Cashan--Scorpions--Câshânee Youth--Village of Sinsin--Plundering
Expeditions of the Tûrkûmâns--Account of that Tribe--Wandering
Tribes--Visit to the Dwelling of Mihrâb Khan Afshâr--Account of his
Family and Adherents--Anecdote of Kerreem Khan.
Cashan, to which we went from Nethenz, is situated on the verge of a
desert, and no city can present a more uninviting aspect. We were,
however, accommodated in the Bâgh-e-Fin, an excellent house and garden,
through which there is a clear stream, which, while it refreshes the
latter, gives an ample supply of water to the marble-baths belonging to
the small but delightful royal residence.
"May you be stung by a scorpion of Cashan," is a common malediction
in Persia; and all are agreed that this city is famous for producing
the largest and most venomous species of this reptile. We were
however assured, that, partaking of that spirit of hospitality which
distinguishes the Persian nation, they never sting a stranger.
"This fact," said Agar Meer to me, "is asserted by Ameen Râzee, a
respectable writer, and the author of a famous work called the Heft
Akleem, or 'Seven Climates.'" "The same respectable writer," said Khan
Sâhib, "compares the mud houses and narrow streets of Cashan, to the
angelic cheeks of the resplendent Hoorees of Paradise, whose smiles are
promised to the faithful. I could almost wish," he added, "to be stung
by one of his scorpions, that my mind might be satisfied there was no
truth in his comparison; otherwise my dreams of futurity will never be
realised."
Agar Meer, who disliked wit when it ridiculed religion, gravely replied
to this sally, "Ameen Râzee's facts may be correct, though his
metaphors are extravagant." "That may be true," said my Hindustânnee
friend, Mahomed Hoosein, "but, according to the fable of the scorpion
and tortoise, the former has no power over his nature."
"I have read," said the good Moonshee, "that a tortoise and a scorpion
travelled the same road for a considerable distance in good fellowship.
The latter, on the ground of this new friendship, asked the former to
carry him over a deep stream. The tortoise complied; but what was his
surprise to find his companion endeavouring with all his might to sting
him! When he had placed him safe on the opposite shore, he turned to
him and said, 'Are not you the most wicked and ungrateful of reptiles?
But for me you must either have given up your journey, or have been
drowned in that stream, and what is my reward? If it had not been for
the armour which God has given me, I should have been stung to death.'
'Blame me not,' said the scorpion, in a supplicatory tone, 'it is not
my fault; it is that of my nature; it is a constitutional habit[89] I
have of stinging!'" "Now," said Mahomed Hoosein, not wishing to offend
his brother of the pen, "this fable certainly applies to scorpions in
general; those of Cashan may be different: they may have that regard
for strangers which Aga Meer has stated them to have, on the authority
of Ameen Râzee." "It may be so,"[90] I remarked; and this phrase of
doubtful assent put an end (as in Persia it is always meant to do) to
all further discussion on the subject.
We left Cashan without any of our party being stung, which is a
negative proof in favour of Ameen Râzee and other authors who have
eulogized its scorpions; but the point cannot yet be considered as
determined. It will no doubt therefore continue to receive, as it has
hitherto, the attention of all travellers who possess learning, and are
curious in their research after facts of natural history.
The inhabitants of Cashan, like those of Isfahan, are more celebrated
as silk weavers than warriors. When Nadir Shâh returned from India
he published a proclamation, permitting the followers of his army to
return to their homes. It is narrated that thirty thousand of those who
belonged to Cashan and Isfahan applied to this monarch for a guard of
a hundred musketeers to escort them safe to their wives and children.
"Cowards!" exclaimed he, in a fury; "Would I were a robber again for
the sake of waylaying and plundering you all. Is not my success a
miracle," said he to those around him, "with such a set of dastards in
my camp!"
This story and many others were told us as we were sitting in one of
the cool rooms of the palace of Fin, commenting on the qualities of the
Câshânees.
My old friend Mahomed Shereef Khan Burgshattee told me he had once a
convincing proof that a Câshânee might be a brave man. "On returning,"
said he, "from the pursuit of a small party of plundering Tûrkûmâns,
I found that ten of my men had surrounded a fine looking youth, who
was on a dry spot in a morass, where not more than two could approach
him at a time. He had only a sword and a spear, but refused to yield;
inviting his opponents to use their fire-arms, since they durst not
fight him on equal terms. Struck with his appearance and courage, I
solicited him to surrender, and assured him he should be well treated.
'I know better,' said he, 'than to regard the promises of a faithless
Persian, who the moment I was unarmed would maltreat and murder me.'
I ordered my men to withdraw to a distance, and after making a vow he
should be well used, and leaving my arms on the ground, I rode forward,
saying, 'I will confide in you, though you dare not trust me.' The
youth, subdued by this action, sprung from his horse, threw down his
spear and sword, and hastened to kiss my stirrup; offering at the same
time his services, which I accepted.
"I desired him to remount," continued Mahomed Shereef Khan, "and we
rejoined my astonished followers. After complimenting him on his
courage, I asked where he was born? 'At Cashan,' he said. 'You a
Câshânee!' I replied with surprise. 'I am,' said he; 'my father was a
silk weaver, and I had just begun to learn his business, being about
twelve years of age, when having gone with some companions to amuse
ourselves at a distance from the town, we were surprised and carried
off by a party of Tûrkûmâns. I was adopted into the family of one of
their chiefs, who carefully instructed me in horsemanship and the use
of arms. I have ever since accompanied him in his plundering incursions
into Persia and other countries.'
"Now," said the old Mehmandar, "this man continued twenty years with
me; he only died about a twelvemonth ago, and maintained till the day
of his death the character he had established at our first meeting.
This example," he concluded, "satisfies me that it is possible the son
of a weaver, if properly brought up, may be a brave man. Nevertheless,
there can be no doubt these silk manufactories give bad habits, and
spoil many a good soldier."
Our first march from Cashan was to the câravânserâi of Sinsin. We
found the village, which had been very flourishing thirty years ago, a
complete ruin, with only a few inhabitants. Amongst these was an old
man, who gave me an account of the incursions of parties of savage
Tûrkûmâns, who year after year laid waste their fields, plundered their
dwellings, and carried their wives and children into slavery.
I asked him if no means had been taken to prevent these inroads.
"Alas!" said he, "our own country, at the period of which I speak, was
in too distracted a state to admit of any such precautions, and we were
too weak to defend ourselves against such daring and ferocious men.
Besides, they came and vanished in a moment. Thirty or forty mounted
robbers and twenty led horses used to surprise us at daylight: all the
spoil they could carry, together with women and children, were fastened
on the led horses, and in an hour or two they were in full march to
their homes, on the eastern shores of the Caspian Sea.
"If we attempted resistance," continued the narrator of this sad tale,
"as we sometimes did, they became furious; our houses were burnt, the
old and helpless massacred, and all the property they could not bear
away was destroyed. Look here," said he, pointing to some scars, "Look
at these; I got them in attempting to save my little brother and two
sisters from the merciless grasp of these ruthless spoilers. I was
left for dead, while my poor father, who was wounded also, had only
sufficient life left to reach Cashan, where he expired, after giving
intelligence of our fate. Some horsemen were sent in pursuit, but their
pampered animals, kept to parade in squares and market-places, could
never overtake the trained horses of the plunderers, who used to come
two hundred fersekhs[91] and return in ten days.
"But, thank God," he concluded, "if the Kajirs who now fill the throne
of Persia have done us no other good, it is no slight blessing to be
freed from the ravages of these terrible Yamoots; that is the name
of the tribe who made the inroads upon us. They dwell in the plains
near Astrabad, and are friends of our royal family, who are natives of
that place: besides, now that Persia is settled, they find there is
more profit, and less danger, in breeding and selling horses, than in
plundering and murdering their neighbours."
I had ten years before seen a good deal of some Tûrkûmâns at Teheran.
Their character, and what I learnt of their habits, quite prepared me
to believe the melancholy tale which was told me by the old villager,
towards whom I showed a sympathy that surprised him; for scenes like
these are so common in Persia, that they attract little attention.
The fact is, the Tûrkûmâns are only a shade more savage than those
tribes of Persian and Tartar origin, who form the military class of
this nation, and who, though restrained in some degree of order, when
the government is strong, cherish their lawless habits, and are ready
at a moment to show them, when invited to do so, by the weakness or
distraction of the state.
The Tûrkûmâns[92] have long been familiar to Persian history as
depredators. This race of Tartars has small eyes, high cheek bones,
thin beards, and robust frames. The women, though with softer features,
and some with good complexions, are seldom beauties; and they are
generally more valued for their capability of enduring fatigue, and for
giving birth to, and bringing up stout children, than for any of those
charms and accomplishments which are so highly prized in more civilized
society.
During the last century the limits of Persia have been more confined
than formerly, and these Tûrkûmân tribes may now be considered more as
borderers to that country than as forming part of its population. They
appear indeed to have cultivated and fostered all the qualities which
might be expected to belong to a race so situated, and have become, in
virtue of usage, entitled alternately to claim the privilege of being
protected by, or the right of plundering, the kingdoms they divide.
The Tûrkûmâns trace their descent to the great Moghul monarch Aghooz
Khan, the son of Kara Khan, the son of Moghul Khan, the son of the
Lord knows who. Their great progenitor was famous for his five sons,
his bow, and his three golden arrows! At his death he divided the
bow, which is the type of power, between the two elder, to whom he
consigned his great empire. To each of the three younger he gave an
arrow, signifying by that bequest that they and their descendants were
to obey their elder brethren; to be chiefs, generals, and embassadors,
and to fly at command, as an arrow when directed from the bow. The
Tûrkûmâns belong to one of the junior branches of this great family,
but they have not hitherto been remarkable for any of the dispositions
or qualities likely to render them useful or obedient servants.
I had the account of their origin, as well as many other facts
connected with their history, from an old Tûrkûmân called Rahmân Beg,
of whom I bought some horses. A short anecdote will give his character.
I was anxious to buy a very fine animal he had, but I delayed the
purchase from an objection to his head, which was large and ugly. One
day as I was commenting on this unsightly member, my friend lost all
patience, "What the devil," said he, "do they ride on the head of a
horse in your country, that you are so particular as to its size and
beauty?"
This rude, but intelligent barbarian, though he could neither read
nor write, and had the utmost contempt for Moollâhs (a term which,
with him, included all priests and scholars), was as familiar with
the history of his own tribe as Mirkhond, or any of the best Eastern
historians.
"You have, no doubt," said he to me, "read of the famous Seljûkian
Prince Sanjar. That sovereign, not content with an annual tribute
of twenty-four thousand sheep which we gave him, wanted to increase
the number, and to send one of his own officers to choose from our
flocks, instead of trusting to the honour of our chiefs. This we could
never put up with; so we fought him, destroyed his army, and took
him prisoner. He was for some years set upon a throne every day, and
confined in a cage every night; but at last he made his escape; and
being a soft-hearted, foolish blockhead, died of grief, from seeing
the state of desolation to which we had reduced his favourite province
of Khorassan! After this," continued he, "we became the terror of the
world, and the name of Tûrkûmân, which had long been despised, was
dreaded everywhere. Who has not heard," said he exultingly, "of our
princes and chiefs who subdued kingdoms, and plundered empires, under
the glorious banners of the white and the black sheep? But these days
of sovereignty did not last long; we separated, and have never since
done any thing worthy of mention. The tribe of Yamoot," continued my
old friend, "to which I belong, remained long unsubdued, and made
famous annual inroads into Persia; but the late king, Aga Mahomed
Khan, who was a cruel, wily, old rogue, spoiled all that sport. Being
well acquainted with our haunts, he made a sudden incursion into our
country, slew numbers, and brought away many captives, the majority of
whom were women and children."
"The possession of our families," said Rahmân Beg, as he concluded
this short history of his tribe, "compelled our chiefs to enter into
a compact not to plunder, and they have been obliged to give their
children as hostages for its faithful performance. The present king
has improved upon the policy of his uncle: a colony of our tribe is
established at Teheran; some are in service, and the others, though
strictly watched, are permitted to trade. If matters go on in this
way our sons will become a set of blackguard horse-dealers, instead
of gallant warriors, and their children will be instructed in the art
of cheating unwary citizens, instead of the more manly occupation of
plundering a rich traveller. We shall have no more fine Persian girls
to keep our tents clean, and dress our victuals, nor active fellows to
rub our horses, or attend our flocks! What a sad change! And as to our
profits in breeding and selling horses, I have known more money given
in one day for the ransom of a nobleman or a wealthy merchant, than our
whole tribe can now make by trafficking in cattle for a twelvemonth!"
I asked Rahmân Beg, how he, as a Mahomedan, could reconcile himself
to make slaves of persons of the same religion? "What," said he, "do
you count these rascally Sheâhs, the Persians, who deny the first four
Caliphs, to be of the same religion as we Soonees?--they are vile
schismatics." "Then," I observed, "when you made Soonees captives, you
did not make them slaves?" "Why! I don't know; I think," he added,
laughing, "we should in such case have been compelled to become Sheâhs
ourselves; for slaves we must have."
The Tûrkûmâns, of whom Rahmân Beg is a fair specimen, pay little if
any regard to religion beyond a few ceremonies. The rites observed at
their births, funerals, and marriages, are not essentially different
from those of the other wandering tribes in Persia. The courage of this
tribe is proverbial, and both the Persians and Afghâns admit their
extraordinary prowess. They use bows and arrows, and some few have
fire-arms, but the weapon on which they place most dependence is the
spear. This is in general from ten to twelve feet long, rudely formed,
and with a short piece of steel at the point.
As we were one day looking at a party of the king's guards,[93] each of
whom was armed with a sword, a spear, a pair of pistols, and a dagger,
Rahmân Beg tossed up his head in contempt, exclaiming, "What is the
good of all that arsenal? what can a soldier want beyond a spear and a
heart?"[94]
The Tûrkûmâns are fond of music and dancing. The celebrated song of
"Koor Ogloo," or The Son of the Blind Man, is chanted when they go to
battle, and is said to have a wonderful effect in exciting the courage
of this rude race. I asked Rahmân Beg to give me a copy of this song;
he could not, but gave me its general purport, and repeated some lines
with great animation.
The burthen of the song is the wonderful deeds of the son of a poor
blind old man, who employed himself in plundering travellers and
caravans, while his father dwelt in the recesses of a wood which lay
between two great cities. The prowess of the single arm of the "Son of
the blind man" was so great, that hundreds could not withstand it; and
when thousands were sent against him, his fleet horse Kerât carried him
to a place of security.
The praises of the hero and his horse, the prodigies of valour of
the one, the wonderful fleetness of the other, with the descriptions
of rich plunder, and beautiful damsels, which abound throughout this
song, are quite congenial to the habits of a Tûurkûmân; and I could
believe all the feelings, that I was told its recitation produced, from
the effect the mere account of it that he gave me had on Rahmân Beg.
"Others of the Tartar blood," said my old friend, "admire this fine
composition; but a set of fellows who live as they do, are not worthy
of such verses; and we also," he added, "if we go on as we are now
doing, shall soon be ashamed to hear them sung by our minstrels; who
may well cherish these old strains, for we no longer supply them with
deeds for new songs of battle!"
I was very anxious to learn all I could of the breed and management
of the Tûrkûmân horses, which are so highly valued in Persia. They
are of good size, being from fifteen to sixteen hands high, of
excellent temper, and of a shape, like that of the highest bred English
carriage-horses, lengthy and strong limbed; and often showing a great
deal of blood.
The Tûrkûmâns trace all their best horses to Arabian sires; and they
believe that the race degenerates, after three or four descents, unless
it is, what they term, "refreshed." This makes them most anxious
to obtain fine Arabian horses. Rahmân Beg and his brother offered
the Elchee a large sum for a very fine animal he had brought from
Abusheher, and they seemed greatly disappointed that he would not part
with him.
The size of the horses is attributed to the fine pasture lands on which
they are reared; and the extraordinary capability of bearing fatigue to
their blood, and the manner in which they are trained. They ride them
with snaffles, and allow them to go slouching along with their necks
loose. They speak with contempt of horsemen who rein up their horses,
and throw them on their haunches. "It is taking the animal," said
Rahmân Beg to me, "off his natural position; and for what? to get a
little readiness[95] in the plain; and for this power of skirmishing,
you hurt, if you do not altogether lose, the long walk, trot, and
gallop, to which we trust in our forays!"[96]
These plunderers train their horses, as much as we do our racers or
hunters. Before they begin their expeditions, they put them into
complete condition, and the marches they perform are astonishing.
According to their own accounts, some have gone forty fersekhs (140
miles) within twenty-four hours; and it was ascertained on most minute
inquiry, that parties of them, in their predatory inroads, were in the
habit of marching from twenty to thirty fersekhs (from 70 to 105 miles)
for twelve or fifteen days together, without a halt.
Before proceeding on a foray they knead a number of small hard balls of
barley-meal, which, when wanted, they soak in water, and this serves
as food to both themselves and their horses. It is a frequent practice
with them in crossing deserts, where no water is to be found, to open a
vein in the shoulder of the horse, and to drink a little of his blood;
which, according to their opinion, benefits, rather than injures the
animal, while it refreshes the rider. On my appearing to doubt this
fact, Rahmân Beg showed me several old horses, on which there were
numerous marks of having been bled; and he assured me they never had
recourse to phlebotomy but on such occasions as have been stated.
The Eelyâts, or wandering tribes in Persia, are like the Tûrkûmâns,
but somewhat less barbarous. They have been often described, and one
good picture of this race serves for all, for they are little subject
to change; and while every tradition and every work on the ancient
history of Persia proves that many of its more southern inhabitants,
particularly those of the mountains of Kerman and Lauristan, have been
nomades, or wandering tribes, from time immemorial, we find in the
Turkish Eelyâts who have overrun the northern provinces, the language,
the habits, and the appearance of the Tartar race to which they belong.
The qualities most prized amongst these tribes are courage in men,
and chastity in women. The females who dwell in tents wear no veils.
They welcome strangers, are very hospitable, and their manner, though
confident, is by no means immodest. The Elchee on his return from the
first mission, when riding one day near a small encampment of Afshâr
families, expressed doubts to his mehmandar, a Persian nobleman, as to
the reported boldness and skill in horsemanship of their females. The
mehmandar immediately called to a young woman of handsome appearance,
and asked her in Turkish if she was a soldier's daughter? She said
she was. "And you expect to be a mother of soldiers," was the next
observation. She smiled. "Mount that horse," said he, pointing to one
with a bridle, but without a saddle, "and show this European Elchee
the difference between a girl of a tribe and a citizen's daughter."
She instantly sprung upon the animal, and setting off at full speed,
did not stop till she had reached the summit of a small hill in the
vicinity, which was covered with loose stones. When there, she waved
her hand over her head, and came down the hill at the same rate at
which she had ascended it. Nothing could be more dangerous than the
ground over which she galloped; but she appeared quite fearless, and
seemed delighted at having an opportunity of vindicating the females of
her tribe from the reproach of being like the ladies of cities.[97]
The wives and daughters of the chiefs, who accompany their relations
to cities and towns, have in some degree adopted the customs of
citizens; but neither such changes of manners in the ladies, nor the
habits acquired by the men, are suffered to dissolve their ties with
followers, whose devoted attachment and readiness to adopt their cause,
or to revenge their death, constitute their strength and safeguard,
amidst all the hazards with which they are surrounded.
The habits and sentiments of this class of people interested me
exceedingly; and my anxiety to observe as much as I could of their
domestic arrangements, made me delighted on hearing that the Elchee
intended a visit to the house of his mehmandar, Mihrâb Khan Afshâr, a
man of high family, and who holds an office at court.
The day before we arrived at his house I met him on the march, having
a letter in his hand, with the contents of which he appeared highly
offended. "I hope you have no unpleasant news," I said. "Nothing,"
was his reply; "except that I am directed in this mandate from his
majesty's minister, to be most careful in protecting the villages and
grounds we have to pass, and not take a blade of grass from them. The
chief of the tribe to which these lands belong," he added in a rage,
"has obtained this order. The scoundrel! But this is another item to
the account which I shall some day settle with compound interest."
"You must know," said Mihrâb Khan, seeing I did not quite comprehend
him, "this tribe and mine have a long-continued feud. Our lands adjoin;
the government is too strong at present to admit of attacking each
other openly like brave men; so we endeavour, like sneaking rascals, to
do each other all the mischief we can by intrigues and plots at court.
They are at present in great favour, and have recently obtained the
transfer of a small tribe, whose tents you have just passed, and who
were formerly our peasants." "Who are these peasants?" I asked. "Oh,"
said the Turkish chief, "they belong to one of the old Persian tribes,
which it is the policy of the king to break, and so he parcels them
amongst us Turks; but that has nothing to do with his taking them from
us, and giving them to our enemies."
During this conversation we had reached the summit of an eminence,
from which Mihrâb Khan, his eyes glistening with joy, pointed out the
ruins of a village. "Look there," said he, "it is twenty-five years
since I accompanied my uncle Hâshem Khan to an attack of that village;
we completely sacked and destroyed it. The rascals had no Shâhin-Shâh
(king of kings) to protect them then. But there is one consolation,
these stupid times cannot last for ever; and if I live long enough to
give these vagabonds another sound drubbing, I shall die contented!"
The morning after this conversation, we arrived at the fort of
Hâshem,[98] a name given to this castle, after the founder, the uncle
of our mehmandar. We were met by four nephews of the latter, several of
his relations, a troop of his followers, and his little son Shâhverdee,
who, though only eight years of age, paid his compliments to the Elchee
in a most formal style, and managed with great address a large and
spirited horse.
When we entered the fort, we found it completely dismantled, and two
of the bastions thrown down. This was done, we were informed, by the
jealousy of the king, who disapproved of his nobles having strongholds.
We had no sooner finished a very plentiful breakfast, than our host
retired to his inner apartment, and returned, leading in his hand a
stout, chubby, red-cheeked boy, between three and four years of age.
Of this little fellow, he seemed very proud; there could not be a
finer child: he, also, was well trained, and made his obeisance to the
Elchee, like a high bred young gentleman, and took his seat near his
father. We however managed, though not without some difficulty, to
discompose his gravity, and soon discovered, that he was, as his father
had described him, a proper Young Pickle.
In introducing me to his relations Mihrâb Khan gave me a short history
of his family. "My father," said he, "had two brothers, one older and
one younger than himself. Here (pointing to them) are four young men,
the grandsons of my eldest uncle, who was head of the family. Their
eldest brother is with the king, commanding a body of horse, all of the
tribe of Afshâr, and this (turning to an elderly person) is my cousin,
the son of my younger uncle.
"My family," said the Khan, "consists of six children, of whom you
have seen two: they are all (except one) by the same mother, my wife,
the daughter of Fatteh Ali Khan Afshâr, a famous chief, who, on the
death of Nadir Shâh (whom you know was of our tribe) aspired to the
throne. My good father-in-law, however, lost his life in the attempt to
become a king, and I married his orphan daughter, an excellent woman,
but who carries her head rather high, as no doubt she has a right to
do, from recollection of her father's pretensions! Look!" said he,
speaking softly, for the apartment we were in was within hearing of
the interior; "look at that youngster at the other end of the room:
he is my son. His mother was the daughter of a jeweller at Isfahan,
an uncommonly pretty girl. He is a fine lad, but I dare hardly notice
him; and he is, you will observe, not allowed to sit within ten yards
of the grandsons of Fatteh Ali Khan Afshâr! This is all very proper,"
he added; "it is attention to the dam, as well as the sire, that keeps
the breed good. Besides, the influence of females amongst us Eelyâts is
very great, and if we did not treat them with respect, matters would
not long be right."
Mihrâb Khan next gave me an account of the mode in which their family
lands were allotted, and how the disbursements of the respective
branches of the family were made. "My father and his brothers lived
together," said he, "and we do the same. Our inheritance was equal,
and each of the three branches is charged a day's expenditure,
successively. Entertainments and imposts are paid in equal shares. We
seek by intermarriages to strengthen those ties, which are our only
defence against oppression and destruction.
"We are Turks," he concluded, laughing, "and consequently, you may
suppose, have often violent quarrels, but the necessity of our
condition soon reconciles us again; and we are at present, and will I
trust long continue, an united family!"
I remarked in the followers of Mihrâb Khan, as I had done in other
tribes, an attachment to their chief approaching to a perfect devotion.
It was a love and duty, of inheritance, strengthened by the feelings
of twenty generations. Though the superior in general repaid this
feeling with regard and protection, I saw many instances of its being
considered as much a property as the land, and the inanimate goods and
chattels, which he who received it had inherited from his father.
There are few countries which can boast of more examples of devoted
allegiance of chiefs to their sovereign, as well as of followers to
their chiefs, than Persia: but this will not recommend them to many
of my readers. We live in a refined and artificial age, and, vain of
our condition, we laugh to scorn feelings which were the pride of our
ancestors, and which at this moment form the only ties that preserve
order over nine-tenths of the universe.
Allegiance of any description is, according to some philosophers, a
folly if not a crime, and quite beneath the dignity of human beings.
Others admit that from being a cherished prejudice, it may in some
cases have a salutary action; but those who view man as formed by his
Creator, and who contemplate the origin of those motives by which
he is actuated, will find that the feeling of dependence with which
allegiance is associated, and which in the silence of reason often
leads to a line of action beneficial to the community as well as
the individual, is not the less valuable from being grafted on his
weakness; a part of his nature, by the by, requiring much more the care
and attention of philosophers than his strength, for that can take care
of itself.
Allegiance is the duty a child owes to its parent, for birth,
nourishment, and protection. It is that which collected families owe to
a chief of their tribe, who is their point of union, and consequently
of their security; and in its climax it is that which chiefs and
their followers owe to a sovereign, their concentrated attachment to
whom is the ground of their safety and their glory as a nation. This
feeling gains strength by becoming hereditary. It is associated with
the fame of individuals, of families, of tribes, and of empires; it is
conservative, it is destructive; but even in its most dreadful action
it has in it an ennobling principle, for it is congenial with the most
natural, as well as the highest and noblest feelings of the human mind.
The wandering tribes in Persia are not more remarkable for attachment
to their chiefs than for the affection relations bear to each other,
and the strength of those ties by which every individual is bound to
the community of which he is a part.
A Persian friend of mine related to me in illustration of this fact, an
authentic and affecting anecdote of the conduct of an old man of one of
those tribes during the reign of Kerreem Khan Zend.
Twelve men had been robbed and murdered under the walls of Shiraz.
The perpetrators of this atrocious act could not for a long period
be discovered, but Kerreem Khan deeming this occurrence so deeply
injurious to that impression of security and justice which it was the
labour of his life to establish, commanded the officers of justice to
persevere in their search till the offenders were detected, threatening
them, and others who had heard the cries of the murdered men with
vengeance, unless they effected a discovery, which he considered
essential to his own reputation.
After some months had elapsed, it was discovered by accident that a
small branch of Kerreem Khan's own tribe of Zend, at that time encamped
near Shiraz, were the murderers. Their guilt was clearly proved, and
all who had been actually engaged in the murder were sentenced to
death. Powerful intercession was made that some at least should be
pardoned, but the prince had vowed that every man should suffer, and
their being of his own favoured tribe made him more inexorable. They
had, he said, brought disgrace on him as their sovereign and as their
chief, and could not be forgiven.
When the prisoners were brought before him to receive sentence, there
was amongst them a youth of twenty years of age, whose appearance
interested every spectator; but their anxiety was increased to pain
when they saw the father of this young man rush forward, and demand,
before they proceeded to the execution, to speak to the prince.
Permission was granted, and he addressed him as follows:
"Kerreem Khan, you have sworn that these guilty men shall die, and it
is just; but I, who am not guilty, come here to demand a boon of my
chief. My son is young, he has been deluded into crime; his life is
forfeited, but he has hardly tasted the sweets of life; he is just
betrothed in marriage; I come to die in his stead: be merciful! let an
old worn out old man perish, and spare a youth, who may long be useful
to his tribe; let him live to drink of the waters, and till the ground
of his ancestors!"
Kerreem Khan is stated to have been greatly moved by the old man's
appeal: he could not pardon the offence, having sworn on the Koran that
all concerned should be put to death; and with feelings very different
from our ideas of justice, but congenial to those of the chief of a
tribe, he granted the father's prayer, and the old man went exultingly
to meet his fate. While all around were filled with pity, his son, wild
and distracted with grief, was loud in imploring the prince to reverse
his decree, to inflict on him that death which he merited, and to save
the more valuable life of his aged, devoted, and innocent parent.
FOOTNOTES:
[89] Neeyet-e-naish zedden.
[90] Boodeh-bâshed.
[91] The standard fersekh of Persia is 6000 royal yards (gez-e-shâh),
which is somewhat more than three miles and a half. This measure,
however, varies in different provinces of that kingdom.
[92] Many Persian authors assert that the word Tûrkûmân is from the
compound term Tûrk-mânend, or Turk-like; and the conclusion made
from this is, that they are a tribe of Tartars who, having become
inhabitants of the north-eastern part of Persia, were subsequently
designated by a name which marked their origin. Persian writers,
however, are generally bad etymologists, and I am a worse; I must,
therefore, leave this important question in doubt.
[93] Gholam-e-Shâh.
[94] Een kârkhâneh cheh fâideh; berâe sipâhee cheh zeroor sewâe neezeh
wa dil?
[95] Hâzir mydânee.
[96] Chappau.
[97] History of Persia, vol. ii. p. 115.
[98] Kella-e-Hâshem Khan.