turning toward her—" just come— from the hills ? Who brought her ?"

" Mir Abbas AH from the hills gave her yesterday to his Highness the Sirdar." " A robber chief I" I oried, recognizing the name Mir Abbas Ali as one I had heard jittered by the women of Abdul Beschid in their fury, " Was she going to be married

to a young chief in the hills? Has she uttered the name of Abdul Kescbid?" " She has spoken but few words since she came last evening." "What is the Sirdar going to do with her?" 1 " His Highness has said nothing. I think he has not deigned to look upon, her." Just at that moment came the recollection that Abdul Eesohid was a name forbidden by my instructions ; that he and hi uncle were esteemed rebels by the Sirdar ; that I Ehoald disobey my husband, and possibly get everybody into a soi ape, if I mixed myself up with the young chief and his Hafiza. I declined the forth er services of my ayah, but told her to get her bed and spread it before the door. Then I stood looking through the torn window-pane at a light in the Mis-sion-house, where I greatly feared my husband was spending the remainder of his night writing dispatches. Before dawn I beard a stir below me. A strong party of Afghan horsemen were pouring over the draw- bridge. Lights began to move in the court-yard of the Mission. The riders halted. My husband must have joined them. A light went back into the Mission-house. It was extinguished. With a heart full of apprehension I crept to my lonely couch, and watered its silk cushion with my tears.

The next day passed very much as I had expected. I got Hafiza into my chamber, and put a few cautious questions to her through ayah. I had no doubt she was Abdul Resohid's fair Hafiza, but she was inexpressibly timid, cowed, and on her guard. Neither of us could make much of the other. I observed in the harem that the women all apneared to snub her or to shun her. They evidently expected her place in the establishment would be that of an inferior.

What a strange life is that of the harem I Those in the West who dream- about it always connect it with luxury, magnificence, and voluptuousness. But imagine a common " keeping-room" used as a sleeping-place at night by cooks and kitchen-maids resting from their labors ; with children, troublesome and dirty, who have repeatedly to be whipped to bring them to any order ; gloomy, for the light is always imperfect ; close, with foul air, yet pervaded by draughts from broken doors and ill-built chimneys. The expression on most of the women's faces soon grows vapid. There is no religious life among them— no zeal for moral principles. Their children occupy but weary them. They care for them chiefly as stepping stones to power and to the favor of their husbands. Earely indeed has a mother in a harem any comfort in hex boys. They early become insolent, and tyrannize, "by right of conquest and by right of birth," over the little sisters and half-sisters, who are their abject victims. Over all presides the head wife or the husband's mother.

Dressing, bathing, playing at childish games, and mismanaging the children seemed the perpetual employments of the Sirdar'a ladies. Had they lived in a large city they could have gone out into the town, shopped like their sisters in Christendom, paid or received .visits, had picnics, under charge of eunuchs or duennas, in pleasant places ; but here in Herat they were such terribly great ladies that almost all these resources were cut of from them. Tingeing their fingernails with henna occupied a good deal of their time, and some seemed to enjoy kef, the dolce far niente of smoking. But the whole of them seemed destitute of ideas. Indeed, what had they to form ideas from? Their animal wants were satisfied ; they had no aspirations. Why should they labor, when that labor had no object? "Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve, And hope without an object can noi live." It was an unspeakable relief to me when the Sirdar came to visit us that evening. Again the children climbed upon his knees', and half smothered him with their caresses ; again I sang, and two o£ the women danced with castanets, rarely lifting their feet up from the floor, but swaying from the hips with the whole body. 1 did not like the exhibition much, and was glad when the Sirdar asked me to play chees with him. ' The board was being Eet cut, when two of the children became troubleEomo. The Sirdar frowned. 11 It is very noisy here," he eaid. " I fear my head would play me falee to beat you. Would you play with me in my own reom ?" «' I will, certainly. May I take the ayah ?" So we moved into the Sirdar's audiencechamber, and Bitting in the place my husband had occupied? the night before, I accepted the first move," and wo began th 9 game. We were of nearly equal force. The fight was long and very interesting. The Sirdar won. We leaned back in our seats, exhausted with our close attention to the game. I toyed with one of the carved chess-men. " There is in the anderoun a young girJ, a native of these hills, who interests me," I Eaid at length to his Highness. " A slave, sent a present to me by my ally Mir Abbas AH," said his Highness.