advance. It travelled by short stages; and when, towards night, Miss
Tinné came upon a village which promised convenient quarters, she sent
for the sheikh, and the gift of a few beads was sufficient to make him
expel from their huts the native families. Without striking a blow, the
travellers got possession of the place, and in a few hours had settled
themselves comfortably, while taking due care of their camels and cattle.
As for the dispossessed inhabitants, they were left to find what shelter
or accommodation they could, consoling themselves with the promise of
ample compensation on the morrow.
The African villages are sometimes of considerable size. They are nearly
always surrounded by a belt of cultivated ground, where dourra, sesamum,
and culinary vegetables grow in profusion. The flocks scattered over the
pastures often include some thousands of sheep, though they are never
killed by the natives for purposes of food. Miss Tinné purchased
several; but as soon as it was known that she slaughtered them for
provision, their owners refused to sell. The natives apparently make the
sheep the object of a superstitious _cultus_, as the Lapps do the hare.
It is true, however, that their scruples vanished at the sight of Alexina
Tinné’s trinkets; their religion proved unable to withstand the
temptation of a bright ring or glittering bracelet. Yet who shall blame
them when Christians have been known to forswear their faith for equally
small bribes? It is a curious fact that each tribe has its favourite
colour—that while one swears by blue beads, another has eyes only for
green; so that a tribe which will violate its conscience for a handful of
blue beads or yellow, will preserve it intact if tested by beads of any
other colour. But no bribe is so powerful, will prevail over so many
vows, will appease so many scruples, as a piece of blue or red cotton.
This, however, was reserved as a gratification for the chiefs alone; and
it was a sight to make you laugh or weep, according as your philosophy is
that of Democritus or Heraclitus, to see them strutting through their
villages, proud as peacocks in their gaudy attire, haughtier than a mayor
with his official chain round his portly chest, happier than a Frenchman
with the ribbon of the Legion of Honour in his button-hole.
* * * * *
The countries of Djur and Dör, traversed by our caravan, offered a
succession of the most varied panoramas. For several days it passed
through marshy lowlands, covered with a coarse hard grass: the herbage
was besprinkled with rare flowers, many of which belonged to species
unknown to European botanists. As they advanced trees became more
numerous; groves developed into woods, and woods expanded into a
luxurious forest, where the eye surveyed with delight a rich network of
climbing plants and wild vines, spreading from tree to tree, while the
dense cloud of verdure was lighted up profusely with starry blossoms. In
this happy land the mosquito was never found; nor were there any
injurious insects, except the termites or white ants.
The picture suddenly changed as the travellers penetrated further into
the interior; immense plains stretched away to a remote horizon, where
earth and heaven seemed to mingle. Occasionally, however, the monotonous
level was broken pleasantly by clumps of graceful trees, forming so many
isles of greenery, in which the calm bland air was perfumed by the sweet
odours that rose, like a breath, from magnificent cactuses, orchids, and
irises. Thousands of birds, surprised among the tall grasses by the
passing caravan, sprang aloft and filled the air with the whir of
winnowing wings.
Enraptured by the beauty of this fortunate and favoured region, Alexina
forgot the sufferings she had endured, and, giving a free rein to her
womanly enthusiasm, exclaimed—“This is a delightful country, a marvellous
land, which compensates us for all our fatigue; yes, and for all our
outlay!” These last words may be considered as a striking example of
bathos, or “the art of sinking,” considering the circumstances under
which they were pronounced; but it would appear that the enormous
expenses of the expedition had by this time made a serious inroad even on
Miss Tinné’s large fortune.
* * * * *
As for some years a marked diminution had taken place in the number of
elephants inhabiting the valley of the White Nile, the ivory dealers
pushed forward into the countries watered by the Bahr-el-Ghazal and the
Djur. There they found themselves in a virgin region, which hitherto had
not been contaminated by the influences of a corrupt civilization. It
was a mine to be worked with the happiest results, and accordingly they
established a series of stations, each in charge of a vakil or manager.
In the month of November these were visited in person by the traders, who
loaded their boats with ivory, too frequently adding to their cargoes of
elephants’ tusks the unfortunate negroes who had served them as guides
and hunters. As time went on, they extended their relations, and gave
free course to their ambition. They armed the tribes one against
another, promoted internecine contests, and in this way consolidated
their cruel and unscrupulous despotism.
Our travellers nearly fell victims to one of these infamous speculators
in the blood of the feeble and defenceless. Yielding to his repeated
pressure, Alexina and her followers advanced to Bongo, where he exercised
authority. They were received with a splendid welcome. On their arrival
volleys of musketry woke all the surrounding echoes. Biselli (such was
the name of their self-appointed host) met them at the entrance to the
village, and conducted them into a spacious and convenient habitation,
where, with the most courteous attention, they were served with sherbet,
coffee, and other refreshing drinks. No one was forgotten in his profuse
hospitality; masters and servants were entertained with equal liberality.
The abrek, the delicious beer of the country, was freely circulated among
the people, and generously distributed to the very porters.
As Biselli was absolute master in the village and its neighbourhood, and
owned almost everything, Alexina Tinné requested him to sell some corn
and oxen. He answered, like a true gentleman, that for twenty-four hours
he was her host; that he had abdicated his position as a trader, and had
no thought but her comfort, and to give her an honourable reception. His
profuseness, far from diminishing, largely increased; and his European
guests were almost ashamed to be the recipients of an hospitality so
cordial, so unlimited, and so unexpected.
But unfortunately a change came over the spirit of the dream. Next day,
clouds gathered on the horizon which had previously been so fair. The
travellers wished to hire a small zoriba, or plantation, comprising two
tents. Biselli named thirty thalers as the price. No objection was
offered, and Miss Tinné’s people began to store the baggage, when he
suddenly made a demand for two hundred thalers. This exorbitant sum was
promptly and firmly refused; he then reduced it to forty thalers, which
was paid. Soon afterwards the caravan was in need of dourra, and there
was no help for it but to apply to Biselli. Well aware of their
necessity, the scoundrel charged forty times more than they would have
had to pay at Khartûm, and on every other article he put in like manner a
tax of forty or fifty per cent. The ex-gentleman had resumed his old
character as an unprincipled speculator.
Our travellers, however, felt that they could no longer endure his
impositions, and abandoning Bongo and Biselli, returned to Lake Reg.
Here Alexina’s mother was seized with an illness which carried her off in
a few days (July 23rd). Two European servants were also attacked by
fever, and succumbed to its fatal influence. Overwhelmed with grief,
Miss Tinné abandoned her schemes of African exploration, and slowly and
with difficulty made her way back to Khartûm, to find that her aunt, the
Baroness van Capellan, had died during her absence (in May, 1864). As
soon as she had recruited her strength, she removed to Cairo, where she
took up her residence, and for four years made a conspicuous figure in
its brilliant European circle.
The love of new scenes, however, had not been quenched by her adventures,
and in her yacht she made frequent visits to Naples and Rome, Smyrna and
Jaffa, Algiers and Tripoli. While at the latter port, a caravan arrived
from the Sahara, with the products of the rich lands that lie beyond that
famous desert. The incident suggested to her bold imagination the idea
of an expedition which in romance and interest should eclipse her
previous enterprise, and she traced the plan of a journey across Tripoli
to the capital of Fezzan, thence to Kuka, and westward, by way of Wadai,
Darfur, and Kordofan, to the Nile. As this route would carry her into
the territory of the brave but treacherous Towaregs, a race to whom
plunder and rapine seem the breath of life, she took care to provide
herself with a sufficient escort, and on the 29th of January, 1869, set
out from Tripoli at the head of a troop of fifty armed men. At Sokna, in
Fezzan, which she reached on the 1st of March, she engaged the services
of a Towareg chief, one Ik-nu-ken; but at the last moment he failed her,
and she accepted as guides two chiefs of the same tribe, who professed to
have been sent by Ik-nu-ken. These men, in conjunction with her
attendant, Mohammed, a Tunisian, resolved upon murdering her in order to
gain possession of her money and valuables. Soon after her departure
from Sokna (it was on the 1st of August) they excited a quarrel among the
camel-drivers, and when Alexina quitted her tent to ascertain the cause,
one of the Towaregs shot her with a rifle-bullet, mortally wounding her.
For four and twenty hours she lay dying at the door of her tent, no one
venturing to offer assistance or consolation.
Such was the melancholy fate of Alexina Tinné! It is satisfactory to
know that the murderers who, with their plunder, had escaped into the
interior, were eventually captured, tried, and sentenced to imprisonment
for life. {259}
MR. J. A. MACGAHAN,
AND CAMPAIGNING ON THE OXUS.
I.
MR. J. A. MACGAHAN, as special correspondent for the _New York Herald_, a
journal well known by the liberality and boldness of its management,
accompanied the Russian army, under General Kauffmann, in its campaigns
in Central Asia in 1873 and 1874.
Bound for the seat of war, he made his way, in company with Mr. Eugene
Schuyler, the American _chargé d’affaires_ at St. Petersburg, who desired
to see something of Central Asia, to Kasala, a Russian town on the
Syr-Daria (the ancient _Jaxartes_), where he arrived in April, 1873. He
describes this town, or fort, as the entering wedge of the Russians into
Central Asia. Its population, exclusive of Russian soldiers and
civilians, consists of Sarts, or Tadjiks, Bokhariots, Kirghiz, and
Kara-Kalpaks; all being Tartar tribes, in whom an infusion of Aryan blood
has more or less modified the old Mongolian type. As for the town, it is
picturesque enough to a European eye—its low mud houses, with flat roofs,
windowless, and almost doorless; its bazár, where long-bearded men, in
bright-coloured robes, gravely drink tea among the wares that crowd their
little shops; and the strings of laden camels that stalk through its
streets, presenting a novel combination. As soon as he had obtained all
the information he could with respect to the movements of the Russian
force, Mr. MacGahan resolved on making a dash for the Oxus, hoping to
reach that river before General Kauffmann’s army had crossed it. But
when the Russian authorities learned his design, they at once interfered,
declaring that the journey was dangerous, if not impracticable, and must
not be undertaken without leave from the Governor-General. Mr. MacGahan
then resolved on pushing forward to Fort Perovsky, as if going only to
Tashkent; trusting to find there an officer in command who would not be
troubled by such conscientious scruples about his personal safety. No
objection was made to a journey to Tashkent; Mr. MacGahan and Mr.
Schuyler therefore hurried their preparations, stowed their baggage in a
waggon, and themselves in a tarantass, and shaking the dust off their
feet at inhospitable and suspicious Kasala, took their course along the
banks of the Syr-Daria.
This, the ancient Jaxartes, is one of the most eccentric of rivers. It
is continually changing its bed, like a restless traveller; “here to-day,
and gone to-morrow,” and gone a distance of some eight to ten miles. To
adapt it to the purposes of navigation seems almost impossible, or, at
all events, would be unprofitable; and the best use that could be made of
its waters would be to irrigate with them the thirsty sands of the desert
of Kyzil-Kum.
On Mr. MacGahan’s arrival at Fort Perovsky, he proceeded to engage a
guide and horses, having fully resolved to carry out his bold enterprise.
From the commandant he was fortunate enough to obtain a passport, and on
the 30th of April he bade farewell to Mr. Schuyler, and set out. His
_cortége_ consisted of Ak-Mamatoff, his Tartar servant, Mushuf, the
guide, and a young Kirghiz attendant, all mounted, with ten horses to
carry the baggage and forage. As a man of peace, he says, he went but
lightly armed. Yet a heavy double-barrelled hunting rifle, a
double-barrelled shot gun (both being breech-loaders), an
eighteen-shooter Winchester rifle, three heavy revolvers, and one
ordinary muzzle-loading shot gun throwing slugs, together with a few
knives and sabres, would seem to make up a tolerable arsenal! Mr.
MacGahan, however, assures us that he did not contemplate fighting, and
that he encumbered himself with these “lethal weapons” only that he might
be able to discuss with becoming dignity questions concerning the rights
of way and of property, on which his opinions might differ from those of
the nomads of the desert, who hold to Rob Roy’s good old rule, that
“They should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.”
That night our traveller accepted the hospitality of a Kirghiz. Next
morning he and his men were in the saddle by sunrise, riding merrily away
to the south-west, across a country innocent of road or path. Sometimes
their course lay through tangled brushwood, sometimes through tall reeds
which completely concealed each rider from his companions, sometimes over
low sandy dunes, and sometimes across a bare and most desolate plain.
Occasionally they heard the loud sharp cry of the golden pheasant of
Turkistan; then they would pass large flocks and herds of sheep, cattle,
and horses, quietly grazing; and again they would meet and salute a
Kirghiz shepherd on horseback. To eyes that have been trained to _see_
no desert can be utterly barren of interest; the vigilant observer will
discover, in the most sterile waste, something of fresh and novel
character, something suggestive of thick-coming fancies. For example,
Mr. MacGahan noted the remarkable difference between the wide stretches
of the sandy plain and the occasional streaks of ground that had been
under recent cultivation; and he perceived that the desert had the
advantage. Parched and sun-scorched, and without a trace of vegetation,
was the land that had been irrigated only the year before; while the
desert assumed a delicate tint of green, with its budding brushwood and
thin grass, which always springs into life as soon as the snow melts, to
flourish until stricken sore by the heats of summer.
At nightfall the travellers, weary with eleven hours’ ride, drew up at a
Kara-Kalpak aul, or encampment, consisting of a dozen kibitkas, pitched
near a little pond in the centre of a delightful oasis. The owner of one
of the kibitkas proved to be the guide’s brother, and gave the party a
cordial welcome. The Kara-Kalpaks are nomads like the Kirghiz, but
though they live side by side with them, and frequently intermarry, they
seem to belong to a different race of men. They are taller than the
Kirghiz, and well-made; their skin is almost as white as that of a
European; and instead of the small eyes, high cheek-bones, flat noses,
thick lips, and round beardless faces of the Kirghiz, they have long
faces, high noses, large open eyes, and are bearded “like the pard.”
“After supper,” says Mr. MacGahan, “I stepped outside the tent to take a
look on the surrounding scene, and enjoy the cool air of the evening.
The new moon was just setting; lights were gleaming in every direction
over the plain, showing that ours was not the only aul in the vicinity.
The bleating of sheep and the lowing of cattle could be heard, mingled
with the playful bark of dogs and the laughing voices of children, which
came to us on the still evening air like music. In places the weeds and
grass of last year had been fired to clear the ground for the new growth,
and broad sheets of fire crawled slowly forward over the plain, while
huge volumes of dense smoke, that caught the light of the flames below,
rolled along the sky in grotesque fantastic shapes like clouds of fire.”
The kibitka, according to our traveller, is made up of numerous thin
strips of wood, six feet long, which are fastened loosely together like a
vine trellis, and can be opened out or folded up compactly, as necessity
requires. As the strips are slightly curved in the middle, the
framework, when expanded, naturally takes the form of a segment of a
circle. Four of these frames constitute the skeleton sides of the tent;
and on their tops are placed some twenty or thirty rafters, properly
curved, with their upper ends inserted in the hoop, three or four feet in
diameter, that serves as a roof-tree. The method of pitching a kibitka
may be thus described:—As soon as the camel with the felt and framework
reaches the chosen site, he is made to kneel down, and a couple of women
seize the framework, which they straightway set up on end, and extend in
the form of a circle. Next the doorposts are planted, and the whole
bound firmly together with a camel’s-hair rope. Then one of the women
takes the afore-mentioned wooden hoop, and raising it above her head on a
pole, the other proceeds to insert in their proper holes the twenty or
thirty rafters, fastening their basis to the lower framework by means of
hoops. When a thick fold of felt has been let down over the framework,
the kibitka, which measures about fifteen feet in diameter, and eight
feet in length, is complete. In appearance it is not unlike a magnified
beehive of the old pattern.
The Kirghiz nomads are fierce, crafty, often cruel, but they hold the
life of a guest sacred. For his property, however, they have no such
high consideration, and they are not above the temptation of plundering
him of any article that attracts their fancy. Their chief amusements are
horse exercises and falconry. They love the chase with a true
sportsman’s passion; loving it for itself, rather than for the game it
procures, as they can conceive of nothing daintier than a dish of
mutton—a dish which they prepare with touching simplicity. For, a sheep
having been skinned, they cut it into quarters, which they plunge into a
large caldron of water, and boil for a couple of hours. Generally, on a
principle of severe economy, they cook the intestines with the meat, not
taking the trouble even to separate them. The guests arrange themselves
in a circle on carpets of felt; the men, as recognized lords of the
creation, occupying the foremost places, the women and children sitting
in the rear. The smoking quarters of mutton are removed from the pot;
each man draws his knife, slashes off a cantle, eats until satisfied, and
passes what is left to his wife and children, who speedily effect a
clearance. The dogs come in for the bones. Afterwards, bowls of the
liquor in which the meat has been boiled are handed round, and not a
Kirghiz but swallows the greasy potion with as much zest as an epicure
takes his glass of dry champagne. This broth, koumis (fermented mare’s
milk), and tea, are his customary liquors; but the tea, instead of being
prepared in the European fashion, is made into a kind of soup with milk,
flour, butter, and salt. In every respectable Kirghiz kibitka the women
keep constantly upon the fire a vessel of this beverage, which they offer
to visitors, just as a Turk serves up coffee, and a Spaniard chocolate.
In their mode of life the Kirghiz display a certain originality. They
spend the three winter months in mud huts on the bank of a river or a
small stream, and resume their annual migrations as soon as the snow
begins to melt. During these migrations they live in tents, and never
halt in one spot for longer than three days. Their march is often
continued until they have travelled three or four hundred miles; then
they turn round, and retrace the same route, so as to reach their place
of hibernation before the snow falls. In their selection of quarters
they seem guided by some traditions handed down in the different auls;
and not unfrequently a body of Kirghiz will pass over much excellent
grazing ground, and travel many a league to inferior pasturage. The
hardships they undergo are so many, their pleasures so few and mean,
their objects so commonplace, that one is tempted to wonder what kind of
answer an intelligent Kirghiz would return to the question not long ago
put with some emphasis before the reading public, “Is life worth living?”
Those higher motives, those purer aspirations which the cultivated
European mind delights to recognize, are unknown to the wild nomad, and
he spends day after day, and month after month, in what would seem to be
a drearily monotonous struggle for existence, under conditions which
might be supposed to render existence an intolerable burden. But then he
can love and suffer as we know civilized men and women love and suffer;
and love and suffering will invest the harshest, coarsest life with a
certain grace and consecration.
There was once a young Kirghiz, named Polat, who was affianced to Muna
Aim, the comeliest maiden in the aul, or community, of Tugluk. Her
father, Ish Djan, had received the customary kalym, or wedding present,
and the marriage day had been appointed. But before it arrived, “the
blind fury with the abhorred shears” had “slit” Polat’s “thin-spun life;”
and Muna Aim was set free from her promise. Suluk, Polat’s brother, came
forward, however, and, in his anxiety to recover his brother’s property,
which she had received as her dower, claimed her as his wife. The claim
was supported by her father; but Muna Aim, who had sufficient means to
live on, considered herself a widow, and refused to marry. She was
driven from her father’s kibitka; and taking her camel, with her sheep
and goats, her clothes and carpets, she bought a little kibitka for
herself, and lived alone, but not unhappy. For her heart was really with
Azim, a young Kirghiz belonging to another aul, and she had consented to
marry Polat only in obedience to her father. A second sacrifice she was
determined not to make. But the old women grew very angry with Muna Aim,
as she continued to enjoy her independence. “What is the matter with
her?” they cried. “She will not go to her husband, but lives alone like
an outlaw.” She was an innovator, boldly breaking through a traditional
custom, and they resolved to “reason” with her. Their arguments were
those which the strong too often employ against the feeble; they hurled
at her bad names, and they scratched her face and pulled her hair. Still
she would not yield; and in contentment she milked her sheep and goats,
drove them to the pasture, and drew water for them from the well, waiting
for some happy turn of fortune which might unite her with her Azim.