the highway, extending to about an hour's walking distance from the
city, and then losing itself in the deep gorge of a valley. My Armenian
companion, Hadjator, reminded me that in getting near the valley we
should soon lose sight of the sea. I stopped on the height, for a few
moments, to give a farewell look to it. However stormy and rough at
times, it was just then lying as calm and peaceful before my eyes as the
water of a lake. I felt at this moment but faint forebodings of the
trials and dangers lying in wait for me; but faint as they were, they
sufficed, as I gazed upon the dark, endlessly-stretching waves of the
Euxine, to affect me most deeply. There, at my feet, was Trebizond; I
could clearly discern the whole harbour, and as I caught sight of the
Austrian ship in which I had come, the flag on the masthead beckoning a
farewell to me, a feeling of deep melancholy took possession of my whole
being. For six mortal hours on that day I continued, without
interruption, my march on horseback. They were a miserable six hours.
Although nature was very charming and beautiful all around me, it did
not prevent me from feeling extreme weariness in all my limbs. To travel
on horseback is in the beginning a rather painful thing, but it is
infinitely more so if one is obliged to hire the horse one rides from a
surudji. These men employ their animals, chiefly, in the transportation
of luggage, and the horses have, in consequence, such a jostling gait
that their riders must ache all over upon descending, and they are so
indolent, besides, that one must make good use of one's hands and feet
to make them move on. Near Köpri I put up at a _khan_ (an inn). I had to
sleep, nomad fashion, on the ground, but, owing to my excessive fatigue,
sleep would not come to my eyes. The place was swarming with horses and
mule-drivers, of whom some would scrub their animals, or cook, others
sing, and others again chat. It seemed to me as if all this din had
been especially got up to disturb my slumbers. I rose into a sitting
posture, where I had been lying, and sadly reflected upon the fatigues
to come.
After a short nap, I was called by my Armenian. "Bey Effendi," he said,
"I think you must feel rested from the fatigues of yesterday's march.
Our road to-day will be harder; you will not be able to sit comfortably
in the saddle in the mountains of Trebizond, and you will therefore do
better to walk up, leisurely, to the top, before it gets warmer." I left
my couch at once and followed the steep mountain path. I could not help
wondering at the mules' toiling up the steep height and reaching the
top, with their heavy loads, whilst, to me, on foot, without any
incumbrance, the ascent was most painful. On our way we met a long line
of overloaded mules, descending amidst the wild screams of their Persian
drivers. It is a rare sight to watch them advancing, with the utmost
care, without any accident, upon the slippery path cut into the rock,
scarcely two spans wide, flanked by the bottomless abyss. And yet it is
a very unusual thing for a mule to be precipitated into the abyss
yawning along the path. If ever it happens it is in winter. The danger
is greatest when two caravans happen to meet face to face. In order to
avoid such an encounter, big bells, heard at a great distance, are used
by them, warning the caravans to keep out of each other's way.
The continuously steep ascent lasted over four hours. There is hardly a
worse road in all Asia; yet this is the only commercial road which
connects Armenia with Persia, nay Central Asia with the West. During the
summer hundreds of thousands of these animals are traversing this route,
going and coming, loaded with the products of Asia and the manufactures
of Europe.
I was indebted to my title of Effendi for quieter sleeping quarters at
the tolerably crowded Khan at our next station. Before retiring to rest
I took the advice of Hadjator, and bathed in salt water those parts of
my body which were sore with my riding exertions; the sensation was at
first a stinging one, but sitting in the saddle next day was not quite
so uncomfortable as before.
Upon reaching the third station, on the 23rd of May, two Armenians
joined me. One of them began to speak first French, and then English
with me. He was a merchant from Tebriz, who had spent several years in
England on matters of business, and was now returning to his native
town. We became quite intimate after a while, and his society was all
the more agreeable to me as he knew very well the route on which we were
to travel together for a considerable time. Three days after that, upon
leaving the Khoshab Bunar mountains and descending, we met a Shiraz
caravan on our way. I was struck by the shape of the tall hats of the
men running into a point. They were gaily stepping alongside of their
mules, loaded with the produce of their native country, and I was
delighted to hear the songs of Hafiz sung by the leader of the caravan,
the youths who were following him joining in chorus every now and then.
These were the first Iranian (Persian) words which I heard from the
natives themselves. I wished to enter into a conversation with them, but
they did not deign to reply. Singing they toiled uphill on the rough
road, because, as I was afterwards told by my guide, the animals march
more cheerfully at the sound of singing.
V.
FROM ERZERUM TO THE PERSIAN FRONTIER.
I arrived in Erzerum on the 28th of May. In entering this town I was, at
once, aware that I was now in the interior of Asia. The houses are here
already built in the Eastern fashion; the walls, built of stone or mud,
are clumsy and running irregularly in a zigzag line, with windows
looking out into the yard rather than the street; secret entrances, and
other like things characteristic of Eastern houses.
At Erzerum I was staying at the house of the Circassian, Hussein Daim
Pasha, the commanding officer of the place, with whom I had been already
acquainted at Constantinople. I had instructed his son in French, and in
European sciences. When I told him of my Bokhara plan he was very much
surprised, and at first tried to dissuade me from it, but promised me,
afterwards, to furnish me with letters of recommendation to some of the
prominent Sheikhs of the Turkestan capital. I met amongst the other
governmental officers, at Erzerum, some whom I had known in Stambul,
and I called upon them at their offices. I shall never forget the
appearance of the offices of the Turkish government. The entrance was
nearly barricaded by a promiscuous heap of shoes, sticks, weapons and a
troop of dogs lying everywhere about. The interior corresponded with the
outside. On a couple of dirty, ragged divans were seated several
officials; in one part of the room a group of women were quarrelling, in
another a humorous individual was entertaining the officers, and in
another, again, some one gave vent to his complaints, interspersed with
oaths.
Evidences of the poverty of the inhabitants of Erzerum meet the eye in
whatever direction one may look. The dirt, the squalor and the
underground dwellings are unbearable. The smell of their food, which
they cook by the fire made of a fuel called _tezek_ (cattle dung), is
especially loathsome.
I was almost glad when I left this place on the 29th of May, about dusk,
in company of my Armenian fellow-traveller. It might have been about
midnight when we heard the loud barking of dogs, an indication of the
propinquity of human habitations. I rode ahead, over ditches and bushes,
towards the lights twinkling from the scattered houses. Everybody in the
place was sunk in sleep, and it was only owing to my Effendi way of
talking that I succeeded in procuring, for myself and my companion,
quarters for the night. The name of the village was Kurudjuk, and the
house where we happened to obtain accommodation belonged to the Kizil or
chieftain of the place. The dwellings hereabouts consist, usually, of
only one room, in which both men and domestic animals live promiscuously
together. The cattle are tied on to the crib running along two sides of
the spacious room, and the human beings occupy the _saku_, a species of
elevated platform. It may be justly said that people, here, are living
in stables. One may imagine what an agreeable thing it is to pass the
night in the society of from forty to fifty buffaloes, and a couple of
calves and a horse. Add to it that there is not a solitary window to
this barn. More squalid and miserable dwellings there cannot perhaps be
met with in the whole of Asia, than those in the environs of Erzerum.
One may then appreciate the feeling of pleasure with which the traveller
exchanges the foul air of his night quarters for the sweet morning air
of the spring.
After a ride of nearly four hours we reached _Hassankale_, a place
situated on a promontory. It is fortified against the attacks of the
marauding Kurds, living in the country. They hardly dare, it is true, to
make a raid upon the villages nowadays, but smaller caravans and the
solitary traveller are still exposed to the fury of their marauding
propensities. For the sake of safety we had with us two _kavasses_
(mounted policemen). I myself had, indeed, nothing to fear from attack,
but, out of regard for my Armenian companions, who had about them
valuable trinkets which they had brought with them from Europe, I made
use, on their behalf, of the firman given to me, as an Effendi, by the
governor of Erzerum.
Upon crossing the Araxes river, we arrived ere long at the frontier of
Kurdistan proper, whose inhabitants had already enjoyed, in the age of
Herodotus, the unenviable reputation of being thieves and robbers of the
worst kind. We noticed on our march a lofty rock--and one of our guides
told us that the renowned Korouglu had lived on the top of it. He is the
most celebrated hero-adventurer of Mohammedan popular poetry; his
miraculous feats are told in song, at feasts and on the battlefield,
alike by the Turks on the Oxus, the Anatolians near the Mediterranean,
and the Roumelians by the waves of the Danube.
As we were passing through a narrow mountain defile my Armenian
companions set to loading their guns and pistols, saying: "We shall meet
henceforth no more Osmanlis; only Kurds and Armenians are living here."
Letters of recommendation and polite requests have no effect upon the
Kurds; if you wish to keep them in awe you must meet them well armed.
At a Kurdistan village, called _Eshek-Eliasz_, we hired two men to
accompany us, and we started on our way at the dawn of morning. It was a
murky gloomy morning, the tops of the distant mountains were clouded by
the fog. We sent the loaded animals ahead, and sat down at the foot of
the mountain to make our tea. In the damp and chilly hours of the early
dawn tea is a most refreshing beverage, and after having taken a cup or
two we remounted our horses in order to overtake our beasts of burden.
We overtook them after half an hour's trot, and saw them peaceably
advancing along the ridge of the mountain. The rays of the sun had now
scattered the fog, and looking about me, admiring the beautiful mountain
scenery, I happened to observe that one of our Kurdistan followers was
glancing now at the luggage-carriers, now at his companion, betraying
great uneasiness. "What is it, what is it?" I asked. Instead of any
reply he merely pointed in the direction where the servants of my
Armenian companions and a couple of mule drivers were marching on. We
looked and saw armed Kurds, on horseback and on foot, rushing in upon us
from the right and the left, making straight for the animals laden with
precious and valuable goods. "Robbers! Robbers!" shouted the Armenian
Karabegoff, who had been in Europe. Quickly seizing his revolver, he
rushed forward, followed by his friend and myself, but, although I
urged on my horse in every conceivable manner, I was the third and last
to arrive upon the scene of action. I still wore, at that time, a brass
plate on my fez, in token of my dignity, as an Effendi. The Kurds had
scarcely caught sight of me, when they suddenly stopped within a few
steps from the badly frightened group of people. "What do you want
here?" I asked them in a voice of thunder. An old, one-eyed man, armed
with a shield, lance, rifle and sword, now stepped forward, and said:
"Bey Effendi, our oxen have strayed from us, and we have been looking
for them all night. Hast thou not met with them somewhere on thy way?"
"And is it customary to look for oxen, armed as thou art?" said I.
"Shame on thee! Has thy beard turned grey to be soiled by thieving and
robbery? If I did not regard thy old age I should take thee at once
before the Kaimakam of Bayazid, thou insolent waylayer!"
My words and the explanations of my Kurd followers caused the band of
marauders, consisting of eight men, very soon to understand with whom
they had to deal. They are not much afraid of Armenians and Persians as
a usual thing, but they do not deem it advisable to attack an officer of
the Sultan. I still added a few threats to my former severe reprimands,
and we had soon the satisfaction of seeing the robbers disband and quit
us. We too continued our march, during which the Armenians never tired
of expressing their gratitude to me. If it had not been for me, they
said, all the valuables brought with them from London would have fallen
into the hands of the Kurds. I especially remarked, during the affray,
the dismay and pallor of several Persian merchants who had joined us the
day before. These men brought me, as we were about to retire to rest,
various sweetmeats, as an acknowledgment of my services. I could not
help admitting that, in the eyes of the Kurds, the dignity of an Effendi
carried considerable weight.
We came in the evening to a village called _Mollah Suleiman_, inhabited,
chiefly, by Armenians. At the sight of my Kurdistan followers, our
landlord took me aside and said to me in a whisper: "Effendi, thou
mayest well deem thyself fortunate for having escaped unhurt. Thy
followers are known, far and wide, as the most desperate robbers; they
have never before escorted any one across the Dagar mountain but some
ill befell him." In an instant the whole adventure became clear to me.
These two Kurd fellows were in league with the robbers, and but for my
friend's revolver and my Effendi headgear the day might have proved
fatal to all of us. Such occurrences are by no means rare in this
region. The people and the authorities are well aware of the frequent
cases of brigandage; they know who the brigands are; but, nevertheless,
everybody is left to his own bravery to defend himself.
Our Armenian host, who had received his fellows in faith and myself with
great cordiality, had a sumptuous supper prepared for us; the priest,
clergyman and the judge of the village too, came to pay their respects,
and there was no end to tales of robbery. In the autumn before, we were
told, a caravan, consisting of forty beasts of burden and fifteen men,
amongst whom there was an Englishman, was attacked by a robber chief and
twelve men. No sooner had the Kurds, with their customary cry of
"Lululu!" come upon them, than the Persians and Turks took to their
heels, and allowed the brigands to freely rummage in the luggage,
without molesting them. They had already driven away a couple of
animals, when the Englishman, who had hitherto coolly stood by and
watched the doings of the miscreants, raised his revolver without being
observed, took deliberate aim at the chief and levelled him to the
ground. The Kurds stood for a moment dumbfounded with fright, but they
soon recovered and made a simultaneous rush upon the Englishman. The
latter, who did not for an instant lose his presence of mind, shot dead
another and then again another man, crying out to them fiercely: "Do not
come near me or I will kill every one of you." This had its effect; one
by one the remaining Kurds slunk away. The family of the dead chief
instituted a suit for damages against the Englishman, claiming that the
chief had been out hunting, and not robbing, when he was killed. The
Turks treated the claim quite seriously, and, in all probability, would
have mulcted the brave Englishman in damages but for the intercession of
the British Consul.
The rain was pouring down violently when we left our hospitable host
next day, and at night we had to put up at an Armenian village,
containing about ten houses; for it was too late for us to reach on that
day _Diadin_, the next place on our journey. The inhabitants of that
village are leading a strange life. Man and beast, food and fuel are all
stowed away under one roof, and whilst one part of the inhabitants are
sleeping the others mount guard, on the roofs, with their arms in
readiness. I asked several of them why they did not ask assistance of
the governor of Erzerum, and was told, in reply: "That the governor was
himself at the head of the thieves. God alone, and his representative on
earth, the Russian Tzar, can help us." And the poor people were
certainly right in this.
We forded through the Euphrates river and reached, before long, a
monastery, the inmates of which were Armenian friars who were held in
high respect by all the inhabitants of the surrounding country, both
Christian and Mohammedan. It is a strikingly characteristic feature of
all Eastern nations, that with them friars, monks, wizards, and
fortune-tellers are indiscriminately, without regard to their religion,
the objects of deep veneration. The supernatural, the mysterious excite
the humility of the Eastern man, and the Kurds go far away, to distant
countries, in pursuit of their predatory ventures, leaving this solitary
and unprotected settlement unmolested.
Towards evening we arrived at the border place, Diadin. After
considerable inquiry we succeeded in finding the house of the judge, at
whose hands we desired to procure accommodation for the night. On
looking round there, I saw, sitting in a corner of the barn, an American
minister, with his wife and children and his sister. They had been
living in Urumia (in Persia) for several years, and were now on their
way home, to Philadelphia. Urumia and Philadelphia, what a distance! But
the members of the missionary society know no distance.
The Kurdistan Kizil, _i.e._, chieftain, received me very kindly, and
upon my asking him for a night's quarters, he replied: "Effendi, thou
art welcome, but I can give thee no accommodation, unless thou desirest
to share with a soldier-pasha the only spare room in my house."
"Soldier-pasha, or anybody else in the wide world," I replied. "Just
show me into the room. A ride of ten hours will tame a very Satan.
Besides, I think, the stranger and I will very well agree together."
The Kurd, holding a small oil-lamp in his hand, preceded me, and took me
to a place looking like a lumber-room. The soldier-pasha was squatting
in one corner. In approaching him, to introduce myself, I recognized in
the stranger, to my great surprise, General Kolmann, otherwise called
Fejzi Pasha, one of my dearest friends. "Well, this is a wonderful
meeting," he said, after our greetings were over, and we had settled
ourselves, opposite to one another, near the fire. General Kolmann, a
distinguished member of the Hungarian emigration, had always befriended
me in the most zealous manner, during the whole of my stay in Turkey. He
knew of my plans for travelling, and was overjoyed, beyond all measure,
to have an opportunity of saying "Good-bye" to me here, at the frontier
of Turkey, where he had been detailed by the government to superintend
the building of border barracks. We whiled away the time with chatting
until late into the night, and it was with a heavy heart that I took
leave next morning of my countryman and of that country to which, for
the time being, I belonged.
VI.
FROM THE PERSIAN BORDER TO TEBRIZ.
Kizil-dize is the name of the first village on Persian soil. Leaving it
we came to the base of _Ararat_. Mount Ararat, whose tapering head is
covered with snow even in summer, was at that season clad in its wintry
garb to more than half its height. The inhabitants of the surrounding
country all insist that the remains of Noah's Ark may still be seen on
its top, and many a _vartabet_ (priest), rich in grace, boasts of having
seen with his own eyes the precious relics of the holy Ark in the
waters, clear as crystal, of a lake on the top of the mountain. Others,
again, produce chips from the remains of the Ark, and recommend it
highly against pain in the stomach, sore eyes, and other maladies; and
woe to him who would dare to cast the slightest doubt upon the
existence, to this day, of at least two planks and a couple of masts of
Noah's Ark on mount Ararat. During my travels in Asia I came across four
other places, of which sacred tradition tells that Noah's Ark had rested
there, and at least four other places, again, where people have
discovered the unmistakable traces of the scriptural Paradise.
[Illustration: MOUNT ARARAT.]
After we crossed the Turco-Persian border line the country became
visibly more and more beautiful, as if Nature meant to support the
haughty presumptuousness of the Persians. The most modest and reserved
of my Persian fellow-travellers kept on saying during the whole journey,
"Iran is a land very different from thine, Effendi! Look out, thou shalt
see wonders." The faces of the Persians beamed with indescribable joy
from the moment they had set their eyes upon the first Persian village,
for the poor fellows had a great deal to suffer, all the way from
Erzerum, in the numerous Armenian villages. According to the rigid
Shi-ite law, not only is the Christian impure, but he defiles everything
he touches, and the pious Shi-ite will rather starve than eat of any
food a Christian had come in contact with.
We slept for the first time on Persian soil, in _Ovadjik_. Here, in
Iran, I thought it advisable to part with my dignity of Effendi, for in
the country of the Shi-ites, everything that approaches, in the least,
the Sunnite faith of the Turks, is hated and despised, although both
sects are professors of Islam.
We started early in the morning, on the 5th of June, and as our way was
to lead us, on that day, through the _Karaayne_ mountains, which did not
enjoy the best reputation for safety, my Armenian companions thought it
proper to provide themselves with the escort of a small number of
mounted armed men. Fortunately nothing unpleasant happened. We came to
_Karaayne_ early in the afternoon, and I was delighted to hear issuing,
from the house opposite to our quarters, sounds of music, the report of
firearms, and shouts of merriment. They were celebrating a wedding, and,
upon my question, if the wedding folks would have any objection to my
going over and looking at them, I was taken there, at once, by the son
of my host. A numerous troop of groomsmen had just arrived when we
entered, in order to conduct the bride from the paternal house to her
husband. They gave notice of their arrival outside by the report of
firearms, then entered, wrapped a red-coloured veil round the bride, led
her out into the street, and two of the groomsmen assisted her to mount
her horse. Although her wide dress, falling down in many folds, impeded
her movements, she sat quite firmly in the saddle. The bride was then
surrounded by the women, singing in chorus a very curious song, the
burden of which, repeated at the end of each stanza, was: "Let friend
remain friend, and the enemy turn blind, O Allah!" At last, the
procession started for the house of the bridegroom. I, too, mixed with
the crowd, accompanying them, and was afterwards invited to take a
prominent seat at the table. Wedding gifts were collected of the guests
during the meal. The marriage rites agreed in every particular with
those used by the Turcomans.