MY JOURNEY HOME AND MARCH TO SHIRAZ.
Julfa quarters—Buy a freehold house—I ornament, and make
it comfortable—Become ill—Apply for sick leave—Start
marching—Telegram—Begin to post—Reach Teheran—Obtain
leave—Difficulty at Kasvin—Punishment of the
postmaster—Catch and pass the courier—Horses knock up—Wild
beasts—Light a fire—Grateful rest—Arrive at Resht—Swamp
to Peri-Bazaar—Boat—Steamer—Moscow—Opera—Ballet—Arrive
in England—Start again for Persia—Journey _viâ_
Constantinople—Trebizonde—Courier—Snow—Swollen eyes—Detail
of journey from Erzeroum to Teheran—The races—Ispahan—Leave
for Shiraz—Persian companions—Dung-beetles—Mole
crickets—Lizards—Animals and birds—The road to Shiraz—Ussher’s
description—Meana bug legend again.
Finding my quarters in Julfa extremely inconvenient and small, I bought a
little house and did it up after my own ideas of comfort. The place was
originally two houses and formed the quarters of two sergeants, but by
purchasing both houses, which I got for sixty pounds, _freehold_, with an
indisputable title, I was able to make a very comfortable place indeed.
I had two large and airy summer rooms, cool in the extreme, and admitting
currents of air in every direction. A large anteroom opened into a
smaller room, when the doors were closed nearly air-tight, with a large
fireplace. This was my winter room; and in it I made a shutter opening
into the anteroom by which meals were served without opening the door:
these arrangements were needed, as Ispahan is bitterly cold in the
winter. There were two cool upper rooms, one of which by a grated window
looked on the street over the doorway. Besides this there were three warm
and sheltered bedrooms on the ground floor of fair size, for winter, all
with fireplaces. There was much good dry cellar accommodation, a good
kitchen and servants’ quarters, a small garden in the outer courtyard
shaded by trellised vines, and I planted about fifty fruit-trees, which
cost from threepence to sixpence each, in the inner one. The whole was
surrounded by a high wall of some twenty feet, built of mud bricks;
around the inner side of the parallelogram formed by this outer wall were
built the rooms. There were heavy wooden outer doors, and within them a
large arched doorway where the business of the house, with tradesmen,
forage-sellers, etc., was conducted. I had also a room for my dispensary,
and a granary.
And all this freehold for sixty pounds! Is it not a poor man’s paradise?
On completing my purchase I proceeded to spend four hundred kerans, or
sixteen pounds, in painting, plastering, wall-building; whitening or
staining pale blue the interior of the rooms (the building was happily
in thorough repair), paving my anteroom, six by four yards square,
with white and blue encaustic tiles, kargilling or plastering with mud
the whole outside of walls, roof, and rooms; putting in two windows of
coloured glass, and painting, gilding, plastering, and decorating my
dining or living room, and my best bedroom _de haut en bas_. In fine,
for about eighty pounds, I had a freehold house, wind, water, and cold
proof, with large and cool quarters in summer, or warm in winter, a paved
courtyard; and the happy feeling that I was in my own place and could do
what I pleased to it, and that anything that I did was not a case of _sic
vos non vobis_.
The superintendence of my alterations gave me pleasant occupation, and,
like Robinson Crusoe, I felt time slip quickly away. But I had hardly
been a year in the house when I went home on leave, and ultimately the
place was sold by auction for sixty pounds with all my improvements! A
friend of mine in 1880 wished to purchase it, but the then owner declined
one hundred and sixty pounds for his bargain.
About September I had a severe attack of typhoid fever, and became on
my convalescence extremely depressed. I could not regain my strength,
and I applied for sick leave to England. I was told to march up by easy
stages to Teheran and appear before a medical board. I started with my
cook and a groom, and each evening I nearly made my mind up to go no
further, so utterly done up did I feel. In this depressed condition I
arrived at Kashan: here I got a telegram from Colonel S⸺, the Director,
telling me that he was leaving Teheran the next day with Sir A. Kemball,
the British Resident at Baghdad, who was going home on leave by the last
steamer, that of course I could not catch that, and so he kindly invited
me to stay in Teheran with him till I was myself again and able to return
to duty.
This news upset me altogether; I had determined to march to Teheran, and
had hoped that by that time I should have got strong enough to post to
the Caspian, catch the last Caspian steamer, and so home _viâ_ Russia.
So impressed was I with the stupid idea that I must get home to get
well, that I made up my mind at once to try and make a push to catch the
Colonel and Sir A. Kemball. Tired as I was, I took a post-horse at once—I
had not enough money with me to take two (in Persia one carries as little
cash as possible). I told my servants to get home as well as they could.
I determined to push on _coûte que coûte_. Leaving Kashan at dawn I
got to Kūm, twenty-one farsakhs (seventy miles), by ten at night, and
I felt fit to die, for I couldn’t eat or drink, my stomach retaining
nothing; eighteen hours in the saddle brought me to Teheran, twenty-three
farsakhs, or seventy-seven miles. I got to Colonel S⸺’s house, _only
to find him gone_. I had a bath, I still could eat nothing; I borrowed
money and lay down till the afternoon, when I went before a medical
board, who seemed to look upon my quick ride to the capital as a sort of
certificate of perfect health, and I feared that my leave would not be
granted. However, my appearance, my staring eyes and shaven head were in
my favour, and leave was given me; but I was told that, as I must miss
the steamer, it was useless. These steamers cease running as soon as the
mouth of the Volga freezes, and a telegram had come to say the next one
would be the last.
At five the same afternoon I mounted, having a bottle of claret, the only
thing I could take, a tin of soup and some tea with me, also a brandy
flask. I knew my only chance was to keep on. As I came to each stage I
found the time Sir A. Kemball and Colonel S⸺ had preceded me was greater
and greater, _but they slept_—I did not—I kept on, with the feeling that,
as Giles Hoggett says, “it’s dogged as does it.” I rode all night and got
to Kasvin, twenty-five farsakhs (eighty-eight miles), in fourteen hours.
Here I had a difficulty in getting horses. The liberal presents given by
Colonel S⸺ and his party had roused the extortionate feelings of the
holy man in charge of the post-house (he was a Syud and a noted rascal).
At first he would not give me horses at all, telling me there were none,
and to go and rest, as I was ill; but I was determined. I submitted to
the swindle of paying five kerans for a so-called permit for horses; this
I carefully kept, promising myself to administer a thrashing should I
ever return.
This I had the satisfaction of doing, when in robust health, some five
months afterwards. And I duly thonged the Syud, to his astonishment and
disgust, for I was so changed he did not recognise me. He then of course
called me “aga” (master) and held my stirrup when I mounted.
After a delay of about four hours I got away from Kasvin, and I was
now gaining on the party in front; but I was doubly unfortunate: the
Colonel’s large party took seven horses, and more if they could get
them, and I was preceded by the courier, who, a hale man, had started
two hours in front of me. Thus the horses I got were doubly tired, but I
kept on with the obstinacy of a sick man, though at times I think I was
half delirious. I could eat nothing, and the only thing that had passed
my lips since leaving Kashan, where I took soup, was a little claret; an
attempt to breakfast in Teheran had made me very ill indeed. I arrived at
a post-house, got two new horses, gave a present to my former guide, and
on I went. I was too ill to talk, and my disinclination to speak caused
an amusing incident at one place. The guide, thinking me a “new chum” who
did not understand the language, amused himself the greater part of the
stage by calling me “rascal,” “dog,” “son of a burnt father,” etc. This
same fellow stole my matches and emptied my claret-bottle. I could have
wept, but was too ill to thrash him or even remonstrate.
I kept on, never stopping more than the time to saddle. Night came on,
and on getting to Rustumabad I was delighted to find the courier asleep,
giving his two tired horses a rest. I took two others, also tired ones,
and on I went, leaving him peacefully slumbering. We were now in dense
forest—it was pitch dark; the horses previously tired by the rapid
riding of Colonel S⸺’s party, and the return journey from the long and
bad stage of six farsakhs, they having gone before my getting them about
forty miles. When I got some ten miles into the forest, the poor beasts
refused to move. The guide was, or pretended to be, in great terror
of wild beasts, repeating “Jūniver, jūniver!” (“Wild animals!”) to me
continually. Of the presence of these there was no mistake, from the
continued noises and roarings, though we saw none. There was nothing for
it but to dismount. My matches being stolen, I tore out some cotton wool
from my quilt, mixed it with a little powder from a broken cartridge,
and fired my revolver through it. We soon had an enormous fire. _How_
I enjoyed it and the _rest_! The damp of the swamps—it is as damp here
as it is dry in the middle and south of Persia—had seemed to enter my
bones; and how I had longed for rest. Now I got a little for the first
time, lying on my quilt, my head on my saddle-bags, before an immense
fire, which the guide fed with broken trunks and boughs. I enjoyed a
sensation of delightful rest I have never felt before or since. I even
managed to eat a little soup, and the guide made tea in the tin. How I
revelled in it, for I knew I _must catch_ the Colonel by breakfast-time,
before he could leave Resht, and consequently not lose the last steamer.
I reluctantly left the fire as soon as the horses could move, and we
plodded on in the dark. We got to Koodūm before dawn, and into Resht
to M. M⸺’s house by nine, where I found the Colonel and his party at
breakfast.
Thirty-one farsakhs, over long stages and bad roads, in twenty-two hours
(one hundred and eight miles), or one hundred and ninety-six miles from
Teheran in forty-one hours, was good travelling on tired horses, and for
a sick man.
Colonel S⸺, who was astounded at seeing me, supposing me four stages
beyond Kashan, must, I think, have looked upon me as an impostor. He was
very cold indeed.
I tried to eat some breakfast, but failed, and left on a bad horse to
cross the swamp with the rest of the party for Peri-bazaar. It was some
miles through a nasty swampy road, the fine chaussée there now is, not
then existing.
My horse fell four times, and rolled me in the mud, for I could not help
myself. We got into the boat which was to take us to Enzelli (or the
steamer—I forget which), and then I went off into a series of faints.
Now, as a man can’t sham faints, I suppose the Colonel came to the
conclusion that I was really ill. Anyhow, he was most kind to me; and as
he went on with us as far as Lenkoran, on the Caspian, both he and Sir A.
Kemball were lavish in kindness and attention.
I was very wretched indeed, for the spurt being over, I utterly broke
down, and I fear I proved a wretched fellow-traveller to Sir A. Kemball,
with whom I went as far as Petersburg. Of the Caspian journey I remember
nothing. I had a week’s rest in my berth, during which I lived on wine
and broth, only moving when I was obliged, or when we changed steamers.
When we got to Moscow we went to the Grand Opera and saw a _Russian_
patriotic opera, called ‘A Life for the Czar.’ The music was pretty, the
dresses interesting. It was well played and well sung by Russian singers.
Another night we saw ‘La Muette di Portici’ (Masaniello) in Italian; and
the third time we went, a grand ballet in five acts, that lasted four
hours—oh! _and I had a cricked neck at the time_.
From Moscow to Petersburg is a run of twenty-four hours in a straight
line, for when the railway was about to be constructed the then Emperor
Nicholas, having the plans placed before him, took a pen, and, drawing
with a ruler a straight line between the two places, indicated the
route he wished, with a smile. At enormous expense every difficulty was
surmounted, and the _direct_ route was made. It is literally from Moscow
to Petersburg, and no large town is touched. This is the _story_; the map
says _nearly_ a straight line.
I went home direct by rail from Petersburg, getting to Brighton November
1st, 1868, was in bed three weeks, and an invalid for three months.
However, I got the balance of my sick leave cancelled, and came back to
my duties before it was over.
On March 5th, 1869, I again set out for Persia, _viâ_ Marseilles, leaving
London at a quarter to eight A.M. I got to Paris at six P.M., took a
cab for the Lyons station, caught the mail which left at a quarter past
seven P.M., and arrived in Marseilles on the 6th at noon. Being very
tired, I went on board at once, and succeeded in getting a state-room
all to myself; slept till four. At five P.M. we started in a tremendous
sea, dead-lights up, and the violin (planks fixed with cords to prevent
the table equipage leaving the table) at dinner. The steamer was one of
the Messageries Maritimes, the _Illysse_, screw, two hundred and eighty
horsepower.
The next day (the 7th) we entered the Straits of Bonifacio at four P.M.,
where the weather was fine but cold; passing Garibaldi’s house in
Caprera, a small white building, Corsica, and Sardinia; then the “passage
of the Bear,” so called from there being a figure formed by nature at the
summit of the lofty rocks somewhat like a bear. The scenery of Corsica
and Sardinia seems very desolate and rocky. Monday morning, Italy—fine
and warm. Tuesday, 9th, at ten P.M., came to Messina; saw nothing.
Half-past five next morning we started. Wednesday, very rough all day;
only four at dinner; awful night; rounded Cape Matapan at eleven P.M.
Wind, which was before in our teeth, then in our favour; impossible to
sleep from cries of the sick and continuous smashing of crockery.
_Thursday, 11th._—Splendid day, fair wind; reached the Piræus (port of
Athens) in a lovely sun; water blue, smooth, and clear. Unable to go to
the Acropolis, as our captain said we might start at any moment (you
see it well in the distance). I saw the railway opened. The Queen was
present; she is pretty, and very gracious. Left same day at five P.M.;
awful night.
_March 12th._—Very fine, fair wind. Saw the supposed site of ancient
Troy. Supposed tombs of Hector and Achilles two large tumuli. Lovely
scenery down Dardanelles. Stopped an hour at Gallipoli.
_March 13th._—Arrived at Constantinople at seven A.M. Went to Hôtel
de Byzance—much better than Misseri’s; to the bazaar—hot, noisy, and
interesting. I had a Turkish bath; much better than the Persian ones.
They give you clogs to keep your feet from the hot floors, and wicker
cages with couches in them to smoke your hubble-bubble and drink your
coffee in, after the bath.
_Monday, 15th._—Left Constantinople by the French boat for Trebizonde.
_March 20th._—Reached Trebizonde; breakfasted with Mr. G. Palgrave, our
well-known consul, and his wife; started with the courier for Erzeroum at
seven the same evening.
The first few stages were muddy and uneventful; we soon came to snowy
passes; here my eyes got swollen, and I could barely follow the courier.
When we reached Erzeroum (23rd), after having been several times stopped
by snow, and once nearly lost in it, I was led into the house of Mr.
Taylor, our consul. I could just see a dim form and hear a kind voice.
_March 24th._—Next morning I could not open my eyes, they were so
swollen. The tatar who came with me is in the same state. This is caused
by the snow; my head is also swollen, and my face all swollen and puffy.
The Persian chupper (or post) was to start in the afternoon, and I
decided to go on, but when I found that after leeching my eyelids they
were still closed, I was only too glad to accept Mr. Taylor’s kind
invitation to stop. I was a prisoner to the house for five days, and at
the end of that time I could open my eyes.
Erzeroum is a terribly cold place, although there are double windows and
stoves all over the house, and though the skin-covered doors shut tight
by means of a weight, it is impossible to keep warm. The snow in the
town is four to twelve feet deep. It is supposed to be the coldest place
in Turkey, and is on a snow-covered plain, surrounded by snow-covered
mountains. Only four months in the year are surely free from snow.
Mr. B⸺, the Chancellier here, tells me that the Erzeroumis are so sharp
that there are no Jews. A colony once came, but finding that the natives
weighed the eggs and bought only the heaviest ones, they left the place
in disgust.
Of course the state of my eyes prevented my seeing anything of the place,
but I shall never forget the cold. Of my journey from Trebizonde to
Erzeroum I have few details,[18] and my blindness prevented my writing up
my diary.
I reached Teheran on the 13th of April, and meeting M. Sergipatoffski,
one of the attachés at the Russian Legation, three stages out, I hurried
in just in time to be present at the races got up by the Europeans, of
which he advised me.
Being too wayworn and dirty to be introduced to the ladies, I saw the
principal race decided in my posting dress. Here I saw one hundred pounds
offered to my chief, Mr. B⸺, for his chestnut horse, Arkansas, who walked
off with the big race as he pleased. Mr. B⸺ refused it, but the animal
was not good for much afterwards.
I looked forward to a good rest, but on the 15th I had, after a two
days’ stay, to start on duty at nine P.M., getting to Ispahan after a
heavy journey in sixty-three hours (rain came down nearly the whole
time. Distance, two hundred and seventy-two miles) on the 18th of April.
My colleague, Dr. C⸺, whom I had gone thus hurriedly to attend, was
seriously ill, but soon got on his legs.
Early in June I left under orders for Shiraz, marching at night, on
account of the heat. In this mode of travelling one sees little of the
country. For distances and stages see Appendix.
In this journey, on my second stage, I met a poor prince, Abbas Kuli
Khan, who was travelling with his little daughter, aged nine, and a
companion, Hadji Ali Akbar, a priest. This priest was a great sportsman,
and a very amusing companion. Abbas Kuli Khan was a relative of my friend
Abu Seif Mirza, of Hamadan, and introduced himself. He was one of the
large number of poor princes of Shiraz. His pension from Government was
very irregularly paid, and he was travelling with “kajaweh” (covered
paniers) for his little daughter, and a pony on which he and the priest
rode alternately. The roads from the commencement of the famine were very
unsafe, and they were as glad to increase the force of my caravan as I
was to get a reinforcement of two determined well-armed men. The little
daughter delighted in the tremendous name of Bēbē Sakineh Sultan Khanum,
and was very like a pet monkey, being mischief personified. The presence
of these people broke the monotony of the fifteen days’ march to Shiraz.
One thing that attracts one’s attention when marching is the road-beetle.
These insects seem to be perpetually employed in moving the balls of
horse or camel dung to their nests off the road. They exhibit wonderful
instinct in their manœuvres to effect this object, and to bury the balls;
they also bury themselves at the same time. Their search for the balls
of dung is conducted on the wing, and they never seem to touch anything
else. When found, the insect alights and proceeds to roll the ball by
main force, either standing on its hindmost legs and rolling it as we
do casks, or at times placing its head to the ground, and propelling
the ball by the hind legs. Many of the insects are trodden underfoot by
horses, as they seem impelled by a passion to bury the dung regardless
of external circumstances. They vary much in size, from a Barcelona nut
to that of a walnut. Through the activity of these insects very little
horse-dung, save that which is trodden, is seen on the roads. They work
summer and winter, and as one marches in the sun, with one’s eyes on the
ground, one is astonished at the myriads of these beetles.
At times, too, for about two days in spring, the ground teems with mole
crickets. For two days around Meshed-i-Mūrghab, in the neighbourhood of
Shiraz, there were such numbers that one would be seen in each space two
yards square for several miles; two days after, though I searched for
them, I could not find one. Near Ispahan, too, some fortnight afterwards,
I found them innumerable, and next day I again failed to find a single
individual in the same place. Do they all come out at once, _i. e._ in
one or two days?
Lizards are very numerous in some places, and their varieties infinite;
the dry, stony plains swarm with them in hot weather. They are generally
small, but I have seen them over a yard long. The little fellows simply
run a yard or two to escape the horse’s hoof, and then remain motionless
to avoid observation. One often thus loses sight of them when attempting
to watch them, so like in colour are they to the plain. The dogs on first
starting on a march generally chase, kill, and eat them. They invariably
vomit after it, and quite tire themselves out; as the journey tells on
them, however, they cease to notice the lizards.
Jerboa rats are very frequent, particularly in the south of Persia,
while one very occasionally sees a “Gūr-ken,” or grave-digger (_Meles
canescens_), and still seldomer the porcupine.
On the march antelope are frequently seen, and at times cross the road
close to one. I have also twice seen wild asses in the distance, and
moufflon in the hills. Sand-grouse (Bagh-a-ghulla)—so called from their
cry, which it well expresses—ravens, hawks, eagles, owls, vultures, and
fly-catchers innumerable—these latter sit in rows on the telegraph-wires,
and are of gorgeous plumage—are often seen, and flocks of pigeons and
partridges; while ducks, teal, widgeon, mallards, cranes, and herons,
with single and double snipe, wild geese and cormorants abound near
water, as do frogs, who generally announce its whereabouts at night.
There is little enough to be seen in a march from Ispahan to Shiraz, and
the greater part of the journey was done at night to avoid the heat.
Kūm-i-Shah, a large city, with many shrines and a great resort of
pilgrims, is not seen much of by the tired traveller. Yezd-i-khast, or
Yzed-khast, is elsewhere described by me, and Abadeh is little more than
a large village; while Dehbeed, the coldest place in Persia, save in
the high mountains, has merely a telegraph-office and post-house, the
caravanserai being in ruins. Beyond this, one comes to Mūrghab and the
tomb of Cyrus, of which the description by Ussher will be found when a
march from Shiraz to Ispahan is given in detail. Then the Persepolis
plain, with Persepolis (Takht-i-Jemshid) and Naksh-i-Rustam on the
opposite side of the valley.
To those who desire to get a graphic and correct account of Persepolis,
I would recommend Ussher’s ‘Journey from London to Persepolis,’ p. 533.
All that can be said about it is said by him, and, being no archæologist,
it would be impertinence were I to attempt a description. I have often
passed it, and when marching have frequently visited it; but my curiosity
was always exceeded by my anxiety to either reach Shiraz, or proceed on
my journey to Ispahan. Accurate as he is, I regret to see that Ussher
perpetuates the _legends_ of the Meana bug, winding it up with the
pathetic sentence, “All vital energy fading away from the emaciated
frame, the victim perishes at the end, a prey to the fatal venom” (p.
654, _ibid._).