A Pilgrimage to Nejd, the Cradle of the Arab Race. Vol. 2 [of 2]

The whole party proceeded cautiously, avowing without the slightest shame their immense fear of the Ajjem (the Persians), whom they expected to meet at every turn of the road. Beyond the Dueri we found ourselves in a beaten track, which winds up and down over an undulating bit of desert, the last ripple of the Hamrin hills which are now behind us. The akid usually rode on in front to spy out possible enemies, and all had orders to keep together. Ours, however, was such a noisy party, that one would have thought its passage could have been heard for miles round. The bullocks were getting tired and required a great deal of driving, and the shouting and screaming reminded one of an Irish fair. So we went on without a halt till three o’clock, when a halt was ordered in a hollow, where we were out of sight of enemies, and where there was a quantity of wild celery, and another edible plant called “hakallah,” which we found good, for we had eaten nothing all day. Not far off were some sand mounds, with tufts of what looked very like ithel, but we dared not leave our camels to inspect them. The halt was only for half-an-hour; then with shouts of “Yalla yalla, erkob, erkob,” the mob went on.

We stopped again suddenly about an hour before sunset, and this time in alarm. The akid, who had ridden to the top of a low hill, was seen waving, as he came back, his abba, and instantly the cry arose, “El Ajjem, el Ajjem.” In an instant everybody was huddled together in a hollow place, like a covey of partridges when they see a hawk, and we were entreated, commanded to dismount. A few hurried words with the akid confirmed the terrible news of danger to the band, and all seemed at their wits’ end with terror. “How many horsemen? – how many?” we inquired. “Five,” was the answer, “but there are more behind; and then these are the Ajjem!” “And if they are the Ajjem, and only five of them, are you not forty of you here and able to fight?” “No, no!” they screamed, “you do not understand. These horsemen are Persians – Persians; every one of them capable of killing five of us.” I did not think men could be so craven-hearted. A few of the least cowardly now crept up to the hill-top and one by one came back to report; the number of horsemen seen rose rapidly from five to fifteen and eventually to fifty. When the last number was reached, the coward Ghafil, who had kept well in the middle of the mob, so as to be in the least possible danger, came to us with his softest and most cringing manner, forgetful of all his bullying, and begged us to be sure and do our best in the battle which was imminent. “You should stand in front of the others,” he said, “and shoot as fast as you can, and straight, so as to kill these Ajjem – dead you understand – it is better to shoot them dead. You, khatún, know how to shoot, I am sure – and you will not be afraid.” We could not help laughing at him, which shocked him dreadfully. Presently a man came rushing up to say the enemy was coming, and again there was unutterable confusion. The boy in green had begged some percussion caps of Wilfrid for his gun, and had been given fifty, and this now led to a wrangle, as he refused to share his prize with the rest. Everybody was trying to borrow everybody else’s gun or spear or bludgeon, for they were very rudely armed, and nobody would stand in front, but everybody behind. The women alone seemed to have got their heads, while Ghafil, white in the face, walked nervously up and down. We and the cavass stood a little apart from the rest, holding our horses, ready to fire and mount, and Wilfrid occupied the interval of expectation with giving me instructions what to do if we got separated in the fray. I was too well mounted to be overtaken, and was to make for the Kerkha river, which we knew could not be far away to the east, and put myself under the protection of the first Persian khan I should meet there; if possible, Kerim Khan, to whom I had a letter in my pocket, and who is a vakil of the Persian Government. We hoped, however, that we might be able to keep together, and beat off the enemy. Wilfrid called out to Ghafil, “You must tell me when to fire,” but Ghafil was too frightened to reply. Several of the men, however, called out, “Shoot at anybody you see – everybody here is an enemy.” The camels had been made to kneel down, and the cattle had been huddled together; only a few of all the mob looked as if they really meant to fight. They were silent enough now, talking only in whispers. So we remained perhaps for half-an-hour; then somebody ran up the hill again to look, and Wilfrid, tired of waiting, proposed that we should eat our dinner, as we had had nothing all day. I got some bread and a pomegranate out of the delúl bag, and we were soon at work, much to the disgust of the rest, who were shocked at our levity in such a moment. Presently there was another alarm and the people called to me to come inside their square, meaning kindly I think, but of course we would do no such thing, being really much safer where we were with our mares. Still no enemy came, and when we had finished our meal we tied our horses’ halters to our arms and lay down in our cloaks; we were very tired and soon were sound asleep. Nothing more was heard of the enemy that night.

But our troubles were not to end here. We were hardly comfortably asleep, before a tremendous crash of thunder roused us and a downpour of rain. On putting our heads out of our cloaks we saw our valiant escort rigging up our servants’ tent for themselves. They were terribly afraid of getting washed in the rain, and were shrieking to us to come inside too, indignant at Wilfrid’s “ma yukhalif” (“never mind”), with which he had already treated their remonstrances on other occasions. Indeed, “ma yukhalif” had now become a sort of nickname with them, and no dishonourable one, I think, for the person concerned. We neither of us could think of joining them in the tent, but having managed to get a couple of horse-rugs from the delúl bag, we covered ourselves over again and went to sleep; Sayad and Shiekha creeping in under them to keep us company. All of a sudden the rain stopped, and before we were well aware, the mob was again on the march. It was pitch dark, and we were within an ace of being left behind, a circumstance which perhaps we should have hardly regretted. Still, now we felt that our position with the robbers was such, that we ran less danger in their company than alone; and we all hurried on together. Ghafil was polite again; and the rest, feeling, I suppose, that the journey was nearly over, and their power over us vanishing, even made us offers of assistance. A long, weary night march we had, and at dawn found ourselves descending rapidly into a broad plain, knee deep in pasture. This was the valley of the Kerkha; and as it grew light we became aware of a long line of mounds, with two kubbrs or shrines in front of us, which Ghafil told us were the ruins of Eywan. At seven o’clock we saw tents within the circuit of the ancient city, and some shepherds in conical felt caps, and sheepskin dresses, the costume of the Bactiari and other tribes of Kurdish origin. We were in Persia.

Ghafil now went forward to announce our arrival to Sirdal Khan, the chieftain at whose tents we now are. But I must leave further details for to-morrow.

CHAPTER III

“Henceforth in safe assurance may ye rest,
Having both found a new friend you to aid,
And lost an old foe that did you molest,
Better new friend than an old foe is said.”

    Faëry Queen.

A prince in exile – Tea money – Rafts on the Kerkha – Last words with the Beni Laam – Kerim Khan – Beautiful Persia – We arrive at Dizful.

Sirdal Khan is a Shahzade, or member of the Royal family of Persia, many of whom are to be found living in official, and even private capacities in different parts of the kingdom. He himself had fallen into disgrace with the Court many years ago, and had been exiled from Persia proper, a misfortune which led to his taking up his residence with a section of the semi-dependent Seguand tribe of Lurs, where he became Khan or Chieftain. Both in looks and in manner, he stands in striking contrast with the people round him, having the handsome, regular features, long nose and melancholy, almond-shaped eyes of the family of the Shah, which, I believe, is not of Persian origin, and a certain dignity of bearing very different from the rude want of manners of the Lurs. These would seem to be of Tartar origin, coarse-featured, short-faced men, honest in their way and brave, but quite ignorant of those graces of address which even the worst Arabs are not wholly without. Sirdal, when he arrived among the Lurs, was possessed of considerable wealth, which he invested in flocks and herds, and until a short time before our visit he was living in Bedouin magnificence. But his enemies it would seem still pursued him, and not satisfied with his disgrace, molested him even in his exile. By some means, the rights of which we did not learn, they managed to instigate against him a rival chief, one Kerim Khan, who, under Government sanction, made a successful raid upon his flocks, stripping the unfortunate prince of everything, and driving him and his tribe across the Kerkha river into the No Man’s Land, which lies between Persia and Turkey, and which we had just crossed. In this position he has been obliged to maintain himself as he could, making terms with Mizban and the Beni Laam, who are his nearest neighbours westwards. The river Kerkha is considered the boundary of Persia, and as it is a large and rapid river, nearly half a mile across, he is in comparative safety from the east. Ghafil, therefore, as a Beni Laam, was on friendly terms with him, though it was easy to see that he despised and had no kind of sympathy with him or the ruffians of his band. By Hajji Mohammed’s advice, and to secure ourselves against further risks at their hands, we accordingly placed ourselves at once under the Khan’s protection. Hajji Mohammed fortunately knows both Persian and Kurdish, and soon explained to Sirdal the circumstances of our position, and he, delighted to meet once more with respectable people, readily assented. He received us with great kindness, made us comfortable in his tent, which, in spite of his poverty, was still more luxurious than any found among the Arabs; having partitions of matting worked in worsted with birds and beasts, carpets, and a fire, and gave us what we were much in want of, an excellent breakfast of well served rice and lamb. Then, when we had pitched our own tent just outside, he provided us with an efficient guard of Lurs, who soon sent our robber acquaintance of the last few days about their business. There is no love lost between them and the Arabs. Presently I received a visit from the Khan’s wife, whom he has lately married, and his mother, a well-bred person with perfect manners, and a refined, pleasing face. She was in black, in mourning she explained for a son; she has five sons, including the Khan, whose brothers live with him. A crowd of Seguand ladies came in her company, and an Arab woman who had been nurse to one of the Khan’s children, and who served me as interpreter. Ghafil’s wife, too, one of the poor women who had travelled with us, came in and joined the conversation. She is loud in her complaints of Ghafil, who treats her ill. He is now very polite, and presented himself during the afternoon at our tent as if nothing had happened, with a little girl named Norah in his arms whom he told us was his niece, he having a sister here married to one of Sirdal’s men. I had a carpet spread for the ladies outside our tent, for it could not have held them all, and they sat round me for an hour or more, curious and enquiring, but exceedingly polite. They admired especially my boots and gloves, which I pulled off to show them. One of them, turning up my sleeve, exclaimed at the whiteness of my wrist. At the end of an hour the elder lady rose, and wishing me affectionately good morning, took her leave, the rest following.

We then had a pleasant day of peace and a sound night’s rest, hardly disturbed by the ferocious shouting and singing of our guard, which, under other circumstances, might have been frightening. Anything more wild and barbarous than their chaunting I never listened to, but to us it was sweet as music, for we knew that it was raised to scare our jackals, the Beni Laam.

April 2. – Next day we crossed the Kerkha. When we saw the size of the river, swollen with melted snow and running eight miles an hour, and as wide as the Thames at Greenwich, we felt thankful indeed for having met Sirdal Khan. Here there would have been no fording possible, and we, or at least our goods, would have been at the mercy of our robber escort. The Khan, however, agreed for a sum of money, 100 krans (nothing in Persia is done for nothing, either by prince or peasant), to have us ferried over with our baggage to the Persian shore, and our camels and horses swum after us. Hospitality is not a virtue real or pretended with the Persians, and the Khan, prince as he was and a really charming man, explained to Hajji Mohammed without affectation, that sixty of the one hundred krans he would count as “tea money,” or as the Spaniards would say, “ruido de casa,” payment for board and lodging. To this, however, we were indifferent, and appreciate none the less his kindness and good manners. He rode with us himself to the river on a well-bred Arabian mare he told us was “asil,” as it well might be, and saw that all things in the matter of the rafts were done as they should be. At first we rode through the mounds of Eywan, which are disposed in a quadrangle fronting the river, and where we found plentiful remains of pottery; then past the kubbr of I forget what Mohammedan saint, facing a similar kubbr on the eastern bank; then across some fordable branches of the river and islands clothed with guttub and canora trees, to the main body of the Kerkha, where we found a raft preparing. The canora bushes had fruit on them, which the Khan politely picked, and gave me to eat, little yellow fruits, pleasantly acid, like medlars, and with stones inside.

The passage of the river was a tedious, not to say difficult, process, the single raft being composed of twenty skins only, and very crank. We found besides, to our disgust, and also waiting to take advantage of our passage, our late disagreeable companions, Ghafil, the one-eyed Kurd, and all the rest, who presently began a loud argument with the Lurs as to who should pilot our camels through the water, a ticklish duty, which required both knowledge of the animals and skill in swimming, to perform successfully. At first we were naturally in favour of the Lurs, and unwilling to trust any part of our property with the mongrel Arabs; but when it came to the point of testing their capabilities, the Lurs broke lamentably down, being hardly able to manage the camels even on dry land, so by the Khan’s advice we let the Bedouins manage the business, which I must say they performed with no little courage and skill. It takes two men to swim a camel safely. First of all the beast must be unloaded to the skin. Then a cord is tied to the tail for one man to hold by, and another mounts on his back. Thus he is driven into the water, and pushed on gradually till he loses his legs. The man on his back then floats off down stream of him, and holding with one hand by the hump, splashes water in the camel’s face to keep his head straight, while the other urges him from behind. The camel seems heavier than most animals in the water, showing nothing but the tip of his nose above the surface, and he is a slow swimmer. It was an anxious quarter of an hour for us while they were crossing, and great was the speculation among the bystanders as to the result. “Yetla,” “ma yetla,” “he does it,” “he doesn’t,” were the cries as they were carried down the river. The strongest pushed fairly straight across, but those in the worst condition seemed borne helplessly along till camel and men and all disappeared out of our sight, – and we had already given them up as lost, when we saw them emerging quite a mile down upon the bank. Then we ourselves and the luggage were put across, the mares swimming with us, though they got across much quicker than we did. The raft was hardly eight feet square, a rough framework of tamarisk poles lashed together on twenty goat skins. Our luggage went first, with Hajji Mohammed perched on the top of it, booted and cloaked, and loaded with gun and cartridge bag, sublimely indifferent, though an accident would have sent him like lead to the bottom. We ourselves were more prudent, and divested ourselves of every superfluous garment before taking our seats, which we did in the company of our dogs and bird, and of Ghafil’s wife, who nearly upset us at starting by jumping in from the shore upon us. Our feet were in the water all the way, and our hearts in our mouths, but by the mercy of Providence, we finally reached land amid a chorus of such “betting on the event” as had accompanied the camels. The last creature of our party was the little hamra mare, which Sirdal’s servant had been holding, and which, slipping her halter, came bravely across alone.

Just across the river lives Kerim Khan, Sirdal’s enemy, a Kurdish chief in government pay. To him we had letters, and nothing more remained but to go to his camp, and ask his help to forward us to Dizful.

Our former enemies now came round us like a swarm of gnats, begging and praying us to let them be of some use. They wanted to tack themselves on to our party, and so go to Dizful in safety, under cover of our companionship; for it appears that they dare not go further than this without protection. The Persian authorities here are apt to imprison any of the Beni Laam who enter their district, and these people therefore seldom venture beyond the Kerkha, or just this side of it. Even so, they are sometimes caught: we saw a Beni Laam last night who had just arrived at the Seguand camp on his way home after three or four months’ imprisonment at Dizful, besides having to pay a fine of one hundred and fifty krans. He was accused, no doubt justly, of sheep stealing, and he told us that several others of Mizban’s people are at this moment in jail at Dizful.

The elder Ghafil finding that nothing could be got from us by persuasion, tried a little of his old blustering and threats, but several of Kerim Khan’s people were standing by, and he was powerless here, so we had the pleasure of giving him a piece of our mind before he retired. His younger namesake, the man in green, could not contain his rage at our escape, and openly expressed his regret that we had not been killed in the wilderness as had been intended. After this little scene we saw no more of either of them, for though we afterwards heard of them in Kerim Khan’s camp, they never dared come back into our presence.

There now came forward to welcome us a funny little boy with half-shut eyes, riding a good-looking chestnut mare. He dismounted, introduced himself as the Khan’s son, and invited us to his father’s tents. These he said lay close by, but we were not yet at the end of this day’s difficulties. A network of irrigation, and a deep muddy canal had to be passed, and the camels which had so successfully escaped the dangers of the river, were again nearly perishing, and more ignobly, in the mud. The Kurds on this side the river were useless to assist us, as in their ignorance of camels they only made matters worse, and but for the sudden reappearance of the one-eyed giant, who had been once our greatest enemy, I think we should have all stuck fast. But now he made amends for part of his misdeeds and ill-designs by lending a powerful hand. He and Wilfrid between them unloaded the camels, and carried the luggage over on their heads up to their waists in holding mud, and then dragged through the camels. The boy, meanwhile, had gone to fetch help from his father; and we were hardly across, when he reappeared, still on his chestnut mare, a Kehîleh Harkan, he told us, from the Beni Laam, for all the tribes here get their horses from the Arabs. And then we saw a cavalcade approaching, and in the midst a portly figure on an old grey mare, whom the boy introduced to us as the Khan.

Kerim Khan is, after Huseyn Koli Khan of the Bactiari, the most powerful chief of Luristan. His tribe occupies most of the district formerly known as Susiana, and from his camp on the Kerkha the ruins of Susa, now merely mounds, were visible. The land east of the river is very fertile, and being moreover well irrigated, is mostly under cultivation. Though living in tents, these Lurs can hardly be called nomadic, for their camps are permanent ones, at least for many months together. The one where we now found ourselves was in appearance quite as much a village as it was a camp, the tents being pitched close together in rows, and from their pent house shape looking exceedingly like houses. In the centre of the camp is a large open space, within which the sheep and cattle of this section of the tribe are driven at night. These, however, are not numerous, for Kerim Khan’s people are cultivators of the soil, rather than shepherds. We noticed many good-looking horses about, procured, they told us, mostly from the Beni Laam.

The tent in which we were lodged was a most elaborate construction. Its roof was of the same material as that used by the Arabs, goat’s hair cloth, but the side walls were of carpet stuff, with intervals of open grass matting, through which the air circulated pleasantly. It had, besides, a regular door, while inside were some handsome Persian carpets spread near a lighted fire, which we soon made use of to dry our clothes, for we were wet through, with the rivers and canals we had crossed. The Lurs themselves differ even more from the Arabs, than their habitations from Bedouin tents. They have none of the Bedouin dignity of manner, and their dress is a mean one, a square coat of felt, and a little felt skull-cap, from under which their black hair curls up in a single greasy wave. Their voices, too, to one coming from among the Arabs, sounded exceedingly absurd, as they have a sort of sing-song intonation, and are pitched so high as to be almost in falsetto. This with the drawl, which we had noticed before in Ali Koli Khan, made us at first inclined to laugh. Kerim Khan keeps his people in excellent order, and no crowding round us or importunate questioning was permitted. The great man himself, though far from dignified in appearance, was well-mannered, and when he came, after having first sent us breakfast, to see us in our new tent, conversed politely, first a few words of Arabic, and afterwards in Kurdish, which Hajji Mohammed interpreted. We told him of our adventures, and of our intended visit to the Bactiari chieftain, with whom he was well acquainted, and of our journey from Haïl with Ali Koli Khan, his son. I am not sure that he altogether believed us, when Hajji Mohammed added, that we were persons of distinction travelling for amusement. In Persia, it is the custom to judge strangers entirely by the appearance they make, and we, travelling in our poor Arab clothes, and accompanied by a single servant, gained less credit in his eyes than we should have found with Arabs, who care nothing for externals. He promised, however, to send us on with two horsemen on the following day to Dizful, and thence, if we would, to the Bactiari. In a private conference, however, later with the cavass, he imposed his conditions. We were to pay him ten tomams (four pounds sterling), as “tea-money,” an exorbitant demand, which we were nevertheless obliged to accede to. Hospitality here is never given gratis, nor has anyone much shame of begging, for even our little friend and first acquaintance here, the boy on the chestnut mare, though his father is evidently a very rich man, spares no occasion of asking money, “for his bride,” he says. Gold is what he likes best.

April 3. – The Khan and his son rode with us for half a mile this morning, to see us started on our way to Dizful. He has given us two horsemen as he promised, so at least we have something for our money, and they seem respectable people. We had hardly ten miles to go, and the road, for there was a road, was in tolerable order, and the men helped us drive our camels according to such lights in camel driving as they possessed. At first, we made a circuit, so as to cross the canal at a place where there was an old stone bridge, and in so doing we passed not two miles from Shush, the ancient Susa. Wilfrid would have liked to visit the mound, but I was impatient to get on, and in fact there is nothing above-ground by all accounts to see. Then we travelled through a beautiful plain, bounded by the splendid line of the Bactiari mountains, still covered almost to their base with snow, a refreshing sight, for the sun was now very hot. At their foot, we could make out the town of Dizful, indistinctly at first, and then clearly, while all around us lay well-cultivated fields of waving corn just turning yellow. Here and there grew shady canora trees, and there were many rills of water. Now and then, too, a village shaped like a fortress, with a surrounding wall of sun-dried bricks, on the roofs of which storks had built their nests, and were clattering with their bills. In the fields, we heard francolins calling and quails; and the roadside was gay with flowers, red, blue, and yellow. Several times we stopped in the shade of a tree, and let the horses and camels graze on the crops, for so our horsemen insisted we should do, and there was no hurry. Travellers here are probably too scarce for grazing rules to be enforced against them. Nor did the peasants we met seem to mind. We were in Persia at last, and the country seemed very delightful.

At eleven o’clock, we came to a large village by the side of a broad shallow stream of transparent water, flowing over a bed of pebbles, and overhung by shady trees. A group of women were washing their clothes, and the road was full of country people on foot and donkey-back, crossing the ford. A pretty picture, such as we had hardly seen since we left Syria. This, and a second river which we passed presently, are called the Bellarú, and cover with their various branches nearly a mile of country. The water in them was cold enough to make a pleasant coolness in the air, coming like the Kerkha water from the snows. Then at two o’clock, we found ourselves close to Dizful, set picturesquely on the great river Diz, which is spanned by a fine old bridge of squared masonry, the work of ancient times. The town itself occupies some high ground beyond the river, that is to say on its left bank, but on this side, there is not a single house. The bridge is the main feature. It has twenty-one arches, some pointed, some round, with buttresses to break the stream. It is very much out of repair, there being one hole in it big enough for a camel to fall through. It would seem to belong in part to the age of the Persian monarchy, in part to that of the Caliphs, but I have not sufficient knowledge of architecture to feel sure about this.

In any case, here we are at Dizful, and once more under a settled government, with police and soldiers, and all the other blessings of civilisation at our call. We may be thankful that it is so.

CHAPTER IV

“In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-house decree,
Where Alph the sacred river ran,
Through caverns measureless by man,
Down to a sunless sea.”

    Coleridge.

Pleasures of town life – The Khani’s court – Bactiari shepherds – Shustar – Its palace, its river, and its garden – A telegraph clerk.

April 4. – Dizful, though still alive with a population of 30,000 persons, and a certain amount of traffic, for it is the corn market of the tribes westwards on the Ottoman frontier, and eastwards on the Bactiari, now possesses but the shadow of its past prosperity, if we may judge from the neglected condition of its magnificent bridge and the ruined walls which remain to mark its former circumference. Between these and the limit within which the present inhabited town has shrunk, lies a widish strip of unoccupied land. Here we have our camp in a hollow out of sight from the road, and here we had hoped to remain unnoticed and undisturbed. But alas, it was Friday, and the whole population turned out at daybreak, and there was no chance of escaping discovery. All the inhabitants of Dizful, men, women, and children, have been idling about, holiday-making in their best clothes all day long, with apparently nothing to do but stare at us. I am sure they consider the arrival of a party of strangers as a God-send, for from early dawn until an hour ago, at the asr when the governor sent three soldiers to disperse them, they have literally swarmed round our tent like their own flies. Not content, as Arabs are, with looking on from a reasonable distance, these Persians persist in trying to thrust their way inside the tent, and not succeeding, they sit down in rows so close to it that we cannot stir without pushing somebody away. Besides, they cannot look with their eyes; they must touch everything with their fingers, and they must laugh and talk, and have answers to all their foolish questions. They mean no harm, but it is very tiresome, and has hindered us not a little in our repairs and preparations. The camel saddles and bags wanted mending, the camels had to be doctored for mange, with an ointment which had first to be mixed, the horses to be shod, the stores looked through, purchases to be made of rope and provisions, and all this with several hundred persons at one’s elbow; each ready with advice and interference.

Our appearance, I have no doubt, is a great temptation to them, for there can be few things more unutterably dull than one of their festivities. Pigeon-flying is here as much the fashion as it is at Aleppo, and there is the same element of gambling in the performance. The birds are let loose from their separate dovecots, and allure each other home; such at least is the explanation given us of the excitement shown in watching them. Whoever gets most birds from his neighbour wins. Then there are dervishes and seyyids in green clothes who go about selling sugar-plums and collecting alms; and a few of the richest have horses on which they gallop about. We, however, in our Arab dresses, are a perplexity and an endless source of inquiry to all; and our dogs, and our falcon, and our camels, excite almost as much interest as they might in Hyde Park or the Champs Elysées. We should have done far better to stay the other side of the river, where there is an honest bit of desert much more in keeping with our establishment, and where nobody comes. Rasham, too, to add to our troubles, got loose and flew wildly about over the crowd, and could not be caught till Wilfrid climbed to the top of a tower there was in the city wall, and lured him down. We were almost at our wits’ end with the mob when the governor’s guard arrived, and restored order. I profit by the quiet thus secured, and by the last hour of daylight, to write my journal.

Besides the vulgar populace, several polite and well-to-do inhabitants have called on us; the most agreeable of them, a party of four, came in the morning, and afterwards spent the day sitting under the shade of the ruined wall close by, where Wilfrid returned their visit. In the afternoon they came again. They were Ardeshir Khan, a very dignified and very fat man; Pasha Khan, next in dignity and fat; Yusef Khan, thin and very dark; and lastly, Aga Shukra Allah, red-haired and speaking a little Arabic, and thus able to converse with us and interpret for his friends.

The wife of one of these gentlemen sent to propose to come and see me, and on my accepting, arrived immediately with a score of attendants. We sat together on my carpet, which I ordered to be spread near the tent; but with the best will in the world, our conversation was but halting; Hajji Mohammed is not a fluent dragoman, and he grows deafer every day. A seyyid also called on us and brought his little girl, named Khatún, a funny little thing of five, to whom I gave a silver kran; then some rather ill-mannered persons calling themselves Sabæans. [17 - Christians of St. John, see “Bedouin Tribes.”]

Two or three people have been riding about on horseback; one on a very handsome little bay horse, said to be of Nejd origin, brought back by a pilgrim, as it is the fashion for pilgrims who can afford to do so, to bring back a colt from Nejd.

This year’s pilgrims they tell us have not yet returned, and we are the first to announce their arrival at Meshhed Ali. We hoped to have heard something here of our friend Ali Koli Khan, but are disappointed. He intended to go by water from Bagdad to Mohammra or Ahwas, and so to Shustar and home – the usual route, in fact – for ours is not a road travelled by respectable people. Dizful communicates with the outer world only by Shustar. It is of no use, however, waiting for Ali Koli. We cannot spare the time, and must pay our visit to Huseyn Koli Khan now or not at all. No one can tell us exactly where to find the Bactiari chief, some saying he is at Shustar, some at Teheran, while all agree that some of his people are encamped between this and Shustar, and to Shustar we consequently mean to go.

Our last visit was from the governor or deputy-governor, who being, we suspect, not quite sober, (for the Persians drink wine) behaved so oddly that Wilfrid had to beg him to take himself off there and then. On the whole, our day’s rest at Dizful has been hardly a pleasant one.

April 5. – Shaking the dust of this very tiresome city from our feet, we resumed our march to-day. We are depressed at the poor reception we have received after all in Persia, the country we have heard of so long as famed for its politeness, but perhaps we ourselves are to blame. Hajji Mohammed tells us we should have travelled in a different way, and he is probably right. The Persians, he says, judge only from what they see, and have no idea that people travelling without servants can be respectable. We should have come with a retinue, an escort of fifty men and half as many servants. Then we should have been fêted everywhere. But it is too late now, and we must travel on as we can.

We took the Shustar road this morning, a well-travelled track, passing at first through corn-fields and villages, and then across a fine plain of grass. The soil here looks richer than any I have ever seen in any part of the world, and it is well-watered and wooded with canora trees. We are marching parallel with the mountains, a lovely range crowned with snow, and quite 8000 to 10,000 feet above the sea. Immediately to our right, a wonderful square-topped hill stands out in front of the main range; a diz, or fortress, the people call it. We have passed several encampments of Bactiari; wild-looking people, who when you ride up to their tents, run at once to their guns as though they expected constantly to be attacked. They are guarded by some of the most ferocious dogs I ever saw, which were with difficulty prevented from attacking Shiekha and Sayad. Their masters, however, are not inhospitable when things are explained, and we had several basins of milk offered us on the way. From them we have learned that the Khani, as they call their chief, is somewhere on the road, and the prospect has cheered us not a little. To-night we are encamped all alone, except for the company of an old Arab and his wife, who joined us on the road – Chaab Arabs they call themselves – who have been useful, helping us with the camels. There are many Bedouin Arabs, it appears, in this part of Persia. We have got a sheep to-night, and are to have a feast.

April 6. – The Bactiari tents are like those of the Arabs, but the men are dressed as I have described the Seguand, and Kerim Khan’s people. They keep horses, and carry lances or guns, but I saw no horses which seemed well-bred. Early in the morning a man came from one of their tents, and told us that the Khani had passed the night not ten miles from where we were, at a place called Obeyd, which our two guides from Kerim Khan knew well. It lay off the high-road to the left, just under the square-topped hill we noticed yesterday. Though anxious now to get on to Shustar, where alone we can procure servants (and they are a necessity we feel more and more every day), we could not of course forego our visit to Ali Koli’s father, and taking a line in the direction pointed out, struck out to the north somewhat back from our yesterday’s line of march. It was a rough bit of travelling over broken rocky ground, cut up here and there with streams. Very beautiful, however, for in every hollow there grew real turf brilliantly green, and sprinkled over with borage flowers and anemones; and wherever there was a pool of water, frogs were croaking among the weeds. Our progress was slow, for Assad, one of our men, had bought a donkey at the camp, with a new born foal, and as the foal could not walk, he carried it before him on his horse. He was continually letting it slip off, and stopping to hoist it up again. Towards nine o’clock, we came to a ridge of limestone, overlooking a wide valley out of which the square crag we had been following rose like a wall of masonry, five hundred feet or more; beyond which again, lay the snow range of the Bactiari. While we were looking and admiring, we heard shots fired, and knew that there must be a camp in the valley, the Khani’s, we hoped, and so it proved. But before descending, the two Persians insisted upon going through an elaborate furbishing of themselves and their clothes. There was a little pool close by, and there they washed and combed themselves, and then washed their clothes, spreading them afterwards on the rocks to dry. We in the meanwhile found a bit of shade under a rock and slept. It was about noon when we woke and went down to the valley, where we presently saw a large building, the fort of Obeyd, with half-a-dozen white canvas tents grouped round it. This was Huseyn Koli Khan’s travelling camp, and the fort was also his. It is modern and in good repair, a square building flanked with towers, surrounding a courtyard.

In the middle of the camp stood the Khani’s reception tent like a great umbrella, for the side walls were taken down for the heat. There Huseyn Koli sat in state surrounded by a kind of court.

Huseyn Koli Khan is the greatest chieftain of all Western Persia. He is said to be able to put 20,000 horsemen into the field, and this may very well be true, as the whole of the south-western slopes of the mountains are occupied by his tribe. In person he is imposing without being particularly good-looking; he is a thick-set rather heavy man, with a broad face, brown beard and hair, and I think grey eyes. He reminds me of a picture I have seen somewhere of Ghenghis Khan, or another Mongul prince, from whom it is not altogether impossible he may be descended. His manner is very straightforward and plain, and he gives one the impression of being altogether an honest man. He received us very cordially, made us sit down by him in the middle of his courtiers who were standing obsequiously round him, and gave us some cups of excellent tea.

The manner of tea-making in Persia deserves notice, inasmuch as the tea is there put into the boiling water, while with us the boiling water is poured on the tea; and tea made in the Persian fashion is without the bitter taste too often the result of our method.

We spent an hour or two thus with the Khan, giving him the latest news of his son, who it appears is expected daily now from Ahwas, and learning much about the road which still lies between us and Bushire. The Khan is on his way to Teheran, where he has rank under the Shah as a general in the army, so is unable to invite us to visit him in the mountains where his home is, and where he keeps the stud of Arab mares for which his name is famous. This would be more unfortunate if we did not now recognise the necessity of getting without further delay to the coast. The weather in the last two days has become suddenly hot, and it would be folly to allow ourselves to be caught by the summer with so long a march before us. Besides, we are hardly in such travelling order as to allow of great experiments. In spite of all our exertions, and all our offers of high wages, we cannot get any one to drive our camels. The fact is, the camel is almost as strange a beast here as he would be in England, and camel-drivers about as scarce. So we are to go to Shustar to-morrow accompanied by a confidential man of the Khani’s, who will put us into good hands.

We had a grand debate on returning to our tent whether or not to send presents to our host; but on Hajji Mohammed’s advice, and rather against our own judgment, at last did so. But our host would receive nothing, saying that it was for him to do honour to his guests, and that he wanted nothing. He has sent us a most excellent dinner now, consisting of half-a-dozen really well-cooked dishes, things we had not tasted since we left Bagdad. There is also a live lamb to take with us to-morrow, and two large boxes of sweetmeats made of fruits and flowers.

April 7. – Our visit to Huseyn Koli Khan, though a disappointment in some ways, for it was but a morning call, has been none the less a good fortune to us. The confidential man whom the Khan sent with us brought us early into Shustar, and through his intervention we are now comfortably established in a really delightful place, the deserted palace of the Shahzade, or Prince Governor of the province, which is to us as a haven of repose, fortress and palace and garden in one. But all this requires description.

Shustar from the river is extraordinarily like Dizful. The Karkería, on which it stands, is the Diz over again, but I think a larger river; and there is a stone bridge apparently of the same date. The bridge of Shustar is a fine work. It is the broadest I have ever seen out of Europe, for one might drive a coach across it but for the holes; and it is quite fifty feet high above the water. The most singular feature of it is that it is built in a zigzag, and that it has immense piers to the buttresses, some of which seem to have held waterwheels. The parapet is very low, and the whole thing so much out of repair, that crossing it as we did, in a hurricane of wind, we were rather nervous about the camels. Below it is an immense weir, over which the river falls with a deafening roar. A fine arched gateway shuts it off from the city, and just above stands the castle, where we are.

Shustar seems a larger town than Dizful, but it is said to be less flourishing. They both have great empty spaces within the walls, and plenty of ruins. The kalat is an immense rambling place, enclosing a number of different buildings. First, there are rows of vaulted buildings, intended probably for barracks, with a large outer court, full just now of green pasture, a sort of mallow, on which we have turned our camels out to graze. These outbuildings are two storeys high, with loop-holes to shoot out of. From the outer court a paved causeway leads up to a narrow gate, the entrance of an inner castle, built round a large square court, with trees and flower-beds in the middle. From this again a flight of fifteen steps leads up to a terrace, garden, and pavilion three storeys high. This last is the hammam, and is the building specially placed at our disposal. The Shahzade is absent, and the only inhabitants of his kalat are a garrison of about a dozen soldiers, but they live in the outer circle of buildings, and will not disturb us. The prince-governor’s absence is a disadvantage to us, although we profit by it to inhabit his house, for our letters are to him, and we do not know what sort of wakil he has left here. To-day, however, we have seen nobody, and have been very happy and content in the coolness and peace of all around. Only the river makes a distant roar, far below, for from the terrace one looks sheer down at least eighty feet to the water.

April 8. – This spot is like a thing in a fairy tale. Our pavilion contains several rooms on the ground-floor, grouped round a central piece where there is a fountain; and above this is a gallery with more empty rooms round it. We live on the ground-floor, and our windows open on to a narrow terrace with a low stone parapet, from which one can throw a stone down into the river. The Karkeria makes a sharp bend just above Shustar, round what looks like the most beautiful park, a level greensward with immense dark green shady trees, standing as if planted for ornament. Here we sit, and late in the evening and early in the morning I see a pair of pelicans swimming or flying below. The terrace communicates with the garden, which is gay with poppies, pink and lilac and white, in full bloom. There is a little tank, and a row of stunted palm-trees, where rollers, green and blue birds like jays, sit, while swifts dart about catching mosquitoes and flies, only a few hundred, alas, out of the millions that torment us. For there is no rose without a thorn, nor is this lovely kiosk and garden full of blooming poppies without its plague. The flies and mosquitoes are maddening, and to-day the heat of summer has burst upon us. After a hot night, the day dawned hotter still, and a sultry wind blew up dark clouds, till now the sky is black all round.

Towards evening we had thunder and lightning, but hardly a drop of rain; and to-night the air is heavy as lead. I am getting anxious now about the heat. I wish we could get away, either to the hills or the sea but I fear we shall be detained some days. The storm has prevented the Shahzade’s wakil from paying us the visit he announced this morning, and we cannot even prepare to go on without seeing him; we are, in fact, dependent on his assistance. We sent him our letter for the Shahzade early this morning, and Hajji Mohammed brought back word that he was coming immediately; but we have been waiting all day, and he has not come. What is still more tiresome is the unfortunate circumstance that no letter has come for us from the British Consul at Bussora. This puts us into an awkward position; we had given out that we expected the letter, and it is worse to say that one expects such a letter and not to get it, than never to have mentioned it.

Several visitors have been to see us, two or three merchants, a doctor, and others; they all, on hearing we had not received the countenance we had expected, looked on us somewhat doubtfully, in spite of our talking about our letter of recommendation to the Shahzade. However, we shall see what the wakil says to-morrow.