That vast and various region of sandy deserts and fertile valleys, of broad open plains and lofty highlands, which extends eastward from the Caspian Sea to the borders of Afghanistan, and from Persia northward to the confines of Siberia, is known to geographers by the name of Turkistan, or “the country of the Turks.” Across it, from north to south, strikes the massive chain of the Bolor-tagh, dividing it into two unequal portions. The western division is popularly known as Independent Tartary, or Great Bokhara; it covers an area of nearly 900,000 square miles—that is, it is ten times as large as Great Britain—and it consists of the arid sandy plain of the Caspian and Aral Seas, and of the hilly districts which skirt the ranges of the Bolor-Tagh, the Thian-Shan, and the Hindu Kush. The eastern division, or Upper Tartary, probably contains 700,000 square miles, and extends from Asiatic Russia on the north to Thibet and Kashmir on the south, from Mongolia on the east to the Bolor-Tagh on the west. The Thian-Shan separates its two provinces, which the Chinese call Thian-Shan-Pe-lû and Thian-Shan-Nan-lû. The reader’s attention, however, will be here directed only to Western Turkistan, which is divided into the Khanates of Khokan (north-east), Badakshan (south-east), Bokhara (east), and Khiva (west). To the north stretch the steppes of the nomadic Kirghiz; to the south the hills and dales are occupied by the hordes of the Turkomans. Its two great rivers are the Amu-Daria and the Syr-Daria, the ancient Oxus and Jaxartes,—the former traversing the centre, and the latter the south of the district, on their way to the great Arabian Sea; and the valleys through which they flow, as well as those of their tributary streams, are mostly fertile and pleasant. As might be inferred from the character of the country, the chief resources of the population are the breeding of domestic animals, and the cultivation of the soil; but in the towns of Khokand, Bokhara, Urgondji, and Karshi, a brisk manufacturing industry flourishes, which disposes of its surplus produce, after the local demand is satisfied, to the merchants of Russia, Persia, India, and China.
Since 1864, the supremacy of Russia has been steadily advancing in Western Turkistan. In ordinary circumstances, the extension of the power of a civilized nation over a number of semi-barbarous states, constantly engaged in internecine warfare, is regarded as a just and legitimate movement, or, at all events, as one that is inevitable and calls for no expression of regret; but the eastward progress of Russia has long been considered, by a large party in England, as a menace to the safety of our Indian empire. Every fresh step of the Russian armies has therefore excited alarm or created suspicion among those who are known as Russophobists. How far their fear or their mistrust is justifiable or dignified it is not our business in these pages to inquire; but it has been necessary to allude to it because it was this Russophobism which impelled Major (then Captain) Burnaby to undertake the difficult, if not dangerous, task of visiting Western Turkistan, that he might see with his own eyes what the Russians were doing there. The Russians had recently conquered Khokand and Khiva; it was thought they were preparing for further annexations; and Major Burnaby determined on an effort to reach Khiva, which during the Russian campaign had been visited, as we have seen, by Mr. MacGahan, the war correspondent of the New York Herald. Having obtained leave of absence from his regiment, the Royal Horse Guards, Major Burnaby rapidly equipped himself for his adventurous journey. He was well aware that the Russian authorities did not welcome the inquisitive eyes of English travellers, and that from them he could expect no assistance. His confidence in his resources, however, was great; he felt totus in se ipso; and he did not intend to be baffled in his object by anything but sheer force. The climate was another difficulty. The cold of the Kirghiz desert is a thing unknown in any other part of the world, even in the Arctic wastes and wildernesses; and he would have to traverse on horseback an enormous expanse of flat country, extending for hundreds of miles, and devoid of everything save snow and salt-lakes, and here and there the species of bramble-tree called saxaul. The inhabitants of Western Europe can form no conception of the force of the winds in Turkistan. They grumble at the pungent, irritating east; but they little imagine what it is like in countries exposed to the awful vehemence of its first onset, before its rigour has been mitigated by the kindly ocean, and where its wild career is unimpeded by trees or rising land, by hills or mountains. Uninterruptedly it blows over dreary leagues of snow and salt, absorbing the saline matter, and blighting or almost gashing the faces of those unfortunates who are exposed to its fury. But no fear of the east wind prevailed over Major Burnaby’s patriotic curiosity. He provided against it as best he could: warm were the garments specially made for him; his boots were lined with fur; his hose were the thickest Scottish fishing stockings; his jerseys and flannel shirts of the thickest possible texture; and he ordered for himself a waterproof and airproof sleeping-bag, seven feet and a half long, and two feet round. A large aperture was left on one side, so that the traveller might take up his quarters in the interior, and sleep well protected from the wintry blasts. For defensive purposes he took with him his rifle, a revolver, cartridges, and ball. His cooking apparatus consisted of a couple of soldier’s mess-tins. A trooper’s hold-all, with its accompanying knife, fork, and spoon, completed his kit; and, by way of instruments, he carried a thermometer, a barometer, and a pocket sextant.
On the 30th of November, 1875, Major Burnaby left London. He arrived at St. Petersburg on the 3rd of December, and immediately set to work to obtain the necessary authorization for his proposed journey, which he defined as a tour to India viâ Khiva, Merv, and Kabul; in other words, across Central Asia and Afghanistan. All that he did obtain was a communication to the effect that the commandants in Russian Asia had received orders to assist him in travelling through the territory under their command, but that the Imperial Government could not acquiesce in his extending his journey beyond its boundaries, as it could not answer for the security or the lives of travellers except within the Emperor’s dominions—a self-evident fact. The reply was evidently intended to discourage Major Burnaby; but Major Burnaby was not to be discouraged. It is not in the English character to be daunted by a consideration of prospective or possible dangers; certainly, it is not in the character of English officers. So the adventurous guardsman started by railway for Orenburg, the great centre and depôt of Central Asiatic traffic. At Riajsk he obtained a vivid illustration of the heterogeneous character of the Russian empire, the waiting-room being crowded with representatives of different nationalities. Here stalked a Tartar merchant in a long parti-coloured gown, a pair of high boots, and a small yellow fez. There a fur trader, in a greasy-looking black coat, clutched his small leather bag of coin. Here an old Bokharan, in flowing robes, was lulled by opium into a temporary forgetfulness of his troubles. There Russian peasants moved to and fro, with well-knit frames, clad in untanned leather, which was bound about their loins by narrow leather belts, studded with buttons of brass and silver. Europe and Asia met together in the waiting-room at Riajsk station.
The railway went no further than Sizeran, where Major Burnaby and a Russian gentleman hired a troika, or three-horse sleigh, to take them to Samara. The distance was about eighty-five miles; but as the thermometer marked 20° below zero (R.), the travellers found it necessary to make formidable preparations. First they donned three pairs of the thickest stockings, drawn up high above the knee; next, over these, a pair of fur-lined low shoes, which in their turn were inserted into leather goloshes; and, finally, over all, a pair of enormously thick boots. Allow for extra thick drawers and a pair of massive trousers; and add a heavy flannel under-shirt, a shirt covered by a thick wadded waistcoat and coat, and an external wrap in the form of a large shuba, or fur pelisse, reaching to the heels; and you may suppose that the protection against the cold was tolerably complete. The head was guarded with a fur cap and vashlik, i.e. a kind of conical cloth headpiece made to cover the cap, and having two long ends tied round the throat. Thus accoutred, the travellers took their places in the troika, which, drawn by three horses harnessed abreast, and with jingling bell, rapidly descended the hill, and dashed on to the frozen surface of the river Volga. Along the solid highway furnished by the ice-bound stream, past frozen-in shipping and sledges loaded with various kinds of wares, sped the troika; sometimes, in its turn, outstripped by other troikas,—drivers and passengers all alike white with glittering hoar-frost, until they seemed a company of grey-beards. The solid river flashed like a burnished cuirass in the rays of the morning. Here the scene was varied by a group of strangely patterned blocks and pillars; there a fountain gracefully shooting upwards with shapely Ionic and Doric columns, reflected a myriad prismatic hues from its diamond-like stalactites. Here a broken Gothic arch overhung the shining highway; there an Egyptian obelisk lay half buried beneath the snow. Such were the fantastic shapes into which the strong wind had moulded the ice as it was rapidly formed.
Regaining the main road, Major Burnaby and his companion sped on towards Samara. Their first halting-place was a farmhouse, called Nijny Pegersky Hootor, twenty-five versts from Sizeran, where some men were winnowing corn after a fashion of antediluvian simplicity. Throwing the corn high up into the air with a shovel, they allowed the wind to blow away the husks, and the grain fell upon a carpet laid out to catch it. As for the farmhouse, it was a square wooden building, containing two low but spacious rooms. A large stove of dried clay was so placed as to warm both apartments; and above it, a platform of boards, not more than three feet from the ceiling, supplied the family with sleeping accommodation. On the outside of the building a heavy wooden door opened into a small portico, at one end of which stood the obraz, or image—as usual an appendage to a Russian house, as were the Lares and Penates, or household gods, to a Roman house. The obrazye are made of different patterns, but usually represent a saint or the Trinity; they are executed in silver-gilt on brass relief, and adorned with all kinds of gewgaws.
A fresh team having been obtained, the travellers resumed their journey; but the cold had increased, the wind blew more furiously, and their suffering was severe. In thick flakes fell the constant snow, and the driver had much ado to keep the track, while the half-fed horses floundered along heavily, and frequently sank up to the traces in the gathering drift. The cracks of the whip resounded from their jaded flanks like pistol-shots. With sarcastic apostrophes the driver endeavoured to stimulate their progress:—
“Oh, sons of animals!” (whack!)
“Oh, spoiled one!” (whack!) This to a poor, attenuated brute.
“Oh, woolly ones!” (whack, whack, whack!) Here all were upset into a snow-drift, the sleigh being three-parts overturned, and the driver flung in an opposite direction.
The sleigh was righted; the travellers once more took their seats; and on through the darkening day they drove, until they came to a long straggling village, where the horses stopped before a detached cottage. Benumbed with the bitter cold, Major Burnaby and his companion dashed inside, and made haste, in front of a blazing stove, to restore the suspended circulation. Then, while the women of the house made tea in a samovar, or urn, they unfroze in the stove some cutlets and bread which they had carried with them, and proceeded to enjoy a hearty repast. In one hour’s time they were ready to start; but their driver demurred. The snowstorm was heavy; wolves prowled along the track; the river ice might give way. It was better to wait until the morning, when, with beautiful horses, they might go like birds to the next station. The two travellers could do nothing with him, and were compelled to resign themselves to pass the night on the hard boards, in an atmosphere infested by many unpleasant smells. A good hour before sunrise all were again in motion. The Major and his companion abandoned their heavy troika, and engaged two small sleighs with a pair of horses to each, one for themselves and one to carry their luggage.