Overland to India, Volume 2 E-Book

Dr. Sven Hedin

• Herausgeber: Jazzybee Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A detailed account of the journey from Trebizond to Quetta. The route took Hedin through Erzerum, skirted Mount Ararat to Etchmiadzin and Nakichevan (the grave of Noah), and thence by Tabriz and Kasvin to Teheran, where the first part of his journey ended. The second part took him to Nasratabad in Seistan; the third to Quetta, where he may be said to have reached India . . . . The two volumes in which it is recorded contain a vast deal more than is above indicated. There are many digressions (from the bare record of travel) , some of which will not appeal to the general reader, whose interest is chiefly confined to the tale of travel, but many of them will command the attention of geographers and experts . . . . To mention a few, there are notes about Marco Polo's travels, about the Euphrates, Mesopotamia and Nineveh, chapters on travels in the Kavír, on the march of Alexander the Great, on post-glacial climatic changes in Persia, on the distribution of desert and on the plague. This is volume two out of two.

Leseprobe

Overland to India

Volume 2

SVEN HEDIN

Overland to India 2, Sven Hedin

Jazzybee Verlag Jürgen Beck

86450 Altenmünster, Loschberg 9

Deutschland

ISBN: 9783849663391

www.jazzybee-verlag.de

[email protected]

CONTENTS:

CHAPTER XXXV. ON THE BORDER BETWEEN THE SANDY DESERT AND THE KEVIR1

CHAPTER XXXVI. CARAVAN LIFE.. 11

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE OASIS OF TEBBES. 20

CHAPTER XXXVIII. A PASSION-PLAY IN MOHARREM... 29

CHAPTER XXXIX. THE DATE PALMS OF TEBBES. 40

CHAPTER XL. MARCO POLO... 48

CHAPTER XLI. A DESERT LAKE.. 56

CHAPTER XLII. THE BAHABAD DESERT.. 64

CHAPTER XLIII. THE DESERT OF ALEXANDER AND NADIR'S THRONE74

CHAPTER XLIV. FROM NAIBEND TO SER-I-CHA.. 85

CHAPTER XLV. THE ROAD TO NEH.. 94

CHAPTER XLVI. TRAVELS IN THE KEVIR.. 103

CHAPTER XLVII. TRAVELS IN THE KEVIR— continued. 113

CHAPTER XLVIII. PERSIAN DEPRESSIONS. 126

CHAPTER XLIX. ALEXANDER'S MARCH THROUGH SOUTHERN BALUCHISTAN134

CHAPTER L. POST-GLACIAL CLIMATIC CHANGES IN PERSIA.. 149

CHAPTER LI. THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE SANDY DESERTS OF PERSIA169

CHAPTER LII. WE PART WITH OUR CAMELS. 176

CHAPTER LIII. TO THE SHORE OF THE HAMUN... 184

CHAPTER LIV. A LAKE VOYAGE.. 192

CHAPTER LV. THE PLAGUE.. 198

CHAPTER LVI. THE HELMAND... 209

CHAPTER LVII. ON THE FRONTIER BETWEEN PERSIA AND AFGHANISTAN216

CHAPTER LVIII. AN EXCURSION INTO AFGHAN TERRITORY.. 225

CHAPTER LIX. THE ROAD THROUGH BALUCHISTAN... 234

CHAPTER LX. TO THE END OF THE JOURNEY.. 243

CHAPTER XXXV. ON THE BORDER BETWEEN THE SANDY DESERT AND THE KEVIR

Just as we were setting out on February 19 a small caravan arrived from Khur on its way to Cha-meji. Its leader warned us most emphatically not to cross the great Kevir bay, which would certainly be under water in some parts, and where in any case we should quite ruin our camels. Ah, well, we thought, we shall see when we come nearer, and we marched on in good but cold weather (38.8° at seven o'clock) and under a sky streaked and mottled by small white clouds in quite the same regular arrangement as the small ridges and lines in the sand of a shallow lake. Small dwindling rain-furrows ran towards the east-northeast, and on the right, we left a small longish pool formed by rainwater. Beyond the eastern point of the range of hills on our right now appeared another higher range with snow on its crest, called Kuh-i-pusht-i-badam, while to the southeast the country was quite flat and open, and to the east-southeast was seen a hill called Kuh-i-rabat-i-khan.

Our march brought us to a bay, 300 yards broad, of the isolated kevir which surrounded the small pool. It would have taken us only a few minutes longer to go round this little bay, but Habibullah, who walked in front, marched fearlessly forward and the caravan followed. But the farther we proceeded from the shore the softer the ground became. The camels tramped down quite a trench of mud and slime and soon sank in up to their knees. And they sank still deeper at every step. A camel fell in the first detachment, but got up again without help. Then the next in the row, the large dark stallion, which was carrying four sacks of straw weighing 100 batman, came down. But he fought bravely and composedly with the treacherous mud, was urged on with cries and blows, and splashed and tramped on with long active steps, till all at once he sank in to the belly, and lay as though stuck fast in a mould.

General commotion! All hands hurry up. The camel's load must be taken off and carried ashore by the men, and then by the united strength of the men and not less by his own intelligence and energy the animal is raised from the horrible mud-bath, which might have cost him his life. He is then led quietly and steadily by a roundabout way to firm land with the mire hanging and dropping from his belly and legs. He is summarily scraped clean and loaded again, while the other camels are brought along a surer path over this treacherous ground. Not once in the great Kevir had we passed such a slough as this, but I had another illustration of the peculiarities of the kind of ground Persians call kevir. The small arm we are now crossing has been softened and disturbed by the recent heavy rain and has also a large admixture of sand. After a week of sunny weather the surface would become hard and unyielding, forming a tough crust over the slough. Under such conditions as these, it is easy to understand that a caravan which goes out into the Kevir in good weather and is caught in heavy rain in the middle of it, is exposed to the greatest danger. In ground such as we have just tested, even the strongest camel, though relieved of its load, is sucked under in a few hundred yards.

We had at any rate learned a useful lesson and saw that we must travel round the large Kevir bay, from which we were now separated only by a sandspit. It was better to keep to dry ground rather than run such great risks to save a trifle of 6 farsakh.

We cross in a south-easterly direction the spit of firm ground, which is covered with coarse sand and small dunes with or without saxaul and shrubs and come to the western edge of the great Kevir bay, and see the outlines of the hills standing on its eastern side in light but distinct tones. The bay lies between like a great fiord, and a hasty glance over it is sufficient to convince us that it is absolutely impassable. As usual, various belts of different colours are distinguishable. The yellow are half dry, the white are covered with a sheet of salt, while the dark brown, almost black, are sodden and would not bear the weight of a camel; but worst of all are the blue areas, which simply indicate shallow rain-water still remaining on the surface; they lie at a distance of 2 to 2 ½ miles from the firm shore.

A singular and unusual as well as a slow and wearisome country awaits us during the rest of our day's march. We go towards the south-east. On the left stretches the Kevir, to the right a belt of more or less compact blown sand. The limit between the two is so sharp that it can usually be determined within a span. And this boundary does not run in a straight or slightly curved line, but is, on the contrary, as jagged as a saw, while an unbroken succession of dune spurs open out before us separated from one another by equally sharp kevir creeks. The sandspits are fairly flat and spoon-shaped, and their extremities pointing north or north-north-east are rounded off. The dunes are often held together by saxaul and shrubs, and their windward and leeward sides cannot be distinguished. Sometimes there are steps on their flanks, and in the Kevir creeks are seen concentric zones of different shades, probably lines of unequal desiccation. The rounded sand-dunes contrast sharply with the level dark brown Kevir.

It is evident that such a formation of the ground must be very difficult for travelling. If we try to cross a deeply indented Kevir creek, the first camel sinks in the mud and draws back hastily, and we have to go round. The line of march, therefore, becomes an undulating line in a horizontal plane. And if we cross the sandspits it becomes an undulating line in a vertical plane. Actually, it is a combination of the two. There is in general no road or path, partly because here travelers march where they like and partly because the tracks are swept away by the wind.

The hills in the south-west, Kuh-i-khonche-datkin, Kuh-i-surkh, and Kuh-i-irech, merge more and more together, and now look like a single continuous elevation with a little snow. But in front of us there is no change in the landscape, the sharp jagged coastline runs on south-eastwards, while the sand, however, becomes ever higher and more barren. The dunes are now 100 feet high, and sometimes we can go for ten minutes along the top of a sandhill as on the bottom of an upturned punt. A small detached bit of kevir, surrounded on all sides by high dunes, is left on the right. Another is larger, and some isolated sand-hills stand up in it like islands in the middle of a lake. Three more such kevir flats without sand are passed. It seems as if the sand were heaped up on a substratum of kevir, which, if such is the case, must be firmer than elsewhere to be able to bear the burden. Possibly the sand covering protects the material of the kevir from atmospheric moisture and promotes desiccation to a greater depth. The small detached hollows of kevir have formerly formed parts of the great Kevir bay, but the sand has encroached and they have finally been enclosed in it.

The last detached kevir flat we pass is drawn out from WSW, to ENE,, and on its flat surface stand two cairns marking the route between Yezd and Tebbes, the last stage being Mehrijan. Five such nishan or waymarks have been erected by Parsis from Yezd within the sandy belt, to guide travelers in foggy weather. No other sign of a road is visible. After rain men have to travel through the sand, but at other times they try to make use, as far as possible, of the flat kevir flats, which here play the same part as the bayirs in the desert between Cherchen and Tatran in Eastern Turkestan,

The sand is of two shades, a lighter and a darker yellow. The latter is wet, the former, which lies chiefly on more exposed convex surfaces, is dry. When the wind sweeps over them, the dry light sand may be seen spreading itself over the dark. The dunes now become lower and are clothed with vegetation. We try to cross a kevir creek. It bears, and also the next, and for the rest of the day's march we can keep outside the sandspits. It proves that the Kevir at this part consists to a large extent of sand, and therefore as long as it remains dry bears better than elsewhere, affording us an excellent path where we are no longer obliged to go in and out. Here the same struggle goes on between the Kevir and the drift sand as between drift sand and water in Eastern Turkestan; but it is the sand which gains ground, and the level surface of the Kevir which is contracted and grows less. If we compare the conditions in the Kevir with the Takla-makan we shall involuntarily come to the conclusion that in both cases the same effective work of transmutation is in progress, caused by weathering in association with changes of climate and the transporting action of wind. But in the two lands the transformation of the earth's surface is at different stages. In Eastern Turkestan the blown sand has spread and piled itself up in huge quantities, so that only an insignificant and vanishing part of the ground is bare. In Persia the bottom, that is, the ground of the Kevir, is still incomparably more extensive than the sand-belts on its margin. If the change of climate continues in the same direction as now, that is to say, towards a higher degree of drought, it may be taken for granted that the slough of the Kevir will lose moisture and afflux of water, and in time will become firmer, and I that the drift sand will with greater ease extend and firmly establish itself Undoubtedly the physical geographical changes now in progress will end in entirely converting the Kevir into a sandy desert of the same kind as in Eastern Turkestan. And we can, on the other hand, draw the inference that Eastern Turkestan, after having been at one time a part of the Central Asiatic Mediterranean sea, was gradually filled up with finely disintegrated products of weathering of the same kind as in the present Kevir, and that its solidified lake of wet mud and clay was finally dried and hardened to such a degree that it could bear the weight of the encroaching sand. And that the sand was formerly of less extent than now is proved by the archaeological discoveries of myself and other travelers. The substratum laid bare in the bayirs of the Cherchen desert strongly reminds one of the ground of the Kevir. In both cases it is dark, fine matter, forming an almost plane surface. In both cases this material, when mixed with water, is transformed into a slough in which a man sinks beyond recovery; but in Eastern Turkestan the ground -water stands at a greater depth, and as rain is there exceedingly rare one can go with impunity anywhere over the level bayir ground.

I by no means regretted the long detour round the southern edge of the great Kevir bay, for by this means we learned all the details of the coast-line; every sandspit was inserted on my map, and for a long time to come any traveler who takes the trouble to follow the same shore, will be able, by a comparison with my map, to draw correct conclusions and determine in which direction and to what amount the sand-belt is extending.

Farther south the Kevir creeks penetrate less deeply between the sandspits, and before these He small exposed sheets of water. At length we leave the sandy coast at a still greater distance, and make straight for a promontory in the south-east. But suddenly an unexpected change presents itself, for before us lies an extensive sheet of water. The caravan leader takes off his boots and convinces himself that the ground beneath the water will easily bear — it consists of close sand; and then the camels splash cheerfully into water a foot deep. Regular waves lap round the ships of the desert, and the caravan presents a strange and picturesque spectacle as it marches right across the shallow lake.

That the usual way really passed through the water was shown plainly when we met in its midst a caravan of twenty-five camels, which was returning from Turshiz to Khur and Germe with a load of wheat. One of the men in this caravan told us, as he passed, that he and his comrades had been attacked at the last camping-ground, that is, the previous evening, by four armed robbers, who were carrying stolen goods on a camel. Whether these disturbers of the peace held the men of the caravan in respect because they had a gun to defend themselves with, or whether they were influenced by philanthropic feelings, at any rate, they confined their plundering to the caravan's reserve of powder and ball and demanded nothing else. This story made a deep impression on my men, and all the evening they talked of nothing but tales of robbers.

The point we were steering for turned out to be too far off, and when the leader thought that we had gone far enough after 8 1/2 hours' march, he changed his direction and turned in towards the shore, crossing a belt of slippery mud. We set up our tents at the foot of a dune, quite 130 feet high, where saxaul as tall as trees grew. The locality is called Chemgert. The height was 2539 feet.

The first thing I do is to go up the dune, from the top of which I can command the whole horizon. I have an expert with me who tells me the names of all the hills in sight and points out in which direction the various roads run. Then I descend to inspect the camels, who haughtily and indifferently sniff at the chopped straw before it is mixed with cottonseed, but afterwards eat it with the keener appetite. I make sure that the dogs and fowls get their meal — we have bought a cock and some hens in Khur, which run about picking and cackling between the tents, and give the camp a homely and rural air. I stand a while at the men's fire where two wanderers with an ass from Khur are entertained. Like ourselves, they are on the way to Tebbes, and they ask if they may be allowed to accompany us. as they are so afraid of robbers. Certainly, with pleasure. The Cossacks sit and clean their rifles and keep their ammunition handy and propose that a night watch should be kept at the camp. For my part, I have no belief in robbers. Twenty years ago I travelled backwards and forwards all through Persia without a single retainer, and was never molested.

The morning of February 20 promised nothing good, and before noon its promise was fulfilled. When I went out before seven o'clock the sky was covered with a dense uniform mass of clouds, and there was a fine drizzle. The minimum thermometer marked 37°; at seven o'clock the temperature was 42.4°, at one o'clock 43°, and at nine o'clock 37.8°. While I was walking briskly on foot in advance the rain increased, and at nine a.m. it was so thick that I mounted my tall camel, took my ulster, and wrapped a couple of rugs round me. It felt quite cool in the searching northerly blast, which increased as the day advanced.

As yesterday, we follow the coast on hard, excellent sandy ground and pass again a succession of spits. At a point where the road forks we halt for a consultation. A distinct path runs east-north-east right across the Kevir, cutting off the southernmost part of the large bay. The other path continues along the sandspits towards the southeast. One of our guides believes that the direct road will bear and will save us at least a farsakh, and Gulam Hussein says that it will save us a good hour. But as the caravan we met yesterday had closely followed the coast, I consider it more advisable to take the longer way, whereby J also I shall be able to complete the map of the bay's contour.

The ground of the Kevir now becomes lumpy and black, but it is so mixed with sand that it bears in all parts. A thin sheet of salt covers the south-eastern side of every hillock, and a little way out from the coast to the northwest the surface looks white, while to the south-east it is dark. It is as though hoar-frost or drifted snow were beginning to collect in the lee of the obstacles.

Along the shore saxaul grows freely, though in smaller bushes than on yesterday's journey. At length we come to the southern part of the great bay and turn east, thereby cutting off a considerable point of the bay. We gain a little by it, but we have seen before a number of other such ways leaving the coast to cross the Kevir. It depends on the time of year and the weather which of them may be used. The most advantageous is the most northerly, which we saw yesterday, and which shortens the distance to Tebbes by 6 farsakh. But in such weather as we have now we should have a feeling of uneasiness in leaving the shore to march out into a bay, which might not bear in the middle — it would be like leaving a sheltered coast under close-reefed sails with danger in sight.

Before a sandspit stood a sheet of water which might be drunk in case of necessity and was good enough for the camels. But then the ground became so soaked and muddy that we preferred to skirt the edge of the sand, where a herd of camels was grazing and excited the tall dark camel at the head of the caravan. He gurgled softly and sadly and longed in vain for his " lady of the camellias."

And meanwhile the rain pattered on the sand and was lost. In Turut the rain was local, and it rained, as could be seen, in half-a-dozen different places at once. But here it was general, and rained with equal intensity as far as the eye could reach and continued without a moment's interval all day long. Strange country! A constantly overcast sky, abundant precipitation, not a glimpse of the sun — this is the last kind of weather I had expected in the eastern deserts of Haji Baba's land. Not a sign of the panorama of the hills that surround us near or far is to be detected. All view is hidden, and all kinds of work are harder. Photographing is not to be thought of; the map sheet becomes wet and pulpy; to read the compass and watch is more troublesome than usual, when I can scarcely take my hands out of my drenched pockets.

Many of the last Kevir creeks we have to cross run in farther than the others, and the last of all and the most easterly is the largest. In other respects also it is unlike its neighbours. It reminds me of a stunted bayir, skirted east and west by sand 65 feet high. Its bottom is hard and consists, at any rate on the surface, of hard compact sand. But the peculiarity of this creek is that it slopes towards the south, the direction to which its extremity points. I should not have noticed this circumstance, and never have thought of it, if it had not been that a stream quite a hundred yards broad and only half-an-inch deep on an average runs southwards. In places the stream is divided into arms by banks of mud some three-quarters of an inch high, but the current is so powerful that there is a tendency to the formation of small erosion edges. The ground falls then southwards, and it seems that the eastern basin of the great Kevir has a superficial drainage in this direction, though the phenomenon may of course be local and embrace a comparatively trilling area.

We crossed the creek and came to the eastern shore of sand, where our direction became due north, with large collections of rain-water on the left hand. We had, then, the suffocating north wind and pelting rain right in our faces, pattering on our clothes, and running in rivulets from them down the camels' flanks. I was so drenched that I had to change every thread, even to my stockings. There was silence in the caravan, only the bells ringing as usual. Those who went on foot leaned forwards as they walked, and those riding sat on their camels facing the tail, so that the rain should fall on their backs; while I sat forwards for the sake of the mapping, and the rain pelted on the sheet. I became quite frozen and numbed in the hands, but I faced the trouble resolutely.

The germsir, the warm country, where even in winter a warm sun in a bright blue sky and wide views over distant hills in the light rosy hues of the desert might have been expected! Instead, the sky is leaden grey and the rain so troublesome that I must snatch at opportunities of photographing and drawing. Ever since we have come in contact with the Kevir the weather has been such as to persuade us that the great salt desert has the effect of forming and condensing clouds.

I was, therefore, anything but disgusted when Gulam Hussein asked if it would not be well to encamp. We might have gone farther, for we were already like drowned cats, but we could see nothing of the country, so I ordered a halt. Height 2687 feet.

We pitched our tents in beating rain, and every load was, so Meshedi Abbas declared, 10 batman heavier. It was not easy to make a fire; there was plenty of firewood, but it was so wet that we only succeeded after half an hour's perseverance with the help of paper and grass. And then a blazing fire crackled and hissed in the rain. My first care was to change my clothes and hang up my dripping garments with safety-pins on the inside of the tent canvas. The camels were sent off to graze on the saxaul. Fortunately, they had still their thick winter coats, though they were soaked with water. The fowls were benumbed and half dead with the cold and wind, but they were given shelter in my tent where they sat meditating round the brazier, and were regaled with bread and water, I was soon myself again, and could use my hands for making notes and sketches. We had seen no robbers up till now, nor even any suspicious signs, but the Cossacks had their rifles and revolvers ready and when I awoke once in the preceding night, I had seen my tent lighted up by the ruddy flames of the watch fire.

At three o'clock the rain became a light drizzle, but in the evening one of the hardest northerly storms I have ever experienced broke loose, and now the rain again dashed against the tents driven by the furious blast. Everything had to be secured and firmly tied to prevent its being carried away, and nothing could be left about. I could do nothing better than lie down and read by a candle protected by a glass shade and a couple of boxes. The tent canvas was thoroughly wet on the inside, and drops filtered through its holes. A trench was dug around the tent to protect me from intruding rivulets. Large quantities of water must on such a day stream down from all sides to the Kevir. And I thought again of the plight we should have been in if we had delayed our departure a day or two from Turut. We should have been completely cut off from our return route, and even a circuitous march round the eastern margin of the Kevir would have been quite problematic, for we might be sure that the Kal-mura was much swollen.

How dull and dark it was when I went out at nine o'clock to take the usual meteorological observations! It had then rained incessantly for twelve hours, and the gale whistled like an autumn storm, moaning and piping through the bushes. The gleams from the men's large camp fire lighted up the tents, the baggage, the camels and their two watchmen, who sat cowering under their sackcloth cloaks and dozed round the blaze. They slept in the open in all weathers.

After two hours' interval, early in the morning, it began to rain again at seven o'clock, and the sky was black with clouds. But after an hour the weather cleared a little, and the sky's shroud of clouds presented the most fantastic relief in bluish-purple shades, with tufts, cushions, and bolsters, pure white heaps and dark tunnels, but the sun strove in vain to break through. We might have been travelling in a country where the sun in winter remained below the horizon, and yet we were in the land of the lion and the sun.

As usual, I walked on ahead, looking for the best passage for the camels among the dunes, but I was soon overtaken by Habibullah, who told me in a patronizing tone that it was not well to go alone and unarmed in this biaban, where robbers might surely be lying in ambush behind the shrubs. He did not remember that he himself was unarmed and would be fearfully scared if a band of robbers popped up among the dunes. After a while he was relieved by Abbas Kuli Bek, who carried his rifle over his shoulder. The Persians are steady and agreeable, but they are not heroes, and their imagination runs wild when they scent danger.

So we march on among knobby dunes, thickly overgrown, often with actual thickets, and out on the desert large sheets of water shimmer after the rain of the night. A singular, very irregular creek of the Kevir protrudes into the sand-belt and is filled with shallow water. Outside the great Kevir is interminable with its north-western horizon as level as a sea, and yonder Kuh-i-gumbei still raises its clearly marked profile. Then we follow, as yesterday, the edge of the sand-belt at a distance of only a couple of yards from the shore of the Kevir, where long pools of water lie so near that I suspect that the weight of sand exercises a decided pressure on the less stable substratum.

The trail of two barefooted men and a camel excites my men's suspicions, and they march in close order, with their hearts in their mouths and their guns on their shoulders, expecting an attack at any moment. But this time it is only two innocent herdsmen, who are watching sixty camels from Anarek in the sand-belt. When the sand afterwards becomes flatter, a succession of small points and teeth of the adjacent range comes into view, and at its foot Chashirin, or the "sweet well," is sunk in the ground.

The ground is level, and we are very cautious not to leave the sand-strewn tract, but even this is not always to be trusted after the late rain. Then we have to cross a long Kevir creek, little more than a hundred yards broad, and strewn all over with sand and with a path where the caravan of yesterday passed. The first camel sinks in at once to its belly, and its legs bore into the soft ground like pins into a cushion. Those behind make a hasty right-about turn, while the load of the unlucky animal is carried ashore. There is no time for thinking, for the camel, bellowing piteously, is slowly falling deeper into the mud. His legs are dug out with spades, and at last he makes a violent jump out of the mud-hole, but only to fall more hopelessly into another. Then all we have in the way of sacks and strips of felt are hurriedly brought, and dry stems of saxaul are broken off on the shore; and with this material a temporary bridge is constructed over the dangerous spot and the camel is rescued. After this experience we do not venture on any more shortcuts for the rest of the day.

A small blue gap among the clouds in the zenith I mocked our hopes of fine weather. I never saw such! masses of clouds, and we could not help looking at them, I they were so artistic and picturesquely formed, and presented a much finer sight than the surface of the land.

Some distance from the shore a small sandy islet held together by vegetation rises out of the Kevir, the only one we have seen in the salt desert. At this point our route joins the cross route over the great Kevir, the other western terminus of which we saw the day before yesterday. A peninsula of sand, called Pa-i-tagh, juts out into the desert, and at its base rise two considerable dune ridges, running as usual north and south. Here we turn to the east and leave the shore of the Kevir. The sand-belt we have had to do with during the latter days continues northeastwards to Halvan and Dest-gerdun and is said to stretch southwards for a distance of 12 farsakh more.

The road then becomes excellent and is more distinct because it forms a bare channel between steppe shrubs and grass. But sandhills still continue, though much lower than before, and all drawn out from south to north. We leave on the right the sweet-water well Cha-naini at the foot of the nearest hill. And then something dark comes into sight in front of us, — the ruins of a small tower, with a rabat or rest-house with arched windows beside it, but no living inmate. Here is the well Cha-meji, where we pitch our tents. Height 2671 feet.

At Cha-meji there are nine wells in all, of which only four are in use. The one which provided us with water is round and bricked in with a diameter of 3 feet and a depth of 81 feet, and its slightly saline water had a temperature of 75 when that of the air was only 50°, so that it felt almost hot. A windlass with side pieces rests on posts at either side, and has a line wound round it. It is not worked by hand, but there is a chair-like contrivance of stone in which a man sits and turns the roller with his feet. The water is brought up in two small skin bags kept open by cross pieces of wood and is received into a trough from which camels can drink.

The rabat of Cha-meji is said to have been built six years ago by a gentleman named Haji Mad Hussein Meherejani, and it is an important halting-place for caravans going from Tebbes westwards. At the edge of the Kevir, said to be half a farsakh distant, grows siah-tagh or " black saxaul," which is higher than a camel.

CHAPTER XXXVI. CARAVAN LIFE

It was a fine morning on February 22, with 43.2° at seven o'clock and 55° at one o'clock, and a fresh, almost strong, southwest wind had dispersed the last clouds left by the bad-i-Khorasan. Early in the morning, while darkness still lay over the earth, bells were heard and shouts in the distance, and a caravan of fifty camels passed by, carrying tobacco from Tebbes to Teheran. It marched past Cha-meji without halting, and we soon found that it had no need of water, when we came to a trench from Kuh-i-Darin in which large pools remained after the rain of the previous day.

The sand became lower, but lay still in the same knobbly flat hillocks, abundantly overgrown with a tamarisk called eskambil. In two places there were flocks of sheep with their shepherds; to them the rain is welcome, for they need not make long pilgrimages to wells, and the pasture is better.

At ser-i-yek-farsakh, or "the first farsakh," stands a cairn to give notice of the slightly saline well Cha-Abdul standing half a farsakh off to the north of the road. On the right the low hills continue, while Kuh-i-rabat-khan and Kuh-i-Darin are behind us; the tamarisks have thinned out, and in their place grass growing in tufts and clumps makes the steppe yellow. At the riverbed we are now following a tobacco caravan from Tebbes is camping. The camels graze and the men sleep round their dying fire in the shelter of the piled-up tobacco bales.

Our course runs eastwards, and in front of us is seen the summit Bala-ser-i-rabat-khan, which has been visible for two days. The ground changes, hard pebbly soil becomes predominant, and on it quite small dunes stand in rows. But farther on the sand increases again in a belt called Rig-i-dou-dou, but we can, by marching in zigzags, easily avoid the dunes, which are more than 13 feet high. The road forks, and its right branch goes to Darin and Tebbes. We take the left, for this road is better, and runs along the southern front of thinly overgrown dunes as much as 65 feet high, which hide the Kevir and its boundless expanse from sight.

We cross the Rudkhaneh-i-Darin with a bed now dry, leave the high sand behind us and come among low hills, where a small brook of partially clear water purls pleasantly and musically among the stones in its bed, an unusual sound. It comes from the snow which fell yesterday, and therefore will soon fail. Here the whole party halts, the camels are watered, and the men enjoy the fresh sweet water, quite a different fluid from that in the briny wells. My servants wash themselves for the first time since they left Teheran. A little farther on we cross the road from Yezd to Khorasan; it is a shah-rak, or royal road, a main artery for caravans and pilgrims who resort to the tomb of Imam Riza in Meshed.

The camping-ground to-day is called Hauz-i-Sultan-sar and is situated at the eastern foot of a steep crest, in the flank of which strongly folded strata lie in fine exposures of various shades, sometimes light grey limestone, sometimes fine dark crystalline or compact. The reservoir is an open rectangular vat of stone, to which the water is conducted by a canal. The vat is now filled to the brim with water which stands and clears and has a fresh bluish-green colour. Even if there is no more rain this supply will last at least three months; but usually there is some water in Hauz-i-Sultan-sar throughout the year, for the store is from time to time replenished by fresh rain. To-day, too, two small showers fall. At Hauzi-i-Sultan-sar we are at a height of 3225 feet, and therefore have mounted 554 feet during the day's march.

Habibullah had of late shown himelf more disagreeable to his comrades than ever, and when he was this evening taken to task by Abbas Kuli Bek for hitting a camel unnecessarily, he came and complained to me, saying that he did not need to take lessons in the treatment of camels from a paltry Cossack, and as he could not put up with it he begged for his discharge, which was the more willingly granted as the other men wished to be rid of him. They thought, however, that it was all pretence, and therefore were astonished when Habibullah appeared next morning in marching order, with all his belongings tied up in a bundle on his back, his cage slung by a strap across his breast, and his staff in his hand. He declared positively that he could not endure a day longer in the company of such a scoundrel as Abbas Kuli Bek and the other riff-raff, and that he meant to go home to his village near Isfahan. His business was transacted in a moment; he received two months' pay, though he had already been paid for one month in Teheran, and he was allowed to keep his cloak, though the other men thought that it ought to be passed on to any one who should take his place. And so he bade me "Khodahafiz, sa'ab,'' and set off back along our track without looking at his comrades.

Between the hills on the right and the high sand on our left we travel on farther north-eastwards, and the road winds among small sharp ridges and summits, through valleys and over flat passes, and the distance from the high sand in the north gradually increases. But the clear outlines of the sand-hills are seen through the northern valleys, and the dunes seem to be higher than ever. Kuh-i-Halvan appears in faint red hues to the north-east; we had seen this hill for the first time from Turut, and afterwards from Khur. Now the wind blows strongly from the north-west and sweeps up the fine dust and sand, and the air becomes thick. The ravens that follow us croak anxiously, and it seems as though a storm were rising up. But the wind pushes on behind and helps the camels uphill.

When we leave behind us a sharply outlined summit and pass a small portal between two spurs, we see all atonce the village Jaffaru, down below on the plain, with the usual burch, cupola roots and a few palms, which are exceedingly strange in this icy wind. The village is surrounded on all sides by hills, which, however, leave an open space in the middle, and the country is open only to the north-north-east, and even here the Haivan hill forms a background in the distance. At its foot lies the village Haivan, which is said to contain a hundred houses and numerous palms; it is reckoned 6 farsakh to this village.

Standing at a height of 3593 feet, the new Jaffaru has been inhabited for thirty years, and consists of fourteen houses with seventy-two inhabitants, who grow wheat, barley, turnips, beet, melons, pomegranates, mulberries, figs, and a small quantity of dates. The subterranean irrigation canal starts from the adjacent hill. The village has 2000 sheep, 180 camels, 10 asses, and one mule. In its present condition it has been inhabited thirty years (up to 1906), but it is much older, though it was abandoned for a time owing to an attack of Baluchis. Its burch or little fort is said to be fifty years old, and was erected instead of an older one which had fallen into ruin. An old man, named Gulam Hussein, informed me that he had been kidnapped fifty years ago by Baluchis, and had been kept a prisoner for twelve months. The marauders had swept down like a storm wind on the unsuspecting village and had loaded all the valuables they could find on their jambas or swift dromedaries, even human beings, and then had hastened on the long journey back to Baluchistan in fourteen days. But Gulam Hussein's father had, a year later, gone to the country of the Baluchis and ransomed his son for 150 tuman. The farther we travel eastwards in these districts the more frequently we hear tales of such adventures, and of the former raids of Baluchis on the peaceful villages of the Persians.

Ibex, antelopes, and gazelles occur in the country, and leopards are not rare. A pack of nine wolves had for a long time boldly levied a tax on the flocks of the village and killed as many as 200 sheep in the year. But now seven had been killed by a hunter who gained a small income by his gun. When a hunter kills a wolf he goes round with his booty to all sheep and camel owners in the neighbourhood and receives 2 kran from each. In this way he may collect up to 40 tuman for a single wolf; the same custom obtains also in Western Persia. When a wolf steals sheep from a fold the shepherds inform the nearest hunter at once, and he can easily follow the clear trail of the wolf, which drags the last sheep he has killed with him and stops at a distance of a farsakh to feast on his prey, and then sleep. The hunter steals nearer and nearer along the ground, and fires at a distance of 100 or 150 paces. The two wolves still left rejected all other food but mutton, but some of those which were killed had also gone for the camels. They leap on to the camel's back, crawl down to his neck and tear his throat. The herdsmen know very well how many wolves there are in the country, give them each names, and know whereabouts their haunts are. Leopards, on the other hand, are said seldom to attack sheep, but they lie in ambush behind a rock or stones and spring out on an ibex or gazelle.

Here, also, there was talk of wild camels in the Rig-i-jin, but no one had seen them.

This year the precipitation had been unusually abundant, and therefore the pasture would be rich and agricultural products cheap; in a word, it was a lucky year. With some difficulty we succeeded in obtaining 30 batman of straw, and as besides there was plenty of barley meal with which to bake loaves for the camels, we decided to spend a day in Jaffaru. It did hot rain, but it was cold and raw, and after frost in the night the temperature did not rise above 43.9°, and next night we had seven degrees of frost.

It was difficult to induce the women of the village to sit as models; some agreed, but refused to let down their veils, and the three who sat only partly removed them. They excused themselves by saying that their husbands were away tending sheep and camels, and that they could not take any liberties during their absence. A young mother, with a child at her breast, had just taken her seat, when her mother-in-law came and drove her away with blows and stripes.

In the evening Gulam Hussein was badly bitten in the hand by our tall dark stallion, and the wound was bound up well with antiseptic cottonwool and a gauze bandage. He had so much pain that he lay moaning in the night, but after two days the wound was healed. Vicious camels may be very dangerous. I had from the first been on the most confidential terms with my riding camel; he would come up to my tent, put his head through the opening to get a piece of bread, and nosed quite familiarly about my pockets. I took his shaggy head into my lap and stroked his nose and eyes, and he never showed the least dislike to me. Our friendship became stronger every day that passed, and I dreaded the day when we should at last part far in the east.

On February 25 it was the turn of Jaffaru to be left in our wake, and the wagtails and larks sat on the small mean graves rejoicing in the brilliant morning. Not a cloud was in the sky, but the air was cool, 36.5° at seven o'clock, and when the road turned after a while to the north-east, we were thoroughly chilled on the left side in the shade and towards the wind, but warmed up comfortably on the right in the lee and in the sunshine. Behind us stood a finely arched saddle, truncated at the top, named Kuh-i-Jaffaru, and the range between Jaffaru and Hal van became more distinct; it is formed of a huge fold, of which, here the north-western and there the south-eastern half remains, and the strata dip in both these directions. The ground is hard and excellent for walking, scantily begrown with shrubs and intersected with furrows 3 feet deep and running northwards.

After travelling 1 farsakh we cross the great royal road from Shiraz, Yezd, and Rabat-i-khan to Meshed. It is clearly marked, and consists of several parallel tracks, and at the point of junction two cairns are erected. To the north-east and north-north-east still stands Kuh-i-Halvan, which appeared light blue from Khur, but is now pink and light red. The landscape is dreary and monotonous, and nothing else can be expected when the same low summits and crests are seen for hours together. Before us rises a reddish level-topped ridge with snow; the ground falls north-northwestwards, and in the same direction a transverse valley is visible in the Jaffaru-Halvan range, whither all the furrows converge to pass out into the sandy desert Rig-i-Halvan; at Halvan itself stands a hill like a red dome.

Before noon the wind veers round and blows for a time right in our faces, and the three men who are riding turn round to have the wind at their backs. If it is calm it feels warm in the sun, though the temperature does not rise above 48.2° at one o'clock. It seems as if winter and spring were contending for the mastery, and as if the latter were advancing from the coasts of the Indian Ocean, where it is a permanent guest, only giving place to a burning summer. But at present winter maintains not unsuccessfully its position in the north. The hills round Jaffaru are the eilak or summer pastures of Tebbes, where it is always fresh and cool compared with the stuffy lowlands round Tebbes. In due time we shall have more heat than we want, and then we shall perhaps look back with regret to the icy cold winds at Khur and Jaffaru.

We are in a broad open longitudinal valley, and when the fall, after having been north-westwards, becomes eastwards, we find that we have crossed a flat cross threshold without noticing it. Now the pink range before us shows up finely but faintly, and on its high crest the snow still remains in fields and patches. Before a large swell in the ground lies Tebbes, so that we have not much farther to go to the great stage on the journey through Iran, this longed-for aim of the two months' journey all the way from Teheran.

After a time, the easterly slope of the country becomes perceptible both to eyes and feet. We come to another depression within which Tebbes is situated. West and north of the flat saddle in the longitudinal valley all the drainage channels are directed towards the great Kevir. It was, then, an important watershed we passed; and, what is most remarkable, the depression we now come to lies lower than the great Kevir. Its bottom to the east-northeast looks dark in patches and seems to be a smaller subsidiary kevir. The scene now unfolding itself to the east is fascinating in its solemn dreariness. The rosy, snow-clad range beyond Tebbes thins out like mist to perish in the sea on the south, and its outermost spur stands like a projecting cape on the shore.

Beside the way is a cairn, and the men who are walking throw each a stone on the heap. It is a kind of votive-cairn, where each man presents his stone as a token of gratitude for having come safely so far on the road to Tehbes. An open-walled cistern, a little farther on, is called Hauz-i-nim-farsakh.

At length we cross a broad and deep main furrow also directed eastwards. At its right bank stands a ruined caravanserai, and a new caravanserai appears a little in front of us. And when we emerge into more open ground beyond a concealing projection, we see on the right new spurs and ramifications of the dreary hills, and far away in the distance, south -south-east, we have just a glimpse of another range which is said to be situated near Naibend. But between these hills the country is open, and there runs the road to Seistan, Baluchistan, and India. With some straining of the eyes we can make a guess at the position of Tebbes; a fine dark line is said to be its wood of date palms. High above and far beyond this line rises the pink range Kuh-i-shuturi, with flat, snow-covered summits and masses, and this side of Tebbes extends a desert with a surface whiter than snow.

At last we pitch our camp before Rabat-gur or the " wild asses' caravanserai," and here have descended again to an altitude of 3150 feet. The caravanserai is well built of burnt bricks, mostly taken from the ruins of the older caravanserais in the neighbourhood. It was erected fourteen years ago, at the expense of a rich merchant of Yezd, Haji Mirza Hussein, and is said to have cost 4000 tuman. The travelers who come here in winter when it is cold and windy and can creep into its lee and find shelter in its numerous rooms and niches, and those who travel in the burning days of summer and find a refuge from the heat in the cool shadow of these same niches — all ought to appreciate the liberality of Haji Mirza Hussein and pray, "Allah rest his soul! " The custom of purchasing salvation after death by the erection of a caravanserai has its counterpart in other countries not in hotels but in hospitals; and in any case the bequest of the testator provides great convenience and alleviation to innumerable travelers on their toilsome journeys through the desert.

The front of the rabat faces south; on the open level yard before it lie a number of camels ruminating beside the heaps of bales; in the open niches the caravan men sit smoking and enjoying the sunshine so rare in these days. Behind each niche is a square room, where not a ray of sun can penetrate, and where coolness prevails in summer. On the roof are seen two badgir or ventilators, which cause a circulation of air.

The seraiban or host, the overseer of the caravanserai, supplies travelers with straw, cottonseed, bread, and dates; but he exacts high prices, for everything is brought from Tebbes, where it is a dear season. The serai is, then, permanently inhabited, and the host does a good business. He reckoned that on an average five hundred caravans passed the place in the year, and the number was certainly not exaggerated; four caravans were now resting here besides our own. Two great routes cross at Rabat-gur. One is our road, from Khur to Tebbes and on to Turshiz; the other is the great royal road between Yezd and Meshed, of which we had already passed two of the western short cuts. The great pilgrimage and trade route to Meshed does not then touch Tebbes, and the oasis is deprived of the revenue a lively caravan traffic always brings with it. From Meshed the caravans transport wheat, barley, currants (kishmish), figs, crystallized sugar, loaf sugar, Russian cloth, etc.; from Yezd in the opposite direction, Indian tea, spices, henna, lemons, English cloth, cotton, indigo, sugar, etc.

The road between Yezd and Meshed is divided into 28 mensil or stages, and to these must be added several days of rest, so that the whole journey takes about thirty-five days. Every camel costs 5 tuman for fodder, but yields its owner 11 tuman in hire, so that there is a profit of 6 tuman per camel for the whole journey. Caravans travel only at night and encamp early in the morning, when the camels are turned loose on the steppe to shift for themselves. Just before sunset they are driven in to get their only meal in the day of straw and pambedaneh or cottonseed. One of the caravans now resting contained thirty-six camels, of which a few carried straw and the rest tea, henna, and cloth. It had left Yezd fifteen days before, and the leader had made the journey fifty times; he had done nothing else all his life and had never travelled along any other road. The thirty-six camels were from Turshiz and had cost on an average 50 tuman apiece; most were luk or geldings, a few mares, but not one a nehr or stallion. As usual, I noted down all the names on the road, not one of which is to be found on Stieler's map, but they all refer to springs, wells, and small insignificant hamlets, Tebbes is left at two days' journey to the east, and Turshiz a day's journey in the same direction.

Beside Rabat-gur stand two small huts half underground, where two bakers dwell; they have their bakery under the half-vaulted front, where they were actively engaged in baking delicious-smelling wheaten bread.

Rabat-i-gur, also called Rabat-gur and Rabat -guru, draws its drinking-water from a hauz, which was now full of fresh water; if it fails one has to be content with the salt stream from a spring in the vicinity. The reservoir which was built at the same time as the caravanserai is a long basin under a stone tunnel; a furrow from the hills conducts the water, and is regulated by low flanking banks, so as to enlarge the catchment basin. When one sees the result, a solid mass of water, which had in the morning a temperature of 45.7°, and was sweet and pleasant, one cannot help again admiring the ingenious arrangement which the Persians have learnt direct from Nature; for many natural sengab and abambar are to be found at the foot of these hills, though they evaporate away more rapidly than the artificial, and are often situated in places where they are not wanted.

We had pitched our tents near the reservoir, but I spent most of the evening at the caravanserai rising proudly and majestically on its terrace, a challenge to and a defence against the dismal desert around. I never tired of looking at the immense flat expanse of the earth's surface which stretched out eastwards. In the Kevir a remote horizon had circumscribed its circle around us, but there the country was as level as a frozen sea, and everything was grey and gloomy. Here, on the other hand, the spectator was on an elevated spot with the immense depression below him, and here the sky was pure and blue, and the ground was of light, delicate, rosy tints. The whole length of Kuh-i-shuturi or "Camel Hill" beyond Tebbes shone with a faint purple shade at sunset, and even the snowfield on its crest was pink and formed a fine light outline against the blue sky behind. But the sun sank, the shadows from the western heights passed quickly over the desert and crept up the precipices of the Camel Hill, the purple hues grew dull and changed into a neutral grey, the outline of the range became indistinct, and the details of its relief, even before scarcely perceptible, vanished altogether, and rosy shades hovered on a thin veil of clouds high above the snow — a reflection of the red light of evening.

The hurrying shades of night have stretched their dark curtain over the earth. Then is heard a wonderfully bewitching music from the inner court of the caravanserai, also surrounded by recesses with pointed arches. Two caravans are making ready for the night's march. The camels are brought forward in long rows to receive their loads. All the bells ring and their beats meet together in a single sonorous peal, strengthened by the echo from the solid stone walls and vaulted roofs, and the whole serai seems to be converted into sounding bronze and a vibrating resonator. How charming is the scene, how soothing and lulling the music, accompanied by the shouts of the men to the camels, and their talk as they hoist the loads on to the bearers! There is something grand and imposing in caravan life in Persia, the long wanderings through desert tracts, the longed-for rest at rabats. At Rabat -gur we felt that we were at a great focus of caravan life. Twenty years ago, I had witnessed many such scenes on the royal road from Teheran through Isfahan and Shiraz to Bushir, and on the road through Khorasan, and I had even been a member of a large Arabian caravan from Bagdad, poor as a student and without a servant; now I travelled as a gentleman, had my own caravan, and could go whither I chose.

The travelers were a long time getting ready, and I withdrew to my tent. In the outer court a dog was gnawing and tearing at the ears of a dead ass — it was his evening meal before his night journey.

At nine o'clock all was in order. Then the dog began to bark, shouts and talking were heard, and the bells began to ring in earnest, much as when an orchestra starts to play. The large bells ding heavily and slowly, smaller bells chime in, innumerable small tinklers give forth a metallic sound, and the whole loud carillon moves off on the way to Meshed. The leading bells have jingled past our tents long before the last camels have left the court of the serai. The long train is only heard and is quite invisible, for now it is dark, and the only light is that of the stars. In two places in the train merry singers are heard, but they are drowned by the clang of the bells, which also dies away in the distance on the road to Imam Riza's tomb, worn for centuries by pilgrims and caravans. And we are enveloped in the perfect calm of another night.

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE OASIS OF TEBBES

A CARAVAN from Tebbes came up jingling in the morning, completing its mensil just as we were beginning ours. The morning was fine and clear after a slight frost in the night, but the westerly wind still blew piercingly cold. However, it ceased after an hour of march, and when we had the sun right in our faces and the main furrow we followed sloped to the basin in the lowlands, we had a premonition that we were really approaching a germsir or warm country. We travelled eastwards among small spurs and mounds, the road was excellent, and the camels marched with ease. In one place there seemed to be a tendency to the formation of kevir, where the ground was now dry, but deep holes and the marks of the slipping footpads of camels showed that here, too, the ground was smooth and treacherous after rain. A large pond still stood in a hollow where the camels drank. In a broad defile between low hills the main bed has cut out a channel in solid rock to a depth of 6 feet and 65 to 100 feet broad. At Chil-i-Shah-Abbas, a votive-cairn, the road runs for a time down in the furrow, the bottom of which is full of pebbles and coarse sand. At Moghu, where a solitary palm has gone astray, the country flattens out in earnest, and all the furrows become more indefinite and shallower. At the right stand the western spurs of the hills and small projections, such as terraces, vanishing away towards the low land. The rock was compact limestone, sometimes dark brown and sometimes light red or greyish, and in one place I found a fine fossil shell.

Our course makes straight for the highest part of Kuh-i-shuturi, which now lies in shade and assumes the aspect of a steely-grey wall, but as the sun mounts higher its colour becomes warmer and its structure comes into view again. At eleven o'clock the sun feels burning hot, and light breezes from the east-south-east are refreshing. Due east a faint strip is seen — the palms at the village Chahrdeh, the end of our day's march.

Hauz-i-seh-farsakh is a covered cistern with water from the last rain, but after that the furrows become shallow and less marked; they run south-eastwards. Dreary and lifeless is the country; the pebbles become fewer, and the shrubs grow singly, often raised on small hillocks of earth. Three men are driving four asses laden with clover towards Rabat-gur. The fall ceases, and we are now down on the bottom of the depression; at a sand-dune the absolute height was found to be only 2169 feet, so that we were 980 feet lower than at Rabat-gur. Bokend-i-gau is a grotto in a terrace by the road, and here starts a large flat furrow into the white ground in the south to which all the furrows now run. We have, then, kevir ground on our right, and biaban or ordinary desert on our left, these two forms which are so diverse, life of any kind being completely absent from the Kevir, while tamarisks, saxaul, shrubs, and water are to be found in biaban.

Hauz-i-yek-farsakh, that is the hauz at a farsakh from Chahrdeh, stands dry in this vast waste, and is so remote from all hills that it is probably very seldom filled with water. The distance to the small kevir on our right seems to be only half a farsakh; its white surface quivering in the dazzling light looks like water, and a row of black spots above it are said to be tamarisks on the shore. It seems that there is also a salt swamp called Darya-Suleimani. Kuh-i-shuturi is fainter than yesterday, but we are lower down, and we have to look through denser and less pure air than up at Rabat-gur.

The hours glide by, and we draw near to our goal, and Chahrdeh's dark row of palms becomes more distinct. The ground is now quite level and absolutely barren and consists of yellow clay. We leave on the right a path leading to the village Kheirabad, half a farsakh from Chahrdeh, and in the same direction is seen a grove of seven palms. A gez