OF EASTERN TURKESTAN. 67 
Shortly after we got into our quarters here, an Afghan 
merchant, who spoke 1 most musical Persian, came in and after 
a few minutes’ conversation said that he had lis ving with him a 
Darwish of our nation! and that the said Britisher wished 
to see a doctor, but did not like to come openly to our quarters. 
As this news promised to be very interesting, if true, I took 
up my gun and strolled out into the village as if looking for 
birds ; and having noted the house into “which the Afehan 
merchant entered, I quietly returned to it when I found that 
no one was looking my way. I found that as to color and 
features the Darwish, Ghulam-ur-rasul (slave of the Pr ophet) 
would pass very well for an Englishman; and, in fact, he car- 
ried on a most interesting conversation, of nearly an hour’s 
duration, in somewhat bro ken English. I fear I rather played 
the part of a newspaper correspondent interviewing a disting- 
guished personage, as I was anxious to find out all the man’s his- 
tory. Itis toolonga tale to go into here completely, but I may 
mention the purport of his answers to my principal questions. 
His name is John Campbell; he was born in Cabul during the 
period our army occupied Afghanistan ; ; his parents were killed 
there and he was brought up by some Afghans who subse- 
quently told him the secret of his birth. He ran away from 
his home and after many wanderings found himself in Teheran 
where the British Ambassador there took charge of him and 
sent him to India; he was placed in a school at Bombay and 
subsequently sent to England. Neturing to India he seems to 
have got tired of a settled life and wandered away as a Fakir, 
or Mussulman mendicant, to Central Asia, where he has been 
roaming about for the last sevenor eight years. He showed me 
his hands, which are white, with fingers long and tapering, and 
informed me that he had been told he was “an Englishman of 
the highest caste.” He spoke gratefully of the kindness shewn 
him by some persons, but seemed to think that in the civilized 
world people were too busy about their own affairs to take much 
heed of such a waif as he was. Describing a scene in some 
office he said: “The people were bustling about; railways 
here and telegraphs there; so no one had time to think much 
about an orphan like me.” 
It appears that my friend ‘ Ghulam-ur-rasul’ is the hero of a 
book, published some time ago, entitled ‘ Lost among the 
Afghans.” But the most remarkable point about the man is 
this : although very grateful to ine for the medicines I have 
given him, the does not seem to care about taking money. I 
pressed him to take a sufficient sum of money to supply his 
wants for some time, but I have only been able to induce him 
to accept jive tangas, that is to say exactly one rupee! He 
