for the gates are locked, and the keys
have been sent away to the governor's palace." With this the night air
grew more chill. But another thought struck us at once. We would send a
note to General McLean, the English consul-general, who was already
expecting us. This our interlocutor, for a certain _inam_, or Persian
bakshish, at length agreed to deliver. The general, as we afterward
learned, sent a servant with a special request to the governor's palace.
Here, without delay, a squad of horsemen was detailed, and ordered with
the keys to the "Herat Gate." The crowds in the streets, attracted by this
unusual turnout at this unusual hour, followed in their wake to the scene
of disturbance. There was a click of locks, the clanking of chains, and
the creaking of rusty hinges. The great doors swung open, and a crowd of
expectant faces received us in the Holy City.

[Illustration: RIDING BEFORE THE GOVERNOR AT MESHED.]

Meshed claims our attention chiefly for its famous dead. In its sacred
dust lie buried our old hero Haroun al Raschid, Firdousi, Persia's
greatest epic poet, and the holy Imaum Riza, within whose shrine every
criminal may take refuge from even the Shah himself until the payment of a
blood-tax, or a debtor until the giving of a guarantee for debt. No
infidel can enter there.

[Illustration: FEMALE PILGRIMS ON THE ROAD TO MESHED.]

Meshed was the pivotal point upon which our wheel of fortune was to turn.
We were filled with no little anxiety, therefore, when, on the day after
our arrival, we received an invitation to call at the Russian
consulate-general. With great ceremony we were ushered into a suite of
elegantly furnished rooms, and received by the consul-general and his
English wife in full dress. Madame de Vlassow was radiant with smiles as
she served us tea by the side of her steaming silver samovar. She could
not wait for the circumlocution of diplomacy, but said: "It is all right,
gentlemen. General Kuropatkine has just telegraphed permission for you to
proceed to Askabad." This precipitate remark evidently disconcerted the
consul, who could only nod his head and say, "_Oui, oui_," in affirmation.
This news lifted a heavy load from our minds; our desert journey of six
hundred miles, therefore, had not been made in vain, and the prospect
brightened for a trip through the heart of Asia.

[Illustration: IN THE GARDEN OF THE RUSSIAN CONSULATE AT MESHED.]

Between the rival hospitality of the Rus