Another View of Iran -- this time in 1913

Extracts from: Peeps into Persia by DOROTHY DE WARZEE (Baroness d Hermalle) With 51 Illustrations from Photographs, LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, PATERNOSTER HOUSE, E.G., 1913


After having safely landed at Piribazaar, we were packed into small Russian victorias and driven to Resht. My impression of that drive is vague. All I remember is mud the walls made of mud, the houses made of mud, and the people dressed in different shades of mud colour. I spent one short night in the hotel. I say short, for my sleeping night was made up of but a few hours.
* * *
On one occasion, a lady, leaving Resht with a large family, packed herself and some of the children into one carnage, and put the rest of the family in another with the nurse. The two carriages went on gaily all through the night, and stopped at a station to change horses about two in the morning. The nurse, waking, and counting her charges, found one was missing: a little girl of about three years had slipped off her lap, and evidently fallen out of the carriage while the nurse dozed. The alarm was given and the other carriage stopped. The frightened mother and father, followed by several Persians with lanterns, started on a search; they found the child some way back along the road, unhurt and sleeping soundly in the ditch. This story has become so well known that on going to meet a friend who arrived last year, I was amused to see her two small children tied fast to herself with long blue ribbons.
The road to Teheran is a Russian road, and is kept up by tolls, the traveller paying toll according to the number of horses he employs. When the first motor passed over the road, there arose the question as to how many horses it represented, and the delight of the people whose duty it is to collect the toll was great when they were told it was a forty horse-power. They taxed it as forty horses, and it cost the poor owner a pretty penny to reach Teheran. The time the journey takes depends a great deal on the capabilities of one's "head man"; if he is clever at getting fresh horses at each change and does not allow himself to be put off with horses that have just done the journey, the trip can be comfortably done in forty-eight hours, but it also depends on the amount one is willing to spend. A large tip quickens the Persian's movements a good deal.
* * *
There is no system of forestry, and the beautiful trees are cut down ruthlessly for the needs of the people. One constantly sees turtles in the ditches that border the road. They are, however, uneatable, and their shells are valueless, which is a pity, as they are to be found in thousands.
* * *
At Bala-Bala our coachman surpassed himself, driving down a precipitous incline at full speed, whipping his horses frantically, standing up and shouting, until we were certain something unusual, even for Persia, was happening. Leaning forward, I saw, to my horror, an old man standing with his back to us in the middle of the road, and utterly unconscious of our arrival at break-neck speed behind him. We joined in shouting to him to move out of the way, but with no result; and almost before we were aware of the possibility of such an accident, we heard the scrunch of his poor old bones as the wheels of our heavily-laden carriage went over both his legs. We got out as soon as we could arrest our downward career, and, much against our head gbolam's will, we insisted on the victim's family being sent for. We found he was deaf and dumb, and made a living as a beggar on the road. He was still alive when we picked him up, and we had him carried by the villagers (who collected around us to the number of about thirty) to a hut near the roadside. My husband asked the gbolam what he should give, and was told five tomans (about a pound in English money) was more than enough. My husband, thinking a life worth more than this gave five pounds.
We got back into the carriage with great difficulty, being hustled by the crowd, who clambered on the carriage with angry looks; and it was only by standing with a champagne bottle in one hand and a bottle of hot soup in the other, and beating their heads and hands, that we were able to free ourselves. I was thankful then that the coachman was the wild man he was; he behaved like a brick, and whipped up his horses till they tore down hill like mad things for the next half-hour. The bill for the stop at Bala-Bala was:
Persian bread . ....... One Toman
Hot water and tea . . ..Five Krans
Milk …….. Five Krans
Pilaw . . . . . . . . Two Tomans
Cream cheese . . . . . .Four Krans
One poor old man . . . Five Pounds
* * *
I had not been asleep very long, when I was awakened by the sound of a deep-toned bell, and opening my eyes, I saw great shapes passing by. It was my first sight of a caravan of camels, which always travels by night in summer to avoid the great heat of the day, as they come and go across the plains of Asia to the coast.
I have since found that the particularly melodious bell that woke me is worn by the camel that has fathered the most children in the caravan. I lay and counted the camels as they passed in the moonlight, and there were one thousand one hundred and seventy-three of them. The delay caused by these caravans is sometimes very great where the road is narrow.
* * *

The only real interest I found while furnishing my house was in choosing my carpets; they are the one thing in Persia worth spending any appreciable amount of money on. The manufacture of carpets is the oldest industry in Persia. The towns where they are made are numerous, but they are also made by the wandering tribes. It is easy to recognize, after a short study of their markings, from which town each carpet originates, as each has its own pattern; after I had seen a few hundred carpets, I could tell at a glance where one was made. The Persians themselves prefer the carpets of Kerman; their design of garlands of flowers interwoven with birds is always original and graceful. These Kerman carpets fetch the biggest prices, some of them only a yard or two square costing from forty to sixty pounds a pair. Persians always prefer to have their valuable carpets in pairs, and it is very remarkable that these pairs, which are made by different hands, should so resemble each other in design. The carpets from Tabriz are very like those from Kerman; those from Kurdistan are woven with a much softer and longer pile, with lighter colours and more gaudy designs. The carpets of Shiraz in the Fars country are distinguished from those of the rest of Persia by the fact that they are made more loosely, and are entirely of wool of a superior quality, which resembles velvet in its texture. They nearly always represent geometrical figures, usually in dark red, blue and white. Camel-hair carpets come from Yezd, as also the cotton carpets, which are almost exclusively used for the mosques. From Tabriz and Kashan Meshed, and Ispahan, come the beautiful silk carpets, which of course form the most important part of this industry. These silk carpets are pliable and soft; and though many of the new ones are crude in colour, the old ones are like early Italian fifteenth-century tapestry. The most decorative carpets, however, to my mind, are the Turcomans, and no smoking-room can be complete for anyone who has been in Persia without that deep plum-colour and white lozenge-shape pattern covering the divan or the floor.
Persian carpets are made in a very simple way, quite in keeping with the simple life of the Persian. The loom, which consists of two wooden bars between which the warp is stretched, stands always in the workman's house, at door or window, where the light is best; the workers are always women and children, who sit in a row on a bench. This bench may be lowered or heightened at will, as the carpet grows higher, for they work upwards, the part finished being rolled at the bottom. Often, seeming to tire, they will cut it off in the middle of a pattern, adding quite an irrelevant end, or putting it aside to be joined later. It is curious that they have no apparent respect for these carpets which they love; I have seen a dealer cut off the border of a carpet and sell it for a small price, the buyer not wanting to pay the price of a whole expensive carpet, and only requiring the border for a doorway.
The patterns of the usual models are learnt by heart by the worker, but the more complicated ones are reduced to scale. The very clever workers copy a pattern by sight, but there is usually a man who announces the number of stitches of each colour in a sing-song voice, as if he were reading a poem. A good worker will do a bit of about four inches broad and seventeen long in a day, so it is easy to understand that a large carpet takes years to make.
Unfortunately the Persian carpet is no longer as well made as formerly; less care is taken in choosing the workmen, and the colours are not so well combined. Orders from abroad are continually increasing, and the carpets are more hurriedly finished in consequence, the prices becoming perforce lower as the standard is lowered. Many of the carpets now made are rendered valueless by the use of aniline dyes from Germany and this in spite of all the measures taken by the Persian Government to exclude the entrance of these dyes into the country. Societies have been formed to try and fight this growing danger to Persia's finest industry, on which a great proportion of the population depends for its livelihood, but their efforts have hitherto met with little success.
* * *
When the capital was Isfahan and not Teheran, begging at one time became such a nuisance that a certain Shah issued an edict forbidding it. It was always easier to issue an edict than to have it enforced, and the Minister told his master that he was unable to accomplish what he wished: so the Shah determined to do away with the nuisance himself. Disguising himself as a rich merchant, he started out on a tour of inspection on foot round his own city, but he had scarcely reached the street before he was besieged by beggars of every description, who said they were dying of hunger. He bade them follow him to the bazaar, where he would satisfy their cravings. Entering the bazaar he ordered the gates to be closed, and soon found himself the centre of a great crowd. He had the beggars drawn up in a line in front of him and, after examining them carefully, he chose the fattest, and asked him why he did not work and earn his own living. The beggar replied that he could not find work and was dying of hunger. The Shah repeated this question to all the fattest in turn, sympathizing with them equally; then turning to the crowd, he said: "I have so kind a heart that I wish to be charitable to you, but I will not be imposed upon; I am ashamed to think that people should die of hunger in my kingdom, but I must be sure, before I help you, that you are telling me the truth. There is only one certain way to do this; I will open your stomachs and look inside." The Shah's soldiers fulfilled this order, bringing him the proof of the lie in their hands. The fate of these beggars becoming known to all those outside the bazaar, and spreading throughout the kingdom, the remaining beggars took refuge in the mountains, and during the twenty years of his reign no more beggars were found in the capital. One regrets his decease daily.
* * *

The Minister's house is like an old abbey. Above the chancery is a clock tower covered with ivy, and it is by this clock that most of the Europeans who live near enough to hear it strike set their watches. Time is a difficult problem in Teheran. At approximately midday a cannon is fired on the Cossack parade-ground, but the approximation depends entirely on the soldier who fires it. We all think he fires it when he feels hungry, as it is very erratic. Anyhow, when invited out to dinner, we always inquire of our host whether he keeps Legation or gun time. Sometimes there is half an hour's difference. Neither of these times is ordinarily correct. Correct time, not a commodity in request in Teheran, is kept by the Indo-European Telegraphs, for whom it is telegraphed from London every morning at daybreak when the line is clear, so that connection is practically instantaneous. The difference between Teheran and Greenwich is three hours and twenty-six seconds.
* * *
One of my amusements in Teheran has been to stop and watch the camels being fed, which is always done at sunset in the open plain, at the caravans near the town. It is most interesting to see the business of the camp going on at the end of the day, when the tired men and beasts come to a halt; with their packs laid round them on the plain, the camels form themselves into little circles of eight or ten, their heads turned to the middle, and sink to the ground on their knees of their own accord, the man who is to feed them standing in the centre with a huge bag of food. This food looks like sticky white dough, and is rolled into big soft balls, about the size of a croquet ball, which he holds against the palms of his outspread hands; the beast and the man press towards each other, for the man seems to have to push the ball and help the camel to get it down its throat. The circles of animals give little guttural cries of impatience and keep turning their heads, till the men come and the food is served, shuffling close round the man on their knees, and nosing him and squeezing him in their excitement. They get a surprisingly small quantity of this food in comparison with their great bulk, and after being fed are turned loose, without their packs, to graze on the scant crop of thistlelike grass which, I believe, is called camel-thorn. They seem to enjoy it; it is also dried and used by the Persians for firing.
* * *
A great difficulty in Teheran is the distribution of the letters. Persians have no family name, so that if the address on the envelope does not include the profession, origin, parentage and all sorts of details concerning the person for whom the letter is destined, the probability is that the postman will never find the owner. Then again, if the letter is addressed to a woman, how can the postman reach her? She lives in a part of the house where he is not allowed to penetrate, and the houses have no letter-boxes. As there is so much difficulty about the distribution of letters, the Post Office has about fifty letter-boxes which can be hired by the public; strangely enough, however, only two are let. Persians usually register their letters, and in addition pay an extra tax to receive a notice that the letter has been delivered.
* * *

In 1911 thirty pupils were sent to France to complete their medical studies. Although, in August 1911, the Medjliss proposed to pass a law regulating the practice of medicine, it was not passed, as it was too much against the interests of the Persian doctors already in private practice and the native chemists' shops. Therefore, anyone having no knowledge of even the rudimentary rules of medicine may become a doctor or sell drugs. A Persian chemist's object is to buy a powder cheap and sell it dear, and to dilute it so that it does not immediately kill his patient. Fortunately there are two or three European chemists in Teheran.
A Persian proverb says, "The last doctor who sees the patient before his death is responsible for it"; and though the Persian doctor who has any pretence to pride in his reputation often calls in the European doctors in consultation, he never does so till the last moment, when it is usually too late. The European doctors have, therefore, earned with reason the title of being "the doctors of the dead."
* * *

Sometimes it is possible in the spring to get up a polo team. It is great fun to watch, and at one time some of us used to take tea down to the ground and spend a pleasant hour there. Now there is hockey and football to while away the time, and in summer the very enthusiastic play cricket.
* * *
Persians always have an answer ready; they are never taken unawares, and their inventive powers, when needed to get them out of a difficulty, are very great. A foreign Minister, travelling to Teheran from Resht, stopped at one of the small stations for some food. The head of the tea-house being asked by the dragoman what he could give them to eat, replied he had very little, only two eggs and a chicken. The Minister, being informed of this, said they would eat anything they could get there and have a better meal at the next station. After a little while one egg was brought in and set upon the table. The dragoman asked where the rest of the meal was, and was told that "The chicken shows every sign of laying the second egg, and when she has done so I will bring it to you, and then I will kill her and cook her for you" a neat way out of the difficulty!

ACROSS IRAN A HUNDRED YEAR’S AGO

Excerpts from: ACROSS PERSIA by E. CRAWSHAY WILLIAMS, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS, LONDON, EDWARD ARNOLD, publisher to the India Office, 1907.

As to the circumstances of my voyage; it was made in 1903, after I had resigned my commission in the Royal Field Artillery in India. Wishing to gain experience and avoid the monotony of a long and uninteresting sea-voyage, I determined to travel home by way of the Persian Gulf, Persia itself, the Caspian Sea, Russia, and then by one of the various overland Continental routes to England.
Accordingly I interviewed my Indian servants; found two, Kishna and Kalicha by name, ready to come with me; happened by good fortune upon an Afghan, Saifullashah, employed in the State service at Simla, who was glad of a holiday in Persia and who spoke Persian fluently; and collected the various and somewhat numerous necessaries incidental to travelling in desert Eastern lands. In addition to my suite of humans there was another important member of the party, my little Scotch terrier ‘Mr. Stumps,’ who has been with me since his puppyhood at Oxford.
* * * *
Bushire has at least two inconveniences -- its climate and its harbour. The former is typical of the Gulf; that is to say, it is just tolerable in the winter and absolutely intolerable in the summer, when, as Lord Curzon remarks, 'the ordinary thermometer bursts, and those graded high enough have placed the solar radiation at 189 Fahr.' The second is also a type, inasmuch as, like almost all Persian harbours, it does not allow ships of any magnitude to come nearer than a mile or so to the actual landing-place. Consequently, after a deal of transhipment, the last portion of the journey has to be made in small native craft.
A picturesque, animated scene lay before me in the bright morning sunshine as I coasted quietly by the long, rude wharf at Bushire, off which lay scores of buggalows, loading or unloading oil, dates, shells, and other motley merchandise of the place. Past the Belgian custom-house buildings we went, and drew in to the landing-place. A busy throng bustled to and fro over the wharf: Persian soldiers in their ballet-girl-like attire; natives in their ‘handleless-saucepan’ hats; ragged Arabs washing shells, unloading canvas-covered oil-jars, or more generally sitting doing nothing; women with their long black or blue gowns draped shapelessly over their heads down to their feet, looking like so many animate bales of stuff; little ‘street’ Arabs only they are real Arabs here much like their fellows all over the world, with their devilments and mercurial movements in and out of the hurrying mob. Here, too, I saw the khaki-clad horsemen who form the body-guard of the British Resident fine, smart-looking Sikhs. It was good to hear the rough words of command again as they swung off at a canter with a clink and jostle that must always send a little thrill of pleasure through one who has himself ever clattered along to that same tune.
* * * *
But there is another side, the side of filthy alleys, of dust-heaps, of old withered hags, of the beggars, the sick and the deformed. At every corner there is some terrible sight; a man, holding up a withered stump of an arm; a deformed child; a woman whose sightless eyes peer into yours. Almost every other man and woman you meet has something amiss: a contorted face, a dead-looking open eye which glares blindly out, a sunken temple, a network of pitted scars. The East is a place of wild extremes; and disease, uncontrolled as it at present is by science, runs riot like some luxurious tropic growth.
* * * *
It is no good for anyone to go to the East if he is in a hurry. The East is a land of waiting - he will have to wait, whether he likes it or not: he cannot single-handed overthrow a nation. Two years in India had taught me something of this, and I had begun to absorb the soul-destroying influence of Oriental indifference. So I sat on the sand beneath a little shrub and patiently waited for the mules.
It was weary work. The way lay clear and straight before me; my heart longed for the road; my mind told me that every hour of delay meant another hour of marching by night in a strange land and the mules did not come.
Caravan after caravan came up out of the desert; first little moving specks of black on the brown sand, then strange creatures distorted by the quivering shimmer floating over the desert into monstrous things with bodies ten feet high, or, apparently, cut clean in half and travelling on in two sections. Approaching, receding, changing, at last they resolved themselves into solid flesh of man and beast, and came wearily up with a shouting of voices and tinkling of bells to unship the burdens from their camels or mules, and make snug for the night. And still my mules did not come. The sun swung across the heavens, the day changed from palpitating heat to drowsy cool, the dusk began to creep up from the far-off hills to the north-east and yet there were no mules.
At length, when hope deferred had made the heart entirely sick, and, played false over so many an alien caravan, I had almost ceased to speculate on the tiny far-off strings of animals, now scarcely to be seen through the falling night, up came Saif. ‘There, sir,’ said he, ‘they come.' I thought it prudent to doubt; but he was right, and, in a little, the faithless mules sauntered calmly in.
It was no use to be angry it is rarely any use anywhere, and less so than usual in the East; so we did not vainly waste time, but got to work.
My little camp sprang into astonishing life and energy.
Boxes, packages, tins of every size, lay piled in a chaotic heap; looking from the heap to the mules, and from the mules to the heap, it seemed a hopeless task to reconcile the two.
But mules were kicked towards boxes, boxes dragged to mules; by powers apparently miraculous, packages fitted themselves into the most impossible places; shapeless edifices rose on the pack-saddles; mules became actually ready, and were let loose to browse aimlessly about on the peculiarly unbrowsable wilderness; and after much struggling and swearing and shouting we were in order in a really incredibly short space of time. Saif and I were each honoured with a pony so let it be called for want of a better name; it certainly was not a mule, but that was almost all that could be said for it. As the pack-animals were now quite ready, we pushed enormous bits into our poor little steeds' reluctant mouths they seemed as if they had never had a bit between their teeth before, and never wanted it again and, after ‘padding’ a little with blankets, contrived to make the girths fit sufficiently tightly round their thin carcasses to make it at all events improbable that we should swing suddenly under them and be deposited on the desert.
* * * *
The Persian police are provided with the most elaborate tools for the thieving which they practise in addition to their more legitimate exactions on the road. Various goods are brought down the main trade routes of Persia, and they have various methods of appropriating them. Even when a consignment of some utterly unaccustomed merchandise appears, they are generally equal to the occasion; and with regard to this I was told a story eloquent of their ingenuity. A well-known English official in Persia had ordered some champagne from Europe, and on its arrival he gave a large dinner-party. All went well until the production of the newly acquired wine, which turned out to be a strange brand indeed. On removing the cork the champagne appeared to be flat to an unusual degree, and on examination it was found that, unfortunately, in place of the excellent vintage ordered, the bottles were filled with nothing more or less than dirty water. As the corks were intact and the bottles apparently whole, a miracle seemed to have taken place, until an acute observer solved the mystery. The tufangchis en route had, by means of red-hot wire, bored minute holes in the bottles, from which, with, no doubt, great gusto, they treated themselves to the luxury of breaking the laws of the Koran in a more than usually satisfactory manner. They then (or more probably on the next day) refilled the bottles from Ruknabad, the Zender Rud, or some other Persian stream whose waters, however much the Persian poets praise them, cannot be considered the equal of first-class champagne neatly stopped the wire-holes, repacked the cases, and sent them on to provide for the distinguished dinner-party the little surprise I have described. Such is an example of the resource our Persian policemen show in dealing with a novel situation.
When it is the ordinary trade of the country with which they are concerned, their methods are complete and comprehensive. Some of the merchandise which finds its way down the main mule-track in Persia consists of raw cotton and raw wool. On the road there will often pass a long string of mules, each laden with the fat, closely packed bales, from which a stray tuft protrudes to show what forms the contents. It must be with a peculiar delight that the tufangchi deals with these bales; for his method, in addition to the profit it brings, possesses ingenuity above the average and a certain amount of humour to anyone but the owner of the goods. It is obvious that if any number of tufangchis boldly cut open the bales and audaciously took away part of the contents, they would be soon found out and their professional position taken from them for even in Persia appearances have to be kept up. They therefore have to contrive so that the abstraction of the cotton or wool shall not be noticed until its arrival at its destination, when detection of any individual culprit will be impossible, and the only person to suffer will be the consignee. The procedure is therefore as follows: The guardian of the road provides himself with a long rod with a roughed end, rather like the cleaning-rod of a gun. Making a small hole in the canvas covering of the bale, he pushes this rod into the very centre thereof, and twists it round and round until it has gathered, at the rough end, a tightly wound mass of cotton or wool; he then withdraws it, and the process may be repeated ad lib. He will do this to every bale in a caravan, and as, to outward appearances, everything is exactly the same the next morning, the charvardar, or muleteer, blissfully loads them up and goes on his way rejoicing, being happily unconscious of the large hole which is growing in the middle of each of his bales, some of which, when opened, will practically consist of mere walls.
Another merchandise that the tufangchis are fond of dealing with is the cotton stuff, cloth, and so on, which goes up-country from England, India, or Russia. It would seem rather a difficult matter to steal this, as each bale of goods is packed as tightly as the stuff can be rolled and pressed, and is secured by firmly clamped iron bands. Any attempt to drag a piece out would soon show that ordinary methods of thieving must in this case be abandoned. This does not disconcert our friend the tufangchi. He is the possessor of two long, flat, iron slips, and with these he approaches to do his work.
It is the clear stillness of the Persian night. The bales are piled up in the caravanserai, or on the sandy floor of the desert. The charvardar and his men are lulled in a fat and comfortable sleep. The only noise is the shuffling of the tired mules and the occasional tinkle of a little bell. The tufangchi quietly manipulates a bale into a convenient position; then he deftly forces one of the thin iron slips through the cloth, finding a place between two separate pieces. A little further down, and again between two pieces of cloth, he pushes through the other slip, and then with a screw he clamps together the ends of this peculiar device, which looks like some variety of trouser press. Sitting on the ground, he next places his feet securely against the bale, and, seizing the slips firmly, gives a hearty pull. Out comes the contrivance, bringing with it, of course, the enclosed piece of cloth. The remaining pieces, relieved a little of their pressure, gratefully swell up, and no trace is left of the operation.
Moist sugar is a favourite article of theft, and is extracted from the canvas bags it is in in the following way: Cutting an almost imperceptible hole in the canvas, the tufangchi thrusts a pipe straight into the centre of the bag. With a little persuasion, a steady stream of sugar flows easily through the pipe, and the first intimation the charvardar has of this little job is when, after a severe climb up one of the kotals, he notices that some of his sugar-bags have settled down a little.
Lump sugar falls an easy prey; a few lumps from every bale and some pebbles to replace them, and the thing is done.
Glass ornaments, too, and beads are very much the same weight as small stones, nor will anyone notice anything wrong until the end of the journey, when, of course, the foreign element may not have had a very good effect on the condition of the original merchandise.
The specific gravity of tea and straw is practically the same, and so it happens that very frequently at its destination a tea-chest is found to contain a mixture which would produce a rather peculiar brew if put straight into a teapot. But it is obviously not the fault of anyone in particular. No one can be brought to book, and, after all, the only loser is the merchant, so what does the charvardar care? The charvardar, indeed, never cares very much; as I have said, he is only the carrier, and not the owner, of the goods, and, as a matter of fact, he is not above aiding and abetting the rather shady practices of his friend the policeman if he finds it makes life easier for him. He often manages to make such things as almonds and nuts 'come right’ in weight at the end of a journey, despite some considerable ‘wastage’ on the way. In fact, a load has been known to have unaccountably increased in weight during its journey. This, however, may be explained by the fact that wet almonds weigh more than dry ones.
The science of thieving is probably far deeper and more abstruse than anything indicated by the above few examples, but they will serve to give some idea of the incidents of commerce in Persia, and, indeed, in the East generally. Is it to be wondered at that prices are high, commerce precarious, and progress a practical impossibility? If the East is to have a commercial future, it must substitute the methods of business for those of the bazaar, and the fundamental question underlying the whole is the question of better and more upright government.
* * * *
Thus, riding until it became necessary to walk, and walking until it was pleasanter to ride, we plodded on until there became no doubt that we were approaching some very unusual natural phenomenon. This was signalized by a most unpleasant smell. It must not be imagined that an unpleasant smell is an unusual occurrence in Persia; in the civilized portions it is the rule and not the exception. But this was such a peculiar and unique smell that it was at once set down as something out of the ordinary Persian repertoire. Sulphuretted hydrogen combined with petroleum would convey some idea of its distinctive characteristic, and with feelings of mingled interest and disgust we awaited the explanation of the mystery. In a moment or two it came, when we rode up to a brilliant green stream running over slimy pink stones between crumbling yellowish-white banks. Dipping the hand into it, the water was warm. Despite the really terrible odour, we tracked the stream to its source. Some pools of hot sulphurous water bubbled out from among green slime and mud fringed with a yellow crystalline deposit. I myself could only struggle against an inclination to be ill long enough to take a photograph, but Saif seemed to revel in it, took off his clothes, bathed in the almost boiling water, and said he felt much refreshed. As I passed thankfully back again to the track down a decrescendo of smell, I noticed black lumps of bitumen bobbing down the current. Undoubtedly there is petroleum, but where no one has hitherto been able to discover.
Another stream, smelling less of sulphur but more of oil, burst from under the rocks a little further on, and it is near here that attempts have been made in the past to tap the petroleum reservoir which probably exists somewhere beneath the ground. Some day a happy man may hit the right spot, and then his fortune is made; but it is a speculative business. Half a dozen inches to the right or left, and you are, as Fate may decide, a pauper or a millionaire. Moreover, it is quite possible that the oil is inextricably mixed with the hot springs which bubble from the rock, in which case it would be at present beyond the power of man to make any profitable use of it.
By the way, it has occurred to me, as doubtless it has occurred to others before me, although I have never seen the idea set down, that the ancient religion of fire-worship which the Persian so long professed may have had some connexion with these great reservoirs of oil that exist in various parts of the Near East.
* * * *
At the beginning of this digression I left Saif and myself perspiring under a precipice near the cave of Shahpur. We plodded on, and it was not long before we at last found ourselves just beneath the cave, whence we attracted the attention of the muleteer and the Iliats mere specks below. In an hour they were with us, and we were ready to effect the last precipitous ascent to the cave itself. Though this is a steep climb of about 25 feet up the sheer face of the rock, with a little agility it is easy to scramble to the top by means of the cracks worn in the stone. Once there, the entrance of the cave gapes straight ahead. I walked up a rough slope, and there, about 50 yards down the incline which descended into the gloom of the great caverns, lay before me a huge uncouth monster, torn from off the rough stand where still remained his sandalled feet. The body of the giant Shahpur lay miserably abject, the noseless face turned upwards, the head sunk in the soft earth, its luxuriant curls buried; his body aslant; his legs a few feet higher than his head, and resting on their ancient throne. The 20-foot body was clad in a kind of tunic, crossed with two sashes, from one of which, at his left side, once hung his sword; an armless hand rested on his right hip, while above, a broken shoulder protruded horribly. The left arm was broken off above the wrist; its hand, no doubt, once rested upon the hilt of the sword.

Thus, with mutilated features and fragments of limbs, lay Shahpur the Ormuzd-worshipper, the god, Shahpur, King of Kings, Arian and non-Arian, of the race of the gods, son of the Ormuzd-worshipper, the god, Artakarsur, King of Kings.
There was an impressive pathos about this great grotesque image, once bowed down to and worshipped as a god, now lying dishonoured in its lonely cave above the ruins of a dead city. The weird solemnity was heightened by the surroundings. The image was set in the centre of the lofty sloping hall which formed the mouth of the cave; in front shone the gap of blue sky; behind, yawned the desolate gloom; all around lay the relics of a dead civilization it was a scene to see by twilight in the falling dusk, with the great King looking like a white giant against the inky depths behind, and the sky-patch fading from crimson to grey. Then it would not be hard to imagine the dead people of the strange old -world city stealing from the uncanny, musty nooks within to do reverence to Shahpur. The natives fear this place; they will not go there alone, and refuse altogether to enter the black recesses of the cave. Nor is it hard to understand their feelings, for well might this chasm with its ruined tanks, huge, damp, tomb-like halls, and long, evil-smelling passages, be the abode of ghosts, as it is of bats and strange owlish birds.
* * * *
In connexion with the subject of crime and punishment and the powers that be in Persia, there will always live in my mind a curious dramatic scene which I witnessed at Shiraz. It took place in the court-yard before the Governor's palace. The sun was just dropping behind the roofs opposite, and a little stone-banked lake, a mere patch of water under a tree before the main gate into the palace, lay sparkling in the last light of day. Close by this little pool a knot of men was gathered as I rode up. For a moment the reason was not clear. Then I caught a glimpse there on the ground of a white-sheeted thing lying upon something of a stretcher. I walked up; yes, it was a dead body wrapped in blood-stained white cloth. At its foot stood a Persian, shouting something hoarsely; his brown clothes were dabbled in red. It was a murder. That was all I could make out. Then from opposite there came a wild crying, and there rushed across the empty square a body of black-veiled women, headed by one who madly dashed on with leaps and bounds, shrieking horribly and beating her bare breasts with her hands. Down on the dead body she fell, patting it and clasping it, moaning and calling to it, then falling back to strike herself again and call vainly to the unhearing heavens.
Suddenly there came the clatter of hoofs; all fell back; it was the Governor. Cossacks, silver maces, then the unpretentious-looking man on a white pony, less remarkable in appearance than all his attendant crowd.
The scene was a moving one. It was profoundly, almost sensationally, dramatic. It seemed like some situation of the stage. Surely here, to round off the drama, there must come some act befitting the elements of life and death which here lay bare in all their crude nakedness. The atmosphere was electric with a peculiar breathless excitement which seemed to cry for some great thing to happen and relieve the pent-up forces. But, alas! Nature is not so clever as Art; the appropriate rarely happens. The threads are left hanging loosely in the plays of life where they are deftly gathered up in the plays of man. Comedy, tragedy, farce, drama, they all seem to wander on in a slovenly and unending way in this world of ours, without apt justice or a fitting end. There is no plot, no picturesque consecution, no climax. The characters come and go, unregarding art and reason alike. A super lingers on the stage after the principal has been snatched behind the scenes; the wicked triumph without even the palliation of skill to make their triumph tolerable; the stupid ‘succeed,' the clever 'fail'; there is no meaning, no moral, in it all; yet still across the stage during their short act the countless players press on aimlessly, eternally. All that most of them can do is to act their small part in the great play that has no beginning, no end, and of which they know no object, seeking not effect, not even justice, merely striving on in their unimportant places. To do the best, that is indeed all that is to be done, save, perhaps, now and then to wonder whether, after all, there may not be somewhere a Stage Manager.
So my tragedy came to no fitting end.
The Governor stopped; with a gesture he summoned one of his Court. He was angry; it was unbecoming, unpleasant, to trouble him with such unsavoury things. What business had they there? ‘What is all this?' he asked, pointing angrily to the scene before him. They told him; the husband of this woman had been robbed and shot, that was all. 'Send them away,' said he, and, turning, walked into the palace.
So the body was carried off, as also the woman, for she had fainted. Justice, however, had its way in the end, for I heard that afterwards the murderer was blown from a cannon.
* * * *
There is a curious ironic horror about the life of the poor in Persia. If you are destitute, it is as well to be also diseased. The loss of an eye, the paralysis of the limbs, the infirmities of age all these are assets from which money can be made.

'Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends,’ cries the beggar in very truth, ’for the hand of God hath touched me.'

One particular visit from the poor of Persia remember very vividly. As I sat in the chapar khaneh at Surmek, the next resting-place after Khoneh Khoreh, Stumps suddenly barked. I looked up, and there, at the door, was a blind old man led by a wee creature of a few years old; a beautiful little girl. They were a strange, pathetic couple, the sightless old man and his tiny guide and guardian. The mite said nothing, but looked mutely appealing from beneath her long-lashed eyes. She was shivering, and the little red lips quivered with the cold. Inside, I had a fire, so inside they came, with a curious absence of constraint or comment. From beginning to end the child uttered not a word; but, while she warmed her icy hands before the blaze, her father conversed with me with courteous Persian readiness.
At last the girl's lips ceased to tremble, and her hands lost their numbness, and then I gave them two krans, and they went out into the sunlight - the sunlight that he had never seen.
Persia is no place for the tender-hearted, there is too much to grieve over; at least, it is too obvious. Probably there is just as much in England; but here we have a way of hiding it away where it is not seen, and most of the world goes on its path quite untroubled and untroubling. Yet, after all, perhaps it is a matter of temperament, and the tender-hearted can live neither in England nor in the East, but their lives are made sadly uneasy. Indeed, this world itself would seem no place for one whose heart is torn by the sorrows of life; to whom the beggar by the way-side, the drunkard in the gin-shop, the drab on the pavement, are matters not merely observed, but grieved over. The thick-skinned fellow has the best of it. On his tough hide the miseries of life shoot their darts harmlessly, he pursues his path serene and well assured that ‘God's in His heaven, all's right with the world.’
* * * *
‘While waiting, I inspect a beautifully tiled room used to store those presents collected by the Shah which are not in the great Museum.
‘It is a quaint assemblage of magnificent lumber. Stored in no order, priceless curiosities thrown down by the side of valueless rubbish, glorious works of art reposing under the shadow of domestic furniture, it is itself an epitome of Persia and the Persians in its strange incongruity, its pitiful disorder, its combination of departed glory and present decay.
‘In one corner is an untidy pile of velvets and ermines; close by, a collection of very inferior photographs; in the opposite corner a beer-machine, on which reposes an oil-painting.
‘A bookcase filled with volumes fronts a table covered with curiosities of natural history, which in turn looks on to a slab where lie specimens of ancient pottery. Then comes a musical-box. Typewriters lie neglected, magnificent tea-sets and services of glass have never seen a table-cloth, great vases merely contain the dust of years, a map of the British Isles, hung upside down, averts in this way its gaze from a picture, hung below, whose breadth of subject is redeemed by no beauty of execution. Violins mutely appeal for the touch of a hand which shall unseal their hidden harmonies, forlorn mandolins cry for fair fingers and sweet moonlit hours the very musical-boxes seem to pray to be taken where the babble of childish laughter shall greet their long-dumb tinkle.
‘In a room beyond, more china, more glass, unused, unwanted.
‘All is chaos, neglect, pathetic waste.
‘I leave with an ache at the heart all this rich uselessness, and, outside, the people poverty desolation.
‘Next to the museum itself in a huge glittering room are glass cases filled with a collection almost as composite as that I have just left, with at the end the Peacock Throne, --for that is its name, though in reality it is no more that relic rapt from Delhi than is the chair on which I sit to write this. Still, it is very fine, and its jewels and enamel, if they fail to excite a historic interest, at all events appeal to the imagination in other ways.
‘A stuffed bird which warbles in a cage is over against a cabinet in which are artistically hung six-penny hand-glasses, sometimes with broken handles. Originally, I am told, there were even more extraordinary dispositions of things; but I did not see Lord Curzon's tooth-brushes, though it is quite likely they were somewhere about.
‘The chief delight of the attendants was a musical-box with moving figures, which they wound up for our benefit, I think my favourites were the sixpenny looking-glasses.

GENERAL CUSTER & STORIES OF INDIAN BATTLES ON THE PLAINS

Excerts from:MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS.OR,PERSONAL EXPERIENCES WITH INDIANS.BY GEN. G. A. CUSTER, U. S. A. NEW YORK:SHELDON & COMPANY, NO. 8 MURRAY STREET. 1874
When civilization made its first inroads within the borders of this continent, numerous tribes, each powerful in numbers, were found inhabiting it. Each tribe had its peculiar customs, whether of war, the chase, or religion they exhibited some close resemblances as well as widely different traits of character. That they sprang from different nations rather than from a single source seems highly probable. It is said that when the Spaniards conquered Yucatan a number of intelligent Indians declared that by traditions from their ancestors they had learned that their country had been peopled by nations coming from the east, whom God had delivered from their enemies by opening a road for them across the sea.

Few persons will deny that the existence of America was believed in if not positively known centuries before its discovery by Columbus. Even so far back as the time of Alexander the Great, a historian named Theopompus, in giving a dialogue that took place between Midas and Silenus, credits the latter with saying that Europe, Asia, and Africa were only islands, but that a vast fertile continent existed beyond the sea. This continent was peopled by a race of powerful men, and gold and silver were abundant on its surface. Hanno, eight hundred years before Christ, made a voyage along the coast of Africa, and sailed due west for thirty days. From the account which he afterward wrote of his voyage, it is probable that he saw portions of America or some of the West India islands. Reference is also made by Homer and Horace to the existence of islands at a long distance west of Europe and Africa. Diodorus speaks of an immense island many days' sail to the west of Africa; immense rivers flowed from its shores; its inhabitants resided in beautiful mansions; its soil was fruitful and highly cultivated. The description corresponds with that given of Mexico by the Spaniards who first discovered it. Aristotle makes mention of it in the following terms: "It is said that the Carthaginians have discovered beyond the Pillars of Hercules a very fertile island, but which is without inhabitants, yet full of forests, of navigable rivers, and abounding in fruit. It is situated many days' journey from the mainland." After the discovery of America Europeans were surprised to find in villages in Guatemala inhabitants wearing the Arabian masculine costume and the Jewish feminine costume. Travellers in South America have discovered Israelites among the Indians. This discovery strengthens the theory given by Garcia, a Spanish writer, that the Indians are the descendants of the tribes of Israel that were led captive into Assyria. Many of the Indian customs and religious rites closely resemble those of the Israelites. In many tribes the Indians offer the first fruits of the earth and of the chase to the Great Spirit. They have also certain ceremonies at stated periods. Their division of the year corresponds with the Jewish festivals. In some tribes the brother of a deceased husband receives the widow into his lodge as his legitimate wife. Some travellers claim to have seen circumcision practised among certain tribes. Another analogy between the Jews and the Indians is seen in their purifications, baths, anointings, fasts, manner of praying, and abstaining from certain quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles considered impure. In general Indians are only permitted to marry in their own tribe. Some tribes are said to carry with them an ark similar to the one mentioned in Holy Writ. I know that all tribes with which I have been brought in contact carry with them a mysterious something which is regarded with the utmost sacredness and veneration, and upon which the eye of no white man at least is ever permitted to rest. Then again the "medicine man" of the tribe, who is not, as his name implies, the physician, but stands in the character of high priest, assumes a dress and manner corresponding to those of the Jewish high priest. Mr. Adair, who spent forty years among the various northern tribes, and who holds to the idea that the Indian is descended from the Hebrew, asserts that he discovered an unmistakable resemblance between various Indian words and the Hebrew intended to express the same idea. He further asserts that he once heard an Indian apply the following expression to a culprit: “Tschi kaksit canaha" Thou art like unto a Canaanite sinner.
* * * *
Several years prior to the events referred to, our people had captured from the Indians two children. I believe they were survivors of the Chivington massacre at Sand Creek, Colorado. These children had been kindly cared for and were being taught to lead a civilized mode of life. Their relatives, how ever, made demands for them, and we by treaty stipulation agreed to deliver them up. One of them, a little girl, had been cared for kindly in a family living near Denver, Colorado; the other, a boy, had been carried East to the States, and it was with great difficulty that the Government was able to learn his whereabouts and obtain possession of him. He was finally discovered, however, and sent to General Hancock, to be by him delivered up to his tribe. He accompanied the expedition, and was quite a curiosity for the time being. He was dressed comfortably, in accordance with civilized custom; and, having been taken from his people at so early an age, was apparently satisfied with the life he led. The Indians who came to our camp expressed a great desire to see him, and when he was brought into their presence they exhibited no emotion such as white men under similar circumstances might be expected to show.

They evidently were not pleased to see him clothed in the white man's dress. The little fellow, then some eight or ten years of age, seemed little disposed to go back to his people. I saw him the following year in the village of his tribe; he then had lost all trace of civilization, had forgotten his knowledge of the English language, and was as shy and suspicious of the white men as any of his dusky comrades. From older persons of the tribe we learned that their first act after obtaining possession of him was to deprive him of his "store clothes," and in their stead substitute the blanket and leggings.
* * * *
Among the white scouts were numbered some of the most noted of their class. The most prominent man among them was "Wild Bill," whose highly varied career was made the subject of an illustrated sketch in one of the popular monthly periodicals a few years ago. “Wild Bill" was a strange character, just the one which a novelist might gloat over. He was a Plainsman in every sense of the word, yet unlike any other of his class. In person he was about six feet one in height, straight as the straightest of the warriors whose implacable foe he was; broad shoulders, well-formed chest and limbs, and a face strikingly handsome; a sharp, clear, blue eye, which stared you straight in the face when in conversation; a finely-shaped nose, inclined to be aquiline; a well-turned mouth, with lips only partially concealed by a handsome moustache. His hair and complexion were those of the perfect blond. The former was worn in uncut ringlets falling carelessly over his powerfully formed shoulders. Add to this figure a costume blending the immaculate neatness of the dandy with the extravagant taste and style of the frontiersman, and you have Wild Bill, then as now the most famous scout on the Plains. Whether on foot or on horseback, he was one of the most perfect types of physical manhood I ever saw. Of his courage there could be x no question; it had been brought to the test on too many occasions to admit of a doubt. His skill in the use of the rifle and pistol was unerring; while his deportment was exactly the opposite of what might be expected from a man of his surroundings. It was entirely free from all bluster or bravado. He seldom spoke of himself unless requested to do so. His conversation, strange to say, never bordered either on the vulgar or blasphemous. His influence among the frontiersmen was unbounded, his word was law; and many are the personal quarrels and disturbances which he has checked among his comrades by his simple announcement that “this has gone far enough," if need be followed by the ominous warning that when persisted in or renewed the quarreller "must settle it with me.” "Wild Bill" is anything but a quarrelsome man; yet no one but himself can enumerate the many conflicts in which he has been engaged, and which have almost invariably resulted in the death of his adversary. I have a personal knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he has at various times killed, one of these being at the time a member of my command. others have been severely wounded, yet he always escapes unhurt. On the Plains every man openly carries his belt with its invariable appendages, knife and revolver, often two of the latter. Wild Bill always carried two handsome ivory-handled revolvers of the large size; he was never seen without them. Where this is the common custom, brawls or personal difficulties are seldom if ever settled by blows. The quarrel is not from a word to a blow, but from a word to the revolver, and he who can draw and fire first is the best man. No civil law reaches him; none is applied for. In fact there is no law recognized beyond the frontier but that of "might makes right." Should death result from the quarrel as it usually does, no coroner's jury is impanelled to learn the cause of death, and the survivor is not arrested. But instead of these old-fashioned proceedings, a meeting of citizens takes place, the survivor is requested to be present when the circumstances of the homicide are inquired into, and the unfailing verdict of "justifiable," "self-defence," etc., is pronounced, and the law stands vindicated. That justice is often deprived o a victim there is not a doubt. Yet in all of the many affairs of this kind in which Wild Bill” has performed a part, and which have come to my knowledge, there is not a single instance in which the verdict of twelve fair-minded men would not be pronounced in his favor. That the even tenor of his way continues to be disturbed by little events of this description may be inferred from an item which has been floating lately through the columns of the press, and which states that "the funeral of ‘Jim Bludso,' who was killed the other day by ‘Wild Bill,' took place to-day." It then adds: "The funeral expenses were borne by 'Wild Bill.' “What could be more thoughtful than this? Not only to send a fellow mortal out of the world, but to pay the expenses of the transit. Guerrier, the half-breed, also accompanied the expedition as guide and interpreter.
* * * *

The most prominent chiefs in council were Satanta, Lone Wolf, and Kicking Bird of the Kiowas, and Little Raven and Yellow Bear of the Arrapahoes. During the council extravagant promises of future good conduct were made by these chiefs. So effective and convincing was the oratorical effort of Satanta that at the termination of his address the department commander and staff presented him with the uniform coat, sash, and hat of a major-general. In return for this compliment Satanta, within a few weeks after, attacked the post at which the council was held, arrayed in his new uniform. This said chief had but recently headed an expedition to the frontier of Texas, where, among other murders committed by him and his band, was that known as the “Box massacre." The Box family consisted of the father, mother, and five children, the eldest a girl about eighteen, the youngest a babe. The entire family had been visiting at a neighbor's house, and were returning home in the evening, little dreaming of the terrible fate impending, when Satanta and his warriors dashed upon them, surrounded the wagon in which they were driving, and at the first fire killed the father and one of the children. The horses were hastily taken from the wagon, while the mother was informed by signs that she and her four surviving children must accompany their captors. Mounting their prisoners upon led horses, of which they had a great number stolen from the settlers, the Indians prepared to set out on their return to the village, then located hundreds of miles north. Before departing from the scene of the massacre, the savages scalped the father and child, who had fallen as their first victims. Far better would it have been had the remaining members of the family met their death in the first attack. From the mother, whom I met when released from her captivity, after living as a prisoner in the hands of the Indians for more than a year, I gathered the details of the sufferings of herself and children.

Fearing pursuit by the Texans, and desiring to place as long a distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers, they prepared for a night march. Mrs. Box and each of the three elder children were placed on separate horses and securely bound. This was to prevent escape in the darkness. The mother was at first permitted to carry the youngest child, a babe of a few months, in her arms, but the latter, becoming fretful during the tiresome night ride, began to cry. The Indians, fearing the sound of its voice might be heard by pursuers, snatched it from its mother's arms and dashed its brains out against a tree, then threw the lifeless remains to the ground and continued their flight. No halt was made for twenty-four hours, after which the march was conducted more deliberately. Each night the mother and three children were permitted to occupy one shelter, closely guarded by their watchful enemies.
* * * *
As if impelled by one thought, Comstock, the Delawares, and half-a-dozen officers, detached themselves from the column and, separating into squads of one or two, instituted a search for the cause of our horrible suspicions. After riding in all directions through the rushes and willows, and when about to relinquish the search as fruitless, one of the Delawares uttered a shout which attracted the attention of the entire command; at the same time he was seen to leap from his horse and assume a stooping posture, as if critically examining some object of interest. Hastening, in common with many others of the party, to his side, a sight met our gaze which even at this remote day makes my very blood curdle. Lying in irregular order, and within a very limited circle, were the mangled bodies of poor Kidder and his party, yet so brutally hacked and disfigured as to be beyond recognition save as human beings.

Every individual of the party had been scalped and his skull broken the latter done by some weapon, probably a tomahawk except the Sioux chief Red Bead, whose scalp had simply been removed from his head and then thrown down by his side. This, Comstock informed us, was in accordance with a custom which prohibits an Indian from bearing off the scalp of one of his own tribe. This circumstance, then, told us who the perpetrators of this deed were. They could be none other than the Sioux, led in all probability by Pawnee Killer.

Red Bead, being less disfigured and mutilated than the others, was the only individual capable of being recognized. Even the clothes of all the party had been carried away; some of the bodies were lying in beds of ashes, with partly burned fragments of wood near them, showing that the savages had put some of them to death by the terrible tortures of fire. The sinews of the arms and legs had been cut away, the nose of every man hacked oft', and the features otherwise defaced so that it would have been scarcely possible for even a relative to recognize a single one of the unfortunate victims. We could not even distinguish the officer from his men. Each body was pierced by from twenty to fifty arrows, and the arrows were found as the savage demons had left them, bristling in the bodies. While the details of that fearful struggle will probably never be known, telling how long and gallantly this ill-fated little band contended for their lives, yet the surrounding circumstances of ground, empty cartridge shells, and distance from where the attack began, satisfied us that Kidder and his men fought as only brave men fight when the watchword is victory or death.

As the officer, his men, and his no less faithful Indian guide, had shared their final dangers together and had met the same dreadful fate at the hands of the same merciless foe, it was but fitting that their remains should be consigned to one common grave. This was accordingly done. A single trench was dug near the spot where they had rendered up their lives upon the altar of duty. Silently, mournfully, their comrades of a brother regiment consigned their mangled remains to mother earth, there to rest undisturbed, as we supposed, until the great day of final review. But this was not to be so; while the closest scrutiny on our part had been insufficient to enable us to detect the slightest evidence which would aid us or others in identifying the body of Lieutenant Kidder or any of his men, it will be seen hereafter how the marks of a mother's thoughtful affection were to be the means of identifying the remains of her murdered son, even though months had elapsed after his untimely death.
* * * *
"While sitting in my quarters one day at Fort Leavenworth, late in the fall of 1867, a gentleman was announced whose name recalled a sad and harrowing eight. It proved to be the father of Lieutenant Kidder, whose massacre, with that of his entire party of eleven men, was described in preceding pages. It will be remembered that the savages had hacked, mangled, and burned the bodies of Kidder and his men to such an extent that it was impossible to recognize the body of a single one of the party; even the clothing had been removed, be that we could not distinguish the officer from his men, or the men from each other, by any fragment of their uniform or insignia of their grade. Mr. Kidder, after introducing himself, announced the object of his visit; it was to ascertain the spot where the remains of his son lay buried, and, after procuring suitable military escort to proceed to the grave and disinter his son's remains preparatory to transferring them to a resting place in Dakota, of which territory he was at that time one of the judiciary. It was a painful task I had to perform when I communicated to the father the details of the killing of his on and followers. And equally harassing to the feelings was it to have to inform him that there was no possible chance of his being able to recognize his son's remains. “Was there not the faintest mark or fragment of his uniform by which he might be known?" inquired the anxious parent. “Not one," was the reluctant reply. "And yet, since I now recall the appearance of the mangled and disfigured remains, there was a mere trifle which attracted my attention, but it could not have been your son who wore it." "What was it?" eagerly inquired the father. "It was simply the collar-band of one of those ordinary check overshirts so commonly worn on the plains, the color being black and white; the remainder of the garment, as well as all other articles of dress, having been torn or burned from the body." Mr. Kidder then requested me to repeat the description of the collar and material of which it was made; happily I had some cloth of very similar appearance, and upon exhibiting this to Mr. Kidder, to show the kind I meant, he declared that the body I referred to could be no other than that of his murdered son. He went on to tell how his son had received his appointment in the army but a few weeks before his lamentable death, he only having reported for duty with his company a few days before being sent on the scout which terminated his life; and how, before leaving his home to engage in the military service, his mother, with that thoughtful care and tenderness which only a mother can feel, prepared some articles of wearing apparel, among others a few shirts made from the checked material already described. Mr. Kidder had been to Fort Sedgwick on the Platte, from which post his son had last departed, and there learned that on leaving the post he wore one of the checked shirts and put an extra one in his saddle pockets. Upon this trifling link of evidence Mr. Kidder proceeded four hundred miles west to Fort Wallace, and there being furnished with military escort visited the grave containing the bodies of the twelve massacred men. Upon disinterring the remains a body was found as I had described it, bearing the simple checked collar-band; the father recognized the remains of his son, and thus, as was stilted at the close of a preceding chapter, was the evidence of a mother's love made the means by which her son's body was recognized and reclaimed, when all other had failed.
* * * *
There was but one thing to do. Realizing that they had fallen into a trap, Forsyth, who had faced danger too often to hesitate in an emergency, determined that if it came to a Fort Fetterman affair, described in a preceding chapter, he should at least make the enemy bear their share of the loss. He ordered his men to lead their horses to the island, tie them to the few bushes that were growing there in a circle, throw themselves upon the ground in the same form, and make the best fight they could for their lives. In less time than it takes to pen these words, the order was put into execution. Three of the best shots in the party took position in the grass under the bank of the river which covered the north end of the island; the others formed a circle inside of the line of animals, and throwing themselves upon the ground began to reply to the fire of the Indians, which soon became hot and galling in the extreme. Throwing themselves from their horses, the Indians crawled up to within a short distance of the island, and opened a steady and well-directed fire upon the party. Armed with the best quality of guns, many of them having the latest pattern breech-loaders with fixed ammunition (as proof of this many thousand empty shells of Spencer and Henry rifle ammunition were found on the ground occupied by the Indians after the fight), they soon made sad havoc among the men and horses. As it grew lighter, and the Indians could be distinguished, Grover expressed the greatest astonishment at the number of warriors, which he placed at nearly one thousand. other members of the party estimated them at even a greater number. Forsyth expressed the opinion that there could not be more than four or five hundred, but in this it seems he was mistaken, as some of the Brules, Sioux, and Cheyennes have since told him that their war party was nearly nine hundred strong, and was composed of Brules, Sioux, Cheyennes, and Dog Soldiers; furthermore, that they had been watching him for five days previous to their attack, and had called in all the warriors they could get to their assistance. The men of Forsyth's party began covering themselves at once, by using case and pocket knives in the gravelly sand, and Boon had thrown up quite a little earthwork consisting of detached mounds in the form of a circle. About this time Forsyth was wounded by a “Minie" ball, which, striking him in the right thigh, ranged upward, inflicting an exceedingly painful wound. Two of his men had been killed, and a number of others wounded. Leaning over to give directions to some of his men, who were firing too rapidly, and in fact becoming a little too nervous for their own good, Forsyth was again wounded, this time in the left leg, the ball breaking and badly shattering the bone midway between the knee and ankle. About the same time Dr. Movers, the surgeon of the party, who, owing to the hot fire of the Indians, was unable to render surgical aid to his wounded comrades, had seized his trusty rifle and was doing capital service, was hit in the temple by a bullet, and never spoke but one intelligible word again.
* * * *
Shortly after nine o'clock a portion of the Indians began to form in a ravine just below the foot of the island, and soon about one hundred and twenty Dog Soldiers, the “banditti of the Plains," supported by some three hundred or more other mounted men, made their appearance, drawn up just beyond rifle shot below the island, and headed by the famous chief Roman Nose," prepared to charge the scouts. Superbly mounted, almost naked, although in full war dress, and painted in the most hideous manner, with their rifles in their hands, and formed with a front of about sixty men, they awaited the signal of their chief to charge, with apparently the greatest confidence. Roman Nose addressed a few words to the mounted warriors, and almost immediately afterward the dismounted Indians surrounding the island poured a perfect shower of bullets into the midst of Forsyth's little party. Realizing that a crisis was at hand, and hot work was before him, Forsyth told his men to reload every rifle and to take and load the rifles of the killed and wounded of the party, and not to fire a shot until ordered to do so.
* * * *
…Roman Nose and his band of mounted warriors, with a wild, ringing war-whoop, echoed by the women and children on the hills, started forward. On they came, presenting even to the brave men awaiting the charge a most superb sight. Brandishing their guns, echoing back the cries of encouragement of their women and children on the surrounding hills, and confident of victory, they rode bravely and recklessly to the assault. Soon they were within the range of the rifles of their friends, and of course the dismounted Indians had to slacken their fire for fear of hitting their own warriors. This was the opportunity for the scouts, and they were not slow to seize it. "Now," shouted Forsyth. "Now," echoed Beecher, McCall, and Grover; and the scouts, springing to their knees, and casting their eyes coolly along the barrels of their rifles, opened on the advancing savages as deadly a fire as the same number of men ever yet sent forth from an equal number of rifles. Unchecked, undaunted, on dashed the warriors; steadily rang the clear, sharp reports of the rifles of the frontiersmen. Roman Nose, the chief, is seen to fall dead from his horse, then Medicine Man is killed, and for an instant the column of braves, now within ten feet of the scouts, hesitates falters. A ringing cheer from the scouts, who perceive the effect of their well-directed fire, and the Indians begin to break and scatter in every direction, unwilling to rush to a hand-to-hand struggle with the men who, although outnumbered, yet knew how to make such effective use of their rifles. A few more shots from the frontiersmen and the Indians are forced back beyond range, and their first attack ends in defeat. Forsyth turns to Grover anxiously and inquires, "Can they do better than that, Grover?" "I have been on the Plains, General, since a boy, and never saw such a charge as that before. I think they have done their level best," was the reply. "All right," responds “Sandy"; "then we are good for them."
* * * *
At dark they ceased firing, and withdrew their forces for the night. This gave the little garrison on the island an opportunity to take a breathing spell, and Forsyth to review the situation and sum up how he had fared. The result was not consoling. His trusted Lieutenant Beecher was lying dead by his side; his surgeon, Movers, was mortally wounded; two of his men killed, four mortally wounded, four severely, and ten slightly. Here, out of a total of fifty-one, were twenty-three killed and wounded. His own condition, his right thigh fearfully lacerated, and his left leg badly broken, only rendered the other discouraging circumstances doubly so. As before stated, the Indians had killed all of his horses early in the fight. His supplies were exhausted, and there was no way of dressing the wounds of himself or comrades, as the medical stores had been captured by the Indians. He was about one hundred and ten miles from the nearest post, and savages we're all around him. The outlook could scarcely have been less cheering. But Forsyth's disposition and pluck incline him to speculate more upon that which is, or may be gained, than to repine at that which is irrevocably lost. This predominant trait in his character now came in good play. In stead of wasting time in vain regrets over the advantages gained by his enemies, he quietly set about looking up the chances in his favor. And, let the subject be what it may, I will match “Sandy” against an equal number” for making a favorable showing of the side which he espouses or advocates. To his credit account he congratulated himself and comrades, first upon the fact that they had beaten off their foes; second, water could be had inside their intrenchments by digging a few feet below the surface; then for food “horse and mule meat," to use Sandy's expression, "was lying around loose in any quantity;” and last, but most important of all, he had plenty of ammunition. Upon these circumstances and facts Forsyth built high hopes of successfully contending against any renewed assaults of the savages.
* * * *
ON DELAWARE CREEK, REPUBLICAN RIVER, Sept. 19, 1858.
To Colonel Bankhead, or Commanding Officer, Fort Wallace.

I sent you two messengers on the night of the 17th instant, informing you of my critical condition. I tried to send two more last night, but they did not succeed in passing the Indian pickets, and returned. If the others have not arrived, then hasten at once to my assistance. I have eight badly wounded and ten slightly wounded men to take in, and every animal I had was killed save seven which the Indians stampeded. Lieutenant Beecher is dead, and Acting Assistant Surgeon Movers probably cannot live the night out. He was hit in the head Thursday, and has spoken but one rational word since. I am wounded in two places, in the right thigh and my left leg broken below the knee. The Cheyennes numbered 450 or more. Mr. Grorer says they never fought so before. They were splendidly armed with Spencer and Henry rifles. We killed at least thirty-five of them and wounded many more, besides killing and wounding a quantity of their stock. They carried off most of their killed during the night, but three of their men fell into our hands. I am on a little island and have still plenty of ammunition left. We are living on mule and horse meat, and are entirely out of rations. If it was not for so many wounded, I would come in and take the chances of whipping them if attacked. They are evidently sick of their bargain.

I had two of the members of my company killed on the 17th, namely, William Wilson and George W. Gainer. You had better start with not less than seventy-five men and bring all the wagons and ambulances you can spare. Bring a six-pound howitzer with you. I can hold out here for six days longer, if absolutely necessary, but please lose no time.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
(Signed) GEORGE A. FORSYTH,

U. S. Army, Commanding Co. Scouts

P. S. My surgeon having been mortally wounded, none of my wounded have had their wounds dressed yet, so please bring out a surgeon with you.
* * * *
When Colonel Carpenter and his men reached the island they found its defenders in a most pitiable condition, yet the survivors were determined to be plucky to the last. Forsyth himself, with rather indifferent success, affected to be reading an old novel that he had discovered in a saddlebag; but Colonel Carpenter said his voice was a little unsteady and his eyes somewhat dim when he held out his hand to Carpenter and bade him welcome to "Beecher's Island," a name that has since been given to the battle-ground.

During the fight Forsyth counted thirty-two dead Indians within rifle range of the island. Twelve Indian bodies were subsequently discovered in one pit, and five in another. The Indians themselves confessed to a loss of seventy-five killed in action, and when their proclivity for concealing or diminishing the number of their slain in battle is considered, we can readily believe that their actual loss in this fight must have been much greater than they would have us believe.

Of the scouts, Lieutenant Beecher, Surgeon Movers, and six of the men were either killed outright or died of their wounds; eight more were disabled for life; of the remaining twelve who were wounded, nearly all recovered completely. During the fight innumerable interesting incidents occurred, some laughable and some serious. On the first day of the conflict a number of young Indian boys from fifteen to eighteen years of age crawled up and shot about fifty arrows into the circle in which the scouts lay. One of these arrows struck one of the men, Frank Herrington, full in the forehead. Not being able to pull it out, one of his companions, lying in the same hole with him, cut off the arrow with his knife, leaving the iron arrowhead sticking in his frontal bone; in a moment a bullet struck him in the side of the head, glanced across his forehead, impinged upon the arrowhead, and the two fastened together fell to the ground a queer but successful piece of amateur surgery. Herrington wrapped a cloth around his head, which bled profusely, and continued fighting as if nothing had happened.

Howard Morton, another of the scouts, was struck in the head by a bullet which finally lodged in the rear of one of his eyes, completely destroying its eight forever; but Morton never faltered, but fought bravely until the savages finally withdrew. Hudson Farley, a young stripling of only eighteen, whose father was mortally wounded in the first day's fight, was shot through the shoulder, yet never mentioned the fact until dark, when the list of wounded was called for. McCall, the First Sergeant, Vilott, Clark, Farley the elder, and others who were wounded, continued to bear their full share of the fight, notwithstanding their great sufferings, until the Indians finally gave up and withdrew. These incidents, of which many similar ones might be told, only go to show the remarkable character of the men who composed Forsyth's party.

A LADY'S WARTIME LIFE ON THE SUDANESE COAST IN 1883

Excerpts from: Three months in the Soudan, by Ernestine Isabella Sartorius. London: Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1885.

AS the cholera epidemic had passed away in Egypt, and it was considered quite safe to return there, my step-daughter and myself took passages by the British India line of steamers, and on the 14th of November, 1883, started from the Royal Albert Docks, in the Eldorado. I must say, she was not a good specimen of the line, for she was very dirty, and the food was very badly cooked.
* * *
Before leaving the island we heard the great and unfortunate news of the defeat of General Hicks's army in the Soudan, and the total massacre of his troops. This news much excited us, for we thought it might have some effect on my husband's future movements.
* * *
Before quite leaving off all notice of the great salt-water Canal, I could not help thinking what a splendid instance this was of the late Khedive's power of will, and how lucky it was for the world he had this will, for without him the Canal could not have been made. It is as well not to look too closely at the history of its construction, nor the lives lost over it, amounting to hundreds of thousands. The Bulgarian atrocities did not cause more misery. The poor wretched gangs of fellahs starved and driven by the Koorbash to work to their last gasp, present an awful picture of misery that is almost too painful to think about in spite of the great results obtained. His magnificent extravagance is well exemplified in the small palace he built for the Empress Eugénie, and which has never been occupied since. Here, too, an instance of thorough Oriental arbitrariness occurred. The Empress, while thanking the Khedive for the magnificent reception he had given her, happened to say that the only thing she had not seen was an Arab marriage. "Indeed," said the Khedive, "this shall soon be remedied." So he sent for his A.D.C., gave him one of his Circassian slaves from the harem, presented him with a large dowry, and told the astonished official that everything was to be ready in two days. Accordingly, on the second day there was a grand marriage à l' Arabi. The Empress was greatly pleased, and the A.D.C., a man far more European than Egyptian, and who spoke several European languages, splendidly found himself indissolubly attached to a Mahomedan wife, while all along it had been the dream of his life to marry a European lady, one educated like himself, and with whom he could associate. But he knew he dared not refuse, and so an accident settled his whole future life.
* * *
We, my step-daughter and myself, went to see the vice-queen, who lives in the Palace of Ismailia. The entrance to her apartment is the one on the left of that going into the Khedive's. As usual in all Mussulman buildings, there are no openings from or to the outside except those absolutely necessary, and however nice the inside may be, nothing of it can be seen by outsiders. The vice-queen's residence is no exception to this rule, for the Khedive is, above all things, a most strict Mussulman. From the outer entrance the carriage goes on about fifty yards, and then turns to the right through an archway, into first an outer and then an inner courtyard. In both these eunuchs are posted at every door. My husband left me when the carriage entered the archway mentioned above. We entered the harem by a double flight of splendid steps meeting in the centre, about fifteen feet above the level of the ground, and then on through a fine hall into the reception-room, to which we were conducted by some white women servants, who were all dressed very plainly, but in bright colours, green and red predominating. The vice-queen herself was seated on a sofa towards the far end of the room, ready to receive her guests. She is very stout, but at the same time very pretty; has fair hair and skin, with dark eyes and eyebrows. Her hands are particularly small and white, and she looks very aristocratic. She wears on her fingers some very handsome rings. Her hair is arranged according to the present fashion on the top of the head, with a few curls on her forehead. She was dressed in a very striking purple velvet brocade with long train, the whole trimmed with exquisite lace. Her manner was most engaging, quiet, ladylike, and pleasant. When we came in, she rose, shook hands, and asked us to sit down on a sofa near her. She speaks Arabic, Turkish, and French, and is very fond of seeing foreign ladies if they can talk French with her. She began to talk about matters in general, concerning which she seemed to be well informed.
* * *
On July 31 mention is made of Mr. O'Donovan, the celebrated correspondent of the Daily News, having arrived at Khartoum. Also of Mr. Power, of the Pictorial World.
August 15 he writes about the difficulties they are under as regards the carriage of water; it is well worth perusal. As to the reinforcements he speaks of, it is quite true that they were the most miserable, weakly set of men. They were brought down from Upper Egypt in chains, and encamped at the barage of the Nile, about thirty miles below Cairo, and there remained till after the cholera was over.
"The force will most likely march into Kordofan the beginning of September, but the route has not been decided as yet, or if it has, it is kept secret. The great scarcity of water throughout Kordofan makes the marching of an army through the country a matter of great difficulty. During the rainy season water at some places collects in the hollows of the ground, but the rains are not like the monsoon of India. A heavy downpour once a week, and lasting for about two hours, is about what takes place, but this year there has been but little rain, and even where it usually collects in pools there is scarcely any water. The soil is sandy, and there is no underlying impervious strata, so the rain is absorbed, and water not to be obtained even by digging wells. So the force will have to trust to known watering places where there are wells. But these wells are very few in number, three or four, generally 30 to 40 metres deep (say 90 to 120 feet), and on the approach of an enemy the Arabs always fill them in. Anyhow, if they were left unfilled, the difficulties would be great, as the following calculation will show. As water has to be carried on several marches, it is necessary to take a large number of transport animals, say 6,000 animals to 6,000 men, counting all. Each horse, bullock, or mule drinks a gallon and a half of water at a time, and takes three minutes to do so. To water 6,000 animals twice a day, 18,000 gallons of water are required. To water 5,000 camels once a day, and 1,000 horses and mules twice a day, 7,500 + 3,000 = 10,500 gallons. Add for 6,000 men, at one gallon each, 6,000 gallons: total 16,500 gallons daily. Say each skin draws up 1 gallon, the well 30 metres deep, one minute to let down and draw up, five skins working at a time, 5 gallons would be brought up every minute, 15 gallons in three minutes (time taken by animals to drink). Ten animals could therefore be watered at a time, or 200 in an hour, and 4,800 in twenty-four hours. One well, 30 metres deep, with five skins working, each lifting 1 gallon, taking one minute to let down and haul up, will furnish 300 gallons an hour, or 7.200 gallons in the twenty-four hours. So it would take two days and eight hours to give the force one day's supply of water. Three wells working twenty-four hours would, allowing for waste, supply the force. Nine wells working eight hours would do the same, each, be it remembered, having five buckets always at work, and no wells running dry, which incident generally occurs. The wells are so narrow that it is doubtful if five buckets could work at once. We have no chain or other pumps, and if we had the wells would be too narrow to work them in, if not too deep. So, you see, the water supply is a hard nut to crack. It can only be met by taking the force up by degrees in small parties. Thus, with the quality of troops we have, it is dangerous. The Arabs are bold and brave. However, we fully calculate upon success. A very obstructive old gentleman, Suleiman Pasha, the Egyptian general, has been removed; and Aladdin Pasha, the governor-general, will accompany the army as nominal commander-in-chief, General Hicks's orders and disposition being obeyed and carried out under instructions received from the Khedive to that effect. The reinforcements which arrived from Cairo were inspected to-day by the general. We are thankful that they will remain in garrison, for they are a miserable-looking lot of men, mostly old and bent double. General Sir Evelyn Wood, when he inspected them before their departure, removed a number from the ranks. They are no doubt perfectly wretched: they have been seized in their villages, and sent off to what they look upon as transportation for life. No one but a Pasha ever returns from the Soudan; he does so with his pockets well lined, and unfortunately there are many Pashas."
* * *
The much-looked-for spy has come in from Sinkat. He had got his letter doubled up inside a leather amulet, of which these people have always two or three on their arms, containing usually a verse of the Koran. I at once took possession of it, and keep it as a great curiosity. He says that when approaching Sinkat at night he had to hide for several hours behind a big stone, while just on the other side of it, and within four or five paces, were a circle of the enemy, whose conversation was by no means reassuring, as they declared their intention of chaining and then cutting the throat of anybody who was coming to help the beleaguered garrison. He dared not move for a long time, but at last, creeping away, keeping the stone between them, he took refuge some distance off in a small cave. There he lay until the next night, when, making a wide circuit, he managed to pierce the enemy's lines on the other side. Early in the morning, approaching the fort, he called out "Tewfik, Tewfik!" Tewfik Bey happened to be close by, and ordered him to be allowed in. On his return, he was actually caught. By good luck, Tewfik Bey's letter was not found, but, suspicion being strong, he was tied up and got a severe beating. He no doubt had a narrow shave, but, luckily for him, some of his relations were amongst the rebels, and at night they secretly untied him and let him go. Such was the cause of his long delay, and in proof he showed the very visible marks of his beating. But whatever risk he ran, the twenty dollars he got seemed fully to make it up, as far as he himself was concerned.
* * *
THE Ranger came in on the 5th of February at 3 p.m., bringing the news of the defeat of General Baker's army. We had had lunch, our mess having been reduced to Colonel Harington, who was commanding the garrison, Mr. Brewster, my step-daughter, and myself, and had ensconced ourselves in long chairs for a doze, when Lieutenant Philips from the Euryalus came in, saying that the Ranger had arrived from Trinkitat, and that the admiral wished to see Colonel Harington; but he would tell us nothing else. Colonel Harington accordingly went off, and we were left in great suspense, though we did not expect any bad news. We then went on to the balcony, and were watching for about half an hour, when we saw Captain Goodall coming up in one of the ship's boats. As he neared our landing-place, he called out, "Mrs. Sartorius, your husband is safe!" and then I began to think there must have been some severe fighting; but when he had landed and taken me into the drawing-room, telling me he had something very important to tell me that for the present no one else must know, I felt there had been some disaster, and so it proved. He then explained General Baker's defeat; how the Egyptian soldiers had become demoralized, and had even laid down their arms and allowed themselves to be butchered by the rebels. I could not help feeling what a sad termination it was to all our hopes, for though we had great doubts as to the Egyptians really fighting, still we did not expect such a complete defeat. In continuation, Captain Goodall showed me the names of those who had fallen, amongst others poor Colonel Morice Bey, little Abdul Russak, Captain Walker, and Dr. Leslie. It was exceedingly sad, for it seemed like losing relations, we had been so intimate with them.
About 5 p.m. my husband arrived, and I was very glad to see him safe and sound, and to hear that General Baker and Colonel Burnaby were equally so. By-the-by, they say about Colonel Burnaby and General Baker that one is as plucky and cool as the other; and everybody knows what a compliment it is to be thus compared to General Baker. I hear that if the rebels had followed them up, hardly a man would have escaped. General Baker also returned about 6 p.m. with the rest, as he feared an immediate attack on Suakim, and therefore wanted to mass his troops here. It was a most painful sight to see these wretched men land, all in a fearful plight, many of them only half clothed, having thrown away their things to run all the faster from the enemy. Horses without any owners passed our house, some wounded, others tired out. One poor horse had a spear-wound through its nose. Instead of going on to camp, it wandered into our farmyard, where we gave it water and food, and had its nose washed; but in spite of our care the poor brute died the next day. By the time the men had landed the news had reached the camp, and crowds of Soudanese women rushed down to meet their husbands. It was really most painful to see the emotion of these poor creatures. On finding that their belongings were not amongst the survivors, they screamed and yelled, threw up their arms, and got so excited that I began to cry in sympathy with them. One woman sat down in the road, and was with difficulty raised and taken into camp by her people. I hope never to see such a sight again; once in one's life is quite enough.