CHAPTER IX.

15th March.—Silyán to Lásh, eighteen miles, and halt two days. Our baggage proceeded by the direct route northward across the ruin-covered plain. The road is three or four miles shorter than that followed by ourselves, and passes the shrine of Saggid Icbál, the lofty dome of which overtops the surrounding ruins, and is a prominent object in the midst of their desolation.

We ourselves made a detour to the westward, and visited the ruins of Kol Márút, where we were told we should find an inscription to the following effect, viz.—

“Kol Márút khúshá ba sari ráh o guzar.’Abash zamzam o khákhash hama zar.Agar khwáhi jamáli Kába daryábi biram be masjidi Kol Márút ba wacti sahar.Chaf chaf chafri chafúr, chapi dasti chop haft khumi zar.”

“Kol Márút khúshá ba sari ráh o guzar.

’Abash zamzam o khákhash hama zar.

Agar khwáhi jamáli Kába daryábi biram be masjidi Kol Márút ba wacti sahar.

Chaf chaf chafri chafúr, chapi dasti chop haft khumi zar.”

Which, translated into English, runs thus—“Welcome Kol Márút on the very high road and passage. Its water is that of Zamzam (a celebrated well at Mecca), and its earth is all gold. If you desire to enjoy the beauty of the Kába (the square temple at Mecca), go to the mosque of Kol Márút at day-dawn. Chaf chaf chafri chafúr (cant words), on the left of the left hand are seven jars of gold.” On arrival at the ruins, however, nobody could point out the inscription; and after wandering amongst the buildings for some time in a fruitless search of it, we proceeded on our way rather disappointed at our failure,and confirmed in a suspicion that the inscription and the wealth enigmatically alluded to were alike mere myths.

The mosque of Kol Márút is a large building, and still retains some very fairly preserved plaster moulding on the façades of its portal. The designs are in Arabesque, and worked into sentences from the Curán in the ancient Cufic character. Adjoining the mosque are some quadrangular buildings, said to be the remains of colleges. The cloisters were easily traceable; and in one of the vaulted chambers we found, in a recess of the wall, imprinted on the plaster, a masonic design of crossed triangles and stars.

After clearing the ruins we struck on the high road between Hokát and Sistan, and following it in a north-east direction for four or five miles, at half-way came to Khyrabad, where we alighted for breakfast in some ruins hard by.

Khyrabad—the abode of welfare and goodness—is a sad contradiction to the import of its name, for a more dreary, poor, and unhappy place we have not seen in this country. It is the first inhabited spot we have come to since crossing the Sistan boundary at Naizár, and is merely a dilapidated castle containing twenty or thirty houses of Popalzai Afghans. Outside the walls, within gunshot range, are a few fields of corn, irrigated from the small water-cut from the Farráh river, which flows a couple of miles to the north-west of the fort. Around it the plain is thickly dotted with tall ruins, which, on the opposite side of the river, are massed together in the form of a considerable town. These ruins are called Kogháh, and are situated at the foot of a low hill called Koh Ghúch, on which we were told there are the ruins of numberless smelting furnaces and heaps of iron slag. The hill overlooksthe pool orhámúnof the Farráh river from the north.

The ruins around Khyrabad have a very peculiar appearance. Each house is detached from the others, and stands apart by itself, and all are built on exactly the same model. We examined several of them, and finally took refuge in one of them for breakfast from the keen blasts of the north wind, which swept over the plain with considerable force. Each house consists of two lofty walls strengthened by buttresses, and running north and south parallel to each other at a width of about twenty feet. The front faces the south, and is open; the rear faces the north, and is closed by a high wall connecting the parallel side ones. In its upper half, towards the western side, this rear wall presents a vertical gap two feet wide and about eight feet deep from above downwards.

The open front facing the south presents two stories, formed by a vaulted arch thrown across between the two side walls for their whole length, about thirty feet from north to south. The interior below the arch formed the dwelling-house of the occupants, and was furnished with several little recesses in the sides of the walls. These evidently served the purpose of cupboards and shelves for domestic utensils and stores. The lower surface of the arch was generally found stained with soot, indicating that the fires were burnt on the floor. No means of ventilation or light were traceable except through the open front.

The stage above the arch was unroofed, and, when these buildings were peopled, was occupied by the windmill peculiar to this country, and which has already been described. This explains the reason of the narrow gap in the upper part of the rear wall. These buildings are all built of raw brick, and are in many instances remarkably well preserved, apparently in the actual state ofdemolition in which they were originally left. The following diagrams represent the front, rear, and side view of these curious buildings.

Front S.Rear N.Sides E. and W.

Front S.

Rear N.

Sides E. and W.

Beyond Khyrabad we struck the Farráh river, near the ruins of Sumúr, on its opposite bank, where it sweeps round the high desert cliffs to the south-west. We followed up the stream in an opposite direction, and passing through the ruins of Luftán, amidst which are the remains of two forts of evidently different dates, came to a wide basin formed by the talus of the river, and camped on its left bank, directly opposite the fort of Lásh, which occupies a remarkable position on the verge of a sheer cliff about four hundred and fifty feet high. It rises straight up from the river bed, and in the flood season its base is washed by the swollen stream of the Farráh river. The name is derived from the situation, for in Pushtoláshorlákhsignifies a cliff or precipice.

During our stay here we visited the fort, and were very hospitably received by its chief, Sardár Ahmad Khán, Isháczai, the lord of Hokát. His family have only been settled here since the beginning of the present century. In the time of Sháh Ahmad, Durrani, an ancestor named Kamál Khán separated from the tribal chief, Madad Khán, at Kandahar, and took service as a soldier with Tymúr Mirzá at Herat. He left a son named Rahmdil, who was a man of no parts or influence;but his son, Sálih Muhammad, became the favourite and confidant of Tymúr’s son, Muhammad, and followed him in his varied fortunes for many years.

When Mahmúd succeeded to the throne of Kabul in 1810, he gave this district of Hokát in military fief to his faithful servant, on whom he had bestowed the title of Sháh Pasand Khán. At this period the district had hardly recovered from the state of desolation to which it had been reduced by the invasion of Tymúr Lang, and was merely the winter resort of Afghan nomads of the Isháczai and Núrzai tribes. The new owner quickly rebuilt the fort of Lásh on the site of its former ruins, and also founded the fortress of Júwen on the plain, three miles off, on the opposite side of the river. He also restored the ruins of Calá Koh and some other important forts.

Later, when Mahmúd’s misfortunes, crowding fast on each other, drove him from Kabul, and afterwards lost him the sovereignty in Herat, he found a refuge here with his former trusty adherent, and lived in quiet obscurity for some years, till, on the invitation of his rebellious son, Kamrán, he returned to Herat in 1829, and shortly after died there, under suspicious symptoms, called cholera.

Sálih Muhammad died, at the age of seventy years, in 1850, having taken an active part in the political revolutions that mark the history of the Herat frontier during the half century. His son Abdurrasúl died during his own lifetime, at Farráh, where he had found an asylum with the governor against the hostility of Yár Muhammad; and his son Ahmad Khán, the present Sardár, who resided at Calá Koh, succeeded his grandfather in the chiefship; and after Yár Muhammad’s death, in thefollowing year, moved his headquarters to Lásh, his brother, Samad Khán, holding the fortress of Júwen.

Lásh is a strongly situated little fort, and commands an extensive view of the surrounding country, and a more desolate prospect it is difficult to imagine. On either side are vast arid deserts abutting upon the valley of the Farráh river and the Hokát basin in high cliffs of bare clay, whilst the low lands between, as far south as the eye can reach, present a dreary waste of ruined towns, dilapidated forts, and obliterated water-courses. The only objects varying the monotony of the dismal scene are the hills closing the view towards the north.

Formerly this district contained twelve flourishing villages, and in the winter months was crowded with the camps of nomad Afghans, but since the Persian occupation of Sistan, and the hostilities waged against the invaders during the past six or seven years, the country has suffered great loss, and is, in fact, almost depopulated. Seven of its villages have been abandoned, and their inhabitants, to the number of four thousand families, been forced to emigrate to Sistan as Persian subjects, in order to avoid the raids made from that quarter, whilst the Afghan nomads have entirely deserted the country, owing to the losses suffered by the forays upon their cattle from the same direction.

Júwen is a strong little fortress, built on the wide talus formed by the alluvium on the left bank of the river. Its walls are solid and substantial, and are surrounded by a deep ditch. These two forts and Calá Koh axe the chief strongholds of the Hokát district, which in former times was evidently very populous and highly cultivated, as is testified by the ruins of towns and castles that meet the eye in every direction. They are of far superior construction to the wretched mud hovelsof the villages now existing in the country, and, in their state of demolition and desolation, are reproachful memorials of the invasions and revolutions that have, during successive centuries, reduced a fertile and populous country to a thinly-peopled waste. The ruins in their character resemble those of Pesháwarán and Záhidán, and are evidently of Arab origin; but amidst them here and there are found less artistic and every way inferior structures, plainly of more recent date.

The ancient road between Kandahar and Herat passed through Sistan and Hokát to Farráh and Sabzwár or Ispzár, and was the route always followed by invading armies, on account of the abundant supplies it furnished, as well as from the necessity of securing the subjection of its people before the direct route by Girishk could be safely adopted. The incursion of Tymúr completed the destruction commenced by the irruption of Changhiz, and the subsequent invasions of Bábar and Nadír again destroyed the partial restorations that time had effected.

The former, in 1522, captured and dismantled the important fortress of Hok or Ók, from which the district takes its name; Hokát being the Arabic plural ofhok, and applying to the district of which it was the capital, just as Gháynát applies to the territory of which Gháyn is the capital. The latter, more than two centuries later, when marching against Kandahar, destroyed all the principal forts on his route from Farráh through Sistan and Garmsel up to Búst; and from this period, about 1737, up to the present time, this country has remained in much the same state of ruin that it was left by Nadír. Hokát possesses all the requisites for a very prosperous little chiefship, so far as the natural conditions of the country are concerned, for its soil isfertile, and water abundantly at command; but it pines under the curse of anarchy, and groans under the load of its oppressions. The district is about sixty miles from east to west, and about fifty from north to south. Its boundaries are Harút or Adraskand river on the west, the Calá Koh and Farráh hills on the north, the Khásh desert on the east, and the Naizár on the south.

From its position on the frontier between the Mughal and Persian empires, this district has suffered the full force of the revolutions and political vicissitudes marking the history of those rival sovereignties, and consequently has never thoroughly recovered from the havoc wrought by the Tátárs; and its present state of desolation is only the consequence of the long period of anarchy and misrule that have characterised the history of this region since the downfall of the Arab dominion. Of the capabilities of the soil, and the command of water, the existing memorials of former populous cities are sufficient evidence; and, under a strong government and enlightened rule, there appears no reason why it should not once more become the fertile and prosperous country it is known to have been.

18th March.—Lásh to Panjdih, six miles. This was a sorrowful day for us all. We had sent our baggage across the river during the forenoon, and were about to follow at midday, when a courier arrived from KandaharviâFarráh, bringing our post from Peshawar with dates up to the 16th February. The joy produced by the receipt of these eagerly-looked for budgets, containing as they did letters from those we hold near and dear, and news of the world we had left behind us, was on this occasion sadly shocked by the mournful intelligence of the assassination of the Viceroy of India on the 8th February, at the hands of a convict in the Andamans.The news of Lord Mayo’s death cast a gloom over our party for many days, and for some of us the calamity was invested with a peculiarly painful interest, from the fact of our having known the perpetrator of the tragedy for many years as a well-conducted and loyal servant of the British Government. He was an Afridi Pathan, and had during several years done good service as personal orderly to successive Commissioners of Peshawar, and, through the inflexible administration of our law, was condemned to transportation for life for the murder, within British territory, of a fellow clansman in satisfaction of a blood-feud; both being natives of independent territory.

His name was Sher ’Ali, and, like all Pathans with a grievance, he was deterred by the fear of neither God nor man in seizing an opportunity for revenge; and thus it happened that, by an extraordinary accident, the head of the Government fell a victim to his sense of injury, India plunged into mourning, and the country deprived of one of its most popular and able governors.

Leaving our camping-ground, we forded the river a little below the Lásh fort. It flowed in a clear quiet stream, about sixty yards wide, over a firm pebbly bottom; the water reaching half-way up the saddle-flaps. Beyond the river we passed through a wide pebbly gully round the western face of the fort, and gradually rose on to a strip of the desert, which here projects up to the river bed in a promontory half a mile wide. From this elevation we got a good view of the Júwen fort and the ruin-covered basin of the Farráh river; and descending from it, passed north-west over its alluvium, and camped in the midst of the ruins of a considerable town close to the little castle of Panjdih, on the right bank of the river.

In the cliffs of the desert bounding the alluvium onour left we passed a couple of caves said to have been originally inhabited by fire-worshippers. I dismounted to explore them, and found that they extended for a considerable distance under the cliff. They are very low roofed, and divided into numerous passages by thick pillars formed of the clay soil. The ceiling is very roughly cut out in the shape of a vault, and the hard clay is charred with soot. The floor is covered with human footprints, but farther in is marked by the pads of the hyænas or wolves. The caves could accommodate thirty or forty people according to the estimate of my native attendants.

From Panjdih we marched sixteen miles to Khúshkrodak, or “the dry rivulet,” and camped in its wide bed a little off the high road, and on the edge of a thready stream trickling down its centre, amidst an abundant growth of a tall coarse pasture grass calledkerta.

For the first half of our march the road crossed a wide sweep of alluvium, and then, at a bend of the river called’Kárwán rez, rose on to the desert, which here abuts upon it in high bluffs. The river flows in a brisk stream, that winds tortuously over a wide channel full of thick jangal, in which the tamarisk, willow, poplar, and acacia are the most prominent trees.

The desert stretches away towards the south-west in a great undulating waste of firm gravelly soil, thickly covered with pasture plants, now sprouting into leaf, and here and there dotted with shallow pools in the hollows of the surface. It supports great herds of wild asses and gazelles, and swarms with lizards, snakes, and scorpions. Hares, foxes, and wild cats abound in its coverts, and in our passage over it we found numbers of bustard, sand-grouse, and plover of sorts.

Formerly this desert waste used to be frequented bynomad Afghans, but they have abandoned its pastures owing to the anarchy and insecurity that has prevailed here during the last ten years or so. As we found it, the whole surface is covered with pasture herbs and bushes suited for camels, horned cattle, and sheep. The principal plants are a dwarf mimosa calledchughak, the wormwood, spiny astragalus, caroxylon, and other saltworts, called herelána,shorai, andzmai, a species of ephedra calledhóm, two or three kinds of caryophyllæ, and a woody shrub bearing yellow flowers and thick fleshy leaves, and having a three-winged fruit. It is calledmákoiin Pushto, andghíchin Persian, and is considered excellent food for camels and sheep. Its wood also furnishes good fuel.

Khúshkrodak is a wide and deep ravine with high banks of stiff clay. It drains the Calá Koh hills, and running across the desert plain in a southerly direction, joins the Farráh river some way below Lásh. Where the high road crosses it the banks are shelving, and present loose blocks of conglomerate rock, but the bed is a stiff clay charged with salines.

Our next stage was fifteen miles across the plain, first north-west and then north, to Calá Koh, or Káh, as it is usually pronounced, at the foot of a range of hills running east and west, and connecting those of Farráh on the north-east with those of Bandán on the south-west.

Calá Koh is the principal of a collection of fortified villages that extend for many miles along the foot of the hills. The others, from east to west, are Shúsh, Fareb, Calá Páyín, and Júrg. Interspersed amongst them are the ruins of several villages and forts that have been demolished by different invaders. Calá Koh, which was the residence of the present chief of Lásh up to 1851,was dismantled in 1863 by orders of the late Amir Dost Muhammad Khán, as a punishment for the contempt of his authority shown by its chief, Sardár Ahmad Khán, Isháczai, the present lord of Hokát.

Since the fall of the Saddozai family this chief had always maintained an independent attitude towards the Bárakzai rulers of Kabul and Kandahar, and was favoured by the isolation of his position in resisting their attempts to reduce him to submission. He was, moreover, estranged from them by reason of a blood feud existing between the families, Ahmad Khán’s grandfather, Sálih Muhammad, having taken part in the cruel butchery of the Wazír Fata Khán, the brother of the Amir Dost Muhammad Khán. On the occasion of Dost Muhammad’s move upon Herat he summoned Ahmad Khán to his camp at Farráh, but this Afghan noble, mistrustful of the Amir’s designs, and fearful of losing his independence, hastily left his domain and took refuge with the Persians at Mashhad. Consequently the Amir detached a force under his son Sardár Muhammad Sharíf Khán to destroy Calá Koh and plunder the district. The fort has remained in a dismantled state ever since.

The land about Calá Koh is irrigated from streams brought off from the Farráh river, and produces wheat and barley abundantly. The soil is very highly charged with salines, and in wet weather the roads are almost impassable by reason of the depth of mud. We had to cross a small patch of land that had been flooded by a break in the bank of an irrigation canal, and found the mud knee-deep and very tenacious. Many of our baggage cattle fell in it, and were extricated with considerable trouble.

We found the midday sun here had unusual force. The thermometer in our tents rose to 92° Fah. at threeP.M., and sunk to 52° Fah. at daylight. The height of this place above the sea is about 2100 feet. Along the water-courses grows in abundance a strong thorny bush, much resembling the barberry, but different from it. Its local name issag angúrak, or “dog’s grape.”

From Calá Koh we marched fifteen miles in a westerly direction, and camped on the bank of the Harút Rúd, the bed of which we found quite dry, though water in sufficiency was found by digging a few feet into its gravelly soil. Our route skirted the hills to the right, and passing through a gap in them, opened on the wide basin of the Harút river, which is a dismal wilderness without a trace of habitation or cultivation. The surface is covered with a thick growth of tamarisk bushes, caroxylon, and other saltworts, carthamus, wild almond,ghích, and a profuse variety of other plants, but the hills about are perfectly bare.

At the castle of Júrg we took leave of Sardár Ahmad Khán, who had accompanied our party since we first met on the march from Daki Dela to Cabri Hájí. He and his party then went on to pay their devoirs at the shrine of Imám Záhid, at the foot of a hill a couple of miles ahead. It is calledReg Rawán, from the “moving sand” on its slope.

A little later we ourselves were obliged to follow their path, owing to the land in our front being impassably deep in mud from the overflow of an irrigation stream. Imám Záhid we found to be a collection of fifteen or sixteen wretched huts round the shrine of that saint, and hard by are a few date-palms of stunted growth. Overlooking all, at a few yards to the north, is thereg rawánhill with its covering of loose red sand, which exactly resembles that we met with in the desert bounding the Garmsel on the south, and from which locality it hasprobably been drifted here at some remote period, for there is no similar sand anywhere in the vicinity.

The sand fills a wide concavity on the southern slope of a bare rocky ridge detached from the Calá Koh range, and forms an isolated mass, as remarkable from its position as from the sounds it emits when set in motion. As we passed on, our late companions on the march toilfully plodded their way up the sandy slope to the summit of the hill. Their steps set the loose particles of sand in motion, and their friction, by some mysterious acoustic arrangement, produced a sound as of distant drums and music, which we heard distinctly at the distance of a mile. The sounds were not continuous, but were only now and again caught by the ear, and much resembled those produced by the Æolian harp, or the wind playing on telegraph wires. These sounds are often emitted by the action of the wind on the surface of the sand, and at other times without any assignable cause. The phenomenon has invested the locality with a sacred character, and visitors to the shrine consider their devotions incomplete till they have toiled up the sands and repeated their prayers on the hill-top. There are similar collections of sand on other hills of this range some miles farther on, as we observed in the next march, but they are divested of interest to the natives since they produce no sound.

At the Harút river we found the sun hot, and a south wind blowing all day produced a sensible change in the climate. The bed of the river where we camped presented a shallow pebbly bed with low shelving banks, and the soil on either side was covered with great patches of white saline efflorescence. This river, after leaving the Anárdarrah valley, forms the western boundary of Hokát, and the hills bounding its basin to the west, joining the Nih Bandán range farther south, form thewestern boundary of Sistan. Beyond this range, to the west, is a long strip of desert, called Dashtí Náummed, which extends north and south, and forms the limit between Afghanistan and Persia.

22d March.—Harút Rúd or river to Cháhi Sagak, twenty-four miles. Our route was westward, by a well-trodden path, across a wide basin covered with thick jangal of two kinds of tamarisk, calledgazandtághaz, interspersed amongst a profuse growth of caroxylon, salicornia, spiny astragalus, wild almond, carthamus, mimosa, artemisia, Syrian rue, blue iris, tulips, and other bulbous plants, and various species of herbs.

Beyond this we passed through an interrupted chain of hills trending north and south, and entered on an undulating surface covered with a profusion of pasture plants, of which the asafœtida is prominent from its abundance. This plain is called Arwita, and extends northwards up to the Cháhi Shor, or “saline well” hills, beyond which, through the valley of the Harút river, it joins the Anárdarrah glen.

Crossing this, we passed through a gap in the Regoh hills, so named from an isolated drift of sand on the southern slope of its principal ridge, similar to that of the Reg Rawán already described, and entered on another pasture plain called Damdam. The Regoh hill is of red granite, and the soil of the plain is a firm gravel strewed with bits of cellular lava, with here and there some remarkable outcrops of white quartz resembling cairns.

Near one of these, on the roadside, we found a number of burrows or trenches, roofed over with the branches of bushes growing around, and covered over with soil. Each was only large enough to contain a man lying full length, and must have been entered feet foremost, as there was but one opening, and it only admitted of thismode of entry. They were formerly used as shelter from the weather by the shepherds tending their flocks here; but these pastures have been abandoned by the Afghan nomads for many years, owing to the insecurity of the country, although the whole tract up to Cháhi Sagak is their recognised pasture limit.

This road too, which from remote times has been the caravan route between India and Persia, by Kandahar and the Bolán on the one side, and Lásh and Birjand on the other, has long been abandoned as a trade route, owing to its unsafety, and the risks from plundering bands of Sistanis and Baloch on the one hand, and Afghans and Gháynís on the other.

At about midway on the march we halted at the Cháhi Damdam for breakfast. It is a wide-mouthed well or pit at the foot of a low hill, the southern slope of which is covered with a mass of loose red sand like Regoh and Reg Rawán, but of smaller size, and contains some coffee-coloured water of most uninviting appearance, but it was free from smell, and not bad tasted.

Beyond this we passed through an interrupted ridge of hills, the highest of which, away to the south, is called Tagi Atashkhana, and is said to produce flint stones, and then sloped gently down to the Dashtí Náummed, or “desert of despair,” which is the great boundary between Afghanistan and Persia. It is here about six miles wide, and runs north and south between parallel ranges of hills. The surface is covered with a profusion of excellent pasture plants and asafœtida in great abundance. In former times it used to be the common grazing-ground for the cattle of the Afghan tribes in the vicinity, from Sistan, Hokát and Farráh; but owing to the border disputes between the Persian and Afghan governments it has been deserted for several years, and its pasturesare now the hunting-ground of marauding Baloch and Afghans, who harry the country from all sides.

Though hardly six miles wide where we crossed it, this belt of desert is said to expand considerably towards the north and south, and in the former direction extends up to the limits of Mashhad. On its farther side we camped at the outlet of a gully draining the range of hills dividing Afghanistan from Persia, near a well called Cháhi Sagak, or “dog’s well.” It is the farthest point claimed as Afghan territory in this direction, and is a mere camping-stage, without a vestige of habitation or cultivation; in fact, there are no signs of such in all this tract west of Imám Záhid. The name of the well is applied in a disparaging sense, and very appropriately too, for its water was the worst we had anywhere met with on the whole of our long march. The liquid hardly deserved the name of water, for it was a thick, muddy, putrid brine, which it was impossible to drink disguised in any way. We tried it with tea and coffee and brandy, but neither lessened its salt taste, nor concealed its smell of sulphureted hydrogen, and we were content to do without. Our cattle one and all refused it, and the only ones who used it were some of our baggage-servants, with stomachs stronger and instincts weaker than those of the brutes they drove.

The land rises gently all the way in this march, and at Cháhi Sagak is about 1100 feet higher than at Harút Rúd. The weather was mild and cloudy all day, with occasional north-westerly breezes. We saw a number of gazelles on the line of march, and fresh signs of wild asses, a herd of which had been startled out of sight by our baggagers ahead.

23d March.—Cháhi Sagak to Duroh, twenty-eight miles. At first our route was westerly up the course ofa winding drainage gully, flanked on each side by low hills of friable slate, in the clefts and hollows of which were scattered a few pistacia trees (thekhinjakof the Afghans), here calledbannáh, and shrubs of the wild almond and barberry.

At about the sixth mile we reached the watershed, and ascended an adjoining eminence for a view of the country. Towards the north and west the prospect was obstructed by hills, but to the south and east we obtained an extensive view of the great desert of Gháyn and Kirmán, called Dashtí Lút, and the wide plan of Sistan, on either side of the range we were crossing. Each bore a striking resemblance to the other in the vast extent of level surface unrelieved by any more attractive objects than great patches of saline encrustation on the one side, and long silvery streaks of water on the other.

By the indications of the aneroid barometer, I estimated the height of this watershed at 3870 feet above the sea. Beyond this we crossed a hilly country drained by a number of wide pebbly channels that converge towards the south. The principal of these are theRúdi ushtur ran, or “the camel-track river,” and theRúdi míl, and both, though now quite dry, bear traces of the action of considerable floods at certain seasons. Their beds and banks supported a thin growth of tamarisk and other bushes, and here and there their channels were obstructed by huge blocks of granite rock.

On the west of the Rúdi Míl rises a high hill called Calá Koh, from the resemblance of its summit to a fort, and its name is applied to the whole range, the different peaks of which are distinguished by their several distinctive appellations. The scenery amongst these hills is very wild and rugged. Great ridges of bare rock close the view in every direction, whilst the hollows between thelesser heights present a very broken surface, dotted here and there with thorny bushes, as rough and hardy looking as the rocks amongst which they grow.

Beyond Rúdi Míl we passed through a gap in the Calá Koh range, and entered a circular basin enclosed by low hills of grey granite. Its soil is a firm gravel, and the surface abounded in tulips, orchids, lilies, and other bulbous herbs. From this we passed into another similar basin, in which we found some cattle at graze, the first we have seen since leaving Sistan; and beyond it emerged on to the Durohjúlga, where we camped at the foot of the hills, close to the village of that name, the first we have come to in Persia.

The climate here is notably different from that of the country we have left behind. During the day the air was delightfully mild and balmy, and at night fresh and bracing. In crossing the Calá Koh range, we have in fact entered a different country. The change too is observable no less in the characteristics of its people than of its climate. The people here are much fairer skinned than the Afghans, are differently clothed, and appear a more orderly community.

Duroh is a flourishing little village surrounded by corn-fields and walled gardens. It is supplied with water from a spring in the hills hard by, and is protected by a couple of fortified towers on some rocky heights overlooking the village. Below it is a wide sandy ravine, and beyond lies a long level valley extending north and south between hills, and covered with a profusion of pasture herbs, on which we found some large herds of cattle at graze.

From Duroh we marched twenty-seven miles in a north-westerly direction to Husenabad, where we camped. For the first sixteen miles our path led diagonally acrossthe valley, and then followed up the course of a drainage gully bounded by hills of chlorite slate, through which at intervals projected masses of a dark close-grained granite. The soil of the valley is a firm gravel, thickly carpeted with plants in great variety. Theghích, wormwood, wild rue, and asafœtida were remarkably abundant, but the caroxylon and other saltworts found to the eastward were here altogether absent.

We halted for breakfast at the mouth of the gully, where is an artificial cistern called Cháhi Bannáh, from a fewbannáhtrees (Pistacia sp.) growing close by, and on the glistening chlorite mounds around found the wild rhubarb in some quantity. The gully winds a good deal, and narrows as it ascends, but the slope is gradual and the road not difficult. On the skirts of the hills on either side are a number of small heaps of clay produced by the disintegration of the rock; they are of different colours, as ash grey, bluish, fawn colour, and white, and from their bright hues form an attractive feature in the general scene.

At about three miles we came to a watershed called Gudari Mesham. Its elevation is about 4900 feet, and the ridge is composed of white magnesian limestone, which is almost entirely bare of vegetation.

On our way up this pass we met the first travellers it had been our lot to see or pass on all the road from Kandahar westward. They formed a small party of about twenty men, with double the number of asses and bullocks, and were on their way from Birjand to Sistan for grain, like Israel of old from Canaan to Egypt, for the famine was sore in the land. They were very poor and submissive-looking people, and, to our surprise, bowed respectfully as we passed. We had been so accustomed to the independent bearing of the Afghans, and their haughty indifference towards strangers, that we were unpreparedfor this voluntary mark of deference. One of their party, who lagged in the rear, appeared from his patchwork frock and dissolute looks to be a member of some order of religious mendicants, and, on seeing us, at once assumed the air of impudent defiance it is the privilege of his class to exhibit. As we approached he still kept the road, and shouted with stentorian voice, “Hacc! Hacc! Allah! Gushnaam! Bakhshi Khudá!” (or, “Just one! just one! God! I am hungry! the portion of God!”), the while stretching out his hands for contributions. Another noteworthy circumstance about these travellers was the fact of their being for the most part disarmed. None of them carried guns, and only two were armed with swords. I will not attempt to explain this custom of travelling unarmed, being insufficiently acquainted with the conditions under which the people live, and the internal state of the country. I may observe, however, that it explains the facility with which Afghan, Baloch, and Sistan marauders harry the country, and carry off its people into slavery in Afghanistan. I was informed on reliable authority, that most of the slave girls employed as domestics in the houses of the gentry at Kandahar were brought from the outlying districts of Gháyn.

Beyond the watershed, our path sloped down to a wide upland plain, similar to that of Duroh, and, like it, extending from north to south. We skirted the hills along its eastern border for some miles, and then turned off to the Husenabad fort in the centre of the plain.

The fort is a very neat little structure of apparently recent construction. At each of its four corners is a round bastion, and over the gateway is a turret; on each of two sides are neat rows of domed huts close under the walls, and around are some corn-fields, but no trees nor gardens. The water here is from akárez, or, asthe subterranean conduits are here called,canát, and though clear and fresh to look at, is so briny as to be almost undrinkable; yet the people use no other. We halted here a day, and during our stay got our supplies of water from a sweet spring at the foot of the hills across the plain to the east. Its site is marked by the ruins of an ancient castle called Caláta Cáimáb.

The plain of Husenabad is a wide pasture tract of light gravelly soil, covered at this season with a bright green carpet of short grass, on which we found some large flocks of goats and sheep at graze. Standing on the open plain, a couple of miles to the north-east, is the old fort of Husenabad. It appears in very good preservation, though it has been abandoned for some years owing to the drying up of its water supply.

Since we crossed the Afghan border at Cháhi Sagak, the weather has been more or less cloudy, frequent showers have fallen, and occasional storms have burst over the hills, topping the higher ones with a coating of snow. The climate here at this season is very delightful. The air is mild, light, and fresh, and the sun shines with an agreeable warmth, very different from the oppressive heat of its rays in Sistan. The elevation of Husenabad is about 4480 feet above the sea. In winter its climate is described as very severe, owing to the cold blasts of the north wind that sweep across the plain.

26th March.—Husenabad to Sarbesha, twenty-nine miles. We set out under a cold and cloudy sky, and proceeding in a north-westerly direction across the plain, and over an upland pasture tract, at about seventeen miles came to the Abi Ghunda Koh, a large pool of fresh water fed by a strong spring situated at the entrance of a gully in the hills.

On our way over the plateau we passed a number ofElyát tents, dotted in threes and fours over the surface, and saw large flocks of goats and sheep. Some of the women came out of their tents with platters of burningsipand, or Syrian rue, thespelanaiof the Afghans, andharmalof the Indians, and raced across the mead, shouting in very unfeminine tones, “Pul bidih, gushnaem!” (“Give us money; we are starving!”), and a chorus of other complaints, which happily were easily appeased at the cost of a fewkráns. These women, and some of the men who accompanied them, were neither young nor good-looking, but they had hardy features, and tough bronzed skins, and appeared to me physically inferior to the Afghan nomad, and certainly poorer.

Seeing these people scattered widely in their tents, and considering the nature of their country, overrun as it is by interrupted hill ranges affording concealment to the robber, one can easily understand how a dozen horsemen, suddenly dashing out from their shelter in the hills, could surprise one of the small camps, and carry off its women and children before succour could arrive. Formerly these frontier Elyáts used to be regularly hunted by the Afghan and Baloch, and sometimes even the Turkman, their cattle carried off, and themselves sold into slavery. Of late years, however, this miserable species of raid has been put a stop to. But the Elyát of Gháyn very seldom venture beyond the protection of the frontier forts, such as Husenabad. Their wealth principally consists in goats and sheep, the former particularly, and also camels.

Immense flocks of goats are reared on the rich pastures of this elevated region. They are almost all of a black colour, with long coarse hair that hangs in matted tangles. We noticed that most of the goats were shedding a very soft light-brown down that grows at theroots of the hair. It adhered in flocks to the matted tresses of hair, and was easily picked off. Some flocks I gathered were extremely soft and fine and downy, and seemed to have been shed with the outer skin, for dry scales of cuticle were caught in its meshes.

This down is picked off and collected under the name ofkurk, and is used in the manufacture of a soft, warm woollen stuff known by that name. Thiskurkis made up into the cloaks calledchogha,jubba, &c., and the finer kinds fetch a high price. The camels and sheep shed a similar down, and the materials manufactured from them are called respectivelyshuturi pashmínaandbarrak pashmína. The coarser kinds of all three materials are calledpattú, and somewhat resemble baize in texture.

We alighted at the Abi Ghunda Koh for breakfast. Its preparation proved as difficult a task as its discussion afterwards was a disagreeable duty. A steady rain had set in, and squally gusts of wind from the south whirled drifts of its drenching showers upon us with unmitigated persistence, in the poor shelter afforded by the lee of the rocks around. Our Persian servants were, however, quite equal to the occasion, and speedily produced a number of hot dishes from the stores concealed in the recesses of the capacious bags of their packhorses, with more facility than we experienced in their disposal.

The rain had washed the rocks, and brought out their bright colours with unusual distinctness, and the mounds of amygdaloid trap and speckled granite shone out handsomely. For three miles onwards from this pool our route followed the course of a drainage gully, the surface of which sparkled with bright-coloured stones; fragments of green, red, and brown trap, light blue and pink water agates, cellular lava of cream, orange, and chocolate hues, and masses of a striated and starred rock of rust colour,resembling iron ore, with sharp angular fragments of “pepper and salt” trap, strewed the path everywhere.

At the top of the gully we rose suddenly by a narrow path over a great ridge of granite on to a small gap called Gudar Ghanda Koh. It forms the watershed boundary between the Husenabad and Sarbesha plateaux, and is about 6885 feet above the sea, the aneroid on its summit figuring 22·91. The descent on the other side is by a long slope, skirting some low hills to the left down to the great Sarbesha plateau, which we crossed at its southern extremity, and camped at the village from which it takes its name.

In our route over this pass we found a good deal of wild vegetation in the hollows of the hills. The principal plants were the wild almond and tamarisk, dwarf ephedra, camel-thorn, and theghích, also caroxylon, wild rue, artemisia, orchids, crocus, and other similar plants.

We halted a day at Sarbesha, owing to the inclemency of the weather, and saw enough to prove that its winter must be a rigorous season. Rain fell more or less continuously during our halt here; the air was cold, raw, and cheerless, and wintry blasts of a south wind howled over the wide plateau in dismal tones quite in keeping with the bleak and wild nature of the country. During our stay here two couriers overtook us with posts from Peshawar. They arrived within a few hours of each other, the one with Peshawar dates up to the 26th February from JacobabadviâCalát and Kandahar, and the other with dates from the same place up to the 1st March by the direct route of Kurram and Ghazni to Kandahar.

Sarbesha, or “wilderness head,” is an open village of 350 domed huts at the foot of a high detached hill. It is named from its position at the head of a great wilderness or waste, that extends away to the north-west formany miles as an open plateau bounded by bare hills. It is the residence of thezábitor governor of this frontier district, who came to meet us at Husenabad. His name is Saggid Mír Asadullah Beg, and he has the power to cut off noses and ears at discretion, and to mutilate in other forms, but not to deprive of life. He discharged his special duties towards us with no unnecessary grace, and left no more notable memorial of his character than his steady devotion to thecalyán, which he kept going throughout the march, lighting and relighting its replenished bowl I am afraid to say how often, but much oftener than could be good for anybody.

The Sarbesha plateau, though yet dreary, bleak, and wild in the transition state from the snows of winter to the balmy airs of spring, is not always the waste it now looks.

In summer its wide surface is clothed with the richest pastures, on which vast flocks of goats and sheep find sustenance, and covered with the tents of Elyát tribes occupied with their care, whilst the numerous villages now barely discernible in the sheltered nooks along the hill skirts bursts into full view with the budding of the gardens amongst which they are nestled. The climate of this region is described as most delightful and salubrious, but the winter is rigorous. If the appearance alone of the people be taken as the test, they certainly speak well in its favour, for they are remarkably fair, robust, and healthy-looking as a whole. They appear to be a prosperous and peaceable community, being well clad and well conducted. They are principally employed in the manufacture of woollen carpets of the kind calledcálín, but those produced here are of inferior quality.

Our next stage was twenty-two miles to Calá Múd, where we camped close to the village, under the ruins ofan old fort. Our route was in a north-west direction along a beaten track skirting the Sarbesha hill at first, and then across a small plain enclosed by hills. It is called Bayaban-i-Hanz, from a reservoir of water in its centre. After marching nine miles, we halted at this reservoir for breakfast. It is a masonry cistern covered by a dome, and flanked on each side by a couple of vaulted chambers for the shelter and refreshment of wayfarers. Similar reservoirs are common on all the highroads throughout this Persian province of Khorassan, and are found generally at intervals of four or eight miles. They are calledábambár, or “water store,” and are all built on the same plan, though not always provided with the flanking chambers. The cistern is mostly stocked from the surface drainage after rains, and consequently some of them are often found dry. Many, however, are fed from natural springs, or from some adjoining subterranean conduit, calledkárez, and contain a constant supply of generally sweet water. They are sometimes built as an act of charity by the piously disposed, but most owe their construction to the actual requirements of the country, and the interest of the local governors or chiefs. Without them, indeed, travelling would be almost impossible in this region, for the villages are so far apart, and the hill spring so far away from the beaten track, that neither man nor beast could support the privation conveniently.

Beyond the reservoir our path continued across the plain towards some broken country and low ridges of rock that separate the Sarbesha plateau from the valley of Múd. On our passage over this ground we saw several villages in the nooks of the hill range bounding the Sarbesha valley to the northward. The principal of these, Bedár and Shíka, are prosperous and populous-lookingplaces, surrounded by fruit gardens just now beginning to bud.

Múd or Mód is an open village of neatly-built domed housed, situated below a mound occupied by the ruins of a castle, and at a short distance to the south-east are the more recent ruins of a considerable square fort. The latter was dismantled some fifteen years ago, when this district passed into the possession of the reigning dynasty of Persia. The ground around its walls is now occupied byzirishkor barberry plantations, the fruit of which is made into preserves, and largely exported into the interior in the dried state.

The village of Múd is only half-peopled; many of its houses are deserted, and others are fallen to decay. This is partly owing to the emigration during the past three years of famine, but principally to the insecurity of the country during the past century. It is only within recent years that the country has enjoyed immunity from the forays of Baloch, Afghan, and Turkman robbers, who used to harry their villages, and carry off their cattle and people.

Múd is situated at the top of a long and narrow valley, that slopes rapidly to the south-west down to Birjand. The valley to the northward is separated from the western prolongation of the Sarbesha plateau by a low ridge of sandy hills, and is bounded to the south by a high range of snow-covered hills called Bághrán. This range consists of chlorite and slate, and its base is studded by a close succession of villages, castles, and hamlets, surrounded by gardens and watered by springs, all the way down to Birjand.

During our stay here the weather was cloudy, cold, and wintry, and the scenery, singularly wild naturally, now bore an unusually inhospitable aspect. The valleyand lower heights have only lost their winter snows during the present month, and the highest elevations are said to keep a more or less scattered coating of snow throughout the year. For three months the whole country is covered deeply with snow, over all the more elevated region between this and Duroh, but on the lower level of Birjand it does not lie so long.

From Múd we marched twenty-five miles west by north down the slope of the valley to Birjand, where we camped outside the town under the walls of the castle occupied by the governor. The valley has an average width of less than four miles, and its surface slopes up to the Bághrán range of hills, forming its southern boundary. In the opposite direction its hollow is occupied by a drainage ravine. The soil is a firm gravel, from which were commencing to sprout a variety of herbs, such as wild rue, orchids, tulips, &c., and a thin grass in abundance. No trees are seen on the plain, but the hill skirt to its south is fringed with a close succession of fruit gardens and vineyards, amongst which are nestled numerous villages, castles, and country-houses. The principal villages are, from east to west, Cháhikan, Nanfiris, Banjár, and Bahuljird. Their gardens produce the jujube, barberry, apricot, peach, plum, apple, mulberry, &c., &c., and give the place a look of prosperity and plenty, strangely in contrast with the wild character of the country and the bare aspect of its hills. Those to the south, below the snow-streaked summit of the range, present a bare glistening surface, and are set at their bases by a succession of mounds, very prominent objects of attraction from their bright hues of green, blue, and orange, evidently formed by the disintegration of the chlorite and schistose slates of the range, which altogether wear a richly metalliferous look. There is saidto be a copper mine in this range, some ten or twelve miles south-west of Sarbesha. It was worked in the time of the late Mirzá Hamza, governor of Mashhad, but was abandoned four or five years ago, owing to the expenses exceeding the yield of ore.

To the north the valley is bounded by a low ridge of bare sandy hills, scored in every direction by sheep-walks. Through a gap in the ridge, which gives passage to the Múd ravine, we got a good view of the Sarbesha plateau, which here stretches away in a wide upland to the hills closing the prospect towards the north, where is situated the district of Alghór.

Proceeding from theábambárwhere we halted for breakfast, we marched down the valley in sight of Birjand, at its lower end, and at three miles came to the village of Bojd. In Yár Muhammad’s time, it was the residence of the Afghan revenue collector for the district of Gháyn. It is now a decayed and nearly depopulated collection of some eighty houses, on the slope of a ridge, overlooking corn-fields and fruit gardens, that cover the here widening valley up to Hájíabad, a couple of miles farther on. This last is a neat country-house, standing in its own grounds, and is the residence of the mother of Mír Alam Khán, the present chief of Gháyn, and Persian governor of Sistan. She is said to be a very clever and wealthy old lady, and exercises considerable influence in the government of the province.

Away to the south, on the open plain, is another similar country-house, the summer residence of Mír Alam, the son. It stands in the midst of an ornamental garden, and commands a wide view of the surrounding country. At about a mile from Birjand we were met by anisticbálparty, and conducted to our camp, pitched outside the town under the walls of the palace of thegovernor. The party was headed by a little boy, Hydar Culi, the youngest son of the chief of Gháyn. He was precededen règleby two led horses, and attended by eight horsemen. Though only eight years old, he rode a high horse both positively and figuratively with the composure andsavoir faireof one of mature years. His eldest brother, Sarbang Ali Akbar, who, during his father’s absence in Sistan, manages the government of the province, excused his absence on the plea of ill-health. We halted here three days.

In our march this day we have descended about 1200 feet, the elevation of Birjand being 4880 feet, and that of Múd 6100 feet above the sea. There is a sensible difference in the climate, the air here being delightfully pure, mild, and light, and the sun’s rays agreeably warm. The nights, however, are yet cold, and keen gusty winds circle about the lower part of the valley, which forms a wide basin in the hills. The summer here is described as a temperate and salubrious season, and the winter mild in comparison with the more elevated regions of the district. Snow lies on the ground from one to two months, and during the past winter, which has been a severer one than any for the last fifteen years, fell in unusual quantity.

Birjand, the modern capital of the district of Gháyn or Cayn, is an open town of about two thousand houses, and is protected by a fort on some rising ground on the west side. On the south side is the palace of the governor, enclosed by fortified walls, and on some detached mounds to the north are three or four towers in a state of decay. The town has a very neat and prosperous look, and its people appear to have altogether escaped the pressure of the famine that has prevailed over other parts of the country. We saw no beggars here, and themass of the people were remarkably well dressed, and seemed comfortably off. The population is estimated at twelve thousand, which is, I think, considerably over the real number.

Birjand is the centre of a considerable trade with Kandahar and Herat on one side, and Kirmán, Yazd, and Tehran on the other. It is also the seat of the carpet manufactures, for which this district has been celebrated from of old. These carpets are calledcálín, and are of very superior workmanship and of beautiful designs, in which the colours are blended with wonderful harmony and incomparable good effect. The best kinds fetch very high prices, and are all bespoke by agents for the nobles and chiefs of the country. The colours are of such delicate shades, and the patterns are so elaborate and tasteful, and the nap is so exquisitely smooth and soft, that the carpets are only fit for use in the divans of oriental houses, where shoes are left without the threshold. The best kinds are manufactured in the villages around, and those turned out from the looms of Duroshkt Nozád, enjoy a pre-eminent reputation for excellence.

The Gháyn district consists of ninebulúkor divisions, each of which contains from twenty to thirty villages and a great number ofmazráor hamlets. Thebulúkare Nih, Zerkoh, Khusp, Nárjún (includes Sarbesha and Birjand), Sunnikhána, Alghór or Arghol, Gháyn, Nímbulúk and Shahwá. The population of the district was formerly reckoned at thirty thousand families, but what with losses by death and emigration during the famine, it does not now contain half that number.

The natural products of the country are very varied. The low-lying plains of Khusp produce wheat, barley, millet, beans and pulses, excellent melons, and all the common vegetables, such as carrots, turnips, beetroot, &c.Cotton, and tobacco are also grown, and fruit gardens and vineyards also flourish. In the higher plains of Birjand and Gháyn, saffron is extensively cultivated, and the silkworm is reared with success. Here too are found large barberry plantations, and almost all the orchard fruits common in Europe. At higher elevations in the little glens amongst the hills are extensive vineyards and fruit gardens, whilst rhubarb grows wild on the hill, and asafœtida on the plains almost everywhere.

The industrial products are carpets, woollen materials calledkurk,pashmína, andpattú, silk raw and manufactured, and felts callednamad. These with dried fruits, asafœtida, and wool are all exported in greater or less quantity. In return are imported corn from Sistan,kirmiz(scarlet dye) from Bukhára by Herat, indigo from India by Kandahar, sugar refined at Yazd from the Indian raw sugar,postínor fur coats (mostly sheepskin) from Herat, rice, spices, tobacco, and European hardware from Tehran, as also calicoes, prints and broadcloths.

The Gháyn district is an elevated mountain region, separating the waste area of western Afghanistan from the wide tract of similar and more perfect desert on the adjoining border of Persia. Towards the north-west it is continuous through the highlands of Tún and Tabbas with the rest of the mountain system of Persian Khorassan, as represented by the highlands of Záwah on the one hand and Turshíz on the other. Between its hill ranges it supports a number of wide plateaux and fertile valleys, that mostly trend from north-west to south-east, and range in elevation from four thousand to seven thousand feet above the sea.

To the south it is separated from Kirwan and Sistan by the Dashtí Lút, or “Desert of Lot.” To the east theDashtí Náummed, or “desert of despair,” intervenes between it and the districts of Hokát and Farráh. On the west it is separated from Yazd and Káshán by a vast salt desert called Daryáe Kabír, or “the great ocean,” or simplykavírorkabír. Towards the north, at Yúnasi, a narrow arm of this salt desert cuts the mountain chain from west to east, and spreads out into the desert of Kháf, where it joins the Dashtí Náummed on the south and the deserts of Herat and Sarrakhs on the north.

The inhabitants of Gháynát, which is the name by which the district is known, are of various races and tribes, classed under the collective appellations of Arab and Ajam, or those of Arab descent and those of foreign descent. The former appear to have been settled here since the time of the Arab conquest, and have for several centuries furnished the ruling chiefs of the country. The present chief belongs to this tribe, and the rule of the country has descended in his family since the establishment of the Saffavi dynasty. Formerly the residence of the family was at Gháyn, but in the time of Nadír, the chief, Mír ’Ali, transferred his headquarters to Birjand. He was succeeded in the rule by his son Mír Alam, and he by his son Mír Asadullah, both of whom were subjects of the Durrani kings. On the break-up of this dynasty, Mír Asadullah became independent to all intents, and as such took his part in the political struggles between the Cajar and Afghan for supremacy on this contested frontier, that characterise its history since the commencement of the present century.

During the period that Aleahyár Khán, Asafuddaula, was governor of Khorassan on the part of Persia, the Cajar king, finding his designs against Herat frustrated by the action of the British Government, resolved on accomplishing piecemeal what he was prevented from effecting by acoup de main; and his governor of Khorassan, during the thirteen years of his rule at Mashhad, brought under subjection all that portion of the province lying to the north of the latitude of Herat, viz., the districts of Turbatain, Turshíz, and Tabbas, as the fruits of his successive campaigns on this border. Asafuddaula twice marched a force for the subjugation of Gháyn, and each time unsuccessfully. On the first occasion, in 1835, shortly after his installation in the government of the province, the chief, Mír Asadullah, retired to Sistan, and, as an Afghan subject dependent on Herat, sought the aid of its ruler. The Prince Kamrán sent his wazír, Yár Muhammad, with a contingent of Herat troops to the aid of the fugitive chief. And these, joined by the Sistan army under Muhammad Razá, Sárbandi, defeated the Persians at Nih, and restored Mír Asadullah to his rule in Gháyn as a dependent of Herat. On the second occasion, a couple of years later, Mír Asadullah, on the approach of the Persian troops under Muhammad ’Ali, son of Asafuddaula, abandoning his province, repaired to Herat for aid in its recovery. Yár Muhammad furnished a contingent of Herat troops, who defeated the Persians in a battle fought at Sih Calá, and reinstated Asadullah in the government of Gháyn. In the succeeding siege of Herat, however, Gháyn was annexed to Persia, and the chief, Mír Asadullah, and his son, Mír Alam, the present chief, were taken prisoners to Mashhad. On the retreat of the Persian army from Herat, and the restoration of peace on this border, they were restored to Gháyn as Persian subjects; and the father dying shortly afterwards, was succeeded in the government by his son Mír Alam, who during his stay at Mashhad and Tehran was reconciled to the change of masters by conciliatory treatment and very advantageous terms of allegiance. Mír Alam, who is nowPersian governor of Sistan, with the title of Hashmat-ul-Mulk, is a very popular governor here, and has the character of being an energetic and liberal-minded man. He pays no revenue direct to the Persian Government, but is held responsible for the maintenance of the royal troops employed in his province, and, further, sends an annual tribute to the Sháh. In other respects he is pretty much of an independent chief in his own limits.

He has taken advantage of the troubled state of politics in Afghanistan ever since the British occupation of the country, not only to extend his possessions up to their natural limits, but to cross the Perso-Afghan border, and take possession of Sistan on behalf of the Sháh of Persia. Up to the death of Yár Muhammad in 1851, all the border districts of Gháyn, including Sunnikhána and Nárjún as far as Bojd, were held as dependencies of Herat, and Afghan revenue collectors were posted in the frontier villages, such as Gizík and Bojd, on the part of Yár Muhammad. On the death of that ruler, and during the succeeding changes and struggles that led to the occupation of Herat by the Persians in 1856, these border districts fell away from the control of the Herat Government, and lapsed to their rightful lord, the chief of Gháyn. The transgression of the border into Sistan was effected at a later period, during the anarchy that convulsed Afghanistan on the death of the Amir Dost Muhammad, and the accession of his son, Sher ’Ali, to the throne.

Mír Alam is now the most influential and wealthy chief on the Khorassan frontier of Persia. His power and independent action, it is said, have rendered him an object of jealousy and suspicion to the prince-governor of Mashhad, who is also governor of the whole province of Khorassan; and neither conceals his hatred and distrust of the other. The Gháyn chief, however, is strong inhis position, and the policy he is carrying out gains him the support of the court of Tehran. He has three sons, namely, ’Ali Akbar, aged eighteen years, who, with the title of Sarhang, resides at Birjand, and carries on the government during his father’s absence in Sistan; Mír Ismáil, aged fourteen years, who is now on a pilgrimage to Karbalá; and Hydar Culi, the little boy who officiated in the honours of our reception at Birjand.

The other tribes included under the termAjamare mostly Persians, with a few scattered families of Turks, Kurds, Mughals and Balochs. They constitute the rural population, and are employed in agriculture and the tending of cattle. Physically they are a fine people, with light complexions and hardy features.

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