Amir Khan, being well mounted, soon wearied of the slow
march of the caravan, and urged me to push on with him at a
brisker pace. I did so, thinking, of course, that he knew the
way; but this proved to be a rash assumption, for, after traversing
the considerable village of Muhammad-abad, he lost the road
and struck off into the open desert, where the soft sand proved
very arduous to my horse, which began to lag behind. A halt
which Amir Khan made (not to allow me to come up with him,
but to say his prayers) brought us once more together, but the
subsequent appearance of two gazelles at some distance to our
left was too much for his self-control, and he set off after them
at full gallop. I soon abandoned all idea of following him, and,
having now realised his complete uselessness, both as a guide
and a guard, continued to make my solitary way in the direction
which I supposed to be correct. After some time, Amir Khan,
having got a shot at the gazelles and missed them, returned in
a more subdued frame of mind; and, after again losing the way
several times, we finally reached the post-house of Sar-i-Yezd
about sunrise. The remainder of the caravan being far behind,
I had nothing to do, after seeing to the stabling of my horse, but
to lie down on the mud floor with my head on the rolled-up greatcoat
which I had strapped to the saddle at starting, and go to sleep.
I was awakened about three hours later by Haji Safar for my
morning tea, and passed the day in the post-house writing and
making up my accounts. About sunset I received a visit from
a Zoroastrian who was coming up to Yezd from Kirman. He
remained with me for about an hour, chatting and drinking tea,
and informed me, amongst other things, that he had spent several
years in Bombay and Calcutta; that the Governor of Kirman,
Prince Nasiru'd-Dawla, was a most enlightened and popular
We left Sar-i-Yezd between three and four hours after sunset
by the light of a nearly full moon, my Zoroastrian friend coming
to bid me farewell and wish me God-speed. Amir Khan, who kept
dozing off in his saddle, again led us astray; and, while we were
wandering about amongst the sandhills, there reached our ears
a faint cry, which, in that solitary and ghostly desert, caused us
to start with surprise. Amir Khan, however, followed by myself
made for the spot whence it appeared to come, and there,
huddled together between two sandhills, we presently discerned
a group of about half a dozen persons (three men, three women
and, I think, one child at least) gathered round a diminutive
donkey. As we approached, they again addressed us in tones of
entreaty, but in a dialect which was to me quite unintelligible
Amir Khan, however, understood them. They were from the
"City of Barbar" (Shahr-i Barbar, which he explained, was near
Sistan, on the eastern frontier of Persia), and were bound for
Kerbela, drawn thither by a longing desire to visit the place
of martyrdom of the Imam Huseyn. They had lost their way in
the desert and were sorely distressed by thirst, and the boon they
craved was a draught of water. My heart was filled with pity
for these poor people, and admiration for their faith and piety;
and as I bade Haji Safar give them to drink from the leather
bottle he carried, there ran in my mind the words of Hafiz--
After this incident the march continued in sleepy silence; but towards dawn Amir Khan, who was riding beside me, suddenly woke up from his doze, and remarked, with complete irrelevance to anything that had gone before, "No sect are worse than the Babis."
"Why?" I enquired, wondering what had caused him to introduce spontaneously a subject generally avoided with the most scrupulous care by Persian Musulmans.
"They worship as God," he replied, "a man called Mirza
Huseyn 'Ali, who lives at Adrianople. A friend of mine at
Yezd once told me that he was going there. I asked why. 'To
visit God' (bi-ziyarat-i-Hakk), he answered. When he got there
he was asked what work his hands could do. 'None,' said he,
'save writing; for I am a scrivener by profession.' 'Then,' said
they, 'there is no place for you here, and we do not want you.'
He was not allowed to see Mirza Huseyn 'Ali at all, but was
given a handkerchief which he had used, and invited to make an
offering of three tumans. So he returned thoroughly disgusted,
'for,' said he, 'God does not take presents.'"
While I was considering how I should meet this sally, and
whether Amir Khan, knowing that I had had dealings with the
Zeynu'd-Din is the last halting-place within the territories of
Yezd, and consequently Amir Khan had been instructed to
accompany me only thus far on my journey, and to obtain for
me another mounted guard belonging to the jurisdiction of the
Governor of Kirman. I had, however, no desire to avail myself
of this unnecessary luxury, and hinted as much to Amir Khan
as I placed in his hand ten krans. He took the hint and the
money with equal readiness, and we parted with mutual expressions
of esteem. The evening was cloudy, with occasional gusts of
wind, and every now and then a great pillar of sand or dust
would sweep across the plain, after the fashion of the jinnis in
the Arabian Nights. The road presented little of interest, being
ever the same wide ill-defined track, through a sandy plain
enclosed between two parallel mountain chains, running from
the north-west to the south-east. At one place I noticed a number
of large caterpillars (larvae of Deilephila euphorbiae, I think)
feeding on a kind of spurge which grew by the roadside. No
trace of cultivation was visible till we came within a farsakh of
I woke about two hours before dawn to find the people of
the post-house eating their morning meal preparatory to entering
on the day's fast. Haji Safar and the muleteer, however, were
sleeping so peacefully that it seemed a shame to wake them, so
I lay down again and slept for another two hours, when I was
awakened by Haji Safar. It was quite light when we started, but
this was of little advantage, as the scenery was precisely the same
in character as on the previous day. The road, however, hugged
the western range of mountains more closely, and indeed at
one point we passed inside a few outlying hills. Kirmanshahan
was in sight for two hours and a quarter after we had left it, and
we had no sooner crossed a slight rise which finally hid it from
our view than we caught sight of the caravansaray of Shemsh,
which, however, it took us nearly three hours more to reach.
A more dismal spot than Shemsh it would be hard to imagine.
There is nothing but the aforesaid caravansaray and a post-
house (singularly good, like all the post-houses between Yezd
and Kirman) standing side by side in the sandy, salt-strewn plain.
As I rode up to the latter edifice, I saw a little stream, very
clear and sparkling, carefully banked up between mud walls which
conducted it into a small pond. Being overcome with thirst,
I flung myself from my horse and dipped my face into it to get
a long draught of what I supposed to be pure fresh water. To
my disappointment it proved to be almost as salt as the sea.
There was no other water to be had, and Haji Safar had thrown
away what was left from Kirmanshahan; nor did my hope that
boiling might improve it, and that a decent cup of tea might at
The monotony of the march to the next stage, Anar, was only twice broken, first by meeting a string of twenty-five camels going up to Yezd, whose drivers greeted us with the usual "Fursat bashad!" ("May it be opportune!"); and secondly by the appearance of some wild beast which was prowling about by the road, but which, on our approach, slunk off into the desert. About dawn we arrived at Anar, a flourishing village containing a good many gardens, and surrounded by fields in which men were busy reaping the corn. Here we alighted at the post-house to rest and refresh ourselves before continuing our march to the next stage, Beyaz, which we reached without incident a little before sundown.
Beyaz is a small hamlet containing a few trees, and not devoid
of signs of cultivation. Three or four-camels were resting and
taking their food in a field opposite the post-house, where I
alighted in preference to the large but dilapidated caravansaray.
Soon after our arrival, a party of mounted ghulams rode up, and
bivouacked outside under the trees. One of these, as Haji Safar
informed me, was anxious to "challenge" my horse. This practice
(called muwazi bastam) I was surprised to find amongst the Persians,
as I had hitherto only met with it in the pages of
We left Beyaz about four hours before sunset, and continued
our south-easterly march along a track so ill-defined that I felt
impelled to make a wide detour towards the telegraph-posts,
which lay some distance to the east, in the expectation of finding
something more like a high road. As dusk drew on the whole
character of the country began to change: rivulets and streams
intersected it in every direction; the air grew moist and damp,
like that of a fen; and the night re-echoed with the shrill chirping
of grasshoppers and the hoarse croaking of frogs. Once we lost
our way amongst the ditches and cornfields, and floundered about
for some time in the dark ere, rather by good luck than good
management, we again struck the road. Flickering lights in the
distance, probably will-o'-the-wisps, kept our hopes of speedy
arrival alive; but it was only after repeated disappointments
that the welcome outline of the post-house of Kushkuh loomed
out, like some "moated grange," through the darkness. We had
to wake the postmaster ere we could gain admission, and no
sooner was my bed spread in the porch of the bala-khane, or
upper chamber, than I fell sound asleep, lulled by a chorus of
When Haji Safar brought me my tea next morning, he informed me that the muleteer, Zeynu'l-'Abidin, had decided to remain at Kushkuh, to rest his beasts after their forced marches of the last day or two, till sundown, so as to accomplish the seven long parasangs which separated us from the considerable town of Bahram-abad (the capital of the district known as Rafsinjan) during the night. I was not sorry for the rest, and, though much pestered by flies, passed a tolerably comfortable day in the little post-house. We started by starlight about three hours after sunset, but in about an hour the moon rose up to light us on our way. The night was quite chilly and the march very tedious, and even when soon after dawn we sighted Bahram-abad, a weary length of wilfully sinuous and serpentine road remained to be traversed ere we finally alighted at the post-house.
At Bahram-abad I had a letter of introduction from Haji
Seyyid M--- to the chief of the posts in that district, which,
after lunch, I caused to be conveyed to him. He came to visit
me without delay, and after sitting for a short time carried me
off to his office in the caravansaray. While I was there several
persons came to see him, amongst them a fine-looking young
Khan of Rafsinjan, who had just returned from Sirjan by way
of Pariz and God-i-Ahmar. He had with him the body of an
enormous lizard (buz-majje) which he had shot on the road. About
three hours before sunset my host took me to his house and gave
me tea, after which I was waited upon successively by deputations
of Zoroastrians and Hindoos, both of which classes regard an
Englishman as their natural friend and ally. The Zoroastrians
were only three in number: one of them was Ardashir Mihraban's
agent, and of the other two one was an old man called Mihraban,
and the other a young man named Ardashir. They told me that
there were in all about twenty or twenty-five Zoroastrians in
After the departure of the Zoroastrians, the whole Hindoo community (save one, who was ill) waited upon me. There were fourteen of them, men and youths, all natives of Shikarpur, and they brought me as a present an enormous block of sugar- candy. One of them had recently been robbed of a large sum of money, and, as the Persian Governor could not succeed in capturing the thief, and would not make good the loss, he begged me to make a representation of the facts to the English Embassy at Teheran. I promised to come and inspect the scene of the outrage, if I had time, without further committing myself; and shortly afterwards the deputation withdrew. I remained to supper with the postmaster, who made me eat to repletion of his excellent pilaw, washed down with a delicious sherbet, and strove to persuade me to stay the night with him; but I excused myself on the ground that the muleteer would probably wish to start. However, on arriving at the chapar-khane, whither he insisted on accompanying me, I found that, as the morrow, 21st Ramazan, was the anniversary of the Imam 'Ali's death, and consequently an unlucky day, neither Haji Safar nor the muleteer wished to continue the march till the following evening.
I did not go out next day till about three hours before sunset,
when the postmaster sent his servant to bring me to his house.
I conversed with him for about two hours, and he enquired
very particularly about the signs which should herald Christ's
coming, but did not make any further allusion to the beliefs
of the Babis, which, I believe, were his own. Our conversation
was interrupted by the arrival of one of the Hindoos, who wished
me to inspect the scene of the recent robbery, which I agreed to
"Why don't you take Persia?" said one of them at length:
"you could easily if you liked."
"I suppose the thief who took your money put the same question
to himself with regard to it," I replied, "and yet you feel
that you have a just ground of complaint against him. People
have no right to take their neighbours' property, even if they
think they can do so with impunity, and states are no more entitled
to steal than individuals." The Hindoos appeared to be still
unconvinced, and my sympathy for their loss was considerably abated.
I returned to the postmaster's house for supper, after which
he caused soft pillows and bolsters to be brought, and insisted
on my resting for a couple of hours before starting. At the end
of this time Haji Safar awoke me to tell me that the caravan was
ready to start, and, after a final cup of tea and a hasty farewell
to my kind host, I was once more on the road. We lost our way at
the very start, and wandered about for some time in the starlight,
until we came to one or two small houses. The na'ib-chapar
About dawn, while still distant some two parasangs from our halting-place, Kabutar Khan, we passed a company of men, with a young girl enveloped in a white chadar, who were going down to Kirman, and exchanged a few words with them. We reached the post-house of Kabutar Khan (which seemed to be entirely in the charge of a very quaint old woman) about an hour after sunrise, and remained there till about three hours after sunset, when we again set out for Baghin. The man who had been our companion on the previous stage again joined us, being now mounted on a very small donkey which he had hired for thirty shahis (about twopence) to take him to Baghin. A little boy named 'Abbas accompanied the donkey, and several times the man dismounted to allow him to ride for a while, on which occasions he would break out into snatches of song in his sweet, childish voice.
Before we reached Baghin, the great broad plain running
towards the south-east, which we had followed since leaving
Yezd, began to close in, and mountains appeared in front of us,
as well as on either hand. Soon after dawn we reached Baghin
(which is a small village surrounded by a considerable extent
of cultivated ground), and, as usual, put up at the post-house.
Here we remained till four hours after sunset, when the mules
were loaded up for the last time, for that night's march was to
bring us to our journey's end. Our course now lay nearly due
east, along a good level road; and when the dawn began to
brighten over the hills before us, Kirman, nestling, as it seemed,
at the very foot of their black cliffs, and wrapped like one of her
My original intention had been to alight in the first instance at the post-house, but as this proved to be situated at some distance outside the city walls, and as I was eager to be in the very centre of the town without further delay, I decided to take up my quarters instead at one of the caravansarays. It was fortunate that I did so; for events so shaped themselves that my sojourn at Kirman, instead of lasting only ten days or a fortnight, as I then intended, was prolonged for more than two months; and, for reasons soon to be mentioned, it would probably have been difficult for me to have quitted the post-house if I had once taken up my abode there without offending my good friend the postmaster of Kirman.
On entering the city we first made our way through the
bazaars to the caravansaray of the Vakil, which we were told
was the best; but here there was no room to be had, so, after
some delay, during which I was surrounded by a little crowd
of sightseers, we proceeded to the caravansaray of Haji 'Ali
Aka, where I obtained a lodging. While the beasts were being
unloaded I was accosted by two Zoroastrians, one of whom proved
to be Ardashir Mihraban's agent, Mulla Gushtasp. (All the
Zoroastrians in Kirman are entitled "Mulla," even by the
Muhammadans.) They came into my room and sat down for a
while, and Gushtasp told me that he had found a place for
me to stay in during my sojourn at Kirman in a garden outside
the town. They soon left me, and, after a wash and a shave,
I slept till nearly noon, when I was awakened by a farrash from
the telegraph office, who was the bearer of a telegram from
Cambridge, which had been sent on from Shiraz. The original,
which, of course, was in English, arrived by post the same
evening, and ran--"Please authorise name candidate for Persian
leadership, Neil." The Persian translation (made, I believe, at
Kashan, where the wires from Shiraz and Kirman to the capital
Haji Safar had already succeeded in discovering a relative in Kirman (a cousin on his mother's side, as I understood)--a sleek, wily-looking man of about fifty, generally known as "Na'ib Hasan"--whom he brought to see me. While he was with me, a Greek of Constantinople, who had turned Musulman and settled in Kirman, joined the party, and conversed with me a little in Turkish. Then came servants from the telegraph-office to enquire on the part of their master (a prince as well as a telegraphist, but then, as I have already remarked, princes are not rare in Persia) how I did, and when I would come and visit him (for I had an introduction to him from my friends at Yezd, who had also written to him about me); and hard on the heels of these came the son of the postmaster of Kirman (to whom also I had letters of recommendation), so that I had hardly a moment's leisure. This last visitor carried me off to see his father at the Central Post Office in the town. The postmaster, a kindly-looking man, past middle age, with a gray moustache and the rank of colonel (sartip), gave me a most friendly welcome, but reproached me for being a day later than he had been led to expect by the postmaster of Bahram-abad, who appeared to have sent him a message concerning me. "Although I am in poor health," said he, "and am, as you see, lame in one foot, I rode out nearly three parasangs to meet you yesterday, for I wished to be the first to welcome you to Kirman; and I also wanted to tell you that the chapar-khane, which is well built and comfortable, and is intended for a residence, is entirely at your disposal, and that I hope you will stay in it while you are here."
I next proceeded to the telegraph-office to visit the prince,
whom I found sitting at the instrument with his pretty little son
The chapar-khane proved fully worthy of the praises bestowed
on it by the postmaster, for the rooms in it were spacious, clean,
and comfortable, and looked out on to a pleasant garden. We
smoked a cigarette there, while horses were saddled to take us
to the garden of the Zoroastrians. Thither we rode through the
town, which we entered by the north gate (called Derwaze-i-
Sultani) and quitted by the south gate (Derwaze-i-Nasiriyye). In
the garden, which was just outside the latter, we found the two
Zoroastrians who had first accosted me in the caravansaray,
Ardashir's agent, Gushtasp, and Feridun, a man of about twenty-
five years of age, with both of whom I afterwards became very
intimate. After sitting for a while in the char-fasl or summer-
house, which stood in the middle of the garden, and partaking
of the wine, 'arak, and young cucumbers which the Zoroastrians,
according to their usual custom, had brought with them, we
returned together to the caravansaray. Na'ib Hasan presently
joined us, and outstayed all my other visitors. As he seemed
inclined to take the part of confidential adviser, I informed him
of the difficulty in which I was placed as to the selection of a
lodging from the three proposed. After reflecting a moment,
The move to the garden was duly effected on the following
morning (Wednesday, 5th June, 25th Ramazan) with the help of
Na'ib Hasan, Feridun, and a Zoroastrian lad named Rustam, who
was brother to my friend Bahman of Yezd. Of this garden, which
was my residence for the next two months, I may as well give a
brief description in this place. Its extent was several acres.
It was entirely surrounded by a high but rather dilapidated mud
wall. It was divided transversely (i.e. in a direction parallel
to the main road leading to the Derwaze-i-Nasiriyye, or southern
gate of the city, which bounded it to the west) by another mud
wall (in which was a gap which served the purpose of a gate),
and longitudinally by a stream--not one of the niggardly, three-
hours-a-day streams of Yezd, but a deep, clear brook, in which
I was often able to enjoy the luxury of a bathe. Besides the
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