[Transcriber's note]

Page numbers in this book are indicated by numbers enclosed in curly braces, e.g. {99}. They have been located where page breaks occurred in the original book.
Section titles which appear with the odd page numbers in the original text have been placed before the referenced paragraph in square brackets.

[End transcriber's notes]

TRAVELS IN CENTRAL ASIA

LONDON
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO.
NEW-STREET SQUARE

DERVISHES AT BOKHARA.

TRAVELS IN CENTRAL ASIA
BEING THE ACCOUNT OF
A JOURNEY FROM TEHERAN ACROSS THE TURKOMAN DESERT ON THE EASTERN SHORE OF THE CASPIAN TO KHIVA, BOKHARA, AND SAMARCAND
Performed In The Year 1863
BY ARMINIUS VÁMBÉRY
MEMBER OF THE HUNGARIAN ACADEMY OF PESTH, BY WHOM HE WAS SENT ON THIS SCIENTIFIC MISSION

LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1864

TO
MAJOR-GENERAL
SIR HENRY RAWLINSON, K.C.B.
THE INVESTIGATOR OF THE ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE EAST, AND YIELDING TO NONE IN HIS KNOWLEDGE OF THE PRESENT CONDITION OF CENTRAL ASIA,
In Token Of Admiration And Gratitude
THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE DEDICATED
A. VÁMBÉRY.

PREFACE.

I was born in Hungary in 1832, in the small town of Duna Szerdahely, situated on one of the largest islands in the Danube. Impelled by a particular inclination to linguistic science, I had in early youth occupied myself with several languages of Europe and Asia. The various stores of Oriental and Western literature were in the first instance the object of my eager study. At a later period I began to interest myself in the reciprocal relations of the languages themselves; and here it is not surprising if I, in applying the proverb 'nosce teipsum,' directed my principal attention to the affinities and to the origin of my own mother-tongue.

That the Hungarian language belongs to the stock called Altaic is well known, but whether it is to be referred to the Finnish or the Tartaric branch is a question that still awaits decision. This enquiry, interesting [Footnote 1] to us Hungarians both in a scientific and {viii} a national point of view, was the principal and the moving cause of my journey to the East. I was desirous of ascertaining, by the practical study of the living languages, the positive degree of affinity which had at once struck me as existing between the Hungarian and the Turco-Tartaric dialects when contemplating them by the feeble light which theory supplied. I went first to Constantinople. Several years' residence in Turkish houses, and frequent visits to Islamite schools and libraries, soon transformed me into a Turk--nay, into an Efendi. The progress of my linguistic researches impelled me further towards the remote East; and when I proposed to carry out my views by actually undertaking a journey to Central Asia, I found it advisable to retain this character of Efendi, and to visit the East as an Oriental.

[Footnote 1: The opinion consequently that we Hungarians go to Asia to seek there those of our race who were left behind, is erroneous. Such an object, the carrying out of which, both from ethnographical as well as philological reasons, would be an impossibility, would render a man amenable to the charge of gross ignorance. We are desirous of knowing the etymological construction of our language, and therefore seek exact information from cognate idioms.]

The foregoing observations will explain the object which I proposed to myself in my wanderings from the Bosphorus to Samarcand. Geological or astronomical researches were out of my province, and had even become an impossibility from my assumption of the character of a Dervish. My attention was for the most part directed to the races inhabiting Central Asia, of whose social and political relations, character, usages, and customs I have striven, however imperfectly, to give a sketch in the following {ix} pages. Although, as far as circumstances and my previous avocations permitted, I allowed nothing that concerned geography and statistics to escape me, still I must regard the results of my philological researches as the principal fruits of my journey. These I am desirous, after maturer preparation, to lay before the scientific world. These researches, and not the facts recorded in the present pages, must ever be regarded by me as the real reward of a journey in which I wandered about for months and months with only a few rags as my covering, without necessary food, and in constant peril of perishing by a death of cruelty, if not of torture. I may be reproached with too much limiting my views, but where a certain object is proposed we should not lose sight of the principle, 'non omnia possumus omnes.'

A stranger on the field to which the publication of this narrative has introduced me, I feel my task doubly difficult in a land like England, where literature is so rich in books of travels. My design was to record plainly and simply what I heard and saw, whilst the impression still remained fresh on my mind. I doubt much whether I have succeeded, and beg the kind indulgence of the public. Readers and critics may find many errors, and the light that I may throw upon particular points may be accounted too small a compensation for the hardships I actually encountered; but I entreat them not to forget that I return from a country where to hear is regarded as impudence, to ask as crime, and to take notes as a deadly sin. {x}

So much for the grounds and purposes of my journey. With respect to the arrangement of these pages, in order that there may be no interruption, I have divided the book into two parts; the first containing the description of my journey from Teheran to Samarcand and back, the second devoted to notices concerning the geography, statistics, politics, and social relations of Central Asia. I hope that both will prove of equal interest to the reader; for whilst on the one hand I pursued routes hitherto untrodden by any European, my notices relate to subjects hitherto scarcely, if at all, touched on by writers upon Central Asia. And now let me perform the more pleasing task of expressing my warm acknowledgments to all those whose kind reception of me when I arrived in London has been a great furtherance and encouragement to the publication of the following narrative. Before all let me mention the names of SIR JUSTIN and LADY SHEIL. In their house I found English open-heartedness associated with Oriental hospitality; their kindness will never be forgotten by me. Nor are my obligations less to the Nestor of geological science, the President of the Royal Geographical Society, SIR RODERICK MURCHISON; to that great Oriental scholar, VISCOUNT STRANGFORD; and to MR. LAYARD, M.P., Under-Secretary of State. In Central Asia I bestowed blessing for kindness received; here I have but words, they are sincere and come from the heart.

A. VÁMBÉRY.

London: September 28, 1864.

{xi}

CONTENTS.

PART I.

CHAPTER I.--Page [1]

CHAPTER II. Page [9]

CHAPTER III.--Page [20]

{xii}

CHAPTER IV.--Page [30]

CHAPTER V.--Page [45]

CHAPTER VI.--Page [70]

{xiii}

CHAPTER VII.--Page [90]

CHAPTER VIII.--Page [113]

CHAPTER IX.--Page [144]

FROM KHIVA TO BOKHARA.

CHAPTER X.--Page [167]

{xiv}

CHAPTER XI.--Page [197]

CHAPTER XII.--Page [222]

CHAPTER XIII.--Page [244]

{xv}

CHAPTER XIV.--Page [269]
HERAT.

CHAPTER XV.--Page [286]
FROM HERAT TO LONDON.

PART II.

CHAPTER XVI.--Page [301]
THE TURKOMANS.

{xvi}

CHAPTER XVII.--Page [329]
THE CITY OF KHIVA.

CHAPTER XVIII.--Page [362]
THE CITY OF BOKHARA.

CHAPTER XIX.--Page [380]
KHANAT OF KHOKAND.

CHAPTER XX.--Page [397]
CHINESE TARTARY.

CHAPTER XXI.--Page [407]

{xvii}

CHAPTER XXII.--Page [419]
GENERAL VIEW OF AGRICULTURE, MANUFACTURES, AND TRADE.

CHAPTER XXIII.--Page [430]
INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL POLITICAL RELATIONS OF CENTRAL ASIA.

CHAPTER XXIV.--Page [439]
THE RIVALRY OF THE RUSSIANS AND ENGLISH IN CENTRAL ASIA.

{xviii}

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

[{1}]

TRAVELS IN CENTRAL ASIA

CHAPTER I.

Je marchais, et mes compagnons flottaient comme des branches par l'effet du sommeil.--Victor Hugo, from Omaïah ben Aiëdz.

[Travelling in Persia]

Whoever has travelled through Persia in the middle of July will sympathise with me when I say how glad I felt at having got through the district that extends from Tabris to Teheran. It is a distance of only fifteen, or perhaps we may rather say of only thirteen karavan stations: still, it is fearfully fatiguing, when circumstances compel one to toil slowly from station to station under a scorching sun, mounted upon a laden mule, and condemned to see nothing but such drought and barrenness as characterise almost the whole of Persia. How bitter the disappointment to him who has studied Persia only in Saadi, Khakani, and Hafiz; [{2}] or, still worse, who has received his dreamy impressions of the East from the beautiful imaginings of Goethe's 'Ost-Westlicher Divan,' or Victor Hugo's 'Orientales,' or the magnificent picturings of Tom Moore!

[Sleep on Horseback; Teheran]

It was not until we were about two stations from Teheran, that the idea struck our Djilodar [Footnote 2] to change our march by day into night marches. But even this expedient had its inconveniences: for the coolness of the night in Persia is a great disposer to slumber; the slow pace of the animals has a composing effect, and one must really firmly cling to them, or sometimes even suffer oneself to be bound on by cords, to avoid being precipitated during one's sleep down upon the sharp flint stones below. The Oriental, habituated to this constant torment, sleeps sweetly enough, whatever may be the kind of saddle, whether it be upon horse, camel, mule, or ass; and it gave me many a moment of merry enjoyment, as I contemplated the tall, lanky, long-robed Persians, lying outstretched with their feet nearly touching the ground, and their heads supported upon the necks of the patient beasts. In this position the Persians take their nap quite tranquilly, whilst they unconsciously pass many stations. But, at that time, Necessity, the mother of invention, had not yet imparted to me the necessary experience; and whilst the greater part of my travelling companions near me, in spite of their soft slumbers, were still riding on, I was left undisturbed to the studious contemplation of the Kervankusch and Pervins (Pleïades); and I looked with inexpressible longing to that quarter where the Suheil (Canopus) [{3}] and the Sitarei Subh (morning star) emerging, should announce the dawn of day, the proximity of the station, and the end of our torments. What wonder that I was somewhat in the condition of a half-boiled fish, when on the 13th July, 1862, I approached the capital of Persia? We stopped at a distance of a couple of English miles on the banks of a stream, to let our beasts drink. The halt awakened my companions, who, still sleepily rubbing their eyes, pointed out to me how Teheran was there lying before us to the north-east. I looked about me, and perceived in that direction a blue smoke rising and lengthening in long columns upwards, permitting me, however, here and there to distinguish the outline of a glittering dome, till at last, the vaporous veil having gradually disappeared, I had the enjoyment, as Persians express themselves, of beholding before me, in all her naked wretchedness, the Darül Khilafe, or Seat of Sovereignty.

[Footnote 2: The same as Kervanbashi; one who hires the camels, mules, asses, etc.]

I made my entry through the Dervaze (gate) No, and shall certainly not soon forget the obstacles amidst which I had to force my way. Asses, camels, and mules laden with barley straw, and bales of Persian or European merchandise, were all pressing on in the most fearful confusion, at the very entrance of the gate. Drawing up my legs under me upon the saddle, and screaming out as lustily as my neighbours, 'Khaberdar, Khaberdar' (Take care), I at last succeeded in getting into the city, though with no little trouble. I traversed the bazaar, and finally reached the palace of the Turkish Embassy, without having received any serious wound either by squeeze, blow, or cut.

[{4}]

[Reception at the Turkish Embassy]

A native of Hungary, sent by the Hungarian Academy upon a scientific mission to Central Asia, what had I to do at the Turkish Embassy? This will appear from the Preface, to which I respectfully request my readers' attention, in spite of the prejudice condemning such introductions as tiresome and unnecessary.

With Haydar Efendi, who then represented the Porte at the Persian Court, I had been already acquainted at Constantinople. He had previously filled similar functions at St. Petersburg and at Paris. But, notwithstanding my being personally known to him, I was bearer also of letters from his most esteemed friends; and, counting upon the oft-proved hospitality of the Turks, I felt sure of meeting with a good reception. I consequently regarded the residence of the Turkish Embassy as my future abode; and as these gentlemen had resorted already to their yailar or summer seat at Djizer (eight English miles from Teheran), I only changed my clothes, and after indulging in a few hours' repose to atone for my recent sleepless nights, I mounted an ass, hired for an excursion into the country, and in two hours found myself in the presence of the Efendis, who, in a magnificent tent of silk, were just about to commence a dinner possessing in my eyes still superior magnificence and attraction.

My reception, both by the ambassador and the secretaries, was of the most friendly description: room was soon found for me at the table, and in a few moments we were in deep conversation, respecting Stamboul and her beautiful views, the Sultan and his mode of government. Ah! how refreshing in Teheran is the recollection of the Bosphorus!

[{5}]

[Turkey and Persia]

What wonder if, in the course of the conversation, frequent comparisons were instituted between the Persian and the Turkish manner of living?

If one too hastily gives way to first impressions, Iran, the theme of so much poetic enthusiasm, is, after all, nothing but a frightful waste; whereas Turkey is really an earthly paradise. I accord to the Persian all the politeness of manners, and all the readiness and vivacity of wit, that are wanting to the Osmanli; but in the latter the absence of these qualities is more than compensated by an integrity and an honourable frankness not possessed by his rival. The Persian can boast a poetic organisation and an ancient civilisation. The superiority of the Osmanli results from the attention he is paying to the languages of Europe, and his disposition gradually to acquaint himself with the progress that European savans have made in chemistry, physics, and history.

Our conversation was prolonged far into night. The following days were devoted to my presentation at the other European embassies. I found Count Gobineau, the Imperial ambassador, under a small tent in a garden like a caldron, where the heat was awful. Mr. Alison was more comfortably quartered in his garden at Gulahek, purchased for him by his Government. He was very friendly. I had often the opportunity, at his hospitable table, of studying the question why the English envoys everywhere distinguish themselves amongst their diplomatic brethren, by the comfortableness as well as the splendour of their establishments. In addition to the diplomatic corps of Europe, I found at that time at Teheran many officers, French or Italian; an Austrian officer, too, of the engineers, R. von Gasteiger; all of them in the service of the Shah, with liberal allowances. [{6}] These gentlemen, as I heard, were disposed to render themselves very serviceable, possessing all the requisite qualifications; but any benefit that might have resulted was entirely neutralised by the systematic want of system that existed in Persia, and by the low intrigues of the Persians.

[Ferrukh Khan's Visit to Europe]

The object of Ferrukh Khan's diplomatic journeys in Europe was in reality to show our cabinets how much Iran had it at heart to obtain admittance into the comity of States. He begged aid everywhere, that his country might have the wondrous elixir of civilisation imparted to it as rapidly as possible. All Europe thought that Persia was really upon the point of adopting every European custom and principle. As Ferrukh Khan has a long beard, wears long robes and a high hat, which give him a very earnest look, our ministers were kind enough to attach to him unlimited credit. Wishing to honour a regular Government in Persia, troops of officers, artists, and artisans flocked to him. They went still further, and hastened to return the visits of the Envoy Extraordinary of the Shah. In consequence we saw Belgium, at no small expense, forwarding an ambassador to Persia to study commercial relations, to make treaties of commerce, and to give effect to numberless other strokes of policy. He arrived, and I can scarcely imagine that his first report home could have begun with 'Veni, vidi, vici,' or that he could have felt the slightest desire to pay a second visit to 'la belle Perse.' Next to Belgium came Prussia. The learned diplomatist Baron von Minutoli, to whom the mission was entrusted, devoted his life to it. His thirst after science impelled him to proceed to South Persia; and at only two days' journey from 'heavenly Shiraz,' as the Persians call it, he fell a sacrifice to the pestilential air, and now [{7}] reposes in the place last mentioned, a few paces from Hafiz, and behind the Baghi Takht.

A few days after I came, the embassy of the new kingdom of Italy arrived also, consisting of twenty persons, divided into diplomatic, military, and scientific sections. The object they had in view has remained always a mystery to me. I have much to recount respecting their reception, but prefer to keep these details for a better occasion, and to busy myself more especially with the preparations I then made for my own journey.

[War between Dost Mohammed Khan and Sultan Ahmed Khan; Excursion to Shiraz]

By the kind offices of my friends at the Turkish Embassy, I was in a condition very little suited to the character of a mendicant Dervish which I was about to assume: the comforts I was enjoying were heartily distasteful to me, and I should have preferred, after my ten days' repose at Teheran, to proceed at once to Meshed and Herat, had not obstacles, long dreaded, interfered with my design. Even before the date of my leaving Constantinople, I had heard, by the daily press, of the war declared by Dost Mohammed Khan against his son-in-law and former vassal at Herat, Sultan Ahmed Khan, because the latter had broken his fealty to him, and had placed himself under the suzerainty of the Shah of Persia. Our European papers seemed to me to exaggerate the whole matter, and the story failed to excite in me the apprehensions it really ought to have done. I regarded the difficulties as unreal, and began my journey. Nevertheless, here in Teheran, at a distance of only thirty-two days' journey from the seat of war, I learnt from undeniable sources, to my very great regret, that the war in those parts had really broken off all communications, and that since the siege had begun, no karavan, still less any solitary [{8}] traveller, could pass either from or to Herat. Persians themselves dared not venture their wares or their lives; but there would have been far more cause for apprehension in the case of a European whose foreign lineaments would, in those savage Asiatic districts, even in periods of peace, be regarded by an Oriental with mistrust, and must singularly displease him in time of war. The chances, indeed, seemed to be, if I ventured thither, that I should be unceremoniously massacred by the Afghans. I began to realise my actual position, and convinced myself of the impossibility, for the moment, of prosecuting my journey under such circumstances; and in order not to reach, during the wintry season, Bokhara, in the wastes of Central Asia, I immediately determined to postpone my journey till next March, when I should have the finest season of the year before me; and, perhaps, in the meantime the existing political relations, which barricaded Herat, the gate of Central Asia, from all approach, might have ceased. It was not till the beginning of September that I became reconciled to this necessity. It will be readily understood how unpleasant it was for me to have to spend five or six months in a country possessing for me only secondary interest, and respecting which so many excellent accounts have already appeared. Not, then, with any serious intention of studying Persia, but rather to withdraw myself from a state of inactivity calculated to be prejudicial to my future purposes, I quitted, in a semi-dervish character, my hospitable Turkish friends, and proceeded at once by Ispahan to Shiraz, and so obtained the enjoyment of visiting the oft-described monuments of ancient Iran civilisation.

[{9}]

CHAPTER II.

The Parthians held it as a maxim to accord no passage over their territory to any stranger.--Heeren, Manual of Ancient History.

[Return to Teheran; Relief of Sunnites, Dervishes, and Hadjis at the Turkish Embassy]

Towards the middle of January 1863, I found myself back in Teheran, and again sharing the hospitality of my Turkish benefactors. A change came over me; my hesitation was at an end, my decision was made, my preparations hastened. I resolved, even at the greatest sacrifice, to carry out my design. It is an old custom of the Turkish Embassy to accord a small subsidy to the Hadjis and Dervishes, who every year are in the habit of passing in considerable numbers through Persia towards the Turkish Empire. This is a real act of benevolence for the poor Sunnitish mendicants in Persia, who do not obtain a farthing from the Shiitish Persians. The consequence was, that the Hotel of the Embassy received guests from the most remote parts of Turkestan. I felt the greatest pleasure whenever I saw these ragged wild Tartars enter my apartment. They had it in their power to give [{10}] much real information respecting their country, and their conversations were of extreme importance for my philological studies. They, on their part, were astonished at my affability, having naturally no idea of the objects which I had in view. The report was soon circulated in the karavanserai, to which they resorted in their passage through, that Haydar Efendi, the ambassador of the Sultan, has a generous heart; that Reshid Efendi (this was the name I had assumed) treats the Dervishes as his brethren; that he is probably himself a Dervish in disguise. As people entertained those notions, it was no matter of surprise to me that the Dervishes who reached Teheran came first to me, and then to the minister; for access to the latter was not always attainable, and now, through me, they found a ready means of obtaining their obolus, or the satisfaction of their other wishes.

It was thus that in the morning of the 20th March four Hadjis came to me with the request that I would present them to the Sultan's envoy, as they wished to prefer a complaint against the Persians who, on their return from Mecca, at Hamadan, had exacted from them the Sunni tribute--an exaction not only displeasing to the Shah of Persia, but long since forbidden by the Sultan. For here it must be remarked, that the good Tartars think that the whole world ought to obey the chief of their religion, the Sultan. [Footnote 3]

[Footnote 3: In the eyes of all the Sunnites, the lawful khalife (successor) of Mahomet is he who is in possession of the precious heritage, which comprises--1st, all the relics preserved in Stamboul, in the Hirkai Seadet, e.g. the cloak, beard, and teeth of the Prophet, lost by him in a combat; articles of clothing, Korans, and weapons which belonged to the first four khalifs, 2ndly, the possession of Mecca and Medina, Jerusalem, and other places of pilgrimage resorted to by the Islamite.]

[{11}]

[Author becomes acquainted with a Karavan of Tartar Hadjis returning from Mecca; The different Routes]

'We desire,' they say, 'from his excellency the ambassador, no money: we pray only, that for the future our Sunnitish brethren may visit the holy places without molestation.' Words so unselfish proceeding from the mouth of an Oriental much surprised me. I scrutinised the wild features of my guests, and must avow that, barbarous as they seemed, wretched as was their clothing, I was yet able to discover in them a something of nobility, and from the first moment was prepossessed in their favour. I had a long conversation with them, to inform myself more fully respecting their companions, and the route which they had selected to go to Mecca, and the one which they thought of taking after leaving Teheran. The spokesman of the party was, for the most part, a Hadji from Chinese Tartary (called also Little Bokhara), who had concealed his ragged dress under a new green Djubbe (over-dress), and wore on his head a colossal white turban, and, by his fiery glance and quick eye, showed his superiority over the whole body of his associates. After having represented himself as the Court Imam of the Vang (Chinese Governor) of Aksu (a province in Chinese Tartary), who had twice visited the Holy Sepulchre--hence being twofold a Hadji--he made me acquainted with his friend seated near him, and gave me to understand that the persons present were to be regarded as the chiefs of the small Hadji karavan, amounting to twenty-four in all. 'Our company,' said their orator, 'consists of young and old, rich and poor, men of piety, learned men and laity; still we live together with the greatest simplicity, since we are all from Khokand and Kashgar, and have amongst us no Bokhariot, no viper of that race.' The hostility of the Özbeg (Tartar) tribes of Central [{12}] Asia to the Tadjiks (the ancient Persian inhabitants) had been long previously known to me: I listened, therefore, without making any comment, and preferred informing myself of the plan of their journey onwards. 'From Teheran to our homes,' the Tartars explained, 'we have four roads: viz., first, by Astrakhan, Orenburg, and Bokhara; secondly, by Meshed, Herat, and Bokhara; thirdly, by Meshed, Merv, and Bokhara; fourthly, through the Turkoman wilderness, Khiva, and Bokhara. The first two are too costly, and the war at Herat is also a great obstacle; the last two, it is true, are very dangerous routes. We must, nevertheless, select one of these, and we wish, therefore, to ask your friendly counsel.'

[The Author determines to join the Hadjis]

We had now been nearly an hour in conversation. It was impossible not to like their frankness, and in spite of the singular lineaments marking their foreign origin, their wretched clothing, and the numerous traces left behind by their long and fatiguing journeys--all which lent a something forbidding to their appearance--I could not refrain from the thought. What if I journeyed with these pilgrims into Central Asia? As natives, they might prove my best Mentors: besides, they already know me as the Dervish Reshid Efendi, and have seen me playing that part at the Turkish Embassy, and are themselves on the best understanding with Bokhara, the only city in Central Asia that I really feared from having learnt the unhappy lot of the travellers who had preceded me thither. Without much hesitation, my resolution was formed. I knew I should be questioned as to the motives that actuated me in undertaking such a journey. I knew that to an Oriental 'pure sang' it was impossible to assign a scientific [{13}] object. They would have considered it ridiculous, perhaps even suspicious, for an Efendi--that is, for a gentleman with a mere abstract object in view--to expose himself to so many dangers and annoyances. The Oriental does not understand the thirst for knowledge, and does not believe much in its existence. It would have been the height of impolicy to shock these fanatical Musselmans in their ideas. The necessity of my position, therefore, obliged me to resort to a measure of policy, of deception, which I should otherwise have scrupled to adopt. It was at once flattering to my companions, and calculated to promote the design I had in view. I told them, for instance, that I had long silently, but earnestly, desired to visit Turkestan (Central Asia), not merely to see the only source of Islamite virtue that still remained undefiled, but to behold the saints of Khiva, Bokhara, and Samarcand. It was this idea, I assured them, that had brought me hither out of Roum (Turkey). I had now been waiting a year in Persia, and I thanked God for having at last granted me fellow-travellers, such as they were (and I here pointed to the Tartars), with whom I might proceed on my way and accomplish my wish.'

[Hadji Bilal]

When I had finished my speech, the good Tartars seemed really surprised, but they soon recovered from their amazement, and remarked that they were now perfectly certain of what they before only suspected, my being a Dervish. It gave them, they said, infinite pleasure that I should regard them as worthy of the friendship that the undertaking so distant and perilous a journey in their company implied. 'We are all ready not only to become your friends, but your servants,' said Hadji Bilal (such was the name of their [{14}] orator above mentioned); 'but we must still draw your attention to the fact that the routes in Turkestan are not as commodious nor as safe as those in Persia and in Turkey. On that which we shall take, travellers meet often for weeks with no house, no bread, not even a drop of water to drink; they incur, besides, the risk of being killed, or taken prisoners and sold, or of being buried alive under storms of sand. Ponder well, Efendi, the step! You may have occasion later to rue it, and we would by no means wish to be regarded as the cause of your misfortune. Before all things, you must not forget that our countrymen at home are far behind us in experience and worldly knowledge, and that, in spite of all their hospitality, they invariably regard strangers from afar with suspicion: and how, besides, will you be able without us and alone to perform that great return journey?' That these words produced a great impression it is easy to imagine, but they did not shake me in my purpose. I made light of the apprehensions of my friends, recounted to them how I had borne former fatigues, how I felt averse to all earthly comforts, and particularly to those Frankish articles of attire of which we would have to make a sacrifice. 'I know,' I said, 'that this world on earth resembles an hotel, [Footnote 4] in which we merely take up our quarters for a few days, and whence we soon move away to make room for others, and I laugh at the Musselmans of the present time who take heed not merely for the moment but for ten years of onward existence. Yes, dear friend, take me with you; I must hasten away from this horrid kingdom of Error, for I am too weary of it.'

[Footnote 4: Mihmankhanei pendjruzi, 'a five days' hostelry,' is the name employed by the philosophers of the East to signify this earthly abode.]

[{15}]

My entreaties prevailed; they could not resist me: I was consequently immediately chosen by the chiefs of the Dervish karavan as a fellow-traveller: we embraced and kissed. In performing this ceremony, I had, it is true, some feeling of aversion to struggle against. I did not like such close contact with those clothes and bodies impregnated with all kinds of odours. Still, my affair was settled. It only now remained for me to see my benefactor, Haydar Efendi, to communicate to him my intentions, ask him for his recommendation to the Hadjis, whom I proposed immediately to present to him.

I counted, of course, at first upon meeting with great opposition, and accordingly I was styled a lunatic who wanted to journey to a place from which few who had preceded me had returned; nor was I, they said, content with that, but I must take for my guides men who for the smallest coin would destroy me. Then they drew me the most terrifying pictures; but, seeing that all efforts to divert me from my plans were fruitless, they began to counsel me, and in earnest to consider how they could be of service in my enterprise. Haydar Efendi received the Hadjis, spoke to them of my design in the same style as I had used, and recommended me to their hospitality, with the remark that they might look for a return for any service rendered by them to an Efendi, a servant of the Sultan, now entrusted to their charge. At this interview I was not present, but I was informed that they promised the faithful performance of their engagement.

[{16}]

The reader will see how well my worthy friends kept their promise, and how the protection of the excellent Envoy of Turkey was the means of saving my life so often threatened, and that it was always the good faith of my pilgrim companions that rescued me from the most critical positions. In the course of conversation, I was told that Haydar Efendi, when Bokhara came under discussion, expressed his disapprobation of the policy of the Emir. [Footnote 5] He afterwards demanded the entire list of all the poor travellers, to whom he gave about fifteen ducats--a magnificent donation to these people, who sought no greater luxury in the world than bread and water.

[Footnote 5: Emir is a title given to the sovereign of Bokhara, whereas the princes of Khiva and Khokand are styled Khans. ]

[Introduction of Author to his future Travelling Companions]

It was fixed that we should begin our journey a week later. In the interval, Hadji Bilal alone visited me, which he did very frequently, presenting to me his countrymen from Aksu Yarkend and Kashgar. They looked to me, indeed, rather like adventurers, dreadfully disfigured, than pious pilgrims. He expressed especial interest in his adopted son, Abdul Kadér, a bumpkin of the age of twenty-five years, whom he recommended to me as 'famulus.' 'He is,' said Hadji Bilal, 'a faithful fellow: although awkward, he may learn much from you; make use of him during your journey; he will bake bread and make tea for you, occupations that he very well understands.' Hadji Bilal's real object, however, was not merely that he should bake my bread, but help me to eat it; for he had with him a second adopted son on the journey, and the two, with appetites sharpened by their wanderings on foot, were too heavy a burthen upon the resources of my friend. I promised to accede to their request, and they were accordingly delighted. To [{17}] say the truth, the frequent visits of Hadji Bilal had made me a little suspicious: for I readily thought this man supposes that in me he has had a good catch, he takes a great deal of trouble to get me with him; he dreads my not carrying out my intentions. But no, I dare not, I will not think ill of him; and so to convince him of my unbounded confidence, I showed the little sum of money that I was taking with me for the expenses of the journey, and begged him to instruct me as to what mien, dress, and manners I ought to assume to make myself as much as possible like my travelling companions, in order that by doing so I might escape unceasing observation. This request of mine was very agreeable to him, and it is easy to conceive how singular a schooling I then received.

Before all things he counselled me to shave my head, and exchange my then Turkish-European costume for one of Bokhara; as far as possible to dispense with bedclothes, linen, and all such articles of luxury. I followed exactly his direction, and my equipment, being of a very modest nature, was very soon made; and three days before the appointed day I stood ready prepared for my great adventure.

In the meantime I went one day to the karavanserai, where my travelling companions were quartered, to return their visit. They occupied two little cells; in one were fourteen, in the other ten persons. They seemed to me dens filled with filth and misery. That impression will never leave me. Few had adequate means to proceed with their journey; for the majority their beggar's staff was the sole resource. I found them engaged in an occupation of the toilette which I will not offend the reader by recording, although [{18}] the necessity of the case obliged me myself later to resort to it.

[Route through the Yomuts and the Great Desert decided upon.]

They gave me the heartiest reception, offered me green tea, and I had to go through the torture of drinking without sugar a large Bokhariot bowl of the greenish water. Worse still, they wished to insist upon my swallowing a second; but I begged to be excused. I was now permitted even to embrace my new associates; by each I was saluted as a brother; and after having broken bread with them individually, we sat down in a circle in order to take counsel as to the route to be chosen. As I before remarked, we had the choice between two; both perilous, and traversing the desert home of the Turkomans, the only difference being that of the tribes through which they pass. The way by Meshed, Merv, and Bokhara was the shortest, but would entail the necessity of proceeding through the midst of the Tekke tribes, the most savage of all the Turkomans, who spare no man, and who would not hesitate to sell into slavery the Prophet himself, did he fall into their hands. On the other route are the Yomut Turkomans, an honest, hospitable people. Still that would necessitate a passage of forty stations through the desert, without a single spring of sweet drinking water. After some observations had been made, the route through the Yomuts, the Great Desert, Khiva, and Bokhara was selected. 'It is better, my friends, to battle against the wickedness of the elements than against that of men. God is gracious, we are on His way; He will certainly not abandon us.' To seal their determination, Hadji Bilal invoked a blessing, and whilst he was speaking we all raised our hands in the air, and when he came to an end every one seized his beard and said aloud, 'Amen!' We rose from [{19}] our seats, and they told me to make my appearance there two days after, early in the morning, to take our departure together. I returned home, and during these two days I had a severe and a violent struggle with myself. I thought of the dangers that encircled my way, of the fruits that my travels might produce. I sought to probe the motives that actuated me, and to judge whether they justified my daring; but I was like one bewitched and incapable of reflection. In vain did men try to persuade me that the mask they bore alone prevented me from perceiving the real depravity of my new associates; in vain did they seek to deter me by the unfortunate fate of Conolly, Stoddart, and Moorcroft, with the more recent mishaps of Blôcqueville, who fell into the hands of the Turkomans, and who was only redeemed from slavery by the payment of 10,000 ducats: their cases I only regarded as accidental, and they inspired me with little apprehension. I had only one misgiving, whether I had enough physical strength to endure the hardships arising from the elements, unaccustomed food, bad clothing, without the shelter of a roof, and without any change of attire by night; and how then should I with my lameness be able to journey on foot, I, who was liable to be tired so soon? and here for me was the chief hazard and risk of my adventure. Need I say which side in this mental struggle gained the victory?

The evening previous I bade adieu to my friends at the Turkish Embassy; the secret of the journey was entrusted but to two; and whereas the European residents believed I was going to Meshed, I left Teheran to continue my course in the direction of Astrabad and the Caspian Sea.

[{20}]

CHAPTER III.

Beyond the Caspian's iron gates. --Moore.

[ Departure from Teheran in North-easterly Direction]

On the morning of the 28th March, 1863, at an early hour, I proceeded to our appointed rendezvous, the karavanserai. Those of my friends whose means permitted them to hire a mule or an ass as far as the Persian frontiers were ready booted and spurred for their journey; those who had to toil forwards on foot had on already their jaruk (a covering for the feet appropriate for infantry), and seemed, with their date-wood staves in their hands, to await with great impatience the signal for departure. To my great amazement, I saw that the wretched clothing which they wore at Teheran was really their city, that is, their best holiday costume. This they did not use on ordinary occasions; every one had now substituted his real travelling dress, consisting of a thousand rags fastened round the loins by a cord. Yesterday I regarded myself in my clothing as a beggar; to-day, in the midst of them, I was a king in his royal robes. At last Hadji Bilal raised his hand for the parting benediction; [{21}] and hardly had every one seized his beard to say 'Amen,' when the pedestrians rushed out of the gate, hastening with rapid strides to get the start of us who were mounted. Our march was directed towards the north-east from Teheran to Sari, which we were to reach in eight stations. We turned therefore towards Djadjerud and Firuzkuh, leaving Taushantepe, the little hunting-seat of the king, on our left; and were, in an hour, at the entrance of the mountainous pass where one loses sight of the plain and city of Teheran. By an irresistible impulse I turned round. The sun was already, to use an Oriental expression, a lance high; and its beams illuminated, not Teheran alone, but the distant gilded dome of Shah Abdul Azim. At this season of the year, Nature in Teheran already assumes all her green luxuriance; and I must confess that the city, which the year before had made so disagreeable an impression upon me, appeared to me now dazzlingly beautiful. This glance of mine was an adieu to the last outpost of European civilisation. I had now to confront the extremes of savageness and barbarism. I felt deeply moved; and that my companions might not remark my emotion, I turned my horse aside into the mountainous defile.

In the meantime my companions were beginning to recite aloud passages from the Koran, and to chant telkins (hymns), as is seemly for genuine pilgrims to do. They excused me from taking part in these, as they knew that the Roumis (Osmanli) were not so strictly and religiously educated as the people in Turkestan; and they besides hoped that I should receive the necessary inspiration by contact with their society. I followed them at a slow pace, and will [{22}] now endeavour to give a description of them, for the double motive that we are to travel so long together and that they are in reality the most honest people I shall ever meet with in those parts. There were, then,

[The Component Members of Karavan described]

1. Hadji Bilal, from Aksu (Chinese Tartary), and Court Iman of the Chinese Musselman Governor of the same province: with him were his adopted sons,

2. Hadji Isa, a lad in his sixteenth year; and

3. Hadji Abdul Kader, before mentioned, in the company, and so to say under the protection, of Hadji Bilal. There were besides,

4. Hadji Yusuf, a rich Chinese Tartar peasant; with his nephew,

5. Hadji Ali, a lad in his tenth year, with little, diminutive, Kirghish eyes. The last two had eighty ducats for their travelling expenses, and, therefore, were styled rich; still this was kept a secret: they hired a horse for joint use, and when one was riding the other walked.

6. Hadji Amed, a poor Mollah, who performed his pilgrimage leaning upon his beggar's staff. Similar in character and position was

7. Hadji Hasan, whose father had died on the journey, and who was returning home an orphan;

8. Hadji Yakoub, a mendicant by profession, a profession inherited by him from his father;

9. Hadji Kurban (senior), a peasant by birth, who as a knife-grinder had traversed the whole of Asia, had been as far as Constantinople and Mecca, had visited upon occasions Thibet and Calcutta, and twice the Kirghish Steppes, to Orenburg and Taganrok;

10. Hadji Kurban, who also had lost his father and brother on the journey;

[{23}]

11. Hadji Said; and

12. Hadji Abdur Rahman, an infirm lad of the age of fourteen years, whose feet were badly frozen in the snow of Hamadan, and who suffered fearfully the whole way to Samarcand.

The above-named pilgrims were from Khokand, Yarkend, and Aksu, two adjacent districts; consequently they were Chinese Tartars, belonging to the suite of Hadji Bilal, who was besides upon friendly terms with

13. Hadji Sheikh Sultan Mahmoud from Kashgar, a young enthusiastic Tartar, belonging to the family of a renowned saint, Hazreti Afak, whose tomb is in Kashgar. The father of my friend Sheikh Sultan Mahmoud was a poet; Mecca was in imagination his child: after the sufferings of long years he reached the holy city, where he died. His son had consequently a double object in his pilgrimage: he proceeded as pilgrim alike to the tombs of his prophet and his father. With him were

14. Hadji Husein, his relative; and

15. Hadji Ahmed, formerly a Chinese soldier belonging to the regiment Shiiva that bears muskets and consists of Musselmans.

From the Khanat Khokand were

16. Hadji Salih Khalifed, candidate for the Ishan, which signifies the title of Sheikh, consequently belonging to a semi-religious order; an excellent man of whom we shall have often occasion to speak. He was attended by his son,

17. Hadji Abdul Baki, and his brother

18. Hadji Abdul Kader the Medjzub, which means, 'impelled by the love of God,' and who, whenever he has shouted two thousand times 'Allah,' foams at the mouth and falls into a state of ecstatic blessedness (Europeans name this state epilepsy).

[{24}]

19. Hadji Kari Messud (Kari has the same signification in Turkey as Hafiz, one who knows the whole Koran by heart). He was with his son,

20. Hadji Gayaseddin;

21. Hadji Mirza Ali; and

22.Hadji Ahrarkuli; the bags of the two last-named pilgrims still contained some of their travelling provision in money, and they had a beast hired between them.

23. Hadji Nur Mohammed, a merchant who had been twice to Mecca; but not on his own account, only as representing another.

[Ill-feeling of Shiites towards the Sunnite Hadjis]

We advanced up the slopes of the chain of the Elburs mountains, which rose higher and higher. The depression of spirits in which I was, was remarked by my friends, who did all in their power to comfort me. It was, however, particularly Hadji Salih who encouraged me with the assurance that 'they would all feel for me the love of brothers, and the hope that, by the aid of God, we should soon be at liberty beyond the limits of the Shiite heretics, and be able to live comfortably in lands subject to the Sunnite Turkomans, who are followers of the same faith.' A pleasant prospect certainly, thought I; and I rode more quickly on in order to mix with the poor travellers who were preceding us on foot. Half an hour later I came up with them. I noticed how cheerfully they wended their way; men who had journeyed on foot from the remotest Turkestan to Mecca, and back again on foot. Whilst many were singing merry songs, which had great resemblance to those of Hungary, others were recounting the adventures they had gone through in the course of their wanderings; a conversation which occasioned [{25}] me great pleasure, as it served to make me acquainted with the modes of thought of those distant tribes, so that at the very moment of my departure from Teheran I found myself, so to say, in the midst of Central Asiatic life.

During the daytime it was tolerably warm, but it froze hard in the early morning hours, particularly in the mountainous districts. I could not support the cold in my thin clothing on horseback, so I was forced to dismount to warm myself. I handed my horse over to one of the pedestrian pilgrims. He gave me his stick in exchange, and so I accompanied them a long way on foot, hearing the most animated descriptions of their homes; and when their enthusiasm had been sufficiently stimulated by reminiscences of the gardens of Mergolan, Namengan, and Khokand, they all began with one accord to sing a telkin (hymn), in which I myself took part by screaming out as loud as I was able, 'Allah, ya Allah!'

Every such approximation to their sentiments and actions on my part was recounted by the young travellers to the older pilgrims, to the great delight of the latter, who never ceased repeating 'Hadji Reshid (my name amongst my companions) is a genuine Dervish; one can make anything out of him.'

[Mazendran]

After a rather long day's march, on the fourth day we reached Firuzkuh, which hes rather high, and is approached by a very bad road. The city is at the foot of a mountain, which is crowned by an ancient fortification, now in ruins; a city of some importance from the fact that there the province Arak Adjemi ends, and Mazendran begins. The next morning our way passed in quite a northerly direction, and we had scarcely proceeded three or four hours when we [{26}] reached the mouth of the great defile, properly called Mazendran, which extends as far as the shores of the Caspian. Scarcely does the traveller move a few steps forwards from the karavanserai on the top of the mountain, when the bare dry district changes, as by enchantment, into a country of extraordinary richness and luxuriance. One forgets that one is in Persia, on seeing around everywhere the splendour of those primaeval forests and that magnificent green. But why linger over Mazendran and all its beauties, rendered so familiar to us by the masterly sketches of Frazer, Conolly, and Burnes?

On our passage Mazendran was in its gala attire of spring. Its witchery made the last spark of trouble disappear from my thoughts. I reflected no more on the perils of my undertaking, but allowed imagination to dwell only upon sweet dreams of the regions through which lay my onward path, visions of the various races of men, customs, and usages which I was now to see. I must expect to behold, it is true, scenes a perfect contrast to these; I must anticipate immense and fearful deserts--plains whose limits are not distinguishable to the human eye, and where I should have for days long to suffer from want of water. The enjoyment of that spot was doubly agreeable, as I was so soon to bid adieu to all sylvan scenes.

Mazendran had its charms even for my companions. Their feelings found expression in regrets that this lovely Djennet (paradise) should have become the possession of the heretical Shiites. 'How singular,' said Hadji Bilal, 'that all the beautiful spots in nature should have fallen into the hands of the unbelievers! The Prophet had reason to say, "This world is the prison of the believers, and the paradise of the unbelievers.'" [Footnote 6]

[Footnote 6: 'Ed dünya sidjn ül mumenin, ve djennet ül kafirin.']

[{27}]

In proof, he cited Hindoostan, where the 'Inghiliz' reign, the beauties of Russia which he had seen, and Frenghistan, that had been described to him as an earthly paradise. Hadji Sultan sought to console the company by a reference to the mountainous districts that lie between Oosh (boundaries of Khokand) and Kashgar. He represented that place to me as far more lovely than Mazendran, but I can hardly believe it.

[Zirab; Heften; Tigers and Jackals]

At the station Zirab we came to the northern extremity of the mountainous pass of Mazendran. Here the immense woods begin, which mark the limits of the shore of the Caspian Sea. We pass along a causeway made by Shah Abbas, but which is fast decaying. Our night quarters--we reached them betimes--was Heften, in the middle of a beautiful forest of boxwood. Our young people started off in quest of a good spring of water for our tea; but all at once we heard a fearful cry of distress. They came flying back, and recounted to us that they had seen animals at the source, which sprang away with long bounds when they approached them. At first I thought they must be lions, and I seized a rusty sword, and found, in the direction they had described, but at a good distance off, two splendid tigers, whose beautifully-striped forms made themselves visible occasionally from the thickets. In this forest the peasants told me that there were numbers of wild beasts, but they very rarely attacked human beings. At all events, we were not molested by the jackals, who even dread a stick, but which are here so numerous that we cannot drive them away. There are jackals throughout [{28}] all Persia; they are not uncommon even in Teheran, where their howling is heard in the evenings. But still, they did not there approach men, as they did here. They disturbed me the whole night long. I was obliged, in self-defence, to use both hands and feet to prevent their making off with bread-sack or a shoe.

[Sari]

The next day we had to reach Sari, the capital of Mazendran. Not far from the wayside lies Sheikh Tabersi, a place long defended by the Babis (religious enthusiasts who denied Mohammed and preached socialism). They made themselves the terror of the neighbourhood. Here also are beautiful gardens, producing in exuberance crops of oranges and lemons. Their fruit, tinted with yellow and red, presented an enchanting contrast with the green of the trees. Sari itself has no beauty to recommend it, but is said to carry on an important trade. As we traversed the bazaar of this last Persian city, we received also the last flood of every possible imprecation and abuse; nor did I leave their insolence without rebuke, although I judged it better not to repeat my threatening movements of stick or sword in the centre of a bazaar and amid hundreds of Shiites.

[Karatepe]

We only remained in Sari long enough to find horses to hire for a day's journey to the sea-shore. The road passes through many marshes and morasses. It is impossible to perform the journey here on foot. From this point there are many ways by which we can reach the shore of the Caspian, e. g. by Ferahabad (Parabad, as it is called by the Turkomans), Gez, and Karatepe. We preferred, however, the last route, because it would lead us to a Sunnite colony, where we were certain of a hospitable reception, having already had opportunities of becoming acquainted with many of these colonists at Sari, and having found them good people.

[{29}]

After a rest of two days in Sari we started for Karatepe. It was not until evening, after a laborious journey of nine hours, that we arrived. Here it is that the Turkomans first become objects of terror. Piratical hordes of them hide their vessels along the coast, whence extending their expeditions to a distance of a few leagues into the interior, they often return to the shore, dragging a Persian or so in bonds.

[{30}]

CHAPTER IV.

Ultra Caspium sinum quidnam esset, ambiguum aliquamcliu fuit. --Pomponius Mela, De Situ Orbis.

[Karatepe; Author entertained by an Afghan, Nur-Ullah]

Nur-Ullah, an Afghan of distinction, whose acquaintance I had already formed at Sari, conducted me to his house on my arrival at Karatepe; and as I objected to be separated from all my friends, he included Hadji Bilal also in his invitation, and did not rest until I had accepted his hospitality. At first I could not divine the motive of his extraordinary kindness, but I observed a little later that he had heard of the footing upon which I stood at the Turkish Embassy in Teheran, and he wished me to repay his kindness by a letter of recommendation, which I promised, and very willingly gave him before we parted.

[{31}]

[Suspicions as to his Dervish Character]

I had hardly taken possession of my new abode when the room filled with visitors, who squatted down in a row all round against the walls, first staring at me with their eyes wide open, then communicating to each other the results of their observations, and then uttering aloud their judgment upon the object of my travelling. 'A Dervish,' said the majority, 'he is not, his appearance is anything but that of a Dervish; for the wretchedness of his dress contrasts too plainly with his features and his complexion. As the Hadjis told us, he must be a relative of the ambassador, who represents our Sultan at Teheran,' and here all stood up. 'Allah only knows what a man who issues from so high an origin has to do amongst the Turkomans in Khiva and Bokhara.'

This impudence amazed me not a little. At the first glance they wanted to tear the mask from my face; in the meantime I was acting the genuine part of an Oriental, sat seemingly buried in thought, with the air of one who heard nothing. As I took no part in the conversation, they turned to Hadji Bilal, who told them I was really an Efendi, a functionary of the Sultan, but had withdrawn myself, in pursuance of a Divine inspiration, from the deceptions of the world, and was now engaged with Ziaret (a pilgrimage to the tombs of the saints); whereupon many shook their heads, nor could this subject any more be broached. The true Musselman must never express a doubt when he is told of Divine inspiration (Ilham); and however speaker or listener may be convinced that there is imposture, they are still bound to express their admiration by a 'Mashallah! Mashallah! 'This first scene had, however, clearly unfolded to me that, although still on Persian soil, I had nevertheless at last gained the frontiers of Central Asia; for on hearing the distrustful enquiries of these few Sunnites-- enquiries never made in any part of Persia--I could [{32}] easily picture to myself the splendid future in store for me further on in the very nest of this people. It was not until two hours had elapsed, spent in chattering and questioning, that these visitors retired and we prepared tea, and then betook ourselves to repose. I was trying to sleep when a man in a Turkoman dress, whom I regarded as a member of the family, came near me, and began to tell me, in strict confidence, that he had travelled the last fifteen years on business matters to and from Khiva; that he was born at Khandahar; but that he had a perfect knowledge of the country of Özbeg and Bokhara; and then proposed that we should be friends, and make the journey together through the Great Desert. I replied, 'All believers are brethren,' [Footnote 7] and thanked him for his friendliness, with the observation that as a Dervish I was very much attached to my travelling companions. He seemed desirous to continue the conversation; but as I let him perceive how inclined I was to sleep, he left me to my slumbers.

[Footnote 7: 'Kulli mumenin ihvetun.']

[Hadjis provision themselves for Journey through Desert; Afghan Colony; Nadir Shah]

Next morning Nur-Ullah informed me that this man was a Tiryaki (opium-eater), a scapegrace, whom I should, as much as possible, avoid. At the same time he warned me that Karatepe was the only place for procuring our stock of flour for a journey of two months, as even the Turkomans themselves got their provisions in this place; and that at all events we must furnish ourselves with bread to last as far as Khiva. I left this to Hadji Bilal to manage for me, and ascended in the meantime the black hill which is situated in the village, and from which it derives its name, Karatepe. One side is peopled by Persians, [{33}] the other by 125 or 150 Afghan families. It is said that this Afghan colony was at the beginning of this century of far more importance than at present, and was founded by the last great conqueror of the Asiatic world, Nadir Shah, who, as is well known, accomplished his most heroic actions at the head of the Afghans and Turkomans. Here also was pointed out to me the spot on the hill where he sat when he passed in review the thousands of wild horsemen who flocked from the farthest recesses of the desert, with their good horses and thirsty swords, under his banners. On these occasions Nadir is described as always having been in a good humour; so Karatepe had its holidays. The precise object of the transplantation of this Sunnite colony is unknown to me, but its existence has been found to be of the greatest service, as the Afghans serve as negotiators between Turkomans and Persians, and without them many a Persian would languish for months in Turkoman bonds, without any medium existing by which his ransom could be effected. On the east of Persia similar services are rendered by the Sunnites of Khaf, Djam, and Bakhyrz, but these have to deal with the Tekke, a far more dangerous tribe than the Yomuts.

[First View of the Caspian; Yacoub the Turkoman Boatman; Love Talisman]

From the summit of the black hill I was able to gain a view of the Caspian Sea. It is not the main sea which is here visible, but rather that portion of it shut in by the tongue of land which ends at Ashourada: it is termed the Dead Sea. This tongue of land looks at a distance like a thin strip on the water, whence shoots up a single line of trees, which the eye can follow a long, long way. The sight of this, with its bleak solitary beach, was anything but inspiriting. I burnt with desire to behold its eastern shore, and I [{34}] hurried back to my abode to ascertain how far our preparations were in a forward state for any embarkation in quest of the Turkoman coast. Nur-Ullah had taken upon himself to make all necessary preparations. The evening before we had been told that for a kran (franc) per head we might be taken to Ashourada by an Afghan vessel employed in supplying the Russians with provisions, and that thence we might, with the aid of Turkomans, reach Gömüshtepe in a few hours. 'In Ashourada itself,' they said, 'there is Khidr Khan, a Turkoman chieftain in the service of Russia, who gives assistance to poor Hadjis, and whom we may also visit.' We were all delighted to learn this, and greeted the intelligence with acclamation. How great then was my astonishment when I learnt that this Afghan was ready for the voyage, that he would allow the Hadjis to accompany him, but that he objected to my highness, whom he regarded as a secret emissary of the sultan; fearing lest he might lose his means of subsistence from the Russians should he venture to take such an individual on board his vessel. His resolution surprised me not a little. I was glad to hear my companions declare that if he did not take me they would not go, but would prefer to wait another occasion. So I heard, in an accent of peculiar emphasis, from the opium-smoker, Emir Mehemmed. Later, however, came the Afghan himself (his name was Anakhan), expressing his regret, promising secresy, and begging me to give him a letter of recommendation to Haydar Efendi. I considered it good policy not to say a syllable calculated to quiet his apprehensions, laughed heartily at his ideas, and promised to leave for him with Nur-Ullah some lines for Teheran, a promise [{35}] which I did not forget. I felt it quite necessary to leave my real character enveloped in a veil of doubt or mystery. The Oriental, and particularly the Islamite, bred up in lies and treachery, always believes the very contrary of what a man shows particular earnestness in convincing him of, and the slightest protestation on my part would have served to confirm their suspicions. No further allusion was made to the subject, and that very evening we heard that a Turkoman who plies to Gömüshtepe was prepared, from feelings of mere piety, without remuneration, to take all the Hadjis with him; that we had but to station ourselves early in the morning on the seashore, to profit by a tolerably favourable wind. Hadji Bilal, Hadji Salih, and myself, the recognised triumvirate of the mendicant karavan, immediately paid a visit to the Turkoman, whose name was Yakoub; he was a young man, with an uncommonly bold look; he embraced each of us, and did not object to wait a day that we might complete our provisioning. He received beforehand his benediction from Hadji Bilal and Hadji Salih. We had already risen to go, when he called me aside, and tried to get me to tarry a few moments with him. I remained behind. He then, with a certain timidity, told me that he had long entertained an unhappy unreturned affection for a girl of his own race, and that a Jew, an accomplished magician, who for the moment was staying in Karatepe, had promised to prepare an efficacious Nuskha (talisman) if he would but procure thirty drops of attar of roses fresh from Mecca, as this could not be dispensed with in the formula.

'We know,' said Yakoub, 'that the Hadjis bring back with them out of the holy city essences of roses [{36}] and other sweet perfumes; and as you are the youngest of their chiefs, I apply to you, and hope you will listen to my entreaty.'

The superstition of this son of the desert did not so much astonish me as the trust he had reposed in the words of the cunning Israelite, and as my travelling friends had really brought with them such attar of roses his wish was soon gratified. The joy that he displayed was almost childish. The second day afterwards, early in the morning, we all assembled on the sea-shore, each furnished, besides his mendicant equipment, with a sack of flour. We lost considerable time before the boat (called Teïmil), which was formed out of a hollow tree, set us alongside the little vessel, or skiff, called by Turks 'mauna.' This, on account of the shallowness of the water near the shore, was lying out at sea at a distance of about an English mile. Never shall I forget the mode in which we embarked. The small tree, in the hollow of which passengers were stowed away, together with flour and other effects, in the most diversified confusion, threatened each instant to go to the bottom. We had to bless our good fortune that we arrived on board all dry. The Turkomans have three kinds of vessels--

(1) Keseboy, furnished with a mast and two sails, one large and one small, principally for carrying cargoes;

(2) Kayuk, with a simple sail, generally used on their predatory expeditions; and

(3) The Teïmil, or skiff, already mentioned.

[{37}]

[Embarkation for Ashourada; Voyage on the Caspian]

The vessel provided for our use by Yakoub was a keseboy, that had conveyed a cargo of naphtha, pitch, and salt to the Persian coast from the island Tchereken, and was now homeward-bound with corn on board.

As the vessel had no deck, and consequently had no distinction of place, every one suited himself, and sat down where he wished as he entered. Yakoub, however, observing that this would disturb the trim and management of the vessel, we each seized our bundle and our provisions, and were closely packed in two rows near each other like salted herrings, so that the centre of the boat remained free for the crew to pass backwards and forwards. Our position then was none of the most agreeable. During the daytime it was supportable, but at night it was awful, when sleep threw the sitters from their perpendicular position to the right and left, and I was forced to submit for hours to the sweet burthen of a snoring Hadji. Frequently a sleeper on my right and another on my left fell one over the other upon me: I dared not wake them, for that would have been a heinous sin, to be atoned by never-ending suffering.

It was mid-day on the 10th April, 1863, when a favourable wind distended our sails, driving the little vessel before it like an arrow. On the left side we had the small tongue of land; on the right, thickly covered with wood, extending down to the very sea, stood the mountain upon which rose the Palace Eshref, built by Shah Abbas, the greatest of the Persian kings. The charm of our Argonautic expedition was augmented by the beautiful spring weather; and in spite of the small space within which I was pent up, I was in very good spirits. The thought might have suggested itself to me that I had to-day left the Persian coast; that at last I had reached a point from which there was no drawing back, and [{38}] where regrets were useless. But no! at that moment no such idea occurred to me. I was firmly convinced that my travelling friends, whose wild appearance had at first rendered them objects of alarm, were really faithful to me, and that under their guidance I might face the greatest dangers.

Towards evening there was a calm; we cast anchor near the shore, and were allowed in turn to make our tea on the little hearth of the vessel. Having stored away some pieces of sugar in my girdle, I invited Yakoub and honoured him with a bowl of tea. Hadji Salih and Sultan Mahmoud were of the party; the young Turkoman was the great talker, and began to recount stories of the Alaman (as the Turkomans name their marauding expeditions), a favourite topic with this people. His eye, always fiery, now vied with the stars of his own heaven, for his vein was stimulated by the desire to win golden opinions from the Sunnite Mollahs (we passed for such) by details of the conflicts in which he had engaged with the Shiite heretics, and of the numbers of the heretics that he had made prisoners. My friends soon began to slumber around me; still I did not tire of listening to him, and it was not until midnight that he thought of retiring. Before he withdrew he told me that Nur-Ullah had directed him to take me as a guest to the tent of Khandjan, a Turkoman chieftain; and he added that Nur-Ullah was right, for I was not like the rest of the Hadjis, and deserved better treatment. 'Khandjan,' said Yakoub, 'is the Aksakal (chief) of a mighty race, and even in the time of his father, no Dervish, Hadji, or other stranger ever dared to pass through Gömüshtepe without having tasted his bread and drunk his water. He will, as you come out of [{39}] foreign Roum (Turkey), certainly give you a good reception, and you will be grateful to me.'

[Russian War Steamers in the Caspian]

The following morning, the weather being unfavourable, we could only move slowly; it was already evening when we reached Ashourada, the most southerly point of the Russian possessions in Asia. It fell definitively into the hands of the Czar twenty-five years ago: perhaps it would be better to express ourselves thus, that it became subject to Russia from the time when, with their steamers, they began to strike the necessary degree of terror into the daring Alaman cruisers of the Turkoman pirates. The name Ashourada is of Turkoman origin; it was inhabited, but served them rather as a station for their then frequent and unchecked piratical expeditions. The Ashourada of the present day produces upon the traveller arriving from Persia an agreeable impression. Small, it is true, is the number of houses built at the east end of the tongue of land; but the European fashion of the buildings, as well as the church that the eye encounters, were not indifferent objects for me. The war steamers more particularly reminded me of European modes of existence; and I cannot say how inspiriting it was to see towards evening a steamer from Gez (a place that serves as the port for Astrabad) gliding proudly by. The Russians here maintain three war steamers (two large and one small), without the protection of which neither the Russian settlers nor the sailing vessels proceeding from Astrakhan would be safe from the attacks of the Turkomans. So long indeed as the merchantman remains out at sea, it has no cause for alarm; and it rarely ventures to approach the coast without being in the escort of a steamer, whose [{40}] protection is also necessary for the voyage back. The Russian Government makes, naturally, the greatest exertions, and at the greatest cost, to paralyse the predatory habits of the Turkomans. This plague has, in effect, somewhat diminished; still to establish security is an impossibility, and many unhappy Persians, and even occasionally Russian, sailors are hurried away in chains to Gömüshtepe. The Russian ships cruise incessantly day and night in the Turkoman waters; and every Turkoman vessel that is about to proceed from the east coast to the Persian shore on the south, must be provided with a pass, for which the owner has to pay yearly 8, 10, or 15 ducats. This pass is renewable at the end of each year, and must be exhibited every time the vessel passes Ashourada, when it is visited by the Russian functionaries to ascertain if it has on board prisoners, arms, or other contraband merchandise. The consequence of this salutary regulation is that a great part of the Turkoman merchant shipping has been overhauled and registered, and the rest mostly navigate in indirect courses, and if encountered by the Russian cruisers are taken, or, in case of resistance, sunk. Whilst thus on the one side steps of necessary vigour have been taken, on the other a policy has been adopted of establishing friendly relations with one tribe so as to make use of it against another.

[Turkoman Chief, in the Service of Russia]

At the time when I passed by Ashourada, Khidr Khan, sprung from the race of the Gazili Kör, had already borne the title of Derya bêghi (admiral) thirty years in the Russian service, and had a salary of about forty ducats per month, out of which he gave ten to his Mirza or writer. Khidr Khan still continued to live in a tent in the middle of the semi-European [{41}] colony; his functions consisted in using his influence with the Turkomans generally to prevent their piracies, or at least in conveying to the Russians intelligence of any intended expedition, for his clansmen, as eye-witnesses, were well able to perform the duty of spies. But this he could not effect. This Khidr Khan, though once so good a Musselman, had formed at an early date acquaintance with the generous vodki (Russian brandy): the consequence was that, day and night, he was intoxicated; and his sons, who were to be his successors, had come to an understanding with the Karaktchi (robbers), and were very careful not to give intelligence to the Russians of any projected marauding expedition.

[Apprehension of Discovery on the Author's part]

Our friend Yakoub was bound to produce his pass, and our little vessel could not proceed without having been first searched. As night had commenced when we neared Ashourada, we found that the visit of the authorities was postponed till an early hour in the morning. We cast anchor a short distance from land. My friends seemed greatly to regret their being prevented from waiting upon Khidr Khan, the ill-famed Maecenas of Dervishes and Hadjis. The circumstance was, however, to me a cause of unmingled satisfaction; for I could not have remained behind, and Khidr's experience in European countenances would have easily detected me; or, at all events, would have left me ill at ease. I was, however, somewhat disturbed by the reflection that, as an examination of the vessel must ensue in the morning, my European features, in strange contrast with those of my companions, and my complexion not yet brought to an Asiatic hue, might still play me false, and make the Russians alive to the real facts of the case. Far from [{42}] apprehending any inhumane treatment at their hands, my principal dread was their discovering me, and endeavouring to dissuade me from persisting in my adventure; and besides I feared still more that the affair might be noised abroad, and that the Turkomans might get wind of my incognito. I thought of how much more ransom I should have to pay than Blôcqueville, to rescue me from such cruel slavery! These ideas occasioned me the deepest anxiety, and I felt so troubled that I could not gaze with pleasure upon this last picture reflected from Western life.

Next morning I awoke in the greatest agitation; the sound of a bell was heard from Ashourada; my fellow-travellers said that this was Sunday, the holiday of the Unbelievers. I knew not which Sunday [Footnote 8] it was. We were close to a ship of war that had all its colours flying; suddenly we saw sailors in full uniform in a boat approach the shore with regular measured strokes of their oars; an officer in full dress then stepped in, and was soon taken on board the ship of war. Ten minutes had hardly elapsed when they called to us to approach, and I then saw on their deck near the gangway several fair-haired officers standing together. My heart began to beat violently; we approached nearer and nearer; all my effort now was to maintain such an attitude as might least attract attention, and avoid as far as possible the dreaded tête-à-tête. As fortune willed, our vessel on approaching the Russians presented to it first that side upon which I was seated, so that the assembled officers were only able to see my neck.

[Footnote 8: During my journey I often lost sight of dates, and it was only later that I learned that this was Easter Sunday (Russian style).]

[{43}]

On account of the day, the examination was but slight and formal. The Dollmetsh exchanged a few words with Yakoub; our mendicant company fixed the attention of the officers. Amongst other things I heard one say, 'See how white this Hadji is.' [Footnote 9]

[Footnote 9: 'Smotrite kakoi bieloï etot Hadji.']

This allusion was probably made to me, whose complexion had not yet assumed the hue of uncivilised life. If so, it was the only observation they made upon me; for they had soon done with Yakoub, and in a moment we were far away from the side of the Russian vessel.

I now raised myself from my stooping and half-sleeping position, and took a long breath, for my anxiety was at an end. Soon afterwards the wind began to blow strongly from the west. Now was the time to get up our sails and make all haste for Gömüshtepe, which was but three leagues off; but Yakoub kept his eye fixed on a white point in the distance, and held a council with his crew: nor was it until this dreaded object had entirely vanished, that our large sail was unfurled, and we darted with the swiftness of an arrow towards the east.

At about half a league distance from Ashourada, we passed several sea-marks, consisting of long painted poles. I was told by Yakoub that they had been placed there by the 'Inghiliz,' to mark the limits of the Russian waters, the other side belonging to the Turkomans, whom the 'Inghiliz 'would always protect against the attack of the Russians. It was always a riddle to me to discover who had instilled into these wild sons of the desert such far-reaching ideas of policy. It is not for me to discriminate these [{44}] sea-marks; still less to weigh the amount of sympathy felt by England for the Turkomans.

[Arrival at Gömüshtepe and at the Mouth of the Gorghen.]

In less than an hour the Turkoman coast lay well defined before us, appearing as a long tract of land with elevated ground here and there. We followed the direction indicated by other craft which were running in before us: the sails were soon lowered, for we had reached the end of the navigable waters, and lay off about a mile and a half from the mouth of the Görghen. On both of its banks we saw the encampment of Gömüshtepe, in form like a hundred beehives lying close together.

As it had been at Karatepe, so was it also here, on account of the shallowness: even boats that draw little water cannot approach the shore, or run into the river Görghen, which is itself tolerably deep and never wants water. We were therefore obliged to wait at a considerable distance off shore until Yakoub should have disembarked, reported his arrival, and sent back to us several Teïmils to aid us in our disembarkation. After some delay, three of these very original transports came; they were to perform their little voyages as often as our numbers rendered it necessary, until all should be landed.

Hadji Bilal and I were the last to land, and I was really delighted when, on touching shore, I heard that Khandjan, informed of my arrival by my honest friend Yakoub, had hastened down to receive me. There I found him on landing, a few paces behind, in the attitude necessitated by the repetition of the afternoon prayer (Aszr-Namazi).

Reception by Turkoman Chief of the Caspian Shore.

[{45}]

CHAPTER V.

Ad introeuntium dextram Scythae nomades, freti litoribus, insident.-- Pompon. Mela,De Situ Orbis, 1. iii. c. v.

[Arrival at Gömüshtepe, hospitable Reception of the Hadjis; Khandjan]

After his prayer was ended, Khandjan arose, and as I perceived him standing before me, he was a handsome, tall, and slender man, about forty years of age, dressed in extremely modest attire, with a long beard descending to his breast. He at once approached me, hastily embraced, and gave me a hearty welcome; in doing so he greeted me by my name. He received the Hadjis Bilal and Salih in a similar manner; and after the karavan had stowed away their sacks, and was once more afoot, we closed the procession, all taking the road towards the tents. The report of our arrival had spread everywhere: our numbers were exaggerated: women, children, and dogs all hastened in strange confusion out of the tents, to gaze upon the approaching pilgrims, and by an embrace (as the [{46}] Mollahs pretend) to acquire, in obedience to the Divine command respecting pilgrimage, a participation in the merit and rewards of pilgrims. This first picture of Central Asiatic life had so taken me by surprise, that I was puzzled whether I should pause first to admire the singular construction of the tents, formed of felt, and the women with their silk shifts extending to the ankles, or at once gratify the wish implied by their outstretched hands and arms. Strange! young and old, without distinction of sex or family, all wished to touch the Hadjis on whom the holy dust of Mecca and Medina still rested. Judge, too, of my amazement when women of the greatest beauty, some girls even, hurried up to embrace me. We were tired, worn out by these demonstrations of respect arising from blended feelings of religion and hospitality, when we arrived before the tent of the chief Ishan (priest), where our little karavan was concentrated: then began one of the most interesting spectacles that my eyes have ever witnessed. Here were to begin the arrangements for quartering the guests that had just arrived. The passion and warmth with which all disputed the honour and right of harbouring one or more of these poor strangers astounded me. I had heard, it is true, the hospitality of the nomads spoken of, but never dreamed that it could have risen to such a point.

Khandjan quieted the quarrels which had commenced among the women; he restored order, and assigned the different guests to each, retaining as his own peculiar guests Hadji Bilal and myself, with all that belonged to us: he took us with him to his Ova (tent). [Footnote 10]

[Footnote 10: Ova, properly translated tent, is used here by the Turkomans to indicate a house and court.]

[{47}]

As he lived quite at the extremity of Gömüshtepe, we had to pass through the whole encampment, which extended on both banks of the Gorghen, [Footnote 11] and consisted of tents standing close together. It was near sunset when, quite worn out, we reached his dwelling, in the fond hope of being able at last to find some repose; but a sad disappointment awaited us. Our new abode consisted, it is true, of a separate tent, pitched two paces from the river; but we had hardly taken possession of it, with the customary ceremonials (twice performing its circuit and peeping in the four corners), when it was filled with visitors, who lingered till a late hour at night, and so wearied us by their thousands of questions, that even Hadji Bilal, the Oriental par excellence, began gradually to lose patience. In the evening supper was served by Baba Djan, [Footnote 12] the son of Khandjan, a lad twelve years old. It consisted of boiled fish and sour milk, and was served up in a large wooden dish. This, a Persian slave, heavily laden with chains, in the first instance brought near to us, when it was received by Baba Djan, who, after having set it before us, went and took his [{48}] seat close to his father, at a little distance from us; and then both looked on with visible pleasure as they saw us attacking the provisions with the appetites of giants. Supper at an end, the prayer was said, Hadji Bilal raising his hands, in which gesture he was imitated by all present, as he was again when, in conclusion, after saying 'Bismillah, Allah Ekber,' every one stroked his beard, and offered their felicitations to Khandjan upon his guests.

[Footnote 11: This river, whose remotest springs rise in the mountains of Khurdistan, traverses the greater part of the district peopled by the Yomuts, in an extent of nearly thirty German geographical miles (120 miles). A man on horseback can ford it to a point far below Pisarak; and even below the Atabegs its depth is not considerable until it comes within eight geographical miles of Gömüshtepe, where its two banks are mere morasses. It is everywhere narrow. It is fabulously rich in fish at about four or five geographical miles from its mouth, so that its waters appeared almost coloured by them, and are in summer hardly drinkable. After I had only twice used it for washing, my hands and face acquired a strong fishy smell.]
[Footnote 12: Baba Djan, father's soul, is merely a term of endearment given by the Turkomans to their eldest sons.]

13th April.--I awoke for the first time in a Turkoman tent, which among the Yomuts receives the appellation of Tchatma, but amongst other tribes is called Aladja. The sweet sleep that I had enjoyed, and the light construction in which I found myself, had made me feel fresh and light of heart: the charm of novelty transported me, and my delight was without bounds. This did not escape the notice of Hadji Bilal, who invited me to take a short walk with him, and when we had got to a short distance from the Tchatma, he observed to me that it was now high time to lay aside entirely my Efendi character, and become body and soul a Dervish. 'You must have already remarked,' said my good friend, 'that both I and my associates bestow upon the public Fatiha (blessings): this you must do also. I know that this is not the custom in Roum, but people here will expect and demand it. It will occasion great surprise, if, representing yourself to be a Dervish, you do not carry out the character to its full extent. You know the form of benediction: assume, therefore, a serious face, and distribute your Fatiha (blessings); you can also give the Nefes (holy breath) when you are summoned to the sick, only never forget to extend your hand at the same time, for it is a matter of notoriety that we [{49}] Dervishes subsist by such acts of piety, and they are always ready with some little present or other.' Hadji Bilal apologised for presuming to school me; still, he said that it was for my benefit, and that I must have heard of the story of the traveller who, when he reached the land of the one-eyed nation, to put himself upon an equality with them, kept one of his eyes closed. After I had warmly thanked him for his counsel, he told me also that Khandjan, and many other Turkomans, had made particular enquiries respecting me, and that it had cost him much trouble and strong protestations to convince them that my journey had not in the slightest degree an official character. The Turkomans naturally inclined to the idea that I had been sent by the Sultan to Khiva and Bokhara on some anti-Russian mission; that he was not disposed to disturb their belief, as they had the greatest respect for the Sultan. The result of all was that I should never for a moment throw aside my Dervish character, for that enigmas and ambiguities were what best suited this people. Having said this, we returned to our quarters, where our host was waiting for us, with many of his friends and relatives. First he presented his wife and aged mother, whom he commended to our powerful intercession and blessings; then we were made acquainted with other near members of his family. After we had rendered to all the expected services, Khandjan remarked that it was the custom of the Turkomans to regard a guest as the dearest member of the family; that we might without obstacle move about, not only amongst his own clan, but amongst the whole tribe of the Yomuts, and should anyone dare to touch a hair of his guest's head, the Kelte (that was the name of his clan) would [{50}] exact satisfaction. 'You will have to remain here, and wait at least two weeks till a caravan is ready to start for Khiva; repose a little, and then pay a visit to the more distant Ovas. The Turkoman never permits the Dervish to proceed empty-handed from his tent. It will do you no harm to fill your bread-sack--you have a long way before you ere you can get any supply--since it is your purpose to go as far as Khiva and Bokhara.'

As I wished so much to move about at my ease, the reader may judge how these words delighted me. It was my desire to remain in Gömüshtepe only so long as was necessary to extend my acquaintance a little with the people, and to acquire greater fluency in their dialect. During the first few days I accompanied Khandjan, his brother, or other intimate friend of his family, in their round of visits. A little later I attended the Hadji Bilal in his tour of religious benedictions, or went with Hadji Salih, who was actively engaged in his medical capacity. Upon the latter occasions, whilst he was administering the medicine, I repeated aloud the blessing: this finished, I received a present of a little mat of felt, or a dried fish, or some other trifle. Whether it was owing to good luck attending our joint treatment, or a motive of mere curiosity with respect to the Turkish Hadji (Hadji Roumi)--that was my title amongst them--I was never able to unriddle; but my friends were much amazed that, after having only been five days in Gömüshtepe, I had a numerous levée of sick persons, or at least of men who pretended to be such, to whom I administered blessings and 'breath,' or for whom I wrote little sentences to serve as talismans, but never did this take place without my receiving [{51}] afterwards the proper 'honorarium.' Now and then I fell in with a stiff-necked politician, who, regarding me as a mere political emissary, questioned my Dervish character. This, however, troubled me but little, for at least the original mask that I had assumed remained unsuspected: no one thought of discovering me to be an European. Judge, then, how pleased I was to think that I could now undisturbedly move about on a soil hitherto so little known to Europeans.

[Influence of the Ulemas]

The number of my acquaintances increased rapidly. I soon counted amongst them the most powerful and influential. I found particular advantage in the friendship of Kizil Akhond (his proper name was Molla Murad), a Turkoman 'savant' of high distinction, with whom I was upon the best footing, and whose recommendation procured access for me everywhere. Kizil Akhond had in his time, when studying in Bokhara, fallen upon a work in the Osmanli Turkish language, a sort of comment or explanation of sentences and expressions in the Koran. This he did not exactly understand. I possessed the necessary key. My cooperation consequently gave him the greatest delight: he spoke everywhere in the highest terms of my acquaintance with the literature of Islam. I entered into friendly relations with Satlig Akhond also, who was a highly-esteemed priest and a man of no little learning. When I first met him, he returned formal thanks to Providence for permitting him to behold, face to face, a Musselman from Roum, from that pure source of faith; and some one in the company having made a remark respecting my white complexion, he said that that was the true light of Islam (nur ül Islam) that [{52}] beamed from my countenance, of which Divine blessing only the believers of the West could boast. I was also in the habit of sedulously cultivating the acquaintance of Molla Durdis, who was invested with the rank of a Kazi Kelan (superior judge); for I had soon acquired the conviction that it was only the class of the Ulemas that would exercise any influence upon these wild people, and that the ascendency of the (Aksakal) grey beards, regarded in Europe as predominant, was really of very little moment.

[First Brick Mosque of the Nomads]

The increasing confidence evinced for me by the Turkomans showed me that the line of conduct I had adopted was a prudent one; and when the intention was entertained of building a mosque with the bricks from the old Grecian ruins which have given name to Gömüshtepe, it was I who was requested to indicate the Mihrab (altar), as Kizil Akhond had pointed me out as the best informed and most experienced Dervish for the purpose.

[Ancient Greek Wall]

In the whole district of Gömüshtepe there had never been till now, with the exception of the construction in its vicinity attributed to the Greeks, which was now in ruins, anything in the shape of a wall; and certainly it is to be regarded as some indication of a progress in civilisation that the idea of erecting an edifice for divine worship in this spot, which is regarded as the principal seat of the Yomuts, had been even broached. Each pious Turkoman had imposed it upon himself as a duty to bring to the same place a few hundreds of the beautiful square bricks from the fortified works built by Alexander; and as the materials were now regarded as sufficient, a Turkoman was expressly engaged as architect. His business had often carried him to [{53}] Astrakhan, and he passed for a man of experience in such matters. He was entrusted with the execution of the entire building. After I had, by means of my compass, indicated to them the direction in which Mecca lies, they began to build the walls without laying any foundations: a forgetfulness affording very little guarantee for the solidity of the whole construction, and yet so much the better for them, perhaps; for, should it last long enough, the Russians may, possibly, some day or other, make use of it as the advanced works of a fort, and the vast designs of the great Macedonian may be turned to account by the rival ambition of a Romanoff.

I had hardly spent a week in Gömüshtepe when, through the protection above mentioned, I had made acquaintances everywhere. I was now able to penetrate the secrets of their social relations, to learn the numerous ramifications and families into which the tribe is divided, and, if possible, form an idea concerning the bond that holds together elements apparently so discordant and confused. The task was somewhat more difficult than I had supposed. I had only to touch upon a question relating to ordinary life, or to show a curiosity for some matter or other, to make men wonderingly ask what a Dervish, whose proper business was only God and religion, had to do with the affairs of this transitory world. My enquiries, therefore, on these heads cost me great trouble, for direct questions I never dared to put. Most fortunately, however, the Turkomans, who pass all their lives, with the exception of that part devoted to marauding expeditions, in the greatest indolence, are prone to indulge for hours and hours in conversations on political matters, to which I only listened in [{54}] silence; and sitting there thus dreamily, with my beads in my hands, it has been permitted to me to study the history of their raids (alaman), of their relations with Vilayet (Persia), with the Khan of Khiva, and with other nomad nations.

[Excursion to the North-east of Gömüshtepe]

During that time I had an opportunity, under the conduct of Kizil Akhond, of making an excursion to the Atabeg, the tribe of the Yomuts which dwells furthest to the east, and the Göklen Turkomans--an excursion to me of the highest interest, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing a great part of the wall built by Alexander to serve as a bulwark against the much-dreaded tribe that peopled the wilderness.

The object of Kizil Akhond's journey was connected with the administration of justice: he had to make investigation in a lawsuit. We consequently made halts in several places, and took four days for a tour which might have been accomplished in two. The direction in which we journeyed was easterly; but we were frequently obliged to take circuitous ways to avoid morasses covered with reeds, and to keep clear of the hundreds of wild boars which were roaming about.

The morasses are caused by the inundations of the Görghen, which swells in spring, and often overflows its banks for miles and miles. This must also have been the case in ancient times, for it was considered advisable to build the great wall before mentioned, as a defence, at a distance of from four to six English miles from the north bank of the river; and as this was always on one of the highest parts which could be found in the plain, the parts adjoining the wall, now in ruins, constitute at the present day the safest route in all seasons of the year. And for a like reason we find [{55}] in the same vicinity the majority of the tents: we had seldom to walk an hour without falling in with these in either greater or smaller groups. I did not see the west end of this ancient construction, and am not, therefore, inclined to accord any credit to the fabulous accounts with which I was favoured. On the east end I think I really discovered where the wall began in two points; one to the north-east of Gömüshtepe, where larger accumulations of ruins, close upon the sea-shore, mark the commencement; and the second about twenty English miles to the south of the river Etrek, also near to the sea, which two lines unite a little higher above the Altin Tokmak. As for the line that takes its departure from Gömüshtepe, I was able to follow it up during two days to a distance of ten geographical miles from the west to the north-east. It is easy to distinguish it by its elevation of two or three feet above the surface of the surrounding earth. In its entirety the work presents rather the appearance of a long line of intrenchments, from the midst of which, at intervals of a thousand paces, rise the ruins of ancient towers; the dimensions of these seem to have been alike throughout.

In the direction of these walls, there are also visible other great mounds, the investigation of which I would rather leave to others, not feeling myself competent to give any satisfactory explanation or even reasonable surmise about them. Some of the smaller ones have been opened by the Turkomans, and, as I was told, there was found in the interior of a four-sided building a colossal pot, of the thinness of paper, containing blue-coloured ashes, a few gold coins, and other precious objects. Hence the wall is styled, throughout the whole country, the gold receiver (Kizil Alan). [{56}] The mounds of which I here speak must, however, be distinguished from the Yoska elevations, raised by the Turkomans in commemoration of great departed ones of their nation whom they so wish to honour. My learned guide, Kizil Akhond, was amazed at my showing so much interest in the wall of Alexander (Seddi Iskender). [Footnote 13]

[Footnote 13: The history of the great Macedonian is invested by the Orientals with all the characteristics of a religious myth; and although some of their writers are anxious to distinguish Iskender Zul Karnein (the two-horned Alexander), the hero of their fable, from Iskenderi Roumi (the Greek Alexander), I have yet everywhere found that these two persons were regarded as one and the same.]

According to Khizil, the wall had been erected by the genii (Djins), at the command of the mighty sovereign Alexander. 'Alexander,' he said, 'was a more pious Musselman than we are, and therefore all subterranean spirits, whether they would or no, owed him allegiance.' He was about to proceed with the well-known fable of Alexander's descent into the realms of darkness, when he became dumb on seeing that I was absorbed in the occupation of forcibly detaching one of the bricks: and really these bright red bricks do seem as it were fused together into one material, for it is easier to break them into two than to separate them from the entire mass.

The whole neighbourhood cannot fail to be of the highest interest to archaeologists, as there are to be found in it, not only many remains of the Greek domination, but also hidden monuments of ancient Iran civilisation; for the Arabian historians relate much to us concerning the importance of the lower Görghen, the existing ruins of Shehri Djordjan. Even the Kumbezi-Kaus (the dome of Khaus), a ruin which I only heard spoken of without actually seeing it, would also, in all probability, merit more attention than rapidly-travelling Englishmen have hitherto been able to devote to it.

[{57}]

I was very much surprised to see that Kizil Akhond, whom I had regarded merely as a 'savant' and not as a rich man, possessed in different spots tents, wives, and children, the different component parts of a family, the issue of three marriages. It was not until I had thus, in different places, had the honour of being introduced to fresh wives and children, that I began to understand that his little tour might possibly have other ends in view than those of a simple juridical circuit. Nor was the difference great between the manner in which he was received in his own tents and in those of strangers; the Mollah, as he was styled par excellence, was in the tents of the Turkomans everywhere at home, everywhere master. Even in the settlements of hostile tribes, he was not only treated with honourable distinction, but laden with presents: nor was I, who was here playing the part of his disciple, forgotten in the award of favour, but was presented with Namdzdjï (mats for kneeling upon when at prayer), made of felt, a Turkoman over-cloak, and a large felt cap, the ordinary headdress of these nomad tribes. Setting this upon my head, and winding around it the scarf to form the light turban, behold me now for the moment metamorphosed into a Turkoman Mollah!

When I returned to Gömüshtepe I found my fellow-hadjis, who had not approved of my excursion, very anxious on account of my prolonged absence. I enquired respecting the health of each of them. I learnt that Hadji Salih had carried on a brilliant trade with his physic; that a theft had been committed upon Hadji Kari Meszud in a mosque, that is, in a [{58}] tent that served as such, in which he had taken up his quarters. After a long search in every direction, as no discovery was made, the Ishan (priest) declared that he would at once utter his malediction upon the thief, should he not restore the stolen property. Before twenty-four hours had expired, the conscience-stricken criminal came forward, bringing with him not only the stolen property, but a present as atonement. I venture to recommend this practice to the London detectives, as a substitute for their present system.

[Tartar Raids; Persian Slaves]

I now learnt, also, satisfactory intelligence respecting a karavan proceeding to Khiva. My friends told me that the Khan of Khiva, who had been recommended by the physicians the use of the milk of the buffalo for his health, had sent express to Gömüshtepe his Kervanbashi [Footnote 14] to purchase for him two pair of these animals, which were not to be met with in his own country. This official had proceeded to Astrabad, and on his return the journey was to be at once made with every guarantee of success, as it would be under the immediate guidance of a man whose experience of the desert was unrivalled. I was astonished to find how many of my fellow-travellers, the poorest of the poor, in spite of the noble hospitality of which they had been partakers, were already weary of the Turkomans; for it would be, they said, impossible for men having the least sentiment of humanity to be eye-witnesses any longer of the cruel treatment to which the wretched Persian slaves had to submit. [{59}] 'True, the Persians are heretics, and they tormented us terribly in our journey through their country; but what the poor wretches here suffer is really too much.' The compassion evinced by my fellow-travellers, in whose own country the slave-trade is not carried on, and the imprecations they used against the Karaktchi (robbers) for their inhumanity, convey the best impression of the sufferings to which the poor captives are exposed. Let us only picture to ourselves the feelings of a Persian, even admitting that he is the poorest of his race, who is surprised by a night attack, hurried away from his family, and brought hither a prisoner, and often wounded. He has to exchange his dress for old Turkoman rags that only scantily cover parts of his body, and is heavily laden with chains that gall his ancles, and occasion him great and unceasing pain every step he takes; he is forced upon the poorest diet to linger the first days, often weeks of his captivity. That he may make no attempt at flight, he has also during the night a Karabogra (iron ring) attached to his neck and fastened to a peg, so that the rattle betrays even his slightest movements. No other termination to his sufferings than the payment of a ransom by his friends; and, failing this, he is liable to be sold, and perhaps hurried off to Khiva and Bokhara!

[Footnote 14: Kervanbashi, leader or chief of karavans. He receives his appointment from the Khan, and is generally a person of great experience in the different routes. Each karavan route has its own Kervanbashi, who is distinguished by the name of his particular route.]

To the rattle of those chains I could never habituate my ears; it is heard in the tent of every Turkoman who has any pretensions to respectability or position. Even our friend Khandjan had two slaves, lads, only in their eighteenth and twentieth year; and to behold these unfortunates, in the bloom of their youth, in fetters made me feel indescribable emotion, repeated every day. In addition, I was forced to [{60}] listen in silence to the abuse and curses with which these poor wretches were loaded. The smallest demonstration of compassion would have awakened suspicions, as, on account of my knowledge of Persian, I was most frequently addressed by them. The youngest of our domestic slaves, a handsome black-haired Irani, begged of me to be so good as to write a letter for him to his relatives, praying them for God's sake to sell sheep and house in order to ransom him, which letter I accordingly wrote. Upon one occasion I thought, without being perceived, I might give him a cup of tea, but unluckily at the moment when he extended his hand to receive it some one entered the tent. I pretended to be only beckoning to him, and, instead of presenting him the tea, I felt constrained to give him a few slight blows. During my stay in Gömüshtepe no night passed without a shot echoing from the sea-shore to announce the arrival of some piratical vessel laden with booty. The next morning I went to demand from the heroes the tithes due to the Dervishes, or rather, let me say, to behold the poor Persians in the first moments of their misfortune. My heart bled at the horrid sight; and so I had to harden myself to these most striking contrasts of virtue and vice, of humanity and tyranny, of scrupulous honesty and the very scum of knavery.

I had stayed only a fortnight when, like my companions, I began to weary of the place, my eves feeding with inexpressible longing upon the frontiers of Persia. Only a few leagues separate the two countries, and yet the manners, customs, and modes of thinking amongst the Turkomans are just as different as if the two nations were a thousand miles asunder. How wonderful the influence of religion [{61}] and of historical tradition upon mankind! I cannot refrain from laughing when I think that these Turkomans, in some particulars so cruel and so inhuman, were at this very time constantly giving entertainments, 'Lillah' (for pious ends), at which it was necessary that our entire company of pilgrims should be present. These invitations were repeated several times during the day. It was only the first and second that I was disposed to accept; from the third I showed by my manner that I wished to be excused; but my would-be host forced me by many pushes in the ribs to leave my tent. According to the rule of Turkoman etiquette, 'the harder the push, the more hearty the invitation.' On such festal occasions the Amphytrion threw down before the tent some pieces of felt--or, if it were his humour to be sumptuous, a carpet--whereupon the guests seated themselves in groups of five or six in a circle, and each group received a large wooden dish proportioned in size and contents to the number and ages of those who were to share it. Into the dish every guest plunged his half-open fist, until emptied to the very bottom. The quality and dressing of the meats which were served to us are not calculated to interest much our 'gastronomes.' I merely remark, therefore, in passing, that horse-flesh and camel-flesh were the order of the day: what other dishes represented our venison, I must decline mentioning.

[Tartar Fiancée and Banquet, etc.]

During my sojourn with Khandjan, he affianced his son (twelve years old, as before mentioned) to a maiden in her tenth year. This event was accompanied by a festival, from which, as his guests, we could not absent ourselves. On entering the tent of the 'fiancee,' we found her completely occupied with [{62}] working a shawl. Her maimer was that of one unconscious of the presence of others; and during our stay, which lasted two hours, I only once remarked from her furtive glance that she took any interest in our company. During the banquet, which, in my honour, consisted of rice boiled in milk, Khandjan observed that this festival had been fixed for the next autumn; but he had wished to turn to account the occasion of our presence, that the event might take place under our auspices and benedictions.

Let me not here forget to mention that we were entertained also on this occasion by a Karaktchi, who had, alone on foot, not only made three Persians prisoners, but had also by himself driven them before him into captivity for a distance of eight miles. He gave us the tithes of the spoil due to the Church, consisting of a small sum of two krans; and how happy he was when we with one voice intoned a Fatiha to bless him!

[Preparation of the Khan of Khiva's Kervanbashi for the Journey through the Desert; Line of Camels; Ilias Beg, the Hirer of Camels]

After having lingered, very much against my will, three weeks in Gömüshtepe, the hospitable Khandjan at last showed a disposition to aid our preparations for departure. We considered that the purchase of camels would entail too much expense; we consequently determined to hire one for every two of us to carry our water and our flour. This might have been very difficult, had we not been so fortunate as to possess in our cattle-dealer, Ilias Beg, a proper adviser for the purpose. He was not, perhaps, a religious person, nor had he much reverence for our Hadji character; but he only showed the more exactitude to fulfil the law of hospitality, and the more disposition to make the greatest sacrifices to give us satisfaction. Ilias is properly a Turkoman from Khiva, and [{63}] of the tribe of the Yomuts; he makes a journey of business every year through the desert to Gömüshtepe, and during his stay is under the protection of Khandjan, without which his position is as insecure as that of any other stranger. He comes generally in autumn, and returns in spring, with twenty or thirty camels loaded with his own merchandise, or that of strangers. Having been induced this year to take back with him some extra camels, the small additional sum for hire of these camels was, as it were, a God-send. Khandjan had recommended us in the warmest manner, and the words, 'Ilias, you will answer with your life,' had clearly shown him in what degree of estimation we stood with our host. Ilias cast his eyes down to the ground, as the nomads are in the habit of doing when they appear most in earnest; and his answer, in a low tone, which seemed to issue from him without any movement of the lips, was, 'You surely do not know me.' The singular sang-froid of the two Turkomans, as they dealt together, began to irritate my still half-European character, and forgetting that Hadji Bilal and my other companions were also present, and yet remained motionless, I made some remarks; but I soon had occasion to regret it, for even after having addressed them several times, my words remained without notice. Without, therefore, venturing to mix in the negotiation, it was determined that we should hire a camel for two ducats to go as far as Khiva; and as for our flour and water, Ilias declared that he would take it with him without compensation.

The small sum of money belonging to me, which I had sewn and hidden in different parts of my mendicant attire, together with the tolerably rich harvest of my Hadji dealings amongst the Turkomans, had [{64}] abundantly provided for me, so that I was in a position to hire a camel for myself alone; but I was dissuaded by Hadji Bilal and Sultan Mahmoud, who remarked that an appearance of wretchedness calculated to excite compassion was the best guarantee for safety amongst these nomads; while their covetousness was sure to be excited by the slightest sign of affluence. A suspicion of wealth might convert the best friend into a foe. They named several of the Hadjis who were well provided with means, and who, nevertheless, for the sake of prudence, were obliged to wander on in rags and on foot. I admitted the necessity, and secured a joint share in a camel, only stipulating for permission to make use of a kedjeve (pair of wooden baskets, hanging down from the two sides of the camel), as I should find it very fatiguing, with my lame foot and without cessation, to ride day and night forty stations, squeezed with another into the same wooden saddle. At first, Ilias objected, because, according to him (and he was indeed right), the kedjeve in the desert would have been a double burden for the poor beast. Khandjan, however, at last persuaded him, and he consented. On the journey to Khiva, which we were to perform in twenty days, and of which everyone spoke in a manner to make us feel fearful misgivings, I should at least have the consolation of being able now and then to sleep a little; but what pleased me most in the whole arrangement was, that I should have for my vis-à-vis and 'equipoise,' as the two kedjeve were termed, my bosom friend Hadji Bilal, whose society began by degrees to become indispensable for me. After the dialogue was over, we paid, as is the custom, the hire beforehand. Hadji Bilal said a Fatiha; and after Ilias [{65}] had passed his fingers through his beard, consisting, it is true, of only a few straggling hairs, we had no occasion to take any other steps, and we but begged that the departure might be hastened as much as possible. This, however, he could not promise, as it depended upon the Kervanbashi of the Khan, who, with his buffaloes, was to place himself at the head of our karavan. In a few days we were ready to start for Etrek, our rendezvous. After the preparations had been completed I burnt with twofold ardour to quit Gömüshtepe: for, first, we had lost time here, and I perceived that the hot season was more and more advancing, and we feared that the rain-water, still to be found in the desert, would become scarcer; and secondly, I began to grow uneasy at the ridiculous reports which were in circulation respecting me. Whilst many saw in me merely a pious Dervish, others could not rid themselves of the idea that I was a man of influence, an envoy of the Sultan, in correspondence with the Turkish Ambassador in Teheran, who was bringing a thousand muskets with him, and was engaged in a plot against Russia and Persia. Had this come to the ears of the Russians in Ashourada, they would have certainly laughed at it, but still it might have led to enquiries respecting the singular stranger; and the discovery of my disguise might have involved a cruel, perhaps a life-long captivity. I therefore begged Hadji Bilal repeatedly at least to leave Gömüshtepe, but his previous impatience had given way to absolute indifference as soon as Ilias had engaged with us; on my urging him, he even answered how ridiculously childish it was for me to seek to anticipate the decrees of destiny. 'Thy haste,' said he to me, 'is all thrown away; thou must perforce [{66}] remain on the Görghen's banks until the Nasib (fate) has decreed that thou shouldst drink water in another place; and no one knows whether this will occur at an early or a late period.' Only imagine what effect an answer so oriental was calculated to produce upon a mind that had just cause to feel impatience! I saw, however, but too well, the impossibility of escape, and so submitted to my fate.

About this time, it happened that some Karaktchi had, by treachery, in one of their depredatory expeditions, seized upon five Persians. One of these was a man of property. The robbers had sailed in a vessel up beyond Karatepe, under the pretence of purchasing a cargo from the village of the Persians. The bargain was soon made; and scarcely had the unsuspicious Persians appeared with their goods upon the sea-shore, than they were seized, bound hand and foot, buried up to their necks in their own wheat, and forcibly carried off to Gömüshtepe. I was present when these unfortunates were unpacked, so to say. One of them was also dangerously wounded; and I heard the Turkomans themselves characterise the act as a deed of shame. Even the Russians in Ashourada interested themselves in the affair, and threatened a landing if the prisoners were not immediately set at liberty. As the robbers resolutely refused to let their prize go, I thought that now the rest of the Turkomans, who run common risk from the Russians, would compel their countrymen to give way. Not at all; they ran up and down, distributing arms, in order, should the Russians land, to give them a warm reception. It may be interesting to know that I was also appointed to shoulder a musket, and great was my embarrassment when I reflected upon whom I should be expected to fire. [{67}] Happily, no attempt was made to carry out the threat. [Footnote 15]

[Footnote 15: Let not the reader be surprised by the equivocal attitude of the Russian authorities. Persia regards every landing of the Russian forces on the coasts as a hostile invasion of its own soil, and prefers to endure the depredations of the Turkomans rather than avail itself of the Russian arms, which might, it is true, in particular cases, be of service to them, but would not fail, on the whole, to be most detrimental.]

[Arrangements with Khulkhan; Turkoman Expedition to steal Horses in Persia; Its Return.]

Next morning a Russian steamer came quite close to the shore, but the matter was disposed of by a political manoeuvre; that is to say, the Turkomans gave hostages for the future, but the Persians remained in chains. The wealthy prisoner paid a ransom of 100 ducats; another, who was crippled in both hands and feet, and was not worth the sum of four ducats, was set free in honour of the Russians; but the three others--strong men--were loaded with still heavier chains, and led away to the usual place of torture for the slaves, at Etrek. The name of Etrek, which is given both to a river and the inhabited district in its vicinity, is a word of terror and a curse for the unfortunate inhabitants of Mazendran and Taberistan. The Persian must be very incensed when he allows the words 'Etrek biufti!' (May you be driven to Etrek!) to escape his lips. As it was fixed for the rendezvous of our karavan, I was soon to have the opportunity of seeing closely into this nest of horror. Khandjan had also had the goodness to recommend me as guest to Kulkhan the Pir (grey-beard) of the Karaktchi. He came to us very opportunely. The old sinner had a sombre repulsive physiognomy. He did not by any means meet me in a friendly manner when I was transferred to his hospitality. He examined my [{68}] features a long time, occasionally whispering something in the ear of Khandjan, and seemed determined to discover in me more than other people had seen. The cause of this distrust I soon detected. Kulkhan had in his youth travelled through the southern parts of Russia, in company with Khidr Khan, who was in the service of the Czar. He had also long lived at Tiflis, and was pretty familiar with our European modes of existence. He remarked that he had seen many nations, but never the Osmanlis. He had heard it said of them that they had sprung from a tribe of Turkomans, whom besides they resembled in every respect; and that his astonishment was great to distinguish in me quite opposite characteristics. Hadji Bilal remarked that his own information upon the subject was not good, and that he had actually lived several years in Roum, without having occasion to make any similar observation; whereupon Kulkhan told us he would return two days afterwards, early in the morning, to his Ova in Etrek, recommended us to make ourselves ready for our journey, inasmuch as without his conduct we should be unable to travel hence to Etrek, although only a distance of twelve miles; and, in short, that he was only waiting the return of his son Kolman [Footnote 16] from the Alaman (predatory expedition) to the Persian frontiers, in quest of some fine mares.

[Footnote 16: Properly Kulumali.]

The return of his son from this piratical adventure was awaited by Kulkhan with almost the same feelings as those with which a father amongst us would expect his son coming home from an heroic expedition, or other honourable enterprise. He also informed us that we might walk forwards a little way down the banks of the Görghen, for his son [{69}] was to return about this time, and we should then see something worth seeing. As I had nothing at that moment else to do, I was not displeased to comply with the invitation. I mixed with the crowd which was looking, with the greatest impatience, for the first sight of the party. At last eight mounted Turkomans appeared on the opposite bank, bringing ten led horses with them. I thought that now the expectant multitude would give vent to their enthusiasm in hurrahs, but they uttered no sound; all measured with greedy eyes and speechless admiration those who were approaching. The latter dashed into the Görghen, across which in an instant they swam to the bank on our side, where, dismounting, they extended their hands with indescribable earnestness to their relatives. Whilst the seniors were passing the spoil in review with the greatest attention, the young heroes were occupied in arranging their dress. Lifting their heavy fur caps, they wiped the sweat from head and forehead.

The whole spectacle was splendid. Whatever my contempt for the robbers and their abominable doings, my eye fell still with particular pleasure upon these young men, who, in their short riding dresses, with their bold looks, and hair falling to their breasts in curly locks as they laid aside their weapons, were the admiration of all. Even the gloomy Kulkhan seemed cheerful: he introduced his son to us, and after Hadji Bilal had bestowed his benediction upon him, we separated. The next morning we were to proceed from Gömüshtepe, accompanied by Kulkhan, his son, and stolen horses, to Etrek.

[{70}]

CHAPTER VI.

Gens confinis Hyrcaniae, cultu vitae aspera et latrociniis assueta.-- Q. Curtii Ruf. lib. vi. cap. 5.

[Departure from Gömüshtepe; Character of our late Host]

At noon the following day I left Gömüshtepe with my most intimate fellow-travellers, accompanied for some time by Khandjan and all my other friends. Kandjan went on foot with us nearly a league on our way, as is the custom amongst the nomads in the case of very esteemed guests. I entreated him several times to return, but fruitlessly; he insisted upon punctually fulfilling all the rules of ancient Turkoman hospitality, that I might never afterwards have any ground of complaint against him. To say the truth, my heart was very heavy when I extricated myself from his last embrace, for I had known in him one of the most honourable of men. Without any interested motive, he had not only for a long time entertained me and five other pilgrims in his own [{71}] house, but had given me every explanation that I had required. I feel even now pained that I cannot make him any return for his kindness, but still more that I was forced to deceive so sincere a friend by any mystery.

[Turkoman Mounds or Tombs; Disagreeable Adventure with Wild Boars]

Our path was north-easterly, departing more and more from the sea-shore, in the direction of the two great mounds, of which one bears the name of Köresofi, the other that of Altin Tokmak. Besides these mounds, one discovers here and there numerous Joszka (Turkoman barrows); with these exceptions, the district is one boundless flat. Scarcely a quarter of a league from Gömüshtepe, we found ourselves proceeding through splendid meadows, where the grass was as high as the knee, and of a delicious odour. It all withers away without being of service to any one, for the inhabitants of Gömüshtepe are Tchomru (that is, not cattle-breeders). What lovely villages might flourish in this well-watered district; what animated life might here reign, instead of the stillness of death! Our small karavan, consisting of the camels belonging to Ilias and of six horses, kept close together, for Kulkhan affirmed that there were hereabouts Karaktchis who were not under his orders, and who would assail him if they felt themselves strong enough to do so. Ilias, this once, was pleased to spare me my ride upon the camel; he took from Kulkhan one of the stolen horses, upon which I was to ride as far as Etrek. Unfortunately, as it happened, Emir Mehemmed, the Afghan opium-eater from Karatepe, who had already fastened himself upon our karavan, had remained on foot, and whenever we had to traverse any puddle or other wet ground, I could not refuse to take him on my saddle, and then he grasped my clothes so tightly that I often [{72}] thought I should be thrown down. This partnership ride made me run much risk when we were obliged to cut our way through the great marshes, covered with reeds, which swarmed with herds of wild boars, numerous beyond conception. Kulkhan and Ilias rode before, to find a circuitous way, to enable us to avoid hundreds of these animals, whose proximity we perceived, not only by their incessant grunting, but more especially by the cracking sound caused by their movements amongst the reeds. Whilst I was riding on with attentive ear, my horse suddenly shied and took a great bound sideways. I had hardly time to look round to ascertain the cause, when I and my comrade lay stretched upon the ground. The loud laughter of my companions, who were a few paces from us, mingled with a strange howling. I turned myself round, and found that I had been thrown upon two wild boars of tender age; it was their mother that had caused our horse to shy, but now, rendered savage by the cry of her young ones, she stood showing her tusks at no great distance from us, and would most certainly have charged us, had not Shirdjan, the cousin of Ilias, come to our aid, and barred the way with his extended lance. Whether it was owing to the bravery of the young Turkoman, or the silence of the young pigs--now liberated from their constrained position--I cannot say, but the incensed mother beat a retreat, and, with her face still to the foe, hastened back to her lair, which we had not been slow to abandon. Kulkhan's son had in the meantime secured our horse, that had escaped. He restored him to me with the remark that 'I might regard myself as lucky, for that a death by the wound of a wild boar would send even the most pious Musselman nedjis (unclean) [{73}] into the next world, where a hundred years' burning in purgatorial fire would not purge away his uncleanness.'

Intruding upon the Haunts of the wild Boar.

[Plateau to the North of Gömüshtepe; Nomad Habits]

After having continued our way for about four hours in the above-named direction, amidst marshes and meadows, I noticed that we had gained the sloping sides of the plateau that extends north from Gömüshtepe, for not only the elevations, but the Persian mountains on the frontiers themselves, began gradually to disappear; only a few groups of tents, in the vicinity of which camels were grazing, were visible at a great distance, and although, on all the four sides, the most lovely verdure enchanted the eye, the eastern district which I had visited before with Kizil Akhond, is far more thickly peopled. There being no river like the Görghen, the well-water, of which the people make use, is exhausted by the time the rich meadows have sufficiently fattened their sheep. Tents, consequently, are only to be seen here in May and in June. One of these groups of tents, peopled by the dependents of Kulkhan, was to give us shelter this night, as Etrek was still six miles [Footnote 17] distant--a whole day's journey for our heavily-laden camels. Due notice had been given of our approach, and my hungry fellow-travellers soon saw in the rising smoke the prospect of a good supper. Although Gömüshtepe is only four miles distant from this spot, the journey took us nearly eight hours, and this first ride had tolerably wearied both man and beast.

[Footnote 17: The reader is requested to understand, here and elsewhere, German miles.]

[Turkoman Hospitality; The last Goat]