To the residence of the
latter we repaired. Colonel Stewart's kindness and hospitality are a
byword in Persia, and the Sunday of our arrival at Resht was truly a
day of rest after the discomfort and privations we had undergone since
leaving Baku.
[Footnote A: _Isvostchik_, a cab-driver.]
[Footnote B: "Tchornigorod," or "Black Town," so called from the smoke
that hangs night and day over the oil-factories.]
[Footnote C: Russian cabbage-soup.]
CHAPTER III.
RESHT - PATCHINAR.
Day broke gloomily enough the morning following the day of our arrival
at Resht. The snow, still falling fast, lay over two feet deep in
the garden beneath my window, while great white drifts barred the
entrance-gates of the Consulate. About eight o'clock our host made his
appearance, and, waking me from pleasant dreams of sunnier climes,
tried to dissuade me from making a start under such unfavourable
circumstances. An imperial courier had just arrived from Teheran, and
his report was anything but reassuring. The roads were in a terrible
state; the Kharzan, a long and difficult pass, was blocked with snow,
and the villages on either side of it crowded with weather-bound
caravans.
The prospect, viewed from a warm and comfortable bed, was not
inviting. Anxiety, however, to reach Teheran and definitely map out
my route to India overcame everything, even the temptation to defer a
journey fraught with cold, hunger, and privation, and take it easy for
a few days, with plenty of food and drink, to say nothing of cigars,
books, and newspapers, in the snug cosy rooms of the Consulate. "You
will be sorry for it to-morrow," said the colonel, as he left the room
to give the necessary orders for our departure; adding with a smile,
"I suppose a wilful man must have his way."
There are two modes of travelling in Persia: marching with a caravan,
a slow and tedious process; and riding post, or "chapar." The latter,
being the quickest, is usually adopted by Europeans, but can only
be done on the Government post-roads, of which there are five: from
Teheran to Resht, Tabriz, Meshed, Kerman, and the Persian Gulf
port, Bushire. These so-called roads are, however, often mere
caravan-tracks, sometimes totally hidden by drifting sand or snow.
In the interior of the country the hard sun-baked soil is usually
trackless, so that the aid of a "Shagird Chapar," or post-boy, becomes
essential.
The distance between the "Chapar khanehs," as the tumble-down sheds
doing duty for post-houses are called, is generally five farsakhs, or
about twenty English miles; but the Persian farsakh is elastic, and
we often rode more, at other times less, than we paid for. Travel is
cheap: one keran per farsakh (2-1/2_d_. a mile) per horse, with a
_pour-boire_ of a couple of kerans to the "Shagird" at the end of the
stage.
Given a good horse and fine weather, Persian travel would be
delightful; but the former is, unfortunately, very rarely met with.
Most of the post-horses have been sold for some vice which nothing but
constant hard work will keep under. Kickers, rearers, jibbers, shyers,
and stumblers are but too common, and falls of almost daily occurrence
on a long journey. Goodness knows how many Gerome and I had between
Resht and the Persian Gulf.
Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the speed attained by the wretched
half-starved animals is little short of marvellous. Nothing seems
to tire them. We averaged fifty miles a day after leaving Teheran,
covering, on one occasion, over a hundred miles in a little over
eleven hours. This is good work, considering the ponies seldom exceed
fourteen hands two inches, and have to carry a couple of heavy
saddle-bags in addition to their rider. Gerome must have ridden quite
fourteen stone.
About ten o'clock the horses arrived, in charge of a miserable-looking
Shagird, in rags and a huge lamb's-wool cap, the only warm thing about
him. It was pitiful to see the poor wretch, with bare legs and feet,
shivering and shaking in the cutting wind and snow. The ponies, too,
looked tucked up and leg-weary, as if they had just come off a long
stage (which, indeed, they probably had) instead of going on one.
"Don't be alarmed; they are the proverbial rum 'uns to look at," said
our host, who would not hear of our setting out without saddle-bags
crammed with good things: cold meat, sardines, cigarettes, a couple of
bottles of brandy, and a flask of Russian vodka. But for these we must
literally have starved _en route_.
"Good-bye. Good luck to you!" from the colonel.
"En avant!" cries Gerome, with a deafening crack of his heavy chapar
whip. We are both provided with this instrument of torture - a thick
plaited thong about five feet long, attached to a short thick wooden
handle, and terminating in a flat leathern cracker of eight or ten
inches. A cut from this would make an English horse jump out of his
skin, but had little or no effect on the tough hides of our "chapar"
ponies. The snow is almost up to the knees of the latter as we labour
through the gateway and into the narrow street. Where will it be on
the Kharzan Pass?
Resht is picturesquely situated. It must be a lovely place in
summer-time, when fertile plains of maize, barley, and tobacco stretch
away on every side, bounded by belts of dark green forest and chains
of low well-wooded hills, while the post-road leads for miles through
groves of mulberry trees, apple orchards, and garden-girt villas, half
hidden by roses and jasmine. But this was hardly a day for admiring
the beauties of nature. Once out of the suburbs and in the open
country, nothing met the eye but a dreary wilderness of white earth
and sullen grey sky, that boded ill for the future.
