Part 11

We quickly collected his wife and children, and as we came down the narrow staircase into the small yard, we heard an underground noise approaching us with a hollow roar, as if the bowels of the earth were about to open at our feet. The second shock was much more violent than the first had been. The high walls and the surrounding edifices began to totter from side to side with a loud creaking sound, and whilst I was looking up to the sky, the cry of "Yah Allah! Yah Allah!" piercing to the very marrow, was heard from every part of the town. The inhabitants of Shiraz know but too well the frightful consequences of this elemental catastrophe, and the stoutest heart may well quail at the deep roar in the womb of the earth, at the cries of distress above, the very birds fluttering about scared and helpless. For a few moments we stood still, completely paralysed with fright. My host was the first to regain his composure; he turned to me and said: "We are here in a very narrow place. If this wall happens to come down we shall all be buried beneath it. Take my wife and children to the nearest larger place. I shall remain here for the mob is apt to take advantage of the general fright to rob and plunder the house." I wished to reply, but the doctor silenced me with a beseeching look, and taking hold of his trembling wife and children, I left without saying another word. We passed through a narrow alley crowded with pale and frightened people. The open space which we reached in a few moments presented a harrowing picture of distress and misery. Women and children were lying on the ground, fainting, screaming and tearing their hair. Others were running to and fro half clad or without any clothing on, as if they had just come out of their baths. A few minutes had sufficed to deprive the whole city of its senses. Amidst all this crying and screaming a couple of mollahs (priests) went about continually repeating that the Frengis sojourning in the city had brought on it this calamity. I began to entertain fears for the safety of my friend, and retraced my steps as fast as I could. As I reached the yard I observed the birds flying about and flapping their wings in a restless and wild manner, which was a sure forerunner of another shock. And indeed very soon we heard the deep roar which usually precedes a violent thunderstorm. The earth shook beneath our feet, and as the shocks came nearer and nearer to the place where we were standing, the shock became so powerful that in spite of all our efforts we lost our equilibrium, and, trying to steady one another, sank together to the ground. I heard a frightful crash, and in another second I had the sensation of water rolling over me, and thought my last moment had come. This was the worst shock; a portion of the wall had given way, and the water which had passed over our bodies came from a neighbouring water-tank. Trembling and frightened, I looked round to see if the building did not threaten to come down on our heads. In this moment of despair the shout of the infuriated mob, "The Frengis are unclean," reached our ears, followed by savage curses, and it seemed as if the mob intended to take the house by storm. "To arms!" cried my friend, but who would have had the courage to enter a house which threatened to come down at any moment? We paused and looked at each other, and then with one accord rushed into the house, returning immediately armed with rifles and pistols. We had now to defend ourselves both against the rage of the elements and the wickedness of man.

These moments will remain for ever engraved in my memory. Suddenly we heard a loud report, and soon after saw dense clouds of dust rising in the air. Fortunately for us a building in the neighbourhood had fallen down and scattered the savage mob. Before long the whole neighbourhood became quiet. We did not feel another shock, but the whole city was wrapped in a dense cloud of dust. The very mountains, lying to the south, had been cleft in twain by these shocks which hurled down their precipitous sides huge blocks of stone and rocks, with a noise like thunder. Seeing that half an hour had passed without a renewal of the shocks, I picked up courage enough to leave the house.

The destruction in the city had been much too cruel for any pen to be able to present a picture of its terrible details. I met Count Rochechouart in the street; with an anxious face he urged our immediate departure. The leave-taking from my friend was short but affectionate. Along the streets the huge cracks and fissures in the walls were yawning at us, as we went on; to the right and to the left--everywhere--nothing but desolation and misery were to be seen, whilst an expression of indescribable discouragement and mute resignation was brooding over the countenances of the people whom we met on our way. Our hearts yearned towards these unfortunates in their present sad plight, but it was, nevertheless, a feeling of relief to find ourselves, after passing through the gates of the city, in the open air again, where our fellow-travellers were awaiting our arrival. Outside there was an immense crowd; those who had run to the open country for safety were watching, with sinking hearts, for those members of their families who had been left behind in the city, and in their unreasoning distress inquired of us, who were perfect strangers to them, if we knew anything about their whereabouts. Words cannot tell with what profound satisfaction I descried at last Tenghi Allah Ekber, the spot from which I had on my arrival admired the romantic situation of Shiraz. Ten years before Shiraz had been visited by an earthquake far more calamitous than the last. There is a legend amongst the people that years and years ago the present site of Shiraz was covered by the waters of a lake, called Deryai Nemek, _i.e._, the Salt Lake, lying to the east of it, and that the city is doomed to final destruction by this very lake, which will overwhelm it with its tide on the Day of Resurrection. We returned, in forced marches, by the same way on which, three months ago, I had wearily plodded on at the slow pace of caravan travelling. The journey was enlivened by the fascinating conversation of the noble Count and, now and then, by the chase of a herd of gazelles. The Persian horsemen, riding in front, descried them with lynx-eyed quickness, and the fast-running hounds were not long in overtaking them. At times, on our coming to a city, solemn receptions were prepared for us, and, on such occasions, there was no end of complimenting, sweetmeats, and feasting. I came back to Teheran at last, in the middle of January, 1863.

XVI.

PREPARATIONS FOR MY JOURNEY TO CENTRAL ASIA.

I made it of course my first duty in Teheran to revisit the hospitable circle of my patrons. Here I learned that the war in Herat was at an end, and that, therefore, another obstacle to the carrying out of my programme was cleared away. It has always been customary for the Turkish Embassy to give some assistance to the hadjis (persons who have visited the holy tomb of Mohammed) and to dervishes going every year from Bokhara, Khiva and Khokand, through Persia, to the Turkish Empire. This is a great boon to the poor Sunnite mendicants, who have no chance of ever getting a farthing from the Persian Shi-ites. As a consequence the palace of the Embassy had annually to entertain guests from far-off Turkestan, and upon these occasions I took particular pleasure in having the wild and ragged Tartars come to my room, where I contrived to learn of them a good deal about their country that was interesting. They were quite overwhelmed by my courtesy, and it soon became a familiar saying at the caravansary where these people used to put up, that Haidar Effendi, the Ambassador of the Sultan, was a man possessing a generous heart, but that Reshid Effendi (your humble servant's assumed name) was something more than that, for he treated the dervishes like brothers, and most likely was, in secret, a dervish himself.

It was nothing to be wondered at, therefore, since I enjoyed such a reputation, that the dervishes should have called first upon me before asking to be admitted to the presence of the Ambassador-in-chief who frequently would not receive them. Many a time it was through my intercession alone that they were able to obtain assistance in money, or to have some other requests granted. In this way it happened that four hadjis came to see me on the 20th of March, and asked me to introduce them to the Turkish Embassy before whom they desired to lay their complaints against the Persians for levying upon them, on their return from Mecca, the Sunnite tax, the collection of which had been prohibited long ago by the Sultan, a prohibition since ratified by the Shah of Persia. "We do not come to ask money of the Sultan's great ambassador," said they, "we only wish to ensure that henceforth our Sunnite countrymen shall not be compelled to pay a tax on visiting the holy places." These unselfish words from the lips of an Oriental rather puzzled me; I subjected my guests to a closer scrutiny and discovered in them, in spite of the savage expression of their faces, their neglected exterior and the shabbiness of their dress, a certain natural nobility which did not fail to enlist my sympathies. Their spokesman, as a rule, was a hadji from Chinese Tartary, or Eastern Turkestan, as it is actually called; he wore over his tattered garments a new green _djubbe_ (an upper garment of cloth) and on his head a white turban of gigantic size. His eyes sparkled with vivacity, and his superiority over the rest of his companions became more and more apparent in the course of the interview. He introduced himself as the Imam (court priest) of the governor of Aksu, one of the provinces of Chinese Tartary, and as a double hadji, having visited twice the holy tomb, and declared that he and his three companions present were the avowed chiefs of a hadji-caravan consisting of twenty-four men. "Our company," he added, "is composed of the young and the old, of the rich and the poor, of the lettered and the unlettered, yet we live in the utmost harmony with each other, for we are all natives of Khokand and Kashgar (the names frequently used to designate the whole of Chinese Tartary), and have no Bokhariotes vipers of humanity amongst us."

The interview had lasted for about an hour, and the frank and open manner of the men deepened the favourable impression they had made upon me at the outset. Although the characteristic features of their race, their careless and shabby attire, and the effects of the miseries of a long and fatiguing journey, all combined to give them a wild, almost repulsive appearance; yet throughout the whole interview my mind was busy with the question of the feasibility of undertaking my travels in Central Asia in the company of these very pilgrims. I was thinking that being natives they would be the best guides I could possibly obtain, and it was something to be known to them as Reshid Effendi, and to have been seen by them as such at the Turkish Embassy. I did not hesitate long and told them of my intention to join their caravan. Of course, I was prepared for their putting questions to me about the purposes of my journey, and I was equally clear in my mind that it would be both idle and injurious to tell these men of the scientific researches I had in view. They would have thought it ridiculous for an Effendi, a gentleman, to expose himself to untold dangers for the sake of some ideal object, and indeed might have entertained all sorts of suspicions against me had I told them the truth. I had to resort to a subterfuge which both flattered my guests and advanced my interests. I told them that my soul had been harbouring for a long time the secret but most ardent wish to visit Turkestan (the only country abounding in genuine Islamite virtues) and the saints of Khiva, Samarkand and Bokhara. "This longing desire," I continued, "had brought me from Roum (Turkey), and now after having waited for a year in Persia for a favourable opportunity to gratify it, I had reason to thank God for having sent me, at length, such men as they were, in whose company I could continue my journey and attain the most cherished object of my life."

It was an extraordinary struggle I had to overcome in inventing this pretext, but I sought in vain for another means. My long experience with Orientals of many countries and of various ranks had fully convinced me of the utter uselessness of a straightforward confession of my purposes. I knew that with these simple and ignorant men science and curiosity must be discredited as the chief motors of my errand, and that all my oratorical power would fail to convince them of the possibility that a man living under the patronage of a high official of the Sultan was ready to undergo all the hardships and perils of a distant journey, for the sake of philological inquiries and for ethnographical discoveries. Hard and reluctant as it was, I had to resort to subterfuge, and to assume in their eyes a moral as well as a physical incognito.

The good Tartars looked at me and at each other in amazement after I had done speaking. Finally they confessed that they had long ago thought me to be a secret dervish, but that now they were convinced of the truth of their surmises. They declared that they were highly pleased with the distinction I was about to confer upon them by deeming them worthy of my company. Their spokesman Hadji Bilal said: "We are all of us ready to be not only thy friends, but thy servants, but I must call to thy mind that the roads of Turkestan are not so safe as those of Persia and Turkey. Often along our roads we do not see a house for weeks, nor can we get a piece of bread, or even a drop of water. Besides this, we are kept in constant fear of being killed, made prisoners and sold into slavery, or buried by the sands in a hurricane. Therefore ponder this matter well, O Effendi! Thou mightest repent the step later, and we should not like thee to look upon us as the causers of thy misfortune. And, besides, remember that our countrymen are far behind us in matters of experience and knowledge of the world, and with all their hospitality are apt to regard with suspicious eyes every comer from foreign lands. And how wilt thou return, alone, without us?"

The effect of these words upon me may be easily imagined, but my purpose was not to be shaken. I made them easy on the score of their anxiety about me, I told them of the fatigues I had already borne, and my contempt of earthly comforts, particularly of my dislike to the French dress which I was compelled to wear, _ex officio_. I continued that I well knew this world to be nothing but a five days' inn, as our sages say, and that we are moving rapidly from it to give way to others. I laughed to scorn those Mussulmans who instead of caring for the present moment only, turn their thoughts to things which are going to happen years hence. "Oh! take me with you, my friends," I exclaimed; "I must leave this nest of errors, of which I am tired unto loathing."

My request touched them. The chiefs of the dervish-caravan accepted me at once for their fellow-traveller; we embraced and kissed all around, performances by no means pleasant considering the intolerable stench coming from their bodies and clothing. But I scarcely looked at such trifles, the main object of my discourse having been secured. My next step was to hasten to Haidar Effendi, my benefactor, to tell him of my intentions, and to request him to warmly recommend me to the hadjis I was about to introduce to him. He objected at first to the whole plan, and called me mad to wish to go to a country from which none of my predecessors ever returned, and in the society of fellows who were capable of murdering any one for the sake of a few pence. But when my Turkish friends saw that all their arguments were of no avail, they set to work to give me every possible assistance. Haidar Effendi received the hadjis, settled their own matters to their satisfaction, then spoke of me, representing my motives in the way I had put them before the hadjis, commended me to their hospitality and protection, remarking that they, in turn, could count upon his friendly service; "for," he added, "he whom I give in your charge, Reshid Effendi, _is the Sultan's civil officer_." I was afterwards told that the hadjis, at the audience where I was not present, had solemnly vowed to fulfil their promises. And, indeed, they honourably kept the word they had pledged. When the audience was over the Ambassador asked for a list of the names of the members of the dervish-caravan and distributed about fifteen gold pieces amongst them. This was a munificent gift to people accustomed to live on bread and water and utterly unused to comforts of any kind. The day of our departure was fixed for that day week. Hadji Bilal's visits were very frequent during this time, he bringing with him and introducing to me all his companions, in turn; and I own that their exterior was not apt to inspire confidence. These visits made me suspect that the pious hadji looked on me as a rich prey and was anxious not to lose me. But I conquered my suspicions, and showed the hadji, as a mark of confidence in him, the small sum of money I intended to take with me, requesting him, at the same time, to inform me precisely how I was to dress and what mode of life I should follow in order to be as like to my companions as possible, and not attract any undue attention. He was highly pleased with my request and readily gave me his advice in the matter. In the first place, he said, I was to shave my head and exchange my Turkish costume for that of Bokhara; and in the next place, I must leave behind me my bedding, linen and similar articles of luxury. Of course I followed directions, which could be easily complied with, to the smallest point, and was ready to embark in my perilous enterprise three days before the appointed time. I made use of this interval to pay a return visit to the caravansary where my future fellow-travellers were staying. They were living in two small cells, fourteen of them in one, and ten in the other. I never saw in my life so much of raggedness and dirt crowded into such a small space, and the impression this misery then made upon my mind still lives fresh in my memory. Only a few of them were able to perform the journey out of their own means; the rest of them had to resort to begging. When I entered they were busy with a mode of cleansing themselves, the loathsome description of which I will spare my reader, but which, alas! I too had to adopt in course of time.

I was very cordially received by them, and, according to their custom, they immediately prepared some green tea for me, of which it took all my heroism to swallow a Bokhara cup, the green liquid without sugar being the worst thing mortal ever tasted. As a mark of their kind feelings for me they offered me another cup of tea--but I politely declined, my stomach admonishing me that it would refuse to take in any more of the vile stuff. Then there ensued a scene of general embracing; I was looked upon by all of them as their brother, and had this affectionate title bestowed upon me; and, finally, after I had broken bread with every one of them separately, we sat down to settle the definite details of our route. We had two roads to choose from, both equally perilous from the fact of their passing through the desert where the Turkomans are at home. One of the roads by way of Meshed, Merv and Bokhara was less fatiguing, it is true, but it would have taken us through territory inhabited by the Tekke Turkomans, who have the well-deserved reputation of sparing nobody and who would sell the Prophet himself into slavery if he ever fell into their hands. The other road runs through a country inhabited by the Yomut Turkomans, an honest hospitable people; but this road included a desert, where for twenty stations not a drop of drinking water could be obtained. After exchanging our views on the subject we decided in favour of the latter road. "It is better," said the chief of the caravan, "to brave the rudeness of the elements than to expose ourselves to the wickedness of man. God is merciful; we are walking in His ways, and surely He will not desert us." Our decision was now ratified by an oath recited by Hadji Bilal. Whilst he spoke we held up our hands towards Heaven, and when he had finished speaking every one took hold of his beard and said a loud "Amen" to it. Then we rose from our seats, and I was told to join them on the morning of the day after next in order to start on our journey. When I returned to the Embassy a last attempt was made by my friends to turn me from my purpose. They recalled the tragic fate of Conolly, Stoddart, and Moorcroft, and the case of Blocqueville who had fallen into the hands of the Turkomans and was rescued from slavery only by a ransom of ten thousand ducats. But the sad fate of others had no terrors for me, and I remained firm in my determination to go.

I took leave of my friends at the Turkish Embassy on the eve of my departure. Only two persons knew of the real destination of my journey; the rest of the European colony thought I was going to Meshed.

XVII.

FROM TEHERAN TO THE LAND OF THE TURKOMANS.

According to appointment, I made my appearance at the caravansary on the 28th day of March, 1863. Those of my friends who could afford to hire a mule or ass to take them to the Persian border were ready, booted and spurred; the poorer, with pilgrim's staffs in their hands, were waiting, too, for the signal of departure. I observed with astonishment that the shabby garments worn by the party in town had been exchanged for other far more ragged ones, hanging down in a thousand tatters and fastened by means of a rope across the back, and learned, to my great surprise, that the miserable dress worn by them in town was their best holiday attire, which was now laid aside in order to save it. But yesterday I fancied myself a beggar in my new costume--to-day I looked fit to be a purple-clad king amidst my companions. Hadji Bilal at last raised his hands for a blessing on our journey, and we had not fairly seized our beards and said our customary Amens, when those of our party who were to walk on foot made a rush towards the gate, in order to get ahead of us who were seated on mules or asses.

The sun had risen to the height of a lance, as the Orientals say, when I turned to give a last farewell look at Teheran, gilded by the early sun, whilst my companions, like pious pilgrims that they were, raised their voices and sang sacred songs. They did not take amiss my not joining them, for they knew that the people of Roum (the inhabitants of European Turkey) were not brought up in such a strict religious way as those of Turkestan, but they hoped that in their society I should soon learn to be more enthusiastic in religious observance.

The caravan numbered twenty-three besides myself; they were all from Khokand and Eastern Turkestan, and mostly natives of Kashgar, Tashkend and Aksu. Their chiefs were Hadji Bilal, of whom I have already spoken, Hadji Sheikh Sultan Mahmud, a fanatic young Tarter, who traced his lineage from a renowned saint, and Hadji Sali Khalifa, who was endeavouring to obtain the rank of an Ishan (the title of Sheikh), and belonged to the half-priestly class. They honoured me with their friendship, and we four were looked upon as the chiefs of the caravan. My name henceforth ceased to be Reshid Effendi and became Hadji Reshid.