We took the Shustar road this morning, a well-travelled track, passing at first through corn-fields and villages, and then across a fine plain of grass. The soil here looks richer than any I have ever seen in any part of the world, and it is well-watered and wooded with canora trees. We are marching parallel with the mountains, a lovely range crowned with snow, and quite 8000 to 10,000 feet above the sea. Immediately to our right, a wonderful square-topped hill stands out in front of the main range; a diz, or fortress, the people call it. We have passed several encampments of Bactiari; wild-looking people, who when you ride up to their tents, run at once to their guns as though they expected constantly to be attacked. They are guarded by some of the most ferocious dogs I ever saw, which were with difficulty prevented from attacking Shiekha and Sayad. Their masters, however, are not inhospitable when things are explained, and we had several basins of milk offered us on the way. From them we have learned that the Khani, as they call their chief, is somewhere on the road, and the prospect has cheered us not a little. To-night we are encamped all alone, except for the company of an old Arab and his wife, who joined us on the road—Chaab Arabs they call themselves—who have been useful, helping us with the camels. There are many Bedouin Arabs, it appears, in this part of Persia. We have got a sheep to-night, and are to have a feast.
April 6.—The Bactiari tents are like those of the Arabs, but the men are dressed as I have described the Seguand, and Kerim Khan’s people. They keep horses, and carry lances or guns, but I saw no horses which seemed well-bred. Early in the morning a man came from one of their tents, and told us that the Khani had passed the night not ten miles from where we were, at a place called Obeyd, which our two guides from Kerim Khan knew well. It lay off the high-road to the left, just under the square-topped hill we noticed yesterday. Though anxious now to get on to Shustar, where alone we can procure servants (and they are a necessity we feel more and more every day), we could not of course forego our visit to Ali Koli’s father, and taking a line in the direction pointed out, struck out to the north somewhat back from our yesterday’s line of march. It was a rough bit of travelling over broken rocky ground, cut up here and there with streams. Very beautiful, however, for in every hollow there grew real turf brilliantly green, and sprinkled over with borage flowers and anemones; and wherever there was a pool of water, frogs were croaking among the weeds. Our progress was slow, for Assad, one of our men, had bought a donkey at the camp, with a new born foal, and as the foal could not walk, he carried it before him on his horse. He was continually letting it slip off, and stopping to hoist it up again. Towards nine o’clock, we came to a ridge of limestone, overlooking a wide valley out of which the square crag we had been following rose like a wall of masonry, five hundred feet or more; beyond which again, lay the snow range of the Bactiari. While we were looking and admiring, we heard shots fired, and knew that there must be a camp in the valley, the Khani’s, we hoped, and so it proved. But before descending, the two Persians insisted upon going through an elaborate furbishing of themselves and their clothes. There was a little pool close by, and there they washed and combed themselves, and then washed their clothes, spreading them afterwards on the rocks to dry. We in the meanwhile found a bit of shade under a rock and slept. It was about noon when we woke and went down to the valley, where we presently saw a large building, the fort of Obeyd, with half-a-dozen white canvas tents grouped round it. This was Huseyn Koli Khan’s travelling camp, and the fort was also his. It is modern and in good repair, a square building flanked with towers, surrounding a courtyard.
In the middle of the camp stood the Khani’s reception tent like a great umbrella, for the side walls were taken down for the heat. There Huseyn Koli sat in state surrounded by a kind of court.
Huseyn Koli Khan is the greatest chieftain of all Western Persia. He is said to be able to put 20,000 horsemen into the field, and this may very well be true, as the whole of the south-western slopes of the mountains are occupied by his tribe. In person he is imposing without being particularly good-looking; he is a thick-set rather heavy man, with a broad face, brown beard and hair, and I think grey eyes. He reminds me of a picture I have seen somewhere of Ghenghis Khan, or another Mongul prince, from whom it is not altogether impossible he may be descended. His manner is very straightforward and plain, and he gives one the impression of being altogether an honest man. He received us very cordially, made us sit down by him in the middle of his courtiers who were standing obsequiously round him, and gave us some cups of excellent tea.
The manner of tea-making in Persia deserves notice, inasmuch as the tea is there put into the boiling water, while with us the boiling water is poured on the tea; and tea made in the Persian fashion is without the bitter taste too often the result of our method.
We spent an hour or two thus with the Khan, giving him the latest news of his son, who it appears is expected daily now from Ahwas, and learning much about the road which still lies between us and Bushire. The Khan is on his way to Teheran, where he has rank under the Shah as a general in the army, so is unable to invite us to visit him in the mountains where his home is, and where he keeps the stud of Arab mares for which his name is famous. This would be more unfortunate if we did not now recognise the necessity of getting without further delay to the coast. The weather in the last two days has become suddenly hot, and it would be folly to allow ourselves to be caught by the summer with so long a march before us. Besides, we are hardly in such travelling order as to allow of great experiments. In spite of all our exertions, and all our offers of high wages, we cannot get any one to drive our camels. The fact is, the camel is almost as strange a beast here as he would be in England, and camel-drivers about as scarce. So we are to go to Shustar to-morrow accompanied by a confidential man of the Khani’s, who will put us into good hands.
We had a grand debate on returning to our tent whether or not to send presents to our host; but on Hajji Mohammed’s advice, and rather against our own judgment, at last did so. But our host would receive nothing, saying that it was for him to do honour to his guests, and that he wanted nothing. He has sent us a most excellent dinner now, consisting of half-a-dozen really well-cooked dishes, things we had not tasted since we left Bagdad. There is also a live lamb to take with us to-morrow, and two large boxes of sweetmeats made of fruits and flowers.
April 7.—Our visit to Huseyn Koli Khan, though a disappointment in some ways, for it was but a morning call, has been none the less a good fortune to us. The confidential man whom the Khan sent with us brought us early into Shustar, and through his intervention we are now comfortably established in a really delightful place, the deserted palace of the Shahzade, or Prince Governor of the province, which is to us as a haven of repose, fortress and palace and garden in one. But all this requires description.
Shustar from the river is extraordinarily like Dizful. The Karkería, on which it stands, is the Diz over again, but I think a larger river; and there is a stone bridge apparently of the same date. The bridge of Shustar is a fine work. It is the broadest I have ever seen out of Europe, for one might drive a coach across it but for the holes; and it is quite fifty feet high above the water. The most singular feature of it is that it is built in a zigzag, and that it has immense piers to the buttresses, some of which seem to have held waterwheels. The parapet is very low, and the whole thing so much out of repair, that crossing it as we did, in a hurricane of wind, we were rather nervous about the camels. Below it is an immense weir, over which the river falls with a deafening roar. A fine arched gateway shuts it off from the city, and just above stands the castle, where we are.
Shustar seems a larger town than Dizful, but it is said to be less flourishing. They both have great empty spaces within the walls, and plenty of ruins. The kalat is an immense rambling place, enclosing a number of different buildings. First, there are rows of vaulted buildings, intended probably for barracks, with a large outer court, full just now of green pasture, a sort of mallow, on which we have turned our camels out to graze. These outbuildings are two storeys high, with loop-holes to shoot out of. From the outer court a paved causeway leads up to a narrow gate, the entrance of an inner castle, built round a large square court, with trees and flower-beds in the middle. From this again a flight of fifteen steps leads up to a terrace, garden, and pavilion three storeys high. This last is the hammam, and is the building specially placed at our disposal. The Shahzade is absent, and the only inhabitants of his kalat are a garrison of about a dozen soldiers, but they live in the outer circle of buildings, and will not disturb us. The prince-governor’s absence is a disadvantage to us, although we profit by it to inhabit his house, for our letters are to him, and we do not know what sort of wakil he has left here. To-day, however, we have seen nobody, and have been very happy and content in the coolness and peace of all around. Only the river makes a distant roar, far below, for from the terrace one looks sheer down at least eighty feet to the water.