routine of the journey is the return to the _odah_ at 5 A.M. after a
night in the fresh air, for the atmosphere is so heated and foul as
almost to knock one down. The night frosts are sharp, and as we start
before sunrise we are all glad to walk for the first hour. The night
in my tent at Pikhruz was much disturbed, and I realised that it is
somewhat risky for me to have my servants out of hearing in the depths
of a semi-subterranean dwelling. The village dogs raged at times as
though the Kurds were upon them, and every half-hour the village
guards signalled to each other with a long mournful yell. I was
awakened once by a confusion of diabolical sounds, shots, shrieks,
roars, and yells, which continued for some time and then died away. In
the morning the guards said that the Kurds had attacked a large
caravan on the plain below, but had been repulsed, and that men on
both sides had been wounded.
The following day's march by the silver sheet of the Kuzik Lake, alive
with ducks, divers, and other water fowl, was very charming. Snow had
fallen heavily, and the Sipan Dagh and the Nimrud Dagh were white more
than half-way down their sides. From the summit of a very wild pass we
bade adieu to the beautiful Sea of Van, crossed a plain in which is a
pretty fresh-water lake with several villages and much cultivation on
its margin, and, after some hours of solitary mountain travelling,
came down upon the great plain of Norullak, sprinkled with large
villages, very fertile, and watered by the Murad-chai, the eastern
branch of the Euphrates.
I was to have had an easy march of five hours, and to have spent
Sunday at Shaoub in the comfortable house of a Protestant pastor with
an English-speaking wife, but the _zaptiehs_ took the wrong road, and
as twilight came on it was found that Shaoub had been left hours
behind. I have been suffering very much from the fatigue of the very
long marches, and only got through this one by repeatedly lying down
by the roadside while the _zaptiehs_ went in search of information.
After it was quite dark and we were still astray, news came that
Shaoub was occupied by 400 Turkish soldiers, and that there were
neither supplies nor accommodation, and after two more hours of
marching and counter-marching over ploughed lands and among irrigation
ditches, we emerged on the Erzerum road, six inches deep in dust,
forded a river in thick darkness, got very wet, and came out upon the
large village of Yangaloo, a remarkable collection of 170 ant-hills
rather than houses, with their floors considerably below the ground.
The prospects in this hummocky place were most unpromising, and I was
greeted by Moussa, who, on finding that Shaoub was full of troops, had
had the wits to go on to Yangaloo, with the information that there was
"no accommodation."
A womanly, Christian grip of my arm reassured me, and I was lodged for
Sunday in the Protestant church, the villagers having arranged to
worship elsewhere. A building forty feet long with small paper-covered
windows under the eaves was truly luxurious, but the repose of Sunday
morning was broken by loud and wearisome noises, lasting for several
hours, which received a distressing explanation. I was informed by the
priests and several of the leading men of the village that Yangaloo
for some time past had suffered severely from the Kurds, and that just
before a heavy demand for taxes had been made by the Government, the
three days' grace usually granted having been refused. The local
official had seized the flax seed, their most profitable crop, at
half-price, and had sold it for full price, his perquisite amounting
to a large sum. Fifteen _arabas_, each one loaded with seven large
sacks of "linseed," were removed in the morning.
The people were very friendly. All the "brethren" and "sisters" came
to kiss hands, and to wish that my departure "might be in great
peace," and on Sunday evening I was present at a gathering of men in a
room with the door carefully bolted and guarded, who desired me to
convey to "the Consul" at Erzerum, with the attestation of the names
of the priests of the Old and Reformed Churches, certain complaints
and narratives of wrong, which represented a condition of living not
to be thought of without grief and indignation, and not to be ignored
because it is partially chronic.
Yangaloo is a typical Armenian village, its ant-hill dwellings are
half-sunk, and the earth which has been excavated is piled up over
their roofs and sides. The interior of each dwelling covers a
considerable area, and is full of compartments with divisions formed
by low clay walls or by the posts which support the roof, the
compartments ramifying from a widening at the inner end of a long dark
passage. In Yangaloo, as in other villages on the plains, the earth is
so piled over the houses as to render them hardly distinguishable from
the surrounding ground, but where a village burrows into a hill-side
only a small projection needs an artificial roof. The people live
among their live stock; one entrance serves for both, and in winter
time the animals never leave the stables. The fireplace or _tand[=u]r_
is in the floor, but is only required for cooking purposes, as the
heat and steam of the beasts keep the human beings comfortably warm.
From two to five families live in every house, and the people are
fairly healthy.[57]
All the male members of a family bring their brides to live under the
parental roof, and one "burrow" may contain as many as three
generations of married couples with their families. On becoming an
inmate of her father-in-law's house, each Armenian bride, as in the
country districts of Persia, has to learn the necessity of silence. Up
to the day of the birth of the first child she is the family drudge,
and may not speak to any one but her husband, and not to him in the
presence of his parents. Maternity liberates her tongue; she may talk
to her child, and then to the females of the household; but she may
not speak freely till some years of this singular novitiate have
passed by. She then takes a high place in the house, and eventually
rules it if she is left a widow. The Armenian women are veiled out of
doors, but only in deference to the Moslems, who regard an uncovered
head as the sign of a bad woman. The girls are handsome, but
sheepish-looking; their complexions and eyes are magnificent.
Sunday was windy, with a gray sky, and the necessity of getting over
the Ghazloo Pass before the weather absolutely broke was urged upon me
by all. On the plain of Norullak, not far from Yangaloo, I forded the
Euphrates,--that is, the Murad-chai, a broad, still, and deep river,
only fordable at certain seasons. The fine mountain Bijilan is a
landmark in this part of the country. Leaving the Euphrates we
ascended for some hours through bleak uninteresting regions to Kara
Kapru, and on the road passed thirty well-armed Kurds, driving a
number of asses, which the _zaptiehs_ said had been driven off from
two Christian villages, which they pointed out. I was interested in
the movements of some mounted men, who hovered suspiciously about my
caravan, and at one time galloped close up to it, but retired on
seeing the Government uniforms, and were apparently "loafing about"
among the valleys. The _zaptiehs_ said that they were notorious
robbers, and would not go home without booty. Towards evening they
reappeared with several bullocks and asses which they had driven off
from the village of ----, the headman of which came to me in the
evening and asked me to report the robbery to "the Consul," adding
that this was the third time within a week that his village had been
robbed of domestic animals, and that he dared not complain.
At Kara Kapru, the best-looking Armenian village I have seen, while I
was looking for an _odah_, Moussa, in spite of Murphy and the
_zaptiehs_, dashed off with his horses at full speed, and never
stopped till he reached Ghazloo, three hours farther on. This
barbarous conduct was occasioned by his having heard that two of his
forty horses ahead had broken down, and he hurried on to replace them
with two of mine! I was so tired and in so much pain that I was
obliged to lie down on the roadside for a considerable time before I
could proceed, and got a chill, and was so wretched that I had to be
tied on my horse. It was pitch dark, the _zaptiehs_ continually lost
the way, heavy rain came on, and it was 9 P.M. when we reached
Ghazloo, a village high up on a hill-slope, where Mirza and Murphy
carried me into a small and crowded stable, and later into my tent,
which was pitched in the slime at the stable door. Moussa was
repentant, borrowed a _kajaveh_, and said he would give me his strong
horse for nothing!
Torrents of rain fell, changing into sleet, and sleet into snow, and
when the following day dawned dismally my tent was soaked, and
standing in slush and snow. My bed was carried into the stable, and I
rested while the loading was going on. Suleiman, my special _zaptieh_,
said that the _khanji_ was quadrupling the charges, and wanted me not
to pay him anything. The _khanji_ retorted that I gave the _zaptieh_
money to pay, and that he gave only a few coppers to the people--a
glaring untruth, for Murphy pays everything in my presence. Thereupon
Suleiman beat the _khanji_ with his scabbarded sword, on which the man
struck him, and there was a severe fight, in the course of which the
combatants fell over the end of my bed. So habituated does one become
to scenes of violence in this country that I scarcely troubled myself
to say to Murphy, "Tell them to fight outside."
It was a severe day's march over the Bingol Dagh, and I know little
about the country we passed through. We skirted a bleak snowy
hillside, first in rain and then in a heavy snowstorm, made a long
ascent among drifting snow clouds, saw an ass abandoned by a caravan
shivering in the bitter wind, with three magpies on its back picking
its bleeding wounds, and near the summit of the Ghazloo Pass
encountered a very severe "blizzard," so severe that no caravan but my
own attempted to face it, and sixty conscripts _en route_ for Bitlis
in charge of two officers and some cavalry turned back in spite of
words and blows, saying, "We may be shot; better that than to die on
the hillside"! Poor fellows, they are wretchedly dressed, and many of
them have no socks. The "blizzard" was very awful--"a horror of great
darkness," a bewildering whirl of pin-like snow coming from all
quarters at once, a hurricane of icy wind so fearful that I had to
hold on by the crupper and mane to avoid being blown out of the
saddle; utter confusion, a deadly grip at my heart, everything blotted
out, and a sense of utter helplessness. Indeed I know of no peril in
which human resources count for so little. After reaching the summit
of the pass the risk was over, but we were seriously delayed in
forcing a passage through the drift, which was fully seven feet deep.
The men were much exhausted, and they say that "half an hour of it
would have finished them." All landmarks were lost in the storm, and
after some hours of struggling through snow, and repeatedly losing the
way, the early darkness compelled us to take refuge in a Kurdish
village of bad repute on a bleak mountain side.
The _odah_ was not only the worst I have yet seen, but it was crammed
with handsome, wild-looking Kurds, and with the conscripts who had
turned back at the pass, some of whom were suffering from fever, and
with cavalrymen and their horses, every man trying to get near the
fire. I cannot say that any of them were rude, indeed the Kurds did
their best for what they supposed to be my comfort. I spent the
evening among them, but slept in my tent outside, in two feet of snow,
100 yards from the stable, in spite of the protestations of the
_zaptiehs_. In fact I trusted to Kurdish watchmen, who turned out
faithful, and when an attempt was made to rob my tent in the night
they sprang on the robbers, and after a struggle got two of them down
and beat them with their guns, both sides yelling like savages. When I
left the _odah_ for the tent two Kurds gripped my arms and led me to
it through the deep snow. It was better to run some risk than to be
suffocated by the heat and overpowering odours of the stable, but it
was an eerie place.
_November 21._--The weather considerably delayed my farther progress.
The days were severe, and the nights were spent in a soaked tent,
pitched in slush or snow. Mist and snow concealed the country, and few
travellers were stirring. We marched with the powder caravan for the
sake of the escort and for its services in beating the track, and
Moussa and his men watched at night. The going was very bad, and both
Moussa and I fell down hill slopes with our horses, but the animals
luckily alighted on their feet. Moussa's jollity was very useful. He
is a capital mimic, and used to "take off" Mirza in the _odahs_ at
night, and as Murphy lost no opportunity of showing up the poor
fellow's want of travelling _savoir-faire_, he would have had a bad
time but for his philosophical temperament and imperturbable
good-nature. I suffered very much from my spine, but the men were all
kind, and tried to make things easy for me, and the _zaptiehs_ were
attentive and obliging.
Kurdistan is scarcely a "geographical expression," and colloquially
the word is used to cover the country inhabited by the Kurds. They are
a mysterious people, having maintained themselves in their original
seats and in a condition of semi-independence through all the changes
which have passed over Western Asia, though they do not exceed
numerically two and a quarter millions of souls. Such as they were
when they opposed the retreat of the Ten Thousand they seem to be
still. War and robbery are the business of Kurdish life.
[Illustration: A HAKKIARI KURD.]
One great interest of this journey is that it lies through a country
in which Kurds, Turks, and Armenians live alongside each other--the
Kurds being of two classes, the tribal, who are chiefly nomads, owning
no law but the right of the strongest; and the non-tribal or settled,
who, having been conquered by Turkey, are fairly orderly, and are
peaceable except in their relations with the Christians. The
strongholds of the tribal Kurds are in the wild mountains of
Kurdistan, and especially in the Hakkiari country, which is sprinkled
with their rude castles and forts. An incurable love of plunder, a
singular aptitude for religious fanaticism, a recklessness as to the
spilling of blood, a universal rapacity, and a cruel brutality when
their passions are roused, are among their chief vices. The men are
bold, sober, and devoted to their kinsmen and tribe; and the women are
chaste, industrious, and maternal. Under a firm and equitable
Government, asserting vigorously and persistently the supremacy of law
and the equal rights of race and creed, they would probably develop
into excellent material.
The village Turk, as he is described by Europeans well acquainted with
him and speaking his language, and as I have seen him on a long
journey, is a manly, hospitable, hard-working, kindly, fairly honest
fellow, domestic, cheerful, patriotic, kind to animals, usually a
monogamist, and usually also attentive to his religious duties.
The Christians, who, in this part of Kurdistan, are all Armenians by
race, live chiefly on the plains and in the lower folds of the hills,
and are engaged in pastoral and agricultural pursuits. My letters have
given a faithful representation of them as dwelling with their animals
in dark semi-subterranean hovels. The men are industrious, thrifty,
clannish, domestic, and not given to vices, except that of
intoxication, when they have the means and opportunity, and the women
are hardworking and chaste. Both sexes are dirty, hardy, avaricious,
and superstitious, and ages of wrong have developed in them some of
the usual faults of oppressed Oriental peoples. They cling desperately
to their historic church, which is represented among the peasants by
priests scarcely less ignorant than themselves. Their bishops
constitute their only aristocracy.
They are grossly ignorant, and of the world which lies outside the
_sandjak_ in which they live they know nothing. The Sultan is to them
a splendid myth, to whom they owe and are ready to pay a loyal
allegiance. Government is represented to them by the tax-gatherer and
his brutalities. Of justice, the most priceless product of good
government, they know nothing but that it is a marketable commodity.
With the Armenian trading communities of the cities they have slender
communication, and little except nationality and religion in common.
As a rule, they live in villages by themselves, which cluster round
churches, more or less distinguishable from the surrounding hovels,
but there are also mixed villages in which Turks and Armenians live
side by side, and in these cases they get on fairly well together,
though they instinctively dislike each other, and the Turk despises
his neighbour both for his race and creed. The Armenians have not
complained of being maltreated by the Turkish peasants, and had there
been any cause for complaint it would certainly have reached my ears.
On this journey hundreds of stories have been told to me by priests of
both the Old and Protestant Churches, headmen, and others, of robbery
by demand, outrages on women, digging into houses, killing,
collectively and individually, driving off sheep and cattle, etc.,
etc.[58]
On the whole, the same condition of alarm prevails among the Armenians
as I witnessed previously among the Syrian _rayahs_. It is more than
alarm, it is _abject terror_, and not without good reason. In plain
English, general lawlessness prevails over much of this region.
Caravans are stopped and robbed, travelling is, for Armenians,
absolutely unsafe, sheep and cattle are being driven off, and
outrages, which it would be inexpedient to narrate, are being
perpetrated. Nearly all the villages have been reduced to extreme
poverty by the carrying off of their domestic animals, the pillage,
and in some cases the burning, of their crops, and the demands made
upon them at the sword's point for every article of value which they
possess, while at the same time they are squeezed for the taxes which
the Kurds have left them without the means of paying.
The repressive measures which have everywhere followed "the Erzerum
troubles" of last June,--the seizure of arms, the unchecked ravages of
the Kurds, the threats of the Kurdish Beys, who are boldly claiming
the sanction of the Government for their outrages, the insecurity of
the women, and a dread of yet worse to come,--have reduced these
peasants to a pitiable state.
The invariable and reasonable complaint made by the Christians is,
that though they are heavily taxed they have no protection from the
Kurds, or any advantage from the law as administered in Kurdistan, and
that taxes are demanded from them which the Kurds have left them
without the means of paying. They complain that they are brutally
beaten when they fail to produce money for the payment of the
Government imposts, and they allege with great unanimity that it is
common for the _zaptiehs_ to tie their hands behind them, to plaster
their faces with fresh cow-dung, and throw pails of cold water at
their eyes, tie them to the posts of their houses and flog them
severely. In the village of ----, which has been swept bare by the
Kurds, the people asserted that the _zaptiehs_ had tied twenty
defaulters together, and had driven them round and round barefooted
over the thistles of the threshing-floor, flogging them with their
heavy whips. My _zaptiehs_ complain of the necessity they are under of
beating the people. They say (and I think correctly) that they can
never know whether a man has a hoard of buried money or not without
beating him. They tell me also that they know that half the peasants
have nothing to pay their taxes with, but that unless they beat them
to "get what they can out of them" they would be punished themselves
for neglect of duty.
On the plains to the west and north-west of the lake of Van, where the
deep, almost subsoil, ploughing and carefully-constructed irrigation
channels testify to the industry of a thrifty population, great
depredations are even now being committed, and though later the
intense cold and tremendous depths of snow of the Armenian highlands
will proclaim the "Truce of God," the Kurds are still on the alert.
Nor are their outrages confined to small localities, neither are they
the result of "peculiar local circumstances," but from the Persian
frontier near Urmi, along a more or less travelled road of several
hundred miles, there is, generally speaking, no security for life,
traffic, or property, and I hear on good authority that on the other
side of Erzerum, even up to the Russian frontier, things are if
possible worse.
I have myself seen enough to convince me that in the main the
statements of the people represent accurately enough the present reign
of terror in Armenia, and that a state of matters nearly approaching
anarchy is now existing in the _vilayet_ of Erzerum. There is no
security at all for the lives and property of Christians, law is being
violated daily, and almost with perfect impunity, and peaceable and
industrious subjects of the Porte, taxed to an extent which should
secure them complete protection, are plundered without redress. Their
feeble complaints are ignored, or are treated as evidence of
"insurrectionary tendencies," and even their lives are at the mercy of
the increased audacity and aroused fanaticism of the Kurds, and this
not in nearly inaccessible and far-off mountain valleys, but on the
broad plains of Armenia, with telegraph wires above and passable roads
below, and with a Governor-General and the Fourth Army Corps,
numbering 20,000 seasoned troops, within easy distance!
I have every reason to believe that in the long winter evenings which
I have spent in these sociable _odahs_, the peasants have talked to me
freely and frankly. There are no reasons why it should be otherwise,
for my _zaptiehs_ are seldom present, Moussa is looking after his
horses in distant recesses, quite out of hearing, and my servants are
Christians. If the people speak frankly, I am compelled to believe
that the Armenian peasant is as destitute of political aspirations as
he is ignorant of political grievances; that if he were secured from
the ravages of Moslem marauders he would be as contented as he is
loyal and industrious; and that his one desire is "protection from the
Kurds" and from the rapacity of minor officials, with security for his
life and property. Not on a single occasion have I heard a wish
expressed for political or administrative reform, or for autonomy. The
Armenian peasants are "of the earth, earthy," and the unmolested
enjoyment of material good is their idea of an earthly Paradise.