Snow—The path covered by it—The scenery—Upset in a
snow-drift—Nearly down a chasm—Probing the ground—A
consultation—Teaching my followers manners—May he die of
the plague—A baggage-horse knocked up—Yarbasan—A dirty
village—The farmer committing himself to Providence—Visiting
his friends—The Zaptiehs—Their remarks—The giaour threatened
to beat us—The Inglis giaour is different to the Armenian
giaour.
Snow fell heavily during the night. The next morning our path was
covered to a depth of quite two feet. In the valley it was as much as
our horses could do to force a passage onward; but, as we ascended
a mountain path, the snow, though deep, was in a frozen state, and
afforded a firm foothold.
The scenery was very picturesque as we gradually climbed the steep. The
bushes and pine-trees which studded the mountain's sides were wreathed
in flossy snow; crags of all shapes and colours glinted out above the
pale white carpet. A thick veil of azure clouds hung on the peaks of
the distant hills; then, gradually dispersed by the rising sun, it
broke up into a hundred different forms, and, ascending higher in the
sky, opened out other mountains to our vision. Layer upon layer of
seemingly ever-ascending ranges barred the way in front. They sparkled
beneath the rays of the golden orb. They flashed and glittered like the
billows of the mighty deep. My eyeballs acted and felt as if they would
burst beneath the glare. The village at our feet disappeared in the
distance; shrubs and such-like traces of vegetation were now no longer
to be seen. We had arrived in the midst of what seemed to be a vast
white ocean. The intensity of the light created a kind of mirage along
the surface. The various crests and ranges seemed to rise and fall.
They became more wave-like than before. Not a living thing was in sight
save ourselves. Ever and anon a boom, as of thunder, announced the fall
of an avalanche.
The cry of "Look out!" from a Zaptieh in rear of our party awoke me
from the contemplation of Nature's marvellous scene. A second later,
and I found myself on the broad of my back in a snow-drift; the
animal which I had been riding was pawing the air with his fore-legs,
like a spaniel the first time he is thrown into the water; before
any one could reach my horse's head, over he fell—the soft substance
fortunately saving my body from the effects of the collision. It
appeared that I had strayed half a yard or so from the track, hence
this disaster. The Zaptieh in front of our party dismounted, taking
a wand, six feet in length, from his saddle-bow, he began to advance
with great caution, and to probe the ground before him at every step he
took.
"There are deep holes," said Mohammed, wading through the snow to my
assistance. "If we fall down one of them we shall remain there, and in
the summer the eagles will pick our bones. It will be better for all of
us to walk and lead the horses," he continued. "Even then we shall have
great difficulty in effecting a passage. The chief Zaptieh has been
saying that it would be better if we were to return to Kotnu and try to
cross the mountains to-morrow."
The snow had recommenced falling; it was difficult to see what lay
before us. However, we had accomplished more than half of the day's
march. In all probability the path would soon become more difficult.
I determined at all hazards to push on, and the more particularly as
I had no time to waste, owing to my limited leave of absence. Forward
we waded through the gradually-rising drifts. Each man followed his
neighbour in Indian file; presently the leading Zaptieh who was engaged
in sounding the path before him, buried the six-feet wand in the snow;
he thrust his elbow down after the stick; there was still no bottom.
We were off the track. A false step might at any moment send us down
the chasm. A consultation took place between the Zaptiehs, the head man
urging forcibly upon our party the necessity of returning. But when we
faced the other way, the wind cut against our eyes with great violence.
The particles of snow were so blinding that it was clearly much more
dangerous to return than to proceed.
"It is our fate!" remarked the chief Zaptieh to the comrade by his side.
"Destruction seize the giaour who may be the cause of all our deaths!"
said another.
"Let him die of the plague!" added a third.
This rather strong language was uttered in a loud tone, and as if the
speakers did not care whether their observations met my ear or not.
"I tell you what it is!" I cried rather sternly to my unruly followers,
and at the same time drawing my revolver; "I cannot reach you with my
whip; but if you make any more insulting remarks, I shall send a bullet
in your direction to teach you manners!"
"For the sake of heaven be quiet!" cried Mohammed to the Zaptiehs—for
he, being directly in the line of fire, did not wish to expose himself
as a shield to the delinquents.
"There will be no baksheesh unless you are as docile as horses,"
continued my Turkish servant.
This last remark, combined with my threat—which, it is needless to say,
I had no intention to put into execution—brought the guides to their
senses. Presently the stick of the leading Zaptieh struck against the
track, and, after wading through the snow for some three hours more, we
descended the side of the mountain. The snow disappeared as we reached
the vale below, and deep mud, reaching above our knees, covered the
track before us. It was terrible hard work for the baggage-horses. One
of them, stumbling, fell prostrate in the mire. No amount of pressure
would induce him to get up; so, taking off his pack-saddle and dividing
the baggage as best we could—placing some on the saddle-horses and
carrying the rest ourselves—we struggled on to a glimmering light which
marked our quarters for the night.
The village of Yarbasan was reached. Sending back some of the villagers
for the abandoned animal, I prepared to make myself as comfortable as
the circumstances would allow.
In the meantime Radford and Mohammed were busily engaged in unloading
the other baggage-horse. The pack-saddle was too broad to pass
through the narrow gateway; all the luggage had to be unstrapped in
the street—such a street as it was too! Imagine a farm-yard of the
dirtiest description, and without any straw to absorb the filthy
refuse; but even this does not convey to my own mind the hideous state
of the road through Yarbasan. The inhabitants possessed many cattle,
which were each evening driven into the village, so as to be out of
the way of wolves. It had never occurred to the mind of the oldest
villager to remove the deposits of their cows and oxen. If a farmer
wished to pay a visit to a neighbour across the way, he simply tucked
up his dressing-gown under his arm-pits, took off his slippers, broad
trousers, and stockings, then, committing himself to Providence, he
would wade through the dirt to his friend's house.
"Why do you not clean the street?" I inquired of my host, an old Turk,
who, having just come in from the country, was rubbing his legs with
some straw before the fire.
"The mud will dry up in the summer months," replied the man; "why
trouble our heads about it now?"
The inside of the dwelling was not so clean as an average pig-sty.
Horses, oxen, cows, and sheep were stowed away in the same room as
ourselves. The Zaptiehs had squatted down in one corner with the host,
Radford and Mohammed lay stretched out in the middle of the floor.
In a few minutes a woman arrived from some other house in the
neighbourhood. She was clad in a long strip of cloth, which enveloped
the upper part of her body; her legs and feet were covered with mud.
Putting down a large wooden tray, on which were several thin cakes
of half-cooked paste, and a basinful of oily soup, she retired. The
proprietor of the house, after offering the dishes to me, returned to
the Zaptiehs. In the meantime, closing my eyes, I tried to doze off
to sleep. Presently the gendarmes thought that I was in the land of
Somnus, and my attention was aroused by the familiar term of "giaour."
"Only think of our being ordered to accompany an infidel to Divriki in
the winter!" observed the chief of the party.
"Yes, and for him to threaten to whip us!" said the other.
"He would have done it too," said Mohammed, joining in the
conversation. "My Effendi is not like the Christians about here. He is
an Inglis!"
"So the Inglis giaours are different to the Armenian giaours?" observed
the Zaptieh.
"Very different: the Armenians talk, but the Inglis strike. Hush! hush!
we shall awake him!"—and the conversation gradually died away in a
whisper.