At four stages from Tiflis we had our luggage put on camels to be brought on to Erivan, and went on ourselves in the tarantass, with never less than five horses. The most slashing races take place on the road, as he who succeeds in presenting his padoroschna (or permit to take post-horses) first, takes as many horses as he needs; and if the roads are bad often takes all, as he wishes to be well ahead of rival travellers.
In Erivan we are in savage Russia—the people are the ugliest and dirtiest we have yet come across. At the so-called hotel they gave us two wooden bunks with mattresses—a great luxury after the post-houses without. Our servant, a ferocious Persian lent us by the consul at Tiflis, named Mahommed Ali, having ordered water for washing, the waiter, if the greasy ruffian could be dignified with that title, asked if it would not do in the morning.
On being sworn at in Turkish and Russian by Mahommed Ali, and afterwards beaten in the passage, water in one brass jug and one basin was brought, and the Russian stood by to pour it over our hands—this is the cleanly mode of performing one’s ablutions here. The fellow then brought a dirty towel, on which Mahommed Ali again remonstrated with him in the passage in a forcible manner; in this sort of thing Mahommed Ali is very useful.
On leaving Erivan, which was covered with snow, we reached in a day and night Nakchewan; round this place I saw cotton bushes—of course they were bare. Here we rested a night.
Going on next morning, we came to Julfa, the frontier village of a few hovels. Crossing the river Araxes, a shallow stream, we put up in the windowless telegraph office. As we saw nothing but snow since we left Tiflis, there has been little to describe in the way of scenery; as may be fancied, the cold was intense. We are now in Persia.
CHAPTER II.
POST JOURNEY TO THE CAPITAL.
Preparations for the start—Costume—Chaff bed—First fall—Extra luggage—The whip—Stages and their length—Appearance of the country, and climate—First stage—Turk guides—Welcome rest—Weighing fire-wood—Meana bug—Turcomanchai—Distances—New friends—Palace of Kerrij.
At Julfa, on the Araxes—a muddy stream, when we were there, easily fordable—is the Persian frontier, and here our horse-journey was to begin. The tarantass was sold a bargain to the postmaster. A change of clothes and boots and a few flannel shirts were stuffed in the “koorjins,” or saddle-bags, made of rough carpet; boots were greased and put on, so were spurs; and I, in my innocence, at the instigation of the saddler, who I suppose wished to get rid of them, had provided myself with a pair of huge long brass ones, such as were worn by the barons of melodrama, and palmed off on me as real Mexican persuaders adapted for long journeys—these awful things the Colonel suggested I should do without, but I did not like to be shorn of any of my splendour, and I wore them. At first I spurred myself considerably when walking, but I got over this, and no doubt they added to the picturesqueness of my get-up. Fur-cap, “horsey” box-cloth pilot-jacket, with big horn buttons, cords and boots, also a huge courier’s whip and fur gloves, made, to my youthful mind, a striking picture, and I greatly appreciated myself.
At Tiflis we had provided ourselves with bags, some seven feet long and four feet wide—these bags were to be filled with chaff, of which there is an abundance, at each station. It is called “kah,” and is the ordinary horse-feed, some of it being always in the manger; at this the Persian horse persistently munches; when he has had a bellyful of it he gets his morning or evening feed—never before. This rather primitive mattress is soft, cool in summer, warm in winter, free from insects, and there is no bed to carry.