Camels—The Sakaria—Geiweh—Yakoob Khan—Kashgar—The
Greeks in league with the Tzar—The Kara Su—A strategic
position—Terekli—Bashi Bazouks firing at a target—The
river Goonook—A black slave—Gondokoro—Abou Saood—How to
become rich—Set a slave to catch a slave—_Sharab_ makes
one gay—Mudurlu—Absence of shops—_Toujours poulet_—English
manufactures in Anatolia—A Circassian Zaptieh—A precipice—A
baggage-horse upset.
The road became more level. We encountered caravans of camels, the
animals not being led by a cord attached to a peg through the nose, but
by a halter loosely fastened round the neck.
They were fine beasts and covered with shaggy hair. This, I was
informed, is cut off them at certain seasons in the year, and is then
converted into a material for tents and rugs. Each caravan was headed
by a man riding a donkey, the pace of the latter being if anything a
little superior to that of the huge camels behind them.
We continued along the left bank of the river Sakaria, a rapid stream,
sixty yards wide and with steep banks; presently we crossed it on
a stone bridge, very much out of repair. The centre part had fallen
away. This had been replaced by wooden beams covered with loose earth.
Presently we came to a large valley abounding with corn, vines, and
mulberry-trees, and I halted for the night in the village of Geiweh.
The Mudir, a sort of local mayor, came out to meet us, and insisted
that I should be his guest. He was a very communicative man, and
informed me that Yakoob Khan was about to bring an army of 50,000 men
to assist the Sultan.
"How will he come?" I inquired.
"By the sea," remarked my host, his geographical knowledge about
Kashgar not being very extensive. He next informed me that Persia was
supposed to be very friendly towards Russia, and that the Turks hated
the Persians, but liked the Christians, with the exception of the
Greeks, whom they believed to be in league with the Tzar.
Shortly after leaving Geiweh, the valley takes a circular form, and is
at least three miles in diameter; hills with slopes well adapted for
artillery fire surround it on every side. The little stream Kara Su,
which is only knee deep, traverses the district, and finds its way a
few miles further down into the Sakaria. The Geiweh valley would be a
magnificent position into which to entice a careless general. The exit
towards the east is by a steep ravine with precipitous banks, and on
the west it is blocked by the Sakaria.
We now reached Terekli, a small town with about 800 houses. Every
house was full of soldiers, who were _en route_ to the capital. The
sun was descending over the mountain tops as we rode through the narrow
streets. Hundreds of Bashi Bazouks were performing wild evolutions in
the plain below; some men were firing at a target from horseback at a
gallop, others whirling their rifles about to the imminent danger of
the bystanders. The many coloured dresses of this guerilla soldiery
and of the lookers-on, lit up the surroundings of the landscape. The
wild shouts of the horsemen re-echoed over the mountains. From the
distant peaks the bleating of the goats could be faintly heard, as the
shepherds were driving them home for shelter. This sound was mingled
with the lowing of cattle and the rippling of the stream below. It was
a romantic picture. It vividly recalled to my mind some scenes in the
Basque provinces during the late Carlist war.
The soldiers started at four the following morning, singing in chorus
as they marched through the streets. An hour later we continued our
journey through a mountainous district strewed with blocks of granite,
and soon afterwards crossed the little river Goonook, another tributary
of the Sakaria.[6] Here the scenery is very wild; the hills are of all
shapes and forms, as if cast down at haphazard by the Titans of old.
Now we find a series of natural bastions and ramparts, looking as if
they had been chiselled out of the hard white rocks, and then approach
a slate mountain, large black stones lying about in endless profusion.
Presently we ride along a path bounded on both sides by a precipice.
Our track twines like a silver thread amidst the crags which hide the
way before us.
We round a corner. A small village is seen below, Torbali is reached,
and a Bey, the great man of the place, invites us to share his
dwelling.
A little later, a black slave brought me as a present from his master,
some small trout and fresh eggs. The slave could talk Arabic. He had
been born near Gondokoro, and had been kidnapped from that part of the
world by a party of Arabs under Sir Samuel Baker's _bête noir_, Abou
Saood. I asked him if he would like to return to his own country.
"Yes," he said, "if the Effendi is going there with Abou Saood. We
could then catch plenty of slaves."
"I know where to find them," he added, "we should soon become rich."
There is an old proverb, "Set a thief to catch a thief," but here
it seemed equally applicable to slaves. I was struck by the extreme
eagerness to kidnap his countrymen which was evinced by this negro
gentleman.
"Well," I said, "how are you treated by your master?"
"He is a good man," was the reply, "there is plenty to eat, and not
much to do."
"One thing is bad here," he added, "the master does not drink _sharab_
(wine). I like _sharab_—lots of _sharab_, it makes one gay. Will the
Effendi give me a little _sharab_?"
"I have not any. I do not drink myself."
"And yet you are rich," said the slave. "You have money to buy it,
happy man that you are. If I were like you I would drink, drink, drink,
all day and all night!"
"But Osman does not drink, he attends to the Prophet's laws."
"Osman is a horse; he does not know what is good," was the reply.
At this moment the voice of the Bey was heard. "_Gell!_" (come)
resounded through the building; the negro, leaving me, hurried off to
his master.
It was a nine hours' march to Mudurlu, our next halting-place, the
route leading through a very mountainous district. The village, or
small town, of Mudurlu contains 800 mud houses, which, at the average
rate of five people to a family, would give about 4000 inhabitants. The
traveller, when journeying in this part of Anatolia, is much struck by
the absence of shops. He may pass through village after village, small
town after small town, and, unless it be market day, he will be unable
to purchase anything.
"Can I buy some meat?" I would inquire of Osman.
"We will see, Effendi. I will run to the Khan, and inquire of the
people there."
This was Osman's favourite amusement. Under the pretence of making
purchases, he would go to the different Khans, talk for some time to
the assembled villagers about his own merits, drink several cups of
coffee, and return.
"Well, where is the meat?"
"Effendi, there is no meat."
"Have you been to look?"
"Look, Effendi! My clothes are moist with perspiration. But there are
some chickens; they will do for our dinner."
This was the daily food—chicken. It is not a bad diet if a man is
living a sedentary life, and not taking much exercise, but after
a nine hours' ride he requires something a little more nourishing.
_Toujours perdrix_ was too much for a French cardinal; if the holy
gentleman had been riding through Turkey, he would have found _toujours
poulet_ an equally unsubstantial diet. A crowd assembled to see us
depart. The people in Mudurlu taking as much interest in an Englishman
as the inhabitants of London would take in a chimpanzee or newly
arrived gorilla. Asiatics have a very high opinion of our skill as
manufacturers. English goods, can be met with in almost every large
town in Anatolia, and the Turks prefer English merchandise to the
cheaper but inferior articles sent from Belgium or America.
The Zaptieh who went with me was a magnificent-looking fellow. Picture
to yourself a tall, dark Circassian, with large piercing eyes, and
carefully trimmed beard—a striking contrast to the huge white turban
which surrounded his fez. He was dressed in a green jacket with
red facings; a blue waistcoat peered from beneath it, and a pair of
green trousers and red leather boots covered his extremities. He was
armed with a sword and revolver, and, when the road permitted, was
continually exercising his horse. Now he would break into a gallop,
go at headlong speed for fifty yards, then, pulling his steed almost
on his haunches, he would start in another direction, and, bending
from the saddle-bow, touch the ground. All this was done with the most
consummate grace and ease—in fact, as if horse and rider were one.
Soon we left behind us the light sandy soil which admitted of such-like
evolutions. A chain of steep heights had to be passed. The mud became
at each moment deeper. The baggage animals had great difficulty
in ascending with their loads. We were struggling up an almost
perpendicular height. At our feet and at least forty yards below yawned
a deep abyss. The path itself was in no place more than ten feet wide.
The sound of an oath issuing from Osman's lips attracted my attention.
One baggage-horse lay on the ground; he was kicking violently, and his
head and shoulders were over the precipice. Osman had thrown my rifle
into the mud, so as to be able to use his hands more freely, and was
endeavouring to make his way to the fallen animal. The Turk's high
boots came half off each time he lifted his feet, owing to the sticky
nature of the soil. Luckily, perhaps, for us it was so sticky, the
gun-case, which was buried in the clay, kept the horse from rolling.
The Circassian and Radford had time to reach his head. Pulling off
the pack-saddle, they divided the luggage among the other animals. We
gradually gained the summit of the hill.