OFF TO PERSIA BY WAY OF STEAMSHIP "ASSYRIA"--FREQUENT MEETINGS
WITH ROAD AGENTS AND AMERICAN FIRE-ARMS TO THE RESCUE.
We took passage on the little coasting steamer "Assyria," leaving
Kurrachee on Sept. 28, at 7 o'clock in the morning. There were but
two other passengers in the cabin besides Mrs. McIlrath and myself,
one a wealthy Arab, the other a missionary of the Reformed Dutch
Church. The voyage across the Persian Gulf was colorless and void
of incident. Passengers, captain and officers expressed regret
that Mrs. McIlrath and I had been so unfortunate in selecting a
year which had created so much disturbance in Persia. Scarcity of
crops had forced many villagers to subsist by robbery and murder of
travelers, and within a single day's journey of the coast hundreds
of cases were reported. Politics were affected also, many threats of
violence being heard against the Shah and his corps of diplomats. With
such a gloomy outlook for a peaceful passage through the wild lands,
and the knowledge that winter would overtake us in the mountains of
Asiatic Turkey, we had good cause for feeling blue as we sighted the
hazy shores which loomed up in the distance on Oct. 8. We anchored
three miles off shore, shortly after daybreak. After breakfast, a
boat came alongside, the pilot ran up the gang stairs and informed
us of the arrival in Bushire of a package of letters. As we were
almost destitute, this bit of news made us all the more impatient
to be off. Gathering up our boxes, bicycles and the monkey, we shook
hands with the genial crew of the "Assyria" and pushed off for Bushire.
To learn that there were no telegrams and news concerning our money,
which had been lost in the mails to Kurrachee, would have stunned us
had we been anything but American nomads. Bushire did not afford a
hotel, and two paupers were forced to look up an Armenian shop-keeper,
and persuade him to clear two rooms in an unfinished building,
and furnish us with bedding and food during our enforced stay. By
sundown on the day of our arrival we were comfortably installed,
and though seriously crippled as active participants in the world's
tour, we were happy and cheerful. Though the community of foreigners
in Bushire was small, there is a certain sympathetic bond between all
which renders the circle delightful, and as all welcome a new arrival
with outstretched arms, we found our stay in the town a very pleasant
one. We were dined by Mr. Ferguson and Mr. Churchill, of the Interior
Bank of Persia; Surgeon Captain Lumsden, Mr. J. Meyer and Col. Mead,
the British Consul General. We also enjoyed a delightful little
"tiffin" with Mr. Christmas, of the Indo-European Telegraph Company's
inspection corps, and all of these gentlemen united in preparing us
for our journey inland. As the first and second steamers arriving from
India brought no news of our lost money, we finally gave up all idea
of restoration, and deciding that a longer wait was impracticable,
made preparation to start at once, having communicated by cable with
our American resources. After a week of laying in stores, supplies and
heavy clothing, obtaining passports, permits to sleep in telegraph
stations, and letters of introduction, we bade adieu to our friends
on Nov. 8, and following in the rear of a gang of coolies, started
forth to Teheran.
The journey from Bushire to Teheran may be divided into three
complete stages: first, from Bushire to Shiraz, 173 miles; thence
to Ispahan, 312 miles; then on to Teheran, 285 miles. To cycle from
Bushire to Shiraz is quite as impossible as to cycle up the side of
Pike's Peak. The elevation often reaches 6,000 feet and the road
is a mass of boulders and deep sand. The ascent is not gradual,
but a continuation of terraces called "kotals" by the Persians,
and in these kotals donkeys are the only creatures which can safely
walk and carry burdens. Our path lay through uninhabited sand desert,
with not a tree or shrub visible. Walking over unbroken road by the
side of a patient and heavily-laden mule is as tiresome as it is
monotonous, and we were a badly used pair when we arrived at Kushub,
the end of our first day's journey in Persia. Resuming the trip the
next morning, we soon caught up with a caravan of three score mules,
laden with shiny tin cases of petroleum, which bore the welcome brand,
"made in the United States." Our forces now consisted of more than
fifty men, the majority armed with muzzle-loading rifles, a few with
pistols and the remainder with clubs having iron knobs at the end. We
felt then sufficiently strong to resist the robbers, against whom
we had been warned. The bandits first manifested themselves when the
caravan was stopped, and the head muleteer asked for a "present." I
was astounded to find that the robbers were none other than a few
soldiers who were supposed to be guarding a little village we had
passed some miles back. As the "present" is always cash, and often
demanded at the muzzle of a gun, the courts of any civilized country
would probably call such proceeding highway robbery, but in Persia,
where troops are unpaid at under-paid rates, and often go ragged
and hungry for years, the laws cannot be supposed to be of superior
standing to the army. Toward Mrs. McIlrath and me the unkempt rascals
were civil enough, but persisted in detaining the muleteers. I suppose
the basis of a "present" was finally agreed upon, for the orders were
given to push on after a brief delay. We were slightly in advance of
the caravan, continuing our way among the boulder-strewn foothills,
when just about daybreak, three men sprang from behind rocks and
halted us. They demanded money. Our servant was slightly in advance
of Mrs. McIlrath and me, and he promptly pushed a 45-calibre revolver
under the nose of the leader. The second man looked into my rifle, and
in less than ten seconds so many gun locks clicked behind my back that
I feared one would be discharged by accident, and the boy and myself
perforated as well as the bandits. It was evident from the manner of
the trio that they realized that they had made a mistake, but whether
the mistake lay in the fact that we were well armed, or that we were
foreigners, was not made clear. They declared themselves soldiers, who
only wished a "present" and when I refused to accept their explanation,
they protested that they were honest men, but hungry. Such might have
been the case, but we gave them nothing except advice that they sell
their guns and buy bread. An attempt on the part of a second trio of
men, encountered a few days later, to obtain a contribution, resulted
in an exhibition of spunk by Mrs. McIlrath. The leader had seized
the bridle of her mule, and startled her to such an extent that she
poked the muzzle of her revolver into the fellow's face. The villain
released his grip and apologized profusely for not having recognized
us as Europeans. They seemed to think that so long as they robbed
only the natives, they committed no crime.
We halted at Diriz on Oct. 12, having been on the road for twelve
hours without food. The muleteers, for some reason, probably
anxiety to fulfill their contract and be through with us, protested
against the delay, urging that we could find neither food, water
nor shelter in the place. I had learned by this time that the low
caste Persians are born liars, and insisting upon the stop, we found,
just as we had expected, both food and water. We refreshed ourselves,
and two hours later proceeded at snail-like pace across the plain to
Kazeroon. We spent three days in this city, the guests of Mr. Marker,
an excellent type of the educated Armenian, who furnished us with
much information and took care to see that we were started on our
journey in proper form. Wearied by the fatigue of sleepless days
and monotonous journeying by night, we changed our hours for travel
when we left Kazeroon, taking our departure at 8 o'clock in the
morning. One of the most laborious tasks of our entire journey was
now before us. Climbing the Alps is nothing compared with the ascent
of the kotals in Persia. The muleteers know nothing of scenery, and
do not even know the names of villages only a half a mile from the
beaten path. But they do know that delays cause great annoyance, and
they keep you constantly at the best speed you are capable of making,
lest some descending caravan meet you and confusion ensue. One of the
mules, upon which was loaded Mrs. McIlrath's bicycle, backed into
a huge boulder which jutted into the road, breaking the fork and
rendering it unfit for use. Friday, Nov. 19, the road into Shiraz,
began to take on a fairly smooth appearance, whereat I lost no time
in oiling up my bike. As I prepared for a stiff run into Shiraz,
Mrs. McIlrath, contemplated her damaged machine, and expressed a
wish that the mule had died the day before she entrusted her wheel
to his care. Two miles of fairly level road enabled me to distance
the horde of rough riders. Caravan after caravan my cycle passed,
not pausing until I whizzed down the main street of Shiraz, arriving
three hours ahead of my party.
A native mechanic repaired Mrs. McIlrath's wheel, though it took
him eight days to do so, giving us ample time to make friends in
the city. One would be difficult to please who could not enjoy life
in Shiraz. Dr. Sculley and Mr. Wood, superintendent of telegraphs,
alternated in dinners; Mr. Von Rijkon, an adopted American, entertained
us at lunch, and in each European home we sipped afternoon tea, were
entertained with music and listened to delightful little stories of
Persian life. With friends we made several excursions about the city,
bartering in the bazaars, visiting the places of interest and calling
upon Persians of high rank. Our sight-seeing in Shiraz was ended on
Wednesday, Dec. 1, when we departed for the north. Our cyclometer
revealed that we covered twenty-three miles by dusk over sandy roads
and in the face of strong winds, the first day out from Shiraz. At
Zerghun we halted for the night, and were up and away before daybreak
the next morning. By 10 o'clock we could see outlined against the
blue mountains to the north, a village which we knew to be Kinorah,
a small, harmless little settlement, where we had been advised to seek
accommodations. The ruins of Persopolis are near by, and wishing to
visit the grandest monument of a kingly ruler's power that the modern
world knows, we wheeled into Kinorah, where we were the guests of
the Rev. W. A. Rice.