The Kizil Ermak—No bridge in the neighbourhood—How to
cross the river—The current—Can my brother swim?—How
to embark the horses—Osman's expostulation—Bandaging
the horse's eyes—Yakshagan—Fresh post-horses—An uncivil
official—Madeh—Silver-mines—Water in the pits—Proper
machinery wanted—Engineers required—Kowakoli—Vines—How
to preserve grapes—Sugar very dear—A farmer—The Angora
famine—The late Sultan—Russian assessors—We do not wish
to be tortured to change our religion—Allah is always on
the side of justice—Sekili—The pace of a _Rahvan_—Marble
hovels—Hospitality—Foreign settlers—A Kurdish encampment—The
tax-collectors—The wealth of the Kurdish Sheiks—The Delidsche
Ermak—Fording the river—A district abounding in salt—Turkoman
girls—The many languages spoken in Anatolia—A lunch under
difficulties.
We rode across a low ridge of mountains, rocks which looked like iron
ore lying about in all directions, and presently arrived at the Kizil
Ermak, a broad and rapid stream which runs into the Black Sea, about
fifty miles S.E. of Sinope. The distance across the river was at least
one hundred yards, the left bank being very precipitous. The depth of
the water, owing to the recent rains, was not less than seven feet.
There is no bridge in the neighbourhood, the nearest being twenty-four
miles higher up the river; I was curious to learn how we should reach
the other shore. The guide soon solved the problem. Riding about half
a mile along the bank, he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
In a few minutes the sound was answered from the opposite side of the
river. Six men appeared in sight. Descending the bank, they dragged
a triangular-shaped barge from some rushes, and, getting into it,
began to pull with all their might in our direction. The current was
very swift, the starting-point was nearly half a mile beyond us; but
notwithstanding this, the oarsmen overshot their mark. We had to lead
our horses some little distance before we reached the boat.
It was a queer sort of a craft, certainly not more than twenty-five
feet long, and about sixteen in its widest part. Its sides were two
feet above the water: the men could not approach the bank nearer than
twenty yards. The bottom was muddy. Our horses would have to walk
through the mud to the boat, and then jump over the bulwarks.
There were altogether eight horses, my own four, three belonging to the
post, and the animal the guide rode, a brute which kicked, and already
had slightly lamed my grey.
"I shall be drowned," said Osman plaintively, "I know I shall! Can my
brother swim?" pointing to Radford.
"What does he say, sir?" inquired my English servant.
"He wants to know if you can save him if he falls into the water."
"Save him? no, sir. I cannot swim a stroke. I wonder what our engineers
at Aldershot would say if they had to get us over in such a craft as
this? It is wuss than a pontoon!"
The boatmen wanted to take four horses across at a time; a veto was put
upon this proposal on account of the guide's horse; it was determined
that he should go alone. Taking the saddle off my own animal, I led him
into the water; on reaching the boat I climbed into it, and tried to
make the horse follow. This was by no means an easy task, he had sunk
at least a foot into the mud, and evidently did not fancy the leap into
the bark. Three of the boatmen now got into the river. One of them,
seizing my horse's tail, twisted it violently, the others poked him
from behind with their oars. Osman all this time was expostulating with
the animal from the bank.
"Dear horse, jump in! You shall have as much barley as you can eat this
evening."
This argument not having any effect upon the horse, Osman's language
waxed stronger, and he heaped numerous curses upon the animal's
ancestry.
"Drat you!" said Radford at last; "you are always a-talking when there
is something to do. Go and help, can't you?" Suiting the action to the
word, he gave a push to the noisy Turk, which nearly upset him into the
water.
At length, and by the exertions of all our party, my horse was
persuaded to make an effort. Rearing himself up, he placed his two
fore-feet in the boat. A chorus of oaths and ejaculations—the hind-legs
followed. Once safely in, I bandaged his eyes. The other horses,
seeing that one of their number was embarked, followed without much
difficulty.
We floated down the stream for some distance, and at a great speed,
before the boatmen could get any command over their craft, which
whirled round as if in a whirlpool. Fortunately the horses were all
blindfolded, and could not see the water. At last we reached the
opposite bank, having descended the stream for more than a mile from
our starting-point. So much time was lost in getting the other horses
over, that night was upon us before we reached our destination,
Yakshagan, a large village with two hundred houses. It was only
fourteen miles from Asra Yuzgat, though, owing to the river, we had
employed from sunrise to sunset in the journey.
At Yakshagan it was necessary to hire fresh post-horses. The official
at the station was very uncivil, and declared that he would not supply
me with any unless I paid for three horses from Angora. I had only
engaged two, however, the man with them had chosen to bring a third
animal, instead of riding on one of the baggage horses. At last the
difficulty was settled by the guide, who was known to the postmaster,
saying that he would be responsible for the amount; whilst I agreed
to refer the matter to the authorities at Yuzgat, and abide by their
decision.
I started rather late, in consequence of the altercation. After a
five hours' ride along a good road and through a beautiful country, we
arrived at Madeh. Here there are several silver-mines which, till very
lately, have been worked by the Turks. I was informed that water has
recently found its way into the pits. In consequence of this the miners
had abandoned them.
"It is a great pity," said an old Turk, an inhabitant of the village.
"With proper machinery it would be easy to pump out the water, and
these mines abound in silver."
"We have got nothing but paper money in Anatolia," he added
sorrowfully, "all this rich metal lies buried beneath our feet."
It surprises a traveller to find that the Turks make so little use of
their mines. In the course of my ride from Angora I had passed through
a country apparently abounding in iron, and with many traces of coal.
At Madeh there is silver, whilst copper is also found in the immediate
neighbourhood. With intelligent engineers to explore the mineral wealth
of Anatolia, Turkey would be able not only to pay the interest of her
debt, but would speedily become one of the richest countries in the
world.
From Madeh we continued the march to Kowakoli. The country on each side
of the road is covered with vines. The grapes in this part of Turkey
are very large. The inhabitants preserve the fruit throughout the
winter by hanging it up in cellars. The atmosphere is dry; unless the
temperature falls much below zero, and the grapes freeze, they can be
kept till the early spring. There is no wine made in the neighbourhood.
The Armenians, who in other parts of Anatolia make large sums of money
by distilling spirits, here neglect this branch of industry. The grapes
are either eaten, or the unfermented juice is kept to sweeten pastry,
for sugar is very dear, and costs more than a shilling the pound.
This price is beyond the means of not only the poorer, but even of
the wealthier inhabitants of the district. In consequence of this they
drink their coffee without sweetening it, and look upon a present of a
few pounds of sugar as a donation worthy of a sultan's generosity.
I was hospitably entertained by an old farmer. He bewailed the
disasters caused by the Angora famine, which had been felt throughout
all this district. The road from Angora had been blocked by snow for
three months and a half. His cattle all died from starvation, his goats
had also perished. The late Sultan, Abdul Aziz, had sent large sums of
money and food to the suffering people; but the roads were impassable,
and the provisions could not reach their destination. Many poor people
had died of hunger with cartloads of corn and barley only a few miles
from their doors.
My host had one son, a lad about sixteen years of age. The boy
regretted that he was not old enough to join the sultan's forces.
"Your time will come soon enough," observed his parent.
"He does not know what war is like," added the farmer sorrowfully. "A
great many men have gone to Servia from this neighbourhood, and several
have been killed. God grant, if my boy should have to go, that he may
return to his old father."
"Is there much enthusiasm here for the war?" I inquired.
"Immense," replied the farmer; "the people feel that it is a question
not only of religion but also of property. We landlords should not like
to have Russian assessors grinding us down to the last piastre. We do
not wish to be tortured to change our religion, and we do not want to
be made soldiers against our will."
"But you are all soldiers now," I remarked.
"Yes, because it is the time of war, and it is a struggle for our very
existence. When the fighting is over, our young men will return to
their homesteads, and gladden their families once more."
"Do you think that you shall be able to withstand your foe?"
"Allah is always on the side of justice, and He will give us the
victory," rejoined the old man proudly. "Our land shall drink our blood
ere we give up one foot of soil to the invader."
We now rode towards Sekili, a village about twenty-seven miles from our
sleeping quarters.
Presently my grey horse began to walk lame. He had been kicked by the
guide's animal on the previous day. My weight was too much for the
poor little brute. I resolved to change horses with Osman, who was
much lighter than myself. Calling the Turk to my side, I desired him
to dismount, and then mounted the ambling steed. The pace of a Rahvan,
or ambling horse, is an easy one for the rider; and the animal can get
over the ground at the rate of about five miles an hour; the ordinary
walk of the small Turkish horses being not much above three.
We passed by some hovels. Their walls were built of marble; the roofs
were made of beams covered with mud; the pure white rock presenting a
striking contrast to its filthy surroundings. Marble abounds in this
neighbourhood. Large blocks were lying on all sides of us, and along
our path. Some ruins in the vicinity showed that hundreds of years ago
the inhabitants of this part of Anatolia were able to utilize their
quarries.
Poor Turkey, she has descended the steps of civilization, and not
ascended them like European nations.
However, though mud hovels have replaced the marble palaces of
the Turk's ancestors, the Turks themselves remain unchanged.
Hospitality—their great virtue—is as rife in 1877 as in the days of
Mohammed II. No matter where an Englishman may ask for shelter, he will
never find a Mohammedan who will deny him admittance.
We left behind us some mountains of slate, and rode over rich soil,
which had been left fallow for miles around.
"There are not inhabitants enough to cultivate the land," was the
guide's answer to a question from me about the subject.
He was doubtless right. Asia Minor, like Spain, needs a threefold
population to develop her natural wealth. Let foreign settlers go
to Anatolia. Let them make railways throughout the country, it could
supply the whole of Great Britain with corn, and the mines of coal
and of other minerals would prove a source of immense wealth to the
inhabitants.
Later in the day we passed a Kurdish encampment. The Kurds all lived
in circular black tents, and some women, with unveiled faces, rushed
outside the dwellings to see the strangers pass.
The Turkish authorities have great difficulty in collecting the
taxes from this nomad race. Whenever the Kurds expect a visit from
the tax-collector, they pack up their chattels and migrate to the
mountains. Here they can place the Turkish officer at defiance, and
only return to the plains when their spies have announced the enemy's
departure. A few years ago the wealth of the Kurdish sheiks was very
considerable; many of them owned twenty, and even thirty thousand
sheep, besides large droves of horses, and numerous herds of cattle.
The famine, however, which devastated the province, was as disastrous
for the Kurds as for the Turks. It has left them in a wretched state of
poverty.
The Delidsche Ermak, a tributary of the Kizil Ermak, crossed our path.
There was no bridge, and we had some difficulty in finding a ford. At
last the marks of some horses' hoofs showed our guide the exact spot:
riding into the stream—here about fifty yards wide—and with the water
up to his horse's girths, he piloted us over in safety. The bottom of
the river is firm. I was informed that the stream becomes very shallow
during the summer months; the inhabitants can then cross it with their
ox-carts.
The village of Sekili is made up of twenty mud hovels. Our
accommodation for the night was not of a luxurious kind. But
after a long and tiring march a man speedily reconciles himself to
circumstances. A fire was lit. Two old hens were stewing in the pot. A
kettle full of tea simmered on the fire; and with a pipe after dinner,
things looked a little brighter than at first. We next traversed a
district abounding with salt. The soil sparkled in the sun. The crystal
substance was visible for a considerable distance. Presently some
Turkoman girls, with high, picturesque head-dresses, rode by us at
a gallop: their merry laughter rang in the air as they passed. Soon
afterward we came to their village, the habitations being nothing
more or less than a few holes in the side of a hill. The Turkomans
pronounce Turkish rather differently to the Turks. At first I had some
little difficulty in making myself understood. Indeed, a man must be a
polyglot to know all the languages spoken in Anatolia. Armenian, Greek,
Circassian, Kurdish, Tartar, Persian, Georgian, and Arabic, besides
Turkish, are heard within a radius of one hundred miles. The different
sounds in these languages are very puzzling to a stranger who is trying
to perfect himself in Turkish.
Some Turkomans, dressed in white tunics, broad red trousers, and with
grey sashes round their waists, were sitting idly at the entrance to
their burrows. A woman, in a crimson dressing-gown, and a few girls,
with naught on save long white shifts, and caps, were busily engaged in
drawing water from a neighbouring well. Some goats, which had descended
the hill, were feeding on the roofs of the houses.
We entered one of the dwellings, but so many fleas were hopping about
that I determined to eat my lunch in the open air. The proprietor of
the hovel was very much surprised at our preferring the cold outside to
the shelter of his domicile.
"My Effendi does not like fleas," said Osman.
"There are not many here!" said the proprietor. "It does not do to be
particular. In Sekili," he continued, "fleas abound, the Effendi ought
to be accustomed to them by this time."
"What does he say, sir?" asked Radford, as Osman gradually explained
the Turkoman's remarks to me.
"Say! He says that you ought to be accustomed to fleas by this time."
"Accustomed, sir? No, but they are getting accustomed to me. Haldershot
is a joke to this here Turkey so far as fleas are concerned."
Presently my servant continued,—
"These Turks, sir, ain't got no decent tobacco, why a pipeful of
cavendish, or good bird's hi, is worth all the hay they smoke. No
wonder people in England abuse the Turks—and quite right too. Men who
might grow shag tobacco, and prefer growing hay tobacco, can't be of
much account."