CHAPTER X.
2d April.—Marched from Birjand to Ghíbk or Ghínk, eighteen miles. The weather, which during our stay at Birjand had been delightfully mild and balmy, now changed and became bleak and stormy. During the night, a strong east wind blew in eddying gusts that threatened the stability of our tents. In the forenoon it changed to the west, and towards sunset veered round to the north, and closed the evening with a storm and heavy rain.
We had been promised a relay of camels at this place, and up to the last were deceived by false assurances of their being ready at the time appointed for our departure. But as they were not produced at the time agreed, and we had seen enough to shake our faith in the ready promises of their immediate arrival, it was decided that we should leave our large tents and heavy baggage here, to be brought on after us so soon as the promised camels should be provided, and proceed ourselves with the small tents and mule carriage, according to the original intention.
At noon, therefore, we set out in light marching order, and after passing clear of the town, crossed a wide ravine that courses through it towards the west, and entered on a wide plateau that gently slopes up towards the east, in which direction it is continuous with the Sarbesha valley. Our route across this was in a north-easterly direction by a beaten track skirting the base of a high ridge of mountains that close the plateau towards the west. At about eight miles we rose over some lowmounds of fissile slate covered with red marl that project on to the plateau, and beyond them, crossing the deep boulder-strewn ravine of Ishkambár, followed the highroad between the villages of Bújdí on the right and Ishkambár on the left, and passing a roadsideábambár, at a couple of miles farther on reached the hamlet of Mahiabad, near the entrance of a deep gorge in the hills, and halted awhile to let the baggage get on ahead.
The rise from Birjand to this, though gradual, is considerable—850 feet as indicated by the aneroid—and from its elevation we got a good view of the Bagrán range of hills to the south, and the great tableland that forms the prospect on its north, in which direction it is bounded by the Múminabad range of hills, that separate it from the Sunnikhána and Alghór districts. This extensive tableland descends considerably towards the west, and is divided unequally into the valley of Múd and plateau of Sarbesha by a low ridge of rocks that run from east to west. The drainage of the whole surface is conveyed by the Fakhrábád ravine through the town of Birjand down to the Khusp river, which is lost in the great desert of the west. We crossed this ravine on leaving camp, and saw that it received the Múd and Ishkambár ravines as tributaries.
The general aspect of this tableland, bounded on all sides by hills, is singularly wild, and at this season its climate is bleak and inhospitable. A cold north wind swept down from the hills in numbing blasts, and howled over the wide waste dismally. Beyond the three little castellated hamlets in our vicinity, not a vestige of habitation or cultivation was anywhere to be seen. Yet in summer, we were assured, the now deserted pastures are covered with nomad tents, and swarm with teeming flocks of goats and sheep and camels.
Mahiabad, like Bújdí and Ishkambár, is a collection of eighteen or twenty miserable huts, protected by a small castle. Like them, too, it is almost depopulated by the effects of the famine, which still presses sorely, notwithstanding the imports of grain from Sistan. In Mahiabad, only four families are left out of its original population of fifteen families. The rest have either died of starvation, or emigrated in search of food. The remnant who still cling to the village are miserably poor, and carry starvation depicted on their features. Their lot now is undoubtedly a cruelly hard one, and in the best of times, could not have been a very favourable one, for the soil is sterile, and composed for the most part of the débris of trap and granite rocks, that strew the surface with sharp angular stones; whilst the water supply, which is from a pool fed by akárez, is so bitter and saline that it is barely drinkable. We tried some tea prepared with it, and that was all, for it was impossible to drink it even thus disguised.
On the plain opposite Mahiabad, and a little distance from Bújdí, is a singular conical hill calledmárkoh, or “serpent hill.” It looks like a volcanic crater, and stands out alone by itself. We could not learn that the name had any reference to the existence or not of snakes upon it. Beyond Mahiabad our path entered the hills, and followed the windings of a wildly picturesque defile, the general direction of which is northerly. On our way up the gorge, which widens and narrows alternately, we passed the castellated hamlets of Pisukh and Piranj, each occupying an eminence overlooking the road, and at about the fifth mile reached the watershed, at a narrow pass called Gudar Saman Shahí. Its elevation is about 7020 feet above the sea, and 2140 feet above Birjand. The ascent is considerable all the way, and the road veryrough, with sharp angular blocks of trap strewing the surface. Here and there the hard rugged rocks approach and narrow the path, so as to render it difficult for the passage of laden cattle. In the pass we overtook our baggage, which had left camp at Birjand at tenA.M., and it did not all arrive in our camp at Ghíbk till past nineP.M., the cattle being much exhausted by the march.
Beyond the watershed, the road slopes gently to a little dell full of vineyards, orchards, and fruit gardens; and farther on, crossing a deep boulder-strewn ravine, passes over a flat ridge of slaty rock down to the glen of Ghíbk, in which we camped at a few hundred yards below the village, a strip of terraced corn-fields intervening. This is the roughest and most difficult pass we have seen in all our journey so far; and it was the more trying both to man and beast by the inclemency of the weather. A cold north wind blew down the pass in chilling gusts, and at six o’clock, just as we had alighted on our camping-ground, a heavy storm of rain broke over us and drenched everything, so that it was with difficulty we got a fire lighted to warm ourselves till the arrival of our baggage, which did not all come up till three hours later, owing to the men having lost the path in the dark.
We halted here the next day to rest our cattle, and were so fortunate as to have fine weather, with a delightfully clear and fresh atmosphere, which enabled us thoroughly to enjoy and appreciate the climate and scenery of this really charming little eyrie in the hills, of which our first experience was so unfavourable. Our camp is pitched at the bottom of a narrow dell half a mile due west of Ghíbk, which is a romantic little village picturesquely perched on the summit and slopes of a mound at its top. From the midst of the huts, rising tier above tier, stands out their protecting castle, now ina sad state of decay, as indeed is the whole village. Around it are crowded together vineyards and fruit gardens on the terraced slopes of the hills, whilst the dell itself is laid out in a succession of terraced corn-fields, freely watered by sprightly little streams.
The situation is a charming one in this wild region of barren hills and rugged rocks, and in summer must be as agreeable and salubrious a residence as in winter it is bleak and inhospitable. The elevation of our camp at the bottom of the dell is estimated at 6650 feet above the sea, and that of the village itself about a couple of hundred feet higher. In winter, snow falls here very heavily, and the people are shut up in their houses for fully two months. The main range of mountains rises several hundred feet above the elevation of Ghíbk, and runs from north-west to south-east, throwing out spurs on either side, that enclose a succession of glens or narrow valleys draining east and west. The Ghíbk valley is one of these, and is continuous towards the west, through the gully of the ravine we crossed on approaching it, with the glens of Arwí and Zarwí, the drainage of which ultimately reaches the Khusp river, to be lost on the sandy desert of Yazd. The main range has different names to distinguish its several portions; thus at Ghíbk it is called Alghór or Arghol, to the north of this it is called Sághí, and to the south Saman Shahí. The Alghór range gives its name to one of the principal divisions orbulúkof the Gháyn district.
The Alghórbulúkis said to contain upwards of three hundred villages and hamlets and farmsteads (mazrá), scattered about in nooks and dells amongst the hills. Arwí and Zarwí are amongst the largest of the villages. We visited these during our halt here. They are very picturesquely situated in adjoining dells only twoor three miles off, and each contains about two hundred houses. They have a neat and prosperous look, and are surrounded by vineyards and orchards and small patches of corn cultivation. Ghíbk is a smaller village, and contains about seventy or eighty houses. Alghór is the chief town of thebulúk, and is said to contain three hundred houses. It is the residence of the agent of the governor of the district, Mír ’Alam Khán. All these villages have suffered more or less severely during the famine, and some have become entirely depopulated. The population of Ghíbk was formerly nearly four hundred souls. It now only contains about two hundred and fifty. During last year fifty-three persons, we were told, had died of starvation, and the village has further lost thirty families who have emigrated to Sistan.
From Ghíbk we marched eighteen miles, and camped at Sihdih. Our route was generally north by west, up the course of a drainage gully, winding amongst hills, and passing from dell to dell up to a watershed formed by a spur from the Sághí range on our right. It runs east and west, and is about 6750 feet above the sea. The hills are of disintegrated trap overlaid by a soft friable slate, the surface of which has crumbled into a marly soil. Vegetation, though there are no trees nor large bushes, except in the gardens, is more abundant than the wild and rugged look of the hills would lead one to expect. We noticed camel-thorn, ephedra, asafœtida, rhubarb, wormwood, tulip, crocus, bluebell, and other similar plants and grasses, along the line of march.
Beyond the watershed the road slopes gently along the course of a long drainage gully, which winds through a gradually widening country with hills on either side, and at about twelve miles enters the Sihdih valley, an open plateau extending east and west for thirty miles or so.In the first few miles from the watershed we passed in succession the villages of Nokhán, Cháhikan, and Pistakhan on the left, and Sághí and Husenabad on the right. The country between the hills is much broken by low mounds, all more or less ploughed up and sown with corn. The extent of this cultivation indicates the existence of a much larger population than we see in our passage through the country. The fact is, they are concealed from view in the secluded nooks and glens of the hills around, each of which has its own farmsteads and hamlets, with their vineyards and fruit gardens. The fruits produced here are the plum, apricot, jujube, apple, peach, quince, almond, mulberry, &c. The chief crops are wheat and barley, and the common vegetables are the carrot, turnip, onion, cabbage, beet, &c. In summer the hill pastures are resorted to by nomads with their flocks of goats and sheep and herds of camels. Snow still lies on the higher ranges, and patches are found in the sheltered hollows lower down. The hills abound in game, such as themárkhorandibix(both species of wild goat), and the wild sheep. The leopard, hyæna, and wolf are also found on them, but not the bear. The country generally is devoid of trees, but supports an abundant growth of pasture plants and bushes suitable for fuel. We here found the surface covered with the wormwood, and a dwarf yellow rose with a dark purple centre. It is calledkhalora, and affords a good pasture for cattle. I observed it all over the country as far west as Kirmánshah, and generally in company with the wild liquorice.
Sihdih, as the name implies, is a collection of three villages on the plain to which they give their name. Only one of them is now inhabited, the other two being in ruins. Very superior carpets are manufactured here, and theyseem to fetch also very superior prices, to judge from those asked of us for some specimens we had selected. The fact is, the natural propensity of the merchants to overcharge the stranger, particularly the Britisher, who is always supposed to travel about with untold wealth, had been stimulated by the very liberal ideas of our Persian servants as to their own rights of perquisite ormudákhil, as it is termed; and prices were at once doubled or trebled, to the detriment of all parties, for we refrained from purchasing as freely as we would with fair dealing, the merchants lost an opportunity of ready profit, and our servants, the cause of the whole mischief, received but diminished returns, as the fruit of their greed and chicanery.
Our Afghan companions, who well knew the market price of these carpets, and had come prepared to lay in a stock of them for transport to Kandahar, were so disgusted at thebe-ímáni, or want of conscience, on the part of the Persians, that they altogether refused to treat with them on the terms, and contented themselves by leaving an agent to purchase what they required after our departure, when prices would return to their normal rates. The evils ofdastúríin India are bad enough so far as they affect the foreigner, but here, under the namemudákhil, they are ten times worse. Thedastúríor customary perquisite taken by servants on all purchases made by their master through or with their cognisance, is usually limited to an anna in the rupee, or six and a quarter per cent., but themudákhil, which may be rendered, “all that comes within grasp,” has no recognised limit, and ranges high or low, according to the conscience of the exactor and the weakness of his victim. With us, as our subsequent experience proved, it ranged from ten to three hundred per cent., and was an impositionfrom which, under the circumstances of the case, we could not escape.
The Sihdihjúlagahor plain is a fertile valley running east and west, and presents a number of castellated villages along the hill skirts on either side. Its soil is light and gravelly, and in the vicinity of the villages the surface is covered with long strips of corn cultivation. The general slope of the land is to the west, in which direction it drains by a wide ravine that ultimately joins the Khusp river. The water of thekárezon which our camp was pitched proved too brackish to drink, and we were obliged to send to anotherkárezbeyond the village for a fresh supply. The weather here was very changeable. North-westerly gusts of wind raised clouds of dust, and drove it in eddying drifts across the plain, till a thunderstorm with a smart fall of rain cleared the atmosphere, and allowed the sun to shine out a while before setting for the day.
We heard different accounts here of recent raids by the Turkmans, but the accounts were so conflicting that we could make nothing of them, more than that these slave-hunting freebooters were really on the road and somewhere in the vicinity. The people have such a terror of them that they cannot speak of them without evincing fear, and running off into extravagances as to their ferocity and irresistible prowess.
From Sihdih we marched ten miles to Rúm, and camped on the sloping bank of a brisk little hill stream draining westward, at a short distance from the village. Our route was mostly northward across the plain, but for the last two miles, on entering the hills, was north-eastward. Rúm is a miserable little village of seventy or eighty huts, clustered around a crumbling castle on the very brink of a hill torrent of no depth or width. It nowonly contains thirty families of wretchedly poor people, who have so far struggled through the great pressure of the famine. Last year, we were told, forty of the people died of starvation, and between twenty-five and thirty families emigrated in search of food. The remnant were so reduced and broken-hearted that they were unable to bury their dead decently, and merely deposited the bodies in shallow pits covered over with loose soil. I observed some broken skulls and human bones in the little stream washing the walls of the village, and noticed that the whole air of the locality was tainted with putrid odours from the insufficiently covered graves. From Rúm we marched twenty-two miles to Gháyn, and halted there two days. Our route for the first few miles was north-easterly up the course of the Rúm rivulet, and then northerly over a hilly tract, gradually rising up to a watershed at seven miles. The ridge runs east and west, and is about 6550 feet above the sea, and 964 feet above Sihdih. The rock is of friable brown slate, here and there crumbled into clay. The ascent up to the pass is very gradual, over a hillocky hollow between high hills. The surface is everywhere ploughed and sown with corn, and abounds in a variety of weeds, crocus, tulip, anemone, and other plants. We saw no villages, but the cultivation indicates their existence in the secluded nooks and dells around. The morning air was delightfully fresh, a hoar-frost whitened the ground, and our march was enlivened by the clear song of the nightingale and the familiar notes of the cuckoo.
The view from the watershed is very picturesque, and looks down in the distance upon the valley of Gháyn, which stretches east and west beyond a long vista of irregular hills of bare rock, flanked on either side by a high range streaked with snow at the summit.
The descent from the watershed is by a narrow stony path on the steep slope of the hill, down to a winding ravine at its foot. We followed this for some distance, passing three little hamlets with their orchards, saffron gardens, and mulberry plantations in successive little glens, and at about five miles from the watershed came to Kharwaj, a flourishing village of eighty or ninety houses, on the terminal slopes of a spur that causes the gully draining this hollow to make a considerable sweep. The people of this village are Saggids, and appear very comfortably off. They are well clad, and present no signs of suffering from the famine. Both the men and women have remarkably fair complexions and ruddy cheeks, and what surprised me more was the decidedly Tátár cast of their features.
From this we went on down a narrow glen, that, widening gradually, at last expands on to the valley of Gháyn by a long and gentle slope, half-way on which is a roadsideábambárfed by akárezstream. Before us lay a crowded mass of fruit gardens and mulberry plantations, all in full foliage, and above them rose aloft the high-domed mosque of Gháyn. We passed amongst these walled gardens, and skirting the fortifications of the town, camped on a small rivulet a little way to its west. As we cleared the gardens we came upon a crowd of the townspeople, collected on the roadside to see us pass. They were remarkably well dressed, and conducted themselves with commendable propriety and decorum. Most of them bowed civilly as we rode past, and many raised the hand to the head in military style, whilst a venerable old priest with a flowing beard as white as the turban under the weight of whose capacious folds he was buried, standing apart on a slight eminence with half a dozen acolytes clad in white, offered up a prayer to avert anyevil that this first visit of Europeans to their town might entail. The plaintive trembling voice of the old man, echoed by the shrill tones of his young disciples, struck me as peculiarly impressive, but they were unheeded by the crowd, who were much too deeply absorbed in the novel spectacle presented by our party to their eyes for the first time. We were assured that we were the first Europeans who are known to have visited this town, and the statement is supported by the fact that all our maps of the country were wrong as to its proper location, Gháyn being placed to the south of Birjand, whereas the reverse is the case.
Gháyn has a very decayed look, and quite disappoints the expectations raised by the first sight of its gardens and lofty mosque. The town covers a considerable extent of ground enclosed within fortified walls, now everywhere in a state of decay. The area within the walls is capable of containing from eight to ten thousand houses, it is said, though at this time only about fifteen hundred are occupied, corn-fields and gardens occupying the intervals between the ruins of its former mansions. A prominent object of attraction in the town is its lofty domed mosque, which in outward appearance is in keeping with the general look of decay pervading the locality. Its walls, which are supported in their perpendicular by buttress arches built against them laterally, are dangerously cracked from top to bottom, either from original defect of architecture or from the effects of earthquakes. The population is estimated at about eight thousand, amongst whom are many Saggid families, and others of Arab origin. The mass of the people, however, appear to be of Tátár origin, as indicated by the very marked traces of that typical race in their features.
Silk and saffron are produced here in considerablequantity, and a variety of fruits. The asafœtida grows wild in great abundance all over the plain, and rhubarb on the surrounding hills. The asafœtida is of two kinds—one calledkamá-i-gawí, which is grazed by cattle and used as a potherb, and the otherkamá-i-angúza, which yields the gum-resin of commerce. The silk is mostly sent to Kirmán in the raw state, but a good deal is consumed at home in the manufacture of some inferior fabrics for the local markets. The carpets known by the name of this town are not made here, but in the villages of the southern divisions of the district.
Gháyn is the name of a very ancient city, supposed to have been founded by a son of the blacksmith Káwáh of Ispahán, the hero of the Peshdádí kings, who slew the tyrant Záhák, and whose leather apron—afterwards captured by the Arab Sád bin Wacáss—became the standard of Persia, under the name ofdarafshi Káwání, or the “Káwání standard.” It was studded with the most costly jewels by successive kings, to the last of the Pahlavi race, from whom it was wrested by the Arab conqueror, and sent as a trophy to the Khálif ’Umar.
The son of Káwáh was named Kárin. His city, the ruins of which are here known asShahri Gabri, or “the Gabr (Guebrc) city,” was built on the slope and crest of a hill ridge overlooking the present town from the south-east. The hill is called “Koh Imám Jáfar,” and is covered with the remains of ancient buildings, and large reservoirs excavated in the solid rock. The city, according to local tradition, was sacked and destroyed by Halákú Khán, the son of Changhiz, and the present town afterwards rose on the plain at the foot of the hill in its stead. In the days of its prosperity this new city must have been a very flourishing and populous centre of life. The environs for a considerable distance are covered withextensive graveyards, in which are some handsome tombs of glazed tiles and slabs of white marble, elaborately carved and inscribed. The valley of Gháyn is a wide plain extending east and west between high mountains, the summits of which are still covered with snow. A high snow-streaked range closes the valley towards the west. It is called Koh Báras, and trending in a north-westerly direction, connects the elevated tablelands of Sarbesha and Alghór with those of Bijistan of the Tún and Tabbas district. Its eastern slopes drain into the Gháyn valley, where its several streams form a considerable rivulet (our camp is pitched on its shore), which flows past the town to the eastward. To the northward, the Gháyn valley is separated from the plains of Nímbulúk and Gúnábád by a low range of bare hills over which there are several easy passes.
The elevation of Gháyn is about 4860 feet above the sea, or much on the same level as that of Birjand, and a little higher than that of Bijistan, from both of which it is separated by tablelands of considerably higher elevation. The climate of Gháyn is described as temperate and salubrious during spring and summer, but bleak and rigorous during autumn and winter. During two or three months of winter the roads over the high land between this and Birjand on the one hand, and Bijistan on the other, are closed to all traffic by the depth of snow then covering the hills. Gháyn, like Birjand, appears to have escaped the horrors of the famine, for we saw no traces of its effects amongst the people, who appeared a fine healthy and robust race, of mixed types of physiognomy, in which the Tátár characters predominated. During our stay here, the weather, though fine and sunny, was decidedly cold, and a keen north-west wind swept down from the hills in stormy gusts. The temperatureof the air ranged from 35° Fah. to 75° Fah., and rendered warm clothing not only agreeable but necessary.
From this place, it had been arranged that we should proceed to Turbat Hydari by the direct road through Nímbulúk and Gúnábád, but a very fortunate accident determined us to follow a safer route, particularly as in our unprotected state—the Persian authorities having failed to furnish our party with any escort—we were unprepared to face any unnecessary risk.
On the day after our arrival here, the Afghan Commissioner, Saggid Núr Muhammad Sháh, sought an interview with General Pollock, to consult about our onward journey, as he had received alarming accounts of the dangers on the road it was proposed we should follow. At the interview the Saggid introduced an old acquaintance of his, one Hájí Mullah Abdul Wahid, a merchant of Gizík in the Sunnikhána district. Hearing of our arrival in this country, he had set out for Birjand to see the Saggid, but finding our camp had left the place, followed and overtook us here. The Hájí was an asthmatic old gentleman of nearly seventy years of age, and had seen more prosperous times than fortune had now allotted to him. By way of preface he mentioned that he had cashed bills for Colonel Taylor’s mission at Herat in 1857, and claimed acquaintance with me on the score of having met me at Kandahar with Major Lumsden’s mission. He expressed great respect for the British, and assured us it was only his good-will towards us, and interest in the welfare of his countryman the Saggid, that had prompted him to dissuade us from pursuing the route he had heard we proposed taking. “This route,” said he, “is beset with dangers, and God alone can extricate you from them. You may escape them in Nímbulúk and Gúnábád, but in the Reg Amráni beyond,you must fall into the hands of the Turkmans. They are known to be on the road, and not a week passes without their raiding one or other of thejúlagahbetween this and Turbat.” He told us he knew them well, for he had himself been carried off prisoner by them at the time of Yár Muhammad’s death, and was ransomed a few months later, together with six or seven hundred other Afghan subjects, by his son Syd Muhammad. He described the Turkmans as being very well armed with rifles and double-barrelled guns, and as never charging in parties less than fifty, and sometimes with as many as five hundred. They respect no class, nor sex, nor age, except the Arabs, and sell all they capture in the markets of Khiva, only killing the very aged and infirm, and those who offer resistance. They have been in this vicinity for the last three weeks, and have already carried off from one hundred and sixty to one hundred and eighty of the peasantry of Gháyn. Their favourite routes are by the Dashna-i-Gharcáb in Nímbulúk, and the Reg Amráni to the north of Gúnábád.
He most strongly and repeatedly urged us, as we valued our own safety, not to trust ourselves on the plains of Gúnábád, and advised us to follow one of the more western routes, where we should have the protection of the hills, amongst which the Turkmans fear to entangle themselves. The good old Hájí’s arguments were so just, and so clearly and strongly advanced, that, left as we were to our own resources, there was no hesitation in changing our course, and adopting a safer route through the hills bordering the dangerous tract on the west; and our friend was satisfied that his journey from Gizík, which is sixty miles north-east of Birjand, over an elevated plateau dotted with villages, was not altogether fruitless, since it afforded him the happiness of diverting us from a dangerousroute, and the pleasure of experiencing British generosity and gratitude, for the General did not allow his good service to pass unrewarded. The old man took leave of us with genuine expressions of good-will and friendship, and heartily commending us to the protection of God, warned us to be unceasingly on our guard against the cunning and treachery of the Persians. “Be very careful,” said he in a mysterious whisper, “how you drink the tea and coffee they offer you. Many of our people have died with agonising stomachaches after partaking of this refreshment at their hands.”
9th April.—Gháyn to Girimunj, twenty-two miles. Our route was north-westerly, seven miles across the plain, which is covered with asafœtida in profuse abundance, to the little castellated hamlets of Shermurgh at the foot of the hills.
We halted here for breakfast near akárezstream of intensely brackish water. Here a noisy dispute occurred between our baggagers and a party of eight or ten armed men, who came after them from Gháyn in hot haste and tempers to match, with a couple of Persian officials, whose dignity it was pretended had been offended by ourmirakhor, or “master of the stables,” having hired some asses for our baggage without a reference to them. They made a great disturbance immediately in front of where we were seated, pulled each other about, lavishedpidr sokhtasandcabr káshídason all sides, and would not be appeased though themirakhoruncovered his head to them, kissed the frothy lips of the irate Persian, and offering his beard as sacrifice, entreated his forgiveness. Even ourmihmandár, Ali Beg, was as useless in this emergency as he had proved all along the march; and the offended officials, as heedless of his presence as ofours, defiantly threw off our loads, and triumphantly marched off with the asses we had hired.
Had the Persian authorities made the arrangements they were in duty bound to do for our proper escort and treatment, this insult could not have occurred. We were even left to provide our own escort on a road acknowledged to be unsafe for travellers, and received such scant assistance that it was with difficulty fifty matchlockmen were collected to escort our party on this march. On starting from Gháyn it was arranged that we should take the route by Nogháb and Asadabad, skirting the hills on the western border of the Nímbulúk plain; but after proceeding a short distance, some scouts sent out to examine the passes returned, and from their reports it was deemed advisable to turn off into the more westerly route through the hills.
From Shermurgh our route continued north-westerly up the course of a wide drainage gully, bounded on the left by the snow-streaked Báras range, and on the right separated from the Nímbulúk plain by a low rocky range bare of vegetation. At eight miles we reached a watershed called Gudari Gód, and on the way up to it passed a bend in the hills to our left, in which we saw the villages of Nogirift, Razdumbal, and Mahanj. The elevation at the watershed is about 6075 feet above the sea. From it the descent is gradual, by a path that winds amongst ridges skirting the base of Báras and its continuation, Koh Behud, and crossing the Rúdi Myán Pyáz, traverses a hill slope stretching down to the Nímbulúk plain up to Girimunj. The Myán Pyáz rivulet is a brisk stream that drains Behud to the Nímbulúk plain, and of considerable size. Girimunj contains about two hundred houses clustered round a central fort, and is situated at the entrance to a picturesque glen, in which are seen the villages ofDihushk and Buznábád with their rich orchards and vineyards. The Nímbulúk plain presents a wide valley, extending from north-west to south-east some thirty-five miles by twelve wide. On its surface to the northward are seen the villages of Siláyáni, Mahyám, and Khidri. It is separated from Gúnábád by a long curving range of hills, through which are several passes. The hill range is called Mysúr, and the passes, from south to north, are named Dahna Gharcáb, Mugri, Rijing, Bálághor, and Dahna Sulemán. The first and last are the routes commonly taken by the Turkmans.
Shortly after our arrival in camp, a party of matchlockmen arrived from Dashtí Pyáz to warn Girimunj that Khidri had passed on word to them to be on the alert, as two hundred and fifty Turkmans had this morning swept across Gúnábád, and taken the road to Kakhak, which is our stage beyond Khidri. The news created a considerable stir in the village, and the people warned us to be on the alert during the night, and to continue our route by the hills to Munawáj, and on no account to venture into the open plain. At sunset Sir F. Goldsmid and General Pollock went round our camp, and posted the matchlockmen whom we had hired from the village to protect the approaches during the night, as it was thought we might possibly be attacked by them. We ourselves looked to our arms, and at a late hour retired to rest prepared for an alarm. Morning dawned, however, and no Turkman was seen, and we were inclined to think they were a myth, but for the lively fear and strict caution of the peasantry, which warned us of the necessity of vigilance.
From Girimunj we marched fifteen miles to Dashtí Pyáz. Our route was north-west along the Nímbulúk plain, skirting the Isfyán range of hills (a continuationof Behud) on our left. Out of deference to the Turkmans, we marched in a compact column with the baggage, a party of thirty matchlockmen leading the advance, and a similar party following in the rear.
At a few miles from camp, we came upon the fresh marks of horseshoes across our path. They were followed a little way on to the plain, and unhesitatingly pronounced to be the tracks of Turkmans who had come to reconnoitre our position during the night.
Our Afghan companions, who had some practical knowledge of these people about Herat, were satisfied on this point, and described to us their mode of attack, and how it behoved us to defend ourselves; whilst Hájí Abdullah, Shahrki, a venerable old chief of Sistan, who had joined Sir F. Goldsmid’s party at Kirmán, and used often to entertain us with selections from his stories of traditional lore, propounded in most classical language and with the purest accent, in tones delightful to the ear, and with a captivating manner, was no less convinced of the necessity for caution, and forthwith turned his camel a little closer to the hills, and manfully followed the course of his own selection in solitary dignity, holding his rifle all ready charged with both hands across his lap, and keeping his sharp eyes steadily fixed in the direction of the plain.
We passed two roadsideábambárand three or four little hamlets at the foot of the hills, then crossed a hill torrent, and rising over an upland, at the twelfth mile came to Khidri, a flourishing village of two hundred houses, buried in fruit gardens and mulberry plantations. We halted here for breakfast, whilst the baggage proceeded to Dashtí Pyáz, four miles farther on, at the top of the upland rise.
We halted two days at Dashtí Pyáz, in hopes of the heavy baggage we had left at Birjand here overtakingus. But as it did not arrive, and our Persianmihmandártold so many and such contradictory lies about it—his last report, told us with the coolest effrontery only at Khidri, assured us that we should find all awaiting us at this place, Dashtí Pyáz—we were fain to proceed, leaving it to overtake us farther on.
Dashtí Pyáz is a flourishing village of three hundred houses outside a dilapidated fort, which is also crowded with habitations, and all around are extensive fruit gardens and vineyards. The town is situated at the entrance to a wide glen, formed by a bend in the Isfyán and Koh Syáh hills to the west. It contains several flourishing villages, of which Munawáj and Buthkabad are the chief, and the ruins of an ancient city called Jáhul Fars, the capital of Isfandyár.
13th April.—Dashtí Pyáz to Kakhak, sixteen miles. We were to have marched yesterday morning, but at the last moment the order was countermanded, as the Persianmihmandárrefused to consent to our moving unless Sir F. Goldsmid gave him a written and sealed paper exonerating him from all responsibility in case of accident or injury on the road. He stated that he had received intelligence from his scouts that from two hundred to four hundred Turkman horse had been seen last evening on the plain at twofarsakhsorparasangs(about eight miles) from the Bálághor Pass, and that they may to-day be expected to raid Gúnábád to Kakhak or this valley of Nímbulúk to-day. The day passed, however, without our seeing anything of them, and our only consolation in the delay was in the unfavourable state of the weather, which set in damp and chill with drenching showers, and the new information we gathered regarding the so-called Turkmans, of whom we have heard so much and seen so little.
These would-be Turkmans are in reality Tymúri horsemen, lately in the service of Ataullah Khán, their tribal chief. This man was one of the chiefs of the Tátár tribes settled about Herat since the invasion of Tymúr Lang or Tamerlane, and named after that devastating conqueror. In 1857, when the prince-governor of Khorassan, Sultán Murád Mirzá, Hisámussaltanat, of Mashhad, attacked Herat, this chief, with his following, joined the Persian standard. On the retreat of the Persian army from Herat territory, Ataullah, by way of reward for his services, and compensation for the compromise his conduct had brought about, was transported, with four hundred families of his tribe, to the Kohi Surkh district of Turshíz, and granted the villages of Kundar, Khalilábád, Dihnan, Majdí, Sarmujdí, Bijingar, and Argi, in military fief for their support.
During the famine last year, these men, becoming hard pressed for food, threw off the restraint of their chief, and took to the more congenial occupation of plundering the caravans from Herat to Tehran, and were soon joined by other adventurers and robbers, who grow in this country like mushrooms on mould. Their depredations led to such widespread complaint, that the governor of Mashhad sent the Imami Jumá to inquire into the conduct of the tribe, redress complaints, and restore the plundered property. Ataullah, hearing of this, himself fled and joined the robbers, but was conciliated, and persuaded to tender his submission at Mashhad. The subsequent conduct of his people, however, who waylaid and murdered a party of government officials on their way across Reg Amráni towards Tabbas, has still further compromised their chief with the Government, and Ataullah is now a close prisoner at Tehran, and it is supposed will answer with his life for the conduct of histribesmen. This history, interesting in itself, is eminently characteristic of the state of society and weak government on this frontier.
Our route from Dashtí Pyáz was W.N.W., ascending a long upland orcholseparated from the Gúnábád plain on the right by the Laki ridge of hills, and from the Munawáj glen on the left by a broken chain of hillocks. Passing a roadsideábambárabout half-way, we halted at the sixth mile at a willow-fringed tank near the picturesque little castle of Sihúkri for breakfast. Here we found some fine elm and walnut trees. The rise is about 900 feet above Dashtí Pyáz, and affords an extensive view of the Nímbulúk plain and country to the southward. Our baggage, with the escort of hired matchlockmen, went on ahead, and we followed an hour and a half later.
Onwards from this, our route was N.N.W., through a narrow winding gorge bounded by low hills of slate and magnesian limestone, in which we found some fossil bivalves and oysters. A gradual ascent of four miles brought us to the Gudari Kakhak, a narrow watershed pass that marks the boundary between the districts of Gháyn and Tabbas. Its elevation is about 6838 feet above the sea, and 1408 feet above Dashtí Pyáz. It is closed for two months in winter by snow, and in wet weather is difficult for laden cattle, owing to the loose marly soil becoming a deep slippery mud.
The descent is gradual, through a long drainage gully receiving branches on either side down to a wide boulder-strewn ravine with high banks, which opens on to the Gúnábád plain, near Kakhak. At three miles down the gully we came to anábambár, where a road branches off to the left direct to Kakhak over the hills, but it is difficult for laden cattle. At this spot, too, a branchgully comes down from the right. In it is said to be a copper-mine, which has been abandoned for some years, owing to the vein being lost. We noticed that the surface was strewed with stones of a bright greenish blue colour, as if coated with acetate of copper.
The hill slopes on each side of the gully are cultivated in terraces, and irrigated by streams led along their brows; and on our way down, we passed several black tents ofilyátfamilies occupied in the preparation of cheese and the peculiar round balls of that substance known by the name ofcúrút. At the lower part of the gully we turned to the left out of it, beyond the castellated village of Mullahabad, and at a mile farther on came to our camp, pitched on an open gravelly surface near some gardens at a short distance from Kakhak. This is a flourishing town of about four hundred houses, surrounded by fruit gardens and corn-fields, and protected by a citadel. A prominent object of attraction is the mausoleum erected to the memory of Sultán Muhammad, a brother of Imám Razá, the saint of Mashhad. It stands on a commanding eminence, and has a handsome dome of glazed tiles, the bright colours of which are set off to the best advantage by the whitewashed portals of its groundwork. Ferrier, in his “Caravan Journeys,” mentions this place as being the site of one of the most bloody battles ever fought between the Afghans and Persians. It occurred in 1751, when Sháh Ahmad’s (Durrani) Baloch allies, under their own chief Nasír Khán, defeated the Persians and slew their leader, ’Ali Murád Khán, governor of Tabbas, who came here to give them battle. By this victory Tabbas was annexed to the Durrani kingdom.
A finer sight for a fair fight could not be found. The ground dips down to the wide plain orjúlagahof Junabadin an uninterrupted slope, and affords a splendid field for the use of cavalry, as is expressed in the name, applied generally to the succession of valleys or plains that characterise the physical geography of this country.Júlagahis evidently the diminutive form ofjúlangah, which means a plain suited to military exercises, or any level ground for horsemanship.
Kakhak seems to have suffered severely during the famine, but the accounts we received as to the extent of loss were so contradictory that it was impossible to get at the truth or an approximation to it. Numbers of beggars, sickly, pale, and emaciated, wandered timidly about our camp, craving in piteous tones a morsel of bread. Poor creatures! nobody cares for them, even the small coins we give them are snatched away by the stronger before our eyes. Truly if fellow-feeling makes wondrous kind, fellow-suffering makes wondrous unkind.
14th April.—Kakhak to Zihbud, sixteen miles; route nearly due west, hugging the hill range on our left, with the great Gúnábád valley down to the right. The centre of the valley is occupied by a succession of considerable villages, with gardens, vineyards, and corn-fields, watered by numerouskárezstreams. To the east it communicates through a gap in the hills with the great desert of Kháf, which extends south-east to Ghoryán and Herat. To the northward it is separated from Bijistan on the one hand and Reg Amráni on the other by a low range of hilly ridges ortappah, over which are some easy passes on the direct route through the valley.
At Kakhak we parted from themihmandárappointed to accompany us on the part of the governor of Gháyn, and were joined in the like capacity by Muhammad Ali Beg, thezábitor ruler of Gúnábád. He is a very ferocious-looking man, with square bull-dog features, anda heavy coarse mustache, that completely conceals the mouth, and curls over the short-trimmed wiry whiskers, all dyed bright orange withhenna. His manner, however, is very quiet and friendly. He welcomed us to the Tabbas district, and promised we should receive very different treatment from that we had experienced at the hands of Mír Ali Khán of Gháyn. He had heard of his conduct; considered he had acted host very indifferently; reckoned he would be called to account for it by the Sháh; thought that the prince-governor of Mashhad would profit by the opportunity to injure him; and, for his own part, hoped he would come to condign grief.
Our new host proved an agreeable companion, and spoke very sensibly, with a remarkable freedom from the bombast and gesticulation the modern Persian so much delights to display. I learned from him that he was connected with the Sháh by marriage with a sister of the Queen-mother, and that he had been on this frontier for many years. In the time of Kamrán of Herat, he accompanied Mír Asadullah of Gháyn in his retreat to Sistan, and spent two years at Chilling and Sihkoha. More recently, four years ago, he met Yácúb Khán at Mashhad, and subsequently his father, the present Amir Sher Ali, at Herat. He made some pointed inquiries regarding Sistan and the boundary question, but on finding they were not acceptable, adroitly turned the conversation to the more ephemeral, and perhaps to himself more congenial, topic of wines, their varieties and qualities; and his familiarity with the names at least of the common English wines and spirits not a little surprised me. He expressed concern at finding that we were travelling without a store of these creature comforts, and very good-naturedly procured us a small supply of home-distilled arrack from Gúnábád. It proved veryacceptable, for our own supplies had been long since exhausted; and Mr Rozario, who superintended our mess arrangements, cleverly converted it into very palatable punch, of which a little was made to go a great way.
But to return from this digression to our march. We had set out with the baggage in a closely-packed column, with matchlockmen in front and rear, and ourselves with a dozen horsemen leading the advance, for the dread of Turkmans was still upon us. We had proceeded thus about seven miles, passing the castellated hamlets of Iddo and Isfyán in picturesque little nooks of the hills on our left, when we turned a projecting spur and suddenly came upon a wide ravine, beyond which were the gardens and poppy-fields of Calát. Leaving the baggage to proceed ahead, we turned off up the course of the ravine to a clump of trees at its spring-head for breakfast. Our sudden appearance and martial array, for we were five or six and twenty horsemen all more or less armed, struck the villagers with a panic. Five or six of the boldest advanced into the mulberry plantations and fired their matchlocks at us, but the rest, shouting “Alaman! alaman!” “Raiders! raiders!” scrambled up the steep slopes of the slate hill backing the town as fast as their limbs would carry them. A bullet whistling by ourmihmandárwith a disagreeably close “whish,” sent him and his two attendants full gallop towards the village, vowing all sorts of vengeance on thepidri sokhtas, who could mistake their own governor and a party of respectable gentlemen for the marauding Turkmans, on whom be the curse of ’Ali and Muhammad. Ourselves meanwhile proceeded towards the clump of trees ahead. Here we came upon a watermill. The people occupied in it, disturbed by the firing, rushed out just in time to be confronted by us. If the devil himself with all his host had faced them, theycould not have evinced greater fear, nor more activity to escape his clutches. There were four of them, all dusty and powdered with flour, and they were up the hillside in a trice, going on all fours, so steep was the slope, like monkeys. The sight was absurdly ridiculous, and sent us into fits of laughter. Anon the fugitives stopped to take breath, and turning their heads, looked down on us with fear and amazement expressed on their faces. We beckoned them, called them, and laughed at them. They only scrambled up higher, and again looked down mistrustfully at us. Presently ourmihmandárrejoined us with two or three of the villagers, who looked very crestfallen at this exposure of weakness, and excused themselves as well they might on the grounds of the frequent raids by the Turkmans they were subjected to. On seeing us in friendly converse with their fellows, the startled millers slided down from their retreat, and brought with them as a peace-offering some rhubarb-stalks, the plants of which covered the hillside. A general dispensation of kráns and half-kráns soon put us on the most amicable terms, and restored a thorough confidence.
The scene was altogether too absurd and unexpected to suppress the momentary merriment it produced, yet it furnishes a subject for melancholy reflection, as illustrating the state of insecurity in which these people live. Another fact of a yet more painful nature revealed by this amusing incident was the frightful state of desolation and poverty to which this village had been reduced by the combined effects of famine and rapine. The alarm produced by our sudden appearance had brought out the whole population on the hillside, and at a rough guess they did not exceed eighty men and women, and not a single child was seen amongst them. On resuming ourmarch we passed through the village. It contains about two hundred and fifty houses, but most of them are untenanted and falling to decay. The people were miserably poor and dejected, and looked very sickly. Yet the village is surrounded by gardens and mulberry plantations, which, in their spring foliage, give the place an air of comfort and prosperity by no means in accordance with its real condition.
Calát, indeed, like many another village our journey brought us to, in interior condition quite belied its exterior appearance. I may here state in anticipation, that in all our march from Gháyn to the Persian capital we hardly anywhere saw infants or very young children. They had nearly all died in the famine. We nowhere heard the sound of music nor song nor mirth in all the journey up to Mashhad. We passed through village after village, each almost concealed from view in the untrimmed foliage of its gardens, only to see repetitions of misery, melancholy, and despair. The suffering produced by this famine baffles description, and exceeds our untutored conceptions. In this single province of Khorassan the loss of population by this cause is estimated at 120,000 souls, and over the whole kingdom cannot be less than a million and a half.
Beyond Calát our path followed the hill skirt in a north-west direction. The surface is very stony, and covered with wild rhubarb and the yellow rose in great profusion, to the exclusion of other vegetation. We passed the villages of Sághí, Kochi, Zaharabad, and Shirazabad, and then crossing a deep ravine in which flowed a brisk little stream draining into the central rivulet of Gúnábád, passed over some undulating ground to Zihbad, where we camped.
15th April.—Zihbad to Bijistan, twenty-eight miles,and halt a day. Our route was N.N.W., skirting the hill range on our left by a rough stony path. We passed in succession the villages of Brezú, Kásum, and Sinoh, each continuous with the other, through a wide stretch of fruit gardens, mulberry plantations, poppy beds, and corn-fields watered from a number of brisk little hill streams, and looking the picture of a prosperity which our experience has taught us is very far from the reality.
A little farther on, at about the eleventh mile, we came to Patinjo, and halted for breakfast under the shade of a magnificent plane-tree in the centre of the village. Proceeding hence, we continued along the hill skirt, and at about four miles entered amongst the hills that close the Gúnábád valley to the northward. We gained their shelter in a somewhat hurried manner, owing to a false alarm of Turkmans on the plain flanking our right. We had continued to hear all sorts of fanciful and exaggerated reports of these gentry, founded undoubtedly on a basis of fact, and were consequently kept alive to the chance of a possible encounter with them. On the present occasion a cloud of dust suddenly appeared round a spur projecting on the plain about two miles to our right. Ourmihmandárreined up a moment, looking intently at the suspicious object, and shook his head. At this moment the cloud of dust wheeled round in our direction. “Yá Ali!” he exclaimed. “They are Turkmans. Get on quick into the hills;” and so saying, he unslung his rifle, and loaded as he galloped. A few minutes brought us all to the hills, and ascending some heights overlooking the plain, we levelled our glasses at the cause of our commotion. After a good deal of spying and conjecturing, we discovered, to our no small chagrin, that we were no better than our friends of Calát, for our would-be Turkmans were no other than a flock of goats andsheep, grazing along the hill skirts for protection against surprise by those very marauders.
Our road through the hills was by a winding path, over ridges and through defiles, everywhere rough and stony, and in some parts very wild and rugged.
After passing the castellated village of Kámih we came to a very difficult little gorge between bare rocks of trap, and farther on reached a watershed called Gudari Rúdi, or “the pass of the tamarisk river.” It runs north and south, and is about 5150 feet above the sea. The descent is gradual, by a long drainage gully between gradually diverging hills. At five miles from the watershed we turned to the left across a wide gravelly waste to Bijistan, where we camped near asaraeoutside the town. As we approached camp, along the eastern side of this waste, we had the pleasure of seeing a long string of camels with our heavy baggage from Birjand converging to the sarae spot on the western side.
Bijistan is one of the principal towns of the Tabbas district, and contains about two thousand houses surrounded by gardens. It is a charming spot in this wilderness of barren hills and desert wastes, and lies at the base of an isolated ridge of hills, beyond which, to the west, is seen, down in a hollow, portion of the great salt desert of Yazd and Káshán. It is calledKavír, and its surface is of dazzling whiteness from saline encrustations.
The people here have suffered dreadfully from the famine, and have lost nearly all their cattle from the same cause. Our camp is surrounded by crowds of beggars, famished, gaunt and wizened creatures, most sorry objects to behold. Boys and girls, of from ten to twenty years of age, wan, pinched, and wrinkled, whine around us in piteous tones all day and all night, and vainly call on Ali for aid. “Ahajo!(forAgha ján)gushnaam, yak puli siyah bidih!” (“Dear sir! I am hungry; give me a supper!”) is the burden of each one’s prayer; whilst “Yá Alí-í-í-í!” resounds on all sides from those too helpless to move from the spots doomed to be their deathbeds. These prolonged plaintive cries in the stillness of night were distressing to hear, and enough to move the hardest hearts. To us these frequent evidences of such fearful and widespread suffering were the more distressing from our utter inability to afford any real relief. Poor creatures! there is no help for them. Hundreds of those we have seen must die, for they are past recovery even were relief at hand.
The district of Tabbas comprises the divisions orbulúkof Gúnábád, Kakhak, Bijistan, Tún, and Tabbas. The last contains the capital city of that name. The whole district has suffered fearfully during the famine by death, emigration, and raids. Some of the smaller hamlets have been entirely depopulated, and many villages have been decimated. We heard of one village in the Túnbulúk, in which not a man nor child was left, and only five old women remained to till the ground, in hopes of some of their people returning. It is not quite easy to understand the cause of the famine in these parts, for the villages are mostly well watered and their fields fertile.
17th April.—Bijistan to Yúnasi, twenty-six miles. The weather during our halt at Bijistan was close and oppressive, and on the eve of our departure set in stormy, with violent gusts of wind from the south. At daylight this morning a sharp thunderstorm with hail and rain burst over our camp, and continued with violence for nearly three hours.
Our route was in a N.N.E. direction, down a long sloping steppe, with interrupted hill ridges on either hand, down to thekavíror “salt-desert,” which here projectsan arm eastward to join that of Herat. At about the twelfth mile we passed the village of Sihfarsakh, at the foot of a white marble hill to the right; and at three miles farther on halted at a roadsideábambárfor breakfast. On the way to this we passed a small camp of Baloch gypsies—a very poor, dirty, black, and villanous-looking set. The vegetation here differs from what we have seen in the highlands of Gháyn and Tabbas, and resembles that we observed on the plains of Calá Koh. The characteristic plants areghích, wormwood, wild rue, caroxylon, and other saltworts, the wild liquorice, and a variety of flowering herbs, such as gentian, prophet flower, malcomia, and other crucifers, &c.
At four miles farther on, passing amongst some low hills, we left the fortified village of Márandez a couple of miles to the left, and entered on the wide waste of thekavír; and at another four miles reached the village of Yúnasi, where we camped. The sun shone hotly here, and a strong north wind blowing all day filled the atmosphere with clouds of saline dust, very trying to the lungs and eyes. On approaching the town, a number of its people, headed by an athlete wielding a pair of huge wooden dumb-bells, came out to meet us, and merrily conducted us to our camp. Yúnasi is a collection of about two hundred and fifty houses round a central fort, and possesses a commodioussaraebuilt of baked bricks. It stands on a small river flowing westward into the desert, and marking the boundary between the districts of Tabbas and Turbat Hydari. There are no gardens here, and a singular absence of trees gives the place a very forlorn look, quite in keeping with the aspect of the desert around. The place has been almost depopulated by the famine. Yúnasi is about 2860 feet above the sea.
Our next stage was Abdullahabad, twenty-five miles.After crossing the river or Rúdi Kavír by a red brick bridge a little below the town (there are said to be seven similar bridges across the river in different parts of its course), we went across a wide lacustrine hollow, the soil of which was light and powdery, and white with saline efflorescence, and at half-way came to Miandih, “the midway village,” and halted at itsábambárfor breakfast. The village consists of perhaps a hundred domed huts, ranged outside a square fort fast falling to decay, and has a vertical windmill similar to those used in Sistan, only made to work with an east wind. The desert here runs from east to west between high hill ranges, and is almost bare of vegetation beyond the wild rue and liquorice, and a coarse grass growing in tufts, with here and there strips of camel-thorn and salsolaceæ.
Along the line of march we passed several roadside graves, the last resting-places of famine-struck travellers hastily buried by their companions. Wild beasts had pulled out the bodies from three or four of these shallow pits, and scattered their bones and clothes upon the road. Thousands upon thousands have been so put away, or left to rot on the roads where they lay. Their place knows them no more, and but too often none are left to reck their loss.
From Miandih our route continued in an E.N.E. direction over a wide plain covered with a scanty pasture, on which we found large herds of camels, oxen, and asses at graze. They belong to Baloch nomads of the Mirzá Jahán tribe, and are tended by small unarmed parties of their herdsmen. We have all along noticed that the peasantry of Persian Khorassan, unlike those of Afghanistan, are all unarmed. This is the more surprising as a new feature on the scene here warns usthat we have come into the country which from time immemorial has been the hunting-ground of the real Turkman. The whole plain is dotted all over with hundreds of round towers as places of refuge from these marauders, and they serve also to convey a very lively idea of the insecurity of the country. These towers consist of a circular mud wall about twelve feet high, enclosing an empty roofless space about eighteen feet in diameter, and are entered by a small opening on one side, only large enough to admit of entrance on all fours. On the appearance of the raiders the shepherds or husbandmen desert their flocks and fields, and rush into these refuges till the enemy has disappeared. The Turkman has a lively dread of firearms, and a very wholesome respect for all armed travellers. He always gives these towers a wide berth, and only attacks the unwary and unarmed. From all we heard of them, they must be sorry cowards before a worthy foe, and heartless tyrants over their helpless captives. Those who used formerly to raid this country, and who do still occasionally as opportunity offers, belong to the Sarúc and Sálor tribes, whose seat is in the territories of Sarrakhs and Marv. With the Takka Turkmans of the latter place, they habitually harry all this country up to the very gates of Mashhad. In 1860, the Persian Government sent an expedition against the strongholds of these miscreants. Though the Persian troops were driven back with disastrous loss, they managed to inflict considerable damage upon the enemy, and for several years their inroads upon this frontier were put a stop to; but in the disorganisation and laxity of authority produced by the famine they have again commenced their wonted forays, and during the last three years have, it is said, carried offnearly twenty thousand Persian subjects from Mashhad district alone, for the slave markets of Khiva and Bukhára. During the pressure of the famine, we are told, the citizens of Mashhad used to flock out to the plains on purpose to be captured by the Turkman, preferring a crust of bread in slavery to the tortures of a slow death under the heedless rule of their own governors, who never stirred a finger to alleviate their sufferings or relieve their necessities. This species of voluntary exile soon grew to such alarming proportions that the Mashhad authorities were obliged to post military guards to prevent the citizens from leaving the city.
At about ten miles from Miandih we came to the ruins of a very extensive town, called Fyzabad, and beyond them passed the modern village of the same name. It is a remarkable place, and consists of a compact little town, sunk below the level of the ground, surrounded by a deep ditch, and ramparts but little raised above the general level of the plain. Within are many trees, the tops of which only are seen above the ramparts. Here the road turns due north to Abdullahabad, four miles distant, leaving the new fort of Husenabad standing boldly out on the plain away to the right.
At Fyzabad we were met by anisticbálparty of thirty or forty horsemen, headed by Hájí Agha Beg and Muhammad Karím, expressly deputed to meet us by the prince-governor of Mashhad and Husen Ali Khán, the governor of the town. They received us in a very polite and friendly manner, and conducted us to a garden house on the skirts of the town, where, as we entered its gate, a couple of sheep were sacrificed on our path, with such haste and clumsiness, that ourselves and followerswere sprinkled with the blood spurting from their severed throats. The quarters prepared for us were tastefully furnished in the Persian fashion, and on a carpeted platform, under the shade of some fine mulberry trees, and on the edge of a sparkling little stream, we were refreshed with iced sherbets and trays of sweetmeats, accompanied by the inevitablecalyánand coffee.
We halted here a day, and received a post from India with dates from Peshawar up to the 20th March. The packet came by the route of Kurram and Ghazni to Kandahar, and thence by Farráh, Herat, and Ghoryán to this. Our Afghan friends have certainly earned our gratitude for the promptitude and safety with which they have maintained our postal communication with India. Our weekly budgets from that side have seldom failed to reach us punctually, notwithstanding the rapidity of our movements, and the difficulties and dangers of the road on this side of Kandahar, where no post is established. In this respect, at all events, Afghanistan may favourably compare with Persia, where there are no proper established posts at all. Sir F. Goldsmid’s party had only received two posts since we joined them in Sistan—namely, one at Banjár, and the other only yesterday as we set out from Yúnasi. It cameviâMashhad, with dates from Tehran to the 8th March, and London of 14th January.
Abdullahabad is a charming place, and, like most Persian villages, lost in a maze of gardens and vineyards. Through its centre flows a clear hill stream, and to its south stands a strong little castle, now in a state of decay, like all the other fortifications we have seen in all this frontier. It appears as if they had all been dismantled on purpose to prevent the people from entertaining any thought of revolt, and todeprive them of the temptation to rebellion that such handy strongholds might give rise to.
During our stay here a party of a hundred horsemen, under ’Abdul Husen Khán, grandson of the celebrated Karai chief Ishák Khán, arrived here from Mashhad as escort for our party. With them came a messenger to Sistan, bearing a jewelled sword and letters of commendation from the Sháh for Mír ’Alam Khán, the governor of that newly acquired province.
20th April.—Abdullahabad to Turbat Hydari, thirty-two miles, and halt two days. We set out at fourA.M., and pursued a generally north-east course over a wide upland pasture tract towards the Asgand range of hills, which stretch across the plain from north-west to south-east. A lofty mass away to our left, and separated from the rest of the range by an intervening chain of lesser hills covered with a furrowed surface of white marl, is called Koh Fighan, or “the hill of lamentation,” and is said to be the site of Rustam’s retreat for mourning after he had unwittingly killed his son Sohráb.
At eight or ten miles out we passed the villages of Doghabad and Salmidasht, on the left and right respectively, and farther on, passing over the undulating plain of Maháwalát, alighted at akárezstream for breakfast. As a steady rain had set in, we pitched a bell-tent for the more comfortable discussion of this repast, for which our appetites were well whetted by the morning ride of twelve miles. Our escort of Karai horsemen meanwhile dismounted and scattered themselves over the hillocks around. They are a remarkably fine body of men, and excellently mounted, but are indifferently armed, and are wanting in the dash and elasticity so characteristic of the Afghan trooper. On the march they divertedthemselves and us too with a display of their horsemanship and mock fights. Their movements appeared to me slow, and the firing at full galop harmless, particularly when, in retreat, the fugitive loads, and turning round in the saddle, with a wide sweep over the horizon, discharges his rifle in the direction of his pursuer. Against a European armed with a revolver the Khorassan horseman would have a poor chance of escape. They are wonderfully hardy, however, both man and horse, and accomplish incredibly long marches, carrying their own and horses’ food and clothing, with little inconvenience. Our new companions, Hájí Agha Beg and thepeshkhidwatMuhammad Karím, entertained us, in truly Persian hyperbole, with amusing accounts of the Turkmans, and never failed to enlarge on the prowess of the Persian cavalry against them. The Hájí, as a piece of the latest news from Mashhad, informed us of the capture of eight hundred of thesepidr sokhta(burnt fathers), and the release of upwards of a thousand captives they were carrying off, by a brilliant display of military tactics on the part of a son of the Hisámussaltanat. The Turkmans, he told us, had entered the Burdjnurd lands through the Darband pass, and were allowed to proceed well ahead unmolested, when the pass behind them, which it seems is the only route of ingress and egress, was occupied by a party of the Mashhad troops. On the return of the raiders with their plunder and captives, they were suddenly attacked in front and rear, and killed and captured, for exchange, to the number of eight hundred.
“The heads of the slain,” said he, “have been brought in for exhibition at the gates of the city. You will see them on reaching Mashhad.” This was welcome news to me, for I was anxious to obtain afew skulls of this race for the collection of my learned friend, and distinguished anthropologist, Dr Barnard Davis, and therefore availed myself of the opportunity to engage the interest of our companion in procuring me a few specimens. “Any number is at your service,” replied he with charming readiness. “How many, and of which kind, do you require?” I naturally inquired what the different kinds were, and presently learned that some were merely stuck on a lance, and allowed to bleach intact in the sun, and that others were prepared so as to preserve the features. In these last, the bones of the skull were smashed by blows with a wooden mallet, and the brain, soft parts, and fragments withdrawn through the neck. The interior was then stuffed with straw, and the integument allowed to dry over it. “Thanks!” I said; “I should like two of each kind, and shall esteem it a great favour if you will procure them for me.” “Ba chasm-házir!” (“By my eyes—present!” or “With all my heart!”) “They are ready,” was his prompt reply. “They are yours. I will bring them to you myself so soon as we reach the city.” This was very satisfactory, and I congratulated myself on my prospective good fortune. But to anticipate the sequel. I did not then know the Persian character so well as I do now, and was consequently completely deceived by the Hájí’s specious politeness. On arrival at Mashhad, we found the whole story was a myth, only created for our amusement. There had been no brilliant exploit against the Turkmans, nor was a single head, stuffed or bleached, procurable. So much for Persian veracity.
At a couple of miles from Turbat Hydari we were met by the governor of the district, Hájí Mirzá Mahmúd Khán. He was attended by twenty cavaliers, andpreceded by a couple ofyadak, or led horses, handsomely caparisoned. He is a remarkably handsome man, with very polished manners, and was richly dressed. He received us with graceful civility, and conducted our party to the residence prepared for us in a garden adjoining his own quarters.
Our road passed through a long succession of gardens and orchards and villages, and finally led through the main bazár of Turbat, which is full of life, and well supplied. It consists of two main streets crossing at right angles, and covered in by a succession of domes built of red brick. Altogether it is the most flourishing place we have seen on this frontier. Turbat Hydari is picturesquely situated on the bank of a deep and wide ravine, in the midst of lofty hills, and is surrounded by a cluster of villages, each embosomed in luxuriant orchards, mulberry plantations and vineyards. Its elevation is about 4562 feet above the sea, and it enjoys a delightfully salubrious climate. During our stay the weather was unpropitious, and rain fell constantly, with only brief intervals of sunshine, and the air was damp, chill, and raw. In winter, snow lies deep for a month or six weeks.