Major Burnaby paid a visit to a Kirghiz kibitka, or tent, and his description of it may be compared with Mr. Atkinson’s. Inside it was adorned with thick carpets of various hues, and bright-coloured cushions, for the accommodation of the inmates. In the centre a small fire gave out a cloud of white smoke, which rose in coils and wreaths to the roof, and there escaped through an aperture left for the purpose. The fuel used is saxaul, the wood of the bramble tree, and it emits an acrid, pungent odour. The women in the tent had their faces uncovered; they received their visitor with a warm welcome, and spread some rugs for him to sit down by their side. They were all of them moon-faced, with large mouths, but good eyes and teeth.
The master of the kibitka, who was clad in a long brown robe, thickly wadded to keep out the cold, poured some water into a large caldron, and proceeded to make tea, while a young girl handed round raisins and dried currants. A brief conversation then arose. The Kirghiz were much surprised to learn that their visitor was not a Russian, but had come from a far Western land, and were even more surprised to find that he had brought no wife with him—a wife, in the opinion of the Kirghiz, being as indispensable to a man’s happiness as a horse or camel. In entering into matrimony, the Kirghiz have one great advantage over the other Moslem races; they see the girls whom they wish to marry, and are allowed to converse with them before the bargain is concluded between the parents, one hundred sheep being the average price given for a young woman.
On the 12th of January Major Burnaby left Kasala for Khiva. His retinue consisted of three camels, loaded with a tent, forage, and provisions, his Tartar servant, who bestrode the largest camel, and a Kirghiz guide, who, like himself, was mounted on horseback. His provisions included stchi, or cabbage soup, with large pieces of meat cut up in it, which, having been poured into two large iron stable buckets, had become hard frozen, so that it could be easily carried slung on a camel’s back. He also took with him twenty pounds of cooked meat. A hatchet, to chop up the meat or cut down brushwood for a fire, and a cooking lamp, with a supply of spirit, formed part of his equipment.
Crossing the icy surface of the Syr-Daria, our traveller once more plunged into the solitude of the steppes, bravely facing the storm-wind and the ridges of snow which rolled before it, like the wave-crests of a frozen sea. After a five hours’ march, he called a halt, that the camels might rest and be fed—for they will feed only in the daytime; wherefore it is wise to march them as much as possible during the night. Their ordinary pace is about two miles and a third in an hour; and the best plan is to start at midnight, unload them for about two hours in the day to feed, and halt at sunset: thus securing sixteen hours’ work per day, and accomplishing a daily journey of at least thirty-seven miles.
The kibitka was soon raised. “Imagine,” says our traveller, “a bundle of sticks, each five feet three inches in length, and an inch in diameter; these are connected with each other by means of cross sticks, through the ends of which holes are bored, and leather thongs passed. This allows plenty of room for all the sticks to open out freely; they then form a complete circle, about twelve feet in diameter, and five feet three in height. They do not require any pressing into the ground, for the circular shape keeps them steady. When this is done, a thick piece of cashmar, or cloth made of sheep’s wool, is suspended from their tops, and reaches to the ground. This forms a shield through which the wind cannot pass. Another bundle of sticks is then produced. They are all fastened at one end to a small wooden cross, about six inches long by four broad; a man standing in the centre of the circle raises up this bundle in the air, the cross upwards, and hitches their other ends by means of little leather loops one by one on the different upright sticks which form the circular walls. The result is, they all pull against each other, and are consequently self-supporting; another piece of cloth is passed round the outside of this scaffolding, leaving a piece uncovered at the top to allow the smoke to escape. One stick is removed from the uprights which form the walls. This constitutes a door, and the kibitka is complete.”
While the Major and his followers were enjoying a meal of rice and mutton, and a glass of hot tea, three Khivans rode up to them—a merchant and his two servants. The Khivan merchant was strongly built, and about five feet ten inches in height. He wore a tall, conical black Astrakhan hat; an orange-coloured dressing-gown, thickly quilted, and girt about the loins with a long, red sash; and over all, enveloping him from hand to foot, a heavy sheepskin mantle. His weapons consisted of a long, single-barrelled gun, and a short, richly mounted sabre. An exchange of civilities followed, and then both parties retired to rest. At about three o’clock in the morning, after some difficulty with his guide and camel-driver, the Major resumed his march, and for six hours the weary tramp and toil over the frost-bound plain continued. At nine a halt was called, soup was made, and the party breakfasted. By the time they were ready to set out again, the Khivan merchant’s caravan had come up, and all went on together.
In advance rode the guide, singing a song in praise of mutton, and descriptive of his partiality for that succulent meat. The Kirghiz poets make the sheep the special subject of their metrical eulogium; in truth, it fills in their poetry as conspicuous a place as the dove in the love-songs of the Latin bards. Nor is to be wondered at. The sheep represents the wealth, the property of the nomads. During the summer and autumn they live upon their milk, and never think of killing them except to do honour to a guest by serving up before him a leg of mutton. In the winter they are, of course, obliged very frequently to sacrifice the highly esteemed animal, but they live upon horseflesh and camel’s flesh as much as they can. Their clothing is furnished by the sheep, being made entirely of sheep’s wool wrought into a coarse homespun. Finally, if they want to buy a horse, a camel, or a wife, they pay in sheep; and a man’s worth in the world is reckoned by the numbers of his flock.
On the following day, in the course of their march, the travellers came upon a Kirghiz encampment, the members of which were considerably excited by Major Burnaby’s announcement of his desire to purchase a whole sheep. The head of the principal kibitka, accompanied by a pretty Kirghiz girl, hastened to conduct him to the sheepfold, that he might select an animal, and the fattest of the flock became his for the small sum of four roubles. The pretty young girl acted as butcher, receiving the skin and head in acknowledgment of her trouble, and the carcase was conveyed to the Major’s tent, where it was duly cooked, and devoured by his followers, who showed the most intense appreciation of his liberality.
The march being resumed, Major Burnaby made for a place called Kalenderhana, instead of the Russian settlement of Petro-Alexandrovsky, having a shrewd suspicion that if he went thither, as the governor of Kasala had desired, he would, in some way or other, be prevented from reaching Khiva. Pushing forward steadily, he left his Khivan merchant far behind, and strode across an undulating country in the direction of south-south-west. Next he came into a salt district, barren and dreary; and afterwards reached the desert of Jana-Daria, the dried-up bed of a river, which is lost in the sand. Still continuing his march, he came upon an unbounded ocean of sand, which, in the glaring sunshine, glittered like a sea of molten gold. When this was traversed, the country grew pleasanter and more fertile. Traces of game appeared. Sometimes a brown hare darted through the herbage; while in the distance herds of saigak, or antelopes, bounded with elastic tread across the sward. A chain of mountains running east and west rose up before the wanderer’s path, and presented a picturesque spectacle, with their broken crests, sharp pinnacles, and masses of shining quartz. Upon their rugged sides could be traced the furrows ploughed by the torrents which the spring lets loose and feeds with its abundant rains. Through a dark and deep defile, about seven miles long, the little company penetrated the mountain barrier of the Kazan-Tor, and descended into a broad plain, overspread by a network of canals for irrigation, where a striking indication of the desultory but ceaseless hostilities waged between the Kirghiz and the Turcomans was presented in the rude fortifications, a high ditch and a wattled palisade, that encircled every little village. Kalenderhana was fortified in this manner. Here Major Burnaby was warmly welcomed, and in great state escorted to his Kirghiz guide’s house, or kibitka, where a curious throng quickly surrounded him, and proceeded to examine, and comment unreservedly upon, every part of his attire. Major Burnaby, if less outspoken, was not less curious, and carefully noted that the hostess was a good-looking woman, clad in a flowing white dressing-gown, with a whiter turban, folded many times around her small head. The brother-in-law, a short hump-backed fellow, had a horse to sell, which Major Burnaby expressed his willingness to purchase, if he went to Khiva. The guide had been ordered by the Russian governor of Kasala to conduct the Englishman to Petro-Alexandrovsky, and at first he was reluctant to run the risk of punishment; but the domestic pressure put upon him could not be resisted, and he agreed to go to Khiva, on condition that the Major completed his bargain with the horse-dealer. This was at last arranged, and a Tartar being sent forward with a letter to the Khan, requesting permission to visit his capital, the traveller resumed his journey, with Nazar proudly seated astride the new purchase.
A brief ride carried them to the bank of the great Amu-Daria, the Oxus of Alexander the Great, which at this time was frozen over, presenting a solid highway of ice, half a mile in breadth. There they met with some Khivan merchants—stalwart men, with dark complexions and large eyes, dressed in long red thickly wadded dressing-gowns and cone-shaped black lambskin hats. A caravan of camels was crossing the river, and numerous arbas, or two-wheeled carts, each drawn by one horse, passed to and fro. Every man whom they encountered saluted them with the customary Arab greeting, “Salam aaleikom!” to which the response was always given, “Aaleikom salam!” Soon after crossing the frozen river, Major Burnaby determined to halt for the night; and the guide began to look about for suitable quarters. He pulled up at last by the side of a large, substantial-looking square building, built of clay. A rap at the high wooden gates brought out an old man bent nearly double with age, who, on hearing that the travellers wanted a night’s hospitality, immediately called to his servants to take charge of the horses and camels, and across the square-walled courtyard ushered Major Burnaby into his house. The guest-room was spacious and lofty. One end of it was covered with thick carpets; this was the place of honour for visitors. In the centre a small square hearth was filled with charcoal embers, confined within a coping about three inches high. On the coping stood a richly chased copper ewer—which might have been dug out of the ruins of the buried Pompeii, so classic was it in shape and appearance—with a long swan-like neck, constructed so as to assist the attendant in pouring water over the hands of his master’s guests before they began their repast. On one side of the hearth was a square hole about three feet deep, filled with water, and reached by a couple of steps. It was the place of ablution—something like the impluvium in a Roman villa—and its sides were lined with ornamental tiles. The windows were represented by two narrow slits, each about two feet long by six inches wide, while some open wooden trellis-work supplied the place of glass.