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Around the World on a Bicycle V1

T >> Thomas Stevens >> Around the World on a Bicycle V1




Two princes and a khan are cantering (not khan-tering) alongside the
bicycle as I pull out eastward from Miana. They accompany me to the foot-
hills approaching the Koflan Koo Pass, and wishing me a pleasant journey,
turn their horses' heads homeward again. Reaching the pass proper, I
find it to be an exceedingly steep trundle, but quite easy climbing
compared with a score of mountain passes in Asia Minor, for the surface
is reasonably smooth, and toward the summit is an ancient stone causeway.
A new and delightful experience awaits me upon the summit of the pass;
the view to the westward is a revelation of mountain scenery altogether
new and novel in my experience, which can now scarcely be called unvaried.
I seem to be elevated entirely above the surface of the earth, and gazing
down through transparent, ethereal depths upon a scene of everchanging
beauty. Fleecy cloudlets are floating lazily over the valley far below
my position, producing on the landscape a panoramic scene of constantly
changing shadows; through the ethery depths, so wonderfully transparent,
the billowy gray foothills, the meandering streams fringed with green,
and Miana with its blue-domed mosques and emerald gardens, present a
phantasmagorical appearance, as though they themselves were floating
about in the lower strata of space, and undergoing constant transformation.
Perched on an apparently inaccessible crag to the north is an ancient
robber stronghold commanding the pass; it is a natural fortress, requiring
but a few finishing touches by man to render it impregnable in the days
when the maintenance of robber strongholds were possible. Owing to its
walls and battlements being chiefly erected by nature, the Persian
peasantry call it the Perii-Kasr, believing it to have been built by
fairies. While descending the eastern slope, I surprise a gray lizard
almost as large as a rabbit, basking in the sunbeams; he briskly scuttles
off into the rocks upon being disturbed.

Crossing the Sefid Rud on a dilapidated brickwork bridge, I cross another
range of low hills, among which I notice an abundance of mica cropping
above the surface, and then descend on to a broad, level plain, extending
eastward without any lofty elevation as far as eye can reach. On this
shelterless plain I am overtaken by a furious equinoctial gale; it comes
howling suddenly from the west, obscuring the recently vacated Koflan
Koo Mountains behind an inky veil, filling the air with clouds of dust,
and for some minutes rendering it necessary to lie down and fairly hang
on to the ground to prevent being blown about. First it begins to rain,
then to hail; heaven's artillery echoes and reverberates in the Koflan
Koo Mountains, and rolls above the plain, seeming to shake the hailstones
down like fruit from the branches of the clouds, and soon I am enveloped
in a pelting, pitiless downpour of hailstones, plenty large enough to
make themselves felt wherever they strike. To pitch my tent would have
been impossible, owing to the wind and the suddenness of its appearance.
In thirty minutes or less it is all over; the sun shines out warmly and
dissipates the clouds, and converts the ground into an evaporator that
envelops everything in steam. In an hour after it quits raining, the
road is dry again, and across the plain it is for the most part excellent
wheeling.

About four o'clock the considerable village of Sercham is reached; here,
as at Hadji Aghi, I at once become the bone of contention between rival
khan-jees wanting to secure me for a guest, on the supposition that I
am going to remain over night. Their anxiety is all unnecessary, however,
for away off on the eastern horizon can be observed clusters of familiar
black dots that awaken agreeable reflections of the night spent in the
Koordish camp between Ovahjik and Khoi. I remain in Sercham long enough
to eat a watermelon, ride, against my will, over rough ground to appease
the crowd, and then pull out toward the Koordish camps which are evidently
situated near my proper course.

It seeins to have rained heavily in the mountains and not rained at all
east of Sercham, for during the next hour I am compelled to disrobe, and
ford several freshets coursing down ravines over beds that before the
storm were inches deep in dust, the approaching slopes being still dusty;
this little diversion causes me to thank fortune that I have been enabled
to keep in advance of the regular rainy season, which commences a little
later. Striking a Koordish camp adjacent to the trail I trundle toward
one of the tents; before reaching it I am overhauled by a shepherd who
hands me a handful of dried peaches from a wallet suspended from his
waist. The evening air is cool with a suggestion of frostiness, and the
occupants of the tent are found crouching around a smoking tezek fire;
they are ragged and of rather unprepossessing appearance, but being
instinctively hospitable, they shuffle around to make me welcome at the
fire; at first I almost fancy myself mistaken in thinking them Koords,
for there is nothing of the neatness and cleanliness of our late
acquaintances about them; on the contrary, they are almost as repulsive
as their sedentary relatives of Dele Baba-but a little questioning removes
all doubt of their being Koords. They are simply an ill-conditioned
tribe, without any idea whatever of thrift or good management. They have
evidently been to Tabreez or somewhere lately, and invested most of the
proceeds of the season's shearing in three-year-old dried peaches that
are hard enough to rattle like pebbles; sacksful of these edibles are
scattered all over the tent serving for seats, pillows, and general
utility articles for the youngsters to roll about on, jump over, and
throw around; everybody in the camp seems to be chewing these peaches
and throwing them about in sheer wantonness because they are plentiful;
every sack contains finger-holes from which one and all help themselves
ad libitum in wanton disregard of the future.

Nearly everybody seems to be suffering from ophthalmia, which is aggravated
by crouching over the densely smoking tezek; and one miserable-looking
old character is groaning and writhing with the pain of a severe stomach-
ache. By loafing lazily about the tent all day, and chewing these flinty
dried peaches, this hopeful old joker has well-nigh brought himself to
the unhappy condition of the Yosemite valley mule, who broke into the
tent and consumed half a bushel of dried peaches; when the hunters
returned to camp and were wondering what marauder had visited their tent
and stolen the peaches, they heard a loud explosion behind the tent;
hastily going out they discover the remnants of the luckless mule scattered
about in all directions. Of course I am appealed to for a remedy, and I
am not sorry to have at last come across an applicant for my services
as a hakim, for whose ailment I can prescribe with some degree of
confidence; to make assurance doubly sure I give the sufferer a double
dose, and in the morning have the satisfaction of finding him entirely
relieved from his misery. There seems to be no order or sense of good
manners whatever among these people; we have bread and half-stewed peaches
for supper, and while they are cooking, ill-mannered youngsters are
constantly fishing them from the kettles with weed-stalks, meeting with
no sort of reproof from their elders for so doing; when bedtime arrives,
everybody seizes quilts, peach-sacks, etc., and crawls wherever they can
for warmth and comfort; three men, two women, and several children occupy
the same compartment as myself, and gaunt dogs are nosing hungrily about
among us. About midnight there is a general hallooballoo among the dogs,
and the clatter of horses' hoofs is heard outside the tent; the occupants
of the tent, including myself, spring up, wondering what the disturbance
is all about. A group of horsemen are visible in the bright moonlight
outside, and one of them has dismounted, and under the guidance of a
shepherd, is about entering the tent; seeing me spring up, and being
afraid lest perchance I might misinterpret their intentions and act
accordingly, he sings out in a soothing voice, "Kardash, Hamsherri;
Kardash, Kardash." thus assuring me of their peaceful intentions. These
midnight visitors turn out to be a party of Persian travellers from
Miana, from which it would appear they have less fear of the Koords
here than in Koordistan near the frontier; having, somehow, found out
my whereabouts, they have come to try and persuade me to leave the camp
and join their company to Zenjan. Although my own unfavorable impressions
of my entertainers are seconded by the visitors' reiterated assurances
that these Koords are bad people, I decline to accompany them, knowing
the folly of attempting to bicycle over these roads by moonlight in the
company of horsemen who would be continually worrying me to ride, no
matter what the condition of the road; after remaining in camp half an
hour they take their departure.

In the morning I discover that my mussulman hat-band has mysteriously
disappeared, and when preparing to depart, a miscellaneous collection
of females gather about me, seize the bicycle, and with much boisterous
hilarity refuse to let me depart until I have given each one of them
some money; their behavior is on the whole so outrageous, that I appeal
to my patient of yesterday evening, in whose bosom I fancy I may perchance
have kindled a spark of gratitude; but the old reprobate no longer has
the stomach-ache, and he regards my unavailing efforts to break away
from my hoi-denish tormentors with supreme indifference, as though there
were nothing extraordinary in their conduct. The demeanor of these wild-
eyed Koordish females on this occasion fully convinces me that the stories
concerning their barbarous conduct toward travellers captured on the
road is not an exaggeration, for while preventing my departure they seem
to take a rude, boisterous delight in worrying me on all sides, like a
gang of puppies barking and harassing anything they fancy powerless to
do them harm. After I have finally bribed my freedom from the women, the
men seize me and attempt to further detain me until they can send for
their Sheikh to come from another camp miles away, to see me ride. After
waiting a reasonable time, out of respect for their having accommodated
me with quarters for the night, and no signs of the Sheikh appearing, I
determine to submit to their impudence no longer; they gather around me
as before, but presenting my revolver and assuming an angry expression,
I threaten instant destruction to the next one laying hands on either
myself or the bicycle; they then give way with lowering brows and sullen
growls of displeasure. My rough treatment on this occasion compared with
my former visit to a Koordish camp, proves that there is as much difference
between the several tribes of nomad Koords, as between their sedentary
relatives of Dele Baba and Malosman respectively; for their general
reputation, it were better that I had spent the night in Sercham. A few
miles from the camp, I am overtaken by four horsemen followed by several
dogs and a pig; it proves to be the tardy Sheikh and his retainers, who
have galloped several miles to catch me up; the Sheikh is a pleasant,
intelligent fellow of thirty or thereabouts, and astonishes me by
addressing me as "Monsieur;" they canter alongside for a mile or so,
highly delighted, when the Sheikh cheerily sings out "Adieu, monsieur!"
and they wheel about and return; had their Sheikh been in the camp I
stayed at, my treatment would undoubtedly have been different. I am at
the time rather puzzled to account for so strange a sight as a pig
galloping briskly behind the horses, taking no notice of the dogs which
continually gambol about him; but I afterward discover that a pet pig,
trained to follow horses, is not an unusual thing among the Persians and
Persian Koords; they are thin, wiry animals of a sandy color, and quite
capable of following a horse for hours; they live in the stable with
their equine companions, finding congenial occupation in rooting around
for stray grains of barley; the horses and pig are said to become very
much attached to each other; when on the road the pig is wont to signify
its disapproval of a too rapid pace, by appealing squeaks and grunts,
whereupon the horse responsively slacks its speed to a more accommodating
speed for its porcine companion. The road now winds tortuously along the
base of some low gravel hills, and the wheeling perceptibly improves;
beyond Nikbey it strikes across the hilly country, and more trundling
becomes necessary. At Nikbey I manage to leave the inhabitants in a
profound puzzle by replying that I am not a Ferenghi, but an Englishman;
this seems to mystify them not a little, and they commence inquiring
among themselves for an explanation of the difference; they are probably
inquiring yet. Fifty-eight miles are covered from the Koordish camp, and
at three o'clock the blue-tiled domes of the Zendjan mosques appear in
sight; these blue-tiled domes are more characteristic of Persian mosques,
which are usually built of bricks, and have no lofty tapering minarets
as in Turkey; the summons to prayers are called from the top of a wall
or roof. When approaching the city gate, a half-crazy man becomes wildly
excited at the spectacle of a man on a wheel, and, rushing up, seizes
hold of the handle; as I spring from the saddle he rapidly takes to his
heels; finding that I am not pursuing him, he plucks up courage, and
timidly approaching, begs me to let him see me ride again. Zendjan is
celebrated for the manufacture of copper vessels, and the rat-a-tat-tat
of the workmen beating them out in the coppersmiths' quarters is heard
fully a mile outside the gate; the hammering is sometimes deafening while
trundling through these quarters, and my progress through it is indicated
by what might perhaps be termed a sympathetic wave of silence following
me along, the din ceasing at my approach and commencing again with renewed
vigor after I have passed.

Mr. F--, a Levantine gentleman in charge of the station here, fairly
outdoes himself in the practical interpretation of genuine old-fashioned
hospitality, which brooks no sort of interference with the comfort of
his guest; understanding the perpetual worry a person travelling in so
extraordinary a manner must be subject to among an excessively inquisitive
people like the Persians, he kindly takes upon himself the duty of
protecting me from anything of the kind during the day I remain over as
his guest, and so manages to secure me much appreciated rest and quiet.
The Governor of the city sends an officer around saying that himself and
several prominent dignitaries would like very much to see the bicycle.
"Very good, replies Mr. F--, "the bicycle is here, and Mr. Stevens will
doubtless be pleased to receive His Excellency and the leading officials
of Zendjan any time it suits their convenience to call, and will probably
have no objections to showing them the bicycle." It is, perhaps, needless
to explain that the Governor doesn't turn up; I, however, have an
interesting visitor in the person of the Sheikh-ul-Islam (head of religious
affairs in Zendjan), a venerable-looking old party in flowing gown and
monster turban, whose hands and flowing beard are dyed to a ruddy yellow
with henna. The Sheikh-ul-Islam is considered the holiest personage in
Zendjan and his appearance and demeanor does not in the least belie his
reputation; whatever may be his private opinion of himself, he makes far
less display of sanctimoniousness than many of the common seyuds, who
usually gather their garments about them whenever they pass a Ferenghi
in the bazaar, for fear their clothing should become defiled by brushing
against him. The Sheikh-ul-Islam fulfils one's idea of a gentle-bred,
worthy-minded old patriarch; he examines the bicycle and listens to the
account of my journey with much curiosity and interest, and bestows a
flattering mead of praise on the wonderful ingenuity of the Ferenghis
as exemplified in my wheel.

>From Zeudjan eastward the road gradually improves, and after a dozen
miles develops into the finest wheeling yet encountered in Asia; the
country is a gravelly plain between a mountain chain on the left and a
range of lesser hills to the right. Near noon I pass through Sultaneah,
formerly a favorite country resort of the Persian monarchs; on the broad,
grassy plain, during the autumn, the Shah was wont to find amusement in
manoeuvring his cavalry regiments, and for several months an encampment
near Sultaneah became the head-quarters of that arm of the service. The
Shah's palace and the blue dome of a large mosque, now rapidly crumbling
to decay, are visible many miles before reaching the village. The presence
of the Shah and his court doesn't seem to have exerted much of a refining
or civilizing influence on the common villagers; otherwise they have
retrograded sadly toward barbarism again since Sultaneah has ceased to
be a favorite resort. They appear to regard the spectacle of a lone
Ferenghi meandering through their wretched village on a wheel, as an
opportunity of doing something aggressive for the cause of Islam not to
be overlooked; I am followed by a hooting mob of bare-legged wretches,
who forthwith proceed to make things lively and interesting, by pelting
me with stones and clods of dirt. One of these wantonly aimed missiles
catches me square between the shoulders, with a force that, had it struck
me fairly on the back of the neck, would in all probability have knocked
me clean out of the saddle; unfortunately, several irrigating ditches
crossing the road immediately ahead prevent escape by a spurt, and nothing
remains but to dismount and proceed to make the best of it. There are
only about fifty of them actively interested, and part of these being
mere boys, they are anything but a formidable crowd of belligerents if
one could only get in among them with a stuffed club; they seem but
little more than human vermin in their rags and nakedness, and like
vermin, the greatest difficulty is to get hold of them. Seeing me dismount,
they immediately take to their heels, only to turn and commence throwing
stones again at finding themselves unpursued; while I am retreating and
actively dodging the showers of missiles, they gradually venture closer
and closer, until things becoming too warm and dangerous, I drop the
bicycle, and make a feint toward them; they then take to their heels,
to return to the attack again as before, when I again commence retreating.
Finally I try the experiment of a shot in the air, by way of notifying
them of my ability to do them serious injury; this has the effect of
keeping them at a more respectful distance, but they seem to understand
that I am not intending serious shooting, and the more expert throwers
manage to annoy me considerably until ridable ground is reached; seeing
me mount, they all come racing pell-mell after me, hurling stones, and
howling insulting epithets after me as a Ferenghi, but with smooth road
ahead I am, of course, quickly beyond their reach.

The villages east of Sultaneah are observed to be, almost without
exception, surrounded by a high mud wall, a characteristic giving them
the appearance of fortifications rather than mere agricultural villages;
the original object of this was, doubtless, to secure themselves against
surprises from wandering tribes; and as the Persians seldom think of
changing anything, the custom is still maintained. Bushes are now
occasionally observed near the roadside, from every twig of which a strip
of rag is fluttering in the breeze; it is an ancient custom still kept
up among the Persian peasantry when approaching any place they regard
with reverence, as the ruined mosque and imperial palace at Sultaneah,
to tear a strip of rag from their clothing and fasten it to some roadside
bush; this is supposed to bring them good luck in their undertakings,
and the bushes are literally covered with the variegated offerings of
the superstitious ryots; where no bushes are handy, heaps of small stones
are indicative of the same belief; every time he approaches the well-known
heap, the peasant picks up a pebble, and adds it to the pile. Owing to
a late start and a prevailing head-wind, but forty-six miles are covered
to-day, when about sundown I seek the accommodation of the chapar-khana,
at Heeya; but, providing the road continues good, I promise myself to
polish off the sixty miles between here and Kasveen, to-morrow. The
chaparkhana sleeping apartments at Heeya contain whitewashed walls and
reed matting, and presents an appearance of neatness and cleanliness
altogether foreign to these institutions previously patronized; here,
also, first occurs the innovation from "Hamsherri" to "Sahib," when
addressing me in a respectful manner; it will be Sahib, from this point
clear to, through and beyond India; my various titles through the different
countries thus far traversed have been; Monsieur, Herr, Effendi, Hamsherri,
and now Sahib; one naturally wonders what new surprises are in store
ahead. A bountiful supper of scrambled eggs (toke-mi-morgue) is obtained
here, and the customary shake-down on the floor. After getting rid of
the crowd I seek my rude couch, and am soon in the land of unconsciousness;
an hour afterward I am awakened by the busy hum of conversation; and,
behold, in the dim light of a primitive lamp, I become conscious of
several pairs of eyes immediately above me, peering with scrutinizing
inquisitiveness into my face; others are examining the bicycle standing
against the wall at my head. Rising up, I find the chapar-lchana crowded
with caravan teamsters, who, going past with a large camel caravan from
the Caspian seaport of Eesht, have heard of the bicycle, and come flocking
to my room; I can hear the unmelodious clanging of the big sheet-iron
bells as their long string of camels file slowly past the building.

Daylight finds me again on the road, determined to make the best of early
morning, ere the stiff easterly wind, which seems inclined to prevail
of late, commences blowing great guns against me. A short distance out,
I meet a string of some three hundred laden camels that have not yet
halted after the night's march; scores of large camel caravans have been
encountered since leaving Erzeroum, but they have invariably been halting
for the day; these camels regard the bicycle with a timid reserve, merely
swerving a step or two off their course as I wheel past; they all seem
about equally startled, so that my progress down the ranks simply causes
a sort of a gentle ripple along the line, as though each successive camel
were playing a game of follow-my leader. The road this morning is nearly
perfect for wheeling, consisting of well-trodden camel-paths over a hard
gravelled surface that of itself naturally makes excellent surface for
cycling; there is no wind, and twenty-five miles are duly registered by
the cyclometer when I halt to eat the breakfast of bread and a portion
of yesterday evening's scrambled eggs which I have brought along. On
past Seyudoon and approaching Kasveen, the plain widens to a considerable
extent and becomes perfectly level; apparent distances become deceptive,
and objects at a distance assume weird, fantastic shapes; beautiful
mirages hold out their allurements from all directions; the sombre walls
of villages present the appearance of battlemented fortresses rising up
from the mirror-like surface of silvery lakes, and orchards and groves
seem shadowy, undefinable objects floating motionless above the earth.
The telegraph poles traversing the plain in a long, straight line until
lost to view in the hazy distance, appear to be suspended in mid-air;
camels, horses, and all moving objects more than a mile away, present
the strange optical illusion of animals walking through the air many
feet above the surface of the earth. Long rows of kanaat mounds traverse
the plain in every direction, leading from the numerous villages to
distant mountain chains. Descending one of the sloping cavernous entrances
before mentioned, for a drink, I am rather surprised at observing numerous
fishes disporting themselves in the water, which, on the comparatively
level plain, flows but slowly; perhaps they are an eyeless variety similar
to those found in the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky; still they get a glimmering
light from the numerous perpendicular shafts. Flocks of wild pigeons
also frequent these underground water-courses, and the peasantry sometimes
capture them by the hundred with nets placed over the shafts; the kanaats
are not bricked archways, but merely tunnels burrowed through the ground.
Three miles of loose sand and stones have to be trundled through before
reaching Kasveen; nevertheless my promised sixty miles are overcome, and
I enter the city gate at 2 P.M. A trundle through several narrow, crooked
streets brings me to an inner gateway emerging upon a broad, smooth
avenue; a short ride down this brings me to a large enclosure containing
the custom-house offices and a fine brick caravanserai. Yet another
prince appears here in the person of a custom-house official; I readily
grant the requested privilege of seeing me ride, but the title of a
Persian prince is no longer associated in my mind with greatness and
importance; princes in Persia are as plentiful as counts in Italy or
barons in Germany, yet it rather shocks one's dreams of the splendor of
Oriental royalty to find princes manipulating the keys of a one wire
telegraph control-station at a salary of about forty dollars a month (25
tomans), or attending to the prosy duties of a small custom-house. Kasveen
is important as being the half-way station between Teheran and the Caspian
port of Eesht, and on the highway of travel and commerce between Northern
Persia and Europe; added importance is likewise derived from its being
the terminus of a broad level road from the capital, and where travellers
and the mail from Teheran have to be transferred from wheeled vehicles
to the backs of horses for the passage over the rugged passes of the
Elburz mountains leading to the Caspian slope, or vice versa when going
the other way. Locking the bicycle up in a room of the caravanserai, I
take a strolling peep at the nearest streets; a couple of lutis or
professional buffoons, seeing me strolling leisurely about, come hurrying
up; one is leading a baboon by a string around the neck, and the other
is carrying a gourd drum. Reaching me, the man with the baboon commences
making the most ludicrous grimaces and causes the baboon to caper wildly
about by jerking the string, while the drummer proceeds to belabor the
head of his drum, apparently with the single object of extracting as
much noise from it as possible. Putting my fingers to my ears I turn
away; ten minutes afterward I observe another similar combination making
a bee-line for my person; waving them off I continue on down the street;
soon afterward yet a third party attempts to secure me for an audience.
It is the custom for these strolling buffoons to thus present themselves
before persons on the street, and to visit houses whenever there is
occasion for rejoicing, as at a wedding, or the birth of a son; the lutis
are to the Persians what Italian organ-grinders are among ourselves; I
fancy people give them money chiefly to get rid of their noise and
annoyance, as we do to save ourselves from the soul-harrowing tones of
a wheezy crank organ beneath the window. Among the novel conveyances
observed in the courtyard of the caravanserai is the takhtrowan, a large
sedan chair provided with shafts at either end, and carried between two
mules or horses; another is the before-mentioned kajaveh, an arrangement
not unlike a pair of canvas-covered dog kennels strapped across the back
of an animal; these latter contrivances are chiefly used for carrying
women and children. After riding around the courtyard several different
times for crowds continually coming, I finally conclude that there must
be a limit to this sort of thing anyhow, and refuse to ride again; the
new-comers linger around, however, until evening, in the hopes that an
opportunity of seeing me ride may present itself. A number of them then
contribute a handful of coppers, which they give to the proprietor of a
tributary tchai-khan to offer me as an inducement to ride again. The
wily Persians know full well that while a Ferenghi would scorn to accept
their handful of coppers, he would probably be sufficiently amused at
the circumstance to reward their persistence by riding for nothing;
telling the grinning khan-jee to pocket the coppers, I favor them with
"positively the last entertainment this evening." An hour later the khan-
jee meets me going toward the bazaar in search of something for supper;
inquiring the object of my search, he takes me back to his tchai-khan,
points significantly to an iron kettle simmering on a small charcoal
fire, and bids me be seated; after waiting on a customer or two, and
supplying me with tea, he quietly beckons me to the fire, removes the
cover and reveals a savory dish of stewed chicken and onions: this he
generously shares with me a few minutes later, refusing to accept any
payment. As there are exceptions to every rule, so it seems there are
individuals, even among the Persian commercial classes, capable of
generous and worthy impulses; true the khan-jee obtained more than the
value of the supper in the handful of coppers - but gratitude is generally
understood to be an unknown commodity among the subjects of the Shah.
Soon the obstreperous cries of "All Akbar, la-al-lah-il-allah" from the
throats of numbers of the faithful perched upon the caravanserai steps,
stable-roof, and other conspicuous soul-inspiring places, announces the
approach of bedtime. My room is actually found to contain a towel and
an old tooth-brush; the towel has evidently not been laundried for some
time and a public toothbrush is hardly a joy-inspiring object to
contemplate; nevertheless they are evidences that the proprietor of the
caravanserai is possessed of vague, shadowy ideas of a Ferenghi's
requirements. After a person has dried his face with the slanting sunbeams
of early morning, or with his pocket-handkerchief for weeks, the bare
possibility of soap, towels, etc., awakens agreeable reflections of
coming comforts. At seven o'clock on the following morning I pull out
toward Teheran, now but six chopar-stations distant. Running parallel
with the road is the Elburz range of mountains, a lofty chain, separating
the elevated plateau of Central Persia from the moist and wooded slopes
of the Caspian Sea; south of this great dividing ridge the country is
an arid and barren waste, a desert, in fact, save where irrigation redeems
here and there a circumscribed area, and the mountain slopes are gray
and rocky. Crossing over to the northern side of the divide, one immediately
finds himself in a moist climate, and a country green almost as the
British Isles, with dense boxwood forests covering the slopes of the
mountains and hiding the foot-hills beneath an impenetrable mantle of
green. The Elburz Mountains are a portion of the great water-shed of
Central Asia, extending from the Himalayas up through Afghanistan and
Persia into the Caucasus, and they perform very much the same office for
the Caspian slope of Persia, as the Sierra Nevadas do for the Pacific
slope of California, inasmuch as they cause the moisture-laden clouds
rolling in from the sea to empty their burthens on the seaward, slopes
instead of penetrating farther into the interior.

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