They saw the blackness of the foe; Stood idle-handed and amazed; I arriving, went swift that way, Pressed on with shout, "Move on! move on!" I wanted to hurry my men on, To make them stand up to the foe. With a "Hurry up!" to my men, I went on to the front. Not a man gave ear to my words. I had no armour nor horse-mail nor arms, I had but my arrows and quiver. I went, the rest, maybe all of them, stood, Stood still as if slain by the foe! Your servant you take that you may have use Of his arms, of his life, the whole time; Not that the servant stand still While the beg makes advance to the front; Not that the servant take rest While his beg is making the rounds. From no such a servant will come Speed, or use in your Gate, or zest for your food. At last I charged forward myself, [Sidenote: Fol. 196b.] Herding the foe up the hill; Seeing me go, my men also moved, Leaving their terrors behind. With me they swift spread over the slope, Moving on without heed to the shaft; Sometimes on foot, mounted sometimes, Boldly we ever moved on, Still from the hill poured the shafts. Our strength seen, the foe took to flight. We got out on the hill; we drove the Hazāras, Drove them like deer by valley and ridge; We shot those wretches like deer; We shared out the booty in goods and in sheep; The Turkmān Hazāras' kinsfolk we took; We made captive their people of sorts (_qarā_); We laid hands on their men of renown; Their wives and their children we took. I myself collected a few of the Hazāras' sheep, gave them into Yārak T̤aghāī's charge, and went to the front. By ridge and valley, driving horses and sheep before us, we went to Tīmūr Beg's Langar and there dismounted. Fourteen or fifteen Hazāra thieves had fallen into our hands; I had thought of having them put to death when we next dismounted, with various torture, as a warning to all highwaymen and robbers, but Qāsim Beg came across them on the road and, with mistimed [Sidenote: Fol. 197.] compassion, set them free. To do good to the bad is one and the same As the doing of ill to the good; On brackish soil no spikenard grows, Waste no seed of toil upon it.[1226] Out of compassion the rest of the prisoners were released also. (_j. Disloyalty in Kābul._) News came while we were raiding the Turkmān Hazāras, that Muḥammad Ḥusain Mīrzā _Dūghlāt_ and Sl. Sanjar _Barlās_ had drawn over to themselves the Mughūls left in Kābul, declared Mīrzā Khān (Wais) supreme (_pādshāh_), laid siege to the fort and spread a _report_ that Badī`u'z-zamān Mīrzā and Muz̤affar Mīrzā had sent me, a prisoner, to Fort Ikhtiyāru'd-dīn, now known as Ālā-qūrghān.