In the land of the lion and sun, or, modern Persia

by C. J. Wills

A call to a patient—Start on post-horses—No horses—I carry a lantern—The Bakhtiaris—Fall among thieves—They strip me—And march me off—Mode of disguise of thieves—Attacked by footmen—Division of spoils—Fate of a priest—Valuing my kit—Ignorance of my captors—A welcome sight—My escape—I get a horse—Reach Yezdikhast—Old women get thorns out of my feet—Want of hospitality of head-man of Yezdikhast—Arrive at Kūmishah—Kindness of a postmaster—More robbers—Avoid them—Am repaid for my lost kit—Fate of my robbers.

The roads are not safe, and at night are dangerous; but with a man ill at the one end of the division, two hundred and fifty miles off, and the doctor at the other, the only thing for the doctor to do is to go to his patient as fast as possible.

Had I been going to march, I should have applied to the Persian authorities for a strong guard, and it would have been provided, but in posting this is impossible. It was the height of the famine time; in place of six or eight horses in each post-house, all well up to their work, two or three was the maximum, and these mere living skeletons, and I knew that at some stages all had died. I had never been looted, and, trusting to my luck, I sent for horses; but I felt that looting was likely. I took no gold watch, but only an aluminium one, and as little money as possible. Beyond my clothes I had nothing valuable save a case of instruments belonging to Government, that I required at Ispahan.

By this time I had begun to pique myself on the rate I could get over the ground “en chuppar;” and I had established a rule in my own mind that there were two ways of posting, and two only: going when there was light; and going as long as horses were to be had, day and night. Anything else was of little use, as one could not go faster than the latter mode, and if one wanted to go more slowly than the former, one might as well march. In the famine time nothing but water and firing was to be got, and so the journey was naturally a thing to be got over as soon as possible: also in this particular instance I was going to see a patient, and so was bound to be smart.

Off I went about noon from Shiraz at a sharp canter, preceded by my servant and followed by the guide, for one has to separate them or they lose time in chattering. The servant yelled, whipped, jobbled his horse with his sharp native stirrups, and generally behaved as a lunatic. On emerging from the town he exhorted me frequently to come on, and took as much out of himself and his horse as possible. When we got to Zergūn, six farsakhs, we had done it, over the good road on the plain, under the two hours and a half. The next stage to Seidoon is over a sandy plain, which, in wet weather, is a very bad road indeed, and rough causeways have to be gone over to keep out of the morasses. But we had had no rain for two years, and all the way it was good going. We reached Seidoon half-an-hour after sunset, and here my man began to suggest that we should stop to sleep. I made him understand that as long as I could find horses I was bound to go on; but he seemed to fail to see that that rule applied to him.

On we went still, having kept to our two farsakhs (or eight miles) an hour, including stoppages, and reached Kawamabad at nine at night; here the road was less level, and my man would lag behind.

The moon was high, and the scenery is very pretty—long stretches of what in other times is turf and plenty of big trees.

At about six A.M. we got to Moorghāb. Here we had to feed the horses, which caused a delay of an hour and a half, and it was eleven before we reached Dehbeed, having done very badly thirty farsakhs in twenty-three hours. These two severe stages on famished animals had destroyed all chance of a quick journey. We had walked the greater part of the last stage, which, with the one we had done before it, are two of the longest in this part of Persia, being each a good twenty-seven miles, though called six farsakhs. From Dehbeed we cantered over an undulating plain to Khonakhora; the going was good, but the poor beasts constantly fell from weakness, and I could not spare them. Again at Khonakhora there were no horses, and I had to stop two hours to rest the old ones, not getting to Sūrmeh till two hours after midnight, and having to walk and drive the wretched beasts the greater part of the way. Here my man was unable to go any further, the walking of the last stage had been too much for him: there was nothing for it but to leave him to come on as he pleased, and that thoroughly suited him.

At dawn I reached Abadeh, the parting with the servant and consequent wrangle having taken up nearly an hour. I hardly knew the place; generally the approach to Abadeh is through smiling gardens and vineyards, and heavy crops are grown in the neighbourhood; now nothing. The people besieged me in the chupperkhana for money. I was able to get two broken-down horses; my own fell seven times in the first hour from weakness, and the distance to Shūrgistan—over, happily, a good and level road—is six farsakhs, a good twenty-four miles; it was two in the afternoon before I could leave Shūrgistan, and, as usual, there were no horses.

I was told at this place that the road was very dangerous, but confident in my being a European, and being also armed, I did not think there was much to fear. We crawled into Yezdikhast over an undulating fairly good road at sunset, the horses both lying down on entering the courtyard; they had come the thirteen farsakhs in twelve hours, but were so weak that I doubted being able to start before morning, but the information I had at Abadeh by wire made me desirous of pushing on; my patient’s state was critical, and at eleven P.M., finding that the horses could stand, I started.