The water of Bushire producing
guinea-worms (an animal that, unless rolled out of the skin with great
care, breaks, rots, and forms a festering sore), supplies of it are
brought in barrels from Bussorah or Mahommerah; but this is not within
reach of the poorer class. Nearly every third person met in the street
suffers from ophthalmia in some shape or other - the effect of the dust
and glare, for there is no shade in or about the city.
The latter is built at the end of a peninsula ten miles in length and
three in breadth, the portion furthest away from the town being swampy
and overflowed by the sea. Most of the houses are of soft crumbling
stone full of shells; some, of brick and plastered mud; but all are
whitewashed, which gives the place the spurious look of cleanliness
to which I have referred. The inhabitants of this "whited sepulchre"
number from 25,000 to 30,000. There is a considerable trade in
tobacco, attar of roses, shawls, cotton wool, etc.; but vessels
drawing over ten feet cannot approach the town nearer than a distance
of three miles - a great drawback in rough or squally weather.
Were it five thousand miles away, Bushire could scarcely be less like
Persia than it is. It has but one characteristic in common with other
cities - its ruins. Although of no antiquity, Bushire is rich in these.
With this exception, it much more resembles a Moorish or Turkish city.
The native population, largely mixed with Arabs, carries out the
illusion, and bright-coloured garments, white "bournouses," and green
turbans throng the streets, in striking contrast to the sombre,
rook-like garments affected by the natives of Iran. A stranger, too,
is struck by the difference in the mode of life adopted by Europeans
as compared with those inhabiting other parts of the Shah's dominions.
The semi-French style of Teheran and Shiraz is here superseded by
the Anglo-Indian. _Dejeuner a la fourchette, vin ordinaire_, and
cigarettes are unknown in this land of tiffins, pegs, and cheroots.
My recollections of Bushire are pleasant ones. The Residency is a
large, rambling building, all verandahs, passages, and courtyards,
faces the sea on three sides, and catches the slightest breath of air
that may be stirring in hot weather. Two or three lawn-tennis courts,
and a broad stone walk almost overhanging the waves, form a favourite
rendezvous for Europeans in the cool of the evening. From here may be
seen the Persian Navy at anchor, represented by one small gunboat, the
_Persepolis_. This toy of the Shah's was built by a German firm in
1885, and cost the Government over L30,000 sterling.
She has never moved since her arrival. Her bottom is now covered with
coral and shells, her screw stuck hard and fast, while the four steel
Krupp guns which she mounts are rusty and useless.
My preparations for Baluchistan were soon completed. The escort
furnished me by the Indian Government had been awaiting me for some
days at Sonmiani, our starting-point on the coast. A telegram from
Karachi, saying that men, camels, tents, and stores were ready, was
the signal for our departure, and on March 7 I took leave of my host
to embark on the British India Company's steamer _Purulia_, for
Baluchistan. With genuine regret did I leave my pleasant quarters at
the Residency. Enjoyable as my visit was, it had not come upon me
quite as a surprise, for the hospitality of Colonel Ross, Resident of
Bushire, is well known to travellers in Persia.
[Footnote A: A similar case happened not long ago in Southern Russia.]
[Footnote B: The Eeliauts are said to be of Arab and Kurd descent.]
[Footnote C: The longest is in Cochin China, across the river Meikong,
the distance from post to post being 2560 feet.]
[Footnote D: Earthquake.]
CHAPTER IX.
BALUCHISTAN - BEILA.
The coast-line of Baluchistan is six hundred miles long. On it there
is one tree, a sickly, stunted-looking thing, near the telegraph
station of Gwadar, which serves as a landmark to native craft and a
standing joke to the English sailor. Planted some years since by a
European, it has lived doggedly on, to the surprise of all, in this
arid soil. The Tree of Baluchistan is as well known to the manner in
the Persian Gulf as Regent Circus or the Marble Arch to the London
cabman.
With this solitary exception, not a trace of vegetation exists along
the sea-board from Persian to Indian frontier. Occasionally, at
long intervals, a mud hut is seen, just showing that the country is
inhabited, and that is all. The steep, rocky cliffs, with their sharp,
spire-like summits rising almost perpendicularly out of the blue sea,
are typical of the desert wastes inland.
"And this is the India they talk so much about!" says Gerome,
contemptuously, as we watch the desolate shores from the deck of the
steamer. I do not correct the little man's geography. It is too hot
for argument, for the heat is stifling. There is not a breath of air
stirring, not a ripple on the smooth oily sea, and the sides of the
ship are cracking and blistering in the fierce, blinding sunshine.
Under the awning the temperature is that of a furnace, and one almost
regrets the cold and snow of three weeks ago, so perverse is human
nature.
Mark Tapley himself would scarcely have taken a cheerful view of
things on landing at Sonmiani. Imagine a howling wilderness of rock
and scrub, stretching away to where, on the far horizon, some low
hills cut the brazen sky-line.
