some old telescopes, bows and arrows, and several fine suits of armour,
which doubtlessly belonged to the era of the Crusades, when the chivalry
of Europe encountered the Saracens on the plains of Syria and Palestine.
In the course of his wanderings Mr. MacGahan lighted upon the Khan’s
harem, where his favourite Sultana and some other women still remained.
As he was an American—or, rather, because they supposed him to be an
Englishman—the ladies gave him a cordial reception, and entertained him
to tea. They were eight in number: three were old and exceedingly ugly;
three middle-aged or young, and moderately good looking; one was
decidedly pretty; and the other whom Mr. MacGahan speaks of as the
Sultana, was specially distinguished by her superior intelligence, her
exquisite grace of movement, and her air of distinction. She wore a
short jacket of green silk, embroidered with gold thread; a long chemise
of red silk, fastened on the throat with an emerald, slightly open at the
bosom, and reaching below the knees; wide trousers, fastened at the
ankles; and embroidered boots. She had no turban, and her hair was
curled around her well-shaped head in thick and glossy braids. Curious
earrings, composed of many little pendants of pearls and turquoises,
glanced from her ears, and round her wrists gleamed bracelets of solid
silver, traced with gold.
The chamber in which these ladies sat was ten feet wide, twenty long, and
twelve high. Parts of the ceiling were embellished with coloured
designs, rude in conception and execution. Against one side of the room
were placed elegant shelves, supporting a choice assortment of the finest
Chinese porcelain. The floor was strewn with carpets, cushions,
coverlets, shawls, robes, and khalats, all in admired disorder, together
with household utensils, arms, an English double-barrelled hunting rifle,
empty cartridges, percussion caps, and—strange contrast!—two or three
guitars. It was evident that preparations for flight had been begun, and
the principal valuables already removed.
The Khan soon found that nothing was to be gained by flight, and as the
Russians were disposed to treat him leniently, he decided on returning to
Khiva, and surrendering to the great Yarim-Padshah, the victorious
Kauffmann. Mr. MacGahan, who was present at the interview, describes the
Asiatic potentate, Muhamed Rahim Bogadur Khan, as at that time a man of
about thirty years of age, with a not unpleasing expression of
countenance; large fine eyes, slightly oblique, aquiline nose, heavy
sensual mouth, and thin black beard and moustache. He was about six feet
three inches high, with broad shoulders and a robust figure. “Humbly he
sat before Kauffmann, scarcely daring to look him in the face. Finding
himself at the feet of the Governor of Turkistan, his feelings must not
have been of the most reassuring nature. The two men formed a curious
contrast; Kauffmann was not more than half as large as the Khan, and a
smile, in which there was apparent a great deal of satisfaction, played
on his features, as he beheld Russia’s historic enemy at his feet. I
thought there never was a more striking example of the superiority of
mind over brute force, of modern over ancient modes of warfare, than was
presented in the two men. In the days of chivalry, this Khan, with his
giant form and stalwart arms, might have been almost a demi-god; he could
have put to flight a regiment single-handed, he would probably have been
a very Cœur de Lion; and now the meanest soldier in Kauffmann’s army was
more than a match for him.”
The capital of this Asiatic potentate is, as I have hinted, deficient in
remarkable characteristics. With three or four exceptions, the buildings
are all of clay, and present a miserable appearance. There are two
walls—an outer and an inner; the interior enclosing the citadel, which
measures a mile in length by a quarter of a mile in breadth, and in its
turn encloses the Khan’s palace and the great porcelain tower. The outer
wall is on an average twenty-five feet high, and it is strengthened by a
broad ditch or moat. There are seven gates. The area between the walls
is at one point converted into a kind of cemetery; at another it is
planted out in gardens, which are shaded by elms and fruit trees, and
watered by little canals. Of the houses it is to be said that the
interior is far more comfortable than the wretched exterior would lead
the traveller to anticipate. Most of them are constructed on the same
plan. You pass from the street into a large open court, all around which
are arranged the different apartments, each opening into the court, and
seldom having any direct communication with each other. Facing the north
stands a high porch, with its roof some seven or eight feet above the
surrounding walls; this serves to catch the wind, and bring it down into
the court below on the principle of a wind-sail aboard ship. The free
circulation of air thus maintained is, undoubtedly, very pleasant in the
summer heat, but in a Khivan winter it must have its disadvantages.
With twenty-two médressés, or monasteries, and seventeen mosques, is
Khiva endowed. Of the latter, the most beautiful and the most highly
esteemed is the mosque Palvan-Ata, which raises its tall dome to a height
of sixty feet, shining with tiles of glaring green. The interior of the
dome is very striking: it is covered, like the exterior, with tiles, but
these are adorned with a beautiful blue tracery, interwoven with verses
from the Koran. In a niche in the wall, protected by a copper
lattice-work, are the tombs of the Khans; and Palvan, the patron-saint of
the Khivans, is also buried there.
From the mosques we pass to the bazár, which is simply a street covered
in, like the arcades so popular in some English towns. The roof consists
of beams laid from wall to wall across the narrow thoroughfare,
supporting planks laid close together, and covered with earth. On
entering, you are greeted by a pleasant compound scent of spices, by all
kinds of agreeable odours, and by the confused sounds of men and animals.
As soon as your eyes grow accustomed to the shade, they rest with delight
on the rich ripe fruit spread everywhere around you in tempting masses.
Khiva would seem to be the paradise of fruit epicures. There are
apricots, and grapes, and plums, and peaches, and melons of the finest
quality and indescribable lusciousness. But if you want more solid fare,
you can enjoy a pilaoff with hot wheaten cakes, and wash down the repast
with stimulating green tea. After which, refreshed and thankful, you may
sally forth to make your purchases of boots or tobacco or khalats, cotton
stuffs or silk stuffs, calico from Manchester, muslin from Glasgow, robes
from Bokhara, or Russian sugar. This done, you are at leisure to survey
for a while the motley crowd that surges to and fro. The Uzbeg, with his
high black sheepskin hat and long khalat, tall, well-formed, swarthy,
with straight nose and regular features; the Kirghiz, in coarse
dirty-brown khalat, with broad, flat, stolid countenance; the Bokhariot
merchant, with turban of white and robe of many colours; the Persian,
with quick, ferret-like eyes, and nimble, cat-like motions; and the Yomud
Turcoman, with almost black complexion, heavy brows, fierce black eyes,
short upturned nose, and thick lips. These pass before you like figures
in a phantasmagoria.
Weary with the noise and shifting sights, you gladly accept an invitation
to dine with a wealthy Uzbeg, and accompany him to his residence. The
day is very warm; in a cloudless sky reigns supreme the sun; and you
rejoice when you find that your host has ordered the banquet to be spread
in the pleasant garden, amid the shade of green elms and the sparkle of
running waters. Your first duty is to remove your heavy riding-boots,
and put on the slippers which an attendant hands to you; your second is
to make a Russian cigarette, and drink a glass of nalivka, or Russian
gooseberry wine, as a preparation for the serious work that awaits you.
Then a cloth is spread, and the dinner served. Fruits, of
course—apricots, melons, and the most delicious white mulberries; next,
three or four kinds of dainty sweetmeats, which seem to consist of the
kernels of different nuts embedded in a kind of many-coloured toffee.
Into a frothy compound, not unlike ice-cream with the ice left out, you
dip your thin wheaten cakes, instead of spoons. Various kinds of nuts,
and another glass of nalivka, precede the principal dish, which is an
appetizing pilaoff, made of large quantities of rice and succulent pieces
of mutton, roasted together.
The dinner at an end, large pipes are brought in. Each consists of a
gourd, about a foot high, filled with water; on the top, communicating
with the water through a tube, rests a bowl, containing the fire and
tobacco. Near the top, on either side, and just above the water, is a
hole; but there is no stem. The mode of using it is this: you take up
the whole vessel in your hand, and then blow through one of the holes to
expel the smoke. Next, stopping up one hole with your finger, you put
your mouth to the other, and inhale the smoke into your lungs. You will
probably be satisfied with three or four whiffs on this gigantic scale.
Mr. MacGahan had an opportunity of seeing the interior of an Uzbeg house,
and he thus describes it:—
“There is little attempt at luxury or taste in the house of even the
richest; and in this respect the poorest seems almost on an equality with
the most opulent. A few carpets on the floor; a few rugs and cushions
round the wall, with shelves for earthenware and China porcelain; three
or four heavy, gloomy books, bound in leather or parchment; and some pots
of jam and preserved fruit, generally make up the contents of the room.
There are usually two or three apartments in the house different from the
others, in having arrangements for obtaining plenty of light. In these
rooms you find the upper half of one of the walls completely wanting,
with the overhanging branches of an elm projecting through the opening.
The effect is peculiar and striking, as well as pleasant. From the midst
of this room—with mud walls and uneven floor, with the humblest household
utensils, and perhaps a smoking fire—you get glimpses of the blue sky
through the green leaves of the elm tree. A slightly projecting roof
protects the room from rain; in cold weather, of course, it is abandoned.
Two or three other rooms are devoted to the silkworms, the feeding and
care of which form the special occupation of the women. The worms
naturally receive a great deal of attention, for their cocoons pay a
great part of the household expenses.”
But let us suppose that an Uzbeg host closes up the entertainment he has
provided for us with a dance.
The dancers are two young boys—one about eight, the other about ten years
of age—with bare feet, a little conical skull-cap on their shaven heads,
and a long loose khalat drooping to their ankles. The orchestra is
represented by a ragged-looking musician, who sings a monotonous tune to
the accompaniment of a three-stringed guitar. The boys begin to dance;
at first with slow and leisurely movements, swaying their bodies
gracefully, and clapping their hands over their heads to keep time to the
music. But as this grows livelier, the boys gradually become more
excited; striking their hands wildly, uttering short occasional shouts,
turning somersaults, wrestling with each other, and rolling upon the
ground.
Towards nightfall, torches will be brought on the scene; some being
thrust into the ground, and others fastened to the trunks and branches of
trees. The comelier of the juvenile dancers now attired himself as a
girl, with tinkling bells to his wrists and feet, and a prettily
elaborate cap, also decked with bells, as well as with silver ornaments,
and a long pendent veil behind. He proceeds to execute a quiet and
restrained dance by himself, lasting, perchance, for about a quarter of
an hour; and the other boy coming forward, the two dance together, and
enact a love-scene in a really eloquent pantomime. The girl pretends to
be angered, turns her back, and makes a pretence of jealousy, while the
lover dances lightly around her, and endeavours to restore her to
amiability by caresses and all kinds of devices. When all his efforts
fail, he sulks in his turn, and shows himself offended. Thereupon the
lady begins to relent, and to practise every conciliatory art. After a
brief affectation of persistent ill humour, the lover yields, and both
accomplish a merry and animated measure with every sign of happiness.
When the Russians left Khiva in the month of August, Mr. MacGahan’s
mission was ended. He had been present with them at the fall of Khiva,
and in the campaign which they afterwards undertook—it would seem, with
little or no justification—against the Yomud Turcomans. On the return
march he accompanied the detachment in charge of the sick and wounded,
descending the Oxus to its mouth, and then proceeding up the Aral Sea to
the mouth of the Syr-Daria. The voyage on the Aral occupied two days and
a night. Having entered the Syr-Daria, thirty-six hours’ sailing brought
the flotilla to Kasala—the point from which, as we have seen, Mr.
MacGahan had started, some months before, on his daring ride through the
desert. After a sojourn of three days, he started in a tarantass for
Orenburg.
It will be owned, I think, that Mr. MacGahan’s enterprise was boldly
conceived and boldly executed; that he displayed, not only a firm and
manly courage, but a persistent resolution which may almost be called
heroic. He showed himself possessed, however, of even higher qualities;
of a keen insight into character, a quick faculty of observation, and a
humane and generous spirit.
COLONEL EGERTON WARBURTON,
AND EXPLORATION IN WEST AUSTRALIA.
THE north-west of the “island-continent” of Australia seems to have been
discovered almost simultaneously by the Dutch and Spaniards about 1606.
Twenty years later, its west coast was sighted; and in 1622 the long line
of shore to the south-west. Tasmania, or, as it was first called, Van
Diemen’s Land, was visited by the Dutch navigator Tasman in 1642. Half a
century passed, and Swan River was discovered by Vlaming. The real work
of exploration did not begin, however, until 1770, when Captain Cook
patiently surveyed the east coast, to which he gave the name of New South
Wales. In 1798, in a small boat about eight feet long, Mr. Bass, a
surgeon in the navy, discovered the strait that separates Tasmania from
Australia, and now perpetuates his memory. He and Lieutenant Flinders
afterwards circumnavigated Tasmania; and Flinders, in 1802 and 1803,
closely examined the south coast, substituting, as a general designation
of this “fifth quarter of the world,” Australia for the old boastful
Dutch name of New Holland. He also explored the great basin of Port
Philip, and discovered the noble inlets of St. Vincent and Spencer Gulfs.
In 1788 the British Government selected Botany Bay, on the east coast, as
a place of transportation for criminals; and from this inauspicious
beginning sprang the great system of colonization, which, developed by
large and continual emigration from the mother country, has covered
Australia with flourishing States. Tasmania became a separate colony in
1825; West Australia, originally called Swan River, in 1829; South
Australia in 1834; Victoria in 1851; Queensland in 1859. Meanwhile, the
exploration of the interior was undertaken by a succession of bold and
adventurous spirits, starting at first from New South Wales. The barrier
of the Blue Mountains was broken through, and rivers Macquarie, Darling,
and Lachlan were in time discovered. In 1823 Mr. Oxley surveyed the
Moreton Bay district, now Queensland, and traced the course of the
Brisbane. In 1830 Captain Sturt explored the Murray, the principal
Australian river, to its confluence with Lake Victoria. In 1840 Mr.
Eyre, starting from Adelaide, succeeded, after enduring severe
privations, in making his way overland to King George’s Sound. In the
following year he plunged into the interior, which he believed to be
occupied by a great central sea; he found only the swamp and saline bays
of Lake Torrens. Captain Sturt, in 1845, penetrated almost to the
southern tropic in longitude 130° E., traversing a barren region as
waterless and as inhospitable as the Sahara. About the same time Dr.
Ludwig Leichhardt, with some companions, successfully passed from Moreton
Bay to Port Errington; but, in 1848, attempting to cross from east to
west, from New South Wales to the Swan River, he and his party perished,
either from want of provisions or in a skirmish with the natives. In the
same year Mr. Kennedy, who had undertaken to survey the north-east
extremity of Australia, was murdered by the natives. Thus Australian
exploration has had its martyrs, like African. In 1860 Mr. M’Douall
Stuart crossed the continent from ocean to ocean, or, more strictly
speaking, from South Australia to a point in lat. 18° 40′ S., about two
hundred and fifty miles from the coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The
hostility of the natives prevented him from actually reaching the coast.
In August, 1860, a similar expedition was projected by some gentlemen
belonging to the colony of Victoria; and, under the command of Robert
O’Hara Burke, it started from Melbourne for Cooper’s Creek, whence it was
to proceed to the northern coast. Some of the members, namely, Burke,
Mr. Wills, the scientific assistant, and King and Gray, two subordinates,
succeeded in reaching the Gulf of Carpentaria; but on their return route
they suffered from want of provisions, and all perished except King. In
1862 Mr. M’Douall Stuart renewed his bold project of crossing the
continent, and starting from Adelaide, arrived in Van Diemen’s Bay, on
the shore of the Indian Ocean, July 25th. Numerous other names might be
added to this list; but we shall here concern ourselves only with that of
Colonel Egerton Warburton, as one of the most eminent and successful of
Australian explorers.
* * * * *
Peter Egerton Warburton was born in August, 1813. After passing through
the usual examination in the East India Company’s college at Addiscombe,
he entered the Bombay army in 1834, and served in India until 1853,
passing the greater part of the time in the Adjutant-General’s
Department, and rising through each grade until he attained his majority,
and was appointed Deputy Adjutant-General at head-quarters. But,
attracted by the prospects opened up to colonists in New Zealand, he
resigned the service, intending to proceed thither with his wife and
family. Eventually, circumstances led to his preferring South Australia
as a field for his energies; and soon after his arrival at Adelaide he
was selected to command the police force of the whole colony—an onerous
post, which he held with distinction for thirteen years. He was
afterwards made commandant of the volunteer forces of the colony of South
Australia. In August, 1872, the South Australian Government resolved on
despatching an expedition to explore the interior between Central Mount
Stuart and the town of Perth, in West Australia, and chose Colonel
Warburton as its leader. Afterwards, the Government drew back, and the
cost of the expedition was eventually undertaken by two leading
colonists, Messrs. Elder and Hughes, who authorized Colonel Warburton to
organize such a party and prepare such an outfit as he considered
necessary, and provided him with camels and horses. It was arranged that
the party should muster at Beltana Station, the head-quarters of the
camels; thence proceed to the Peake, lat. 28° S., one of the
head-quarters of the inland telegraph; and, after a détour westward, make
for Central Mount Stuart, where they would receive a reinforcement of
camels, and, thus strengthened, would be able to cross the country
unknown to Perth, the capital of Western Australia.
* * * * *
With his son Richard as second in command, Colonel Warburton left
Adelaide on the 21st of September, 1872; reached Beltana Station on the
26th; and on the 21st of December arrived at Alice Springs (1120 miles
from Adelaide), the starting-point of his journey westward. The party
consisted of himself, his son, T. W. Lewis, two Afghan camel-drivers,
Sahleh and Halleem, Denis White (cook and assistant camel-man), and
Charley, a native lad. There were four riding and twelve baggage camels,
besides one spare camel; the horses being left at Alice Springs. All
needful preparations having been completed, the explorers quitted the
station on the 15th of April, 1873, and turned their faces westward.
For the first five days not a drop of water was seen, and on the fifth,
of the supply carried with them only one quart was left, which it was
necessary to reserve for emergencies. When they encamped for the night,
no fire was lighted, as without water they could not cook. Next day, the
20th, Lewis and the two Afghans were sent, with four camels, to refill
the casks and water-bags at Hamilton Springs, about twenty-five miles
distant. Meanwhile, a shower of rain descended; all the tarpaulins were
quickly spread, and two or three buckets of water collected. What a
change! All was now activity, cheerfulness, heartfelt thanksgiving. A
cake and a pot of tea were soon in everybody’s hands, and in due time
Lewis returned with a full supply of water, to increase and partake in
the general satisfaction.
Keeping still in a general westerly direction, they crossed extensive
grassy plains, relieved occasionally by “scrub” or bushes, and coming
here and there upon a spring or well. “The country to-day,” writes
Warburton, on one occasion, “has been beautiful, with parklike scenery
and splendid grass.” In the “creeks,” as the water-courses are termed in
Australia, they sometimes found a little water; more often, they were
quite dry. “This is certainly,” he writes, “a beautiful creek to look
at. It must at times carry down an immense body of water, but there is
none now on its surface, nor did its bed show spots favourable for
retaining pools when the floods subsided.” On the 9th of January they
struck some glens of a picturesque character. At the entrance of the
first a huge column of basalt had been hurled from a height of three
hundred feet, and having fixed itself perpendicularly in the ground,
stood like a sentry, keeping guard over a fair bright pool, which
occupied the whole width of the glen’s mouth—a pool about fifteen feet
wide, fifty feet long, and enclosed by lofty and precipitous basaltic
cliffs. At the entrance, the view does not extend beyond thirty yards;
but, on accomplishing that distance, you find that the glen strikes off
at a right angle, and embosoms another pool of deep clear water, circular
in shape, and so roofed over by a single huge slab of basalt that the
sun’s rays can never reach it. There is a second glen, less grand, less
rugged than the former, but more picturesque. At the head of it bubble
and sparkle many springs and much running water.
The surrounding country was clothed with porcupine-grass (spinifex)—a
sharp thorny kind of herbage, growing in tussocks of from eighteen inches
to five feet in diameter. When quite young, its shoots are green; but as
they mature they assume a yellow colour, and instead of brightening,
deepen the desolate aspect of the wilderness. “It is quite uneatable
even for camels, who are compelled to thread their way painfully through
its mazes, never planting a foot on the stools, if they can possibly
avoid it. To horses on more than one occasion it has proved most
destructive, piercing and cutting their legs, which in a very short time
become fly-blown, when the animals have either to be destroyed or
abandoned. The spiny shoots are of all heights, from the little spike
that wounds the fetlock to the longer blade that penetrates the hock. It
is one of the most cheerless objects that an explorer can meet, and it is
perhaps unnecessary to say that the country it loves to dwell in is
utterly useless for pastoral purposes.”