This Bridge Is The Only Access To Yezdi-Ghazt, Which Is, So To
Speak, A Regular Fortress-Town.
The rock, about half a mile long, is intersected by one narrow street,
which, covered from end to end with awnings and wooden beams, was
almost in obscurity.
The sudden change from the glare outside almost
blinded one. The appearance of a Farangi is evidently rare in
Yezdi-Ghazt, for I was immediately surrounded by a crowd, who,
however, were evidently inclined to be friendly, and escorted me to
the house of the head-man, under whose guidance I visited the city.
The houses are of stone, two-storied, and mortised into the rock,
which gives them the appearance, from below, as if a touch would send
them toppling over, while a curious feature is that none of their
windows looks inwards to the street - all are in the outside wall
facing the desert. I took coffee with the head-man on his balcony - a
wooden construction, projecting over a dizzy height, and supported
by a couple of rickety-looking beams. It was nervous work, for the
flooring, which was rotten and broken into great holes, creaked
ominously. I could see Gerome (who had evidently missed me) bustling
about the post-house, and reduced, from this height, to the size of a
fly. Making this my excuse, I quickly finished my coffee, and bade my
host farewell, nor was I sorry to be once more safe on _terra firma_.
Yezdi-Ghazt, which has a population of about five hundred, is very
old, and is said to have existed long previous to the Mohammedan
conquest. The present population are a continual source of dread to
the neighbouring towns and villages, on account of their lawlessness
and thieving proclivities, and mix very little with any of their
neighbours, who have given the unsavoury city the Turkish nickname
of "Pokloo Kalla," or "Filth Castle." Yezdi-Ghazt would not be a
desirable residence during an earthquake. The latter are of frequent
occurrence round here. Many of the villages have been laid in ruins,
but, curiously enough, the rock-city has, up till now, never even felt
a shock.
A ride of under fifty miles through level and fertile country brought
us to Abadeh, a pretty village standing in the midst of gardens and
vineyards, enclosed by high mud walls. A European telegraph official,
Mr. G - - , resides here. As we passed his house - a neat white stone
building easily distinguishable among the brown mud huts - a native
servant stopped us. His master would not be back till sunset, but had
left directions that we were to be well cared for till his return.
The temptation of a bed and dinner were too much, and, as time was no
object, and snowy passes things of the past, we halted for the night.
An hour later, comfortably settled on Mr. G - - 's sofa, and dozing
over a cigar and a volume of _Punch_, my rest was suddenly disturbed
by a loud bang at the sitting-room door, which, flying open, admitted
two enormous animals, which I at first took for dogs. Both made at
once for my sofa, and, while the larger one curled comfortably round
my feet and quietly composed itself for sleep, the smaller, evidently
of a more affectionate disposition, seated itself on the floor, and
commenced licking my face and hands - an operation which, had I dared,
I should strongly have resented. But the white gleaming teeth and
cruel-looking green eyes inspired me with respect, to use no
stronger term; for I had by now discovered that these domestic
pets were - panthers! To my great relief, Mr. G - - entered at
this juncture. "Making friends with the panthers, I see," he said
pleasantly. "They are nice companionable beasts." They may have been
at the time. The fact remains that, three months after my visit, the
"affectionate one" half devoured a native child! The neighbourhood
of Abadeh, Mr. G - - informed me, swarms with these animals. Bears,
wolves, and hyenas are also common, to say nothing of jackals, which,
judging from the row they made that night, must have been patrolling
the streets of the village in hundreds.
A traveller starting from Teheran for Bushire is expected at every
European station on the telegraph-line. "I thought you would have got
here sooner," said Mr. G - - . "P - - (at Ispahan) told me you were
coming through quick."
The dining-room of my host at Abadeh adjoined the little
instrument-chamber. Suddenly, while we were at dinner, a bell was
heard, and the half-caste clerk entered. "So-and-so of Shiraz," naming
an official, "wants to speak to you." "All right," replied G - - .
"Just tell him to wait till I've finished my cheese!"
"It's from F - - ," he said, a few moments later, "to say he expects
you to make his house your head-quarters at Shiraz." So the stranger
is passed on through this desert, but hospitable land. Persian
travel would be hard indeed were it not for the ever-open doors and
hospitality of the telegraph officials.
We continue our journey next day in summer weather - almost too hot,
in the middle of the day, to be pleasant. Sheepskin and bourka are
dispensed with, as we ride lazily along under a blazing sun through
pleasant green plains of maize and barley, irrigated by babbling
brooks of crystal-clear water. A few miles from Abadeh is a
cave-village built into the side of a hill. From this issue a number
of repulsive-looking, half-naked wretches, men and women, with dark
scowling faces, and dirty masses of coarse black hair. Most are
covered with skin-disease, so we push on ahead, but are caught up, for
the loathsome creatures get over the ground with extraordinary speed.
A handful of "sheis" [A] stops them, and we leave them swearing,
struggling, and fighting for the coins in a cloud of dust. Then on
again past villages nestling in groves of mulberry trees, past more
vineyards, maize, and barley, and peasants in picturesque blue dress
(save white, no other colour is worn in summer by the country-people)
working in the fields.
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