After a short rest we continued our journey, but I observed that after we had been marching for about two hours, the caravan began to slacken pace. A couple of Turkomans had dismounted from their camels and seemed to be carefully investigating right and left the low mounds, a great number of which could be seen everywhere around us. A PIOUS BROTHER.I was informed that Eid Mehemmed, one of our fellow-travellers, was trying to discover the grave of a brother of his, who had fallen hereabouts, last year, in an attack made upon him, after having heroically defended himself. Eid Mehemmed had brought a coffin with him in order to take the remains to Khiva. It might have been two o'clock in the afternoon when the grave was found and the exhumation begun. After the customary prayers and the recital of stray verses from the Koran, ceremonies in which I too had to take part in the most devotional manner, the half-decayed dead body was wrapped in rags and placed in the coffin. When the funeral ceremonies were over Eid Mehemmed baked bread on that place and distributed it among us. We started again, going always north. We had to make up for lost time, and the order was given by the kervanbashi to march all night. The weather was fine and, cramped up in my basket, I gazed with intense delight at the starry firmament, the like of which, for transcendental beauty, can be seen nowhere but in the desert. But sleep soon asserted its rights. I had not been asleep an hour when I was roused by several people shouting at me: "Hadji, look at thy kiblenuma (compass), we seem to have lost our way." I immediately produced my flint and steel apparatus, and striking sparks with it lit the tinder, by the smouldering fire of which I perceived that we were going east instead of north. The kervanbashi was frightened, thinking we had come near the dangerous marshes, and determined not to move until daybreak. Fortunately we had left the right track only half an hour before when the sky was clouded. In spite of the delay we reached in time the station we were bound for, and turned our tired animals loose to feed upon thistles and similar pasture.

On the 15th of May our road lay through a wild country, intersected, in every direction, by ravines. The poor camels had a great deal to suffer. They are attached to each other in such a manner that one end of the rope is tied to the tail of the camel in front, and the other end is fastened at the nose, through a hole perforated for that purpose, of the camel following it. Now if the poor beast stops from any cause, but for a minute, those before him are tugging away at his nose, in such an unmerciful way, that I have often seen the rope broken. To relieve the poor animals we dismounted several times during our four hours' trudging through the deep sand.

There were three different roads by which the desert might be crossed, but we were as yet kept in ignorance as to which of these the kervanbashi would choose. Owing to the caravan's being liable to be pounced upon by marauders at any minute, it is quite necessary to keep the real route a secret. But at the present stage of our journey it was easy to foretell that we should take the middle road, for our water was giving out; and the tank of water of which we stood in great need lay along that route. This night we were favoured by good fortune on our march, the rope keeping the camels together having broken but twice. When such a thing happens a couple of men are sent after the animals to bring them back, the caravan continuing their march. One of the caravan, however, is selected to keep up a continual conversation with the men sent out, while they are receding, to prevent their missing their way in the dark night. The melancholy sound of this man's voice is their only guide in the pitchlike darkness, and woe to the poor fellows if a contrary wind hinders them from hearing it. On the 16th of May we perceived in a north-eastern direction the mountain-chain of Karendag, and reached it on the afternoon of the same day. We had been told in Etrek that we might look forward to meeting friendly Yomut-Turkomans at this place, but nevertheless there prevailed a general anxiety on that subject, the fear of the possibility of being attacked by some hostile bands being quite as great as the expectation of meeting the former. We dispatched a brave Turkoman to reconnoitre the neighbourhood. Before long we caught sight of solitary tents, and, our apprehensions being dispelled, we asked ourselves what tribe we were to meet. After all they were Yomuts, and we passed the whole day with them.

A LIGHT FOR THE COMPASS.

KARENDAG MOUNTAINS.I was agreeably surprised to find near the Karendag Mountains some old ruins; the fable attaches to them that they are the ruins of Kaaba, God having from His special love for the Turkomans placed the Kaaba here first, but that Goklen, a lame blue devil, pulled it down, whereupon God carried the Kaaba to Mecca. And this was the reason why the Turkomans lived in constant enmity with and war against the Goklens, who have descended from Goklen.

The Nomads sojourning in the environs came flocking to see the caravan and to engage in trade with some of its members. In the evening, we being ready to start, one of the buffalo cows presented the caravan with a healthy calf, to the kervanbashi's intense satisfaction. On the road it occurred to him that the calf was too feeble to follow us on foot, and that he must find a place for it on the back of one of the camels. Myself and Hadji Bilal being the only ones occupying a kedsheve he naturally thought of us, and asked that one of us should give up our place to the newborn animal. Hadji Bilal resigned his basket with the utmost readiness, alleging that he did so out of kind feelings for me, who could not with my lame foot find accommodation everywhere. But no sooner did my counterpoise occupy the hadji's place than I discovered the real cause of his great complaisance—the calf was exhaling a pestiferous smell. It was passable at nights, interfering but occasionally with my slumbers, but during the day, when the sun shone out hot, I could hardly bear my sweet-smelling neighbour. Fortunately for me this agony did not last long, the calf departing this life three days afterwards.

From the spot where we started on the 18th of May, it was calculated that the Great Balkan was distant two days' march and Khiva a march of twelve days. Our guides hoped we should find rain water on the flat lands. We had last filled our canteens from the miry water of the two miserable water-tanks of Karendag, and such as it was, it had become, through being shaken up on the camels' backs, a liquid mass of mud, loathsome both to the smell and taste. We had, nevertheless, to be very economical in the use of it, for there was no prospect of obtaining any water before passing the Great Balkan. Our marching from this time onwards became more regular. We usually made three stoppages daily, of one hour and a half, and two hours' duration. The first was before daybreak, when we would bake one day's ration of bread; the second at noon, to afford some rest to both animals and men; and the third before sunset, in order to eat our modest supper, consisting of a little bread and of a few drops of water carefully doled out. The soil of the country through which we passed was a hard-baked clay producing scantily and at intervals a few blades of sickly grass. The blazing sun marked the whole surface with a thousand burning cracks. It is frightfully wearisome for the traveller to see before him everlastingly the boundless plain from which every vestige of life is banished, so much so that even the reaching of a new station is quite a relief, as it affords some rest from the rocking motion of the camel.

THE KARENDAG HILLS.

LITTLE BALKAN MOUNTAINS.On the following day, about noon, the Little Balkan Mountains loomed up before us in the hazy distance. The Turkomans spoke to me in the most laudatory strain of the extent and size of this mountain chain as well as of its beauty and wealth in minerals. The kervanbashi, otherwise always wakeful, feeling oppressed by sleep as the evening set in, left the caravan under the care of the leader of the camels, who led us into such danger that we were all near losing our lives. There are at the foot of the Balkan many salt marshes, covered with a thick white surface, formed by deposits of salt, which it is difficult to distinguish from the solid ground. Into one of these the substitute of the kervanbashi had taken us, and we had already advanced so far that the animals, owing to the shakiness of the ground under their feet, refused to go on in spite of all urging. We quickly jumped off our animals, and my fright may be imagined when upon touching ground I had a rocking sensation as if seated on a swing, the ground apparently giving way under my feet. The panic became general. Finally the kervanbashi called out that every one should remain where he was until sunrise, when we should be able to extricate ourselves from our perilous position. For three mortal hours we dared not stir and had to remain motionless in our places, having besides to suffer from the pungent soda smell, making our heads dizzy. At length the gray streak in the east assumed the rosy tints of dawn for which our hearts had been longing. With considerable trouble and exertion the caravan succeeding in getting out of this miry pitfall and in retracing their steps to the solid track. Had we advanced but a little farther into the salt marshes, part of the caravan, if not the whole, would have been doomed to certain destruction.

On the 20th of May we reached the Little Balkan, which stretches from the south-east to the north-west. We marched on along its foot on that day and the whole day following. The kervanbashi declared that we had but just now reached the veritable desert. We soon came to the ancient bed of the Oxus, and crossing it we entered on the opposite side a high plateau. CHARM OF THE DESERT.By and by the Balkan mountain chain vanished in the blue distance, and the desert in all its awful grandeur spread before us. Man is overwhelmed here by the idea of the infinite. The impression produced by the absence of all sounds, by the very change in the colour and appearance of the sun, is indescribable. Up to this time I always thought that the charm of the desert existed chiefly in the heated imagination of enthusiastic travellers, but I lived to be undeceived in this my supposition.We camped near Yeti Siri on the 22nd of May. This place owes its name to seven wells which stood there in ancient times, and most of which are now dry. In one or two of them some little water may be found even now, but it is undrinkable owing to its salty taste and nasty smell. The kervanbashi comforted us with the hope of finding rain-water towards evening, but at this moment I was not disposed to exchange the remaining little water (abundantly mixed as it was with mud) which was left in my canteen for the ill-smelling contents of the wells. The animals were watered, and several of the men eagerly competed with them in drinking from this water. After resting a little we resumed our march and, on our way, happened to observe, on a sand mound, raised above the smaller heaps of sand, two empty kedsheves. In the opinion of my fellow-travellers these wooden baskets had belonged to some persons who had died on this spot; and the Turkomans hold in veneration every object once possessed by man. Strange anomaly! to look upon selling men into slavery and carrying desolation into a country as commendable acts, and to couple with such views a tender feeling of piety for a wooden basket—because, forsooth, a man had once sat in it.

We went towards evening with the kervanbashi and a couple of Turkomans, on foot, to look for the hoped-for rain-water. We were all well armed, and went in search of water in different directions. I followed the kervanbashi—with whom I had been on the best terms since the last collision with him. Suddenly he caught sight of footprints in the sand and, lighting our tinder, we followed them up by its feeble light, to the mouth of a cavern. We entered after a slight hesitation, and beheld there, to our utmost horror, a man in perfectly savage condition, with long, unkempt hair and beard, and enormous finger nails, wrapped in chamois skins. At our sight he, too, started, and seizing his lance made a rush at us. I retreated as quickly as I could, but my companion remained perfectly calm, and dropping the arm he had raised and saying in a low voice, "Aman bol!" (Peace be with thee!), he left the dreadful place. Not daring to ask too many questions, I learned from the kervanbashi, on returning, that the man we saw was "Kanli dir" (a man stained with blood). I was afterwards told that this unhappy being had fled from righteous revenge for bloodshed, and had been wandering for years, summer and winter, in the wilderness.

Our companions, like ourselves, returned with empty hands from their search for water, of which not the slightest indication could be found. It was an appalling thought that the few drops of muddy dregs I still possessed would be used up to-day. That evening I ate a few pieces of bread soaked in boiling water, for I had heard that the water lost its bitter taste by boiling. I determined patiently to bear everything, for in comparison to many of my companions I had every reason to be satisfied with my condition, inasmuch as I was in good health and they were suffering a great deal from the consequences of their having drunk from the brackish water. Some of the Turkomans were suspected of having secreted a quantity of drinkable water. But to rely upon being supplied, in the desert, with water belonging to another person, would be the height of madness; and indeed any one wishing to borrow or to beg water in the desert is looked upon as demented. I had lost my appetite and could not swallow even a few bits of bread. I dropped on the ground, exhausted and weak, and pitied my hard fate, when all at once I saw every one rising and flocking around the kervanbashi, and some persons beckoning to me to join them with my canteen. THIRST!The word "water" was enough to infuse new life into me; I jumped up from the ground I had been lying on, and on reaching the crowd I saw the kervanbashi dealing out about two glasses of clear sweet water to every member of the caravan. This brave Turkoman afterwards told us that for years he had been in the habit of storing away in secret places large quantities of water, to distribute it in times of great need, when every one is benefited by it. This is a great sevab (pious act), for a Turkoman proverb says: "One drop of water given to the thirsting in the desert will wash away the sins of a hundred years."

It is just as hard to determine the greatness of such a good action as it is to describe the enjoyment afforded by one swallow of sweet water. My craving for food was gone, I did not feel any more hunger, and thought I could bear being without water for three days. As far as drinking was concerned I was all right again, but it had all gone wrong with my bread. From want of appetite and in a fit of indolence I thought that instead of using wood for fuel, which it took some time to get as it was at some distance, I would use camel's dung—the regular fuel of the desert—but of this too I had gathered rather less than was needed. I placed the dough into the hot ashes, but there was not heat enough to bake it into bread, even if it had been left there for a week. I quickly ran off to gather some wood, but it was quite dark when I returned. I immediately set to kindling a little fire, but no sooner was it perceived by the kervanbashi, than he called out to ask "If I wished to betray by the smoke our caravans to the enemy?" I had to put out the fire at once, and take with me the unleavened bread half done.

HOT WEATHER.On the 23rd of May the rays of the sun beat down upon our heads with a scorching heat. The sand to the depth of a foot became so hot, that even the most hardened Asiatic who had never worn either shoe or boot on his feet, was compelled to fasten around them a piece of leather, sandal fashion. It was only ten years later, when a Russian army, led by Colonel Markusoff had crossed this part of the desert, that I learnt that the heat in the month of May reached the height of fifty-four degrees RÉaumur (about 152 degrees Fahrenheit) in the sun! No wonder that the effect of the refreshing beverage of yesterday was soon gone, and that I began to be tantalized anew by thirst. At noon we were informed by the kervanbashi that we were not far from Kahriman Ata, a place of resort for pilgrimages. In duty bound we had to dismount and walk for a quarter of an hour until we reached the saint's grave, where we performed our devotions. My distress may be easily imagined at being compelled, worn out with the heat and half dead with thirst, to join the band of pilgrims. The tombs rose on an eminence; they crowded around it and yelled out with dry throats, telkins and citations from the Koran. Oh cruel saint, I thought within myself, couldst thou not have managed to get thyself buried in some other place, in order to save me the tortures of this pilgrimage! Choking and out of breath I sank down on the grave, which was about thirty feet long, and covered with rams' horns, the ram's horn being looked upon in Central Asia as a symbol of supremacy. The kervanbashi told us that the saint resting in his grave had been a giant, as tall as the grave was long, and that ever so long ago he had defended the wells hereabouts against evil spirits who had threatened to block them up with stones. The innumerable smaller mounds, surrounding the saint's grave, marked the places where poor travellers, who had lost their lives in different places of the desert either by the hands of robbers or by elemental visitations, were sleeping their eternal sleep. Hearing of the wells placed under the patronage of the saint, my heart was gladdened with a new hope, for I thought we should find drinkable water in the neighbourhood. I hastened to be amongst the first to arrive at the designated spot. I caught sight of a brownish puddle-like spring, and helped myself to its water by taking some into the hollow of my hand. It was as cold as ice, but when I brought it near my lips I had to leave it untasted, it was so brackish, bitter, and ill-smelling. My depression became extreme; for the first time I began to be seriously alarmed about my future.

A WELL IN THE DESERT.

Luckily for us a heavy rain storm came up during the night, the rain descending in large drops, and towards morning we came to the extremest edge of the sand. It took us three days to pass through it. We were sure of finding on to-day's road in the loamy ground an abundance of rain-water. The kervanbashi, judging by the numerous footprints of gazelles and wild asses, anticipated with certainty the accomplishment of our hope, but, volunteering no opinion of his own, only pressed forward, and very soon discovered, with his lynx eyes, at a great distance, a pool of rain-water. Su! Su! (water! water!) was on everybody's lips when the kervanbashi had communicated his discovery. We arrived there towards noon, and met on our way, besides the large pool we had seen at a distance, numerous pits filled with the sweetest rain-water. I was the first to run up to them, not to drink, but to fill my goatskin and other vessels with the precious fluid before it became muddy and murky with being stirred up. A quarter of an hour later everybody sat at his breakfast with a feeling of infinite delight.From this station to Khiva we could without interruption fill our skins with sweet water, and our further progress became, comparatively speaking, contrasted with our former experiences, a pleasure trip. In the evening we reached a place where everything pointed to the mastery of a genuine spring, and camped amidst small lakes set in frames of verdant meadows. My thoughts involuntarily reverted to my sorrowful plight of yesterday, and it was with some difficulty I could persuade myself that the landscape before me was not an idle dream. To add to our satisfaction, the kervanbashi announced to the caravan that the danger from attacks was over, and that we should be permitted to build our fires after to-night. Our Turkoman fellow-travellers attributed the abundance of water to the fact that we, the hadjis, had been with them. We refilled our canteens and gaily proceeded on our journey.