FROM MY JOURNAL.

AMONGST THE TURKOMANS.

13th April.

Struck with astonishment and surprise at the strange, social relations, amongst which I was to-day living for the first time, I was sitting in the early morning hours upon one and the same carpet with Khandjan, my hospitable host, listening with eager attention to his descriptions of Turkoman life and manners. He was one of the most influential chiefs amongst the nomads, by nature an upright man, and anxious to make me acquainted with the faults as well as the merits of his countrymen; for being firmly convinced of my Turkish and semi-official character, he hoped to gain, through my position with the Sultan, on whom the whole Sunnitish world relies, assistance against Russians and Persians. He spoke with zeal, without betraying it outwardly; and after having given me his first lesson he rose, to show me, as he said, his house and court-yard, or in our phraseology, to make me acquainted with the ladies of the family. This is a very especial mark of distinction among Asiatic nations; however, a man supposed to be an agent of the Sultan, well deserves such an attention; and accordingly I endeavoured, by my attitude in sitting, my whole mien and carriage, to show myself worthy of it.

After a few minutes I heard a strange clattering and clinking, the curtain of the tent was raised, and there entered a whole crowd of women, girls and children, who, headed by a corpulent and tolerably old matron, walked towards the place where I was sitting. They were evidently as much struck as myself by the scene; looking timidly around, the young women cast down their eyes, whilst the children clung with evident signs of fear to the clothes of their parents. Khandjan introduced the matron to me as his mother. She was about sixty years old, in the primitive costume of a long, red silk garment, and wearing across her chest, to the right and left, several large as well as small silver sheaths, in which as many talismans of great virtue were preserved; some even were inlaid with precious stones, as were also a considerable number of armlets, necklaces and anklets,—the heirlooms of the family through several generations, and, to judge from their appearance, bearing the traces of high antiquity. The other women and children were likewise arrayed in ornaments of a similar kind, varying, however, with the wearer's rank and position in the favour of their lord and master. The clothes themselves are often torn and dirty, and are looked upon as quite a matter of secondary importance; but a Turkoman lady is not fashionably dressed, unless she carries about her person one or two pounds of silver in ornaments.

The old lady was the first to extend her wrinkled hands for the customary greeting, the others followed, and, after the young girls and children had embraced me,—for such is the rule of the bon ton,—all squatted down around me in a semicircle and began to question me about my health, welfare, and happy arrival. Each one addressed me three or four times on the same subject. I had to return just as many answers; and not in Europe alone does it happen that a circle of ladies may perplex and embarrass an inexperienced Solomon: even in the desert of Central Asia the like may occur. Everywhere among the nomad people of the Mahomedan East the women lose more and more their moral and physical attributes, the older they grow. During my first interview I was obliged to reply to the most delicate questions of the younger portion; whilst the elder ones conversed on religion, politics, and the domestic relations of the neighbouring tribes. I had to guard against exhibiting surprise at the manner of either of them; the younger women I succeeded in inspiring with awe for my strict virtue as a Mollah, and the elderly ones received an ample share of blessings. Several men, neighbours and relatives, arrived during this visit, but they caused no disturbance or discomposure among the ladies, who enjoy, as I have often had the opportunity of observing, a certain respect, although they are exclusively the working class of the community. And indeed the Turkoman women deserve such, for nowhere in the East have I met with their equals in exemplary virtue, devotion to their families, and indefatigable industry.

This visit lasted nearly an hour, and towards the end of it I had to write several talismans, in return for which the women presented me with sundry small gifts, their own handwork. The old lady came several times afterwards to visit me; once I even accompanied her to the tumulus which is raised over the remains of her husband, in order to pray for the soul of the departed. The good understanding between us two struck even the nomads: however, at present the reason for it is sufficiently clear to me. In the first instance a certain foreign look in my appearance, as well as the halo of piety which surrounded me, had attracted her, at the same time that I was ever ready to lend a patient ear to her conversations; listening attentively to her discourses on the short-comings of the Persian female slaves in her household, on the want of skill in the women of the present day, in weaving carpets, preparing felt, &c., interspersing now and then an observation of my own, as if I had been accustomed to these subjects from my youth and took an especial interest in all the details of a nomad household.

And, after all, this is the philosophy of life that should guide a traveller everywhere, if he wishes to learn anything. Here, for instance, a pliant demeanour proved of considerable use, since the affection of the old matron towards me contributed in a great measure to render my residence amongst the Turkomans agreeable,—a people, amongst whom not even an Asiatic stranger can move freely, still less an European.

16th April.

I entered the tent of Khandjan after the morning prayer and found here a whole company, listening with the greatest attention to the narrative of a young Turkoman, who was covered with dust and dirt, and whose face bore evident traces of excitement and severe hardships. He was describing in a low voice, but in lively colours, a marauding excursion against the Persians of the evening before, in which he had taken part. Whilst he was speaking, the women, servants and slaves (what must have been the thoughts of these latter), squatted down around the circle of listeners, and many a curse was hurled at the slaves, the clanking of the chains on their feet interrupting for a time the general quiet. It struck me as remarkable, that, in proportion as the speaker warmed in describing the obstinate resistance of the unfortunate people, who were fallen on unawares, the indignation of the audience increased at the audacity of the Persians, not to have at once quietly submitted to being plundered.

No sooner was the narration of this great feat of arms at an end when all rose to their feet to have a look at the spoils, the sight of which excites in the Turkoman's breast a mixed feeling of envy and pleasure. I followed them likewise, and a terrible picture presented itself to my eyes. Lying down in the middle of the tent were two Persians, looking deadly pale and covered with clotted blood, dirt and dust. A man was busily engaged in putting their broken limbs into fetters, when one of them gave a loud, wild shriek, the rings of the chains being too small for him. The cruel Turkoman was about to fasten them forcibly round his ancles. In a corner sat two young children on the ground, pale and trembling, and looking with sorrowful eyes towards the tortured Persian. The unhappy man was their father; they longed to weep, but dared not;—one look of the robber, at whom they stole a glance now and then, with their teeth chattering, was sufficient to suppress their tears. In another corner a girl, from fifteen to sixteen years old, was crouching, her hair dishevelled and in confusion, her garments torn and almost entirely covered with blood. She groaned and sobbed, covering her face with her hands. Some Turkoman woman, moved either by compassion or curiosity, asked her what ailed her, and where she was wounded. "I am not wounded," she exclaimed, in a plaintive voice, deeply touching. "This blood is the blood of my mother, my only one, and the best and kindest of mothers. Oh! ana djan, ana djan (dear mother)!" Thus she lamented, striking her head against the trellised wood-work of the tent, so that it almost tumbled down. They offered her a draught of water, and her tongue became loosened, and she told them how she (of course a valuable prize) had been lifted into the saddle beside the robber, but that her mother, tied to the stirrups, had been obliged to run along on foot. After an hour's running in this manner, she grew so tired that she sank down exhausted every moment. The Turkoman tried to increase her strength by lashing her with his whip, but this was of no avail; and as he did not want to remain behind from his troop he grew in a rage, drew his sword, and in a second struck off her head. The blood spirting up, had covered the daughter, horseman and horse; and, looking at the red spots upon her clothes, the poor girl wept loud and bitterly.

Whilst this was going on in the interior of the tent, outside the various members of the robbers' family were busy inspecting the booty he had brought home. The elder women seized greedily upon one or another utensil for domestic use, whilst the children, who were jumping about merrily, were trying on the different garments,—now one, now another, and producing shouts of laughter.

Here all was triumph and merriment; not far from it a picture of the deepest grief and misery. And yet no one is struck by the contrast; every one thinks it very natural that the Turkoman should enrich himself with robbery and pillage.

And these terrible social relations exist within scarcely a fortnight's distance from Europe, travelling by St. Petersburg, Nishnei Novogorod, and Astrakhan!

18th April.

Eliaskuli, who dwelt in the fourth tent from mine on the banks of the GÖrgen, was a "retired" Turkoman, who, up to his thirtieth year, had carried on the usual profession of kidnapping and pillaging, and had now retired from business, in order, as he said, to spend the rest of this futile, ridiculous life (fani dÜnya) here below in the pious exercise of the law; as far as I know, however, it is because several shot wounds of the "hellish" weapons at Ashurada prevented him from carrying on any longer his infamous trade. He was in hopes I might invoke upon his wicked head every blessing of heaven by my prayers, and to this effect he narrated to me, with many details, how the Russians, after having declared a religious war, had once landed here, and attacked and set fire to all the tents that stood on the banks of the GÖrgen. This religious war was in fact nothing else than that the Russians wanted to release some countrymen of theirs, whom these robbers had carried off prisoners, but the fight lasted more than a whole day. He added, that although the Russians, being too cowardly to come near, shot only from a distance, yet the valiant Gazis (religious combatants) could not resist their devilish arts, that he too received at that time some death wounds, and was a whole day without giving a sign of life, until at last his Pir (spiritual chief) called him back into existence.

This same Eliaskuli offered to accompany me to-day to the Ova of the Ana Khan, who is the chief of the Yarali tribe, and dwells on the upper GÖrgen, close to the Persian frontier. From curiosity, perhaps, or some other motive, he wished to make my acquaintance. Our road lay for some time along the left bank of the river, but soon we were obliged to make a considerable circuit, in order to avoid the large marshes and morasses. Unacquainted as the people around me were with my motives for travelling, I laid myself open to suspicion, no doubt; but the experience of a few days calmed my fears for the security of my position, and indeed all misgivings vanished, when I saw how the people, whenever we were passing some tent on our route, came towards me with milk, cheese and other presents, asking for my blessing. Thus I rode on in high spirits, troubled at nothing but the heavy Turkoman felt cap, on the top of which in addition several yards of linen were folded round in the shape of a turban, and the heavy musket on my back, which for propriety's sake I was obliged to carry, in spite of my character as Mollah. Eliaskuli sometimes remained behind for full half an hour, but I continued my way alone, meeting now and then a few marauding stragglers, who, returning home empty from some unsuccessful foray, measured me with sinister looks from head to foot. Some saluted me, others only asked, "Whose guest art thou, Mollah?" in order to judge from my personality whether it was feasible to plunder me or not; but no sooner did I reply "Kelte Khandjan Bay," when they rode on in evident displeasure, muttering in their beard an abrupt "Aman bol," (farewell.)

Towards evening we arrived at the tents, together with Khandjan, who, having taken a different road, had joined us on the way. Ana Khan, the patriarchal chief, a man about sixty years of age, was seated on the green slope of a hill, surrounded by his grandchildren and little children, (it is only in the east that one meets with people, thus related to one another, of the same age,) watching them with looks of pleasure, as also the flocks of sheep and herds of camels who were returning home from their rich pasturage. Our reception was short, but friendly. Walking before us, he conducted us into the ready prepared tent, where I was appointed to the seat of honour; the proper conversation, however, not beginning until the very last remnants of the sheep, killed expressly for the occasion, had disappeared from the table. Ana Khan spoke little, but he listened attentively to my description of Turkish life and Russo Turkish relations. The next morning, however, he grew rather more talkative, and he began by treating us with the narrative of an act of hospitality on his part towards an English iltshi (ambassador) on his way to Khiva. I guessed at once that this must have been the mission of Mr. William T. Thomson, who was sent thither by his government to adjust the differences between Persia and the Khan of Khiva. Ana Khan, in describing the arms, trinkets and person of the Frenghi ambassador, laid such particular stress upon the resemblance of his features to mine, that the cause of his curiosity was at once evident, as well as his reason for wishing me to visit him. Looking significantly and with glowing eyes at his countrymen, as if to persuade them of the keenness of his perceptions, he came close up to me, and gently tapping me on the shoulder, said, "Efendi! the Tura (rule) of the Sultan of Rum is held in high honour amongst us; first, he is the prince of all the Sunnites; secondly, Turkomans and Osmanlis are blood-relations, and thou art our honoured guest, although thou hast brought us no presents." In this remark I read much, but inferred still more from it. My incognito, then, as dervish, did not always meet with implicit belief. The majority, however, especially the Mollahs, trusted in me, and single sceptics did not by any means cause me disquiet.

I observed, moreover, that Khandjan did not share the views of Ana Khan, the subject was never again broached, and I enjoyed the full hospitality of the suspicious chieftain.

20th April.

In distant Mergolan, in the Khanat of Khokand, religious zeal recommends the frequent collection of money among the people, to support the high schools at Medina, which town possesses a large number of such institutions. Here, at the fountain-head of Islamism, ardent students crowd together, eager interpreters of the Koran, who, under the protecting Ægis of their pious occupation, are supported in luxurious idleness by all the Mahometan countries far and near. Stipends arrive here from distant Fez and Morocco; the chiefs of the Algerine tribes send their annual gifts; Tunis, Tripolis and Egypt as well as other smaller Mahommedan states, send hither their tribute. Turkey vies with Persia in the support of these pupils. The Tartar, living under Russian protection, the native of India, subject to English dominion, all give freely to the high schools of Medina. And yet all this is not deemed sufficient; even the poor inhabitants of the oasis in Turkestan are asked to contribute their mite.

It was at the time of my travels in Central Asia, that Khodja Buzurk, the much-revered saint in those parts, had collected, no doubt by dint of immense assiduity, 400 ducats for Medina. Mollah Esad, the confidential friend of His Holiness, was commissioned to take the sum to its destination. Although in Central Asia the possession of money, the great source of danger for its possessor, is always kept secret, yet the above-mentioned Mollah made no mystery of the object of his journey, in the hope of enlarging his fund. Bokhara, Khiva and other towns he visited had contributed to increase it, and in the belief of meeting with equal success among the Turkomans, he entered upon his journey through the desert, relying upon his letters of recommendation to several of the nomad learned men.

He reached GÖmÜshtepe without any mishap, but with the news of his arrival there spread simultaneously that of the contents of his travelling bag. The Turkomans were told at the same time that the money was destined for a pious object, but this did not trouble them. Each man endeavoured to catch him before he became the guest of any one, for until a traveller enjoys the rights of hospitality he is completely unprotected among the nomads; he may be plundered, killed, sold into captivity,—there is no one to call the offender to account. The host alone it is, whose vengeance is dreaded; whosoever is taken under his protection is looked upon as a member of his family, and is tolerably secure from attack.

With these facts our Khokand Mollah must have been acquainted, and nevertheless he trusted to the mere lustre of his religious zeal. One morning, having gone a short distance from the caravan, he was fallen upon by two Turkoman men, and plundered of all his money. No entreaties on his part, no appeal to the holiness of his mission, no threats of terrible and condign punishment, nothing was of any avail; they stripped him even of his clothes, and left him nothing but his old books and papers. Thus he returned to the caravan, stunned and half naked. This happened about a fortnight before my arrival, during which time the delinquents were found out and summoned before the religious tribunal. In my position, as Mollah from Constantinople, I had the good luck to be honoured with a seat in court, and the scene at which I was present, and in which I took an active part, will long remain vivid in my recollection. We, that is to say, the learned men, had assembled in a field, where we were sitting in the open air, forming a semi-circle, and holding large volumes in our hands, surrounded by a great crowd, who were eager with curiosity. The robbers made their appearance accompanied by their families and the chief of their tribe, without betraying the least embarrassment, just as if they had come for the settlement of some honest transaction. When questioned, who has taken the money? the culprit answered in the haughtiest tone, "I have taken it." I felt sure from the very beginning that a restitution of money would never be made. Most of the council having exhausted their talents of rhetoric by endless quotations from the Koran, it was my turn to try and impress the hero, and I did so by pointing out to him the wickedness of his deed. "What wickedness!" the Turkoman exclaimed, "is robbery punished in thy country? This is strange indeed! I should have thought that the Sultan, the Lord of the Universe, was a man of more sense. If robbery is not permitted amongst you, how do thy people live?"

Another Mollah threatened him with the Sheriat (religious precepts,) and depicted in glowing colours the punishments of hell, which the Turkoman had to expect in another world. "What Sheriat?" he replied, "each man his own! Thou, Mollah, possessest laws and precepts in thy tongue, which thou twistest as thou likest, I possess my Sheriat in my good sword, which I brandish whenever my arm commands!" After long and fruitless exhortations, and equally long consultations amongst the grey-beards, our sitting was closed without any success on our part. The Turkoman went away with his money, which he spent in furnishing himself with new weapons, instead of its being sent to Medina towards the support of her students. Mollah Esad returned with a sad heart to Khokand, having learnt from bitter experience that the Turkomans, although calling themselves orthodox, are the blackest Kafirs on the face of the earth.

6th May.

Oraz Djan, a young, daring and wild looking Turkoman, of about eighteen years old, who had taken part in marauding excursions ever since he was twelve, was a daily guest in our tent at Etrek, in order to listen to the Pir (spiritual chief) of the kidnapping robbers, in his discourses on religion and moral philosophy. It happened one day, that Omer Akhond, a Mollah from the neighbourhood, was present, a man celebrated for his great knowledge, and still better known as the owner of a particularly excellent horse. The animal was spoken of, and every one was loud in the praise of its high qualities, when young Oraz, catching fire on hearing this, called out half in earnest, half in joke, "Akhond, I will give thee three asses and a Persian for thy horse. It is a pity that it should rest in the stable, whilst the Persians so freely wander in their fields. But, if thou dost not consent, then mark my words, in a few days it will be stolen from thee!" The Mollah and Pir rebuked him severely, but he laughed aloud wildly, and the conversation continued as before.

Scarcely four days had passed when the Mollah entered our tent one morning with tears in his eyes, and looking very sad. "My horse has been stolen from me," he exclaimed with a sigh, "thou alone, Kulkhan, canst restore it to me. Let me entreat thee, by the love of the Tshiharyar (the four first chiefs,) do thy utmost!" "This is the work of the Haramzade (Bastard) Oraz," muttered Kulkhan, "you will see, I shall tear his black soul from out of his dirty body."

At the time of evening prayer our amiable Oraz was, as usual, among the rest of our orthodox friends, who assembled on the terrace-like height, where stands the mosque of the desert, and certainly no one would have guessed, from his devotional expression at his prayers, that this very day he had been robbing a father of the church. When after the Namaz all formed the customary circle (Khalka,) Oraz did not fail to come. Kulkhan at once addressed him with, "Young fellow! The horse of the Mollah has been stolen, thou knowest where it is; to-morrow morning he must be again in his stable, do you hear me?" This address caused the young robber not the least embarrassment. Playing with one hand in the sand, and with the other pushing on one side his heavy fur hat, he replied, "I have the horse, but I shall not return it; he who wants it must fetch it." These words, I thought, would have roused the indignation of every one present, but not a trace of it was seen in the features of one of the company. Kulkhan went on speaking to him in his former quiet tone of voice, but the robber insisted on refusing to restore the horse, and when some of the grey-beards began to use threats, he, too, caught fire, and having turned to his spiritual chief with "Hast thou done better with the mare of the Hadji?" rose and left the company; and for some time was heard singing aloud the refrain of the poem KÖrogli, in the still evening air, thus proving sufficiently his joy at the victory he had gained.

A considerable time was spent in consultation after he was gone. No one ventured to attack him, since his tribe, according to custom, would have taken him under their protection, in spite of his abominable conduct, and they were too powerful to risk an attack. Spiritual aid, therefore, had to be called in, and that it should have taken immediate effect is not to be marvelled at.

According to the Deb no greater punishment can befal a living man, than to be accused before the shade of his departed father or ancestor. This is done by planting a lance upon the top of the grave, and fastening to it a couple of blood-stained rags, if murder has been committed, and for any other crime a broken bow. Such an appeal unites the Turkomans as one man against the offender and his tribe, and how deep an effect it has on the mind of the culprit, I saw on this occasion, for no sooner did Oraz perceive the lance fixed upon the high Yoska of his grandfather, when in the silence of the following night he led the horse back to the tent of the Mollah, and tied it to its former place. This act of restitution, as he himself told me, will pain him for a long time to come. But it is better to lie in the black earth than to have disturbed the repose of one's ancestors.