The Nomads sojourning in the environs came flocking to see the caravan and to engage in trade with some of its members. In the evening, we being ready to start, one of the buffalo cows presented the caravan with a healthy calf, to the kervanbashi's intense satisfaction. On the road it occurred to him that the calf was too feeble to follow us on foot, and that he must find a place for it on the back of one of the camels. Myself and Hadji Bilal being the only ones occupying a kedsheve he naturally thought of us, and asked that one of us should give up our place to the newborn animal. Hadji Bilal resigned his basket with the utmost readiness, alleging that he did so out of kind feelings for me, who could not with my lame foot find accommodation everywhere. But no sooner did my counterpoise occupy the hadji's place than I discovered the real cause of his great complaisance—the calf was exhaling a pestiferous smell. It was passable at nights, interfering but occasionally with my slumbers, but during the day, when the sun shone out hot, I could hardly bear my sweet-smelling neighbour. Fortunately for me this agony did not last long, the calf departing this life three days afterwards.
From the spot where we started on the 18th of May, it was calculated that the Great Balkan was distant two days' march and Khiva a march of twelve days. Our guides hoped we should find rain water on the flat lands. We had last filled our canteens from the miry water of the two miserable water-tanks of Karendag, and such as it was, it had become, through being shaken up on the camels' backs, a liquid mass of mud, loathsome both to the smell and taste. We had, nevertheless, to be very economical in the use of it, for there was no prospect of obtaining any water before passing the Great Balkan. Our marching from this time onwards became more regular. We usually made three stoppages daily, of one hour and a half, and two hours' duration. The first was before daybreak, when we would bake one day's ration of bread; the second at noon, to afford some rest to both animals and men; and the third before sunset, in order to eat our modest supper, consisting of a little bread and of a few drops of water carefully doled out. The soil of the country through which we passed was a hard-baked clay producing scantily and at intervals a few blades of sickly grass. The blazing sun marked the whole surface with a thousand burning cracks. It is frightfully wearisome for the traveller to see before him everlastingly the boundless plain from which every vestige of life is banished, so much so that even the reaching of a new station is quite a relief, as it affords some rest from the rocking motion of the camel.
THE KARENDAG HILLS.
LITTLE BALKAN MOUNTAINS.On the following day, about noon, the Little Balkan Mountains loomed up before us in the hazy distance. The Turkomans spoke to me in the most laudatory strain of the extent and size of this mountain chain as well as of its beauty and wealth in minerals. The kervanbashi, otherwise always wakeful, feeling oppressed by sleep as the evening set in, left the caravan under the care of the leader of the camels, who led us into such danger that we were all near losing our lives. There are at the foot of the Balkan many salt marshes, covered with a thick white surface, formed by deposits of salt, which it is difficult to distinguish from the solid ground. Into one of these the substitute of the kervanbashi had taken us, and we had already advanced so far that the animals, owing to the shakiness of the ground under their feet, refused to go on in spite of all urging. We quickly jumped off our animals, and my fright may be imagined when upon touching ground I had a rocking sensation as if seated on a swing, the ground apparently giving way under my feet. The panic became general. Finally the kervanbashi called out that every one should remain where he was until sunrise, when we should be able to extricate ourselves from our perilous position. For three mortal hours we dared not stir and had to remain motionless in our places, having besides to suffer from the pungent soda smell, making our heads dizzy. At length the gray streak in the east assumed the rosy tints of dawn for which our hearts had been longing. With considerable trouble and exertion the caravan succeeding in getting out of this miry pitfall and in retracing their steps to the solid track. Had we advanced but a little farther into the salt marshes, part of the caravan, if not the whole, would have been doomed to certain destruction.
On the 20th of May we reached the Little Balkan, which stretches from the south-east to the north-west. We marched on along its foot on that day and the whole day following. The kervanbashi declared that we had but just now reached the veritable desert. We soon came to the ancient bed of the Oxus, and crossing it we entered on the opposite side a high plateau. CHARM OF THE DESERT.By and by the Balkan mountain chain vanished in the blue distance, and the desert in all its awful grandeur spread before us. Man is overwhelmed here by the idea of the infinite. The impression produced by the absence of all sounds, by the very change in the colour and appearance of the sun, is indescribable. Up to this time I always thought that the charm of the desert existed chiefly in the heated imagination of enthusiastic travellers, but I lived to be undeceived in this my supposition.
We camped near Yeti Siri on the 22nd of May. This place owes its name to seven wells which stood there in ancient times, and most of which are now dry. In one or two of them some little water may be found even now, but it is undrinkable owing to its salty taste and nasty smell. The kervanbashi comforted us with the hope of finding rain-water towards evening, but at this moment I was not disposed to exchange the remaining little water (abundantly mixed as it was with mud) which was left in my canteen for the ill-smelling contents of the wells. The animals were watered, and several of the men eagerly competed with them in drinking from this water. After resting a little we resumed our march and, on our way, happened to observe, on a sand mound, raised above the smaller heaps of sand, two empty kedsheves. In the opinion of my fellow-travellers these wooden baskets had belonged to some persons who had died on this spot; and the Turkomans hold in veneration every object once possessed by man. Strange anomaly! to look upon selling men into slavery and carrying desolation into a country as commendable acts, and to couple with such views a tender feeling of piety for a wooden basket—because, forsooth, a man had once sat in it.
We went towards evening with the kervanbashi and a couple of Turkomans, on foot, to look for the hoped-for rain-water. We were all well armed, and went in search of water in different directions. I followed the kervanbashi—with whom I had been on the best terms since the last collision with him. Suddenly he caught sight of footprints in the sand and, lighting our tinder, we followed them up by its feeble light, to the mouth of a cavern. We entered after a slight hesitation, and beheld there, to our utmost horror, a man in perfectly savage condition, with long, unkempt hair and beard, and enormous finger nails, wrapped in chamois skins. At our sight he, too, started, and seizing his lance made a rush at us. I retreated as quickly as I could, but my companion remained perfectly calm, and dropping the arm he had raised and saying in a low voice, "Aman bol!" (Peace be with thee!), he left the dreadful place. Not daring to ask too many questions, I learned from the kervanbashi, on returning, that the man we saw was "Kanli dir" (a man stained with blood). I was afterwards told that this unhappy being had fled from righteous revenge for bloodshed, and had been wandering for years, summer and winter, in the wilderness.
Our companions, like ourselves, returned with empty hands from their search for water, of which not the slightest indication could be found. It was an appalling thought that the few drops of muddy dregs I still possessed would be used up to-day. That evening I ate a few pieces of bread soaked in boiling water, for I had heard that the water lost its bitter taste by boiling. I determined patiently to bear everything, for in comparison to many of my companions I had every reason to be satisfied with my condition, inasmuch as I was in good health and they were suffering a great deal from the consequences of their having drunk from the brackish water. Some of the Turkomans were suspected of having secreted a quantity of drinkable water. But to rely upon being supplied, in the desert, with water belonging to another person, would be the height of madness; and indeed any one wishing to borrow or to beg water in the desert is looked upon as demented. I had lost my appetite and could not swallow even a few bits of bread. I dropped on the ground, exhausted and weak, and pitied my hard fate, when all at once I saw every one rising and flocking around the kervanbashi, and some persons beckoning to me to join them with my canteen. THIRST!The word "water" was enough to infuse new life into me; I jumped up from the ground I had been lying on, and on reaching the crowd I saw the kervanbashi dealing out about two glasses of clear sweet water to every member of the caravan. This brave Turkoman afterwards told us that for years he had been in the habit of storing away in secret places large quantities of water, to distribute it in times of great need, when every one is benefited by it. This is a great sevab (pious act), for a Turkoman proverb says: "One drop of water given to the thirsting in the desert will wash away the sins of a hundred years."
It is just as hard to determine the greatness of such a good action as it is to describe the enjoyment afforded by one swallow of sweet water. My craving for food was gone, I did not feel any more hunger, and thought I could bear being without water for three days. As far as drinking was concerned I was all right again, but it had all gone wrong with my bread. From want of appetite and in a fit of indolence I thought that instead of using wood for fuel, which it took some time to get as it was at some distance, I would use camel's dung—the regular fuel of the desert—but of this too I had gathered rather less than was needed. I placed the dough into the hot ashes, but there was not heat enough to bake it into bread, even if it had been left there for a week. I quickly ran off to gather some wood, but it was quite dark when I returned. I immediately set to kindling a little fire, but no sooner was it perceived by the kervanbashi, than he called out to ask "If I wished to betray by the smoke our caravans to the enemy?" I had to put out the fire at once, and take with me the unleavened bread half done.