I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF BRIGANDS.
A call to a patient—Start on post-horses—No horses—I carry
a lantern—The Bakhtiaris—Fall among thieves—They strip
me—And march me off—Mode of disguise of thieves—Attacked
by footmen—Division of spoils—Fate of a priest—Valuing my
kit—Ignorance of my captors—A welcome sight—My escape—I get
a horse—Reach Yezdikhast—Old women get thorns out of my
feet—Want of hospitality of head-man of Yezdikhast—Arrive at
Kūmishah—Kindness of a postmaster—More robbers—Avoid them—Am
repaid for my lost kit—Fate of my robbers.
The roads are not safe, and at night are dangerous; but with a man ill
at the one end of the division, two hundred and fifty miles off, and the
doctor at the other, the only thing for the doctor to do is to go to his
patient as fast as possible.
Had I been going to march, I should have applied to the Persian
authorities for a strong guard, and it would have been provided, but in
posting this is impossible. It was the height of the famine time; in
place of six or eight horses in each post-house, all well up to their
work, two or three was the maximum, and these mere living skeletons,
and I knew that at some stages _all had died_. I had never been looted,
and, trusting to my luck, I sent for horses; but I felt that looting was
likely. I took no gold watch, but only an aluminium one, and as little
money as possible. Beyond my clothes I had nothing valuable save a case
of instruments belonging to Government, that I required at Ispahan.
By this time I had begun to pique myself on the rate I could get over the
ground “en chuppar;” and I had established a rule in my own mind that
there were two ways of posting, and two only: going when there was light;
and going as long as horses were to be had, day and night. Anything else
was of little use, as one could not go faster than the latter mode, and
if one wanted to go more slowly than the former, one might as well
march. In the famine time nothing but water and firing was to be got, and
so the journey was naturally a thing to be got over as soon as possible:
also in this particular instance I was going to see a patient, and so was
bound to be smart.
Off I went about noon from Shiraz at a sharp canter, preceded by my
servant and followed by the guide, for one has to separate them or they
lose time in chattering. The servant yelled, whipped, jobbled his horse
with his sharp native stirrups, and generally behaved as a lunatic. On
emerging from the town he exhorted me frequently to come on, and took as
much out of himself and his horse as possible. When we got to Zergūn,
six farsakhs, we had done it, over the good road on the plain, under the
two hours and a half. The next stage to Seidoon is over a sandy plain,
which, in wet weather, is a very bad road indeed, and rough causeways
have to be gone over to keep out of the morasses. But we had had _no rain
for two years_, and all the way it was good going. We reached Seidoon
half-an-hour after sunset, and here my man began to suggest that we
should stop to sleep. I made him understand that as long as I could find
horses _I_ was bound to go on; but he seemed to fail to see that that
rule applied to _him_.
On we went still, having kept to our two farsakhs (or eight miles) an
hour, _including_ stoppages, and reached Kawamabad at nine at night; here
the road was less level, and my man _would_ lag behind.
The moon was high, and the scenery is very pretty—long stretches of what
in other times is turf and plenty of big trees.
At about six A.M. we got to Moorghāb. Here we had to feed the horses,
which caused a delay of an hour and a half, and it was eleven before we
reached Dehbeed, having done very badly thirty farsakhs in twenty-three
hours. These two severe stages on famished animals had destroyed all
chance of a quick journey. We had walked the greater part of the last
stage, which, with the one we had done before it, are two of the longest
in this part of Persia, being each a good twenty-seven miles, though
called six farsakhs. From Dehbeed we cantered over an undulating plain to
Khonakhora; the going was good, but the poor beasts constantly fell from
weakness, and I could not spare them. Again at Khonakhora there were no
horses, and I had to stop two hours to rest the old ones, not getting to
Sūrmeh till two hours after midnight, and having to walk and drive the
wretched beasts the greater part of the way. Here my man was unable to
go any further, the walking of the last stage had been too much for him:
there was nothing for it but to leave him to come on as he pleased, and
that thoroughly suited him.
At dawn I reached Abadeh, the parting with the servant and consequent
wrangle having taken up nearly an hour. I hardly knew the place;
generally the approach to Abadeh is through smiling gardens and
vineyards, and heavy crops are grown in the neighbourhood; now nothing.
The people besieged me in the chupperkhana for money. I was able to
get two broken-down horses; my own fell seven times in the first hour
from weakness, and the distance to Shūrgistan—over, happily, a good and
level road—is six farsakhs, a good twenty-four miles; it was two in the
afternoon before I could leave Shūrgistan, and, as usual, there were no
horses.
I was told at this place that the road was very dangerous, but confident
in my being a European, and being also armed, I did not think there was
much to fear. We crawled into Yezdikhast over an undulating fairly good
road at sunset, the horses both lying down on entering the courtyard;
they had come the thirteen farsakhs in twelve hours, but were so weak
that I doubted being able to start before morning, but the information I
had at Abadeh by wire made me desirous of pushing on; my patient’s state
was critical, and at eleven P.M., finding that the horses could stand, I
started.
Yezdikhast is situated in a valley through which runs a small river,
and on each side are precipitous cliffs and a bad road, unpleasant to
scramble up or down by day, and dangerous on a dark night. The town
itself is built on a perpendicular island-like cliff, which stands in
the middle of the deep ravine thus formed; it presents a sufficiently
striking appearance as viewed from either the cliffs or the valley,
impregnable to attack save from artillery; the perpendicular cliff on
which it is perched shows up a bright yellow, against what is generally
a verdant valley, teeming with corn and grass, though just at the time
I was travelling quite bare, save just by the river. There is only one
small entrance to the town at one end of the razor-backed cliff; this is
a doorway just big enough to admit a horseman stooping in his saddle,
or a loaded mule. This doorway is reached by a small bridge of a few
poles, which can be knocked away at once: the cliff, which appears to
be of sandstone, is honeycombed with underground granaries and shelters
for sheep and goats, as are the cliffs on either side. On one side of the
town, in the ravine, is the caravanserai; on the other the chupperkhana
or post-house.
The night was pitch dark, the guide couldn’t even see the road, and I
had to light my road lantern to enable us to get out of the ravine up
the rocky track that leads to the high-road; when we did get on the road
it was so dark, that I was unfortunately still obliged to keep my light
burning, to enable us to keep on the track. And to this I suppose I owe
my subsequent misfortunes.
I was coming now to a notorious “doz-gah,” or robbing place, Aminabad.
Here is a magnificent caravanserai; but no one can live here, for, being
the frontier of two provinces, one ruled by the Governor of Shiraz, the
other by that of Ispahan, it was a sort of debatable land. A few hours’
march, too, brings one to the Bakhtiari country, governed by Houssein
Kūli Khan,[22] who ruled with a rod of iron the turbulent tribes of these
wild men. All wanderers, they are a brave and untamable people, their
customs quite different from the inhabitants of the towns, upon whom they
look with contempt. They are practically independent, merely furnishing a
large contingent of irregular cavalry. The illustration gives a good idea
of the tent-life of the wandering tribes of Persia. The tents are very
portable, impervious to rain, wind, and sun, and are woven by the women
from the hair of the black goats. They are very durable.
The Shah is here of little authority, the whole government being vested
in Houssein Kūli Khan, whose eldest son remains with the king in
honourable captivity in Teheran as hostage for his father’s good conduct.
Several times have villagers been placed in the Aminabad caravanserai,
that the place might not be without inhabitants; but it is always looted,
the ryots beaten or murdered; even in peaceful times the muleteers hurry
past the caravanserai, and make the best of their way to Yezdikhast.
[Illustration: TENT LIFE.—WANDERING TRIBES.]
The country here on the least pretext becomes disturbed, and robberies
and murders in disturbed times are frequent. The last time I passed it,
in 1878, I was riding on in front of the caravan, and looked into the
huge courtyard out of curiosity; and though the country was very peaceful
indeed, there lay the festering body of a murdered man. A few mud walls
run along the road, making convenient ambush, and a ruined watch-tower
marks the exact frontier line.
My lighted lantern had doubtless put the robbers of the neighbourhood on
the _qui vive_, but I could not have got out of the Yezdikhast valley
without it, and I hoped by travelling at an unusual hour (midnight) in
the pitchy darkness to slip by unperceived. I had reckoned without my
host. As I passed at a slow amble, making as little noise as possible,
and flattering myself that no one could see us, I was challenged.
“Who are you?”
I promptly replied: “Be off; I am a European.”
“Stand!” said a voice; and I saw a black object in the shadow of the
wall. I drew my revolver and placed it on full cock; I stuck my spurs
into my wretched horse; but the presence of other beasts was enough for
him; he merely swayed with weakness, but did not budge. The black object
now rapidly approached, and resolved itself into five horsemen, who
surrounded me, and, prodding me with the muzzles of their guns, ordered
me to dismount in a series of hoarse whispers.
My thieves were well mounted and well armed; the odds were too great
for a fight. I couldn’t run away, and the guide had disappeared, having
slipped off his horse and run. I used strong language and tried to brazen
it out, but it was of no use.
I was lugged off my horse, and several blows were struck at my head, but
my topi[23] kept them off. My assailants now stripped me so rapidly as
to show they were adepts in the matter. They were evidently in a great
hurry. I put my revolver on half-cock and dropped it, thinking that I
should be stripped and left; but I had reckoned again without my host.
When they had stripped me to my breeches and shirt, one fellow seized the
pocket in which was my money, and with one slash of his knife removed it,
slitting the leg of my pants to the knee. As another man was dragging
off my shirt, he remarked that it was silk, the fineness of the linen
deceiving his touch. I was now ordered to come along, and there being
no option, did so; but I felt the cold to my naked back, and asked them
for a covering, purposely in broken Persian, thinking that if they did
not know I was _au fait_ at the language, I might the better get at
their intentions. One man, the chief, ordered one of the village felt
greatcoats to be flung to me. I gladly wrapped myself in it, and picking
up my revolver, concealed it in the sleeve, trusting to have a chance
of perhaps selling my life dearly, or ending it if any indignity were
offered me. I had not gone many yards, when the thorns began to enter my
feet, and render walking painful. I now requested to be put on a horse,
but the only reply was an order to come on at once, which was repeated,
and a gun put to my head. But I was desperate. I foresaw that if I walked
I should be lamed for months, and certainly in no condition to escape.
The chief now rode up, and I appealed to him in very broken Persian. He
ordered me to be put on one of the post-horses, and to come on at once,
adding significantly, “If you don’t, we shall kill you here.” I felt
that there would be no chance to escape at present, but that I might
possibly have a future opportunity. We now left the road, and pushed on
in the direction of the Bakhtiari country. I was glad to see that the two
post-horses lagged considerably and delayed us much. I found, too, that
there was a mule loaded with grain that these gentry had stolen, which
was driven by two men armed with iron-headed bludgeons. Our party was
now nine—the five horsemen, well armed and mounted; the two footmen; the
guide, who had been secured, and whose hands were tied behind his back;
and myself. By this time I calculated that it was about two A.M. I could
see better, now we were on the open plain.
The head of our captors was addressed as Lutf Ali Khan. He kept ahead,
and avoided all intercourse with me. His head and face were carefully
covered with a long strip of calico, which was wound round and round his
head as a disguise. What little I could see of his face was blackened
with charcoal.
As dawn approached I was able to make out these details, and to take my
bearings to find the road again should I succeed in getting away. The
robbers were all well mounted, and their horses were fat and in good
condition. I noted the particulars of each man, but the chief gave me no
chance to recognize him.
At dawn, as we passed under a high cliff, we heard shots fired, and
bullets began to fly about our heads. The horsemen returned the fire,
which came from some twenty footmen who were perched in coigns of vantage
and under shelter, on the top and face of the cliff. It was now daylight,
and the pleasures of being shot at were not increased when I saw that the
practice was good, for one of the horsemen now lost a finger. A good deal
of shouting took place, but as it was in Turkish, I could not make out
its purport. At last they seemed to come to some sort of understanding,
for the firing ceased, and the footmen came down from the cliff into the
plain. These men were evidently also Bakhtiaris, and were led by a small
old man clad in white; he wore zangāl, a kind of leather legging, and
had a long, red-dyed beard, and a tall felt hat. From what I overheard,
I found out that the second party had outnumbered the first, and that my
spoils were to be divided. The difficulty seemed to be about myself.
The head of the footmen said: “You have looted this Feringhi; with this
we have nothing to do. _We_ loot not him, but you.”
The man who had lost his finger now came to have it dressed, which I
did as well as I could for him. Instead of being grateful, he merely,
in most expressive pantomime, drew his finger across his throat. Upon
the principle that dead men tell no tales, it was undoubtedly their
intention to put me out of the way. And had we not met the second gang,
it would have probably been done where we were, a lonely place, safe from
all interruption; but there were now too many witnesses to the fact of
my having been carried off. We continued our march, accompanied by the
footmen, about thirty men, including ourselves. I found out afterwards
that the men who had looted me had only the day before robbed a Syud, or
descendant of the prophet, a moollah (or priest), and after stripping
him, _as he was a holy man_, and they did not like to kill him in cold
blood, they laid him on the ground, piled big stones on him so that he
could not stir, and left him to die in the desert of hunger and thirst.
His body was found half eaten by jackals, and the men confessed the fact
when they had no further reason for denying it. So had there been no
second party arriving, I should have fared ill. At about nine A.M. we
halted. I was placed in charge of the two footmen armed with iron-headed
staves; and the guide, whose hands had remained bound, with the two
post-horses and the load of grain, remained guarded by them. The rest of
the horsemen and the footmen retired to some three hundred yards off, and
commenced to unpack my saddle-bags. I was now quite unarmed, for when the
reinforcement came up, I felt that to get away by any act of violence
was impossible; and as the finding of the revolver on me would probably
cost me my life, I dropped it when I had an opportunity of doing so
unperceived.
Several times men came to me from the anxious throng that surrounded my
kit and asked me the value or use of the divers objects. To the latter
I did not attempt to respond, but I satisfied them as to the former
by putting high values on everything, thinking thereby to increase my
own importance. I told them my aluminium watch was worth forty pounds,
and, as it was very massive, they believed it. My guards insisted on
cutting off the brass buttons from my riding breeches, saying to each
other that they were gold. The thieves argued and shouted a good deal
over the spoil, and one of my guards joined the excited circle formed
round my kit, while the other manifested the greatest interest in their
proceedings.
The post-boy by a nod now drew my attention to the distant ridges, and,
to my delight, I saw a large party of horsemen pricking across the plain
in our direction. On they came, but slowly, apparently not seeing us.
They got within some five hundred yards undetected by the robbers or
my guard, who were intent on the booty; and then, instead of making a
charge and taking the robbers unawares, they commenced firing. This, of
course, disclosed their presence, and my delight was great when I saw
that they were irregular cavalry. The robbers, however, showed no sign of
retreating; they returned the fire briskly, and the rescuers were much
more in fear of them than they were of the cavalry.
“Bring along the Feringhi,” shouted several, and firing became brisk and
promiscuous.
“Help me up with the load of grain on to the mule,” shouted my sole
remaining guard in choice Persian, which till now he had not used: the
other fellow had joined the rest of the robbers.
I pretended to comply, and affected to be unable to even move it.
With a curse he drew his knife and cut the bonds of the post-boy, and
ordered him to assist him, placing his iron-headed stick on the ground.
They struggled with the load, and I did a not very brave thing, but it
was my only means of getting away—I seized the bludgeon and stunned my
guard with it, and then the guide and I ran, under a brisk fire, for the
cavalry. These men were now in retreat, and I was adjured by them to
come along; but I could run no more, my stockinged feet being my only
protection against the thorns; my feet were full of them, and I was now
dead lame.
“Give me a horse,” I said.
“Run, sahib, they are on us,” said they.
I could not, however, and I replied, “I’m going back to the robbers,”
and sat down. This was too much, and one of them dismounted and gave me
his horse, running by my side. I now saw that we were rapidly moving
off, pursued by the robbers; vague shooting out of all range was going
on in every direction; and also as far as the eye could reach, isolated
_footmen_ with guns and sticks could be seen making the best of their
way to the fight. Fortunately, we were mounted, for I could see two
hundred men at least—they were _Bakhtiaris_. Discretion was decidedly
the better part of valour. After some three hours’ cantering, we reached
Yezdikhast at noon, and I was carried from my horse into a house; my
feet, full of thorns, I was unable to put to the ground; my head, used
to the protection of a sola topi, was covered only by a small pot hat of
nammad, to the edge of which, when he gave it me, finding it did not fit,
a friendly highwayman had given a gash with his knife, which enabled me
to get it on. As he handed it to me, he made a significant gesture with
his knife across his throat—a cheerful joke these men were prone to. I
felt really ill after the excitement and exposure; for, though the nights
were cold, the sun in the morning was very strong, and my feet were very
painful and swollen; I could not walk.
Two old women now busied themselves in extracting the thorns from my
feet, and they had three hours’ work. My feet were not right for a couple
of months, and many thorns remained in. There were no horses in the
post-house. I had no clothes and no money, and I was anxious to get on. A
nice position!
And now came a curious episode of want of hospitality on the part of the
khedkhoda (head-man of the village). Although he had led the horsemen who
rescued me, and might naturally expect a handsome present, he would not
lend or sell me a rag, nor would he give me any refreshment, though he
knew me perfectly well, and was quite aware of my solvency. Neither could
I get any food from him. So there was nothing for it but to have myself
carried to the chupperkhana, and get what I could from the postmaster,
a poor villager. I did get some clothes from him, but they were not
over-clean, and I then persuaded him to give me credit for a dinner and
my horse hire, and succeeded, after some wrangle, in a promise of both.
At a couple of hours after sunset, the khedkhoda sent me by a boy the
leg of a fowl and a little rice; this I sent away, saying that he knew
that was not the way to send me a dinner, and that I should report his
conduct. I got some fried eggs and bread from the postmaster, and a few
moments after a handsome Persian dinner was sent by the khedkhoda, who
had become alarmed. He arrived himself, and smilingly motioned me to set
to. I was so enraged at his treatment, that I emptied the dinner—rice,
fowls, roast lamb, and melted grease—into his face, and threw the big
copper tray after him, and he retreated humbled.
At dawn I started, accompanied by six guards, and passed the spot where
I was looted thirty hours before. My guards did not leave me till I got
to Maxsūd Beg, which is out of the dangerous part of the country, and
I got to Kūmishah, where my patient was, without further adventure,
in the afternoon; but I was compelled to ride with my feet out of the
stirrup-irons, as I could not bear them to be touched, and they were
much swollen. Here I was able to attend to my patient, who was in a
sufficiently critical condition; however, I was in time, and he recovered.
In contradistinction to my treatment at Yezdikhast, the post-house keeper
at Kūmishah lent me a brand-new suit of clothes, and provided me with
food during my stay in Kūmishah; my patient was too ill for me to be his
guest, and his servants had deserted him; this postmaster lent me also
four pounds in silver. My friends in Ispahan sent me clothes, and on my
patient’s convalescence I rode in there after five days.
As I came near Marg and approached a narrow pass called the Orcheeni,
the gholam of the telegraph with whom I was riding pointed out, on the
face of the cliff at the part where the road narrows, some dozen men with
guns, crouched behind boulders and rocks.
“They are stopping the way, sahib; there are probably more in the pass,
and if once we go in we shall be caught.”
_Vacuus viator_ is all very well, but even though I had nothing left to
be looted of, if I sang, I preferred not to do so _coram latrone_, so we
turned off to the right by a camel road that also leads to Marg, keeping
on quietly till we were detected, for at first the thieves could not see
that we had left the road; but as soon as they did, they rushed out to
cut us off; the distance was the same for both, but we were mounted, and
we screwed a canter out of our steeds and got safely away. I met with
no further adventure on that journey to Ispahan, but my experience of
Oriental brigands is not a pleasant one. Of course it is much pleasanter
to pose as a hero; but with my revolver, had I fired on being surrounded,
I should have been blown out of my saddle.
Captain Pierson, then acting director, wished to send in a claim for
compensation to the Persian Government, but this was not done. Had I been
a Russian subject it would have been otherwise. The value of all my kit
was, however, repaid to me.
Nothing more at the time was heard of the robbers; no effort was made to
arrest them. The country was at that time demoralised by the terrible
famine, but afterwards four of my thieves fell into the hands of the
king’s uncle, the present Governor of Shiraz; he is a severe man, and
they (including Lutf Ali) were built up alive in brick pillars on the
high-road just outside Abadeh, and left to die gradually, perishing as
their victim the Syud did. The pillars and bones may be seen on the
roadside, and, like our old gibbets, are a terror to evil-doers.