"Khiva's taken, but the Khan's not; he's run away somewhere into the steppes east of the Aral Sea, with a lot of his rascals; and a caravan would be a nice morsel for them, if they happened to meet it.”

"O, if that's all that troubles you, be easy. I've just been to the Commandant, and he tells me that the Khan has come back again, and given himself up to the Russians ;* and what's more, they've put him back on his throne again, only cautioning him to be a good boy for the future, and not pick any more pockets."

"You don't say so? But surely they'll leave a garrison there? trusting a Khivan's word is like standing on thawed ice!"

"Yes, they're going to leave six companies in Kungrad, near the mouth of the Oxus, and possibly two or three more at Shourakhan, some forty miles east of Khiva; so that if our friend the Khan misbehaves himself, he'll be caught like a snake in a forked stick."

"Bravo! then the caravan can go off to-morrow. Thanks for your good news, David Stepanovitch; but where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Home to my dinner-and I shall be ready for it, after knocking about in the sun all morning.

1

* The Khan's detention lasted only five days altogether—" just to let him feel our gripe," as a Russian officer of my acquaintance expressed it.

CHAPTER XVII.

ACROSS THE SYR-DARIA WITH A CARAVAN.

MORNING on the Syr-Daria—a bright, glorious July morning, with a cloudless sky that betokens all too plainly the destroying heat to come. In the splendour of the early sunlight, the wide, smooth, glittering sweep of the river between its grassy banks, the broad belt of vegetation that girdles it, and the grey unending level of the mighty desert beyond, stand out sharp and clear as in a photograph. Upon most days of the year you might look in vain for any trace of man's presence in this strange panorama, save a stray tent dotted here and there upon the great waste; but this morning it is otherwise. Around the "crossing" of Kara-Toubeh, where a huge, clumsy, iron-bound raft, towed by a rope slung across the stream, does duty as a ferry-boat, there are signs of unwonted bustle. Flat caps and white turbans, red shirts and flowing "khalats," high boots and broad-toed sandals, crowd the bank; while the big, roomy tents dotted over the grass, and the charred circles of extinct camp-fires, show that the sojourn has been a long one. Evidently some great event is at hand, sufficing to stir even the sluggish Asiatic blood into temporary action. In the East there is but one. occurrence capable of working such a miracle; and

those who have travelled there would not need the sight of this host of camels, with their long necks couched on the earth in lazy enjoyment, to divine that the "coming event" which casts such a multiplied shadow is—the departure of a caravan.

Such is indeed the case; and here, at least, no one can apply the reproach of dilatoriness to the Russian population. It is barely six days since news came to them of the fall of Khiva, and they are already sending thither a large and well-freighted caravan! To every tradesman within hail of Fort No. 1, the fall of the Uzbeg dynasty is simply a fine chance of “getting off” his wares at five or six times their market value. I remember that, just before I started for the seat of war, an English friend of mine, learning my destination, gravely asked me to bring him back some Khivan stamps; and the same principle seems to hold good here likewise. In fact, the genuine Russian trader is one who would have regarded the Deluge itself as a providential opening for the sale of umbrellas and macintoshes. It is not in his nature to let slip such a chance as this, and it must be owned that, for once, his proceedings have in them a kind of barbaric justice. The taxers of all men are about to be taxed in their turn, and the long outrage of the Eastern brigand is destined to be avenged by the long bill of the Western trader. The sporadic robbery of barbarism is at an end, and the systematic plunder of civilization is about to begin.

The force already mustered upon the ground is evi

dently mere rank and file-servants, camel-drivers, hangers-on, and what not; the generals are still to come. And here they come, sure enough, jolting along in two ricketty vehicles, half gig and half wheel-barrow. At their approach, the general activity is redoubled. Ropes are knotted and noosed; bales, boxes, and casks dragged hither and thither; the Kirghiz drivers saddle their wiry little horses, and lead them to the front. The camels are yoked* and loaded, bale following bale and chest chest, till a short, angry grunt from the independent animal warns them to beware of "the last straw;" and three or four brown, gaunt, brigand-like fellows who have been paddling in the river, huddle on their scanty garments, and hasten to join the throng.

Meanwhile the four conscript fathers of the bazaar dismount, and begin to look about them. All four are big, florid, jolly-looking men, with the unmistakeable "trade mark" upon each and all. They are dressed in the usual way-white caps, light linen jackets, and high boots; but one of them has actually attained the dignity of a white umbrella, by which imitation of Henri Quatre I rightly judge him to be the chief. A nearer view of him shows me the face of my old acquaintance Ivân Nikolaievitch, into whose "store" I have often dropped for a chat on the way to my afternoon bath; and, remembering our yesterday's meeting, I hasten to greet him accordingly.

"Be prosperous, Ivân Nikolaievitch. What are you

* In loading a camel, a wooden yoke is first placed on the hump and the load then corded upon it.

sending the Khivans? some clothes, I hope, to rig out the poor half-naked heathens properly."

"Ach, David Stepanovitch! how you talk! What's the use of sending good Christian cloth to those unbelievers, who don't know how to wear it? and where am I to get clothes from, who havn't an arshin (11⁄2 ft.) of cloth left in my shop?"

[This postscript is for the benefit of the bystanders, some of whom may possibly wish to buy, in which case he will suddenly discover that there is a yard or two left, and charge double for it.]

"There's my cargo," he continues, in the tone of Coriolanus's "Alone I did it,"-pointing, as he speaks, to several huge casks which are just being corded upon the nearest camels.

"What's in them? water?"

"Water!" echoes the Russian, with all the emphasis of righteous indignation. "Ach, master, do you not fear God, that you talk of giving a Russian army water to drink at the end of a campaign? It's vodka (cornwhiskey) the very strongest I could get. They're giving three roubles (9s. English) a bottle for it just now in Khiva; so I ought to make a good profit.”

"You ought, indeed; but how long will it take to get there?"

"Well, the Kirghiz drivers say they can do it in fifteen days; but I fancy it'll take a good deal longer than that. It's seven hundred versts (four hundred and sixty-seven miles) you know, by way of Irkibai;* and

* The nearer route (377 miles is almost waterless; and hence the other is usually preferred.