Impressions of the Duab (Russian Turkestan)

proceedings of the
Antral asian si

IMPRESSIONS OF THE DUAB (RBSSIAN
T0RKE5TAN

hi'

W. RICKMER RICKMERS

Read March 27, 1907

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^

LONDON
'CENTRAL ASIAN SOCi n, ALBEMARI

proceebinos of tbe Central Hsian

Society.

IMPRESSIONS OF THE DUAB (RUSSIAN
TURKESTAN)

BY

W. RICKMER RICKMERS.

HEAD MAIiCH 27, 10U7.

SRLF
URL

M6- 4ill.$^1

IMPRESSIONS OF THE DUAB (RUSSIAN
TURKESTAN)

The Chairman, Lieutenant-General Sir Edwin Collen, said :
In introducing the lecturer I think it will be of interest to
mention that Mr. Eickmers is a partner in a well-known firm at
Samarkand, Although we cannot claim him as a countryman,
his grandfather, the founder of the great shipping firm, was a
British subject, being born in Heligoland, one hundred years
ago, and Mr. Eickmers himself is connected by marriage with
one whose memory is still revered in India — I speak of
Dr. Alexander Duff. For many years past Mr. Eickmers has
travelled in the Caucasus and in Western Turkestan, mainly,
I gather, on business, but also in exploration of those
mountainous regions. Last year, Mr. Eickmers, accompanied
by Mrs. Eickmers and an Austrian lady, made his way up the
Valley of the Zarafshan Eiver, and traversed the Alai Pamir
and Eastern Bokhara, taking over a thousand photographs to
illustrate the features of the country. He is to speak to us this
afternoon of the Duab of Eussian Turkestan. For the benefit
of those who, perhaps, have not been in India, I may explain
that the Duab means * two rivers,' or, as we use the phrase, the
land between two rivers. In India, of course, when the word
'Duab ' is mentioned we think of the Punjab Duab, or the Duab
between the Ganges and the Jumna. I shall not forestall
Mr. Eickmers by mentioning the two rivers, the country
between which he is about to describe to us.

I believe that the chief raison cVctre of this Society is
the discussion of the political aspect of Central Asian
affairs. This belief Induced me to resign my membership
before I started for Prussia. The fact that this resignation
was taken In good part by the committee, and that I

( * )

have been invited to read a paper, sufliclently proves
that I have here to do with cool and clear-headed people,
whose opinion on the recent rapprochement between
llussia and England must be extremely valuable, seeing
that Central Asia is the region where the frontiers of the
two countries touch.

Though I listen with attention and interest to any
discussion pro or con, I must myself refrain from ex-
pressing definite political views, many of which would
also be against the feeling of this country. As a German
subject, I dare not utter criticisms of this country's
politics ; I might not be considered impartial. Those
who know me here, know that I am a friend of the
English people ; those who know me in Russia are
sufficiently convinced that I am a true admirer of the
Ilussian people. You are doubtless aware that the
population of this island is divided into two types, the
disagreeable Englishman and the agreeable Englishman ;
the latter being in a very large majority. Exactly the
same in llussia. During my intercourse with these
delightful majorities, I have discovered that there is not
much difference between them ; the human foundation is
the same, and the differences are mainly words. More-
over, I have my own axe to grind. We can depend
upon it that anyone who is quietly grinding his axe may
add to his own prosperity, but he will surely advance
the prosperity of the country in which he works. Such
a man figlits shy of politics. He believes that they are
the private affairs of the governments ; he gives his vote,
be it the unconscious vote of his character and his work,
be it the conscious vote of the ballot-box. Discussion he
leaves to professional politicians, or to those who have
nothing else to do.

Es])eciidly in llussia. Who(»ver has scientific or

( 5 )

business aims in that country should drop politics.
He cannot do any good to himself and his work ; he
can only do harm to himself and to others. I like
to travel and work in Kussia, but I shall ever be
blind, deaf, and dumb as regards her political and
military matters. Those who are the guests of a country
should be very careful of hurting the feelings of the host.
The traveller in Russian Turkestan had better resist the
temptation to put stuffing into his book by posing as a
military or political expert. Generally his knowledge
comes from other books, or worse, from newspapers, and
coloured b}^ some adventure with a village dignitary.
To be arrested by some small and narrow-minded official
can easily happen anywhere ; I have not yet discovered
a country without small, narrow-minded officials. To
quote an example : Lieutenant Filchner travelled through
the Pamirs in 1900. It was a very plucky journey, very
sporting, but in his book he spoke freely about the
military importance or non-importance — I forget which —
of the Pamirs, of the roads, etc. These are no secrets,
but the Russian Ministry of War rightly thought that
this was indiscreet. Naturally someone said to the
officials, who had given the permission, ' You allowed a
spy to come in.' The officials, annoyed, promptly turned
the key. I was not allowed to visit the Pamirs simply
because my friend and countryman could not keep his
very unimportant revelations to himself I call that
spoiling the game for others.

But there are interests even larger than those of
science and of the single explorer intent upon becoming
famous. These are the interests of business and finance.
There is a good old English principle, typical of the true
John Bull as we knew him, say up to ten years ago, and
that is, ' Mind your own Inisiness.' I am afraid lie is

( fi )

forgetting it to some extent ; let us hope he will recover
from the slight touch of liysterics. There is a thing
which has always been able to introduce itself every-
where, to roll around the world heedless of political
boundaries — the English pound sterling. I am afraid, I
am sure, that the influence, the quiet work of the solid
golden sovereign is now often paralyzed by the nimble
halfpenny, simply because the latter can shout.

The English financial interest in Ptussia is steadily on
the increase, and it cannot be furthered, it may even be
seriously damaged by the hysterical outbreaks in the
English press. The press is misusing its power and
overrating its importance when trying to meddle with
the internal afl'airs of a great and independent State.
Were the daily paper in a position to keep an army and
navy at its own expense, it would probably not risk
them with the same licrht heart as it risks those which it
has not paid for. All this talk of Kussian oppression,
and the comparing of it to the British liberty, is
gratuitous insult ; absolutely no practical purpose is
served by it, and let me mention, to those who speak of
ideals, that the ideal results are nil. The Russians want
to arrange their own aflairs, and do not care for our
opinion. Talk is cheap ; it is ridiculous when not backed
up by sacrifice. Therefore let us mind our own business
at home, and we shall be able to increase our trade in
Russia. Instead of vapouring against rotten things
abroad, one had better pay closer attention to rotten
things in the glass-house. A grateful task for the press
would be to give attention to business enterprise, to new
schemes and syndicates, to discourage financial juggles,
and to investigate and encourage sound enterprises.

The scandalous Stock Exchange manipulations of
Siberian properties, for instance, have done enormous

( 7 )

damage to tlio pockets of the shareholders at home,
to the prospects of honest workers in Russia, to the
promotion of new and hona-jide schemes (as I have
reason to know), and, above all, to the reputation of
English business methods in Kussia. Here the press
might usefully apply its keen eye and its skill to the
great advantage of the country in general and the
pockets of its citizens in particular. ' And where do
ideals come in V you ask. Well, I think if an English
newspaper enables a Russian subject to find English
capital for a sound enterprise, it then will have done
more for the ideal welfare of Russia than by praising to
the skies some leader of the revolutionary movement, of
whom it probably knows next to nothing, or by the
blood-curdling report of a massacre, which in nine cases
out of ten was a legitimate encounter between the police
and a band of hooligans.

I am also supposed to say something on the economic
future of the country, which presently I shall describe
to you with the help of maps and lantern views. I shall
restrict myself to a few suggestions, for I do not see
much good in quoting figures from year-books and trade
reports. My personal belief is in the great future of
the Duab, which is the most important part of Russian
Turkestan. Just now we are on the eve of the great
boom-period in this California of Russia. The new rule
is well established ; we have railways and banks, and the
people are perfectly quiet and content. We are in the
great commercial period, because the country is fertile
and possesses a thriving population eager to exchange
raw material for industrial products.

Cotton is grown on an ever- increasing area of the soil,
and I believe that Russia is supplied with about a third
of its wants. The banks in Kokan advance 40,000,000

( « )

of roubles every year to the cotton-buyers. Then we have
wine, silk, and other things.

After the commercial boom will come Industry and
mining. But, above all this, there looms large the great
work of the country — the work of a century — irriga-
tion. The waters of the Oxus and Yaxartes still flow
into Lake Aral. The great task of the future will pro-
vide work until the last drops of these rivers have been
diverted to agriculture. Kealize this : not until Lake
Aral is dry need we expect an end to the development of
the country between the rivers ; until then we can expect
a steady increase of produce and population. Kealize
this, and you then know what it means to speak of the
future of the Duab.

The word means ' two rivers,' and was chosen by me
on the analogy of Punjab, or ' five streams.' Its outline
is easily remembered, for the two mighty rivers, the
Oxus, or Amu, and the Yaxartes, or Syr, form the greater
part. To complete this boundary, we have only to draw
a straight line connecting the estuaries in the Sea of
Aral, and another, along the watershed from the sources
of the Oxus to where the Naryn, or Upper Syr Darya,
comes out of the Fergana Mountains. Now, this very
compact contour embraces everything that is typical of
Western Central Asia ; it is a museum of all the geo-
graphic features of a district three times as large, which
overlaps portions of China, Afghanistan, Persia, and
Siberia. The Duab includes every characteristic feature
from the valleys of the Pamir to the shores of a great
salt-lake. Thus, we have the great Pamir itself and tlie
long chains of glacier mountains radiating from its
western fringe ; we have the many rivers from their
icy cradle to the sandy plains, and on their way the
many forms of mountains, gorges, river-beds, with their

( '■> )

fauna and flora. We have the foothills with their
covering of loess-clay, which gradually become flat steppe,
and then the desert, until again we meet life of another
kind in the water of Lake Aral. And we have all the
peoples, and remnants of peoples, that made one of the
greatest histories of the world ; we have Bokhara and
Samarkand. The conquest we have, the new civilization,
centred at Tashkent and infusing throughout the Duab
its magnificent future of industry and commerce, for
the Duab is the California of Kussia. Around all this,
springing from a thousand veins, are the two great
rivers, the beginning and the end, the life and contents
of the whole, from which they are born and in which
they die, which they lovingly encircle as a harmonious
entity, self-contained and grand.

Through this we travelled. The great mountain
ranges are the Alai, which, at the top of the Zarafshan
glacier, divides into the Turkestan and Hissar ridges ;
between them the long and narrow valley of the Zaraf-
shan. To the south the high alps of Peter the Great,
and many other important streaks and clusters.

Our route lay up the Zarafshan Valley to its highest
point, then across several ranges, and finally by a long
curve over the foothills and the plains back to Samarkand,
whence we had started three months before with a
caravan of twenty horses and six men.

My companions were my wife and Friiulein von
Ficker, a distinguished lady-climber ; Lorenz, the
Tyrolese guide ; and the important Makandarofl*, the
Caucasian interpreter, who has accompanied me on seven
journeys.

Six horses carried the photographic outfit, which
consisted of one full-plate and two quarter-plate cameras,
and 1,000 glass plates.

( 10 )

Now exploring with a big camera is beset with
difficulties which sorely tax endurance and temper. To
get this heavy artillery into position six or ten times
during a hot day is a good test of nerves and will. I
confess that I could never have done it were it not for
the help of my wife and our friend. In the beginning, it
took over half an hour to unload the photo-horse to
unpack and prepare the camera, to pack and load up
again. Later on a record of nine minutes and a half was
obtained.

Our first objective was the famous Zarafshan River,
which springs from the Alai mountains, runs 200 miles
through a ravine and then about 300 miles in open
country, ultimately losing itself in the desert, without
reaching its destination, the Oxus.

It is the essence of life of Samarkand and Bokhara.
Let us begin at the beginning. We issue forth from the
busy streets and crowded bazaars of the great City of
Bokhara, the noble and holy.

Through the massive gates we go, and through the
silent graveyards where the dead lie in tombs of brick.
We walk along the shady avenues without, where
hostelries and tea-houses are full with the din of
caravans. Gradually the rows of shops and houses break
up, and we pass between mud-walls of vast gardens, with
their mulberry- trees and vines.

Through many villages we travel — around us the
thick abundance of a fertile soil, till at last the clusters
of dark foliage open out to the streaks of a distant view.
The trees are rare and lonely in the last yellow wheat-
fields ; the canals and runlets vanish one by one and
lose themselves in the swampy thickets of huge reeds.
Over a bridge we go — it stands on dry land, but near by
is a tiny pool with quacking ducks, and maybe a silvery
swan will rise to the crack of our cfun.

( 11 )

More dry and bare becomes the ground. It turns into
steppe with the cracks in the scorching soil and the
scantiest of stunted growth. And then we feel a crunching
under foot — sand. Here we may still discover somewhere
a darker taint upon the ground — a spot of evanescent
moisture. We touch it. It is a faint humidity which
fades away in the burning breeze as we spread the sand
upon the palm. Beyond is sand, rising in dunes, which
retire into the hazy distance like an ocean of yellow
waves. That last blush of moisture on the confines of
utter aridity is one of the very last drops of water oozing
from the last life-pulse of the dying Zarafshan,

The last sigh of a wonder-working slave who has
given his best to make a paradise for man. That drop
once was ice among the great peaks whence the river
came ; that very same drop may be one of the snow-
flakes which perhaps a hundred years ago alighted on the
highest point of the course on the divide of the Zarafshan
Pass, 13,000 feet above the plain. This here is the end,
that was tlie beginning, and between them is the life-
time and the work of a drop of water ; between them
are generations of men. We have stood here in the
desert, we have stood at the top where the Ice-fall
thunders, and we have gone along the line. Follow me
now to watch again the progress of the water, the
magic that shapes the land surface and its destiny.

The distance from Bokhara to Samarkand we skip by
taking the train of the Transcaspian Bailway through a
cultivated, flat country, of the kind we saw during our
walk before the city gates. The real journey begins at
Samarkand. We ride through the bazaar and past the
great buildings of Timur. Outside we meet the wide
and slowly flowing river, the Zarafshan, which is to be
our guide for the 200 miles, separating us from its source.

( I-.i )

The views now shown at short intervals represent the
first section of about fifty miles from the ruined edifices
of Samarkand, through the plains and steppes and over
the foothills. That is the lowland section of the river's
career, and its landscapes are typical of the Duab between
the rock and the desert.

Here reigns the yellow clay, called loess, which pro-
duces exuberant life wherever water touches it.

The road, covered one foot deep with fine dust, leads
tlirough fields and gardens, which are generally surrounded
by low walls of mud. Innumerable channels intersect
the country, for the water must be brought to every tree
and to every blade of grass.

The rivers have cut deep ravines into the loess, and
the houses of the natives are sometimes poised on the
very edge of the cliffs, the abode of teeming life of
insects, reptiles, birds, tortoises, jackals, and other
animals which lodge in the many cracks and fissures, or
burrow into the soft material. Over this cultivated
region is spread a population of settlers partly Aryan,
speaking Persian dialects, partly of Tartar origin with
a Turkish language. Their mode of life, however, is
uniform, the town-dweller and villager, irrespective of
race, being known by the name of Sart. He is a product
of the loess.

Just as the houses and the men of Scotland have
grown from the hard grey granite of the North, so
the Sart and his character have risen from the yellow
clay. He thrives where the sun shines and water flows,
but his progress and destiny are shaped by a few
strong men or conquerors. His energy never goes
beyond the mere up-keep of a life which allows him as
many idle hours as possible. Take away the hand of a
good ruler, the main irrigation canals will run dry, and

( 13 )

the great public buildings will crumble ; the Sart and
his work return to what they were — dry mud. His
wants are few, and the envy of every explorer. Give
him a horse, a pair of saddle-bags, a five-pound note, and
he will travel 2,0()0 miles in six months. In his baggage
is a bed-quilt, a teapot, and a hooka. He has two or
three top-coats, which enable him to adapt himself to
every temperature, and which serve as coverlets at night.
The turban is his pillow, and innumerable are the uses
of the square cotton cloth which he wears round his
waist ; it is belt, purse, pocket, napkin, handkerchief,
table-cloth, horse-halter, and rope. Thus equipped he
Is able to face any and every emergency ; and let me
mention that there is no difficulty In this world which a
Sart cannot overcome by waiting. If there be no bridge,
he will wait till there Is one ; if his life is a burden to
him he waits till It Is over. He can work when he must ;
he can work very hard, and then rests with a vengeance.
He can work permanently when it is sitting down and
giving orders ; for when he Is in power he Is a great
oppressor. And he really loves work — that which other
people do for him. Our horse-boys were good examples,
quite willing on the whole, but from time to time I had
to promise a tamashd, a feast with floods of mutton-grease
and green tea. Their ideal was quantity, not quality ;
variety tires their Intellect, monotony they enjoy. Of
course the Sart has also many qualities which appeal to
us, but these are not Interesting.

This Is the people which lives in the cities and
villages, in the fruit-gardens and the vineyards, in the
rice-fields of the great plains. It lives on the bounty of
the Zarafshan, which has worked hard to collect water
and earth in the mountains which are our jroal.

Gradually we come nearer, at first meeting the foot-

( 14 )

hills, the undulating slopes and rounded hillocks, the
transition to the massiv^e block. Green pasture in the
spring, these foothills dry up later on, for to irrigate
them is beyond the technical means of the native. But
colour adorns the barren soil, composed of loam, marl,
conglomerate, and sandstone. A profusion of red, brown,
orange, of subdued tints, is painted in bold streaks or
patches across the slo})es and hollows ; delicate shades of
grey and sepia are thrown in between. An effect of
artistic distemper with a snake-line of vivid green
through the middle, where willows and spirsea hug the
river bank.

Then we enter upon the second section of the Zaraf-
shan's course, from the oj^ening of the valley to the
glacier, 130 miles between two parallel lines of imposing
mountains. Here difficulties begin, and our horses,
unaccustomed to the stony tracks, have a hard time of
it. The valley is narrow, the sides are precipitous.
Sometimes the path creeps along a narrow ledge of
rock ; then the packs must be carried over the dangerous
bit and the horses are led across, two men at the head,
two at the tail. Sometimes the trreat terraces afford a

o

mile or two of level progress until we meet a side valley,
obliging us to dive down one bank and up the other by
corkscrew- trails cut into the conglomerate. In order to
circumvent difficult places, the track gropes about in the
most tantalizing fashion. Six times a day it will descend
to the river's edge and climb away from it again to some
more likely spot 200 to 500 feet higher, not to speak of
erratic peeps to the right or left. That is because the
natives worm around obstacles instead of making a dash
for them and overcoming them by a public-spirited efltbrt.
We never find a bridge or balcony otherwise than as a
last resort.

{ 15 )

Constant oppression has killed all enterprise in these
people. Their experience was that anything permanent
only made things more comfortable for the blood-suckers.
In this way they have become past-masters in the art of
improvisation ; their houses, their roads, their institu-
tions, their very lives are improvised. Where no future
is visible, the nearest present is enough. Why build
a sound bridge ? The old one will carry our crops
to market this autumn, and if the spring floods take
it away, the tax-collector must leave us in peace for
three months. Of course Kussian rule is now teaching
the coming generation a better view of things. Nothing
shows better their great skill of improvising than the
balcony- cornices which are made to carry the path along
a smooth face of rock. The mountain people cannot
build iron bridges, but our engineers cannot build
cornices out of crooked trees and rubble, without the
waste of a single ounce of powder for blasting or a single
inch of string for tying. How they cling to the precipice
is a mystery, but they do, by a cunning use of the shape
and balance of each bough.

As there is but little clay in the valley, the villages
are built of smooth water -polished stones, cleverly
cemented. Very little wood is used, and the cavernous
houses are built close to support each other, only leaving
narrow lanes. The nearer we approach the glacier the
rarer wood and cement become, until we find hovels
consisting of nothing but loosely-piled blocks. The
inhabitants are a hardier set than the Sarts of the
plains, but suspicious and miserly, the faults of most
poor mountain people.

The middle section of the Zarafshan is hot and dry —
a veritable mountain desert ; but it has its oasis. We
ride for many hours through a canon of forbidding

( !<•' )

severity, where the cruel sun beats on the naked rock
during the day, where a silent dread creeps through the
shades of night ; then suddenly, at a bend of the river,
we come upon a vision of the Arabian Nights. From
among the gaunt, grey pillars of water-chiselled concrete
bursts a thick luxuriance of refreshing green. A wonder-
ful effect of stern beauty mingled with refreshing gaiety.
But think of tired feet and weary eyes to fully under-
stand our rapture when these lovely pictures stood
before us. Here is water, here Is life ; here the traveller
may stretch his limbs on swelling lawn under the great
apricot- trees, where the melodious call of the owl sings
him to sleep. These green spots in the desert owe their
existence to the water from the side valleys, which is
conducted to the level of the terraces in the main valley
by elaborate sluices. Water-supply, the question of life
or death, is the only thing which makes these people
work together towards a common cause without pressure
from above. Their aqueducts are constructed on the
same principle as the roads, sometimes being carried on
cornices and bridges, but much more carefully made, so
that but little water is lost.

The Zarafshan Valley is a perfect museum of typical
examples of morphology. You see the work of water as
a destroyer and sculptor, as a builder and accumulator.
There are the huge deposits which the Zarafshan had
heaped up in bygone ages and through which later it
has again cut deep gorges ; there are the curious pillars
and flutings which the rain of spring has carved from
vertical walls of conglomerate ; there are valleys of all
sorts to illustrate the erosion of a river-bed ; then we
find the many shapes of cones and fans of detritus, which
streams have deposited at the mouth of their valleys ;
we have mud avalanches, from the welted furrow, which

( 17 )

traces elaborate designs upon the cones, to the deep
winding channel disgorging waves of semi-liquid material.
Indeed, I have become quite a specialist in mud, for the
mortars, cements, and concretes formed by moraines,
river-terraces, mud-avalanches, or scree-slopes, are repre-
sented in the Zarafshan Valley by innumerable varieties
in all kinds of positions, often occurring all together and
overlaid in the most bewildering fashion.

It is these deposits, and the work which the water has
performed upon them, that give to the Zarafshan Valley
it peculiar aspect. It is a perfect record of the youngest
geological ages. The reason why all these things are so
clearly seen, so pure in outline, so typical, is to be found
in the dry climate and the consequent absence of dis-
tributed vegetation. Grass and forest not only hide the
ground, they also protect it from quick destruction.
Look at the scarred and furrowed slopes of the Zarafshan ;
it rains little, but every drop of water takes effect upon
these unprotected surfaces ; we can clearly see what
it has done ; its record is finely chiselled, revealing
the faintest scratch, and the fragments are piled up
below in proper order.

Thus we learn, as a general rule, that a dry climate
makes shapes of great regularity with hard clear outlines,
whereas moisture gives softness to form, atmosphere, and
life. Moreover the processes are intermittent and
catastrophal ; nothing stirs during many months, then
suddenly a great volume of water is set free by rain or
melting snows, and within a few hours hundreds of
thousands of tons of blocks, rubble, and ooze are poured
down the mountain. Dryness gives contrasts, moisture
softens them, and nothing is more striking in these
countries than the sudden transitions from death to life,
from rest to movement.

( 18 )

After 100 miles of this fantastic wilderness, but some-
what monotonous in the constant repetition of its
phenomena, the valley assumes a more Alpine character.
The canons and large terraces disappear and travelling
becomes much easier. During the last day we were able
to cover over thirty miles. In the upper hamlets we
engaged fifteen men as porters and took them to our
camp at the foot of the glacier. Here we were at last,
at the gate of ice from which a swift volume of slate-
coloured water rushes forth, often carrying blocks of
transparent ice.

The first thing we saw was that the glacier had
evidently retreated, as shown by a broad scar on the
sides where it has shrunk back from the mountain slope.
At the end is a small lake, which, according to native
report, did not exist last season, and which, therefore,
proves that the glacier has lost over 100 feet in one year.
Altogether the glaciers of the Duab give one a sort of
moribund impression ; they are flat and loaded with an
enormous quantity of stones which they can hardly carry
down. This, of course, is due to the dry climate.
Mushketoff, who visited the place in 1880, says that one
of the side-glaciers w^as joined to the main stem. If that
is true, this small glacier, the Yarkhich, has retired
three-quarters of a mile in twenty-seven years. If his
descriptions of glacial landscapes are to be taken as
correct, very great changes must have occurred since
then.

Walking over the Zarafshan glacier in its lower half is
far from pleasant ; this is a mountain-world of its own,
of enormous piles of loose blocks, of cones, falling away
in ice-slopes 150 feet long, into deep pools of great size.
One has to go continually up and down over sharp
blocks of granite and slabs of friable slate, circumvent

( 19 )

ice-holes or mouse-traps of neatly-balanced boulders.
To anyone not accustomed to pick his way among such
obstacles this means a very severe struggle and great
fatigue.

We reached the Matcha Pass, which is 13,000 feet
high, and which the Russians believed to be the true
beginning of the glacier. That it is not, but only a
snow-saddle in the left boundary divide. We looked
over the sea of great mountains in the east and down
the short Sardaliu glacier, which is somewhat steep and
made Mushketoff's hair stand on end. The mountains
around here are up to 20,000 feet high, but, owing to the
possible desertion of porters, I was not able to attack the
Achun Peak, a fine ice-dome, which looks quite possible.
Instead of that we followed the glacier, which curves
round to the north-west in a sharp semicircle, and after
a walk of two and a half miles, found ourselves at the
foot of a dangerous ice-wall which leads up to the real
top of the glacier. The entire length is about ten miles.
As our present knowledge stands, the Zarafshan is the
largest glacier in the Duab, but cannot compare in size
and weight of ice to many glaciers of the Alps or the
Caucasus.

And so we have stood at the end and at the bemnnins"
of the Zarafshan. It is the middle line of the Duab, and
can serve as a symbol for the whole. On its banks are
greater cities than on the Amu or the Syr. The Zaraf-
shan is history ; it runs through the very heart of the
country : it is in the midst of its events. Its waters
cleave and fissure the rock and grind the mountains to
dust ; they blast the boulders from the spine of the land
and carry them down on a back of ice ; they cut the
valley and chisel tlie cliff; they build the terraces with
villages and gardens ; they bank up the plain and make

( 20 )

it green witli trees and yellow with corn and busy with
tlie throng of men ; they have been the life-blood of an
empire, for them the glorious temples, for their sake the
clang of many battles ; a new empire watches the waters
of the Zarafshan, how they give their last drop to
humanity and tlien die in view of the western horizon.
They are in the full throb of nations ; they have seen
the glory of Samarkand and the greatness of Tamerlane.
The Zarafshan is history — history of landscape, history of
man. Will you hear the softly falling snowflake of con-
ception, the majesty of ice-gestation, the thunder of a
river-birth, the youthful rush, the manly flow and the
last dying murmur ? then go and listen to the waters of
the Zarafshan.

DISCUSSION

The Chairman : You will agree with me that we have
Hstened to a very instructive and eloquent lecture (cheers).
The admirable photographs thrown on the screen have pre-
sented to us in a very clear way the characteristics of the
country. That country must always be of special interest
to us, not only because the region of Eussian Turkestan and
Bokhara borders on a State whose integrity we are pledged to
maintain, but because of the travels and sufferings of heroic
Enghshmen in that region. I need only recall to you the
names of Stoddert, Conolly, and Wolff. Since their days many
of our countrymen have followed in the footsteps of those brave
men. Now I think I must disclaim the soft impeachment of
the lecturer that this society concerns itself mainly with politics.
That has not been my experience, and I have been a member
and attendant at the meetings now for some years. At the
same time I quite agree with the lecturer that a resident or
traveller in Turkestan should eschew politics. His advice in
this regard is very sound, for obvious reasons.

I also join Mr. Eickmers in deprecating what he calls anti-
Russian crusades in the press, which do no good, and I would
add on my own account that I entirely condemn the publication
of alarmist and quite unfounded estimates of Russian strength

( 21 )

in Central Asia. I have mor-e than once, not only in this room,
but elsewhere, strongly advocated, as many of us have done,
that understanding with Russia which we hope is in view to-day
(cheers). I have also expressed my abhorrence of that very
detestable term, ' a Russian scare ' — a term which, I am sorry
to say, is still beloved by many journalists. But, having said
so much, I may add that I am equally convinced that it is not
military weakness on our side, but military strength, which is
the best guarantee for peace in the East (cheers).

General Sir Thomas Gordon said : I have listened with very
great interest to the lecturer's admirable story, so beautifully
illustrated, of a journey through a land where water is such a
unique wonder-worker. He showed us how water in Russian
Turkestan builds, and carves, and cuts in the most wonderful
fashion. I have observed the same effects in Eastern Turkestan,
in the high regions of Kashmir, on the mountain route leading
from Kashghar to the Russian frontier, and in Western Tibet.
At one time you pass from the heights into the valleys by deep
cuts with bordering walls of architectural-like shapes formed by
the action of water ; at another you mount up again to great
altitudes of 19,000 feet or more, to find that even there water
has made the gradients smooth and easy-going. A 16-hand
horse might carry one safely and easily over some of the great
mountain passes of Western Tibet. I merely wish to mention
that my own observation of similar country to that described by
the lecturer has led me to thoroughly enjoy his well-told travel-
story (Hear, hear).

Colonel C. E. Yate said : I have never had the luck to get as
far as the Valley of Zarafshan. The nearest I got to it was
when General Annenkoff was making his railway. He took me
across the bridge over the Oxus at Charjui and on to railhead
on the way to Bokhara with his Railway Battalion in the
construction train, and I need not say I thoroughly appreciated
and was interested in the journey. I should like to express my
concurrence in what the lecturer has said as to the attractive
personal qualities of the Russians. There is no country in the
world where I have had greater kindness and greater hospitality
than in Russia. In that country an Englishman was always
well received. It was only when we got into the countries
outside Russian dominions, such as in Persia or China, where
our interests clashed, that we found ourselves in opposition. I

( 22 )

hopu wo shall soon see a Russian understanding in force, and
that in Persia and other countries the two Groat Powers in future
will be able to work together in complete accord (Hear, hear).

Lieutenant-Colonel R. Manifold Craig, R.A.M.C, said he
would like to be permitted to suggest a prolongation of the
journey just described to them. From fair Kashmir to the
country of which Mr. Rickmers had spoken was, no doubt, a
far cry, and yet there was a connecting-link, for Lala Rookh was
a princess of Bokhara, and her journey to the ' vale of Kashmir '
was probably through scenery very much like that which had
been described to them. He trusted that some time, when
Mr. and Mrs. Rickmers were exploring in Turkestan once more,
they would find their way down into Kashmir by way of Ladakh.
He spoke in ignorance of the geography of the country from the
point where the lecture left o£f, but he believed the journey
could be undertaken, and he knew no one better fitted than
Mr. Rickmers for the task. The lecturer was too true an artist
not to admit that there was a certain amount of monotony in
the bare mountainous regions he had described. At the same
time he would bear him (the speaker) out that there came to be
a feeling of breezy freeness about such places, inducing in the
traveller an inclination to fight rather shy of cities and the
haunts of men. If Mr. and Mrs. Rickmers would journey from
Turkestan into Kashmir they would be rewarded by more
beautiful and less monotonous scenery.

The Chairman, in summing up the discussion, said : Some-
times it is the duty of the chairman to sum up under rather
difficult circumstances — that is, when notes of discord are struck ;
on this occasion, however, there is but one note, and that is the
note of admiration (Cheers). I believe it is the case that
Mr. Rickmers is returning to Samarkand, and that he intends
to devote at least some of his time to the study of scientific
geography in those regions. In according him, with your per-
mission, our hearty vote of thanks for his paper, I will express
on your behalf the hope that his future career at Samarkand
may be prosperous, and that he will be able to add largely to
our information about this region of Central Asia. Some day,
let us hope, this society may have the benefit of further lectures
from him (Cheers). I have rarely listened to a more admirably
delivered, eloquent, and instructive lecture than that given by
him.

BILLINO AND SONS, LIMITED, PRINTERS, CUILDKORD

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