THE SAVROON AND SOMBAZ RIVERS. ROCK FORTRESSES OF ANAZARBA AND SIS.
_May 9th._—Awakened by the sound of many goat-skin churns all around
us. The women of the village were hard at work churning last night’s
and this morning’s milk. In another place milking was going on, and in
a third bread-making. Two women squatted facing each other, each with
a small round wooden table in front of her, by her side was a mass of
well-kneaded flour and water in a wooden bowl; taking a bit of this, as
large as the fist, the woman dexterously rolled it out flat on the table,
by means of a small rolling-pin, about as thick as a ruler, and then
presented it, hanging on the roller, to a third woman, seated near a fire
close by, over which stood a tripod, covered with a round plate of iron,
slightly convex, on this she laid the thin sheet of dough, which she had
dexterously received from the other woman upon a similar rolling-pin. It
was just warmed through, and then the baking was sufficient; soon a heap
of these thin cakes was piled at her side.
[Illustration]
Near the door of our hut was one of the native threshing machines. This
primitive instrument is a thick piece of pine wood, thickly set on the
under side with flint stones, fixed along the grain of the wood (Isaiah
xli. 15); on this a man sits and is dragged by a pair of bullocks round
and round upon the heap of grain which is to be threshed out.
[Illustration]
The fort consists of a large square keep and another square tower, at
some distance towards the S.W. of the cliff. On the N.E. side is an
enclosure, surrounded by walls, and a small tower, with a gateway and
pointed arch. The cliff is as steep but not quite so high as Boudroum.
The line of turf was in strong contrast with the deep red of the rock.
[Illustration]
I observed here the only ferry on the river for several days’ distance
(as we heard), but there was at present no boat. It consisted of a wooden
stage, with upright posts, and a windlass on which to roll the tow
rope, set horizontally between the uprights; the bars were fixed in the
roller. It would not be easy to punt or row a boat at present across the
rapid stream, and this, perhaps, may account for the extremely few boats
there are on the river. Although both the Jeihaàn and Seihoun have fish,
though not of good quality, and abound with enormous eels, there are no
fishermen; the Osmanlis are not fish-eaters, at least in Cilicia.
We started at 7.30 A.M., passing along the river bank, between the
river and the foot of the cliff. Then turning round the S.W. corner
of the mountain, we made for Anazarba. The immediate neighbourhood of
the mountain, and the plain for some distance round it, is covered
with fields of fine barley, which seemed especially luxuriant under
the mountain, owing to the shade and moisture it afforded; there was
abundance of clover, equal to the sown clover of an English field,
as deep as the horses’ knees (of course growing wild), and a perfect
parterre of brilliant flowers, red, blue, white, and yellow, colouring
the whole surface of the plain, and filling the air with their scent. The
marigold, buttercup, poppy, and bugloss of an intense blue, were the most
plentiful. Although the sun is very powerful, the stiff, tenacious soil
has not yet parted with its moisture, and the heavy night dews, with an
occasional thunder shower, keep every place full of verdure; still, rain
is much needed for the cotton and sesame crops.
Anazarba is about four hours distant in a direct line, but the plain
was full of marshes, and the Savroon,[12] a deep and rapid stream, had
to be crossed. There was a bridge on the direct road, but it had been
broken down, and, it is needless to add, not repaired. We were obliged,
therefore, to make a long détour. Every now and then we turned towards
Anazarba in hope of being able to cross to it, but at every encampment we
heard the same report, namely, that it was impossible to cross the river
or the marshes. At length, after passing through Endal and Boz-Koyou
Keui, and retracing our road nearly to Bazaar, we came to Orta Oglou
Keui, about one hour S.W. from Bazaar, and were told of a ford, a little
below Bazaar, by which we should be able to cross. The Savroon here
separates into two branches, which unite again a little below. We crossed
the first branch, the water being up to the horse’s belly, and the stream
very rapid; a number of cattle and people were also crossing, amongst
others a Turk and his wife; the woman was supported on either side by her
husband and another man. Fords such as this are sometimes very dangerous,
so easily may one be carried off and drowned when trying to cross these
rapid mountain streams. The second ford was about one hour to the S.W.,
but this was easy to cross; we rested awhile on the opposite bank,
but there was not a tree, scarcely a bush, to afford shelter from the
scorching sun, and then continued our way, always keeping the great rock
of Anazarba on our left till we had passed three-fourths round it. Then
we turned towards it, and at 2.50 P.M. crossed the Sombaz by a bridge of
two arches. This, too, is a deep and rapid stream, but less of a mountain
torrent than the Savroon. Its source is a great spring, or collection of
springs, in the mountains at Boujak, six hours from Anazarba, on the edge
of the plain to the N.E., and its water is clearer than the Savroon. It
flowed from our right to our left at the bridge, and its general course
is towards the south. These streams unite not far from Anazarba, then
the Sombaz sweeps round the east end of the mountain and falls into the
Jeihaàn, about three hours from Anazarba.
We reached Anazarba at 4.30 P.M., having been eight hours and a half in
the saddle. This great rock fortress, once the chief stronghold of the
earlier princes in the Armenian dynasty of Roupen, is on the top of a
high mountain, which in most places presents only precipitous walls of
rock. The site of the ancient city is under the precipice, and a double
line of wall with an exterior ditch surrounds it. After passing through
a ruined sally-port in the wall near the great gate, which is itself
blocked up, we alighted at the house of a Syrian of Tripoli, named Nicola
Arslan. This man had been a farmer of the revenue, and had purchased the
dîme of the district round Anazarba. The speculation turned out badly,
and according to his own account, which is probably exaggerated, he lost
70,000 piastres (nearly 660_l._); not discouraged, however, he bought
from the Government the land round Anazarba, including, I suppose, the
site of the old city. The price paid seems ridiculously small, it was
fifteen Turkish piastres (about three francs) per “douloum” (the douloum
equals about forty square metres). The conditions of purchase were as
usual, payment of the Government dîme, and obligation to keep the land
under cultivation; if left uncultivated for five years (_I think_) the
land “ipso facto” reverts to the Government.
Arslan is said to be a very daring and resolute man, so that even the
thievish prowling Circassians avoid him; and I should say, judging from
his looks, that he would not hesitate to shoot down any one of them whom
he might catch stealing his cattle.
A little colony of Syrians (Greek Christians) has gathered round him
here, nearly all of whom are in his employ, and they suffer no Muslim or
Circassian to reside amongst them. We heard that before this man settled
in the place, Anazarba was by no means secure, owing to marauders from
the Circassian villages around; now however it is safe. The village
consists of some twenty houses, built inside the circuit of the wall;
and the houses are much superior to those in most of the villages we
had seen. Arslan lived in a long low house of one story, with an open
corridor all along the front. From this corridor the door opens into a
wide barn-like place, the roof of which is supported by stout timber
pillars. One portion of this is used as a stable, another part as a
storehouse, where the grain, &c., is kept, and a third part serves for
a kitchen; the flooring of all this is earth. At the farther end is a
small room with a floor of planking, fitted up with cupboards, &c. This
serves for Arslan’s parlour, bedroom, and everything else. Like most of
the rooms we saw, it is low and dark, its small windows only admitting
a feeble light, although the sun may be shining brilliantly outside. It
was furnished with a number of fine yorghans, carpets, and cushions. We
were hospitably received, and I kept up a conversation with our host in
Arabic. He said he hoped for a good harvest this year to make up for
some of his losses. He did not like the country, but what could he do?
The inundations of the past few months had caused him much damage, and
he had not been able to bring down his supply of firewood, so deep and
wide had been the flood on the plain. His land was very fertile, and
never required manure. He sowed cotton one year, the next either barley
or wheat, but in consequence of want of water, no second crop could be
grown in the year, so that the land lay fallow three to four months. The
villagers never grew beans or peas because “it was not the custom.”
Arslan did not indulge in the luxury of knives, spoons, and forks,
but ate with his fingers, in the native style. He seemed a soured and
disappointed man, and his athletic form, and strongly marked and gloomy
features, as he sat smoking his narghileh, testified that he would prove
an awkward customer in a “difficulty.” He was, however, very polite to
us. After a long conversation, and pledging us repeatedly in some “raki”
which we had brought with us from Bazaar, he lent us some yorghans, and
we lay down to sleep, but the heat of the room, and the multitude of
fleas, kept me awake nearly all night!
_May 10th._—Rose at sunrise. A dense fog over the whole country. Asked my
host if this place was healthy; he replied, “Yes! he had lived here some
six or seven years, and had always enjoyed good health; the heat was not
excessive, as it was tempered by the sea-breeze. They had only cistern or
well water, somewhat brackish, but abundant, and not unwholesome.”
As I have before said, the great rock of Anazarba forms on one side a
line of vast precipitous cliffs, which sink like a wall to the depth
of some 600 to 800 feet. Under this stupendous rock lay the old city
enclosed by a double wall and ditch; the latter, although almost filled
up, can still be plainly traced; the outer wall also is quite ruined,
and in some parts very little of it is left. A great part of the inner
wall is still in excellent preservation. It is a thick wall of large
hewn stones, with upwards of fifty square towers at regular intervals,
the towers being about 33 feet square. It is entirely a restoration of
a debased age, and constructed from the ruins of the former city, all
sorts of fragments having been inserted in it in course of building. The
general outline of the site is an irregular parallelogram, of which the
precipice forms one side, the end of the wall at either side being built
up to the precipice. The interior presents nothing but a confused mass
of ruins, overgrown with brushwood, turf, weeds, and long rank grass.
Scarcely a portion of any building stands erect and perfect. There are
the ruins of a large church and of a gymnasium, great shapeless masses
of rubble wall faced with brick. Four gates remain. The principal is the
great gateway near which we entered; this is blocked up, and only a small
broken sally-port is now used; opposite to it is the triumphal arch.
Between them ran a line of street, once bordered, as at Boudroum and
Pompeiopolis, by two lines of columns. But not a column remains erect,
and not one is perfect; indeed, it would appear as if they had never been
finished, for I did not observe a single capital. Most of them are of
limestone, some of grey granite, and they are scattered about the town in
the strangest manner, as if rolled out of the way after the earthquake
which destroyed the town, and there left.
Anazarba has suffered from earthquakes almost more than any city known.
Three great earthquakes are recorded, each of which almost utterly
destroyed it; the first was in the reign of Nerva, the second and worst
was in the reign of Justin. In the reign of his successor, Justinian,
it was again destroyed in the same way, and the existing walls of the
town were built by order of the Emperor. Strangely enough one edifice
alone of the old city seems to have escaped destruction. It is the Arch
of Triumph, which still stands—magnificent, though shorn of its original
grandeur—at the other extremity of the colonnade, and within the circuit
of Justinian’s wall. It contains a central arch of ornate Corinthian
style, and two smaller side arches of plain Ionic. A wall on either side,
with Corinthian pilasters, forms an approach to the archway, and is as
high as the archway itself, thus making a kind of large open court in
front of it, but this is cumbered with huge masses of carved stone and
fragments of columns that have fallen from their bases; all three arches,
however, are still perfect.
Each of the piers at the side of the great arch was once faced by two
granite columns, resting on a base that projected from the general
frontage of the archway. These columns had supported a massive
architrave, adorned with wreaths of foliage, &c. Above the architrave was
an equally massive pediment, ornamented in a similar way, and although
the columns have fallen, much of the architrave and its pediment still
remain in their place, so great and solid are the blocks of which they
are carved, and the huge stones by which their weight is still partly
sustained.
The whole upper portion of the Arch of Triumph is in ruin, its great
stones dislocated and threatening to fall; but it is strange how even
so much of this fine monument should have survived the many shocks of
earthquake by which this country has been convulsed. Besides the three
arches, an arched passage traverses the piers from side to side.
The subjoined are the measurements which I took of the dimensions of the
gateway, but I find that they differ both from those given by Texier,
and from the measurements of my companion, which themselves also widely
differ.
[Illustration]
There is no inscription upon the Arch of Triumph, but it is of a style
common towards the end of the second century, and in many respects it
resembles the architecture of the Roman part of the temple at Baalbec.
On the left-hand side, beyond the Arch of Triumph, and close under the
precipice, is the site of the theatre. Only its general outline can be
made out, nothing is left of it but a few pieces of granite columns and
fragments of rudely carved architrave. Behind the theatre is a roughly
hewn rock staircase, which forms the shortest ascent to the first
enceinte of the fortress. Directly in front of the archway, but at a
distance of about 200 yards, is the site of the stadium. It was formed by
cutting away some projecting pieces of rock, and the precipice formed
one side of it. The position of the seats is still visible.
Three aqueducts supplied Anazarba with water, all derived from different
spots in the mountains on the edge of the plain northwards from the
city. One of them is of pipes carried underground, the two others were
on arches. Of one, thirty-two large arches are still standing, a little
way outside the north gate by which we entered, and its line of fallen
arches may be traced all across the plain till lost to sight. The line of
the other may be traced, but none of its arches are standing. In front of
the gate is a building into which these aqueducts led, and which seems to
have served for the distribution of the water. The construction of the
remaining aqueduct was simple, but strong, of rubble masonry, cased with
hewn stones. The water-way was of brickwork lined with cement. A great
accumulation of stony deposit from the water has formed on the piers and
in the arches.
The “prise d’eau” of the great aqueduct is about six hours to the north
of Anazarba, near the village of Boujak. A vast number of springs rise
here, and the source of the Sombaz is at this spot; there is also not far
from the village one of the border fortresses. The “prise d’eau” of the
second aqueduct is at a place called Hammamkeui, some two hours distant
N.W. by W. of Anazarba. The “prise d’eau” of the underground aqueduct is
about two hours distant to the N.W., at a place called “Allahpongar,” or,
as my informant pronounced it, “Allahpoir.” The Sombaz sweeps along the
N.E. side of the mountain, and falls into the Savroon, and their united
streams enter the Jeihaàn, about three hours from Anazarba.
After breakfast a guide came to show us over the fortress; the easiest
way of ascent is by the rock steps behind the theatre, but he said
there was another path up a ravine, a little way outside the Arch of
Triumph. The ravine winds upwards amidst great fallen blocks of rock,
and under smooth overhanging rock walls; a little distance up it are
some inscriptions, apparently funereal, but scarcely legible. After
emerging from the ravine, we began to mount the rock. The whole surface
of this rock and of the neighbouring mountain slopes are covered with
huge sarcophagi, all broken and displaced, and with many arched tombs
of masonry. About half-way up to the fortress are the remains of a
church, the lower part of which (fully half) is quarried in the hard blue
rock; the upper part was built of extremely massy blocks of the same
materials. It had three apse windows, and pilasters of the Ionic order.
Bulky and heavy as are the blocks of which it was constructed, they
have been thrown or rolled to some considerable distance, and testify
to the violent shocks of earthquake, which have destroyed the town. A
road quarried in the rock, and bordered by sarcophagi, led us at last to
the outer wall of the first enceinte. This wall is of yellow limestone,
with towers at regular intervals, and extends quite across the mountain
top, from the cliff above the city to the cliff on the other side. The
gateway, now in ruin, is on the left-hand side over the city; all the
towers are of like construction, the upper story is vaulted, and each one
has a large cistern under it for collecting rain-water. A way, which is
reached from the inside by a number of flights of stone steps, runs all
along the battlements. The wall along the edge of the east cliff, on the
side away from the city, has fallen down in places, and although on that
side the precipices are not perpendicular, as over the city, yet they are
practically inaccessible. The garrison, however, must have had some means
of descent, as there is a gateway on that side. It was closed by folding
doors, which of course have long since disappeared. On either side of the
doorway are strong stone sockets, to receive the upright bar on which the
gate swung, and there is a deep orifice in the wall at the side of the
door, into which to push back the bar which fastened it, exactly as one
sees on a smaller scale in the native houses in Egypt.
In the middle of the first enceinte is a small square church, the
sepulchral chapel of the Roupenian barons of Cilicia as long as Anazarba
was the capital of the country. It is composed of a nave and two aisles,
arched and vaulted with brick. The roof was supported by four square
pillars of hewn stone, one of which has fallen. It has a triple apse at
the east end, in which and in other parts of the building, traces of
fresco painting may be seen, but all imperfect. It has three doors; round
the arch of the south door is a pretty Arabic ornamentation, and a long
Armenian inscription runs round the building on the outside under the
eaves. In other respects this chapel is of extremely plain construction.
Between the first and second enceinte of the fortress is a large tower
standing alone. It is possible to reach this tower, and we succeeded
in doing so, by climbing over a rock at the left-hand corner, but it
requires a steady eye and foot, for the edge of the great precipice
above the city is at the foot of this rock, only a few yards distant,
and slightly concealed by a thin fringe of grass and herbage. On a stone
high up on the near side of the tower is a long Armenian inscription.
The inner enceinte is quite inaccessible from this side, for between it
and the tower the rock has been cut away so as to form a kind of ditch,
over which a drawbridge afforded a passage in the old days. The rock at
the bottom of this ditch is not flat, but cut to a sharp angle like the
high pitched roof of a house, and even if this could be crossed, there
is no direct access to the fortress beyond, except by a most dangerous
path at the foot of the wall, where the least false step would inevitably
prove fatal, as close below, the great precipice descends like a wall. I
should have supposed that nothing but a chamois or a mountain goat could
traverse such a path, but our guide said he had passed along it several
times. There is an easier access from the other side of the old city
below, but we did not visit this inner enceinte, the heat of the sun and
the fatigue of mounting being very great. There are a few Armenian and
(we were told) Italian inscriptions in it.
I observed no inscription inside the city, but in the rock, about 300
yards beyond the great gate, on the road to Sis, and opposite the arches
of the aqueduct, is a bas-relief, the upper part of which is still in
tolerably good preservation. A long inscription had been carved in the
rock below it, but only a small portion of it remains, the whole of the
lower part being obliterated. I give it as well as I could decipher it,
but it is high up, and in the brilliant sunlight very difficult to make
out. In front of the first figure in the second compartment is carved
what appears like the head and beak of a vulture.
[Illustration:
ΚΡΟΚΟΣ ΠΑΠΗΣ ΤΕ=ΦΟΝ ΑΛΛΗΚΙΟΣ ΙΕΓΑΡΑ
ΑΓΟΝΩΝΣΥΝΟΥΧΟΝΦΥΛΑΣΣΟΜΕ
ΙΗ ΑΝΟΙΓΕΟΥΠΑΡΘ
]
After resting awhile at Arslan’s house, we started at about 2 P.M. for
Sis. We followed the line of the aqueduct till we came to the village of
Hadjilar, about one hour from Anazarba. The villagers had gone to their
yaila in the mountains, and there did not seem to be a single inhabitant
left to keep watch over the luxuriant crops of wheat and barley, round
the place. Here we crossed by a bridge one of the tributaries of the
Sombaz, a deep and sluggish stream, but were obliged to make a long
détour to avoid the deep mud in front of the bridge. If this be the
condition of the road, now summer is so nigh, what must it be during
winter! The arches of the aqueduct, which had been gradually diminishing
in size, and becoming constantly more ruinous since we left Anazarba,
continue in a straight line towards the mountains. We left them on the
right, and turned towards the N.W. A short distance beyond Hadjilar we
entered the hills, and a succession of smaller plains, at a higher level
than the great plain.
The country is covered by the flocks and herds of the Turkmans. At
several of their encampments I noticed fine greyhounds. Although the heat
was great, these dogs had a covering on the back and loins.
These Turkmans are the makers of the Karamanian “Killim” carpets, which
they weave on an upright frame. The designs are traditional, and probably
have been handed down from generation to generation for thousands of
years. The material is entirely of sheep’s wool, spun by the women; the
dyes are mostly vegetable; the red, of the madder root (kizil boya) and
cochineal insect; the yellow, of the yellow berry; the blue, of indigo;
the green, a preparation of copper or arsenic, is imported from Europe.
They have also a beautiful deep brown dye, but I could not learn what
it was. Although these carpets are inferior to the carpets of Persia
or Khorassan, their beauty and brilliancy are remarkable. A number of
very fine “Killim” carpets (I heard) had been exhibited at the Vienna
Exhibition, by a Greek merchant of Adana. They had attracted much
attention, and gained a prize, but the poor weavers themselves appear
to draw but little profit from their skill. “Sic vos non vobis,” is
the rule in Turkey. At one of the encampments the people showed me some
specimens; they asked a price for them at the rate of 3_l._ to 3_l._
10_s._ for a carpet measuring about 13 feet by 4 feet. But I was told by
our interpreter that their selling price was less than this. Of course it
is the Oriental custom always to ask more than the amount for which the
article will be sold.
The approach to Sis is very beautiful, from the picturesque appearance
of the great red rock, with the fortress on its top, backed by a broken
range of mountains of the deepest purple tint. A little stream descends
the valley, along which the road from Anazarba passes, and its course
is marked by gardens and orchards full of orange and lemon trees, an
uncommon sight in Cilicia.
The town of Sis is on the steep slope at the base of the mountain. It
looks well from a distance, but like most Eastern towns its beauty is
all external. It is a wretched decaying place, consisting of ruinous
stone houses, filthy in the extreme, and (unlike Marash) appears to have
no special industry. The people, who are chiefly Armenian Christians,
present a very wretched appearance.
We alighted at the khan after about four hours’ ride. The appearance of
our lodging was not very inviting, and I preferred to sleep outside on
a bench, rather than in the room which the khanji offered. The room was
fitted up with a stage about 3 feet high, but in place of stairs a loose
stone was placed. This was the only help for mounting the stage, so that
every time one descended there was a risk of spraining the ankle, and
every time one mounted it was necessary to be very cautious not to strike
the head against a beam placed exactly above the edge of the stage, and
carefully arranged as to height above the stage for the head to dash
against it; my friend, who was tall, struck his head against the beam
several times.
[Illustration: TOWN AND FORTRESS OF SIS
(Afternoon)
_Stanford’s Geogˡ. Estabᵗ._]
And here I must digress, in order to make a few remarks on the stupid
“insouciance” of the Orientals. If, as was the case at Sis, a stage be
placed in a room, it is usually so high that there is difficulty in
mounting, and risk of a fall in stepping down from it, and very seldom is
it thought necessary to arrange two or three steps, by which to go up or
down. I noticed in several places flights of stairs, stone and wood, the
upper step of which is less in width than the others, so that a stranger
descending in the dark is very apt to fall, for who could anticipate such
a perverse arrangement? Holes in stairs or floors are never repaired, and
if you put your foot through one of them and hurt yourself, so much the
worse for you! Nothing will be done until the stairs or floors are so
utterly ruined that they cannot be repaired, but must be renewed. Again,
if there be any inconvenient place in which to fix a nail, or a piece
of wood, in itself utterly useless! so that it may wound hand, or face,
or eye, or head, there, where one has least reason to expect it, it is
certain to be found.
The Oriental, however, is seldom or never “in a hurry,” and by reason of
his slow, deliberate, movements suffers less from such inconveniences
than the more impetuous European. Still, all these _little_ matters
mark the general character of the people, and if there are two ways
of arranging anything, or doing anything, the one easy, safe, and
convenient, the other difficult, inconvenient, or dangerous, the latter
is that which these Orientals will prefer to adopt; and I am convinced
that the Osmanlis, if left to themselves, would go on for centuries
exactly as they go on now; there would be no change, no improvement,
nothing but stagnation and decay!
_May 11th._—The fatigue and heat of the last two or three days had quite
exhausted us, and we felt but little inclination for the hard work of
ascending to the top of the mountain, on which is the old fortress of
Sis, an expedition, as we heard, far more laborious and difficult than
the examination of the fortress of Anazarba. But besides this, my friend
was already suffering from the first attacks of the disease which a
fortnight later, alas! was to prove fatal to him. We therefore determined
to give up to-day to comparative rest, and on the morrow to make the best
of our way to Adana, where some degree of comfort, and medical help if
needed, could be obtained.
Excepting the fortress and the Church of the Patriarchate, which is on
the site of the old palace of the Armenian kings, Sis offers nothing
whatever of interest. Although Sis is the seat of the Patriarchate, the
Patriarch prefers to reside at Aintab, only coming to Sis at intervals
“because (we heard) the Armenians of Sis do not show him much respect or
regard.”
The monastery containing his palace, with its garden, and the church, is
some hundreds of feet above the town, and the whole forms a triangular
space, surrounded by a high wall.
Although unable to exert himself to any great extent, my friend paid a
visit with me to the church. We were received by the resident priest, a
man of about fifty, with an extremely handsome face, aquiline nose, and
bright piercing eyes. We saw no other ecclesiastic, and he appeared to be
living almost alone, in this dreary solitude.
After entering the lower gate of the enclosure, we passed, by means of
successive flights of steps, from one platform to another. The whole is
a confused assemblage of courtyards, corridors, rooms large and small,
but all in a dirty and neglected condition. The priest received us in the
house of the Patriarch, which is at the highest point of the triangular
enclosure, and looks down upon the town, with its flat-roofed houses
built in terraces, one row rising above the other. The monastery with
most of the church was built by the Patriarch Kyriakos in about 1810,
but already is falling to ruin, being in a sad state of neglect and
disrepair. This Patriarch was afterwards murdered by the chief Turkman
Bey of the district.
The church is a spacious square building, with a flat roof supported by
square pillars of masonry. At its east end are the usual three apse-like
recesses, each with its altar. Over the central altar is a canopy of
Italian stucco work, covered with gilding, all in very bad taste. The
walls at this end of the church are inlaid for some feet from the ground
with porcelain tiles resembling those in the mosque of Sultan Suleiman
at Constantinople. There is another shrine on the north side of the
church, to which a steep flight of stone steps led up. This shrine also
was richly ornamented with stucco work and gilding. The Patriarch had
a seat there, as well as one in the nave. Pictures of the usual quaint
style were hung in various parts of the church. In front of the central
apse, the floor of which was raised high above the floor of the church,
are a number of quaintly carved bronze lions, which serve as stands for
two large and rather fine brass candelabras. The most remarkable thing in
the church is the marble chair in which the kings of Armenia sat at their
coronation. On the back and sides of the chair is carved their blazon, a
lion rampant, and a double eagle. In the north-west corner are the tombs
of several of the patriarchs. The portico along the west front of the
church is in a most dangerous state of disrepair, and may fall at any
moment. Our guide said that on the return or next visit of the Patriarch
it would be repaired; but it appeared doubtful whether it would remain
erect for many days!
Against the wall, under the portico, were hung what served as the bells
of the church (for the Muslims in general hold bells in the utmost
abhorrence), viz. a large piece of iron, a large and thick piece of
wood, and a smaller similar piece. These are sounded at different times,
according to the divine service that is to be celebrated.
Although I put many questions through our interpreter to the Armenians
with whom I came in contact, not one could give me the least information
about the history or antiquities of their town; so that, though there are
several other churches (all, however, in a ruinous state), I could find
out nothing about them; my account of Sis is, therefore, of necessity
very incomplete.
The fortress, as seen from below, appears to crown the rugged points
of the mountain in several places, and a high wall enclosing the whole
follows the undulations of the surface. It has precipices of enormous
depth on almost every side, and must have been nearly impregnable in
the old days. With the capture of the fortress of Sis, by El Melek el
Ashraf, Sultan of Egypt, in 1374, the Armenian dynasty in Cilicia ceased
to reign; for, although the king, Leo VI. (of Lusignan) succeeded in
escaping to the mountains, he was blockaded in the fortress of Capan,
which is to the N.W. of Sis, and after a siege of nine months was forced
to surrender by famine, and with his family sent prisoner to Cairo. To
my great regret I was prevented from visiting the fortress, owing to the
intense heat and to my friend’s ill-health.
_May 12th._—Left at 9 A.M. for Adana. We crossed the river of Sis, the
Kesik Tchai, by a bridge of ten arches, some round, some pointed. Messis,
and the fortress of Toumlo Kalaat, were in a line S.W. by S. The number
of springs in the mountain range to the north of Sis must be very great,
for we crossed no less than three large streams and several brooks in the
course of the morning, all flowing southwards toward the Jeihaàn. At 10
A.M. we crossed Deli Tchai; at 10.30 A.M. another stream equally large,
the Kara Pongar Tchai; at 11 A.M. the brook of Idam, near the village of
the same name. We passed the sites of several ancient villages. At 11.30
we came to a single standing column amidst many fallen columns and bases
“in situ,” with cisterns and rock tombs, amongst them several blocks of
rock roughly carved into the form of steps. The route was dreary and
uninteresting. None of the high mountains could be seen, as they were
enveloped in mist and vapour. The heat was intense, and there was not a
tree, nor even a bush, to afford the slightest shelter from the burning
rays of the sun. At 1 P.M. we came to a deep muddy brook bordered by
bushes; on the outside of the parapet of the bridge which spanned it, was
a single tree, but it cast no shade on our side, and there was not a bush
large enough to afford cover, so that I was obliged to hang my coat upon
the highest I could find, and crouch beneath it for shelter. At 1.50 we
crossed another large brook, and from this point the country became more
broken and mountainous. At 3.30 we crossed a large brook fed by melted
snow, and having a considerable village near it.
We were now in a district of the most beautiful hills and downs, with
dells full of pasturage rich and green, and watered by an abundance of
small streams. These hills are of conglomerate, covered with clay, and
the stiff, tenacious soil parts with its moisture very slowly, so that,
although the sun is fierce, the verdure is still fresh. A cool breeze
from the S.W. was blowing, and we had emerged from the dull, stifling
heat of the plain. It is strange how quickly air and vegetation change
as one ascends; the air becomes pure and bracing, and the cystus, with
the snow-drop tree and other mountain shrubs, again begin to appear. We
had intended to halt for the night at a khan called Khan Deresi, but a
peasant whom we met told us it was closed, and no one living in it. After
continually ascending we reached at 6 P.M. a district of poor and rocky
soil, covered with brushwood, and dismounted at the summer encampment of
the villagers of Keumerdli Keui; this was merely a few huts of wattle and
brushwood, and there were no tents. The villagers offered us yorghans,
but could give us no kind of shelter, except a goats’ hair rug stretched
upon poles. It was but a poor defence against rain, but it was all they
could provide, so we piled our baggage under it, hoping thus to secure it
in some measure from wet, and prepared to bivouac. Yaourt and milk were
brought. Our interpreter made coffee and pilaff, but no barley could be
had for the horses, so they were tethered out at a little distance from
the camp to graze, and, for fear of thieves, two of the villagers were
told off to keep watch over them during the night. In the midst of these
arrangements the headman came up to say that two suspicious characters,
known to be thieves, had come into the camp. Hereupon a council was
held. Nothing would have been easier than for such rogues, when everyone
was asleep, to make a dash upon the horses, to escape with them, and to
sell them for anything they would fetch in some remote village, where
there would be no danger of inconvenient inquiries. In order to prevent
such thefts, it is the custom at night to fetter the horses’ fore-legs
by means of a chain, with clips passing round the leg. The chain is
fastened by a very ingenious contrivance, which, however, it is not easy
to describe. At one end of the chain is a small cylinder of iron, closed
at either end by a plate pierced in such a shape as to admit the passage
of an iron bolt, which is attached to the other end of the chain. To the
sides of this bolt pieces of iron are fastened, like springs, which, as
the bolt is forced in, close up, and so all can pass through the opening
in the cylinder plate. After passing through it they again expand, and
thus the bolt cannot be withdrawn except by means of the key, which is
inserted at the other end of the cylinder, and has notches or angles
exactly fitting the springs, so that when this key is forced down upon
the bolt the springs are again closed up, and the bolt can be withdrawn.
After awhile the headman came to me, and asked if they should “put on
the irons.” “Yes,” said the interpreter, “you must do it.” “Of course,”
I said, “then there will be no danger,” thinking they meant to fetter
the horses’ legs. Hearing a scuffle soon afterwards, I went up to see
what was the matter, and great was my surprise at finding that the two
rogues had been clapped in the irons instead of the horses! They did
not, however, seem at all indignant, as honest men would have been, but
laughed, and took it all good-humouredly enough. By-and-by one of them
drew out a kind of fife, and began to play a tune.
We appointed another watchman to look after them, and then lay down to
sleep. It rained heavily in the night, and the most vivid lightning was
playing in all directions along the distant mountain ridges, displaying
their jagged crests and peaks for a moment in brilliant light, to be
succeeded instantly by pitchy darkness. The thunder was extremely
heavy, but I slept at intervals. In the morning the villagers gave our
prisoners their breakfast, and let them go. I went to take a look at
them, and was convinced that the headman had done wisely in securing
them. Thief and vagabond were written on their faces. They did not seem
at all disconcerted, but laughed at me, when I came up. One was dressed
in an old cotton quilted gown, the other in a dress of sheepskins with
the wool inside. They had been lying out in the rain all night, but
seemed none the worse for it, and accepted all as a matter of course. The
headman said he was sure they had come with the intention of stealing
anything they could lay hands on, and had he not put them in irons, we
should probably have missed some of our horses in the morning. I fear
such an interference with the liberty of the subject would hardly have
passed off so easily in Europe!
_May 13th._—Left our bivouac at 6 A.M. The route was over hills of
conglomerate covered with stiff clay, a very difficult road in wet
weather. The horses slipped continually, sometimes even to the very edge
of the deep ravines cut by the streams. In about half an hour we passed
the khan; a small party of travellers had taken shelter in one of the
buildings belonging to it, but the people of the khan were absent; and
here began a succession of thunderstorms, which, with brief intervals,
lasted all the day. The lightning, thunder, and rain were most violent;
the passage of the valleys was literally through miles of mud and water;
sometimes the road crossed a ridge of hills, where there was a rocky or
sandy soil, but it was extremely difficult to advance at all through the
valleys, and over the clay slopes. At length, amidst incessant rain, we
reached the edge of the great plain, and came in sight of Adana. It was
still about an hour and a half distant. For more than seven hours on
that day we had suffered, with but slight intermissions, from a violent
tempest of rain and hail, with lightning and thunder, and now the storm
raged more heavily than ever. The road was a perfect quagmire, covered
with water a foot deep. The ditches became great running streams, and
we could only advance step by step. We passed many of the country
people; their condition in wet weather is wretched in the extreme. Their
food, their clothing, and their lodging, are ill adapted to resist the
inclement weather that sometimes prevails here in winter and spring; and
at seasons like the present, fever and dysentery commit great ravages
amongst them. Some of them were toiling up to the middle in mud and
water, under great loads of firewood, others were tugging along camels
that looked as miserable as their owners! There was no shelter for miles:
even the very cattle were shrinking together from the pitiless storm! The
entrance to the bridge of Adana, and the bridge itself, were crowded with
flocks of sheep and goats driven in from the neighbourhood of the town,
and the poor little lambs and goats, only a few days or weeks old, were
cowering under the parapet to shelter themselves from the storm. We rode
through the town to our lodging amidst a deluge of water-spouts from the
roofs, and were highly contented at finding ourselves once more in the
comparative civilization of Adana.
The interpreter who had hitherto accompanied us was a young Greek of
Antioch, named Hanna (John), who could speak a little French. He had
received a month’s wages in advance before we left Mersina, and on the
journey I had given him various sums. I must admit that hitherto he
had behaved extremely well, but either he was tired of the rough life
and hardships we had been obliged to endure of late, or perhaps he had
received some more eligible offer. However this may have been, he left us
at Adana; but with the usual shifty and cunning spirit which seems innate
in the Christians of the Levant, he could not do it in a straightforward
way. After supper he came in and asked for another advance of wages,
which I very unwisely gave him; then later on he returned, said he
wished to go to Tarsus to see his family, and promised faithfully to
return on the morrow. My companion was most unwilling to consent, but as
we should not be able to start again for some days, I persuaded him to
agree, although of course it was very embarrassing to be deprived of our
interpreter in such a place. I found out afterwards that Hanna remained
at the khan, gambling and drinking raki, till near midnight, and then
took one of our poor tired horses and started for Tarsus, without any
intention of returning; of course, had he said plainly that he wished to
leave us, and had he not drawn more money than was due to him, I should
have had no ground of complaint whatever against him. Fortunately, I was
able to manage tolerably well without him, and our excellent friend Mr.
Schiffmann gave us his assistance; so that the man’s conduct did not
cause any serious inconvenience.
_May 14th._—A day of rest. All the afternoon, I was vainly expecting
the return of our interpreter, according to his promise. At evening we
accompanied Mr. Schiffmann to some gardens a little way out of the town,
a very general resort of the Adaniotes. Here they sit among alleys of
vine, lemon, and orange trees, and listen to the music of some Cypriote
Greeks, which is superior to most of the music to be heard in Turkey. The
Christians drink small glasses of “raki” (a spirit distilled from grape
“must” and flavoured with gum mastic, and which is in consequence called
all over Turkey “mastica”), the more sober Muslims drink only coffee. All
alike smoke the Syrian water-pipe (narghileh). Very few ladies appear,
and even they are veiled up to the eyes, and for the most part keep away
from the gentlemen.