CHAPTER XXXV.

WE RETURN VIÂ THE CASPIAN.

New Year’s presents—Shiraz custom—Our cook’s weaknesses—He

takes the pledge—And becomes an opium-eater—Decide to go

home—Dispose of kit—Start for Europe—Our own arrangements—Diary

of our journey home—Arrival.

A severe winter, diversified with occasional fine weather, when the

days were even hot in the sun, brought the No Rūz (or Persian New Year)

and the commencement of spring. Our servants brought their plates of

sweetmeats to mark the day, and duly received a month’s pay, or clothes

to that amount. The woman-servant Bēbē brought her mistress an earthen

water-bottle, around the ledge of which was sown barley, the grains being

held on by a bandage, and the porous jar keeping them constantly wet; the

result was a number of rings of bright grass, the whole forming a very

pretty and original, if useless, present. It is a common custom to do

this in Shiraz at the New Year, and even the poorest has his water-pot

covered with brilliant green.

Our cook is giving some trouble just now; for though a capital _chef_,

and though he has been with me fourteen years—having begun at eight

shillings a month, and arrived for the last five years at forty _and the

spending of all the money_—yet he has his vices. When he was first with

me as a youth of nineteen, he was perpetually getting married, and as

frequently getting divorced; then he took to getting continually arrested

for debt; next drink became his foible, and this endured for about four

years; dismissal, the bastinado (by the authorities), fining, were all

tried without avail: at length, in despair, I sent him to the head of

religion in Ispahan, with a note to the Sheikh, in which I apologised for

troubling him, but stated that the man was a very old servant in whom I

had a great interest, and _would he make him take the pledge_? The cook,

who took the note himself, had no idea of the contents. He told me that

the Sheikh read it and told him to wait; when the large assembly that

always throngs the Sheikh’s house had disappeared, the old gentleman

produced a Koran, and proposed that the cook should take the pledge. He

dared not refuse. After swearing to take no wine or spirits, a formal

document was drawn up, to which the cook attached his seal. The Sheikh

wrote me a very polite note, and assured me that the man would keep the

pledge.

It appeared that he exhibited a tremendous “taziana,” or

cat-o’-nine-tails, to my man, as what pledge-breakers are punished with.

The cook now was for weeks as sober as a judge, but he was _becoming a

fool_; the dinners were spoiled, or incongruous, or both: in fact, as he

must do something, he had become an opium-eater. Opium, though habitually

used by the aged of both sexes, is seldom taken to excess, save by

“lutis,” or confirmed debauchees.

At last, finding it impossible to cure this determined offender, I gave

my reluctant consent to his proceeding to Kermanshah, his native place,

where he wished to stay at least a year. I never saw him again.

I don’t know if the last straw was the loss of our cook, or if we had

come to the conclusion that definitely Persia was not the place for a

lady, but we decided to go home on two years’ leave, to which I was

now entitled; and as we felt that it was very probable we should never

return, we determined to sell off our entire kit. We accordingly drew out

a catalogue of our worldly goods in Persia, and distributed it among the

telegraph officials. By a couple of months everything was disposed of but

the rubbish. This was sold by auction, and produced a keen competition

among the Armenians.

I was enabled to get rid of our phaeton without loss, for a Persian of

wealth, the “Mūllavi,” gave me within forty pounds of what I gave for it

and the horses; and the severe work we had had out of trap and horses for

two years was well worth the difference.

Captain W⸺, who was expecting his sisters out, _viâ_ Russia, took all our

road kit and saddlery, and my wife’s mare and the “takhtrowan,” all to

be given over at Resht, on the Caspian, so we were quite free to start.

OUR JOURNEY HOME.

_March 28th, 1881._—ISPAHAN JULFA.—At last I hear that a muleteer is

found who will go direct to Resht, by way of Kūm, Hajeeb, and Kasvin,

avoiding the capital. I go to the house of a Baghdad merchant in Julfa,

and find the muleteer, who is being regaled with pipes; he is the

head-man of the neighbouring village of Se Deh (three villages), and the

proprietor of a hundred mules. I am told that his son-in-law will go with

the mules, and am introduced to a young fellow some six feet high and

thickly built, who is a Tabrizi, and speaks good Turkish and bad Persian.

He is wearing the large heavy sheepskin cap of Tabriz, with the wool

long. The merchant informs me that he thinks the hire should be sixty

kerans per mule. This is said in English, and he then turns to the elder

man and says:

“You will, of course, give this sahib mules at forty kerans per mule?”

The old man replies: “I have, after much persuasion, got Jaffer Kūli, my

son-in-law, to agree to eighty.”

The young man, with many vows, raises his hands to heaven and demands

eighty-five. “Why do you throw words into air, Jaffer Kūli? as I am this

merchant’s friend let us say eighty, and the sahib will have had mules

for _nothing_. Of course we get a present?”

I here get up, saying, “These fellows are quite mad; let us talk to

_men_.”

They in turn rise and say, “Our last word is seventy-five.”

So we talk for an hour. Then, and not till then, the ceremony of

agreement is gone through, and the articles strictly drawn up by the

merchant, after much chaffering. At last he begins to read in a sing-song

drawl, for our mutual edification, the following:

“‘I, Haji Mahomed, of Se Deh, and I, Jaffer Kūli, his son-in-law, give

and let, for the journey to Resht, from Ispahan, _viâ_ Koom, Hajeeb,

Doong, Kasvin, to make twenty stages and halt four days at our own

expense, and at the wish of the sahib; twelve mules, four for the mule

litter, two for the kajawehs (covered mule paniers), and six for loads;

we hereby acknowledge five hundred and fifty kerans, and two hundred

more are to be paid in Resht; our hire is sixty-two and a half kerans per

mule; we will start to-morrow, and have affixed our seals.’”

Here they all call on the prophet; and both muleteers seal, and the

merchant witnesses the document, which is handed to me. I give them a

cheque for five hundred and fifty kerans, and we all go off to my house

to look at the loads. On seeing these, both men begin to vociferate. “Ah,

loads, such loads, no one ever took such loads; on no account will we go.”

“All useless, Haji,” we reply, and a pipe is given them.

They then proceed to sing their own praises, and we (the merchant and I)

profess to love them like brothers. They now retire, and I and my wife

and servants begin to pack up our road-kit seriously; the travelling

gear, got ready long ago, is dragged out and re-examined; tarpaulin is

nailed firmly on the roof of the takhtrowan (horse litter), and the same

is done to the kajawehs; then thin red covers are put on and patched,

new straps and buckles are added to the bedding-bags, and the bedding

packed so as to get each side one weight; movable curtains are hung in

the takhtrowan and its harness is renewed. In the morning the assistant

muleteers arrive, and proceed to cord each box with heavy ropes, leaving

the ends loose; these ends are afterwards tied together; and so each

half load hangs on a side of the pack-saddle; a long broad band with an

iron ring at each end is flung over the mule and his load, and gradually

tightened. Thus loaded, the mule and his burden seldom, or never, part

company.

The muleteer, having had some of his hire, signed his agreement _and

roped some of his loads_, is by Persian law _bound to go_, and we calmly

prepared to start on the morning of April 4th.

_April 4th._—No sign of muleteer. We use our road kit, and are in the

same plight as when marching.

_April 5th._—Muleteer arrives, and requests us to take back our money.

Mutual threats and curses deep. Muleteer refuses to salaam. Muleteer is

threatened with the Governor. Muleteer demands a present. Muleteer is

offered a thrashing. Muleteer is insolent. Muleteer is pursued. Muleteer

flees.

_April 6th._, eight A.M.—Muleteer arrives at six A.M. Harnesses the

takhtrowan to two beasts, who shy and kick, and can’t be made to move.

Again offers to return money. Is again threatened with the Governor, and

called a Jew. Retires in violent passion.

Four P.M.—Arrival of muleteer with fairish horses (by the way, the man’s

beasts are all yabūs or horses). They are tried and found satisfactory.

Assistant muleteer addressed as “Hadji” (“pilgrim,” a title very

agreeable to the lower class of Persians), and regaled with pipes. Head

muleteer addressed as “That.”

Muleteer declines definitely to start, and offers to refund, _but will

go for increased hire_. Muleteer publicly threatened with Governor, and

called “That wind-bag.”

Muleteer retires, swearing he will die rather than start.

_April 7th._, eight A.M.—No muleteer. Nine A.M.—Arrival of muleteer and

nine mules (_i. e._ ponies), four assistants, and a donkey. Assistant

muleteer is secretly promised twenty kerans if he becomes the slave of

hirer, to be given in Resht. Eleven A.M.—Mules at last loaded; they

start. The wives of the servants come and weep on them. The takhtrowan

is carried to the high-road. Twelve noon.—I take N⸺ (our English

nurse), Frank, and the baby to the starting-place, and put them into

the takhtrowan, placing Charlie, our eldest, with a nurse-boy, in one

kajaweh, the woman-servant Bēbē in the other. They leave.

Half-past twelve.—I go round my rooms for the last time.

A⸺ (my wife) and I mount, with our table-servant, last of all. We

leisurely walk our horses out. When we have got a quarter of a mile, our

servant swears he has dropped his whip. I refuse to let him go back, as I

don’t want to lose sight of him. Scene with him. Grumblings, threats.

We pass the Missionary house. We bid them all good-bye at the door.

While this is taking place Ibrahim, the head-man, disappears. I gallop

after him, leaving A⸺ to come on with the bedding and the groom. After

a chase of two miles I catch him. He swears I told him to get up to the

takhtrowan. Threats. Whispered curses. I shout myself hoarse. We cross

the river, pass through the town, four miles out of which we reach the

caravan. On over a sandy and muddy plain to Gez. Four farsakhs. Time,

half-past four P.M. Tea, five P.M. Rest of caravan arrive. Eight, dinner.

Nine, bed.

_April 8th._—Leave Gez at nine A.M. Over a sandy plain, six farsakhs,

twenty-three miles, to Mūrchicah. Cold wind, dull day, rain threatening.

Arrive at “chupper-khana” (post-house) at five, having breakfasted among

some ruins on the road, about half-way. The post-house keeper at this

place was the man who behaved so well to me, and lent me clothes when I

was robbed, so I gave him a double present, as usual, and a bottle of

wine.

_April 9th._—Left this morning at seven for Soh, six long farsakhs; left

the plain, half-way breakfasted, and at the dam, a long farsakh from Soh,

were met by Sergeant McG⸺. After ten minutes it began to rain heavily,

and though we cantered for two miles, we got pretty wet ere we got our

rugs. On their reaching us it left off raining. Mrs. McG⸺ gave us a

magnificent high tea. Soh is a terribly cold place. We were hospitably

entertained and well fed, but it is impossible to get warm, even with

huge fires.

_April 10th._—In the morning at five A.M. the ground was _covered with

snow_, and the weather was severe; it also rained till seven, when it

cleared a little. Started the caravan at eight, selves at nine. Rain and

drizzle till we got to the Kohrūd Pass, when it suddenly came on to snow

heavily.

The track was through snowdrifts half melted, and before we had got a

dozen yards up the steep ascent, A⸺’s mare was off the track, trembling

with fear, and up to her girths. A⸺, too, fancied, I think, that it was

all over with us. The muleteers began to call on God, Ali, and the other

saints, but we blundered along, one mule only falling. The snow got very

thick, but our goggles protected our eyes, and we were heavily wrapped

up. One side (the windward) soon got white, and A⸺ appreciated the big,

old-fashioned, silk handkerchief which I gave her, to keep her sun hat

on, and protect her face from the snow. After an hour and a half of

this, we cleared the pass, the takhtrowan having got over in safety, and

N⸺ and the babies _not_ having had to get out, which, if they had been

obliged to do, would, with knee-deep snow and two feet of mud, have been

a serious matter.

The snow melted into drizzle, and in a quarter of an hour we were in a

sheltered valley, in a strong sun, and entering the village of Kohrūd. We

got to the post-house, and there took off our wet wraps and hung them up.

About two hours before sunset. Six farsakhs. Seven hours in the saddle,

all but the last two being severe work for a lady.

_April 11th._—Started early, as we have seven farsakhs (twenty-six miles

and a half) to do. Though we expected to feel the heat, we had soon to

take to our wraps, as a strong Scotch mist, with occasional cold showers,

followed us all through the mountains to the caravanserai of Guebre-abad

(which is supposed to be haunted). We found it empty, and breakfasted

with our horses there, but the weather was too awful for N⸺ and the

children to get out, so we sent them on.

Half-way to Guebre-abad we had to pass down the causeway cut in the side

of the mountain, which skirts the reservoir fed by the Kohrūd torrent,

where is stored the water for the town of Kashan. It is simply a valley,

closed at one end by a huge wall of masonry. This retains the waters, the

surplus falling over the top, like the Staubach on a small scale.

Within two farsakhs of Kashan the climate changed; our faces seemed

on fire. We found wheat two feet high, clover the _same height_, and

the little rain that fell was warm and refreshing. We got to the

telegraph-office at five-thirty, and were immediately regaled with tea

by Mr. S⸺, the clerk there. An hour and a half afterwards the caravan

came in. Here the men went to the bath, Bēbē started washing clothes,

and after dinner we inaugurated the new hot bath, just built in the

Government quarters (a great luxury).

Here at Kashan we determined to halt a day, and enjoy the genial warmth,

doors all open, and the luxury of _not_ having to start in the morning.

Kashan is celebrated for silk and velvet weaving, but the silk is

generally of very sad colours, and the objects useless to the European,

so we could merely buy a few handkerchiefs and some velvet curtains.

The water supply from the Kohrūd torrent is collected in the reservoir

we passed, and on reaching Kashan is stored in “ab umbars,” or

water-cellars, and when they are emptied they are regularly re-filled,

thus getting a supply of fresh and clear water.

All about are curious, conical buildings of mud, some ten and twelve

yards high. They have small terraces a few inches wide at top, others a

foot or two wide at bottom. These are the grain stores of the place, and

seem peculiar to Kūm and Kashan.

I tried to pick up some curios in the bazaar, but found it hopeless. The

copper bazaar was particularly good and fine, but all of the work was

useful, not ornamental. Was bothered by visitors the greater part of the

afternoon, most of whom came for advice gratis. Near this place is Feen,

one of the royal palaces, well worth a visit, but as our horses needed a

rest as well as ourselves, and it is a four-mile ride, and I had seen it,

we did not go.

_April 13th._—Bid good-bye to Mr. S⸺. He had most hospitably entertained

us. Left Kashan for Sinsin, six farsakhs. Found the immediate

neighbourhood of the town well sprinkled with villages; they however

soon ceased, and we came to a sandy desert, where it was very hot.

Arrived about half-past three. Directly we got in we poisoned the kanaat

(the underground canal for irrigation) in order to get a dish of fish.

In about an hour the fish came to the surface quite intoxicated, and

were caught and gutted at once. They were very good, and the poison

did not affect us. I used six berries only of cocculus indicus, and we

got about six pounds of fish. We got a good dinner at nine—soup, fish,

roast lamb, _pâté de foie gras_, tinned peas, apricots and custard,

Ispahan wine, port, coffee, cherry-brandy. This gives some idea of what

a good road-cook can do. Directly we arrive in a place, our “farrash”

and table-man (who keep up with us) drag out our carpets, sweep the

little dirty rooms out, spread the carpets, fill our bags with chaff for

beds, make our beds, prepare tea, and bring me a water-pipe. Then when

this is completed, the “takhtrowan,” loads, children, tables and chairs

arrive; N⸺ and the children go to their room. We get chairs and have tea

and biscuits, or bread and jam (of course we have already had _déjeuner

à la fourchette_ with three or four dishes and tea on the road). In

the early morning we have a slice of bread-and-butter and a “snack,”

with chocolate and milk. After afternoon tea we doze, read, write, and

stretch ourselves, or go for a little walk near the chupper-khana, or

caravanserai, as it may be. The little sketch of the chupper-khana at

Sinsin I made on the spot, and it gives a good idea of the regulation

Persian post-house. In these post-houses the traveller in Persia passes a

good deal of his time: they are all built upon this plan, and pretty much

alike; the wall at the top is seen to be crumbling; most of them are in

varying stages of dilapidation. They are all built of sun-dried bricks,

except in the extreme north, and plastered with mud and cut straw

(kah-gil). In the front is seen a takhtrowan or horse-litter, in which

ladies of rank, or invalids, usually travel.

[Illustration: A CHUPPA KHANA OR POST-HOUSE. (SINSIN.)]

_April 14th._—Leave Sinsin at seven A.M. for Passanghūm, seven farsakhs

(twenty-six miles and a quarter). Half-way, breakfasted, at Shūr ab (Salt

Water), where Sergeant McL⸺ was killed, a wretched, ruined hole. The name

is a good one, as nothing but salt water is to be got here. Heavy showers

caught us in the afternoon before we could get into Passanghūm. From this

place to Kūm is only four farsakhs, and the gold dome of the great shrine

can be seen from here. Road all monotonous but good, with an undulating

country perfectly bare.

_April 15th._—Left at eight for Kūm, as we are to breakfast with Mr. J⸺,

the clerk there. Half-way, two farsakhs, a pretty village, Lengarood;

then a muddy plain; then, after many twists and turns, sacred Kūm.

Through ruined bazaars, past ruined shrines and tombs, close past the

great shrine, through a short but prosperous-looking bazaar to the big

bridge; then along the river in the open, sandy, but cultivated plain for

a mile, to the telegraph-office. On the first view of Kūm, on leaving

Passanghūm, the great gilded dome sparkles and reflects in the strong

Persian sun. Kūm contains the tomb of “Fatmeh,” the sister of Imām

Riza, who lies at the shrine of Meshed. Imām Riza is the eighth imam,

and Fatmeh is considered a very holy person indeed. Many of the kings

of Persia are buried in the immediate neighbourhood of the shrine, and

numbers of both sexes visit it yearly. Out of every hundred people on the

two stages before we arrived at Kūm, eighty were pilgrims.

Unlike the Meccan, this pilgrimage can be made at any time of the year.

Among Persians, _after_ the great pilgrimage to Mecca, which gives the

title of “Hadji,” that to Kerbela ranks next, and the man who has been

there, for the rest of his life is termed “Kerbelai.” This title too is

generally _given_ to one of the lower orders when one wishes to stroke

him the right way, as is also that of “Meshedi,” or “he who has visited

Meshed” (as a pilgrim). This is the second great place of pilgrimage;

next comes Kūm, and though it carries no title, yet many thousands go

there yearly as pilgrims.

The tomb itself, _I am told_ by my muleteers and servants, is, as are

most graves of holy persons in Persia, covered by an ark; this in its

turn is covered by a sad-coloured shawl. Of course it is exactly under

the great dome. Round the tomb are laid shawls of considerable value as

carpets; then comes a wooden trellis-work, next a row of steel railings,

inlaid with gold, and, outside all, a row of solid silver rails surround

it: they are six feet high, and the thickness of a London area-rail.

The interior of the shrine is hung with European chandeliers of various

patterns (unlighted), and various votive offerings are hung about.

Of course no Christian is admitted. The great dome is covered with

small copper sheets, each having a layer of _pure_ gold an eighth of

an inch thick, on the outer surface: the gold never dulls in the pure

air of Persia. The top ornament of the dome is also of pure gold, and

reported to weigh one hundred and forty pounds; this is probably _not_ an

exaggeration.

The bridge over the river, which save in spring and winter is dry, has

nothing remarkable about it; there are a few gaudy columns on it covered

with blue and yellow tiles; the bridge itself is steep and narrow and

also badly paved, as are most bridges in Persia.

Kūm lives entirely on the pilgrims, and is also a centre for muleteers.

This journey is the first occasion of my getting them (the muleteers) to

start on the _next_ morning, as they and the servants generally find a

strong attraction in the shrine.

Here, too, is a favourite place to make “tobeh,” or a vow of abstinence

from some particular sin; the vow is registered, solemnly made at the

shrine, and generally, for a time at least, kept.

In the afternoon I sold my last pony to the muleteer, and have now no

horses of my own in the country; my wife’s mare is already sold to be

given up at Resht, and my other pony on the same condition.

Here, too, I discharged my groom, an ill-conditioned fellow, who was

lazy and useless, as I had only one horse to be looked after, and the

under-groom could manage that.

_April 16th._—Left at eleven for Pul-i Dellak (the Barber’s Bridge), so

called because it was built by the court barber of the day. We should not

have gone to Pul-i Dellak, but the road to Mejdabad is blocked, the river

being unfordable, so we have to come to this place (the third stage from

Teheran) to cross the river at the Barber’s Bridge. This gives us a stage

more.

The bridge is the usual thing but longer, and an artificial causeway has

been built where the Kūm river and another join our bridge, crossing the

other stream (name unknown), while a few broken arches only are left of a

continuation to the right of the causeway, of a bridge which once crossed

the Kūm river. At sunset, as is _usual at this place_, it blew great

guns. When we woke it was raining hard; it cleared at eight A.M.

_April 17th._, eight A.M.—At the time we started the caravan we got off

ourselves in a drizzle, which at half-past nine became a shower, and then

heavy rain; this continued till half-past eleven. It came down in buckets

full, our puggeries got wet and so heavy that we had to remove them. A⸺

over her heavy jacket put a so-called waterproof cloak, and over that a

thick wool shawl; her knees she kept warm by one of my overcoats, but the

bottom of her habit ran water. I had a blanket with a slit in it, and a

big plaid kept my legs dry and warm.

It then cleared, the sun got hot, the wraps were hung on the loads to

dry, and at three we arrived at Shashgird, an outlying village, very

poor, as all such villages are. Four walls, a turret at each corner,

a ruined room over the doorway; the three sides within were mostly

surrounded by hovels of the bee-hive order of architecture; two of these

we cleared out, our servants took a third, while my wife’s mare got a

fourth. The rooms are small but clean and comfortable; a hole in the roof

lets out smoke; there is even the luxury of a door.

In the centre of the village square is a small pen; we inspect it: it

contains some five-and-twenty lambs three or four days old. At sunset on

the arrival of the mothers (_after having been milked_) the bleating and

noise is something awful; the pen is opened, and the lambs distributed.

Some of the mothers find it difficult to recognise their offspring; soon,

however, with the help of the villagers of both sexes, and much laughter,

all are given to their own mothers.

Weather fine and warm, no need of fire. We dine and sleep.

Villagers polite and good-humoured, quite ready to turn out. Many

chattels left in our rooms with perfect confidence. Of course they expect

a little present. Shashgird is four farsakhs from Pul-i Dellak over a

sandy road very heavy from rain. A choice here of clear water which is

salt, muddy water which is sweet; chose the muddy. No insects in our

humble lodging, which was clean and comfortable.

Villagers civil and very obliging. Present on going, three kerans (two

shillings and threepence)! They are delighted.

_April 18th._—We left at nine A.M. in fine weather for Bagh-i Sheikh

(Garden of the Sheikh), five farsakhs; after a long two farsakhs we came

to a large and prosperous-looking village on the edge of the salt-plain.

Here outside the walls was a large and good disused hammām (or bath); we

breakfasted there, in it, as it was cool and quiet; after two hours, at

two, started again, entered salt swamp, fortunately dry. After two miles

came on good road, and made the large Shah Abbas caravanserai[37] at five

P.M.; a mile before reaching it we struck the high-road from Kūm.

A large caravanserai in good repair; no doorkeeper; took four rooms—one

for us, one for N⸺ and boys, one for servants, one for mare. Not a soul

in the place.

About four or five miles before getting into this place, one of the

ponies I had sold to the muleteer dropped as if shot; he didn’t hurt

me beyond pinching my ankle a little; he dropped so suddenly, his foot

giving way, that I was not quick enough. I am sorry for the charwardar,

one leg is evidently gone.

Some hundred mules now in the caravanserai, noise of their bells all

night long; country fertile, lots of villages all down the valley; we

passed several on our left only.

In lighting the kalian or water-pipe, the way of preparing _burning_

charcoal on the road without a fire, and with speed and economy, is

ingenious; a light is put to a bit of charcoal, that is placed in a wire

basket the size of one’s fist among other pieces of charcoal; the basket

is then swung round at the end of a piece of string, and a handful of

glowing charcoal is produced in three to five minutes.

Difficulty in getting our chaff beds filled here: man would only _sell_

chaff, not _lend_ it.

Told me he was ill. Told him I had the exact remedy for his disease.

Delight of chaff-man. Told him I never gave away medicines, demanded

fifty kerans. Rage of chaff(ed)-man. He gave chaff, and I physic.

_April 19th._—Left at half-past eight for Doong; weather fine; road an

uphill one. Saw heavy storms going on in the mountains, and one passed us

about two miles off; much forked lightning in the mountains; at half-past

twelve one was coming straight down on us. The sun was overcast;

suddenly, when our man was getting out more rugs, a few drops came, then

a shower of hailstones all the size of the _largest cherries_, some

larger. The noise was terrific; the horses got frightened and rushed off

the road; one mule threw his load. I got off and got hold of A⸺’s mare,

and it was as much as I could do to hold both horses and get her off; the

servant’s pony broke loose and _kicked at the hail_; none of the beasts

would face it; fortunately the muleteers held the takhtrowan and kajaweh

mules. Down it came, _and it hurt_; the ground got white, a heap formed

to windward of each bush and stone. In five minutes all was quiet, and we

started again after reloading the wine boxes which had been kicked off by

the mule.

In speaking of the size of the hailstones, _I do not exaggerate_, and

certainly I never saw any like them; they were all quite spherical, and

more like balls of hard snow than hail, but very hard.

I asked the muleteer if he had seen anything like them. “Oh, they are

nothing,” he replied; “in the neighbourhood of Ararat I have seen them as

large as eggs (!), and they killed lots of sheep.” I thought him what the

reader may think me.

At half-past three we got into Doong, after six hours and a half in the

saddle.

We found a big caravanserai with only one room, the other places being

merely stables, which were full.

However, some camel-men politely vacated it, and we, after some

half-hour’s sweeping, made it very warm and comfortable. Fortunately it

was a large one, twenty by ten, and sheltered, being built at the end of

a recess.

While at dinner something fell on the table; it was a _camel-tic_, and I

expected what followed.

A camel-tic is a flat insect, which is active when not distended and

hungry, but very sluggish when full. We caught a small one in the

bedclothes, but saw no more. In the night, however, one bit N⸺ on the

top of her head, and the wound bled freely. This place was painful for a

month.

In the morning, on walking over where some two hundred camels had lain,

it was difficult to avoid treading on the sluggish and gorged beasts, who

looked like smallish cockchafers. I mean the tics.

_April 20th._—Started at eight for Hajeeb, six farsakhs. On getting to a

big caravanserai, half-way, got down to breakfast, muleteer going on; but

in an hour he returned, saying Hajeeb was not safe to stay in at night,

so he advised stopping where we were. We took three rooms; they seem

comfortable. Sleet storm in the afternoon.

The name of this place is Koshkirūd (Dry River). I don’t think there are

any tics here, but we shall see.

One tic found. No one bitten.

A tremendous wind blew all the twentieth, making it very cold out of

cover.

No robbers, which was lucky, as the caravanserai has no doors.

_April 21st._—Started at seven A.M. Went through undulating hill tops,

with only a few black tents in them, but plenty of grass. Saw four troops

of antelope. On getting to Hajeeb (three farsakhs), found that one side

of the caravanserai wall had fallen down, and the place was really not

safe from night thieves.

Got breakfast of grilled mutton and maccaroni. Sent some on hot for N⸺

and the children, who do not stop on the march.

After one and three-quarter farsakhs of same sort of country, got to

a descent and came to a large plain (the plain of Kasvin?), thickly

sprinkled with villages. Though the wind continues, it is much warmer

here, and the sun stronger.

The muleteer says that we shall have this wind to Kasvin, or a stage

beyond it.

The first village, Allah Sung, five farsakhs from Koshkirūd, we did not

stop at, but went a farsakh farther to Bōween, a large village. Here we

got a good carpeted room in the large house of a villager, and another

room for N⸺ and the children. In our room are the man’s carpets and all

his valuables, boxes, etc., but they are left to our mercy without the

slightest hesitation—his bedding, his clothes, and all his earthly goods.

The people of this place are very well-to-do. They speak Turkish, and do

not understand Persian. The women do not hide their faces.

As we are having a cup of tea, we get astonished at not hearing of the

arrival of our caravan.

I had ordered the servants to stop it as it passed the door. I suddenly

hear that it has passed the village. Ibrahim (my head-man), at a crab’s

run, goes to stop it. I saddle a horse and gallop out. At the other side

of the village I find Ibrahim calling “Hoi, hoi!” to the caravan, which

is a mile off. He calmly informs me that they don’t hear him. I reply,

“Ass!” and canter after them and bring them in.

On nearing the house, a mob of boys, headed by a youth of eighteen,

amuse themselves by hooting me, and calling out, “Dog of a European!”

in Turkish. I remonstrate in Persian. Delight of boys, who hoot more. I

produce two of my four words of Turkish, “Kupak ogli!” (“sons of dogs”).

They throw stones. I ride at them, and give my village youth the lash of

my crop across his face. They flee, and throw stones from a distance.

Arrival of my muleteer, who remonstrates in Turkish with some elders.

Informs them that I am a _European ambassador_! (Elchi Feringhi), and

dangerous to tamper with. They apologise. I reply, in a lordly manner,

“Chok yakshi” (Turkish for “very good”), my other two words.

Have tea.

Ten P.M., dinner.

_April 22nd._—Started at eight A.M. Gave our landlord two and threepence,

with which he was satisfied. Of course, as we had bought grain, bread,

wood, etc., he had made a good thing of us.

Wind still blowing very hard; lots of villages and cultivation, the sun

being stronger. The wind is not so troublesome as yesterday, and we need

no wraps. Still, it is difficult to talk. After two farsakhs pass through

a salt swamp, which is fortunately dryish. Arrive at Kherrah, four

farsakhs from Bōween, at two-thirty. Caravan gets in at three forty-five.

Find a fine caravanserai, but no rooms, the villagers having built up

the entrances of the eight rooms there are. We find the shopkeeper, and

take possession of his shop and the two next rooms. We have a door once

more!—a real door! _All his commodities are scattered about, and he does

not remove a thing!_

It appears this caravanserai is very little used, save by those who

stick in the salt marsh. This, in _wet weather_, though only eight miles,

must be a good day’s march, and sometimes even impassable in places.

There is a causeway of big rough stones, but _all_ the bridges were

broken. At five P.M. wind went down to nearly nothing. All to-day (over

the swamp) the weather seemed dull, from dust storms in the distance. We,

however, fortunately did not get into one.

A⸺’s saddle will give her mare a sore back if she rides her, so she is

compelled to ride one of the ponies, a hard trial after the easy and

willing mare.

I had the benefit of the mare, as my saddle doesn’t gall. The back was

better on arrival than when we started.

Our mules (yabūs, _i. e._ pack-ponies) are in fair fettle, considering

that we have only halted one day at Kashan. To-morrow we strike the great

high-road, and we left robber-land yesterday.

The children, the baby included, as yet have not had a day’s illness, and

we are all in robust health.

All our rooms have been as yet wind and water tight, and save at Soh

(that very hyperborean place) we never had or needed a fire.

We are hurrying on, as the steamer (so they say) leaves Enzelli on

the second; and if we do not halt we can get a day there to repack

and wash clothes, pay off the servants, hand over my road kit, which

Captain W⸺ has bought, get money from Messrs. Ziegler, and start

comfortably—INSHALLAH (please God).

Talking of doors, when we have no doors we nail up two curtains

overlapping, if a big entrance, with an extra one crossway over the top

if high, and at bedtime we put crossways over the bottom of the curtain

our table-top and frame and two chairs, built up so that, if any one

attempts to get in, the whole _must_ come down on to a big copper bath

with a crash, and so wake us.

I rather pride myself on this arrangement, which is, I fancy, very

efficient, and keeps out wind and thieves too.

All the people here are big-headed, big-hatted, big-eared, small-eyed,

stupid, chibouque-smoking, Turkish-speaking people, quite different from

the smart and polished Persian of the South and Ispahan; but they are

_honester_, not grasping, and in _reality more obliging_. Instance this

morning, my cook asked a man to help him load his mule (_i. e._ give him

a lift with his big saddle-bags).

He replied, “Load him yourself!”

On my asking the fellow if he called himself a Mussulman, he grinned, and

helped at once.

_April 23rd._—Started at seven for Kasvin. Lovely day, no wind, but after

the first hour a good deal of sun. After three long farsakhs, came in

sight of Kasvin; another farsakh, arrived at one P.M. People well-to-do.

Heard that there is an _hotel_ (!) here, but distrusted it.

Went to a fine new caravanserai, where we got a courtyard to ourselves.

Our muleteer says our beasts cannot go on, so we must perforce halt a day.

We have a grand clothes-washing and child-bathing to-day.

Settle our trunks for the sea voyage.

In the afternoon I go to see the _hotel_. I find what I expected, a very

fine house, with bare walls, enormous charges, and impudent and dishonest

servants. I should be very sorry indeed to put up there. I thrashed one

fellow as it was for putting out his tongue; the rest at once became

polite.

They say that the steamer goes _twice_ a week—Sunday and Thursday.

I shall inspect the _hotel_ again to-morrow.

There is a big tiled shrine, in which is the tomb of the son of Imām

Riza. It seems in good repair, but not in good taste; also a Musjid-i

Juma (big mosque), much ruined.

_April 24th._—I find, after seeing the Russian telegraph clerk, that the

steamers go only once a week; so we must hope to catch that of Sunday,

the first. It will be very doubtful if we do it.

To-day I went through the bazaars to try and get a piece of Yezd silk

(Houssein Kūli Khani) for A⸺, but failed.

I, however, found biscuits for the children, which the servants said were

not to be had. They had been brought from Ispahan, where they were made.

When in the “chupper-khana,” I found a Russian locksmith, who had come to

Persia in search of work. He found none, and was returning on foot from

Teheran. He left this morning to catch the steamer of the first. Turkish

is here more spoken than Persian, and the people seem quite another

race, quiet and industrious, and more honest, but rougher.

A good many of the houses are built somewhat after Russian style, and our

caravanserai has doors (and also big windows to some of the rooms).

Everything but the bedding is packed ready for a start in the morning

early.

I say little of Kasvin, having had too much to do to see a great deal of

it.

Kasvin has no special production; it is merely a mart. It is, however, a

very populous town, and misrule is not so rampant as in other places.

We each wrote a letter home; found no one at the post-office and no

letter-box, so had to entrust our letters to the Russian telegraph clerk.

They arrived in due course. The place seems much larger than it really

is, owing to large plots of waste ground, which are unbuilt on.

_April 25th._—Left for Masreh. Passed in lovely weather through a grassy

plain for two farsakhs; then two more to Akabah; breakfasted in the

village gateway; then a tremendous two farsakhs through the hills to

Masreh. Started at seven-thirty, got in at three-thirty. Seven hours in

saddle, one hour halt.

Found a good room in chupper-khana, but the room for the children is full

of camel-tics. Moved them to the roof room, which is supposed to be free.

Our room is not safe from them, and at night it is too cold to go outside.

A⸺ will not allow me to sleep in the takhtrowan, so we shall all have to

sleep in the room on the roof.

Masreh is a village of merely a few hovels, in a lovely grassy valley.

Since Kasvin nothing bare; all grass or cultivation.

All night long we were awake at fits and starts looking for tics. We must

have killed twenty. They are ordinary sheep-tics.

They seem exactly the same thing as camel-tics, but smaller, and the

bites merely cause a spot (of effused blood) the size of a split pea at

biggest.

The camel-tic that bit N⸺ on the top of her head at Doong has caused

great soreness, and the blood flowed down all over her face. I was once

bitten on the foot, and tenderness lasted two months. Frank and the baby

were bitten, each in two places; so was A⸺. I was a little bitten, but

not by tics; they leave a round black mark the size of sixpence.

_April 26th._—Half-past seven A.M., left for Pah Chenar, a steady ascent

for eight miles, then tremendous descents of steepness and difficulty. We

had to get off our horses frequently for comfort’s sake, and the baby and

N⸺ had three times to get out of the takhtrowan, while the children had

twice to leave the kajawehs.

The takht horses were continually with their hind-quarters within three

inches of the ground at the descents, and sliding along.

The scenery was grand in the extreme, and the weather, fortunately, fine.

Small shrubs and wild roses now begin to be frequent. When at the top of

the mountain, two farsakhs from Masreh, the view was gigantic. One saw

far beyond Kasvin, over the plains and into deep valleys, which reached

for miles, and were of every shade of grey, red, green, and brown; some

hills even were bright orange; and such a bird’s-eye view was it when we

commenced the descent that I, who have seen many places, never certainly

saw anything so vast and magnificent.

It could not be called pretty till we got within a farsakh of Pah Chenar.

Then it was all green in the bottom of the valley, in which ran a small,

swift, and turbid river, or rivulet at the present time, doubtless a

month earlier a swirling torrent.

The entire stage has been one continuous descent. Got in at half-past

four; eight hours in saddle. Half-an-hour lunch. The people plough the

almost perpendicular sides of many of the hills, so we were constantly

coming on patches of various greens.

The climate has become _tepid_, and full of moisture; lots of flies.

A fine chupper-khana, with a new water-cellar close by, from which I

attempted to sketch the valley. We are all very tired, and have walked a

good deal of the way perforce.

A curious thing happened this morning when we left Masreh. I had given

the postmaster my knife to cut something; when I left I forgot it, and

only thought of it when a mile away. I cantered back, and found my

servants just leaving. I immediately said to the head-man:

“Have you got my knife, as _directed_, from the postmaster?”

He took the hint, and said:

“No; I forgot it.”

“Give it me.”

The postmaster put his hand in his pocket, and gave it up; _but_ had I

said “_Where_ is my knife?” or “_Have_ you got my knife?” I should never

have seen it again.

To get on with Persians it is necessary to be smart and unscrupulous to

a _certain extent_. Their own proverb is; “Better is a lie which causes

joy, than truth which produces grief.” See the first tale in Sāadi. I

am afraid my “as directed” was an _acted lie_. But then Sāadi is a high

authority.

There is lots of water here, as the frogs are croaking all night in

bursts: a croak, a chorus; silence, a croak; then “Berek ity kix, squax,

squax,” etc.

Dinner at nine. Hotch-potch and mock-turtle soups, _mixed_ (the cook’s

idea, and a good one); fresh salmon, leg of lamb, mint-sauce, custard and

plums, cheese, coffee, cherry-brandy, Persian wine, port, Madeira, kalian.

The climate here being humid, is very feverish. The people coming up get

bitten by tics at Masreh, then get fever, and put it down to the tics.

May not this theory account for the _Bug of Meana_? We are all taking

quinine to-night, to avoid it (fever and ague). The grimaces, as each man

takes it pure from a teaspoon, are grotesque, but all know its value, and

are glad of the dose.

_April 27th._—Left at half-past seven A.M. for Rūdbar, an up-and-down

road, but fairly good, between mountains, by the bank of the big river

(Suffid Rūd, White River). Vegetation plentiful; a few trees, barley in

the ear. Came to Munjîl, after several bits of very bad road, up and

down hill. Munjîl and Rustumabad are close together. There is a large

olive-grove, lots of springs, trees, and corn about the village. After a

mile came to a junction of three rivers, and on turning a corner came to

a bridge of six arches.

The bridge is new, and well built. By its side, attached to its piers, is

a wooden bridge, so placed that if (as is sometimes the case) parts of

the bridge be washed away, there may still be a way over.

The wind was blowing a gale up-stream, and, though there was lots of

sun, it made it chilly, and the wind under the arches blew up sheets of

spray. As soon as we had crossed the bridge we began a series of steep

ascents along an awful road, from one and a half to three yards wide,

cut in the side of the cliff, often having a sheer drop (and never any

parapet) of several hundred feet, to the rushing river. The wind was

tremendous—the horses at times _unable_ to march against it—_full in

our faces_. The ascents were, it is no exaggeration to say, often of

forty-five degrees. One had to hold the mane firmly to keep the saddle

from going over the quarters, and we could not get down, as the horses

would not face the blast riderless. Arrived (the last farsakh being the

longest and worst I ever saw in Persia) at Rūdbar at half-past three, a

lovely village, embosomed in olive-groves at the brink of the stream, in

a wooded nook. Forest and olive-groves on the other side of the stream,

which is still shut in by high mountains.

We put up at a good, but small, caravanserai in the village. Here saw the

dress of the Ghilān working class for the first time. Also Ghilān shoes

made of raw hide, with the hair on; the fronts lace up with hempen string

or thong, tying over the ankle.

To-day up to Munjil, and for the last two days we met large parties of

“chardūr nisheen,” or “dwellers in tents,” with their wives, children,

oxen, sheep, tents, dogs, horses, etc., quite in patriarchal style.

Everybody carried _something_, according to size, _all save the men_. The

cows were all laden. One little thing of five was carrying on her head

her father’s hat; all busy in some way or other. We bought a live lamb

for dinner, two and threepence.

The wandering tribes’ tents are pitched as follows, and we saw so many,

that we had an opportunity of seeing each stage. Stakes are driven in the

ground in pairs. Between these stakes a piece of very stiff reed-work,

like huge matting, is placed on its edge, in the form of a square; this

forms the wall. Strong poles are put at the four corners, and cross-poles

are attached to these. The whole is fixed to a centre pole; then cloths

of black goats’ hair are stretched over them. The ground is carpeted,

and the whole is wind-proof, rain-proof, and sun-proof. The wealth of

the owner can be well guessed from the size and newness of his tent

furniture. We noticed that they always had with them a primitive sort of

plough, the share being wooden.

_April 28th._—Left Rūdbar at eight, for Imāmzādeh Hāshem. Country more

and more beautiful; wild flowers plentiful; all the hills and mountains

covered with trees to their summits. Rode through olive-groves, each

tree having a big excavation in the ground by its side, which is filled

with water frequently, and so the tree is watered. Road very bad, and

in many places very steep, almost precipitous. We keep by the left bank

of the Suffid Rūd (or White River), which is at present the colour of

_café au lait_. After three farsakhs we enter woods; the usual English

trees, also yews, firs, box, wild vines, figs, and pomegranates (these

latter in bloom), ivy, convolvulus. The ground is covered with red and

white clover and ferns, violets, forget-me-nots, huge anemones, and most

English wild flowers. Nothing bare; trees overhang the road, and we

ford frequent small streams, constant runnels and watercourses. Lovely

weather, temperature about eighty degrees Fahr. At half-past four we came

on a large chaussée, which is perfectly flat, and at half-past six we get

in—eleven hours (half an hour’s halt at breakfast), or ten and a half

hours in the saddle! A stiff march for a lady.

The scenery has resembled the most wooded parts of Switzerland, and at

times the “Iron Gates” of the Danube, _only much more grand than either_.

We have been in the forest since two P.M., and shall be in it till we get

to Peri-bazaar. From within a farsakh and a half of this place there have

been constant swamps, but even in them the trees are dense.

We manage to get all in by daylight, having come certainly thirty miles.

We fortunately brought chaff (straw) with us, but no barley is to be got.

Mules nearly done up. Happily this chaussée lasts to Resht.

We both agree that we have never seen anything so varied or so lovely as

to-day’s march, though it was long and fatiguing.

I hope we may get dinner at half-past ten; it is now ten.

The people here have a miserable, agueish appearance; doubtless fever is

very rife. We all again take quinine; the servants decline to do so. I

insist. They yield.

Half-past ten.—Have happily got barley for my wife’s mare; trust to

_make_ the muleteer buy some for his mules, but price very high. We pass

a nearly sleepless night _from warmth_.

_April 29th._—Leave Imāmzādeh Hāshem at half-past seven; ride over the

smooth road to Resht. The forest continues, but the trees smaller and

more sparsely scattered; a big ditch at either side of the road keeps

it dry; fields, or rather cultivated swamps, begin to appear in the

forest and gradually become more frequent; at either side of the road,

on the bank, are ferns of all sorts, including maiden-hair, common male

fern, and ox-tongue; orchids of all colours, buttercups, forget-me-nots,

poppies, anemones, violets, myrtle, all blooming luxuriantly: not a bit

of bare earth to be seen—_everything verdant_. Quantities of snakes,

tortoises, and green lizards (very tame), small and large.

At twelve we arrive at the town, and I send on a man to M. Schwab, agent

to Ziegler and Company (to whom, Ziegler and Company, I have a letter).

M. Schwab puts us up in his huge house with great hospitality, gives us a

good double-bedded room, and gives his own room to the children, telling

us to make ourselves at home: we do so.

We find at M. Schwab’s, M. Vassiliardes, a Greek, formerly one of Ralli’s

people whom I had known in Teheran, and a young American traveller, Mr.

Doherty, who says he is a naturalist, and “hopes to find curious bugs” in

Persia. _He will!_ He tells me bug is _American_ for beetle.

We breakfast. The rest of the day is occupied in paying off servants,

giving over Captain W⸺’s purchases, handing over the mare, giving present

to muleteer, repacking for the ship, getting money, etc.

_April 30th._—We start after breakfast. A⸺ and I, with N⸺ and the

children, in a rough cart on the mattresses and pillows; the luggage in

another, the servants on its top. After one farsakh (_the last one_) we

reach (passing through forest and swamp) “Peri-bazaar,” in the midst of

swamps. Here is the wharf. In a few minutes we get on a boat manned by

six rowers and haulers, a bow-man and a steersman; we take three servants

with us, and the woman Bēbē. As soon as we push off from the bank, a rope

is attached to the top of the mast and we are towed for an hour, by the

haulers, through the swamp.

They then get on board and row; they row very badly with oars like

long-handled spades, and when the steersman calls out “Mohammed,” they

reply “Allah saklassān,” in a yelling chorus, and spurt. We passed

through a narrow natural canal, and then came to the “Mūrd ab,” or “Dead

Water,” a large estuary; we row for three-quarters of an hour and then

the sail is set. We left Peri-bazaar at three, and reach Enzelli at seven.

The canal and estuary were teeming with fish and water-birds, and we

saw cranes, herons, cormorants, and unknown water-fowls in thousands,

flying up from the reeds, or rising as we neared them. We also saw a huge

vulture who was eating a fish (or was it a big fish-eagle?), _but no boat

or human being_.

At each side of the boat are fixed sticks tied in a bundle; these serve

as fenders and rowlocks, really the latter being a small ring of rope.

We land just at the door of the prime minister’s harem, a tumble-down

place. We find the governor of Ghilān in the berūni, or men’s apartments;

he has laid down carpets in our rooms, and gives us tea, lights, dinner,

and breakfast, _i. e._ he does so for his friend M. Vassiliardes, and we

reap the benefit. Our beds are full of fleas. Weather _hot_ and damp.

_May 1st._—Lovely weather; have all ready by eight A.M. No steamer.

Breakfast from Akbar Khan, Governor of Ghilān. Walk in the gardens,

orange-trees with lots of oranges (of last year) on them, and at same

time in full bloom quantities of roses, the iris too—very large and fine

flowers. Everything very damp; rather too hot in sun, but nice breeze.

Four P.M.—_No steamer._ Go over the six-storied tower of the Shah,

built when he went to Europe, a gew-gaw place going to ruin from damp;

protected by mats. We inspect his bedroom, salon, etc. Walk in town; like

a Russian suburb of, say, Astrachan.

Seven P.M.—_No steamer._ Bed at ten.

_May 2nd._—Get up at five. _No steamer._ At six the steamer is seen; we

cram in a few odds and ends, cushions and blankets, and make the final

distribution of clothes, etc., to servants. We go down to the shore and

get into our last night’s boat.

Half-past eight, arrive on board the steamer. Give my servants their

presents: they kiss our hands and weep; we weep, the children weep.

I send them off by saying their boat is leaving. Our boat is the

_Tzarovitch Alexander_, one of the newest and best boats. N⸺ has _all_

the ladies’ cabin; we have a state room below. We take in cargo.

Eleven, breakfast. Vegetables very well done come after the zakooska, or

snack, then stewed steaks with carrots, then a sweet sort of omelette

with jam—and very little jam. We drink piver (beer) of Astrachan. One

P.M. Still taking in cargo.

Ten minutes to two.—We start, leaving some cargo-boats still unloaded;

our principal cargo seems to be raisins, eggs, and cotton, and a little

dried fish; but the captain tells me that this is the largest cargo he

has ever got from Enzelli. We have been loading busily, both fore and

aft, with steam cranes, since the vessel’s arrival. We run along the

coast, no motion to speak of; strong sun, weather lovely. At half-past

five we dine, and we took tea at half-past three. Ship’s tea undrinkable;

we use our own. Dinner is stchēe (one of the national cabbage soups),

cutlets, roast duck, and a sort of Bavaroise. We pass (without stopping)

Astara at ten P.M., sea getting up. Stop at Lenkoran at one A.M., take

eight passengers for Bakū.

They talk in cabins and wake A⸺. I remonstrate in German, French, and

Persian; dead silence. Leave at three _A.M._, sea going down. Tea at

eight; lovely sun, pass between islands; no sea on.

_May 3rd._—Half-past ten, breakfast. Four P.M., arrived at “Bakū;” went

on shore, bought photos of Russian types of Bakū, etc., changed all my

Persian money into paper roubles; exchange, three roubles forty-seven

copecks to one toman (or seven-and-sixpence).

_May 4th._—Again went on shore. There is nothing to see; the usual cheap

imitation of French fashions, much business, principally in naphtha

(Bakū, owing to this, has in twenty years risen from nothing). There

is a good natural harbour, lots of Russian officers about; Armenians,

Persians, Lesghians, more numerous than the actual Russians. Deep water

full of fine fish close in shore; our big steamer is warped up to a

wooden pier 300 yards long. Only four other steamers lying here, all

smallish, one barque, and lots of small crafts like galliots. Oranges

plentiful and bad, also tobacco from Riga (?). I got a pair of Tartar

enamelled earrings here, and a big turquoise.

Noon (twelve).—Sudden rush of the beauty and fashion of Bakū to

breakfast on board; it appears that doing this, and the club, are _the

two amusements of the place_. The naphtha trade and the steamer depot,

with the garrison, form the society of this place. Festive Russia drinks

bad champagne, at one pound a bottle, after breakfast. First whistle,

half-past one. Second whistle, a quarter to two. Embracing, weeping,

departure of Festive Russia, leaving some ten men-passengers, one

Georgian lady very uninteresting, and one young lady with a quantity of

fair hair and a fat baby. “Fair one with golden locks” is kissed freely

by every one.

Third whistle. Final rush; we are warped out. The deck passengers are

dissolved in oily and spirituous tears. At ten minutes past two we paddle

off. No sea in the bay. Half-past four, tea. Half-past six, dinner. Heavy

swell on. A⸺ and N⸺ go below; so does fair one with the golden locks, at

end of dinner. A⸺ lies down, and escapes. Quarter to nine we all retire.

Heavy swell on.

_May 5th_, seven A.M.—No swell. We make Durbend, said to have been

fortified by Alexander the Great. We anchor half a mile off. I make a

rough sketch. Arrival of “fair one with the golden locks,” with the locks

done into one huge yellow plait; it is one foot from the ground exactly.

I save the fat baby’s life, who had made for the staircase, and shot into

my arms. At ten leave Durbend. Half-past ten, breakfast. Half-past four,

tea. Reach Petrovsk. A fine natural harbour. Within this the Russians

have made a second one, formed by two horns of blocks of rough stone,

tossed in pell-mell, and masses of concrete, eight feet by four feet,

which stand in a row seawards on the loose stones. They have a tramway

for horses, and five men. Each mounts a horse and drags a truck full of

stones out (tandem). When they get to the right place they dismount and

throw out the stones. Simple, not pretty, but effectual. They were doing

this when I was here ten years ago. They are doing it now.

The place is hardly Russian—full of Lesghians, who seem prosperous. I did

not go ashore, as it was getting chilly, and there is nothing to see. The

town covers a large space of ground, but is sparsely scattered, and looks

better from the sea than nearer. As we had one thousand sacks of rice to

discharge we did not get off till half-past nine P.M. Weather fine all

night.

_May 6th._—Up at eight. Did up rugs and bedding, as we get on the “flat”

at the six-foot channel in the afternoon, and are towed in it to the

Volga boat. We are at present in the boat in which the Shah made his last

voyage to Europe. Of course he had it to himself, and the engineer tells

me he slept on the floor of the ladies’ cabin, and _put his shoes on the

table_. So much for the civilisation of the “Asylum of the Universe,”

“The king of kings!” The stewards, after a little remonstrance, are civil

and obliging, the food good and plentiful; the fish particularly good;

while the Astrachan beer is a great treat, fourpence-halfpenny a bottle

only. We had a lot of port with us, which, _as we had to drink_ or throw

away, we preferred the former. The corkage is charged fivepence. Many

Russians bring their own liquor.

Children and ourselves all in robust health. The rest has done us good.

The officers are all very obliging and friendly, two speaking English,

all German, and one some French; but the stewards were, alas! Russians of

the real _vielle roche_. The bill had to be gone carefully through. I cut

off one-fifth of it; they merely smiled; and not finding that we were the

sheep who before the shearer was dumb, were very civil.

Quarter to one.—Nearing the nine-foot channel. Not a ripple. We have been

very fortunate, as the Caspian is at times _very_ rough! Half-past four,

arrived at the “Nine-foot,” as it is called. We go on board the “flat”

This is a huge barge, some two hundred feet long; forward and aft are

the holds; in the centre twenty cabins, each for four persons, and the

saloon; over these another saloon, and a hurricane-deck on top. The sea

is like oil, and we leave at ten P.M., being towed by a small tug.

_May 7th._—Wake to find ourselves in the Volga. At eleven A.M. we _reach

Astrachan_. Here I go on shore to the office, and complain that I have

been forced to take a ticket for my two children, and that I ought only

to pay half-fare for one. This, however, I put in a veiled manner. I

find that children under ten _travel free_, and forty-one roubles are

immediately _refunded_! Officials of company most civil. Our luggage is

merely formally examined. I find all this is because my passport has

a favourable mark from my friends of the Russian Legation in Teheran

which signifies “treat the bearer well:” so they tell me. We are even

provided with a private cabin, although every berth has been taken in

advance. I and “Charlie” drive in a droschy through Astrachan, a hideous

but flourishing, large town, evidently rich. I buy a pair of Russian

salt-cellars, ugly, but good. I had fever yesterday. I have it again

to-night. At ten P.M. we leave.

The current is very strong here, and the long shallow boats very fast and

powerful, but the vibration is tremendous, worse than a railway carriage.

There is every comfort, convenience, and luxury on board. The scenery of

the Volga above Astrachan, as we see it on

_May 8th_, is very tame: a low sandbank, a little brushwood. River two

miles wide. A few villages; country quite flat; consequently we see

nothing. Here and on the “flat,” we have had “sterlet,” the celebrated

Volga fish—fairly good, nothing wonderful. Here the police tell me not to

wear my grey wideawake, as, if I did, I should be mobbed as a Nihilist.

The Emperor just assassinated, and mob very excitable.

_May 9th._—Tsaritzin, seven A.M. Go ashore and drive to railway station,

a very fine building. We dine, and at half-past three P.M. start in

a compartment of a first-class saloon carriage; this we have all to

ourselves. About every half-hour we stop for five minutes at least. One

gets in and out as one likes, and the guard takes care that the train

does not leave without us. On every platform is a big vessel of clean

drinking-water for the peasants. Bottled beer, hot pies, and vodka (a

very raw spirit) to be got everywhere: the beer sixpence a bottle, and

very nice bread, quite a luxury, and so good that the children eat it all

day long, calling it “cakey.” Travel with windows open all night; pace,

seventeen miles an hour, without stoppages.

_May 10th._—Reached Griazi at noon. Sleep in the _sleeping-room_, and

after a bath leave at half-past six P.M. We have with us sheets, pillows,

and blankets, and at eight P.M. we all go to bed, undressing and making

ourselves quite at home. Start at midnight.

_May 11th._—Arrive at Orel ten minutes to nine A.M. Drive round town with

“Charlie” and A⸺ in droschy. Buy a gilt silver salt-cellar of Moscow

work. Nothing to see in the town, which seems well-to-do and substantial.

Get a bath, or rather wash, and four hours’ nap in the waiting-room.

Leave at three P.M. Carriage to ourselves.

In this part of Russia a train consists of one first-class, one

second-class, and, say, fifteen third-class carriages. We find that it

suits us to go first, as we can lie down and go to bed, which is of great

moment in so long a journey. All the seats draw out to form beds, and

the carriages are lined with velvet, have double windows, and every

comfort on board. Pace, twenty miles an hour. _No charge is made for the

children!_ Witebsk at eight P.M.

_May 12th._—Dunaberg at half-past five A.M. Here we find a wretched

station and buffet. They try to persuade us to go to an hotel. We

breakfast at the buffet, and then go by rail some two miles, to the

Dunaberg station of the Warsaw-Riga line. _This move was an inspiration._

Here we found a really magnificent station and buffet. Nothing leaves

till to-morrow at half-past three A.M.—an unearthly hour. We dine

at the buffet, and take one of the bedrooms in the station provided

for travellers _by the Russian Government_. We get a magnificent

_appartement_ for three roubles, with two _beds_! with blankets and

pillows and a sofa. Fortunately, the beds are in alcoves, so I take the

sofa, and we all sleep till three A.M. of the _13th_. We get up, go down

to the station, and at twenty minutes past four A.M. (awful time) start

for Berlin.

Arrive at Wilna at eight A.M. Get to Eydtkuhnen, the Prussian frontier,

at eighteen minutes to two. Here a form of custom-house examination is

gone through. Leave at twenty-two minutes past two, and reach _Berlin_ on

May 14th at ten minutes past six A.M.

We are all dog-tired, dirty, woebegone in the extreme, our luggage

eccentric-looking; and on our arrival in the Hôtel de R⸺, Unter den

Linden, a new and handsome building, we humbly ask for rooms in French.

The head waiter patronisingly informs us that he _hopes_ to give us

rooms, and informs the manager in German that we may be put _anywhere_.

We are taken into the lift and brought to the _third floor_. Two good

rooms are shown us for six and a half marks each room—in all, with extra,

_i. e._ children’s beds, fifteen marks.

When the head waiter sees our piles of luggage arrive, and is asked for

hot coffee, he becomes polite and servile, and tells us he can give us

better rooms on the second or first floors; but we decline to move, sleep

being our first object. We do sleep, but _miss_ the vibration of the

carriage. We go to the _table d’hôte_, and, as we dread strange liquors,

order a bottle of a well-known brand of dry champagne. It appears without

label and without cork carefully frozen. The head waiter glides up, and

remarks in English—

“You will find this a ver fine wine, sar.”

I taste it, and reply—

“You have brought me sugar-water; I asked for wine. Take it away.”

Astonishment of head waiter, who retires with wine, and presently returns

with same sweet mixture in an old labelled and capsuled bottle. I taste,

and point out that the label says “_très sec_,” and the wine is sweet,

in fact, the same as before. He then tells me that the “pore waitre”

has made a mistake, and will have to pay for the wine if I return it.

I retort “that that won’t injure him, as it can’t cost much, and that

it would injure _us_ to drink it.” This to the intense delight of some

German officers.

The waiter then tells me that _he finds_ that they are out of the wine I

want, but _he_ recommends ⸺. I decline to drink it, saying, “I don’t care

for ‘_Schloss weis nicht wo_,’” as I feared getting a second succedaneum.

After a sitting at the lengthy _table d’hôte_ of one hour and a half,

we leave for more sleep. The table was plentiful, but common, and

required a youthful appetite. This we did not possess, and we were both

decidedly seedy for the rest of our stay in Berlin. We merely had our

morning coffee at the hotel, and dined and breakfasted at “Dressel’s,” a

restaurant of European celebrity. The cost was the same, but the wines

and cook were undeniable, the attendance good, and the place select and

quiet, and only some three hundred yards from our hotel in the Unter den

Linden. This evening my neck was cricked, and gave me great pain. We

still could not sleep, missing the jarring of the train. A⸺ and Charlie

quite knocked up. We all are feeling the cold.

_May 15th._—All of us quite knocked up: headaches and sleeplessness, and

want of appetite; in fact, we are getting ill. I went to see the National

Gallery and Altes and Neues Museums. Much pleased with what I saw, but my

cricked neck annoyed me. A⸺ too ill to go out. Our eldest boy, Charlie,

still quite done up.

_May 16th._—Saw the Galleries again, and the wax-works (to which I took

Charlie, who seems nearly himself again)—far better than Tussaud’s.

In the evening we went to the Friedrich Wilhelm’s Theatre, and saw the

‘Piper of Hammelin,’ a so-called comic opera. The singing and acting were

good, but serious in the extreme. The orchestra stalls cost only three

marks (three shillings). Began at half-past seven, over at half-past

ten. The players very respectable, and the audience very quiet and

appreciative; dresses good, _mise-en-scène_ fair, acting equal to that of

English provincials.

_May 17th._—A⸺ much better. Went for drive in morning. Had a good deal

of business to do to get money, and start luggage, etc. At five went to

Zoological Gardens, a fine collection and magnificent gardens, a concert;

fairly good dinner there, price very moderate: lots of guests. Much

pleased. These gardens are open till ten P.M. We returned home by eight.

_May 18th._—Had coffee. Started at ten. Breakfasted at the station.

_Again no charge for the children._ Secured a _coupé_, with

washing-place, etc., to ourselves, after some wrangle with the guard,

having to appeal to the station-master, who decided in my favour

against another claimant, I having placed my hat in the carriage, and

so retained it by travellers’ law, but the guard had removed it and put

other people in. Started at twelve noon for Calais. Speed, forty miles,

including stoppages. Lovely country till we got to the iron region, Essen

(Krupp’s?). Minden particularly pretty.

_May 19th_, one P.M.—Arrive at Calais. Half-past one leave by the Calais

Douvres. Fair sea on, no pitching, but considerable roll. None of our

party sick; only some dozen ill in all on board. A great improvement on

the little boats as to motion. Time, one hundred minutes. Half-past three

leave Dover. Half-past five arrive at Charing Cross Station.

_Home!_ “Alhamdulillah!” (“Thank God!”)

FINIS.

APPENDIX A.

Table of Post Stages and Ordinary Marches from Bushire, Persian Gulf, to

Teheran.

Farsakhs

(3½ to 4 Miles).

Bushire to Ahmedi 6

Thence to Borasjūn 6 Telegraph-office.

” Daliki 6 Guest-house.

” Khonar Takhta 5

” Kamarij 4

” _Kazerūn_ 4 Telegraph-office.

” Mean Kotul 5

” Desht-i-Arjeen 4 Telegraph-office.

” Khana Zinyūn 6

” Chenar Rahdar 6

” _Shiraz_ 2 Telegraph-office.

” Zergūn 6

” _Seidūn_ 7 Telegraph-office.

” Kawamabad 4

” Mūrghab 6

” Dehbeed (the coldest place

in Persia) 6 Telegraph-office.

” Khana Khora 7

” Surmeh 7

” _Abadeh_ 4 Telegraph-office.

” Shūrgistan 6

” _Yzedkhast_ (or Yezdicast) 6

” Maxsūd Beg 5

” _Kūm-i-Shah_ 5 Telegraph-office.

” Mayar 5

” Marg 6

” _Ispahan_ 3 To Telegraph-office, _Julfa_.

” Gez 3

” Mūrchicah 6

” Soh 7 Telegraph-office.

” _Kohrūd_ 6

” _Kashan_ 6½ Telegraph-office.

” Sinsin 6

” Passan Ghūm 6

” _Kūm_ 4 Telegraph-office.

” Pul-i-Dellak 5

” Hauz-i-Sultan 6

” Kanarigird 6

” _Teheran_ 7

Teheran to the Turkish Frontier, _viâ_ Hamadan and Kermanshah.

Teheran to Robad Kerim 7

Thence to Khaniabad 6

” Kūshkek 6

” _Noberand_ 7

” Zerreh 7

” Marahkraba 6

” _Hamadan_ 6 Persian Telegraph-office.

” Syudabad (or Assadabad) 7

” _Kangawar_ 5 Persian-office.

” _Sana_ 6

” Besitūn 4

” _Kermanshah_ 5 Persian-office.

” Myedusht 4

” _Harūnabad_ 7

” Kerind 6 Persian-office (two stages

from Turkish frontier).

Teheran to Resht (Caspian).

Teheran to Meanjūb 5

Thence to Sangerabad 6

” Safarkoja 6

” Abdūlabad 5

” _Kasvin_ 3 Persian Telegraph-office and

so-called Hotel.

” Masreh 7

” Pah Chenar 6

” Menjil 6

” Rustumabad 5

” Kudum 6

” _Resht_ 4

_Resht_ to Peri-bazaar 4

Peri-bazaar to _Enzelli_ (on the Caspian Sea). 5 to 12 hours by boat.

N.B.—Towns and large villages are in italics.

APPENDIX B.

Duration of our Journey from Ispahan to London.

_Time._

Days.

Ispahan to Resht (488 _miles_) (including one day’s

halt at Kashan and one day at Kasvin) 23

Resht to Enzelli 1

Halt in Enzelli waiting for steamer 1

Enzelli to Astrachan (including 22 hours in Bakū) 5

Astrachan (halt of ten hours) to Zaritzin 2

Zaritzin to Berlin 5

Berlin to London, including halt at Berlin 5½

---

42½

===

_Possible time_ for a horseman to do it, including stoppages but _hitting

off_ the steamer, and riding day and night.

Days.

Ispahan to Enzelli (488 _miles_) (including six hours’

delay and rest in Teheran) 4

Enzelli to Berlin 12

Berlin to London thirty-six hours (including delay in Berlin) 1½

---

17½

===

APPENDIX C.

TRAVELLING IN PERSIA.

In taking servants, take men who have travelled before: men who know

their business, and to whom travelling is no trial, soon learn _their_

duties and _your_ ways, and after the second stage do all that they have

to do with great regularity. Men who may be good servants in a city, on

the road if they have never marched are _quite_ helpless—they are for

ever tumbling off their mules, dropping and leaving things behind, always

tired, always asleep, and ever grumbling. Drop them as soon as you find

them out, let some one else have the pain of breaking them in and making

men of them. An old man (or middle-aged one) who has never travelled is

hopeless; a boy _may_ learn.

The cook should be a good one and one who is used to the road, and a man

of even temper. Pity and spare him, for his trials are many—all day on

his mule, the rest of the twenty-four hours in the smoke and blowing up

a fire of, as a rule, damp wood, he barely gets his well-earned rest of

four hours. Promise him a good present on the arrival at destination,

humour him, let him make a little profit, and let him give _you_ his

accounts. Make him _always_ have hot water and soup ready, and always

cold fowl or meat in his bags, and he should be prepared to cook a hot

breakfast at an instant’s notice in twenty minutes on a bare desert

plain, with the wood and water he has with him, and _without shelter of

any kind_.

In choosing a horse for the road it must be remembered that beauty is

nothing. Great strength and health with _quick and easy walking powers

are needed, and a smooth action_; the beast should be in good health,

with a _healthy back_ and clean feet, and a good feeder; he above all

things should have a long stride and no tendency to trot; his paces being

a walk, an amble, and a canter, he should not be lazy or a puller; his

temper should be good, that he may be taken near the mules; and unless he

be sure-footed, and _never cuts_, he is useless for marching purposes. He

should not be too young or at all delicate, the more of a cob he is the

better; greys should be avoided, and above all white hoofs, or even one

white hoof.

He should be shod the day before leaving, but _the hoof left as long

as possible_. The Dayrell bridle, being also a head-stall, is good for

marching.

In starting it is very needful to secure a respectful and respectable

muleteer, and having got him, to protect him from the exaction of ten per

cent. of his total hire by the servants; let him feel that you are his

friend.

All the kit _that is required on the journey_, as tables, chairs, food,

clothes, and liquor, should be on one or two mules, not all mixed up _on

many_, with things that are not needed till the journey’s end.

On the groom’s mule (which should be a good one in order to come in with

the master’s horses) should be all the horse-clothing, head and heel

ropes, etc., and _full_ nose-bags, so that the horses may get a good feed

on arrival (of chaff).

With the cook’s should be _all_ their kit, a little _dry_ fire-wood,

knives and forks, and tea: with the head-man on a _good horse_, a snack,

water, wine, matches, money, and a big whip, and the rugs and wraps. A

whip is needful, as one is liable to be mobbed or insulted.

A good supply of tinned provisions should be taken, dried fruits, rice,

flour, sago, tinned milk, and chocolate and milk, and some soups and

vegetables in tins. The wine should be strong, to bear dilution. One

bottle of brandy we took as a medicine; it arrived unopened.

In the foods the great thing is to get variety. Butter should be melted

and run into a champagne bottle for cooking purposes, while fresh

and good butter may be bought in each large town and carried in tins

_salted_, for four stages, or more if in winter.

Small tent carpets are needed, large ones are useless, and two small ones

are better than one of larger size, as they fit in better, or carpet two

rooms. A small broom is needful. Copper pots for cooking, and enamelled

iron cups and tin plates as being less bulky than copper are required.

Bottles when emptied should be _repacked_ to avoid smashes; all bottles

should be in straw envelopes. Short carriage candles are good and need no

candlesticks—being thick they stand upright.

A table should be made of a board three feet long by two and a half wide,

with a cross piece near each end underneath; this is merely laid on cross

trestles held together by a string.

Folding chairs, _not camp stools_, should be taken, and they should be

strong and covered merely with canvas; thick stuff gets wet, and keeps

so. The best chair is with a buckle, so as to raise for dining, or lower

for lounging; by putting on a movable foot-piece of two small iron rods

and a bit of canvas, a fair and very comfortable bedstead is produced,

and no mattress needed. No mattresses should ever be used, but as coarse

chaff is procurable everywhere, large bags should be taken, the size of a

mattress, half filled with it, and shaken down; these beds are warm (and

cool in hot weather), fairly soft, and hold no insects. Pillows must be

carried; linen pillow-cases are best.

All “jims,” such as naphtha stoves, spirit lamps, air cushions, cork

mattresses, iron bedsteads, are practically useless, as they are either

so light as to smash, or so heavy as to be a nuisance. _Everything should

be of the commonest and strongest materials._

Bullock trunks are the best kind of clothes box, but should have no

straps (the straps are always stolen), but strong brass hasps for two

padlocks for each trunk are a very good thing, as locks sometimes open

from a severe jar. As for bed-clothes, sheets are a great comfort; I

never travelled without them; they should be also carried through Russia.

Red or Vienna coloured blankets are the best, and should be carried in

a “mafrash band,” or big carpet waterproof trunk; the carpets should be

laid over all, and these with the man on top of them keep the bedding

dry. These mafrash bands serve also to hold all odds and ends.

Bread should be taken on from each stage, as it may not be got or be

very bad at the next, and when not wanted is gratefully accepted by the

servants. A double supply should be got at each large town, as it is

always good there.

At the big towns, too, very good “bazaar Kabobs” of chopped meat (they

are eaten hot), also biscuits and dried fruits, may be had. The tea must

be Indian, as that sold in Persia is very inferior.

Milk, as a rule, can only be got at sunset, and a tin or two of it is

useful.

It is always better to go to a post-house, or chupper-khana, than to a

caravanserai, as the noise of mules and camels is avoided, and the loud

cries which resound on the arrival or departure of a caravan, which

generally takes place at midnight or dawn.

Avoid night travelling if you can, but if you must do it, _always start

before midnight_. When alone and unarmed keep within hail of your

caravan, or keep at least one servant with you. It is easy to miss both

caravan and road. If you have a swift horse it does not much matter.

See that your horses get their corn, and _that they eat it_; also that

they are rubbed down when unsaddled, and are properly groomed two hours

after feeding; also watered night and morning. Examine their backs,

shoes, and hoofs each morning, _and never take your groom’s word as to

backs_.

Insist on your saddlery, stirrups, and bits being bright each day.

Carry a big hunting crop and lash; even if you don’t mean to use it, the

sight of it prevents rudeness. Unless the part you are in is disturbed,

arms are as a rule needless.

Boots and breeches are only needed in autumn and winter, otherwise

Bedford cord trousers, or pantaloons, and shoes are better; no straps.

Boots, if worn, should be _very large_, with low heels, and well greased

daily with resin ointment, or Holloway’s.

Spurs save one’s temper and arms with a very lazy horse, but otherwise

are a nuisance.

A knife with corkscrew and straight blade, a tin-opening blade, and a

leather-borer, is a good and needful thing.

Money should never be carried; one’s servant should keep it, save a few

kerans.

In very cold weather it is as well to put on a big pair of coarse country

socks _over_ one’s boots, and to twist a bit of sheepskin, with the hair

on, round the stirrup iron; these precautions keep the feet warm.

A sun hat or topi is of the first necessity; also thick and strong

_loose-fitting_ gloves (old ones are best) of buckskin.

A change of trousers or breeches, in case of a soaking, should be kept

with the head servant, who should always have matches. Bryant and May’s

are the best, and with three of their matches a cigar or pipe can

be lit _in any wind_: they sell a tin outer match-box which is very

useful, as one cannot crush the box; this, with one’s knife, pipe and

pocket-handkerchief, should be one’s only personal load.

Oxford shirts, grey merino socks, and a cardigan of dark colour, complete

the equipment; the last is a _sine quâ non_.

A Norfolk jacket is best for outer garment. No tight-fitting thing is of

any use.

On arrival tea should be the first thing, the kettle being got under

way at once; then carpets spread, chairs and table brought, mattresses

filled and laid, beds made, and fire lit if cold. Make tea _yourself_ in

your KETTLE, and make it strong; never let your servants make it, as they

either steal the tea or put it in _before_ the water is boiling, so that

_they_ may get a good cup, and _you_, of course, get wash.

A Persian lantern should be taken of tin and linen (this shuts up) for

visiting the stable at night, and another for the cook to use.

Water should always be carried both to quench thirst, and for a small

supply lest at the next stage water be bad or salt.

Smoked goggles are a necessity.

A puggree of white muslin should be used for day marching.

A big brass cup can be taken in a leather case on the head servant’s

saddle-bow; it acts as cup or basin.

No English lamps should be used, as they always get out of order.

It is wise before starting to see that the cook’s copper utensils are all

_tinned_ inside. A copper sponge-bath and wash-basin are needed. Plates

and dishes all of _tinned copper_.

A few nails are required to nail up curtains, stop holes, etc.

APPENDIX D.

RUSSIAN GOODS VERSUS ENGLISH.

THE KARŪN RIVER ROUTE—THE BEST MEANS OF REACHING THE COMMERCIAL

CENTRES OF PERSIA—OPINIONS OF EXPERTS—WISHES OF MERCHANTS.

Colonel Bateman Champain, R.E., in a paper read before the Royal

Geographical Society, January 15, 1883, after estimating the population

of Persia at six millions, gives among the products of the country,

“grains of all kinds, cotton, tobacco, silk, opium, fruits, dates,

wool, hides, carpets, rugs, and an immense variety of the luxuries and

necessaries of life. There is, on the other hand, a large demand for

cloth, cotton fabrics, sugar, tea, coffee, and all the innumerable

comforts called for by a moderately civilised community.” He then goes

on to state, “that the great proportion of these articles are imported

_from or through Russia_” and that “it is but too evident that Russian

manufactures are steadily superseding British wares at Ispahan, and even

in the Persian markets south of that centre.” Colonel Champain then

proceeds to notice the various proposed means for reaching the commercial

centres of Persia; and after pointing out their disadvantages, draws the

attention of the Society to the proposed route _viâ_ the Karūn River.

General Sir F. Goldsmid, after corroborating the statements of Colonel

Champain as to the roads, spoke of railways in the future through Persia,

particularly a complete railway between England and India; said that

“failing the project of the great Indian railway, which could not be

carried out _for many years, nothing could be better_ than the proposed

communication, partly by water and partly by road, _viâ_ Ahwaz to Ispahan

and Teheran” (the Karūn River route).

Mr. G. S. Mackenzie, after some prefatory remarks, recounted how he

started from Mohammera (to which place goods may be taken by _ocean_

steamers), on the 27th July, 1878, in the steamer _Karūn_ of 120 tons,

built for Hadji Jabar Khan, Governor of Mohammera, at a cost of 6000_l._;

in twenty-three hours Mr. Mackenzie arrived at Ahwaz, without the steamer

either bumping or grounding, and he ascertained that at the lowest season

the river is navigable. At Ahwaz the river is blocked by rapids for about

1100 _yards_ as the crow flies, but (a canal _or_) a tramway of some 1600

_yards_ would reach the open portion of the river; thence Captain Selby,

in the Indian steamer _Assyria_, succeeded in ascending to within five

miles of Shuster (and also he steamed up the Diz River to within one mile

of Dizful). From Shuster to Ispahan is 266 miles, or twelve ordinary mule

stages.

The time taken by _goods_ in reaching Ispahan from Mohammera _by river

is_,

Days. hrs.

By steamer to Ahwaz 0 23

By transshipment by (_train_ or) mules 0 4

Thence to Shuster by river, say fifty miles 0 12

By caravan to Ispahan (allowing one day’s _detention_) 13 0

-------

14 15

The present route is from Bushire to Ispahan (while

from a week’s to a fortnight’s delay at Shiraz is

generally experienced in getting fresh mules) 23 0

-------

_Certain difference_ 8 9

=======

_Or probably (on account of delay at Shiraz)_ 18 0

The land journey (the chief of the Bakhtiaris being favourable, of which

there is no doubt) resolves itself to a journey over an ordinary Persian

mule track, no worse than the old one from Bushire to Shiraz, while _as

it passes through a good grazing country, hire would be cheaper_.

After some remarks in praise of Russia from Col. C. E. Stewart, Mr.

Russell Shaw, having a general experience of railways, and having

actually surveyed a proposed line from Baghdad to the Persian frontier,

disposed of the various costly and ideal schemes of railways for Persia;

and suggested the feasibility of reaching Persia from India.

The President, after a few general remarks, in which he wished well to

large schemes of railway extension through Persia, _in the far distant

future_, “thought it had been CLEARLY DEMONSTRATED THAT IT WAS POSSIBLE,

AT A VERY SMALL COST, TO GET A ROUTE INTO THAT PART OF PERSIA WHERE ALONE

ENGLISHMEN COULD HOPE SUCCESSFULLY TO COMPETE WITH RUSSIANS.”

The President stated that, “It was clear that if she (Persia) would offer

no obstacles, the route up the Karūn would very soon be made practicable;

and he could not but think that if it were steadily pressed upon the

Persian Government, the desired result would be obtained.”

He concluded with well-deserved compliments to Colonels Champain and

Smith, and Mr. Mackenzie.

It is a question whether the valuable commercial interests of this

country in Persia receive the attention they deserve. Why do we not try

to imitate Russia in opening the marts of Persia? She has done so till

the word “Russian” has come to mean “_anything foreign_”! Why do not we

insist on the _Karūn River_ being thrown open to British enterprise?

Russia is a civilising influence, a rough one, perhaps, but still a

civilising influence: and she is civilising the Turkoman.

The export of opium alone in 1881 was 924,000 lbs., which at 16_s._ a

lb.—an ordinary price—is 739,200_l._; and _were Persia thrown open to

English enterprise_, this sum would have been sent there, not in specie,

_but in Manchester manufactured goods, etc._

I have good authority for stating that England is the only country

admitting the produce of Persia duty free; as opium, wool, cotton (and

good cotton), carpets, grain, dates, galls, gums.

Persia gives nothing in the way of facilities in return, for Russian

influence is too strong, and under that influence, or from her own

tortuous policy, she keeps the southern route, _viâ_ the Karūn River,

closed to English enterprise.

But the principal difficulty that the English merchant has to contend

against, is the difficulty he has _as an Englishman_ to recover debts,

and whether this be impotence or policy on the part of those in

authority, the fact remains, and has necessitated the withdrawal of

important English establishments from Ispahan and Shiraz. The tact or

energy of Her Majesty’s representatives at Teheran and Bushire is not to

be doubted; but Downing Street seems to order a “masterly inactivity” or

“an expectant attitude.” At Teheran we have a Minister Plenipotentiary

and a Vice Consul, with the usual staff of a Legation; at Tabriz and

Bushire, Consuls-General: but at Kermanshah, Hamadan, Ispahan, Shiraz,

Yezd, and Kerman, _all great commercial centres_, we have only _native_

agents; these men _exercise no influence_, and are held in contempt by

natives and Europeans alike, _as powerless_. At times, however, the

_native_ (or British) agent has real influence, mostly personal: as in

the case of Mirza Hassan Ali Khan, C.I.E., our late agent at Shiraz. WE

WANT _English Consuls_ to protect us and our trade, say the merchants,

and then the opening of the Karūn River: without these Persia as a mart

is closed to English enterprise, and becomes _the monopoly of Russia_.

GLOSSARY OF PERSIAN WORDS,

HAVING THE TRANSLITERATION OF THE ORIENTAL SCHOLAR JOHNSON AFFIXED IN

PARENTHESES TO MOST WORDS. WHERE NO PARENTHESES OCCUR, THE SAME WAY OF

WRITING THE WORD AS THAT SCHOLAR IS EMPLOYED.

ABBA, ABBAH (_abā_).—A long, sleeveless, square-cut cloak,

generally of camel-hair—much worn by priests.

AB-I-RŪKHNI (_ābi rukni_).—The Spring of Rukhni (Rooknabad,

Moore).

AB KHORI (_āb khūrī_).—A watering bit.

ACHŌN (_ākhūn_).—A schoolmaster.

AGHA, AGA (_āghā_).—A lord, a master.

AHŪ (_āhū_).—An antelope.

AID-I-NO RŪZ (_aidi naw roz_).—New Year’s Day.

ALANGŪ.—A bangle (of glass).

ALEPH, ALEF (_alaf_).—A grain, grass, or forage-seller.

ALHAMDULILLAH (_al hamdu li’llāh_).—Thank God. Praise to God.

ALKALŪK, ALKALŌOK (_alkhálik_).—An inner quilted tunic.

ALŪ BALŪ (_ālū bālū_).—A cherry.

ALŪ BOKHARA (_ālū Bokhara_).—A kind of small acid plum.

AMĀN, AMAUN (_amān_).—Mercy!

ANDERŪN (_andarūn_).—The harem. Women’s quarters.

ASP-I-NO-ZIN (_aspi naw zīn_).—A horse just fit for the saddle.

BADINJON (_bādinjān_).—The aubergine or brinjal.

BADRAGHA (_badraka_).—A riding out with a departing guest.

BAGGALI (_baghalī_).—Native glass bottles.

BAKKAL (_bakkāl_).—A general dealer.

BAMIAH.—The ladies’-finger (a vegetable).

BALA KHANA (_bālā khāna_).—An upper room, hence balcony.

BANDER (_banda_).—Literally, a slave. I (by courtesy used).

BAZAAR (_bāzār_).—A collection of shops (the road between which

is usually covered).

BAZAAR KABOB (_bāzār kabāb_).—Minced and seasoned meat toasted.

BĀZĀRCHA BULAND.—The lofty bazaar.

BAZŪ-BAND (_bāzū-band_).—An armlet (generally containing a

talisman).

BAZZAZ.—A shopkeeper.

BELLI (_balē_).—Yes.

BERO (_bi-ro_).—Go! (Imperative).

BERŪNI (_birūni_).—The outer (or men’s) apartments.

BEZUN (_bi-zan_).—Beat! (Imperative).

BHUTA (_bota_).—Camel-thorn, brushwood.

BISMILLAH (_bismi’llāh_).—In the name of God!

BORIO (_būrīy_).—A kind of coarse matting.

BRILLIĀN (_biryān_).—Minced and spiced meat sold cooked in the

bazaar.

BULBUL (pronounced _Bull Bull_).—A nightingale.

BŪRAK.—A small meat pie.

BUTCHA, BATCHA (_bacha_).—Child! (Mode of addressing servants,

equivalent to the Anglo-Indian, boy!)

CAFSH-DOOZ. _See_ KAFSH-DOOZ.

CAH (_See_ KAH).—Cut straw.

CAJAWEH. _See_ KAJAWEH.

CALAAT. _See_ KALAAT.

CALAM-I-RUMI. _See_ KALAM-I-RUMI.

CANAĀT. _See_ KANAAT.

CANJAR. _See_ KANJAR.

CARAVANSERAI. _See_ KARAVANSERAI.

CHADŪR (_chādar_).—An outer woman’s veil.

CHAI (_chā_).—Tea (used throughout Russia and the East).

CHARGĀT (_chargāt_).—A square headkerchief.

CHEHEL SITOON (_chihal-sitūn_).—“The Forty Columns.”

CHEKMEH-DOOZ (_Chakmah dūz_).—A boot-maker.

CHENAR (_chanār_).—A plane-tree.

CHERRAGH (_charāgh_).—A lamp (in form and principle that of the

early classic one).

CHICK (_chīgh_).—A fly blind.

CHILLAW (_chulāw_).—Plain boiled rice.

CHOCOLAH (_chaghāla_).—Green fruit when very small.

CHUPPAO (_chāpū_).—A raid on horseback.

CHUPPER (_chār pā_).—A mounted post (a quadruped), posting.

CHUPPERKHANA (_chār pā khāna_).—A posting-house.

COLAH. _See_ KOLAH.

COORJIN. _See_ KOORJĪN.

COORSHID. _See_ KŪRSHID.

COSSIB. _See_ KOSSIB.

DANAH (_dahanah_).—A curb-ring bit.

DAR (_dār_).—A gallows, the execution pole.

DELAK (_dallāk_).—A barber, a bath attendant.

DELLEH.—A kind of weasel (? _Mustela sarmatica_).

DEYEEREH (_dayyīrah_).—A tambourine.

DILGOOSHA (_dil-ku-shāy_).—“Heartsease,” name of a garden at

Shiraz.

DOLMA (_dūlmah_).—A kind of sweet or flavoured pudding of rice

or meat.

DOOGH (_dogh_).—Buttermilk, curds and water.

DOZD (_duzd_).—A thief.

DOZD GAH (_duzd-gāh_).—A place of thieves.

DUBBEH (_dabbah_).—A repented and repudiated bargain.

DYAH (_dāya_).—A wet nurse.

FAL (_fāl_).—A lot, an omen (_sortes_), pronounced fahl.

FARNOOSE (_fānūs_).—A cylindrical lantern.

FARRASH, FERASH (_farāsh_).—A carpet-spreader.

FARRASH (_ferash_)-BASHI.—Lit. chief carpet-spreader.

FARSAKH.—A distance of from three and a half to four miles, the

hour’s march of a loaded mule, the parasang of Xenophon.

FARSH.—A carpet of any kind.

FELLAK, FELLEK (_fallak_).—A pole having a noose attached

to hold the feet for the application of “the sticks” (or

bastinado).

FERAMOOSH-KHANA (_farāmush khana_).—The (lit.) house of

forgetfulness, a masonic lodge.

FIZINJAN (_fizinjān_).—A dish flavoured with condensed

pomegranate juice and pounded walnuts.

FURDER INSH’ALLAH (_fardā Insh’allāh_).—“Please God to-morrow.”

GELAS (_gelās_).—A white-heart cherry.

GELIM (_gilīm_).—A common kind of carpet.

GERMAK (_garmak_).—A small early melon.

GEZANJABINE (_gazangubīn_).—Manna, or nougat.

GHEVA (_gewa_).—A summer shoe described at p. 190.

GHOLAM (_ghulām_).—A mounted servant, lit. a slave, an

irregular cavalry-man.

GOJA (_gaujah_).—A small green plum.

GŌMPEZAH (_gōmbeza_).—A dome.

GOOR KHUR (_gor khar_).—The wild ass.

GŪL (_gul_).—A flower.

GŪL ANAR (_guli nār_).—Pomegranate flower.

GŪL-I-SOORKH (_guli surkh_).—The moss rose from which the attār

is made.

GŪMRŪK (_gumruk_).—A custom-house.

GŪMRŪKJI (_gumruk-chi_).—A custom-house officer, or farmer of

customs.

GUNGE (_ganj_).—A treasure.

GUNGIFEH (_ganjīfa_).—Playing cards.

HAKIM (_hakīm_).—A physician.

HAKIM-BASHI (_hakīm bashi_).—The chief physician.

HAMMAL (_hammāl_).—A porter.

HAMMAM (_hammām_).—A bath similar to the Turkish bath.

HARRH (_harr_).—Rabid.

HASSIN or HASSEEN (_hasīn_).—A pan.

HASSIR (_hasīr_).—A kind of fine matting.

HAUZ (_hawz_).—A tank generally of stone and raised above the

ground-level.

HENNA (_hinnā_).—A vegetable dye used on hair, hands, and feet.

HINDIWANA (_hinduwānah_).—A water-melon.

HISSAM U SULTANEH (_Husām us Sultana_).—The _Sharp Sword_ of

the State (a title that was given to the late uncle of the

Shah).

HOOJRAH (_hajrah_).—An office, or bureau.

HUC (_hak_).—A share, the dervishes’ cry.

HUKHM (_hukm_).—An order.

IMĀD-U-DOWLET (_Imad ud Dawla_).—A title, viz. the Pillar of

the State.

IMAM (_imām_).—A saint.

IRAN (_Īrān_).—Persia.

ISTIKHBAL (_istikbāl_).—A riding out to meet an arriving guest

or personage.

ISTIKHARA (_istiharat_).—Omens (taking), chances.

ITIZAD-U-SULTANEH (_Itizād us Saltanah_).—A title, viz. the

Support of the State.

JAI-SHEER (_jayshīr_).—Wild celery.

JEJIM (_jājim_).—A thin kind of travelling carpet.

JIKA (_jīgha_).—A jewel worn on the head by women. The royal

hat ornament of feathers and diamonds.

JŪL (_jall_).—A portion of horse-clothing.

JŪNIVER (_jānwār_).—A wild animal, an animal.

KABAB or KABOB (_kabāb_).—A roast or toasted meat.

KAFFIR (_kāfir_).—An infidel (a term of reproach).

KAFSH.—A shoe.

KAFSH-DOOZ (_kafsh-doz_).—A shoe- or slipper-maker.

KAFTEH-BAZI (_kaftār_).—Pigeon-flying.

KAH (_kāh_).—Cut straw.

KAH GIL (_kāh gil_).—Clay and straw mixed for plastering.

KAHTAM (_khātam_).—Inlaid work like Tonbridge ware.

KAJAWEH (_kajāwa_).—A covered horse pannier.

KALAAT (_khalat_).—A robe (or other token) of honour.

KALAM-DAN (_kalamdān_).—A pen-case.

KALAM-I-RUMI (_kallami-Rumi_).—Lit. Turkish cabbage.

KALI (_kālī_).—A carpet having a pile.

KALIAN, KALLIAN, CALIAN (_kalyūn_, _kalyān_).—A water-pipe or

hubble-bubble.

KALLEHPUZ (_kallapaz_).—Sheep’s head- and trotter-boiler.

KANAAT, KANAT, CANAĀT (_kanāt_).—An underground channel for

irrigating.

KANARA (_kanāra_).—A side carpet.

KANJAR (_khanjar_).—A curved dagger.

KARAVANSERAI (_karavān-serai_).—A public rest-house for

caravans; a khan.

KARBĪZA (_kharbuza_).—A melon.

KARKOOL (_kakūl_).—A long lock of hair by which Mahommed is

supposed to draw the believer up into paradise.

KASHANG.—A beau, lit. beautiful.

KAWAM.—A prefect.

KEEAL (_kayal_).—A cucumber.

KEESA, KEESEH (_kisa_).—A hair glove used in the bath.

KEISI (_kayzi_ ?).—Dried apricots.

KEMMERBUND (_kamar-band_).—A belt, or sash.

KENDIL (_kindīl_).—A votive offering of peculiar shape,

generally of copper or other metal.

KENNEH (? _kannah_).—A camel- or sheep-tick.

KETKHODA (_kat-khudā_).—The head-man of a parish or village.

KHAN (_Khān_).—A conferred title, which _descends to_ all

children—_now_ very common: in the second generation equal to

Esquire.

KHĀNUM (_khānam_).—A lady.

KHOK BER SER UM (_khāk bar sar-am_).—Ashes on my head.

KHOLAR (? _kolar_).—A kind of wine of Shiraz.

KHYAT (_khayyāt_).—A tailor.

KOHL.—Black antimony, eye paint.

KOLAH (_kulah_).—A hat.

KOLAJAH (_kulījah_).—An outer coat for men or women.

KOOMPEZEH, KUMBIZA (_kumbīza_).—A species of cucumber.

KOORISHT (_khūrish_).—A savoury dish, a ragout.

KOORJIN, COORJIN (_khwur-chīn_).—Saddle-bags.

KOSH GUZERAN (_khwush guzārān_).—A free liver.

KOSSIB, COSSIB (_kasb_).—A craftsman.

KOTOL.—An effigy.

KOTUL (_kutal_).—A mountain pass, lit. a ladder.

KUMMER, KAMMER (_kammah_).—A straight hiltless sword or dirk,

with a broad blade.

KŪMRAH (_khumra_).—A wine (or other) jar.

KŪRBĀGHAH.—A frog.

KŪRSHID (_khūrshīd_).—The sun with rays of light.

KŪRSI (_kūrsī_).—A small platform used to cover a fire-pot, a

chair.

KUTTL-I-AUM (_katli ām_).—A general massacre.

LAHAF (_lihāf_).—A quilted coverlid.

LALLAH (_lālā_).—A male nurse.

LANJIN, LANJEEN.—An earthen pan.

LATIFEH (_latīfeh_ ?).—A courtezan, a Persian court card.

LODAH, LODEH (_lawda_).—A pannier for grapes.

LŪTI (_lūtī_).—A buffoon, a scamp, a thief.

MACHRORE (_makrūh_).—Lit. detestable, but yet not illicit;

things not to be eaten, but yet _not_ unclean; _i. e._ not an

unlawful thing, but one which had better be avoided.

MAIDĀN (_maydān_, _mīdān_).—The public square. A distance about

a furlong.

MAKHMŪN SHUD UM (_makhmūn shudam_).—I am deceived.

MALLAGH (?).—A tumbler pigeon, a summersault.

MAMBAR (_mimbar_).—A pulpit.

MANGAL (_munkul_).—A brazier.

MASH’ALLAH (_Māshā’llah_).—Lit. What God pleases! A phrase used

when praising, to avoid _evil eye_.

MAST (_māst_).—Curdled milk (Turkish, yaourt).

MAUND (_man_).—A Persian weight of nearly seven, or nearly

fourteen pounds.

MEANA (_miyāna_).—The middle. The middle tube of the water-pipe.

MEHDRESSEH (_medresseh_; Arabic, _madrasat_).—A college.

MEJLIS (_majlas_).—An assembly, a reception.

MIL, MEEL (_mayl_).—A column, a watch-tower.

MIR-ACHOR (_mīr-ākhur_).—Master of the horse, the.

MIR-SHIKAR (_mīr-shikār_).—Chief huntsman, the.

MIRZA (_mīrzā_).—One who can write, a clerk, a secretary, a

gentleman. As an affix equals “Prince.”

MOAALIM (_mwallīm_).—A schoolmaster.

MODAKEL (_mudākhil_).—_Illicit_ percentage, “cabbage.”

MOHULLA (_mahallah_).—A street, a parish.

MONAJEM (_munajjam_).—An astrologer.

MOR (_muhr_).—A seal, a piece, as at draughts, etc.

MŪLLA, MOOLLAH (_mūllā_).—A priest.

MŪNSHI, MOONSHEE (_munshī_).—A secretary, a clerk.

MURSHED (_murshid_).—A chief of dervishes, or of a sect or

guild.

MŪSCHIR (_mushīr al mulk_).[38]—The principal revenue officer

of Fars.

MŪSHTAHED (_Mujtahid_).—A teacher of law.

MUST (_mast_).—Lit. drunk. The state of excitement of the

camel, etc.

MUTLUB (_matlab_).—The pith, or meaning (of a letter).

NAIB (_naīb_).—A deputy, a post-house keeper.

NAKSH.—A kind of embroidery. _See_ p. 131.

NAMMAD (_namad_).—A felt (of various kinds).

NAMMAK (_namak_).—Beauty of a brunette, high colour.

NARGHIL (_nārjīl_).—A cocoa-nut, a kind of water-pipe.

NAWALLA (?).—Balls of flour given to horses and camels.

NAZIR (_nāzir_).—A steward.

NEH (_nay_).—A reed, a spear, a flute.

NEH-PEECH (_nay-pīch_).—The flexible tube of a water-pipe.

NEJIS (_najīs_).—Unclean.

NOBER (_nawba_).—First-fruits.

NOKER (_nawkar_).—A servant.

NUFFUS (_nafs_).—Breath.

OOTOO (_atw_).—An iron.

OOTOO KESH (_atw-kash_).—An ironer.

ORŪSSĒE (_ūrūsī_).—Lit. Russian, _i. e._ foreign. A Russian

(-shaped), _i. e._ foreign shoe, a _raisable_ window, a room

having a raisable window, etc.

PALENG (_palank_).—A panther.

PALLIKEE (_pālkī_?).—A mule pannier to _ride_ in.

PANE (_pa-in_).—Dried horse-dung.

PEILEWAN, PEHLIWAN (_pahlevān_).—A wrestler.

PEISH-KESH (_pīsh-kash_).—An offering to obtain favour (a

nominal present).

PEISH KHIDMUT (_pīsh khidmat_).—A head table-servant.

PEISH-WAZ (_pīsh-wāz_).—Lit. a going out to meet.

PERHĀN, PERAHĀN (_pīrahan_).—A shirt (for man, woman, or horse).

PIDER-SAG (_pidar sag_).—Son of a dog! (Lit. O dog-fathered

one!)

PILLAW, PILAW (_palāw_).—Rice boiled with butter.

PŪLAD (_pūlād_).—Art steel-work. Damascened iron.

RAMMAL (_rammāl_).—A conjuring mountebank and finder of

treasure, a diviner. _See_ p. 120.

RANGRAZ (_rang-rez_).—A dyer.

RASSIANAH (_rāziyānah_).—Anise plant, the.

REICH-I-BABA (_rīsh-i-Baba_).—A grape called “Old man’s beard.”

REIS-I-SEEM (_rais_).—Lit. master of the wire, _i. e._

Telegraph superintendent.

RESHT-I-BEHESHT (_Risht-i-Bihisht_ ?).—Glory or brightness of

heaven.

RIVEND (_rīwand_).—Rhubarb.

ROSEH KHANA (_rosah-khānah_).—A prayer-meeting, etc.

RUBANDA (_rū-band_).—A (face) veil.

RUSHWAH (_rishwat_).—Lit. manure, _i. e._ a bribe.

RYOT (_ra-īyat_).—A subject, a tiller of the earth, a villager.

SAG.—A dog, a cur, a term of abuse.

SAHIB (_sāhib_).—Lit. owner; Sir, Mr. (to an European).

SĀLE AB (_sayl ab_).—Rise of the waters.

SANDALLI (_sandalī_).—A chair.

SANG.—Lit. a stone, _i. e._ a weight.

SANGAK.—A kind of bread. _See_ p. 334.

SANTOOR, SANTŪR (_santīr_ or _santūr_).—Harmonicon.

SARHANG.—A colonel.

SEGAH (_sīgha_).—A concubine.

SER-ANDAZ (_sar-andāz_).—That (carpet) laid over the head (of

the room).

SER-KASHIK-JI-BASHI (_sar-kashīkchi bāshī_).—Chief of the guard.

SEROFF (_sarrāf_).—A banker, a money-changer.

SHAH (_Shāh_).—The King.

SHAHZADEH (_Shāh-zāda_).—Lit. born of a King, _i. e._ Prince

(or descendant of a Prince or King).

SHARGIRD-CHUPPER (_shāgird-chāpār_).—A posting guide.

SHATIR (_shātir_).—A running footman.

SHATRUNJ (_shatrang_).—Chess.

SHATUR.—A wrinkle.

SHEERA (_shīra_).—Condensed grape sugar.

SHEMR (_Shimar_).—The slayer of the martyr Houssein.

SHERBET (_sharbat_).—Syrup—generally fruit syrup—syrup and

water.

SHERBET-DAR (_sharbat-dār_).—A servant who makes ices, etc.

SHIKARI (_shikārī_).—A huntsman.

SHIREH-KHANA (? _shīra-khāna_).—A wine-factory.

SHITŪR (_shatūr_).—A wrinkle (of a carpet, etc.).

SHUB-KOLAH (_shab-kulah_).—A night-hat (or cap).

SHUKKER PARA (_shakar-pāra_).—A kind of very sweet apricot

(lit. a lump of sugar).

SHUL-BERF (_shal [?] bāf_).—Loosely woven.

SHULWAR (_shalwār_).—Trousers, breeches, petticoats.

SHUMA (_shumā_).—You.

SOORKI, SORKI (_sākī_).—(Classical) a cupbearer.

SUFRAH.—A sheet of stuff or leather spread on ground to dine

off.

SUNGAK. _See_ SANGAK.

SYUD, SEYD (_sayyid_).—A descendant of Mahommed.

TAGER (_tājir_).—A merchant.

TAKHJA (_tākchah_).—A recess in the wall a yard from the

ground, a niche.

TAKHT.—A throne, a bedstead, a sofa, a platform.

TAKHT-I-NADIR (_takhti-Nadir_).—Backgammon. (Nādir Shah’s

favourite game.)

TAKHT-I-PUL.—A kind of backgammon.

TAKHT-ROWAN (_takhti-ravanda_).—Lit. a _flowing_ or _running_

bed, _i. e._ a horse-litter.

TALÁR (_tālār_).—A lofty verandah, an arched room open at one

end.

TAMASHA (_tamāsha_).—A show, a sight, a spectacle.

TANNOOR, TANNŪR, TANDOOR (_tannūr_).—An oven.

TARR (_tār_).—A guitar-like banjo.

TATAR (Turkish).—A gholam, a post rider, a courier.

TAZZIA (_Ta-ziyah_).—The religious dramas or miracle plays.

TAZZIE (_tāzi_).—A greyhound.

TELEET (? _talīt_).—A mixture of grass and cut straw for horse

feed.

TELISM (_tilism_).—A talisman.

TERIAK (_tiryak_).—Opium.

TERIAKDAN (_tiryak-dan_).—An opium pill-box.

TERIAKMALI (_tiryak-māli_).—Rubbing (_i. e._ preparation of)

opium.

TERKESH-DOOZ (_tarkash-doz_).—A quiver-maker, a saddler.

TOMAN, TOMAUN (_tomān_).—Ten kerans (7_s._ 6_d._), a gold coin.

TOOLAH (_tūla_).—A sporting dog.

TOORBESAH, TOORBIZA (_turbuza_).—A radish.

TOOTOON (_tūtan_).—Tobacco for the chibouque.

TŪMBAK (_tumbak_).—A kind of drum.

TŪMBAKU (_tumbākū_).—Tobacco used for the kalian or water-pipe.

TŪMBŪN (_tumban_).—Petticoats (made as very loose drawers).

UMBAR (_ambār_).—A cellar or store-room, a go-down.

ŪTŪ or OOTOO (_atw_).—An iron (flat or otherwise).

UTU-KESH (_atw kash_).—An ironer.

VAKEEL-U-DOWLEH (_wakīl ud Dawlah_).—An agent of Government;

the empty title given to native newswriters, who are _supposed_

to act as English Consuls, and whose offices are _sinecures_.

YABŪ (_yābū_).—A pony, a common horse, a horse.

YAHŪ (?).—A kind of common house pigeon.

YAKHJAL (_Yakh-chāl_).—An ice-store; a pond (and wall) for

making ice.

YAOURT (Turkish).—Curdled milk, (Persian) “mast.”

YASHMAK (Turkish).—A kind of veil, or face covering.

YAWASH (Turkish).—Gently, slowly.

YESSAOUL (_yasāwal_).—A mounted mace-bearer.

ZALĀBI or ZALĀBIEH (_zalībiyā_).—A sweet cake or fritter eaten

in Ramazan at night.

ZAMBŪREK (_zambūrak_).—A tiny cannon carried on and fired from

a camel’s back (from Zambūr, a wasp).

ZANGAL (_zangāl_).—A legging.

ZENDA-RŪD, ZENDARŪD (_Zanda-Rud_).—The river at Ispahan.

ZIL-ES-SULTAN (_Zill us Sultan_) (title).—Shadow of the King.

ZOBAN-I-GUNGHISHK (_zabāni gunjishk_).—Lit. sparrow’s tongue, a

kind of willow.

ZŪLF (_zulf_).—A long love-lock, a curl.

FOOTNOTES

[1] See Appendix D, page 417.

[2] Turcomanchai was the place where the treaty between Persia and Russia

was signed, February 22, 1828. Erivan and Nakchewan were ceded to Russia,

and two millions agreed to be paid to her.

[3] The form of these was very various, though the principle of action

was always the same: the smoke was conducted to the bottom of a pint

or more of water and then sucked up in bubbles through it, a gurgling

noise being produced. Some used the long “snake” or nehpeech, a spiral

of copper wire covered with coloured leather, and forming a flexible

air-tight tube some four yards long; this was the more old-fashioned way,

and required good lungs. A servant held the pipe itself at the side of

the master’s chair. Others affected the wooden stem with the pipe; this

as a rule is held by the smoker himself, and no great effort is required

in smoking, as the tube is only eighteen inches long and air-tight, which

the “nehpeech” or “snake” seldom is, save when quite new.

The portion between the pipe-head and the water-holder is as a rule

always the same: a wooden tube some fourteen inches or more long, with

numerous indentations, turned in a lathe, and coming to a point, so that

any pipe-head will fit it; from the end of this an inner tube goes to

within an inch of the bottom of the water. Sometimes this tube is made of

ebony, at other times covered with silver, and rarely with gold. In its

side at the bottom is the hole for the snake-like tube, or the stick.

The water-reservoir is usually of glass, either plain crystal, or

cut Bohemian; the shape of these glasses is that of a wide-mouthed,

long-necked decanter, and the neck serves as the place by which the whole

contrivance is held. In summer a porous clay bottle is generally used as

cooler by all classes, rich or poor.

Another kind of reservoir called a narghil (narghil, a cocoa-nut) is

made, having its shape like a cocoa-nut, with a spike or small knob at

the sharp end; this rests on the ground, and is meant for travelling.

It is made of brass, silver, or gold, and often in the two latter cases

enamelled; the “meāna,” or middle tube, to this kind of pipe is often two

and a half feet long, and the stem two.

Yet another form of kalian exists for travelling, and that is a copy of

the glass reservoir, of a rather squat shape, in buffalo or rhinoceros

hide; this is often, indeed usually, covered with enamelled plates of

gold and silver, often encrusted with gems, and is only in use among the

very rich.

As the great personages of Persia are constantly travelling, these more

elaborate forms of pipe are frequent; and, as a man’s pipe often gives an

idea of his social position, money is very freely lavished on them. The

mouth-piece is simply either wooden, or else the end is shod with silver.

The head consists of, among the poor, a clay reservoir for the tobacco.

These cost a farthing. But most Persians, though only of the lower middle

class, manage to have a silver pipe-head; this consists of three pieces,

the handle or chōb (wood), a carved and turned piece of wood pierced with

a conical hole which fits the meāna (or stem)—this may be represented by

the lower two-thirds of an old-fashioned wine-glass, with a small foot;

the fire-holder, which is of gold, silver, or stone, is fitted to this,

and represents the upper third of the wine-glass; and on this all the

ingenuity of the Persians is lavished in the matter of ornament. From

its under edge hang four or six little silver or gold chains four inches

long, terminated by flattened balls.

Lastly, the wind-guard, which prevents the fire from falling or being

blown up into an excessive state of incandescence, is usually made of

silver, and is an inverted cone of the same size as the fire-holder,

fitted to it with accuracy, and provided with two holes to give the

requisite amount of draught; at the side two pairs of chains depend from

the upper edge of this, and are made to reach as far as do the lower set.

The fire-holder is lined with a mixture of clay and plaster of Paris, on

which is placed the tobacco, freshly moistened and rubbed into coarse

fragments (though connoisseurs prefer a more elaborate preparation)—about

three-quarters of an ounce is required; it is flattened and smoothed, the

surplus water being squeezed away. Upon it are placed morsels of live

charcoal, which are blown into a fierce flame, and the excess of water

in the reservoir or bottle being driven out by blowing from the bottle,

which is always nearly filled. A few draws are taken by the pipe-boy to

see that all goes well, and to get rid of the taste of fresh charcoal,

and get the tobacco well alight, and it is then handed to the smoker as

under weigh.

On the fire-holder, however—perhaps because it is opposite the eye and

so most conspicuous—are seen the highest efforts of Persian art. It is,

whenever it can be afforded, of purest gold, though often thin; some rare

exceptions are unornamented; more ordinarily it is chased or covered with

high _repoussé_ work, or elaborately engraved. Or it may be so encrusted

with turquoises till little, if any, of the original metal shows; or it

may be ornamented with elaborate enamels of birds and flowers, or of

fruit; and a favourite pattern is vine-leaves of transparent enamel let

into the deeply-cut metal, and the bunches of grapes of varied colours.

More often three or four ovals, some two inches long, are filled by

portraits of a girl or boy—of course fancy ones—and the spaces between

them filled with flowers and birds. These enamels are very beautiful,

very costly, and very brittle; ten pounds being a common price paid to an

enameller to decorate a gold head, while as much as one hundred tomans,

or forty pounds, are given by great and rich amateurs.

Of the kalians, the heads and reservoirs of which are thickly encrusted

with gems, I do not speak at present; I had few opportunities at that

time of seeing such, and, as a rule, they are only possessed by the Shah,

his sons and uncles. I trust the reader will bear with this long but

needful detail as to pipes.

[4] As a rule, in Persia every one is up _by six_ A.M.

[5] Those who feel curious on the subject of modern Persian medicine, I

must refer to my article on the subject in the _British Medical Journal_.

[6] The English Legation or Embassy is always called “The Mission” in

Persia, by the members of it, and the English in the country.

[7] Futteh-Ali Shah had _over seventy sons and daughters_, and a prince’s

_son_ in Persia is a _prince_.

[8] As some confusion may be experienced in the matter of money terms, I

may append the following table of coins:—

_s._ _d._

(Copper) 2 pūls = 1 shahi (or shaie) or English 0 0½

” 10 shahis = 1 banabat or half-keran (silver) ” 0 5

20 shahis = 1 keran (silver) ” 0 10

10 kerans = 1 toman (tomaun), gold ” 7 6

Were the keran really tenpence, of course the tomaun would be 8_s._

4_d._, but its value is really only ninepence at present exchange (1883).

Of these coins the pūls and shahis are copper, the kerans and half-kerans

or banabats silver, and the tomauns gold; though for the past fifteen

years, until just recently, the tomauns (in gold) had nearly disappeared,

and were merely nominal, or old coins hoarded for the sake of the purity

of their gold. Prices are given indiscriminately in tomauns or kerans;

the price in kerans as five hundred kerans being mostly spoken of and

always _written as kerans_ and not fifty tomauns. Till lately the tomaun

has been _only a name_. The merchant-class, too, use the dinar, an

imaginary coin (not now minted at least), as a convenient fraction for

calculation.

I _on arrival_ took my servants’ accounts in tomauns and kerans,

_afterwards_ in kerans and shaies, _and at last in_ kerans and pūls;

while an English merchant friend actually wrote his house accounts in

dinars, and said it _awed_ his servants! one thousand dinars make a

keran, so one dinar is the 1/1000 of 9_d._

_There are no bank-notes_: and in _The Times_ telegraphic news, under

the head of Persia, Friday, February 24th, 1883, is a summary of a truly

Persian edict. By it the Shah informs his subjects that, “they are

foolish to take _dirty pieces of paper_ for gold and silver, and that

in future all _Russian Rouble notes will be confiscated_!” Then follows

a really useful prohibition forbidding aniline dyes, and ordering such,

when imported and discovered, to be destroyed; _these dyes_, which are

not fast, have been lately much used by ignorant carpet-weavers in Persia.

[9] Hakim, a doctor or physician.

[10] This system accounts partly for the apparently very low wages paid

to the Persian servant, which are (I give those paid latterly—1881—by

myself; in the case of head-servants it is sometimes, but very seldom,

more, as the pay is of course nothing to the modakel):—

A month. £ _s._ _d._

A nazir or steward 50 kerans, or 2 0 0

A good cook 50 ” 2 0 0

A good peishkhidmut (personal

servant, waits at table, and

valets one, and is expected

to dress well) 40 to 50 kerans,

or 30s. to 2 0 0

A farrash, i. e. sweeper or

message runner 25 kerans, or 1 0 0

A sherbet-dar, plate-cleaner,

maker of coffee, ices, etc. 25 ” 1 0 0

A second farrash 20 ” 0 16 0

A third farrash 15 ” 0 12 0

A cook’s disciple, or

scullery man 10 ” 0 7 6

A washerman, or woman who can

wash and iron thoroughly 35 ” 1 6 0

A woman-servant or nurse 25 ” 1 0 0

A head-groom 30 ” 1 5 0

An under-groom 20 ” 0 16 0

[11] ? Mustela Sarmatica.

[12] More correctly munshi.

[13] Or nummud.

[14] Here are four tombs, cut in the face of the solid rock, those of

Darius, Xerxes I., Artaxerxes I., and Darius II. A detailed description

is to be found in Usher’s book. (See illustration.)

[15] Russian subjects are well protected in Persia, and no injury or

insult to them is allowed to pass by their embassy.

[16] The present comparative dearness of provisions, such as bread, milk,

eggs, etc., is compensated for by a corresponding cheapness in the price

of sugar, candles, etc., which formerly were more expensive. I append a

list of prices in Ispahan in 1882:—

Kerans. _s._ _d._

Rice (per maund, 14 lbs.) 2 1 6

Mutton ” ” 2 1 6

Beef ” ” 1½ 1 1½

Fowls (each) ¾ to 1 7_d._, 8_d._ 9

and 0

Small chickens (each) ⅓ 0 3

Pigeons ” 0 2

Partridges ” ½ 0 4½

Eggs (40 to 60) 1 0 9

Butter (14 lbs.) 5 3 9

Clarified butter or ghee for cooking

(14 lbs.) 5 to 7 4_s._ to 5 0

Coffee, Mocha (per lb.) 1 9_d._ to 0 10

Tobacco (14 lbs.) 4 to 12 3_s._ to 10 0

Potatoes ” ½ to 2 4½_d._ to 1 6

Wood for firing (280 lbs.) 2½ 1 9

” broken, in small quantities (280 lbs.) 5 3 9

Loaf-sugar, English (per lb.) ¾ to 1 6_d._ to 0 9

Charcoal, sifted (14 lbs.) ½ to 1 4½_d._ to 0 9

” unsifted ” ¼ to ½ 2_d._ to 0 4½

Grapes ” 7/20 to 15/20 3_d._ to 0 7

Dip candles ” 4 3 0

Commonest oil for servants (14 lbs.) 1½ 1 1½

Bread (14 lbs.) 1 to 1½ 9_d._ to 1 1

The cost of horse-keep, _including_ grooms’ wages, shoeing, etc., is from

9_d._ to 1_s._ a day; this is supposing several are kept.

[17] I use this word for want of a better.

[18] On March 30th I left Erzeroum at nine A.M., reached Hassan Kaleh,

twenty-four miles, at three P.M.; started again at four P.M. (_all

snow_), reached Balakoohi, where a storm compelled us to halt at seven

P.M. Slept there.

_March 31st._—Started at five A.M. for Kharassan, twenty-five miles;

arrived at half-past nine; made a detour of ten miles on account of

water. Started at half-past eleven on _same horses_; stopped at a village

twenty-four miles off, name unknown; horses dead beat; road—_water, mud,

and thawing snow_—twenty-four miles.

_April 1st._—Started at five A.M.; arrived at Moollah Suleiman, eighteen

miles (same sort of road), at ten A.M.; left at half-past eleven for

Kadikeesa, twenty miles; arrived at five P.M.; went on through snow till

nine P.M. to a village, twelve miles only; halted. Slept in a sheep-shed

_full of tics_.

_April 2nd._—Started at six A.M.; arrived at three P.M. at Desardūn,

thirty-six miles. Here I saw Mount Ararat. Road very bad, from melting

snow. Arrived at Kizzil Deeza, twenty-four miles (a wretched hole), at

eight P.M.

_April 3rd._—Five A.M. Road pretty fair over a long snow-pass, twenty

miles to Abajik, in PERSIA. Arrived at ten A.M. Quite a pleasure to get

among the Persians again, and to be able to make myself understood. Then

an easy twenty miles to Keranee—half-past four P.M. Started at once;

reached Zarabad, twenty-two miles over a good road with capital horses,

at half-past eight P.M.

_April 4th._—Left at half-past six A.M. for Khoi, a long twenty-four

miles; got in at eleven A.M. Khoi is a very large place, apparently

prosperous. Good dinner of bazaar kabobs. Arrived at Turseh, twenty-four

miles, ten P.M.; road good, but shocking horses, down a tremendous pass,

then along the shores of Lake Ooroomeyeh—a kind of Dead Sea—it is very

salt. Many bituminous fires lighted it up at night, huge sheets of flame

suddenly appearing.

_April 5th._— Half-past two A.M., left Turseh for a place the name of

which has escaped me, arriving at half-past ten A.M. Arrived at Sufian at

half-past twelve noon. Left at once, reaching Tabriz, twenty-four miles

off, in four hours. Erzeroum to Tabriz, six days and seven hours, three

hundred and thirty-five miles.

I stopped with Colonel J⸺, V.C., our Consul-General, April 6th, 7th, and

8th. At three P.M. of April 9th I started for Teheran.

STAGES BETWEEN TABRIZ AND TEHERAN.

Miles.

Saoudabad 20

Hadji Aga 20

Darathiar 16

---

56

Slept.

_April 10th._—Turcomanchai 24

Meana 16

Jemalabad 12

Tercham 16

Aga Mezar 12

Nikibeg 20

---

100

Slept four hours.

_April 11th._—Zinjan 26

(met one of our staff;

breakfasted, and lost

three hours)

Sultaneah 24

Khya 30

---

80

Slept four hours.

_April 12th._—Khirve 18

Zeedaen 24

Kasvin 16

Abdulabad 18

---

76

Slept four hours.

_April 13th._—Sufferkhoja 24

Shunkerabad 22

Meanjūb 20

Teheran 20

---

86

[19] This is the one standard weight of Persia, the other being the

miscal or sixth part of our ounce. This, for convenience, is supposed

to consist of twenty nokods—the nokod being a grain similar to our pea

in appearance. The nokod is subdivided into three gundums or grains (of

wheat); these again into four kērāts (or carats)—these latter, however,

are only used in weighing gems. The Tabriz maund (or batman) and the

miscal and its subdivisions are in use throughout Persia in mercantile

affairs.

Further north than Ispahan the sere and the gerewankeh—the latter about

a pound, and borrowed from the Russians—are in use. Other local weights

exist, only known in special places. As a rule, each village has its

special weight (literally stone, “sang”), and their maunds get lighter

and lighter as one gets away from the large cities.

[20] The cost had been—

Kerans.

Thirty jars, at five kerans 150

Twenty loads of grapes 750

Carriage of same 60

Cost of labour, etc. 100

----

1060

Per contra.

Kerans.

Paid to me by Jews for refuse, for arrack-making 50

Resale of jars 140

---

190

Total cost, 870 kerans, or about 5½d. per bottle.

[21] _Must_ is a Persian word signifying “drunk;” it also means the state

of excitement of male camels at certain times.

[22] Strangled, after he had refused a cup of poisoned coffee, in 1882,

by order of the Zil-es-Sultan, while an honoured guest in his (the

Zil-es-Sultan’s) house.

[23] Topi, a sun-helmet.

[24] The full title is Kawam-ul-Molk.

[25] The full title is Muschir-ul-Molk.

[26] Would it have been necessary to have _explained_ to Bishop Bonner

the use of the thumbscrews _after_ his cruelty to the Reformers?

[27] Aug. 2nd, 1887. Dr. Odling writes me that this well is 849 feet

deep. I fancy that there is some error in this, as I put down the six

hundred yards. Possibly there may be a second shaft.

[28] The murdered sons of Ali, considered by the Persians, and all Shiah

Mahommedans, as the rightful successors of the prophet, consequently

sainted martyrs.

[29] Bhang, an intoxicating drug used by dervishes.

[30] Azraël, the angel of death.

[31] Not of coral, as in the Levant.

[32] Origin of our word “hummums.”

[33] Now Sir Oliver St. John.

[34] See Ussher’s ‘London to Persepolis,’ p. 564.

[35] Muleteer.

[36] See Appendix D, page 417.

[37] Shah Abbas the Great built caravanserais of great size and solidity

all over Persia, hence a good and large caravanserai, even though not

built by him, is called a “Shah Abbas caravanserai.”

[38] Mushir al Mulk, counsellor of the province.

INDEX.

Abadeh, 261, 356

carvings, 332

Abbah, the, 319

Abbas Kūli Khan, 215

the Great, 161

Abdul, 285

Abdul Hamid, 276, 353

Abdullah’s types, 9

Abdul Mahomed, 64

Ab-i-Rūkhni, 218

Ab-i-Zungi, 218

Ableh, 62

Abū Seif Mirza, 59, 84

Senna, 82

Accident to Mr. H⸺, 128

Accidents in driving, 374

Actors, Persian, 282

Aden, 343

Administration of justice, 146

Adulteration of opium, 180

Afghan poosseens, 319

(?) tiles, 198

Aflatoon, 82

Agha Hassan, 109

Ahs an Ahs, 96

Ahū, 167

Aid-i-No Ruz, 48, 51

Akbar Khan, 402

Alangū, 323

Alarm of robbers, 130

Alexander the Great, 378

coins of, 76

Algiers, 342

Ali Akbar, 282

death of, 283

Ali Oh! 43

Alison, His Excellency Mr., 48, 201

Alla Sung, 392

Alligators, 344

American missionaries, 144

Aminabad, 262

Ancient Armenian language, 140

buildings, disappearance of, 364

engraved ruby, 37

Julfa, 161

mud-houses, 137

Anderūn, 92

Anecdote of a dervish, 47

re smoking, 32

Aniline dyes, 149

dyes, prohibition of, 63

Animals, treatment of, 316

Antelope hunt, 86

Antelopes, 56

Apostate monk, 139

Appetites, large, 336

Apricots, 168

April, the 1st of, 330

Arab dress, 110

horse, my, 61

horses, 106

pipe, 33

Arachnoort, the, 138, 141, 159

Ararat, hailstones at, 391

Araxes river, 19, 313

‘Arcot,’ voyage in the, 341

“Armchair,” 136

Armenian Alsatia, 142

artificers, 162

baptism, 141

church, 160

converts, 164

cook, 363

fasts, 144

grateful, 93

graves, 162

jewellers, 162

Kaweh Khana, 163

loafers, 143

marriage of, 141

priest, 132

Protestant teacher, 140

schools, 144

scriptures, 140

theatre, 9

tribute, 376

village, 131

wine-sellers, 142

women, dress of, 132

women, industry of the, 360

Armenians, 72, 110

anecdote of, 73

apostatising, 111

bread, 336

carpenters, good, 123

character of, 316

disguised as Europeans, 72

education of, 144

former oppression of, 144

idleness of the, 359

improved position of, 144

of Hamadan, 72, 74

position of in Persia, 74

sanctity of, 73

successful, 143

taken to Julfa, 161

uncleanliness of, 316

Arms, 322

Arnold, Mr. Arthur, 273

Arrack, 141, 159, 360

Art of avoiding falls, 54

Arts, lost, 162

Asparagus, wild, 168

Ass, wild, the, 308

Assadabad Pass, 101

Astrachan, 405

As we turn in another turns out, 110

Attempts to proselytise among the Persians, 144

Audience at Tazzia, 281

Austrian officers, 371

Avadavats, 347

Avicenna, 82

Ayrton, Mr., 5

B⸺, Mr., 27, 213

B⸺, Rev. R., 340

Baab, cursing, 155

Baabi artificers, 164

conspiracy, 154

death of a, 154

revolt, 272

Baabiism, tenets of, 154, 339

Baabis, 144, 339

charges against, 154

visit to, 201

Baab, 153

Bad drainage, 153

Badraghah, 56

Bad water, 153, 241

Baghalli, 236

Bagh-i-No, 218

Bagh-i-Takht, 220, 292

Baker, an ungrateful, 183

Bakhtiaris, 262

Bakū, 403

Bamiah, 170

Bankers, 192

Bank-notes, edict as to, 63

Baptism, Armenian, 141

Barber’s Bridge, the, 389

Bargain for mules, a, 381

Bargains, 187

Barley, 102

Bastinado, the, 146

at Kūmishah, 254

degrees of, 148

Bath carpets, 152

at Constantinople, 212

the, 334

Bazaar, at Teheran, 372

breakfasts, 200

practice, 182

Bazaarcha Baland, 200

Bazū-band, 290, 323

Bear and dog fight, 227

Beards, 321

Beaters, 177

Bēbē Sakineh Sultan Khanūm, 215

Bedding for travelling, 55

Bedding horses, 101

Beef, 142, 299

Beetles, road, 215

Bell tower, Julfa, 139

Bells, substitute for, 139

Belly-dance, the, 115

Belt, the, 320

Belūchistan, 345

Berlin, 407

Besitūn, 109

Bewitched, 65

Bishop Moses, 138

of Julfa, the, 159

Thaddeus’s tomb, 158

Bishop’s, the, pictures, 159

Bits, native, 329

Black-wood furniture, 345

Black flags, 283

Sea, 9

Blandford, Mr. W., 321

Blowing from a mortar, 203

from guns, 202

Boat-building, 247

Boat journey, 210

Boiled to death, 272

Bombassi, 326

Bonaat, 77

Bookbinding, 288

Boorio, 197

Boots, 321

Borasjūn, 348

Boulevard at Teheran, 371

Bowin, 392

Boy dancers, 246

singers, 281

Boys, a mob of, 393

Bread, varieties of, 335

Breasts as ornaments, 132

Bribery, 189

Bribing postmaster, 13

Bricking up alive, 269

Brickwork, fine, 222

Bridge of tombstones, 163

Brigands, 263

Broom plant, 309

Bruce, Mrs., 164

Rev. Dr., 164

Bulbul, 114

Bull-terriers of Zil-es-Sultan, 366

Bunder Abbas, 345

Burial of a Christian child, 140

Burke, Captain, 344

Burmese Embassy, 376

Burning alive, 204

Bushire, 345

“_Butcha_,” 326

Butchers, 299

Buttermilk, 171

Buy a horse, 206

grapes for wine-making, 229

Buying horses, 58

C⸺, Major, 3

Cah (Kah), 174

Calico printers, 200

rinsers, 193

Call to the bath, 72

Camel, bite of the, 243

fight, 242

tics, 392

Camels, mode of procuring fighting, 242

Campanile, the, Julfa, 157

Camp out, 348

Captain Burke, 344

Hansard, 343

S⸺, 179

T⸺, R.E., 278

Carapet, Mr., 357

Caravanserai Gulshan, 200

Mokhlis, 182

Carboys, 236

Card-playing, 96

Carpets, Persian, 149;

1883, 150

all wool, 151

Bath, 152

colours of, 150

fast colours, 149

faults in, 150

“Gelīm,” 152

increase in price of, 153

“Jejīm,” 152

Meshed, 149

mode of laying, 152

“Nammad,” 152

of great value, 151

of Mūrghāb, 151

old, 149

patterns of, 150

quality of, 150

value, 151

why they last, 150

Carvings, Abadeh, 332

Cashmere shawls, 274

Caspian steamer, 211

Cathedral of Julfa, 100

Cats, long-haired, 305

ordinary, 305

Causeways, 198

Cavalry, irregular, 266

Cells of students, 197

Cemetery, Armenian, 162

Chaff beds, 20, 25

Chah Ali Bunder, 275

Chambers, Captain, 127, 176

Character of Armenians, 316

Persians, 314

Char Bagh, 135, 196

Chardūr, 325

Chargāt, the, 322

Charlesiah, 132

Charms, 291

Cheap freehold, a, 206

Cheapness of ice, 240

Cheese, tale of the phantom, 172

Chelinjeh Khan, 223

Chess, 97

Chibouque, 32

Children, dress of, 325