On the 29th of September, I bade farewell to my fellow-traveller and the officers of the Prince’s service, and commenced a journey to the shores of the Caspian. I joined Humza Khan, who had been lately appointed Governor of the Toorkmuns east of that sea, and now proceeded with a party of about three hundred persons, composed of Koords, Persians, and Toorkmuns; but the alarms for personal safety, which had so often troubled me in days that were gone, had now, I may say, vanished, for I looked upon all those around me as friends. My costume led to many mistakes among the party; and, after I had satisfied the Khan that I was the “Firingee” recommended to his care by the Prince, I felt rather disposed to mix with the others as one of themselves, since a better opportunity would be afforded for judging of the people. We bivouacked, after a march of twenty-six miles, beyond Shirwan, a strong fortress, with a deep wet ditch, that was now being dismantled by orders of the Prince. From the small number of labourers engaged on this work of spoliation, I suppose it will be soon abandoned, and that the place will rise in due time as one of the strong-holds of Khorasan.
We followed the course of the Atruck river, which rises near Koochan, till within ten miles of Boojnoord, when we left it running westward as a small rivulet, and crossed several mountain ridges. A march of thirty-eight miles brought us to Boojnoord, a rather large place, standing in a spacious valley, and the residence of one of the Koord chiefs, who prudently tendered his allegiance on the approach of the Prince, and now owed the possession of his fortress to his share of discretion. We here saw, for the first time, the wandering inhabitants, or Ilyats, of Khorasan, about a thousand of whose black tents were scattered around. They did not appear to differ from the Ghiljees of Cabool. On our march to Boojnoord we met the peasantry crowding in bodies to occupy their native villages. They had fled on the commencement of the war, and now returned on the success of the Prince: the poor creatures stopped to ask the particulars of the campaign; but the women and children could hardly believe us any other than plundering Koords. The year had passed away without a crop; but, if the country returns to a state of peace, it may yet become prosperous and happy. War has desolating effects everywhere; but it is fearful to be befriended by a Persian army. The enemy who opposes it fares best, since he has no billets sent to him for grain and supplies; the pittance of the obedient subject is actually devoured.
Four miles from Boojnoord, we left the valley in which it is situated, and entered among hills. It was difficult to trace any range either to our right or left, but those on the south were covered with pine trees. The climate was moist and pleasant, and there were many rich and beautiful spots of cultivation among the bare hills. The vineyards of Sarewan, which were in a deep glen, are quite enchanting. Though the country was mountainous, the road was excellent; and, after a march of thirty-six miles, we reached Kila Khan, in the district of Simulghan, which is richly watered from the hills. We were now upon the line of inroad of the Tuka Toorkmuns, who engage in constant forays between Meshid and Tehran; and the mountains and roads over which we trod must ever be crossed by them. Our own party, however, consisted of two hundred Toorkmuns of the Goklan and Yamood tribe, who had served in the Prince’s army, and were now discharged: such was their share of the glories of the Khorasan campaign. We had had a specimen of their native propensities in our second march from the camp, where they met a party of villagers proceeding to sell their grapes. The poor peasants were mercilessly beaten, and the Toorkmuns pillaged the greater portion of the contents of their baskets. By the laws of an enlightened country, they might not have been blameable, if they were actually in want of food. The spoil was shared equally among them, and he who had knocked down fared no better than he who was in the rear: they even brought me a share of the captured property. It was in vain that the Khan endeavoured to discountenance these practices, for he possessed no authority over them. At length they received a salutary check at Sarewan, where the villagers turned out in a body, and knocked down a trespasser, which frightened his comrades. I secretly rejoiced at their discomfiture.
What a long Fursukh is that of Khorasan, says a traveller, who has toiled from sun-rise nearly to sun-set, and who can no longer cling to his jaded horse, but by the prong in front of his saddle. An European, who canters and gallops onwards, can form no just conception of the fatigue of a forty-mile stage in Khorasan, where every step must be walked, and there is no inn or refreshment at the end of it. “By the head of the Prophet!” said one of the party, as we neared our halting ground, “this road is longer than the entrails of Omar, for my back and my knees have lost their feeling.” I had a hearty laugh at the quaint comparison, and also sympathized in his fatigue. “Pidr sokhtu!” (Burn his father!) continued the talkative Persian, “I never was so worn out.” In our party we had several lively fellow-travellers; and, on a few days’ acquaintance, the Persian appeared to me a better sort of being in his country than abroad, where his vanity is beyond endurance.
A march of thirty-eight miles brought us to the site of a village called Shahbaz; but we had now lost all traces of inhabitants, though the country was rich. The tribe of Gireilee had in former years tilled the soil, and tended their cattle: but human beings appear to be considered in these countries as much property as horse-flesh; and Aga Mahommed Khan had transferred the whole race to Mezenderan. The rich pastures of the country lay neglected: for what peasant would seek his abode near the Tuka Toorkmuns, whose tents lie but a few miles distant beyond the hills. In the society of two hundred of these people, we even did not feel ourselves altogether safe. In all our bivouacs, I had hitherto escaped the damp ground as a bed, but I rose in the morning stiff and benumbed by humidity and dews. The sun soon dried my clothes, and good spirits (I do not mean brandy) prevented any evil consequences. We were now travelling among mountains, with alternate hill and dale, and over a wild and romantic country. There were a few stunted pine trees on the hills, but they were oftener bare of every thing but grass. All the people were kind and conversable; and man requires little else even in the arid regions of Khorasan.
A Toorkmun who had proffered his acquaintance, by the way asked me abruptly to tell him the news of Bokhara, recognising, I suppose, in my costume the dress of that country. He addressed me in Persian, which was no doubt as foreign a language to him as myself. “I am a Firingee,” said I; when the Toorkmun pulled up his horse, and said, “Come, do not think you can play the fool with me, for Firingees have no beards; and your shaved head and dress belie your assertion.” It was in vain that I continued to convince him of my real character. “Soonee, or Shiah, which are you?” said he. “Be it so,” replied I, “since you are determined to have me a Mahommedan;” and I repeated the names of the first four Caliphs, the watchword of the Soonees and Toorkmuns, who are all of that persuasion. “Bravo!” cried my new acquaintance; “I knew I was right;” and we journeyed together with great delight, I personating a character which had been forced upon me: nor was it sufficient that my creed was settled; the Toorkmun also fixed my country, which was Cabool. I did not allow the opportunity to pass which thus presented itself of improving my knowledge of the Toorkmuns, whose lands we were once more to enter.
My friend dashed off with great precipitation among a crowd of his countrymen, to run down a “kubk,” or partridge, which rose near us. This is an easier matter than would be at first imagined, as the number captured soon proved. These birds fly once or twice, seldom thrice, and are then picked up. The Toorkmuns were delighted with the sport, and I participated in their excitement, though I did not join in it. The long spears with which they were armed, their great activity, and the horsemanship which they displayed, gave what I imagined to be a just resemblance to their “chupao,” when in search of human beings. At a gallop, a Toorkmun cavalier leans forward on his saddle, which gives him an air of eagerness that is singularly interesting. The whole scene was worthy of the ancient Parthia, the very country that we now traversed.
Among the Toorkmuns I noticed an individual loitering by the way, and humming some notes as he went, to which his leg and his arm seemed to be keeping time, while an instrument like a “sitar,” or lute, served to convince me that I had at last got hold of a character for whom I had been searching—a bard of the Toorkmuns. “Sulam alaikoom,” said I to the bard; who returned it most graciously. But, alas! our conversation here ended, for he knew no language but Toorkee, and my acquaintance was but sufficient to tell him that I knew it not. Instinct set the bard to the task which I wished; and he struck up one of the airs of his tribe; but the paces of our horses did not admit of his using his instrument. Music is an expensive accomplishment in all countries; and the bard began to interrogate me as to his reward, hinting that he must not be wasting his arts in vain. An interpreter between us informed him that he should have a good pilao in the evening; but the Toorkmun gave a glance behind him, and asked who would cook the pilao for a man who had not even a servant. Here was a hint to travel in state. The bard dropped in the rear to ask who I might be; and I did have the pleasure in the evening of giving him a pilao, and removing his doubts of my solvency. For this I had a promise of introduction to the minstrels of his clan.
Six miles from Shahbaz we took leave of the hill and dale which we had so long traversed, and descended into a valley, which contained the source of the river of Goorgan. For about twenty miles we wound gradually through it, without the smallest marks of civilisation: but our day’s journey terminated among the tenements of the Toorkmuns, which I was delighted once more to behold. These people are of the tribe of Goklan, and amount to about nine thousand families. No scene could be more enchanting than that on which we had now entered: the hills were wooded to the summit, and the hue of the different trees was so varied and bright, as hardly to appear natural. A rivulet flowed through the dell; and almost every fruit grew in a state of nature. The fig, the vine, pomegranate, raspberry, black currant, and the hazel, shot up everywhere; and, as we approached the camp of the Toorkmuns, there were extensive plantations of the mulberry. The different groups of tents were pitched in grotesque order in the open lawn near the river; and our party halted at one of their settlements on a beautiful shelf of green turf, that lay at the base of a cloud-capped hill, clothed with the richest foliage. The Toorkmuns received their new Governor with every respect, and appropriated a certain number of their tents for his accommodation: one of these was kindly bestowed on me; and I now found myself for the first time since leaving India (I except the camp of Abbas Meerza) under the shelter of a tent, and that too among the Toorkmuns. I also received buttered cakes and melons, as their guest, and fared sumptuously.
On winding through the valley, we had an opportunity of witnessing an interesting sight in the welcoming of a chief, or “Aksukal,” who had accompanied us from Koochan. We had only known him as a Wild Toorkmun; and, for my own part, I had scarcely noticed him: but here he was a noble, and, what is greater, a patriarch. He had been summoned by the Prince Royal, and now returned to his home. For miles before reaching the camp, the Toorkmuns crowded upon us to bid him welcome: all of them were on horseback—men, women, and children; and several of them cried, as they kissed his hand. At length, in a shady and picturesque part of the valley, a party, which appeared more respectable than the others, had dismounted and drawn up. This was the family of the chief: he leaped upon the ground with the enthusiasm of a youth, rushed forward, and kissed in succession four boys, who were his sons. The scene was pathetic; and the witty Persians, who had before been imitating some of the actions and exclamations of the Toorkmuns, were silenced by this fervent flow of affection. Three of the boys were under ten years of age, yet they mounted their horses with spirit, and joined the cavalcade. There were no bells to ring the peals of joy which this day pervaded the Goklan Toorkmuns: nor were they required to give more certain indication of their delight. A party of their countrymen had returned in safety from battle; the clan had gathered from every quarter; and, as they took up their position in the rear, they gave to us, who were indifferent spectators, the cordial salutation of friends. The women said, “Koosh geldee” (You are welcome), and crossed their hands on their breasts, as we passed them, in token of sincerity: I never witnessed a scene of more universal joy. A horseman, more delighted than the rest, appeared with his horse sinking under a load of bread, which he distributed in cakes to every one he met, with this remark:—“Take this, it is good in the sight of God: take it, you are a guest and a stranger.” It was impossible to look on such scenes with an eye of indifference; and could I but give in more graphic language the scenes of this day among the Toorkmuns, it would excite the warmest emotion: and yet I speak of the lawless Toorkmuns, who plunder and desolate the land: so true is it, that the character of mankind is made up of the most glaring inconsistencies and contradictions.
The Khan whom I had accompanied, was now busily engaged in the duties of his new occupation. He was the harbinger of good news to the Toorkmuns: for they, who plunder every one, had been themselves plundered by the Mezenderan troops, who had proceeded to join the army through their territories. The Prince had ordered a register of their losses to be communicated; and our Khan moved from camp to camp as a welcome visiter. I continued with him for four days, which I passed in pleasing observation of Toorkmun habits and customs. No opportunity could have been more favourable to the purpose, since we were every where well received by them; and I appeared in the suite of a great man. The tribe of Goklan Toorkmuns is subject to Persia, which has asserted its supremacy for the last thirty-six years. Their allegiance is unwilling, but it is complete; for they have exchanged the habits of rapine for the peaceful vocation of agriculture. They want the affluence and comfort which I have described among the Toorkmuns of Shurukhs. The Yamood tribe, which lies between them and the Caspian, have been also subdued by Persia; but the greater number of that clan, which is said to amount to twenty thousand families, enables them frequently to resist and rebel. The Goklans, however, have no political power. The Tuka Toorkmuns, which skirt, to the north, both these tribes that I have named, maintain their independence of Persia. The customs of the Toorkmuns do not differ from those about Bokhara, only that they more nearly resemble citizens. The women conceal the face below the mouth; though I cannot say that the personal charms of those whom I saw during our stay here would induce even a forward youth to sue for a kiss, or a sight of their ruby lips. Their dress more assimilates to that of Persia than those of the desert.
In our travels from one tenement to another, I met a man of about sixty years of age, who first attracted my notice, by observing every one dismount as he advanced, and proceed to kiss his hand; for which he gave his blessing. This was a Syud of the Toorkmuns. A Persian, who had observed my watchful attention to what was passing, called out to the aged man that I was an European; and we were soon engaged in conversation. He held the unpromising name of Mahommed Ghilich, or the “Sword of Mahommed;” but the universal respect bestowed upon him had softened his manners; and age had mellowed his voice: his sentiments, too, were pleasing. He asked if all Franks were Christians; and when I told him they were, he said, “It is well to follow our own creed: a Jew, a Christian, a Mahommedan, will be one in death.” Our conversation then turned upon the Toorkmuns; and he lamented their sale of human beings, since a difference of religion afforded no just grounds for such cruelty. “It was a propensity of their race,” said he; “for their dispositions were wicked, and they listened not to his advice. But am I speaking to a ‘Firingee?’” said the aged man, abruptly interrupting himself; “I have never before seen one; and how should I in so remote a country. Where is the country of the Franks; and where is the desert of the Toorkmuns? There must be something peculiar in our destiny,” continued he to muse aloud with himself, “which has brought you and me together. Our spirits (roh) must have had intercourse in another world, to meet in this;” which was a singular remark. After travelling together for about three miles, we stopped at a mound of earth which had a pole stuck in the centre, and several of which we had already seen. “What is this?” enquired I. “It is called a Yoozka; and marks the place where some one has died or been laid out as a corpse. The Toorkmuns say a blessing as they pass the spot, and hope for the favour of the deceased. It is an old custom among us, and you will see many others as you advance.” They are not graves, but mounds or barrows raised in honour of the dead. I entertain an impression that the usage is Tatar; but I had no opportunity of further investigation. The venerable Syud was crossing to the top of a neighbouring hill, where was his home and six sons. He clasped my hand, blessed me, wished me a safe journey to my country; and consigning me to God, according to the custom of the people, we parted.
At length we cleared the valley of the Goorgan river, and debouched upon the plain eastward of the Caspian. The landscape was very imposing. To our left, the hills, now running in a range, rose up to a great height, clad to the summit with forest trees and foliage. To our right, the extensive plains, which are watered by the rivers Atruk and Goorgan, and richly verdant, were studded with innumerable encampments of Toorkmuns, and diversified by flocks and herds. In our front, at a distance, we descried the lofty mountains of Elboorz, that seemed to shut up an otherwise boundless plain. Such a scene would have delighted any one; much more a wanderer from the deserts of Scythia.
The Khan, before I took my departure, gratified my curiosity on the subject of Toorkmun minstrelsy, by sending two “Bukhshees,” or Bards, to amuse me with their lyre and lays. The instrument was a rude two-stringed sitar, to which they sung the national airs in Toorkee. They first gave me an “Attack of the Tuka Toorkmuns on the Persians;” and the following literal translation will give some notion of a Toorkmun war song:—
The Koords, though a Persian tribe, are as much addicted to plunder as the Toorkmuns; and there is, perhaps, greater spirit in the following song in reply to the Tuka Toorkmuns:—
With these national lays closed my acquaintance with the Toorkmuns. I passed down upon Astrabad by the plain; avoiding, as much as possible, all intercourse with the Yamoods, who were not described as so pacific as the Goklans. I met several parties of them, and they offered me no incivility, though I had now left the suite of the Khan, and was travelling alone. A journey of eighty miles brought us to the town of Astrabad, from which the view is very imposing. At the base of mountains, one of which is the craggy fortress of Humawuran, the scene of Persian romance, lay the vast plain of the Toorkmuns. The Caspian could be but faintly distinguished, for it is upwards of twenty miles distant. On our route from the country of the Goklans, we passed a lofty cupola, the Goombuz Kaoos, supposed to stand on the ruins of the ancient Goorgan. It is said to have been once connected with the Caspian by a boundary line of forts styled the “Lanut Nooma,” or the “curse shower;” since every person was accursed who presumed to cross into the country of the Toorkmuns. The natives spoke of the wars and battles of by-gone years, when the rivers Goorgan and Atruk were dyed with blood; but I hope, as I believe, only in the metaphors of the poet.
In Astrabad we alighted at a caravansary; and passed two gloomy days in this “City of the Plague.” Plague. That scourge had last year devastated this town; and I sauntered without pleasure through its deserted streets. Half the shops and houses were shut, literally from want of masters; and the whole population did not exceed 4000 souls. The disease raged here with fearful violence; and from some families of ten or twelve, two or three only remained. In every instance that the tumours of the patient burst, life was spared; but not till it had left the most horrid scars as marks of its virulence: they looked like gunshot wounds. One would have almost imagined that these people had become familiarised to death, though the disease had now disappeared. The bier used for interment lay by the road-side; and I saw them washing a dead body by one of the wells in the public street, near some fruit-shops. I moved quickly away from the spectacle; and the sound of my horses’ hoofs echoed as I trod these lonely streets.
Astrabad is a place of no great note. A dry ditch, and a decayed mud wall about two miles in circumference, surround it; yet there are parts in the interior, which bear no resemblance to a city, and remind one of the country. It is the birthplace of the Kujurs, the reigning family of Persia. Hanway tells us, that in the beginning of last century, it was a considerable mart for trade; but its prosperity has declined, since it has now only four caravansaries, and there are but twelve shops for the sale of cloth. Its position is favourable, being but twenty miles from the Caspian. The magnificent causeway of Shah Abbas, which still exists, also keeps open its communication with the provinces south of that sea. Its trade with Orgunje, or Khiva, is comparatively trifling; there being but one or two annual caravans of eighty or a hundred camels. The intervening country is very disturbed; goods may be conveyed there with greater safety, by passing them up the eastern bank of the Caspian, and landing in the latitude of Khiva. There is hardly any trade between Astrabad and Russia. The climate of Astrabad is humid and disagreeable. It rains so much that it is difficult to keep a mud wall standing, and a very ingenious plan has been devised to effect it. A mat of reeds is placed on the top of the wall, covered with earth, and planted with lilies, or fleur-de-lis, which grow up luxuriantly, and thus protect it from the rain. Though Astrabad be in the same parallel as Koochan, the thermometer, which there fell below the freezing point at sunrise, now stood at 60° in October. The difference of elevation solves the problem. Astrabad produces oranges, figs, lemons, and the fruits of hot countries.
From Astrabad I proceeded to the banks of the Caspian at Nokunda, a straggling village about thirty miles distant. We might have come on it sooner, but I had an introduction to the Khan of that place, and preferred seeing the Causeway of the great Shah Abbas. It is yet in tolerable repair, and appears to have been about twelve feet broad, and formed of round stones. It runs through a thick forest, where figs, vines, and pomegranates grow spontaneously. This road will, in all probability, remain, like that of the Cæsars, as the most lasting memorial of the munificent Abbas. Without it, the province of Mazenderan would be quite impervious for many months. The Khan of Nokunda received me very kindly, and was a communicative man. He was a relation of the Khan with whom I had travelled among the Toorkmuns. He gave me a Persian dinner, and many Persian compliments; and I assured him, in return, that the guest of a night was the friend of a hundred years.
The forests of Mazenderan had yet hid the Caspian; nor did I see it till the following morning, and within half a mile of its beach. What a noble sight it at length presented, after we had been so long looking for it, and travelled from Delhi to its shores. It now rolled before us like the ocean. Near us lay five or six small vessels, here called “gummee;” and the Khan and myself embarked in one of them, and sailed merrily out to sea, from which we viewed this beautiful coast. We boarded a small Russian vessel, and the whole voyage was repaid by the reception of the captain, who, on hearing I was a European, pulled off his fur cap, and had a bit of sturgeon broiled for my refreshment. I cannot say I relished it; but then, I had not had such a bow, and such society, for many a day. These vessels are all of Russian build; they carry two masts, and hoist square sails; their tackle is superior: but there were no vessels of any great tonnage then in the harbour. There is a prevalent belief, that the waters on the southern side of the Caspian have been receding; and during these twelve years they have retired about three hundred yards, of which I had ocular proof. Over the reef which forms the Bay of Astrabad, the natives informed me that the water of the Caspian is fresh, while in other places it is brackish; but as this is the embouchure of the rivers Atruk and Goorgan, it may be readily accounted for. I did not leave the Caspian without endeavouring to verify the opinions regarding its level, which is clearly below that of the ocean. A thermometer, which boils at the sea at 212⅓°, here boiled at 213⅔°, which, according to Humboldt, would give a depression of 800 feet, which is much too great. I did not, however, use proper water for the experiment, and we shall rest satisfied simply with its being a corroboration of received opinions of the depression of this inland sea.
I took leave of the Khan of Nokundu, and proceeded to Ushruff, which is in Mazenderan, and one of the favoured seats of Shah Abbas and Nadir, and which Jonas Hanway has so graphically described some ninety years ago. All the fine buildings which he mentions have been destroyed, though their architecture is such that they might have stood for centuries. There is yet enough to leave a very favourable impression of the taste of the Persian monarch; since it is evident that they have been light and chaste, and in that keeping which ought to characterise garden-houses. A superb basin, and all the aqueducts, are yet perfect, and the cypress trees have attained a great height in their advanced age. The situation of these gardens is beautiful; they command a noble view of the Caspian.
At Ushruf we met a party of pilgrims from Bokhara and Khiva, who joined us at the caravansary. We learned from them, that the Russian caravan, which had proceeded to Mangusluk, had been plundered by the Kirgizzes, about ten days after leaving Khiva. But for the advice of the Vizier in Bokhara, we should have accompanied that caravan; and had we succeeded in passing through the town of Khiva, we should have met with the catastrophe to which I have alluded, between it and the Caspian. The pilgrims recounted the great hardships of their journey from Khiva to Astrabad, where they had experienced much oppression from the Toorkmun tribes. I had now to congratulate myself on having attended to the advice that had been given.
After we had proceeded a mile beyond Ushruf, we found the great causeway barricaded, and a villager seated with a stick, to prevent a trespass. This was the board of health at Ushruf; for we now heard, for the first time, that the plague was raging at Saree, the capital of Mazenderan, and the town at which I had that day intended to halt. We prosecuted our journey; but rested at a village two miles from Saree, where our information of the existence of the disease was confirmed. I was now on my road to Balfurosh, and its port on the Caspian,—a place of some note, where I hoped to see more Russian vessels, and enlarge my acquaintance with this sea and that people; but I made an immediate alteration in my plans, and prepared for a precipitate retreat from the shores of the Caspian and Mazenderan. Quit the Caspian. Next morning I took the high road to Tehran, and met with rather a staggering incident as we passed outside the walls of Saree. Our road brought us into a burying-ground, where two boys were digging a grave, as we passed, for two bodies that lay near them. Such a scene filled me with horror; for the people had died of the plague: but what was our astonishment to be addressed by the grave-diggers, and beseeched, as good Mahommedans, to assist in the usual ablutions of a corpse! “You shall have five ‘sahib kurans’ (about three rupees) for your trouble,” exclaimed they. There was a silence among us; no one gave an answer; and we soon found ourselves beyond Saree, having quickened the pace of our horses. This town suffered so severely from the plague in the preceding year, that there were not now more than three hundred people in it, and most of them were persons who had recovered from the disease; since the Persians bear an impression that the plague cannot be taken more than once. There were now too few people to admit of the disease spreading; but it no doubt lurked in Saree. They informed me that it had been introduced by Balfurosh from Astracan in the preceding year, and all my curiosity to see that place vanished with the information.
In our march we were joined by a native of Astrabad, who was proceeding to Tehran; and he gave me some account of the plague, which had raged last year. He had lost a son, and both he and his wife had caught the disease. She was nursing a child at the time; and though she continued to suckle it, the infant escaped. The disease did not reach its height till the tenth day, and was invariably attended with delirium. This person assured me, that he had the horror to see his own child dragged to the door by eight or ten cats, whom he with difficulty scared away; and affirmed it as his belief, that more people were killed by dogs and cats, or died from hunger, under the disease itself. None would approach an infected house, and no patient would even assist another. The plague and human nature are the same in all countries, and the affections and passions are never brought sooner to the test than in that devastating disorder.
Our stay in Mazenderan was now soon to close. It is a disagreeable country; and has so moist a climate, that the inhabitants are subject to fevers, agues, dropsies, palsies, and many other diseases. The people are sallow, and the children weak and rickety. It is a land of snakes and frogs; but the snakes are not venomous, being of the water species. They are to be seen twisting and turning every where, and about the thickness of a good-sized whip. Almost at every pace your horse disturbs some frogs, who scramble in vain for concealment even in a country of bushes and shrubs. So great is the moisture, that the rice crops are not cut, as in other countries. They mow the grain down near the ear, and place it to dry on the stubble; for it would otherwise rot. Mazenderan is a rich province. The sugar cane thrives in it; but they do not appear to prepare it beyond the first stage, and sell it as molasses. Cotton also grows luxuriantly, and silkworms are educated every where. The fruit is good, and much of it grows wild. There are whole woods of pomegranate trees; and the people collect the fruit, and, after drying the seeds in the sun, export them as a rarity to other countries.
The peasantry, with a sickly, have yet a comfortable appearance. They tie folds of cloth round their legs and fix them with a low shoe, and lacing cords. They wade through their muddy roads with these, and tell you they are superior to boots, since they may be dried in the evening! The men wear dark clothes, and the women dress generally in red,—the two colours which I suppose are easiest made. Many of the people wear caps of felt, instead of lambskin. The houses of the country are buried in vegetation; creepers, melons, and pumpkins are every where to be seen resting on the roofs. Every house has a garden, and is surrounded by a hedge of mulberries; most of them are elevated by wooden poles to a considerable height from the ground, to prevent the bad effects of moisture. The inhabitants pass the summer and autumnal months in the hills, where they cultivate rice. They live in huts, and call such a residence “yailak,” in distinction from “kishlak,” which they apply to their permanent habitations.