BEY BAZAAR, ANGORA, AND EASTWARD.
A Trundle of half an hour up the steep slopes leading out of another of
those narrow valleys in which all these towns are situated, and then
comes a gentle declivity extending with but little interruption for
several miles, winding in and out among the inequalities of an elevated
table-land. The mountain-breezes blow cool and exhilarating, and just
before descending into the little Charkhan Valley I pass some interesting
cliffs of castellated rocks, the sight of which immediately wafts my
memory back across the thousands of miles of land and water to what they
are almost a counterpart of the famous castellated rocks of Green River,
Wyo. Ter. Another scary youth takes to his heels as I descend into the
valley and halt at the village of Charkhan, a mere shapeless cluster of
mud-hovels. Before one of these a ragged agriculturist solemnly presides
over a small heap of what I unfortunately mistake at the time for pumpkins.
I say "unfortunately," because after-knowledge makes it highly probable
that they were the celebrated Charhkan musk-melons, famous far and wide
for their exquisite flavor; the variety can be grown elsewhere, but,
strange to say, the peculiar, delicate flavor which makes them so
celebrated is absent when they vegetate anywhere outside this particular
locality. It is supposed to be owing to some peculiar mineral properties
of the soil. The Charkhan Valley is a wild, weird-looking region, looking
as if it were habitually subjected to destructive downpourings of rain,
that have washed the grand old mountains out of all resemblance to
neighboring ranges round about. They are of a soft, shaly composition,
and are worn by the elements into all manner of queer, fantastic shapes;
this, together with the same variegated colors observed yesterday
afternoon, gives them a distinctive appearance not easily forgotten.
They are " grand, gloomy, and peculiar; " especially are they peculiar.
The soil of the valley itself seems to be drift-mud from the surrounding
hills; a stream furnishes water sufficient to irrigate a number of rice-
fields, whose brilliant emerald hue loses none of its brightness from
being surrounded by a framework of barren hills.
Ascending from this interesting locality my road now traverses a dreary,
monotonous district of whitish, sun-blistered hills, water-less and
verdureless for fourteen miles. The cool, refreshing breezes of early
morning have been dissipated by the growing heat of the sun; the road
continues fairly good, and while riding I am unconscious of oppressive
heat; but the fierce rays of the sun blisters my neck and the backs of
my hands, turning them red and causing the skin to peel off a few days
afterward, besides ruining a section of my gossamer coat exposed on top
of the Lamson carrier. The air is dry and thirst-creating, there is
considerable hill-climbing to be done, and long ere the fourteen miles
are covered I become sufficiently warm and thirsty to have little thought
of anything else but reaching the means of quenching thirst. Away off
in the distance ahead is observed a dark object, whose character is
indistinct through the shimmering radiation from the heated hills, but
which, upon a nearer approach, proves to be a jujube-tree, a welcome
sentinel in those arid regions, beckoning the thirsty traveller to a
never-failing supply of water. At the jujube-tree I find a most magnificent
fountain, pouring forth at least twenty gallons of delicious cold water
to the minute. The spring has been walled up and a marble spout inserted,
which gushes forth a round, crystal column, as though endeavoring to
compensate for the prevailing aridness and to apologize to the thirsty
wayfarer for the inhospitableness of its surroundings. Miles away to the
northward, perched high up among the ravines of a sun-baked mountain-spur,
one can see a circumscribed area of luxuriant foliage. This conspicuous
oasis in the desert marks the source of the beautiful road-side fountain,
which traverses a natural subterranean passage-way between these two
distant points. These little isolated clumps of waving trees, rearing
their green heads conspicuously above the surrounding barrenness, are
an unerring indication of both water and human habitations. Often one
sees them suddenly when least expected, nestling in a little depression
high up some mountain-slope far away, the little dark-green area looking
almost black in contrast with the whitish color of the hills. These are
literally "oases in the desert," on a small scale, and although from a
distance no sign of human habitations appeal, since they are but mud-
hovels corresponding in color to the hills themselves, a closer examination
invariably reveals well-worn donkey-trails leading from different
directions to the spot, and perchance a white-turbaned donkey-rider
slowly wending his way along a trail.
The heat becomes almost unbearable; the region of treeless, shelterless
hills continues to characterize my way, and when, at two o'clock P.M.,
I reach the town of Bey Bazaar, I conclude that the thirty-nine miles
already covered is the limit of discretion to-day, considering the
oppressive heat, and seek the friendly accommodation of a khan. There I
find that while shelter from the fierce heat of the sun is obtainable,
peace and quiet are altogether out of the question. Bey Bazaar is a place
of eight thousand inhabitants, and the khan at once becomes the objective
point of, it seems to me, half the population. I put the machine up on
a barricaded yattack-divan, and climb up after it; here I am out of the
meddlesome reach of the " madding crowd," but there is no escaping from
the bedlam-like clamor of their voices, and not a few, yielding to their
uncontrollable curiosity, undertake to invade my retreat; these invariably
"skedaddle" respectfully at my request, but new-comers are continually
intruding. The tumult is quite deafening, and I should certainly not be
surprised to have the khan-jee request me to leave the place, on the
reasonable ground that my presence is, under the circumstances, detrimental
to his interests, since the crush is so great that transacting business
is out of the question. The khan-jee, however, proves to be a speculative
individual, and quite contrary thoughts are occupying his mind. His
subordinate, the kahvay-jee, presents himself with mournful countenance
and humble attitude, points with a perplexed air to the surging mass of
fezzes, turbans, and upturned Turkish faces, and explains - what needs no
explanation other than the evidence of one's own eyes - that he cannot
transact his business of making coffee.
"This is your khan," I reply; "why not turn them out." "Mashallah,
effendi. I would, but for everyone I turned out, two others would come
in-the sons of burnt fathers." he says, casting a reproachful look down
at the straggling crowd of his fellow-countrymen.
"What do you propose doing, then?" I inquire. "Katch para, effendi,"
he answers, smiling approvingly at his own suggestion.
The enterprising kahvay-jee advocates charging them an admission fee
of five paras (half a cent) each as a measure of protection, both for
himself and me, proposing to make a "divvy" of the proceeds. Naturally
enough the idea of making a farthing show of either myself or the bicycle
is anything but an agreeable proposition, but it is plainly the only way
of protecting the kahvay-jee and his khan from being mobbed all the
afternoon and far into the night by a surging mass of inquisitive people;
so I reluctantly give him permission to do whatever he pleases to protect
himself. I have no idea of the financial outcome of the speculative khan-
jee's expedient, but the arrangement secures me to some extent from the
rabble, though not to any appreciable extent from being worried. The
people nearly drive me out of my seven senses with their peculiar ideas
of making themselves agreeable, and honoring me; they offer me cigarettes,
coffee, mastic, cognac, fruit, raw cucumbers, melons, everything, in
fact, but the one thing I should really appreciate - a few minutes quiet,
undisturbed, enjoyment of my own company; this is not to be secured by
locking one's self in a room, nor by any other expedient I have yet tried
in Asia. After examining the bicycle, they want to see my "Alla Franga"
watch and my revolver; then they want to know how much each thing
costs, and scores of other things that appeal strongly to their excessively
inquisitive natures.
One old fellow, yearning for a closer acquaintance, asks me if I ever
saw the wonderful "chu, chu, chu! chemin defer at Stamboul," adding that
he has seen it and intends some day to ride on it; another hands me a
Crimean medal, and says he fought against the Muscovs with the "Ingilis,"
while a third one solemnly introduces himself as a "makinis " (machinist),
fancying, I suppose, that there is some fraternal connection between
himself and me, on account of the bicycle being a makina.
I begin to feel uncomfortably like a curiosity in a dime museum - a
position not exactly congenial to my nature; so, after enduring this
sort of thing for an hour, I appoint the kahvay-jee custodian of the
bicycle and sally forth to meander about the bazaar a while, where I can
at least have the advantage of being able to move about. Upon returning
to the khan, an hour later, I find there a man whom I remember passing
on the road; he was riding a donkey, the road was all that could be
desired, and I swept past him at racing speed, purely on the impulse of
the moment, in order to treat him to the abstract sensation of blank
amazement. This impromptu action of mine is now bearing its legitimate
fruit, for, surrounded by a most attentive audience, the wonder-struck
donkey-rider is endeavoring, by word and gesture, to impress upon them
some idea of the speed at which I swept past him and vanished round a
bend. The kahvay-jee now approaches me, puffing his cheeks out like a
penny balloon and jerking his thumb in the direction of the street door.
Seeing that I don't quite comprehend the meaning of this mysterious
facial contortion, he whispers confidentially aside, "pasha," and again
goes through the highly interesting performance of puffing out his cheeks
and winking in a knowing manner; he then says-also confidentially and
aside - "lira," winking even more significantly than before. By all this
theatrical by-play, the kahvay-jee means that the pasha - a man of
extraordinary social, political, and, above all, financial importance - has
expressed a wish to see the bicycle, and is now outside; and the kahvay-jee,
with many significant winks and mysterious hints of " lira," advises me
to take the machine outside and ride it for the pasha's special benefit.
A portion of the street near by is " ridable under difficulties; " so I
conclude to act on the kahvay-jee's suggestion, simply to see what comes
of it. Nothing particular comes of it, whereupon the kahvay-jee and his
patrons all express themselves as disgusted beyond measure because the
Pasha failed-to give me a present. Shortly after this I find myself
hobnobbing with a small company of ex-Mecca pilgrims, holy personages
with huge green turbans and flowing gowns; one of them is evidently very
holy indeed, almost too holy for human associations one would imagine,
for in addition to his green turban he wears a broad green kammer bund
and a green undergarment; he is in fact very green indeed. Then a crazy
person pushes his way forward and wants me to cure him of his mental
infirmity; at all events I cannot imagine what else he wants; the man
is crazy as a loon, he cannot even give utterance to his own mother-tongue,
but tries to express himself in a series of disjointed grunts beside
which the soul-harrowing efforts of a broken-winded donkey are quite
melodious. Someone has probably told him that I am a hakim, or a wonderful
person on general principles, and the fellow is sufficiently conscious
of his own condition to come forward and endeavor to grunt himself into
my favorable consideration.
Later in the evening a couple of young Turkish dandies come round to the
khan and favor me with a serenade; one of them twangs a doleful melody
on a small stringed instrument, something like the Slavonian tamborica,
and the other one sings a doleful, melancholy song (nearly all songs and
tunes in Mohammedan countries seem doleful and melancholy); afterwards
an Arab camel-driver joins in with a dance, and furnishes some genuine
amusement with his hip-play and bodily contortions; this would scarcely
be considered dancing from our point of view, but it is according to the
ideas of the East. The dandies are distinguishable from the common run
of Turkish bipeds, like the same species in other countries, by the
fearful and wonderful cut of their garments. The Turkish dandy wears a
tassel to his fez about three times larger than the regulation size, and
he binds it carefully down to the fez with a red and yellow silk
handkerchief; he wears a jaunty-looking short jacket of bright blue
cloth, cut behind so that it reaches but little below his shoulder-blades;
the object of this is apparently to display the whole of the multifold
kammerbund, a wonderful, colored waist-scarf that is wound round and
round the waist many times, and which is held at one end by an assistant,
while the wearer spins round like a dancing dervish, the assistant
advancing gradually as the human bobbin takes up the length. The dandy
wears knee-breeches corresponding in color to his jacket, woollen stockings
of mingled red and black, and low, slipper-like shoes; he allows his
hair to fall about his eyes a la negligee, and affects a reckless, love-
lorn air.
The last party of sight-seers for the day call around near midnight,
some time after I have retired to sleep; they awaken me with their
garrulous observations concerning the bicycle, which they are critically
examining close to my head with a classic lamp; but I readily forgive
them their nocturnal intrusion, since they awaken me to the first
opportunity of hearing women wailing for the dead. A dozen or so of women
are wailing forth their lamentations in the silent night but a short
distance from the khan; I can look out of a small opening in the wall
near my shake-down, and see them moving about the house and premises by
the flickering glare of torches. I could never have believed the female
form divine capable of producing such doleful, unearthly music; but there
is no telling what these shrouded forms are really capable of doing,
since the opportunity of passing one's judgment upon their accomplishments
is confined solely to an occasional glimpse of a languishing eye. The
kahvay-jee, who is acting the part of explanatory lecturer to these
nocturnal visitors, explains the meaning of the wailing by pantomimically
describing a corpse, and then goes on to explain that the smallest
imaginable proportion of the lamentations that are making night hideous
is genuine grief for the departed, most of the uproar being made by a
body of professional mourners hired for the occasion. When I awake in
the morning the unearthly wailing is still going vigorously forward,
from which I infer they have been keeping it up all night. Though gradually
becoming inured to all sorts of strange scenes and customs, the united
wailing and lamentations of a houseful of women, awakening the echoes
of the silent night, savor too much of things supernatural and unearthly
not to jar unpleasantly on the senses; the custom is, however, on the
eve of being relegated to the musty past by the Ottoman Government.
In the larger cities where there are corpses to be wailed over every
night, it has been found so objectionable to the expanding intellects
of the more enlightened Turks that it has been prohibited as a public
nuisance, and these days it is only in such conservative interior towns
as Bey Bazaar that the custom still obtains. When about starting early
on the following morning the khanjee begs me to be seated, and then
several men who have been waiting around since before daybreak vanish
hastily through the door-way; in a few minutes I am favored with a small
company of leading citizens who, having for various reasons failed to
swell yesterday's throng, have taken the precaution to post these
messengers to watch my movements and report when I am ready to depart.
Our grunting patient, the crazy man, likewise reappears upon the scene
of my departure from the khan, and, in company with a small but eminently
respectable following, accompanies me to the brow of a bluffy hill leading
out of the depression in which Bey Bazaar snugly nestles. On the way up
he constantly gives utterance to his feelings in guttural gruntings that
make last night's lamentations seem quite earthly after all in comparison;
and when the summit is reached, and I mount and glide noiselessly away
down a gentle declivity, he uses his vocal organs in a manner that simply
defies chirographical description or any known comparison; it is the
despairing howl of a semi-lunatic at witnessing my departure without
having exercised my supposed extraordinary powers in some miraculous
manner in his behalf. The road continues as an artificial highway, but
is not continuously ridable, owing to the rocky nature of the material
used in its construction and the absence of vehicular traffic to wear
it smooth; but it is highly acceptable in the main. From Bey Bazaar
eastward it leads for several miles along a stony valley, and then through
a region that differs little from yesterday's barren hills in general
appearance, but which has the redeeming feature of being traversed here
and there by deep canons or gorges, along which meander tiny streams,
and whose wider spaces are areas of remarkably fertile soil. While
wheeling merrily along the valley road I am favored with a "peace-offering"
of a splendid bunch of grapes from a bold vintager en route, to Bey
Bazaar with a grape-laden donkey. When within a few hundred yards the
man evinces unmistakable signs of uneasiness concerning my character,
and would probably follow the bent of his inclinations and ingloriously
flee the field, but his donkey is too heavily laden to accompany him:
he looks apprehensively at my rapidly approaching figure, and then, as
if a happy thought suddenly occurs to him, he quickly takes the finest
bunch of grapes ready to hand and holds them, out toward me while I am
yet a good fifty yards away. The grapes are luscious, and the bunch
weighs fully an oke, but I should feel uncomfortably like a highwayman,
guilty of intimidating the man out of his property, were I to accept
them in the spirit in which they are offered; as it is, the honest fellow
will hardly fall to trembling in his tracks should he at any future time
again descry the centaur-like form of a mounted wheelman approaching him
in the distance.
Later in the forenoon I descend into a canon-like valley where, among a
few scattering vineyards and jujube-trees, nestles Ayash, a place which
disputes with the neighboring village of Istanos the honor of being the
theatre of Alexander the Great's celebrated exploit of cutting the Gordian
knot that disentangled the harness of the Phrygian king. Ayash is to be
congratulated upon having its historical reminiscence to recommend it
to the notice of the outer world, since it has little to attract attention
nowadays; it is merely the shapeless jumble of inferior dwellings that
characterize the average Turkish village. As I trundle through the
crooked, ill-paved alley-way that, out of respect to the historical
association referred to, may be called its business thoroughfare, with
forethought of the near approach of noon I obtain some pears, and hand
an ekmek-jee a coin for some bread; he passes over a tough flat cake,
abundantly sufficient for my purpose, together with the change. A zaptieh,
looking on, observes that the man has retained a whole half-penny for
the bread, and orders him to fork over another cake; I refuse to take
it up, whereupon the zaptieh fulfils his ideas of justice by ordering
the ekmek-jae to give it to a ragged youth among the spectators.
Continuing on my way I am next halted by a young man of the better class,
who, together with the zaptieh, endeavors to prevail upon me to stop,
going through the pantomime of writing and reading, to express some idea
that our mutual ignorance of each other's language prevents being expressed
in words. The result is a rather curious intermezzo. Thinking they want
to examine my teskeri merely to gratify their idle curiosity, I refuse
to be thus bothered, and, dismissing them quite brusquely, hurry along
over the rough cobble-stones in hopes of reaching ridable ground and
escaping from the place ere the inevitable "madding crowd" become
generally aware of my arrival. The young man disappears, while the zaptieh
trots smilingly but determinedly by my side, several times endeavoring
to coax me into making a halt; which is, however, promptly interpreted
by myself into a paternal plea on behalf of the villagers - a desire to
have me stop until they could be generally notified and collected - the
very thing I am hurrying along to avoid, I am already clear of the village
and trundling up the inevitable acclivity, the zaptieh and a small
gathering still doggedly hanging on, when the young man reappears,
hurriedly approaching from the rear, followed by half the village. The
zaptieh pats me on the shoulder and points back with a triumphant smile;
thinking he is referring to the rabble, I am rather inclined to be angry
with him and chide him for dogging my footsteps, when I observe the young
man waving aloft a letter, and at once understand that I have been guilty
of an ungenerous misinterpretation of their determined attentions. The
letter is from Mr. Binns, an English gentleman at Angora, engaged in the
exportation of mohair, and contains an invitation to become his guest
while at Angora. A well-deserved backsheesh to the good-natured zaptieh
and a penitential shake of the young man's hand silence the self-accusations
of a guilty conscience, and, after riding a short distance down the hill
for the satisfaction of the people, I continue on my way, trundling up
the varying gradations of a general acclivity for two miles. Away up the
road ahead I now observe a number of queer, shapeless objects, moving
about on the roadway, apparently descending the hill, and resembling
nothing so much as animated clumps of brushwood. Upon a closer approach
they turn out to be not so very far removed from this conception; they
are a company of poor Ayash peasant-women, each carrying a bundle of
camel-thorn shrubs several times larger than herself, which they have
been scouring the neighboring hills all morning to obtain for fuel. This
camel-thorn is a light, spriggy shrub, so that the size of their burthens
is large in proportion to its weight. Instead of being borne on the head,
they are carried in a way that forms a complete bushy background, against
which the shrouded form of the woman is undistinguishable a few hundred
yards away. Instead of keeping a straightforward course, the women seem
to be doing an unnecessary amount of erratic wandering about over the
road, which, until quite near, gives them the queer appearance of animated
clumps of brush dodging about among each other. I ask them whether there
is water ahead; they look frightened and hurry along faster, but one
brave soul turns partly round and points mutely in the direction I am
going. Two miles of good, ridable road now brings me to the spring, which
is situated near a two-acre swamp of rank sword-grass and bulrushes six
feet high and of almost inpenetrable thickness, which looks decidedly
refreshing in its setting of barren, gray hills; and I eat my noon-tide
meal of bread and pears to the cheery music of a thousand swamp-frog
bands which commence croaking at my approach, and never cease for a
moment to twang their tuneful lyre until I depart. The tortuous windings
of the chemin de fer finally bring me to a cul-de-sac in the hills,
terminating on the summit of a ridge overlooking a broad plain; and a
horseman I meet informs me that I am now mid way between Bey Bazaar and
Angora. While ascending this ridge I become thoroughly convinced of what
has frequently occurred to me between here and Nalikhan - that if the road
I am traversing is, as the people keep calling it, a chemin de fer, then
the engineer who graded it must have been a youth of tender age, and
inexperienced in railway matters, to imagine that trains can ever round
his curve or climb his grades. There is something about this broad,
artificial highway, and the tremendous amount of labor that has been
expended upon it, when compared with the glaring poverty of the country
it traverses, together with the wellnigh total absence of wheeled vehicles,
that seem to preclude the possibility of its having been made for a
wagon-road; and yet, notwithstanding the belief of the natives, it is
evident that it can never be the road-bed of a railway. We must inquire
about it at Angora.
Descending into the Angora Plain, I enjoy the luxury of a continuous
coast for nearly a mile, over a road that is simply perfect for the
occasion, after which comes the less desirable performance of ploughing
through a stretch of loose sand and gravel. While engaged in this latter
occupation I overtake a zaptieh, also en route to Angora, who is letting
his horse crawl leisurely along while he concentrates his energies upon
a water-melon, evidently the spoils of a recent visitation to a melon-garden
somewhere not far off; he hands me a portion of the booty, and then
requests me to bin, and keeps on requesting me to bin at regular three-
minute intervals for the next half-hour. At the end of that time the
loose gravel terminates, and I find myself on a level and reasonably
smooth dirt road, making a shorter cut across the plain to Angora than
the chin de fer. The zaptieh is, of course, delighted at seeing me thus
mount, and not doubting but that I will appreciate his company, gives
me to understand that he will ride alongside to Angora. For nearly two
miles that sanguine but unsuspecting minion of the Turkish Government
spurs his noble steed alongside the bicycle in spite of my determined
pedalling to shake him off; but the road improves; faster spins the
whirling wheels; the zaptieh begins to lag behind a little, though still
spurring his panting horse into keeping reasonably close behind; a bend
now occurs in the road, and an intervening knoll hides iis from each
other; I put on more steam, and at the same time the zaptieh evidently
gives it up and relapses into his normal crawling pace, for when three
miles or thereabout arc covered I look back and perceive him leisurely
heaving in sight from behind the knoll.
Part way across the plain I arrive at a fountain and make a short halt,
for the day is unpleasantly warm, and the dirt-road is covered with dust;
the government postaya araba is also halting here to rest and refresh
the horses. I have not failed to notice the proneness of Asiatics to
base their conclusions entirely on a person's apparel and general outward
appearance, for the seeming incongruity of my "Ingilis" helmet and the
Circassian moccasins has puzzled them not a little on more than one
occasion. And now one wiseacre among this party at the road-side fountain
stubbornly asserts that I cannot possibly be an Englishman because of
my wearing a mustache without side whiskers-a feature that seems to have
impressed upon his enlightened mind the unalterable conviction that I
am an "Austrian," why an Austrian any more than a Frenchman or an
inhabitant of the moon, I wonder ? and wondering, wonder in vain. Five
P.M., August 16,1885, finds me seated on a rude stone slab, one of those
ancient tombstones whose serried ranks constitute the suburban scenery
of Angora, ruefully disburdening my nether garments of mud and water,
the results of a slight miscalculation of my abilities at leaping
irrigating ditches with the bicycle for a vaulting-pole. While engaged
in this absorbing occupation several inquisitives mysteriously collect
from somewhere, as they invariably do whenever I happen to halt for a
minute, and following the instructions of the Ayash letter I inquire the
way to the "Ingilisin Adam" (Englishman's man). They pilot me through
a number of narrow, ill-paved streets leading up the sloping hill which
Angora occupies - a situation that gives the supposed ancient capital of
Galatia a striking appearance from a distance - and into the premises of
an Armenian whom I find able to make himself intelligible in English,
if allowed several minutes undisturbed possession of his own faculties
of recollection between each word - the gentleman is slow but not quite
sure. From him I learn that Mr. Binns and family reside during the summer
months at a vineyard five miles out, and that Mr. Binns will not be in
town before to-morrow morning; also that, "You are welcome to the humble
hospitality of our poor family."
This latter way of expressing it is a revelation to me, and the leaden-heeled
and labored utterance, together with the general bearing of my volunteer
host, is not less striking; if meekness, lowliness, and humbleness,
permeating a person's every look, word, and action, constitute worthiness,
then is our Armenian friend beyond a doubt the worthiest of men. Laboring
under the impression that he is Mr. Binns' "Ingilisin Adam," I have no
hesitation about accepting his proffered hospitality for the night; and
storing the bicycle away, I proceed to make myself quite at home, in
that easy manner peculiar to one accustomed to constant change. Later
in the evening imagine my astonishment at learning that I have thus
nonchalantly quartered myself, so to speak, not on Mr. Binns' man, but
on an Armenian pastor who has acquired his slight acquaintance with my
own language from being connected with the American Mission having
headquarters at Kaisarieh. All the evening long, noisy crowds have been
besieging the pastorate, worrying the poor man nearly out of his senses
on my account; and what makes matters more annoying and lamentable, I
learn afterward that his wife has departed this life but a short time
ago, and the bereaved pastor is still bowed down with sorrow at the
affliction - I feel like kicking myself unceremoniously out of his house.
Following the Asiatic custom of welcoming a stranger, and influenced,
we may reasonably suppose, as much by their eagerness to satisfy their
consuming curiosity as anything else, the people come flocking in swarms
to the pastorate again next morning, filling the house and grounds to
overflowing, and endeavoring to find out all about me and my unheard - of
mode of travelling, by questioning the poor pastor nearly to distraction.
That excellent man's thoughts seem to run entirely on missionaries and
mission enterprises; so much so, in fact, that several negative assertions
from me fail to entirely disabuse his mind of an idea that I am in some
way connected with the work of spreading the Gospel in Asia Minor; and
coming into the room where I am engaged in the interesting occupation
of returning the salaams and inquisitive gaze of fifty ceremonious
visitors, in slow, measured words he asks, "Have you any words for these
people?" as if quite expecting to see me rise up and solemnly call upon
the assembled Mussulmans, Greeks, and Armenians to forsake the religion
of the False Prophet in the one case, and mend the error of their ways
in the other. I know well enough what they all want, though, and dismiss
them in a highly satisfactory manner by promising them that they shall
all have an opportunity of seeing the bicycle ridden before I leave
Angora.
About ten o'clock Mr. Binns arrives, and is highly amused at the ludicrous
mistake that brought me to the Armenian pastor's instead of to his man,
with whom he had left instructions concerning me, should I arrive after
his departure in the evening for the vineyard; in return he has an amusing
story to tell of the people waylaying him on his way to his office,
telling him that an Englishman had arrived with a wonderful araba, which
he had immediately locked up in a dark room and would allow nobody to
look at it, and begging him to ask me if they might come and see it. We
spend the remainder of the forenoon looking over the town and the bazaar,
Mr. Binus kindly announcing himself as at my service for the day, and
seemingly bent on pointing out everything of interest. One of the most
curious sights, and one that is peculiar to Angora, owing to its situation
on a hill where little or no water is obtainable, is the bewildering
swarms of su-katirs (water donkeys) engaged in the transportation of
that important necessary up into the city from a stream that flows near
the base of the hill. These unhappy animals do nothing from one end of
their working lives to the other but toil, with almost machine-like
regularity and uneventfulness, up the crooked, stony streets with a dozen
large earthen-ware jars of water, and down again with the empty jars.
The donkey is sandwiched between two long wooden troughs suspended to a
rude pack-saddle, and each trough accommodates six jars, each holding
about two gallons of water; one can readily imagine the swarms of these
novel and primitive conveyances required to supply a population of thirty-
five thousand people. Upon inquiring what they do in case of a fire, I
learn that they don't even think of fighting the devouring element with
its natural enemy, but, collecting on the adjoining roofs, they smother
the flames by pelting the burning building with the soft, crumbly bricks
of which Angora is chiefly built; a house on fire, with a swarm of half-
naked natives on the neighboring housetops bombarding the leaping flames
with bricks, would certainly be an interesting sight.
Other pity-exciting scenes besides the patient little water-carrying
donkeys are not likely to be wanting on the streets of an Asiatic city;
one case I notice merits particular mention. A youth with both arms
amputated at the shoulder, having not so much as the stump of an arm,
is riding a donkey, and persuading the unwilling animal along quite
briskly - with a stick. All Christendom could never guess how a person
thus afflicted could possibly wield a stick so as to make any impression
upon a donkey; but this ingenious person holds it quite handily between
his chin and right shoulder, and from constant practice has acquired the
ability to visit his long-eared steed with quite vigorous thwacks.
Near noon we repair to the government house to pay a visit to Sirra
Pasha, the Vali or governor of the vilayet, who, having heard of my
arrival, has expressed a wish to have us call on him. We happen to arrive
while he is busily engaged with an important legal decision, but upon
our being announced he begs us to wait a few minutes, promising to hurry
through with the business. We are then requested to enter an adjoining
apartment, where we find the Mayor, the Cadi, the Secretary of State,
the Chief of the Angora zaptiehs, and several other functionaries, signing
documents, affixing seals, and otherwise variously occupied. At our
entrance, documents, pens, seals, and everything are relegated to temporary
oblivion, coffee and cigarettes are produced, and the journey dunianin
-athrafana (around the world) I am making with the wonderful araba becomes
the all-absorbing subject. These wise men of state entertain queer,
Asiatic notions concerning the probable object of my journey; they cannot
bring themselves to believe it possible that I am performing so great a
journey "merely as the Outing correspondent;" they think it more probable,
they say, that my real incentive is to "spite an enemy" - that, having
quarrelled with another wheelman about our comparative skill as riders,
I am wheeling entirely around the globe in order to prove my superiority,
and at the same time leave no opportunity for my hated rival to perform
a greater feat - Asiatic reasoning, sure enough. Reasoning thus, and
commenting in this wise among themselves, their curiosity becomes worked
up to the highest possible pitch, and they commence plying Mr. Binns
with questions concerning the mechanism and general appearance of the
bicycle. To facilitate Mr. Binns in his task of elucidation, I produce
from my inner coat-pocket a set of the earlier sketches illustrating the
tour across America, and for the next few minutes the set of sketches
are of more importance than all the State documents in the room. Curiously
enough, the sketch entitled "A Fair Young Mormon " attracts more attention
than any of the others. The Mayor is Suleiman Effendi, the same gentleman
mentioned at some length by Colonel Burnaby in his "On Horseback Through
Asia Minor," and one of his first questions is whether I am acquainted
with "my friend Burnaby, whose tragic death in the Soudan will never
cease to make me feel unhappy." Suleiman Effendi appears to be remarkably
intelligent, compared with many Asiatics, and, moreover, of quite a
practical turn of mind; he inquires what I should do in case of a serious
break-down somewhere in the far interior, and his curiosity to see the
bicycle is not a little increased by hearing that, notwithstanding the
extreme airiness of my strange vehicle, I have had no serious mishap on
the whole journey across two continents. Alluding to the bicycle as the
latest product of that Western ingenuity that appears so marvellous to
the Asiatic mind, he then remarks, with some animation, "The next thing
we shall see will be Englishmen crossing over to India in balloons, and
dropping down at Angora for refreshments." A uniformed servant now
announces that the Vali is at liberty, and waiting to receive us in
private audience. Following the attendant into another room, we find
Sirra Pasha seated on a richly cushioned divan, and upon our entrance
he rises smilingly to receive us, shaking us both cordially by the hand.
As the distinguished visitor of the occasion, I am appointed to the place
of honor next to the governor, while Mr. Binns, with whom, of course,
as a resident of Angora, His Excellency is already quite well acquainted,
graciously fills the office of interpreter, and enlightener of the Vali's
understanding concerning bicycles in general, and my own wheel and wheel
journey in particular. Sirra Pasha is a full-faced man of medium height,
black-eyed, black-haired, and, like nearly all Turkish pashas, is rather
inclined to corpulency. Like many prominent Turkish officials, he has
discarded the Turkish costume, retaining only the national fez; a head-
dress which, by the by, is without one single merit to recommend it save
its picturesqueness. In sunny weather it affords no protection to the
eyes, and in rainy weather its contour conducts the water in a trickling
stream down one's spinal column. It is too thin to protect the scalp
from the fierce sun-rays, and too close-fitting and close in texture to
afford any ventilation, yet with all this formidable array of disadvantages
it is universally worn.
I have learned during the morning that I have to thank Sirra Pasha's
energetic administration for the artificial highway from Keshtobek, and
that he has constructed in the vilayet no less than two hundred and fifty
miles' of this highway, broad and reasonably well made, and actually
macadamized in localities where the necessary material is to be obtained.
The amount of work done in constructing this road through so mountainous
a country is, as before mentioned, plainly out of all proportion to the
wealth and population of a second-grade vilayet like Angora, and its
accomplishment has been possible only by the employment of forced labor.
Every man in the whole vilayet is ordered out to work at the road-making
a certain number of days every year, or provide a substitute; thus,
during the present summer there have been as many as twenty thousand
men, besides donkeys, working on the roads at one time. Unaccustomed to
public improvements of this nature, and, no doubt, failing to see their
advantages in a country practically without vehicles, the people have
sometimes ventured to grumble at the rather arbitrary proceeding of
making them work for nothing, and board themselves; and it has been found
expedient to make them believe that they were doing the preliminary
grading for a railway that was shortly coming to make them all prosperous
and happy; beyond being credulous enough to swallow the latter part of
the bait, few of them have the least idea of what sort of a looking thing
a railroad would be.
When the Vali hears that the people all along the road have been telling
me it was a chemin de fer, he fairly shakes in his boots with laughter.
Of course I point out that no one can possibly appreciate the road
improvements any more than a wheelman, and explain the great difference
I have found between the mule-paths of Kodjaili and the broad highways
he has made through Angora, and I promise him the universal good opinion
of the whole world of 'cyclers. In reply, His Excellency hopes this
favorable opinion will not be jeopardized by the journey to Yuzgat, but
expresses the fear that I shall find heavier wheeling in that direction,
as the road is newly made, and there has been no vehicular traffic to
pack it down.
The Governor invites me to remain over until Thursday and witness the
ceremony of laying the corner-stone of a new school, of the founding of
which he has good reason to feel proud, and which ought to secure him
the esteem of right-thinking people everywhere. He has determined it to
be a common school in which no question of Mohammedan, Jew, or Christian,
will be allowed to enter, but where the young ideas of Turkish, Christian,
and Jewish youths shall be taught to shoot peacefully and harmoniously
together. Begging to be excused from this, he then invites me to take
dinner with him to-morrow evening: but this I also decline, excusing
rnyself for having determined to remain over no longer than a day on
account of the approaching rainy season and my anxiety to reach Teheran
before it sets in. Yet a third time the pasha rallies to the charge, as
though determined not to let me off without honoring me in some way; and
this time he offers to furnish me a zaptieh escort, but I tell him of
the zaptieh's inability to keep up yesterday, at which he is immensely
amused. His Excellency then promises to be present at the starting-point
to-morrow morning, asking me to name the time and place, after which we
finish the cigarettes and coffee and take our leave. We next take a
survey of the mohair caravansary, where buyers and sellers and exporters
congregate to transact business, and I watch with some interest the corps
of half-naked sorters seated before large heaps of mohair, assorting it
into the several classes ready for exportation. Here Mr. Binns' office
is situated, and we are waited upon by several of his business acquaintances;
among them a member of the celebrated - celebrated in Asia Minor - Tif-
ticjeeoghlou family, whose ancestors have been prominently engaged in
the mohair business for so long that their very name is significatory
of their profession - Tifticjee-oghlou, literally, "Mohair-dealer's son."
The Smiths, Bakers, and Hunters of Occidental society are not a whit
more significative than are many prominent names of the Orient. Prominent
among the Angorians is a certain Mr. Altentopoghlou, the literal
interpretation of which is, "Son of the golden ball," and the origin
of whose family name Eastern tradition has surrounded by the following
little interesting anecdote: Ages ago it pleased one of the Sultans to
issue a proclamation throughout the empire, promising to present a golden
ball to whichever among all his subjects should prove himself the biggest
liar, giving it to be understood beforehand that no "merely improbable
story" would stand the ghost of a chance of winning, since he himself
was to be the judge, and nothing short of a story that was simply
impossible would secure the prize. The proclamation naturally made quite
a stir among the great prevaricators of the realm, and hundreds of stories
came pouring in from competitors everywhere, some even surreptitiously
borrowing "whoppers" from the Persians, who are well known as the
greatest economizers of the truth in all Asia; but they were one and all
adjudged by the astute monarch-who was himself a most experienced
prevaricator - probably the noblest Roman of them all - as containing incidents
that might under extraordinary circumstances have been true. The coveted
golden ball still remained unawarded, when one day there appeared before
the gate of the Sultan's palace, requesting an audience, an old man with
travel-worn appearance, as though from a long pilgrimage, and bearing
on his stooping shoulders an immense earthen-ware jar. The Sultan received
the aged pilgrim kindly, and asked him what he could do for him.
"Oh, Sultan, may you live forever!" exclaimed the old man, "for your
Imperial Highness is loved and celebrated throughout all the empire
for your many virtues, but most of all for your wellknown love of justice."
"Inshallah!" replied the monarch, reverently. "May it please Your
Imperial Majesty," continued the old man, calling the monarch's attention
to the jar, "Your Highness' most excellent father - may his bones rest in
peace! - borrowed from my father this jar full of gold coins, the conditions
being that Your Majesty was to pay the same amount back to me." "Absurd,
impossible!" exclaimed the astonished Sultan, eying the huge vessel in
question.
"If the story be true," gravely continued the pilgrim, "pay your father's
debt; if it is as you say, impossible, I have fairly won the golden
ball." And the Sultan immediately awarded him the prize.
In the cool of the evening we ride out on horseback through vineyards
and yellow-berry gardens to Mr. Binns' country residence, a place that
formerly belonged to an old pasha, a veritable Bluebeard, who built the
house and placed the windows of his harem, even closely latticed as they
always are, in a position that would not command so much as a glimpse
of passers-by on the road, hundreds of yards away. He planted trees and
gardens, and erected marble fountains at great cost. Surrounding the
whole with a wall, and purchasing three beautiful young wives, the old
Turk fondly fancied he had created for himself an earthly paradise; but
as love laughs at locksmiths, so did these three frisky damea laugh at
latticed windows, and lay their heads together against being prevented
from watching passers-by through the windows of the harem. With nothing
else to do, they would scheme and plot all day long against their misguided
husband's tranquillity and peace of mind. One day, while sunning himself
in the garden, he discovered that they had managed to detach a section
of the lattice-work from a window, and were in the habit of sticking out
their heads - awful discovery. Flying into a righteous rage at this act
of flagrant disobedience, he seized a thick stick and sought their
apartments, only to find the lattice-work skilfully replaced, and to be
confronted with a general denial of what he had witnessed with his own
eyes. This did not prevent them from all three getting a severe chastisement;
but as time wore on he found the life these three caged-up young women
managed to lead him anything but the earthly paradise he thought he was
creating, and, financial troubles overtaking him at the same time, the
old fellow fairly died of a broken heart in less than twelve months after
he had so hopefully installed himself in his self-created heaven.
There is a moral in the story somewhere, I think, for anybody caring to
analyze it. Mr. Binns says the old Mussulman was also an inveterate hater
of unbelievers, and that the old fellow's bones would fairly rattle in
his coffin were he conscious that a family of Christians are now actually
occupying the house he built with such careful regard for the Mussulman's
ideas of a material heaven, with trees and fountains and black-eyed
houris.
Near ten o'clock on Tuesday morning finds Angora the scene of more
excitement than it has seen for some time. I am trundling through the
narrow streets toward the appointed starting-place, which is at the
commencement of a half-mile stretch of excellent level macadam, just
beyond the tombstone-planted suburbs of the city. Mr. Binns is with me,
and a squad of zaptiehs are engaged in the lively occupation of protecting
us from the crush of people following us out; they are armed especially
for the occasion with long switches, with which they unsparingly lay
about them, seemingly only too delighted at the chance of making the
dust fly from the shoulders of such unfortunate wights as the pressure
of the throng forces anywhere near the magic cause of the commotion. The
time and place of starting have been proclaimed by the Vali and have
become generally noised abroad, and near three thousand people are already
assembled when we arrive; among them is seen the genial face of Suleiman
Effendi, who, in his capacity of mayor, is early on the ground with a
force of zaptiehs to maintain order; and with a little knot of friends,
behold, is also our humble friend the Armenian pastor, the irresistible
attractions of the wicked bicycle having temporarily overcome his contempt
of the pomps and vanities of secular displays.
"Englishmen are always punctual!" says Suleiman Effendi, looking at his
watch; and, upon consulting our own, sure enough we have happened to
arrive precisely to the minute. An individual named Mustapha, a blacksmith
who has acquired an enviable reputation for skill on account of the
beautiful horseshoes he turns out, now presents himself and begs leave
to examine the mechanism of the bicycle, and the question arises among
the officers standing by as to whether Mustapha would be able to make
one; Mustapha himself thinks he could, providing he had mine always at
hand to copy from.
"Yes," suggests the practical-minded Suleiman Effendi, "yes, Mustapha,
you may have mariftt enough to make one; but when you have finished it,
who among all of us will have marifet enough to ride it?"
"True, effendi," solemnly assents another, "we would have to send for
an Englishman to ride it for us, after Mustapha had turned it out. "
The Mayor now requests me to ride along the road once or twice to appease
the clamor of the multitude until the Vali arrives. The crowd along the
road is tremendous, and on a neighboring knoll, commanding a view of the
proceedings, are several carriageloads of ladies, the wives and female
relatives of the officials. The Mayor is indulgent to his people, allowing
them to throng the roadway, simply ordering the zaptiehs to keep my road
through the surging mass open. While on the home-stretch from the second
spin, up dashes the Vali in the state equipage with quite an imposing
bodyguard of mounted zaptiehs, their chief being a fine military-looking
Circassian in the picturesque military costume of the Caucasus. These
horsemen the Governor at once orders to clear the people entirely off
the road-way - an order no sooner given than executed; and after the
customary interchange of salutations, I mount and wheel briskly up the
broad, smooth macadam between two compact masses of delighted natives;
excitement runs high, and the people clap their hands and howl approvingly
at the performance, while the horsemen gallop briskly to and fro to keep
them from intruding on the road after I have wheeled past, and obstructing
the Governor's view. After riding back and forth a couple of times, I
dismount at the Vali's carriage; a mutual interchange of adieus and well-
wishes all around, and I take my departure, wheeling along at a ten-mile
pace amid the vociferous plaudits of at least four thousand people, who
watch my retreating figure until I disappear over the brow of a hill.
At the upper end of the main crowd are stationed the "irregular cavalry"
on horses, mules, and donkeys; and among the latter I notice our
ingenious friend, the armless youth of yesterday, whom I now make happy
by a nod of recognition, having scraped up a backsheesh acquaintance
with him yesterday.
For.some miles the way continues fairly smooth and hard, leading through
a region of low vineyard-covered hills, but ere long I arrive at the
newly made road mentioned by the Vali. After which, like the course of
true love, my forward career seldom runs smooth for any length of time,
though ridable donkey-trails occasionally run parallel with the bogus
chemin defer. For mile after mile I now alternately ride and trundle
along donkey-paths, by the side of an artificial highway that would be
an enterprise worthy of a European State. The surface of the road is
either gravelled or of broken rock, and well rounded for self-drain-
age; it is graded over the mountains, and wooden bridges, with substantial
rock supports, are built across the streams; nothing is lacking except
the vehicles to utilize it. In the absence of these it would almost seem
to have been an unnecessary and superfluous expenditure of the people's
labor to make such a road through a country most of which is fit for
little else but grazing goats and buffaloes. Aside from some half-dozen
carriages at Angora, and a few light government postaya arabas - an
innovation from horses for carrying the mail, recently introduced as a
result of the improved roads, and which make weekly trips between such
points as Angora, Yuzgat, and Tokat - the only vehicles in the country are
the buffalo-carts of the larger farmers, rude home made arabas with solid
wooden wheels, whose infernal creaking can be heard for a mile, and which
they seldom take any distance from home, preferring their pack-donkeys
and cross-country trails when going to town with produce. Perhaps in
time vehicular traffic may appear as a result of suitable roads; but the
natives are slow to adopt new improvements.
About two hours from Angora I pass tbrough a swampy upland basin,
containing several small lakes, and then emerge into a much less mountainous
country, passing several mud villages, the inhabitants of which are a
dark-skinned people-Turkoman refugees, I think-who look several degrees
less particular about their personal cleanliness than the villagers west
of Angora. Their wretched mud hovels would seem to indicate the last
degree of poverty, but numerous flocks of goats and herds of buffalo
grazing near apparently tell a somewhat different story. The women and
children seem mostly engaged in manufacturing cakes of tezek (large flat
cakes of buffalo manure mixed with chopped straw, which are "dobbed"
on the outer walls to dry; it makes very good fuel, like the "buffalo
chips" of the far West), and stacking it up on the house-tops, with
provident forethought, for the approaching winter.
Just as darkness is beginning to settle down over the landscape I arrive
at one of these unpromising-looking clusters, which, it seems, are now
peculiar to the country, and not characteristic of any particular race,
for the one I arrive at is a purely Turkish village. After the usual
preliminaries of pantomime and binning, I am conducted to a capacious
flat roof, the common covering of several dwellings and stables bunched
up together. This roof is as smooth and hard as a native threshing-floor,
and well knowing, from recent experiences, the modus operandi of capturing
the hearts of these bland and childlike villagers, I mount and straightway
secure their universal admiration and applause by riding a few times
round the roof. I obtain a supper of fried eggs and yaort (milk soured
with rennet), eating it on the house-top, surrounded by the whole
population of the village, on this and adjoining roofs, who watch my
every movement with the most intense curiosity. It is the raggedest
audience I have yet been favored with. There are not over half a dozen
decently clad people among them all, and two of these are horsemen,
simply remaining over night, like myself. Everybody has a fearfully flea-
bitten appearance, which augurs ill for a refreshing night's repose.
Here, likewise I am first introduced to a peculiar kind of bread, that
I straightway condemn as the most execrable of the many varieties my
everchanging experiences bring me in contact with, and which I find
myself mentally, and half unconsciously, naming - " blotting-paper ekmek"
-a not inappropriate title to convey its appearance to the civilized
mind; but the sheets of blotting-paper must be of a wheaten color and
in circular sheets about two feet in diameter. This peculiar kind of
bread is, we may suppose, the natural result of a great scarcity of fuel,
a handful of tezek, beneath the large, thin sheet-iron griddle, being
sufficient to bake many cakes of this bread. At first I start eating it
something like a Shanty town goat would set about consuming a political
poster, if it - not the political poster, but the Shanty town goat - had a
pair of hands. This outlandish performance creates no small merriment
among the watchful on-lookers, who forthwith initiate me into the mode
of eating it a la Turque, which is, to roll it up like a scroll of paper
and bite mouthfuls off the end. I afterwards find this particular variety
of ekmek quite handy when seated around a communal bowl of yaort with a
dozen natives; instead of taking my turn with the one wooden spoon in
common use, I would form pieces of the thin bread into small handleless
scoops, and, dipping up the yaort, eat scoop and all. Besides sparing
me from using the same greasy spoon in common with a dozen natives, none
of them overly squeamish as regards personal cleanliness, this gave me
the appreciable advantage of dipping into the dish as often as I choose,
instead of waiting for my regular turn at the wooden spoon.
Though they are Osmanli Turks, the women of these small villages appear
to make little pretence of covering their faces. Among themselves they
constitute, as it were, one large family gathering, and a stranger is
but seldom seen. They are apparently simple-minded females, just a trifle
shame-faced in their demeanor before a stranger, sitting apart by
themselves while listening to the conversation between myself and the
men. This, of course, is very edifying, even apart from its pantomimic
and monosyllabic character, for I am now among a queer people, a people
through the unoccupied chambers of whose unsophisticated minds wander
strange, fantastic thoughts. One of the transient horsemen, a contemplative
young man, the promising appearance of whose upper lip proclaims him
something over twenty, announces that he likewise is on the way to Yuzgat;
and after listening attentively to my explanations of how a wheelman
climbs mountains and overcomes stretches of bad road, he solemnly inquires
whether a 'cycler could scurry up a mountain slope all right if some one
were to follow behind and touch him up occasionally with a whip, in the
persuasive manner required in driving a horse. He then produces a rawhide
"persuader," and ventures the opinion that if he followed close behind
me to Yuzgat, and touched me up smartly with it whenever we came to a
mountain, or a sandy road, there would be no necessity of trundling any
of the way. He then asks, with the innocent simplicity of a child, whether
in case he made the experiment, I would get angry and shoot him.
The other transient appears of a more speculative turn of mind, and draws
largely upon his own pantomimic powers and my limited knowledge of
Turkish, to ascertain the difference between the katch lira of a bicycle
at retail, and the hatch lira of its manufacture. From the amount of
mental labor he voluntarily inflicts upon himself to acquire this
particular item of information, I apprehend that nothing less than wild
visions of acquiring a rapid fortune by starting a bicycle factory at
Angora, are flitting through his imaginative mind. The villagers themselves
seem to consider me chiefly from the standpoint of their own peculiar
ideas concerning the nature of an Englishman's feelings toward a Russian.
My performance on the roof has put them in the best of humor, and has
evidently whetted their appetites for further amusement. Pointing to a
stolid-looking individual, of an apparently taciturn disposition, and
who is one of the respectably-dressed few, they accuse him of being a
Eussiau; and then all eyes are turned towards me, as though they quite
expect to see me rise up wrathfully and make some warlike demonstration
against him. My undemonstrative disposition forbids so theatrical a
proceeding, however, and I confine myself to making a pretence of falling
into the trap, casting furtive glances of suspicion towards the supposed
hated subject of the Czar, and making whispered inquiries of my immediate
neighbors concerning the nature of his mission in Turkish territory.
During this interesting comedy the "audience" are fairly shaking in
their rags with suppressed merriment; and when the taciturn individual
himself - who has thus far retained his habitual self-composure - growing
restive under the hateful imputation of being a Muscov and my supposed
bellicose sentiments toward him in consequence, finally repudiates the
part thus summarily assigned him, the whole company bursts out into a
boisterous roar of laughter. At this happy turn of sentiment I assume
an air of intense relief, shake the taciturn man's hand, and, borrowing
the speculative transient's fez, proclaim myself a Turk, an act that
fairly "brings down the house."
Thus the evening passes merrily away until about ten o'clock, when the
people begin to slowly disperse to the roofs of their respective
habitations, the whole population sleeping on the house-tops, with no
roof over them save the star-spangled vault - the arched dome of the great
mosque of the universe, so often adorned with the pale yellow, crescent-shaped
emblem of their religion. Several families occupy the roof which has
been the theatre of the evening's social gathering, and the men now
consign me to a comfortable couch made up of several quilts, one of the
transients thoughtfully cautioning me to put my moccasins under my pillow,
as these articles were the object of almost universal covetousness during
the evening. No sooner am I comfortably settled down, than a wordy warfare
breaks out in my immediate vicinity, and an ancient female makes a
determined dash at my coverlet, with the object of taking forcible
possession; but she is seized and unceremoniously hustled away by the
men who assigned me my quarters. It appears that, with an eye singly and
disinterestedly to my own comfort, and regardless of anybody else's,
they have, without taking the trouble to obtain her consent, appropriated
to my use the old lady's bed, leaving her to shift for herself any way
she can, a high-handed proceeding that naturally enough arouses her
virtuous indignation to the pitch of resentment. Upon this fact occurring
to me, I of course immediately vacate the property in dispute, and, with
true Western gallantry, arraign myself on the rightful owner's side by
carrying my wheel and other effects to another position; whereupon a
satisfactory compromise is soon arranged between the disputants, by which
another bed ia prepared for me, and the ancient dame takes triumphant
possession of her own. Peace and tranquillity being thus established on
a firm basis, the several families tenanting our roof settle themselves
snugly down. The night is still and calm, and naught is heard save my
nearer neighbors' scratching, scratching, scratching. This - not the
scratching, but the quietness - doesn't last long, however, for it is
customary to collect all the four-footed possessions of the village
together every night and permit them to occupy the inter-spaces between
the houses, while the humans are occupying the roofs, the horde of watch-
dogs being depended upon to keep watch and ward over everything. The
hovels are more underground than above the surface, and often, when the
village occupies sloping ground, the upper edge of the roof is practically
but a continuation of the solid ground, or at the most there is but a
single step-up between them. The goats are of course permitted to wander
whithersoever they will, and equally, of course, they abuse their
privileges by preferring the roofs to the ground and wandering incessantly
about among the sleepers. Where the roof comes too near the ground some
temporary obstruction is erected, to guard against the intrusion of
venturesome buffaloes. No sooner have the humans quieted down, than
several goats promptly invade the roof, and commence their usual nocturnal
promenade among the prostrate forms of their owners, and further indulge
their well-known goatish propensities by nibbling away the edges of the
roof. (They would, of course, prefer a square meal off a patchwork quilt,
but from their earliest infancy they are taught that meddling with the
bedclothes will bring severe punishment.) A buffalo occasionally gives
utterance to a solemn, prolonged " m-o-o-o;" now and then a baby wails
its infantile disapproval of the fleas, and frequent noisy squabbles
occur among the dogs. Under these conditions, it is not surprising that
one should woo in vain the drowsy goddess; and near midnight some person
within a few yards of my couch begins groaning fearfully, as if in great
pain - probably a case of the stomach-ache, I mentally conclude, though
this hasty conclusion may not unnaturally result from an inner consciousness
of being better equipped for curing that particular affliction than any
other. From the position of the sufferer, I am inclined to think it is
the same ancient party that ousted me out of her possessions two hours
ago, and I lay here as far removed from the realms of unconsciousness
as the moment I retired, expecting every minute to see her appear before
me in a penitential mood, asking me to cure her, for the inevitable hakim
question had been raised during the evening. She doesn't present herself,
however; perhaps the self-accusations of her conscience, for having in
the moment of her wrath attempted to appropriate my coverlet in so rude
a manner, prevent her appealing to me now in the hour of distress. These
people are early risers; the women are up milking the goats and buffaloes
before daybreak, and the men hieing them away to the harvest fields and
threshing-floors. I, likewise, bestir myself at daylight, intending to
reach the next village before breakfast.