It is said in a Persian sacred book, the “Zend-Avesta,” written two hundred years before Christ, that Turkestan is one of the most ancient cradles of humanity. Tashkend, our new home, is a city a thousand years old. It was captured in 1865 by General Tsherniaeff. That country is as big as France and England put together, and has a population of eight millions.
The Emir of Bokhara, Saïd-Abdul-ul-Akhad-Khan, announced to my husband by wire his forthcoming arrival at St. Petersburg. He came to call on us, accompanied by his ministers, speechless with awe and veneration in his presence. The Sovereign of Bokhara was very magnificently clad in a superb khalat of brocade, a long robe cut straight, girded with a silver sash, wearing on his head a turban studded with precious stones, his breast adorned with decorations. When the official compliments were exchanged, it was my turn to entertain the Emir with the aid of an interpreter. Somewhat at a loss to open the conversation, I was trying to think of something to say that was suitable for the situation, and nearly began to make unnecessary announcements about the weather. In taking leave the Emir bestowed on my husband the Bokharian Order studded with big diamonds, and that same day there came a package for me from the Emir, a golden case containing a beautiful necklace of massive gold of the finest Oriental work, inlaid with precious stones.
It is impossible to postpone our journey to Tashkend any longer, my husband being called to his new post of duty because of the disturbances taking place in Andidjan, the capital of Fergan, a district of Turkestan. During the night from the 17th to 18th May, a revolt burst out. A band of Mussulmans, about 1,000 men, under the command of their ishan Mahomet-Ali-Halif, attacked the camp of our garrison from the side of the village Don Kishlak, adjoining the camp. The natives crept stealthily to the first barrack in which our soldiers were sleeping peacefully, and began to cut their throats. Starting up out of their sleep, the men of the neighbouring barracks drove their assailants back with the points of their bayonets. All the camp was soon astir and the Mussulmans retreated, carrying away their wounded. The “imam,” a pilgrim from Mecca, was one of the first to be killed, whilst he was reading the Koran to the rioters, who, in attacking our garrison, had planned the extermination of the whole Russian population, and putting everything to fire and sword, after having taken possession of our camp. The agitation in the country is settled down and active measures are taken against the rebels. The “ishan” is sentenced to death, together with the principal mutineers, whilst 500 natives will be exported to penal servitude to the Isle of Saghalien. I do pity these poor fanatics! Legends are told about this ishan; the story goes that some time before the last rebellion, a message from the Sultan had delivered to him a venerable relic, the hair and beard of the prophet, with the permission to commence a sacred war against the infidels. The population of Fergan, recently submitted to Russia, had attempted several times to raise a general rebellion against the Russians, nourishing towards them an implacable hatred. My husband will have to take strong measures to avoid a new outburst.
CHAPTER CXIX
OUR JOURNEY TO TASHKEND
May 26.—We started for Tashkend to-day. I will return to St. Petersburg in September to confer about the publishing of my “Memories,” which I issue for the benefit of the gymnasium of young ladies at Tashkend.
It is a long and tedious journey from St. Petersburg to Tashkend; we have to cover 4,600 miles to reach our new far-away abode.
A crowd of people had come to see us off and stood before the car which was put at our disposal as far as Petrovsk, one of the largest ports of the Caucasus. The next car was reserved for my husband’s suite.
The hour for departure approached. The train is moving and carrying us away on our long journey. I left St. Petersburg in a flood of tears.
May 30th.—We arrived at Petrovsk at eight o’clock in the morning, and took passage on the Alexis a boat bound to Krasnovodsk, the chief port of the Transcaspian provinces. We weighed anchor at 10 o’clock. Our voyage began under favourable auspices; the weather is very mild, not the slightest breeze ruffles the smooth surface of the water, but unfortunately, in even the most splendid weather, the rolling is felt in the Caspian Sea.