TO LAKE VAN
The principal artery of traffic in Turkish Armenia crosses the land
from west to east. It follows the direction of a series of depressions:
the plains of Erzerum, of Pasin and of Alashkert. It consists of a
carriageable track, or rough road of unequal quality. The bulk of
the transit trade between Europe and northern Persia is conveyed on
the backs of camels along this route. The wall of protective duties
which has been reared by the Russian Government compels this commerce
to flow through a Turkish port and to adhere to Turkish soil. It
has been stimulated by the efforts of a series of British consuls,
resident at Erzerum. Robberies have been punished with great severity;
and, at the present day, the traffic is seldom, if ever, interrupted,
although it passes through the Kurd-inhabited districts about Bayazid,
and the lawless border of the Persian and Turkish empires.
South of this beaten avenue are situated regions which, in spite of
the researches of individual travellers, are still but imperfectly
known. The lake of Van remains a centre of agriculture and primitive
industry; yet it lies beyond a zone of feebly governed country which,
year by year, is becoming more difficult to cross. The pest of Kurds
has settled firmly upon these richly favoured territories, destroying
agriculture and banishing trade. What caravans there are travel in
large bodies, and every man is armed to the teeth. Between Erzerum
and the town of Van they choose between two routes according to the
season of the year. In summer they cross the mountains behind the
northern capital, and proceed by the plain of Khinis, crossing the
Murad at Melazkert. During winter they make the round by way of Pasin
and Alashkert, deviating on the confines of the latter district, and
passing the river at Tutakh. The approach through the town of Mush is
used only once a year, when the pilgrims journey from Erzerum to the
cloister of Surb Karapet. On that occasion the caravan, according
to my informants, continues its course as far as Van. By the two
first routes it is usual to follow the eastern shore of the lake,
which is reached near the little town of Akantz. [1]
We set out from Karakilisa on October the 29th, mounted on our
newly-purchased horses, and accompanied by a zaptieh or gendarme. Our
objective was this same Akantz; the principal intermediate stations
were Tutakh and Patnotz. I had thought it possible to accomplish the
ride in the course of two days; our friends laughed at the idea. I
decided therefore to start in the afternoon, with the hope of arriving
on the evening of the third day. At a quarter-past three o'clock we
were making our way along the marsh to the point where the Murad
leaves the plain. After reaching the bend, we proceeded down the
passage which receives the river, towards Dombat and the grassy hills
which I have already mentioned. On our left hand, at an interval of
about 500 yards from the left bank, rose the first gentle slopes of
the Ala Dagh system; this high land was answered on the right bank,
at about a similar distance, by the outworks of the Kilich Gedik. The
Murad pursues its course between these two blocks of mountain, and,
a little lower down, forces its way through the narrowing gap. Near
Dombat both banks are of considerable elevation, and the ridges appear
to cross the direction of the stream. Before arriving opposite the
village we crossed the Sharian Su, a tributary which collects the
drainage of the western portion of the plain, and which appeared to
us to have a volume scarcely less than that of the principal branch.
After passing Dombat--which was said to be inhabited by Kizilbashes--we
sank to a valley in which is situated the Kurdish village of Zado,
and ascended the ridge on its opposite side. From the summit we
commanded a prospect towards Karakilisa, and were impressed by the
serpentine course of the river, flowing towards us in a pebbly bed
which it threaded by several channels. We were placed at a height of
some 250 feet above its waters. On a hillside further south we could
now discern our evening station, the little village of Avdi. It was
signalised by a green patch, due to vegetable gardens; its surroundings
were bleak and bare. Arriving at half-past five, we selected the best
of the fifteen tenements as quarters for the night. We were surprised
to find a sergeant of the regular army established in this miserable
place. He had come to recruit Kurds for the Hamidiyeh, and bitterly
cursed his fate.
Next morning we were anxious to reach Tutakh before mid-day in
order to pass the night at Patnotz. At a quarter to eight we were in
the saddle; it had rained during the night, and heavy clouds hung
over the hills. As we rose up the slope, we caught glimpses of the
mountains which bound the plain of Alashkert upon the north. The plain
itself had long been lost; we were at some distance from the river;
we looked across high hills, which engulfed the invisible waters,
to the summits of the Ala Dagh. The doubtful track commenced to
wind between grassy slopes, strewn with boulders--a belt of country
well adapted to guerilla warfare, and reputed the favourite haunt of
Kurdish robbers. Horsemen would no doubt be completely at their mercy
in the blind recesses of these irregular valleys. At a quarter to nine
we approached the Murad, still high above it; the hills rose from
either bank. In another half hour we obtained our first view of the
cone of Sipan, a gleaming object in the south. Some two miles further
the landscape opened, and assumed the character of a vast steppe of
broken and uneven ground. Distant ranges encircled the expanse with dim
outlines; Sipan alone was clearly defined against the sky. From the
Kurdish village of Köshk we obtained a fine view over this country,
with its waving surface featured by shadows from the clouds. We had
got behind the barrier of the Kilich Gedik; and the whole segment of
the circle from north-west to south-west was filled by comparatively
level land. We observed a prominent shape in the mountains of the
furthest distance, which we identified with the Khamur Dagh. Beyond
the Mussulman village of Okhan, the river, which had left us, took
a sharp bend, and joined our course. We made our way along it at a
rapid trot and reached Tutakh a little after eleven o'clock.
The little township does not possess more than about a hundred houses;
yet it is the seat of a Kaimakam whose administrative area includes
Patnotz, and meets the boundary of the vilayet of Van. It stands on
rising ground, at some little distance from the bank of the river,
facing the lofty hills which rise on the opposite shore, and push
the Murad towards the west. It is about equidistant from Karakilisa
and from Patnotz, a ride of some twenty-three miles from the first,
and of twenty-eight miles from the second. The inhabitants are for the
greater part Karapapakhs, imported into the district after the last
Russo-Turkish war. They can now boast of some 400 houses in the caza,
or a population of about 3000 souls. Agriculturists by profession,
and by temperament robbers, they appear to be in an extremely
prosperous state. Their aged chief conversed with me, and imparted
several particulars which I had not known before. He told me that
they had emigrated from the province of Chaldir, being dissatisfied
with the Russian Government, who had not treated them well in the
matter of lands. The Sultan had received them back, settled them in
these fertile regions, and allotted to them as much ground as they
required. I questioned him with some care about the original seats of
his tribe; he was emphatic that they had always lived in Chaldir. [2]
Taylor tells us that they became possessed of the villages and lands
in that province, and in the neighbouring province of Kars, which
had been abandoned by the Armenians who followed the army of Marshal
Paskevich upon his evacuation of Turkish territory in 1829. According
to the chief, their original possessions in Transcaucasia extended
from Daghestan to Chaldir. The tribe supplies a regiment of Hamidiyeh
for this caza; the head men were resplendent in their new uniforms,
of which they seemed very proud. Both here and at Karakilisa I was
impressed by the diversity of type which is found among them. Mingled
with physiognomies of purely Tartar or Persian character were faces
which, with their lighter hair and fairer complexion, might have
belonged to a group of Circassians. With the exception of the shops,
single-storeyed stone buildings, the houses in Tutakh are the usual
loose agglomerations of earth and rough stone. The great majority of
the population in the caza are Kurds; a scattering of Armenians are
entirely at the mercy of their rapacious Mussulman neighbours.
Our baggage animals, which had started from Avdi with us, arrived at
one o'clock. They were in charge of a second zaptieh, to whom I had
given instructions to find his way to Akantz as best he could. A little
before two we were again in the saddle, making for the adjacent ford
across the Murad. The river is fairly broad just opposite the town,
having a width at this season of about 100 yards. It had spread beyond
its average dimensions in this region, and the water did not reach
higher than the horses' knees. We admired the clear, blue current,
sweeping past us--a stream neither sluggish nor impetuous, as befits
the beginning of a great river. From the opposite bank we proceeded
at right angles to its direction, up the side of the line of high
hills. At eighteen minutes after two we had wound our way to the
summit; we stood on the surface of rolling downs. A little later,
when I thought we had reached the highest point of these uplands, I
took the reading of my aneroid. We had reached a level of 5800 feet,
or of 560 feet above Tutakh. The exhilarating air, the easy ground,
the magnificent prospects rendered our ride most enjoyable. Behind
us was the outline of the Kilich Gedik, running from east to west. We
could just see the crest of the Kuseh Dagh beyond it, the summit of the
dome. Towards the south rose the irregular mass of the Khamur, and the
beautiful landmark of Sipan. That graceful mountain stood disclosed
to three-quarters of its height. Such are the rewards which Armenia
bestows upon the traveller, and which Man is powerless to destroy.
That insignificant creature lives in squalor amid scenes of desolation
which are due to himself alone. The soil is rich and loamy; but
it is little cultivated, and lies idle beneath a covering of rough
grass. The climate is more propitious than that of the corresponding
highlands in the more northerly, or Russian portion of the land. The
rainfall is probably less; but this disadvantage may be balanced by
the earlier maturing of the crops. We rode for an hour without seeing
a village, with the heights of the Ala Dagh following our course
away on the left. The first settlement which we passed was Milan,
inhabited by Kurds, which we were careful to avoid. Those of their
number whom we met were armed with numerous knives, and had rifles
slung across their shoulders. A little further I called a halt on
the requisition of the zaptieh; he was very anxious that the plan
of the journey should be changed. It was half-past three o'clock;
we could not reach Patnotz before nightfall; if I persisted it was
almost certain we should be attacked. In crossing from the territory
of the Sipkanli tribe to that of the Haideranli, we should be obliged
to run the gauntlet of the armed parties which scoured the frontier
between these two hostile tribes. He pointed to a dot on the grassy
plain about us which he identified with the village of Köshk. He said
that it was the residence of the chief of the Sipkanli, who from his
official relations with the Turkish Government would be obliged to
shelter us. His counsel was no doubt sound if one could only trust
his estimate of our distance from Patnotz. For some time we had been
passing between two opposite hill ranges, one on our left front, the
other on our right. On our point of course, in the middle distance,
these outlines approached one another, leaving between them a wide
gap. The ridge on the left, a spur of Ala Dagh, was said to bear the
name of Gelarash Dagh; that on the right was called Kartevin Dagh. It
would be no short ride to the passage between the two; and this gave
access, according to the zaptieh, to the plain in which, upon its
further confines, was situated Patnotz. Satisfied by his explanations,
I deferred to his judgment, and directed our steps a few points off
our true course, towards the village which he had indicated. A shower
of soft rain was falling as we entered Köshk at four o'clock.
I have already introduced my reader to a Kurdish village; the
description of one may be applied to all. But Köshk is distinguished
by a single house in the proper sense, a two-storeyed building of
stone. It is the abode of Yusuf Bey, chieftain of the Sipkanli, whose
portrait I was allowed to take (Fig. 114). His followers gathered
round us, a throng of Kurdish warriors, prepared at any moment for a
fight. Besides knives, each man carried a rifle; a band of cartridges
was fastened across the breast. I examined several weapons; all bore
the Russian marks and letters. They told me that they were procured
from the Russian soldiers, probably Cossacks, in the frontier districts
of Kagyzman and Erivan. When a little later I questioned the chief
about this traffic, he expressed surprise that the soldiers should be
able to obtain firearms for the purpose of selling them. After some
palaver we were ushered into his presence; he happened to be engaged in
prayer. A broad divan followed the bare walls of a spacious apartment,
and rugs were spread upon the divan. Several tall, lank figures stood
on these bright carpets, with stockings on their feet. They faced
the window and the light; at the head of one of the two lines was
placed an individual whom we easily recognised as the mollah from
his humbler stature, stouter person and ampler robes. Their backs
were turned towards us as we entered; we advanced a little, but not
a muscle of the faces moved. Then the silence was broken by a deep,
gurgling sound, which developed into the expression of a series of
labials, half a chant, half a spoken prayer. At certain passages
the figures bowed to the ground, or dropped to a seated posture,
and were still. To us it seemed an ideal rendering of the solemn
relation between man and the universe.
The litany completed, our hosts at once turned towards us, with a
sudden change of countenance which took us by surprise. Yusuf Bey
extended to us his massive but almost fleshless hand; his cavernous
cheeks were lit by a smile. He and his brother are men of more than
ordinary proportions, and both are true types of the Kurd. He told
me that they were in daily expectation of attack from Hoseyn Pasha
of Patnotz. This miscreant, although under the ban of justice, had
been given the title of Pasha by the Turkish Government, partly in
order to recruit their new irregulars among his tribe, and partly as
a recompense for his bribes. He had quite recently burnt some villages
of the Sipkanli, and had reduced the clan to poverty. Judging from the
finery which was displayed by the inhabitants of Köshk (Fig. 115), I
could only accept the latter part of this statement in a very relative
sense. The seats of the Sipkanli extend to the territory of Bayazid;
they supply three regiments to the Hamidiyeh. After partaking of
supper, we composed ourselves to sleep in the same apartment into
which we had been introduced. The night was disturbed by the weird
cries which were exchanged at frequent intervals between the patrols
in the outskirts and the guard in the village.
Among the forty tenements which constituted this particular
settlement we were astonished to find that six were inhabited by
Armenians. Imagine the condition of these poor people, in the very
jaws of their enemy, who just allows them to exist and no more! The
Turkish authorities, a long way distant, would be quite powerless
to assist them, even if they had the desire. A poor stableman told
us beneath his breath that their lot was desperate, and that some of
his countrymen had contrived to escape to Russia.
The rawness of the climate in the plain of Alashkert had disappeared
when we reached Köshk. [3] The weather became mild, and the sun shone
freely from a sky almost devoid of cloud. When next morning we were
again in the saddle at twenty minutes after seven, the mown pastures
looked green and fresh after the rain of the preceding evening, and it
was a delight to breathe the crisp air. We could still see the distant
dome of the Kuseh Dagh; the ridge on our left hid the lower slopes
of Sipan. We rode towards the still remote promontory of that grassy
ridge, and the gap between the outlines in the hills. At a little after
eight we had reached the passage; it appeared to have a width of about
a mile. It leads from the undulating plains about Köshk to the level
plain of Patnotz. The ground falls away by a succession of inequalities
to a spacious area of flat alluvial land. Beyond that lake-like surface
rises the fabric of a single mountain, the broad base, the vaulted
slopes, the massive crown. Sipan was at last exposed from foot to
summit, recalling by many a characteristic the majestic Ararat. [4]
There was the same length of sweep, the same symmetry of structure,
the same rounded central form. And if we missed the gardens and the
immense expanse of the campagna of Erivan, this open plain seemed to
repeat the surroundings of Ararat on a scale exactly suited to Sipan.
Near the opening we passed the tiny village of Burnu Bulakh, inhabited
by Kurds. We doubled the long promontory; it was evident it had been
pushing us away from our true course. Once rounded, we pursued a
south-easterly direction, keeping to the base of the hills to which
it belongs. In these solitudes a human figure is an unfamiliar object;
great was our surprise to perceive several men running towards us from
a recess in the range. Stranger still was the discovery that they did
not bear arms; we collected together, and awaited their approach. When
they had reached speaking distance, they unfolded their story, and
begged for protection at our hands. They were Turks from the province
of Kars who had deserted their lands and homes, taking with them all
their portable wealth. They said that the Russian Government treated
them very badly, favouring the Molokans, and annoying the members of
their religion and race. They had resolved to seek new seats beneath
the sceptre of the Sultan, and had crossed the frontier in pursuit of
this end. Their journey had until yesterday been uneventful; but last
evening, as they were approaching the territory of the Haideranli,
they had been savagely attacked. The Kurds had despoiled them of
all their possessions, and had been induced with difficulty to leave
them the clothes in which they stood. Poor fellows! honest, sturdy
peasants, returning to their old allegiance and to the stronghold
of Islam, only to find the one insulted by robbers and the other a
gaping ruin. All we could do was to take them to the prince of the
bandits, in the hope that he would be more prudent than his wild
bands. Inasmuch as they were without horses it was impossible that
they should accompany us to the town of Akantz.
Not less eloquent an illustration of the decay of the Ottoman Empire
was the landscape through which we passed. Mile after mile, the eye
ranged across the floor of the alluvial plain to the lower slopes
of the great volcano which, with the hills circling towards them,
compose a basin-like area of vast extent. The fertile soil lies idle,
as though the waters had lately receded; in the distance some goats
and cattle browsed the burnt and scanty grass. Nature alone has made
the most of exceptional opportunities; and Sipan, with this plain on
one flank and the lake of Van upon the other, is worthy to rank among
the most beautiful objects in the natural world (Fig. 116). There, can
be little difference between the level of the expanse on either side;
plain and sea have an elevation of about 5500 feet. The summit of the
slowly-rising fabric which divides them attains an altitude of 13,700
feet. The history of the mountain may be studied to advantage from
this, the northern side. There can be little doubt that it possessed a
central crater, of which the walls have fallen in upon the north. The
southern rim still stands, presenting an almost horizontal outline of
sharp rock, harbouring drifts of snow. [5] The processes of denudation
have been busy with the slopes of this ancient cone, and have broken
the surface into knife-like ridges. We stood for half-an-hour in full
face of the pile. After crossing two little rivulets which wandered
out from the hills behind us, we arrived at half-past ten in Patnotz.
We found it nothing better than a wretched Kurdish village, with some
one hundred huts and numerous stacks of dried manure. It is situated at
the foot of the hill range which we had been skirting, and which had
gradually been circling round towards Sipan. It overlooks the plain
and the opposite volcano. About thirty of the tenements are occupied
by Armenian families, and there is a row of shops which rise proudly
from the ground. On the further outskirts a large stone building was
in process of being erected; the Armenian masons were busy with the
work. It was to serve as a school and for other purposes, and was due
to the policy in favour with the Sultan, of educating the Kurds. I
understood that the funds were provided by the Turkish Government. We
rode up to a group of people assembled before this palace, and
enquired for the chief. Among them was an individual of heavy build
and forbidding features, attired in a long coat of military pattern,
and displaying the brass ensign of the Hamidiyeh on the sheepskin cap
which he wore. It was Hoseyn Pasha, lord of the Haideranli, and ruler
of the territory of Patnotz. The irregular mouth and nose, and the
dull, sparkless eyes correspond with the reputation which he bears. But
discontent as well as malice was written upon his countenance; and
the situation explained the humour of the man. His followers would
no doubt argue that he was assisting at his own destruction; this
school was the visible evidence of the Ottoman yoke. I have no doubt
that he would console them with the assurance of its futility; and I
am certain that he would be right. Meanwhile he had appropriated the
completed apartments as a residence for himself. I waited for him to
invite us to be his guests in his new quarters; but he beckoned to an
attendant to find us a room in one of the huts. So I dismounted, and
myself led the way into the schoolhouse, obliging him either to affront
or follow me. He chose the latter course. Continuing the same tactics,
I bade him take a seat by my side on his own divan. In his company was
a fine specimen of the Kurdish nation, whose mien contrasted with that
of his chief; and a genial Turk who had travelled, and was at once
a man of the world and a parasite of the lowest type. This gentleman
was delighted to have an opportunity of conversing about the affairs
of the outside world; it was to him that I addressed the conversation
until the sullen temper of the chief relaxed. When I was able to put
some questions in return for those which I had answered, the tongue of
Hoseyn Pasha had commenced to flow. He told me he was the titular chief
of the Hasananli Kurds, a tribe of which the Haideranli, Adamanli, and
Sipkanli were offshoots or species. This widely-spread genus extended
to the Persian frontier. I asked him why his people did not cultivate
the plain, and augment their wealth and numbers. He replied that in
the absence of communications and markets they were not encouraged to
take such a course. We lunched off some wretched cheese, inlaid with
herbs in Kurdish fashion; and, after commending our companions to his
sense of responsibility, took leave at a quarter-past eleven o'clock.
I am sorry that I am not able to present a better description of the
features of the country between Patnotz and the lake of Van. I hope
that some future traveller will be able to ascend the sides of the
hills along the trough of which we rode for many miles. I should advise
him to devote at least three days to the journey between Karakilisa
and Akantz. The first night would be spent at Tutakh, the second at
Patnotz. Hoseyn Pasha was astonished to hear of our intention to push
on to our destination by a single stage. But the zaptieh knew of no
village in which we might safely sojourn, before reaching the territory
of Akantz. The authority of the Turkish Government is little better
than a name among the valleys of the Ala Dagh. I was assured that I had
formed a wrong conception of the distance, which, measured direct on
the map of Kiepert, amounts to no more than twenty-one miles. Arrived
at Akantz, I computed that we had covered, from station to station,
no less than thirty-six miles. An incident which occurred just after
our departure contributed to hasten our steps. A Kurd, mounted on
a swift Arab, cantered ahead of us and was soon lost to sight. The
zaptieh was certain it was an emissary of the chief, whose treachery
he feared. The word would be given to the bands in the district that
helpless travellers were passing their way. I think it more probable
that he was bearer of orders not to attack us on any account.
From Patnotz we proceeded in an easterly direction towards the ridge
which bounds the plain upon the east. It connects with the hills
which we had so long been skirting, and which hollow inwards beyond
the village. A few minutes before twelve we were on the summit of the
low pass, and were leaving behind us the landscape of the plain. We
entered a broad valley, which, with a grassy hill range on either side,
stretched away towards south-east. The range on our right concealed
from view the lower slopes of Sipan, and was distant about a mile. Its
elevation above the valley was at first not greater than from 100
to 500 feet; but, as we proceeded, it rose to a more considerable
altitude, and, at the same time, came closer up to the track. On our
left hand the barrier was more remote and loftier, some five miles
off, and some 1000 feet above our heads. The heights were streaked
with snow; according to our informants, they belong to the system of
the Ala Dagh. We rode for several hours between these two ridges, the
ground rising as we advanced. Here and there a little brook threaded
the waste soil, flowing towards the west. At one o'clock we came up
with a long line of bullock carts, travelling from Erzerum to Van. We
counted no less than seventy of these primitive vehicles, crawling
over the ground with creaking wheels. Several horsemen accompanied
the caravan, their persons bristling with arms of every kind. The
leader was a Turk of quality and some importance. He told me that
the journey occupied eight days, and that the Murad was crossed at
Tutakh. Each of the drivers was said to be in possession of weapons,
although they did not happen to be wearing them as we passed.
Three-quarters of an hour later we crossed a nice stream which,
according to the zaptieh, flows into the lake. The transparent
current pursued for some distance a roughly parallel direction to
the south-easterly course upon which we rode. It left us to diverge
southwards towards the barrier on our right; but we could not discover
at what point it pierced the hills. A few horses were grazing upon its
margin, and we wondered to whom they might belong. The track continued
to approach the immediate foot of those hills, and they continued to
increase in height. But it became evident that the average elevation
of the ground had risen, for we were on a level with the higher slopes
of the opposite range. At three o'clock we reached the end of the
long valley, which narrows towards its head. The hills roll away;
you stand on a lofty platform which commands a distant prospect of
the lake of Van.
Dismounting on the rough soil, we stood for half-an-hour in
contemplation of the scene. All our horses showed signs of fatigue;
that of the dragoman was quite exhausted, and his plump rider required
to be lifted from the saddle. We had covered, according to estimate,
some 18 miles from Patnotz and over 33 from Köshk. The instruments were
uncased, and the elevation taken, which I compute in round numbers at
1000 feet above the level of the lake. Below us lay spacious tracts
of undulating country--friable soil, modelled into hummock shapes. We
could follow the long profile of the hills on our left hand, dying
away towards the still remote shore. The waters were scarcely visible
beyond the detail of the middle distance--a glimpse of blue in the lap
of the expanse. They represent the gulf-like extremity of the inland
sea, of which the broad face is hidden from these slopes. But the
scale and tendency of the land forms prepared us for such a presence,
which they were aptly designed to usher in. We stood on the edge of
a great half-circle; the view ranged to some sharp summits, belonging
to a ridge on the opposite side of the lake, which must have been some
40 miles away. Our zaptieh knew it under the name of Besh Parmak, or
the mountain of the five fingers. The arc of the curve was composed
by the heights in that direction, arresting the softness of the
vaulted hills and shelving ground. We were shown a long bank which
had the appearance of a mound, and was distinguished from similar
shapes by its size. It lay in the distant trough of the landscape,
and was said to overlook the town of Akantz.
I placed the dragoman on my own horse, and was obliged to perpetrate
the cruelty of riding his jaded animal. We had the benefit of the
incline; but the nature of the ground was against us, necessitating
long winds. Deep gullies obstructed our course; or we were turned aside
by rising land. If I have estimated correctly, we were separated from
our destination by a space of fifteen miles. We took to the saddle at
half-past three; we did not arrive until past seven; and we must have
covered some eighteen miles. At half-past four we crossed the first
running water, and we were at the first village at a little before
five. Karakilisa (Black Church) is well named, for it possesses
a little church of black stone, with group of gables and conical
dome. It is inhabited by Armenians, and has an air of prosperity;
we were refreshed by the rare sight of a group of trees. The next
settlement, Hipsinek, was also Armenian; we had emerged from the
wild Kurdish zone. As we neared the lower levels, the deep silence
of the evening was broken by a loud, rumbling sound. It was a river,
descending from the mountains, and flowing in a stony bed. They call
it the Buyuk Chai or Erishat; we crossed it, and arrived, soon after,
at a village which bears the last of these names. It was half-past six
o'clock; the light was uncertain; we were near water and on marshy
ground. A villager was hailed; he showed us the way with a lantern
to the solid land beyond. We proceeded at a walking pace along the
foot of a dark cliff to the houses of Akantz.