ch I
came--far away to the westward--I had heard of the Bashkirs as a
people possessing many strange customs, but very kind and hospitable
to strangers. Of their kindness and hospitality I had already learned
something by experience, and I hoped they would allow me to learn
something of their mode of life, their customs, their songs, their
history, and their religion, in all of which I assured them my distant
countrymen took a lively interest.

This little after-dinner speech was perhaps not quite in accordance
with Bashkir etiquette, but it made a favourable impression. There was
a decided murmur of approbation, and those who understood Russian
translated my words to their less accomplished brethren. A short
consultation ensued, and then there was a general shout of "Abdullah!
Abdullah!" which was taken up and repeated by those standing outside.

In a few minutes Abdullah appeared, with a big, half-picked bone in his
hand, and the lower part of his face besmeared with grease. He was a
short, thin man, with a dark, sallow complexion, and a look of premature
old age; but the suppressed smile that played about his mouth and a
tremulous movement of his right eye-lid showed plainly that he had not
yet forgotten the fun and frolic of youth. His dress was of richer and
more gaudy material, but at the same time more tawdry and tattered, than
that of the others. Altogether he looked like an artiste in distressed
circumstances, and such he really was. At a word and a sign from the
host he laid aside his bone and drew from under his green silk khalat a
small wind-instrument resembling a flute or flageolet. On this he played
a number of native airs. The first melodies which he played reminded me
of a Highland pibroch--at one moment low, solemn, and plaintive,
then gradually rising into a soul-stirring, martial strain, and again
descending to a plaintive wail. The amount of expression which he put
into his simple instrument was truly marvellous. Then, passing suddenly
from grave to gay, he played a series of light, merry airs, and some
of the younger onlookers got up and performed a dance as boisterous and
ungraceful as an Irish jig.

This Abdullah turned out to be for me a most valuable acquaintance.
He was a kind of Bashkir troubadour, well acquainted not only with the
music, but also with the traditions, the history, the superstitions, and
the folk-lore of his people. By the akhun and the mullah he was regarded
as a frivolous