[Illustration: IN THE DESERT SUNRISE]

A RIDE TO INDIA

ACROSS PERSIA AND BALUCHISTÁN. 

BY

HARRY DE WINDT, F. R. G. S. , AUTHOR OF "FROM PEKIN TO CALAIS BY LAND, " ETC. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

BY

HERBERT WALKER _FROM SKETCHES BY THE AUTHOR_. 

1891. 

TO

AUDLEY LOVELL, ESQUIRE, COLDSTREAM GUARDS, THIS VOLUME

IS

DEDICATED. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. TIFLIS--BAKU

II. THE CASPIAN--ASTARÁ--RÉSHT

III. RÉSHT--PATCHINAR

IV. PATCHINAR--TEHERÁN

V. TEHERÁN

VI. TEHERÁN--ISPAHÁN

VII. ISPAHÁN--SHIRÁZ

VIII. SHIRÁZ--BUSHIRE

IX. BALUCHISTÁN--BEILA

X. BALUCHISTÁN--GWARJAK

XI. KELÁT--QUETTA--BOMBAY

APPENDIX

MAP

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

 * * * * *

IN THE DESERT SUNRISE

TIFLIS

A DIRTY NIGHT IN THE CASPIAN

ASTARÁ, RUSSO-PERSIAN FRONTIER

CROSSING THE KHARZÁN

TEHERÁN

PERSIAN DANCING-GIRL

POST-HOUSE AT KUSHKU BAIRA

A CORPSE CARAVAN

A DAY IN THE SNOW

A FAMILY PARTY

YEZDI-GHAZT

THE CARAVANSERAI, MEYUN KOTAL

SONMIANI

OUR CAMP AT OUTHAL

MALAK

A "ZIGRI" AT GWARJAK

NOMAD BALUCH TENT

JEBRI

KELÁT

PALACE OF H. H. THE KHAN KELÁT

THE KHAN OF KELÁT

A RIDE TO INDIA. 

CHAPTER I. 

TIFLIS--BAKU. 

"Ceci non!"

A spacious apartment, its polished _parquet_ strewn with whitebearskins and the thickest and softest of Persian rugs; its panelledwalls hung with Oriental tapestries, costly daggers, pistols, andshields of barbaric, but beautiful, workmanship, glistening with goldand silver. Every detail of the room denotes the artistic taste of theowner. Inlaid tables and Japanese cabinets are littered with pricelessporcelain and _cloisonné_, old silver, and diamond-set miniatures; thelow divans are heaped with cushions of deep-tinted satin and gold;heavy violet plush curtains drape the windows; while huge palms, hothouse plants, and bunches of sweet-smelling Russian violets occupyevery available nook and corner. The pinewood fire flashes fitfullyon a masterpiece of Vereschágin's, which stands on an easel by thehearth, and the massive gold "ikon, " [A] encrusted with diamonds andprecious stones, in the corner. A large oil painting of his Majestythe Czar of Russia hangs over the marble chimneypiece. 

It is growing dark. Already a wintry wilderness of garden without, upon which snow and sleet are pitilessly beating, is barelydiscernible. By the window looms, through the dusk, the shadowy shapeof an enormous stuffed tiger, crouched as if about to spring upon aspare white-haired man in neat dark green uniform, who, seated at awriting-table covered with papers and official documents, has justsettled himself more comfortably in a roomy armchair. With a pleasantsmile, and a long pull at a freshly lit "papirosh, " he gives vent tohis feelings with the remark that heads this chapter. 

There is silence for a while, unbroken save by the crackle of blazinglogs and occasional rattle of driving sleet against the window-panes. It is the 5th of January (O. S. ). I am at Tiflis, in the palace ofPrince Dondoukoff Korsákoff, Governor of the Caucasus, and at thepresent moment in that august personage's presence. 

"Ceci non!" repeats the prince a second time, in answer to my request;adding impatiently, "They should know better in London than to sendyou to me. The War Minister in St. Petersburg alone has power to grantforeigners permission to visit Central Asia. You must apply to him, but let me first warn you that it is a long business. No"--after apause--"no; were I in your place I would go to Persia. It is a countryreplete with interest. "

I know, from bitter experience of Russian officials, that furtherparley is useless. Making my bow with as good a grace as possibleunder the circumstances, I take leave of the governor and am escortedby an aide-de-camp, resplendent in white and gold, through innumerablevestibules, and down the great marble staircase, to where my sleighawaits me in the cutting north-easter and whirling snow. Glidingswiftly homewards along the now brilliantly lit boulevards, I realizefor the first time that mine has been but a wild-goose chase afterall; that, if India is to be reached by land, it is not _viâ_ Merv andCábul, but by way of Persia and Baluchistán. 

The original scheme was a bold one, and I derive some consolation inthe thought that the journey would most probably have ended in defeat. This was the idea. From Tiflis to Baku, and across the Caspian toOuzoun Áda, the western terminus of the Trans-Caspian Railway. Thenceby rail to Merv and Bokhára, and from the latter city direct to India, _viâ_ Balkh and Cábul, Afghanistán. A more interesting journey canscarcely be conceived, but Fate and the Russian Government decreedthat it was not to be. Not only was I forbidden to use the railway, but (notwithstanding the highest recommendation from the RussianAmbassador in London) even to set foot in Trans-Caspia. 

The old adage, "delay is dangerous, " is never so true as when appliedto travel. The evening of my interview with the governor, I hadresolved, ere retiring to rest, to make for India _viâ_ Teherán. My route beyond that city was, perforce, left to chance, and theinformation I hoped to gain in the Shah's capital. 

Tiflis, capital of the Caucasus, is about midway between the Blackand Caspian seas, and lies in a valley between two ranges of low butprecipitous hills. The river Kúr, a narrow but swift and picturesquestream spanned by three bridges, bisects the city, which is divided inthree parts: the Russian town, European colony, and Asiatic quarter. The population of over a hundred thousand is indeed a mixed one. Although Georgians form its bulk, Persia contributes nearly a quarter, the rest being composed of Russians, Germans, French, Armenians, Greeks, Tartars, Circassians, Jews, Turks, and Heaven knows whatbesides. [B]

Tiflis is a city of contrasts. The principal boulevard, with itshandsome stone buildings and shops, tramways, gay cafés, and electriclight, would compare favourably with the Nevski Prospect in St. Petersburg, or almost any first-class European thoroughfare; and yet, almost within a stone's throw, is the Asiatic quarter, where thetraveller is apparently as far removed from Western civilization as inthe most remote part of Persia or Turkestán. The Armenian and Persianbazaars are perhaps the most interesting, I doubt whether the streetsof Yèzd or Bokhára present so strange and picturesque a sight, suchvivid effects of movement and colour. Every race, every nationality, is represented, from the stalwart, ruddy-faced Russian soldier in flatwhite cap and olive-green tunic, to the grave, stately Arab merchantwith huge turban and white draperies, fresh from Bagdad orBussorah. Georgians and Circassians in scarlet tunics and silvercartridge-belts, Turks in fez and frock-coat, Greeks and Albanians insnowy petticoats and black gaiters, Khivans in furs and quaint conicallamb's-wool hats, Tartars from the Steppes, Turkomans from Merv, Parsees from Bombay, African negroes, --all may be seen in the TiflisBazaar during the busy part of the day. 

But woe to the luckless European who, tempted by the beauty of theirwares, has dealings with the wily Persian merchant. There is a proverbin Tiflis that "It takes two Jews to rob an Armenian, two Armeniansto rob a Persian, " and the "accursed Faringi" is mercilessly swindledwhenever he ventures upon a bargain. 

With the exception of the aforesaid boulevard, the European quarter ofTiflis presents the same mixture of squalor and grandeur found in mostRussian towns, St. Petersburg not excepted. There is the same dead, drab look about the streets and houses, the same absence of colour, the same indescribable smell of mud, leather, and drainage, familiarto all who have visited Asiatic Russia. I had intended remaining acouple of days, at most, in Tiflis, but my stay was now indefinitelyprolonged. Such a severe winter had not been known for years. Themountain passes into Persia were reported impassable, and the line toBaku had for some days been blocked with snow. 

My Russian Christmas (which falls, O. S. , on our 6th of January) wasnot a cheerful one. A prisoner in a stuffy bedroom of the Hôtel deLondres, I sat at the window most of the day, consuming innumerableglasses of tea and cigarettes, watching the steadily falling snow, andwondering whether the weather would ever clear and allow me to escapefrom a place so full of unpleasant associations, and which had broughtme so much disappointment and vexation. The loud laughter andbursts of song that ascended every now and then from the crowded_salle-á-manger_ (for the Hôtel de Londres is the "Maison Dorée" ofTiflis) only served to increase my depression and melancholy. Hadthere been a train available, I verily believe I should have taken aticket then and there, and returned to England!

But morning brings consolation in the shape of blue sky and dazzlingsunshine. The snow has ceased, apparently for good. Descendingto breakfast full of plans for the future, I find awaiting me anindividual destined to play an important part in these pages--oneGerôme Realini, a Levantine Russian subject, well acquainted with thePersian language--who offers to accompany me to India as interpreter. His terms are moderate, and credentials first-rate. The latter includeone from Baker Pasha, with whom he served on the Turkoman frontierexpedition. More for the sake of a companion than anything else, Iclose with Gerôme, who, though he does not understand one word ofEnglish, speaks French fluently. 

There is a very natural prejudice against the Levantine race, but mynew acquaintance formed an exception to the rule. I never had reasonto regret my bargain; a better servant, pluckier traveller, orcheerier companion no man could wish for. Gerôme had just returnedfrom a visit to Bokhára, and his accounts of Central Asia werecertainly not inviting. The Trans-Caspian railway was so badly laidthat trains frequently ran off the line. There was no arrangement forwater, travellers being frequently delayed three or four hours, while blocks of ice were melted for the boiler; while the so-calledfirst-class carriages were filthy, and crowded with vermin. Theadvance of Holy Russia had apparently not improved Merv, which hadbecome, since its annexation, a kind of inferior Port Said, a refugefor the scum, male and female, of St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Odessa. Drunkenness and debauchery reigned paramount. Low gambling-houses, _café chantants_, and less reputable establishments flourished underthe liberal patronage of the Russian officers, who, out of sheer_ennui_, ruined their pockets and constitutions with drunkenorgies, night and day. There was no order of any kind, no organizedpolice-force, and robberies and assassinations took place almostnightly. Small-pox was raging in the place when Gerôme left it; also aloathsome disease called the "Bouton d'alep "--a painful boil which, oddly enough, always makes its appearance upon the body in oddnumbers, never in even. It is caused by drinking or washing inunboiled water. Though seldom fatal, there is no cure for thecomplaint but complete change of climate. 

We now set about making preparations for the journey. Provisions, saddlery, both had to be thought of; and, having laid in a small stockof Liebig, tea, biscuits, chocolate, and cigarettes (for space waslimited), I proceeded, under Gerôme's guidance, to purchase a saddle. Seventy-five roubles bought a capital one, including bridle. Here letme advise those visiting Persia to follow my example, and buy theirsaddlery in Tiflis. There is a heavy duty payable on foreign saddlesin Russia, and they are not one whit better, or indeed so well suitedto the purpose, as those made in the Caucasus. 

One hears a deal, in Europe, of the beauty of the Circassian andGeorgian women. Although I remained in Tiflis over a week, I did notsee a single pretty woman among the natives. As in every Russian town, however, the "Moushtaïd, " or "Bois de Boulogne" of Tiflis, was daily, the theatre nightly, crowded with pretty faces of the dark-eyed, oval-faced Russian type. The new opera-house, a handsome building nearthe governor's palace, is not yet completed. 

The Hôtel de Londres was the favourite _rendezvous_ after the play. Here till the small hours assembled nightly the _élite_ of EuropeanTiflis. Russian and Georgian officers in gorgeous uniforms of darkgreen, gold lace, and astrachan; French and German merchants withtheir wives and daughters; with a sprinkling _demi-mondaines_ fromOdessa or Kharkoff, sipping tea or drinking kummel and "kakèti" at thelittle marble tables, and discussing the latest scandals. Kakèti, awine not unlike Carlowitz, is grown in considerable quantities inthe Caucasus. There are two kinds, red and white, but the former isconsidered the best. Though sound and good, it is cheap enough--onerouble the quart. Tobacco is also grown in small quantities in partsof Georgia and made into cigarettes, which are sold in Tiflis at threekopeks per hundred. But it is poor, rank stuff, and only smoked by thepeasantry and droshki-drivers. 

[Illustration: TIFLIS]

Tiflis has a large and important garrison, but is not fortified. Itstopographical depôt is one of the best in Russia, and I managed, notwithout some difficulty, to obtain from it maps of Afghanistán andBaluchistán. The latter I subsequently found better and far moreaccurate than any obtainable in England. The most insignificanthamlets and unimportant camel-tracks and wells were set down withextraordinary precision, especially those in the districts aroundKelát. 

There is plenty of sport to be had round Tiflis. The shooting isfree excepting over certain tracts of country leased by the Tiflisshooting-club. Partridge, snipe, and woodcock abound, and there areplenty of deer and wild boar within easy distance of the capital. Ibexis also found in the higher mountain ranges. For this (if for no otherreason) Tiflis seems to be increasing in popularity every year forEuropean tourists. It is now an easy journey of little over a weekfrom England, with the advantage that one may travel by land the wholeway from Calais. This route is _viâ_ Berlin, Cracow, Kharkoff, andVladikavkas, and from the latter place by coach (through the DarielGorge) to Tiflis. 

The purchase of a warm astrachan bonnet, a bourka, [C] and bashlik, [D]completed my outfit. It now consisted of two small portmanteaus (to bechanged at Teherán for saddle-bags), a common canvas sack for sleepingpurposes, and a brace of revolvers. Gerôme was similarly accoutred, with the exception of the portmanteaus. My interpreter was evidentlynot luxuriously inclined, for his _impedimenta_ were all contained ina small black leather hand-bag! All being ready, eleven o'clock on thenight of the 12th of January found us standing on the platform of theTiflis railway station, awaiting the arrival of the Baku train, whichhad been delayed by a violent storm down the line. 

I received a letter from the governor a few hours before my departure, wishing me _bon voyage_, and enclosing a document to ensure help andcivility from the officials throughout his dominions. It may seemungrateful, but I felt that I could well have dispensed with this, especially as I was leaving his Excellency's government at Baku, adistance of only ten hours by rail. 

It was again snowing hard, and the east wind cut through my bourka asif it had been a thin linen jacket. Seeking shelter in the crowded, stuffy waiting-room, we solaced ourselves with cigarettes and vodkatill past 2 a. M. , when the train arrived. Another delay of two hoursnow occurred, the engine having broken down; but the carriages, likethose of most Russian railways, were beautifully warmed, and we sleptsoundly, undisturbed by the howling of the wind and shouting ofrailway officials. When I awoke, we were swiftly rattling throughthe dreary monotonous steppe country that separates Tiflis from theCaspian Sea. 

The Russians may, according to English ideas, be uncivilized in manyways, but they are undoubtedly far ahead of other European nations, with the exception perhaps of France, as regards railway travelling. Although the speed is slow, nothing is left undone, on the mostisolated lines, to ensure comfort, not to say luxury. Even in thisremote district the refreshment-rooms were far above the average inEngland. At Akstafá, for instance, a station surrounded by a howlingwilderness of steppe and marsh; well-cooked viands, game, pastry, andother delicacies, gladdened the eye, instead of the fly-blown bunsand petrified sandwiches only too familiar to the English railwaytraveller. The best railway buffet I have ever seen is at Tiumen, theterminus of the Oural railway, and actually in Siberia. 

Railway travelling has, however, one drawback in this part ofRussia, which, though it does not upset the arrangements of a casualtraveller, must seriously inconvenience the natives--the distance ofstations from towns. We drank tea, a couple of hours or so beforearriving at Baku, at a station situated more than one hundredversts [E] from the town of its name. The inhabitants of the latterseldom availed themselves of the railway, but found it easier, exceptin very bad weather, to drive or ride to the Caspian port. 

The dull wintry day wears slowly away, as we crawl along pastleague upon league of wild steppe land. The _coup d'oeil_ from ourcarriage-window is not inspiriting. It rests upon a bare, bleaklandscape, rolling away to the horizon, of waves of drab anddirty-green land, unbroken save for here and there a pool of stagnantwater, rotting in a fringe of sedge and rush, or an occasional flockof wild-fowl. At rare intervals we pass, close to the line, a Tartarencampment. Half a dozen dirty brown tents surrounded by horses, camels, and thin shivering cattle, the latter covered with coarsesack-clothing tied round their bellies to protect them from thecutting blast that sweeps from the coast across this land ofdesolation. None of the human population are visible, and no wonder. It must be cold enough outside. Even in this well-warmed compartmentone can barely keep feet and fingers from getting numbed. 

It is almost dark when, towards six o'clock, there appears, far ahead, a thin streak of silver, separating the dreary brown landscape fromthe cold grey sky. 

"We have nearly arrived, monsieur, " says Gerôme. "There is the CaspianSea. "

[Footnote A: The sacred image of the Saviour or Holy Virgin. ]

[Footnote B: The name Tiflis is derived from _Tbilis Kalaki_, or "HotTown, " so called from the hot mineral springs near which it stands. ]

[Footnote C: _Bourka_, a long sleeveless coat made of goatskin. ]

[Footnote D: _Bashlik_, the soft camel-hair hood and neckerchief inone, worn by Russian soldiers. ]

[Footnote E: A _verst_ is about three-quarters of a mile. ]

CHAPTER II. 

THE CASPIAN--ASTARÁ--RÉSHT. 

I arrived in Baku on (the Russian) New Year's Eve, and found railwayofficials, porters, and droshki-drivers all more or less fuddled withdrink in consequence. With some difficulty we persuaded one of thelatter to drive us to the hotel, a clean and well-appointed house, astone's throw from the quay. Our Isvostchik [A] was very drunk. Hishorses, luckily for us, were quiet; for he fell off his box on theway, and smilingly, but firmly, declined to remount. Gerôme thenpiloted the troika safely to our destination, leaving Jehu prone inthe mud. 

Baku, a clean, well laid-out city of sixty thousand inhabitants, isthe most important town on the shores of the Caspian. Its name is saidto be derived from the Persian words _bad_, "the wind, " and _kubeda_, "beaten, " signifying "Wind-beaten;" and this seems credible, forviolent storms are prevalent along the coast. The town is essentiallyEuropean in character. One can scarcely realize that only fifty yearsago a tumble-down Persian settlement stood on the spot now occupiedby broad, well-paved, gas-lit streets, handsome stone buildings, warehouses, and shops. Baku has, like Tiflis, a mixed population. Although Russians and Tartars form its bulk, France, Germany, Italy, Greece, Turkey, and Persia are all represented, most of the Europeansbeing employed in the manufacture of petroleum. The naphtha springsare said to yield over 170, 000 tons of oil yearly. 

A French engineer, Mr. B----, whose acquaintance I made at the hotel, described Baku as terribly monotonous and depressing to live in aftera time. There is not a tree or sign of vegetation for miles round thetown--nothing but bleak, desolate steppe and marsh, unproductive ofsport and cultivation, or, indeed, of anything save miasma and fever. In summer the heat, dust, and flies are intolerable; in winter the sunis seldom seen. There is no amusement of any kind--no _café_, no band, no theatre, to go to after the day's work. This seemed to distress thepoor Parisian exile more than anything, more even than the smell ofoil, which, from the moment you enter until you leave Baku, there isno getting away from. Although the wells are fully three miles away, the table-cloths and napkins were saturated with it, and the veryfood one ate had a faint sickly flavour of naphtha. "I bathed in theCaspian once last summer, " said Mr. B------, despairingly, "and didnot get the smell out of my skin for a week, during which time myfriends forbade me their houses! Mon Dieu! Quel pays!"

The steamer for Enzelli was to leave at eleven. Having wished myFrench friend farewell, and a speedy return to his native country, weset out for the quay. The night was fine, but away to our left denseclouds of thick black smoke obscured the lights of the town andstarlit sky, while the furnaces of the "Tchornigorod" [B] blazed outof the darkness, their flames reflected in the dark waters of theCaspian, turning the little harbour into a lake of fire. 

The landing stage is crowded with passengers--a motley crowd ofRussian officials, soldiers, peasants, and Tartars. With difficulty westruggle through the noisy, drunken rabble, for the most part engagedin singing, cursing, fighting, and embracing by turns, and succeed atlast in finding our ship, the _Kaspia_, a small steamer of about ahundred and fifty tons burthen. The captain is, fortunately for us, sober, which is more than can be said of the crew. Alongside us liesthe _Bariatinsky_, a large paddle-steamer bound for Ouzounada, theterminus of the Trans-Caspian Railway. She also is on the point ofdeparture, and I notice, with relief, that most of the crowd aremaking their way on board her. 

The passenger-steamers on the Caspian are the property of theCaucase-Mercure Company, a Russian firm. They are, with fewexceptions, as unseaworthy as they are comfortless, which says a greatdeal. All are of iron, and were built in England and Sweden, sent toSt. Petersburg by sea, there taken to pieces and despatched overlandto Nijni-Novgorod, on the Volga. At Nijni they were repieced and takendown the Volga to the Caspian. 

The _Bariatinsky_ was first away, her decks crammed with soldiersbound for Central Asia. They treated us to a vocal concert as the shipleft port, and I paced the moonlit deck for some time, listening tothe sweet sad airs sung with the pathos and harmony that seems bornin every Russian, high or low. I retired to rest with the "MatoushkaVolga, " a boat-song popular the length and breadth of Russia, ringingin my ears. 

There are no private cabins on board the _Kaspia_. I share the stuffysaloon with a greasy German Jew (who insists on shutting all theportholes), an Armenian gentleman, his wife, and two squallingchildren, a Persian merchant, and Gerôme. 

The captain's cabin, a box-like retreat about eight feet square, leads out of our sleeping-place, which is also used as a drawing anddining-room. As the latter it is hardly desirable, for the German andPersian are both suffering violently from _mal-de-mer_ before wehave been two hours out, and no wonder. Though there is hardly aperceptible swell on, the tiny cock-boat rolls like a log. To makematters worse, the _Kaspia's_ engines are worked by petroleum, and thesmell pursues one everywhere. 

The passage from Baku to Enzelli (the port of Résht) is usually madein a little over two days in _fine weather_. All depends upon thelatter, for no vessel can enter if it is blowing hard. There is adangerous bar with a depth of barely five feet of water across themouth of the harbour, and several Europeans, impatient of waiting, have been drowned when attempting to land in small boats. "Ifrequently have to take my passengers back to Baku, " said CaptainZ---- at the meal he was pleased to call breakfast; "but I think weshall have fine weather to-morrow. " I devoutly hoped so. 

Little did I know what was in store for us; for the glass at middaywas falling-fast, and at 2 p. M. , when we anchored off Lenkorán, itwas snowing hard and blowing half a gale. 

The western coasts of the Caspian are flat and monotonous. There aretwo ports of call between Baku and Enzelli--Lenkorán, a dismal-lookingfishing-village of mud huts, backed by stunted poplars and a range oflow hills; and Astará, the Russo-Persian frontier. Trade did not seemvery brisk at either port. We neither landed nor took in cargo ateither. A few small boats came out to the ship with fish to sell. Thelatter is bad and tasteless in the Caspian, with the exception ofthe sturgeon, which abounds during certain seasons of the year. Thefisheries are nearly all leased by Russians, who extract and exportthe caviar. There is good shooting in the forests around Lenkorán, andtigers are occasionally met with. The large one in the possession ofPrince Dondoukoff Korsákoff, mentioned in the first chapter, was shotwithin a few miles of the place. 

We arrived off Astará about 6. 30 that evening. It was too dark to seeanything of the place, but I had, unfortunately for myself, plentyof opportunities of examining it minutely a couple of days later. Weweighed anchor again at nine o'clock, hoping, all being well, to reachEnzelli at daybreak. The sea had now gone down, and things looked morepromising. 

My spirits rose at the thought of being able to land on the morrow. Iwas even able to do justice to the abominable food set before us atdinner--greasy sausages and a leathery beefsteak, served on dirtyplates and a ragged table-cloth that looked as if it had been used toclean the boiler. But the German Jew had recovered from his temporaryindisposition, the cadaverous Persian had disappeared on deck, andthe Armenian children had squalled themselves to sleep, so therewas something, at least, to be thankful for. Captain Z----, a tall, fair-haired Swede, who spoke English fluently, had been on this linefor many years, and told us that for dangerous navigation, violentsqualls, and thick fogs the Caspian has no equal. Many vessels arelost yearly and never heard of again. He also told us of a submarinecity some miles out of Baku, called by the natives "Tchortorgorod, " or"City of the Devil. " "In calm, sunny weather, " said Z----, "one candistinctly make out the streets and houses. " The German Jew, of afacetious disposition, asked him whether he had not also seen peoplewalking about; but Z---- treated the question with contemptuoussilence. 

Man is doomed to disappointment. I woke at daylight next morning; tofind the _Kaspia_ at anchor, pitching, rolling, and tugging at hermoorings as if at any moment the cable might part. Every now and againa sea would crash upon the deck, and the wind, howling through therigging, sounded like the yelling of a thousand fiends. Hurrying ondeck, I learn the worst. A terrific sea is running, and the glassfalling every hour. One could scarcely discern, through the drivingmist, the long low shore and white line of breakers that marked theentrance to Enzelli. To land was out of the question. No boat wouldlive in such a sea. "I will lay-to till this evening, " said CaptainZ---- "If it does not then abate, I fear you must make up your mindto return to Baku, and try again another day. " A pleasant prospectindeed!

[Illustration: A DIRTY NIGHT IN THE CASPIAN]

I have seldom passed a more miserable twenty-four hours. The weathergot worse as the day wore on. Towards midday it commenced snowing; butthis, instead of diminishing the violence of the gale, seemed only toincrease it. Even the captain's cheery, ruddy face clouded over, as heowned that he did not like the look of things. "Had I another anchor, I should not mind, " he said; calmly adding, "If this one parts, weare lost!" I thought, at the time, he might have kept this pieceof information to himself. Meanwhile nothing was visible from thecabin-windows but great rollers topped with crests of foam, whichlooked as if, every moment, they would engulf the little vessel. Butshe behaved splendidly. Although green seas were coming in over thebows, flooding her decks from stem to stern, and pouring down thegangway into the saloon, the _Kaspia_ rode through the gale like aduck. To venture on deck was impossible. One could barely sit, muchless stand, and the atmosphere of the saloon may be better imaginedthan described. Every aperture tightly closed; every one, with theexception of the captain, Gerôme, and myself, sea-sick; no food, nofire, though we certainly did not miss the former much. 

About ten o'clock Z---- weighed anchor and stood out to sea. It wouldnot be safe, he said, to trust to our slender cable another night. About midnight I struggled on deck, to get a breath of fresh airbefore turning in. The night was fine and clear, but the sea aroundblack as ink, with great foaming white rollers. The decks, a footdeep in snow, were deserted save by Z---- and the steersman, whosesilhouettes stood out black and distinct against the starlit sky asthey paced the rickety-looking little bridge flanked by red and greenlights. The Enzelli lighthouse was no longer visible. The latter isunder the care of Persians, who light it, or not, as the humour takesthem. This is, on dark nights, a source of considerable danger toshipping; but, though frequently remonstrated with by the RussianGovernment, the Shah does not trouble his head about the matter. 

Three routes to Teherán were now open to us: back to Baku, thence toTiflis, and over the mountains to Talriz, --very dubious on account ofthe snow; the second, from Baku to Astrabad, and thence _viâ_ MountDemavend, --still more dubious on account of bad landing as well asblocked passes; there remained to us Astará, and along the sea-beach(no road) to Enzelli, with swollen rivers and no post-horses. Allthings considered, we resolved to land at Astará, even at the risk ofa ducking. Daylight found us there, anchored a mile from the shore, and a heavy swell running. But there is no bar here; only a shelvingsandy beach, on which, even in rough weather, there is littledanger. Some good-sized boats came out to the _Kaspia_ with fish andvegetables, and we at once resolved to land. Anything sooner thanreturn to Baku!

"There is no road from Astará, " said Z----, "and deep rivers to cross. You will be robbed and murdered like the Italian who travelled thisway three years ago! He was the last European to do so. "

Gerôme remembers the incident. In fact, he says, the murdered man wasa friend of his, travelling to Teherán with a large sum of money. Unable to land at Résht, and impatient to reach his destination, hetook the unfrequented route, was waylaid, robbed, tied to a tree, andleft to starve. "He was alone and unarmed, though, " says my companion;adding with a wink, "Let them try it on with us!"

Seeing remonstrance is useless, Z---- wishes us God-speed. Thegood-natured Swede presses a box of Russian cigarettes into my handas I descend the ladder--a gift he can ill afford--and twenty minuteslater our boat glides safely and smoothly on Persian soil. 

It was a lovely day, and the blue sky and sunshine, singing of birds, and green of plain and forest, a pleasant relief to the eye and sensesafter the cold and misery of the past two days. Astará (though theport of Tabriz) is an insignificant place, its sole importance lyingin the fact that it is a frontier town. On one side of the narrowriver a collection of ramshackle mud huts, neglected gardens, foulsmells, beggars, and dogs--Persia; on the other, a score of neat stonehouses, well-kept roads and paths, flower-gardens, orchards, a prettychurch, and white fort surrounded by the inevitable black-and-whitesentry-boxes, guarded by a company of white-capped Cossacks--Russia. Icould not help realizing, on landing at Astará, the huge area of thisvast empire. How many thousand miles now separated me from the lastborder town of the Great White Czar that I visited--Kiakhta, on theRusso-Chinese frontier?

Surrounded by a ragged mob, we walked to the village to see abouthorses and a lodging for the night. The latter was soon found--aflat-roofed mud hut about thirty feet square, devoid of chimney orfurniture of any kind. The floor, cracked in several places, wascrawling with vermin, and the walls undermined with rat-holes; but inPersia one must not be particular. Leaving our baggage in the care ofone "Hassan, " a bright-eyed, intelligent-looking lad, and instructinghim to prepare a meal, we made for the bazaar, a hundred yards away, through a morass, knee deep in mud and abomination of all kinds, toprocure food. 

A row of thirty or forty mud huts composed the "bazaar, " where, havingsucceeded in purchasing tea, bread, eggs, and caviar, we turned ourattention to horseflesh. 

An old Jew having previously agreed to convert, at exorbitantinterest, our rouble notes into "sheis" and keráns, negotiations forhorses were then opened by Gerôme, and, as the _patois_ spoken inAstará is a mixture of Turkish and Persian, with a little Tartarthrown in, his task was no easy one, especially as every one spoke atonce and at the top of their voices. We discovered at last that butfew of the villagers owned a horse, and those who did were veryunwilling to let the animal for such an uncertain journey. "Who isgoing to guarantee that the 'Farangis' will not steal it?" asked oneragged, wild-looking fellow in sheepskins and a huge lamb's-wool cap. "Or get it stolen from them?" added another, with a grin. "They canhave my old grey mare for two hundred keráns, but you won't catch meletting her for hire, " added a third. 

With the aid of our friend, the Jew, however, we finally persuadedthe sheepskin gentleman (a native of Khiva) to change his mind. Afterconsiderable haggling as to price, he disappeared, to return with two ofthe sorriest steeds I ever set eyes on. "We ought to reach Enzelli inabout three days, if we do not get our throats cut, " said the Khivan, whowas to accompany us, encouragingly. 

Hassan had been busy in our absence; he had prepared an excellentpilaff, and sent to Russian Astará for some kakèti wine, which wasbrought over in a goatskin. This, with our own provisions bought inthe morning, furnished a substantial and much-needed meal. Persiannative bread is somewhat trying at first to a weak digestion. It isunleavened, baked in long thin strips, and is of suet-like consistency. The hut, like most native houses in Persia, had no chimney, the onlyoutlet for the smoke being through the narrow doorway. This necessitateslying flat on one's back in the clear narrow space between smoke andflooring, or being suffocated--a minor inconvenience as compared withothers in Persian travel. 

The Khivan arrived with the horses at six next morning. By seveno'clock we were well on the road, which for the first ten miles or soled by the sea-shore, through dense thickets of brushwood, alternatingwith patches of loose drifting sand. I was agreeably disappointed inthe ponies; for though it was deep, heavy going, they stepped out welland freely. The clear sunshine, keen air, and lovely scenery seemed tohave the same inspiriting effect on them as on ourselves. 

The _coup d'oeil_ was indeed a lovely one. To our right a gloriouspanorama of palm, forest, and river stretched away for miles, boundedon the horizon by a chain of lofty precipitous mountains, their snowypeaks white and dazzling against the deep cloudless blue, theirgrassy slopes and rocky ravines hidden, here and there, by grey mistsfloating lazily over depths of dark green forest at their feet. To ourleft broad yellow sands, streaked with seaweed and dark driftwood, andcold grey waters of the Caspian Sea--colourless and dead even underthis Mediterranean sky, and bringing one back, so to speak, from abeautiful dream to stern reality. 

About midday we came to a broad but fordable river, which the Khivancalled the Chulàmak. We all crossed in safety, notwithstanding thedeep holes our guide warned us against, and which, as the water wasthick and muddy, gave Gerôme and myself some anxiety. The stream wasabout fifty yards across and much swollen by the snow. Landing on theother side ahead of my companions, I rode on alone, and presentlyfound myself floundering about girth-deep in a quicksand. It was onlywith great difficulty that we extricated the pony. These quicksandsare common on the shores of the Caspian, and natives, when travellingalone, have perished from this cause. 

Nothing occurred worthy of notice till about 3 p. M. , when we reachedthe river Djemnil. An arm of the sea more accurately describes thisstream, which is (or was at the time of which I write) over threehundred yards across. Here we had some difficulty with the Khivan, who was for encamping till morning. I, however, strongly objected tosleeping _a la belle étoile_, especially as the sky had now cloudedover, and it was beginning to snow. Partly by conciliation, partlyby threats, we at last persuaded him to make the attempt, followingclosely in his wake. It was nasty work. Twice our horses were carriedoff their feet by the strong current running out to sea (we wereonly a quarter of a mile from the mouth); and once we, or rather thehorses, had to swim for it; but we reached the opposite shore in underhalf an hour, wet and numbed to the waist, but safe. At seven we weresnugly housed for the night at Katvesera, a so-called village of threeor four mud hovels, selecting the best (outwardly) for our night'slodging. We were badly received by the natives. Neither money northreats would induce them to produce provisions of any kind, so wefell back on sticks of chocolate and Valentine's meat-juice. Thelatter I never travel without--it is invaluable in uncivilized anddesert countries. 

The inhabitants of Katvesera are under a score in number, and livechiefly on fish, though I noticed in the morning that a considerablequantity of land was under cultivation--apparently rice and barley. They were a sullen, sulky lot, and we had almost to take the hutby force. The Khivan, Gerôme, and myself took it in turns to watchthrough the night. It was near here that the Italian was assassinated. 

A start was made at daybreak. The weather had now changed. A cuttingnorth-easter was blowing, accompanied with snow and sleet. We forded, about 11 a. M. , the Kokajeri river, a mountain stream about thirtyyards wide, unfordable except upon the sea-beach. At midday we haltedat Tchergári, a fishing-village on the shores of the Caspian. 

Tchergári contains about two hundred inhabitants, mostly fishermenemployed by a Russian firm. The houses, built of tree-trunks plasteredwith mud, had roofs of thatched reed, and were far more substantialand better built than any I had yet seen in Persia. Fearing areception like that of the previous evening, we had intended ridingstraight through the place to our destination for the night, when aEuropean advanced to meet us through the snow. Mr. V----, a Russian, and overseer of the fishery, had made his hut as comfortable ascircumstances would admit, and we were soon seated before a blazingfire (with a chimney!), discussing a plate of steaming shtchi, [C]washed down by a bottle of kakèti. Roast mutton and pastry followed, succeeded by coffee and vodka (for we had the good luck to arrive atour host's dinner-hour). By the time cigarettes were under way we feltfully equal to the long cold ride of fifteen miles that separated usfrom our night's halting-place, Alalá Résht itself seemed at leastthirty miles nearer than it had before dinner. 

"You are bold, " said Mr. V----, in French, "to attempt this journeyat this time of year. I do not mean as regards footpads androbbers reports concerning them are always greatly exaggerated; butthe rivers are in a terrible state. There is one just beyond Alalá, that I know you cannot cross on horseback. I will send a man on atonce to try and get a boat for you, and you can pull the horses afteryou. There is an Armenian at Alalá, who will give you a lodgingto-night" Mr. V---- 's good fare and several glasses of vodkaconsiderably shortened our ride, and we arrived at Alalá before dark, where a hearty welcome awaited us. Turning in after a pipe and twoor three glasses of tea, we slept soundly till time to start in themorning. The outlook from our snug resting-place was not inviting--thesky of a dirty grey, blowing hard, and snowing harder than ever. 

Alalá contains about eight hundred inhabitants. The land surroundingit is thickly cultivated with rice and tobacco. Neither are, however, exported in any quantity, the difficulties of transport to Astará orEnzelli being so great. 

It is somewhat puzzling to a stranger to get at the names of places onthe southern shores of the Caspian. Most of the villages are knownby more than one, but Alalá rejoices in as many _aliases_ as an oldgaol-bird, viz. Alalá, Asalim, and Navarim. 

Thanks to our Russian friend, a boat and a couple of men were awaitingus at the big river (I could not ascertain its name). Entering itourselves, we swam the horses over one by one. It took us the bestpart of two hours. Though only two hundred yards wide, they were offtheir legs nearly the whole way. What we should have done without Mr. V---- 's aid I know not. 

Towards sundown the high tower of the Shah's palace at Enzelli camein sight. At last the neck of this weary journey was broken, andto-morrow, all being well, we should be at Résht. The road is winding, and it was not till past ten o'clock that we rode through the silent, deserted streets to the caravanserai, a filthier lodging than any wehad yet occupied. But, though devoured by vermin, I slept soundly, tired out with cold and fatigue. We dismissed the Khivan with asubstantial _pour-boire_. He had certainly behaved extremely well forone of his race. 

Enzelli is an uninteresting place. It has but two objects of interest(in Persian eyes)--the lighthouse (occasionally lit) and a palace ofthe Shah, built a few years since as a _pied-à-terre_ for his Majestyon the occasion of his visits to Europe. It is a tawdry gimcrackedifice, painted bright blue, red, and green, in the worst possibletaste. The Shah, on returning from Europe last time, is said to haveremarked to his ministers on landing at Enzelli, "I have not seena single building in all Europe to compare with this!" Probablynot--from one point of view. 

The Caspian may indeed be called a Russian lake, for although thewhole of its southern coast is Persian, the only Persian vesseltolerated upon it by Russia is the yacht of the Shah, a small steamer, the gift of the Caucase-Mercure Company, which lies off Enzelli. Eventhis vessel is only permitted to navigate in and about the waters ofthe Mourdab ("dead water"), a large lake, a kind of encroachment ofthe sea, eighteen to twenty miles broad, which separates Enzelli fromPeri-Bazar, the landing-place for Résht, four miles distant. Theimperial yacht did once get as far as Astará (presumably by mistake), but was immediately escorted back to Enzelli by a Russian cruiser. There is, however, a so-called Persian fleet--the steamship_Persepolis_, anchored off Bushire, in the Persian Gulf, and the_Susa_, which lies off Mohammerah. The former is about six hundredtons, and carries four Krupp guns; but the latter is little betterthan a steam-launch. Both have been at anchor for about four years, and are practically unseaworthy and useless. 

We embarked at nine o'clock, in a boat pulled by eight men. Thecrossing of the Mourdab is at times impossible, owing to the heavysea; but this time luck was with us, and midday saw us at Peri-Bazar, where there is no difficulty in procuring riding-horses to take oneinto Résht. The country between the two places was formerly morass andjungle, but on the occasion of the Shah's visit to Europe about twentyyears ago, a carriage-road was made--not a good one, for such athing does not exist in Persia--but a very fair riding-track (in dryweather). We reached Résht wet to the skin, the snow having ceased andgiven way to a steady downpour of rain. 

Résht bears the unpleasant reputation of being the most unhealthy cityin Persia. Its very name, say the natives, is derived from the word_rishta_, "death. " "If you wish to die, " says a proverb of Irak, "goto Résht!" The city, which had, at the beginning of the century, apopulation of over sixty thousand inhabitants, now has barely thirtythousand. This certainly looks as if there were some truth in theforegoing remarks; and there is no doubt that, on the visitation ofthe plague about ten years ago, the mortality was something frightful. A great percentage of deaths are ascribed to Résht fever--a terribledisease, due to the water and the exhalations from the marshessurrounding the city. It is certainly the dampest place in the world. The sun is seldom seen, and one's clothes, even on a dry, rainlessday, become saturated with moisture. 

The town is, nevertheless, prettily situated in a well-wooded country. It would almost be imposing were it not for the heavy rains and dews, which cause a rapid decay of the buildings. The latter are mostly ofred brick and glazed tiles. 

Résht is the depôt for goods to and from Persia--chiefly silks. Tobacco is also grown in yearly increasing quantities. Several Russianfirms have opened here for the manufacture of cigarettes, which, though they may find favour among the natives, are too hot and coarsefor European tastes. They are well made and cheap enough--sevenpence ahundred. 

In addition to the native population, Résht contains about fivehundred Armenians, and a score or so of Europeans. Among the latterare a Russian and a British vice-consul. To the residence of thelatter we repaired. Colonel Stewart's kindness and hospitality are abyword in Persia, and the Sunday of our arrival at Résht was truly aday of rest after the discomfort and privations we had undergone sinceleaving Baku. 

[Footnote A: _Isvostchik_, a cab-driver. ]

[Footnote B: "Tchornigorod, " or "Black Town, " so called from the smokethat hangs night and day over the oil-factories. ]

[Footnote C: Russian cabbage-soup. ]

CHAPTER III. 

RÉSHT--PATCHINAR. 

Day broke gloomily enough the morning following the day of our arrivalat Résht. The snow, still falling fast, lay over two feet deep inthe garden beneath my window, while great white drifts barred theentrance-gates of the Consulate. About eight o'clock our host made hisappearance, and, waking me from pleasant dreams of sunnier climes, tried to dissuade me from making a start under such unfavourablecircumstances. An imperial courier had just arrived from Teherán, andhis report was anything but reassuring. The roads were in a terriblestate; the Kharzán, a long and difficult pass, was blocked with snow, and the villages on either side of it crowded with weather-boundcaravans. 

The prospect, viewed from a warm and comfortable bed, was notinviting. Anxiety, however, to reach Teherán and definitely map outmy route to India overcame everything, even the temptation to defer ajourney fraught with cold, hunger, and privation, and take it easy fora few days, with plenty of food and drink, to say nothing of cigars, books, and newspapers, in the snug cosy rooms of the Consulate. "Youwill be sorry for it to-morrow, " said the colonel, as he left the roomto give the necessary orders for our departure; adding with a smile, "I suppose a wilful man must have his way. "

There are two modes of travelling in Persia: marching with a caravan, a slow and tedious process; and riding post, or "chapar. " The latter, being the quickest, is usually adopted by Europeans, but can onlybe done on the Government post-roads, of which there are five: fromTeherán to Résht, Tabriz, Meshéd, Kermán, and the Persian Gulfport, Bushire. These so-called roads are, however, often merecaravan-tracks, sometimes totally hidden by drifting sand or snow. In the interior of the country the hard sun-baked soil is usuallytrackless, so that the aid of a "Shagird Chapar, " or post-boy, becomesessential. 

The distance between the "Chapar khanehs, " as the tumble-down shedsdoing duty for post-houses are called, is generally five farsakhs, orabout twenty English miles; but the Persian farsakh is elastic, andwe often rode more, at other times less, than we paid for. Travel ischeap: one kerán per farsakh (2-1/2_d_. A mile) per horse, with a_pour-boire_ of a couple of keráns to the "Shagird" at the end of thestage. 

Given a good horse and fine weather, Persian travel would bedelightful; but the former is, unfortunately, very rarely met with. Most of the post-horses have been sold for some vice which nothing butconstant hard work will keep under. Kickers, rearers, jibbers, shyers, and stumblers are but too common, and falls of almost daily occurrenceon a long journey. Goodness knows how many Gerôme and I had betweenRésht and the Persian Gulf. 

Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the speed attained by the wretchedhalf-starved animals is little short of marvellous. Nothing seemsto tire them. We averaged fifty miles a day after leaving Teherán, covering, on one occasion, over a hundred miles in a little overeleven hours. This is good work, considering the ponies seldom exceedfourteen hands two inches, and have to carry a couple of heavysaddle-bags in addition to their rider. Gerôme must have ridden quitefourteen stone. 

About ten o'clock the horses arrived, in charge of a miserable-lookingShagird, in rags and a huge lamb's-wool cap, the only warm thing abouthim. It was pitiful to see the poor wretch, with bare legs and feet, shivering and shaking in the cutting wind and snow. The ponies, too, looked tucked up and leg-weary, as if they had just come off a longstage (which, indeed, they probably had) instead of going on one. 

"Don't be alarmed; they are the proverbial rum 'uns to look at, " saidour host, who would not hear of our setting out without saddle-bagscrammed with good things: cold meat, sardines, cigarettes, a couple ofbottles of brandy, and a flask of Russian vodka. But for these we mustliterally have starved _en route_. 

"Good-bye. Good luck to you!" from the colonel. 

"En avant!" cries Gerôme, with a deafening crack of his heavy chaparwhip. We are both provided with this instrument of torture--a thickplaited thong about five feet long, attached to a short thick woodenhandle, and terminating in a flat leathern cracker of eight or teninches. A cut from this would make an English horse jump out of hisskin, but had little or no effect on the tough hides of our "chapar"ponies. The snow is almost up to the knees of the latter as we labourthrough the gateway and into the narrow street. Where will it be onthe Kharzán Pass?

Résht is picturesquely situated. It must be a lovely place insummer-time, when fertile plains of maize, barley, and tobacco stretchaway on every side, bounded by belts of dark green forest and chainsof low well-wooded hills, while the post-road leads for miles throughgroves of mulberry trees, apple orchards, and garden-girt villas, halfhidden by roses and jasmine. But this was hardly a day for admiringthe beauties of nature. Once out of the suburbs and in the opencountry, nothing met the eye but a dreary wilderness of white earthand sullen grey sky, that boded ill for the future. The cold wasintense. Although dressed in the thickest of tweeds and sheepskinjacket, sable pelisse, enormous "bourka, " and high felt boots, it wasall I could do to keep warm even when going at a hand gallop, variedevery hundred yards or so by a desperate "peck" on the part of mypony. 

The first stage, Koudoum, five farsakhs from Résht, was reached aboutthree o'clock in the afternoon. This was my first experience of a Chaparkhaneh. The Shagird informed us that it was considered a very good one, and was much frequented by Europeans in summer-time--presumably, judging from the holes in the roof, for the sake of coolness. Let mehere give the reader a brief description of the accommodation providedfor travellers by his Imperial Majesty the Shah. The Koudoum Chaparkhaneh is a very fair example of the average Persian post-house. 

Imagine a small one-storied building, whitewashed, save where windand rain have disclosed the brown mud beneath. A wooden ladder (withhalf the rungs missing) leads to the guest-chamber, a large bareroom, devoid of furniture of any kind, with smoke-blackened wallsand rotten, insecure flooring. A number of rats scamper away at ourapproach. I wonder what on earth they can find to eat, until Gerômepoints out a large hole in the centre of the apartment. This affordsan excellent view of the stables, ten or twelve feet below, admitting, at the same time, a pungent and overpowering odour of manure andammonia. A smaller room, a kind of ante-chamber, leads out of this. Asit is partly roofless, I seek, but in vain, for a door to shut out theicy cold blast. Further search in the guest-room reveals six largewindows, or rather holes, for there are no shutters, much lesswindow-panes. It is colder here, if anything, than outside, for thedraughts are always at once; but we must in Persia be thankfulfor small mercies. There is a chimney, in which a good log fire, kindled by Gerôme, is soon blazing. 

Lunch and a nip of the colonel's vodka work wonders, and we arebeginning to think, over a "papirosh, " that Persia is not such a badplace after all, when the Shagird's head appears at the window. Thereare only two horses available for the next stage, but a third has beensent for from a neighbouring village, and will shortly arrive. Asnight is falling fast, I set out with the Shagird for the nextstation, Rustemabad, leaving Gerôme, who has already travelled theroad and knows it well, to follow alone. 

It is still snowing fast, but my mount is a great improvement on thatof the morning, luckily, for the stage is a long one, and we have astiff mountain to climb before reaching our destination for the night. 

We ride for three hours, slowly and silently, over a plain knee-deepin snow. About half-way across a tinkle of bells is heard, clear andmusical, in the distance. Presently a large caravan looms out of thedusk--fifty or sixty camels and half a dozen men. The latter exchangea cheery "Good night" with my guide. Slowly the ungainly, heavilyladen beasts file past us, gaunt and spectral in the twilight, thebells die away on the still wintry air, and we are again alone on thedesolate plain--not a sign of life, not a sound to be heard, butthe crunching of snow under our horses' feet, and the occasionalpistol-like crack of my guide's heavy whip. 

It is almost dark when we commence the ascent of the mountain on thefar side of which lies Rustemabad. The path is rough and narrow, andin places hewn out of the solid rock. Towards the summit, where aslip or false step would be fatal, a dark shapeless mass appears, completely barring the pathway, on the white snow. Closer inspectionreveals a dead camel, abandoned, doubtless, by the caravan wehave just passed, for the carcase is yet warm. With considerabledifficulty, but aided by the hard slippery ground, we drag it to thebrink of the precipice, and send it crashing down through bush andbriar, to fall with a loud splash into a foaming torrent far below. During this performance one of the ponies gets loose, and half an houris lost in catching him again. 

So the journey wore on. Half-way down on the other side of themountain, my pony stumbled and shot me head first into a pool ofliquid mud, from which I was, with some difficulty, extricated wetthrough and chilled to the bone. The discomfort was bad enough, but, worse still, my sable pelisse, the valuable gift of a Russian friend, was, I feared, utterly ruined. 

It was nearly nine o'clock when we reached Rustemabad, to find ratherworse quarters than we had left at Koudoum. To make matters worse, I had no change of clothes, and the black, ill-smelling mud hadpenetrated to the innermost recesses of my saddle-bags, which didnot tend to improve the flavour of the biscuits and chocolate thatconstituted my evening meal. No food of any kind was procurable atthe post-house, and all our own provisions were behind with Gerôme. Luckily, I had stuck to the flask of vodka!

With the help of the postmaster, a decrepit, half-witted old man, andthe sole inmate of the place, I managed to kindle a good fire, and setto work to dry my clothes, a somewhat uncomfortable process, as itentailed my remaining three-parts naked for half the night in anatmosphere very little above zero. The sables were in a terriblestate. It was midnight before the mud on them was sufficiently dry tobrush off, as I fondly hoped, in the morning. 

Gerôme did not turn up till one o'clock a. M. , his horse not havingarrived at Koudoum till past seven. He had lost his way twice, and hadalmost given up all hopes of reaching Rustemabad till daylight, whenmy fire, the only light in the place, shone out of the darkness. Thepoor fellow was so stiff and numbed with fatigue and cold that I hadto lift him off his horse and carry him into the post-house. He wasa sorry object, but I could not refrain from smiling. My companion'susually comical, ruddy face wore a woebegone look, while longicicles hung from his hair, eyebrows, and moustaches, giving him theappearance of a very melancholy old Father Christmas. 

Morning brought a cloudless blue sky and brilliant sunshine. My firstthought on awaking was for the pelisse. Summoning the old postmaster, I confided the precious garment to him, with strict injunctions totake it outside, beat it well with a stick, and bring it back to me tobrush. In the mean time, we busied ourselves with breakfast and acup of steaming cocoa, for a long ride was before us. It was stillbitterly cold, with a strong north-easter blowing. The thermometermarked (in the sun) only one degree above zero. 

Rustemabad, a collection of straggling, tumble-down hovels, containsabout four or five hundred inhabitants. The post-house, perched onthe summit of a steep hill, is situated some little distance fromthe village, which stands in the centre of a plateau, bounded on thesouth-west by a chain of precipitous mountains. The country around isfertile and productive, being well watered by the Sefid Roud (WhiteRiver). Rice is largely grown, but to-day not a trace of vegetation isvisible; nothing but the vast white plain, smooth and unbroken, savewhere, here and there, a brown village blurrs its smooth surface, anoasis of mud huts in this desert of dazzling snow. 

An exclamation from Gerôme suddenly drew my attention to thepostmaster, who stood at the open doorway, my pelisse in hand. I wasthen unused to the ways and customs of the Persian peasantry, orshould have known that it was but labour lost to make one spring atthe old idiot, and, twining my fingers in his throat, shake him tillhe yelled for mercy. Nothing but a thick stick has the slightesteffect upon the Shah's subjects; and I was, for a moment, sorelytempted to use mine. The reader must own that I should have beenjustified. It was surely enough to try the patience of a saint, forthe old imbecile had deliberately walked down to the river, madea hole in the ice, and soaked the garment in water to the waist, reducing it to its former condition of liquid slime. This was _his_method of getting the mud off. I may add that this intelligentofficial had _assisted me in the drying process up till midnight_. 

There was no help for it; nothing to be done but cut off the damagedportion from the waist to the heels--no easy matter, for it was frozenas stiff as a board. "It will make a better riding-jacket now, " saidGerôme, consolingly; "but this son of a pig shall not gain by it, " headded, stamping the ruined remains into the now expiring fire. 

The village of Patchinar, at the foot of the dreaded Kharzán Pass, wasto be our halting-place for the night. The post-road, after leavingRustemabad, leads through the valley of the Sefid Roud river, inwhich, by the way, there is excellent salmon-fishing. About six milesfrom Rustemabad is a spot called by the natives the "Castle of theWinds, " on account of the high winds that, even in the calmestweather, prevail there. Although, out on the plain, there was ascarcely perceptible breeze, we had to literally fight our way againstthe terrific gusts that swept through this narrow gorge. Fortunately, it was a fine day, but the fine powdery snow whirled up and cut intoour eyes and faces, and made travelling very unpleasant. 

These violent wind-storms have never been satisfactorily accountedfor. They continue for a certain number of hours every day, summerand winter, increasing in force till sunset, when they abate, to riseagain the following dawn. On some occasions horses, and even camels, have been blown over, and caravans are sometimes compelled to haltuntil the fury of the storm has diminished. 

Crossing a ridge of low hills, we descended into the valley ofRoudbar, a quiet and peaceful contrast to the one we had just left. The wind now ceased as if by magic. Much of the snow had heredisappeared under the warm sunshine, while before us, nestling ina grove of olive trees, lay the pretty village, with its whitepicturesque houses and narrow streets shaded by gaily striped awnings. It was like a transformation-scene, this sudden change from winter, with its grey sky and cold icy blast, to the sunny stillness andrepose of an English summer's day. We rode through the bazaar, a busyand crowded one for so small a place. A large trade is done here inolives. Most of it is in the hands of two enterprising Frenchmen, whostarted business some years ago, and are doing well. 

We managed to get a mouthful of food at Menjil while the horses werebeing changed. 

Colonel S---- had especially warned us against sleeping here, theChapar khaneh being infested with the Meana bug, a species of cameltick, which inflicts a poisonous and sometimes dangerous wound. It isonly found in certain districts, and rarely met with south of Teherán. The virus has been known, in some cases, to bring on typhoid fever, and one European is said to have died from its effects. For the truthof this I cannot vouch; but there is no doubt that the bite is alwaysfollowed by three or four days' more or less serious indisposition. 

CHAPTER IV. 

PATCHINAR--TEHERÁN. 

Our troubles commenced in real earnest at Patchinar, adesolate-looking place and filthy post-house, which was reached atsunset. The post from Teherán had just arrived, in charge of atall strapping fellow armed to the teeth, in dark blue uniform andastrachan cap, bearing the Imperial badge, the lion and sun, in brass. The mail was ten days late, and had met with terrible weather on theKharzán. They had passed, only that morning, two men lying by theroadway, frozen to death. The poor fellows were on their way toTeherán from Menjil, and had lain where they fell for two or threedays. "You had far better have remained at Résht, " added ourinformant, unpleasantly recalling to my mind the colonel's prophecy, "You will be sorry for this to-morrow!"

Notwithstanding hunger and vermin, we managed to enjoy a tolerablenight's rest. The post-house was warm at any rate, being windowless. Patchinar was evidently a favourite halting-place, for the dingy wallsof the guest-room were covered with writing and pencil sketches, thework of travellers trying to kill time, from the Frenchman whowarned one (in rhyme) to beware of the thieving propensities of thepostmaster, to the more practical Englishman, who, in a bold hand, had scrawled across the wall, "_Big bugs here!_" I may add that mycountryman was not exaggerating. 

There was no difficulty in getting horses the next morning. The post, which left for Résht before we were stirring, had left us sevensorry-looking steeds, worn out with their previous day's journeythrough the deep snow-drifts of the Kharzán. By nine o'clock we wereready to start, notwithstanding the entreaties of the postmaster, whose anxiety, however, was not on our account, but on that of thehorses. 

"I don't believe I shall ever see them again!" he mumbled mournfully, as we rode out of the yard. "And who is to repay me for their loss?You will be dead, too, before sundown, if the snow catches you in themountains!"

But there seemed no probability of such a contingency. The sky wasblue and cloudless, the sun so bright that the glare off the snow soonbecame unbearable without smoked goggles. The promise of an extrakerán or two if we reached the end of the stage by daylight had awonderful effect on the Shagird. Though it was terribly heavy going, and the snow in places up to our girths, we covered the five mileslying between Patchinar and the foot of the Kharzán in a little overthree hours--good going considering the state of the road. We were asoften off the former as on it, for there was nothing to guide one;nothing but telegraph poles and wires were visible, and these areoccasionally laid straight across country away from the track. 

Our destination for the night was the village of Kharzán, which issituated near the summit of the mountain, about six thousand feethigh. The ascent is continuous and precipitous. An idea may be gainedof the steepness by the fact that we now left the valley of the ShahRoud, barely one thousand feet above sea-level, to ascend, in adistance of about twelve miles, over six thousand feet. 

The Kharzán Pass is at all times dreaded by travellers, native andEuropean, even in summer, when there are no avalanches to fear, snow-drifts to bar the way, or ice to render the narrow, tortuouspathway even more insecure. A serious inconvenience, not to saydanger, is the meeting of two camel caravans travelling in oppositedirections on the narrow track, which, in many places, is barely tenfeet broad, and barely sufficient to allow two horses to pass eachother, to say nothing of heavily laden camels. But to-day we were safeso far as this was concerned. Not a soul was to be seen in the cleftsand ravines around, or on the great white expanse stretched outbeneath our feet, as we crept cautiously up the side of the mountain, our guide halting every ten or fifteen yards to probe the snow with along pole and make sure that we had not got off the path. 

A stiff and tedious climb of nearly seven hours brought us to within amile of the summit. Halting for a short time, we refreshed ourselveswith a couple of biscuits and a nip of brandy, and proceeded on ourjourney. We had now arrived at the most dangerous part of the pass. The pathway, hewn out of the solid rock, and about ten feet wide, wascovered with a solid layer of ice eight or ten inches thick, overwhich our horses skated about in a most uncomfortable manner. Therewas no guard-rail or protection of any sort on the precipice side. Allwent well for a time, and I was beginning to congratulate myself onhaving reached the summit without-accident, when Gerdme's horse, justin front of me, blundered and nearly lit on his head. "Ah, son of apig's mother!" yelled the little Russian in true Cossack vernacular, as the poor old screw, thoroughly done up, made a desperate peck, ending in a slither that brought him to within a foot of the brink. "That was a close shave, monsieur!" he continued, as his ponystruggled back into safety, "I shall get off and walk. Wet feet arebetter than a broken neck any day!"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when a loud cry fromthe Shagird, and a snort and struggle from the pack-horse behind, attracted my attention. This time the beast had slipped with avengeance, and was half-way over the edge, making, with his forefeet, frantic efforts to regain _terra firma_ while his hind legs andquarters dangled in mid-air. There was no time to dismount and renderassistance. The whole thing was over in less than ten seconds. TheShagird might, indeed, have saved the fall had he kept his headinstead of losing it. All he could do was, with a loud voice andoutstretched arms, to invoke the assistance of "Allah!" We were notlong in suspense. Slowly, inch by inch, the poor brute lost his holdof the slippery ground, and disappeared, with a shrill neigh ofterror, from sight. For two or three seconds we heard him strikinghere and there against a jutting rock or shrub, till, with a finalthud, he landed on a small plateau of deep snow-drifts at leastthree hundred feet below. Here he lay motionless and apparentlydead, while we could see through our glasses a thin stream ofcrimson flow from under him, gradually staining the white snowaround. 

[Illustration: CROSSING THE KHADZÁN]

A cat is popularly supposed to have nine lives. After my experienceof the Persian post-horse, I shall never believe that that rough andill-shaped but useful animal has less than a dozen. The fall Ihave described would assuredly have killed a horse of any othernationality, if I may use the word. It seemed, on the contrary, tohave a tonic and exhilarating effect on this Patchinar pony. Before wecould reach him (a work of considerable difficulty and some risk) hehad risen to his feet, given himself a good shake, and was nibblingaway at a bit of gorse that peeped through the snow on which he hadfallen. A deep cut on the shoulder was his only injury, and, curiouslyenough, our portmanteaus, with the exception of a broken strap, wereunharmed. There was, luckily, nothing breakable in either. 

Kharzán, a miserable village under snow for six months of the year, was reached without further mishap. There is no post-house, and thecaravanserai was crowded with caravans. Before sundown, however, wewere comfortably installed in the house of the head-man of the place, who spread carpets of soft texture and quaint design in our honour, regaled us with an excellent "pilaff, " and produced a flask of Persianwine. The latter would hardly have passed muster in Europe. The corkconsisted of a plug of cotton-wool plastered with clay; the contentswere of a muddy-brown colour. "It is pure Hamadán, " said our host withpride, as he placed the bottle before us. "Perhaps the sahib did notknow that our country is famous for its wines. " It was not altogetherunpalatable, something like light but rather sweet hock; verydifferent, however, in its effects to that innocent beverage, and onecould not drink much with impunity. Its cheapness surprised me:one shilling a quart bottle. That, at least, is the price our hostcharged--probably more than half again its real value. 

The winegrowers of Hamadán have many difficulties to contend with;among others, the severe cold. In winter the wine is kept in hugejars, containing six or seven hundred bottles. These are buried inthe ground, their necks being surrounded by hot beds of fermentinghorse-dung, to keep the wine from freezing. But even this plansometimes fails, and it has to be chopped out in solid blocks andmelted for drinking. 

Kharzán has a population of about a thousand inhabitants. It was herethat Baker Pasha was brought some years ago in a dying condition, after being caught in a wind-storm on the Kharzán Pass, and lay forthree days in the house we were lodging at. Our old friend showed us aclasp-knife presented him by the colonel, who on that occasion nearlylost both his feet from frost-bite. Captains Gill and Clayton, [A] ofthe Royal Engineers and Ninth Lancers, were with him, but escapedunharmed. 

Stiff and worn out with the events of the day, we soon stretchedourselves in front of the blazing fire in anticipation of a goodnight's rest; but sleep was not for us. In the next room were a partyof Persian merchants from Astrakhan on their way to Bagdad _viâ_Teherán, who had been prisoners here for five days, and were nowcarousing on the strength of getting away on the morrow. A woman waswith them--a brazen-faced, shrill-voiced Armenian, who made more noisethan all the rest put together. Singing, dancing, quarrelling, anddrinking went on without intermission till long past midnight, ourneighbours raising such a din that the good people of Kharzán, aquarter of a mile away, must have turned uneasily in their slumbers, and wondered whether an army of fiends had not broken loose. Towards 1a. M. The noise ceased, and we were just dropping to sleep, when, atabout half-past two in the morning, our drunken friends, headed by thelady, burst into our apartment, with the information, in bad Russian, that a gang of fifty men sent that morning to clear a path throughthe deep snow had just returned, and the road to Mazreh was nowpracticable. The caravans would be starting in an hour, theyadded. "And you'd better travel with them, " joined in the lady, contemptuously, "or you will be sure to get into trouble byyourselves. " A reply more forcible than polite from Gerôme thencleared the apartment; and, rekindling the now expiring embers, weprepared for the road. 

We set out at dawn for the gate of the village, where the caravanswere to assemble. It was still freezing hard, and the narrow streetslike sheets of solid ice, so that our horses kept their legs withdifficulty. We must have numbered fifty or sixty camels, and as manymules and horses, all heavily laden. 

Daybreak disclosed a weird, beautiful scene: a sea of snow, over whichthe rising sun threw countless effects of light and colour, from thecold slate grey immediately around us, gradually lightening to thefaintest tints of rose and gold on the eastern horizon, where starswere paling in a cloudless sky. Portrayed on canvas, the picture wouldhave looked unnatural, so brilliant were the hues thrown by the risingsun over the land-, or rather snow-scape. The cold, though intense, was not unbearable, for there was fortunately no wind, and the spiritsrose with the crisp, bracing air, brilliant sunshine, and jangle ofcaravan bells, as one realized that Teherán was now well within reach, and the dreaded Kharzán a thing of the past. Gerôme gave vent to hisfeelings with a succession of roulades and operatic airs; for mylittle friend had a very good opinion of his vocal powers, which I, unfortunately, did not share. But he was a cheery, indefatigablecreature, and of indomitable pluck, and one gladly forgave him this, his only failing. 

It was terribly hard work all that morning, and Gerôme had four, Ithree, falls, on one occasion wrenching my right ankle badly. Someof the drifts through which we rode must have been at least ten orfifteen feet deep. Some tough faggots thrown over these afforded afooting, or we should never have got over. Towards midday Mazrehwas sighted; and we pushed on ahead, leaving the caravan to its owndevices. The going was now better, and it was soon far behind us, theonly object visible from the low hills which we now ascended, thecamels and mules looking, from this distance, like flies crawling overa huge white sheet. 

Lunch at Mazreh consisted of damp, mouldy bread, and some sweet, sickly liquid the postmaster called tea. Procuring fresh horseswithout difficulty, we set out about 3 p. M. For Kazvin. It was nottill 10 p. M. That we were riding through the great gate of that city, which the soldier on guard consented, with some demur, to open. 

Kazvin boasts a hotel and a boulevard! The latter is lit by a dozenoil-lamps; the former, though a palatial building of brick, withverandahs and good rooms, is left to darkness and the rats in theabsence of travellers. Having groped our way for half an hour or soabout a labyrinth of dark, narrow streets, we presently emerged on thedimly lit boulevard (three of the oil-lamps had gone out), and rodeup to the melancholy looking hostelry at the end. Failing to obtainadmission, we burst open the door, and made ourselves as comfortableas circumstances would allow. Food was out of the question; drink, saving some villainous raki of Gerôme's, also; but there was plentyof firewood, and we soon had a good fire in the grate. This hotelwas originally built by the Shah for the convenience of himselfand ministers when on his way to Europe. It is only on these rareoccasions that the barn-like building is put in order. Visions offormer luxury were still visible in our bedroom in the shape of abedstead, toilet-table, and looking-glass. "But we can't eat _them_!"said Gerôme, mournfully. 

Kazvin, which now has a population of 30, 000, has seen better days. Itwas once capital of Persia, with 120, 000 inhabitants. Strolling out inthe morning before breakfast, I found it well and regularly built, andsurrounded by a mud wall, with several gates of beautiful mosaic, nowmuch chipped and defaced. 

Being the junction of the roads from Tabriz on the west, and Résht onthe north to the capital, is now Kazvin's sole importance. The road toTeherán was made some years ago at enormous expense by the Shah; butit has now, in true Persian style, been left to fall into decay. It isonly in the finest and driest weather that the journey can be made onwheels, and this was naturally out of the question for us. Arailway was mooted some time since along this, the only respectablecarriage-road in Persia--but the project was soon abandoned. 

The post-houses, however, are a great improvement on any in otherparts of the country. At Kishlak, for instance, we found a substantialbrick building with a large guest-room, down the centre of which rana long table with spotless table-cloth, spread out with platesof biscuits, apples, nuts, pears, dried fruits, and sweetmeats, beautifully decorated with gold and silver paper, and at intervalsdecanters of water--rather cold fare with the thermometer at a fewdegrees above zero. The fruits and biscuits were shrivelled andtasteless, having evidently been there some months. It reminded me ofa children's doll dinner-party. With the exception of these Barmecidefeasts and some straw-flavoured eggs, there was nothing substantial tobe got in any of the post-houses till we reached our destination. 

About four o'clock on the 27th we first sighted the white peak ofMount Demavend, and by three o'clock next day were within sight of thedingy brown walls, mud houses, and white minarets of the city of theShah--Teherán. 

[Footnote A: Both have since met violent deaths. Captain Gill wasmurdered by natives with Professor Palmer near Suez, and CaptainClayton killed while playing polo in India. ]

CHAPTER V. 

TEHERÁN. 

A brilliant ball-room, pretty faces, smart gowns, good music, andan excellent supper;--thus surrounded, I pass my first evening inTeherán, a pleasant contrast indeed to the preceding night of dirt, cold, and hunger. 

But it was not without serious misgivings that I accepted thecourteous invitation of the German Embassy. The crossing of theKharzán had not improved the appearance of dress-clothes and shirts, to say nothing of my eyes being in the condition described bypugilists as "bunged up, " my face of the hue of a boiled lobster, theeffects of sun and snow. 

One is struck, on entering Teherán, with the apparent cleanliness ofthe place as compared with other Oriental towns. The absence of heapsof refuse, cess-pools, open drains, and bad smells is remarkable toone accustomed to Eastern cities; but this was perhaps, at the time ofmy visit, due to the pure rarified atmosphere, the keen frosty air, ofwinter. Teherán in January, with its cold bracing climate, and Teheránin June, with the thermometer above ninety in the shade, are two verydifferent things; and the town is so unhealthy in summer, that allEuropeans who can afford to do so live on the hills around thecapital. 

The environs are not picturesque. They have been likened to those ofMadrid, having the same brown calcined soil, the same absence of treesand vegetation. The city, viewed from outside the walls, is ugly andinsignificant, and, on a dull day, indistinguishable at no greatdistance. In clear weather, however, the beehive-like dwellings andrumbling ramparts stand out in bold relief against a background ofblue sky and dazzling snow-mountains, over which towers, in solitarygrandeur, the peak of Mount Demavend, [A] an extinct volcano, over20, 000 feet high, the summit of which is reported by natives to behaunted. The ascent is gradual and easy, and has frequently been madeby Europeans. 

Teherán is divided into two parts--the old city and the new. In theformer, inhabited only by natives, the streets are narrow, dark, andtortuous, leading at intervals into large squares with deep tanks ofrunning water in the centre. The latter are characteristic of Persia, and have in summer a deliciously cool appearance, the coping of thefountain being only an inch or so in height, and the water almostflush with the ground. The new, or European quarter, is bisected bya broad tree-lined thoroughfare, aptly named the "Boulevard desAmbassadeurs, " for here are the legations of England, France, andGermany. The Russian Embassy, a poor building in comparison withthe others, stands in another part of the town. Hard by the EnglishEmbassy is the Hôtel Prevôt, kept by a Frenchman of that name, onceconfectioner-in-chief to his Majesty the Shah. Here we took up ourquarters during our stay in the capital. 

At the extremity of the Boulevard des Ambassadeurs is the "Place desCanons, " so called from the old and useless cannon of various agesthat surround it. The square is formed by low barn-like barracks, their whitewashed walls decorated with gaudy and rudely drawn picturesof Persian soldiers and horses. Beyond this again, and approached byan avenue of poplar trees, lit by electric light, is the palace of theShah, with nothing to indicate the presence in town of the sovereignbut a guard of ragged-looking, unkempt Persians in Russian uniformlounging about the principal gateway. 

The Persian soldier is not a credit to his country. Although drilledand commanded by European officers, he is a slouching, awkward fellow, badly paid, ill fed, and not renowned for bravery. The ordinaryinfantry uniform consists of a dark-blue tunic and trousers with redfacings, and a high astrachan busby with the brass badge of the lionand sun. To a stranger, however, the varied and grotesque costumesin which these clowns are put by their imperial master is somewhatconfusing. One may see, for instance, Russian cossacks, Frenchchasseurs, German uhlans, and Austrian cuirassiers incongruously mixedup together in the ranks on parade. His army is the Shah's favouritetoy, and nothing affords the eccentric monarch so much amusement asconstant change of uniform. As the latter are manufactured in and sentout from the countries they represent, the expense to the state isconsiderable. 

The first Europeans to instruct this rabble were Frenchmen, butEngland, Russia, Germany, and Austria have all supplied officers andinstructors within the past fifty years, without, however, anygood result. Although the arsenal at Teherán is full of the latestimprovements in guns and magazine rifles, these are kept locked up, and only for show, the old Brown Bess alone being used. The Cossackregiment always stationed at Teherán, ostensibly for the protection ofthe Shah, and officered by Russians, is the only one with any attemptat discipline or order, and is armed with the Berdán rifle. 

The Teherán bazaar is, at first sight, commonplace and uninteresting. Though of enormous extent (it contains in the daytime over thirtythousand souls), it lacks the picturesque Oriental appearance of thoseof Cairo or Constantinople, where costly and beautiful wares are setout in tempting array before the eyes of the unwary stranger. Herethey are kept in the background, and a European must remain inthe place for a couple of months or so, and make friends with themerchants, before he be even permitted to see them. The position isreversed. At Stamboul the stranger is pestered and worried to buy;at Teherán one must sometimes entreat before being allowed even toinspect the contents of a silk or jewel stall. Even then, the ownerwill probably remain supremely indifferent as to whether the "Farangi"purchase or not. This fact is curious. It will probably disappear withthe advance of civilization and Mr. Cook. 

[Illustration: TEHERÁN]

Debouching from the principal streets or alleys of the bazaar, whichis of brick, are large covered caravanserais, or open spaces for thestorage of goods, where the wholesale merchants have theirwarehouses. The architecture of some of these caravanserais is veryfine. The cool, quiet halls, their domed roofs, embellished withdelicate stone carving, and blue, white, and yellow tiles, dimlyreflected in the inevitable marble tank of clear water below, area pleasant retreat from the stifling alleys and sun-baked streets. Talking of tanks, there seems to be no lack of water in Teherán. I wassurprised at this, for there are few countries so deficient in thisessential commodity as Persia. It is, I found, artificially suppliedby "connaughts, " or subterranean aqueducts flowing from mountainstreams, which are practically inexhaustible. In order to keep astraight line, shafts are dug every fifty yards or so, and the earththrown out of the shaft forms a mound, which is not removed. Thusa Persian landscape, dotted with hundreds of these hillocks, oftenresembles a field full of huge ant-hills. The mouths of these shafts, left open and unprotected, are a source of great danger to travellersby night. Teherán is provided with thirty or forty of these aqueducts, which were constructed by the Government some years ago at enormousexpense and labour. 

As in most Eastern cities, each trade has its separate alley orthoroughfare in the Teherán bazaar. Thus of jewellers, silk mercers, tailors, gunsmiths, saddlers, coppersmiths, and the rest, eachhave their separate arcade. The shops or stalls are much alike inappearance, though they vary considerably in size. Behind a brickplatform, about three feet wide and two feet in height, is the shop, a vaulted archway, in the middle of which, surrounded by his wares, kalyan [B] or cigarette in mouth, squats the shopkeeper. There are nowindows. At night a few rough boards and a rough Russian padlock arethe sole protection, saving a smaller apartment at the back of eachstall, a kind of strong-room, guarded by massive iron-bound doors, in which the most valuable goods are kept. There is no attempt atdecoration; a few only of the jewellers' shops are whitewashed inside, the best being hung with the cheapest and gaudiest of French or Germancoloured prints. The stalls are usually opened about 6. 30 a. M. , andclosed at sunset. An hour later the bazaar is untenanted, save forthe watchmen and pariah dogs. The latter are seen throughout the day, sleeping in holes and corners, many of them almost torn to pieces fromnightly encounters, and kicked about, even by children, with impunity. It is only at night that the brutes become really dangerous, and when, in packs of from twenty to thirty, they have been known to attack andkill men. Occasionally the dogs of one quarter of the bazaar attackthose of another, and desperate fights ensue, the killed and woundedbeing afterwards eaten by the victors. It is, therefore, unsafe toventure out in the streets of Teherán after dark without a lantern andgood stout cudgel. 

From 11 to 12 a. M. Is perhaps the busiest part of the day in thebazaar. Then is one most struck with the varied and picturesque typesof Oriental humanity, the continuously changing kaleidoscope ofnative races from Archangel to the Persian Gulf, the Baltic Sea toAfghanistán. 

Nor are contrasts wanting. Here is Ivanoff from Odessa or Tiflis, inthe white peaked cap and high boots dear to every Russian, hagglingover the price of a carpet with Ali Mahomet of Bokhára; thereChung-Yang, who has drifted here from Pekin through Siberia, with acargo of worthless tea, vainly endeavouring to palm it off on thatgrave-looking Parsee, who, unfortunately for the Celestial, is notquite such a fool as he looks. Such a hubbub never was heard. Every one is talking or shouting at the top of their voices, womenscreaming, beggars whining, fruit and water sellers jingling theircymbals, while from the coppersmiths' quarter hard by comes adeafening accompaniment in the shape of beaten metal. Occasionally acaravan of laden camels stalk gravely through the alleys, scatteringthe yelling crowd right and left, only to reassemble the moment it haspassed, like water in the wake of a ship. Again it separates, and asedan, preceded by a couple of gholams with long wands, is carriedby, and one gets a momentary glimpse of a pair of dark eyes andhenna-stained finger-tips, as a fair one from the "anderoon" [C]of some great man is carried to her jeweller's or perfumer's. The"yashmak" is getting very thin in these countries, and one can form avery fair estimate of the lady's features (singularly plain ones) asthe sedan swings by. Towards midday business is suspended for a while, and the alleys of the bazaar empty as if by magic. For nearly a wholehour silence, unbroken save by the snarling of some pariah dog, thehiss of the samovar, and gurgle of the kalyan, falls over the place, till 2 p. M. , when the noise recommences as suddenly as it ceased, andcontinues unbroken till sunset. 

On the whole, the bazaar is disappointing. The stalls for the sale ofPersian and Central Asian carpets, old brocades and tapestries, andother wares dear to the lover of Eastern art, are in the minority, and must be hunted out. Manchester goods, cheap calicoes and prints, German cutlery, and Birmingham ware are found readily enough, and formthe stock of two-thirds of the shops in the carpet and silk-mercers'arcade. 

It is by no means easy to find one's way about. No one understandsa word of English, French, or German, and had it not been for myknowledge of Russian--which, by the way, is the one known Europeanlanguage among the lower orders--I should more than once have beenhopelessly lost. 

Europeans in Teherán lead a pleasant though somewhat monotonous life. Summer is, as I have said, intolerable, and all who can seek refuge inthe hills, where there are two settlements, or villages, presented bythe Shah to England and Russia. Winter is undoubtedly the pleasantestseason. Scarcely an evening passes without a dance, privatetheatricals, or other festivity given by one or other of theEmbassies, entertainments which his Imperial Majesty himselffrequently graces with his presence. 

There is probably no living sovereign of whom so little is reallyknown in Europe as Nasr-oo-din, "Shah of Persia, " "Asylum of theUniverse, " and "King of Kings, " to quote three of his more modesttitles. Although he has visited Europe twice, and been made much of inour own country, most English people know absolutely nothing of thePersian monarch's character or private life. That he ate _entrées_with his fingers at Buckingham Palace, expressed a desire to have theLord Chamberlain bowstrung, and conceived a violent and unholy passionfor an amiable society lady somewhat inclined to _embonpoint_, we aremost of us aware; but beyond this, the Shah's _vie intime_ remains, tothe majority of us at least, a sealed book. This is perhaps a pity, for, like many others, Nasr-oo-din is not so black as he is painted, and, notwithstanding all reports to the contrary, is said, by thosewho should know, to be one of the kindest-hearted creatures breathing. 

The government of Persia is that of an absolute monarchy. The Shahalone has power of life and death, and, even in the most remotedistricts, the assent of the sovereign is necessary before anexecution can take place. The Shah appoints his own ministers. These are the "Sadr-Azam, " or Prime Minister; the "Sapar-Sala, "Commander-in-chief; "Mustof-al-Mamalak, " Secretary of State, andMinister of Foreign Affairs. These are supposed to represent the PrivyCouncil, but they very seldom meet, the Shah preferring to manageaffairs independently. The total revenue of the latter has beenestimated at seven million pounds sterling. 

Nasr-oo-din, who is now sixty-five years of age, ascended the thronein 1848. His reign commenced inauspiciously with a determined attemptto assassinate him, made by a gang of fanatics of the Babi sect. Theplot, though nearly successful, was frustrated, and the conspiratorsexecuted; but it is said that the Shah has lived in constant dread ofassassination ever since. He is hypochondriacal, and, though in veryfair health, is constantly on the _qui vive_ for some imaginaryailment. The post of Court physician, filled for many years past byDr. Tholozan, a Frenchman, is no sinecure. 

The habits of the Shah are simple. He is, unlike most Persians of highclass, abstemious as regards both food and drink. Two meals a day, served at midday and 9 p. M. , and those of the plainest diet, washeddown by a glass or two of claret or other light wine, are all heallows himself. When on a hunting-excursion, his favourite occupation, the Shah is even more abstemious, going sometimes a whole day withoutfood of any kind. He is a crack shot, and is out nearly daily, whenthe weather permits, shooting over his splendid preserves aroundTeherán. There is no lack of sport. Tiger and bear abound; alsopartridge, woodcock, snipe, and many kinds of water-fowl; but theShah is better with the rifle than the fowling-piece. The Shah ispassionately fond of music, and has two or three string and brassbands trained and conducted by a Frenchman. When away on a longsporting-excursion, he is invariably accompanied by one of thesebands. 

Were it not for the running attendants in scarlet and gold, and thecrimson-dyed [D] tail of his horse, no one would take the slim, swarthyold gentleman in black frock-coat, riding slowly through the streets, and beaming benignly through a huge pair of spectacles, for thegreat Shah-in-Shah himself. Yet he is stern and pitiless enough whennecessary, as many of the Court officials can vouch for. But few haveescaped the bastinado at one time or another; but in Persia this isnot considered an indignity, even by the highest in the land. Thestick is painful, certainly, but not a disgrace in this strangecountry. 

Nasr-oo-din has three legal wives, and an unlimited number ofconcubines. Of the former, the head wife, Shuku-Es-Sultana, is his owncousin and the great-granddaughter of the celebrated Fatti-Ali-Shah, whose family was so large that, at the time of his death, one hundredand twenty of his descendants were still living. Shuku-Es-Sultana isthe mother of the "Valliad, " or Crown Prince, now Governor of Tabriz. The second wife is a granddaughter of Fatti-Ali-Shah; and the third(the Shah's favourite) is one Anys-u-Dowlet. The latter is the bestlooking of the three, and certainly possesses the greatest influencein state affairs. Of the concubines, the mother of the "Zil-i-Sultan"("Shadow of the King") ranks the first in seniority. The Zil-i-Sultanis, though illegitimate, the Shah's eldest son, and is, with theexception of his father, the most influential man in Persia, theheir-apparent (Valliad) being a weak, foolish individual, easily led, and addicted to drink and the lowest forms of sensuality. 

With the exception of eunuchs, no male person over the age of ten ispermitted in the seraglio, or anderoon, which is constantly receivingfresh importations from the provinces. Persians deny that there areany European women, but this is doubtful. The harems of Constantinopleand Cairo are recruited from Paris and Vienna; why not those ofTeherán? The indoor costume of the Persian lady must be somewhattrying at first to those accustomed to European toilettes. Theskirt, reaching only to the knee, is full and _bouffé_, like anopera-dancer's, the feet and legs generally bare. The only becomingpart of the whole costume is the tightly fitting zouave jacket oflight blue or scarlet satin, thickly braided with gold, and the gauzehead-dress embroidered with the same material, and fastened under thechin with a large turquoise, ruby, or other precious stone. 

Some of the women (even among the concubines) are highly educated; canplay on the "tar", [E] or harmonica, sing, and read and write poetry;but their recreations are necessarily somewhat limited. Picnics, music, story-telling, kalyan and cigarette smoking, sweetmeat-making, and the bath, together with somewhat less innocent pastimes, form thesum total of a Persian concubine's amusements. Outside the walls ofthe anderoon they are closely watched and guarded, for Persiansare jealous of their women, and, even in the most formal socialgatherings, there is a strict separation of the sexes. Its imperialmaster occasionally joins in the outdoor amusements of his harem;indeed, he himself invented a game a few years since, which soundsmore original than amusing. A slide of smooth alabaster about twentyfeet long, on an inclined plane, was constructed in one of hisbath-houses. Down this the Shah would gravely slide into the water, followed by his seraglio. The sight must have been a strange one, the costumes on these occasions being, to say the least of it, scanty!

[Illustration: PERSIAN DANCING-GIRL]

The Shah's greatest failing is, perhaps, vacillation. He is constantlychanging his mind, on trifling matters chiefly, for his northernneighbours take care that he is more consistent in affairs of state. Two or three times, between his visits to Europe in 1871 and 1889, hehas started with great pomp and a large retinue for the land of the"Farangi, " but, on arrival at Résht, has returned to Teherán, withouta word of warning to his ministers, or apparent reason for his suddenchange of plans. These "false starts" became a recognized thing aftera time, and when, in 1888, his Majesty embarked on his yacht and setsail for Baku, it came as a surprise, pleasant or otherwise, to hissubjects at Teherán. The final undertaking of the journey mayhave been advised by his astrologers, for the Shah is intenselysuperstitious, and never travels without them. Nor will he, on anyaccount, start on a journey on a Friday, or the thirteenth day of themonth. 

The palace of Teherán is, seen from the outside, a shapeless, ramshackle structure. The outside walls are whitewashed, and coveredwith gaudy red and blue pictures of men and horses, the former inmodern military tunics and shakos, the latter painted a bright red. The figures, rudely drawn, remind one of a charity schoolboy'sartistic efforts on a slate, but are somewhat out of place on thewalls of a royal residence. The interior of the "Ark, " as it iscalled, is a pleasant contrast to the outside, although even here, inthe museum, which contains some of the finest gems and _objets d'art_in the world, the various objects are placed with singular disregardof order, not to say good taste. One sees, for instance, a tawdrilydressed mechanical doll from Paris standing next to a case containingthe "Darai Nor, " or "Sea of Light, " a magnificent diamond obtainedin India, and said to be the largest yet discovered, though somewhatinferior in quality to the "Koh-i-noor. " A cheap and somewhatdilapidated cuckoo-clock and toy velocipede flank the famous globe ofthe world in diamonds and precious stones. This, the most costly andbeautiful piece of workmanship in the place, is about eighteen inchesin diameter, and is said to have cost eight millions of francs. Thedifferent countries are marked out with surprising accuracy anddetail, --Persia being represented by turquoises, England by diamonds, Africa by rubies, and so on, the sea being of emeralds. 

The museum itself is about sixty feet in length by twenty-five feetbroad, its ceiling composed entirely of looking-glasses, its parquetflooring strewn with priceless Persian rugs and carpets. Largeoil-paintings of Queen Victoria, the Czar of Russia, and othersovereigns, surround the walls, including two portraits of her Majestythe Ex-Empress Eugenie. It would weary the reader to wade through adescription of the Jade work and _cloisonné_, the porcelain of allcountries, the Japanese works of art in bronze and gold, and last, butnot least, the cut and uncut diamonds and precious stones, temptinglylaid out in open saucers, like _bonbons_ in a confectioner's shop. Thediamonds are perhaps the finest as regards quality, but there isa roughly cut ruby surmounting the imperial crown, said to be thelargest in the world. 

Though it was very cold, and the snow lay deep upon the ground, mystay at Teherán was not unpleasant. The keen bracing air, brilliantsunshine, and cloudless blue sky somewhat made amends for the sorrylodging and execrable fare provided by mine host at the Hôtel Prevôt. I have seldom, in my travels, come across a French inn where, be thematerials ever so poor, the landlord is not able to turn out a decentmeal. I have fared well and sumptuously at New Caledonia, Saigon, andeven Pekin, under the auspices of a French innkeeper; but at Teherán(nearest of any to civilized Europe) was compelled to swallow foodthat would have disgraced a fifth-rate _gargotte_ in the slums ofParis. Perhaps Monsieur Prevôt had become "Persianized"; perhapsthe dulcet tones of Madame P. , whose voice, incessantly rating herservants, reminded one of unoiled machinery, and commenced at sunriseonly to be silenced (by exhaustion) at sunset, disturbed him at hisculinary labours. The fact remains that the _cuisine_ was, to any buta starving man, uneatable, the bedroom which madame was kind enough toassign to me, pitch dark and stuffy as a dog-kennel. 

A long conference with General S--, an Austrian in the Persianservice, decided my future movements. The general, one of the highestgeographical authorities on Persia, strongly dissuaded my attemptingto reach India _viâ_ Meshéd and Afghanistán. "You will only be stoppedand sent back, " said he; "what is the use of losing time?" I resolved, therefore, after mature deliberation, to proceed direct to Ispahán, Shiráz, and Bushire, and from thence by steamer to Sonmiani, on thecoast of Baluchistán. From the latter port I was to strike due northto Kelát and Quetta, and "that, " added the general, "will bring youacross eighty or a hundred miles of totally unexplored country. Youwill have had quite enough of it when you get to Kelát--if you ever_do_ get there, " he added encouragingly. 

The route now finally decided upon, preparations were made for a startas soon as possible. Portmanteaus were exchanged for a pair of lightleather saddle-bags, artistically embellished with squares of brightPersian carpet let in at the side, and purchased in the bazaar fortwenty-two keráns, or about seventeen shillings English money. Inthese I was able to carry, with ease, a couple of tweed suits, half adozen flannel shirts, three pairs of boots, and toilet necessaries, tosay nothing of a box of cigars and a small medicine-chest. Gerômealso carried a pair of bags, containing, in addition to his modestwardrobe, our stores for the voyage--biscuits, Valentine's meat juice, sardines, tea, and a bottle of brandy; for, with the exception of eggsand Persian bread, one can reckon upon nothing eatable at the Chaparkhanehs. There is an excellent European store shop at Teherán, and hadit not been for limited space, we might have regaled on turtle soup, aspic jellies, quails, and _pâté de foie gras_ galore throughoutPersia. Mr. R. N----, an _attaché_ to the British Legation at Teherán, is justly celebrated for his repasts _en voyage_, and assured me thathe invariably sat down to a _recherché_ dinner of soup, three courses, and iced champagne, even when journeying to such remote cities asHamadán or Meshéd, thereby proving that, if you only take your timeabout it, you may travel comfortably almost anywhere--even in Persia. 

[Footnote A: The word _Demavend_ signifies literally "abundance ofmist, " so called from the summit of this mountain being continuallywreathed in clouds. ]

[Footnote B: A pipe similar to the Turkish "hubble-bubble, " whereinthe tobacco is inhaled through plain or rose water. ]

[Footnote C: Harem. ]

[Footnote D: A badge of royalty in Persia. ]

[Footnote E: A stringed instrument played in the same way as theEuropean guitar. ]

CHAPTER VI. 

TEHERÁN--ISPAHÁN. 

We are already some farsakhs [A] from Teherán when day breaks on the4th of February, 1889. The start is not a propitious one. Hardly havewe cleared the Ispahán gate than down comes the Shagird's horse asif he were shot, breaking his girths and rider's thumb at the samemoment. Luckily, we are provided with rope, and Persian saddles arenot complicated. In ten minutes we are off again; but it is terriblyhard going, and all one can do to keep the horses on their legs. Towards midday the sun slightly thaws the surface of the frozen snow, and makes matters still worse. Up till now the pace has not beenexhilarating. Two or three miles an hour at most. It will take sometime to reach India at this rate!

Four or five hours of this work, and there is no longer a sign of lifeto be seen on the white waste, saving, about a mile ahead of us, a thin wreath of grey smoke and half a dozen blackened tents--anencampment of gypsies. Far behind us the tallest minarets of thecapital are dipping below the horizon, while to the left the white andglittering cone of Demavend stands boldly out from a background ofdeep cloudless blue. Though the sun is powerful--so much so, indeed, that face and hands are already swollen and blistered--the cold in theshade is intense. A keen, cutting north-easter sweeps across the whitewaste, and, riding for a time under the shadow of a low ridge ofsnow, I find my cigar frozen to my lips--nor can I remove it withoutpainfully tearing the skin. Gerôme is in his element, and, as anatural consequence, my spirits fall as his rise. The slowness ofour progress, and constant stumbling of my pony, do not improve thetemper, and I am forced at last to beg my faithful follower to desist, for a time at least, from a vocal rendering of "La Mascotte" whichhas been going on unceasingly since we left Teherán. He obeys, but(unabashed) proceeds to carry on a long conversation with himself inthe Tartar language, with which I am, perhaps happily, unacquainted. Truly he is a man of unfailing resource!

But even his angelic temper is tried when, shortly afterwards, we ridepast the gipsy encampment As he dismounts to light a cigarette outof the wind, one of the sirens in a tent catches sight of the littleRussian, and in less than half a minute he is surrounded by a mob ofdishevelled, half-naked females, who throw their arms about him, pullhis hair and ears, and try, but in vain, to secure his horse and draghim into a tent. These gipsies are the terror of travellers in Persia, the men, most of them, gaining a precarious living as tinkers andleather-workers, with an occasional highway robbery to keep theirhand in, the women living entirely by thieving and prostitution. Thegentlemen of the tribe were, perhaps luckily for us, away from home onthis occasion. One of the women, a good-looking, black-eyed girl, wasthe most persistent among this band of maenads, and, bolder than therest, utterly refused to let Gerôme get on his pony, till, white withpassion, the Russian raised his whip. This was a signal for a generalhowl of rage. "Strike me if you dare!" said the girl, her eyes ablaze. "If you do you will never reach the next station. " But in the confusionGerôme had vaulted into his saddle, and, setting spurs to our horses, we galloped or scrambled off as quick as the deep snow would allow us. "Crapule va!" shouted the little man, whose cheek and hair still boretraces of the struggle. "Il n'y a qu'en Perse qu'on fait des chameauscomme cela!"

Ispahán is about seventy farsakhs distant from Teherán. The journeyhas, under favourable conditions, been ridden in under two days, butthis is very unusual, and has seldom been done except for a wager byEuropeans. In our case speed was, of course, out of the question, withthe road in the state it was. The ordinary pace is, on an average, sixto eight miles an hour, unless the horses are very bad. It was nearlya week, however, before we rode through the gates of Ispahán, and eventhis was accounted a fair performance considering the difficulties wehad to contend with. 

Towards sunset the wind rose--a sharp north-easter that made face andears feel as if they were being flogged with stinging-nettles. It wasnot until dusk that we reached Rabat Kerim, a small mud village, witha filthy windowless post-house. But a pigstye would have been welcomeafter such a ride, and the vermin which a flickering oil-lamp revealedin hundreds, on walls and flooring, did not prevent our sleepingsoundly till morning. My thermometer marked only one degree above zerowhen we retired to rest, and the wood was too damp to light a fire. But we are in Persia!

It is only fair, however, to say that the road we were now travellingis not the regular post-road, which lies some distance to the eastwardof Rabat Kerim, but was now impassable on account of the snow. The smaller track joins the main road at Koom. By taking the lessfrequented track, we were unable to go through the "Malak al Niote, "or "Valley of the Angel of Death, " which lies about half-way betweenthe capital and Koom. The valley is so called from its desolate andsterile appearance, though, if this be so, the greater part of Persiamight with reason bear the same name. Be this as it may, the Shagirdsand natives have the greatest objection to passing through it afterdark. A legend avers that it is haunted by monsters having the bodiesof men and heads of beasts and birds. Surrounded by these apparitions, who lick his face and hands till he is unconscious, the traveller iscarried away--where, history does not state--never to return. 

If the first day's work had been hard, it was child's play compared tothe second. The track, leading over a vast plain, had recently beentraversed by a number of camel caravans, which had transformed it intoa kind of Jacob's ladder formed by holes a couple of feet deep in thesnow. As long as the horses trod into them all went well, but a fewinches to the right or left generally brought them blundering on totheir noses. The reader may imagine what a day of this work means. Thestrain on mind and muscle was almost unbearable, to say nothing of theblinding glare. Yet one could not but admire, during our brief pausesfor rest, the picture before us. The boundless expanse of sapphireblue and dazzling white, with not a speck to mar it, save where, occasionally, the warm sun-rays had, here and there, laid bare chainsof dark rocks, giving them the appearance of islands in this ocean ofsnow. 

At Pitché, the midday station, no horses were to be had; so, notwithstanding that deep snow-drifts lay between us and Kushku Baïra, the halt for the night, we were compelled, after a couple of hours'rest, to set out on the ponies that had brought us from Rabat Kerim. More perhaps by good luck than anything else, we reached the lattertowards 9 p. M. A bright starlit night favoured us, and, with theexception of a couple of falls apiece, we were none the worse. Wefound, too, to our great delight, a blazing fire burning in thepost-house, kindled by some caravan-men. But there is always a savingclause in Persia. No water was to be had for love or money till themorning, and, knowing the raging thirst produced by melted snow, wehad to forget our thirst till next day. 

[Illustration: POST-HOUSE AT KUSHKU BAIRA]

A pleasant surprise also was in store for us. Two or three milesbeyond Kushku Baïra we were clear of snow altogether. Not a vestigeof white was visible upon the bare stony plain. Nothing but dull drabdesert, stretching away on every side to a horizon of snow-capt hills, recalling, by their very whiteness, the miseries of the past two days. "Berik Allah!" [B] cried Gerôme. "We have done with the snow now. ""Inshallah!" [C] I replied, though with an inward conviction that weshould see it again further on, and suffer accordingly. 

The sacred city of Koom [D] is one of the pleasantest recollections Iretain of the ride between the capital and Ispahán. It was about twoo'clock on the afternoon of the 6th of February that, breasting achain of low sandy hills, the huge golden dome of the Tomb of Fatimabecame visible. We were then still four miles off; but, even with ourjaded steeds, the ride became what it had not yet been--a pleasure. The green sunlit plains of wheat and barley, interspersed with bars ofwhite and red poppies, the picturesque, happy-looking peasantry, thestrings of mule and camel caravans, with their gaudy trappings andclashing bells, --all this life, colour, and movement helped to giveone new hope and energy, and drown the dreary remembrance of pasttroubles, bodily and mental. Even the caravans of corpses sent to Koomfor interment, which we passed every now and again, failed to depressus, though at times the effluvia was somewhat overpowering, many ofthe bodies being brought to the sacred city from the most remoteparts of Persia. Each mule bore two dead bodies, slung on eitherside, like saddle-bags, and one could clearly trace the outline ofthe figure wrapped in blue or grey cloth. A few of the friends andrelatives of some of the deceased accompanied this weird procession, but the greater number of the dead had been consigned to the careof the muleteers. The latter, in true chalvadar [E] fashion, werestretched out flat on their stomachs fast asleep, their heads lollingover their animals, arms and legs dangling helplessly, while thecaravan roamed about the track unchecked, banging their loads againsteach other, to the silent discomfiture of the unfortunate mourners. 

[Illustration: A CORPSE CARAVAN]

Koom is said to cover nearly twice as much ground as Shiráz, but morethan half the city is in ruins, the Afghans having destroyed it in1722. The principal buildings are mainly composed of mosques andsepulchres (for Koom is second only to Meshéd in sanctity), butmost of them are in a state of decay and dilapidation. The mosquecontaining the Tomb of Fatima is the finest, its dome being coveredwith plates of silver-gilt--the natives say of pure gold. The sacredcharacter of this city is mainly derived from the fact that Fatima, surnamed "El Masouna" ("Free from sin"), died here many years ago. Thetradition is that Fatima was on her way to the city of Tus, whithershe was going to visit her brother, Imám Riza. On arrival at Koom, sheheard of his death, which caused her to delay her journey and take upher residence here for a time, but she shortly afterwards sickened, and died of a broken heart. A mausoleum was originally built of a veryhumble nature, but, by order of Shah Abbas, it was enlarged and richlyornamented inside and out. Fatti-Ali-Shah and Abbas the Second areboth buried here; also the wife of Mahomet Shah, who died in 1873, having had the dome of the mosque covered with gold. There is a legendamong natives that Fatima's body no longer lies in the mosque, but wascarried bodily to heaven shortly after death. 

The population of Koom, which now amounts to little more than betweenten and twelve thousand, was formerly much larger. Like many otherPersian cities--saving, perhaps, Teherán--it retains but little ofits greatness, either as regards art or commerce. The bazaar is, notwithstanding, extensive and well supplied. Koom is noted for themanufacture of a white porous earthenware, which is made into flasksand bottles, some of beautiful design and workmanship. 

The city is entered from the north by a substantial stone bridge, spanning a swift but shallow river. It presents, at first sight, muchmore the appearance of a Spanish or Moorish town than a Persian one. The dirty brown mud huts are replaced by picturesque white houses, with coloured domes, gaily striped awnings, and carved woodenbalconies overhanging the stream. Riding through the city gate, weplunge from dazzling sunshine into the cool semi-darkness of thebazaar, through which we ride for at least a quarter of an hour, whena sudden turning brings us once more into daylight in the yard of ahuge caravanserai, crowded with mule and camel caravans. 

The apartment or cell allotted to us was, however, so filthy that wedecided to push on at once to Pasingán, the next stage, four farsakhsdistant. Koom is noted for the size and venom of its scorpions; andthe dim recesses of the dark, cobwebby chamber, with its greasywalls and smoke-blackened ceiling, looked just the place for theseundesirable bedfellows. 

So we rode on again into the open country, past crowds of beggars anddervishes at the eastern gate, as usual, busily engaged, as soon asthey saw us coming, at their devotions. Clear of the city walls, onesees nothing on every side but huge storks. They are held sacred bythe natives, being supposed to migrate to Mecca every year. I heard atIspahán that, notwithstanding the outward austerity and piety ofthe people of Koom, there is no town in Persia where so much secretdepravity and licentiousness are carried on as in the "Holy City. "

The stage from Koom to Pasingán was accomplished in an incrediblyshort time; and I may here mention that this was the only occasionupon which, in Persia, I was ever given a fairly good horse. The word_chapar_ signifies in Persian to "gallop, " but it is extremely rare tofind "chapar post" pony which has any notion of going out of his ownpace--something between a walk and a canter, like the old grey horsethat carries round the lady in pink and spangles in a travellingcircus. But to-day I got hold of a wiry, game little chestnut, who wasevidently new to the job, and reached and tore away at his bridle asif he enjoyed the fun. Seeing, about half-way, that he was bleeding atthe mouth, I called Gerôme's attention to the fact, and found that hishorse was in the same plight--as, indeed, was every animal we passedon the road between Koom and Pasingán. This is on account of thewater at and between the two places, which is full of small leeches, invisible except through a microscope. Horses, mules, and cattlesuffer much in consequence, for nothing can be done to remedy theevil. 

A pleasant gallop of under an hour brought us to Pasingán. It washardly possible to realize, riding through the warm evening air, forall the world like a June evening in England, that but two days beforewe had well-nigh been frozen to death. Had I known what was in storefor us beyond Kashán, I might have marvelled even more at this suddenand welcome change of climate. 

The guest-chamber at Pasingán was already taken by a Persian khan, a rude, blustering fellow, who refused us even a corner; so we had, perforce, to make the best of it downstairs among the rats and vermin. Devoured by the latter, and unable to sleep, we rose at the firststreak of dawn, saddled two of the khan's horses, and rode away toSin-Sin before any one was astir. The poor Shagird, whom we had tothreaten with a severe chastisement if he did not accompany us, was ina terrible state. The bow-string was the least he could expect whenthe khan came to know of the trick we had played him. An extra keránat Sin-Sin, however, soon consoled our guide. He probably neverreturned to Pasingán at all, but sought his fortunes elsewhere. Persian post-boys are not particular. 

Kashán is distant about fifty-two English miles from Pasingán, andlies south-east of the latter. The caravan track passes a level tractof country, sparsely cultivated by means of irrigation. Persian soilis evidently of the kind that, "tickled with a hoe, laughs with aharvest. " Even in this sterile desert, covered for the most part withwhite salt deposits, the little oases of grain and garden looked asfresh and green as though they had been on the banks of a lake orriver. But the green patches were very few and far between, and, half-way between the post-stations, ceased altogether. Nothing wasthen visible but a waste of brown mud and yellow sand, cut clear anddistinct against the blue sky-line on the horizon. It is strange, whencrossing such tracts of country, to note how near to one everythingseems. Objects six or eight miles off, looked to-day as if you couldgallop up to them in five minutes; and the peak of Demavend, on whichwe were now looking our last, seemed about twenty miles off, insteadof over one hundred and fifty. 

Kashán was reached on the 7th of February. At Nasirabád, a village afew miles out of the city, there had been an earthquake that morning. Many of the mud houses were in ruins, and their late owners sittingdejectedly on the remains. Earthquakes are common enough inPersia, and this was by no means our last experience in that line. Commiserating with the homeless ones, we divided a few keráns amongthem, in return for which they brought us large water-melons (forwhich Nasirabád is celebrated), deliciously flavoured, and as cold asice. 

Kashán, which stands on a vast plain about two thousand feet abovesea-level, is picturesque and unusually clean for an Eastern town. Thebazaar is a long one, and its numerous caravanserais finer even thanthose of the capital. The manufacture of silk [F] and copperware isextensive; but, as usual, one saw little in the shops, _en evidence_, but shoddy cloth and Manchester goods, and looked in vain for realOriental stuffs and carpets. I often wondered where on earth they_were_ to be got, for the most persistent efforts failed to producethe real thing. I often passed, on the road, camel and mule-clothsthat made my mouth water, so old were their texture and delicate theirpattern and colouring, but the owners invariably declined, under anycircumstances, to part with them. 

Kashán will ever be associated in my mind with the fact that I theresaw the prettiest woman it was my luck to meet in Persia. The glimpsewas but a momentary one, but amply sufficed to convince me thatthose who say that _all_ Persian women are ugly (as many do) knownothing-whatever about it. 

It was towards sunset, in one of the caravanserais, to which, hot andtired with the long dusty ride, I came for a quiet smoke and a cup ofcoffee. The sensation of absolute repose was delicious after the heatand glare, the stillness of the place unbroken save for the plash of amarble fountain, and, outside, the far-off voices of the "muezzims, "calling the faithful to evening prayer. From the blue dome, with itsgolden stars and white tracery, the setting sun, streaming in throughcoloured glass, threw the softest shades of violet and ruby, emeraldand amber, upon the marble pavement. The stalls around were closedfor the night; all save one, a "manna" [G] shop. Its owner, awhite-turbaned old Turk, and myself were the sole inmates of thecaravanserai. Even my "kafedji" [H] had disappeared, though probablynot without leaving instructions to his neighbour to see that I didnot make off with the quaint little silver coffee-cup and nargileh. 

It was here that I saw the "belle" of Kashán, and of Persia, foraught I know--a tall slim girl, dressed, not in the hideous bag-likegarments usually affected by the Persian female, but soft whitedraperies, from beneath which peeped a pair of loose baggy trousersand tiny feet encased in gold-embroidered slippers. Invisible to her, I made every effort, from my hiding-place behind a projecting stall, to catch a glimpse of her face, but, alas! a yashmak was in theway--not the thin gauzy wisp affected by the smart ladies of Cairo andConstantinople, but a thick, impenetrable barrier of white linen, suchas the peasant women of Mohammedan countries wear. Who could she be?What was she doing-out unattended at this late hour?

I had almost given up all hope of seeing her features, when Fortunefavoured me. As the old Turk dived into the recesses of his shop toattend to the wants of his fair customer, the latter removed her veil, revealing, as she did so, one of the sweetest and fairest faces it hasever been my good fortune to look upon. A perfectly oval face, softdelicate complexion, large dark eyes full of expression, a smallaquiline nose, but somewhat large mouth, and the whitest and smallestof teeth. Such was the apparition before me. She could not have beenmore than sixteen. 

I could scarcely restrain from giving vent to my admiration in speech, when the old Turk returned. In an instant the yashmak was in itsplace, and, with a hasty glance around, my vision of beauty wasscuttling away as fast as her legs could carry her. A low musicallaugh like a chime of silver bells came back to me from the darkdeserted alleys of the bazaar, and I saw her no more. 

The manna-seller was evidently irritated, and intimated, in dumb show, that I must leave the caravanserai at once, as he was shutting up forthe night. I bought a pound or so of the sweetmeat to pacify him, and, if possible, glean some information about the fair one, but myadvances were of no avail. 

The history of Kashán is closely allied to that of Ispahán. Theformer city was founded by Sultana Zobeide, wife of the celebratedHaroun-al-Raschid. Ransacked and destroyed by the Afghans in theeighteenth century, it was again restored, or rather rebuilt, by HajiHusein Khan. Perhaps the most interesting thing the city contains isa leaning minaret which dates from the thirteenth century. It isascended by a rickety spiral staircase. From here, not so many yearsago, it was the custom to execute adulterous wives. The husband, accompanied by his relations, forced his unfaithful spouse to the topof the tower and pushed her over the side (there is no balustrade), to be dashed to pieces on stone flags about a hundred and thirty feetbelow. 

"Pas de chance, monsieur, " was Gerôme's greeting as I entered thecaravanserai. "The Koudoum Pass is blocked with snow, and almostimpassable. What is to be done?" Mature deliberation brought but onesolution to the question: Start in the morning, and risk it. "Itcannot be worse than the Kharzán, anyhow, " said Gerôme, cheerfully, aswe rode out of Kashán next day, past the moated mud walls, forty feethigh, that at one time made this city almost impregnable. I more thanonce during the morning, however, doubted whether we had done right inleaving our comfortable quarters at the caravanserai to embark on thisuncertain, not to say dangerous, journey. 

Twenty-nine farsakhs still lay between us and Ispahán; but, once pastthe Khurood Pass (which lies about seven farsakhs from Kashán), allwould be plain sailing. The summit of the pass is about seven thousandfeet above sea-level. Its valleys are, in summer, green and fertile, but during the winter are frequently rendered impassable by the deepsnow, as was now the case. Khurood itself is a village of some sizeand importance, built on the slope of the mountain, and here, byadvice of the villagers, we rested for the night. "It will take you atleast a day to get to Bideshk, " said the postmaster--"that is, if youare going to attempt it. "

The ride from Kashán had been pleasant enough. No snow was yetvisible, save in the ravines, and the extreme summits of a chain oflow rocky hills, of which we commenced the ascent a couple of hoursor so after leaving Kashán. Half-way up, however, it became moredifficult, the path being covered in places with a thick coating ofice--a foretaste of the pleasures before us. Towards the summit of themountain is an artificial lake, formed by a strong dyke, or bank ofstonework, which intercepts and collects the mountain-streams andmelted snows--a huge reservoir, whence the water is let off toirrigate the distant low plains of Kashán, and, indeed, to supply thecity itself. The waters of this lake, about fifteen feet deep, wereclear as crystal, the bottom and sides being cemented. 

This reservoir was constructed by order of Shah Abbas, who seems tohave been one of the wisest and best rulers this unfortunate countryhas ever had, for he has certainly done more for his countrythan Nasr-oo-din or any of his stock are likely to. Pass a finercaravanserai than usual, travel a better road, cross a finer bridge, and interrogate your Shagird as to its history, and you willinvariably receive the answer, "Shah Abbas. " At the village ofKhurood, a huge caravanserai (his work) lies in ruins, having beendestroyed seven or eight years ago by an earthquake. Several personswere killed, the shock occurring at night-time, when the inmates wereasleep. 

The post-house at Khurood was cold, filthy, and swarmed with rats--ananimal for which I have always had an especial aversion. Towardsmidnight a Persian gentleman arrived from Kashán--a mild, benign-looking individual, with a grey moustache and large bluespectacles. The new-comer, who spoke a little French, begged to beallowed to join us on the morrow, as he was in a hurry to get toIspahán. Notwithstanding Gerôme's protestations, I had not the heartto refuse. He looked so miserable and helpless, and indeed was, asI discovered too late next day. Our new acquaintance then suggestedsending for wine, to drink to the success of our journey. At thissuggestion Gerôme woke up; and seeing that, in my case, the rats hadsuccessfully murdered sleep, I gladly agreed to anything that wouldmake the time pass till daylight. A couple of bottles were thenproduced by the postmaster; but it was mawkish stuff, as sweet assyrup, and quite flavourless. Gerôme and the Persian, however, didnot leave a drop, and before they had finished the second bottle weresworn friends. Although wine is forbidden by the Mohammedan faith, itis largely indulged in, in secret, by Persians of the upper class. Inever met, however, a follower of the Prophet so open about it asour friend at Khurood. The wine here was from Ispahán, and cost, the Persian told us, about sixpence a quart bottle, and was, in myopinion, dear at that. Shiráz wine is perhaps the best in Persia. Itis white, and, though very sweet when new, develops, if kept for threeor four years, a dry nutty flavour like sherry. This, however, doesnot last long, but gives place in a few months to a taste unpleasantlylike sweet spirits of nitre, which renders the wine undrinkable. With proper appliances the country would no doubt produce excellentvintages, but at present the production of wine in Persia is adistinct failure. 

Leaving at 8 a. M. , we managed to reach the summit of the Koudoum bytwo o'clock next day, when we halted to give the horses a rest, andget a mouthful of food. Our Persian friend had returned to Koudoumafter the first half-mile, during which he managed to get three falls, for the poor man had no notion of riding or keeping a horse on itslegs. He reminded one of the cockney who sat his horse with consummateease, grace, and daring, until it moved, when he generally fell off. I was sorry for him. He was so meek and unresentful, even whenmercilessly chaffed by Gerôme. 

Our greatest difficulty up till now had arisen from ice, whichcompletely covered the steep narrow pathway up the side of themountain, and made the ascent slippery and insecure. The snow had asyet been a couple of feet deep at most, and we had come across nodrifts of any consequence. Arrived at the summit, however, we saw whatwe had to expect. Below us lay a narrow valley or gorge, about a milebroad, separating us from the low range of hills on the far side ofwhich lay Bideshk. The depth of the snow we were about to make a waythrough was easily calculated by the telegraph-posts, which in placeswere covered to within two or three feet of the top. "You see, sahib, "said the Shagird, pointing with his whip to a huge drift some distanceto the left of the wires; "two men lying under that. " The intelligencedid not interest me in the least. Could we or not get over this "Valleyof Death"? was the only question my mind was at that momentcapable of considering. 

[Illustration: A DAY IN THE SNOW]

In less than a quarter of an hour we were in the thick of it, up toour waists in the snow, and pulling, rather than leading, our horsesafter us. It reminded me of a bad channel passage from Folkestone toBoulogne, and took about the same time--two hours, although the actualdistance was under a mile and a half. Gerôme led the way as long as hewas able, but, about half-way across, repeated and violent falls hadso exhausted his horse that we were obliged to halt while I took hisplace, by no means an easy one. During this stage of the proceedingswe could scarcely see one another for the steam and vapour arisingfrom the poor brutes, whose neighs of terror, as they blundered into adeeper drift than usual, were pitiful to hear. More than once Gerôme'spony fell utterly exhausted and helpless, and it took our unitedefforts to get him on his legs again; while the Shagird and I left ourponies prone on their sides, only too glad of a temporary respite fromtheir labours. If there is anything in the Mohammedan religion, theShagird was undoubtedly useful. He never ceased calling upon "Allah!"for help for more than ten consecutive seconds the whole way across. At four o'clock we rode into the post-house at Bideshk, thoroughlydone up, and wet through with snow and perspiration, but safe, and determined, if horses were procurable, to push on at once toMurchakhar, from whence two easy stages of six and three farsakhswould land us next day at Ispahán. 

It was dusk, and we had just secured the only horses available, whentwo Armenians, bound for Teherán, rode into the yard. When told theywere just too late for a relay, the rage of one of them--a short, apoplectic-looking little man--was awful to behold. As I mounted, hiscompanion came up and politely advised us not to attempt to ride toMurchakhar by night. "The road swarms with footpads, " he said, in amysterious undertone; "you run a very great risk of being robbed andmurdered if you go on to-night. " "You would have run a far greaterof being frozen to death, if we had not saved you by taking thesehorses, " cried Gerôme, as we rode coolly out of the gateway. 

Bideshk is noted for a great battle fought in its vicinity betweenthe army of Nadir Shah and Ashraf the Afghan. Its post-house is alsonoted, as I can vouch for, for the largest and most venomous bugsbetween Teherán and Ispahán. We only remained there three hours, andfelt the effects for days afterwards. 

All trace of ice and snow disappeared a few farsakhs from here, and wegalloped gaily across a hard and level plain to our destination forthe night. The post-house was a blaze of light. A couple of armedsentries stood in front of the doorway, and a motley crowd ofsoldiers, Shagird-chapars, and peasants outside. 

"You cannot come in, " said the postmaster, full of importance. "TheZil-i-Sultan is here on a hunting expedition. He will start awayearly in the morning, and then you can have the guest-room, but notbefore. " Too tired to mind much--indeed, half asleep already--wegroped our way to the stables, where, on the cleanest bundle of strawI have ever seen--or smelt, for it was pitch dark--in a Persianpost-stable (probably the property of his Highness the Governor ofIspahán), we were soon in the land of dreams. Had we known that wewere calmly reposing within a couple of feet of the royal charger'sheels, our slumbers might not have been so refreshing. Daylightdisclosed the fact. 

The governor and his suite had apparently made a night of it. Althoughit was past eight o'clock when we made a start, the prince, his suite, soldiers, and grooms were none of them stirring, although his _chef_was busily engaged, with his staff of assistants, preparing asumptuous breakfast of kababs, roast meat and poultry, pastry, andconfectionery of various kinds. I could not help envying the man whoseappetite and digestion would enable him to sit down to such a mealat such an hour. Sherbet, the Shagird from Murchakhar informed us inconfidence, is the favourite drink of the Zil-i-Sultan. I only oncetasted sherbet in Persia, and was somewhat surprised--so lasting areone's youthful associations--to find it utterly different to therefreshing but somewhat depressing beverage of my school-days, sold, if I remember rightly, at twopence a packet. The real sherbet I wasgiven (in a native house at Shiráz) consisted simply of a glass ofcold water with a lump of sugar in it--_eau sucré_, in fact. ButPersian sherbets are of endless varieties and flavours. Preservedsyrups of raspberry and pineapple, the juice of the fresh fruit oflemon, orange, and pomegranate, are all used in the manufacture ofsherbet, which is, however, never effervescing. The water in which itis mixed should be icy cold, and has, when served in Persia, blocksof frozen snow floating on the surface. The "sherbet-i-bidmishk, " or"willow-flower sherbet, " made from flowers of a particular kind ofwillow distilled in water, is perhaps the most popular of all amongthe higher classes, and is the most expensive. 

The hunting-expedition (the Shagird, who was of a communicativedisposition, informed us) consisted of three parties located atvillages each within a couple of farsakhs of Murchakhar. Numberingaltogether over six hundred men (all mounted), they had been outfrom Ispahán nearly ten days. Yesterday the prince's party had beenexceptionally lucky, and had had splendid sport. We passed, on theroad to Géz, a caravan of fifteen mules laden with the spoil--ibex, deer, wild sheep, and even a wild ass among the slain. The latter hadfallen to the governor's own rifle. There is plenty of sport to behad in Persia, if you only take the trouble to look for it, and incomparative comfort too, with tents, stores, cooking apparatus, etc. , if time is no object. The country swarms with wild animals--tiger, bear, and leopard in the forests by the Caspian Sea; wild asses, jackals, and wolves in the desert regions; deer and wild goats in themountainous districts; and, as we afterwards had uncomfortable proof, lions in the southern provinces. There is no permission needed. AEuropean may shoot over any country he pleases, with the exception ofthe Shah's private preserves around Teherán. His Imperial Majesty isvery tetchy on this point. 

We galloped nearly the whole of the short stage from Géz to Ispahán. A couple of miles out of the city we overtook a donkey ridden by twopeasants, heavy men, who challenged us to a trial of speed. We onlyjust beat them by a couple of lengths at the gates, although ourhorses were fresh and by no means slow. The Persian donkey isunquestionably the best in the East, and is not only speedy, but asstrong as a horse. We frequently passed one of these useful beastscarrying a whole family--monsieur, madame, and an unlimited number ofbebés--to say nothing of heavy baggage, in one of the queer-lookingarrangements (oblong boxes with a canvas covering stretched over awooden framework) depicted on the next page. An ordinary animal costsfrom two to three pounds (English), but a white one, the favouritemount of women and priests, will often fetch as much as ten orfifteen. 

To reach Djulfa, the Armenian and European quarter of Ispahán, thelatter city must be crossed, also the great stone bridge spanning the"Zandarood, " or "Living River, " so called from the supposed excellenceof its water for drinking purposes, and its powers of prolonging life. Nearing the bridge, we met a large funeral, evidently that of a personof high position, from the costly shawls which covered the bier. 

[Illustration: A FAMILY PARTY]

As in many Eastern countries, a man is never allowed to die in peacein Persia. It is a ceremony like marriage or burial, and as soon asthe doctors have pronounced a case hopeless, the friends and relationsof the sick man crowd into his chamber and make themselves thoroughlyat home, drinking tea and sherbet, and watching, through the smoke ofmany hubble-bubbles, the dying agonies of their friend. The wife ofthe dying man sits at his side, occasionally holding to the nostrilsthe Persian substitute for smelling-salts, i. E. A piece of mud tornfrom the wall of the dwelling and moistened with cold water. As a lastresource, a fowl is often killed and placed, warm and bleeding, on thepatient's feet. This being of no avail, and death having taken place, the wife is led from the apartment, and the preparations for intermentare commenced. Wet cotton-wool is stuffed into the mouth, nose, andears of the corpse, while all present witness aloud that the dead manwas a good and true Mohammedan. The body is laid out, a cup of wateris placed at its head, and a moollah, ascending to the roof of thehouse, reads in a shrill nasal tone verses from the Korán. Theprofessional mourners then arrive, and night or day is made hideouswith their cries, while the "washers of the dead" proceed with theirwork. The coffin, [I] in Persia, is made of very thin wood; in the caseof a poor man it is often dispensed with altogether, the corpse beingburied in a shroud. Interment in most cases takes place forty-eighthours at most after death. 

We found the house of Mr. P--, the Telegraph Superintendent of theIndo-European Company, with some difficulty, for the roads or ratherlanes of Djulfa are tortuous and confusing. Mr. P--was out, buthad left ample directions for our entertainment. A refreshing tub, followed by a delicious curry, washed down with iced pale ale, prepared one for the good cigar and siesta that followed, thoughan unlimited supply of English newspapers, the _Times, Truth_, and_Punch_, kept me well awake till the return of my host at sunset. 

[Footnote A: A farsakh is about four miles. ]

[Footnote B: "Hurrah!"]

[Footnote C: "Please God!"]

[Footnote D: _Koom_ signifies "sand. "]

[Footnote E: Muleteer. ]

[Footnote F: Kashán silk, noted throughout Persia, is of two kinds:the one thin and light for lining garments, the other thick and heavyfor divans, etc. The patterns are generally white, yellow, and greenon a red ground. ]

[Footnote G: A natural sweetmeat like nougat, found and manufacturedin Persia. ]

[Footnote H: Attendant. ]

[Footnote I: In the north of Persia the dead are buried in a shroudof dark-blue cloth, which is, oddly enough, called in the Persianlanguage, a _kaffin_. ]

CHAPTER VII. 

ISPAHÁN--SHIRÁZ. 

The seven telegraph-stations, in charge of Europeans, between Teheránand Bushire, may be called the oases of Persia to the weary travellerfrom Résht to the Persian Gulf. He is sure, at any of these, of ahearty welcome, a comfortable bedroom, and a well-cooked dinner fromthe good Samaritan in charge. The latter is generally the best ofcompany, full of anecdote and information about the country, and, necessarily, well posted in the latest news from Europe, from the lastParliamentary debate to the winner of the Derby. These officials areusually _ci-devant_ non-commissioned officers of Royal Engineers. Someare married, for the life is a lonely one, and three or four monthsoften elapse without personal communication with the outer world, except on the wires. By this means, when the latter are not inpublic use, the telegraphist can lighten his weary hours by animatedconversation with his colleague two or three hundred miles away oncongenial topics--the state of the weather, rate of exchange, chancesof promotion, and so on. Living, moreover, at most of the stations isgood and cheap; there is plenty of sport; and if a young unmarried manonly keeps clear of the attractions of the fair sex, he soon makesfriends among the natives. Love intrigues are dangerous in Persia. They once led to the massacre of the whole of the Russian Legation atTeherán. 

Ispahán is a city of ruins. A Persian will tell you, with pride, thatit is nearly fifteen miles in circumference, but a third of thisconsists of heaps of stones, with merely the foundation-lines aroundto show that they were once palaces or more modest habitations. Chardin the traveller, writing in A. D. 1667, gives the population ofIspahán at considerably over a million, but it does not now exceedfifty thousand, including the suburb of Djulfa. The Madrassa, orCollege, the governor's palace, and "Chil Situn, " or "Palace of theForty Pillars, " are the only buildings that still retain some tracesof their former glory. Pertaining to the former is a dome of the mostexquisite tile-work, which, partly broken away, discloses the mudunderneath; a pair of massive gates of solid silver, beautifullycarved and embossed; a large shady and well-kept garden in the centreof the Madrassa, with huge marble tanks of water, surrounded by anoblong arcade of students' rooms--sixty queer little boxes about tenfeet by six, their walls covered with arabesques of great beauty. These are still to be seen--and remembered. With the exception of the"Maidan Shah, " or "Square of the King"--a large open space in thecentre of the city, surrounded by modern two-storied houses--thestreets of Ispahán are narrow, dirty, and ill-paved, and its bazaar, which adjoins the Maidan Shah, very inferior in every way to those ofTeherán or Shiráz. 

The palace of "Chil Situn, " or "The Forty Pillars, " is like mostPersian palaces--the same walled gardens with straight walks, theusual avenues of cypress trees, and the inevitable tank of stone ormarble in the centre of the grounds. It is owing to the reflection ofthe _façade_ of the palace in one of the latter that it has gained itsname. There are in reality but twenty pillars, the forty being (with astretch of imagination) made up by reflection in the dull and somewhatdirty pool of water at their feet. The palace itself is a tawdry, gimcrack-looking edifice, all looking-glass and vermilion and greenpaint in the worst possible taste. From the entrance-hall an archeddoorway leads into the principal apartment, a lofty chamber aboutninety feet long by fifty broad, its walls covered with largepaintings representing the acts of the various Persian kings. ShahAbbas is portrayed under several conditions. In one scene he issurrounded by a band of drunken companions and dancing-girls, incostumes and positions that would hardly pass muster before our LordChamberlain. This room once contained the most beautiful and costlycarpet in all Persia, but it has lately been sold "for the good of theState, " and a dirty green drugget laid down in its place. In one ofthe side chambers are pictures representing ladies and gentlemen inthe costume of Queen Elizabeth's time. How they got to Ispahán I wasunable to discover. They are very old, and evidently by good masters. 

The way back to our comfortable quarters at Djulfa lay over theZandarood river. There are five bridges, the principal one being thatof Allaverdi Khan, named after one of the generals of Shah Abbas, whosuperintended its construction. It is of solid stonework, and built inthirty-three arches, over which are ninety-nine smaller archesabove the roadway on both sides, enclosing a covered-in pathway forfoot-passengers. The roadway in the centre, thirty feet wide, is wellpaved with stone, and perfectly level. Every thirty yards or so arestalls for the sale of kababs, fruit, sweetmeats, and the kalyan, fora whiff from which passers-by pay a small sum. Ispahán is noted forits fruit; apricots, peaches, nectarines, cherries, mulberries, andparticularly fine melons, are abundant in their season. 

There is a saying in Persia, "Shiráz for wine, Yèzd for women, butIspahán for melons. "

Since it has ceased to be the capital of Persia, the trade of Ispahánhas sadly deteriorated. There is still, however, a brisk tradein opium and tobacco. Silks and satins are also made, as well asquantities of a coarser kind of cotton stuff for wearing-apparel, much used by the natives. The sword-blades manufactured here are, in comparison with those of Khorassan or Damascus, of little value. Genuine old blades from the latter city fetch enormous priceseverywhere; but a large quantity of worthless imitations is in themarket, and unless a stranger is thoroughly experienced in the art ofweapon-buying, he had better leave it alone in Persia. Modern firearmsare rarely seen in the bazaars, except cheap German and Frenchmuzzle-loaders, more dangerous to the shooter than to the object aimedat. 

If the streets of Ispahán are narrow, those of Djulfa, the Armeniansettlement, can only be described as almost impassable, for, althoughthe widest are barely ten feet across, quite a third of this space istaken up by the deep ditch, or drain, lined with trees, by which allare divided. But the town, or settlement, is as clean and well-kept asIspahán itself is the reverse, which is saying a great deal. 

Djulfa is called after the Armenian town of that name in Georgia, thepopulation of which, for commercial reasons, was removed to this placeby Shah Abbas in A. D. 1603. Djulfa, near Ispahán, was once a largeand flourishing city, with as many as twenty district parishes, and apopulation of sixty thousand souls, now dwindled down to a little overtwo thousand, the greater part of whom live in great want and poverty. The city once possessed as many as twenty churches, but most of theseare now in ruins. The cathedral, however, is still standing, and infair preservation. It dates from A. D. 1655. There is also a RomanCatholic colony and church. The latter stands in a large garden, celebrated for its quinces and apricots. Lastly, the English ChurchMissionary Society have an establishment here under the direction ofthe Rev. Dr. Bruce, whose good deeds during the famine are not likelyto be forgotten by the people of Ispahán and Djulfa, whatever theircreed or religion. The trade of Djulfa is insignificant, althoughthere is a large amount of wine and arak manufactured there, and sold"under the rose" to the Ispahánis. The production of the juice of thegrape is somewhat primitive. During the season (September and October)the grapes are trodden out in a large earthenware pan, and the wholecrushed mass, juice and all, is stowed away in a jar holding fromtwenty to thirty gallons, a small quantity of water being added toit. In a few days fermentation commences. The mass is then stirred upevery morning and evening with sticks for ten or twenty days. Aboutthis period the refuse sinks to the bottom of the jar, and the wine isdrawn off and bottled. In forty days, at most, it is fit to drink. 

My time at Ispahán was limited, so much so that I was not able to paya visit to the "Shaking minarets, " about six miles off. These mudtowers, of from twenty to thirty feet high, are so constructed that aperson, standing on the roof of the building between the two, can, bya slight movement of his feet, cause them to vibrate. 

I spent most of my time, as usual, strolling about theleast-frequented parts of the city, or in the cool, picturesquegardens of the Madrassa. The people of Teherán, and other Persiancities, are generally civil to strangers; but at Ispahán the prejudiceagainst Europeans is very strong, and I more than once had to make asomewhat hasty exit from some of the lower quarters of the city. 

Mrs. S----, the wife of a telegraph official, was stabbed by somemiscreants while walking in broad daylight on the outskirts of thetown, a few months before my visit. The offenders were never caught;probably, as Ispahán is under the jurisdiction of the Zil-i-Sultan, were never meant to be. 

The Zil-i-Sultan returned to Ispahán before I left. He is rightlynamed "Shadow of the King, " for, saving his somewhat more youthfulappearance, he is as like Nasr-oo-din as two peas. Like his father inmost of his tastes, his favourite occupations are riding, the chase, and shooting at a mark; but he is, perhaps, more susceptible to thecharms of the fair sex than his august parent. 

The prince is now nearly forty years of age. His wife, daughter of aformer Prime Minister of Persia, who was strangled by order of thepresent Shah, died a few years ago, having borne him a son, the"Jelal-u-dowleh, " a bright, clever boy, now about eighteen years old, and three daughters. The Zil-i-Sultan is adored by his people, andhas, unquestionably, very great influence over the districts ofwhich he is governor. Within the last two years, however, at leasttwo-thirds of his possessions have been taken from him--a proceedingthat caused him considerable annoyance, and drew forth the remark thatthe Valliad would one day regret it. There can be little doubt that, at the death of Nasr-oo-din, the Governor of Ispahán will make abold bid for the throne; in fact, the latter makes no secret of hisintentions. Drink and debauch having already rendered his youngerbrother half-witted, the task should not be a difficult one, especially as half the people and the whole army side with theillegitimate, though more popular, prince. It is, perhaps, underthe circumstances, to be regretted that the latter is an ardentRussophile, ever since his Majesty the Czar sent a special mission toIspahán to confer upon him the Order of the Black Eagle. Should theZil-i-Sultan succeed Nasr-oo-din, British influence in Persia maybecome even less powerful than it is now, if that is possible. 

The Zil-i-Sultan is far more civilized in his habits and mode of lifethan the Shah. A fair French scholar, he regularly peruses his _Temps, Gil Blas_, and the latest works of the best French authors. It isstrange that, with all his common sense and sterling qualities, thisprince should, in some matters, be a perfect child. One of his whimsis dress. Suits of clothes, shirts, socks, hats, and uniforms arecontinually pouring in from all parts of Europe, many of the latteranything but becoming to the fat, podgy figure of the "King's Shadow. "A photograph of his Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught in RifleBrigade uniform was shown him a couple of years since. The Courttailor was at once sent for. "I must have this; make it at once, " wasthe command, the humble request to be allowed to take the measurebeing met by, "Son of a hell-burnt father! What do you mean? Make itfor a well-made man--a man with a better figure than that, and it willfit me!"

Popular as he is with the lower orders, the Zil-i-Sultan does not, when offenders are brought before him, err on the side of mercy. Persian justice is short, sharp, and severe, and a man who commits acrime in the morning, may be minus his head before sunset. Althougha Persian would indignantly deny it, some of their punishments arenearly as cruel as the Chinese. For instance, not so very long ago a manin Southern Persia was convicted of incest, for which crime his eyes werefirst torn out with pincers, and his teeth then extracted, one by one, sharpened to a point, and hammered, like nails, through the top of hisskull. It should be said in justice that the present Shah has done allhe can to stop the torture system, and confine the death-sentence to oneof two methods--painless and instantaneous--throat-cutting and blowingfrom a gun. Notwithstanding, executions such as the one I have mentionedare common enough in remote districts, and crucifixion, walling up, orburying and burning alive are, although less common than formerly, by nomeans out of date. Women are usually put to death by being strangled, thrown from a precipice or well, or wrapped up in a carpet and jumpedupon; but the execution of a woman is now, fortunately, rare in Persia. 

A dreary desert surrounds Ispahán on every side save to the southward, where dark masses of rock, a thousand feet high, break the sky-line. The environs of the city are well populated, and, as we rode out, _enroute_ for Shiráz, we passed through a good deal of cultivated land. This is irrigated by the Zandarood, whose blue waters are visible fora long distance winding through the emerald-green plain, with its gaypatchwork of white and scarlet poppy-gardens. The cultivation of thisplant is yearly increasing in Persia, for there is an enormous demandfor the drug in the country itself, to say nothing of the exportmarket, the value of which, in 1871, was 696, 000 rupees. In 1881 ithad progressed to 8, 470, 000 rupees, and is steadily increasing everyyear. Opium is not smoked in Persia, but is taken in the form ofpills. Many among the upper classes take it daily, the dose being agrain to a grain and a half. 

We covered, the first day out from Ispahán, nearly a hundred milesbetween sunrise and 10 p. M. --not bad work for Persia. A little afterdark, and before the moon had risen, I was cantering easily along infront of Gerôme, when a violent blow on the chest, followed by anotherbetween the eyes, sent me reeling off my horse on to the sand. Myfirst thought, on collecting myself, was "Robbers!"--this part of theroad bearing an unpleasant reputation. Cocking my revolver, I calledto Gerôme, and was answered by a volley of oaths, while anotherriderless horse galloped past me and disappeared in the darkness. Our foe was a harmless one. The wind had blown down one of thetelegraph-posts, and the wires had done the mischief. By good luck andthe aid of lucifer matches, we managed to trace our ponies to a pieceof cultivated ground hard by, where we found them calmly feeding in afield of standing corn. 

The moon had risen by nine o'clock. Before half-past we were in sightof the rock on which stands the town of Yezdi-Ghazt, towering, shadowyand indistinct, over the moonlit plain. This is unquestionably themost curious and interesting village between Résht and Bushire. Thepost-house stands at the foot. As we rode to the latter through thesemi-darkness caused by the shadow of the huge mass of boulders andmud on which the town is situated, the effect was extraordinary. It was like a picture by Gustave Doré; and, looking up the darkperpendicular side of the rock at the weird city with its whitehouses, queer-shaped balconies, and striped awnings, standing outclear and distinct against the starlit sky, gave one an uncomfortable, uncanny feeling, hard to shake off, and heightened by the factthat, although the hour was yet early, not a light was visible, nota sound to be heard. It was like a city of the dead. 

[Illustration: YEZDI-GHAZT]

Daylight does not improve the appearance of Yezdi-Ghazt. The city, which looks so weird and romantic by moonlight, loses much of itsbeauty, though not its interest, when seen by the broad light of day. The system of drainage in Yezdi-Ghazt is simple, the sewage beingthrown over, to fall, haphazard, on the ground immediately below. Inearly had a practical illustration during my examination, which, however, did not last long, for the side of the rock glistened withthe filth of years, and the stench and flies were unbearable. 

Early next morning I set out alone to explore the strange place, andwith much difficulty and some apprehension--for I did not know how thenatives were disposed--ascended a steep rocky path, at the summit ofwhich a wooden drawbridge leads over a deep abyss to the gate of thecity. This bridge is the only access to Yezdi-Ghazt, which is, so tospeak, a regular fortress-town. 

The rock, about half a mile long, is intersected by one narrow street, which, covered from end to end with awnings and wooden beams, wasalmost in obscurity. The sudden change from the glare outside almostblinded one. The appearance of a Farangi is evidently rare inYezdi-Ghazt, for I was immediately surrounded by a crowd, who, however, were evidently inclined to be friendly, and escorted me tothe house of the head-man, under whose guidance I visited the city. 

The houses are of stone, two-storied, and mortised into the rock, which gives them the appearance, from below, as if a touch would sendthem toppling over, while a curious feature is that none of theirwindows looks inwards to the street--all are in the outside wallfacing the desert. I took coffee with the head-man on his balcony--awooden construction, projecting over a dizzy height, and supportedby a couple of rickety-looking beams. It was nervous work, for theflooring, which was rotten and broken into great holes, creakedominously. I could see Gerôme (who had evidently missed me) bustlingabout the post-house, and reduced, from this height, to the size of afly. Making this my excuse, I quickly finished my coffee, and bade myhost farewell, nor was I sorry to be once more safe on _terra firma_. 

Yezdi-Ghazt, which has a population of about five hundred, is veryold, and is said to have existed long previous to the Mohammedanconquest. The present population are a continual source of dread tothe neighbouring towns and villages, on account of their lawlessnessand thieving proclivities, and mix very little with any of theirneighbours, who have given the unsavoury city the Turkish nicknameof "Pokloo Kalla, " or "Filth Castle. " Yezdi-Ghazt would not be adesirable residence during an earthquake. The latter are of frequentoccurrence round here. Many of the villages have been laid in ruins, but, curiously enough, the rock-city has, up till now, never even felta shock. 

A ride of under fifty miles through level and fertile country broughtus to Abadéh, a pretty village standing in the midst of gardens andvineyards, enclosed by high mud walls. A European telegraph official, Mr. G----, resides here. As we passed his house--a neat white stonebuilding easily distinguishable among the brown mud huts--a nativeservant stopped us. His master would not be back till sunset, but hadleft directions that we were to be well cared for till his return. The temptation of a bed and dinner were too much, and, as time was noobject, and snowy passes things of the past, we halted for the night. 

An hour later, comfortably settled on Mr. G---- 's sofa, and dozingover a cigar and a volume of _Punch_, my rest was suddenly disturbedby a loud bang at the sitting-room door, which, flying open, admittedtwo enormous animals, which I at first took for dogs. Both made atonce for my sofa, and, while the larger one curled comfortably roundmy feet and quietly composed itself for sleep, the smaller, evidentlyof a more affectionate disposition, seated itself on the floor, andcommenced licking my face and hands--an operation which, had I dared, I should strongly have resented. But the white gleaming teeth andcruel-looking green eyes inspired me with respect, to use nostronger term; for I had by now discovered that these domesticpets were--panthers! To my great relief, Mr. G---- entered atthis juncture. "Making friends with the panthers, I see, " he saidpleasantly. "They are nice companionable beasts. " They may have beenat the time. The fact remains that, three months after my visit, the"affectionate one" half devoured a native child! The neighbourhoodof Abadéh, Mr. G---- informed me, swarms with these animals. Bears, wolves, and hyenas are also common, to say nothing of jackals, which, judging from the row they made that night, must have been patrollingthe streets of the village in hundreds. 

A traveller starting from Teherán for Bushire is expected at everyEuropean station on the telegraph-line. "I thought you would have gothere sooner, " said Mr. G----. "P---- (at Ispahán) told me you werecoming through quick. "

The dining-room of my host at Abadéh adjoined the littleinstrument-chamber. Suddenly, while we were at dinner, a bell washeard, and the half-caste clerk entered. "So-and-so of Shiráz, " namingan official, "wants to speak to you. " "All right, " replied G----. "Just tell him to wait till I've finished my cheese!"

"It's from F----, " he said, a few moments later, "to say he expectsyou to make his house your head-quarters at Shiráz. " So the strangeris passed on through this desert, but hospitable land. Persiantravel would be hard indeed were it not for the ever-open doors andhospitality of the telegraph officials. 

We continue our journey next day in summer weather--almost too hot, in the middle of the day, to be pleasant. Sheepskin and bourka aredispensed with, as we ride lazily along under a blazing sun throughpleasant green plains of maize and barley, irrigated by babblingbrooks of crystal-clear water. A few miles from Abadéh is acave-village built into the side of a hill. From this issue a numberof repulsive-looking, half-naked wretches, men and women, with darkscowling faces, and dirty masses of coarse black hair. Most arecovered with skin-disease, so we push on ahead, but are caught up, forthe loathsome creatures get over the ground with extraordinary speed. A handful of "sheis" [A] stops them, and we leave them swearing, struggling, and fighting for the coins in a cloud of dust. Then onagain past villages nestling in groves of mulberry trees, past morevineyards, maize, and barley, and peasants in picturesque blue dress(save white, no other colour is worn in summer by the country-people)working in the fields. Their implements are rude and primitive enough. The plough is simply a sharpened stick covered with iron. The sickleis used for reaping. Threshing is done by means of an axle with thiniron wheels. If such primitive means can attain such satisfactoryresults, what could not modern agricultural science be made to do forPersia?

Sunset brings a cool breeze, which before nightfall develops into acutting north-easter, and we shiver again under a bourka and heavy furpelisse. Crossing a ridge of rock, we descend upon a white plain, dimand indistinct in the twilight. The ground crackles under our horses'feet. It is frozen snow! A light shines out before us, however, andby ten o'clock we are snug and safe for the night in thetelegraph-station of Deybid. 

These sudden changes of temperature make the Persian climate verytrying. At this time of year, however balmy the air and bright thesunshine at midday, one must always be prepared for a sudden andextreme change after sunset. The Plain of Deybid was covered with snowat least two feet deep, the temperature must have stood at very fewdegrees above zero, and yet, not five hours before, we were perspiringin our shirt-sleeves. 

"Mashallah!" exclaims Gerôme next morning, shading his eyes andlooking across the dazzling white expanse. "Are we, then, never tofinish with this accursed snow?" By midday, however, we are out of it, and, as we subsequently discover, for the last time. 

We had up till now been singularly fortunate as regards accidents, orrather evil results from them. To-day, however, luck deserted us, fora few miles out of Deybid my right leg became so swollen that I couldscarcely sit on my horse. The pain was acute, the sensation that ofhaving been bitten by some poisonous insect. Gerôme, ever the Job'scomforter, suggested a centipede, adding, "If so, you will probablyhave to lie up for four or five days. " The look-out was not cheerful, certainly, for at Mourghab, the first stage, I had to be lifted off myhorse and carried into the post-house. 

With some difficulty my boot was cut off, and revealed the whole leg, below the knee, discoloured and swollen to double its size, but nosign of a wound or bite. "Blood-poisoning, " says Gerôme, decidedly. "Ihave seen hundreds of cases in Central Asia. It generally proves fatalthere, " he adds consolingly; "but the Russian soldier is so badlyfed. " The little man seems rather disappointed at my diagnosis of mycase--the effect due to a new and tight boot which I had not been ableto change since leaving Ispahán. Notwithstanding, I cannot put foot toground without excruciating pain. Spreading the rugs out on the dirtyearthen floor, I make up my mind to twenty-four hours here at least. It is, perhaps, the dirtiest post-house we have seen since leavingTeherán; but moving under the present circumstances is out of thequestion. 

The long summer day wears slowly away. Gerôme, like a true Russian, hunts up a samovar in the village, and consoles himself withinnumerable glasses of tea and cigarettes, while the medicine-chest isbrought into requisition, and I bathe the swollen limb unceasingly forthree or four hours with Goulard's extract and water, surrounded by aring of admiring and very dirty natives. But my efforts are in vain, for the following morning the pain is as severe, the leg as swollen asever. Gerôme is all for applying a blister, which he says will "bringthe poison out"! Another miserable day breaks, and finds me stillhelpless. I do not think I ever realized before how slowly time canpass, for I had not a single book, with the exception of "Proposd'Exil, " by Pierre Loti, and even that delightful work is apt to pallafter three complete perusals in the space of as many weeks. Fromsunrise to sunset I lay, prone on my back, staring up at the cobwebby, smoke-blackened rafters, while the shadows shortened and lengthened inthe bright sunlit yard, the monotonous silence broken only by the deepregular snores of my companion, whose capacity for sleep was somethingmarvellous, the clucking of poultry, and the occasional stamp or snortof a horse in the stable below. Now and again a rat would crawl out, and, emboldened by the stillness, creep close up to me, darting backinto its hole with a jump and a squeal as I waved it off with hand orfoot. My visitors from the village did not return to-day, which wassomething to be thankful for, although towards evening I should havehailed even them with delight--dirt, vermin, and all. Patience wasrewarded, for next day I was able to stand, and towards evening setout for Kawamabad, twenty-four miles distant. Though still painful andalmost black, all inflammation had subsided, and three days later Iwas able to get on a boot "You'd have been well in half the time, "insisted Gerôme, "if you had only let me apply a blister. "

The road from Mourghab to Kawamabad is wild and picturesque, leadingthrough a narrow gorge, on either side of which are precipitous cliffsof rock and forest, three or four hundred feet high. A broad, swifttorrent dashes through the valley, which is about a quarter of a milebroad. In places the pathway, hewn out of the solid rock, is barelythree feet wide, without guard or handrail of any kind. This part ofthe journey was reached at sunset, and we did not emerge on the plainbeyond till after dark. Our horses were, fortunately, as active ascats, and knew their way well, for to guide them was impossible. Inplaces one's foot actually swung over the precipice, and a false stepmust have sent one crashing over the side and into the roaring torrentbelow, which, perhaps luckily, we could only hear, not see. 

The ruins of Persepolis are situated about fifty miles north-east ofShiráz, two or three miles from the main road. Signs that we wereapproaching the famous city were visible for some distance before weactually reached them. Not fifty yards from the post-house of Poozeh, a picturesque spot surrounded by a chain of rocky, snow-capped hills, we came upon a kind of cave, with carvings in bas-relief on itsgranite walls, representing figures of men and horses from eight toten feet high, evidently of great antiquity. The desecrating hand ofthe British tourist had, however, left its mark in the shape of thename "J. Isaacson" cut deep into one of the slabs, considerablymarring its beauty. 

It is not my intention to write a description of the ruins that nowmark the spot where once stood the capital of the Persian Empire. Tosay nothing of its having been so graphically portrayed by far morecompetent hands, my visit was of such short duration that I carriedaway but faint recollections of the famous city. The fact that ithad been persistently crammed down my throat, upon every availableoccasion, ever since I landed in Persia, may have had something to dowith the feeling of disappointment which I experienced on first sightof the ruins. It may be that, like many other things, they grow uponone. If so, the loss was mine. I cannot, however, help thinking thatto any but a student of archæology, Persepolis lacks interest. ThePyramids, Pompeii, the ancient buildings of Rome and Greece, arepicturesque; Persepolis is not. I noticed, however, that here, as atPoozeh, the British tourist had been busy with chisel and hammer, and, I am ashamed to add, some of the names I read are as well known inEngland as that of the Prince of Wales. 

On the 18th of February, just before midnight, we rode into Shiráz. The approach to the city lying before us, white and still in themoonlight, through cypress-groves and sweet-smelling gardens, gave mea favourable impression, which a daylight inspection only served toincrease. Shiráz is the pleasantest reminiscence I retain of the ridethrough Persia. 

[Footnote A: Small copper money. ]

CHAPTER VIII. 

SHIRÁZ--BUSHIRE. 

 "The gardens of pleasure where reddens the rose, And the scent of the cedar is faint on the air. " OWEN MEREDITH. 

Shiráz stands in a plain twenty-five miles long by twelve broad, surrounded by steep and bare limestone mountains. The latter alonerecall the desert waste beyond; for the Plain of Shiráz is fertile, well cultivated, and dotted over with prosperous-looking villagesand gardens. Scarcely a foot of ground is wasted by the industriousinhabitants of this happy valley, save round the shores of theDenia-el-Memek, a huge salt lake some miles distant, where thesun-baked, briny soil renders cultivation of any kind impossible. 

Were it not for its surroundings--the green and smiling plainsof wheat, barley, and Indian corn; the clusters of pretty sunlitvillages; the long cypress-avenues; and last, but not least, the quietshady gardens, with rose and jasmine bowers, and marble fountainswhich have been famous from time immemorial--Shiráz would not be whatit now is, the most picturesque city in Persia. 

Although over four miles in circumference, the city itself has asqualid, shabby appearance, not improved by the dilapidated rampartsof dried mud which surround it. Founded A. D. 695, Shiráz reached itszenith under Kerim Khan in the middle of the eighteenth century, sincewhen it has slowly but steadily declined to its present condition. Thebuildings themselves are evidence of the apathy reigning among theShirázis. Incessant earthquakes destroy whole streets of houses, butno one takes the trouble to rebuild them, and the population was oncenearly double what it now is--40, 000. 

There are six gates, five of which are gradually crumbling away. The sixth, or Ispahán Gate, is the only one with any attempt atarchitecture, and is crenellated and ornamented with blue and yellowtile-work. A mean, poor-looking bazaar, narrow tortuous streets, knee-deep in dust or mud, as the case may be, and squalid, filthyhouses, form a striking contrast to the broad, well-kept avenues, gilded domes, and beautiful gardens which encircle the city. Shirázhas fifteen large mosques and several smaller ones, but the people areas fanatical as those of Teherán are the reverse. Gerôme, who had asingular capacity for getting into mischief, entered one of theseplaces of worship, and was caught red-handed by an old moullah incharge. Half the little Russian's life having been spent amongMohammedans, he quickly recited a few verses of the Korán in perfectArabic, which apparently satisfied the priest, for he let him departwith his blessing. Had the trick been discovered, he would undoubtedlyhave been roughly treated, if not killed, for the Shirázis have anunmitigated contempt for Europeans. There are few places, too, in Asiawhere Jews are more persecuted than in Shiráz, although they havetheir own quarter, in the lowest, most poverty-stricken part of thetown, and other privileges are granted them by the Government. Shortlybefore my visit, a whole family was tortured and put to death by a mobof infuriated Mohammedans. The latter accused them of stealing youngMoslem children, and sacrificing them at their secret ceremonies. [A]Guilty or innocent of the charge, the assassins were left unpunished. 

The climate of Shiráz is delicious, but dangerous. Though to anew-comer the air feels dry, pure, and exhilarating, the city isa hot-bed of disease, and has been christened the "Fever Box. "Small-pox, typhus, and typhoid are never absent, and every two orthree years an epidemic of cholera breaks out and carries off afearful percentage of the inhabitants. In spring-time, during heavyrains, the plains are frequently inundated to a depth of two or threefeet, and the water, stagnating and rotting under a blazing sun, produces towards nightfall a thick white mist, pregnant with miasmaand the dreaded Shiráz fever which has proved fatal to so manyEuropeans, to say nothing of natives. Medical science is at a very lowebb in Persia; purging and bleeding are the two remedies most resortedto by the native hakim. If these fail, a dervish is called in, andwrites out charms, or forms of prayer, on bits of paper, which arerolled up and swallowed like pills. Inoculation is performed byplacing the patient in the same bed as another suffering from virulentsmall-pox. Under these circumstances, it is scarcely to be wondered atthat the Shirázis die like sheep during an epidemic, and indeed at alltimes. Persian surgery is not much better. In cases of amputation thelimb is hacked off by repeated blows of a heavy chopper. In the caseof fingers or toes a razor is used, the wound being dipped intoboiling oil or pitch immediately after the operation. 

The office of the Indo-European Telegraph is in Shiráz, but theprivate dwellings of the staff are some distance outside the city. Ahigh wall surrounds the grounds in which the latter are situated--halfa dozen comfortable brick buildings, bungalow style, each with itsfruit and flower garden. Looking out of my bedroom window the morningfollowing my arrival, on the shrubberies, well-kept lawns, brightflower-beds, and lawn-tennis nets, I could scarcely realize that thiswas Persia; that I was not at home again, in some secluded part of thecountry in far-away England. Long residence in the East had evidentlynot changed my host Mr. F---- 's ideas as to the necessity for Europeancomforts. The cheerful, sunlit, chintz-covered bedroom, with its whitefurniture, blue-and-white wall-paper, and lattice windows almosthidden by rose and jasmine bushes, was a pleasant _coup d'oeil_ afterthe grimy, bug-infested post-houses; and the luxuries of a goodnight's rest and subsequent shave, cold tub, and clean linen were thatmorning appreciated as they only can be by one who has spent manyweary days in the saddle, uncombed, unshaven, and unwashed. 

There is no regular post-road between Shiráz and Bushire, or ratherSheif, the landing-place, eight miles from the latter city. Thejourney is performed by mule-caravan, resting by night at thecaravanserais. Under the guidance of Mr. F----, I therefore set aboutprocuring animals and "chalvadars, " or muleteers. The task was not aneasy one; for Captain T---- of the Indian Army was then in Shiráz, buying on behalf of the Government; and everything in the shape of amule that could stand was first brought for his inspection. By goodluck, however, I managed to get together half a dozen sorry-lookingbeasts; but they suited the purpose well enough. The price of theseanimals varies very much in Persia. They can be bought for as littleas £4, while the best fetch as much as £60 to £80. 

Those were pleasant days at Shiráz. One never tired of wandering aboutthe outskirts of the city and through the quiet, shady gardens and"cities of the silent, " as the Persians call their cemeteries;for, when the solemn stillness of the latter threatened to becomedepressing, there was always the green plain, alive from morning tillnight with movement and colour, to go back to. Early one morning, awoke by the sound of a cracked trumpet and drums, I braved the dust, and followed a Persian regiment of the line to its drill-ground. The Persian army numbers, on a peace footing, about 35, 000 men, thereserve bringing it up to perhaps twice that number. 

Experienced military men have said that material for the smartestsoldiery in the world is to be found in Persia. If so, it would surelybe the work of years to bring the untrained rabble that at presentexists under discipline or order of any kind. The regiment whoseevolutions or antics I witnessed at Shiráz was not in the dress ofthe Russian cossack or German uhlan, as at Teherán, but in the simpleuniform of the Persian line--dark-blue tunic, with red piping; loosered-striped breeches of the same colour, stuffed into ragged leathergaiters; and bonnets of black sheepskin or brown felt (according tothe taste of the wearer), with the brass badge of the lion and sun. All were armed with rusty flint-locks. 

As regards smartness, the officers were not much better than themen, who did not appear to take the slightest notice of the words ofcommand, but straggled about as they pleased, like a flock of sheep. Some peasants beside me were looking on. "Sons of dogs!" said one;"they are good for nothing but drunkenness and frightening women andchildren. " There is no love lost between the army and the people inPersia--none of the enthusiasm of other countries when a regimentpasses by; and no wonder. The pay of a Persian soldier is, at most, £3a year, and he may think himself lucky if he gets a quarter of thatsum. _En revanche_, the men systematically plunder and rob thewretched inhabitants of every village passed through on the march. Thepassage of troops is sometimes so dreaded that commanders of regimentsare bribed with heavy sums by the villagers to encamp outsidetheir walls. Troops are not the only source of anxiety to the poorfellaheen. Princes and Government officials also travel with anenormous following, mainly composed of hangers-on and riff-raff, whoplunder and devastate as ruthlessly as a band of Kurd or Turkomanrobbers. They are even worse than the soldiery, for the latter usuallyleave the women alone. Occasionally a whole village migrates to themountains on the approach of the unwelcome guests, leaving houses andfields at their mercy. 

There is probably no peasantry in the world so ground down andoppressed as the Persian. The agricultural labourer never tries toameliorate his condition, or save up money for his old age, for thesimple reason that, on becoming known to the rulers of the land, it isat once taken away from him. Though poor, however (so far as cashand valuables are concerned), the general condition of the labouringclasses is not so bad as might be supposed. In a country so vast(550, 000 square miles) and so thinly populated (5, 000, 000 in all), asmall and sufficient supply of food is easily raised, especially withsuch prolific soil at the command of the poorest. At Shiráz, forinstance, there are two harvests in the year. The seifi, sown insummer and reaped in autumn, consists of rice, cotton, Indian corn, and garden produce; the tchatvi, sown in October and November, andreaped from May till July, is exclusively wheat and barley. A quantityof fruit is also grown--grapes, oranges, and pomegranates. Shiráz isfamed for the latter. The heat and dust, to say nothing of smells, prevented me from often entering the city; but I walked through thebazaar once or twice, and succeeded in purchasing some old tapestriesand a prayer-carpet. The merchants here are not so reserved andsecretive as those of Teherán and other cities, and are, moreover, civil enough to produce coffee and a kalyan at the conclusion of abargain, as at Stamboul. The best tobacco for kalyan-smoking is grownround Shiráz. Some, the coarser kind, from Kazeroon and Zulfaicar, is exported to Turkey and Egypt, but the most delicate Shiráznever leaves the country. The pipe is on the same principle as thenarghileh, the smoke being drawn through a vessel of water. The tube, a wooden stalk about two feet long, is changed when it becomes taintedwith use; for the people of the East (unlike some in the West) liketheir tobacco clean. 

Manufactories are trifling in comparison with what they were in formerdays. Where, a century since, there stood five hundred factories ownedby weavers, there are now only ten, for the supply of a coarse whitecotton material called "kerbas, " and carpets of a cheap and commonkind. Earthenware and glass is also made in small quantities, thelatter only for wine-bottles and kalyan water-bowls. All the bestglass is imported from Russia. A kind of mosaic work called "khatemi, "much used in ornamenting boxes and pen-and-ink cases, is turned out inlarge quantities at Shiráz. It is pretty and effective, though some ofthe illustrations on the backs of mirrors, etc. , are hardly fit for adrawing-room table. Caligraphy, or the art of writing, is also carriedby the Shirázis to the highest degree of perfection, and they are saidto be the best penmen in the East. To write really well is consideredas great an accomplishment in Persia as to be a successful musician, painter, or sculptor in Europe; and a famous writer of the lastcentury, living in Shiráz, was paid as much as five tomans for everyline transcribed. 

My favourite walk, after the heat of the day, was to the littlecemetery where Hafiz, the Persian poet, lies at rest--a quiet, secluded spot, on the side of a hill, in a clump of dark cypress treesa gap cut through which shows the drab-coloured city, with its whiteminarets and gilt domes shining in the sun half a mile away. The tomb, a huge block of solid marble, brought across the desert from Yèzd, iscovered with inscriptions--the titles of the poet's most celebratedworks. Near it is a brick building containing chambers, where bodiesare put for a year or so previous to final interment at Kermansháhor Koom. Each corpse was in a separate room--a plain whitewashedcompartment, with a square brick edifice in the centre containing thebody. Some of the catafalques were spread with white table-cloths, flowers, candles, fruit, and biscuits, which the friends and relations(mostly women and children) of the defunct were discussing in anythingbut a mournful manner. A visit to a departed one's grave is generallyan excuse for a picnic in Persia. 

Hard by the tomb of Hafiz is a garden, one of many of the kind aroundShiráz. It is called "The Garden of the Seven Sleepers, " and is muchfrequented in summer by Shirázis of both sexes. A small open kiosk, inshape something like a theatre proscenium, stands in the centre, itsoutside walls completely hidden by rose and jasmine bushes. Insideall is gold moulding, light blue, green, and vermilion. A dome oflooking-glass reflects the tesselated floor. Strangely enough, thisgarish mixture of colour does not offend the eye, toned down as it isby the everlasting twilight shed over the mimic palace and garden byoverhanging branches of cypress and yew. An expanse of smooth-shavenlawn, white beds of lily and narcissus, marble tanks bubbling overwith clear, cold water, and gravelled paths winding in and out of thetrees to where, a hundred yards or so distant, a sunk fence dividesthe garden from a piece of ground two or three acres in extent, --aperfect jungle of trees, shrubs, and flowers. 

Here, from about 4 p. M. Till long after sunset, you may see theShirázi taking his rest, undisturbed save for the ripple of runningwater, the sighing of the breeze through the branches, and croon ofthe pigeons overhead. Now and again the tinkle of caravan-bells breaksin upon his meditations, or the click-click of the attendant's sandalsas he crosses the tiled floor with sherbet, coffee, or kalyan; butthe interruption is brief. A few moments, and silence again reignssupreme--the perfection of rest, the acme of _Dolce far niente. _ Fromhere my way usually lay homewards, through the dusky twilight, pastthe city gates and along the now deserted plain. A limestone hill tothe south of Shiráz bears an extraordinary resemblance to the head ofa man in profile. Towards sunset the likeness was startling, and thenose, chin, and mouth as delicately formed as if chiselled by thetools of a sculptor. On fine, still evenings, parties of people wouldsometimes sit out on the plain till long after dark, conversing, eating sweetmeats, and tea-drinking, till the stars appeared, and thewhite fever mist, gathering round the ramparts, hid the city fromview. Shiráz has been called the "Paris of Persia, " from the cheerful, sociable character of its people as compared with other Persiancities; also, perhaps, partly from the beauty and coquetry (to use noother term) of its women. 

I was enabled, thanks to my host, to glean some interesting factsconcerning the latter, many European ladies having, from time totime, resided in Shiráz, and, obtaining access to the "anderoon, " hadafterwards given Mr. F---- the benefit of their observations. 

Persian women are unquestionably allowed more freedom and libertythan those of other Oriental countries. It is extremely rare, in thebazaars of Stamboul or Cairo, to see a lady of the harem unattended, but the sight is common enough in Shiráz and Ispahán. Infidelity inPersia is therefore more common in proportion to the licence allowed;though, when discovered, it is severely punished, in some cases bydeath. Though a few are highly educated, the majority of Persian womenare ignorant, indolent, and sensual. _Mariages de convenance_ are ascommon as in France, and have a good deal to do with the immoralityand intrigue that go on in the larger cities. 

An eye-witness thus describes an "anderoon, " or harem, of a prince inIspahán: "A large courtyard some thirty yards by ten in extent. Alldown the centre is the 'hauz, ' or tank--a raised piece of ornamentalwater, the surface of which is about two feet above the ground. Theedges are formed of huge blocks of well-wrought stone, so accuratelylevelled that the 'hauz' overflows all round its brink, making apleasant sound of running water. Goldfish of large size flash inshoals in the clear tank. On either side of it are long rectangularflower-beds, sunk six inches below the surface of the court. Thispavement, which consists of what we should call pantiles, is cleanand perfect, and freshly sprinkled; and the sprinkling and consequentevaporation make a grateful coolness. In the flower-beds are irregularclumps of marvel of Peru, some three feet high, of varied colouredblossom, coming up irregularly in wild luxuriance. The moss-rose, too, is conspicuous, with its heavy odour; while the edging, a foot wide, is formed by thousands of bulbs of the _Narcissus poeticus_, massedtogether like packed figs; these, too, give out a pleasant perfume. But what strikes one most is the air of perfect repair and cleanlinessof everything. No grimy walls, no soiled curtains, here; all is cleanas a new pin, all is spick and span. The courtyard is shaded by orangetrees covered with bloom, and the heavy odour of neroli pervades theplace. Many of the last year's fruit have been left upon the trees forornament, and hang in bright yellow clusters out of reach. A couple ofwidgeon sport upon the tank. All round the courtyard are rooms, thedoors and windows of which are jealously closed, but as we pass wehear whispered conversations behind them, and titters of suppressedmerriment. "

"The interior resembles the halls of the Alhambra. A priceless carpet, surrounded by felt edgings, two inches thick and a yard wide, appearslike a lovely but subdued picture artfully set in a sombre frame. Inthe recesses of the walls are many bouquets in vases. The one greatwindow--a miracle of intricate carpentry, some twenty feet bytwenty--blazes with a geometrical pattern of tiny pieces of glass, forming one gorgeous mosaic. Three of the sashes of this windoware thrown up to admit air; the coloured glass of the top and fourremaining sashes effectually shuts out excess of light. "

Such is the _coup d'oeil_ on entering an anderoon. With suchsurroundings, one would expect to find refined, if not beautifulwomen; but, though the latter are rare enough, the former are evenrarer in Persia. The Persian woman is a grown-up child, and a veryvicious one to boot. Her daily life, indeed, is not calculated toimprove the health of either mind or body. Most of the time is spentin dressing and undressing, trying on clothes, painting her face, sucking sweetmeats, and smoking cigarettes till her complexion is asyellow as a guinea. Intellectual occupation or amusement of any kindis unknown in the anderoon, and the obscene conversation and habits ofits inmates worse even than those of the harems of Constantinople andCairo, which, according to all accounts, is saying a good deal. A loveof cruelty, too, is shown in the Persian woman; when an execution orbrutal spectacle of any kind takes place, one-third at least of thespectators is sure to consist of women. But this is, perhaps, notpeculiar to Persia; witness a recent criminal trial at the Old Bailey. 

It will thus be seen that sensuality is the prevalent vice of thefemale sex in Persia. An English-speaking Persian at Bushire told methat, with the exception of the women of the wandering Eeliaut tribes, there were few chaste wives in Persia. Although the nominal punishmentfor adultery is death, the law, as it stands at present, is littleelse than a dead letter, and, as in some more civilized countries, husbands who are fond of intrigue, do not scruple to allow their wivesa similar liberty. Not half an hour's walk from the Tomb of Hafiz, atthe summit of the mountain, is a deep well, so deep that no one hasever yet succeeded in sounding it. The origin of the chasm is unknown;some say it is an extinct volcano. But the smallest child in Shirázknows the use to which it has been put from time immemorial. It is thegrave of adulterous women--the Well of Death. 

An execution took place about fifteen years ago, but there have beennone since. Proved guilty of infidelity, the wretched woman, dressedin a long white gown, was placed on a donkey, her face to the tail, with shaven head and bared face. In front of the _cortége_ marchedthe executioner, musicians, dancers, and abandoned women of the town. Arrived at the summit of the mountain, the victim, half dead withfright, was lifted off and carried to the edge of the yawning abysswhich had entombed so many faithless wives before her. "There is butone God, and Mohammed is His Prophet, " cried a moullah, whilethe red-robed executioner, with one spurn of his foot, sent theunconscious wretch toppling over the brink, the awe-stricken crowdpeering over, watching the white wisp disappear into eternity. Although the last execution is still fresh in the minds of many, theWell has no terrors for the gay, intrigue-loving ladies of Shiráz. They make a jest of it, and their husbands jokingly threaten them withit. Times are changed indeed in Persia!

I left Shiráz with sincere regret. Apart from the interest attached tothe place, I have never received a kinder or more hospitable welcomethan from the little band of Englishmen who watch over the safety, andwork the wires, of the Indo-European telegraph. They are under a dozenin number. With cheap horseflesh, capital shooting, the latest booksand papers from India, a good billiard-room and lawn-tennis ground, time never hangs very heavily. Living is absurdly cheap. A bachelorcan do well on £6 a month, including servants. He has, of course, nohouse-rent to pay. 

A number of square stone towers about thirty feet high, loopholed andcrenelated, are visible from the caravan-track between Shiráz andKhaneh Zinián, where we rested the first night. The towers areapparently of great antiquity, and must formerly have served forpurposes of defence. We lunched at the foot of one on a breezy upland, with pink and white heather growing freely around, and a brawling, tumbling mountain stream at our feet. It was like a bit of Scotlandor North Wales. The tower was in a state of decay and roofless, but awandering tribe of ragged Eeliauts had taken up their quartersinside, and watched us suspiciously through the grey smoke of a damp, spluttering peat fire. They are a queer race, these Eeliauts, [B] andhave little or nothing in common with the other natives. The sight ofa well-filled lunch-basket and flasks of wine (which our kind hostshad insisted on our taking) would have brought ordinary gipsies outlike flies round a honey-pot, if recollections of Epsom or Henley gofor anything. Not so the Eeliauts, who, stranger still, never evenbegged for a sheis--a self-control I rewarded by presenting thechief, a swarthy handsome fellow, in picturesque rags of brightcolour, with a couple of keráns. But he never even thanked me!

It seemed, next morning, as if we had jumped, in a night, from earlyspring into midsummer. Although at daybreak the ice was thick on apool outside the caravanserai, the sun by midday was so strong, andthe heat so excessive, that we could scarcely get the mules along. The road lies through splendid scenery. Passing Dashti Arjin, or "ThePlain of Wild Almonds, " a kind of plateau to which the ascent issteep and difficult, one might have been in Switzerland or the Tyrol. Undulating, densely wooded hills, with a background of steep limestonecliffs, their sharp peaks, just tipped with snow, standing out crispand clear against the cloudless sky, formed a fitting frame to thelovely picture before us; the pretty village, trees blossoming on allsides, fresh green pastures overgrown in places by masses of fern andwild flowers, and the white foaming waterfall dashing down the side ofthe mountain, to lose itself in the blue waters of a huge lake justvisible in the plains below. The neighbourhood of the latter teemswith game of all kinds--leopard, gazelle, and wild boar, partridge, duck, snipe, and quail, the latter in thousands. 

A stiff climb of four hours over the Kotal Perizun brought us to thecaravanserai of Meyun Kotal. Over this pass, ten miles in length, there is no path; one must find one's way as best one can through thehuge rocks and boulders. Some of the latter were two to three feetin height. How the mules managed will ever be a mystery to me. Wedismounted, leaving, by the chalvadar's request, our animals to lookafter themselves. The summit of the mountain is under two thousandfeet. We reached it at four o'clock, and saw, to our relief, ourresting-place for the night only three or four hundred feet below us. But it took nearly an hour to do even this short distance. The passageof the Kotal Perizun with a large caravan must be terrible work. 

[Illustration: THE CARAVANSERAI, MEYUN KOTAL]

The caravanserai was crowded. Two large caravans had arrived thatmorning, and a third was hourly expected from Bushire. There wasbarely standing-room in the courtyard, which was crowded withwild-looking men, armed to the teeth, gaily caparisoned mules, andbales of merchandise. 

The caravanserai at Meyun Kotal is one of the finest in Persia. It wasbuilt by Shah Abbas, and is entirely of stone and marble. Surroundedby walls of enormous thickness, the building is in the shape of asquare. Around the latter are seventy or eighty deep arches for theuse of travellers. At the back of each is a little doorway, aboutthree feet by three, leading into a dark, windowless stone chamber, unfurnished, smoke-blackened, and dirty, but dry and weather-proof. Any one may occupy these. Should the beggar arrive first, the princeis left out in the cold, and _vice versâ_. Everybody, however, issatisfied as a rule, for there is nearly as much accommodation forguests as in a large London or Paris hotel. Behind the sleeping-roomsis stabling for five or six hundred horses, and, in the centre of thecourtyard, a huge marble tank of pure running water for drinking andwashing purposes. This, and fodder for the horses, is all that therewas to be got in the way of refreshment. But Gerôme, with considerableforethought, had purchased bread, a fowl, and some eggs on the road, and, our room swept out and candles lit, we were soon sitting downto a comfortable meal, with a hissing samovar, the property of thecaravanserai-keeper, between us. 

One need sleep soundly to sleep well in a caravanserai. At sunset themules, with loud clashing of bells, are driven into the yard frompasture, and tethered till one or two in the morning, when a startis made, and sleep is out of the question. In the interim, singing, talking, story-telling, occasionally quarrelling and fighting, go onall round the yard till nearly midnight. Tired out with the stiffclimb, I fell into a delicious slumber, notwithstanding the noise, about nine o'clock, to be awakened shortly after by a soft, coldsubstance falling heavily, with a splash, upon my face. Striking amatch, I discovered a large bat which the smoke from our fire (therewas no chimney) had evidently detached from the rafters. 

I purchased, the next morning before starting, a Persian daggerbelonging to one of the caravan-men. He was one of the Bakhtiari, a wild and lawless tribe inhabiting a tract of country (as yetunexplored by Europeans) on the borders of Persia and Asia Minor. Theblade of the dagger is purest Damascene work, the handle of fossilizedivory. On the back of the blade is engraved, in letters of inlaidgold, in Arabic characters--

 "There is one God! He is Eternal!" "Victory is nigh, O true believer!"

Connoisseurs say that the dagger is over a hundred years old. Afterquite an hour's haggling (during which our departure was delayed, muchto Gerôme's disgust), I managed to secure it for £9 English money, although the Bakhtiari assured me that he had already sworn "by histwo wives" never to part with it. I have since been offered four timesthe amount by a good judge of Eastern weapons. 

A second pass, the Kotal Doktar, lay between us and Bushire. Thoughsteep and slippery in places, the path is well protected, and thereare no boulders to bar the way. On leaving the caravanserai, we pausedto examine the second longest telegraph wire (without support) in theworld. It is laid from summit to summit of two hills, and spans avalley over a mile in width. [C]

The country round Meyun Kotal is well cultivated, and we passed notonly men, but women, ploughing with the odd-shaped primitive woodenploughs peculiar to these parts. Near the foot of the pass somechildren were gathering and collecting acorns, which are here eaten inthe form of a kind of bread by the peasantry. Seldom has Nature seemedmore beautiful than on that bright cloudless morning, as we rodethrough sweet-scented uplands of beans and clover, meadows of deeprich grass. By the track bloomed wild flowers, violets and narcissus, shedding their fresh delicate perfume. The song of birds and hum ofinsects filled the air, bright butterflies flashed across our path, while the soft distant notes of a cuckoo recalled shady country lanesand the sunlit hay-fields of an English summer. It was like comingfrom the grave, after the sterile deserts and bleak desolate plains ofNorthern Persia. 

There is a small square building at the northern end of the KotalDoktar, a mud hut, in which are stationed a guard of soldiers to beof assistance in the event of robbery of caravans or travellers. Suchcases are not infrequent. Upon our approach, three men armed withflint-locks and long iron pikes accosted us. "We are the escort, " saidone, apparently the leader, from the bar of rusty gold braid on hissleeve. "You cannot go on alone. It is not safe. " We then learnt thata large lion had infested the caravan-track over the pass for somedays, and had but yesterday attacked the mail and carried off one ofthe mules, the native in charge only just escaping by climbing a tree. 

Persian travel is full of these little surprises or rather items ofnews; for one must be of a very ingenuous disposition to be surprisedat anything after a journey of any length in that country. If the manhad said that an ichthyosaurus or dodo barred the way, I should havebelieved him just as much. Gerôme sharing my opinion that the reportwas got up for the sake of extorting a few keráns, we soon sent ourinformants about their business, and calmly proceeded on our journey. Nevertheless, the Kotal Doktar would not be a pleasant place toencounter the "king of beasts, " I thought. The pass consists simply ofa narrow pathway four feet wide, on the one side a perpendicular wallof rock, on the other an equally sheer precipice. 

"Did you come across the lion?" was Mr. J---- 's first question, aswe dismounted at the gate of his telegraph-station at Kazeroon. "Isuppose not, " he added, seeing the surprise with which I greeted hisremark. "We have had three parties out from here this week, but withno luck. I just managed to get a sight of him, and that's all. He is asplendid beast. "

Ignorance had indeed been bliss in our case, and I felt somecompunction when I remembered how disdainfully we had treated theragged sergeant and his men. They would have been of no use, exceptin the way of stop-gaps, like the babies, in cheap prints, that theRussian traveller in the sleigh throws to the wolves to occupy theirattention while he urges on his mad career, a pistol in each hand andthe reins in his mouth. Still, even for this purpose, they might havebeen useful, and were certainly worth a few keráns. I was glad not tolearn the truth till we reached Kazeroon. The enjoyment of the meal ofwhich we partook at the summit of the pass would have been somewhatdamped by the feeling that at any moment a loud roar, bursting out ofthe silent fastnesses of the Kotal Doktar, might announce the approachof its grim tenant. 

There was, after all, nothing very remarkable about the occurrence, for the southern parts of Persia are infested with wild animals ofmany kinds. Of this I was already aware, but not that lions were amongthe number. 

Kazeroon is, next to Shiráz, the most important place in the provinceof Fars, and has a population of about 6000. Surrounded by fields oftobacco and maize, it is neatly laid out, and presents a cheerfulappearance, the buildings being of white stone, instead of theeverlasting baked mud and clay. Many of the courtyards weresurrounded by date palms, and the people seemed more civilized andprosperous-looking than those in the villages north of Shiráz. 

"So you refused the escort over the Kotal?" said J--that evening, aswe sat over our coffee and cigars in his little stone courtyard, whiteand cool in the moonlight, adding, with a laugh, "Well, I don't blameyou. A good story was told me the other day in Shiráz _àpropos_ ofescorts. It happened not long ago to an Englishman who was going toBagdad from Kermansháh through a nasty bit of country. A good manyrobberies with violence had occurred, and the Governor of Kermansháhinsisted on providing him with an escort, at the same time arrangingfor a Turkish escort to meet him on the frontier and take him on toBagdad. "

"You have seen the ordinary cavalry soldier of this country. Therewere twelve of them and a sergeant. V---- was the only European. Allwent well till they reached a small hamlet near Zarna, about twentymiles from the Turkish border. It was midday. V---- was quietlybreakfasting in his tent, the horses picketed, the men smoking orasleep. Suddenly the sound of firing was heard about a mile off, notsharp and loud, but slow and desultory, like the pop, pop, pop of arifle or revolver. V---- was not in the least alarmed, but, the firingcontinuing for some time, he thought well at last to inquire into thematter. What was his surprise, on emerging from his tent, to findhimself alone, not a trace of his companions to be seen. There werethe picket-ropes, a smouldering fire, a kalyan, and the remains of apilaff on the ground, but no men. The firing had done it. One and allhad turned tail and fled. The position was not pleasant, for V---- wasnaturally absolutely ignorant of the road. 'They will come back, ' hethought, and patiently waited. But sunset came, then night, then thestars, and still V---- was alone, utterly helpless and unable to movebackwards or forwards. At sunrise a head was shoved into his tent. Butit had a red fez on, not an astrakhan bonnet. It was one of the Bagdadescort. The Turks laughed heartily when they heard the story. 'It musthave been us, ' they said; 'we had nothing to do, and were practisingwith our revolvers. ' In the mean time the Persians returned post hasteto Kermansháh, and evinced great surprise that V---- was not withthem. "

"'He was the first to fly, ' said the sergeant. 'I am afraid he musthave lost his way, and fallen into the hands of the robbers. If so, God help him. There were more than fifty of them. '"

"J---- 's anecdote was followed by many others, coffee was succeededby cognac and seltzer, Gerôme gave us some startling Central Asianexperiences, and we talked over men and things Persian far into thenight, or rather morning, for it was nearly 2 a. M. When I retired torest. "

"I hope you'll sleep well, " said J----, as he led the way to acomfortable bedroom looking out on to the needle-like peaks of theKotal Doktar, gleaming white in the moonlight. "By the way, I forgotto tell you we usually have an earthquake about sunrise, but don't letit disturb you. The shocks have been very slight lately, and it's surenot to last long, " added my host, as he calmly closed the door, andleft me to my slumbers. 

I am not particularly nervous, but to be suddenly aroused from sleepby a loud crash, as if the house were falling about one's ears; tosee, in the grey dawn, brick walls bending to and fro like reeds, floors heaving like the deck of a ship, windows rattling, doorsbanging, with an accompaniment of women and children screaming as ifthe end of the world had arrived, is calculated to give the boldestman a little anxiety. I must at any rate own to feeling a good dealwhen, about 6 a. M. The following morning, the above phenomena tookplace. As prophesied, "it" did not last long--eight or ten seconds atmost, which seemed to me an hour. Not the least unpleasant sensationwas a low, rumbling noise, like distant thunder, that accompanied theshock. It seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. 

"We have them every day, " said J---- at breakfast, placidly, "butone soon gets used to them. " My host was obliged to acknowledgereluctantly that this morning's shock was "a little sharper thanusual"! It was sharp enough, Gerôme afterwards told me, to send allthe people of Kazeroon running out of their houses into the street. Common as the "Zil-Zillah" [D] is in these parts, the natives areterrified whenever a shock occurs. The great Shiráz earthquake someyears ago, when over a thousand lost their lives, is still fresh intheir minds. 

 An easy ride, through a pretty and fertile country, brought us tothe telegraph-station of Konar Takta, where Mr. E----, the clerk incharge, had prepared a sumptuous breakfast. But we were not destinedto enjoy it. They had, said Mr. E----, experienced no less than ninesevere shocks of earthquake the night before, one of which had rentthe wall of his house from top to bottom. His wife and children wereliving in a tent in the garden, and most of the inhabitants of thevillage had deserted their mud huts, and rigged up temporary shantiesof palm leaves in the road. "We will have breakfast, anyhow, " continuedour host. "You must be hungry"--leading the way into the dining-room, where a long, deep crack in the whitewashed wall showed traces oflast night's disaster. 

The latter had, apparently, considerably upset my host, who, throughout the meal, kept continually rising and walking to the openwindow and back again, in an evidently uneasy state of mind; so muchso that I was about to propose an adjournment to the garden, when adiversion was created by the entrance of a servant with a dish of"Sklitch, " which he had no sooner placed on the table, than he rapidlywithdrew. Sklitch is peculiar to this part of Persia. It is made of akind of moss gathered on the mountains, mixed with cream and dates, and, iced, is delicious. But scarcely had I raised the first mouthfulto my lips when my host leapt out of his seat. "There it is again, " hecried. "Run!" and with a bound disappeared through the window. BeforeI could reach it the floor was rocking so that I could scarcely keepmy feet, and I was scarcely prepared for the drop of nine feet thatlanded me on to the flower-beds. The shock lasted quite ten seconds. Every moment I expected to see the house fall bodily over. I left poorE---- busily engaged in removing his instruments into the garden. "Another night like the last would turn my hair grey, " he said, as webade him good-bye. Truly the lot of a Persian telegraph official isnot always a bed of roses. 

A gradual descent of over two thousand feet leads from Konar Taktato the village of Dalaki, which is situated on a vast plain, partlycultivated, the southern extremity of which is washed by the waters ofthe Persian Gulf. There is a comfortable rest-house at this village, the population of which is noted as being the most fierce and lawlessin Southern Persia. Rest, though undisturbed by earthquakes, was, however, almost out of the question, on account of a most abominablestench of drainage, which came on at sunset and lasted throughout thenight. So overpowering was it that towards 3 a. M. Both Gerôme andmyself were attacked by severe vomiting, and recurrence was had to themedicine-chest and large doses of brandy. One might have been sleepingover an open drain. It was not till next day that I discovered thecause--rotten naphtha, which springs in large quantities from theground all round the village. Curiously enough, the smell is notobservable in the daytime. 

"We have done with the snow now, monsieur, " said Gerôme, as we rodenext morning through a land of green barley and cotton plains, datepalms, and mimosa. On the other hand, we had come in for otherannoyances, in the shape of heat, dust, and swarms of flies andmosquitoes. Nearing the sea, vegetation entirely ceases. Nothing isvisible around but hard calcined plain, brown and level, lost on thehorizon seaward in a series of mirages, ending northward in a chainof rocky, precipitous mountains. The bright, clear atmosphere wasremarkable; objects thirty or forty miles off looking but a mile orso away. About midday an unusual sight appeared on the horizon--twoEuropeans, a lady and gentleman, mounted on donkeys, and attended bya chalvadar on a third, who apparently carried all the baggage ofthe party. Halting for a few moments, and waiving introduction, we exchanged a few words. Mr. And Mrs. D---- were on their way toTeherán, with the object of making scientific researches at Persepolisand other parts of Persia. I could not help admiring the courage ofthe lady, though regretting, at the same time, the task she had setherself. To inquiries of "How is the road?" I replied, "Very good, "May the lie be forgiven me! It was told for a humane purpose. 

Save a large herd of gazelle on the far horizon, nothing occurred tobreak the monotony of the journey through deep heavy sand till about 4p. M. , when a thin thread of dark blue, cutting the yellow desert andlighter sky-line, appeared before us. It was the Persian Gulf. An hourlater, and Sheif, the landing-place for Bushire, was reached. 

A trim steam-launch, with Union Jack floating over her stern, awaitedus. She was sent by Colonel Ross, British Resident at Bushire, whokindly invited me to the Residence during my stay in the Persian port. I was not sorry, after the hot, dusty ride, to throw myself at lengthon the soft, luxurious cushion, and, after an excellent luncheon, toperuse the latest English papers. Skimming swiftly through the brightblue waters, we neared the white city, not sorry to have successfullyaccomplished the voyage so far, yet aware that the hardest part of thejourney to India was yet to come. 

At a distance, and seen from the harbour, Bushire is not unlike Cadiz. Its Moorish buildings, the whiteness of its houses and blueness ofthe sea, give it, on a fine day, a picturesque and taking appearance, speedily dissipated, how ever, on closer acquaintance; for Bushire isindescribably filthy. The streets are mere alleys seven or eight feetbroad, knee-deep in dust or mud, and as irregular and puzzling to astranger as the maze at Hampton Court. 

The Persian port is cool and pleasant enough in winter-time, but insummer the stench from open drains and cesspools becomes unbearable, and Europeans (of whom there are thirty or forty) remove _en masse_ toSabsabad, a country place eight or ten miles off. The natives, inthe mean time, live as best they can, and epidemics of cholera anddiphtheria are of yearly occurrence. The water of Bushire producingguinea-worms (an animal that, unless rolled out of the skin with greatcare, breaks, rots, and forms a festering sore), supplies of it arebrought in barrels from Bussorah or Mahommerah; but this is not withinreach of the poorer class. Nearly every third person met in the streetsuffers from ophthalmia in some shape or other--the effect of the dustand glare, for there is no shade in or about the city. 

The latter is built at the end of a peninsula ten miles in length andthree in breadth, the portion furthest away from the town being swampyand overflowed by the sea. Most of the houses are of soft crumblingstone full of shells; some, of brick and plastered mud; but all arewhitewashed, which gives the place the spurious look of cleanlinessto which I have referred. The inhabitants of this "whited sepulchre"number from 25, 000 to 30, 000. There is a considerable trade intobacco, attar of roses, shawls, cotton wool, etc. ; but vesselsdrawing over ten feet cannot approach the town nearer than a distanceof three miles--a great drawback in rough or squally weather. 

Were it five thousand miles away, Bushire could scarcely be less likePersia than it is. It has but one characteristic in common with othercities--its ruins. Although of no antiquity, Bushire is rich in these. With this exception, it much more resembles a Moorish or Turkish city. The native population, largely mixed with Arabs, carries out theillusion, and bright-coloured garments, white "bournouses, " and greenturbans throng the streets, in striking contrast to the sombre, rook-like garments affected by the natives of Iran. A stranger, too, is struck by the difference in the mode of life adopted by Europeansas compared with those inhabiting other parts of the Shah's dominions. The semi-French style of Teherán and Shiráz is here superseded bythe Anglo-Indian. _Déjeuner à la fourchette, vin ordinaire_, andcigarettes are unknown in this land of tiffins, pegs, and cheroots. 

My recollections of Bushire are pleasant ones. The Residency is alarge, rambling building, all verandahs, passages, and courtyards, faces the sea on three sides, and catches the slightest breath of airthat may be stirring in hot weather. Two or three lawn-tennis courts, and a broad stone walk almost overhanging the waves, form a favouriterendezvous for Europeans in the cool of the evening. From here may beseen the Persian Navy at anchor, represented by one small gunboat, the_Persepolis_. This toy of the Shah's was built by a German firm in1885, and cost the Government over £30, 000 sterling. 

She has never moved since her arrival. Her bottom is now covered withcoral and shells, her screw stuck hard and fast, while the four steelKrupp guns which she mounts are rusty and useless. 

My preparations for Baluchistán were soon completed. The escortfurnished me by the Indian Government had been awaiting me for somedays at Sonmiani, our starting-point on the coast. A telegram fromKarachi, saying that men, camels, tents, and stores were ready, wasthe signal for our departure, and on March 7 I took leave of my hostto embark on the British India Company's steamer _Purulia_, forBaluchistán. With genuine regret did I leave my pleasant quarters atthe Residency. Enjoyable as my visit was, it had not come upon mequite as a surprise, for the hospitality of Colonel Ross, Resident ofBushire, is well known to travellers in Persia. 

[Footnote A: A similar case happened not long ago in Southern Russia. ]

[Footnote B: The Eeliauts are said to be of Arab and Kurd descent. ]

[Footnote C: The longest is in Cochin China, across the river Meikong, the distance from post to post being 2560 feet. ]

[Footnote D: Earthquake. ]

CHAPTER IX. 

BALUCHISTÁN--BEILA. 

The coast-line of Baluchistán is six hundred miles long. On it thereis one tree, a sickly, stunted-looking thing, near the telegraphstation of Gwádar, which serves as a landmark to native craft and astanding joke to the English sailor. Planted some years since by aEuropean, it has lived doggedly on, to the surprise of all, in thisarid soil. The Tree of Baluchistán is as well known to the manner inthe Persian Gulf as Regent Circus or the Marble Arch to the Londoncabman. 

With this solitary exception, not a trace of vegetation exists alongthe sea-board from Persian to Indian frontier. Occasionally, atlong intervals, a mud hut is seen, just showing that the country isinhabited, and that is all. The steep, rocky cliffs, with their sharp, spire-like summits rising almost perpendicularly out of the blue sea, are typical of the desert wastes inland. 

"And this is the India they talk so much about!" says Gerôme, contemptuously, as we watch the desolate shores from the deck of thesteamer. I do not correct the little man's geography. It is too hotfor argument, for the heat is stifling. There is not a breath of airstirring, not a ripple on the smooth oily sea, and the sides of theship are cracking and blistering in the fierce, blinding sunshine. Under the awning the temperature is that of a furnace, and one almostregrets the cold and snow of three weeks ago, so perverse is humannature. 

Mark Tapley himself would scarcely have taken a cheerful view ofthings on landing at Sonmiani. Imagine a howling wilderness of rockand scrub, stretching away to where, on the far horizon, some lowhills cut the brazen sky-line. On the beach the so-called town ofSonmiani--a collection of dilapidated mud huts, over which two orthree tattered red and yellow banners flutter in the breeze, andbeneath which a small and shallow harbour emits a powerful odour ofmud, sewage, and rotten fish. Every hut is surmounted by a "badgir, "or wind-catcher--a queer-looking contrivance, in shape exactly like aprompter's box, used in the summer heats to cool the interior of thedark, stifling huts. A mob of ragged, wild-looking Baluchis, withlong, matted locks and gaudy rags, completes this dreary picture. 

Shouts of "Kamoo!" from the crowd brought a tall, good-looking native, clad in white, out of an adjacent hut, who, I was relieved to find, was the interpreter destined to accompany us to Kelát. The camels andescort were, he said, ready for a start on the morrow, if necessary. In the mean time there was a bare but clean Government bungalow at ourdisposal, and in this we were soon settled. But notwithstanding thecomparative comfort of our quarters compared with the filthy nativehouses around, I determined to get away as soon as possible. Themosquitoes were bad enough, but the flies were far worse. Ceiling, walls, and floor were black with them. One not only ate them withone's food, but they inflicted a nasty, poisonous bite. As for thesmells, they were beyond description; but the fact that a dead camelwas slowly decomposing in the immediate vicinity of our dwelling mayhave had something to do with this. 

With all these drawbacks, I was glad to find the population, althoughdirty, decidedly friendly--rather too much so, indeed; for the littlewhitewashed room was crowded to overflowing the greater part of theday with relays of visitors, who apparently looked upon us as a kindof show got up for their entertainment. Towards sunset a tall, swarthyfellow, about fifty years old, with sharp, restless eyes and a hugehook nose, made his appearance at the doorway; and this was the signalfor a general stampede, for my visitor was no other than the head-manof Sonmiani--Chengiz Khan. 

Chengiz was attired in a very dirty white garment, loose and flowingto the heels, and a pair of gold-embroidered slippers. A small conicalcap of green silk was perched rakishly on the top of his head, fromwhich fell, below the shoulders, a tumbled mass of thick, coarse, black hair. The head-man was unarmed, but his followers, five innumber, fairly bristled with daggers and pistols. Like all natives, Chengiz was at first shy and reserved. It was only when I hadprevailed upon him to take a cigar that my visitor became more at hisease. Having lit his cheroot, he took a long pull and passed it on toone of his followers, who repeated the performance. When it had gonethe round twice it was thrown away; and Chengiz, turning to Kamoo, gravely asked if I wished for anything before he retired for thenight. 

"You should reach Kelát in twenty-five days, " was the answer to myquestion, "provided the camels keep well and you have no difficultywith the people at Gwarjak; they are not used to Europeans, and maygive you some trouble. "

One of the men here whispered to his chief. 

"Malak is the name of the head-man at Gwarjak, " went on Chengiz--"atreacherous, dangerous fellow. Do not have much to do with Malak; hedetests Europeans. "

Malak was, judging from my experiences that night, not the onlyBaluchi possessed of this failing. Chengiz having left, I retired torest, to be suddenly aroused at midnight by a piercing yell, and tofind a tall, half-naked fellow, with wild eyes and a face plasteredwith yellow mud, standing over me, brandishing a heavy club. Though arevolver was at hand, it was useless; for I saw at a glance that I hadto deal with a madman. After a severe tussle, Gerôme and I managed tothrow out the unwelcome visitor and bar the door, though we saw himfor an hour or more prowling backwards and forwards in the moonlightin front of the bungalow, muttering to himself, waving his arms about, and breaking every now and then into peals of loud laughter. Theincident now seems trifling enough, though it left a powerfulimpression upon my mind that night, on the eve of setting out throughan unknown country, where the life of a European more or less is oflittle moment to the wild tribes of the interior. The madman was adervish, the head-man said, and perfectly harmless as a rule, butliable to fits of rage at sight of a European and unbeliever. I was, therefore, not sorry to hear next morning that this ardent followerof the Prophet had been securely locked up, and would not be releasedtill the morrow, when we were well on the road to Beïla. 

There are, I imagine, few countries practically so little known toEuropeans as the one we were about to traverse. I had, up to the timeof my visit, often wondered that, with India so near, Baluchistánshould have been so long allowed to remain the _terra incognita_it is. My surprise ceased on arrival at Kelát. It is impossibleto conceive a more monotonous or uninteresting journey, from atraveller's point of view, than that from the sea to Quetta--adistance (by my route) of nearly five hundred miles, during whichI passed (with the exception of Kelát and Beïla) but half a dozenvillages worthy of the name, and met, outside the villages inquestion, a dozen human beings at the most. This is, perhaps, scarcelyto be wondered at. The entire population of the country does notexceed 450, 000, while its area is estimated at something like 140, 000square miles, of which 60, 000 are under Persian rule, and theremaining 80, 000 (nominally) under the suzerainty of the Khan ofKelát. 

The inhabitants of Baluchistán may be roughly divided into twoclasses: the Brahuis [A] in the north, and the Baluchis in the south. The former ascribe their origin to the earliest Mohammedan invaders ofPersia, and boast of their Arab descent; the latter are supposed bysome to have been originally a nation of Tartar mountaineers whosettled at a very early period in the southern parts of Asia, wherethey led a nomad existence for many centuries, governed by their ownchiefs and laws, till at length they became incorporated and attainedtheir present footing at Kelát and throughout Northern Baluchistán. Both races differ essentially in language and customs, and aresubdivided into an infinitesimal number of smaller tribes under thecommand or rule of petty chiefs or khans. Although somewhat similar inappearance, the Brahuis are said to be morally and physically superiorto their southern neighbours. The Baluch, as I shall now call each, isnot a prepossessing type of humanity on first acquaintance, with hisswarthy sullen features, dark piercing eyes, and long matted locks. Most I met in the interior looked, a little distance off, likeperambulating masses of dirty rags; but all, even the filthiest andmost ragged, carried a bright, sharp tulwar. Though rough and uncouth, however, I found the natives, as a rule, hospitable and kindly. It wasonly in the far interior that any unpleasantness was experienced. Thiswas, perhaps, only natural, seeing that seventy miles of the journeylay through a region as yet unexplored by Europeans, the inhabitantsof which were naturally resentful of what they imagined to beintrusion and interference. 

Owing to the nomadic nature of the Baluchis, the barrenness oftheir country, and consequent absence of manufactures and commerce, permanent settlements are very rare. 

[Illustration: SONMIANI]

With the exception of Quetta, Kelát, Beïla, and Kej, there are notowns in Baluchistán worthy of the name. Even those I have mentionedare, with the exception of Quetta (now a British settlement), mere collections of tumble-down mud huts, invariably guarded by aramshackle fort and wall of the same material. The dwellings of thenomads consist of a number of long slender poles bent and invertedtowards each other, over which are stretched slips of coarse fabricsof camel's hair. It was only in the immediate neighbourhood of Gwarjakthat the native huts were constructed of dried palm-leaves, thefertile soil of that district rendering this feasible. 

Attended by Chengiz Khan in a gorgeous costume of blue and yellowsilk, and followed by a rabble of two or three hundred men and boys, Ivisited the bazaar next morning. Chengiz had preceded his visit withthe present of a fine goat, and evidently meant to be friendly, informing me, before we had gone many yards, that the Queen of Englandhad just invested the Djam of Beïla (a neighbouring chief) with theStar of India, and did I think that that honour was very likely toaccrue to him?

The trade of Sonmiani is, as may be imagined, insignificant. Most ofthe low dark stalls were kept for the sale of grain, rice, salt, andtobacco, by Hindus; but I was told that a brisk trade is done in fishand sharks' fins; and dried fruits, madder, and saffron, sent downfrom the northern districts, are exported in small quantities toIndia and Persia. In the vicinity are some ancient pearl-fisheries ofconsiderable value, which were once worked with great profit. Thesehave been allowed to lie for many years undisturbed, owing to lack ofvigour and enterprise on the part of those in power in the state. Hereis a chance for European speculators. 

By a well in the centre of the village stood some young girls andchildren. The former were decidedly good looking, and one, but for thehideous gold nose-ring, [B] would have been almost beautiful. Here, aselsewhere in Baluchistán, the women present much more the Egyptiantype of face than the Indian--light bronze complexions, straightregular features, and large, dark, expressive eyes. None of these madethe slightest attempt at concealment. As we passed, one of themeven nodded and smiled at Chengiz, making good use of her eyes, anddisclosing a row of small, pearly teeth. Their dress, a loose dividedskirt of thin red stuff, and short jacket, with tight-fitting sleeves, open at the breast, showed off their slight graceful figures andsmall, well-shaped hands and feet to perfection. Chengiz, pointing tothe group, smiled and addressed me in a facetious tone. "He wants toknow if you think them pretty, " said my interpreter; but I thought itbest to maintain a dignified silence. The chief of Sonmiani was, for aMohammedan, singularly lax. 

A kind of rough pottery is made at Sonmiani, and this is the onlyindustry. Some of the water-jars were neatly and gracefully fashioned, of a delicate grey-green colour; others red, with rude yellow devicespainted on them. The clay is porous, and keeps the water deliciouslycool. 

By four o'clock next morning all was ready for a start. The caravanconsisted of eighteen camels, four Baluchis, Kamoo, and Gerôme, with an escort of ten soldiers of the Djam of Beïla, smart-looking, well-built fellows in red tunics, white baggy trousers, and dark-blueturbans. Each man, armed with a Snider rifle and twenty rounds ofammunition, was mounted on a rough, wiry-looking pony. As we werestarting, Chengiz Khan rode up on a splendid camel, and announced hisintention of accompanying us the first stage, one of eighteen miles, to Shekh-Raj. 

Here the honest fellow bade us good-bye. "The sahib will not forget mewhen he gets to India, " he said, on leaving, thereby implying that hewished to be well reported to the Indian Government. "But take care ofMalak; he is a bad man--a very bad man. "

A rough and tedious journey of two days over deep sandy desert, varied by an occasional salt marsh, brought us to Beïla, the seat ofgovernment of the Djam, or chief of the province of Las Beïla, eightymiles due north of Sonmiani. With a feeling of relief I sighted thedirty, dilapidated city, with its mud huts and tawdry pink and greenbanners surmounting the palace and fort. The Baluch camel is not theeasiest animal in existence, and I had, for the first few hours of themarch, experienced all the miseries of _mal de mer_ brought on by ablazing sun and the rolling, unsteady gait of my ship of the desert. Though awkward in his paces, the Baluch camel is swift. They are smalland better looking than most; nor do their coats present so much theappearance of a "doormat with the mange, " as those of the animals ofother countries. We had as yet passed but two villages--three or fourlow shapeless huts, almost hidden in rock and scrub by the side ofthe caravan-track, which, as far as Beïla, is pretty clearly defined. There had been nothing else to break the dull, dead monotony of sandand swamp, not a sign of human life, and but one well (at Outhal) ofrather brackish water. 

On the second day one of the escort had pointed out a dry rocky bedas the river Purali, which is one of the largest in Baluchistán, but, like all the others, quite dry the greater portion of the year. Thereare no permanent rivers in this country. To this fact is perhaps duethe slight knowledge obtained up to the present time of the interior, where arid sandy deserts, dangerous alike to native or Europeantravellers, are the rule, and cover those large open spaces markedupon maps as "unexplored. " Notwithstanding the great width of the bedof the Purali river in many places, it has no regular outlet into thesea. Its waters, when in flood from rainfall, lose themselves inthe level plains in a chain of lagoons or swamps. Some of these areseveral miles in length, but decrease considerably in the dry season, when the water becomes salt. The Habb river, which divides Las fromthe British province of Sind, is another case in point. It possessespermanent banks, is fed from the Pabb chain of mountains, and afterheavy rains in these hills a large body of water is formed, whichrushes down to the sea with great force and velocity. But at othertimes water is only to be found in a few small pools in its rocky bed. It is, in short, a mountain torrent on a large scale. So also with thegreater number of streams in the western districts, though a few ofthese have more the semblance of rivers than can be found elsewhere inBaluchistán. Of lakes there are none throughout the entire area of thecountry. 

At Outhal we were met by one Hussein Khan, a wild-looking fellowmounted on a good-looking chestnut horse, its saddle and headstallsornamented with bright-coloured leathers and gold and silverornaments. Hussein was from Beïla, with a message from the Djam to saythat I was welcome in his dominions. Tents were then pitched, andI invited Hussein to partake of refreshment, which was refused. Heaccepted a cigarette, however, but seemed undecided whether to smokeor eat it, till presented with a light. Having asked if I would liketo be saluted with guns on arrival, an offer I politely declined, myvisitor then left to prepare for our reception on the morrow. 

[Illustration: OUR CAMP AT OUTHAL]

Daybreak saw us well _en route_ and by 10 a. M. We were in sight ofBeïla. About a mile or so out of the city, a mounted sowar in scarletand gold uniform, and armed with two huge horse-pistols and a longcavalry sabre, galloped up to the caravan. "It is a messenger fromthe palace, " said Kamoo, "to say that his Highness the Djam has beensuddenly called away to Kej, [C] but that his son, Prince Kumal Khan, is riding out in state to meet the sahib, and conduct him to hisfather's city. "

The prince shortly afterwards appeared, mounted on a huge camel, the tail and hind quarters of which were ornamented with intricatepatterns stamped on the hide by some peculiar process. A guard ofhonour of thirty soldiers accompanied, while a rabble of two or threehundred foot people surrounded the party, for the sight of a whiteface is rare in Beïla. It was a strange scene: the picturesque city, brilliant barbaric costume of the young chief and his followers, andcrowd of wild, half-naked Baluchis were fitly set off by surroundingsof desert landscape and dazzling sunshine. A Gerôme or Verescháginwould have revelled in the sight. 

Shaking hands with Kumal (no easy matter on camels), he placed me onhis right hand, and, heading the procession, we rode into Beïla, wherea large tent had been erected for my accommodation. Having placed aguard at my disposal, the prince then left, announcing his intentionof receiving me in state that afternoon at the palace. 

Beïla, which is protected by a fort and high mud wall, is situated onthe right bank of the river Purali, which, at the time of my visit, was no more than a dry rocky bed. The town contains about 4000inhabitants, and, from a distance, presents a curious appearance, each house being fitted, as at Sonmiani, with a large "badgir, " orwind-catcher. Like most Eastern cities, Beïla does not improve oncloser acquaintance. The people are dirty and indolent. There islittle or no trade, and the dark, narrow streets, ankle-deep in mudand filth, are crowded with beggars and pariah dogs, while the dulldrab colour of the mud houses is depressing in the extreme. The fortand palace alone are built of brick, and, being whitewashed, relieveto a certain extent the melancholy aspect of the place. I was escortedto the latter the afternoon of my arrival by a guard of honour, preceded by the Djam's band--half a dozen cracked English cavalrytrumpets!

Djam Ali Khan, the present ruler of the state of Las Beïla, is aboutfifty years of age, and is a firm ally of England. The Djam is avassal of the Khan of Kelát, but, like most independent Baluch chiefs, only nominally so. So far as I could glean, the court of Kelát has noinfluence whatsoever beyond a radius of twenty miles or so from thatcity. The provinces of Sarawán, Jhalawán, Kach-Gandáva, Mekrán, [D] andLas Beïla, which constitute the vast tract of country known as KalatiBaluchistán, are all governed by independent chiefs, nominallyviceroys of the Khan of Kelát. Practically, however, the latterhas little or no supremacy over them, nor indeed over any part ofBaluchistán, Kelát and its suburbs excepted. 

Prince Kumal Khan received me in his father's durbar-chamber, acheerless, whitewashed apartment, bare of furniture save for asomewhat rickety "throne" of painted wood, and a huge white linenpunkah, overlooking a dreary landscape of barren desert and mud roofs. The prince, a tall, slim young man, about twenty-five years ofage, has weak but not unpleasing features. He was dressed in aclose-fitting tunic of dark-blue cloth, heavily trimmed with goldbraid, baggy white linen trousers, and a pair of European side-springboots, very dirty and down at heel. A light-blue turban completed hisattire. 

The interview was not interesting. Notwithstanding all my efforts andthe services of the interpreter, Kumal was evidently shy and ill atease, and resolutely refused to enter into conversation. One thing, however, roused him. Hearing that I was accompanied by a Russian, Kumal eagerly demanded that he should be sent for. Gerôme presentlymade his appearance, and was stared at, much to his discomfiture andannoyance, as if he had been a wild beast. A pair of white-linendrawers, no socks, carpet slippers, and a thin jersey, were myfaithful follower's idea of a costume suitable to the Indianclimate--surmounted by the somewhat inappropriate head-dress of ahuge astrakhan cap, which for no earthly consideration could he bepersuaded to exchange for a turban. "So that is a Russian!" said theprince, curiously surveying him from head to foot. "I thought theywere all big men!" But patience has limits, and, with a muttered"Dourák, " [E] poor Gerôme turned and left the princely presence inanything but a respectful manner. 

Coffee and nargileh discussed, my host moved an adjournment to theroof of the palace, where, he said, I should obtain a better view ofhis father's city. This ceremony concluded, the trumpets sounded, agentle hint that the audience was at an end, and I took leave, andreturned to camp outside the walls of the town. 

The Wazir, or Prime Minister, of the Djam paid me a visit in theevening _sans cérémonie_--a jolly-looking, fresh-complexioned oldfellow, dressed in a suit of karki, cut European fashion, and withnothing Oriental about him save a huge white linen turban. The Wazirspoke English fairly well, and, waxing confidential over a cigar andwhisky-and-water (like my Sonmiani friend, the Wazir was no strictMussulman), entertained me with an account of the doings of theCourt in Beïla and the _aventures galantes_ of Kumal, who, from allaccounts, was a veritable Don Juan. "Will the Russians ever takeIndia?" asked the old fellow of Gerôme, as he left the tent. "You cantell them they shall never get it so long as _we_ can prevent them;"but the next moment the poor Wazir, to Gerôme's delight, had measuredhis length on the ground. Either the night was very dark, or thewhisky very strong; a tent-rope had avenged the taunt levelled at mycompanion's countrymen. 

Early next morning came a message from Prince Kumal, inviting meto visit the caves of Shahr-Rogan, an excavated village of greatantiquity, about ten miles from Beïla. I gladly accepted. The camelswere tired; the men of the caravan unwilling to proceed for anotherday, and time hung heavily on one's hands, with nothing to vary themonotony but an occasional shot at a wood-pigeon (which swarm aboutBeïla), or a game of _ecarté_ (for nuts) with Gerôme. 

The caves were well worth a visit. I could gain no information atBeïla, Quetta, or even Karachi, as to the origin of this curiouscave-city, though there can be no doubt that it is of great antiquity. Carless the traveller's account is perhaps the most authentic. 

"About nine miles to the northward of Beïla a range of low hillssweeps in a semicircle from one side of the valley to the other, andforms its head. The Purali river issues from a deep ravine on thewestern side, and rushes down (in the wet season) about two hundredyards broad. It is bounded on one side by steep cliffs, forty orfifty feet high, on the summit of which is an ancient burial-ground. Following the stream, we gained the narrow ravine through whichit flows, and, turning into one of the lateral branches, enteredShahr-Rogan. "

Here, on the day in question, Prince Kumal called a halt. A coupleof small tents were pitched, and a meal, consisting of an excellentcurry, stewed pigeons, beer, and claret, served. Leaving the Princeto amuse himself and delight his followers with his skill inrifle-shooting at a mark chalked out on the rocks, I continued myexplorations. The result is, perhaps, better explained to the readerin the words of an older and more experienced observer. Carlesssays--"The scene was singular. On either side of a wild broken ravinethe rocks rise perpendicularly to the height of four or five hundredfeet, and are excavated, as far as there is footing to ascend, up tothe summit. The excavations are most numerous along the lower partof the hills, and form distinct houses, most of which are uninjuredby-time. They consist, in general, of a room fifteen feet square, forming a kind of open verandah, with an interior chamber of the samedimensions, to which admittance is gained by a narrow doorway. Thereare niches for lamps in many, and a place built up and covered in, apparently to hold grain. Most of the houses or caves at the summitsof the cliffs are now inaccessible, from the narrow precipitouspaths by which they were approached having worn away. The cliffs areexcavated on both sides of the valley for a distance little short ofa mile. There cannot be less than fifteen hundred of these strangehabitations. "

The caves of Shahr-Rogan are not the only sights of interest nearBeïla. Time, unfortunately, would not admit of my visiting themud-volcanoes of Las, situated near the Harra Mountains, about sixtymiles from Shahr-Rogan. The hills upon which these are found arefrom three to four hundred feet high, and are conical in form, withflattened and discoloured tops and precipitous sides. At their basesare numerous fissures and cavities reaching far into their interior. Captain Hart, who visited these geysers some years ago, describesthem as basins of liquid mud, about a hundred paces in diameter, in acontinual state of eruption. These geysers, or "chandra-kupr, " as theyare called by the Baluchis, are also found on parts of the Mekrâncoast. Colonel Ross, H. M. 's Resident at Bushire, is of opinion thatthese coast craters have communication with the sea, as the state ofthe tides has considerable influence on the movements of the mud. Thistheory is, perhaps, strengthened by the fact that by the coast nativesthe volcanoes are called "Darya-Chân, " or "Eyes of the Sea. "

On the way back from Shahr-Rogan to Beïla a herd of antelope wasseen. I may here mention that, with one exception, this was the onlyoccasion upon which I came across big game of any kind throughout thejourney, although, from all accounts, there is no lack of wild animalsin Baluchistán. Bear and hyena are found in the southern districts, and the leopard, wolf, ibex, and tiger-cat exist in other parts ofthe country. The wild dog is also found in the northern and moremountainous regions. The latter hunt in packs of twenty and thirty, and will seize a bullock and kill him in a few minutes. On the otherhand, vermin and venomous animals are not so common as in India. Dangerous snakes are rare, though we were much annoyed by scorpionsand centipedes in the villages of the north, and a loathsome bug, the"mangar, " which infests the houses of Kelát. 

Riding homewards, we stopped about a mile out of Beïla to inspect theDjam's garden, a large rambling piece of ground about fifty acres inextent, enclosed by high walls of solid masonry. Never was I moresurprised than upon entering the lofty iron gates guarded by a sowarin neat white uniform. It seemed incredible that such fertility andabundance could exist in this dry, arid land. The cool fragrantgardens, with their shady grass walks, forest trees, and palms, springing up, as it were, out of the scorched, stony desert, remindedone of a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers in a fever ward, and thescent of rose, jasmine, and narcissus was apparent quite half a mileaway. In the centre of the garden is a tamarind tree of enormousgirth. It takes twelve men with joined hands to surround it. Half anhour was spent in this pleasant oasis, which was constructed by thelate Djam, after infinite trouble and expense, by means of irrigationfrom the Purali river. There are also two deep wells of clear water inthe grounds, which are never quite dry even in the hottest seasons. 

Proceeding homewards, we had scarcely reached camp when a terrificthunderstorm burst over our heads. The thunderclaps were in someinstances nearly a minute in duration, and the lightning unpleasantlyclose and vivid. 

The weather clearing, I visited the bazaar in the evening, underthe guidance of my old friend, the Wazir. Trade is, as I have said, practically _nil_ in Beïla, and the manufactures, which are trifling, are confined to oil, cotton, a rough kind of cloth, and coarsecarpets; indeed, throughout the country, commerce is almost at astandstill. 

This is scarcely surprising when the semi-savage state of the people, and consequent risks to life and property, are taken into account. Theexport trade of the interior is, though trifling at present, capable, under firm and wise rule, of great improvement. Madder, almonds, anddried fruit from Kelát and Mastung, seed and grain from Khozdar, smallquantities of assa-foetida from Nushki, and sulphur from Kach-Gandáva, comprise all the exports. From Mekrán and Las Beïla are exported"rogan, " or clarified butter used for cooking purposes, hides, tobacco(of a very coarse kind), salt fish, oil-seeds, and dates. The importschiefly consist of rice, pepper, sugar, spices, indigo, wood, andpiece goods, chiefly landed at the ports of Gwádar or Sonmiani. Butlittle is as yet known of the mineral products of this district. Ironore is said to exist in the mountains north of Beïla, while to thesouth copper is reported as being found in large quantities; butnothing has as yet been done to open up the mineral resources of thedistrict. Although silver and even gold have been found in smallquantities, and other minerals are known to exist, the only mines atpresent in Baluchistán are those near Khozdar, in the province ofJhalawán, where lead and antimony are worked, but in a very primitivemanner. 

Notwithstanding the trade stagnation, there seems to be a good deal ofcultivation in and around Beïla. Water is obtained from deep wells;and vegetables, rice, and tobacco are largely grown. Most of thestalls in the bazaar were devoted to the sale of rice, wheat, andtobacco, cheap cutlery, and Manchester goods; and I noticed, with somesurprise, cheap photographs of Mrs. Langtry, Ellen Terry, Miss NellyFarren, Sylvia Grey, and other leading lights of society and art, spread out for sale among the many-bladed knives, nickel forks andspoons, and German timepieces. Although the narrow alleys reeked withpoisonous smells and filth and abomination of all kinds, Beïla is notunhealthy--so at least the Wazir informed me. I doubted the truth ofthis assertion, however, for the features of every second person I metwere scarred more or less with small-pox. 

My caravan, on leaving Beïla, was considerably increased. It nowconsisted of twenty-two camels (six of which were laden with water), five Baluchis, my original escort, and six of the Djam's cavalry. Icould well have dispensed with the latter, but the kindly little Wazirwould not hear of my going without them. An addition also to our partywas a queer creature, half Portuguese, half Malay, picked up by Gerômein the Beïla bazaar, and destined to fulfil the duties of cook. How hehad drifted to Beïla I never ascertained, and thought it prudent notto inquire too much into his antecedents. No one knew anything abouthim, and as he talked a language peculiar to himself, no one was everlikely to; but he was an undeniably good _chef_, and that was thechief consideration. Gaëtan, this strange being informed us, was hisname--speedily transformed by Gerôme into the more euphonious andromantic name of Gaetano!

I took leave of the Prince and my old friend the Wazir with somemisgivings, for the new camel-drivers were Beïla men, and franklyowned that their knowledge of the country lying between Gwarjak andNoundra (where we were to leave the caravan-track) was derived chieflyfrom hearsay. 

There are two caravan-roads through Beïla. One, formerly much used, isthat over which we had travelled from the coast, and which, on leavingBeïla, leads due north to Quetta _viâ_ Wadd and Sohrab. An ordinarycaravan by this route occupies at least forty days in transit. Traffic is now, therefore, usually carried on by means of the safertrade-routes through British Sindh, whereby the saving of time isconsiderable, and chances of robbery much lessened. The second road(which has branches leading to the coast towns of Gwádar, Pasui, andOrmara) proceeds due west to Kej, capital of the Mekrán province, near the Persian border. The latter track we were to follow as far asNoundra, ninety miles distant. I should add that the so-called roadsof Baluchistán are nothing more than narrow, beaten paths, as often asnot entirely obliterated by swamp or brushwood. Beyond Noundra, wherewe left the main track to strike northwards for Gwarjak, there wasabsolutely nothing to guide us but occasional landmarks by day and thestars at night. 

Barring the intense monotony, the journey was not altogetherunenjoyable. To reach Noundra it took us five days. This may appearslow work, but quicker progress is next to impossible in a countrywhere, even on the regular caravan-road, the guides are constantlylosing the track, and two or three hours are often wasted in regainingit. The first two or three days of the journey lay through swampyground, through which the camels made their way with difficulty, for acat on the ice in walnut-shells is less awkward than a camel in mud. Broad deep swamps alternating with tracts of sandy desert, withnothing to relieve the monotonous landscape but occasional clumps of"feesh, " a stunted palm about three feet in height, and rough cairnsof rock erected by travellers to mark the pathway where it had becomeobliterated, sufficiently describes the scenery passed through for thefirst three days after leaving Beïla. Large stones accurately laid outin circles of eighteen or twenty feet in diameter were also met withat intervals of every two miles or so by the side of the track, andthis very often in districts where nothing was visible but a boundlesswaste of loose, drifting sand. Our Baluchis could not or would notexplain the _raison d'être_ of them, though the stones must, in manyinstances, have been brought great distances and for a definitepurpose. I could not, however, get any explanation regarding them ateither Kelát or Quetta. 

With the exception of the Lakh Pass leading over a chain of hillsabout eighteen miles due west of Beïla, the road to Noundra was asflat as a billiard-table. The crossing of the Lakh, however, was notaccomplished without much difficulty and some danger; for the narrowpathway, leading over rocky, almost perpendicular, cliffs, three tofour hundred feet high, had, in places, almost entirely crumbled away. The summits of these cliffs present a curious appearance--fifty tosixty needle-like spires, hardly a couple of feet thick at the top, which look as if the hand of man and not of nature had placed them inthe symmetrical order in which they stand, white and clear-cut againstthe deep-blue sky, slender and fragile as sugar ornaments, and lookingas though a puff of wind would send them toppling over. The ascentwas terribly hard work for the camels, and, as the track is totallyunprotected by guard-rail of any kind, anything but comfortable fortheir riders. Towards the summit we met a couple of these beasts ladenwith tobacco from Kej, in charge of a wild-looking fellow in rags, as black as a coal, who eyed us suspiciously, and answered in sulkymonosyllables when asked where he hailed from. His merchandise, consisting of four small bags, seemed hardly worth the carrying, butKej tobacco fetches high prices in Beïla. At this point the pathwayhad latterly been widened by order of the Djam. Formerly, if twocamels travelling in opposite directions met, their respective ownersdrew lots. The animal belonging to the loser was then sacrificed andpushed over the precipice to clear the way for the other. 

In the wet season a foaming torrent dashes through the Valley of Lakh, but this was, at the time of my visit, a dry bed of rock and shingle. Indeed, although we were fairly fortunate as regard wells, and I wasnever compelled to put the caravan on short allowance, I did notpass a single stream of running water the whole way from Sonmiani toDhaïra, twenty miles south of Gwarjak, though we must in that distancehave crossed at least fifteen dry river-beds, varying from twenty toeighty yards in width. 

Travelling in the daytime soon became impossible, on account of theheat, as we proceeded further inland. A start was therefore generallymade before it was light, and by 11 a. M. The day's work was over, tents pitched, camels turned loose, and a halt made till three or fourthe next morning. Though the sun at midday was, with the total absenceof shade, dangerously powerful, and converted the interior of ourcanvas tents into the semblance of an oven, there was little tocomplain of as regards weather. The nights were deliciously cool, andthe pleasantest part of, the twenty-four hours was perhaps that from8 till 10 a. M. , when, dinner over and camp-fires lit, the Baluchisenlivened the caravan with song and dance. Baluch music is, thoughwild and mournful, pleasing. Some of the escort had fine voices, and sang to the accompaniment of a low, soft pipe, their favouriteinstrument. Gerôme was in great request on these occasions, and, under the influence of some fiery raki, of which he seemed to have anunlimited stock, would have trolled out "Matoushka Volga" and weirdCossack ditties till the stars were paling, if not suppressed. Asit was, one got little enough rest, what with the heat and flies atmidday, and, at the halt about 8 a. M. , the shouting, hammering oftent-pegs, and braying of camels that went on till the sun was high inthe heavens. 

There is a so-called town or village, Jhow (situated about twentymiles east of Noundra), in a sparsely cultivated plain of the samename. Barley and wheat are grown by means of irrigation from the Jhowriver, which in the wet season is of considerable size. I had expectedto find, at Jhow, some semblance of a town or village, as the Wazirof Beïla had told me that the place contained a population of four orfive hundred, and it is plainly marked on all Government maps. But Ihad yet to learn that a Baluch "town, " or even village, of forty orfifty inhabitants often extends over a tract of country many milesin extent. The "town" of Jhow, for instance, is spread over a plainthirty-five miles long by fourteen broad, in little clusters of fromtwo to six houses. A few tiny patches of green peeping out of theyellow sand and brushwood, a wreath of grey smoke rising lazily hereand there at long intervals over the plain, a few camels and goatsbrowsing in the dry, withered herbage by the caravan-track, showedthat there were inhabitants; but we saw no dwellings, and only onenative, a woman, who, at sight of Gerôme, who gallantly rode forwardto address her, turned and fled as if she had seen the evil one. Noundra, which was reached on the 30th of March, was a mere repetitionof Jhow. Neither houses nor natives were visible, though we passedoccasional patches of cultivated ground. About five miles west of thiswe left the beaten track and struck out due north for Gwarjak, which, according to my calculation, lay about seventy miles distant. 

[Footnote A: The traveller Masson says that the word _Brahui_ is acorruption of _Ba-roh-i_, meaning literally, "of the waste. "]

[Footnote B: These rings are sometimes so heavy that they are attachedto a band at the top of the head to lessen the weight on the nostril. ]

[Footnote C: A town in Western Baluchistán. ]

[Footnote D: The word "Mekrán" is said to be derived from"Mahi-Kharan, " or "Fish-eaters, " which food the inhabitants of thismaritime province subsisted on in Alexander's time, and do still. ]

[Footnote E: Russian, "Fool. "]

CHAPTER X. 

BALUCHISTÁN--GWARJAK. 

Most European travellers through this desolate land have testified tothe fact that the most commendable trait in the Baluch is his practiceof hospitality, or "zang, " as it is called. As among the Arabs, aguest is held sacred, save by some of the wilder tribes on the Afghanfrontier, who, though they respect a stranger actually under theirroof, will rob and murder him without scruple as soon as he hasdeparted. The natives of Kanéro and Dhaïra (the two villages lyingbetween Noundra and Gwarjak) were, though civil, evidently not bestpleased at our appearance, but the sight of a well-armed escortprevented any open demonstration of ill feeling. 

The first day's work after Noundra was rough, so much so that thecamels could scarcely struggle through the deep sand, or surmount thesteep, pathless ridges of slippery rock that barred our progress everytwo or three miles. Though the greater part of the journey lay throughdeep, drifting sand, the soil in places was hard and stony, and herethe babul tree and feesh palm grew freely, also a pretty star-shapedyellow flower, called by Baluchis the "jour. " This plant is poisonousto camels, but, strangely enough, harmless to sheep, goats, and otheranimals. 

For a desert-journey, we had little to complain of as regards actualdiscomfort. There were no mosquitoes or sandflies, and the heat, though severe, was never excessive save for a couple of hours or so atmidday, when enforced imprisonment in a thin canvas tent became rathertrying. There was absolutely no shade--not a tree of any kind visiblefrom the day we left Beïla till our arrival at Dhaïra about midday onthe 31st of March. Scarcity of water was our greatest difficulty. AtNoundra it had been salt and brackish; at Kanéro we searched in vainfor a well. Had we known that a couple of days' march distant lay aland "with milk and honey blest, " this would have inconvenienced usbut little. The fact, however, that only three barrels of the preciousliquid remained caused me some anxiety, especially as the first wellupon which we could rely was at Gwarjak, nearly sixty miles distant. 

The sight of Dhaïra, on the morning of the 31st, relieved us of allfurther anxiety. This fertile plain, about fifteen miles long by tenbroad, is bounded on the north-west by a chain of limestone mountains, the name of which I was unable to ascertain. Here for the second timesince Beïla we found a village and traces of inhabitants, the formerencircled for a considerable distance by fields of maize and barley, enclosed by neat banks and hedges--a grateful contrast to the desolatewaste behind us. It was the most perfect oasis imaginable. Shadyforest trees and shrubs surrounded us on every side, a clear stream ofrunning water fringed with ferns and wild flowers rippled through ourcamp, while the poor half-starved horses of the escort revelled in thelong, rich grass. Hard by a cluster of three or four leaf huts, halfhidden in a grove of date palms, lay (part of) the little villageof Dhaïra, deserted at this busy hour of the day save by women andchildren. The latter fled upon our arrival, and did not reappear untilthe evening, when the return of the men reassured them sufficiently toapproach our tents and look upon the strange and unwelcome features ofthe Farangi without fear. 

From here, by advice of the Wazir of Beïla, a messenger was despatchedto Malak, at Gwarjak, twenty miles distant, requesting permission totravel through his dominions. I resolved to proceed no further withoutthe chief's sanction, or to afford him in any way an excuse for makinghimself unpleasant. In the mean time, arms and accoutrements werelooked to, and the escort cleaned and smartened up as well ascircumstances would permit. The natives overcame their shyness nextmorning, and brought us goat's milk and "rogan, " or clarified butter. The Baluchis seldom eat meat, their food principally consisting ofcakes or bread made of grain, with buttermilk and rice. A favouritepreparation known as "shalansh, " and called "krout" by the Afghans, ismade by boiling buttermilk till the original quantity is reduced byhalf. The remainder is then strained through a thick felt bag, in thesun. When the draining ceases, the mass in the bag is formed intosmall lumps dried hard by the sun's rays. When required for use theselumps are pounded and placed in warm water, where they are worked bythe hands until dissolved. The thickened fluid is then boiled withrogan and eaten with bread. 

Assafoetida, indigenous to the country, is largely used among allclasses for flavouring dishes. So much is this noxious plant likedby Baluchis, that it goes by the name of "khush-khorak, " or pleasantfood. At Kelát, in the palace of the Khan, I was offered it pickled, but it is usually eaten stewed in butter. 

About midday, to my great surprise, Malak made his appearance inperson, mounted on a good-looking chestnut stallion, its bridleand saddle adorned with gold and silver trappings. Four attendantsfollowed on sorry-looking steeds. The chief, a tall, well-builtfellow, about thirty years of age, with a sulky, sinister cast ofcountenance, was clad in a bright green satin jacket, white and goldturban, loose dark-blue trousers, and embroidered slippers. The lossof one eye gave him a still more unpleasant expression, a lockof coarse black hair being dragged over the face to conceal thedisfigurement. The whole party were armed to the teeth, and carriedguns, shields, and revolvers. 

Our interview did not commence propitiously. Swinging himself off hishorse, Malak returned my salutation with a sulky nod, and swaggeredinto the tent, signing to his suite to follow his example. Curtlyrefusing my offer of refreshment, he called for his pipe-bearer, and, lighting a kalyan, commenced puffing vigorously at some abominablysmelling tobacco, which soon rendered the interior of the tentunbearable. It is, unfortunately, Baluch etiquette to allow a guestto open the conversation. Malak, well aware of this, maintaineda stolid silence, and appeared hugely to enjoy the annoyance andimpatience I tried in vain to conceal. It was not till nearly an hourhad elapsed that this amiable visitor at last inquired, in a rude, surly tone, what I wanted. My interpreter's services were then calledin, but it was not without demur and a long consultation with hissuite that Malak consented to accompany me to Gwarjak on the morrow. Matters were finally arranged, on the understanding that I did notremain more than one day at Gwarjak, but proceeded to Kelát withoutdelay. 

I strolled out with a gun in the evening, and managed to bag abrace of partridges, which swarmed in the maize and barley fields. Overcoming the fears of the women, I was permitted to approach andinspect, though not enter, one of their dwellings. The latter, constructed of dried palm leaves, were about fifteen feet long byeight feet broad, and were entirely devoid of rugs, carpets, orfurniture of any kind, and indescribably filthy. The men, though shyand suspicious, would have been friendly, had it not been for Malak, who followed me like a shadow; but nothing would induce the women andchildren to approach either Gerôme or myself. "What is this?" said oneold fellow to Malak, stroking my face with his horny, grimy palm. "Inever saw anything like it before. " Most of the men were clothed indirty, discoloured rags. The women wore simply a cloth tied looselyover the loins, while male and female children fourteen or fifteenyears old ran about stark naked. 

A curious flower, the "kosisant, " grows luxuriantly about here. It isin shape something like a huge asparagus, and about two feet high, being covered from top to bottom with tiny white-and-yellow blossoms, with a sweet but sickly perfume. It consists but of one shoot orstalk, and bursts through the ground apparently with great force, displacing the soil for several inches. 

We left for Gwarjak at 5. 30 the following morning. Etiquette compelledMalak to offer me his horse, while he mounted my camel--an operationeffected with very bad grace by my host. The Baluch saddle consistssimply 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 wasconcerned. Had it cut me in two, however, I would have borne it, ifonly 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 ofa river, which, I ascertained with difficulty from my one-eyedcompanion, is named the Mashki. Large holes, from eight to ten feetdeep, had been dug for some distance by the Dhaïra natives, formingnatural cisterns or tanks. These were, even now, after a long spell ofdry weather, more than half full, and the water, with which we filledbarrels and flasks, clear, cold, and delicious. 

The Shirengaz Pass, which crosses a chain of hills about five hundredfeet high, separates the Dhaïra Valley from the equally fertiledistrict of Gwarjak. The ascent and descent are gradual and easy, andby ten o'clock we were in sight of Gwarjak, before midday had encampedwithin half a mile of the town, if a collection of stragglingtumble-down huts can so be called. The news of our arrival had precededus, and before tents were pitched the population had turned out _enmasse_, and a mob of quite two hundred men, women, and children weresquatted around our camp, watching, at a respectful distance, theproceedings of my men with considerable interest. Malak had meanwhiledisappeared, ostensibly to warn the Wazir of our arrival. 

Gwarjak is situated on the left bank of the Mashki river, and consistsof some thirty huts, shapeless and dilapidated, built of dried palmleaves. About two hundred yards north of the village rises a steepalmost perpendicular rock about a hundred feet high, on the summit ofwhich is perched a small mud fort. The latter is crenelated, loopholedfor musketry, and mounts six cannon of a very primitive kind. It wasat once apparent that we were anything but welcome. The very sight ofmy 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 lookedforward, with some impatience, to Malak's return, for Kamoo's requestfor the loan of a knife from one of the bystanders was met withan indignant refusal, accompanied by murmuring and unmistakableexpressions of hostility. We were well armed certainly, but were onlyten men against over a hundred. 

Our camping-place was wild and picturesque, and, had it not been forthe uncomfortable sensation of not quite knowing what would happennext, our stay at Gwarjak would have been pleasant enough. Even Gerômewas depressed and anxious, and the Beïla men and escort ill at ease. Iwas sorely tempted more than once to accede to Kamoo's request, striketents and move on to Gajjar, the next village, but was restrained bythe thought that such a proceeding would not only be undignified, buta source of satisfaction to my _bête 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-throatlooking set of ruffians I have seldom seen. All wore long black-clothrobes trimmed with scarlet, and white turbans, and carried a Sniderrifle and belt stuffed with cartridges slung over the left shoulder. Inow noticed with some anxiety that Malak's quiet and undemonstrativemanner had completely altered to one of swaggering insolence andbravado. "The chief wishes you to know he has twenty more like this, "said Kamoo, pointing to Malak's villainous-looking suite. "Tell himI am very glad to hear it, " was my reply, politely meant, but whichseemed to unduly exasperate the King of Gwarjak. Brushing past me, heburst into the tent, followed by his men, and seated himself on myonly camp-stool. Then, producing a large American revolver, he cockedit with a loud click, placed it on the ground beside him, and calledfor his kalyan. 

Patience has limits. With the reflection that few white men would haveput 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 hisfollowers. The fire-eating chieftain was (unlike most Baluchis) a poorcreature, for to my intense relief he slunk out at once, with histail between his legs. Having then re-appropriated the camp-stool, I ordered in the escort, fixed bayonets, loaded _my_ revolver withostentation, 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 ofone of my men to say that the villagers had refused to sell provisionsof any kind, although eggs, milk, and rice were to be had in plenty. "I am not the king of these people, " said Malak, passionately, onbeing remonstrated with. "Every man here is free to do as he pleaseswith his own. " As our stores were now running uncomfortably short, this "Boycotting" system was anything but pleasant. "Will _you_ sellus some eggs and milk?" I asked, as my unwilling guest rose to go. Itwas eating humble-pie with a vengeance, but hunger, like many otherthings, has no laws. "I am not a stall-keeper, " was the answer. Arequest to be permitted to ascend the hill and visit the fort was metby an emphatic refusal. I then, as a last resource, inquired, throughKamoo, if my hospitable host had any objection to my walking throughthe village. "If you like, " was the reply; "but I will not beresponsible for your safety. This is not Kelát. The English are notour masters. We care nothing for them. "

Notwithstanding these mysterious warnings, however, I visited thevillage towards sunset, alone with Gerôme, fearing lest the sight ofmy escort should arouse the ire and suspicions of the natives. Therewas little to see and nothing to interest. Gwarjak is built withoutany attempt at order or symmetry. Many of the houses had toppled overtill their roofs touched the ground, and the whole place presented anappearance of poverty and decay strangely at variance with the smilingplains of grain, rice, and tobacco around it. Not a human being wasvisible, for our appearance was the signal for a general stampedeindoors, but the dirty, narrow streets swarmed with huge, fierce dogs, who would have attacked us but for the heavy "nagaikas" [A] with whichwe were armed. We were evidently cordially hated by both men andbeasts! On return to camp I gave orders for a start at four the nextmorning. There was no object to be gained by remaining, and thenatives would have been only too glad of an excuse for open attack. 

The remains of an ancient city, covering a very large area, are saidto exist near Gwarjak, about a mile due south of it. I could, however, discover no trace of them, although we came from that direction, andmust have traversed the supposed site. 

After the fatigue and anxiety of the day, I was enjoying a cigar inthe bright moonlight, when a messenger from the village arrived incamp. He had a narrow escape. Not answering the challenge of thesentry for the second time, the latter was about to fire, when I ranforward and threw up his rifle, which discharged in the air. A secondlater, and the man would have been shot, in which case I do notsuppose we should ever have seen Quetta. The message was from Malak, inviting me to a "Zigri, " a kind of religious dance, taking place justoutside the village. After some reflection, I decided to go. It might, of course, mean treachery, but the probability was that the chief, afraid of being reported to the Indian Government for his insolenceand insubordination, wished to atone for his conduct before I left. 

Under the messenger's guidance, and attended by Gerôme and a guard offive men with loaded rifles, I set out. Both the Russian and myselfcarried and prominently displayed a brace of revolvers. A walk of tenminutes brought us to a cleared space by the river. In the centreblazed a huge bonfire, round which, in a semicircle, were squattedsome two or three hundred natives, watching the twistings andcontortions of half a dozen grotesque creatures with painted faces, and long, streaming hair, who, as they turned slowly round and round, varied the performance with leaps and bounds, alternately groaning, wailing, and screaming at the top of their voices. 

[Illustration: A "ZIGRI" IN GWARJAK]

A horn, a lute, and half a dozen tom-toms accompanied the dance. Somedistance away, and surrounded by his grim-looking guard, sat Malak, who, though he did not rise to receive me, beckoned me to his sidewith more politeness than usual. It was a weird, strange sight. Therepulsive, half-naked figures leaping round the fire, the silent, awestruck crowd of Baluchis, the wild barbaric music, and pillar offlame flashing on the dark, sullen face of Malak and his followers, was not a little impressive, especially as I was in a state ofpleasing uncertainty as to the object of my host's sudden change ofmanner, and whether this might not be a little dramatic introductionto an attack upon our party. This was, however, evidently not my sulkyfriend's intention, for, as I rose to go, he actually stood up andtook my hand. "At Gajjar, " he said, "you will be able to get all youwant, but take my advice, and get away from here early to-morrowmorning. They do not like you. "

Four hours after we were _en route_. The Zigri was still going onas we rode out of the village. Malak and his guard still satmotionless, the weird dancers and crowd of onlookers were stillthere, the huge bonfire blazing as brightly as ever, though theEastern sky was lightening. As we passed within a hundred yards, Iwaved my hand, but the compliment was not returned. Some of the crowdlooked up at the caravan; all must have seen it, but averted theirfaces till we had passed. I was not, on the whole, sorry to leaveGwarjak. 

But one European, Colonel M---- of the Indian service, had visitedGwarjak for fifteen years prior to my visit. My road thither fromNoundra has never been traversed save by natives, and it was, perhaps, more by good luck than good management that we came throughsuccessfully. The inhabitants of Gwarjak are a tribe known as theNushirvanis, who claim to be of Persian descent. It was only atQuetta that I learnt that my friend Malak was only Viceroy of thisinhospitable district. The head-quarters and residence of the Chief, one Nimrood Khan, is at Kharán (a hundred and fifty miles north-west ofGwarjak). Nimrood, who was fortunately absent, detests Europeans, andwould probably have made matters even worse for us. Intermixed freelywith the wild and lawless tribes of the Baluch-Afghan frontier (fromwhich Kharán is but a few miles distant), it is scarcely to bewondered at that the Nushirvanis are inimical to Europeans, whom theyare taught by their chiefs and Afghan neighbours to look upon asnatural enemies. 

Although we had not as yet formed a very favourable idea of Baluchhospitality, our reception at every village from here to the capitalamply atoned for the rough and uncivil behaviour of the wildNushirvanis. We were now once more on the beaten track, for though thecountry south of Gwarjak was, previous to our crossing it, unexplored, the journey from Kelát to Gajjar has frequently been made by Europeansduring the past few years. Our reception by the natives of Gajjar(only twenty miles from Gwarjak) was a pleasant contrast to that givenus at the latter place. Camp was no sooner pitched than presents ofeggs, milk, rice, and tobacco were brought in, and I was cordiallywelcomed by the chief of the village. 

Gajjar is a ramshackle, tumble-down place of about three hundredinhabitants. On a small hillock to the right of the village standsthe fort, a square building of solid masonry, which, however, is nowroofless, and has only three walls standing. The garrison (of six men)were lodged in a flimsy tent pitched in the centre of the ruins. Half the houses were constructed of dried mud; the remainder, as atGwarjak, of palm leaves. The village stands in a grove of date palms, and the swarms of flies were consequently almost unendurable. Weencamped close to the village well, to which, during the afternoon, many of the female population came to draw water. Two of them, bright, pleasant-featured girls of eighteen or twenty, were the best-lookingspecimens of the Baluch woman that I met with throughout the journey. 

Towards sunset the corpse of a young man was borne past my tentand interred in a little cemetery hard by. The burial rites of theBaluchis are very similar to those of Persia. When a death occurs, mourners are sent for, and food is prepared at the deceased's housefor such friends as desire to be present at the reading of prayers forthe dead, while "kairats, " or charitable distributions of food, aremade for the benefit of the soul of the deceased. A wife, on thedecease of her husband, neglects washing, and is supposed to sitlamenting by herself for not less than fifteen days. Long before this, however, her female friends come to her house and beg her todesist from weeping, bringing with them the powder of a plantcalled "larra. " With this the widow washes her head, and thenresumes her former life and occupations. If, however, bythoughtlessness or malice, her friends defer their visit, she mustmourn for a much longer period alone. A curious Baluch custom is thatof digging a grave much deeper for a woman than a man. They argue thatwoman is by nature so restless she would not remain quiet, even indeath, without a larger proportion of earth over her. 

[Illustration: NOMAD BALUCH TENT]

In the matter of births and marriages the Baluchis, being of theMohammedan religion, regulate their ceremonies mainly according to theKorán. Marriage is attended with great festivities. The first stepis the "zang, " or betrothal, which is regarded as of a very sacrednature, the final rite being known as "nikkar. " On the wedding-daythe bridegroom, gorgeously arrayed, and mounted on his best horse orcamel, proceeds with his friends to a "ziarat, " or shrine, there toimplore a blessing, after which the "winnis, " or marriage, is gonethrough by a moullah. On the birth of a child there is also muchfeasting. The fourth day after birth a name is given to the infant, and on the sixth an entertainment to friends. The following day therite of circumcision ("kattam") is performed, though not always, thisbeing sometimes postponed for a year or more. On this occasion (as ata death) large distributions of food are made to the poor. 

The country between Gajjar and Jebri, which was reached next day, isbare and sterile, notwithstanding that, at the latter place, water isseldom scarce, even in the dryest seasons. The plain, which consistsof loose, drifting sand, with intervals of hard, stony ground, iscalled Kandari. The cold here in the months of January and Februaryis intense. We passed some curious cave-dwellings in the side of thecaravan-track, in which the natives take refuge from the icy blaststhat sweep across here in winter. They are formed by digging holeseight to ten feet deep. These are rudely thatched over with palmleaves, bits of stick, and plaited straw, thus forming a warm andcomfortable shelter. 

The Chief of Jebri, one Chabas Khan, rode out to meet me, clad ina long gown of golden thread, which, flashing in the sun, wasdiscernible a couple of miles off. Jebri contains about four hundredinhabitants, and is a neatly built village, protected by a large mudfort, and a garrison of twenty Baluchis armed with Snider rifles. Chabas, who was very proud of his village, informed me that hisrule extended over a considerable extent of country, containing apopulation of over 20, 000. Many of his subjects were natives ofSeistan, Kharán, and Shotrawák, all Afghan border districts, and gavehim at times no little trouble. The Jebri fort had been attacked onlya year previous to my visit, but Chabas (who I afterwards heard atKelát is a renowned fire-eater) gave the rebels such a warm receptionthat there has been no outbreak since. My genial old host had himselfgiven a good deal of trouble to the Kelát Government in his youngerdays, and told me with evident pride that he had led many a chupao inthe good old days. The savage and predatory character of the Baluchiwas formerly well exemplified in these lawless incursions, when largetracts of country were pillaged and devastated and the most unheard-ofcruelties practised. Chupaos are now a thing of the past. Pottinger, who traversed this country in the last century, and had more than oneunpleasant _rencontre_ with these armed bands, thus describes one ofthese plundering expeditions--

"The depredators are usually mounted on camels, and furnished, according to the distance they have to go, with food, consisting ofdates, goat's milk, and cheese. They also carry water in a smallskin-bag, if requisite, which is often the case if the expeditionis prolonged. When all is prepared the band sets off and marchesincessantly till within a few miles of where the chupao is tocommence, and then halts in some unfrequented spot to rest theircamels. On the approach of night they mount again, and, as soon as theinhabitants of a village have retired to rest, begin their attack byburning, destroying, and carrying off whatever comes in their way. They never think of resting for one moment during the chupao, but rideon over the territory on which it is made at the rate of eighty orninety miles a day, until they have loaded their camels with as muchpillage as they can possibly remove; and as they are very expert inthe management of their animals, each man on an average will havecharge of ten or twelve. If practicable, they make a circuit whichenables them to return by a different route. This affords a doubleprospect of plunder and also misleads those who pursue the robbers--astep generally taken, though with little effect, when a sufficientbody of men can be collected for that purpose. "

"In these desperate undertakings the predatory robbers are not alwayssuccessful, and when any of them chance to fall into the hands ofexasperated villagers, they are mutilated and put mercilesslyto death. The fact, " concludes Pottinger, "of these plunderingexpeditions being an institution in Baluchistán must serve to show howslight is the power wielded by the paramount rulers, and what risks tothe safety of both person and property must be run by those engaged inthe business of trade in such a country. "

Chabas visited me towards evening, accompanied by his son, aclever-looking, bright-eyed lad about fifteen years old. Noticing thathe wore a belt and buckle of the 66th Regiment, I inquired wherehe had procured it, and was told that it had been purchased from aGwarjak man, who brought it down from Kharán shortly after the fataldisaster to the regiment at Maiwand. The kindly old chief now pressedmy acceptance of a fine fat goat--a very acceptable gift, consideringthe impoverished condition of the camp larder. We then visited thefort and village, under his guidance. 

Jebri and its neighbourhood are well cultivated. The system ofagriculture practised in this part of Baluchistán is simple, buteffective, the fields being divided off by ridges of earth and raisedembankments to an accurate level. They are then further subdividedlongitudinally by ridges thrown up about seven or eight paces apart. This is done for purposes of irrigation. The soil is then ploughed andmanured, the former operation being generally carried on by meansof bullocks. Tracts of land not irrigated by streams, but which aredependent on rain and the rivulets which come down from the hillsidesafter it, are called "kash-kawa, " and are found scattered about thevalleys here and there near the tent-encampments of the nomad tribes, who plough a piece of land, sow it, and return to gather in the cropwhen it is matured. The implements of husbandry in general use area light wooden plough of primitive construction, consisting of avertical piece bent forward at the bottom and tipped with an ironpoint, and a long horizontal beam, which passes forward between thepair of bullocks that draw it, and is fastened to the yoke. A harrow, consisting of a wooden board about six feet long by two wide, is alsoused, being dragged over the ploughed land attached to the yoke byiron chains. If found not sufficiently heavy, the driver stands uponit. A spade or shovel, exactly like its English counterpart, and areaping-hook, or sickle, having its cutting edge furnished with minuteteeth, complete the list of a Baluchi's agricultural tools. 

Jebri Fort stands on a steep hillock about fifty feet in height. From here a good view was obtainable of the surrounding country. Immediately below were pretty gardens or enclosed spaces, sown in thecentre with maize, wheat, and tobacco, and surrounded by plum andpomegranate trees and date palms. There is a considerable trade in thelatter between here and Beïla, which perhaps accounted for the myriadsof flies which here, as at Gajjar, proved a source of great annoyance. In Chabas's garden were roses and other flowers, some remarkably finevines, and a number of mulberry trees. The grounds were well andneatly laid out with paths, grass plots, and artificial streams, uponwhich I complimented the old man; but he would talk of nothing but hisfort, which was, indeed, the only structure worthy of the name metwith between Quetta and the sea. In the evening his son broughtme a delicious dish of preserved apricots and cream, for whichI presented him with three rupees, one of which he instantlyreturned. It is considered, by Baluchis, extremely unlucky to giveor accept an odd number of coins. 

[Illustration: JEBRI]

At Jebri, for the first time, we suffered severely from cold at night, the thermometer dropping to 42° Fahr. Just before sunrise. The climateof Baluchistán presents extraordinary varieties, and is extremelytrying to Europeans. Although at Kelát the natives suffer considerablymore from cold in winter than summer heats, the hot season in thelow-lying valleys and on the coast, which lasts from April tillOctober, may be almost said to be the most severe in the world. AtKej, in Mekram, the thermometer sometimes registers 125° Fahr. In theshade as early as April, while the heat in the same district duringthe "Khurma-Paz, " or "Date-ripening, " is so intense that the nativesthemselves dare not venture abroad in the daytime. 

Notwithstanding this, even the south of Baluchistán has its coldseason. Near Beïla, in the month of January, the temperaturefrequently falls as low as 35° Fahr. In the mornings, rising no higherthan 65° at any portion of the day. At Kelát, on the other hand, whichstands 6800 feet above sea-level, the extreme maximum heat as yetrecorded during the months of July and August is only 103° Fahr. , while the extreme minimum during the same months is as low as 48°Fahr. In winter the cold is intense. Pottinger, the traveller, relatesthat on the 7th of February, 1810, when at Baghivana, five marchesfrom Kelát, his water-skins were frozen into masses of ice, and sevendays afterwards, at Kelát, he found the frost so intense that waterfroze instantly when thrown upon the ground. Bellew, a more recenttraveller, in the month of January found the temperature even lower, as when at Rodinjo, thirteen miles south of Kelát, the thermometer at7 a. M. Stood at 14° Fahr. , while the next night, at Kelát, it fellto 8° Fahr. The weather was at the time clear, sharp, and cold, theground frozen hard all day, while snow-wreaths lay in the shelter ofthe walls. A detailed account of the eight days' journey from Gajjarto Kelát would weary the reader. A description of one village willsuffice for all, while the country between these two places is nothingbut bare, stony desert, varied by occasional ranges of low rockyhills, and considerable tracts of cultivated land surrounding thevillages of Gidar, Sohrab, and Rodingo, at each of which we were wellreceived by the natives. With the exception of a strike among ourcamel-drivers, which fortunately lasted only a few hours, and adust-storm encountered a few miles from Sohrab, nothing worthy ofmention occurred to break the monotony of the voyage till, on themorning of the _9th of_ April, we sighted the flat-roofed houses, mudramparts, and towering citadel of the capital of Baluchistán. 

[Footnote A: Cossack whips. ]

CHAPTER XI. 

KELÁT--QUETTA--BOMBAY. 

We encamped in the suburbs of the city, about a couple of miles fromthe northern or Mastung Gate, and near the telegraph office, a smallbrick bungalow in charge of an English-speaking native. There is asingle wire laid to Quetta, a distance, roughly speaking, of ninetymiles. A terrific hurricane, accompanied by thunder, vivid lightning, and dense clouds of black dust, sprang up about sunset the day of ourarrival. Both tents were instantly blown down, and in a few momentsreduced to shapeless rags of torn canvas. So great was the force ofthe wind that it snapped the tent-poles short off, and, tearing themfrom the ropes, sent the tents flying over the plain as if they hadbeen shreds of tissue paper. We managed, however, to find quarters inthe telegraph office, and remained there till our departure, two dayslater, for Quetta. During the storm the thermometer sank to 50° Fahr. , although a few moments before it had marked 78°. 

Kelát contains--with its suburbs, which are of considerableextent--about 15, 000 inhabitants, and is picturesquely situated on theedge of a fertile plain thickly cultivated with wheat, barley, andtobacco. The city is built in terraces, on the sides and summit of alimestone cliff, about a hundred and fifty feet high. This is calledthe "Shah Mirdan, " and is surrounded at the base of the hill by highmud ramparts, with bastions at intervals, loopholed for musketry. The "Mir, " [A] or palace of the Khan, overhangs the town, and is madeup of a confused mass of buildings, which, though imposing at adistance, I found on closer inspection to consist chiefly of mud, whichin many places had crumbled away, leaving great gaping holes in thewalls. The Mir mounts a few primitive, muzzle-loading cannon, and thecitadel is garrisoned by a thousand men, chiefly Afghans, deserters fromCábul, Kandahár, and other parts of the Ameer's dominions. They are aragged, undisciplined lot. The Khan himself has a wholesome dread ofhis soldiery, who break out at times, and commit great depredationsamong the villages surrounding the capital, robbing and murdering thepeasants with impunity, for few dare resist them. The remainder of thetroops, three thousand in number, are quartered in barracks, or rathermud hovels, at some distance from the palace. Each man is supposed toreceive three rupees a month and a lump sum of forty-eight rupees atthe end of each year, but pay is uncertain and mutiny frequent. Whennot engaged on military duties the Khan's Baluch soldiers are put toagricultural work on his estates, while the Afghans pass their timein pillaging and plundering their neighbours. As we entered Kelát wepassed a regiment at drill on a sandy plain outside the walls. Withthe exception of a conical fur cap, there is no attempt at uniform. The men, fine strapping fellows, are armed with rusty flint-locks. Though there appeared to be no officers, European or otherwise, Iwas rather surprised to hear the word of command given inEnglish, and to see this band of ragamuffins march off parade tothe strains of "Home, sweet Home, " played by a very fair fife-and-drumband. 

The morning following my arrival, I was startled by the apparition atmy bedside of a swarthy, wild-looking Afghan sowar--a messengerfrom the Wazir, to say that his Highness the Khan wished to make myacquaintance, and would receive me, if convenient, at three o'clockthat afternoon. It had not been my intention to solicit an interview, for, from all accounts, the Khan is anything but friendly towardsEuropeans, Englishmen in particular. To refuse, however, was out ofthe question. The morning was therefore devoted to cleaning up, andgetting out a decent suit of wearing-apparel; while my Beïla escort, who evidently had uncomfortable forebodings as to the appearanceof the Beïla uniform in the streets of Kelát, polished up arms andaccoutrements till they shone like silver, and paid, I noticed, particular attention to the loading of their rifles and revolvers. 

About midday the Wazir made his appearance to conduct me to thepalace. He was a fat, paunchy old man, with beady black eyes and ashy, shifty expression, very unlike my cheery little friend at Beïla. After the usual preliminary questions as to who I was, my age, business, etc. , he anxiously inquired after the health of Mr. Gladstone, and somewhat astonished me by asking whether I was aLiberal or Conservative. "You have some Beïla men with you, I see, "said the Khan's adviser, who spoke English perfectly. "Don't lethis Highness see them. " I could not, after such a speech, allow myfaithful escort to enter the city without warning. But it had littleeffect. "Let the dogs do what they like, " was the reply. "We shall notlet the sahib go alone. "

Tea and cigarettes discussed, a start was made for the palace. TheWazir, on a wiry, good looking bay horse, and attended by half a dozenmounted Afghans, led the way, and I followed on a pony borrowed ofthe telegraph clerk. My costume was, if not becoming, at any rateoriginal: high boots, flannel trousers, and shirt, an eveningdress-coat, and astrakhan cap. Gerôme's wardrobe being even lesspresentable, I deemed it prudent to leave him behind. The Beïla menbrought up the rear of the procession some distance from the Afghans, who, to my anxiety, never ceased scoffing and jeering at them thewhole way. Every moment I expected to hear the crack of a pistol-shot, followed by a general _mêlée_. Arrived at the Mastung Gate, wedismounted, and, leaving our horses in charge of the guard, slowlyproceeded up the steep narrow streets to the citadel. 

The entrance to Kelát is not imposing. There had been a good dealof rain, and the streets of the lower part of the town were perfectquagmires of mud nearly knee-deep. It was more like crawling intoa dark passage than entering a city. Many of the thoroughfares areentirely covered over with wooden beams plastered with mud, whichentirely exclude light, and give them more the appearance ofsubterranean passages than streets. The upper part of the town is thecleanest, for the simple reason that all filth and sewage runs downopen gutters cut in the centre of the steep alleys, until it reachesthe level of the plain. There is no provision made for its escape. It is allowed to collect in great pools, which in long-continued wetweather often flood the houses and drive their wretched inhabitantsinto the open, to live as best they may, further up the hill. 

Kelát is, for this reason only, very unhealthy. Small-pox, typhoid, andtyphus are never absent, though, curiously enough, cholera visitationsare rare. The filthy habits of the inhabitants have, apparently, agood deal to do with the high death rate. I saw, while walking upthe hill, a native fill a cup from an open drain and drink it off, although the smell was unbearable, the liquid of a dark-brown colour. A very common and--in the absence of medical treatment--fatal diseaseamong the inhabitants of the suburbs (chiefly Afghans) is stone inthe bladder, the water here, though pure and clear in the suburbs, containing a large quantity of lime. 

The bazaar, through which we passed on our way to the Mir, does notseem a very busy one. Although not a public or religious holiday, many of the stalls were closed. Kelát was once the great channel formerchandise from Kandahár and Cábul to India, but the caravan trade isnow insignificant. There is in the season a considerable traffic indates, but that is all, for the roads to Persia and Afghanistán arevery unsafe. Only a few weeks previous to my visit, a Kelát merchant, proceeding with a large caravan to Kermán, in Persia, was robbed andmurdered in the frontier district west of Kharán. Few now attempt thejourney, most of the goods being sent to Quetta, and thence by rail tovarious parts of India, by sea to Persia. 

Art and industry are, as well as trade, practically at a standstill inthe Khan's city, though a handsome embroidery, peculiar to Kelát, ismade by the women, and fetches high prices in India, while some of thenatives are clever at brass work and ironmongery. Noticing a Russiansamovar in one of the shops, I entered and inquired of the owner(through the Wazir) how it had reached Kelát. "From Russia, " wasthe reply, "_viâ_ Meshéd, Herat, and Kandahár. There is a goodcaravan-road the whole way, " added the Baluchi, taking down a smallbrass shield from a peg in the wall. "This came from Bokhára, _viâ_Cábul, only ten days, ago; but trade is not what it was. " "Would therebe any difficulty in making that journey?" I asked. "For you--anEnglishman--yes, " said the man, with a queer smile, and wascontinuing, when "The Khan will be growing impatient, " broke in theWazir, taking my hand and leading me hurriedly into the street. 

An Afghan guard of honour was drawn up at the entrance of the palace, wearing the nearest approach to a uniform I had yet seen--dark-greentunics, light-blue trousers, and white turbans, clean, well fitting, and evidently kept for state occasions. Each man carried a Berdánrifle and cavalry sabre. It struck me as a curious coincidence thatthe former rifle is in general use throughout the Russian army. Leaving my escort with strict injunctions to keep their tempers, andunder no circumstances to allow themselves to be drawn into a quarrel, I followed the Wazir and his attendants into the Mir. The entrance isthrough an underground passage about forty yards long by seven wide, ill-smelling and in total darkness. Arrived at the end, we againemerged into daylight, and, ascending a flight of rickety woodensteps, found ourselves in the durbar-room--a spacious apartment, itswalls decorated with green, gold, and crimson panels, alternating withlarge looking-glasses. Costly rugs and carpets from Persia and Bokhárastrewed the grimy floor of the chamber, which is about sixty feetlong, and commands a splendid view of the city and fertile plainsbeyond. Awaiting me upon the balcony was the Khan, surrounded byhis suite and another guard of Afghans. A couple of dilapidatedcane-bottomed chairs were then brought and set one on each side of thecrimson velvet divan occupied by his Highness. Having made my bow, which was acknowledged by a curt nod, I was conducted to the seat onthe right hand of the Khan by Azim Khan, his son, who seated himselfupon his father's left hand The Wazir, suite, soldiers, and attendantsthen squatted round us in a semicircle, and the interview commenced. 

A long silence followed, broken only by the whish of the fly-brushas a white-clad Baluchi whisked it lazily to and fro over the Khan'shead. The balcony on which we were received is poised at a dizzyheight over the beehive-looking dwellings and narrow, tortuous streetsof the brown city, which to-day were bathed in sunshine. The Khan'sresidence is well chosen. The pestilent stenches of his capital cannotascend to this height, only the sweet scent of hay and clover-fields, and the distant murmur of a large population, while a gloriouspanorama of emerald-green plain stretches away to a rocky, picturesquerange of hills on the horizon. 

His Highness Mir Khudadad, Khan of Kelát, is about sixty years old. Hewould be tall were it not for a decided stoop, which, together with atoothless lower jaw, gives him the appearance of being considerablymore than his age. His complexion is very dark, even for a Baluch, andhe wears a rusty black beard and moustaches, presumably dyed, fromthe streaks of red and white that run through them, and long, coarsepepper-and-salt locks streaming far below his shoulders. His personalappearance gave me anything but a favourable impression. The Khan hasa scowling expression, keen, piercing black eyes, and a sharp hookednose that reminded one forcibly of Cruikshank's picture of Fagin theJew in "Oliver Twist. "

The Khan was dressed in a long, loose, white garment, with red silkembroidery of beautiful workmanship. A thin white Cashmere shawl wasthrown carelessly over his shoulders, and he wore a conical violetsilk cap, trimmed with gold lace, and a pair of pointed green moroccoslippers, turned up at the toes, and ornamented with the samematerial. A massive gold necklace, or collar, thickly studded withdiamonds, rubies, and sapphires, hung round his neck. The stones, someof them of great size, were set indiscriminately without any regardto pattern or design. Mir Khudadad wore no other jewels, with theexception of three small torquoise rings, all worn on the littlefinger of the left hand. He carried no arms, but held in his righthand a large and very dirty pocket-handkerchief of a bright yellowhue with large red spots, which somewhat detracted from his regalappearance. The Khan is a great snuff-taker, and during the audiencecontinually refreshed himself from the contents of a small gold boxcarried by his son. Prince Azim, who was dressed in a green silkjacket and loose magenta-coloured trousers, is a pleasant-mannered ladof about twenty. He is of much lighter complexion than his father andhas a strong Jewish cast of feature. A huge cabochon emerald of greatvalue, suspended from the neck, was Azim's sole ornament. 

[Illustration: PALACE OF THE KHAN. KELÁT. ]

A conversation now commenced, carried on through the mediumof the Wazir and my interpreter. The Khan has a fidgety, uneasymanner that must be intensely exasperating to his court. Morethan once during the audience, having asked a question withmuch apparent earnestness, he would suddenly break in, in themiddle of a reply, and hum a tune, or start off on a totally differentsubject from the one under discussion. At other times he would repeata question twice or thrice, and, his eyes fixed on vacancy, utterlyignore the answers of the Wazir, who evidently stood in great awe ofhis eccentric sovereign. Though the following colloquy may appearbrief to the reader, it took nearly an hour to get through. 

"Where do you come from, and what are you?" was the Khan's firstquestion. 

"From Russia, your Highness. "

"From Russia!" returned the Khan, quickly. "But you are English, areyou not?"

"Certainly I am. "

"How strong is Russia's army?" continued the Khan, after anapplication to the gold snuff box, and a trumpet-blast on the yellowbandanna. 

"Nominally about three millions. "

"And England?"

"About two hundred thousand, not counting the reserves. "

"Humph!" grunted the Khan. "Tell me, do the English imagine that AbdurRaman [B] is their friend?"

"I believe so. "

"Then tell them from me, " cried the Khan, excitedly, half rising fromhis seat, "tell Queen Victoria from me that it is not so. Tell her tobeware of Abdur Raman. He is her enemy. "

"Is England afraid of Russia?" continued the Khan after a long pause. 

"No; the English fear no one. "

"Will England reach Kandahár before Russia takes Herat?"

"I really cannot say, " was my answer to this somewhat puzzlingquestion. 

Mir Khudadad then turned away to converse with the Wazir in a lowtone. About ten minutes elapsed, during which a long confabulationwas held, in which many of the suite, including the Afghan soldiers, joined. Prince Azim meanwhile invited me to inspect his sword andpistols. The former, a splendid Damascus blade, and hilt encrustedwith jewels, I especially admired. Had I known the use to which ithad been put that morning, I should not, perhaps, have been soenthusiastic. 

Again the Khan addressed me. 

"Do you know Russia well?"

"Pretty well. "

"Is it true that the Russians do not allow Mohammedans to worship inCentral Asia?"

"I believe that is untrue. "

"It is a lie?"

"Most certainly it is. "

"Your own countrymen told me so. " At this there was a roar oflaughter, in which the Khan joined. 

The durbar-room of Kelát reminded me of an English court of justice. When the Khan laughed his courtiers did, and _vice versâ_. After aninterval of more snuff-taking and whispering, the Khan drew forth andexamined my watch. Taking this for a polite hint that the interviewhad lasted long enough, I rose to go, but was at once thrust back intomy chair by Azim. "You are not to go, " said the Wazir. "The Khan ismuch interested by you. "

"Dhuleep Singh is in Russia, is he not?" then asked the Khan. 

"Yes. "

"What does Russia pay him a year?"

"I do not know. "

"More than England did?"

"I do not know. "

"You English never do know anything, " muttered the Khan, impatiently;adding, "Do you know the Czar of Russia?"

"I have seen him. "

"Is he a good man?"

"I believe him to be so. "

"Then why do his people try to kill him?"

"Some of them are Socialists. "

"Socialists!" repeated the Khan, slowly. "What is that?"

I then explained with some difficulty the meaning of the word. 

"Humph!" was the rejoinder. Then, with a whisk of the yellow bandanna:"I am glad I have none in Kelát!"

A mark of great favour was then shown me, the Khan presenting me withhis photograph, with the request that I would show it to "Parliament"when I got home. I think he was under the impression that the latteris a human being. An incident that occurred but two years since istypical of the intelligence of the ruler of Kelát and his court. Itwas at Quetta, on the occasion of the presentation of Mir Khudadadto the Viceroy of India. Previous to a grand _déjeûner_ given in hishonour, the Khan and his suite were shown into a dressing-room for thepurpose of washing their hands. On entering to announce that luncheonwas ready, the aide-de-camp found that the distinguished guests hadalready commenced operations, and were greedily devouring the cakesof Pears' soap that had been placed there for a somewhat differentpurpose. That none of the party felt any after ill effects speaks wellfor the purity of the wares of the mammoth advertiser--or the Baluchdigestion!

The Khan shook my hand cordially at parting, and again begged me notto forget his warnings anent the Ameer of Afghanistán, with whom he isapparently not on the best of terms. I found, with some relief, thatmy Beïla men had made friends with the Afghans, and, surrounded by anadmiring crowd, were hobnobbing over a hissing samovar. One of theAfghans handed me a glass of tea, which, not to offend him, I drankand found delicious. It had come from China _viâ_ Siberia, Samarcand, and Cábul. "Russki!" said the man with a grin, as I handed back thecup. 

The Khan of Kelát very rarely leaves his palace, and is seldom seenabroad in the streets of Kelát except on Fridays, when he goes to themosque on foot, attended by an escort armed to the teeth. He is saidto live in constant dread of assassination, for his cruel, rapaciouscharacter has made him universally detested in and around the capital. His one thought in life is money and the increase of his income, which, with the yearly sum allowed him by the British Government, maybe put down at considerably over £30, 000 per annum. A thorough miser, the Khan does not, like most Eastern potentates, pass the hours ofnight surrounded by the beauties of the harem, but securely locked inwith his money-bags in a small, comfortless room on the roof of hispalace. 

[Illustration: THE KHAN OF KELÁT]

There is not the smallest doubt in my mind that Russian influenceis, indirectly, being brought to bear on the Court of Kelát. But MirKhudadad may be said to have no policy. As the French say, "Il changesa nationalité comme je change de chemise, " and is to be bought by thehighest bidder. 

Although the Khan's subjects are heavily taxed, there is no protectionwhatsoever of life or property in or around Kelát. Theft is, accordingto the penal code, punished by fine and imprisonment, murder andadultery by death; but the law is subject to great modifications. In aword, the Khan is the law, and so long as a man can afford to pay orbribe him handsomely, he may commit the most heinous offences withimpunity. 

Two instances of the way in which justice is carried out happened justbefore I arrived at Kelát. In the one, a young Baluch woman was foundby her husband, a soldier, under circumstances which admitted no doubtof her infidelity. Upon discovery, which took place at night, theinfuriated husband rushed off to the guard-house for his weapon. During his absence the woman urged her lover, who was well armed, tomeet and slay him in the darkness. Under pretence of so doing the gayLothario left his paramour, but, fearful of consequences, made off toQuetta. 

On his return home the husband used no violence, simply handing hiswife over to the guard to be dealt with according to law. Broughtbefore the Khan the next day, she was lucky enough to find thatmonarch in a good temper. Her beauty probably obtained the free pardonaccorded her, and an order that her husband was also to condone heroffence. The latter said not a word, took her quietly home in theevening, and cut her throat from ear to ear. The Khan, on hearingof the murder next day, made no remonstrance, nor was the offenderpunished. He was an Afghan. 

The second case is even more disgraceful. One of the Khan's own suite, a well-known libertine and drunkard, contracted an alliance witha young girl of eighteen. He had endeavoured in vain to marry heryounger sister, almost a child, and so beautiful that she was knownfor many miles round the city as the "Pearl of Kelát. "

Six weeks after marriage this ruffian, in a fit of drunken frenzycaused by jealousy, almost decapitated his wife with a tulwar, andafterwards mutilated her body past recognition. The shrieks of thepoor woman having summoned the neighbours, he was seized, bound, andled before the Khan, who at once sentenced him to death. The executionwas fixed for sunrise the following day. At midnight, however, a messenger appeared at the gates of the Mir with a canvas bagcontaining two thousand rupees. "Tell him he is free, " said the rulerof Kelát. "And if he sends in another thousand, I will _order_ theyounger sister to marry him. " The money was paid, and the poor childhanded over to the tender mercies of the human devil who had soruthlessly butchered her sister. 

I have mentioned that Azim Khan showed me a sword of beautifulworkmanship. It had, the very morning of my visit to the palace, cutdown and hacked to pieces a waiting-maid, not sixteen years old, inthe Khan's harem. I myself saw the corpse of the poor girl the sameevening, as it was being carried outside the walls for interment. [C]

This, then, is the state of things existing at Kelát, not a hundredmiles from the British outposts; this the enlightened sovereign whohas been made "Companion of the Star of India, " an order which, amonghis own people, he affects to look upon with the greatest contempt. 

The few women I saw at Kelát were distinctly good looking, far more sothan those further south. Most of them have an Italian type of face, olive complexion, and large dark eyes, with sweeping lashes. But veryfew wore the hideous nose-rings so common at Beïla and Sonmiani. Morality is at a discount in the capital, and prostitution common. 

The Wazir sent me a bag of dates the morning of my departure, witha short note, written in English, begging that I would send him inreturn the best gold watch and rifle "that could be bought for gold"in London. The note ended jocosely, "Exchange is no robbery!" The oldman seemed well _au fait_ with Central Asian affairs. On my mentioningthe day before that I had intended entering India _viâ_ Cábul, he atonce said, "Ah! I supposed Alikhanoff stopped you. He is very shy ofstrangers. "

We left Kelát at 6 a. M. On the 12th of April. The camels and heavybaggage had been sent on four or five hours previously to Mangachar, the first station. Our caravan now consisted of only eight camels, which we found reduced to seven on arrival. Just before daylight acouple of panthers had appeared close to the caravan and caused aregular stampede, the beasts flying right and left. On order beingrestored, two were found to be missing, one laden with the only smallremaining tent and some native luggage, the other with a couple ofcases of whisky (nearly empty) and my camp-stool. The former wastraced and brought in after a search of over two hours, but the latteris still, for aught I know, careering over the boundless desert, anunconscious advertiser of "Jameson and Co. " I afterwards heard thatthis plain is noted for panther and wolf, also an animal called the"peshkori, " somewhat larger than a cat, with a reddish-coloured hide. It moves about the country in packs, carrying off deer and sheep. Itsmethod of descending precipices and steep hillsides is curious, eachanimal fixing its teeth in the tail of another, thus forming a kind ofchain. 

The plain of Mangachar is situated nearly 6000 feet above sea-level, and is well cultivated with wheat, lucerne, and tobacco. Thevillage itself is neatly laid out, and contains about three hundredinhabitants. The different aspects of the country north and south ofKelát are striking. We had now done with deserts for good, for atnight lights were seen twinkling all over the plain, while in thedaytime large tracts of well-cultivated land continually met the eye. 

Between Mangachar and Mastung a hot wind arose, which made the eyessmart, and dried up the skin like a blast from a furnace. One's hairfelt as it does in the hottest room of a Turkish bath, with theunpleasant addition of being filled with fine gritty sand. "I hopethis may not end in a juloh, " said Kamoo, anxiously. This, myinterpreter proceeded to explain, is a hot poisonous wind peculiar tothese districts, and perhaps the greatest danger run by travellers inBaluchistán. The warm breeze, as Kamoo called it, that we experiencedwas, though almost unbearable, not dangerous, while the dreaded julohhas slain its hundreds of victims. Cook, the traveller, who has giventhis subject much attention, has come to the conclusion that it iscaused by the generation in the atmosphere of a highly concentratedform of ozone, by some intensely marked electrical condition. Asevidence of its effect in destroying every green thing on its course, and in being frequently fatal to human life, he cites the followingwell-authenticated cases, which, not having encountered thedeath-dealing blast myself, I place before the reader:--

(1) In the year 1851, during one of the hot months, certain officersof the Sind Horse were sleeping at night on the roof of GeneralJacob's house at Jacobabad. They were awakened by a sensation ofsuffocation and an exceedingly hot and oppressive feeling in the air, while at the same time a very powerful smell of sulphur was noticed. On the following morning a number of trees in the garden were found tobe withered in a very remarkable manner. It looked as if a current offire, about two yards in breadth, had passed through the garden in aperfectly straight line, singeing and destroying every green thing inits course. Entering on one side, and passing out at the other, itstract was as clearly defined as the course of a river. 

(2) At the close of 1856 a party of five men were crossing the desertof Shikarpur, being on their way from Kandahár to that city, whenthe blast crossed their path, killing three of them instantly andseriously disabling the other two. 

(3) A "moonshi" with two companions was travelling about seven milessouth-east of Bagh, in Kachi (not far distant from Mangachar). Abouttwo o'clock the blast struck them. They were sensible of a scorchingsensation in the air, accompanied by a peculiar sulphurous smell, butremembered nothing further, as all three were immediately struck tothe ground. They were afterwards found and carried to Bagh, where, every attention being afforded them, they ultimately, after many daysof sickness, recovered. 

As regards the strength of the juloh, Pottinger writes that, sosearching is its nature, it has been known to kill camels and otherhardy animals, and its effects on the human frame are said byeye-witnesses to be the most agonizing and repulsive imaginable. Shortly after contact with the wind the muscles of the sufferer becomerigid and contracted, the skin shrivels, a terrible sensation as ifthe skin were on fire pervades the whole frame, while, in the laststage, the skin cracks into deep gashes, producing haemorrhage, quickly followed by death. It is curious to note that the juloh ispeculiar to the northern districts of Sarawán and Kach-Gandáva, and does not exist in the southern provinces of Baluchistán. 

The road from Mangachar to Mastung is good, though slightlyundulating, and intersected by deep "nullahs. " The estimated area ofthe Mastung district is two hundred and eighty miles. It is aptlynamed "The Garden of Baluchistán, " for considerably more thantwo-thirds of its area are under cultivation. Water at Mastung isnever-failing, and the pretty town, nestling in a valley of vineyardsand fruit-gardens, fig and olive trees, reminded one more of somesecluded town in the Pyrenees or south of France than a Baluchsettlement. The soil hereabouts is light and sandy and particularlyfavourable to the cultivation of grapes, of which there are no lessthan five kinds. Apricots, peaches, plums, and pomegranates are alsogrown, and supply the markets of Quetta and Kelát. Madder and tobaccoare also exported in large quantities from Mastung, which possesses aneatly built and busy bazaar. 

The plain of Dasht-bi-Dowlat, or "The Unpropitious Plain, " liesbetween Mastung and Quetta. The name, however, only applies after theharvest has been gathered, for next to Mastung this is one of the mostfertile spots in Baluchistán. Dasht-bi-Dowlat is mainly cultivatedby wandering tribes. The inhabitants of Mastung were enthusiastic intheir description of the plain in summer. Then, they told us, thesurface is covered with verdure and flowers of all kinds, especiallythe "lala, " or tulip, which they averred cover it for miles with acarpet of crimson and gold, and load the air with sweet intoxicatingperfume. The cultivation of this plain is mostly dependent on rain andheavy dews. 

To the west of Dasht-bi-Dowlat is Chehel-Tan, a steep, rocky mountain, 13, 000 feet high, in the ravines and valleys of which snow still laydeeply. Only two Europeans, Masson the traveller, and Sir Henry Green, have ever succeeded in reaching the summit, on which is a "Zariat, " orshrine. The ascent is difficult and dangerous, as, the mountainbeing said to be haunted, no native guides are procurable. The word"Chehel-Tan" signifies in Baluch "Forty Bodies, " and is derived fromthe following legend. 

A frugal pair, many years married, were unblest with offspring. Theytherefore sought the advice of a holy man, who rebuked the wife, saying that he had not the power to grant her what Heaven had denied. The priest's son, however (also a moullah), felt convinced he couldsatisfy her wishes, and cast forty pebbles into her lap, at the sametime praying that she might bear children. In process of time she wasdelivered of forty babes--rather more than she wished or knew howto provide for. The poor husband, at his wits' end, ascended to thesummit of Chehel-Tan with thirty-nine, and left them there, trustingto the mercy of the Deity to provide for them, while the fortieth babewas brought up under the paternal roof. 

One day, however, touched by remorse, the wife, unknown to herhusband, explored the mountain with the object of collecting the bonesof her children and burying them. To her surprise, they were allliving and gambolling among the trees and rocks. Wild with joy, sheran back to her dwelling, brought out the fortieth babe, and, placingit on the summit of the mountain, left it there for a night to allureback its brothers, but, on returning in the morning, she found thatthe latter had carried it off, and it was never seen again. It isby the spirits of these forty babes that Chehel-Tan is said to behaunted. 

At 8 a. M. On the 14th of April we sighted, afar off, an oasis onthe dead green plain, of long barrack-like buildings, garden-girtbungalows, and white tents. We had reached our journey's end. Thechurch-bells were ringing as I rode into Quetta, for it was Sunday, and, unfortunately, a bright, fine morning. Had it been otherwise, I might have been spared the ordeal of riding, on a very dirty andattenuated camel, past a crowd of well-dressed women and frock-coatedmen on their way to church. As we passed a neat victoria, glisteningwith varnish, and drawn by a pair of good-looking, high-steppingponies, containing a general in full uniform and a pretty, smartlydressed lady, I cast a glance behind me. Gerôme, who brought up therear of the caravan, had (for coolness) divested himself of boots andsocks, and, sublimely unconscious, was refreshing himself from thecontents of a large wicker flask. One cannot, unfortunately, urge ona camel or quicken his pace at these awkward moments, and I passeda very uncomfortable quarter of an hour before reaching the Dákbungalow. But a glance at a looking-glass reassured me. No one wouldever have taken the brick-coloured, ragged-looking ruffians we hadbecome for Europeans. 

I accepted a kind and courteous invitation from Mr. L----, of theIndo-European Telegraph, with pleasure, for the Dák bungalow was dirtyand comfortless. Although my host and charming hostess would have madeany place agreeable, Quetta is, from everything but a strategicalpoint of view, dull and uninteresting. It is an English garrison town, and all is said. The usual nucleus of scandal, surrounded by dances, theatricals, polo, flirtation, drink, and--divorce. Are they not allalike from Gibraltar to Hong Kong?

Under the guidance of my host, however, a pleasant trip was made tothe Khojak tunnel. When one considers the comparatively short timeit has been in hand, it is almost incredible that, with so manydifficulties (water, hard rock, etc. ), this work should haveprogressed as it has. The tunnel, which runs due east and west, is, or will be, two miles and a half in length and three hundred andsixty-five feet in depth at the deepest part from the earth's surface. From the eastern end only sixty-five miles over a firm and level plainseparates it from Kandahár. Even when I was there, [D] a light linecould have been laid to that city in six weeks without difficulty. Theplant, rails, and sleepers were on the spot, having been carried overthe hill, and a railway-carriage could then run from Calcutta to theeastern extremity of the tunnel without break of gauge. The tunnel, when completed, will be thirty-four feet broad, and twenty-five feetin height. 

A curious incident happened at one of the railway-stations betweenQuetta and Karachi. At the buffet of the one in question, I foundGerôme conversing volubly in Russian with a total stranger, a native. On inquiry I found he was a very old friend, a Russian subject andnative of Samarcand. "He has just come through from Cábul, " said mycompanion. "He often does this journey"--ostensibly for purposes oftrade. 

The 20th of April saw us in Bombay. An Italian steamer, the _Venezia_, was leaving for the Black Sea direct, and in her I secured a passagefor Gerôme, who was not impressed with our Eastern possessions. Thecrowd of curious natives who persistently followed him everywheremay have had something to do with it, for a fur-clad Esquimauxin Piccadilly would not have created a greater sensation than mycompanion in high boots, black velvet breeches, and red caftan inthe busy streets of the great Indian city. Only a Russian could haveexisted in that blazing sun with no other protection to the head thanthe astrachan bonnet, which he obstinately refused to discard. I sawhim safely on board, and something very like a tear came into mytrusty little friend's eyes, as we shook hands and parted, to meet, perhaps, never again. For a better companion no man could wish. Plucky, honest as the day, and tender-hearted as a woman was GerômeRealini; and it was with a feeling of loneliness and sincere regretthat I watched the grey smoke of the _Venezia_ sink below the bluewaters, which were soon to bear me, also, back to England and Europeancivilization. 

Has the journey been worth it? Has the result repaid one for the cold, dirt, and privation of Persia, the torrid heat and long desert marchesthrough Baluchistán? Perhaps not. There are some pleasant hours, however, to look back upon. Kashán, a vision of golden domes and dim, picturesque caravanserais; Ispahán, with its stately Madrassa and blueZandarood, winding lazily through miles on miles of white and scarletpoppyland; Shiráz, a dream of fair women, poetry, and roses, in itssetting of emerald plain, sweet-scented gardens, and cypress trees. These, at any rate, are bright oases in that somewhat dreary ride fromTeherán to the sea. And then--nearing India--the quiet midday siestaafter the hot dusty march; the _al fresco_ repast by the light of aglorious sunset, and the welcome rest and fragrant pipe in the coolnight air of the silent, starlit desert. 

[Footnote A: Parts of this palace are of great antiquity, as itowes its foundation to the Hindu kings who preceded the Mohammedandynasty. ]

[Footnote B: The Ameer of Afghanistán. ]

[Footnote C: I am not at liberty to give the name of my authority forthese facts. The reader may rely on their authenticity. ]

[Footnote D: April, 1889. The boring of the tunnel is nowaccomplished. ]

APPENDIX A. 

LIST OF STATIONS AND DISTANCES FROM RÉSHT TO BUSHIRE, PERSIA. 

 English Miles. 

 Résht --- Koudoum----------- 20 Rustemabad------- 20 Menjil--------------- 12 Patchinar----------- 8 Kharzán------------- 16 Kazvin--------------- 24 Kavarek------------- 16 Kishlak------------- 16 Yengi-Imàm------- 16 Hessarek---------- 16 Shahabad---------- 16 _Teherán_---------- 16 Rabat Kerim------- 28 Pitché----------- 24 Kushku Baïra------ 16 Mahometabad------ 28 _Koom_--------------- 16 Pasingán------------- 16 Sin-sin--------------- 28 _Kashán_------------ 24 Khurood------------ 28 Bideshk-------------- 24 Murchakhar-------- 24 _Géz_----------------- 24 _Ispahán_------------ 12 Djulfa----------------- 3

 Carried forward------------------ 491 Brought forward----------------- 491

 Marg------------------ 12 Mayar----------------- 24 Koomisháh---------- 20 Magsogh-Beg------- 16 Yezdi-Ghazt--------- 24 Shoulgistán--------- 24 Abadéh--------------- 20 Sourmah------------- 16 Khina-Khoreh------ 28 Deybid--------------- 20 Mourghab------------ 28 Kawamabad---------- 24 Sivánd-------------- 8 Poozeh-------------- 16 Zergoon------------ 20 Shiráz-------------- 20 Chinar-Ráda----- 8 Khaneh Zinián--- 24 Dashti Arjin------- 12 Meyun Kotal------ 12 Kazeroon---------- 20 Kamarij------------ 24 Konar Takta------ 12 Dalaki-------------- 12 Borazjun------- 16 Sheif-------------- 28 ----------- 979

 From Sheif to Bushire by sea 7

 Total English miles 986

APPENDIX B. 

 ROUTE--SONMIANI TO QUETTA. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------Halting-place. English Remarks. Miles. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sonmiani.... | | Small sea-port town. Water abundant, but brackish. Fodder and supplies procurable. 

Shekh-Raj.... | 18 | Road fairly good. Water sweet and plentiful. 

Outhal...... | 14 | Road stony and undulating; crossed dry bed of river Purali. Well of brackish water. 

Shekron-ka-Got | 22 | Road sandy. Passed several salt marshes. No water. 

Beïla....... | 24 | Road good through rich alluvial land irrigated by river Purali. Road near to Beïla intersected by deep nullahs distressing to camels. Water plentiful; supplies procurable. 

Lakh........ | 18 | Road good and level till Pass of Lakh, which is steep and extremely difficult. Water usually procurable, though very brackish. Forage for horse and camel a mile distant. 

Natchi...... | 19 | Road stony and difficult, through country irrigated (in wet season) by river Lakh. A small grazing ground midway, frequented by nomads. Water uncertain. Forage (for camel only) plentiful. 

Lar-Anderi ... | 20 | Road along dry river bed about three hundred yards wide (name unknown), for about five miles. Then over Plain of Arrah, sparsely cultivated. At end of stage crossed river Lar-Anderi, a broad but shallow stream about sixty yards wide, seldom dry. Good water from river, but brackish from wells, of which there are three. Forage for horse and camel. 

 Jhow........ | 14 | Crossed Jhow and Seridab rivers, both dry. No cultivation to be seen. Water plentiful and sweet. Forage for horse and camel. 

Noundra..... | 20 | U { No road. Travelling { fairly easy. N { Water brackish. 

Kanéro...... |about| e {Road rough and | 20 | { in parts with scrub. X { stony, overgrown { A very narrow track p { extends from { Noundra to Kanéro, l { which we followed. { No water or forage. 

Dhaïra...... |about| o { No road, but struck | 20 | { several narrow r { paths leading in { all directions. E { Water plentiful and { good. Forage for d { horse and camel. 

Gwarjak..... |about| {Road level and | 20 | { good. Water { abundant, also { forage for horse { and camel, but { natives unfriendly. 

Gajjar...... | 13 | Road good, through cultivated country. Water good and plentiful. Forage for horse and camel procurable, also supplies. 

Jebri....... | 20 | Road good, though deep and marshy in places. Water good and plentiful, also horse and camel forage. 

Greshak..... | 26 | Road leads over the Barida Pass. Gradual and easy ascent and descent. Water good and plentiful. Forage for camel only. 

Loch........ | 18 | Road very narrow and much overgrown (lost in places) with scrub. Water scarce. Forage scarce for camel, none for horse. 

Gidar........ | 32 | Good and level road. Water procurable from river only. Forage for camel only. 

Sohrab | 26 | Road difficult. Passed several steep, but not lofty, ranges of hills. Water plentiful, but brackish. No forage for horse or camel. 

Rodingo | 36 | Road level and easy. Much camelthorn, wild thyme, and (English) furze on either side of track. Water good, but scarce. No forage for horse or camel. 

Kelát.... | 14 | Road well defined, and level. Water good and abundant. Forage for horse and camel. Supplies of all kinds procurable. 

Mangachar | 26 | Road well defined and level. Leads through a fertile country. Water good. Forage for horse and camel, and supplies procurable. 

Mastung | 32 | Road level and good, but intersected by deep nullahs, rendering it difficult for heavily laden camels. Water good and plentiful. Forage for horse and camel, and supplies procurable. 

Quetta..... | 32 | Road excellent, and in parts macadamized. A garrison town, and railway to all parts of India. Total English miles | 504 |

APPENDIX C. 

TABLE OF LANGUAGES OF NORTH AND SOUTH BALUCHISTÁN. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Makrán (South). Kalati (North). ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ant Mor Khar Ashes P[=u]r Hiss Barley O S[=a]r Boy Bachak M[=a]r Cold Sara Yakt Copper Rod Miss Day Roch D[=e]h Dog Kuchak Kuchik Earth Duniah Daghar Fire Ach Kh[=a]ka Flower P[=u]l P[=u]l Gold Tila Kisun Heavy Giran Kolui To eat Warága Kuning To kill Kushàja Kasfing To bring Aràga Atning To see Guidàga Khanning

APPENDIX D

TEMPERATURE (FAHRENHEIT) BETWEENSONMIANI AND QUETTA, BALUCHISTÁN. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------- Remarks Mid day---------------------------------------------------------------------- Shade | Sun---------------------------------------------------------------------- March

 16 Sonmiani. Fine, north west breeze 79° 83°

 17 Sonmiani. Fine, no breeze 73° 88° 18 Sonmiani. Fine, no breeze 72° 105° 19 Sonmiani. Fine, strong north-east breeze 80° 98° 20 Shekh-Raj. Fine, light north-east breeze 91° 118° 21 Outhal. Fine, light north-west breeze 92° 114° 22 Shekron-ka-Got Fine, south west breeze 93° 109° 23 Beïla Rain and thunder, light south breeze 88° 92° 24 Beïla Rain, no wind 83° 87° 25 Lakh Fine, west wind 84° 103° 26 Natchi Fine, light south-east breeze 91° 115° 27 Lar-Anden Dull, no breeze 93° 108° 28 Jhow. Fine, hot wind (north east) 94° 110° 29 Noundra Fine, hot south-west wind 96° 123° 30 Kanéro Fine, south west breeze 90° 120° 31 Dhaïra Fine, light north breeze 95° 123° April

 1 Gwarjak. Fine, light south-east breeze 91° 111° 2 Gajjar. Fine, south wind 93° 110° 3 Jebri. Fine, strong north west wind 91° 110° 4 Greshak Fine, strong north-west wind 85° 88° 5 Loch. Fine, strong north wind 76° 89° 6 Gidar. Fine, light south-east breeze 81° 86° April

 7 Sohrab. Fine; light west breeze. 77° 86° 8 Dám. Rain; south-west wind 77° 78° 9 Kelát. Rain and dust storm 73° 75° 10 Kelát. Fine; west wind 59° 87° 11 Kelát. Fine; no breeze. 58° 74° 12 Mangachar. Fine; no breeze 80° 95° 13 Mastung. Fine; hot wind. 89° 116° 14 Quetta. Dull; no breeze 64° 80° 15 Quetta. Fine; no breeze 61° 83° 16 Quetta. Fine; south-west breeze 63° 68° 17 Quetta. Fine; no breeze 65° 67° 18 Sukkur, Sind. A hot wind blowing 99° 117° --------------------------------------------------------------------

APPENDIX E. 

GENEALOGY OF THE KHANS OF KELÁT. 

 Kambar Khan. | Sambar. | Mahammad Khan. | Abdulla Khan. | ------------------------------------------------ | | | Mobat Khan, Eltarz Khan, Nazir Khan, originally reigned some slain a hostage at Kandahár; time at Kelát; accidentally superseded his brother, superseded by by his brother, Mobat Khan, and his brother, Nazir Khan. Reigned forty years. Nazir Khan, | and died a | hostage at | Kandahár. | | | | ------------------------------------ | | | | Haji Khan, Mahmud Mohamed Mustapha Khan, died a Khan, Rehim Khan, slain by his hostage at reigned slain by sister brother, Mohamed Kandahár. At Kelát. Of Mustapha Rehim Khan | Khan. | Baram Khan, | died at Kelát | | | |------------------- Ahmad Yar | | | Khan, Mehrab Khan, Azem Khan. Slain by slain by the | Mehrab British troops. Sarafrez Khan, Khan. Slain by | Mehrab Khan. ------------------------------------ | | Hassan Khan Khudadad Khan, (poisoned). Present Ruler. 

[Illustration]