KELÁT--QUETTA--BOMBAY.
We encamped in the suburbs of the city, about a couple of miles from
the northern or Mastung Gate, and near the telegraph office, a small
brick bungalow in charge of an English-speaking native. There is a
single wire laid to Quetta, a distance, roughly speaking, of ninety
miles. A terrific hurricane, accompanied by thunder, vivid lightning,
and dense clouds of black dust, sprang up about sunset the day of our
arrival. Both tents were instantly blown down, and in a few moments
reduced to shapeless rags of torn canvas. So great was the force of
the wind that it snapped the tent-poles short off, and, tearing them
from the ropes, sent the tents flying over the plain as if they had
been shreds of tissue paper. We managed, however, to find quarters in
the telegraph office, and remained there till our departure, two days
later, for Quetta. During the storm the thermometer sank to 50° Fahr.,
although a few moments before it had marked 78°.
Kelát contains--with its suburbs, which are of considerable
extent--about 15,000 inhabitants, and is picturesquely situated on the
edge of a fertile plain thickly cultivated with wheat, barley, and
tobacco. The city is built in terraces, on the sides and summit of a
limestone cliff, about a hundred and fifty feet high. This is called
the "Shah Mirdan," and is surrounded at the base of the hill by high
mud ramparts, with bastions at intervals, loopholed for musketry.
The "Mir," [A] or palace of the Khan, overhangs the town, and is made
up of a confused mass of buildings, which, though imposing at a
distance, I found on closer inspection to consist chiefly of mud, which
in many places had crumbled away, leaving great gaping holes in the
walls. The Mir mounts a few primitive, muzzle-loading cannon, and the
citadel is garrisoned by a thousand men, chiefly Afghans, deserters from
Cábul, Kandahár, and other parts of the Ameer's dominions. They are a
ragged, undisciplined lot. The Khan himself has a wholesome dread of
his soldiery, who break out at times, and commit great depredations
among the villages surrounding the capital, robbing and murdering the
peasants with impunity, for few dare resist them. The remainder of the
troops, three thousand in number, are quartered in barracks, or rather
mud hovels, at some distance from the palace. Each man is supposed to
receive three rupees a month and a lump sum of forty-eight rupees at
the end of each year, but pay is uncertain and mutiny frequent. When
not engaged on military duties the Khan's Baluch soldiers are put to
agricultural work on his estates, while the Afghans pass their time
in pillaging and plundering their neighbours. As we entered Kelát we
passed a regiment at drill on a sandy plain outside the walls. With
the exception of a conical fur cap, there is no attempt at uniform.
The men, fine strapping fellows, are armed with rusty flint-locks.
Though there appeared to be no officers, European or otherwise, I
was rather surprised to hear the word of command given in
English, and to see this band of ragamuffins march off parade to
the strains of "Home, sweet Home," played by a very fair fife-and-drum
band.
The morning following my arrival, I was startled by the apparition at
my bedside of a swarthy, wild-looking Afghan sowar--a messenger
from the Wazir, to say that his Highness the Khan wished to make my
acquaintance, and would receive me, if convenient, at three o'clock
that afternoon. It had not been my intention to solicit an interview,
for, from all accounts, the Khan is anything but friendly towards
Europeans, Englishmen in particular. To refuse, however, was out of
the question. The morning was therefore devoted to cleaning up, and
getting out a decent suit of wearing-apparel; while my Beïla escort,
who evidently had uncomfortable forebodings as to the appearance
of the Beïla uniform in the streets of Kelát, polished up arms and
accoutrements till they shone like silver, and paid, I noticed,
particular attention to the loading of their rifles and revolvers.
About midday the Wazir made his appearance to conduct me to the
palace. He was a fat, paunchy old man, with beady black eyes and a
shy, shifty expression, very unlike my cheery little friend at Beïla.
After the usual preliminary questions as to who I was, my age,
business, etc., he anxiously inquired after the health of Mr.
Gladstone, and somewhat astonished me by asking whether I was a
Liberal or Conservative. "You have some Beïla men with you, I see,"
said the Khan's adviser, who spoke English perfectly. "Don't let
his Highness see them." I could not, after such a speech, allow my
faithful escort to enter the city without warning. But it had little
effect. "Let the dogs do what they like," was the reply. "We shall not
let the sahib go alone."
Tea and cigarettes discussed, a start was made for the palace. The
Wazir, on a wiry, good looking bay horse, and attended by half a dozen
mounted Afghans, led the way, and I followed on a pony borrowed of
the telegraph clerk. My costume was, if not becoming, at any rate
original: high boots, flannel trousers, and shirt, an evening
dress-coat, and astrakhan cap. Gerôme's wardrobe being even less
presentable, I deemed it prudent to leave him behind. The Beïla men
brought up the rear of the procession some distance from the Afghans,
who, to my anxiety, never ceased scoffing and jeering at them the
whole way. Every moment I expected to hear the crack of a pistol-shot,
followed by a general _mêlée_. Arrived at the Mastung Gate, we
dismounted, and, leaving our horses in charge of the guard, slowly
proceeded up the steep narrow streets to the citadel.
The entrance to Kelát is not imposing. There had been a good deal
of rain, and the streets of the lower part of the town were perfect
quagmires of mud nearly knee-deep. It was more like crawling into
a dark passage than entering a city. Many of the thoroughfares are
entirely covered over with wooden beams plastered with mud, which
entirely exclude light, and give them more the appearance of
subterranean passages than streets. The upper part of the town is the
cleanest, for the simple reason that all filth and sewage runs down
open gutters cut in the centre of the steep alleys, until it reaches
the level of the plain. There is no provision made for its escape.
It is allowed to collect in great pools, which in long-continued wet
weather often flood the houses and drive their wretched inhabitants
into the open, to live as best they may, further up the hill.
Kelát is, for this reason only, very unhealthy. Small-pox, typhoid, and
typhus are never absent, though, curiously enough, cholera visitations
are rare. The filthy habits of the inhabitants have, apparently, a
good deal to do with the high death rate. I saw, while walking up
the hill, a native fill a cup from an open drain and drink it off,
although the smell was unbearable, the liquid of a dark-brown colour.
A very common and--in the absence of medical treatment--fatal disease
among the inhabitants of the suburbs (chiefly Afghans) is stone in
the bladder, the water here, though pure and clear in the suburbs,
containing a large quantity of lime.
The bazaar, through which we passed on our way to the Mir, does not
seem a very busy one. Although not a public or religious holiday,
many of the stalls were closed. Kelát was once the great channel for
merchandise from Kandahár and Cábul to India, but the caravan trade is
now insignificant. There is in the season a considerable traffic in
dates, but that is all, for the roads to Persia and Afghanistán are
very unsafe. Only a few weeks previous to my visit, a Kelát merchant,
proceeding with a large caravan to Kermán, in Persia, was robbed and
murdered in the frontier district west of Kharán. Few now attempt the
journey, most of the goods being sent to Quetta, and thence by rail to
various parts of India, by sea to Persia.
Art and industry are, as well as trade, practically at a standstill in
the Khan's city, though a handsome embroidery, peculiar to Kelát, is
made by the women, and fetches high prices in India, while some of the
natives are clever at brass work and ironmongery. Noticing a Russian
samovar in one of the shops, I entered and inquired of the owner
(through the Wazir) how it had reached Kelát. "From Russia," was
the reply, "_viâ_ Meshéd, Herat, and Kandahár. There is a good
caravan-road the whole way," added the Baluchi, taking down a small
brass shield from a peg in the wall. "This came from Bokhára, _viâ_
Cábul, only ten days, ago; but trade is not what it was." "Would there
be any difficulty in making that journey?" I asked. "For you--an
Englishman--yes," said the man, with a queer smile, and was
continuing, when "The Khan will be growing impatient," broke in the
Wazir, taking my hand and leading me hurriedly into the street.
An Afghan guard of honour was drawn up at the entrance of the palace,
wearing the nearest approach to a uniform I had yet seen--dark-green
tunics, light-blue trousers, and white turbans, clean, well fitting,
and evidently kept for state occasions. Each man carried a Berdán
rifle and cavalry sabre. It struck me as a curious coincidence that
the former rifle is in general use throughout the Russian army.
Leaving my escort with strict injunctions to keep their tempers, and
under no circumstances to allow themselves to be drawn into a quarrel,
I followed the Wazir and his attendants into the Mir. The entrance is
through an underground passage about forty yards long by seven wide,
ill-smelling and in total darkness. Arrived at the end, we again
emerged into daylight, and, ascending a flight of rickety wooden
steps, found ourselves in the durbar-room--a spacious apartment, its
walls decorated with green, gold, and crimson panels, alternating with
large looking-glasses. Costly rugs and carpets from Persia and Bokhára
strewed the grimy floor of the chamber, which is about sixty feet
long, and commands a splendid view of the city and fertile plains
beyond. Awaiting me upon the balcony was the Khan, surrounded by
his suite and another guard of Afghans. A couple of dilapidated
cane-bottomed chairs were then brought and set one on each side of the
crimson velvet divan occupied by his Highness. Having made my bow,
which was acknowledged by a curt nod, I was conducted to the seat on
the right hand of the Khan by Azim Khan, his son, who seated himself
upon his father's left hand The Wazir, suite, soldiers, and attendants
then squatted round us in a semicircle, and the interview commenced.
A long silence followed, broken only by the whish of the fly-brush
as a white-clad Baluchi whisked it lazily to and fro over the Khan's
head. The balcony on which we were received is poised at a dizzy
height over the beehive-looking dwellings and narrow, tortuous streets
of the brown city, which to-day were bathed in sunshine. The Khan's
residence is well chosen. The pestilent stenches of his capital cannot
ascend to this height, only the sweet scent of hay and clover-fields,
and the distant murmur of a large population, while a glorious
panorama of emerald-green plain stretches away to a rocky, picturesque
range of hills on the horizon.
His Highness Mir Khudadad, Khan of Kelát, is about sixty years old. He
would be tall were it not for a decided stoop, which, together with a
toothless lower jaw, gives him the appearance of being considerably
more than his age. His complexion is very dark, even for a Baluch, and
he wears a rusty black beard and moustaches, presumably dyed, from
the streaks of red and white that run through them, and long, coarse
pepper-and-salt locks streaming far below his shoulders. His personal
appearance gave me anything but a favourable impression. The Khan has
a scowling expression, keen, piercing black eyes, and a sharp hooked
nose that reminded one forcibly of Cruikshank's picture of Fagin the
Jew in "Oliver Twist."
The Khan was dressed in a long, loose, white garment, with red silk
embroidery of beautiful workmanship. A thin white Cashmere shawl was
thrown carelessly over his shoulders, and he wore a conical violet
silk cap, trimmed with gold lace, and a pair of pointed green morocco
slippers, turned up at the toes, and ornamented with the same
material. A massive gold necklace, or collar, thickly studded with
diamonds, rubies, and sapphires, hung round his neck. The stones, some
of them of great size, were set indiscriminately without any regard
to pattern or design. Mir Khudadad wore no other jewels, with the
exception of three small torquoise rings, all worn on the little
finger of the left hand. He carried no arms, but held in his right
hand a large and very dirty pocket-handkerchief of a bright yellow
hue with large red spots, which somewhat detracted from his regal
appearance. The Khan is a great snuff-taker, and during the audience
continually refreshed himself from the contents of a small gold box
carried by his son. Prince Azim, who was dressed in a green silk
jacket and loose magenta-coloured trousers, is a pleasant-mannered lad
of about twenty. He is of much lighter complexion than his father and
has a strong Jewish cast of feature. A huge cabochon emerald of great
value, suspended from the neck, was Azim's sole ornament.
[Illustration: PALACE OF THE KHAN. KELÁT.]
A conversation now commenced, carried on through the medium
of the Wazir and my interpreter. The Khan has a fidgety, uneasy
manner that must be intensely exasperating to his court. More
than once during the audience, having asked a question with
much apparent earnestness, he would suddenly break in, in the
middle of a reply, and hum a tune, or start off on a totally different
subject from the one under discussion. At other times he would repeat
a question twice or thrice, and, his eyes fixed on vacancy, utterly
ignore the answers of the Wazir, who evidently stood in great awe of
his eccentric sovereign. Though the following colloquy may appear
brief to the reader, it took nearly an hour to get through.
"Where do you come from, and what are you?" was the Khan's first
question.
"From Russia, your Highness."
"From Russia!" returned the Khan, quickly. "But you are English, are
you not?"
"Certainly I am."
"How strong is Russia's army?" continued the Khan, after an
application to the gold snuff box, and a trumpet-blast on the yellow
bandanna.
"Nominally about three millions."
"And England?"
"About two hundred thousand, not counting the reserves."
"Humph!" grunted the Khan. "Tell me, do the English imagine that Abdur
Raman [B] is their friend?"
"I believe so."
"Then tell them from me," cried the Khan, excitedly, half rising from
his seat, "tell Queen Victoria from me that it is not so. Tell her to
beware of Abdur Raman. He is her enemy."
"Is England afraid of Russia?" continued the Khan after a long pause.
"No; the English fear no one."
"Will England reach Kandahár before Russia takes Herat?"
"I really cannot say," was my answer to this somewhat puzzling
question.
Mir Khudadad then turned away to converse with the Wazir in a low
tone. About ten minutes elapsed, during which a long confabulation
was held, in which many of the suite, including the Afghan soldiers,
joined. Prince Azim meanwhile invited me to inspect his sword and
pistols. The former, a splendid Damascus blade, and hilt encrusted
with jewels, I especially admired. Had I known the use to which it
had been put that morning, I should not, perhaps, have been so
enthusiastic.
Again the Khan addressed me.
"Do you know Russia well?"
"Pretty well."
"Is it true that the Russians do not allow Mohammedans to worship in
Central Asia?"
"I believe that is untrue."
"It is a lie?"
"Most certainly it is."
"Your own countrymen told me so." At this there was a roar of
laughter, in which the Khan joined.
The durbar-room of Kelát reminded me of an English court of justice.
When the Khan laughed his courtiers did, and _vice versâ_. After an
interval of more snuff-taking and whispering, the Khan drew forth and
examined my watch. Taking this for a polite hint that the interview
had lasted long enough, I rose to go, but was at once thrust back into
my chair by Azim. "You are not to go," said the Wazir. "The Khan is
much interested by you."
"Dhuleep Singh is in Russia, is he not?" then asked the Khan.
"Yes."
"What does Russia pay him a year?"
"I do not know."
"More than England did?"
"I do not know."
"You English never do know anything," muttered the Khan, impatiently;
adding, "Do you know the Czar of Russia?"
"I have seen him."
"Is he a good man?"
"I believe him to be so."
"Then why do his people try to kill him?"
"Some of them are Socialists."
"Socialists!" repeated the Khan, slowly. "What is that?"
I then explained with some difficulty the meaning of the word.
"Humph!" was the rejoinder. Then, with a whisk of the yellow bandanna:
"I am glad I have none in Kelát!"
A mark of great favour was then shown me, the Khan presenting me with
his photograph, with the request that I would show it to "Parliament"
when I got home. I think he was under the impression that the latter
is a human being. An incident that occurred but two years since is
typical of the intelligence of the ruler of Kelát and his court. It
was at Quetta, on the occasion of the presentation of Mir Khudadad
to the Viceroy of India. Previous to a grand _déjeûner_ given in his
honour, the Khan and his suite were shown into a dressing-room for the
purpose of washing their hands. On entering to announce that luncheon
was ready, the aide-de-camp found that the distinguished guests had
already commenced operations, and were greedily devouring the cakes
of Pears' soap that had been placed there for a somewhat different
purpose. That none of the party felt any after ill effects speaks well
for the purity of the wares of the mammoth advertiser--or the Baluch
digestion!
The Khan shook my hand cordially at parting, and again begged me not
to forget his warnings anent the Ameer of Afghanistán, with whom he is
apparently not on the best of terms. I found, with some relief, that
my Beïla men had made friends with the Afghans, and, surrounded by an
admiring crowd, were hobnobbing over a hissing samovar. One of the
Afghans handed me a glass of tea, which, not to offend him, I drank
and found delicious. It had come from China _viâ_ Siberia, Samarcand,
and Cábul. "Russki!" said the man with a grin, as I handed back the
cup.
The Khan of Kelát very rarely leaves his palace, and is seldom seen
abroad in the streets of Kelát except on Fridays, when he goes to the
mosque on foot, attended by an escort armed to the teeth. He is said
to live in constant dread of assassination, for his cruel, rapacious
character has made him universally detested in and around the capital.
His one thought in life is money and the increase of his income,
which, with the yearly sum allowed him by the British Government, may
be put down at considerably over £30,000 per annum. A thorough miser,
the Khan does not, like most Eastern potentates, pass the hours of
night surrounded by the beauties of the harem, but securely locked in
with his money-bags in a small, comfortless room on the roof of his
palace.
[Illustration: THE KHAN OF KELÁT]
There is not the smallest doubt in my mind that Russian influence
is, indirectly, being brought to bear on the Court of Kelát. But Mir
Khudadad may be said to have no policy. As the French say, "Il change
sa nationalité comme je change de chemise," and is to be bought by the
highest bidder.
Although the Khan's subjects are heavily taxed, there is no protection
whatsoever of life or property in or around Kelát. Theft is, according
to the penal code, punished by fine and imprisonment, murder and
adultery by death; but the law is subject to great modifications. In a
word, the Khan is the law, and so long as a man can afford to pay or
bribe him handsomely, he may commit the most heinous offences with
impunity.
Two instances of the way in which justice is carried out happened just
before I arrived at Kelát. In the one, a young Baluch woman was found
by her husband, a soldier, under circumstances which admitted no doubt
of her infidelity. Upon discovery, which took place at night, the
infuriated husband rushed off to the guard-house for his weapon.
During his absence the woman urged her lover, who was well armed, to
meet and slay him in the darkness. Under pretence of so doing the gay
Lothario left his paramour, but, fearful of consequences, made off to
Quetta.
On his return home the husband used no violence, simply handing his
wife over to the guard to be dealt with according to law. Brought
before the Khan the next day, she was lucky enough to find that
monarch in a good temper. Her beauty probably obtained the free pardon
accorded her, and an order that her husband was also to condone her
offence. The latter said not a word, took her quietly home in the
evening, and cut her throat from ear to ear. The Khan, on hearing
of the murder next day, made no remonstrance, nor was the offender
punished. He was an Afghan.
The second case is even more disgraceful. One of the Khan's own suite,
a well-known libertine and drunkard, contracted an alliance with
a young girl of eighteen. He had endeavoured in vain to marry her
younger sister, almost a child, and so beautiful that she was known
for many miles round the city as the "Pearl of Kelát."
Six weeks after marriage this ruffian, in a fit of drunken frenzy
caused by jealousy, almost decapitated his wife with a tulwar, and
afterwards mutilated her body past recognition. The shrieks of the
poor woman having summoned the neighbours, he was seized, bound, and
led before the Khan, who at once sentenced him to death. The execution
was fixed for sunrise the following day. At midnight, however,
a messenger appeared at the gates of the Mir with a canvas bag
containing two thousand rupees. "Tell him he is free," said the ruler
of Kelát. "And if he sends in another thousand, I will _order_ the
younger sister to marry him." The money was paid, and the poor child
handed over to the tender mercies of the human devil who had so
ruthlessly butchered her sister.
I have mentioned that Azim Khan showed me a sword of beautiful
workmanship. It had, the very morning of my visit to the palace, cut
down and hacked to pieces a waiting-maid, not sixteen years old, in
the Khan's harem. I myself saw the corpse of the poor girl the same
evening, as it was being carried outside the walls for interment. [C]
This, then, is the state of things existing at Kelát, not a hundred
miles from the British outposts; this the enlightened sovereign who
has been made "Companion of the Star of India," an order which, among
his own people, he affects to look upon with the greatest contempt.
The few women I saw at Kelát were distinctly good looking, far more so
than those further south. Most of them have an Italian type of face,
olive complexion, and large dark eyes, with sweeping lashes. But very
few wore the hideous nose-rings so common at Beïla and Sonmiani.
Morality is at a discount in the capital, and prostitution common.
The Wazir sent me a bag of dates the morning of my departure, with
a short note, written in English, begging that I would send him in
return the best gold watch and rifle "that could be bought for gold"
in London. The note ended jocosely, "Exchange is no robbery!" The old
man seemed well _au fait_ with Central Asian affairs. On my mentioning
the day before that I had intended entering India _viâ_ Cábul, he at
once said, "Ah! I supposed Alikhanoff stopped you. He is very shy of
strangers."
We left Kelát at 6 a.m. on the 12th of April. The camels and heavy
baggage had been sent on four or five hours previously to Mangachar,
the first station. Our caravan now consisted of only eight camels,
which we found reduced to seven on arrival. Just before daylight a
couple of panthers had appeared close to the caravan and caused a
regular stampede, the beasts flying right and left. On order being
restored, two were found to be missing, one laden with the only small
remaining tent and some native luggage, the other with a couple of
cases of whisky (nearly empty) and my camp-stool. The former was
traced and brought in after a search of over two hours, but the latter
is still, for aught I know, careering over the boundless desert, an
unconscious advertiser of "Jameson and Co." I afterwards heard that
this plain is noted for panther and wolf, also an animal called the
"peshkori," somewhat larger than a cat, with a reddish-coloured hide.
It moves about the country in packs, carrying off deer and sheep. Its
method of descending precipices and steep hillsides is curious, each
animal fixing its teeth in the tail of another, thus forming a kind of
chain.
The plain of Mangachar is situated nearly 6000 feet above sea-level,
and is well cultivated with wheat, lucerne, and tobacco. The
village itself is neatly laid out, and contains about three hundred
inhabitants. The different aspects of the country north and south of
Kelát are striking. We had now done with deserts for good, for at
night lights were seen twinkling all over the plain, while in the
daytime large tracts of well-cultivated land continually met the eye.
Between Mangachar and Mastung a hot wind arose, which made the eyes
smart, and dried up the skin like a blast from a furnace. One's hair
felt as it does in the hottest room of a Turkish bath, with the
unpleasant addition of being filled with fine gritty sand. "I hope
this may not end in a juloh," said Kamoo, anxiously. This, my
interpreter proceeded to explain, is a hot poisonous wind peculiar to
these districts, and perhaps the greatest danger run by travellers in
Baluchistán. The warm breeze, as Kamoo called it, that we experienced
was, though almost unbearable, not dangerous, while the dreaded juloh
has slain its hundreds of victims. Cook, the traveller, who has given
this subject much attention, has come to the conclusion that it is
caused by the generation in the atmosphere of a highly concentrated
form of ozone, by some intensely marked electrical condition. As
evidence of its effect in destroying every green thing on its course,
and in being frequently fatal to human life, he cites the following
well-authenticated cases, which, not having encountered the
death-dealing blast myself, I place before the reader:--
(1) In the year 1851, during one of the hot months, certain officers
of the Sind Horse were sleeping at night on the roof of General
Jacob's house at Jacobabad. They were awakened by a sensation of
suffocation and an exceedingly hot and oppressive feeling in the air,
while at the same time a very powerful smell of sulphur was noticed.
On the following morning a number of trees in the garden were found to
be withered in a very remarkable manner. It looked as if a current of
fire, about two yards in breadth, had passed through the garden in a
perfectly straight line, singeing and destroying every green thing in
its course. Entering on one side, and passing out at the other, its
tract was as clearly defined as the course of a river.
(2) At the close of 1856 a party of five men were crossing the desert
of Shikarpur, being on their way from Kandahár to that city, when
the blast crossed their path, killing three of them instantly and
seriously disabling the other two.
(3) A "moonshi" with two companions was travelling about seven miles
south-east of Bagh, in Kachi (not far distant from Mangachar). About
two o'clock the blast struck them. They were sensible of a scorching
sensation in the air, accompanied by a peculiar sulphurous smell, but
remembered nothing further, as all three were immediately struck to
the ground. They were afterwards found and carried to Bagh, where,
every attention being afforded them, they ultimately, after many days
of sickness, recovered.
As regards the strength of the juloh, Pottinger writes that, so
searching is its nature, it has been known to kill camels and other
hardy animals, and its effects on the human frame are said by
eye-witnesses to be the most agonizing and repulsive imaginable.
Shortly after contact with the wind the muscles of the sufferer become
rigid and contracted, the skin shrivels, a terrible sensation as if
the skin were on fire pervades the whole frame, while, in the last
stage, the skin cracks into deep gashes, producing haemorrhage,
quickly followed by death. It is curious to note that the juloh is
peculiar to the northern districts of Sarawán and Kach-Gandáva,
and does not exist in the southern provinces of Baluchistán.
The road from Mangachar to Mastung is good, though slightly
undulating, and intersected by deep "nullahs." The estimated area of
the Mastung district is two hundred and eighty miles. It is aptly
named "The Garden of Baluchistán," for considerably more than
two-thirds of its area are under cultivation. Water at Mastung is
never-failing, and the pretty town, nestling in a valley of vineyards
and fruit-gardens, fig and olive trees, reminded one more of some
secluded town in the Pyrenees or south of France than a Baluch
settlement. The soil hereabouts is light and sandy and particularly
favourable to the cultivation of grapes, of which there are no less
than five kinds. Apricots, peaches, plums, and pomegranates are also
grown, and supply the markets of Quetta and Kelát. Madder and tobacco
are also exported in large quantities from Mastung, which possesses a
neatly built and busy bazaar.
The plain of Dasht-bi-Dowlat, or "The Unpropitious Plain," lies
between Mastung and Quetta. The name, however, only applies after the
harvest has been gathered, for next to Mastung this is one of the most
fertile spots in Baluchistán. Dasht-bi-Dowlat is mainly cultivated
by wandering tribes. The inhabitants of Mastung were enthusiastic in
their description of the plain in summer. Then, they told us, the
surface is covered with verdure and flowers of all kinds, especially
the "lala," or tulip, which they averred cover it for miles with a
carpet of crimson and gold, and load the air with sweet intoxicating
perfume. The cultivation of this plain is mostly dependent on rain and
heavy dews.
To the west of Dasht-bi-Dowlat is Chehel-Tan, a steep, rocky mountain,
13,000 feet high, in the ravines and valleys of which snow still lay
deeply. Only two Europeans, Masson the traveller, and Sir Henry Green,
have ever succeeded in reaching the summit, on which is a "Zariat," or
shrine. The ascent is difficult and dangerous, as, the mountain
being said to be haunted, no native guides are procurable. The word
"Chehel-Tan" signifies in Baluch "Forty Bodies," and is derived from
the following legend.
A frugal pair, many years married, were unblest with offspring. They
therefore sought the advice of a holy man, who rebuked the wife,
saying that he had not the power to grant her what Heaven had denied.
The priest's son, however (also a moullah), felt convinced he could
satisfy her wishes, and cast forty pebbles into her lap, at the same
time praying that she might bear children. In process of time she was
delivered of forty babes--rather more than she wished or knew how
to provide for. The poor husband, at his wits' end, ascended to the
summit of Chehel-Tan with thirty-nine, and left them there, trusting
to the mercy of the Deity to provide for them, while the fortieth babe
was brought up under the paternal roof.
One day, however, touched by remorse, the wife, unknown to her
husband, explored the mountain with the object of collecting the bones
of her children and burying them. To her surprise, they were all
living and gambolling among the trees and rocks. Wild with joy, she
ran back to her dwelling, brought out the fortieth babe, and, placing
it on the summit of the mountain, left it there for a night to allure
back its brothers, but, on returning in the morning, she found that
the latter had carried it off, and it was never seen again. It is
by the spirits of these forty babes that Chehel-Tan is said to be
haunted.
At 8 a.m. on the 14th of April we sighted, afar off, an oasis on
the dead green plain, of long barrack-like buildings, garden-girt
bungalows, and white tents. We had reached our journey's end. The
church-bells were ringing as I rode into Quetta, for it was Sunday,
and, unfortunately, a bright, fine morning. Had it been otherwise,
I might have been spared the ordeal of riding, on a very dirty and
attenuated camel, past a crowd of well-dressed women and frock-coated
men on their way to church. As we passed a neat victoria, glistening
with varnish, and drawn by a pair of good-looking, high-stepping
ponies, containing a general in full uniform and a pretty, smartly
dressed lady, I cast a glance behind me. Gerôme, who brought up the
rear of the caravan, had (for coolness) divested himself of boots and
socks, and, sublimely unconscious, was refreshing himself from the
contents of a large wicker flask. One cannot, unfortunately, urge on
a camel or quicken his pace at these awkward moments, and I passed
a very uncomfortable quarter of an hour before reaching the Dák
bungalow. But a glance at a looking-glass reassured me. No one would
ever have taken the brick-coloured, ragged-looking ruffians we had
become for Europeans.
I accepted a kind and courteous invitation from Mr. L----, of the
Indo-European Telegraph, with pleasure, for the Dák bungalow was dirty
and comfortless. Although my host and charming hostess would have made
any place agreeable, Quetta is, from everything but a strategical
point of view, dull and uninteresting. It is an English garrison town,
and all is said. The usual nucleus of scandal, surrounded by dances,
theatricals, polo, flirtation, drink, and--divorce. Are they not all
alike from Gibraltar to Hong Kong?
Under the guidance of my host, however, a pleasant trip was made to
the Khojak tunnel. When one considers the comparatively short time
it has been in hand, it is almost incredible that, with so many
difficulties (water, hard rock, etc.), this work should have
progressed as it has. The tunnel, which runs due east and west, is,
or will be, two miles and a half in length and three hundred and
sixty-five feet in depth at the deepest part from the earth's surface.
From the eastern end only sixty-five miles over a firm and level plain
separates it from Kandahár. Even when I was there, [D] a light line
could have been laid to that city in six weeks without difficulty. The
plant, rails, and sleepers were on the spot, having been carried over
the hill, and a railway-carriage could then run from Calcutta to the
eastern extremity of the tunnel without break of gauge. The tunnel,
when completed, will be thirty-four feet broad, and twenty-five feet
in height.
A curious incident happened at one of the railway-stations between
Quetta and Karachi. At the buffet of the one in question, I found
Gerôme conversing volubly in Russian with a total stranger, a native.
On inquiry I found he was a very old friend, a Russian subject and
native of Samarcand. "He has just come through from Cábul," said my
companion. "He often does this journey"--ostensibly for purposes of
trade.
The 20th of April saw us in Bombay. An Italian steamer, the _Venezia_,
was leaving for the Black Sea direct, and in her I secured a passage
for Gerôme, who was not impressed with our Eastern possessions. The
crowd of curious natives who persistently followed him everywhere
may have had something to do with it, for a fur-clad Esquimaux
in Piccadilly would not have created a greater sensation than my
companion in high boots, black velvet breeches, and red caftan in
the busy streets of the great Indian city. Only a Russian could have
existed in that blazing sun with no other protection to the head than
the astrachan bonnet, which he obstinately refused to discard. I saw
him safely on board, and something very like a tear came into my
trusty little friend's eyes, as we shook hands and parted, to meet,
perhaps, never again. For a better companion no man could wish.
Plucky, honest as the day, and tender-hearted as a woman was Gerôme
Realini; and it was with a feeling of loneliness and sincere regret
that I watched the grey smoke of the _Venezia_ sink below the blue
waters, which were soon to bear me, also, back to England and European
civilization.
Has the journey been worth it? Has the result repaid one for the cold,
dirt, and privation of Persia, the torrid heat and long desert marches
through Baluchistán? Perhaps not. There are some pleasant hours,
however, to look back upon. Kashán, a vision of golden domes and dim,
picturesque caravanserais; Ispahán, with its stately Madrassa and blue
Zandarood, winding lazily through miles on miles of white and scarlet
poppyland; Shiráz, a dream of fair women, poetry, and roses, in its
setting of emerald plain, sweet-scented gardens, and cypress trees.
These, at any rate, are bright oases in that somewhat dreary ride from
Teherán to the sea. And then--nearing India--the quiet midday siesta
after the hot dusty march; the _al fresco_ repast by the light of a
glorious sunset, and the welcome rest and fragrant pipe in the cool
night air of the silent, starlit desert.
[Footnote A: Parts of this palace are of great antiquity, as it
owes its foundation to the Hindu kings who preceded the Mohammedan
dynasty.]
[Footnote B: The Ameer of Afghanistán.]
[Footnote C: I am not at liberty to give the name of my authority for
these facts. The reader may rely on their authenticity.]
[Footnote D: April, 1889. The boring of the tunnel is now
accomplished.]
APPENDIX A.
LIST OF STATIONS AND DISTANCES FROM RÉSHT TO
BUSHIRE, PERSIA.
English
Miles.
Résht ---
Koudoum----------- 20
Rustemabad------- 20
Menjil--------------- 12
Patchinar----------- 8
Kharzán------------- 16
Kazvin--------------- 24
Kavarek------------- 16
Kishlak------------- 16
Yengi-Imàm------- 16
Hessarek---------- 16
Shahabad---------- 16
_Teherán_---------- 16
Rabat Kerim------- 28
Pitché----------- 24
Kushku Baïra------ 16
Mahometabad------ 28
_Koom_--------------- 16
Pasingán------------- 16
Sin-sin--------------- 28
_Kashán_------------ 24
Khurood------------ 28
Bideshk-------------- 24
Murchakhar-------- 24
_Géz_----------------- 24
_Ispahán_------------ 12
Djulfa----------------- 3
Carried forward------------------ 491
Brought forward----------------- 491
Marg------------------ 12
Mayar----------------- 24
Koomisháh---------- 20
Magsogh-Beg------- 16
Yezdi-Ghazt--------- 24
Shoulgistán--------- 24
Abadéh--------------- 20
Sourmah------------- 16
Khina-Khoreh------ 28
Deybid--------------- 20
Mourghab------------ 28
Kawamabad---------- 24
Sivánd-------------- 8
Poozeh-------------- 16
Zergoon------------ 20
Shiráz-------------- 20
Chinar-Ráda----- 8
Khaneh Zinián--- 24
Dashti Arjin------- 12
Meyun Kotal------ 12
Kazeroon---------- 20
Kamarij------------ 24
Konar Takta------ 12
Dalaki-------------- 12
Borazjun------- 16
Sheif-------------- 28
-----------
979
From Sheif to Bushire by sea 7
Total English miles 986
APPENDIX B.
ROUTE--SONMIANI TO QUETTA.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Halting-place. English Remarks.
Miles.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sonmiani.... | | Small sea-port town.
Water abundant,
but brackish.
Fodder and
supplies
procurable.
Shekh-Raj.... | 18 | Road fairly good.
Water sweet and
plentiful.
Outhal...... | 14 | Road stony and undulating;
crossed dry bed
of river Purali.
Well of brackish
water.
Shekron-ka-Got | 22 | Road sandy. Passed several
salt marshes.
No water.
Beïla....... | 24 | Road good through rich
alluvial land
irrigated by
river Purali.
Road near to
Beïla intersected
by deep nullahs
distressing to
camels. Water
plentiful; supplies
procurable.
Lakh........ | 18 | Road good and level
till Pass of Lakh,
which is steep
and extremely
difficult. Water
usually procurable,
though very
brackish.
Forage for horse
and camel a
mile distant.
Natchi...... | 19 | Road stony and
difficult, through
country irrigated
(in wet season)
by river Lakh. A
small grazing
ground midway,
frequented by
nomads. Water
uncertain. Forage
(for camel only)
plentiful.
Lar-Anderi ... | 20 | Road along dry river
bed about three
hundred yards wide
(name unknown), for
about five miles. Then
over Plain of Arrah,
sparsely cultivated.
At end of stage
crossed river
Lar-Anderi, a
broad but shallow
stream about sixty
yards wide, seldom
dry. Good water
from river, but
brackish from
wells, of which
there are three.
Forage for horse
and camel.
Jhow........ | 14 | Crossed Jhow and
Seridab rivers,
both dry. No
cultivation to
be seen. Water
plentiful and
sweet. Forage
for horse and
camel.
Noundra..... | 20 | U { No road. Travelling
{ fairly easy.
n { Water brackish.
Kanéro...... |about| e {Road rough and
| 20 | { in parts with scrub.
x { stony, overgrown
{ A very narrow track
p { extends from
{ Noundra to Kanéro,
l { which we followed.
{ No water or forage.
Dhaïra...... |about| o { No road, but struck
| 20 | { several narrow
r { paths leading in
{ all directions.
e { Water plentiful and
{ good. Forage for
d { horse and camel.
Gwarjak..... |about| {Road level and
| 20 | { good. Water
{ abundant, also
{ forage for horse
{ and camel, but
{ natives unfriendly.
Gajjar...... | 13 | Road good, through
cultivated country.
Water good and
plentiful. Forage
for horse and camel
procurable, also
supplies.
Jebri....... | 20 | Road good, though
deep and marshy
in places. Water
good and
plentiful,
also horse and
camel forage.
Greshak..... | 26 | Road leads over
the Barida Pass.
Gradual and
easy ascent
and descent.
Water good
and plentiful.
Forage for
camel only.
Loch........ | 18 | Road very narrow
and much
overgrown (lost
in places) with
scrub. Water
scarce. Forage
scarce for camel,
none for horse.
Gidar........ | 32 | Good and level road.
Water procurable
from river only.
Forage for camel
only.
Sohrab | 26 | Road difficult.
Passed several
steep, but not
lofty, ranges of
hills. Water
plentiful, but
brackish. No
forage for horse
or camel.
Rodingo | 36 | Road level and
easy. Much
camelthorn,
wild thyme,
and (English)
furze on either
side of track.
Water good, but
scarce. No forage
for horse or camel.
Kelát.... | 14 | Road well defined,
and level. Water
good and abundant.
Forage for horse
and camel. Supplies
of all kinds
procurable.
Mangachar | 26 | Road well defined
and level. Leads
through a fertile
country. Water
good. Forage for
horse and camel,
and supplies
procurable.
Mastung | 32 | Road level and good,
but intersected
by deep nullahs,
rendering it
difficult for heavily
laden camels.
Water good and
plentiful. Forage
for horse and camel,
and supplies
procurable.
Quetta..... | 32 | Road excellent, and
in parts macadamized.
A garrison town,
and railway to all
parts of India.
Total English
miles | 504 |
APPENDIX C.
TABLE OF LANGUAGES OF NORTH AND SOUTH BALUCHISTÁN.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Makrán (South). Kalati (North).
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ant Mor Khar
Ashes P[=u]r Hiss
Barley O S[=a]r
Boy Bachak M[=a]r
Cold Sara Yakt
Copper Rod Miss
Day Roch D[=e]h
Dog Kuchak Kuchik
Earth Duniah Daghar
Fire Ach Kh[=a]ka
Flower P[=u]l P[=u]l
Gold Tila Kisun
Heavy Giran Kolui
To eat Warága Kuning
To kill Kushàja Kasfing
To bring Aràga Atning
To see Guidàga Khanning
APPENDIX D
TEMPERATURE (FAHRENHEIT) BETWEEN
SONMIANI AND QUETTA, BALUCHISTÁN.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Remarks Mid day
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Shade | Sun
----------------------------------------------------------------------
March
16 Sonmiani. Fine, north
west breeze 79° 83°
17 Sonmiani. Fine, no
breeze 73° 88°
18 Sonmiani. Fine, no
breeze 72° 105°
19 Sonmiani. Fine,
strong
north-east
breeze 80° 98°
20 Shekh-Raj. Fine, light
north-east
breeze 91° 118°
21 Outhal. Fine, light
north-west
breeze 92° 114°
22 Shekron-ka-Got
Fine,
south west
breeze 93° 109°
23 Beïla Rain and
thunder,
light south
breeze 88° 92°
24 Beïla Rain, no wind 83° 87°
25 Lakh Fine,
west wind 84° 103°
26 Natchi Fine, light
south-east
breeze 91° 115°
27 Lar-Anden Dull, no
breeze 93° 108°
28 Jhow. Fine, hot wind
(north east) 94° 110°
29 Noundra Fine, hot
south-west
wind 96° 123°
30 Kanéro Fine, south
west breeze 90° 120°
31 Dhaïra Fine, light
north
breeze 95° 123°
April
1 Gwarjak. Fine, light
south-east
breeze 91° 111°
2 Gajjar. Fine, south
wind 93° 110°
3 Jebri. Fine, strong
north west
wind 91° 110°
4 Greshak Fine, strong
north-west
wind 85° 88°
5 Loch. Fine, strong
north wind 76° 89°
6 Gidar. Fine, light
south-east
breeze 81° 86°
April
7 Sohrab. Fine; light
west breeze. 77° 86°
8 Dám. Rain;
south-west
wind 77° 78°
9 Kelát. Rain and
dust storm 73° 75°
10 Kelát. Fine; west
wind 59° 87°
11 Kelát. Fine; no
breeze. 58° 74°
12 Mangachar. Fine; no
breeze 80° 95°
13 Mastung. Fine;
hot wind. 89° 116°
14 Quetta. Dull;
no breeze 64° 80°
15 Quetta. Fine;
no breeze 61° 83°
16 Quetta. Fine;
south-west
breeze 63° 68°
17 Quetta. Fine; no
breeze 65° 67°
18 Sukkur, Sind. A hot wind
blowing 99° 117°
--------------------------------------------------------------------
APPENDIX E.
GENEALOGY OF THE KHANS OF KELÁT.
Kambar Khan.
|
Sambar.
|
Mahammad Khan.
|
Abdulla Khan.
|
------------------------------------------------
| | |
Mobat Khan, Eltarz Khan, Nazir Khan, originally
reigned some slain a hostage at Kandahár;
time at Kelát; accidentally superseded his brother,
superseded by by his brother, Mobat Khan, and
his brother, Nazir Khan. reigned forty years.
Nazir Khan, |
and died a |
hostage at |
Kandahár. |
| |
| ------------------------------------
| | | |
Haji Khan, Mahmud Mohamed Mustapha Khan,
died a Khan, Rehim Khan, slain by his
hostage at reigned slain by sister brother, Mohamed
Kandahár. at Kelát. of Mustapha Rehim Khan
| Khan. |
Baram Khan, |
died at Kelát | |
| |-------------------
Ahmad Yar | | |
Khan, Mehrab Khan, Azem Khan.
slain by slain by the |
Mehrab British troops. Sarafrez Khan,
Khan. slain by
| Mehrab Khan.
------------------------------------
| |
Hassan Khan Khudadad Khan,
(poisoned). present Ruler.
[Illustration]