We have, or rather had, for I write while waiting to start, our tent on a small tell separated by a dip in the ground from the Salamat encampment. The ground here is covered with a horrid little spiked grass, like miniature barley to look at, which pricks through everything. Its barbed thorns are like fish-hooks, very difficult to extract, and all our clothes and bedding are full of them.
Wilfrid spent the day lying down in the tent, able to talk though tired. The people here are not ill-bred, and they have even been kind to us. Their Sheykh, Abeyeh, with several of his friends, and relations, came to see us soon after our arrival. Abeyeh told us that his tribe belongs to the Ahl es-Shimal, and he knows all about the tribes of the Hamád and their horses. His brother Rashid showed us a very beautiful grey colt, which he offered to exchange for our hamra mare, who is suffering from a sore back. The colt is too young, or might have been worth taking; the owner says he would not part with it but that the Shahzade has intimated an intention of buying it. The Shahzade is, it seems, in the habit of purchasing all the good-looking horses he hears of, and does not pay for them, but he does not take mares; this, at least, is the tale told to us. Our mare, though thoroughbred, is in such wretched condition that the Shahzade would hardly care to seize her.
Abeyeh readily agreed to escort us to Ram Hormuz with six khayal, Rashid proposed to accompany us on foot as camel driver, and Aga Ibrahim (from Hassan Khan’s), also offers to go on. It is five o’clock, time to pack.
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Eight o’clock. Wilfrid felt so ill an hour ago that all these arrangements seemed to be vain. But he is better, and now we are off.
April 14.—Our new plan of travelling by night seems to answer well. Wilfrid was able to go on from nine till five o’clock. He is recovering, though reduced to the extreme of thinness. The heat during the day is insufferable, and even if there had been no cause of anxiety, we could hardly have continued marching by day. The flies are intolerable, they follow us, and are found everywhere; at night when we are riding they are sitting in swarms upon our heads, and if driven off, perch again in spite of darkness. However, in the dark they are quiet unless disturbed, which is some small relief. Last night our track went a good deal up and down, crossing small ravines and watercourses, and pools and ditches full of water. Sometimes we waded through tall grass, splendid stuff, growing quite wild and uncared for. The moon serves us hardly at all, but we could see dimly by starlight. The constellation of the Scorpion is now our guide, rising as it does in the south-east. I have slept little lately, and once last night I fell fast asleep on horseback, and woke with a start at a sound of munching. It was my mare grazing eagerly knee-deep in wild oats. Where the camels were I could not see, but heard them soon afterwards some way off ahead. Wilfrid bore up as long as he could, till at five o’clock he said he could not go a yard further, and we camped for the day, pitching the tent on a tell commanding all surrounding tells. Our escort objected to this halt. “The Shirazi will come down from those hills and rob us,” said Abeyeh, “and the town of Ram Hormuz is only three or four hours further. Let us go on.” His objection was natural; this is very exposed ground, and close to us on the north rises a range of crags, from which the Shirazi robbers may be watching us. But perched on the tell we get a little air, and this is worth some risk. Besides, they have not come yet, and we shall he gone presently. Abeyeh argued in vain; if there had been legions of robbers in sight, I don’t think Wilfrid would have moved. He was indeed unfit to stir, and has been lying on the ground under the shade of the tent ever since. A halt like this is not much of a rest; the heat is too overpowering, the flies too troublesome. Beyond the rocky range we see high snow peaks, very tantalising in this furnace, and looking the other way, there is just below us a fine piece of meadow land on the banks of a running stream. In all the hollows there is rich pasture. Abeyeh and his men have kept a good look-out, some posted about on heights, and the rest watching the mares hobbled, and turned loose to graze.
It is four o’clock; the heat lessening, and Wilfrid says he is ready to go on. We must pack.
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April 15.—We have at last reached Ram Hormuz, or as it is pronounced “Ramuz.” We left our bivouac on the tell at five o’clock yesterday afternoon. Wilfrid tried riding on horseback, but found the effort too great, and had to give it up and mount his delúl. Our way lay through more long grass, and ditches, and water. I, as sleepy as the night before, was constantly dozing off and waking suddenly in the middle of some long dream, unable to remember where I was. There is nothing so painful as this struggle with sleep, and it lasted all night long. At last we came suddenly in sight of some camp fires about half a mile away to our right, and Abeyeh, fearing to advance further, ordered a halt. There was danger, he said, in coming on an encampment unawares, lest we should be taken for enemies. We did not stop to argue, but with delight obeyed, and in a few minutes were sound asleep upon the ground—nor did we wake till day was already breaking.
A discussion now arose what further was to be done. The tents, we were informed, belonged to the Khamis, an Arab tribe, half Bedouin, half fellah, and Abeyeh was for spending the day with them. But the sound sleep had done Wilfrid good, and as it grew light we could see the palm groves of Ram Hormuz, apparently ten miles off, and we knew that there we should get refuge from the sun. So leaving the rest to follow or not as they would—we got on our horses and started at a gallop, Shiekha and Sayad bounding on in front of us delighted at this unexpected run. At first there was no road, and we got entangled in a series of watercourses, but scrambling through these we reached a footpath where the going was good, and presently overtook a party of Arabs, men and women, riding in on donkeys to market at the town. They all expressed themselves much pleased to see us, taking us to be Arabs like themselves, and here in Persia they always seem delighted to meet their countrymen. They pointed us out the town, for there was more than one grove of palms, and in the mirage which hid everything as the sun rose, we had lost sight of it. At half-past six we stopped at the ferraz-bashi’s door, and in another minute were sitting in a cool court-yard under the shade of a wall, waiting till the respectable functionary, our host, had finished his devotions.