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April-June 2012 JOURNAL OF EURASIAN STUDIES Volume IV., Issue 2.<br />
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beloved West, which I despaired <strong>of</strong> ever seeing again. Being perfectly conscious I looked forward to the<br />
hour <strong>of</strong> prayer with its sounds <strong>of</strong> devotion, or rather to the dawn <strong>of</strong> day. Meanwhile gentle sleep stole<br />
over me, sealing my burning eyelids, but I was soon roused from my beneficent slumbers by the<br />
monotonous: "La Illah, il Allah !"<br />
When I awoke and began to arrange my ideas I thought I felt a slight cessation <strong>of</strong> the pain. The burning<br />
and stinging sensation grew less and less violent, and about the time that the sun had risen to the height<br />
<strong>of</strong> a lance, I could attempt to stand on my foot, although very feebly and clumsily yet. My companions<br />
assured me that the morning prayer had the effect <strong>of</strong> exorcising the devil which had crept into my body<br />
by means <strong>of</strong> the bite <strong>of</strong> the scorpion. Of course I dared not suggest any doubts as to this pious version <strong>of</strong><br />
my cure, but was too well pleased under any circumstances to have got over this dreadful night, the<br />
horrors <strong>of</strong> which will be ever present in my memory.<br />
After having waited for many weary days for the arrival <strong>of</strong> the caravan from Herat we were at length<br />
informed that the looked-for event was near at hand. I immediately hastened to Kerki, in the hope <strong>of</strong><br />
starting at once. But my hopes in this direction were doomed to disappointment. There were about forty<br />
freed slaves from Persia and Herat in the caravan <strong>of</strong> Mollah Zeman, who were now on their way home<br />
under his dearly-paid protection. In journeying alone these poor freed-men run the risk <strong>of</strong> being pounced<br />
upon and sold into slavery again. These former slaves returning home must pay toll here, and this gave<br />
occasion to a great deal <strong>of</strong> noisy demonstration, the kervanbashi having stated the number <strong>of</strong> slaves at a<br />
lower figure than was warranted by the actual facts, whilst the <strong>of</strong>ficer <strong>of</strong> customs claimed toll for others<br />
not slaves, setting down every person who was not known to him to be free as a slave, and demanding<br />
toll for him. And as neither <strong>of</strong> them would yield, but stood up in defence <strong>of</strong> their respective allegations,<br />
the hubbub and anger seemed to be in a fair way <strong>of</strong> never subsiding. It took the entire day to examine the<br />
goods, the men, the camels, and the asses. We left at last, not, however, without the escort <strong>of</strong> the <strong>of</strong>ficer <strong>of</strong><br />
the customs, who kept a vigilant eye upon the caravan lest some straggling travellers might join it at some<br />
by-path. He did not leave us until we had crossed the frontiers <strong>of</strong> Bokhara, and had proceeded on our<br />
journey through the desert.<br />
At the first station I gathered that there were a great number <strong>of</strong> people, besides myself, in the caravan<br />
who were longing to set their eyes on the southernmost border <strong>of</strong> Central Asia. The freedmen appeared to<br />
seek our company by preference, that is, the company <strong>of</strong> the hadjis, and by their joining us I had occasion<br />
to hear <strong>of</strong> truly affecting instances <strong>of</strong> the misery <strong>of</strong> some. Near me was sitting a grayheaded old man who<br />
had just ransomed his son, aged thirty, in Bokhara, and was taking him back to the arms <strong>of</strong> a young wife<br />
and infants. He had to purchase his son's freedom by sacrificing all he had, the ransom amounting to fifty<br />
gold pieces. "I shall rather bear poverty," he said, "than see my son in chains." His home was in Khaf, in<br />
Eastern Persia. Not far from me there was lying a muscular man, whose hair had turned gray with mental<br />
agony. A few years ago the Turkomans had carried away into slavery his wife, his sister, and six children.<br />
For a whole year he had wearily to drag his steps through Khiva and Bokhara before he could find a trace<br />
<strong>of</strong> them. When he had succeeded in tracking them a heavy blow was in store for him. His wife and the<br />
two smallest <strong>of</strong> the children as well as his sister had perished from the hardships <strong>of</strong> slavery, and <strong>of</strong> the<br />
four remaining children he could purchase the freedom <strong>of</strong> only the two younger ones; the two elder ones,<br />
girls, who had blossomed into beautiful lasses, being rated too high and above the amount <strong>of</strong> ransom he<br />
could afford to pay. There was a group <strong>of</strong> an aged woman and a young man that attracted our attention.<br />
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