A great thing in such a warm place as Shiraz is the cheapness of ice; for about fifteen shillings in dear years and five in cheap ones, ice can be obtained, all through the warm weather, and in fact is used from May to October, as no one would think of drinking anything uncooled. A huge block is thrown down in one’s doorway each morning by the ice-seller; it is supposed to weigh two Tabriz maunds, or fourteen pounds.

The Persians well understand the art of making water-ices and ice-creams, and various ices unknown to us are made by them, as tamarind juice, pomegranate and cherry-water ices; iced “mast,” or curdled milk, and various ices of pounded fruits, as apricots and cherries, which are very good.

Ices, however, are served with them on a more lavish scale, and a larger quantity eaten, than with us. When I accompanied Captain St. J— in a call he made upon the Muschir, four conical ices, the size and shape of an ordinary sugar-loaf, were placed in handsome Chinese porcelain basins before each of us. In fact the cheapness of provisions generally causes among the well-to-do a lavishness and profusion (not to call it waste) unknown in Europe.

The Muschir has a “yakhjal,” or place for the making and collecting and storing ice, in an open plain some six miles from the town at the side of the Ispahan road. The earth is dug out to a depth of two feet; with this earth a mud wall some twenty feet high is constructed of sun-dried bricks. The excavation is some ten yards by one hundred, and the wall is ten yards high by a hundred long; this wall runs in such a way as to protect the open pond thus excavated, from the hottest rays of the sun.

The delicious Ab-i-Rookhni (“stream of Rookhnabad”) is diverted from its course during the first cold night. A few inches of still clear water is collected in the pond, by morning it is frozen; at night the water is again admitted, and another inch or two of ice made. When three to six inches thick, the ice is broken and collected for storage in a deep well on the spot: and so day by day the process goes on during the short winter until the storehouses are full. Should the supplies from these be exhausted by a very large demand, ice, or rather blocks of snow, are brought from the mountains; but as these are some distance, and as snow melts much faster than ice, the weights being equal, the price rises.

An order is generally issued when the ice is running short that each house is to be on half allowance—a wise measure, as it makes the cooks careful, and so everybody gets some.

So common is the use of ice that the poorest are enabled to have it, a big bit being sold for a farthing, and even the bowls of water for gratuitous drinking at the shop doors are cooled by it. Ripe fruit is generally also cooled prior to being eaten.

The water of Shiraz itself—unless that of Rookhni or Zangi, another mountain spring, which has to be brought from a distance—is almost poisonous, being much contaminated by surface drainage, etc. The Mussulman world has a horrible idea that a certain body of water, however great the quantity, or disgusting the nature, of the filth poured into it, remains absolutely pure, and the result is that a great deal of serious illness is produced; this is one of the reasons why cholera is so very severe in the East, irrespective of the natural action of the climate. I can only say that I was obliged, while in Shiraz, never to drink water save when from the two springs, or in the form of tea, when it was of course boiled; one glass of sherbet or one tumbler of water making me ill.

My friend the British Agent, Mirza Hassan Ali Khan, C.S.I., used always to send a servant to the Rookhni stream, but the fellow used, I fancy, to fill his water-skins, which were carried on a mule, elsewhere, for although Rookhni water tastes of the wild sage that grows on its banks, and my friend the agent thus had as he fancied an infallible means of knowing it, yet I think the wily water-bearer was capable of having a stock of sage leaves with which he would flavour the water got from the town stream, along the edges of which sat all the laundresses of Shiraz washing (in it) their foul linen.

I met the Prince-Governor one day on horseback, and he asked me if I had ever seen a camel fight. I replied that I had not; he told me to ride on with him and he would show me sport, as he was going to amuse himself with one. We rode to the back of the royal garden, or “Bagh-i-No” (new garden); here are always encamped hundreds of mules and camels. No sooner did the prince arrive than the camel-men attempted to run away, but the farrashes with their long sticks and a few horsemen soon brought them back.

The prince ordered them to bring two male camels (in a state of must[21]). At this they wept and tore their hair, for they did not wish their property to be destroyed or depreciated for the amusement of the young shah-zadeh. However, there was no escape; the courtiers soon pointed out two huge males secured apart from the rest of the animals, and from their continued groanings and roarings evidently in a state of must.

By the prince’s orders these were let loose; they “went for each other” at once. At first they danced round one another in a lumbering way; then what appeared like a huge bladder was projected from their mouths: they then knelt before each other, and a sort of fencing match took place; the ordinarily quiet, patient faces of the beasts were changed into ones of savage fury; the mouths widely open, and the retracted upper lips showed the white teeth; and from the open mouths came quantities of foam. The long supple necks were interlaced, and quickly darted from side to side, while now and then the open savage mouths would be locked together. The object was to seize either the throat or leg. The feints and meeting of the mouths lasted some few minutes, accompanied by loud groans and roarings of extraordinary fierceness. At length one beast, the paler one, seized his adversary by the foot; while the other, a handsome, long-haired animal, only got hold of his opponent’s ear. Blood flowed freely, and the poor camel-men, who wanted to separate the animals, were much beaten by the attendants. At last the dark long-haired animal left go, and roared with agony; the victor commenced to drag him about by the bitten foot. After some pressure the prince allowed them to be separated. An awful wound was apparent on the foot of the dark camel, and the efforts of some eight men with bludgeons, ropes, and chains were required to restrain the victor from pursuing his advantage, while the vanquished limped off with his weeping master, roaring with mingled rage and pain. The prince, ordering ten tomans to be given to the camel-men (poor fellows! I doubt if anything ever reached them), rode off.

Camels are mostly not vicious, save when must. They can kill a man with a kick; and when they bite, worry; and they generally bite the piece out. They are usually tethered apart when in this state, which soon passes off, and secured by bending one or even both fore-feet, and tying the leg in this position, which renders them powerless. This is the same principle as that adopted by Rarey the horse-tamer.

About this time I was requested to go at once to Fussa—this place is some ninety miles from Shiraz—where the Governor of the province (that of Fussa) lay ill. I obtained leave of absence for a week, and made an arrangement to go in one day and night, return in another twenty-four hours, and have five days’ attendance on my patient.

The Muschir, to whose daughter Mirza Ali Akbar the Khan Wakeel, as he was called, was married, was anxious that I should start at once, and gave me a handsome fee. I agreed that I was while at Fussa to be the guest of my patient, and that he was to find me in food and house-room; and this was an important stipulation, as in a place where a European had possibly never been seen, it might have been difficult to get a comfortable lodging or even food.

Two wild-looking horsemen and a servant of the British Agent presented themselves, with a little bay pony of dolorous aspect in a halter for my riding. I, knowing that no horses were laid out, asked with scorn how the small pony could possibly carry me ninety miles in twenty-four hours, which I had stipulated for; but all three men assured me that I should certainly arrive, myself and saddle-bags, in the time on the little animal. I confess that I disbelieved them, but we started off at a smart canter, and we cantered for ten hours with short breaks of ambling. We got to a village two hours after midnight, slept for four hours, and arrived in Fussa at four, doing the journey under the time; the small bay seemingly not at all distressed, and prepared to go back to Shiraz at once at the same rate if desired. I was then surprised; I know that any one of my own well-fed big horses would have knocked up. But these little animals, used to the severest continuous work, do it in the most extraordinary manner. I am a big, heavy man; my saddle was a heavy English hussar saddle, and my bags and bedding certainly weighed forty pounds or more. Of course the beast I rode was a good one of his kind, and probably a very good one, for when I left, the Governor of Fussa declined to part with him even at a fancy price of three times his apparent value.

We rode up to the door of the Governor, whom I found propped up with pillows in a corner of the room, a huge, fat man about thirty-eight, who was a general debauchee, opium-eater, wine and spirit drinker, and bhang smoker. He was suffering from gout.

An aged Syud, with a long beard and blue turban, was in attendance from Shiraz as his physician. The Governor himself was a strikingly good-tempered, even jovial man, and between the paroxysms of his gout, joked and talked. The village, or rather district, magnates sat round him chiming in with all his observations, and trying to soothe his pains. They were, master and retainers, the fattest set of men I ever saw collected in one room. A long description of the patient’s ills ensued, many pipes of peculiar construction were smoked, and I was offered a tumblerful of strong spirit as a matter of course, considerable surprise being expressed at my refusing it.

Tea was continually handed round, which everybody, including the patient, swallowed; a native bottle was frequently produced from under his pillow from which he partook of copious draughts of pure spirit, taken from a silver bowl holding half a pint: this was emptied frequently. Every two hours my patient swallowed a bolus of opium. Though we were in the middle of summer, some thirty to fifty people were always in the room, and every window was shut and curtained; thus a semi-darkness was produced. Smoke from innumerable pipes filled the air, while the heat was rendered greater by a huge samovar, in which water for tea-making bubbled. The temperature was ninety degrees out of doors at five P.M. The chatter of conversation was continuous, and four musicians strove to drive dull care away by playing loudly in a corner. I found my patient had just had an attack of delirium tremens, and was going the right way for another.

At seven, after having prescribed for him, I escaped to my quarters under the pretext of dining, and lay down to rest. At nine my servant informed me that my dinner was about to be served; and a large circular tray, having some six dishes on it, with bread and all et cæteras, a huge bowl of iced sherbet and a bottle of wine, was brought in. I was very hungry and anxious to fall to, and I felt a sense of anguish, when, to my astonishment, my servant (whom I had brought from Shiraz), assuming the part of the Governor of Barataria’s physician, ordered the whole away in an indignant voice.

As soon as my dinner had disappeared, I demanded an explanation of my man. It was this: “I know, sahib, that the dinner I sent away was quite enough for the sahib, and a good dinner, but here in Persia a man’s position is reckoned by the quantity of the dinner sent him, and the number of plats. They have sent you six plats. I have told them that you couldn’t think of dining on less than eighteen; and if I allowed you to eat the dinner that was sent, good as it was, you would be looked down on. Are you less than the prince’s physician? Certainly not. They would send him, or rather he would demand, at least twelve plats. I assure you I am acting in your interest.”

I suppose the fellow was right. Dinner for at least twenty-four persons was brought on three huge trays. I tasted some half-dozen well-cooked dishes, and then my servant removed the rest, and I observed him, with the master of the house and numerous hangers-on, dining in the open air on the very copious dinner that remained. The man was right. Such are some of the ways a Persian has of keeping up his consequence.

About ten P.M. I went, a few doors off, to the house of my patient the Governor. The same stifling room, the same hard drinking, only now everybody was drinking. Dancing-boys and singers, shrieking the noisy love-songs of Persia in chorus, were keeping up the spirits of my patient. To the few who were not drinking wines or spirits, tea was continually handed. Long conversations on the topic of the patient’s illness took place, and on local politics. Wearily, at two A.M., on the ground that my patient must try to sleep, I succeeded in getting away. I was accompanied home by a big man with a jet black beard, a Khan who was one of the Muschir’s retainers, and a polite fellow. What was my disgust to find his bedding spread in my little room. I told my man to bring him my water-pipe to smoke, and then I remonstrated. I said it was not a “Feringhi” custom to sleep in a room with strangers. But the Khan said it was late, that there were no other quarters, and commenced to disrobe. “If you must have a separate room, take that,” said he, pointing to two heavy doors at the end of the apartment.

I opened them, and found a small room, windowless, in which apparently charcoal had been stored. Impossible for me to sleep there; but, thought I, “these are really my quarters, why shouldn’t the Khan sleep there? he is the intruder.” I pretended to collect my bedding.

“You are never going in there!” said he.

“Why not?” I replied. “Look, look! the huge scorpion!” I shouted. He jumped up, seized a stick, and ran into the charcoal cupboard, for it was nothing more.

“Where?” said he.

“There! there!” said I.

He was well inside—to slam and secure the heavy doors was the work of a moment. He shouted and swore, kicking at the door, but it was a very strong one, and nobody came to his assistance. He then entreated, promising to go elsewhere; but I couldn’t trust him, and so I composed myself to sleep, and soon dropped off. In the morning on waking a melancholy voice entreated liberation; but I could not do it then, as he might have taken vengeance. So I went off to the Governor, and complained of the intrusion on my quarters; my man then liberated the much-begrimed but now humbled Khan; and I got another set of rooms, in which I was more comfortable.

I saw no more of the Khan: the laugh was too strong against him, and he returned at once to Shiraz. Until my arrival the Governor was not aware of the nature of his disorder; with great trouble I got him to reduce his opium and cease his potations. I was happily able to give him relief, and we parted mutually satisfied after I had been five days at Fussa.

The place was much warmer than Shiraz; grain and cattle were cheap indeed here. The soil, though sandy, is very fertile; and the town, or rather collection of villages (for it is more a district than a town), is interspersed with groves of date palms. Oranges are, of course, abundant, and there is great plenty in the place. There had need be, for the exactions of those in power are very great in Persia. The people were a laughing, careless set, devoid of fanaticism, having indeed very little religion. Nearly all drank wine to excess. The women seldom veiled, and talked with me without any mauvaise honte. They indeed seemed to do most of the work; for the field-work was probably not heavy, save at harvest-time, the country being so very fertile. The road from Fussa was a howling desert, except a well-watered village about half-way.

We passed the edge of the big Salt Lake, some ten miles from Shiraz, on which appears an island, or what looks like an island. After skirting this lake, whose shores are bordered by an edge of mud some fifty yards in width, we reached the village of Jaffir-a-bad, and thence, passing small villages and gardens in every direction, got to the plain of Shiraz. The pony brought me in as quickly as I had gone out, and I had had a peep at country life in the south of Persia.

The prince’s hakim-bashi, the M.D. of Paris, replaced me, and he, too, had a week’s leave. When he left, the old Syud told the patient that he had gangrene, cut off the gouty toe, and being unable to staunch the blood, the man died in forty-eight hours.

A year after this, one of the sergeants built a large boat for the exploration of the Salt Lake. This boat-building was an amusement for us, but the boat was found to be so heavy that it required fifteen porters to carry her through the streets. She certainly held eight people, but was very deep in the water, and more a barge than a boat, but as she was flat-bottomed she would not turn over. While I was in Ispahan, where I had gone on duty, she was placed on the large tank of the Bagh-i-Takht, and after twenty-four hours left to the mercy of the populace. I believe she is at the bottom of that tank now.

Another of the sergeants, a really skilled workman, and fired by the actual boat having been floated, in conjunction with the builder of the first one, resolved to make a real wherry. This they did from various drawings, and they succeeded in building a very handsome boat, having curved planks, which were bent with great trouble with hot water. This boat was also fastened with copper rivets, and really handsomely finished; but though so light that three men could carry it, it held two comfortably, and would probably have been speedy, but it was so terribly crank that no one would venture in it; and though it was ballasted till the gunwale was almost level with the water, it turned over on the slightest movement. This, the second and last boat built by the English in Shiraz, is also at the bottom of one of the tanks. At Ispahan an extraordinary barge was made afterwards by two of the staff for the Zil-es-Sultan, and this could be rowed; but it was a barge, and had no pretensions to be called a boat.

I now started a dog-cart, which I received from Kurrachee, intending it for Ispahan, where there are good roads; as fate would have it, when the thing arrived I had been stationed at Shiraz, where there were next to no roads. I put my trap together with some difficulty, for the wood had warped in the long land journey, and found it to be a big dog-cart of the largest, heaviest, and (luckily) strongest type. Its weight appalled us all.

Followed by a crowd, our servants dragged it outside the city gates, and I put my chestnut horse in. Of course, he had never been in the shafts before. On attempting to urge him forward he sat down, as a dog sits, and declined to stir; this manœuvre he constantly repeated. I now in despair tried an old and valueless grey horse. He walked off with the machine at once, and, barring the want of roads, I had no difficulty. Luckily, the trap was built of a solidity I have never seen, save in railway carriages, and so, regardless of roads, I was able to go about. The stony bed of the river, with an occasional bit of hard road, and thence to the sandy plain of Jaffir-a-bad, was about the only drive.

Here, and here only in the neighbourhood of Shiraz, one sees enormous tarantulas. These beasts, some with bodies as large as a pigeon’s egg and legs in proportion, are very brave; when attacked with a stick, instead of taking flight, they advance threateningly at the person who molests them, and attempt to bite the stick; they are really formidable-looking brutes, covered with brown hair.

A story was told me by the late Dr. Fagergren, a Swede in Persian employ, who had been twenty-five years in Shiraz, to the effect that scorpions, when they see no chance of escape, commit suicide; and he told me, that when one was surrounded by a circle of live coals, it ran round three times and then stung itself to death. I did not credit this, supposing that the insect was probably scorched, and so died. I happened one day to catch an enormous scorpion of the black variety. In Persia they are of two kinds: black; and light green, or greenish yellow; the black variety being supposed to be much the more venomous. The full-grown scorpions generally are from two to three inches long; I have seen one five inches when extended from the tip of the claws to the sting, but he was phenomenal. The one I caught was very large, and to try the accuracy of what I supposed to be a popular superstition, I prepared in my courtyard a circle of live charcoal a yard in diameter. I cooled the bricks with water, so that the scorpion could not be scorched, and tilted him from the finger-glass in which he was imprisoned unhurt into the centre of the open space; he stood still for a moment, then, to my astonishment, ran rapidly round the circle three times, came back to the centre, turned up his tail (where the sting is), and deliberately by three blows stabbed or stung himself in the head; he was dead in an instant. Of this curious scene I was an eye-witness, and I have seen it repeated by a friend in exactly the same way since, on my telling the thing, and with exactly the same result. For the truth of this statement I am prepared to vouch.

Of the effects of the sting of the scorpion (generally only the lower orders are bitten, as they are barefooted, and their work may take them to cool and damp places where the insects love to lie) I have had much experience: I consider it is never fatal, save in the case of infants stung in the throat, but it is very painful, the only remedy being liquid ammonia to the wound, which gives speedy relief.

I have never seen a case of serpent-bite in Persia, and hydrophobia is very uncommon, though it is said to exist. The only case of rabies I have seen is that of Pierson’s dogs, narrated previously. Hornets and wasps sting badly, and frequently I have known death occur in a child much stung. The sting is worse than that of the British wasp. As to the Persian tarantula, it merely bites.

A curious custom in Persia is the “nishan,” or token. The token is some secret conveyed by a third party, as a token or sign of the consent of the giver of the token to the request. Thus a man will say, if away from home, and one wishes to borrow his horse, “Tell my steward to give you my horse, by the ‘nishan’ (or token), that I gave him a present this morning.” As the steward knows that the giving of the present was only known to his master and himself, he hands over the horse at once.