But Gerome, with considerable
forethought, had purchased bread, a fowl, and some eggs on the road,
and, our room swept out and candles lit, we were soon sitting down
to a comfortable meal, with a hissing samovar, the property of the
caravanserai-keeper, between us.
One need sleep soundly to sleep well in a caravanserai. At sunset the
mules, with loud clashing of bells, are driven into the yard from
pasture, and tethered till one or two in the morning, when a start
is made, and sleep is out of the question. In the interim, singing,
talking, story-telling, occasionally quarrelling and fighting, go on
all round the yard till nearly midnight. Tired out with the stiff
climb, I fell into a delicious slumber, notwithstanding the noise,
about nine o'clock, to be awakened shortly after by a soft, cold
substance falling heavily, with a splash, upon my face. Striking a
match, I discovered a large bat which the smoke from our fire (there
was no chimney) had evidently detached from the rafters.
I purchased, the next morning before starting, a Persian dagger
belonging to one of the caravan-men. He was one of the Bakhtiari,
a wild and lawless tribe inhabiting a tract of country (as yet
unexplored by Europeans) on the borders of Persia and Asia Minor. The
blade of the dagger is purest Damascene work, the handle of fossilized
ivory. On the back of the blade is engraved, in letters of inlaid
gold, in Arabic characters -
"There is one God! He is Eternal!"
"Victory is nigh, O true believer!"
Connoisseurs say that the dagger is over a hundred years old. After
quite an hour's haggling (during which our departure was delayed, much
to Gerome's disgust), I managed to secure it for L9 English money,
although the Bakhtiari assured me that he had already sworn "by his
two wives" never to part with it. I have since been offered four times
the amount by a good judge of Eastern weapons.
A second pass, the Kotal Doktar, lay between us and Bushire. Though
steep and slippery in places, the path is well protected, and there
are no boulders to bar the way. On leaving the caravanserai, we paused
to examine the second longest telegraph wire (without support) in the
world. It is laid from summit to summit of two hills, and spans a
valley over a mile in width. [C]
The country round Meyun Kotal is well cultivated, and we passed not
only men, but women, ploughing with the odd-shaped primitive wooden
ploughs peculiar to these parts. Near the foot of the pass some
children were gathering and collecting acorns, which are here eaten in
the form of a kind of bread by the peasantry. Seldom has Nature seemed
more beautiful than on that bright cloudless morning, as we rode
through sweet-scented uplands of beans and clover, meadows of deep
rich grass. By the track bloomed wild flowers, violets and narcissus,
shedding their fresh delicate perfume. The song of birds and hum of
insects filled the air, bright butterflies flashed across our path,
while the soft distant notes of a cuckoo recalled shady country lanes
and the sunlit hay-fields of an English summer. It was like coming
from the grave, after the sterile deserts and bleak desolate plains of
Northern Persia.
There is a small square building at the northern end of the Kotal
Doktar, a mud hut, in which are stationed a guard of soldiers to be
of assistance in the event of robbery of caravans or travellers. Such
cases are not infrequent. Upon our approach, three men armed with
flint-locks and long iron pikes accosted us. "We are the escort," said
one, apparently the leader, from the bar of rusty gold braid on his
sleeve. "You cannot go on alone. It is not safe." We then learnt that
a large lion had infested the caravan-track over the pass for some
days, and had but yesterday attacked the mail and carried off one of
the mules, the native in charge only just escaping by climbing a tree.
Persian travel is full of these little surprises or rather items of
news; for one must be of a very ingenuous disposition to be surprised
at anything after a journey of any length in that country. If the man
had said that an ichthyosaurus or dodo barred the way, I should have
believed him just as much. Gerome sharing my opinion that the report
was got up for the sake of extorting a few kerans, we soon sent our
informants about their business, and calmly proceeded on our journey.
Nevertheless, the Kotal Doktar would not be a pleasant place to
encounter the "king of beasts," I thought. The pass consists simply of
a narrow pathway four feet wide, on the one side a perpendicular wall
of rock, on the other an equally sheer precipice.
"Did you come across the lion?" was Mr. J - - 's first question, as
we dismounted at the gate of his telegraph-station at Kazeroon. "I
suppose not," he added, seeing the surprise with which I greeted his
remark. "We have had three parties out from here this week, but with
no luck. I just managed to get a sight of him, and that's all. He is a
splendid beast."
Ignorance had indeed been bliss in our case, and I felt some
compunction when I remembered how disdainfully we had treated the
ragged sergeant and his men. They would have been of no use, except
in the way of stop-gaps, like the babies, in cheap prints, that the
Russian traveller in the sleigh throws to the wolves to occupy their
attention while he urges on his mad career, a pistol in each hand and
the reins in his mouth.
