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

by C. J. Wills

The post-boy by a nod now drew my attention to the distant ridges, and, to my delight, I saw a large party of horsemen pricking across the plain in our direction. On they came, but slowly, apparently not seeing us. They got within some five hundred yards undetected by the robbers or my guard, who were intent on the booty; and then, instead of making a charge and taking the robbers unawares, they commenced firing. This, of course, disclosed their presence, and my delight was great when I saw that they were irregular cavalry. The robbers, however, showed no sign of retreating; they returned the fire briskly, and the rescuers were much more in fear of them than they were of the cavalry.

“Bring along the Feringhi,” shouted several, and firing became brisk and promiscuous.

“Help me up with the load of grain on to the mule,” shouted my sole remaining guard in choice Persian, which till now he had not used: the other fellow had joined the rest of the robbers.

I pretended to comply, and affected to be unable to even move it.

With a curse he drew his knife and cut the bonds of the post-boy, and ordered him to assist him, placing his iron-headed stick on the ground. They struggled with the load, and I did a not very brave thing, but it was my only means of getting away—I seized the bludgeon and stunned my guard with it, and then the guide and I ran, under a brisk fire, for the cavalry. These men were now in retreat, and I was adjured by them to come along; but I could run no more, my stockinged feet being my only protection against the thorns; my feet were full of them, and I was now dead lame.

“Give me a horse,” I said.

“Run, sahib, they are on us,” said they.

I could not, however, and I replied, “I’m going back to the robbers,” and sat down. This was too much, and one of them dismounted and gave me his horse, running by my side. I now saw that we were rapidly moving off, pursued by the robbers; vague shooting out of all range was going on in every direction; and also as far as the eye could reach, isolated footmen with guns and sticks could be seen making the best of their way to the fight. Fortunately, we were mounted, for I could see two hundred men at least—they were Bakhtiaris. Discretion was decidedly the better part of valour. After some three hours’ cantering, we reached Yezdikhast at noon, and I was carried from my horse into a house; my feet, full of thorns, I was unable to put to the ground; my head, used to the protection of a sola topi, was covered only by a small pot hat of nammad, to the edge of which, when he gave it me, finding it did not fit, a friendly highwayman had given a gash with his knife, which enabled me to get it on. As he handed it to me, he made a significant gesture with his knife across his throat—a cheerful joke these men were prone to. I felt really ill after the excitement and exposure; for, though the nights were cold, the sun in the morning was very strong, and my feet were very painful and swollen; I could not walk.

Two old women now busied themselves in extracting the thorns from my feet, and they had three hours’ work. My feet were not right for a couple of months, and many thorns remained in. There were no horses in the post-house. I had no clothes and no money, and I was anxious to get on. A nice position!

And now came a curious episode of want of hospitality on the part of the khedkhoda (head-man of the village). Although he had led the horsemen who rescued me, and might naturally expect a handsome present, he would not lend or sell me a rag, nor would he give me any refreshment, though he knew me perfectly well, and was quite aware of my solvency. Neither could I get any food from him. So there was nothing for it but to have myself carried to the chupperkhana, and get what I could from the postmaster, a poor villager. I did get some clothes from him, but they were not over-clean, and I then persuaded him to give me credit for a dinner and my horse hire, and succeeded, after some wrangle, in a promise of both.