he inspector of the Persian telegraph, who was employed with his men on a
neighboring line. With this gentleman we spent the following night in a
telegraph station, and passed a pleasant evening chatting over the wires
with friends in Meshed.

Kuchan, our next stopping-place, lies on the almost imperceptible
watershed which separates the Herat valley from the Caspian Sea. This
city, only a few months ago, was entirely destroyed by a severe
earthquake. Under date of January 28, 1894, the American press reported:
"The bodies of ten thousand victims of the awful disaster have already
been recovered. Fifty thousand cattle were destroyed at the same time. The
once important and beautiful city of twenty thousand people is now only a
scene of death, desolation, and terror."

From this point to Askabad the construction of the military highway speaks
well for Russia's engineering skill. It crosses the Kopet Dagh mountains
over seven distinct passes in a distance of eighty miles. This we
determined to cover, if possible, in one day, inasmuch as there was no
intermediate stopping-place, and as we were not a little delighted by the
idea of at last emerging from semi-barbarism into semi-civilization. At
sunset we were scaling the fifth ridge since leaving Kuchan at daybreak,
and a few minutes later rolled up before the Persian custom-house in the
valley below. There was no evidence of the proximity of a Russian
frontier, except the extraordinary size of the tea-glasses, from which we
slaked our intolerable thirst. During the day we had had a surfeit of
cavernous gorges and commanding pinnacles, but very little water. The only
copious spring we were able to find was filled at the time with the
unwashed linen of a Persian traveler, who sat by, smiling in derision, as
we upbraided him for his disregard of the traveling public.

[Illustration: AN INTERVIEW WITH GENERAL KUROPATKINE AT THE RACES NEAR
ASKABAD.]

It was already dusk when we came in sight of the Russian custom-house, a
tin-roofed, stone structure, contrasting strongly with the Persian mud
hovels we had left behind. A Russian official hailed us as we shot by, but
we could not stop on the down-grade, and, besides, darkness was too
rapidly approaching to brook any delay. Askabad was twenty-eight miles
away, and although wearied by an extremely hard day's work, we must sleep
that night, if possible, in a Russian hotel. Our pace increased with the
growing darkness until at