Some Heroes of Travel, or, Chapters from the History of Geographical Discovery and Enterprise

In the course of his wanderings Mr. MacGahan lighted upon the Khan’s harem, where his favourite Sultana and some other women still remained. As he was an American – or, rather, because they supposed him to be an Englishman – the ladies gave him a cordial reception, and entertained him to tea. They were eight in number: three were old and exceedingly ugly; three middle-aged or young, and moderately good looking; one was decidedly pretty; and the other whom Mr. MacGahan speaks of as the Sultana, was specially distinguished by her superior intelligence, her exquisite grace of movement, and her air of distinction. She wore a short jacket of green silk, embroidered with gold thread; a long chemise of red silk, fastened on the throat with an emerald, slightly open at the bosom, and reaching below the knees; wide trousers, fastened at the ankles; and embroidered boots. She had no turban, and her hair was curled around her well-shaped head in thick and glossy braids. Curious earrings, composed of many little pendants of pearls and turquoises, glanced from her ears, and round her wrists gleamed bracelets of solid silver, traced with gold.

The chamber in which these ladies sat was ten feet wide, twenty long, and twelve high. Parts of the ceiling were embellished with coloured designs, rude in conception and execution. Against one side of the room were placed elegant shelves, supporting a choice assortment of the finest Chinese porcelain. The floor was strewn with carpets, cushions, coverlets, shawls, robes, and khalats, all in admired disorder, together with household utensils, arms, an English double-barrelled hunting rifle, empty cartridges, percussion caps, and – strange contrast! – two or three guitars. It was evident that preparations for flight had been begun, and the principal valuables already removed.

The Khan soon found that nothing was to be gained by flight, and as the Russians were disposed to treat him leniently, he decided on returning to Khiva, and surrendering to the great Yarim-Padshah, the victorious Kauffmann. Mr. MacGahan, who was present at the interview, describes the Asiatic potentate, Muhamed Rahim Bogadur Khan, as at that time a man of about thirty years of age, with a not unpleasing expression of countenance; large fine eyes, slightly oblique, aquiline nose, heavy sensual mouth, and thin black beard and moustache. He was about six feet three inches high, with broad shoulders and a robust figure. “Humbly he sat before Kauffmann, scarcely daring to look him in the face. Finding himself at the feet of the Governor of Turkistan, his feelings must not have been of the most reassuring nature. The two men formed a curious contrast; Kauffmann was not more than half as large as the Khan, and a smile, in which there was apparent a great deal of satisfaction, played on his features, as he beheld Russia’s historic enemy at his feet. I thought there never was a more striking example of the superiority of mind over brute force, of modern over ancient modes of warfare, than was presented in the two men. In the days of chivalry, this Khan, with his giant form and stalwart arms, might have been almost a demi-god; he could have put to flight a regiment single-handed, he would probably have been a very Cœur de Lion; and now the meanest soldier in Kauffmann’s army was more than a match for him.”

The capital of this Asiatic potentate is, as I have hinted, deficient in remarkable characteristics. With three or four exceptions, the buildings are all of clay, and present a miserable appearance. There are two walls – an outer and an inner; the interior enclosing the citadel, which measures a mile in length by a quarter of a mile in breadth, and in its turn encloses the Khan’s palace and the great porcelain tower. The outer wall is on an average twenty-five feet high, and it is strengthened by a broad ditch or moat. There are seven gates. The area between the walls is at one point converted into a kind of cemetery; at another it is planted out in gardens, which are shaded by elms and fruit trees, and watered by little canals. Of the houses it is to be said that the interior is far more comfortable than the wretched exterior would lead the traveller to anticipate. Most of them are constructed on the same plan. You pass from the street into a large open court, all around which are arranged the different apartments, each opening into the court, and seldom having any direct communication with each other. Facing the north stands a high porch, with its roof some seven or eight feet above the surrounding walls; this serves to catch the wind, and bring it down into the court below on the principle of a wind-sail aboard ship. The free circulation of air thus maintained is, undoubtedly, very pleasant in the summer heat, but in a Khivan winter it must have its disadvantages.

With twenty-two médressés, or monasteries, and seventeen mosques, is Khiva endowed. Of the latter, the most beautiful and the most highly esteemed is the mosque Palvan-Ata, which raises its tall dome to a height of sixty feet, shining with tiles of glaring green. The interior of the dome is very striking: it is covered, like the exterior, with tiles, but these are adorned with a beautiful blue tracery, interwoven with verses from the Koran. In a niche in the wall, protected by a copper lattice-work, are the tombs of the Khans; and Palvan, the patron-saint of the Khivans, is also buried there.

From the mosques we pass to the bazár, which is simply a street covered in, like the arcades so popular in some English towns. The roof consists of beams laid from wall to wall across the narrow thoroughfare, supporting planks laid close together, and covered with earth. On entering, you are greeted by a pleasant compound scent of spices, by all kinds of agreeable odours, and by the confused sounds of men and animals. As soon as your eyes grow accustomed to the shade, they rest with delight on the rich ripe fruit spread everywhere around you in tempting masses. Khiva would seem to be the paradise of fruit epicures. There are apricots, and grapes, and plums, and peaches, and melons of the finest quality and indescribable lusciousness. But if you want more solid fare, you can enjoy a pilaoff with hot wheaten cakes, and wash down the repast with stimulating green tea. After which, refreshed and thankful, you may sally forth to make your purchases of boots or tobacco or khalats, cotton stuffs or silk stuffs, calico from Manchester, muslin from Glasgow, robes from Bokhara, or Russian sugar. This done, you are at leisure to survey for a while the motley crowd that surges to and fro. The Uzbeg, with his high black sheepskin hat and long khalat, tall, well-formed, swarthy, with straight nose and regular features; the Kirghiz, in coarse dirty-brown khalat, with broad, flat, stolid countenance; the Bokhariot merchant, with turban of white and robe of many colours; the Persian, with quick, ferret-like eyes, and nimble, cat-like motions; and the Yomud Turcoman, with almost black complexion, heavy brows, fierce black eyes, short upturned nose, and thick lips. These pass before you like figures in a phantasmagoria.

Weary with the noise and shifting sights, you gladly accept an invitation to dine with a wealthy Uzbeg, and accompany him to his residence. The day is very warm; in a cloudless sky reigns supreme the sun; and you rejoice when you find that your host has ordered the banquet to be spread in the pleasant garden, amid the shade of green elms and the sparkle of running waters. Your first duty is to remove your heavy riding-boots, and put on the slippers which an attendant hands to you; your second is to make a Russian cigarette, and drink a glass of nalivka, or Russian gooseberry wine, as a preparation for the serious work that awaits you. Then a cloth is spread, and the dinner served. Fruits, of course – apricots, melons, and the most delicious white mulberries; next, three or four kinds of dainty sweetmeats, which seem to consist of the kernels of different nuts embedded in a kind of many-coloured toffee. Into a frothy compound, not unlike ice-cream with the ice left out, you dip your thin wheaten cakes, instead of spoons. Various kinds of nuts, and another glass of nalivka, precede the principal dish, which is an appetizing pilaoff, made of large quantities of rice and succulent pieces of mutton, roasted together.

The dinner at an end, large pipes are brought in. Each consists of a gourd, about a foot high, filled with water; on the top, communicating with the water through a tube, rests a bowl, containing the fire and tobacco. Near the top, on either side, and just above the water, is a hole; but there is no stem. The mode of using it is this: you take up the whole vessel in your hand, and then blow through one of the holes to expel the smoke. Next, stopping up one hole with your finger, you put your mouth to the other, and inhale the smoke into your lungs. You will probably be satisfied with three or four whiffs on this gigantic scale.

Mr. MacGahan had an opportunity of seeing the interior of an Uzbeg house, and he thus describes it: —

“There is little attempt at luxury or taste in the house of even the richest; and in this respect the poorest seems almost on an equality with the most opulent. A few carpets on the floor; a few rugs and cushions round the wall, with shelves for earthenware and China porcelain; three or four heavy, gloomy books, bound in leather or parchment; and some pots of jam and preserved fruit, generally make up the contents of the room. There are usually two or three apartments in the house different from the others, in having arrangements for obtaining plenty of light. In these rooms you find the upper half of one of the walls completely wanting, with the overhanging branches of an elm projecting through the opening. The effect is peculiar and striking, as well as pleasant. From the midst of this room – with mud walls and uneven floor, with the humblest household utensils, and perhaps a smoking fire – you get glimpses of the blue sky through the green leaves of the elm tree. A slightly projecting roof protects the room from rain; in cold weather, of course, it is abandoned. Two or three other rooms are devoted to the silkworms, the feeding and care of which form the special occupation of the women. The worms naturally receive a great deal of attention, for their cocoons pay a great part of the household expenses.”

But let us suppose that an Uzbeg host closes up the entertainment he has provided for us with a dance.

The dancers are two young boys – one about eight, the other about ten years of age – with bare feet, a little conical skull-cap on their shaven heads, and a long loose khalat drooping to their ankles. The orchestra is represented by a ragged-looking musician, who sings a monotonous tune to the accompaniment of a three-stringed guitar. The boys begin to dance; at first with slow and leisurely movements, swaying their bodies gracefully, and clapping their hands over their heads to keep time to the music. But as this grows livelier, the boys gradually become more excited; striking their hands wildly, uttering short occasional shouts, turning somersaults, wrestling with each other, and rolling upon the ground.

Towards nightfall, torches will be brought on the scene; some being thrust into the ground, and others fastened to the trunks and branches of trees. The comelier of the juvenile dancers now attired himself as a girl, with tinkling bells to his wrists and feet, and a prettily elaborate cap, also decked with bells, as well as with silver ornaments, and a long pendent veil behind. He proceeds to execute a quiet and restrained dance by himself, lasting, perchance, for about a quarter of an hour; and the other boy coming forward, the two dance together, and enact a love-scene in a really eloquent pantomime. The girl pretends to be angered, turns her back, and makes a pretence of jealousy, while the lover dances lightly around her, and endeavours to restore her to amiability by caresses and all kinds of devices. When all his efforts fail, he sulks in his turn, and shows himself offended. Thereupon the lady begins to relent, and to practise every conciliatory art. After a brief affectation of persistent ill humour, the lover yields, and both accomplish a merry and animated measure with every sign of happiness.

When the Russians left Khiva in the month of August, Mr. MacGahan’s mission was ended. He had been present with them at the fall of Khiva, and in the campaign which they afterwards undertook – it would seem, with little or no justification – against the Yomud Turcomans. On the return march he accompanied the detachment in charge of the sick and wounded, descending the Oxus to its mouth, and then proceeding up the Aral Sea to the mouth of the Syr-Daria. The voyage on the Aral occupied two days and a night. Having entered the Syr-Daria, thirty-six hours’ sailing brought the flotilla to Kasala – the point from which, as we have seen, Mr. MacGahan had started, some months before, on his daring ride through the desert. After a sojourn of three days, he started in a tarantass for Orenburg.

It will be owned, I think, that Mr. MacGahan’s enterprise was boldly conceived and boldly executed; that he displayed, not only a firm and manly courage, but a persistent resolution which may almost be called heroic. He showed himself possessed, however, of even higher qualities; of a keen insight into character, a quick faculty of observation, and a humane and generous spirit.

COLONEL EGERTON WARBURTON, AND EXPLORATION IN WEST AUSTRALIA

The north-west of the “island-continent” of Australia seems to have been discovered almost simultaneously by the Dutch and Spaniards about 1606. Twenty years later, its west coast was sighted; and in 1622 the long line of shore to the south-west. Tasmania, or, as it was first called, Van Diemen’s Land, was visited by the Dutch navigator Tasman in 1642. Half a century passed, and Swan River was discovered by Vlaming. The real work of exploration did not begin, however, until 1770, when Captain Cook patiently surveyed the east coast, to which he gave the name of New South Wales. In 1798, in a small boat about eight feet long, Mr. Bass, a surgeon in the navy, discovered the strait that separates Tasmania from Australia, and now perpetuates his memory. He and Lieutenant Flinders afterwards circumnavigated Tasmania; and Flinders, in 1802 and 1803, closely examined the south coast, substituting, as a general designation of this “fifth quarter of the world,” Australia for the old boastful Dutch name of New Holland. He also explored the great basin of Port Philip, and discovered the noble inlets of St. Vincent and Spencer Gulfs. In 1788 the British Government selected Botany Bay, on the east coast, as a place of transportation for criminals; and from this inauspicious beginning sprang the great system of colonization, which, developed by large and continual emigration from the mother country, has covered Australia with flourishing States. Tasmania became a separate colony in 1825; West Australia, originally called Swan River, in 1829; South Australia in 1834; Victoria in 1851; Queensland in 1859. Meanwhile, the exploration of the interior was undertaken by a succession of bold and adventurous spirits, starting at first from New South Wales. The barrier of the Blue Mountains was broken through, and rivers Macquarie, Darling, and Lachlan were in time discovered. In 1823 Mr. Oxley surveyed the Moreton Bay district, now Queensland, and traced the course of the Brisbane. In 183 °Captain Sturt explored the Murray, the principal Australian river, to its confluence with Lake Victoria. In 1840 Mr. Eyre, starting from Adelaide, succeeded, after enduring severe privations, in making his way overland to King George’s Sound. In the following year he plunged into the interior, which he believed to be occupied by a great central sea; he found only the swamp and saline bays of Lake Torrens. Captain Sturt, in 1845, penetrated almost to the southern tropic in longitude 130° E., traversing a barren region as waterless and as inhospitable as the Sahara. About the same time Dr. Ludwig Leichhardt, with some companions, successfully passed from Moreton Bay to Port Errington; but, in 1848, attempting to cross from east to west, from New South Wales to the Swan River, he and his party perished, either from want of provisions or in a skirmish with the natives. In the same year Mr. Kennedy, who had undertaken to survey the north-east extremity of Australia, was murdered by the natives. Thus Australian exploration has had its martyrs, like African. In 1860 Mr. M’Douall Stuart crossed the continent from ocean to ocean, or, more strictly speaking, from South Australia to a point in lat. 18° 40′ S., about two hundred and fifty miles from the coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria. The hostility of the natives prevented him from actually reaching the coast. In August, 1860, a similar expedition was projected by some gentlemen belonging to the colony of Victoria; and, under the command of Robert O’Hara Burke, it started from Melbourne for Cooper’s Creek, whence it was to proceed to the northern coast. Some of the members, namely, Burke, Mr. Wills, the scientific assistant, and King and Gray, two subordinates, succeeded in reaching the Gulf of Carpentaria; but on their return route they suffered from want of provisions, and all perished except King. In 1862 Mr. M’Douall Stuart renewed his bold project of crossing the continent, and starting from Adelaide, arrived in Van Diemen’s Bay, on the shore of the Indian Ocean, July 25th. Numerous other names might be added to this list; but we shall here concern ourselves only with that of Colonel Egerton Warburton, as one of the most eminent and successful of Australian explorers.

Peter Egerton Warburton was born in August, 1813. After passing through the usual examination in the East India Company’s college at Addiscombe, he entered the Bombay army in 1834, and served in India until 1853, passing the greater part of the time in the Adjutant-General’s Department, and rising through each grade until he attained his majority, and was appointed Deputy Adjutant-General at head-quarters. But, attracted by the prospects opened up to colonists in New Zealand, he resigned the service, intending to proceed thither with his wife and family. Eventually, circumstances led to his preferring South Australia as a field for his energies; and soon after his arrival at Adelaide he was selected to command the police force of the whole colony – an onerous post, which he held with distinction for thirteen years. He was afterwards made commandant of the volunteer forces of the colony of South Australia. In August, 1872, the South Australian Government resolved on despatching an expedition to explore the interior between Central Mount Stuart and the town of Perth, in West Australia, and chose Colonel Warburton as its leader. Afterwards, the Government drew back, and the cost of the expedition was eventually undertaken by two leading colonists, Messrs. Elder and Hughes, who authorized Colonel Warburton to organize such a party and prepare such an outfit as he considered necessary, and provided him with camels and horses. It was arranged that the party should muster at Beltana Station, the head-quarters of the camels; thence proceed to the Peake, lat. 28° S., one of the head-quarters of the inland telegraph; and, after a détour westward, make for Central Mount Stuart, where they would receive a reinforcement of camels, and, thus strengthened, would be able to cross the country unknown to Perth, the capital of Western Australia.

With his son Richard as second in command, Colonel Warburton left Adelaide on the 21st of September, 1872; reached Beltana Station on the 26th; and on the 21st of December arrived at Alice Springs (1120 miles from Adelaide), the starting-point of his journey westward. The party consisted of himself, his son, T. W. Lewis, two Afghan camel-drivers, Sahleh and Halleem, Denis White (cook and assistant camel-man), and Charley, a native lad. There were four riding and twelve baggage camels, besides one spare camel; the horses being left at Alice Springs. All needful preparations having been completed, the explorers quitted the station on the 15th of April, 1873, and turned their faces westward.

For the first five days not a drop of water was seen, and on the fifth, of the supply carried with them only one quart was left, which it was necessary to reserve for emergencies. When they encamped for the night, no fire was lighted, as without water they could not cook. Next day, the 20th, Lewis and the two Afghans were sent, with four camels, to refill the casks and water-bags at Hamilton Springs, about twenty-five miles distant. Meanwhile, a shower of rain descended; all the tarpaulins were quickly spread, and two or three buckets of water collected. What a change! All was now activity, cheerfulness, heartfelt thanksgiving. A cake and a pot of tea were soon in everybody’s hands, and in due time Lewis returned with a full supply of water, to increase and partake in the general satisfaction.

Keeping still in a general westerly direction, they crossed extensive grassy plains, relieved occasionally by “scrub” or bushes, and coming here and there upon a spring or well. “The country to-day,” writes Warburton, on one occasion, “has been beautiful, with parklike scenery and splendid grass.” In the “creeks,” as the water-courses are termed in Australia, they sometimes found a little water; more often, they were quite dry. “This is certainly,” he writes, “a beautiful creek to look at. It must at times carry down an immense body of water, but there is none now on its surface, nor did its bed show spots favourable for retaining pools when the floods subsided.” On the 9th of January they struck some glens of a picturesque character. At the entrance of the first a huge column of basalt had been hurled from a height of three hundred feet, and having fixed itself perpendicularly in the ground, stood like a sentry, keeping guard over a fair bright pool, which occupied the whole width of the glen’s mouth – a pool about fifteen feet wide, fifty feet long, and enclosed by lofty and precipitous basaltic cliffs. At the entrance, the view does not extend beyond thirty yards; but, on accomplishing that distance, you find that the glen strikes off at a right angle, and embosoms another pool of deep clear water, circular in shape, and so roofed over by a single huge slab of basalt that the sun’s rays can never reach it. There is a second glen, less grand, less rugged than the former, but more picturesque. At the head of it bubble and sparkle many springs and much running water.

The surrounding country was clothed with porcupine-grass (spinifex) – a sharp thorny kind of herbage, growing in tussocks of from eighteen inches to five feet in diameter. When quite young, its shoots are green; but as they mature they assume a yellow colour, and instead of brightening, deepen the desolate aspect of the wilderness. “It is quite uneatable even for camels, who are compelled to thread their way painfully through its mazes, never planting a foot on the stools, if they can possibly avoid it. To horses on more than one occasion it has proved most destructive, piercing and cutting their legs, which in a very short time become fly-blown, when the animals have either to be destroyed or abandoned. The spiny shoots are of all heights, from the little spike that wounds the fetlock to the longer blade that penetrates the hock. It is one of the most cheerless objects that an explorer can meet, and it is perhaps unnecessary to say that the country it loves to dwell in is utterly useless for pastoral purposes.”

Coming to a range of granite, steep, bare, and smooth, Colonel Warburton clambered up its face on hands and knees, to find there a fine hole or basin in the rock, perfectly round and nearly full of water. This hole was, of course, the work of nature, and, strange to say, was on the point of a smooth projecting part of the rock, where it would have seemed impossible that any water could lodge. How it was wrought in such a place one cannot imagine, but the position was so prominent as to be visible from the plain at a considerable distance.

Another day the travellers fell in with a bees’ hive; – unfortunately, it was empty. The Australian bee is stingless, and very little larger than our common house-fly, but its honey is remarkably sweet. The nest, or “sugar-bag,” as the bushmen call it, is generally made in a hollow tree. They also saw some specimens of the crested dove – one of the loveliest of the Australian pigeons. In truth, it is hardly surpassed anywhere in chasteness of colouring and elegance of form, while its graceful crest greatly enhances the charm of its appearance. It frequently assembles in very large flocks, which, on visiting the lagoons or river banks for water, during the dry seasons, generally congregate on a single tree or even branch, perching side by side, and afterwards descending in a body to drink; so closely are they massed together while thus engaged, that dozens may be killed by a single discharge of a gun. Their flight is singularly swift; with a few quick flaps of the wings they gain the necessary impetus, and then sail forward without any apparent exertion.