It was the end of March when we set out to drive the thirty miles from Andijan to Osh. We packed ourselves, our suit-cases and the lunch-basket into a little victoria, while Achmet, the Russian Tartar cook we had engaged at Tashkent, accompanied our heavy baggage in the diligence. The sky was overcast with heavy clouds, so there was no glare from the sun, and the rain of the previous night had laid the dust on the broad road full of ruts and holes. Ploughing was in full swing, barley some inches high in the fields, fruit blossom everywhere, and the poplars and willows planted along the countless irrigation channels made a delicate veil of pale green. Beyond the cultivation lay bare rolling hills, behind which rose the lofty mountain ranges which we must cross before we could reach our destination.
The whole country seemed thickly populated, and we passed through village after village teeming with life, the source of which is the river, which ran at this time of year in a surprisingly narrow stream in its broad pebbled bed, and was so shallow that men on foot or on donkey-back were perpetually crossing it. Tortoises were emerging from their winter seclusion, the croak of the frog filled the land, hoopoes and the pretty doves which are semi-sacred and never molested flew about, and the ringing cry of quail and partridge sounded from cages in which the birds were kept as pets.
The men, if not busied with agriculture, were usually fast asleep or drinking tea on the mud platforms in front of their dwellings, and the gaily clad women slipped furtively from house to house, or, if riding, sat on a pillion behind the men. In fine contrast to her veiled sisters was a handsome Kirghiz lady following her husband on horseback through the Osh bazar, and making a striking figure in a long green coat, her head and chin wrapped in folds of white that left her massive earrings exposed to view. She rode astride every whit as well as the man did, exchanged remarks freely with him, and was moreover holding her child before her on the saddle. Other women were carrying cradles which must have made riding difficult, and often a child stood behind, clinging to its mother’s shoulders. On entering the native town of Osh, mentioned in Baber’s Memoirs as being unsurpassed for healthiness and beauty of situation, we passed a mosque with such a badly constructed mud dome that it looked like a turnip, and made our way along a broad tree-planted Russian road to the nomera. This was a house with “furnished apartments to let,” and the small rooms, by no means overclean, were supplied with beds, tables and chairs. We set to work to unpack our camp things, and sent Achmet out to buy bread, butter, meat, eggs, etc., for our two hundred and sixty mile ride to Kashgar.
Our host made no pretensions to supply food, but exactly opposite our lodgings was the officers’ mess; with true Russian hospitality its members invited us to take our meals there, and next day at lunch we met a dozen officers, with their jovial, long-haired chaplain in black cassock with a broad silver chain and crucifix round his neck. Luckily for me there were a couple of officers who spoke German, though the others threatened them with heavy fines for daring to converse in the language of the Huns. In spite of the Tsar’s edict, vodka and wine flowed freely (the doctor had evidently given medical certificates liberally to the mess) and numerous toasts were drunk, every one clinking his glass with my brother’s and mine as the health of King George, the Tsar, our journey, and so on were given. All were most kind, though I could have wished Russian entertainments were not so long—that luncheon lasted over three hours—and we left in a chorus of good wishes for our ride to Kashgar.
We were roused early next morning by the arrival of our caravan of small ponies, and with much quarrelling on the part of their drivers the loads were at last adjusted. We had our saddles put on a couple of ill-fed animals and started off beside the rushing river on our first stage of twenty miles. The ponies were very inferior to the fine mules with which we had travelled in Persia, and our particular steeds would certainly have broken down long before we reached Kashgar if we had not dismounted and walked at frequent intervals throughout the whole journey.
At first the road was excellent as we left pretty little Osh nestling under Baber’s “mountain of a beautiful figure,” and made our way up a highly cultivated valley towards the distant snowy peaks. We were escorted by a fine-looking Ming Bashi or “Commander of a Thousand,” who had a broad velvet belt set with bosses and clasps of handsome Bokhara silver-work. He wore the characteristic Kirghiz headgear, a conical white felt with a turned-up black brim, and four black stripes, from the back to the front and from side to side of the brim, meeting at the top and finishing off with a black tassel. We were to see this headgear constantly during the next eight months, as it is worn throughout Chinese Turkestan and the Pamirs. Owing to the presence of these Ming Bashis we met with extreme consideration, village Begs and their servants escorting us at every stage and securing the right of way for us with caravans. This was a privilege that for my part I keenly appreciated, as the track, when it skirted the flanks of the mountains, was hardly ever wide enough for one animal to pass another, and I had no wish to be pushed out of my saddle over the precipice by the great bales of cotton that formed the load of most of the ponies we met. These officials usually secured some garden or field, a place of trees and running water, where we could lunch and rest at mid-day, and often they brought a silken cushion which they offered to my brother. They were surprised when he handed it on to me, for in Mohamedan countries the woman is considered last—if at all.
In the Osh district horses, camels, donkeys, cows, goats and sheep were in abundance, the sheep having the dumba or big bunch of fat as a tail, which nourishes the animal when grass runs short during the winter months. They had long hair like goats and rabbit-like ears, were coloured black, white, brown, grey or buff, and looked far larger in proportion than the undersized cattle and ponies. On the road we saw many of the characteristic carts that had immensely high wheels with prominent hubs. The driver sat on a saddle on the horse’s back, supporting his feet on the shafts, thereby depriving the animal of half its strength for pulling the load and proving that this nation of born riders has not grasped the elementary principles of driving. These carts had no sides, but carried their loads in a curious receptacle of trellis-work, as shown in the illustration.
CART USED IN THE OSH DISTRICT.
Page 26.