IBREEZ. THE GREAT PLAIN. DEVLEH.
_June 8th._—Started for Ibreez, a ride of about three hours. We rode
through green lanes bordered by thick hedges and rows of willow and
poplar. The crops and flowers were luxuriant, and, as I always found to
be the case in this country where water was plentiful, singing birds
of many kinds abounded. The wheat was just in bloom, and the climate
resembled the very finest June weather in England, excepting that the
sun was far more powerful, the air brilliantly clear, and the landscape
incomparably more beautiful. A thunderstorm on the preceding evening had
rendered everything fresh and green.
On our left, at the foot of a hill, and in a large grove of the greenest
trees, is the village of Tont. Being built of mud-bricks of deep red
earth, its colour is in strong contrast with the orchards and gardens
round it. Above it is the village of Sarijah; below it, and near our
route, is Dourlaz. In front of us, to the east, were the orchards of
Ghaibe Keui; the view southwards was bounded by a line of mountains, and
in a beautiful nook at their foot was the village of Dedekoi; the wide
expanse of woodland and cultivated ground around it marked the presence
of an abundant source, which there issued from the mountain side. These
villages are famed for their excellent fruit, and especially for grapes.
Wine is not usually made in this district, but bad “raki” is made in
large quantities and meets with a ready consumption, principally from the
Armenian Christians of Eregli and its neighbourhood.
Very beautiful were the shadows cast by the clouds on the mountains and
the plain. They resembled great bands and expanses of blue, violet,
brown, and even black, velvet, according to the nature of the ground on
which they were cast.
After passing Dourlaz we entered a lane overgrown with trees—especially
huge old walnuts, whose cool shade was most grateful—and traversed by
a crystal-clear, and swiftly running brook, an offset of the Ibreez
river. I noticed the hazel, bramble, and hawthorn, not now in bloom,
with many other of our English trees and flowers. Very remarkable were
the number and tameness of the nightingales. They were singing in all
directions, and several times, as I passed close by the bush or tree
in which the little songster was, I halted near enough to see the open
beak and swelling throat from which the rich notes flowed, and the bird
neither broke off its melody, nor showed the least sign of fear. The
lane resembled some pretty, neglected lane in Devonshire, only much more
beautiful. It was a scene which formed a striking contrast to the arid
and desolate sterility of the great plain. But perhaps these sudden
and almost startling contrasts yield some of the exquisite charms of
travel in Asia Minor. After passing Ghaibe Keui, we saw, high up on the
mountain side, a lofty precipice of bright red rock, separated from a
similar rock by a deep ravine. Ibreez is at its foot. Before us, in the
valley, was the village of Xanapa, on a low conical hill. Its river, fed
by rain and melted snow, rises in a ravine far up under Bulghar Dagh,
but unfortunately this muddy torrent discolours the stream from Ibreez.
The Ibreez river is strong, deep, and rapid, clear as crystal, but of a
deep blue tint; we rode along it for some distance, and then turned to
the right, over a low rocky hill, towards Ibreez. Just then a violent
thunderstorm burst over the mountains, and we hurried through the green
lanes, and up the rocky ascent that led to the village, and took shelter
in the house of the mukhtar, Ali Aga, a retired sub-officer of the
Turkish army.
Coffee was served, and when the rain had ceased I went out to see the
village. Its position is extremely beautiful, just at the mountain’s
base, under the red rocks and deep ravine already mentioned. The
houses are mostly of mud-brick, excepting the house of Ali Aga, which
is of stone, and is really clean and comfortable. There are about 700
inhabitants, all Muslim. I observed at the mosque a few columns and
Corinthian capitals of white marble, but could not learn whence they
had been brought. The great charms of Ibreez are its stream, the mass
of verdure around it, and the pure, cold, bracing air of the place. The
river issues in a great jet from the rock under the western of the two
precipices which form the ravine, but all the ground around it is full of
springs so vast in volume that at the little bridge, not a hundred yards
from the source, it has already become a deep, raging torrent, perfectly
impassable, which foams and leaps over the great rocks in its channel
of red, black, white, and yellow marble, and white and yellow limestone.
A ruined mill some distance down, built in the stream, and groves of
splendid walnut trees, made a picturesque addition to the prospect.
After I had lingered for a long time admiring this beautiful stream, the
mukhtar led me across the bridge and through a grove of walnut trees
for some 200 yards down the opposite side of the river. Here a branch
from the main stream flows in a deep, narrow channel along the foot of a
dark red limestone rock, and upon a portion of its face, that had been
prepared for the purpose, were carved a most interesting bas-relief and
inscription. I at once determined to remain and make a careful drawing
of them. The mukhtar offered his house for our lodging, and I sent back
our guide to Eregli to inform the khanji that we should return on the
morrow. The guide, a young Armenian, a stout, sturdy fellow, had given us
much amusement by his naïve questions. Amongst other things he asked if
he could be admitted as a private soldier into the British army. When I
asked if he would like to serve in the Sultan’s army, “Yes, willingly,”
he replied, “but it is not allowed.” He said he paid thirty piastres per
annum as exemption tax from military service (about 5_s._).
It was too late to begin the drawing that day, but one of the villagers
offered to show me some ruins in the mountain above the village, which
it would be necessary to visit on horseback. Accordingly we mounted and
proceeded up the mountain side, till the guide led us into a narrow
and savage glen, with precipitous sides of red rock, which wound deep
and far up into the heart of the mountain; our road was up the bed of
the torrent—now dry—which descended through this narrow cleft, and is
encumbered by loose angular blocks of limestone; a great natural arch of
rock rose high up in front of us. After an ascent of about half an hour,
we saw far above, on the sides of the glen, three small buildings; to the
largest of them, on the east side of the glen, we with difficulty mounted.
It proved to be a little Christian chapel, probably a hermitage, now
utterly ruined and dismantled, but no doubt once very pretty. The apse
had been hewn out of the overhanging rock, and the chapel built on a
strong masonry platform. The whole interior had been lined with cement,
on which had been painted the figure of our Lord, and saints. But few
fragments of these frescoes remain, and only one head, to show what the
place had once been.
But the style of art was by no means bad. The expression of the sole
remaining face was fine, and the colouring still vivid, although it was
probably 900 to 1000 years old—perhaps older—and had been evidently long
exposed to the elements through the fall of the roof; the overhanging
rock, however, shelters it from sun and rain. It must have been indeed a
savage and lonely residence in winter! I did not visit the two smaller
chapels, as I was told that no portion of the frescoes in them remained.
As we descended to the spot where our horses were standing, which we had
left behind us during the steep ascent, the intense silence of the glen,
only broken by the distant song of the thrush, was very impressive.
Our guide showed us an old fortress on the precipice above the village;
it was of Byzantine style, but presented nothing of interest.
We found Ali Aga’s house clean and comfortable enough. Some most
unwelcome guests had arrived during our absence—two tall, fine-looking
and very devout Muslims (one of whom was praying all day and night too!).
They were “ushirjis,” farmers of the taxes, come to value the dîme, and
their arrival had caused great consternation amongst the villagers, for
they had orders to value even the honey, and the little crop of fruit and
nuts in the gardens, and they themselves intended to farm the dîme.
We entered the house while their commission was being read aloud. The
complaints of the villagers were loud and bitter, for the poor people
have literally nothing left, and are, moreover, deeply in debt. They had
not suffered quite so much as most of the villages round, but they too
had lost nearly all their sheep and goats, and most of their cows and
horses. A great many of their children had died from want of proper food,
and seven or eight families had perished of absolute starvation. The
Government was exacting the arrears of taxes with much severity, and they
said that the money-lenders were afraid to advance them any more money.
Some of the poor fellows openly exclaimed, that “any Government would be
preferable to the present Government!” We sat down to supper with the
mukhtar, and the two ushirjis, but I fared badly; I cannot easily adapt
myself to the native style of eating, and before I have eaten enough the
dish is removed.
After supper there was a long discussion about the stream, and the
ushirjis told some very foolish legends about it. Amongst other
things, they declared it was not in existence before Muslim times, but
had been called forth by one of the Prophet’s “Companions,”[17] and I
unintentionally gave them much offence by saying that in all probability
the bas-relief was only carved in that particular spot on account of the
proximity of the stream, and if so, that certainly the bas-relief was
at least 2500 years old, probably much more, and long before the time
either of Issa or of Mohammed. The stream therefore could not have arisen
in the manner they supposed, but probably existed from the beginning of
this present world. Hereupon they were silent, and spoke no more. These
men are a good illustration of “pride, ignorance, bigotry, and avarice
combined!”
_June 9th._—Rose at daybreak, and walked out to the river. As I went
out one of the ushirjis was at his morning prayer. Usually even the
most devout Muslims content themselves with the three principal hours
of prayer, at morning, noon, and evening; but our friend’s devotions
seemed unintermittent! I was awakened in the night by a cold blast from
the mountains, rushing in through the wooden shutters of the windows,
and from my corner near the fireplace I saw one of our new acquaintances
kneeling on his prayer carpet, and bending with the canonical
prostrations. To men of this hard grasping character, the prophet’s words
would bear no meaning, “For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice, and the
knowledge of God more than burnt offerings!”
The morning was one of the loveliest I ever saw, and the mountain air
like draughts of champagne. After breakfast I made a drawing of the
bas-relief and inscriptions.
The rock on which they are carved rises from the stream to a height of
about forty feet. Its colour is of a deep dull red, or yellowish red,
but stained in lighter and deeper patches by exposure to the sun and air
through so many centuries. The portion on which the bas-relief is carved
had been chiselled down and prepared for the work, the rest of the rock
surface remains in its natural state.
The bas-relief consists of two figures—one much larger than the other—cut
in relief of about four or five inches. I can only give the various
dimensions by guess, as I had no means of measuring the figures, which
were inaccessible without a ladder. But by dint of careful comparison
I think my conjectural measurements are not very far wrong. The larger
figure is about twenty feet in height, the smaller about twelve, and
the feet of the larger figure are about eight feet above the level
of the stream which flows at the base of the rock. It seems to be a
representation of some great personage, offering prayers or thanksgivings
to a deity—the god, it should seem, of corn and wine.
[Illustration: Hamathite Bas-relief and Inscription, on a rock, at
Ibreez.]
The design of both figures, though somewhat rough in the outline, owing
to the coarseness of the material and to natural decay, is very good;
the anatomy is extremely well indicated, much after the manner of the
Assyrian sculptures. The left hand of the larger figure is especially
well indicated, the delicate outline of the thumb articulations being
admirably rendered, not in the conventional style of the Egyptian
sculptures, but as if copied directly from nature. The limbs of the
larger figure are massy and bulky, and in this point also the work
resembles Assyrian rather than Egyptian sculpture. The god is represented
with a high conical hat, or helmet, from which project four horns, two
in front, two behind. The rim is formed by a flat band, and a similar
band or ribbon runs round the hat above. A snake seems to be attached
to the hat. The beard, which is thick and close-curled, runs up to the
temples. The hair is of a similar character, disposed in rows of thick
curls, but without ornament.
Neither of the figures appears to have earrings. The god is clad in a
close-fitting tunic, reaching half-way down the thigh, and turned up
both in front and behind. The lower part of the arms, from above the
elbow, is bare; but while the fold of the tunic sleeve is represented on
the left arm, it is omitted on the right arm. On the wrists are massy
but plain bracelets. Round the waist is a broad girdle ornamented with
lines, something like arrow-heads. The legs, from the middle of the thigh
downwards, are bare; the muscles of the calf and the knees being well
rendered. The god wears boots turned up in front, and bound round the leg
above the ankle by thongs, and a piece of leather reaching half-way up
the shin, exactly as it is worn to this day by the peasants of the plain
of Cilicia, round Adana. In his outstretched left hand he holds a large
handful of ears of bearded wheat, the wheat of the country, the stalks
reaching the ground behind his left foot, which is stepping forward; and
between his feet is represented a vine stock. In his left hand he holds a
cluster of grapes; two other larger clusters hang from the branch he is
grasping, and behind him hangs a fourth cluster. The expression of the
face is jovial and benevolent, the features well indicated, especially
the highly aquiline nose. The lips are small and not projecting, and the
moustache is short, allowing the mouth to be seen. The inscription is
carved on the space between the face and the line of the arm, hand, and
ears of wheat.
In front of him stands the other figure. The expression and character
of feature in this is very different. The eye seems more prominent, the
nose more curved, and flattened upon the face, the lips more projecting,
the hair and beard equally, or even more, crisp, and thickly curled.
On the head is a tall rounded cap, with flat bands round it, on which
square plates, of gold perhaps, seem to be sewn. In front of the cap
is an ornament of precious stones, such as is still worn by Oriental
princes. The figure is clad in a long loose robe, covered with squares,
and heavily fringed at the bottom.[18] A mantle embroidered below, and
secured at the breast by a clasp of precious stones, covers the robe;
round the waist is a girdle, from which hangs a heavy tassel or fringe.
On the right leg, just below the fringe of the under robe, appears to be
the lower part of the trousers, and the feet are shod with shoes curved
up in front. One hand, with the forefinger erect, is extended in front
of the face as if in the attitude of prayer or praise. A heavy collar or
necklace encircles the neck; it appears to be of rings or bands of gold,
fixed around some other material. The end of the necklace hangs upon the
shoulder.
As in the Assyrian sculpture, perspective is partially neglected in the
drawing of both these figures.
Behind the smaller of the two there is also an inscription, carved upon
the smooth portion of the rock. Some of the characters in it are similar
to those of the upper inscription. Some appear to be heads of animals;
one represents the head of a man, the eye, beard, nose, and conical cap
being very distinct. But this inscription is much obliterated, and I
could not make out the first letter of the upper line. There is another
inscription below the bas-relief, and just above the present level of the
stream. This also seems to consist in great part of the heads of animals.
A portion of the rock surface has been smoothed for it, but it is so
much obliterated, that it is impossible to make out a considerable part
of it; the outlines, even of the part I have represented, are faint and
indistinct. The villagers said that there were yet other inscriptions,
but below the present water level, and only visible when the stream is at
its lowest, at the end of summer.
The villagers knew no tradition concerning the bas-relief, and could give
no information as to the ruins of any ancient town in the neighbourhood.
It is obvious, however, that the monument belongs to a period long
previous to the settlement of the Greeks in this part of Asia Minor; and
Ibreez with its magnificent stream (whose pure, ice-cold waters would be
so grateful during the burning heat of summer), with its forests, and the
wide extent of fertile land below it, might well have been the favourite
summer residence of some prince of ancient times, who desired to display
by this monument his devotion and gratitude.
The name of the village is derived from the Persian آب “water,”
ريز “pouring,” the participle of ریختن “to pour.” The same words
are also used as a composite noun substantive, and mean “a vessel for
pouring water,” “a waterspout.”
This place was visited in 1737 by Otter, the Swedish traveller, who had
been sent to the East by the French minister, Le Comte de Maurepas. He
states that the river of Eregli rises from the mountains of Ardouste,
three hours from Eregli. He mentions the sudden increase of the river,
almost immediately after its rise, and says it sinks into a hollow rock
called “Doudne” (Duden), at the foot of the Mounts Bouzoglan and Bulgar,
opposite “Kara Bouna” (Kara Bounar). “On a taillé dans le rocher où est
sa source, une figure d’homme qu’on appelle ‘Abris.’ L’on veut que ce
soit une corruption du nom d’un certain ‘Abrinos,’ seigneur de ce lieu.
Il tient dans une main quelques épis, et dans l’autre deux grappes de
raisin.”
The people told him that this water petrified objects, and showed him a
caravanserai built of stone deposited by the water. Otter gives the same
derivation of the name “Ibreez” as above; but, strange to say, he makes
no mention whatever of the inscriptions. The peasants of that time must
have been in a far more prosperous condition than at present, for Otter
speaks of the abundance of fruit and vegetables. “He was told that more
than eighty (!!!) sorts of pears grew there!” His Turkish was not at
fault, for he was a consummate Oriental linguist, and had with him a
Turkish teacher, so that the eighty sorts of pears must be regarded as an
Oriental hyperbole.
Otter’s description of the bas-relief is, with trifling exceptions,
correct so far as it goes, but it is, so to speak, a mere reference.
A longer account of it, though neither complete nor quite accurate,
was given about a century later by the Prussian Major Fischer, who, in
1839-40, was engaged with a party of Prussian engineer officers under the
celebrated Moltke in making a survey of Asia Minor. The account, together
with an engraving of the bas-relief, is given in Ritter’s “Erdkunde”
(18 Theil, iii. Buch, West Asien). But the drawing does not do justice
to the subject, the copy of the longest inscription is defective and
inaccurate, and the other inscriptions are not noticed. Even the name of
the village is given incorrectly. It is not _Iwris_, as in Kiepert’s map,
but _Ibreez_, as Otter gives it.
It seems, however, that Major Fischer was obliged to copy the inscription
in haste, and from a distance, and he admits that a more accurate
examination of the monument is to be desired. He suggests that perhaps
some portion of the inscription may be in cuneiform characters, and thus
some explanation about the figures may be obtained. The characters,
however, are Hamathite, that mysterious language which has hitherto
baffled all attempts to interpret, and of which no bilingual inscription
has, I believe, been as yet discovered.
On returning to my host’s house I found that a zaptieh had come from
Eregli with orders to exact the arrears of taxes from the villagers.
He was talking with one poor fellow, who with tears in his eyes was
protesting that he had nothing left. “You have your garden,” said the
zaptieh, “sell that!” “Janum (my dear fellow),” replied the man, “only
find me a purchaser, and I will sell it.” It is piteous to see the way
in which these poor people are treated; they complain bitterly, but
they submit without resistance. Their temperament, their religion,
their training, all tend to this end. And yet they are a brave and
high-spirited race. The Government gave them little or no help in their
sore need, and now all that is cared for is to exact the taxes! and
for this the little “all” they have is taken. No wonder if the Turkish
peasant be careless and indolent.
The mukhtar seemed much dejected. Well, indeed, he might be. Even their
honey must pay the dîme. In this beautiful flowery district almost
every house has one or two hives of bees, and the honey is of excellent
quality, but “Sic vos non vobis.” Let us hope that the fiery trial of
1876-7 may bring about a change for the better in the position of these
unfortunate men.
I was delighted with my visit to this lovely spot; it is one of the most
romantic and beautiful places I ever saw. High above, but out of sight
from the village, tower the mighty ridges of Bulghar Dagh. In front is
the beautiful hilly district through which we had come, full of villages.
The green orchards and gardens of Eregli seem quite close, and farther
to the left the great plain extends in an unbroken level all the way to
Karaman.
The Ibreez River is famed for its fish. On our way back we saw a man
fishing with a casting net in the stream. He had caught several fish,
but he was on the opposite side of the river, and too far off for me to
see what the species was. From the description given by the villagers it
could not be trout, and I could only perceive that the fish were very
silvery, and had a broad square tail. The cultivated land of Ibreez is
not extensive, and although there is abundance of water, the position of
the land will not admit of irrigation.
We reached Eregli in three and a quarter hours, and at once called upon
the kaimakam, who gave orders that baggage horses should be provided
for me next day. The Government mail to Constantinople was to leave
next morning, and I wrote several letters to send by it. But I had much
difficulty in posting them. It was necessary to give them to the mudir of
the telegraph. But at sunset he had retired to his house, and his house
was far away on the outskirts of the town, fully three-quarters of an
hour from the khan, for Eregli is a very straggling place. We wandered
up and down lanes, between high walls of mud-brick, and overshadowed by
great trees, till I thought we should never reach our destination. The
song of the nightingale resounded in every quarter, accompanied, it is
true, by a hoarse chorus of frogs. The night was chill and damp after
the hot day, exactly the temperature to bring on fever. Arrived at the
mudir’s house, we found that he was absent, but a neighbour who was
waiting for him received us. In the course of conversation he told me
that Eregli was formerly a rich and flourishing place; but it lay on the
line of route between Constantinople and Syria, and after the conquest
of Syria and Egypt by Sultan Selim II. the ill-disciplined troops of
those times used to commit such atrocities as they passed through, that
the population fled, and Eregli gradually decayed. The material of the
buildings being mostly unbaked mud-brick, there would be no remains of
architecture. He added that Eregli contains only about 600 houses, and
under 3000 inhabitants. There are about fifty Armenian families and a
very few Greeks. At last, tired of waiting, I rose to go away, when our
new acquaintance brought us to another house, where at last we found
the mudir, who took charge of my letters. It was near midnight when we
returned to the khan, nearly three hours having been occupied in posting
my letters!
The price of provisions in Eregli is very low, e.g. ten eggs for 1
piastre (not so much as 2¼_d._). A very large pot of milk, enough for
half-a-dozen people, 1½ piastre; and it was excellent milk, pure and
unadulterated. Adulteration of food is most severely punished, indeed
it is practically unknown in Turkey. Excellent bread, better than most
English baker’s bread, costs 1½ piastres per oke. Leavened bread,
however, is to be had only in the towns; meat, 4 to 5 piastres; butter,
12 piastres; sugar, 3 piastres; cheese, 4 piastres per oke. The oke is
equivalent to 400 drams Turk, and weighs 2¾ lbs. avoirdupois. At present
the T. 1_l._ contains 106 piastres = 18_s._ Eng.[19]
_June 10th._—Various visitors called, amongst them Salih Effendi, our
medical friend, and the priest of the Armenian community. He is a
fine-looking man, and was treated very courteously by the Turks who
chanced to enter my room while he was there. They all called him “Papas
Effendi.” He breakfasted with me, and before leaving gave me his blessing
in a long Armenian prayer, and ended with the Lord’s Prayer in Turkish.
Then he wished me a safe return to my home. He said that his flock were
very poor, and I gave him a little money for the poorest.
There was some difficulty in obtaining muleteers, so that I could not
start till after midday, and even on this high plateau the heat during
the middle hours of the day is at times overpowering.
The people of the khan, including our poor little attendant Osman,
seemed sorry that we were leaving so soon, and indeed I have been much
pleased with my stay in this wretched, decayed, little place. These poor
Armenians have treated us very kindly.
Whilst waiting for the baggage horses I made a sketch of Hassan Dagh from
the window of our room. This great extinct volcano rises in two abrupt
pyramidal summits to the height of 8000 feet. It is quite insulated, and
is still covered half-way down with snow.
On the N.W. of Eregli are marshes which extend for an hour and a half’s
ride; a little beyond are others, greater and impassable; but the
immediate neighbourhood of the town is marshy, and the sickly odour
of the marsh was plainly perceptible, even in the daytime. A salt
efflorescence covered the plain, and the distance displayed a very vivid
mirage. In front of us were the two extinct volcanoes of so symmetrically
regular a form, which I have before mentioned. Our muleteers called them
both by the same name, Mount Mekkeh; one of them they said was the Yaila
of Kara Bounar, but I must have mistaken his words, for when I examined
it with the telescope I saw that it was only a mass of tufa dust, utterly
devoid of vegetation, and so not fitted for pasturage.
As we emerged from the marsh the vegetation of the plain began to
improve. The flowers were truly wonderful in quantity and colour. There
were flowers of various tints of red and yellow, eight to ten species at
least, and amongst them some of the most brilliant red or yellow that can
be conceived. There were flowers of crimson, orange, and scarlet, mauve,
pink, and lake; it was a veritable flower garden! Yellow trefoil and
clover grew in the greatest profusion. I could understand, now that I had
seen this plain, how the villagers could have kept the great number of
sheep and cattle of which I had been told.
The heat soon began to diminish, and as we mounted the hills that skirted
the plain an easterly breeze swept across the wide expanse, delightfully
cool, and laden with fragrance. Dark streaks of violet and green marked
the position of distant Eregli. The shadows cast by the clouds were like
violet velvet. The snow on the mountains glittered like silver, and
the contrasts of colour on the volcanic hills around were wonderfully
beautiful. I could see fully 30 miles back along the snowy peaks and
ridges of Bulghar Dagh; Karajah Dagh lay due N.; Hassan Dagh, N.E. by N.;
Allah Dagh, over Nigdeh, far away on the N.E. by E.; it was a landscape
full of grandeur, and indescribably beautiful withal.
At 4.30 P.M. we reached a Turkman encampment, and were received very
kindly. These people were suffering much from marsh fever and ophthalmia.
Unfortunately I had no sulphate of zinc, but I gave them some quinine.
Poor fellows! they too had lost almost everything, yet they did not wish
to take any recompense for the refreshment they gave us, but I insisted
on their receiving it.
I had an opportunity here of examining the round, felt-covered Turkman
tents; they are very convenient, but difficult to describe. The centre
piece of the roof is a strong hoop of hard wood, five to six feet in
diameter, on the inner circumference of which a number of ribs are fixed,
passing through a central disc of wood. In the outer circumference of the
hoop a number of separate ribs can be inserted, so as to curve downwards
like the ribs of an umbrella when opened, and thus a roof is formed
twelve to fourteen feet in diameter, and combining great strength with
lightness.
The wall is formed of separate pieces of lattice, made of ribs which are
fastened together, not by pegs or nails, but by short thongs of hide
with a knot at either end, so that the whole piece of lattice work is
most flexible, can be easily closed up when the tent is struck, and is
transported without injury.
In order to set up the tent, the curved ribs are inserted in the outer
circumference of the hoop, the separate sets of lattice are tied together
in a circle, thus forming the wall, and the roof ribs are firmly lashed
to it above. This framework, when fixed together, is very firm, and
additional steadiness is given by the form of the lattice work, which
bends a little inwards at the middle, and thus the wall of lattice
projects a little at top and bottom, in the shape of a dice-box.
The whole is then covered with thick and heavy felt cloths, called
“kedji” (or “ketche”), eight small or six large being required. These
are firmly sewn to the framework, and to each other, and thus a tent
is formed impervious to wind and weather (even a fire can be lighted
in it), and it can be kept cool in summer by removing some of the side
cloths.
These tents are the only dwellings of the nomad Turkmans, who in winter
frequent the plains, and as summer advances gradually migrate higher and
higher into the mountains, for the sake of pasturage. The frames are made
principally at Kaisariyeh, and cost about 250 piastres; each pair of
ribs in the lattice work costs, when fixed, about 2½ piastres. The felt
cloths are made at Nigdeh, Bor, and the neighbourhood, and cost about 60
piastres each. Considering the amount of work in them, the price of these
tents is amazingly low.
We left the camp at 5.45 P.M. The road was over rounded marble hills,
the marble cropping up in great white sheets, and this formation extends
over many square miles. In the centre of this district lay the village
of Devleh, at which we intended to pass the night; but the ride was far
longer than we had anticipated, and the route most uninteresting. There
was not so much as even a bush, nothing but scanty grass or herbage;
the sameness and loneliness of the district were most strange. In bad
weather a man might easily be lost in this strangely monotonous bit of
country, and in winter, travellers not unfrequently perish in the snow. A
few piles of stones have been heaped up at intervals along the road, to
serve as landmarks, but they are far apart, and of insufficient height.
We could not have found the way had the night been dark; but the moon
shone brightly, and at about 9 P.M. we reached our destination, and were
lodged in the Government House, close to the river. Devleh is in a deep
ravine in these marble hills, through which runs a small stream, and
there is here also a perennial spring, the only one within a distance of
eight to ten hours’ ride all round. In the valley, along the stream, is a
small extent of cultivated land, but it was always from their flocks that
the people derived their chief support. The position of the place is very
inaccessible, being many hours from any other village, in a sterile and
inhospitable wilderness, seamed with deep ravines.
Before 1873, Devleh contained 700 houses, now only about 200 are
inhabited, the rest are deserted, and fast falling or fallen to ruin.
The famine began in 1873, owing to want of rain; but the people might
have tided over this had it not been for the destruction of their flocks
and herds. The winter of 1873-4 was terribly severe, the snowfall
unprecedented in the memory of living man, and 48,000 sheep and goats
are said to have perished! They had 400 pairs of oxen, of these about 5
per cent. survived the winter; each house had owned a cow or two, only
some 5 per cent. of these remained. And then they were reduced to the
most dreadful straits, deaths from downright starvation became terribly
frequent, many perished in the attempt to reach Koniah or Adana. They
ate grass, herbs, the leaves of what few bushes they could find (there
is scarcely a tree within a dozen hours round!). At last, some in their
despair tried to satisfy the pangs of hunger by grinding down and eating
a kind of clay which they found in some of the limestone rocks; and
then the mortality became threefold greater. A Turk whom we met at
Eregli, named “Hallam Oglou,” took a specimen of this stuff to show to
the Governor of Koniah; he tried his utmost to obtain aid for the poor
starving creatures, but all in vain, the distress was so widespread and
severe, that the wretched provincial authorities were utterly paralyzed.
And indeed, even had money and food been at hand,—which was not the
case,—very little could have been done, owing to the lack of organization
and means of transport. The few inhabitants who remain are those who
were once rich. Hitherto they have had something to sell, either cooking
utensils or carpets, &c., but now absolutely nothing is left to them.
The poor have emigrated, or are dead; those who were formerly rich are
reduced to the extremest indigence; they live on money borrowed from the
merchants with whom they used to do business. Their wealth consisted in
their flocks, but these are all gone; the coming harvest will support
life, but there will be no surplus to sell. The Government gave them
seed last autumn, otherwise they could not have sown any of their land,
but last year the taxes had been exacted by the most violent means, and
this year the same course would be pursued, but the unfortunate men have
literally nothing left to sell, and the money-lenders will make them no
more advances. They did so before, in hope of being repaid at last year’s
harvest. Now, even that resource is stopped. Such was the sad tale told
me by some of the villagers.
The representative of the kaimakam came to see if we needed any help from
him, but all we required was a little charcoal for our fire, and a jar of
water.