The Pass of Mount Taurus.
We enter the Taurus--Turcomans--Forest Scenery--the Palace of Pan--Khan
Mezarluk--Morning among the Mountains--The Gorge of the Cydnus--The Crag
of the Fortress--The Cilician Gate--Deserted Forts--A Sublime
Landscape--The Gorge of the Sihoon--The Second Gate--Camp in the
Defile--Sunrise--Journey up the Sihoon--A Change of Scenery--A Pastoral
Valley--Kolü Kushla--A Deserted Khan--A Guest in Ramazan--Flowers--The
Plain of Karamania--Barren Hills--The Town of Eregli--The Hadji again.
"Lo! where the pass expands
Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks,
And seems, with its accumulated crags,
To overhang the world." Shelley.
Eregli, _in Karamania, June_ 22, 1852.
Striking our tent in the gardens of Tarsus, we again crossed the Cydnus,
and took a northern course across the plain. The long line of Taurus rose
before us, seemingly divided into four successive ranges, the highest of
which was folded in clouds; only the long streaks of snow, filling the
ravines, being visible. The outlines of these ranges were very fine, the
waving line of the summits cut here and there by precipitous gorges--the
gateways of rivers that came down to the plain. In about two hours, we
entered the lower hills. They are barren and stony, with a white, chalky
soil; but the valleys were filled with myrtle, oleander, and lauristinus
in bloom, and lavender grew in great profusion on the hill-sides. The
flowers of the oleander gave out a delicate, almond-like fragrance, and
grew in such dense clusters as frequently to hide the foliage. I amused
myself with finding a derivation of the name of this beautiful plant,
which may answer until somebody discovers a better one. Hero, when the
corpse of her lover was cast ashore by the waves, buried him under an
oleander bush, where she was accustomed to sit daily, and lament over his
untimely fate. Now, a foreign horticulturist, happening to pass by when
the shrub was in blossom, was much struck with its beauty, and asked Hero
what it was called. But she, absorbed in grief, and thinking only of her
lover, clasped her hands, and sighed out: "O Leander! O Leander!" which
the horticulturist immediately entered in his note-book as the name of the
shrub; and by that name it is known, to the present time.
For two or three hours, the scenery was rather tame, the higher summits
being obscured with a thunder-cloud. Towards noon, however, we passed the
first chain, and saw, across a strip of rolling land intervening, the
grand ramparts of the second, looming dark and large under the clouds. A
circular watch-tower of white stone, standing on the summit of a
promontory at the mouth of a gorge on our right, flashed out boldly
against the storm. We stopped under an oak-tree to take breakfast; but
there was no water; and two Turks, who were resting while their horses
grazed in the meadow, told us we should find a good spring half a mile
further. We ascended a long slope, covered with wheat-fields, where
numbers of Turcoman reapers were busy at work, passed their black tents,
surrounded with droves of sheep and goats, and reached a rude stone
fountain of good water, where two companies of these people had stopped
to rest, on their way to the mountains. It was the time of noon prayer,
and they went through their devotions with great solemnity. We nestled
deep in a bed of myrtles, while we breakfasted; for the sky was clouded,
and the wind blew cool and fresh from the region of rain above us. Some of
the Turcomans asked us for bread, and were very grateful when we gave it
to them.
In the afternoon, we came into a higher and wilder region, where the road
led through thickets of wild olive, holly, oak, and lauristinus, with
occasional groves of pine. What a joy I felt in hearing, once more, the
grand song of my favorite tree! Our way was a woodland road; a storm had
passed over the region in the morning; the earth was still fresh and
moist, and there was an aromatic smell of leaves in the air. We turned
westward into the entrance of a deep valley, over which hung a
perpendicular cliff of gray and red rock, fashioned by nature so as to
resemble a vast fortress, with windows, portals and projecting bastions.
François displayed his knowledge of mythology, by declaring it to be the
Palace of Pan. While we were carrying out the idea, by making chambers for
the Fauns and Nymphs in the basement story of the precipice, the path
wound around the shoulder of the mountain, and the glen spread away before
us, branching up into loftier ranges, disclosing through its gateway of
cliffs, rising out of the steeps of pine forest, a sublime vista of blue
mountain peaks, climbing to the topmost snows. It was a magnificent Alpine
landscape, more glowing and rich than Switzerland, yet equalling it in all
the loftier characteristics of mountain scenery. Another and greater
precipice towered over us on the right, and the black eagles which had
made their eyries in its niched and caverned vaults, were wheeling around
its crest. A branch of the Cydnus foamed along the bottom of the gorge,
and soma Turcoman boys were tending their herds on its banks.
Further up the glen, we found a fountain of delicious water, beside the
deserted Khan of Mezarluk, and there encamped for the night. Our tent was
pitched on the mountain side, near a fountain of the coolest, clearest and
sweetest water I have seen in all the East. There was perfect silence
among the mountains, and the place was as lonely as it was sublime. The
night was cool and fresh; but I could not sleep until towards morning.
When I opened my belated eyes, the tall peaks on the opposite side of the
glen were girdled below their waists with the flood of a sparkling
sunrise. The sky was pure as crystal, except a soft white fleece that
veiled the snowy pinnacles of Taurus, folding and unfolding, rising and
sinking, as if to make their beauty still more attractive by the partial
concealment. The morning air was almost cold, but so pure and bracing--so
aromatic with the healthy breath of the pines--that I took it down in the
fullest possible draughts.
We rode up the glen, following the course of the Cydnus, through scenery
of the wildest and most romantic character. The bases of the mountains
were completely enveloped in forests of pine, but their summits rose in
precipitous crags, many hundreds of feet in height, hanging above our very
heads. Even after the sun was five hours high, their shadows fell upon us
from the opposite side of the glen. Mixed with the pine were occasional
oaks, an undergrowth of hawthorn in bloom, and shrubs covered with yellow
and white flowers. Over these the wild grape threw its rich festoons,
filling the air with exquisite fragrance.
Out of this glen, we passed into another, still narrower and wilder. The
road was the old Roman way, and in tolerable condition, though it had
evidently not been mended for many centuries. In half an hour, the pass
opened, disclosing an enormous peak in front of us, crowned with the ruins
of an ancient fortress of considerable extent. The position was almost
impregnable, the mountain dropping on one side into a precipice five
hundred feet in perpendicular height. Under the cliffs of the loftiest
ridge, there was a terrace planted with walnut-trees: a charming little
hamlet in the wilderness. Wild sycamore-trees, with white trunks and
bright green foliage, shaded the foamy twists of the Cydnus, as it plunged
down its difficult bed. The pine thrust its roots into the naked
precipices, and from their summits hung out over the great abysses below.
I thought of OEnone's
--"tall, dark pines, that fringed the craggy ledge
High over the blue gorge, and all between
The snowy peak and snow-white cataract
Fostered the callow eaglet;"
and certainly she had on Mount Ida no more beautiful trees than these.
We had doubled the Crag of the Fortress, when the pass closed before us,
shut in by two immense precipices of sheer, barren rock, more than a
thousand feet in height. Vast fragments, fallen from above, choked up the
entrance, whence the Cydnus, spouting forth in foam, leaped into the
defile. The ancient road was completely destroyed, but traces of it were
to be seen on the rocks, ten feet above the present bed of the stream, and
on the broken masses which had been hurled below. The path wound with
difficulty among these wrecks, and then merged into the stream itself, as
we entered the gateway. A violent wind blew in our faces as we rode
through the strait, which is not ten yards in breadth, while its walls
rise to the region of the clouds. In a few minutes we had traversed it,
and stood looking back on the enormous gap. There were several Greek
tablets cut in the rock above the old road, but so defaced as to be
illegible. This is undoubtedly the principal gate of the Taurus, and the
pass through which the armies of Cyrus and Alexander entered Cilicia.
Beyond the gate the mountains retreated, and we climbed up a little dell,
past two or three Turcoman houses, to the top of a hill, whence opened a
view of the principal range, now close at hand. The mountains in front
were clothed with dark cedars to their very tops, and the snow-fields
behind them seemed dazzlingly bright and near. Our course for several
miles now lay through a more open valley, drained by the upper waters of
the Cydnus. On two opposing terraces of the mountain chains are two
fortresses, built by Ibraham Pasha, but now wholly deserted. They are
large and well-constructed works of stone, and surrounded by ruins of
stables, ovens, and the rude houses of the soldiery. Passing between
these, we ascended to the shelf dividing the waters of the Cydnus and the
Sihoon. From the point where the slope descends to the latter river, there
opened before me one of the most glorious landscapes I ever beheld. I
stood at the extremity of a long hollow or depression between the two
ranges of the Taurus--not a valley, for it was divided by deep cloven
chasms, hemmed in by steeps overgrown with cedars. On my right rose a
sublime chain, soaring far out of the region of trees, and lifting its
peaked summits of gray rock into toe sky. Another chain, nearly as lofty,
but not so broken, nor with such large, imposing features, overhung me on
the left; and far in front, filling up the magnificent vista--filling up
all between the lower steeps, crowned with pine, and the round white
clouds hanging on the verge of heaven--were the shining snows of the
Taurus. Great God, how shall I describe the grandeur of that view! How
draw the wonderful outlines of those mountains! How paint the airy hue of
violet-gray, the soft white lights, the thousandfold pencillings of mellow
shadow, the height, the depth, the far-reaching vastness of the landscape!
In the middle distance, a great blue gorge passed transversely across the
two ranges and the region between. This, as I rightly conjectured, was the
bed of the Sihoon. Our road led downward through groves of fragrant
cedars, and we travelled thus for two hours before reaching the river.
Taking a northward course up his banks, we reached the second of the _Pylæ
Ciliciæ_ before sunset. It is on a grander scale than the first gate,
though not so startling and violent in its features. The bare walls on
either side fall sheer to the water, and the road, crossing the Sihoon by
a lofty bridge of a single arch, is cut along the face of the rock. Near
the bridge a subterranean stream, almost as large as the river, bursts
forth from the solid heart of the mountain. On either side gigantic masses
of rock, with here and there a pine to adorn their sterility, tower to the
height of 6,000 feet, in some places almost perpendicular from summit to
base. They are worn and broken into all fantastic forms. There are
pyramids, towers, bastions, minarets, and long, sharp spires, splintered
and jagged as the turrets of an iceberg. I have seen higher mountains,
but I have never seen any which looked so high as these. We camped on a
narrow plot of ground, in the very heart of the tremendous gorge. A
soldier, passing along at dusk, told us that a merchant and his servant
were murdered in the same place last winter, and advised us to keep watch.
But we slept safely all night, while the stars sparkled over the chasm,
and slips of misty cloud hung low on the thousand pinnacles of rock.
When I awoke, the gorge lay in deep shadow; but high up on the western
mountain, above the enormous black pyramids that arose from the river, the
topmost pinnacles of rock sparkled like molten silver, in the full gush of
sunrise. The great mountain, blocking up the gorge behind us, was bathed
almost to its foot in the rays, and, seen through such a dark vista, was
glorified beyond all other mountains of Earth. The air was piercingly cold
and keen, and I could scarcely bear the water of the Sihoon on my
sun-inflamed face. There was a little spring not far off, from which we
obtained sufficient water to drink, the river being too muddy. The spring
was but a thread oozing from the soil; but the Hadji collected it in
handfuls, which he emptied into his water-skin, and then brought to us.
The morning light gave a still finer effect to the manifold forms of the
mountains than that of the afternoon sun. The soft gray hue of the rocks
shone clearly against the cloudless sky, fretted all over with the shadows
thrown by their innumerable spires and jutting points, and by the natural
arches scooped out under the cliffs. After travelling less than an hour,
we passed the riven walls of the mighty gateway, and rode again under the
shade of pine forests. The height of the mountains now gradually
diminished, and their sides, covered with pine and cedar, became less
broken and abrupt. The summits, nevertheless, still retained the same
rocky spine, shooting up into tall, single towers, or long lines of even
parapets Occasionally, through gaps between, we caught glimpses of the
snow-fields, dazzlingly high and white.
After travelling eight or nine miles, we emerged from the pass, and left
the Sihoon at a place called Chiftlik Khan--a stone building, with a small
fort adjoining, wherein fifteen splendid bronze cannon lay neglected on
their broken and rotting carriages. As we crossed the stone bridge over
the river, a valley opened suddenly on the left, disclosing the whole
range of the Taurus, which we now saw on its northern side, a vast stretch
of rocky spires, with sparkling snow-fields between, and long ravines
filled with snow, extending far down between the dark blue cliffs and the
dark green plumage of the cedars.
Immediately after passing the central chain of the Taurus, the character
of the scenery changed. The heights were rounded, the rocky strata only
appearing on the higher peaks, and the slopes of loose soil were deeply
cut and scarred by the rains of ages. Both in appearance, especially in
the scattered growth of trees dotted over the dark red soil, and in their
formation, these mountains strongly resemble the middle ranges of the
Californian Sierra Nevada. We climbed a long, winding glen, until we had
attained a considerable height, when the road reached a dividing ridge,
giving us a view of a deep valley, beyond which a chain of barren
mountains rose to the height of some five thousand feet. As we descended
the rocky path, a little caravan of asses and mules clambered up to meet
us, along the brinks of steep gulfs. The narrow strip of bottom land
along the stream was planted with rye, now in head, and rolling in silvery
waves before the wind.
After our noonday halt, we went over the hills to another stream, which
came from the north-west. Its valley was broader and greener than that we
had left, and the hills inclosing it had soft and undulating outlines.
They were bare of trees, but colored a pale green by their thin clothing
of grass and herbs. In this valley the season was so late, owing to its
height above the sea, that the early spring-flowers were yet in bloom.
Poppies flamed among the wheat, and the banks of the stream were brilliant
with patches of a creeping plant, with a bright purple blossom. The
asphodel grew in great profusion, and an ivy-leaved shrub, covered with
flakes of white bloom, made the air faint with its fragrance. Still
further up, we came to orchards of walnut and plum trees, and vineyards
There were no houses, but the innabitants, who were mostly Turcomans, live
in villages during the winter, and in summer pitch their tents on the
mountains where they pasture their flocks. Directly over this quiet
pastoral, vale towered the Taurus, and I looked at once on its secluded
loveliness and on the wintry heights, whose bleak and sublime heads were
mantled in clouds. From no point is there a more imposing view of the
whole snowy range. Near the head of the valley we passed a large Turcoman
encampment, surrounded with herds of sheep and cattle.
We halted for the evening at a place called Kolü-Kushla---an immense
fortress-village, resembling Baïas, and like it, wholly deserted. Near it
there is a small town of very neat houses, which is also deserted, the
inhabitants having gone into the mountains with their flocks. I walked
through the fortress, which is a massive building of stone, about 500
feet square, erected by Sultan Murad as a resting-place for the caravans
to Mecca. It has two spacious portals, in which the iron doors are still
hanging, connected by a vaulted passage, twenty feet high and forty wide,
with bazaars on each side. Side gateways open into large courts,
surrounded with arched chambers. There is a mosque entire, with its pulpit
and galleries, and the gilded crescent still glittering over its dome.
Behind it is a bath, containing an entrance hall and half a dozen
chambers, in which the water-pipes and stone tanks still remain. With a
little alteration, the building would make a capital Phalanstery, where
the Fourierites might try their experiment without contact with Society.
There is no field for them equal to Asia Minor--a glorious region,
abounding in natural wealth, almost depopulated, and containing a great
number of Phalansteries ready built.
We succeeded in getting some eggs, fowls, and milk from an old Turcoman
who had charge of the village. A man who rode by on a donkey sold us a bag
of _yaourt_ (sour milk-curds), which was delicious, notwithstanding the
suspicious appearance of the bag. It was made before the cream had been
removed, and was very rich and nourishing. The old Turcoman sat down and
watched us while we ate, but would not join us, as these wandering tribes
are very strict in keeping Ramazan. When we had reached our dessert--a
plate of fine cherries--another white-bearded and dignified gentleman
visited us. We handed him the cherries, expecting that he would take a few
and politely return the dish: but no such thing. He coolly produced his
handkerchief, emptied everything into it, and marched off. He also did not
venture to eat, although we pointed to the Taurus, on whose upper snows
the last gleam of daylight was just melting away.
We arose this morning in a dark, cloudy dawn. There was a heavy black
storm hanging low in the west, and another was gathering its forces along
the mountains behind us. A cold wind blew down the valley, and long peals
of thunder rolled grandly among the gorges of Taurus. An isolated hill,
crowned with a shattered crag which bore a striking resemblance to a
ruined fortress, stood out black and sharp against the far, misty, sunlit
peaks. As far as the springs were yet undried, the land was covered with
flowers. In one place I saw a large square plot of the most brilliant
crimson hue, burning amid the green wheat-fields, as if some Tyrian mantle
had been flung there. The long, harmonious slopes and rounded summits of
the hills were covered with drifts of a beautiful purple clover, and a
diminutive variety of the _achillea_, or yarrow, with glowing yellow
blossoms. The leaves had a pleasant aromatic odor, and filled the air with
their refreshing breath, as they were crushed under the hoofs of our
horses.
We had now reached the highest ridge of the hilly country along the
northern base of Taurus, and saw, far and wide before us, the great
central plain of Karamania. Two isolated mountains, at forty or fifty
miles distance, broke the monotony of the desert-like level: Kara Dagh in
the west, and the snow-capped summits of Hassan Dagh in the north-east.
Beyond the latter, we tried to catch a glimpse of the famous Mons Argseus,
at the base of which is Kaisariyeh, the ancient Cæsarea of Cappadocia.
This mountain, which is 13,000 feet high, is the loftiest peak of Asia
Minor. The clouds hung low on the horizon, and the rains were falling,
veiling it from our sight.
Our road, for the remainder of the day, was over barren hills, covered
with scanty herbage. The sun shone out intensely hot, and the glare of the
white soil was exceedingly painful to my eyes. The locality of Eregli was
betrayed, some time before we reached it, by its dark-green belt of fruit
trees. It stands in the mouth of a narrow valley which winds down from the
Taurus, and is watered by a large rapid stream that finally loses itself
in the lakes and morasses of the plain. There had been a heavy black
thunder-cloud gathering, and as we reached our camping-ground, under some
fine walnut-trees near the stream, a sudden blast of cold wind swept over
the town, filling the air with dust. We pitched the tent in all haste,
expecting a storm, but the rain finally passed to the northward. We then
took a walk through the town, which is a forlorn place. A spacious khan,
built apparently for the Mecca pilgrims, is in ruins, but the mosque has
an exquisite minaret, eighty feet high, and still bearing traces of the
devices, in blue tiles, which once covered it. The shops were mostly
closed, and in those which were still open the owners lay at full length
on their bellies, their faces gaunt with fasting. They seemed annoyed at
our troubling them, even with purchases. One would have thought that some
fearful pestilence had fallen upon the town. The cobblers only, who
somewhat languidly plied their implements, seemed to retain a little life.
The few Jews and Armenians smoked their pipes in a tantalizing manner, in
the very faces of the poor Mussulmans. We bought an oka of excellent
cherries, which we were cruel enough to taste in the streets, before the
hungry eyes of the suffering merchants.
This evening the asses belonging to the place were driven in from
pasture--four or five hundred in all; and such a show of curious asinine
specimens as I never before beheld. A Dervish, who was with us in
Quarantine, at Adana, has just arrived. He had lost his _teskeré_
(passport), and on issuing forth purified, was cast into prison. Finally
he found some one who knew him, and procured his release. He had come on
foot to this place in five days, suffering many privations, having been
forty-eight hours without food. He is bound to Konia, on a pilgrimage to
the tomb of Hazret Mevlana, the founder of the sect of dancing Dervishes.
We gave him food, in return for which he taught me the formula of his
prayers. He tells me I should always pronounce the name of Allah when my
horse stumbles, or I see a man in danger of his life, as the word has a
saving power. Hadji Youssuf, who has just been begging for an advance of
twenty piastres to buy grain for his horses, swore "by the pardon of God"
that he would sell the lame horse at Konia and get a better one. We have
lost all confidence in the old villain's promises, but the poor beasts
shall not suffer for his delinquencies.
Our tent is in a charming spot, and, from without, makes a picture to be
remembered. The yellow illumination from within strikes on the under sides
of the walnut boughs, while the moonlight silvers them from above. Beyond
gardens where the nightingales are singing, the tall minaret of Eregli
stands revealed in the vapory glow. The night is too sweet and balmy for
sleep, and yet I must close my eyes upon it, for the hot plains of
Karamania await us to-morrow.