DIYÂRBEKR TO KONIA
_June 4--July 1_
The frontier between the Arabic and the Turkish-speaking peoples is not
sharply defined. Through the southern parts of the Kurdish hills it is
common to find men acquainted with one or both languages in addition to
their native Kurdish; among the Christians of the Ṭûr ’Abdîn a knowledge
of Syriac is not rare; in Diyârbekr, where there is a considerable Arab
population, Arabic, Turkish and Kurdish are spoken about equally, but
north of Diyârbekr Arabic ceases to be heard, and as we journeyed along
the road from Kharpût to Malaṭiyah, Kurdish died out also. Fattûḥ, in
addition to many other qualifications for travel, speaks Turkish
fluently, though in a manner peculiar to himself; the muleteers who were
with me had some knowledge of the language, and I have enough to wish
that I had more of that singularly beautiful and flexible tongue. Thus
equipped we set out to make our way across Taurus and Anti-Taurus on to
the Anatolian plateau.
As far as Malaṭiyah we followed the high road which led us at first
across a fertile plain celebrated for its gardens ever since the days of
Ammianus Marcellinus. Outside the village of Tarmûr[207] we spent the
night somewhat uneasily by reason of certain wedding festivities which
were there in progress. Not only did the merry-makers keep up their
rejoicings until close upon dawn, but the inhabitants of a neighbouring
village judged the occasion to be propitious for mule-lifting, and were
driven off with rifle shots. Peace was restored by daybreak, and the
marriage procession conveying the bride to her husband’s house set off
to the strains of fife and drum. We passed it upon the road, a motley
crowd, mounted and afoot. The bride was enveloped in a silken cloak of
vivid magenta, which will not, I fear, be needed again for many a long
day, if her opportunities for the wearing of finery may be measured by
the aspect of her future home, for a more poverty-stricken collection of
hovels than the bridegroom’s village it would be difficult to picture.
We left her in her brief glory to take up her daily task of preventing
her husband’s roof from falling about her ears, and rode on to the hill
of Arghana, a bold spur of the Taurus mountains, with a village perched
among its crags. I sent the baggage animals along the carriage road and
climbed with a zaptieh to the village, and thence by a steep path to the
Armenian monastery of the Virgin, which stands on the summit of the
rocks.[208] We were rewarded by a magnificent view and by a pleasant
talk with the prior who informed me, as I drank his excellent coffee,
that the monastery was founded in the first century of the Christian
era, a tradition which calls for weightier confirmation than any which
he advanced. Be that as it may, the existing house must have been
largely rebuilt in the Middle Ages, perhaps towards the fourteenth
century--I hazard this date on the evidence supplied by the decoration
of the church which had the character of Mohammadan work of about that
period. We led our horses down the north side of the hill, by a stony
[Illustration: FIG. 210.--ARGHANA MA’DEN.]
[Illustration: FIG. 211.--GÖLJIK.]
[Illustration: FIG. 212.--KHARPÛT, THE CASTLE.]
[Illustration: FIG. 213.--IZ OGLU FERRY.]
path that ran between bramble hedges enclosing fruit gardens, rejoined
the carriage road and crossed the Ma’den Chai, which is the local name
for the main arm of the Tigris, by a bridge near Kalender Khân. We had
now fairly entered into the mountains, and our road took us over high
bare ridges and down again to the Ma’den Chai at the village of Arghana
Ma’den, the mines of Arghana. On a shelf of the opposite hill-side the
smoke drifted perpetually from the smelting furnaces of the richest
copper mines in Turkey (Fig. 210). The metal, smelted on the site, is
cast into disks, two of which go to a camel load, and sent across the
hills to Diyârbekr and Cæsarea, Sivâs and Tokat. The valley of the
Ma’dan Chai, where the village lies, is so narrow that it offers no
camping-ground; we lodged, therefore, in a charming khân above the
village by the water’s edge--but for the fact that it was innocent of
furniture I could have fancied myself in an English country inn by the
side of a rushing trout stream. The rain fell heavily in the night, and
we rode for the greater part of the next day through an alternate
drizzle and downpour, and were unable to determine which we enjoyed the
most. The river cuts here through a deep rocky gorge, and the road
climbs up by the side of the stream. The mists, clinging to the
precipitous slopes, added to the sombre grandeur of a pass which opened
at its upper end on to an exquisite little fertile plain, set like a
jewel among the hills. Through its cornfields the infant Tigris, a
rippling brook, wandered from willow clump to willow clump; we parted
from it two hours from its source, and set our faces towards the hills
which divide it from its mightier brother, the Euphrates. At their foot
lies the Little Lake, Göljik, encircled by peaks, of which the northern
slopes were white with snow patches (Fig. 211). It is slightly brackish,
and its waters have no outlet. We turned aside from the carriage road
and took a bridle path along the northern side of the lake, and up the
hills beyond it. Before we reached the crest of the slopes we struck the
road again and by it crossed the water parting, and saw below us the
rich and smiling plain of Kharpût bounded by mountains, through which
wound the silver streak of the Euphrates. We camped that night at the
foot of the pass in the Armenian village of Keghvank, our tents being
advantageously placed in a grove of mulberry-trees, loaded with ripe
fruit.[209] Kharpût, or rather the lower town, Mezreh,[210] which is the
seat of government of the vilayet of Ma’mûret el ’Azîz, lies three hours
from Keghvank. The plain between is exceedingly fertile; it is scattered
over with villages about half of which are inhabited by Armenians, who
suffered cruelly in the massacres of 1895. At Kezerik, half-an-hour to
the south-east of Mezreh, two finely-cut inscriptions, commemorating the
expedition of Domitius Corbulo in A.D. 65, are built into the walls of a
ruined church. They are well known, but I, coming from far beyond the
limits of the Roman empire, turned aside with pious enthusiasm and read
the high-sounding titles of Nero, as one who glories in their
achievements of his own people: Nero Claudius Cæsar Augustus Germanicus
Imperator Pontifex Maximus, the words rang out with greater splendour
from those remote stones than from any lying within the walls of Rome.
Kharpût is set upon the summit of the hills beyond Mezreh. The castle,
standing upon the highest crag, guards a shallow ravine wherein is
stretched the greater part of the town, but the houses climb up on to
the rocky headlands overhanging the plain and, from below, the mountain
seems to be crowned with a series of fortresses (Fig. 212). The streets
are so narrow that a cart can hardly pass along the cobbled ways; very
silent and peaceful they seemed, the shops heaped with cherries, the
cool breezes stirring the vine tendrils that wreathed together overhead.
The castle, for all its frowning walls and bastions, is nothing but a
heap of ruins within. I looked in vain for the dungeons in which Sukmân,
the son of the Turkman officer Ortuḳ, founder of the Ortuḳid dynasties,
imprisoned Baldwin of Edessa and Jocelyn of Courtney in the early years
of the twelfth century. The Crusaders, gathering together their forces,
seized the fortress in 1123 and held it until Balak, Ortuḳ’s grandson,
recaptured it and threw the garrison over the battlemented rock into the
plain below.[211] On an inner wall, not far from the gate, there are
traces of an Arabic inscription, together with two stones carved in
relief, the one bearing a lion and the other a ram, memorials, I make no
doubt, of the Ortuḳid rule. The walls are of many periods of building.
The masonry of one of the eastern towers is laid in alternate stripes of
red and white stone. The eastern side of the hill drops steeply into a
deep valley filled with houses which are terraced one above the other.
Here there is a Jacobite church of ancient origin, its plan repeating
the old scheme of the parochial church of the Ṭûr ’Abdîn. The priest
assured me that it dated from the first century, and in proof of his
assertion showed me a couple of curious oil paintings, a Crucifixion and
a Virgin and Child, Byzantine in type, so far as I could make out
through the dust of ages.[212]
My tents were pitched on the plain near Mezreh. There in the evening I
received the Vâlî, a cheerful Cretan, and the Mu’âvin Vâlî,[213] and
after they had departed, several other visitors. Their conversation left
me groping my way through the intricate labyrinths of the Oriental mind,
and even more bewildered than usual. Kharpût and Mezreh and the villages
of the plain had felt yet more sharply than Diyârbekr and the Ṭûr ’Abdîn
the wave of panic that had emanated from Cilicia. Three days after the
first outbreak at Adana, the Kurdish peasants had trooped into the
Christian villages and announced their intention to kill, while in
Mezreh the Vâlî was besieged by demands that he should give the signal
for massacre. To his credit be it recorded that he held out against
these appeals, though the abject terror of the Armenians did much to
increase the danger of the situation. When the news of ’Abdu’l Ḥamîd’s
deposition reached the vilayet, the agitation went out like a candle in
the wind; the Kurds returned peaceably to their houses, and the fears of
the Christians were allayed. This was strange enough, but that which
followed was stranger still. The district had suffered during the spring
from lack of rain and the drought became at length so serious that the
whole harvest was threatened. The leading mullah of Mezreh called upon
the people to assemble in a neighbouring village, where there was a
much-respected Mohammadan shrine, that they might raise a common
supplication for rain. The population answered his call to a man;
Christian and Moslem, who but five weeks before had with difficulty been
restrained from leaping at each other’s throats, stood side by side and
listened to the sermon which the mullah delivered to them. All, said he,
were brothers, all were children of one God, all alike were in danger of
perishing from the drought, and it behoved all to pray together for the
beneficent rain which would save them from famine. His eloquence reduced
the assembled audience to tears, and for three days their united orisons
rose to heaven. And then the miracle came to pass. The rain fell
abundantly, that same rain over which we had rejoiced in the Tigris
gorge, without knowing that we owed it to the prayers of the Moslems and
Christians of Kharpût, nor yet how many fevers it was assuaging, more
fatal than the sun-fever in our veins; for it was admitted that this
most fortunate coincidence would do more to bring about amity than the
fall of many sultans.
I sat long into the night and gazed upon the shattered crags of Kharpût
and the hollow plain, clothed in abundance of fruits, and sheltered by
its ring of noble hills. What is it that leads to massacre? whence does
that sudden frenzy spring, whither vanish? Like a tornado it bursts over
the peaceful earth, blots out the daily life of town and village,
destroys, uproots and slays--and passes. My thoughts were still busy
with these unanswerable problems when we rode upon our way next morning.
One of my muleteers was a Moslem, a ḥajjî, a Mecca pilgrim. I had known
him for many years and he had served me well during months of hard
travel. When the road was long he had not wearied; when the sun was hot
he had not complained; when the wind blew cold he drew more closely
about him the duffle coat which I had given him in Aleppo, and every
evening after the tents were pitched and the horses picketed, I had seen
him building up the fire under the big rice-pot and stirring the savoury
mess on which my camp was to sup. To-day as I looked into his simple
honest face, I wondered what unexpected ferocity lay behind its familiar
wrinkles.
“Ḥâjj ’Amr,” I said, “in the day of slaughter, would you kill me?”
“My lady, no,” he replied, “not you. I have eaten your bread.”
“Would you kill Fattûḥ and Selîm and Jûsef?” I asked.
“No, no,” said he, “not them. We are brothers.”
“But other Christians you would slay?”
“Eh wallah!” he answered; “in the day of slaughter.”
I ceased my questionings and rode on, but the subject was to come up
again. It happened in this manner.
We had journeyed over the plain to Khân Keui and climbed on to a low
spur of the hills. Having crossed it, we rode down a long valley with
high hills on either hand.[214] It chanced that Fattûḥ and I and a
zaptieh were on ahead, and as we went we fell into talk. Now Fattûḥ is a
Catholic Armenian, and in the old days we have experienced many a
difficulty over his teskereh, owing to the ominous word Armenian which
is inscribed upon it. At the end of the last journey he had vowed that
he would change his faith, which does not sit very heavy upon
him--Fattûḥ being a philosopher touching the finer distinctions of
creed--and I now asked him whether he had carried out this
determination.
“Effendim,” he replied, “two years ago, when I returned to Aleppo, I
told the bishop that I would become Brotestant or Latîn (Protestant or
Roman Catholic). And he argued with me and said he would send a priest
to pray with me. But I said No, for I and my family are Brotestant.”
“And are you a Protestant?” said I.
“God knows,” replied Fattûḥ. “On my teskereh I am still written down a
Catholic Armenian, but that I cannot be, for I refused to let the priest
come into my house to pray. Therefore I belong to no religion but the
religion of God.”
“We all belong to that religion,” said I.
“True, wallah,” said the zaptieh.
Presently there came up the road towards us a train of loaded camels.
“These are men of Ḳaisarîyeh,” said Fattûḥ. “I know them by their
dress.” And as the first string of camels drew near, he shouted to the
man sitting half-asleep upon the leading animal: “Are you from the port,
the port of Beilân?”
“Evvet, evvet,” he answered drowsily, and his body rocked with the long
rocking of the camel’s stride as they plodded past.
“Nasl Kirk Khân?” cried Fattûḥ. “How does Kirk Khân?”
Kirk Khân is a Christian village at the foot of the Beilân Pass, between
Aleppo and Alexandretta.
The next cameleer had come up with his string and he answered the
question.
“The giaour are all killed,” he answered, taking Fattûḥ for a Moslem.
“And how are the houses, the houses of the giaour?” Fattûḥ called out.
The leader of the next string answered--
“They are all burnt.”
“Praise God,” said Fattûḥ, and the zaptieh laughed.
When the camel-train had passed I said:
“Why did you call the people of Kirk Khân infidels?”
“Because the camel-driver called them so,” Fattûḥ replied.
“And why did you praise God?”
“Effendim, they praised God when they saw Kirk Khân in ashes, and they
rejoiced to tell the tale--what else should I say?” He rode on silently
for a few minutes, and then he added: “All the men of Kirk Khân were my
friends. Every time I drove my carriage from Aleppo to Alexandretta, I
stopped to eat with them, and they, when they were in Aleppo, came to my
house. Now they are dead--God have mercy on them.”
His sorrowful acceptance of an outrage which the Western mind,
accustomed to regard the protecting of human life as the first
obligation of society, refused to contemplate, revealed to me the
magnitude of the gulf which I had been attempting to bridge, and as I
followed the channel of Fattûḥ’s thought, I saw Fate, in the likeness of
a camel-train, moving, slow and heavy-footed, towards the inevitable
goal.
Our road climbed over a bluff and dropped again into a ravine at the
lower end of which stands Kömür Khân, an old, red-roofed caravanserai,
stately in decay. Near to it flows the Murad Su, which is the Euphrates,
and though we were now far from its Mesopotamian reaches, it was already
a great river whose waters had received the tribute of many snows. Below
Kömür Khân it enters a narrow gorge where the hills fall sheer into the
water, and above the khân, carved upon a slab of rock, a Vannic
inscription bears witness to the high antiquity of the road.[215] The
ferry is a couple of hours further up stream, but we reached it late in
the afternoon and were too weary to cross that night. We pitched our
tents on the bank--it was our last Euphrates camp--opposite the village
and great mound of Iz Oglu.
The next day’s ride took us over hill and dale to Malaṭiyah.[216] The
road was planted with mulberry-trees that dropped their ripe fruit at
our feet; the swelling slopes were deep in corn, and water-loving
poplars stood in the meadows at the valley bottoms--I do not think that
we broke the record of travel upon this stage: there were too many
temptations urging us to loiter. Modern Malaṭiyah occupies the site of
Azbuzu, a village which was once the summer quarters of the parent city.
In 1838, during the war between Turkey and Egypt, Azbuzu became the
head-quarters of the Turkish general, Ḥâfiẓ Pasha. Old Malaṭiyah, which
is situated about two hours to the north-west, was at that time in great
part destroyed for the enlarging of Azbuzu, and has since lain deserted
and almost uninhabited. Moltke, who joined the Turkish army in 1838 and
remained with it for a year, describes the wonderful luxuriance of the
gardens of Azbuzu in his enchanting volume of letters, the most
delightful book that has ever been written about Turkey, with the sole
exception of _Eothen_. The gardens are no less exquisite now than they
were in his time, and as we rode down the hill-side the houses were
scarcely to be seen through their screen of fruit-trees. Even upon a
nearer view the walnuts and mulberries are far more striking than the
buildings of Malaṭiyah, which are constructed, as Moltke says, out of
exactly the same material as that with which the swallows make their
nests. We camped in the midst of poppy-fields by one of the many streams
for which Malaṭiyah is famous, and I spent the afternoon exploring the
town, but could find nothing of interest in it, except some Hittite
reliefs which had been brought from Arslân Tepeh.[217] I had already
determined to visit old Malaṭiyah, and the sight of these stones sent me
round by the mound from which they had come. We rode for half-an-hour
through gardens to Ordasu, itself buried in gardens, and thence to a
ruined monastery, a quarter of an hour up the hill-side. A small chapel
has been patched together in the north aisle of the original church.
Slabs carved with Latin crosses, or
[Illustration: FIG. 214.--MALAṬIYAH ESKISHEHR.]
[Illustration: FIG. 215.--VALLEY OF THE TOKHMA SU.]
[Illustration: FIG. 216.--TOMB AT OZAN.]
with the Greek cross encircled by a victor’s wreath, lay about among the
ruins or were built into the walls, and upon the piers of the old nave
the capitals were roughly carved with acanthus. None of this work seemed
to me to be earlier than the eighth or ninth centuries, but I saw in the
grass-grown court finely-moulded column bases which were of earlier
date. They may have been brought from the city of Melitene, which was
the forerunner of old Malaṭiyah.[218] An hour’s ride from the monastery
stands the big mound of Arslân Tepeh surrounded by gardens and
poppy-fields. Without the evidence of the reliefs it might have been
conjectured to represent a Hittite city. The wide fertile valley in
which it is placed, the backing of hills, the open plain stretched out
beyond it, combine to make Arslân Tepeh one of the typical sites chosen
by the old people, and excavation might prove it to be the mother-city
of the townships, represented by mounds, which were scattered over the
lower ground. From Arslân Tepeh we rode for fifty minutes to Old
Malaṭiyah, which has moved rapidly towards complete decay since it was
deserted seventy years ago (Fig. 214). The walls and bastions are
dropping piecemeal into the poppy-fields that fill the moat; of the
streets little or nothing remains: the ruined mosques and tall minarets
rise out of a sea of silvery poppy flowers. The Ulu Jâmi’ is still used
for prayer, but its door was locked and the key was not to be procured.
I climbed by its carved and half-ruined gateway on to the roof, and
peering through the windows of the dome, saw that the interior was
beautifully decorated with tiles and inscriptions. A rich store of fine
Mohammadan work remains to be studied there.
It was a five hours’ ride across the plain to Elemenjik, where our camp
was pitched.[219] Elemenjik is a great breeding farm, the property of
the late Sultan, who owned most of the pasture lands about Malaṭiyah.
The population were in some distress at the prospect of a change of
masters and the abolition of the privileges attached to a royal estate,
and the government was confronted with a difficult problem with regard
to the disposition of these domains. Few private persons could afford to
pay the full price for the large breeding stables on the Sultan’s farms,
and the properties will lose much of their value when they lose the
military guard that watched over the security of the royal mares. The
solitude that will be a drawback when Elemenjik comes into the market,
was a delightful advantage to our camping-ground, and the people of
Kharpût must have been at their prayers again, for the rain fell in
refreshing torrents and, clearing away, left the broad plain and the
unexplored peaks of the Dersîm mountains shining in the sunset.
Next morning we passed by another of the Sultan’s farms, nestled among
poplar-trees in the midst of carefully hedged fields, and in three hours
we came to Arga, where we called a halt while we changed zaptiehs. I was
well pleased at the delay, for it gave me opportunity to examine some
elementary excavations which had been carried out by the Turkish
government. They had uncovered the foundations of a church with a
tesselated marble pavement, fragments of round columns and moulded bases
of excellent workmanship; that it was indeed a church I took on trust
from the zaptieh, who acted as showman, for the aims of the excavators
had not included the revelation of a plan; but the slabs carved with
crosses bore out the official view.[220] When he had exhibited all that
was to be seen, he handed me over to one of his colleagues, who was to
accompany us to Derendeh, with the parting injunction that he was to
guide me to every ruin in the hills. “This khânum,” he observed, “likes
ruins.”
“Effendim, olour,” replied his interlocutor, “it shall be.”
But it was not. Perhaps there are no ruins where we crossed the Akcheh
Dâgh, or perhaps in the excitement of the road the zaptieh forgot them
as completely as I did. Our path would have done credit to the most
sensational of journeys. It led us over wild and rocky hills and down
into gorges incredibly deep and narrow, and when we stopped to draw
breath at the bottom of one of these breakneck descents, we saw the
track in front of us climbing mercilessly up the opposite precipice. We
came to the bottom of the first valley at 11.45, about an hour from
Arga; Deveh Deresi is its name. At the top of the next ridge the
splendid gorge of the Levandi Chai opened at our feet. With many warning
cries to the baggage animals and much tugging at the taut bridles of our
own mounts (for these passages had to be performed on foot) we reached
the stream at 1.20 near to the Kurdish village of Levandiler. A steep
climb brought us in another hour to the high village of Chatagh; a
quarter of an hour beyond it we topped the pass and rode down by easy
gradients to Levent. Here, surrounded by magnificent rocky hills, we
pitched camp. Our hosts were men of the Kizil Bâsh, a sect whose
head-quarters are in the Dersîm. Their creed, which is much contemned by
the Moslems--and not in words alone--is said to waver between Paganism,
Christianity, Manichæanism and Shî’ism, touched with some memories of
ancient Anatolian cults. I did not attempt to unravel these mysteries
during the evening I spent at Levent, but contented myself with inviting
the headmen of the village to a coffee-party, on which simple human
basis relations of the most cordial nature were established. The night
was sharply cold, and we set out next morning, with numb fingers, to
scramble down into the valley below Levent and up to the opposite ridge,
which we reached in one hour. Above us towered the rocky plateau of the
Ḳal’ah Dâgh, flanked on every side by cliffs, and below lay the wide and
fertile valley of the Tokhma Su (Fig. 215). The caravan pursued its way
westward, but I turned east, by Kurd Keui and Saman, and touched the
river at Ozan, four hours from Levent, where my zaptieh had promised me
a ruin. “Ishté bu,” said the headman of the village, pointing across the
poppy-fields, “here it is;” and he turned away to gather us a dish of
ripe mulberries, while I stood in amazement before the Ionic columns and
carved garlands of a little tomb that might have graced the Appian Way
(Figs. 216 and 217). There are no inscriptions upon it, nor anything to
tell whose bones were laid within the vaulted chamber; I sent a greeting
across the ages to the shade of him who had brought
[Illustration: FIG. 218.--THE GORGE AT DERENDEH.]
[Illustration: FIG. 219.--TOMB NEAR YAZI KEUI.]
[Illustration: FIG. 220.--TOMARZA, CHURCH OF THE PANAGIA FROM
SOUTH-EAST.]
[Illustration: FIG. 221.--TOMARZA, CHURCH OF THE PANAGIA, SETTING OF
DOME.]
into this remote and inaccessible valley the arts of the West, and
journeyed on.
[Illustration: FIG. 217--OZAN, TOMB.]
In four hours’ ride, by an easy path up the right bank of the Tokhma Su,
we reached our camp, pitched near the village of Kötü Ḳal’ah, which
takes its name from a small ruined fort on the rock above it,[221] and
another four hours brought us next morning to Derendeh.[222] The town is
scattered among gardens for close upon an hour’s ride along the valley.
Towards the upper end a ruined castle stands upon a bold promontory of
rock overhanging the stream.[223] A staircase, hewn in the precipice,
gave the defenders access to the water; on the further side the hill
slopes down more gently, and the ruins of a former Derendeh lie about
its foot. We marched three hours further and camped at Yazi Keui, upon
the grassy margin of the stream. The bare valley, with its ribbon of
cultivation along the water’s edge, gave us delightful travelling, but
of archæological interest there was nothing to be found, and when a
native of Yazi Keui brought us information of ruins at some distance
from our path, I engaged him joyfully to conduct us thither on the
following morning. He led us into the hills to the north of the river by
a fairly good road (it is the direct caravan road from Sivâs to
Albistân, and much frequented) and on to a wide pasturage, an hour and a
half from Yazi Keui. The snows of Nurshak Dagh, south-east of Albistân,
were visible from the huts of this alpine yaila. At its northern end we
found a considerable quantity of shapeless ruins, mere heaps of
unsquared stones, and among them three small tombs, half-buried in the
earth (Fig. 219). They varied from 2 to 2·50 m. in length, by 1·20 to
2·20 m. in width, and were built of carefully dressed stones. Each had a
door in one of the short sides, and each had been covered by a stone
vault. In another hour and a half we came down to the Tokhma valley
opposite the village of Tikmin; we passed through Telin and reached the
khân of Görün in two hours more. There we halted to pick up fresh
zaptiehs, and were greeted by the news that the zaptiehs were not ready
and that the caravan had gone on unescorted. I had no mind to be parted
from my tents upon an unknown road, and, abandoning my intention of
visiting a Hittite inscription in the gorge above Görün, I posted after
the muleteers with Jûsef at my heels. The path leaves the valley here
and crosses some high ground, upon which, after an hour’s hard riding,
we caught up the caravan and were ourselves caught up, while we paused
to lunch, by the zaptiehs. After we had passed a large chiflik belonging
to the Sultan, we descended once more into the valley of the Tokhma Su
at Osmândedelî.[224] We pitched camp above the village in a flowery
meadow, through which hurried the Tokhma Su, a tiny flashing brook. On a
rocky point above us were the ruins of a fort with a Greek cross in a
wreath cut upon the fallen lintel of its door.
We had now before us the roughest stage of our journey, for we had
reached the hills that part the waters tributary to the Euphrates, from
those that are tributary to the Saiḥûnthe Persian Gulf from the
Mediterranean. I cannot recommend the way we took across them, except
for the beauty of the high and desolate pass.[225] As soon as we had
climbed out of the valley of Osmândedelî we found ourselves on a wide
upland, swept by cold airs and ringed about with mountains. The wheat
was scarcely up, the grass sodden with newly melted snow, the peaks all
white. In the midst of these fields lay Küpek Euren, a small hamlet near
a mound which was covered with the building stones of an earlier time,
while upon the slopes that closed the western end of the plateau was the
village of Bey Punar. Having passed the latter, we climbed into the
hills by a shallow gorge down which flowed the head-waters of the Tokhma
Su. Our way was decked with flowers. Daphne and androsace, veronica and
dianthus grew among the rocks, and purple primulas edged the channel of
the stream. The gullies were still full of snow. So we came to the water
parting, 2,040 to 2,070 metres above sea-level, according to Kiepert,
and bidding farewell to the last source of the Mesopotamian rivers, rode
down into the basin of the Mediterranean. The long gently-sloping
meadows were rich in grass, but no flocks grazed there, and no summer
villages were to be seen among the juniper-bushes. The lonely beauty of
these alpine pastures, where nature spreads out her fairest bounty, _e
beata si gode_, fell upon us like a benison, and once again I offered up
praise to all mountains. The water-runnels gathered together into a
small clear stream which rippled away from its birthplace in the green
hollows and plunged, we following it, into a pine-clad valley. The path
grew steeper and more rocky as we descended, the valley narrower, until
there was no place left free from pine and berberis and juniper but the
boulder-strewn bed of the river. At length we were able to pull our
horses up an exceedingly steep track through the pine-woods, by which we
emerged on to a grassy hill-side. Here by good fortune we found a party
of Circassians, who were hauling their bullock wagons, heavily loaded
with timber, over ways which we reckoned to be hard going even for our
baggage animals. They directed us to Boran Dereh Keui. Before we had
gone far we rounded a spur and the snowy peaks of Mount Argæus swam into
our ken, set in the midst of the Anatolian plateau.
Boran Dereh Keui is a Muhâjir village, that is to say, it is peopled by
Circassian immigrants from the Caucasus. They have filled the valley of
the Zamantî Su, and though they are not liked by the indigenous
population, their coming has raised very sensibly the level of
civilization. Forty years ago the Zamantî valley was innocent of any
settled habitation; the nomad Avshars drove their flocks up to it in the
summer, sowed scanty crops, and left before the first winter snows. Now
it is all under the plough, and the Circassian villages, with their
osier beds and neat vegetable gardens, are scattered thickly along it.
Nomad life dies out in a cultivated country, and the Avshars are
settling into villages, though their houses are not so well built, nor
their gardens so well kept as those of the Circassians. The chief town
of the district is ’Azîzîyeh. There we changed zaptiehs, and I sat in
the konak while the necessary arrangements were being made and drank
coffee with the officials. Presently there appeared one who was half a
negro and told me his tale in the strong, guttural Arabic of the desert.
He was a native of the Ḥejâz; he had wandered up into this country
before there were any villages in it and had remained as a merchant.
“It is very beautiful here,” said I.
“Yes,” said he, “but the desert is different. I have not seen it for
forty years.” And I understood what was in his heart.
Behind the konak a plentiful spring bursts out from under the cliffs. I
walked up to it and saw men digging up old walls in quest of cut stones.
Fragments of columns and rude mouldings pointed to the former presence
of a church, and perhaps an earlier shrine hallowed, in true Anatolian
fashion, the abundant source.[226] From ’Azîzîyeh we turned our faces
to Mount Argæus and travelled along a well-laid road to Ekrek.[227]
Among the hills at some distance to the right of the road stands the
castle of Maḥmûd Ghâzî, magnificently placed upon a peak. My zaptieh
told me that in spite of its name it was a Christian fortress, for he
had seen crosses carved upon the lintels, and only the distaste for
further excursions that follows upon long stages of mountain travel,
prevented me from going up to it. I have a shrewd suspicion that it must
be the Tsamandos of the Byzantine historians.[228] Ekrek, where we
pitched camp, is built in the bottom of one of the deep valleys which
are typical of the district about Argæus. The lava with which the plain
is covered forms a sharp cliff on either lip of these gorges, and in
places the formation of the volcanic beds is so distinct that the lava
can be seen lying like a solid pavement upon the soil, broken off at the
edges of the valley and scattered down the slopes in huge slabs. Before
I got into camp I turned off to see a small ruined church of no very
great interest, and within the town there are several larger churches,
all remodelled by the Armenian inhabitants.[229] The early Christian
architecture of the eastern side of Cappadocia was unknown to me except
from books, and finding myself in St. Basil’s own country, I seized the
opportunity of visiting some of the buildings which sprang up with the
monastic impulse which he implanted. Instead of making straight for
Cæsarea I rode next day under the slopes of the Köleteh Dâgh to the
ruins of the Panagia above the village of Köpekli,[230] and so to
Tomarza, where there is one of the finest of the Cappadocian ruins
(Fig. 220). Both these buildings exhibit the Anatolian type of the domed
cruciform, which was already familiar to me, but the decorative details,
the engaged pilasters upon the outer walls, the elaborate mouldings, the
string-courses carved over doors and windows, are not to be found in the
churches that lie further to the west. I sat that night in the Armenian
monastery where I was lodged, and pondered over the artistic tradition
which these things revealed, and the mingling of occidental with
oriental themes which they implied. Not far to the south-east of Tomarza
stands among the hills the famous shrine of Comana, sacred to the
goddess Ma. With its ancient Asiatic cult and its temples constructed or
reconstructed in the Imperial period, Comana was one of the great
meeting-places of the culture of East and West; its buildings must have
exercised a strong influence over the architecture of eastern
Cappadocia, and I determined to seek among its ruins evidences of the
age that had preceded the early Christian.
The Armenian priest, whose guest I was, was eager to relate to me the
anxieties through which he and his congregation had passed during the
last two months. Tomarza lay just beyond the zone of the recent
outbreak, but at Shahr, the village which occupies the site of Comana,
there had been a “masaleh” (an incident), though he did not enter into
particulars as to its character. It was evident that he regarded my
interest in antiquities as a mere cloak wherewith to cover a political
purpose, and since I was not at the pains to undeceive him--if indeed it
had been possible to make my aims clear to him--the announcement of my
intention to visit Comana gave him yet stronger grounds for his
conviction. By all Tomarza I was regarded as an itinerant missionary
collecting evidence with regard to the massacre. The proximity of
missionary schools was attested in varying degrees by the acquirements
of the population. As I walked through
[Illustration: FIG. 222.--TOMARZA, WEST DOOR OF NAVE, CHURCH OF THE
PANAGIA.]
[Illustration: FIG. 223.--SHAHR, DOORWAY OF SMALL TEMPLE.]
[Illustration: FIG. 224.--FATTÛḤ.]
[Illustration: FIG. 225.--ON THE ROAD TO SHAHR.]
the streets I was met by a young man who accosted me in French.
“Vous parlez français?” said he.
“Mais oui,” said I.
“Vous parlez bien?” he continued.
“Très bien,” I answered unblushingly, and he was obliged to take my word
for it, for when I inquired whether he were a native of Tomarza, he
could not understand until I repeated the question in Turkish.
My next interlocutor was a boy who spoke English, which he had learnt,
and learnt well, in an American college where he had taken his degree.
He asked if he might know my name, and when I had obliged him in this
particular, he begged that he might be told my object in coming to
Tomarza. But I, being at the moment too busy with the ruins of the
church to answer so many questions, replied that I had no object, and
reduced him to a discomfited silence. The springs of action are
different in American colleges.
We left Tomarza at ten o’clock and journeyed into the hills by way of
Suvagen, which we reached at 12.40. Almost immediately after we had left
the village, we entered a gorge, and our path climbed up through the
pine-woods to Kokur Ḳayâ, a small yaila near the top of the pass known
as Ḳara Bel. Here we pitched camp at five in the afternoon, close under
the snow-wreaths that clung to the northern side of a rocky chain of
peaks. Until sunset the clear fresh notes of a cuckoo filled the alp,
and all that he had to say was worth hearing; but I wondered whether he
enjoyed the society of his brother the kite, whose thin rippling cry
dropped down from the rocks above him. I did not take my camp over the
pass to Comana, but set out next day with Fattûḥ and a zaptieh and such
simple provisions as might enable us to spend a night away from our
tents if we found it necessary. Before we started I covenanted with the
zaptieh, who was unusually pious, that prayers should be suspended for
the day, the previous day’s journey having been seriously upset by the
occurrence of the ’aṣr (the hour of afternoon prayer), though every one
knows that there is a special dispensation with regard to travellers.
[Illustration: FIG. 226.--SHAHR, TEMPLE-MAUSOLEUM, UPPER AND LOWER
STOREYS.]
The long grassy pass opens on to a confused prospect of desolate
mountains and hardly less deserted valleys; the gnarled and twisted
pine-woods clinging to the rocks, the flowering hawthorn and regiments
of yellow mullein that lined the lower course of the stream, gave to our
road a memorable beauty, and if the going was not so good as might have
been desired, why, we had seen worse. In the midst of these wild
solitudes, five hours from Kokur Ḳayâ, we came upon a ruined shrine. It
was a temple-mausoleum, and in this respect the true forerunner of the
memorial churches of the Anatolian plateau (Fig. 226); nor did the
connection between the Christian and the Pagan work cease here. The
shallow engaged pilasters, broken by a moulding into two storeys, which
are found in the churches, were present in the temple; if the
string-courses did not yet form a continuous band over the window
arches, it was easy to see how obvious the transition to the later type
would be, and the character of the profiles was the same here as in the
churches (Fig. 227). The lower part of the temple contained a vault
filled with loculi; the eastern end of the upper floor was ruined and
overgrown with thick brushwood, but I have no doubt that it could be
disengaged and planned without difficulty. Some clearing away of earth
and shrubs would be required before it would be possible to make out the
nature of a building, indicated by masses of dressed stones and broken
columns, which was placed immediately to the south of the temple, but
the ruins standing above ground were an exceedingly instructive link in
the chain of Cappadocian architecture, and I rode down to Shahr full of
hope. The village lies in the heart of a valley cut out by the Gök Su, a
tributary of the Saiḥûn. Its sheltered fields were covered with corn,
its
[Illustration: FIG. 227.--SHAHR, TEMPLE-MAUSOLEUM.]
[Illustration: FIG. 228.--SHAHR, THE CHURCH ON THE BLUFF.]
[Illustration: FIG. 229.--AVSHAR ENCAMPMENT.]
[Illustration: FIG. 230.--ḲAIṢARÎYEH, THE CITADEL.]
gardens planted with fruit-trees, but the streets and houses were no
less ruined than the temples of the Great Goddess. The hot breath of
massacre had passed down the smiling vale and left Shahr a heap of
ashes. I found the inhabitants huddled together on a bluff where
half-a-dozen of their dwellings had escaped destruction. A young
school-master from the American college of Tarsus told me the story in
my own tongue. He was himself a native of Shahr, and chance had brought
him back to his home shortly before the outbreak at Adana and Tarsus. Of
this disaster, which began upon April 14, the people of Shahr had
received no information until, on April 20, the Kurds, Turks and
Circassians from the neighbouring Moslem villages appeared in arms and
announced that they did not intend to leave a single Christian alive.
The villagers of Shahr had eighty rifles among them. Thus armed they
defended the bluff, on which stand the ruins of the chief shrine of Ma,
for nine days, at the end of which time tardy help arrived from
’Azîzîyeh. They had not lost a life, but they had been powerless to
prevent the destruction of the village in the valley. Every house was
looted and burnt; of the bazaars nothing remained but blackened
foundations; the charred beams of the bridge had fallen into the stream,
and the only wall that yet stood in the low ground was a splendid
fragment of ancient masonry facing the river.
“Why,” said I, gazing upon the ruin heaps that had once been the
school-master’s house, “did they spare the fruit-trees and the corn?”
“They thought that we should be dead before the corn was ripe,” he
answered, “and they meant to reap it for themselves. Also the
fruit-trees they looked on as their own. Besides these we have nothing
left, and we are so much troubled by hunger.”
They were as much troubled by the thought that they could not offer me a
fitting hospitality. The oda (the village guest-chamber) was in ashes,
and the few houses on the bluff were crowded with women and children.
But there was nothing to detain me. The ancient buildings had suffered
with the modern; the inscribed stones and acanthus capitals, relics of
a golden past, which had decked the streets of the bazaar, lay
blackened and half buried among the ruins, and after I had made a brief
survey of the site, I handed over to the school-master the little money
that was in my purse, and turned back across the hills.[231] The dusk
gathered about us as we climbed up to the pass, but the road that we had
followed so gaily in the morning was full of darker shadows than those
of night. “Nature, red in tooth and claw with ravine,” cried out from
riven crag and blasted pine; mountain and valley joined in her chorus,
strophe to antistrophe. Mercilessly she creates and destroys; the fury
of the storm, the sharp blade of the frost, the senseless passions of
mankind, are alike of her ordering.
The ruins of Shahr were the sole evidence which I saw with my own eyes
of the far-reaching havoc wrought by the outbreak at Adana, but before I
reached Konia I had opportunity to judge of its lasting effect. In
Cæsarea trade was paralyzed by the economic annihilation of the rich
province of Cilicia, as well as by the fear of further disturbances. The
massacres had struck terror into the heart of Moslem and of Christian;
they extinguished for a time the new-born hopes of peace, and roused
once more the hatred between creed and creed which the authors of the
constitution had undertaken to allay. Every section of the community
suffered from a destruction of confidence which is even more disastrous
than the destruction of wealth, though the Armenians suffered
incomparably the most. But the fact that they bore a penalty out of
proportion to their fault does not acquit them of blame. They had helped
to bring upon themselves the calamity that overwhelmed them; by wild
oratory they had laid themselves open to the accusations of conspiracy
which were brought against them; they had kindled the flames of discord
by preaching in their churches the obligation of revenge. The criminal
folly of their utterances stirred up vague alarms in the breasts of an
ignorant and fanatical population, and from whatever side came the
incitement to outrage, it came to ears sharpened by anxiety. But it must
be remembered that in several instances catastrophe was averted by the
prompt action of the officials who controlled the threatened districts.
In Cæsarea the Mutesarrif, rather than allow a repetition of the Adana
tragedy, ordered his soldiers to fire upon the Moslem crowd, who
clamoured about the serai for arms on the plea that their lives were in
danger from the Christians, and his uncompromising attitude brought the
town to order; the Ḳâimmaḳâm of Eregli patrolled the streets night after
night during a week of panic; the Mutesarrif of Kozan drove back the
armed bands of Circassians who had marched down from the mountains bent
on slaughter. Wherever it became evident that the government was not on
the side of disorder, disorder was nipped in the bud, and I heard of one
example where a handful of Turkish soldiers held in check many hundreds
of Kurds, and the Christian village which they had assembled to destroy
escaped untouched. I believe that no great massacre has taken place in
Turkey without the encouragement of the central authority, or a
passivity which amounts to connivance on the part of the local
officials; a strong Vâlî backed by an enlightened government would keep
peace in the most fanatical province of the empire.
On our way back to Tomarza we passed a large encampment of Avshars. The
tents of these Turkish nomads are of a pattern which is common to nearly
all the tribes of central Asia, but entirely different from that of the
Arabs (Fig. 229). They are round, with a domed roof of felt supported on
bent withes, and the sides are of plaited rushes over which a woollen
curtain is hung when the nights are cold.[232] We did not sleep a second
night at Tomarza, but marched a couple of hours further upon the road to
Cæsarea, and camped at the village of Mardîn, which lies in a cleft of
the lava beds under the twin peaks of Mount Argæus. Next day we skirted
the flanks of the great volcano, passing by the ruined Sarî Khân and
under the small peak of ’Alî Dâgh, which is (so I was credibly informed
by my zaptieh) nothing but a stray boulder dropped by ’Alî ibn abi Tâlib
when he was engaged in helping the Prophet to pile up the huge mass of
Argæus.[233] Not only the geographical features of the land, but also
the physical and moral qualities of the inhabitants of Cæsarea came
under our consideration as we rode.
“If a serpent bites a man of Ḳaiṣarîyeh,” observed Fattûḥ, “the serpent
dies.”
“Jânum!” exclaimed the zaptieh (who was not a Cæsarean). “My soul! they
can outwit the devil himself. Have you not heard the tale?”
“I have not heard,” said Fattûḥ.
“This it is,” said the zaptieh. “Upon a day the devil came to
Ḳaiṣarîyeh. ‘Khush geldi,’ said the people, ‘a fair welcome,’ and they
showed him the streets and the bazaars of the city, the mosques and the
khâns, all of them. When he was hungry they set food before him till he
was well satisfied, but when he rose to depart, he looked for his cloak
and belt and they were gone. The devil is not safe from the thieves of
Ḳaiṣarîyeh.”
“God made them rogues,” said Fattûḥ.
“What can we do?” observed the zaptieh philosophically. “Dunya bîr,
jânum--the world is all one.”
“Great travelling they make,” continued Fattûḥ. “In every city you meet
them.”
The zaptieh was ready with historic evidence on this head also.
“There was a man,” said he, “who lived some time in Cæsarea, and having
had experience of the people, he found them to be all pigs. Therefore he
resolved to journey to the furthest end of the earth, that he might
escape from them. And he went to Baghdâd, which is a long road.”
“It is long,” admitted Fattûḥ.
“And then he entered the bath and demanded a good ḥammâmjî to knead the
weariness out of his bones. And the owner of the bath called out: ‘Bring
the lame Cæsarean!’ Then said the traveller: ’A Cæsarean here and he
lame!’ and he fled from Baghdâd.”
Fattûḥ is innocent of any sense of humour. “Oh Merciful,” said he
gravely.
I do not know whether it was the effect produced by these
[Illustration: FIG. 231.--MOUNT ARGAEUS FROM NORTH-WEST.]
[Illustration: FIG. 233.--NIGDEH, TOMB OF HAVANDA.]
[Illustration: FIG. 234.--NIGDEH, TOMB OF HAVANDA, DETAIL OF WINDOW.]
tales which prevented me from lodging in Ḳaiṣarîyeh, or whether the
prospect of two days spent in the society of people of my own speech and
civilization would not have proved too strong a temptation, even if the
Cæsareans had shone with every virtue; at any rate I went no further
than Talas, and there remained as a guest in the hospital of the
American missionaries. And if I saw little of the famous city of
Cæsarea, I passed many hours in the hospital garden at the feet of men
and women whose words were instinct with a wise tolerance and weighted
by a profound experience of every aspect of Oriental life.
Ḳaiṣarîyeh was the end of the caravan journey. In two days we had sold
our horses (“One for us to sell and one for them to buy,” said Fattûḥ),
and packed our belongings into the carts which were to take us to the
railway at Ereglî. I rode down from Talas to conclude these arrangements
and to visit the citadel which stands on Justinian’s foundations. The
interior is now packed with narrow streets, the houses being built
partly of ancient materials (Fig. 230). The fragments of columns and the
weather-worn capitals which are imbedded in the walls of the houses were
derived either from the early Christian town which occupied the site of
modern Ḳaiṣarîyeh, or from ancient Cæsarea, which lay upon the lower
slopes of Mount Argæus. A few foundations outside the limits of the
present town are all that remain of the churches that adorned the
greatest ecclesiastical centre of the Anatolian plateau, the birthplace
of St. Basil, but the memory of the Seljuk conquerors, who gave it a
fresh glory during the Middle Ages, is still preserved in many a
decaying mosque and school.
We set out from Ḳaiṣarîyeh a diminished party, Ḥâjj ’Amr and Selîm
having found work with a caravan of muleteers and returned with them
across the mountains to Aleppo. The first day’s drive took us round the
foot of Argæus to Yeni Khân, a solitary inn, not marked in Kiepert,
which lies two hours to the north of Ḳaraḥiṣâr. The mighty buttresses of
Argæus, rising out of the immense flats of the Anatolian plateau, are as
imposing as the flanks of Etna rising from the
[Illustration: FIG. 232.--TOMB OF HAVANDA.]
sea, and its height, over 13,000 feet, is scarcely less from base to
summit than that of the Sicilian volcano.[234] The second day brought us
to a khân by the roadside, half-an-hour from the village of Andaval;
upon the following morning we reached, after three-quarters of an hour’s
drive, the church of Constantine, of which the foundation is attributed
by legend to the Empress Helena,[235] and in two hours more we came to
Nigdeh, where I halted for a few hours to see the Seljuk mosques and
tombs for which the town is famed. Of these the most beautiful is the
so-called mausoleum of Havanda, the wife of ’Ala ed Din.[236] It is in
ground plan an octagon, but above the windows the number of faces is
doubled, the additional angles being built over projecting brackets,
finely worked with stalactite ornaments (Figs. 232 and 233). The
spandrils above the windows are decorated with pairs of sphinxes (Fig.
234), and the door is framed in a delicate tracery of lace-like
patterns. Beyond Bor we came into a well-known country dominated by the
twin peaks of Ḥassan Dâgh, the Lesser Argæus, which I greeted with a
respect mingled with the familiarity born of an intimate acquaintance
with its rocks. Three hours from Nigdeh we reached Emîr Chiflik, where
there is a khân unnamed by Kiepert, and next morning we drove into
Bulgurlû, the present terminus of the Baghdâd railway. But the art of
modern travel accords ill with the habits of the East; the baggage
wagon missed the daily train and we were obliged to wait for it at
Ereglî.
“Your Excellency does not wish to see the pictures of the Benî Hît?”
said Fattûḥ suspiciously as we stepped out upon the platform. We had
never before passed through Ereglî without visiting the great Hittite
relief in the gorge of Ivrîz. But I reassured him: we had seen enough.
One more expedition lay, however, between us and Konia. It was to be
accomplished in light order; indeed, we might have ridden up to the Ḳara
Dâgh without possessions, for there was no man in all the mountain who
would not have been proud to offer us a lodging. Fattûḥ and I shone
there with a reflected glory that radiated from the Chelabî, whose fame
is not confined to the Ḳara Dâgh, though few perhaps of his colleagues
in the Scottish Academe which he adorns would recognize him under his
Anatolian title. Had we not spent weeks under his direction in grubbing
among old stones, to the delight and profit of all beholders? Had we not
consumed innumerable hares and partridges at twopence a head, and
offered a sure market for yaourt and eggs? And when the regretted hour
of departure arrived, what store of empty tins and battered cooking pots
was left behind to keep our memory green! Our renown extended even to
Ḳaramân, where we alighted from the train on the following evening. The
khânjî was a trusted friend, the shopkeepers pressed gifts of rose jam
upon us, and when the hiring of horses presented a difficulty, I had
only to step out into the streets and explain our needs to the first
acquaintance whom I met. He happened to be a ḥammâl (a porter) who had
done a couple of days’ work for us in the Ḳara Dâgh, and he was intimate
with an arabajî (a carriage driver), who would without doubt place his
horses at our disposal; and if I would come in and drink a cup of coffee
the matter should be settled. I accepted the invitation and was
introduced triumphantly to the ḥammâl’s wife: “This is the maid I told
you about--she who worked with the Chelabî.” On our way back to the khân
we chanced to pass by the exquisite Khâtûnyeh Medresseh,[237] and since
the mullah was standing under the carved gateway, I stopped to bid him a
good-evening. In the tomb chamber that opens out of the cloistered
courtyard I remembered to have seen fragments of a fine inscription of
blue tiles: scarcely a tile was left upon the walls and I knew how they
had vanished, for I had found one of them in the hands of a Konia dealer
and bought it from him. This incident I related to the mullah.
“You did very wrong,” said he. “You have stolen one of our tiles and
carried it away.”
“I did not steal it,” I pleaded weakly. “I found it at Konia.”
“It is all one,” he replied. “You should give it back.”
But as we went out through the cloister I noticed that the columns which
supported it were double columns of a type peculiar to Christian
architecture. They had in all probability been removed from a church.
“Mullah Effendi,” said I, “we are equal. I have taken a tile out of your
Moslem tomb, and you the columns from our Christian church.”
The mullah’s indignation vanished in a flash. “Âferîn!” he cried, with a
jolly laugh. “Bravo!” and he clapped me on the back.
The ḥammâl’s confidence in the arabajî had not been misplaced; we set
out next morning for the Ḳara Dâgh, and every mile was full of
delightful reminiscence. The yellow roses dropped their petals in
familiar fashion over the mountain path, mullein and borage spread their
annual carpet of blue and gold between the ruins, and the peak of
Mahalech, on which I had found a Hittite inscription and a Christian
monastery, stood guardian, as of old, over the green cup wherein had
lain an ancient city. The sturdy Yuruks came striding down from their
high yailas to bid us a joyful coming and a slow departure; many were
the greetings that passed round the camp fire, and it was well that
Fattûḥ had laid in a good provision of coffee at Ḳaramân.
So on a hot morning we struck our last camp and rode down the northern
slopes of the mountain to rejoin the railway by which we were to travel
to Konia. And as we crossed the level plain Fattûḥ observed with
satisfaction:
“The cornland has increased since two years ago. Effendim, there is
twice as much sown ground.”
“Praise God!” said I. “It is the doing of the railway.”
“Wherever it passes the corn springs up,” said Fattûḥ. “Mâshallah! Konia
will become a great city.”
“It has grown in our knowledge,” said I. “But this year we shall find it
much changed, for all our friends have left.”
“Where have they gone?” inquired Fattûḥ.
“Riza Beg is in Salonica,” said I, mentioning one who had eaten out his
heart in exile for ten weary years. “He has gone back to his wife and
child.”
“He would make haste to join them,” assented Fattûḥ.
“And Meḥmet Pasha is in Constantinople. I saw his name among those who
helped to depose the Sultan.”
“He has risen to high honour,” said Fattûḥ. Meḥmet Pasha was another of
the proscribed.
“And Suleimân Effendi is deputy for Konia, where he was so long in
exile. Oh Fattûḥ, we shall be strangers there now that our friends have
gone.”
“Your Excellency will meet them in other cities,” said Fattûḥ. “And they
will be free men.”
INDEX
Abbâsid Sâmarrâ, 242
Abu ’Atiḳ, ruins of, 66, 68, 110
Abu Bekr, tekîyeh of, 10, 15
Abu Dulâf, minaret of, 211, 213, 214;
mosque of, 243 _and note_^{1-46}, 246 _note_^{1}
Abu Ḥanîfah, shrine of, 188
Abu Jîr, ruins of, 123, 124, 125, 127
Abu Kemâl, village of, 77, 81-82, 84, 85
Abu’l Ḥassan, tell of, 81, 111, 112-13
Abu Sa’îd, 63, 65, 101, 110, 111
Abu Tuṭah, 61
Aburas (Khâbûr), the, 109
Adana, massacre of Christians at, 251, 252, 302-3, 331-32, 349
’Aḍêm, the, 204 _and note_^{5}
Aeipolis (Hît), 110, 111, 114
Afâḍleh, the, 53
Ager Romanorum, the, 307
’Ain el ’Aṣfûrîyeh, 124
’Ain el ’Awâsil, 124
’Ain et Tamr, oasis of, 135, 139;
history, 156, 157
’Ain Nakhîleh, village of, 26
’Ain Tâb, 32
’Ain Tell, Spring of, 9
’Ain Za’zu’, spring at, 118-19, 122
’Aiwir, ruin of, 118
Ajmîyeh, 89, 90
Akcheh Dâgh, the, 339 _and note_^{1}
Akhaya Kala, island of, 99
Ala Klisse, decoration in, 155
Albistân, 342
Aleppo, saddlers of, 1-3;
politics and religion, 3-8;
municipal income, 8-9;
works of Seif ed Dauleh, 9, 11-12;
Christians of, 9-10;
antiquity of, 10-11;
the Jâmi’ el Ḥelâwîyeh, 11;
mosque of Firdaus, 12;
the Jâmi’ esh Shaibîyeh, 12;
shrine of Ḥussein, 12-13;
architecture, 13-14;
the Bîmâristân El Malik eẓ Ẓâhir, 14;
the citadel, 15-16;
the road to Baghdâd, 126;
gateway of the citadel, the serpent motive, 15, 190;
news of massacre, 317;
distances from, 334, 335
Alexandretta, port of, 334, 335
’Alî Dâgh, 353
’Alḳâmî, the, 164 _note_^{1}
Alḳôsh, 274, 281, 282
Allan, 111, 112
Alûs, 101
Al’ Uzz (Kiepert), 101
Amadîyeh, 288
Amârah, 184, 194
’Amej, castle of, 86, 121
’Amr, mosque of, Cairo, 56 _note_^{2}
’Amrḳan, 262
’Anâb, 44, 47
’Ânah, 85, 87, 88, 89, 113;
the road to, 92-93;
the castle and minaret, 94-96;
history, 96-98
Anatho (’Anah), 92, 109, 111, 114
Andaval, village of, 356
Anderîn, barracks at, 121 _note_^{2}
Annouca, castle of, 68
Anthemusia, 22
Anti Taurus, 327
Antioch Gate, Aleppo, 11, 15
Antioch on the Orontes, 10
Anu and Adad, temple of, 223
Apamea (Strabo), 204
Arabissus, 339 _note_^{1}
Ararat, mountain of, 289
Araxes, the (the Khâbûr), 73
Arba’, village of, 303 _note_^{1}
Arba’în, shrine of the, Tekrît, 217
Arbela, 221, 228
Arca, _see_ Arga
Arga, 338, 339 _note_^{1-40}
Argæus, Mount, 344, 345, 353-54, 355
Argæus the Lesser, 356
Arghana, the monastery of the Virgin, 328 _and note_^{1}
Arghana Ma’den, Khân of, 328 _note_^{1}, 329, 330 _note_^{1}
Ariarathia, 344 _note_^{1}
Arîmeh, village of, 20
Ark of Noah, 291-95
Arnâs, 317-18
Arslân Tepeh, mound of, 336, 337
Artemis, Temple of (Darius), 111
’Ashiḳ, the, Sâmarrâ, 235 _and note_^{4-39}, 242
Asia Minor, tower tombs, 37
Asikha, 111, 112
’Asîleh, 130, 132
Asshur, mound of, 221, 222;
temple of, 222-24, 229
Assyrian temples, construction, 223
Atargatis, pool of, 21-22
’Atâ’ut, pitch well at, 106
Atesh Gah of Jur, 246 _note_^{2}
Awânâ, _see_ Wâneh
Aywân Kisrâ, the, 181 _note_^{3}
Azakh, 302-3
Azbuzu, 336
’Azîzîyeh, 339 _note_^{1}, 344 _and note_^{1}, 345 _note_^{2}
Bâ’adrî, village of, 269-70, 273;
’Alî Beg, 273-74;
Sa’îd Beg, 274, 280;
the summer festival, 280;
underground village near, 299 _note_^{1}
Bâ’ashikâ, 265
Bâ Dibbeh, 309
Bâ Sebrîna, village of, 303 _and note_^{1-4};
monasteries of, 304-5;
construction in, 315
Bâb, 17, 18 _and note_^{3}
Bâb el Ḥadîd, Aleppo, 15
Bâb el Maḳâm, Aleppo, 14
Bâb el Wuṣṭânî, 191
Bâb eṭ Ṭilism, Baghdâd, 190
Bâb Kinnesrîn, the, Aleppo, 11
Bâbil, mound of, 168, 173
Babylon, 22, 164;
Palace of Nebuchadnezzar, work of excavation, 168-71;
temple of Ishtar and the Ishtar Gate, 171;
the Via Sacra, 171-72;
temple of Marduk, 172;
the theatre, 172-73;
mound of Bâbil, 173;
construction in, 223
Baghdâd, 3, 32, 46, 54;
the railway, 34, 356;
the road to, 94, 160, 167;
tomb of the Sitt Zobeideh, 100;
justice in, stories of Rejef Pasha, 175-77;
story of the cannon, 183, 192-93;
entry by the Ḥilleh road, 184;
the British Residency, 184;
the irrigation system, 185;
the new régime in, 185-87;
the Jews and military service, 187;
Manṣûr’s Round City, 187 _and note_^{1-88};
the Kâẓimein, 188-90, 198;
tomb of Sheikh Ma’rûf, 189-90;
Bâb eṭ Ṭilism, 190-91;
traces of the ancient city, 191;
the Bâb el Wuṣṭânî, 191;
Mustanṣirîyeh College, 191-92;
the Khâṣakî Jâmi’, 192;
Khân Orthma, 192;
the arsenal, 193-94;
mosque and tomb of ’Abdu’l Ḳâdir, 195;
a visit to the Naḳîb, 195-96;
the tekîyeh for pilgrims, 195-96;
Catholics in, 197;
road to Kerkûk, 206;
mosque of Manṣûr, 235 _note_^{2};
stories, 354
Baghdâdî, 102, 114
Baghût, 202
Bahurasîr, 181 _and note_^{2}
Baisampse, 38 _note_^{4}
Balad, village of, 205
Balîjah, mound of, 88
Bâlis, 18, 24 _note_^{2}
Bambyce, 22
Bar Hebræus, tomb of, 266
Barâd, tower tombs of, 38 _note_^{2}
Barbalissos, 24 _note_^{2}
Bardawî, mound of, the fortress, 136-37
Bârtallâ, 265, 267
Basilia, 110, 111, 112
Baṣrah, 95, 160, 163
Bathnæ, 18
Bathnæ in Osrhœne, 23
Baviân, valley of, 271-72;
rock carvings and rock cut chambers, 272 _note_^{1}, 275
Bazaar Euren, 345 _note_^{1}
Beilân Pass, 334
Beit el Khalîfah, Sâmarrâ, 237, 240 _and note_^{1-42}
Belesys, palace of, 18
Belias River, the, 54
Belîkh, the, 54, 61
Belisibiblada, 111, 113
Belḳâ, the, 303
Bergland Tulaba (Kiepert), 61 _and note_^{1}
Berœa, 10; acropolis of, 11
Bersiba (Munbayah), 44, 47
Berwân, island of, 101
Bethauna, 111, 114
Bêtmanîn, 293 _note_^{1}
Bey Punar, 343 _and note_^{1}
Beyrout, 4; vilayet of, 7
Bezabde, 296 _note_^{1}
Billânî, graves of, 52
Bîmâristân of El Malik eẓ Ẓâher, Aleppo, 14
Birejik, bridge at, 22-23;
tower tombs, 37;
distances from, 109
Birs Nimrûd, 173
Bisheh, 202
Biunan, 111, 112
Bombay, justice in, 95
Bonakhe, 111, 114
Bor, 356
Boran Dereh Keui, 343 _note_^{1}, 344
British Museum, Assyrian reliefs, 71;
the Black Obelisk, 223
Bulgurlû, 356
Buseirah, 111, 112;
excavations at, 73-75;
the ruined church, 75-76, 78
Buseyiḥ, Tell of, 79
Bustân, 79, 81
Buzâ’â, 18
Cadesh on the Orontes, 10
Cæciliana, 23, 24
Cæsarea, 302, 329;
caravan road, 335 _note_^{1};
effect of the massacre in, 352-53;
stories of, 354
Cairo, examples of leaf motives, 12 _note_^{2};
mosque of Ibn Ṭûlûn, 58, 246 _and note_^{3}
Calah (Nimrûd), 227, 228;
city of Calah, 229
Callinicum, 54, 111
Cappadocia, 345
Carchemish on the Euphrates, 10, 26, 31;
the northern mound, 33-34
Carduchian Mountains, 300
Chaghullah, 333 _note_
Chalcedon, œcumenical council of, 256
Chalcis, 10
Chaleb (Aleppo), 11
Charcha (Ammianus Marcellinus), 212 _note_^{1}
Chat, 27
Chatagh, 340
Chem Resh, valley of, 270
Cholak Ushagî, 333 _note_^{1}
Cilicia, the outbreak in, 302-3, 323, 331, 352
Circesium, 68, 74, 75, 109, 111, 112
Cloister of the Ark, 292
Comana, shrine of, 346;
inscriptions, 350 _note_^{1}
Constantine, Church of, 356
Constantinople, situation in, 73, 96, 186, 204, 217, 222, 227;
justice in, 162;
the museum, 229;
accession of Muḥammad V, 251-54, 359
Corsote, 82, 84, 111, 113
Ctesiphon, 200, 255;
(construction at), 153 _and note_^{1}, 154, 155, 156, 160, 180;
the road to, 174-75;
foundations, 179 _and note_^{1};
Mohammadan conquest, 180;
the White Palace of Chosroes, 181;
the hall, 240
Cunaxa, battle of, 200 _and note_^{1}
Cyrrhus, the ziareh of Khoros, 37 _note_^{3}
Dadar, 290
Dalanda, 341 _note_^{2}
Damascus, 16, 101;
the post road to, 117, 121
Dandaxina, 339 _note_^{1}
Daphne, 18
Dâr el ’Ammeh, the, 240 _note_^{1}
Dara, 301, 307
Dardes, the, 18
Daurîn, _see_ Dawwarîn
Dauser, Castle of, 50-51
Dawwarîn, the, 78, 79, 80;
junction with the Euphrates, 82
Deheb, valley of the, 17
Dehûk, 283
Deir, mutesarriflik of, 8;
boundary, 65;
the ferry, 70-71;
bazaars, 71;
the Ḳâḍî, 71-72;
passing events, 72-73;
the road to Buseirah, 108
Deir Bar Sauma, 303 _note_^{1}
Deir el ’Amr, 313 _note_^{1}
Deir el Kahf, 121 _note_^{2}
Deir el Khiḍr, 263 _note_^{1}
Deir Mâr Gabriel, 315
Deir Mâr Shim’ûn, 303 _note_^{1}
Deir ’Umar, 315, 316 _note_^{1}
Denshâwî, the incident at, 196
Dereh Gechid Chai, 327 _note_^{1}
Derendeh (Dalanda), 339 _and note_^{1}, 341 _and note_^{2}
Dersîm, the, 338, 340
Deveh Deresi, 340
Devil Worshippers, 269
Diacira, Castle of, 102 _note_^{1}
Dibseh, 18;
the ford at, 47
Diyârbekr, 32, 206, 250, 301, 317, 327 _note_^{1}, 329;
gates of, 13, 324 _and note_^{2};
the Vâlî at, 321;
the situation in, 321-24, 331;
arsenal, 324-25;
the Ulu Jâmi’, 325-26;
language in, 327
Domitian, palace of, on the Palatine, 180
Dujeil, the, 201 _and note_^{1}, 203;
lower course, 202
Dûmat ej Jandal, 156-57
Dûmat el Ḥîrah, 156-57
Dumeir, 118
Dûr, village of, 190 _note_^{2}, 214;
shrine of the Imâm Dûr, 214-16
Dûr ’Arabâyâ, 212 _note_^{1}
Dura, 111, 112, 113
Dura (Isidoris), 113
Dura Nicanoris, 111
Durnakh, 289
Edessa [now Urfah], 23, 24
Egypt, English rule in, 196
Ekrek, 339 _note_^{1}, 345
El ’Awâṣim, province of, 25
El Khiḍr, 263 _note_^{1}
El Malik eẓ Ẓâher, Medresseh of, 12
Elemenjik, the situation in, 338
Emergal, 345 _note_
Emîr Chiflik, 356
Ephesus, council of, 255 _note_^{1}
Ephesus, caravan road to, 335 _note_^{1}
Er Radâf (El ’Asîleh), 131
Ereglî, 353, 355, 357
Eṣ Ṣâliḥîn, mosque of, 13
Eskî Baghdâd, 212 _note_^{4}, 213
Eskî Serûj, 22 _note_^{2}
Eskishehr, 338 _note_^{1}
Eugenius, St., monastery of, 310-12
Euphrates, passages of the, 22-23, 24 _note_^{2}, 27-28, 31-32, 47;
waters of the, 35;
the Jezîreh and the Shâmîyeh, 60-61, 66, 77;
Julian’s march, 62;
the river at Wâdî Mâliḥ, 67;
below Deir, 73-74;
inundations, 79-82;
tribes on the, 81;
islands, 85-86;
the piers of the bridge at ’Ânah, 97;
’Ânah to Hît, 98;
landscape at ’Ânah, 101;
the road from Buseirah to ’Ânah, 108-9;
the division above Museiyib, 164 _and note_^{1};
bridge of boats near Kerbela, 167;
the Murad Su, 335;
tributaries, 342-43
Europus, 24 _note_^{2}, 33, 111
Evler, village of, 296
“Father of Asphalt,” the, 125
Festhaus, the, at Ḳal’at Shergat, 225
Fetḥah gorge, the, 220
Fḥemeh, village of, 99, 100
Finik, 296 _note_^{1}, 301;
castles, 297-98;
rock dwellings, 298-99
Firdaus, mosque of, Aleppo, 12-13
Firûzâbâd, Sassanian Palace of, 153, 156
Galabatha, 110, 111
Ga’rah, 118
Garârah, 183
Ga’rat ej Jemâl, 123, 124
Gelîyeh, village of, 306, 308
Gerik, village of, 290
Geurmuk, 290
Ghazil, the, 293 _note_^{1}
Ghirân (Kiepert), 52
Giddan, 111, 113
Gilead, the road to Moab, 303
Gök Su, the, 348
Göljik, 329, 330 _note_^{1}
Gordian, tomb of, 113
Görün, 339 _note_^{1}, 342 _note_^{1};
khân of, 342
Grê Pahn (Tell ’Arîḍ), 283
Great Zâb, the, 204 _note_^{3}, 228
Günesh, 343
Gurgurri Gate, Ḳal’at Shergat, 224
Ḥadîthah, ruins of, 99, 100 _and note_^{1}, 111, 114, 190
Ḥaleb (Aleppo), 10-11
Ḥalebîyeh, Castle of, 67
Ḥallâweh, ruins at, 47
Ḥammâm ’Alî, sulphur springs of, 230
Ḥandak, 302 _note_^{3}
Ḥaraglah, ruin of, 53-54, 54 _note_^{1}
Ḥarnik, 333 _note_^{1}
Ḥarrân (Carrhæ), 24 _note_^{2}
Ḥasanah, village of, carved relief, 287 _note_^{2}, 290-91, 294
Ḥasanîyeh, _see also_ Zâkhô, 287 _notes_^{1-2}, 293 _note_^{1}
Ḥassan Dâgh, 356
Ḥasua, the khân of, 175
Ḥâtim Ṭâi, Castle of, 306-8
Hatra, Parthian Palace at, 31;
work of Dr. Andrae, 222
Ḥaurân, the, tower tombs, 37
Havanda, mausoleum, 356
Ḥeizil Sû, the, 289, 293 _note_^{1}
Ḥejâz, 344
Heshtân, 293
Hierapolis, _see also_ Manbij, 10, 16, 20, 24;
the pool of Atargatis, 21;
mosque of ’Abdu’l Ḥamîd, 21-22;
history, 23, 24;
shrine of Sheikh ’Aḳil, 25-26
Ḥilleh, 164, 167
Hindîyeh swamp, the, 164-65;
canal, 164 _note_^{1};
the Nahr Hindîyeh, 164 _and note_^{1}
Ḥîrah castle, 141, 142 _and note_^{1}, 160
Ḥiṣn Keif, rock-hewn chambers, 299 _note_^{1}
Hît, the town of, 102, 104, 111, 114, 201 _note_^{1};
pitch wells, 104-6;
the minaret, 108;
distances from, 110;
women of, 116-17
Ḥöjneh, village of, 78
Ḥussein, mosque of, Aleppo, 12-13;
tomb of, Kerbela, 160
Ḥuweiṣilât, ruins of, 239, 242
Ibn Ḥanbal, tomb of, 188
Ibn Ṭûlûn, mosque of, Cairo, 58
Idicara (Ptolemy), 102 _note_^{1}, 111
Imâm Dûr, shrine of, 214-16
Imâm Yaḥyâ, tomb of, 259, 260
Irmez, 303 _note_^{1}
Irzî, 111, 113, 114;
ruins of, 49 _note_^{2}, 83-84;
bluff of, 82, 85
Is, 104 _note_^{1}, 111
Ishtar Gate, Babylon, 171
Island, 111, 114
Ispileh, 353 _note_^{2}
Ivrîz, gorge of, 357
Iz Oglu, mound of, 333 _note_^{1}, 335 _and note_^{2}
Izala, Mount, 301 _and note_^{1};
monastery of Mâr Augen, 310-17
Izannesopolis, 102 _note_^{1}, 110, 111, 114
Jabarîyeh, ruins of, 88, 111, 113
Ja’deh, hamlet of, 30
Jâmi’el Ḥelâwîyeh, the, Aleppo, 11
Jâmi’el Ḳaṣr, Baghdâd, 191 _note_^{2}
Jâmi’el Maḳâmât, Aleppo, 14
Jâmi’ esh Shaibîyeh, the, Aleppo, 12
Jebel ’Abdu’l ’Aziz, 62
Jebel Alḳôsh, 282-83
Jebel Beiḍâ, 62
Jebel Dehûk, 282-83
Jebel el Abyaḍ, ruined fortress, 285
Jebel el Ḥamrîn, the, 220-21, 243
Jebel el Ḥaṣṣ, 17-18
Jebel Ḥaurân, 131
Jebel Jûdî, 289
Jebel Maḳlûb, 266, 268
Jebel Munâkhir, 61, 62
Jebel Munkhar esh Sharḳî, 61
Jebel Muzâhir, the, 119
Jebel Sim’un, 273, 280
Jebel Sinjâr, the, 87, 275, 280, 301, 308
Jebel ’Uḳala, 61
Jedeideh, 63
Jelîb esh Sheikh, 124
Jemmah, mounds of, 79, 111, 112
Jerâblus, 24 _note_^{2}, 32, 33 _and note_^{1}
Jernîyeh, hill of, 43
Jerusalem, tomb of Absalom, 37 _note_^{5};
construction in, 223
Jezarân, village of, 270
Jezîreh, the, 295, 296 _note_^{1}, 297
Jezîret ibn ’Umar, 287 _note_^{2}, 296-97
Jibbeh, island of, 101
Jisr Manbij, 24 _note_^{2}
Jôf in Nejd, 144
Jonah, tombs of, 262
Jûdî Dâgh, ridge of, 289, 291 _note_^{1}, 293
Jûdî, Mount, the Cloister of the Ark, 291-95
Ḳâ’at ed Deleim, 85
Kadi Keui, 328 _note_^{1}
Ḳâdisîyah, battlefield of, 160, 201 _note_^{1}, 204 _note_^{5},
207 _note_^{1};
ruins of, 207-8, 210
Kahf ’Alî, 202
Kahf ez Zaḳḳ [Sheikh Ḥamri], 51-52
Ḳâim, town of, 208, 210;
tower of, 239
Ḳaindîjeh, 343 _note_^{1}
Ḳaiṣarîyeh, 334, 354, 355
Ḳal’ah Dâgh, plateau of the, 340
Ḳal’at Abu Rayâsh, 219 _note_^{1}
Ḳal’at Bulâk (Retâjah), 88, 111, 113-14
Ḳal’at ej Jedîd, pass at, 308-309, 309 _note_^{1}
Ḳal’at en Nejm, 23, 24 _note_^{2}, 39
Ḳal’at Ḥâtim Ṭâi, 309 _and note_^{1}
Ḳal’at Ja’bar, 44, 48, 51;
towers of, 49 _and notes_-50
Ḳal’at Khubbâz, 107
Ḳal’at Lûlû, Môṣul, 260
Ḳal’at Râfiḍah, 88
Ḳal’at Shergât, work of Dr. Andrae, 221, 222;
temple of Asshur, 222-23;
the fortifications, 224-26
Kalender Khân, 329
Kalender Koprüsi, 328 _note_^{1}
Kalka, 308
Ḳara Bel, the, 347, 350 _note_^{1}
Ḳara Dâgh, 357-58
Ḳara Kazâk, mound of, at Tell Aḥmar, 30
Ḳara Khân Chai, 327 _note_^{1}
Ḳarâbileh, island of, 92, 111, 114
Ḳaraḥiṣâr, 355
Ḳaramân, 357, 358
Ḳarkh, mound of, 212 _note_^{1}, 323
Ḳaraḳôsh, inscriptions, 264 _note_^{1};
the seven churches, 264;
Mâr Shim’ûn, 264-65;
churches of, 279
Ḳarḳîsîyâ (Circesium), 68, 74
Karnak, inscriptions at, 104 _note_^{1}
Kars, 63
Kâs i Fir’aun at Sâmarrâ, 235
Ḳâsim Khân, 330 _note_^{1}
Ḳaṣr ’Amej, 100, 118
Ḳaṣr el Abyaḍ, 121 _note_^{2}
Ḳaṣr et Tâj, Baghdâd, 191 _note_^{2}
Ḳaṣr Ghellî, rock carvings, 298
Ḳaṣr-i-Shîrîn, 156
Ḳaṣr Khubbâz, 118
Ḳasṭal, 121 _note_^{2}
Ḳâṭûl, 207 _and note_^{2}, 209
Ḳâṭûl-Nahrawân, the, 205 _note_^{5}
Kavak, _see_ Köpekli
Kayden Keui, 328 _note_^{1}
Ḳâyim, 85
Kayyik Debû, hamlet of, 35
Kâzimein, Shi’ah sanctuary, Baghdâd, 188-90, 194
Ḳdirân, 52
Kebeisah, 106, 107, 116-17, 117 _note_^{1}, 122;
sulphur springs, 118
Kefr Zeh, 315, 317-18
Keghvank, 330 _and note_^{1}
Kerbelâ, 100;
the road, 140, 206;
distances from, 142;
the caravan at, 143-44;
impressions, 159-60;
tomb of Ḥussein, 160;
shops, 161;
appointment of officials, 161-62;
the mutesarrif, 162;
the tower, 162;
the Hindîyeh swamp, 164-66;
pilgrims to, 166-67
Kerkûk, 251
Kernaz, 313 _note_^{1}
Kevak Euren, 342 _note_^{1}
Kezerik, inscriptions, 330
Khâbûr, the, 73, 74, 76, 112;
the ferry, 77, 78 _note_^{1};
tribes of the, 81;
valley of, 286, 287 _and note_^{2}, 288;
the bridge above Zâkhô, 289
Khabura, 111
Khâkh, ruins of, 317-19;
the Church of the Virgin, 319-20;
the robbery at, 320-22
Khân, 328 _note_^{1}
Khân, the (Kiepert), 65
Khân Keui, 333 _and note_^{1}
Khân el Wazîr, Aleppo, 13
Khân es Sabûn, Aleppo, 13
Khân eṭ Ṭarniyeh (Kiepert), 199 _note_^{1}
Khân ez Zebîb, 121 _note_^{3}
Khân Khernîna, 192 _note_^{2}, 219 _and note_^{2}
Khân Orthma, Baghdâd, 192
Khânûḥah, town of, 68
Kharabah ’Aleh, 313 _note_^{1}, 314
Khâranî, 121 _note_^{3}
Kharpût, 327;
plain of, 329-30;
the Castle, 330-31;
the panic in, 331-33
Khâṣakî Jâmi, Baghdâd, 192
Khâtûnyeh, 338 _note_^{1}
Khâtûnyeh Medresseh, the, 357-58
Khawarnaḳ, 141;
Castle of, 142, 160
Khawîjeh, the, 85, 205
Kheiḍir, _see_ Ukheiḍir
Kherâb, 135
Khirbet ed Dukhîyeh, 63
Khirbet Hadâwî, 63
Khmeiḍah, ruins of, 65, 66, 110, 111, 112
Khorsabâd, temple of Sargon, 223
Khubana, 110, 111
Khubbâz, Castle of, 86, 117-21, 127, 129
Ḳiḳân, mosque of, Aleppo, 11
Killîz, 32, 289
Kinik, 308
Kinnesrîn, _see_ Chalcis
Kirk Khân, massacre of, 334-35
Ḳizil Khân, 345 _note_^{1}
Kloster Ruine (Kiepert), 32
Kochannes, 255
Kôdakh, village of, 302 _note_^{3}
Kokur Ḳayâ, 347, 348
Koleh, 285
Kôleteh Dâgh, the, 345
Kolosina (Ptolemy), 99 _note_^{1}
Kömür Khân, 333 _note_^{1}, 335
Konia, 3, 352, 359
Köpekli, ruins of the Panagia, 345 _and note_^{4-46}
Kötü Ḳal’ah, village of, 341 _and note_^{1}
Kozan, massacre, 353
Ḳubbeh, village of, 30, 35
Ḳubbet es Ṣlebîyeh, 239