Our whole karavan had now, on starting from Bokhara for Samarcand, dwindled down to two carts. In one of these sat Hadji Salih and myself; in the other, Hadji Bilal and his party. Sheltered from the sun by a matting awning, I should have been glad to settle myself quietly on my carpet, but this was impossible, owing to the violent motion of our very primitive vehicle; it disposed of us 'at its own sweet will,' shaking us, now here, now there; our heads were continually cannoning each other like balls {198} on a billiard table. During the first few hours I felt quite sea-sick, having suffered much more than I had done when on the camels, the shiplike movements of which I had formerly so much dreaded. The poor horse, harnessed to the broad heavy cart, besides having to make the clumsy wheels--far from perfect circles--revolve laboriously through the deep sand or mud, was obliged also to convey the driver and his provision sack. The Turkoman is right in doubting whether the Bokhariot will ever be able to justify in another world his maltreatment of the horse--the noblest of the brute creation. As it was night when we started from Baha-ed-din, the driver (a native of Khokand), not sufficiently familiar with the road, mistook the way, so that, instead of midnight, it was morning before we reached the little town of Mezar. It is distant from Bokhara five Tash (fersakh), and is regarded as the first station on the road to Samarcand. We halted here but a short time, and about noon arrived at sheikh Kasim, where we encountered some of our brother pilgrims. They were taking the road by Gidjdovan. We consequently indulged ourselves by remaining there quietly together until late at night. [Little Desert of Chöl Melik]