LATTER PART OF JOURNEY TO BAKU
Here there is a complete change. During the first days after leaving the coast, we had driven through a beautiful and constantly changing landscape. We had passed through woods of coniferous trees and among rustling foliage of yellow leaves. Sometimes we had been hundreds of feet above an abyss, at the foot of which a bluish-green stream foamed between rounded rocks. Beside the road we had seen rows of villages and farms, with houses and verandahs of wood, where Turks sat comfortably in their shops and cafés; and we had met many small caravans of horses, asses, and oxen carrying hay, fruit, and bricks between the villages. We always began our day's march in the early morning, for the nights were mild and the sun had scarcely risen before it felt pleasant.
But up here on the plateau it is different. No firs adorn the mountain flanks, no foliaged trees throw their shade over the road. No creaking carts, laden with timber and drawn by buffaloes and oxen, enliven the way. The villages are scattered, and the houses are low cabins of stone or sun-dried clay. The Turkish population is blended with Armenians. The road becomes worse and more neglected as the traffic falls off. The air is cool, and there are several degrees of frost in the night.
When we have passed Erzerum, where the Christian churches of the Armenians stand side by side with the mosques of the Turks, we journey, as it were, on a flat roof sloping down slightly on three sides, each with a gutter leading into its own water-butt. These water-butts are the Black Sea, the Caspian Sea, and the Persian Gulf, and they are always big enough to hold all the water, however hard it may rain on the stony roof which rises between Caucasia, Asia Minor, and Mesopotamia. The gutters are, of course, the rivers, the greatest of which is the Euphrates.
Now the road is very bad. There has been rain in the autumn; and now that it is freezing, the mud, all cut up by deep wheel-ruts, is as hard as stone. My vehicle shakes and jolts me hither and thither and up and down, and when we arrive at the village where we are to pass the night, I feel bruised all over. Shakir makes tea and boils eggs, and after supper I roll myself in my cloak and go to sleep.
It is pitch-dark when I am called, and still dark when wemake a start by the light of lanterns. After a little a curious sound is heard across the plain. The clang becomes louder, coming nearer to us, and tall, dark ghosts pass by with silent steps. Only bells are heard. The ghosts are camels coming from Persia with carpets, cotton, and fruit. There are more than three hundred of them, and it is a long time before the road is clear again. And all the time there is a ringing as from a chime of bells.
For many thousands of years the same sound has been heard on the caravan routes. It is the same with the roar of the waters of the Euphrates and Tigris. Mighty powers have flourished and passed away on their banks, whole peoples have died out, of Babylon and Nineveh only ruins are left; but the waters of the rivers murmur just the same, and the caravan bells ring now as in the days when Alexander led the Macedonian army over the Euphrates and Tigris, when the Venetian merchant Marco Polo travelled 620 years ago between Tabriz and Trebizond by the road we are now driving along, when Timur the Lame defeated the Turks and by this road carried the Sultan Bayazid in an iron cage to exhibit him like a wild beast in the towns of Asia.
A white morning cloud seems to be floating over the grey mountains to the east, but when the sun rises it is seen to be a cone as regular as the roof of an Armenian church. It is the snow-capped top of Mount Ararat, where the ark landed when the great flood went down. The summit is always covered with snow, for the mountain is a thousand feet higher than Mont Blanc.
Now we are not far from the frontier, where Kurdish brigands render the country unsafe, but once over the border into Persian territory there is no danger. We are now in the north-western corner of Persia, in the province of Azerbeijan, which is populated mainly by Tatars. The capital of the province is Tabriz, once the chief market for the trade of all northern Persia with Europe. Here goods were collected from far and near, packed in mats of bast and bound with ropes so as to form bales, which were laden on fresh camels and carried in fourteen days to Trebizond.
Now not more than a fifth part of this trade remains, but still the caravan life is the same, and as varied as ever. The Tatar leader rides in front; beside every seventh camel walks a caravan man, who wears a black lambskin cap, a blue frockcoat, a girdle round the waist, and pointed shoes. Each is armed with a dagger, for the Tatars are often at feud withthe Turks and Armenians, and the dagger has a groove on each side of the blade to allow the blood of the victim to run off. Many a caravan leader has spent the greater part of his life in travelling to and fro between Tabriz and Trebizond. On every journey he has seen Ararat to the north of the road, like a perpetually anchored vessel with its mainsail up; and he knows that the mountain is a gigantic frontier beacon which marks the spot where Russia, Turkey, and Persia meet.
On December 13 I arrived at Teheran, having driven 800 miles in a month. India was still 1500 miles off, and the route lies almost entirely through deserts where only camels can travel. I therefore bought fourteen fine camels, and took six Persians and a Tatar into my service.
FOOTNOTES:[4]A government servant or courier.[5]A light scarf wound round a hat or helmet in tropical countries, especially India.[6]A kind of cloth hood covering the ears.
[4]A government servant or courier.
[4]A government servant or courier.
[5]A light scarf wound round a hat or helmet in tropical countries, especially India.
[5]A light scarf wound round a hat or helmet in tropical countries, especially India.
[6]A kind of cloth hood covering the ears.
[6]A kind of cloth hood covering the ears.
On August 15, 1885, I went by steamer to St. Petersburg. There I entered a train which ran south-eastwards through Moscow to Rostov, at the mouth of the Don, and thence on to the Caucasus; and for four days I sat in my compartment, letting my eyes rove over the immense steppes of Russia. Hour after hour the train rolled along. A shrill whistle startles the air when we come to a station, and equally sharply a bell rings once, twice, and thrice when our line of carriages begins to move on again over the flat country. In rapid course we fly past innumerable villages, in which usually a whitewashed church lifts up its tower with a green bulb-shaped roof. Homesteads and roads, rivers and brooks, fruitful fields and haystacks, windmills with long revolving arms, carts and wayfarers, all vanish behind us, and twilight and night four times envelop huge Russia in darkness.
At last the mountains of the Caucasus appear in front of us, rising up to the clouds like a light-blue wall. The whole range seems so light and impalpable that we can scarcely believe that the very next day we shall be driving up its valleys and over heights which are more than 16,000 feet above the sea-level. The distance is still great, but the white summit of Mount Kazbek shines out amidst the blue.
At length we arrive at Vladikavkas, the end of the railway,[7]and begin our journey of 130 miles over the mountains. My travelling companions hired a carriage, and at every stage wehad to change horses. I sat on the box, and at the turns I had to hold on lest I should be thrown off down into the abyss at the side of the road.
We constantly meet peasants with asses, or shepherds with flocks of goats and sheep. Now comes a group of Caucasian horsemen in black sheepskin coats and armed to the teeth; then the post-cart, packed full of travellers; then again a load of hay drawn by oxen or grey buffaloes.
The higher we ascend, the grander and wilder the mountains become. Sometimes the road is blasted out of perpendicular walls of rock, and heavy masses of mountain hang like a vault above us. At dangerous slopes, where the road is exposed to avalanches in spring, it runs through tunnels of masonry. When an avalanche dashes furiously down the mountain it leaps over these tunnels and continues down on the other side without doing the road any harm.
We have now reached the highest point of the road, and after a journey of twenty-eight hours we arrive at Tiflis, the largest town in Caucasia, and one of the most curious towns I have seen. The houses hang like clusters of swallows' nests on the slopes on both sides of the Kura River, and the narrow, dirty streets are crowded with the fifteen different tribes who dwell in Caucasia.
While the road leading to Tiflis over the mountains is grand, a more dreary country can hardly be conceived than that crossed by the railway between Tiflis and Baku: endless steppes and deserts, greyish-yellow and desolate, with occasionally a caravan of slowly moving camels. A violent storm arose as we drew near the sea. Dust rose up in clouds and penetrated through all the chinks of the compartment, the air became thick, heavy, and suffocating, and outside nothing could be seen but a universal grey veil of impenetrable mist. But the worst was that the storm struck the train on the side, and at last the engine was scarcely able to draw the carriages along. Twice we had to stop, and on an ascent the train even rolled back a little.
However, in spite of all, we at last reached the shore of the Caspian Sea, where clear green billows rose as high as a house and thundered on the strand. At seven o'clock in the evening we were at Baku, and drove ten miles to Balakhani, where I remained seven months.
I remember that time as if it were yesterday. I struggled hopelessly with the Russian grammar, but made great progress in Persian, and learned to talk the Tatar language withoutthe least difficulty. Meanwhile I indulged in plans for a great journey to Persia. How it was to be managed I did not know, for my means were not large. But I made up my mind that through Persia I would travel, even if I went as a hired servant and drove other people's asses along the roads.
PLATE III.
The whole country round Baku is impregnated with petroleum, which collects in vast quantities in cavities in the earth. To reach the oil a tower of wood 50 to 65 feet high is erected, and a line with a powerful borer runs over a block at the top. A steam-engine keeps the line in constant motion, perpendicularly up and down, and the borer eats deeper and deeper into the earth. The first section of piping which is forced down into the bore-hole is about 40 inches in diameter. When this can go no farther the boring is continued with a smaller borer, and a narrower tube is thrust down within the first. And so the work is continued until the petroleum level is reached and the valuable oil can be pumped up.
But it often happens that the oil is forced up through the pipe by the pressure of gas in the bowels of the earth, and when I was at Balakhani we often used to go out and look at this singular display. With a deafening roar, a thick greenish-brown jet shot up out of the ground and right through the derrick (Plate III.). It was visible from a long distance, for it might be as much as 200 feet high, and the oil was collected within dams thrown up around. If there was a strong wind the jet would be dispersed, and a dark mist would lie like a veil over the ground to leeward. In Balakhani one can hardly look out of the door without one's clothes being smeared with oil, and the odour can be perceived a dozen miles away. Not a blade of grass grows in this neighbourhood; all that one sees is a forest of derricks. Lines of pipes convey the oil from the borings to the "Black Town" of Baku, which is full of oil refineries (over 170 in all) emitting vast volumes of smoke, black and greasy buildings, and pools of oil refuse. When the crude natural oil is purified, it is distributed far and wide in special railway trucks like cisterns, and in special tank steamers, into which the petroleum is pumped, and which carry nothing else.
In the Baku oil-fields there are now (1910) no fewer than 4094 bores, of which 2600 are productive. Last year they yielded about eight million tons of raw petroleum, some of them having sometimes given nearly 300 tons in twenty-four hours by pumping, and 2000 when the oil shot out ofthe ground itself. The value on the spot is now about 20 shillings a ton. The deepest boring is sunk 2800 feet into the earth.
Late one evening in February, 1886, the dreadful cry of "Fire! Fire!" was heard outside our house. The very thought of fire is enough to raise terror and consternation throughout this oil-soaked district. We hurry out and find the whole neighbourhood illuminated with a weird, whitish light, as bright as day. The derricks stand out like ghosts against the light background. We make for the place and feel the heat increasing. Bright white flames shoot up fantastically into the air, sending off black clouds of smoke. One derrick is in flames and beside it a pool of raw petroleum is burning. A Tatar had gone to the derrick with a lantern to fetch a tool. He lost his lantern, and only just escaped with his life before the oil-soaked derrick took fire.
It is vain to fight against such a fire. The fire-engine came, and all the hoses were at work, but what was the use when the jets of water were turned to steam before they reached the burning surface of the oil pool? The chief thing is to keep the fire from spreading, and if that is done, the oil is left to bubble and burn until not a drop is left.
It was an adventurous journey that I commenced from Baku on April 6, 1886. I had a travelling companion, a young Tatar, Baki Khanoff, about £30 in my pocket, two changes of clothes and underclothing, a warm coat, and a rug—all, except what I wore, packed in a Tatar bag. In a small leather bag suspended by a strap from the shoulder I kept a revolver, a sketch-book, a note-book, and two maps of Persia. Baki Khanoff had a large cloak, a silver-mounted gun, and a dagger. Half the money we had was sewed up in belts round our waists. The equipment was therefore small for a journey of 2000 miles, through Persia and back.
For two days and a night we were compelled by a violent storm on the Caspian Sea to wait on board before the vessel could take us to the Persian coast. As soon as we landed we were surrounded by Persians, who, with loud voices and lively gestures, extolled the good qualities of their horses. After a cursory examination we chose two small, squat steeds, secured our baggage behind the saddles, mounted, and rodethrough dark woods and fragrant olive groves higher and higher towards the Elburz Mountains.
We passed a night up on the heights in a village called Karzan. When we set out next day it was snowing fast, and had snowed so thickly all night that all the country was buried under deep drifts. We muffled ourselves up as well as we could, mounted our horses, and rode on, accompanied by their owner.
The snow fell silently in large, whirling flakes. Down in the valley it melted off our clothes, but higher up on the open, windy heights it froze to a cake of ice, and before long our clothes on the windward side were converted into a thick cuirass which prevented every movement. At last we were practically frozen fast in the saddle. Our hands were benumbed, the reins fell on the horses' necks, our eyes were sore from the snowstorm which dashed straight into our faces. I was so stiff that I lost all feeling in my arms and legs, tumbled off my horse, and went on foot, but I had to hold on to the animal's tail lest I should lose my way in the blinding snow.
We could not go on long in this way, for we could not see where we were going, so we decided to turn in at the first village on the road. Some squalid huts soon came in sight through the snow. Outside one of them we tied up our horses, shook off the snow, and entered a dark cabin with an earthen floor. Here a large fire was lighted, and we sat down beside it in a close circle with some other travellers who arrived at the same time. The place had a low roof and was small, damp, and full of vermin, but at any rate it was pleasant to warm ourselves and dry our clothes. When Baki Khanoff had made tea, cooked eggs, and brought out bread and salt, it was almost cosy. The company consisted of four Tatars, two Persians, and myself, and the seven of us had to share the space for the night. When the fire died down the close heat was succeeded by a damp coolness, but at twenty-one years of age one is not particular.
Eventually we reached Teheran, the capital of Persia, safe and sound, and there I stayed a short time as the guest of a fellow-countryman. When I continued my journey southwards I had to travel alone, for Baki Khanoff had caught fever and had to turn back to Baku.
Our journey to Teheran had been very expensive, but my good countryman replenished my purse, so that I had again about £30 sewed up in my waistbelt when I started off oncemore on April 27. The road is divided by stations where horses are changed and you can pass the night if you wish. A man accompanies you on every stage, and for a small silver coin you can buy eggs and bread, a chicken, melons and grapes.
Sometimes the stable-boy who accompanies a traveller takes the best horse for himself and gives the other to the traveller. This happened to me on the road between the town of Kashan and the mountain village of Kuhrud. As soon as I became aware of the trick, I exchanged horses with my attendant, who dropped behind after some hours' journey, for his sorry jade could go no farther. For four hours I rode along narrow paths in complete darkness. I feared that I had gone astray, and, tired and sleepy, I was on the point of coming to a halt, intending to tie the horse to a tree and roll myself up in my rug for the night, when I saw a light gleam through the darkness. "Hurrah! that is the station-house of Kuhrud." But when I came nearer I perceived that the light came from a nomad's tent. I rode up and called out to the people. No one answered, but I could see by the shadows on the cloth that the tent was inhabited. After shouting again without receiving an answer, I tied up the horse, lifted up the tent-flap, and asked my way to Kuhrud. "Cannot one sleep in peace in the middle of the night?" came a voice from inside. "I am a European and you must show me the way," I returned sharply. Then a man came out; he was as silent as a dummy, but I understood that I was to follow him, leading my horse by the rein. He wound about in the dark among bushes, and when he had led me to a brook a foot deep, skirted on both sides by thick olive woods, he pointed uphill and vanished in the darkness without saying a word. I mounted again and let the horse take care of himself, and two hours later he stopped all right before the station-house. It was pleasant to have reached my journey's end at last, for I had been riding for fifteen hours, and the evening meal tasted better than usual. Then I lay down full length on the floor, with the saddle for a pillow and the rug over me. I made use of no other bed on this journey.
A few days more on the great caravan road and we rode into the old capital of Persia, Ispahan, with its many memorials of departed greatness, its mosques with tall, graceful minarets, and its bazaars full of the products of Persian handicrafts and industries—carpets, silken materials, embroideries, shawls, lacquered work, water-pipes, porcelain, and bronze vessels representing peacocks and elephants.
Farther south I came to Persepolis, so famous in ancient times, where the great Persian kings, Xerxes and Darius, had their palaces. The country round about is now inhabited only by some poor shepherds and their flocks, but fine remains of the palaces still stand, in spite of the 2400 years which have passed over them. Not far from Persepolis lies one of the most noted towns of Persia, Shiraz, abounding in rose gardens and country-houses, spring water and canals. The town is famous above all, because here the immortal poets of Persia sang their most beautiful songs.
When we came near the Persian Gulf the climate became hotter, and one day the temperature was 102° in the room where I was staying. People therefore travel in the night. On the last stage the groom, who was an old man, could not keep up with me, for I rode fast; so I went on all night alone, keeping my revolver handy in case robbers showed themselves. I was glad when the sun rose, lighting up the smooth mirror of the Persian Gulf, and on May 22 I arrived at the town of Bushire, on its eastern coast.
The Persian Gulf is an inlet of the Indian Ocean, and is enclosed between Persia and Arabia. The island of Bahrein on the Arabian coast is well known; it is under British protection, and here in summer and autumn pearl fishing is carried on, the annual export of these beautiful precious stones being now about £900,000. As many as a thousand boats, with crews of thirty thousand men, are engaged in the industry. The owner of each boat engages a number of divers, who work for him, and he sells his pearls to the Indian markets. The diver seldom goes down to a greater depth than seven fathoms, and remains at most fifty seconds under water. He has wax in his ears, his nose is closed by a clip, and with a stone at his feet and a rope round his waist he jumps overboard and disappears into the depths. When he reaches the bottom of the sea he gathers into a basket tied in front of him as many shells as he can get hold of, and at a given signal is hauled up by the rope to the surface again. Then the owner of the boat opens the shells and takes out the costly pearls, which are of different values, according to their size and other qualities.
Between the Persian Gulf on the north-east and the Red Sea on the south-west, the Mediterranean on the north-westand the Indian Ocean on the south-east, lies the long, bulky peninsula which is called Arabia, and is as large as a third of Europe. Most of the coast-land is subject to the Sultan of Turkey, but the people in the interior are practically independent. They are a wild and warlike pastoral people, called Beduins. Only certain parts of the country are inhabited, the rest being occupied by terrible deserts and wastes, where even now no European has set his foot.
Near the coast of the Red Sea are two Arab towns which are as holy and full of memories to Mohammedans all over the world as Jerusalem and Rome to Christians. At Mecca the prophet Mohammed was born in the yearA.D.570, and at Medina he died and was buried in 632. He was the founder of the Mohammedan religion, and his doctrine, Islamism, which he proclaimed to the Arabs, has since spread over so many countries in the Old World that its adherents now number 217 millions.
To all the followers of Islam a pilgrimage to Mecca is a most desirable undertaking. Whoever has once been there may die in peace, and in his lifetime he may attach the honourable title of Hajji to his name. From distant countries in Africa and from the innermost parts of Asia innumerable pilgrims flock annually to the holy towns.
Adjoining Arabia on the north-east lies the country called Mesopotamia, through which flow the rivers Euphrates and Tigris. An English steamer carried me from Bushire up the turbid waters of the Tigris, and from the deck I could see copper-brown, half-naked Arabs riding barebacked on handsome horses. They feed their flocks of sheep on the steppe, holding long lances in their hands. Sometimes the steamer is invaded by a cloud of green grasshoppers, and one can only escape them by going into one's cabin and closing both door and windows. Round the funnel lie heaps of grasshoppers who have singed themselves or are stupefied by the smoke.
After a voyage of a few days up the river I come to Baghdad, which retains little of its former magnificence. In the eleventh century Baghdad was the greatest city of the Mohammedans, and here were collected the Indian and Arabic tales which are called theThousand and one Nights. Not far from Baghdad, but on the Euphrates, lay in early ages the great and brilliant Babylon, which had a hundred gates of brass. By the waters of Babylon the Jewish captives hung up their harps on the willows, and of Babylon Jeremiahprophesied: "And Babylon shall become heaps, a dwelling place for dragons, an astonishment, and an hissing, without an inhabitant."
When I reached Baghdad I had only a little over £5 left, all in Persian silverkran, akranbeing worth about seven-pence; and I could not get any more money until I reached Teheran, 600 miles away. I knew that if I could only get as far as the town of Kermanshah, a distance of 200 miles, I could then take service in a caravan; but it would be unpleasant to tramp on foot the whole way, and receive no pay other than a little bread and a few cucumbers and melons.
Just in the nick of time, however, I made the acquaintance of a caravan owner who was starting immediately for Kermanshah with English merchandise. The goods were loaded on fifty asses, and were accompanied by ten Arab traders on horseback. Eight pilgrims and a Chaldean merchant had joined the party. I, too, might go with them on paying fiftykranfor the hire of a mule; food and drink I must provide for myself.
It was a pleasant journey which began at ten o'clock on the evening of June 6. Two Arabs led me on my mule slowly and solemnly through the narrow streets of Baghdad in the warm summer night. An oil lamp flickered dully here and there, but the bazaars were brisk and lively. Here sat thousands of Arabs, talking, eating, drinking, and smoking. It was the month of fasting, when nothing is eaten until after sunset.
The two Arabs conducted me into the court of a caravanserai, where the traders were just making preparations to start. When I heard that they would not be ready before two o'clock in the morning, I lay down on a heap of bales and slept like a top.
Two o'clock came much sooner than I wished. An Arab came and shook me, and, half asleep, I mounted my mule. To the shouts of the drivers, the tinkle of the small bells, and the ding-dong of the large camel-bells the long caravan passed out into the darkness. Soon we had the outermost courts and palm groves of Baghdad behind us, and before us the silent, sleeping desert.
No one troubled himself about me; I had paid for the mule and might look after myself. Sometimes I rode infront, sometimes behind, and occasionally I almost went to sleep in the saddle. The body of a dead dromedary lay on the road, and a pack of hungry jackals and hyænas were feasting on the carcase. When we came near them they ran away noiselessly to the desert, only to return when we were past. Farther on some fat vultures kept watch round the body of a horse, and raised themselves on their heavy wings as we approached.
PLATE IV.
After a ride of seven hours we reached a caravanserai, where the Arabs unloaded their animals and said that we were to stay there all day. It was as warm as in an oven, and there was nothing to do but lie and doze on the stone floor.
Next night we rode eight hours to the town of Bakuba, which is surrounded by a wood of fine date-palms. Here we encamped in the court of a huge caravanserai (Plate IV.). I was sitting talking to one of my travelling companions when three Turkish soldiers came and demanded to see my passport. "I have no passport," I replied. "Well, then, pay us tenkranapiece, and you shall pass the frontier all the same." "No, I will not pay you a farthing," was the answer they got. "Take that rug and the bag instead," they cried, and made for my things. This I could not stand, and gave the man who seized my bag such a blow on the chest that he dropped his booty, and the same with the man with the rug. The scoundrels were making to rush at me together, when two of my Arabs came up to my assistance. To avoid further unpleasantness I went to the governor, who for sixkrangave me a passport.
I had now become so friendly with the Arabs that I obtained the loan of a horse instead of a mule. We set out again at nine o'clock, and rode all night in the most brilliant moonshine. I was so sleepy that sometimes I dozed in the saddle, and once, when the horse shied at a skeleton on the road, I was roused up and fell off, while the horse ran off over the steppe. After much trouble one of the caravan men caught him again, and I slept no more that night.
As usual we stayed over the day at the next village. I was tired of travelling in this fashion, moving so slowly and seeing so little of the country. When, then, an old Arab belonging to the caravan came riding up from Baghdad on a fine Arab horse, I determined to try to get away from my party with his assistance. He consented to accompany me if I paid him twenty-fivekrana day. At first we kept nearthe caravan, but as soon as the moon had set we increased our pace, and when the sound of the bells grew faint behind us we trotted off quickly through the night.
We arrived safely at Kermanshah on June 13. After paying the old Arab I had only sixpence left! I could not engage a room or buy anything to eat, and the prospect of going begging among Mohammedans was certainly not attractive. Fortunately I had heard of a rich Arab merchant, Agha Hassan, who lived in this town, and I directed my steps to his handsome house. In my dusty riding-boots, and whip in hand, I passed through many fine rooms until at last I found myself in the presence of Agha Hassan, who was sitting with his secretary in the midst of books and papers. He wore a white silk mantle embroidered with gold, a turban on his head and spectacles on his nose, and looked both friendly and dignified.
"How are you, sir?" he asked. "Very well, thank you," I responded. "Where have you come from?" "From Baghdad." "And where are you going?" "To Teheran." "Are you an Englishman?" "No, I am a Swede." "Swede? What is that?" "Well, I come from a country called Sweden." "Whereabouts does it lie?" "Far away to the north-west, beyond Russia." "Ah, wait, I know! You are no doubt from Ironhead's country?" "Yes, I am from the country of Charles XII." "I am very glad to hear it; I have read of Charles the Twelfth's remarkable exploits; you must tell me about him. And you must tell me about Sweden, its king and army, and about your own home, whether your parents are still living, and if you have any sisters. But first you must promise to stay as my guest for six months. All that I have is yours. You have only to command." "Sir, I am very thankful for your kindness, but I cannot avail myself of your hospitality for more than three days." "You surely mean three weeks?" "No, you are too good, but I must go back to Teheran." "That is very tiresome, but, however, you can think it over."
A servant conducted me to an adjoining building, which was to be mine during my stay, and where I made myself at home in a large apartment with Persian rugs and black silk divans. Two secretaries were placed at my disposal, and servants to carry out my slightest wish. If I desired to eat, they would bring in a piece of excellent mutton on a spit, a chicken boiled with rice, sour milk, cheese and bread, apricots, grapes, and melons, and at the end of the meal coffee and a water-pipe;if I wished to drink, a sweet liquor of iced date-juice was served; and if I thought of taking a ride in order to see the town and neighbourhood, pure-blooded Arab horses stood in the court awaiting me.
Before the house lay a peaceful garden surrounded by a wall, and with its paths laid with marble slabs. Here lilacs blossomed, and here I could dream the whole day away amidst the perfume of roses. Gold-fishes swam in a basin of crystal-clear water, and a tiny jet shot up into the air glittering like a spider's web in the sunshine. I slept in this enchanting garden at night, and when I awoke in the morning I could hardly believe that all was real; it was so like an adventure from theThousand and one Nights. My rich host and my secretaries did not suspect that I had only sixpence in my pocket.
When the last day came I could no longer conceal my destitute condition. "I have something unpleasant to confide to you," I said to one of the secretaries. "Indeed," he answered, looking very astonished. "Yes, my money has come to an end. My journey has been longer than I expected, and now I am quite cleared out." "What does that matter? You can get as much money as you like from Agha Hassan."
It had struck midnight when I went to take farewell of my kind host. He worked all night during the fasting month. "I am sorry that you cannot stay longer," he said. "Yes, I too am sorry that I must leave you, and that I can never repay your great kindness to me." "You know that the road through the hills is unsafe owing to robbers and footpads. I have therefore arranged that you shall accompany the post, which is escorted by three soldiers."
Having thanked him once more, I took my leave. A secretary handed me a leather purse full of silver. The post rider and the soldiers were ready; we mounted, rode slowly through the dark, narrow streets of the town, at a smart trot when the houses were scattered, and then at full gallop when the desert stretched around us on all sides. We rode 105 miles in sixteen hours, with three relays of horses and barely an hour's rest. We stayed a day at Hamadan, and then rode on to the capital, with nine relays of fresh horses. During the last fifty-five hours I never went to sleep, but often dozed in the saddle. At length the domes of Teheran, its poplars and plane-trees, stood out against the morning sky, and, half-dead with weariness, and ragged and torn, I rode through the south-western gate of the city.
FOOTNOTES:[7]At the time of this journey, the railway ended at Vladikavkas. Since then, however, it has been extended to Baku along the northern side of the Caucasus and the coast of the Caspian (see map, p. 30).
[7]At the time of this journey, the railway ended at Vladikavkas. Since then, however, it has been extended to Baku along the northern side of the Caucasus and the coast of the Caspian (see map, p. 30).
[7]At the time of this journey, the railway ended at Vladikavkas. Since then, however, it has been extended to Baku along the northern side of the Caucasus and the coast of the Caspian (see map, p. 30).
We must now resume the journey to India. You will remember (see p. 33) that after arriving at Teheran from Trebizond I made up a caravan consisting of six Persians, one Tatar, and fourteen camels. On January 1 everything is ready. The camels are all laden; thick rugs cover their backs to prevent them being rubbed sore by the loads, and the humps stick up through two round holes in the cloths in order that they may not be crushed and injured.
The largest camels go first. Each has its head adorned with a red embroidered headstall, studded with shining plates of metal and red and yellow pompons, and a plume waves above its forehead. Round the chest is a row of brass sleigh-bells, and one large bell hangs round the neck. Two of these bells are like small church bells; they are so big that the camels would knock their knees against them if they were hung in the usual way, so they are fastened instead to the outer sides of a couple of boxes on the top of the loads. The camels are proud of being decked so finely; they are conscious of their own importance, and stalk with majestic, measured strides through the southern gate of Teheran.
PLATE V.
My riding camel is the largest in the caravan (Plate V.). He has thick brown wool, unusually long and plentiful on his neck and chest. His loads form a small platform between the humps and along his flanks, with a hollow in the middle, where I sit as in an armchair, with a leg on each side of the front hump. From there I can spy out the land, and with the help of a compass put down on my map everything I see—hills, sandy zones, and large ravines. Camels put out the two left legs at the sametime, and then the two right legs. Their gait is therefore rolling, and the rider sits as in a small boat pitching and tossing in a broken sea. Some people become sea-sick from sitting all day bobbing between the humps, but one soon becomes accustomed to the motion. When the animal is standing up it is, of course, impossible to mount on his back without a ladder, so he has to lie down to let me get on him. But sometimes it happens that he is in too great a hurry to rise before I am settled in my place, and then I am flung back on to my head, for he lifts himself as quickly as a steel spring, first with the hind legs and then with the fore. But when I am up I am quite at home. Sometimes, on the march, the camel turns his long neck and lays his shaggy head on my knee. I pat his nose and stroke him over the eyes. It is impossible to be other than good friends with an animal which carries you ten hours a day for several months. In the morning he comes up to my tent, pushes his nose under the door-flap, and thrusts his shaggy head into the tent, which is not large, and is almost filled up when he comes on a visit. After he has been given a piece of bread he backs out again and goes away to graze.
The ring of bells is continually in my ears. The large bells beat in time with the steps of the camels. Their strides are long and slow, and a caravan seldom travels more than twenty miles in a day.
Our road runs south-eastwards. We have soon left behind us the districts at the foot of the Elburz Mountains, where irrigation canals from rivers are able to produce beautiful gardens and fruitful fields. The farther we proceed the smaller and more scattered are the villages. Only along their canals is the soil clothed with verdure, and we have scarcely left a village before we are out on the greyish-yellow desert, where withered steppe shrubs stand at wide intervals apart. Less and less frequently do we meet trains of asses bound for Teheran with great bundles of shrubs and bushes from the steppe to be used as fuel. The animals are small and miserable, and are nearly hidden by their loads. Their nostrils are cruelly pierced, so that they may be made to go quicker and keep up longer. They look sleepy and dejected, these small, obstinate donkeys which never move out of the way. Their long ears flap backwards and forwards, and their under-lips hang down like bags.
At the very last village on the edge of the desert we stay two days to prepare ourselves for the dangers ahead of us.The headman of the village owns ten camels, which he will gladly hire us for a few days; they are to carry trusses of straw and water in leathern bags. Our own camels are already fully laden, and the hired camels are only to give us a start. When they turn back we shall have to shift for ourselves.
After we have left this village not a sign of life is visible. Before us to the south-east small isolated hills stand up like islands in the sea, and beyond them the horizon of the desert lies as level as that of the ocean. Through this great sandy waste the caravans travel from oasis to oasis, but in the north there is a tract, called the Kevir, within which not the smallest oasis can be found. Not a clump of grass, not even a blade, is to be seen, for the desert is saturated with salt, and when it rains in winter the briny clay becomes as slippery as ice. And this is precisely the place we are making for.
We travelled a whole month before we came to the point where we intended to make the attempt to cross the Kevir. Hitherto everything had continued in a steady course, and one day had been like another. It was winter and we had fully 25 degrees of frost in the night: one day it snowed so thickly that the foremost camels in the train were seen only as faint shadows. For several days mist lay so dense over the desert that we had to trust chiefly to the compass. Sometimes we travelled for four or five days without finding a drop of water, but we had all we needed in our leathern bags.
At the edge of the sandy desert, where high dunes are piled up by the wind, tamarisks and saxauls were often growing. Both are steppe bushes which grow to a height of several feet; their stems are hard and provided us with excellent fuel. My servants gathered large faggots, and the camp fires flamed up brightly and grandly, throwing a yellow light over the silent waste.
From a village called Jandak I set out with only two men and four camels, but we had to wait for four days on the edge of the salt desert because of rain. When rain falls in the Kevir the whole desert soon becomes a sea of slippery mud, and camels cannot walk without slipping and falling. Whole caravans have perished in this cruel desert by being overtaken by rain, and in many other cases the men only have managed to escape with the loss of their camels and their merchandise. It was therefore fortunate for us that we were overtaken by rain before we were out on the slippery clay. We waited till the desert had dried up again, and then we joined forces with a caravan which came from the south.
It was pitch dark when we began to move. A fire was set going, and the camels were laden by its light. Then we started, the fire disappeared, and night and the desert lay before us. Only the ring of bells disturbed the silence. We could not see where we were going, but had to trust our riding camels. The Persians marched all the morning and most of the day without a halt; the strength of both men and camels is strained to the uttermost in order to get through the desert before the next rain comes—and it may come at any moment.
After a short rest we hasten northwards again, for there is no question of halting for the night. The darkness seems interminable, but at length it begins to grow light again. Still the Persians do not stop, so there is nothing for me to do but to struggle to keep up with them. "Keep awake, sir!" shouts Gulam Hussein; "you can sleep when we get to the other side." Another day passes, and again we rest awhile to give the camels some straw and to drink a cup of tea ourselves. Scarcely have we begun to enjoy the rest, however, when the chimes of the bells ring out again. The caravan is already on the move, so we pack up and follow in its trail.
The sky seems very unpromising, and is clouded all over. The desert is as level as a floor; not a mound as high as a kneeling camel. The sun sinks in the west. Like a red-hot cannon-ball it shines through a rift between dark clouds, and a shaft of dazzling red rays streams over the desert, the surface of which shines like a purple sea. To the north the sky is of a dark violet colour, and against this background the camels stand out brick-red.
The sun sets, the colours grow pale, and the long shadows which the camels lately cast far away over the ground fade away. Another night rises up from the east. It grows darker and darker, the caravan is lost to view, but the bells ring out with a clear resonance. On we go without stop or rest. This night is more trying, for we had not a wink of sleep the night before.
The clouds break in the zenith, and the moon looks down on our progress. The camels are seen again and shadows fall again over the desert. Here it is as bare and desolate as on the face of the moon.
At midnight the sky becomes dark once more. The Persians have clambered up on to their camels, and the swaying motion soon carries them into the land of dreams. Soon no one is awake but the leader, who guides the first camel,and myself, who am riding on the last. Suddenly heavy drops begin to fall, and in a minute the rain pelts down on camels, loads, and sleepers.
In a second the pace of the caravan is changed. Hear how hurriedly and anxiously the bells swing and beat! They peal as if to awaken soldiers and citizens in a burning town. Now the rain patters down on the level desert and the camels begin to slip. We must hasten if our lives are dear to us, or the desert will suck us in at the eleventh hour. The men shout to urge on the camels. Now the bells clang as though to wake up the dead to judgment.
There goes a camel down in the mire. Poor animals, they are lost on such ground, for they have not hoofs like horses, but soft callous pads. When they slip they do so thoroughly and suddenly. All four legs fly up in one direction, and the heavy body with the loads thumps down in the other. It is bad enough for the camel, but still worse for his rider. A moment before he sat so well packed up, longing for the edge of the desert sea, and now he lies sprawling in the slush.
One after another the camels fall and have to be helped up again. All this causes delay, and meanwhile the clay is gradually becoming softer. At every step the camels sink in deeper, the rain still pelts down, and the bells ring jerkily. If they cease to ring, it will be because the desert has conquered; at this very moment they stop.
"What is the matter?" I call out.
"We are at the Devil's ditch," answers a voice in the darkness.
The bells ring slowly again as the camels wade one after the other through a trench full of salt water. I tighten my knees when my turn comes. I cannot see the water, but I hear it spurting and splashing round the legs of the camels in front of me. Now my camel slides down a nasty mud bank. He slithers and wriggles about to keep himself up, and then he, too, tramps through the water and scrambles up the other side.
"Tamarisks," I hear some one shout. Welcome sound! It means that we are safe, for nothing grows in the salt desert. When we come to the first tamarisks we are again on sandy ground. Then all danger is past, and what does it matter if we are dead tired? Two more hours and we reach a village. There Gulam Hussein makes ready a chicken and some eggs, and then I lie down in a hut and sleep as I have never slept before.
Any one who has not travelled himself for weeks together through the desert can scarcely conceive what it is to come at length to an oasis. An oasis is to the desert wanderer what a peaceful island with its sheltered anchorage is to mariners. Oases are like stars in the dark vault of heaven, like moments of happiness and prosperity in a man's life. If you had roamed for two months in the wilderness, like myself and my Persians, you would be able to understand our feelings when we at last saw the date-palms of Tebbes beckoning to us in the distance (see map, p.73).