FLYING FROM TEKKES.No sooner did the kervanbashi hear the name of Tekke mentioned than he gave instant orders to retrace our steps. We were to retreat as fast as was compatible with the pace of the poor, heavily laden camels. Of course it was well-nigh an impossibility to get away with camels from Turkoman horses, but we counted that it would take until morning for one hundred and fifty horsemen to cross the river, and whilst they were cautiously reconnoitring we might safely reach Tunuklu. There we intended to fill our canteens with water and then to turn into the desert of Khalata, where we hoped to escape from the pursuit of the Tekkes. After tremendous exertions we arrived with our animals quite exhausted in Tunuklu. Here we had to remain until our animals were rested and fed, for in their present condition they could not have reached the first station in the desert. We passed three mortal hours in unquestionable anxiety, making our preparations for the awful journey, and the sun had not set when our caravan was wending its way, from the ruins of Tunuklu, along the road leading to Khalata.
Knowing the terrors of the desert as we did, one may easily imagine with what feelings myself and my fellow-travellers commenced this new journey through the desert. We had travelled from Gomushtepe to Khiva in the month of May, and now we were in July; then we found some rain-water, now we should not find even salt-water. With what longing did we look at the Oxus, on whose bosom the setting sun was casting a halo of light, as it receded, to the right, from our sight. The very animals, dumb as they were, kept their eyes continuously in that direction. The sky was covered already with stars when we reached the sandy desert. We proceeded as noiselessly as possible for fear of attracting the attention of the Turkomans whom we thought not to be far off. They could not possibly see us in the darkness of the night, and the moon would rise late. The soft ground prevented the noise of the tramp of the animals being heard, and the only thing we apprehended was that one of our animals might take it into its head to give us a specimen of its charming voice. Fortunately the spirit of singing did not descend on any of them. About midnight we reached a place where all of us had to dismount, as the animals were wading knee deep in the fine sand.
Our station on the morning of the 5th of July was called Adamkirilgan, that is, man destroyer, and one glance taken at the surrounding objects was sufficient to prove the propriety of this appellation. As far as the eye could reach, nothing but sand, sand, now like the stormy sea lashing itself into tremendous waves, now again presenting the spectacle of the rippling caused by gentle breezes on the bosom of a calm lake. No bird can be seen in the air, nor insect on the earth; all the eye can discover here and there are the sad signs of decay, the skeletons of lost men and animals, which are placed in a heap by the travellers in order to serve them as a guide. Here, of course, we were safe from the Turkomans, for there is no horse in the world capable of walking the distance of one station through this sand. According to our kervanbashi's statement the journey from Tunuklu to Bokhara, generally took six days, three through the sand and three on solid ground, covered here and there with grass. We had to fear then, altogether, one day's or one and a half day's want of water. But I observed on the very first day that the water of the Oxus we had with us upset all our calculations, as it diminished with frightful rapidity in spite of our utmost economy, a phenomenon which I attributed to evaporation. Everybody of course guards his skin most carefully, and jealously hugs it close to his bosom when asleep. We marched six hours every day in spite of the dreadful heat, wishing to get out of the sandy desert as soon as possible; for if we happened to be caught dozing in the sand for only a few seconds by the murderous tebbad wind, the lives of the whole caravan would be in danger, whilst on the solid ground of the desert beyond, such a tebbad visitation involved only an attack of high fever. The forced march had worn out our camels to such an extent that two of them died on the 6th of July.
Our toilsome march had now lasted three days; the scorching heat enervated us all and reduced our strength. Two of our poorer companions, who had been compelled, owing to the inferiority of their animals, to trudge by their side on foot, had consumed all the water they had, and became, for want of it, so sick that they had to be tied to the backs of the camels, being unable both to walk and to sit upright. They were covered up besides. As long as their voices did not desert them, they were constantly begging for water. It is the pitiful truth, alas! that their best friends denied them the boon of a few drops of the life-giving elixir, and it was reserved for grim death to be more generous and relieve one of them from the pangs of thirst on reaching Medemin Bulag, at which place he expired. I was near the unhappy man when he had breathed his last. His tongue had turned quite black, his throat was of a grayish white, but his features were not overmuch discomposed, except his mouth, which was gaping, owing to the shrunken state of his lips. I am not sure if the bathing of water would have been of any benefit to the poor fellow, but the thought that nobody attempted to save the dying man by offering him one swallow of water did not cease to haunt me for many a day to come. The father hides his liquid store from his son, the brother from his brother, for every drop of it not only represents life but relief from the dreadful torture of thirst, the fear of the latter banishing that self-sacrifice and generous-mindedness which we often have an opportunity to witness on other occasions of danger and peril.
The Khalata mountains which signalize the beginning of the hard-soiled desert, were not yet within sight. Our camels were unable to proceed, their weakness and fatigue necessitating a further stay of one day, the fourth day, amid the burning sand of the desert. THIRST AND DESPAIR.My store of water was reduced to about six glasses of water, which I kept in my leather flask; of this I durst not drink more than a drop at a time, the consequence being that I was constantly suffering from thirst. To my horror I discovered a black spot in the middle part of my tongue, and this was sufficient to make me at once swallow one half of my store. I thought I was saved, but on the following morning a burning sensation accompanied by a violent headache made itself felt, more and more, and by the time the Khalata mountains loomed up in the distant horizon like towering blue clouds, my strength gradually failed me. The nearer we drew to the mountains the scarcer the sand became, and every eye was eagerly looking out for some herd or shepherd's hut. All of a sudden some one called the kervanbashi's attention to an approaching cloud of dust, who seeing it became deadly pale with fright, and exclaimed: "This is the tebbad." Every one dismounted at once from the camels. The animals were quicker to feel the approach of the stifling wind and had knelt down, roaring loud, on the ground, laying down their long necks flat before them, and trying to hide their heads in the sand. We used the animals as a bulwark against the coming storm, crouching down near them, and hardly had we time to do so when the wind swept over our heads with a deep roar, covering us with a layer of sand of the thickness of half an inch, its first grains burning as like drops of fiery rain. Had we been attacked by the tebbad five miles more inland, we should have been all irretrievably destroyed. I did not observe the symptoms of fever attended with vomiting which are said to be the effects of this wind, but the atmosphere became sensibly heavier and more oppressive.
We scrambled up when it was over, and found to our intense satisfaction after a short while that the sand was gone. From three roads which led from the edge of the sandy desert to Bokhara we chose the shortest one, and resuming our march we came, towards evening, across several wells that had not been visited, even by herdsmen, this year. The water we found in them was unfit for man, but the animals drank their fill from it. We were all of us in the last stages of exhaustion, and nothing but hope kept up the spark of life within our enfeebled frames. Coming to the next station I was not able to get off my animal without assistance, and was taken down and laid on the ground. I felt a dreadful internal fire and my head stupified by the violence of the headache. My pen has no power to describe the tortures of thirst unallayed which I underwent at that moment, nor do I think there is any more painful mode of death, for I had hitherto bravely faced all kind of dangers, keeping up my manhood—but now I was completely broken down; I felt my power of resistance had deserted me and had no hopes of ever surviving the night. Towards noon we took up our march again; I fell asleep, and on awaking on the 10th of July I found myself lying on the ground in a mud hut, surrounded by men with long beards whom I at once recognized as natives of Iran. They first administered to me tepid milk, then I had to take some sour milk mixed with salt and water, called ayran by them, and very soon recovered my strength from the combined effect of both these beverages. AMONG SLAVES.I now learned that, together with my companions, we were the guests of a couple of Persian slaves camping here, in the desert, at a distance of forty miles from Bokhara, they having charge of large flocks of sheep, but being very sparingly provided with bread and water, so as to prevent them from making an attempt to escape. Yet these Persians, poor slaves as they were, had the broad charitableness which gives water to their ancient and inveterate foes, the Sunnite mollahs. They became particularly kind to me when they heard me addressing them in their native language, the Persian. The sight of a child-boy only five years old, who was also a slave, inspired me with feelings of profoundest pity. He had been taken prisoner two years ago, together with his father; and being asked the particulars of his life he answered: "My father has bought (ransomed) himself; nor am I to remain a slave above two years, for my father will earn the necessary money to set me free by that time." The poor child had hardly a rag to cover his nakedness, and his skin was as dark as tanned leather.
XXIII.
IN BOKHARA.
