Chapter X (2)

Calát, indeed, like many another village our journey brought us to, in interior condition quite belied its exterior appearance. I may here state in anticipation, that in all our march from Gháyn to the Persian capital we hardly anywhere saw infants or very young children. They had nearly all died in the famine. We nowhere heard the sound of music nor song nor mirth in all the journey up to Mashhad. We passed through village after village, each almost concealed from view in the untrimmed foliage of its gardens, only to see repetitions of misery, melancholy, and despair. The suffering produced by this famine baffles description, and exceeds our untutored conceptions. In this single province of Khorassan the loss of population by this cause is estimated at 120,000 souls, and over the whole kingdom cannot be less than a million and a half.

Beyond Calát our path followed the hill skirt in a north-west direction. The surface is very stony, and covered with wild rhubarb and the yellow rose in great profusion, to the exclusion of other vegetation. We passed the villages of Sághí, Kochi, Zaharabad, and Shirazabad, and then crossing a deep ravine in which flowed a brisk little stream draining into the central rivulet of Gúnábád, passed over some undulating ground to Zihbad, where we camped.

_15th April._—Zihbad to Bijistan, twenty-eight miles, and halt a day. Our route was N.N.W., skirting the hill range on our left by a rough stony path. We passed in succession the villages of Brezú, Kásum, and Sinoh, each continuous with the other, through a wide stretch of fruit gardens, mulberry plantations, poppy beds, and corn-fields watered from a number of brisk little hill streams, and looking the picture of a prosperity which our experience has taught us is very far from the reality.

A little farther on, at about the eleventh mile, we came to Patinjo, and halted for breakfast under the shade of a magnificent plane-tree in the centre of the village. Proceeding hence, we continued along the hill skirt, and at about four miles entered amongst the hills that close the Gúnábád valley to the northward. We gained their shelter in a somewhat hurried manner, owing to a false alarm of Turkmans on the plain flanking our right. We had continued to hear all sorts of fanciful and exaggerated reports of these gentry, founded undoubtedly on a basis of fact, and were consequently kept alive to the chance of a possible encounter with them. On the present occasion a cloud of dust suddenly appeared round a spur projecting on the plain about two miles to our right. Our _mihmandár_ reined up a moment, looking intently at the suspicious object, and shook his head. At this moment the cloud of dust wheeled round in our direction. “Yá Ali!” he exclaimed. “They are Turkmans. Get on quick into the hills;” and so saying, he unslung his rifle, and loaded as he galloped. A few minutes brought us all to the hills, and ascending some heights overlooking the plain, we levelled our glasses at the cause of our commotion. After a good deal of spying and conjecturing, we discovered, to our no small chagrin, that we were no better than our friends of Calát, for our would-be Turkmans were no other than a flock of goats and sheep, grazing along the hill skirts for protection against surprise by those very marauders.

Our road through the hills was by a winding path, over ridges and through defiles, everywhere rough and stony, and in some parts very wild and rugged.

After passing the castellated village of Kámih we came to a very difficult little gorge between bare rocks of trap, and farther on reached a watershed called Gudari Rúdi, or “the pass of the tamarisk river.” It runs north and south, and is about 5150 feet above the sea. The descent is gradual, by a long drainage gully between gradually diverging hills. At five miles from the watershed we turned to the left across a wide gravelly waste to Bijistan, where we camped near a _sarae_ outside the town. As we approached camp, along the eastern side of this waste, we had the pleasure of seeing a long string of camels with our heavy baggage from Birjand converging to the sarae spot on the western side.

Bijistan is one of the principal towns of the Tabbas district, and contains about two thousand houses surrounded by gardens. It is a charming spot in this wilderness of barren hills and desert wastes, and lies at the base of an isolated ridge of hills, beyond which, to the west, is seen, down in a hollow, portion of the great salt desert of Yazd and Káshán. It is called _Kavír_, and its surface is of dazzling whiteness from saline encrustations.

The people here have suffered dreadfully from the famine, and have lost nearly all their cattle from the same cause. Our camp is surrounded by crowds of beggars, famished, gaunt and wizened creatures, most sorry objects to behold. Boys and girls, of from ten to twenty years of age, wan, pinched, and wrinkled, whine around us in piteous tones all day and all night, and vainly call on Ali for aid. “_Ahajo!_ (for _Agha ján_) _gushna am, yak puli siyah bidih!_” (“Dear sir! I am hungry; give me a supper!”) is the burden of each one’s prayer; whilst “_Yá Alí-í-í-í!_” resounds on all sides from those too helpless to move from the spots doomed to be their deathbeds. These prolonged plaintive cries in the stillness of night were distressing to hear, and enough to move the hardest hearts. To us these frequent evidences of such fearful and widespread suffering were the more distressing from our utter inability to afford any real relief. Poor creatures! there is no help for them. Hundreds of those we have seen must die, for they are past recovery even were relief at hand.

The district of Tabbas comprises the divisions or _bulúk_ of Gúnábád, Kakhak, Bijistan, Tún, and Tabbas. The last contains the capital city of that name. The whole district has suffered fearfully during the famine by death, emigration, and raids. Some of the smaller hamlets have been entirely depopulated, and many villages have been decimated. We heard of one village in the Tún _bulúk_, in which not a man nor child was left, and only five old women remained to till the ground, in hopes of some of their people returning. It is not quite easy to understand the cause of the famine in these parts, for the villages are mostly well watered and their fields fertile.

_17th April._—Bijistan to Yúnasi, twenty-six miles. The weather during our halt at Bijistan was close and oppressive, and on the eve of our departure set in stormy, with violent gusts of wind from the south. At daylight this morning a sharp thunderstorm with hail and rain burst over our camp, and continued with violence for nearly three hours.

Our route was in a N.N.E. direction, down a long sloping steppe, with interrupted hill ridges on either hand, down to the _kavír_ or “salt-desert,” which here projects an arm eastward to join that of Herat. At about the twelfth mile we passed the village of Sihfarsakh, at the foot of a white marble hill to the right; and at three miles farther on halted at a roadside _ábambár_ for breakfast. On the way to this we passed a small camp of Baloch gypsies—a very poor, dirty, black, and villanous-looking set. The vegetation here differs from what we have seen in the highlands of Gháyn and Tabbas, and resembles that we observed on the plains of Calá Koh. The characteristic plants are _ghích_, wormwood, wild rue, caroxylon, and other saltworts, the wild liquorice, and a variety of flowering herbs, such as gentian, prophet flower, malcomia, and other crucifers, &c.

At four miles farther on, passing amongst some low hills, we left the fortified village of Márandez a couple of miles to the left, and entered on the wide waste of the _kavír_; and at another four miles reached the village of Yúnasi, where we camped. The sun shone hotly here, and a strong north wind blowing all day filled the atmosphere with clouds of saline dust, very trying to the lungs and eyes. On approaching the town, a number of its people, headed by an athlete wielding a pair of huge wooden dumb-bells, came out to meet us, and merrily conducted us to our camp. Yúnasi is a collection of about two hundred and fifty houses round a central fort, and possesses a commodious _sarae_ built of baked bricks. It stands on a small river flowing westward into the desert, and marking the boundary between the districts of Tabbas and Turbat Hydari. There are no gardens here, and a singular absence of trees gives the place a very forlorn look, quite in keeping with the aspect of the desert around. The place has been almost depopulated by the famine. Yúnasi is about 2860 feet above the sea.

Our next stage was Abdullahabad, twenty-five miles. After crossing the river or Rúdi Kavír by a red brick bridge a little below the town (there are said to be seven similar bridges across the river in different parts of its course), we went across a wide lacustrine hollow, the soil of which was light and powdery, and white with saline efflorescence, and at half-way came to Miandih, “the midway village,” and halted at its _ábambár_ for breakfast. The village consists of perhaps a hundred domed huts, ranged outside a square fort fast falling to decay, and has a vertical windmill similar to those used in Sistan, only made to work with an east wind. The desert here runs from east to west between high hill ranges, and is almost bare of vegetation beyond the wild rue and liquorice, and a coarse grass growing in tufts, with here and there strips of camel-thorn and salsolaceæ.

Along the line of march we passed several roadside graves, the last resting-places of famine-struck travellers hastily buried by their companions. Wild beasts had pulled out the bodies from three or four of these shallow pits, and scattered their bones and clothes upon the road. Thousands upon thousands have been so put away, or left to rot on the roads where they lay. Their place knows them no more, and but too often none are left to reck their loss.

From Miandih our route continued in an E.N.E. direction over a wide plain covered with a scanty pasture, on which we found large herds of camels, oxen, and asses at graze. They belong to Baloch nomads of the Mirzá Jahán tribe, and are tended by small unarmed parties of their herdsmen. We have all along noticed that the peasantry of Persian Khorassan, unlike those of Afghanistan, are all unarmed. This is the more surprising as a new feature on the scene here warns us that we have come into the country which from time immemorial has been the hunting-ground of the real Turkman. The whole plain is dotted all over with hundreds of round towers as places of refuge from these marauders, and they serve also to convey a very lively idea of the insecurity of the country. These towers consist of a circular mud wall about twelve feet high, enclosing an empty roofless space about eighteen feet in diameter, and are entered by a small opening on one side, only large enough to admit of entrance on all fours. On the appearance of the raiders the shepherds or husbandmen desert their flocks and fields, and rush into these refuges till the enemy has disappeared. The Turkman has a lively dread of firearms, and a very wholesome respect for all armed travellers. He always gives these towers a wide berth, and only attacks the unwary and unarmed. From all we heard of them, they must be sorry cowards before a worthy foe, and heartless tyrants over their helpless captives. Those who used formerly to raid this country, and who do still occasionally as opportunity offers, belong to the Sarúc and Sálor tribes, whose seat is in the territories of Sarrakhs and Marv. With the Takka Turkmans of the latter place, they habitually harry all this country up to the very gates of Mashhad. In 1860, the Persian Government sent an expedition against the strongholds of these miscreants. Though the Persian troops were driven back with disastrous loss, they managed to inflict considerable damage upon the enemy, and for several years their inroads upon this frontier were put a stop to; but in the disorganisation and laxity of authority produced by the famine they have again commenced their wonted forays, and during the last three years have, it is said, carried off nearly twenty thousand Persian subjects from Mashhad district alone, for the slave markets of Khiva and Bukhára. During the pressure of the famine, we are told, the citizens of Mashhad used to flock out to the plains on purpose to be captured by the Turkman, preferring a crust of bread in slavery to the tortures of a slow death under the heedless rule of their own governors, who never stirred a finger to alleviate their sufferings or relieve their necessities. This species of voluntary exile soon grew to such alarming proportions that the Mashhad authorities were obliged to post military guards to prevent the citizens from leaving the city.

At about ten miles from Miandih we came to the ruins of a very extensive town, called Fyzabad, and beyond them passed the modern village of the same name. It is a remarkable place, and consists of a compact little town, sunk below the level of the ground, surrounded by a deep ditch, and ramparts but little raised above the general level of the plain. Within are many trees, the tops of which only are seen above the ramparts. Here the road turns due north to Abdullahabad, four miles distant, leaving the new fort of Husenabad standing boldly out on the plain away to the right.

At Fyzabad we were met by an _isticbál_ party of thirty or forty horsemen, headed by Hájí Agha Beg and Muhammad Karím, expressly deputed to meet us by the prince-governor of Mashhad and Husen Ali Khán, the governor of the town. They received us in a very polite and friendly manner, and conducted us to a garden house on the skirts of the town, where, as we entered its gate, a couple of sheep were sacrificed on our path, with such haste and clumsiness, that ourselves and followers were sprinkled with the blood spurting from their severed throats. The quarters prepared for us were tastefully furnished in the Persian fashion, and on a carpeted platform, under the shade of some fine mulberry trees, and on the edge of a sparkling little stream, we were refreshed with iced sherbets and trays of sweetmeats, accompanied by the inevitable _calyán_ and coffee.

We halted here a day, and received a post from India with dates from Peshawar up to the 20th March. The packet came by the route of Kurram and Ghazni to Kandahar, and thence by Farráh, Herat, and Ghoryán to this. Our Afghan friends have certainly earned our gratitude for the promptitude and safety with which they have maintained our postal communication with India. Our weekly budgets from that side have seldom failed to reach us punctually, notwithstanding the rapidity of our movements, and the difficulties and dangers of the road on this side of Kandahar, where no post is established. In this respect, at all events, Afghanistan may favourably compare with Persia, where there are no proper established posts at all. Sir F. Goldsmid’s party had only received two posts since we joined them in Sistan—namely, one at Banjár, and the other only yesterday as we set out from Yúnasi. It came _viâ_ Mashhad, with dates from Tehran to the 8th March, and London of 14th January.

Abdullahabad is a charming place, and, like most Persian villages, lost in a maze of gardens and vineyards. Through its centre flows a clear hill stream, and to its south stands a strong little castle, now in a state of decay, like all the other fortifications we have seen in all this frontier. It appears as if they had all been dismantled on purpose to prevent the people from entertaining any thought of revolt, and to deprive them of the temptation to rebellion that such handy strongholds might give rise to.

During our stay here a party of a hundred horsemen, under ’Abdul Husen Khán, grandson of the celebrated Karai chief Ishák Khán, arrived here from Mashhad as escort for our party. With them came a messenger to Sistan, bearing a jewelled sword and letters of commendation from the Sháh for Mír ’Alam Khán, the governor of that newly acquired province.

_20th April._—Abdullahabad to Turbat Hydari, thirty-two miles, and halt two days. We set out at four A.M., and pursued a generally north-east course over a wide upland pasture tract towards the Asgand range of hills, which stretch across the plain from north-west to south-east. A lofty mass away to our left, and separated from the rest of the range by an intervening chain of lesser hills covered with a furrowed surface of white marl, is called Koh Fighan, or “the hill of lamentation,” and is said to be the site of Rustam’s retreat for mourning after he had unwittingly killed his son Sohráb.

At eight or ten miles out we passed the villages of Doghabad and Salmidasht, on the left and right respectively, and farther on, passing over the undulating plain of Maháwalát, alighted at a _kárez_ stream for breakfast. As a steady rain had set in, we pitched a bell-tent for the more comfortable discussion of this repast, for which our appetites were well whetted by the morning ride of twelve miles. Our escort of Karai horsemen meanwhile dismounted and scattered themselves over the hillocks around. They are a remarkably fine body of men, and excellently mounted, but are indifferently armed, and are wanting in the dash and elasticity so characteristic of the Afghan trooper. On the march they diverted themselves and us too with a display of their horsemanship and mock fights. Their movements appeared to me slow, and the firing at full galop harmless, particularly when, in retreat, the fugitive loads, and turning round in the saddle, with a wide sweep over the horizon, discharges his rifle in the direction of his pursuer. Against a European armed with a revolver the Khorassan horseman would have a poor chance of escape. They are wonderfully hardy, however, both man and horse, and accomplish incredibly long marches, carrying their own and horses’ food and clothing, with little inconvenience. Our new companions, Hájí Agha Beg and the _peshkhidwat_ Muhammad Karím, entertained us, in truly Persian hyperbole, with amusing accounts of the Turkmans, and never failed to enlarge on the prowess of the Persian cavalry against them. The Hájí, as a piece of the latest news from Mashhad, informed us of the capture of eight hundred of these _pidr sokhta_ (burnt fathers), and the release of upwards of a thousand captives they were carrying off, by a brilliant display of military tactics on the part of a son of the Hisámussaltanat. The Turkmans, he told us, had entered the Burdjnurd lands through the Darband pass, and were allowed to proceed well ahead unmolested, when the pass behind them, which it seems is the only route of ingress and egress, was occupied by a party of the Mashhad troops. On the return of the raiders with their plunder and captives, they were suddenly attacked in front and rear, and killed and captured, for exchange, to the number of eight hundred.

“The heads of the slain,” said he, “have been brought in for exhibition at the gates of the city. You will see them on reaching Mashhad.” This was welcome news to me, for I was anxious to obtain a few skulls of this race for the collection of my learned friend, and distinguished anthropologist, Dr Barnard Davis, and therefore availed myself of the opportunity to engage the interest of our companion in procuring me a few specimens. “Any number is at your service,” replied he with charming readiness. “How many, and of which kind, do you require?” I naturally inquired what the different kinds were, and presently learned that some were merely stuck on a lance, and allowed to bleach intact in the sun, and that others were prepared so as to preserve the features. In these last, the bones of the skull were smashed by blows with a wooden mallet, and the brain, soft parts, and fragments withdrawn through the neck. The interior was then stuffed with straw, and the integument allowed to dry over it. “Thanks!” I said; “I should like two of each kind, and shall esteem it a great favour if you will procure them for me.” “_Ba chasm-házir!_” (“By my eyes—present!” or “With all my heart!”) “They are ready,” was his prompt reply. “They are yours. I will bring them to you myself so soon as we reach the city.” This was very satisfactory, and I congratulated myself on my prospective good fortune. But to anticipate the sequel. I did not then know the Persian character so well as I do now, and was consequently completely deceived by the Hájí’s specious politeness. On arrival at Mashhad, we found the whole story was a myth, only created for our amusement. There had been no brilliant exploit against the Turkmans, nor was a single head, stuffed or bleached, procurable. So much for Persian veracity.

At a couple of miles from Turbat Hydari we were met by the governor of the district, Hájí Mirzá Mahmúd Khán. He was attended by twenty cavaliers, and preceded by a couple of _yadak_, or led horses, handsomely caparisoned. He is a remarkably handsome man, with very polished manners, and was richly dressed. He received us with graceful civility, and conducted our party to the residence prepared for us in a garden adjoining his own quarters.

Our road passed through a long succession of gardens and orchards and villages, and finally led through the main bazár of Turbat, which is full of life, and well supplied. It consists of two main streets crossing at right angles, and covered in by a succession of domes built of red brick. Altogether it is the most flourishing place we have seen on this frontier. Turbat Hydari is picturesquely situated on the bank of a deep and wide ravine, in the midst of lofty hills, and is surrounded by a cluster of villages, each embosomed in luxuriant orchards, mulberry plantations and vineyards. Its elevation is about 4562 feet above the sea, and it enjoys a delightfully salubrious climate. During our stay the weather was unpropitious, and rain fell constantly, with only brief intervals of sunshine, and the air was damp, chill, and raw. In winter, snow lies deep for a month or six weeks.

The town derives its name from the mausoleum of a Bukhára saint buried here, and is the capital of the district of the same name, which comprises the divisions or _bulúk_ of Maháwalát, Turbat, Záwah, Kháf, Azghan or Asgand, Báyak, and Rúkh. Previous to the famine this district was one of the most populous, fertile, and prosperous places in Persia, but it has suffered fearfully in the dearth of the last three years. Owing to deaths and emigration its population has been reduced by twenty thousand, and several villages are now deserted. It is reckoned it cannot recover its losses for another generation. Formerly, the silk crop alone in this district produced an annual profit of forty thousand _tumans_, or about eighty thousand dollars, but the yield now is less than a tenth of that amount. Formerly, too, from fifteen to twenty thousand pilgrims, mostly from Bukhára, annually visited the shrine here, but the famine has quite put a stop to this source of wealth.

Turbat is the headquarters of the Karai, a tribe of Tátár origin, whose settlement here dates from the time of Tamerlane. They subsequently became dispersed in the successive revolutions and conquests that for centuries convulsed this region, and their lands were left more or less waste and depopulated. Nadír resettled seven thousand families of the tribe in Turbat. On his death, Sháh Ahmad annexed the country to Afghanistan, and secured the good-will of their chief, Ishák Khán, by a liberal policy of protection and favour. On the decline of the Durrani dynasty, and the extension eastwards of the Cajar rule, this district, and the adjoining principality of Mashhad, wrested from the unfortunate Sháh Rokh Mirzá, were restored to Persia. The Karai, however, proved very rebellious subjects, and took a leading part in the successive revolts marking the earlier years of the Cajar authority on this border. In 1816, Ishák, and his son Husen ’Ali, were executed at Mashhad by Muhammad Walí Mirzá, the governor, and another son, Muhammad Khán, placed in the government of the district.

He too evinced a very dubious loyalty during the subsequent operations of Persia against Herat, and in the rebellion of the Salár, Hassan Khán, some years later, joined his standard against the Sháh. In 1849, Sultán Murád Mirzá, Hisámussaltanat, having recaptured Mashhad, executed the Salár and his son, and sent a number of the Karai and Kurd chiefs who had sided with him as prisoners to Tehran. Since that time the power of the Karai has steadily decreased, and now, under a Persian ruler of the district, they are reduced to a complete subjection.

_23d April._—Turbat Hydari to Asadabad, twenty-eight miles. Weather showery all day, cold and cloudy. We left Turbat as we entered it, through its bazár, and passing round its ditch and fortified walls, followed a good road leading due north over an undulating gravelly plain covered with rich pasture. At the eighth mile we passed a roadside _ábambár_, and at two miles farther on reached the foot of the hills, and ascending a narrow drainage gully, at a mile farther reached the crest of a ridge of chlorite slate. Its elevation is 5920 feet above the sea, and 1358 feet above Turbat Hydari, and affords a very fine view, which, though much obscured by clouds, is sufficient to convey a correct idea of the wild and picturesque combined in the scenery of these mountains. Descending into a deep little hollow, bright in the verdure of its spring vegetation, we passed the village of Kámih Páyín, and rose up to the _sarae_ Kistkat, where we took refuge from the rain, and smoked ourselves dry at blinding and suffocating fires, raised with the stable litter strewing its interior.

On our way up to this we found several human skeletons strewed along the road, and I dismounted to pick up a tolerably bleached skull in my path. “Why burden yourself with that?” exclaimed he who had promised me the Turkman heads; “the road ahead is white with them, and you can pick up any number, much better and purer.” The one I held was certainly not as clear of its contents as it might have been, so I threw it aside and remounted; and calling up one of my own servants, directed him to pick up two or three perfect skulls as he went along towards camp. As events proved, I might have saved myself the trouble, for we did not see another skull on all our road from this to Tehran. So much again for Persian veracity.

Opposite the _sarae_ is a collection of thirty or forty mud cabins, and overlooking it from the north-west is the snow-topped and cloud-beshrouded Bedúr mountain, with its bare slopes and rugged heights. We set out from the _sarae_ in a steady set rain, and ascending a narrow gorge, in forty minutes reached the Gudari Bedár, on which are three observation towers for watching the movements of the Turkmans on the _júlagah_ Rúkh below to the northward. This pass is over a watershed ridge of chlorite and trap rocks running east and west, and forming the boundary between the _bulúk_ of Turbat and that of Rúkh. Its elevation is 7135 feet above the sea, and 2573 feet above Turbat, and from it is obtained a full view of the _júlagah_ Rúkh running east and west.

The descent, at first steep, leads through a turfy dell, in which we found the wild rose, barberry, prickly astragalus, tulips, lilies, and a multitude of other herbs, with here and there arms and legs of human skeletons strewing the path, and at about four miles emerges on the plain at the little castle of Shor Hissár. We crossed the _júlagah_ due north, and passing a new red brick _rabát_ or post-house about half-way, at eight miles reached Asadabad, and camped on a gravelly slope covered with fresh sprouting rhubarb. The weather was cold, chill, and damp, and a strong north-west wind, with the thermometer at 46° Fah. at two P.M., intensified its severity. Asadabad stands 5790 feet above the sea, and 1228 feet higher than Turbat. Its vegetation is very backward; the corn has hardly sprouted above the ground, and the fruit trees have not yet expanded their buds.

Quarters had been hastily prepared for us inside the fort, but we found them so filthy, and the stinks so disgusting, that we preferred to face the stormy elements in our tents. The entrance gate of this fortified village is of very peculiar construction, and similar to some others we have seen on this frontier. It consists of a circular opening closed by a great millstone about a foot thick and six feet in diameter, which rolls back into a side casement. Owing to the scarcity of timber, large slabs of slate or millstone grit are commonly used as doors for houses and gardens in this country. Asadabad was only built some ten years ago, by Asadullah Mirzá, one of the princes of the blood royal. There are eight or ten other fortified villages seen from it on the _júlagah_ or _júlgah_. The wild sheep (_koch_ m. and _mesh_ f.) and wild goat (_takka_ m. and _buz_ f.) abound on these hills. Here, as at Turbat, specimens of each, shot in the vicinity, were brought to our camp as dainties for our table.

Our next stage was thirty-four miles to Sharífabad. Weather cold, cloudy, and windy, with alternating showers, mists, and sunshine. Route northerly, up a gentle slope to the foot of a hill range running north-west to south-east, then, passing between low marly hillocks, ascends a steep ridge of chlorite, to the Gudhari Rúkh. Elevation, 6962 feet above the sea, and 1172 feet above Asadabad, six miles distant. The descent leads down a long winding defile, flanked by bare rugged hills of chlorite and trap and granite, and then, at four miles, passing through a narrow gorge between high perpendicular hills of green and red rocks, emerged on to the valley of Rabáti Sufed. This gorge is only about forty yards wide, and perhaps five or six hundred long, for our horses walked through it in six minutes, along a clear little rivulet that flows in its midst.

The crest of the hill on the right of this gorge is topped with the ruins of an ancient fort called Calaedukhtar. It looks down upon a domed chamber built of very solid masonry on the plain below, and called Darocsh-khána. Tradition assigns the fort as the retreat of some ancient king’s beautiful daughter, whilst a devoted suitor pined away in unrequited love in the domed chamber. At the foot of the hills to the left are two or three similarly domed chambers. They stand on separate little mounds, and are called _átash kadah_, or “fire temple.” Farther out on the level stands an old _sarae_, and on a ridge of hill at the farther end of the valley, to the left, is the village of Rabáti Sufed. It is the first we have seen with flat-roofed houses. This little valley communicates westward with the Nishabor plain, and is constantly infested by Tymúri and Turkman robbers.

Beyond this we crossed a low ridge, and passing down a long turfy slope, halted for breakfast on a patch of fresh green sward, close under Káfir Calá, a small castle on the summit of an isolated mound, which appears to be of artificial construction. Though strongly situated, the village has, it is said, been several times swept clear of its occupants by the Turkmans. During the last year they have made repeated raids in this direction, and have carried off most of the people belonging to Sebzar, a small fortified village in a nook of the hills about two miles to the S.S.E. Some years ago a large body of Turkmans, in collusion with the Tymúri Hazárah of Turbat Shekh Jám, were returning by this way from a foray to Nishabor, when they were overtaken by troops sent out from Mashhad to intercept them. A large number of them fell into the hands of the Persians, and received punishment, not according to their deserts, but according to the necessities of the case. Thus the Tymúri, who are accounted subjects of the Persian Government, were put to death with the most horrible cruelties. Some were put out of their misery at once by having their throats cut or their heads chopped off, some were cut to pieces limb by limb, and others were ripped up and disembowelled, and many were impaled or doomed to a lingering death of torture, pegged to the ground by a stake driven through the belly. The real Turkmans, on the other hand, were sent to Mashhad, and there retained as hostages for exchange with Persian subjects carried off by their brethren in other forays. As a rule, the Persians seldom kill their Turkman captives, for fear of retaliation on their own captive fellow-countrymen.

The Káfir Calá hollow is closed to the westward by a ridge of red clay hills, in which is a mine of very pure white rock salt. It is quarried extensively for the Mashhad market. On the gravelly mounds skirting this ridge we found the burrows of a large species of rat, called _múshi Sultánya_. A couple were shot by one of our party, and measured about a foot from the snout to the root of the tail, which is short and bushy. The head resembles that of the beaver, and has long incisors. The colour of the fur is a yellowish grey, inclining to brown. Their burrows are very extensive, and render the ground unsafe for the movement of horses.

From this the road continues to slope towards the north, and passing over an undulating tract of red marl, drops on to a wide valley or plain, the _júlagah_ Bewajan, which is bounded on the north by a snow-topped mountain of the same name—a terminal prolongation to the south-east of the Nishabor mountain. The Bewajan plain is dotted with a number of fort-villages, which are remarkable from the absence of gardens or trees about them. The plain presents a gently undulating pasture-covered surface, and extends for many miles east and west and forms a long, narrow strip of tableland between the deserts on either side. To the eastward it drops suddenly, by a very broken surface, on to the Sarjam district, which presents a wide waste of red clay hummocks, of no use whatever but to provide concealment and shelter to the Turkman. To the south of Sarjam is seen a great snowy mountain, on which there is said to be a glacier. It is continuous to the north-west with the Turbat Hydari range of Asgand, and to the eastward separates Turbat Shekh Jám from Bákharz. To the north-east Sarjam is continuous with the desert of Sarakhs and Marv, and is the general rendezvous of the Takka, Sarúc, and Sálor Turkmans. To the westward Bewajan drops on to the plain of Nishabor on the one hand, and the _kavír_ of Yúnasi, through which it is continuous with the waste of Pul Abresham, on the other. Bewajan is the route by which the Marv Turkmans invade Nishabor and Sabzwár, and the country up to Shahrúd, where they meet their brethren of the Yamút and Goklán tribes.

We crossed the Bewajan plain in a N.N.E. direction, and passing the fortified village of Sháh Tughi—which, what with Turkmans and famine, had been reduced to only three miserable families, who longed to escape the burthen of its desolation, the dread of Turkmans, and the thoughts for their daily bread; but there was none to cheer them, nor to relieve them, nor even to commiserate them—rose gently up to some low ridges of slate, trap, and granite, towards a ruined tower that stands on the edge of a muddy pool. At this point the caravan route from Tehran _viâ_ Nishabor joins that from Turbat to Sharífabad and Mashhad. We here turned to the right, and descending into the secluded hollow in which stands Sharífabad, camped near its _sarae_. This is a commodious and substantial building, erected by Ishák Khán, Karai, when this town formed the frontier of his territory in this direction.