Departure from Trebizond.--A rough Road.--Turkish
Pack-horses.--Value of Tea.--The Pipe in the East.--Mountain
Riding.--Instinct of the Horse.--A Caravan overwhelmed by
an Avalanche.--Mountain of Hoshabounar.--A Ride down the
Mountain.--Arrival at Erzeroom.
At last we were ready; the Russian commissioner traveled with us,
and we sallied out of the town in a straggling line up the hill,
along the only road known in this part of the world. This wonder and
miracle of art extends one mile, to the top of a little hill. It is
said to have cost £19,000. It ascends the mountain side in defiance of
all obstacles, and is more convenient for rolling down than climbing
up, as it is nearly as steep as a ladder in some places. When you
get to the top you are safe, for there is no more road as far as
Tabriz. A glorious view rewards the traveler for his loss of breath in
accomplishing the ascent. From hence the road is a track, wide enough
for one loaded horse, passing through streams and mud, over rocks,
mountains, and precipices, such as I should hardly have imagined
a goat could travel upon; certainly no sensible animal would ever
try to do so, unless upon urgent business. Pleasure and amusement
must be sought on broader ways; here danger and difficulty occur at
every step; nevertheless, the horses are so well used to climbing,
and hopping, and floundering along, that the obstacles are gradually
overcome. In looking back occasionally, you wonder how in the world
you ever got to the spot you are standing on. The sure-footedness of
the horses was marvelous; we often galloped for half an hour along
the dry course of a mountain torrent, for these we considered our
best places, over round stones as big as a man's head, with larger
ones occasionally for a change; but the riding-horses hardly ever
fell. The baggage-horses, encumbered with their loads, tumbled in all
directions, but these unlucky animals were always kicked up again
by the efforts of a posse of hard-fisted, hard-hearted muleteers,
and were soon plodding on under the burdens which it seems it was
their lot to bear for the remainder of their lives. If this should
meet the eye of any London cab-horse--for what may we not expect
in these days of march of intellect and national education?--let
him thank his lucky star that he is not a Turkish pack-horse, made
to carry something nearly as heavy as a cab up and down rocks as
inaccessible as those immortalized in the famous verse--
"Commodore Rogers was a man
Exceedingly brave--particular;
And he climb'd up very high rocks,
Exceedingly high--perpendicular."
Thus saith the poet; what Commodore Rogers would have said if he had
been of our party, I don't know. Those ladies and gentlemen who,
leaning back in easy carriages, bowl along the great roads of the
Simplon, may imagine what traveling there may have been over the
Alps before the roads were made, while the nature of the ground is
such, in two or three places, that, unless at an incredible expense
in engineering, and a prodigious daily outlay to keep them clear
of snow, no road ever could be made; yet this is the only line
of communication between Constantinople and Persia. Through these
awful chasms and precipices all the merchandise is carried which
passes between these two great nations. The quiet Manchester stuffs,
accustomed to the broad-wheel wagons of Europe, and the rail-ways and
canals of England, must feel dreadfully jolted when they arrive at
this portion of their journey. How the crockery bears it is easily
understood by those who open the packages of this kind of ware at
the end of the journey, when cups and saucers take the appearance of
small geological specimens, though some do survive, notwithstanding the
regular custom of the muleteers to set down their loads every evening
by the summary process of untying with a jerk a certain cunning knot
in the rope which holds the bales in their places on each side of
the pack-horse: these immediately come down with a crash upon the
ground, from whence they are rolled along and built up into a wall,
on the lee side of which a fire is lit and the muleteers sleep when
there is no khan to retire to for the night.
On this journey I for the first time learned the true value of tea. One
of the kawasses of the Russian commissioners had a curious little
box, covered with cowskin, tied behind his saddle; about twice a day
he galloped off like mad, his arms and stirrups, &c., making a noise
as he started like that of upsetting all the fire-irons in a room at
home. In about half an hour we came up with him again, discovering
his whereabouts by seeing his panting horse led up and down by some
small boy before a hovel, into which we immediately dived. There we
found the kawass kneeling by a blazing fire, with the cowskin box open
on the ground beside him, from whence he presently produced glass
tumblers of delicious caravan tea, [2] sweetened with sugar-candy,
and a thin slice of lemon floating on the top of each cup. This is
the real way to drink tea, only one can not always get caravan tea,
and, when you can, it costs a guinea a pound, more or less; but its
refreshing, calming, and invigorating powers are truly remarkable.
In former days, in many a long and weary march, I found a pipe of great
service in quieting the tired and excited nerves; having no love for
smoking under ordinary circumstances, these were the only occasions
when a long chibouk did seem to be grateful and comforting. That this
is pretty universally acknowledged I gather from the habit of all the
solemn old Turks in Egypt and hot climates during the fast of Ramadan,
who invariably take a good whiff from their pipes the moment that
sunset is announced by the firing of a gun in cities, or on the
disappearance of its rays toward the west in the country. Supper
does not appear to be looked forward to with the same impatience as
the first puff from the chibouk. No pipe, however, possesses the
agreeable qualities of a cup of hot good tea made in this way; no
other beverage or contrivance that I know of produces so soothing an
effect, and that in so short a time. In a few minutes the glasses,
and the little teapot, and two canisters for tea and sugar-candy,
retired into the recesses of the cowskin box; the poor horses, who
had had no tea, were again mounted, and on we rode over the rocks and
stones, one after the other, in a long line, the regular tramp, tramp,
tramp, interrupted every now and then by the crash of one of our boxes
against a rock, and the exclamations of the katergis as its bearer
wallowed into a hole or tumbled over some horrible place, from whence
it seemed impossible that he should ever be got up again. However,
he always was, and at last we hardly took notice of one of these
little accidents, and notwithstanding which we generally got through
the mountains at the rate of about thirty miles a day.
On the second day from Trebizond we arrived at the snow; the hoods with
which we had provided ourselves were pulled over our heads. I tied
my bridle to the pommel of my saddle, put my hands in my pockets,
and nevertheless galloped along--at least the horse did, and all
the better for my not holding the bridle. In mountain traveling
this is perhaps the most necessary of all the whole craft and art
of horsemanship, not to touch the bridle on any occasion, except
when you want to stop the horse; for, in difficult circumstances,
a horse or mule goes much better if he is left to his own devices. In
some dreadful places, I have seen a horse smell the ground, and then,
resting on his haunches, put one foot forward as gently as if it was a
finger, cautiously to feel the way. They have a wonderful instinct of
self-preservation, seeming quite aware of the perils of false steps,
and the dangers by which they are surrounded on the ledges of bleak
mountains, and in passing bogs and torrents in the valleys below.
At Beyboort we were received by the governor, a Bey, who gave us
a famous good dinner or supper, whereof we all ate an incredible
quantity, and almost as much more at breakfast next morning. At Gumush
Hané, where there are silver mines, a good-natured old gentleman who
was sitting by the roadside gave me the most delicious pear I ever
tasted. This place is famous for its pears. Being situated in a deep
valley, the climate is much better than most parts of the country
on this road. Here we put up in a good house, slept like tops, and
waddled off next morning as before. I had an enormous pair of boots
lined with sheepskin, which were the envy and admiration of the party:
they were amazing snug certainly, and nearly came up to my middle. If
they had been a little bit larger, I might have crept into one at
night, which would have been a great convenience; they were of the
greatest service on horseback, but on foot I had much difficulty in
getting along, and was sorry I had neglected to inquire how Jack the
Giant-killer managed with his seven-league boots. Before arriving
at Beyboort we passed the mountain of Zigana Dagh, by a place where
a whole caravan accompanying the harem of the Pasha of Moush had
been overwhelmed in an avalanche, over the icy blocks of which we
made our way, the bodies of the unfortunate party and all the poor
ladies lying buried far below. Beyond Gumush Hané rises the mountain
of Hoshabounar, which is a part of the chain that bounds the great
plain of Erzeroom. This was the worst part of the whole journey:
we approached it by interminable plains of snow, along which the
track appeared like a narrow black line. These plains of snow, which
look so even to the sight, are not always really so; the hollows and
inequalities being filled with the snow, you may fall into a hole
and be smothered if you leave the path. This path is hardened by the
passage of caravans, which tread down the snow into a track of ice
just wide enough for a single file of horses; but while you think
you are on a plain, you are, in fact, riding on the top of a wall or
ridge, from whence, if your horse should chance to slip, you do not
know how deep you may sink down into the soft snow on either side.
At the top of the mountain we met thirty horses which the Pasha of
Erzeroom had sent for our use. We had above thirty of our own, so now
there were sixty horses in our train. The Russian commissioner and I
left all these behind, and rode on together with two or three guards,
accompanied by the chief of the village where we were to sleep. At last
we came to the brow of the hill--we could not see to the bottom from
the snow that was falling--it was as steep as the roof of a house,
and the road consisted of a series of holes, about six inches deep,
and about eighteen inches apart, the track being about sixteen inches
wide. To my surprise, the chief of the village, a man in long scarlet
robes, immediately dashed at a gallop down this road, or ladder, as
they call it; the Russian commissioner followed him; and I, thinking
that it would not do for an Englishman to be beat by a Russian or a
Turk, threw my bridle on my horse's neck and galloped after them. Never
did I see such a place to ride in! Down and down we went, plunging,
sliding, scrambling in and out of the deep holes, the snow flying
up like spray around us, to meet its brother snow that was falling
from the sky. It was wonderful how the horses kept their feet; they
burst out into perspiration as if it had been summer. I was as hot as
fire with the exertion. Still down we went, headlong as it seemed,
till at last I found myself sliding and bounding on level ground,
and, rushing over some horses which were standing in an open space,
I discovered that I was in a village, and was presently helped off
my panting horse by the gentleman in the red pelisse, who showed
the way into a cow-stable, the usual place in which we put up at
night. Thus ended the most extraordinary piece of horsemanship I ever
joined in. It was not wonderful, perhaps, for the rider, but how the
horses kept their feet, and how they had strength enough to undergo
such a wonderful series of leaps and plunges, out of one hole into
another, appeared quite astonishing to me. The next day we proceeded to
Erzeroom, and at a village about two hours' distance we were met by all
the authorities of the city on horseback. Some horses with magnificent
housings were sent by the Pasha for the principal personages, and we
rode into the town in a sort of procession, accompanied by perhaps
200 well-mounted cavaliers caracoling and prancing in every direction.