e wind had blown down one of the
telegraph-posts, and the wires had done the mischief. By good luck and
the aid of lucifer matches, we managed to trace our ponies to a piece
of cultivated ground hard by, where we found them calmly feeding in a
field of standing corn.

The moon had risen by nine o'clock. Before half-past we were in sight
of the rock on which stands the town of Yezdi-Ghazt, towering, shadowy
and indistinct, over the moonlit plain. This is unquestionably the
most curious and interesting village between Resht and Bushire. The
post-house stands at the foot. As we rode to the latter through the
semi-darkness caused by the shadow of the huge mass of boulders and
mud on which the town is situated, the effect was extraordinary.
It was like a picture by Gustave Dore; and, looking up the dark
perpendicular side of the rock at the weird city with its white
houses, queer-shaped balconies, and striped awnings, standing out
clear and distinct against the starlit sky, gave one an uncomfortable,
uncanny feeling, hard to shake off, and heightened by the fact
that, although the hour was yet early, not a light was visible, not
a sound to be heard. It was like a city of the dead.

[Illustration: YEZDI-GHAZT]

Daylight does not improve the appearance of Yezdi-Ghazt. The city,
which looks so weird and romantic by moonlight, loses much of its
beauty, though not its interest, when seen by the broad light of day.
The system of drainage in Yezdi-Ghazt is simple, the sewage being
thrown over, to fall, haphazard, on the ground immediately below. I
nearly had a practical illustration during my examination, which,
however, did not last long, for the side of the rock glistened with
the filth of years, and the stench and flies were unbearable.

Early next morning I set out alone to explore the strange place, and
with much difficulty and some apprehension--for I did not know how the
natives were disposed--ascended a steep rocky path, at the summit of
which a wooden drawbridge leads over a deep abyss to the gate of the
city. This bridge is the only access to Yezdi-Ghazt, which is, so to
speak, a regular fortress-town.

The rock, about half a mile long, is intersected by one narrow street,
which, covered from end to end with awnings and wooden beams, was
almost in obscurity. The sudden change from the glare outside almost
blinded one. The appearance of a Farangi is evidently rare in
Yezdi-Ghazt, for I was immediately surrounded by a