Finding my quarters in Julfa extremely inconvenient and small, I bought a little house and did it up after my own ideas of comfort. The place was originally two houses and formed the quarters of two sergeants, but by purchasing both houses, which I got for sixty pounds, freehold, with an indisputable title, I was able to make a very comfortable place indeed.

I had two large and airy summer rooms, cool in the extreme, and admitting currents of air in every direction. A large anteroom opened into a smaller room, when the doors were closed nearly air-tight, with a large fireplace. This was my winter room; and in it I made a shutter opening into the anteroom by which meals were served without opening the door: these arrangements were needed, as Ispahan is bitterly cold in the winter. There were two cool upper rooms, one of which by a grated window looked on the street over the doorway. Besides this there were three warm and sheltered bedrooms on the ground floor of fair size, for winter, all with fireplaces. There was much good dry cellar accommodation, a good kitchen and servants’ quarters, a small garden in the outer courtyard shaded by trellised vines, and I planted about fifty fruit-trees, which cost from threepence to sixpence each, in the inner one. The whole was surrounded by a high wall of some twenty feet, built of mud bricks; around the inner side of the parallelogram formed by this outer wall were built the rooms. There were heavy wooden outer doors, and within them a large arched doorway where the business of the house, with tradesmen, forage-sellers, etc., was conducted. I had also a room for my dispensary, and a granary.

And all this freehold for sixty pounds! Is it not a poor man’s paradise?

On completing my purchase I proceeded to spend four hundred kerans, or sixteen pounds, in painting, plastering, wall-building; whitening or staining pale blue the interior of the rooms (the building was happily in thorough repair), paving my anteroom, six by four yards square, with white and blue encaustic tiles, kargilling or plastering with mud the whole outside of walls, roof, and rooms; putting in two windows of coloured glass, and painting, gilding, plastering, and decorating my dining or living room, and my best bedroom de haut en bas. In fine, for about eighty pounds, I had a freehold house, wind, water, and cold proof, with large and cool quarters in summer, or warm in winter, a paved courtyard; and the happy feeling that I was in my own place and could do what I pleased to it, and that anything that I did was not a case of sic vos non vobis.

The superintendence of my alterations gave me pleasant occupation, and, like Robinson Crusoe, I felt time slip quickly away. But I had hardly been a year in the house when I went home on leave, and ultimately the place was sold by auction for sixty pounds with all my improvements! A friend of mine in 1880 wished to purchase it, but the then owner declined one hundred and sixty pounds for his bargain.

About September I had a severe attack of typhoid fever, and became on my convalescence extremely depressed. I could not regain my strength, and I applied for sick leave to England. I was told to march up by easy stages to Teheran and appear before a medical board. I started with my cook and a groom, and each evening I nearly made my mind up to go no further, so utterly done up did I feel. In this depressed condition I arrived at Kashan: here I got a telegram from Colonel S—, the Director, telling me that he was leaving Teheran the next day with Sir A. Kemball, the British Resident at Baghdad, who was going home on leave by the last steamer, that of course I could not catch that, and so he kindly invited me to stay in Teheran with him till I was myself again and able to return to duty.

This news upset me altogether; I had determined to march to Teheran, and had hoped that by that time I should have got strong enough to post to the Caspian, catch the last Caspian steamer, and so home viâ Russia.

So impressed was I with the stupid idea that I must get home to get well, that I made up my mind at once to try and make a push to catch the Colonel and Sir A. Kemball. Tired as I was, I took a post-horse at once—I had not enough money with me to take two (in Persia one carries as little cash as possible). I told my servants to get home as well as they could.

I determined to push on coûte que coûte. Leaving Kashan at dawn I got to Kūm, twenty-one farsakhs (seventy miles), by ten at night, and I felt fit to die, for I couldn’t eat or drink, my stomach retaining nothing; eighteen hours in the saddle brought me to Teheran, twenty-three farsakhs, or seventy-seven miles. I got to Colonel S—’s house, only to find him gone. I had a bath, I still could eat nothing; I borrowed money and lay down till the afternoon, when I went before a medical board, who seemed to look upon my quick ride to the capital as a sort of certificate of perfect health, and I feared that my leave would not be granted. However, my appearance, my staring eyes and shaven head were in my favour, and leave was given me; but I was told that, as I must miss the steamer, it was useless. These steamers cease running as soon as the mouth of the Volga freezes, and a telegram had come to say the next one would be the last.

At five the same afternoon I mounted, having a bottle of claret, the only thing I could take, a tin of soup and some tea with me, also a brandy flask. I knew my only chance was to keep on. As I came to each stage I found the time Sir A. Kemball and Colonel S— had preceded me was greater and greater, but they slept—I did not—I kept on, with the feeling that, as Giles Hoggett says, “it’s dogged as does it.” I rode all night and got to Kasvin, twenty-five farsakhs (eighty-eight miles), in fourteen hours. Here I had a difficulty in getting horses. The liberal presents given by Colonel S— and his party had roused the extortionate feelings of the holy man in charge of the post-house (he was a Syud and a noted rascal). At first he would not give me horses at all, telling me there were none, and to go and rest, as I was ill; but I was determined. I submitted to the swindle of paying five kerans for a so-called permit for horses; this I carefully kept, promising myself to administer a thrashing should I ever return.

This I had the satisfaction of doing, when in robust health, some five months afterwards. And I duly thonged the Syud, to his astonishment and disgust, for I was so changed he did not recognise me. He then of course called me “aga” (master) and held my stirrup when I mounted.

After a delay of about four hours I got away from Kasvin, and I was now gaining on the party in front; but I was doubly unfortunate: the Colonel’s large party took seven horses, and more if they could get them, and I was preceded by the courier, who, a hale man, had started two hours in front of me. Thus the horses I got were doubly tired, but I kept on with the obstinacy of a sick man, though at times I think I was half delirious. I could eat nothing, and the only thing that had passed my lips since leaving Kashan, where I took soup, was a little claret; an attempt to breakfast in Teheran had made me very ill indeed. I arrived at a post-house, got two new horses, gave a present to my former guide, and on I went. I was too ill to talk, and my disinclination to speak caused an amusing incident at one place. The guide, thinking me a “new chum” who did not understand the language, amused himself the greater part of the stage by calling me “rascal,” “dog,” “son of a burnt father,” etc. This same fellow stole my matches and emptied my claret-bottle. I could have wept, but was too ill to thrash him or even remonstrate.

I kept on, never stopping more than the time to saddle. Night came on, and on getting to Rustumabad I was delighted to find the courier asleep, giving his two tired horses a rest. I took two others, also tired ones, and on I went, leaving him peacefully slumbering. We were now in dense forest—it was pitch dark; the horses previously tired by the rapid riding of Colonel S—’s party, and the return journey from the long and bad stage of six farsakhs, they having gone before my getting them about forty miles. When I got some ten miles into the forest, the poor beasts refused to move. The guide was, or pretended to be, in great terror of wild beasts, repeating “Jūniver, jūniver!” (“Wild animals!”) to me continually. Of the presence of these there was no mistake, from the continued noises and roarings, though we saw none. There was nothing for it but to dismount. My matches being stolen, I tore out some cotton wool from my quilt, mixed it with a little powder from a broken cartridge, and fired my revolver through it. We soon had an enormous fire. How I enjoyed it and the rest! The damp of the swamps—it is as damp here as it is dry in the middle and south of Persia—had seemed to enter my bones; and how I had longed for rest. Now I got a little for the first time, lying on my quilt, my head on my saddle-bags, before an immense fire, which the guide fed with broken trunks and boughs. I enjoyed a sensation of delightful rest I have never felt before or since. I even managed to eat a little soup, and the guide made tea in the tin. How I revelled in it, for I knew I must catch the Colonel by breakfast-time, before he could leave Resht, and consequently not lose the last steamer. I reluctantly left the fire as soon as the horses could move, and we plodded on in the dark. We got to Koodūm before dawn, and into Resht to M. M—’s house by nine, where I found the Colonel and his party at breakfast.

Thirty-one farsakhs, over long stages and bad roads, in twenty-two hours (one hundred and eight miles), or one hundred and ninety-six miles from Teheran in forty-one hours, was good travelling on tired horses, and for a sick man.

Colonel S—, who was astounded at seeing me, supposing me four stages beyond Kashan, must, I think, have looked upon me as an impostor. He was very cold indeed.

I tried to eat some breakfast, but failed, and left on a bad horse to cross the swamp with the rest of the party for Peri-bazaar. It was some miles through a nasty swampy road, the fine chaussée there now is, not then existing.

My horse fell four times, and rolled me in the mud, for I could not help myself. We got into the boat which was to take us to Enzelli (or the steamer—I forget which), and then I went off into a series of faints. Now, as a man can’t sham faints, I suppose the Colonel came to the conclusion that I was really ill. Anyhow, he was most kind to me; and as he went on with us as far as Lenkoran, on the Caspian, both he and Sir A. Kemball were lavish in kindness and attention.

I was very wretched indeed, for the spurt being over, I utterly broke down, and I fear I proved a wretched fellow-traveller to Sir A. Kemball, with whom I went as far as Petersburg. Of the Caspian journey I remember nothing. I had a week’s rest in my berth, during which I lived on wine and broth, only moving when I was obliged, or when we changed steamers.

When we got to Moscow we went to the Grand Opera and saw a Russian patriotic opera, called ‘A Life for the Czar.’ The music was pretty, the dresses interesting. It was well played and well sung by Russian singers. Another night we saw ‘La Muette di Portici’ (Masaniello) in Italian; and the third time we went, a grand ballet in five acts, that lasted four hours—oh! and I had a cricked neck at the time.

From Moscow to Petersburg is a run of twenty-four hours in a straight line, for when the railway was about to be constructed the then Emperor Nicholas, having the plans placed before him, took a pen, and, drawing with a ruler a straight line between the two places, indicated the route he wished, with a smile. At enormous expense every difficulty was surmounted, and the direct route was made. It is literally from Moscow to Petersburg, and no large town is touched. This is the story; the map says nearly a straight line.

I went home direct by rail from Petersburg, getting to Brighton November 1st, 1868, was in bed three weeks, and an invalid for three months. However, I got the balance of my sick leave cancelled, and came back to my duties before it was over.

On March 5th, 1869, I again set out for Persia, viâ Marseilles, leaving London at a quarter to eight A.M. I got to Paris at six P.M., took a cab for the Lyons station, caught the mail which left at a quarter past seven P.M., and arrived in Marseilles on the 6th at noon. Being very tired, I went on board at once, and succeeded in getting a state-room all to myself; slept till four. At five P.M. we started in a tremendous sea, dead-lights up, and the violin (planks fixed with cords to prevent the table equipage leaving the table) at dinner. The steamer was one of the Messageries Maritimes, the Illysse, screw, two hundred and eighty horsepower.

The next day (the 7th) we entered the Straits of Bonifacio at four P.M., where the weather was fine but cold; passing Garibaldi’s house in Caprera, a small white building, Corsica, and Sardinia; then the “passage of the Bear,” so called from there being a figure formed by nature at the summit of the lofty rocks somewhat like a bear. The scenery of Corsica and Sardinia seems very desolate and rocky. Monday morning, Italy—fine and warm. Tuesday, 9th, at ten P.M., came to Messina; saw nothing. Half-past five next morning we started. Wednesday, very rough all day; only four at dinner; awful night; rounded Cape Matapan at eleven P.M. Wind, which was before in our teeth, then in our favour; impossible to sleep from cries of the sick and continuous smashing of crockery.

Thursday, 11th.—Splendid day, fair wind; reached the Piræus (port of Athens) in a lovely sun; water blue, smooth, and clear. Unable to go to the Acropolis, as our captain said we might start at any moment (you see it well in the distance). I saw the railway opened. The Queen was present; she is pretty, and very gracious. Left same day at five P.M.; awful night.

March 12th.—Very fine, fair wind. Saw the supposed site of ancient Troy. Supposed tombs of Hector and Achilles two large tumuli. Lovely scenery down Dardanelles. Stopped an hour at Gallipoli.

March 13th.—Arrived at Constantinople at seven A.M. Went to Hôtel de Byzance—much better than Misseri’s; to the bazaar—hot, noisy, and interesting. I had a Turkish bath; much better than the Persian ones. They give you clogs to keep your feet from the hot floors, and wicker cages with couches in them to smoke your hubble-bubble and drink your coffee in, after the bath.

Monday, 15th.—Left Constantinople by the French boat for Trebizonde.

March 20th.—Reached Trebizonde; breakfasted with Mr. G. Palgrave, our well-known consul, and his wife; started with the courier for Erzeroum at seven the same evening.

The first few stages were muddy and uneventful; we soon came to snowy passes; here my eyes got swollen, and I could barely follow the courier. When we reached Erzeroum (23rd), after having been several times stopped by snow, and once nearly lost in it, I was led into the house of Mr. Taylor, our consul. I could just see a dim form and hear a kind voice.

March 24th.—Next morning I could not open my eyes, they were so swollen. The tatar who came with me is in the same state. This is caused by the snow; my head is also swollen, and my face all swollen and puffy.

The Persian chupper (or post) was to start in the afternoon, and I decided to go on, but when I found that after leeching my eyelids they were still closed, I was only too glad to accept Mr. Taylor’s kind invitation to stop. I was a prisoner to the house for five days, and at the end of that time I could open my eyes.

Erzeroum is a terribly cold place, although there are double windows and stoves all over the house, and though the skin-covered doors shut tight by means of a weight, it is impossible to keep warm. The snow in the town is four to twelve feet deep. It is supposed to be the coldest place in Turkey, and is on a snow-covered plain, surrounded by snow-covered mountains. Only four months in the year are surely free from snow.

Mr. B—, the Chancellier here, tells me that the Erzeroumis are so sharp that there are no Jews. A colony once came, but finding that the natives weighed the eggs and bought only the heaviest ones, they left the place in disgust.

Of course the state of my eyes prevented my seeing anything of the place, but I shall never forget the cold. Of my journey from Trebizonde to Erzeroum I have few details,[18] and my blindness prevented my writing up my diary.

I reached Teheran on the 13th of April, and meeting M. Sergipatoffski, one of the attachés at the Russian Legation, three stages out, I hurried in just in time to be present at the races got up by the Europeans, of which he advised me.

Being too wayworn and dirty to be introduced to the ladies, I saw the principal race decided in my posting dress. Here I saw one hundred pounds offered to my chief, Mr. B—, for his chestnut horse, Arkansas, who walked off with the big race as he pleased. Mr. B— refused it, but the animal was not good for much afterwards.

I looked forward to a good rest, but on the 15th I had, after a two days’ stay, to start on duty at nine P.M., getting to Ispahan after a heavy journey in sixty-three hours (rain came down nearly the whole time. Distance, two hundred and seventy-two miles) on the 18th of April. My colleague, Dr. C—, whom I had gone thus hurriedly to attend, was seriously ill, but soon got on his legs.

Early in June I left under orders for Shiraz, marching at night, on account of the heat. In this mode of travelling one sees little of the country. For distances and stages see Appendix.

In this journey, on my second stage, I met a poor prince, Abbas Kuli Khan, who was travelling with his little daughter, aged nine, and a companion, Hadji Ali Akbar, a priest. This priest was a great sportsman, and a very amusing companion. Abbas Kuli Khan was a relative of my friend Abu Seif Mirza, of Hamadan, and introduced himself. He was one of the large number of poor princes of Shiraz. His pension from Government was very irregularly paid, and he was travelling with “kajaweh” (covered paniers) for his little daughter, and a pony on which he and the priest rode alternately. The roads from the commencement of the famine were very unsafe, and they were as glad to increase the force of my caravan as I was to get a reinforcement of two determined well-armed men. The little daughter delighted in the tremendous name of Bēbē Sakineh Sultan Khanum, and was very like a pet monkey, being mischief personified. The presence of these people broke the monotony of the fifteen days’ march to Shiraz.

One thing that attracts one’s attention when marching is the road-beetle. These insects seem to be perpetually employed in moving the balls of horse or camel dung to their nests off the road. They exhibit wonderful instinct in their manœuvres to effect this object, and to bury the balls; they also bury themselves at the same time. Their search for the balls of dung is conducted on the wing, and they never seem to touch anything else. When found, the insect alights and proceeds to roll the ball by main force, either standing on its hindmost legs and rolling it as we do casks, or at times placing its head to the ground, and propelling the ball by the hind legs. Many of the insects are trodden underfoot by horses, as they seem impelled by a passion to bury the dung regardless of external circumstances. They vary much in size, from a Barcelona nut to that of a walnut. Through the activity of these insects very little horse-dung, save that which is trodden, is seen on the roads. They work summer and winter, and as one marches in the sun, with one’s eyes on the ground, one is astonished at the myriads of these beetles.

At times, too, for about two days in spring, the ground teems with mole crickets. For two days around Meshed-i-Mūrghab, in the neighbourhood of Shiraz, there were such numbers that one would be seen in each space two yards square for several miles; two days after, though I searched for them, I could not find one. Near Ispahan, too, some fortnight afterwards, I found them innumerable, and next day I again failed to find a single individual in the same place. Do they all come out at once, i. e. in one or two days?

Lizards are very numerous in some places, and their varieties infinite; the dry, stony plains swarm with them in hot weather. They are generally small, but I have seen them over a yard long. The little fellows simply run a yard or two to escape the horse’s hoof, and then remain motionless to avoid observation. One often thus loses sight of them when attempting to watch them, so like in colour are they to the plain. The dogs on first starting on a march generally chase, kill, and eat them. They invariably vomit after it, and quite tire themselves out; as the journey tells on them, however, they cease to notice the lizards.

Jerboa rats are very frequent, particularly in the south of Persia, while one very occasionally sees a “Gūr-ken,” or grave-digger (Meles canescens), and still seldomer the porcupine.

On the march antelope are frequently seen, and at times cross the road close to one. I have also twice seen wild asses in the distance, and moufflon in the hills. Sand-grouse (Bagh-a-ghulla)—so called from their cry, which it well expresses—ravens, hawks, eagles, owls, vultures, and fly-catchers innumerable—these latter sit in rows on the telegraph-wires, and are of gorgeous plumage—are often seen, and flocks of pigeons and partridges; while ducks, teal, widgeon, mallards, cranes, and herons, with single and double snipe, wild geese and cormorants abound near water, as do frogs, who generally announce its whereabouts at night. There is little enough to be seen in a march from Ispahan to Shiraz, and the greater part of the journey was done at night to avoid the heat.

Kūm-i-Shah, a large city, with many shrines and a great resort of pilgrims, is not seen much of by the tired traveller. Yezd-i-khast, or Yzed-khast, is elsewhere described by me, and Abadeh is little more than a large village; while Dehbeed, the coldest place in Persia, save in the high mountains, has merely a telegraph-office and post-house, the caravanserai being in ruins. Beyond this, one comes to Mūrghab and the tomb of Cyrus, of which the description by Ussher will be found when a march from Shiraz to Ispahan is given in detail. Then the Persepolis plain, with Persepolis (Takht-i-Jemshid) and Naksh-i-Rustam on the opposite side of the valley.

To those who desire to get a graphic and correct account of Persepolis, I would recommend Ussher’s ‘Journey from London to Persepolis,’ p. 533. All that can be said about it is said by him, and, being no archæologist, it would be impertinence were I to attempt a description. I have often passed it, and when marching have frequently visited it; but my curiosity was always exceeded by my anxiety to either reach Shiraz, or proceed on my journey to Ispahan. Accurate as he is, I regret to see that Ussher perpetuates the legends of the Meana bug, winding it up with the pathetic sentence, “All vital energy fading away from the emaciated frame, the victim perishes at the end, a prey to the fatal venom” (p. 654, ibid.).