FROM MUSH TO ERZERUM
In travelling from Mush to Erzerum, you cross the block of the
Armenian highlands from their southern margin almost to their northern
verge. Should the season be that of summer, it is possible to perform
the passage on a course nearly as straight as a bee-line. For the
mountains which face the traveller from the depressions of this region
are, for the most part, but the sides of a higher table surface over
which he may ride for miles without drawing rein. But this higher
surface is much too elevated to render the journey pleasant, or
even safe, at the commencement or during the progress of an Armenian
winter. It is more prudent to adhere to the great plains at a lower
level, through which the tributaries to the Murad wind their way;
and from these to cross to the deeply-eroded bed of the Upper Araxes,
which affords a luxurious approach to the northern districts. This
route once adopted, two deviations are suggested which will not
lengthen the journey by many miles. The first is a visit to the
ancient cloister of Surb Karapet (John the Baptist), on the northern
border range of Mush plain; the second, a short sojourn in the ancient
burgh of Hasan Kala, not far from Erzerum. The northern capital will
be reached by convenient stages in six travelling days, the distance
covered being about 160 miles. [155]
It was the 29th of November, just after half-past nine in the
morning, when our party of four Europeans and four Turkish soldiers
defiled into the plain from the hill of Mush. The iron-grey colt
was being led by one of our new companions, the more docile that he
anticipated release. Were we prisoners and these our jailers? I asked
the question of the principal man, who was a sergeant with the name of
Mevlud Chaoush. A black shawl, reaching to the shoulders, was wound
about his head as a protection from the weather. His irregular and
forbidding features never broke into a smile, nor did his lips move
except to utter a command. We passed several deserted burying fields,
with fallen headstones, and forded the Garni Chai, a mere torrent in
a wide bed. More than half-an-hour had passed before we doubled the
western promontory, and struck our true course across the plain.
We skirted or could see several hamlets--dots in the expanse, which
had the appearance, usual in this country, of a sea. No hedges or
artificial boundaries parcel the ground; no leafy trees blend in the
distance to a soft, grey mass. The harvest had been gathered, and
you could scarcely tell the difference between the cultivated and the
unreclaimed soil. Marshes, instead of a network of irrigation channels,
received the waters babbling down from the southern range. After
several halts, rendered necessary by the freaks and misfortunes of
the baggage horse, we reached at half-past twelve the considerable
Armenian village of Sheikh Alan, near the ford of the Murad. About a
mile beyond the village we approached the margin of the noble river
which we had followed from Karakilisa to Tutakh.
It appeared to be flowing in two channels through a bed having a width
of 200 yards or more. After fording the first of these branches, which
was about 30 yards across, we made our way over a beach to the second
branch. It was some 100 yards in breadth, the water reaching to the
horses' knees. When we had gained the opposite bank, which was firm
and well-defined, we prepared to say good-bye to the Murad. What was
our surprise to meet a third and magnificent river, sweeping towards
us in an independent bed! It was buffeting its high left bank, at
the extremity of a beautiful curve, and the flood was much too deep
to venture in. So we followed the current until the bluff sent it
swirling to the opposite margin, diffused over a wider space. Even
at this point the passage was not without risk; but an experienced
villager piloted us safely to the further side. From bank to bank
was a distance of about 80 yards, and the wavelets wetted our horses'
flanks. The confluence of the Kara Su, the stream which collects the
drainage of the plain of Mush, is situated some little distance above
the ford. [156]
Following with the eye the course of the river, we searched in vain
for a gap in the mountains among which it disappeared. These describe
a bold half-circle at the western extremity of the plain, not many
miles from where we stood. The heights on the north join hands with
the heights upon the south, and appear to prevent all issue from the
plain. From the ford we proceeded in a north-westerly direction to the
village of Ziaret. It is an Armenian settlement with 150 tenements,
and possesses a church but no school. The kiaya, [157] or head of the
village, was quite a civilised individual; and such was his politeness
that he sent his own son with me, to wait on me during my sojourn at
Surb Karapet. He informed me--the usual story--that there had been a
teacher in the village, but that last year he had left (euphemism),
and his place had not since been filled.
After a stay in this settlement of an hour and three-quarters,
we continued our journey at a quarter before four. Our course was
about the same, and we reached the foot of the northern barrier at
half-past four o'clock. Although the level of the ground had risen,
the ascent to the monastery occupied over an hour. It is situated among
the uppermost recesses of the wall of mountain, at an elevation of
about 6400 feet, or of 2200 feet above the trough of the plain. [158]
We wound our way up a cleft in the face of the rock, through a
bush of low oak. The temperature fell, and we became enveloped in
banks of cloud. A drizzling rain turned to snow before we reached
the cloister, and next morning the adjacent slopes were cloaked in
white. The monks informed us that it was the first fall of snow which
they had experienced during the course of this brilliant autumn.
A walled enclosure, like that of a fortress, a massive door on
grating hinges--such is your first impression of this lonely fane
(Fig. 155). My illustration shows the long line of monastic buildings
on the south; the gateway is on the west. You enter a spacious court,
and face a handsome belfry and porch, the façade inlaid with slabs
of white marble with bas-reliefs (Fig. 156). We were conducted to a
long chamber, with walls of prodigious thickness, recalling our Norman
refectories. It was nearly six o'clock; the monks received us without
surprise, and had probably been forewarned by the Mutesarrif. When
I asked for a separate room, it was pleaded that none was vacant;
and the preparations of Mevlud to sleep by our side in the long
chamber convinced me that resistance would as yet be vain. With the
best humour we joined in a meal of extreme frugality, which was spread
upon trays and partaken of by all the monks. Of these there were six in
residence and six absent, one being confined in a Turkish prison. Four
deacons were also of the company; but conversation was difficult in the
presence of the silent Mevlud. Our hosts were superior people, judged
by the standards in this country; and after supper, over the glow of
a number of braziers, we were drawn together by common sympathies. In
particular I was attracted to a well-read monk of quiet demeanour,
whose personality and name I hesitate to disclose.
The morning broke serene and clear; a brilliant sun embraced the
landscape which from the terrace outside the walls, where is situated
a little cemetery, was outspread at our feet (Fig. 157). The eye
sank to the floor of the plain or was lifted to the summits of the
mountains, which were seen in all the variety of their many forms and
myriad facets above beds of vapour, clinging captive to the middle
slopes. This sea of clouds concealed the river where it issues
from the expanse to be buried in the amphitheatre of heights. But
my companion, the mild-tempered monk, told me they could sometimes
hear from this terrace the hissing of the waters as they enter the
passage. They call the place Gurgur, a name imitative of the sound
which, when the air is heavy with cloud towards the end of winter,
is loud and long-maintained. Then they say that spring is near at
hand. He added that the ruins of an Armenian fortress may still be
seen within the gorge. Its ancient name was Haykaberd.
I must regret the loss of a great portion of my notes, made during
the course of this day. The monastery is one of the oldest in Armenia,
and was certainly founded by the Illuminator himself. He came hither
after his famous conversion of King Tiridates, when many of the princes
of the land had espoused his religion and his sacred cause. But that
cause and religion had become divested of their peaceful character;
and it was rather with torch and sword than with the lamp of the
teacher and the staff of the missionary that the Christian saint
appeared on the threshold of this beauteous plain. He had been
apprised of the existence of two heathen temples, standing on the
spot where now the cloister stands. They were an object of especial
reverence by a colony of Hindu refugees, long since established
under the sceptre of the Armenian kings. They worshipped two idols,
which were made of brass, with colossal proportions, and were known in
the country under the names of Demeter and Kisane. These interesting
figures, with the ancient cult which they represented, were doomed
to destruction at the hands of the Christians. The attendant priests
raised the alarm among their lay brethren, and St. Gregory and his
friends were obliged to reckon with a hostile force. But the Hindu
warriors with their Armenian allies were defeated in two battles,
and their sanctuaries were razed to the ground. A Christian church
was erected upon the site which they had occupied; and the body of
St. John the Baptist, translated from Cæsarea, took the place of
Demeter and Kisane. These events are related by the Syrian Zenobius,
an eye-witness and a lieutenant of the Saint. I had perused his
narrative overnight in the pages of Ritter, and I was anxious to know
whether it were known to my companion. I found him conversant with
every particular of the story, and he expressed his conviction that
these heathens were Hindus. He was equally certain that the gypsies,
who may still be met with in the country, were descendants of this
colony. He told me that their language was known as Sanskrit among
the Armenians. [159] He led me within the enclosure, and showed me a
little chapel situated upon the west of the church. In that chapel he
assured me that St. Gregory had said his first mass, and it stood on
the site of the temple of Kisane. That of Demeter had been, he said,
the larger of the two shrines. [160]
What portion, if any, of the present edifice is the work of that remote
age, I am unable to pronounce. My impression is that earthquakes are
held to have destroyed the original structure. The two chapels on
the east, with their polygonal towers and conical roofs, are probably
the earliest in date of the existing buildings. I reproduce them on
a larger scale, my picture having been taken from the gallery of the
monastic buildings on the south (Fig. 158). The body of the church
immediately adjoins them; it is spacious, but not remarkable for
architectural beauty or richness of ornament. It is in the character
of a large conventicle, and the roof is flat. Slabs, inlaid in the
floor, cover the graves of princes and warriors, of whom we read
in the pages of Armenian historians. The bloody wars against the
Sasanians are recalled by the tombs of Mushegh, of Vahan the Wolf and
of Sembat. The grave of Vahan is denoted by a slab of black stone,
before the entrance to the more southerly of the two chapels. That
of Sembat is said to be situated near the threshold of the companion
sanctuary, which is dedicated to St. Stephen. Near the wall on the
south repose the remains of Vahan Kamsarakan. [161] Slabs are wanting
in the case of the two graves last mentioned. Inscriptions are found,
I believe, on some. The porch and belfry on the west are of no great
antiquity, as the reader can see for himself.
What with the Kurds and the suspicions of the Turkish Government this
once flourishing monastery has been stripped of much of its glamour;
indeed the monks are little better than prisoners of State. The
new buildings on the west, erected by Bishop Mampre, have never
yet been used. They were destined to receive the printing press,
and the relics of the library. But the printing press--the wings of
knowledge, said my companion--was placed under the ban of Government
as early as in 1874. The library was pillaged by Kurds during the
first half of the present century, and its contents burnt or littered
about the courts. Nor is it possible for the community to pursue
their studies, since any book which deals with the history of their
nation is confiscated by the authorities. I think I have already
mentioned that the same officials seize and burn our Milton and our
Shakespeare. And yet the ambassadors of Europe dally on the Bosphorus,
powerless to redress these wrongs and avenge these insults. It is
because in Russia they practise similar iniquities, and because Europe
stoops to sit at Russia's feet. Upon such matters we conversed when
the air was a little clearer, after a fierce encounter between Mevlud
and myself. That sinister personage had presumed to accompany me to
my host's room; but I peremptorily ordered him out. I told him that
if he ventured to invade the privacy of a priest's apartment I would
undertake to have both the Mutesarrif and himself dismissed.
We left the cloister--which is generally known under the name of
Changalli, from its bells, heard in the plains from afar [162]--on the
morning of the first day of December, a little before noon. Snow lay
thickly upon the ground; but the thermometer at eleven o'clock stood
at four degrees (Fahrenheit) above freezing point. The atmosphere was
free of vapour, and a kind sun shone. We made our way to the heights
behind the monastery, and kept zigzagging up and along them for over
two hours. When the process had been completed after a tedious ride to
the pass, during which the horses would often flounder in the snow,
we had not ascended to a difference of level of more than 1500 feet,
nor had we progressed more than 3 1/2 miles. The better course,
I feel sure, would have been to proceed in an easterly direction
along the level terrace or open valley in which the cloister stands,
leaving the neighbouring hamlet of Pazu just on our right hand. We
could then have climbed the parapet which shelters these lofty uplands;
or we might have scaled it in the immediate vicinity of Changalli. The
black chaoush and his three myrmidons were indifferent guides. [163]
Because the pass is no pass in the ordinary sense; it is merely the
edge of a tableland. Mile after mile towards the north stretched the
undulating snow-field, swept by the winds, pierced by spinous blades
of grass. We stood at an elevation of nearly 8000 feet. Below us,
infinitely deep, lay the magnificent plain of Mush, bounded on the
further side by the barrier of the Kurdish mountains, crossing the
landscape from the invisible waters of Lake Van. In one continuous
wall they swept across the horizon, serrated, sharply chiselled above
the deep valleys opening transverse to the line of the wall. Taurus
they call the range, adopting a nomenclature which the West must
have borrowed from the East. Taurus was very high where the Murad
dives into the mountains; nor did the peaks appear less lofty on its
right bank. We saw them circling towards the river from behind the
plateau upon which we stood; but I was unable to trace the origin
of this northern chain. It formed a marked exception to the outlines
north of Taurus, which were vaulted or horizontal. Nimrud was seen to
join the two contrasting landscapes, placed across the head of the
plain. The neighbouring Kerkür looked more rounded than when we had
first observed it, while, north of the Nimrud caldron, the swelling
contours of the Sipan fabric were doubly soft in a robe of recent snow.
This was our last complete prospect over that great depression which
is known as the plain of Mush. [164] We proceeded at half-past two,
and rode at a trot over the plateau, first on a northerly and then
on a north-easterly course. The rock appeared to be of an eruptive
volcanic description. By half-past four we arrived upon the opposite
margin, where the ground abruptly sank to a wide trough of broken
country, with a small plain, level as water, at its western end. We
ascertained that this fresh depression had an elevation of about 5000
feet, or a difference in height of 3000 feet from the pass at which
we measured that of the plateau. On the further side rose a cliff of
such gigantic proportions that, when we reached the middle slopes
of the descent into the hollow, it reminded me of the landscape in
the narrows of the Araxes, with those cliffs raised to double their
size. From a distance we had wondered at the strange appearance of
this flat-edged mass, which seemed to embrace us in a wide segment
with precipitous sides. A nearer view disclosed the direction it was
pursuing, and enabled us to trace, although in a most imperfect manner,
its connection with the orography of the eastern districts. That
direction was approximately latitudinal, but inclined a little towards
the south. The further east the mass proceeded, the more it lost its
cliff-like character, the nearer it approached to the characteristics
of a mountain range. In this form it was protracted to dimly visible
limits, joining the distant outlines of Sipan.
I had read many accounts of the famous Bingöl Dagh, the parent mountain
of the Araxes and of the principal tributaries of the Euphrates, and,
in some sense, the roof of Western Asia. None had prepared me for
the vision before our eyes. The actual walls of the crater were not,
I imagine, visible; but those cliffs had no doubt been covered by deep
beds of lava which had added to their height. The greatest eminence
on the extinct volcano is that of Demir-Kala, which must be situated
not far from the edge of the cliff. It has an elevation of 10,770
feet. [165] But the mountain proper is but a wart on the face of the
lofty tableland from which it rises, and which it has contributed
to shape. I tried to examine the relation of this tableland to the
plateau which we had crossed, but was prevented by the lie of the
land upon the west.
While descending into the plain, we passed through a Kurdish village of
some size, called Randuli. We now opened out the whole extent of the
even surface--a floor at the foot of towering cliffs. The plain may
have a length, from west to east, of about three miles and a breadth
of two miles or less. Water serpents through it in all directions,
to collect in a little river which our people knew under the name
of Dodan Chai, but which is apparently more generally known as the
Bingöl Su. [166] Four villages of some importance are situated in the
plain--Baskan, Gundemir, Diyadin and Dodan. The last-mentioned is
placed at its eastern extremity and close to the river which bears
its name. All four are inhabited by Armenians. Having gained the
level, we forded the stream above the village, and at six o'clock
rode through Dodan. Night was falling; we followed a track which had
been made by the bullock-carts, at some little distance from the left
bank of the river. We were skirting on an easterly course the base of
the northern heights, along the trough of irregular surface which we
had overlooked. The soil was deep and black, covered in places by a
crop of stones. It seemed as if the valley were choked by the shapes
of hills. We were over two hours in reaching Gumgum.
The village or little town--for it is the capital of a caza, the
caza of Varto, belonging to the sanjak of Mush--is situated in the
long valley of which I have been speaking, between the Bingöl and the
block of mountain on the north of Mush. A small river flows below it
at some little distance, which joins the Bingöl Su some two or three
miles south of the town. The united waters issue into the Murad or
Eastern Euphrates about eight miles south-east of Gumgum. The direct
road to Mush is taken along the Murad, which, after the confluence,
finds a passage through the hills. It reaches the plain at the village
of Sikava.
We were received by the Kaimakam, who lodged us in his room of
audience, a chamber of which the stone walls were daubed with
whitewash, while the massive logs of the ceiling were left bare. A
single window, with panes of greased paper, diffused a dim light by
day. A little lamp revealed the burly figure of our host, seated on
the divan. Beside him, but in shadow, we might just discern a face
and features which were recognised as familiar to us. We identified
this pleasant countenance and chiselled lineaments with those of the
silent chess-player at Mush. It was in fact the Hakim Effendi, learned
in the law; though for what purpose he had travelled to these unruly
wilds we were unable to ascertain. He had brought his law books with
him in a khurjin, or little saddle-bag, which was placed by his side
on the couch. So he travels from place to place, the name and shadow
of a dispensation which he has not the power to enforce. Even under
the eyes of the Kaimakam cases of theft, and even of robbery, are
of daily occurrence and go for the most part unredressed. Entering
the stable allotted to our horses, I was met by an Armenian woman,
a poor old hag with bare feet and in rags. She moaned and wrung her
hands, explaining, in answer to my enquiry, that her cows had been
displaced to make room for us. She would never see them again--and,
in fact, next morning I was grieved to learn that two had been stolen.
The town occupies a fairly high site in the valley, having an elevation
of about 4800 feet. A few houses, in the more proper sense of the
word, serve to magnify the appearance of the place. But the tenements
are for the most part the usual ant-hill burrows; and I do not think
that in all there can be more than eighty dwellings, of which ten may
be inhabited by Armenians. The Kurds have a large preponderance in
the caza; they are, for the most part, of the Jibranli tribe. This
tribe furnishes three regiments of Hamidiyeh cavalry, recruited in
Varto. The tribesmen spend the summer on the pastures of the Bingöl
Dagh, and the winter in villages of their own in the plains. They
travel as far as Diarbekr, and even Aleppo, taking their vast flocks
to those markets. Or they sell the sheep to middlemen who travel from
all parts of Turkey, and establish their headquarters in Khinis.
During the night it froze hard; but on the following morning the
air was warmed by a brilliant sun, shining in a clear sky. The
thermometer stood at 37° before we again set out. Leaving at a
little after eleven, we proceeded on an easterly course, towards
the heights which rise behind Gumgum. I was unable to ascertain the
exact connection of these hills with the block of the Bingöl; but,
whereas we could still perceive that distant outline in the west, it
was lost to view as it came towards us, stretching east. The northern
barrier was now composed by the hill range already mentioned, which,
at this point, appeared to be inclined towards south-east. After
crossing a considerable stream, flowing down to the trough of the
valley, we commenced at twelve o'clock the ascent of these hills.
Looking backward, one was impressed by the uneven character of the
ground from which we rose. The valley is choked with hills, especially
on the south-east, and it may have a width of about eight miles. The
soil is covered with tufted grass, which must afford fine pasture
in spring and early summer. The southern border consists of the mass
of mountain which we had crossed from Changalli; but it had sensibly
declined and was still declining in height. Beyond its sheet of snow
the peaks of Taurus commenced to be visible; and when we reached
the pass, before one o'clock, we could see the broad ribbon of the
Murad lying in the plain of Mush. The river had passed the gap in the
barrier on the north of that plain, which, it was evident, becomes
much lower at the point where the passage is effected, the outlines
sinking towards either bank.
We were standing in snow, at an elevation of 6600 feet. On our left
front rose the cliffs of the Bingöl plateau, that mighty presence which
for awhile had been concealed. They were still stretching from west
to east, but were seen to turn towards north-east, in the direction
of where we knew Khinis to lie. The eye pursued their long perspective
into the distance, where, at a point about north-north-east, they broke
away into a range of mountains, the range which bounds the plain of
Khinis on the north. I was still unable to define the relation of
the heights upon which we were placed to the mass from which they
appeared to come; but they must contribute to compose the long line
of heights which we had seen extending from the Bingöl towards Sipan.
How great a part has been performed by the action of water in
shaping the relief of this land may be realised by the frequent
occurrence of perfectly flat depressions between the masses of higher
ground. Thousands of feet below those levels lie these sheltered
spaces, rendered fertile by winding streams. Such was the nature
of the little plain to which we descended, appearing land-locked on
every side. It is known as the Bashkent ova, or plain of Bashkent,
from a Kurdish hamlet through which we presently passed. [167] It
is situated at the comparatively lofty level of about 6000 feet. On
the east it is enclosed by that irregular lump of mountain which we
had first seen on the furthest horizon from before Tutakh. Khamur
it is called. The ridge was some miles distant; but its outworks,
a succession of sand-like convexities, rose from the margin of the
plain. The western limit were the cliffs of Bingöl, frowning above
the ova, and sending out a spur towards the Khamur on its northern
verge. Towards that spur we made our way across the plain, on a
north-easterly course. The flat surface has a length of about 3 1/2
miles, and is covered with marshes or rank weeds. Besides Bashkent
we could only see a single other hamlet, said to be inhabited by
Kizilbash Kurds. We reached the summit of the rounded and opposite
heights at half-past two o'clock. They may be described as flanking
outworks of the Bingöl plateau, and they have an elevation of about
6550 feet. A little later, while still following along the side of
these slopes, we came to a halt and partook of a scanty meal.
At a quarter-past three we were again in the saddle. Our course
remained easterly, at about the same level; and at half-past three
we were on the top of one of those bulging spurs which project from
the side of the cliffs. The horizontal edge of the lofty tableland
was now just above us; and, inasmuch as we were now able to pursue a
north-north-easterly direction, it is evident that the mass must recede
towards the north. Indeed it is probable that it describes a curve,
concave to the plain of Khinis; we seemed to get behind the cliffs. On
our right hand we were followed by the deformed shape of Khamur, now
many miles away. The horizon was fretted by the long outline of the
Akh Dagh--a fine, bold range with connections circling towards Khamur.
In a short time this mountain landscape was seen in fuller
significance; a vast expanse of level depression was opened out. The
black chaoush and his three myrmidons had taken their departure at
Gumgum; and I was able to unpack the camera. I directed the lens to
north-east, towards the plain and the distant Akh Dagh (Fig. 159);
and next to south-east, upon the Khamur. [168] We reached the level at
about five o'clock, after crossing a spur of the plateau, strewn with
volcanic stones. Khinis was seen, a speck in the lap of the plain,
towards which we rode at a rapid trot. At a quarter to six we arrived
upon the deeply-eroded banks of the river of Khinis, which we forded
and entered the town.
By directions of the Kaimakam we were lodged in his own office;
he made his appearance early on the following day. A burly old
man, with a head of great size and a massive forehead, with huge
dimensions below the waist. This habit of body, which seemed to
aggravate an advanced asthmatic affection, was due to continued
sitting rather than to intemperance of diet. Our conversation was
soon directed to the condition of the country--a subject upon which
he held strong views. The people of his caza were, he said, almost
without exception, liars, rogues and thieves. The Government did what
it could; but the officials were not competent, being ignorant men
like his humble self. Schools? There was supposed to be a Rushdiyeh
in Khinis, but it was a Rushdiyeh only in name. As for the Kurds,
they were the plague of his existence; you reaped them where you had
not sown. Five houses here, there fifty people--impossible to count
or to bring to count. If you wished to get anything out of them,
you must borrow a stick from a bear-tamer and beat them about the head.
He proceeded to inform me that the town was the principal centre
of the trade in sheep, fattened upon the pastures of the Bingöl
Dagh. Merchants come from the great cities, notably from Damascus, and
make their arrangements in Erzerum. They bring their own shepherds,
whom they send to Khinis when their agents there have concluded
the purchase and received the flocks. It is at about the present
season--that of early winter--that the trade is at its height. The
sheep are driven across the mountains to Diarbekr, whence they are
despatched through the plains to the Syrian centre. My host added that
it was no very easy matter to get them safely through the snow to the
head of the Mesopotamian plains. To me it seems a most remarkable feat.
I asked the Kaimakam whether he could tell me the number of
the inhabitants; and, forthwith, he most kindly consulted his
registers. According to his figures there are 387 houses in Khinis,
besides numerous shops. Of the dwellings 250 are inhabited by
Mohammedans and 137 by Armenians. The former are censused at 1350 and
the latter at 586. But there is a large discrepancy between males and
females in the case of both denominations in favour of the males. He
was of opinion that the figures for the Armenians were too low; they
evade the census in order to avoid the military tax. Small and large,
he put the total of villages in his caza at 287. It forms part of the
vilayet of Erzerum, and its borders march with those of the caza of
Erzerum. [169]
He knew of no Yezidis within the limits of his district; but gypsies
wander through it in summer. Of Kizilbash Kurds he believed there to
be about fifteen villages. The principal tribes in the neighbourhood
are the Haideranli and Zirkanli, besides about eight villages of
Jibranli Kurds. Four battalions of Hamidiyeh are said to be enrolled
in the caza.
I am sensible of the defective standpoint of my photograph of Khinis,
taken, to avoid suspicions, before entering the town. [170] But it
clearly shows the mingling rivers, with their cavernous beds, sunk into
the volcanic soil. It shows the castle--of which the ruins display
a face of hewn stone upon a structure of agglomerate rubble--and,
in the background, behind the picturesque disorder of the clambering
township, the distant terrace of the Bingöl plateau. At eleven o'clock
on the 3rd of December we were winding our way in the shadowed gorges,
about to issue upon the plain on the north.
The day was fine, with a warm sun and a blue sky; the air was fresh and
strong. Before us, and on every side, stretched the undulating surface,
of rich and friable brown loam. It is subjected to primitive methods of
cultivation; but at this season it was difficult to trace the hand of
man. We saw no villages; what there are must be hidden in laps of the
ground; and Nature, a kind and bountiful Nature, is allowed to revolve
her seasons almost in vain. Bright streams come bubbling down from the
distant framework of mountains, and wind on a south-easterly course to
the far Murad. We passed no less than three of these tributaries to the
river of Khinis. The first was flowing between high banks of volcanic
rock, and sheltered a beautiful church in the old Armenian style,
called Kilisa Deresi, or the church in the valley. Around this monument
were grouped the tall headstones of a disused cemetery, some engraved
with the elaborate crosses which were so dear to the ancestors of the
unhappy people, now the bondsmen of parasite Kurds. Even as we stood
in admiration of this charming building, an active Kurd in a showy
dress stepped into the path. He vaulted upon the back of a graceful
chestnut Arab, which was being led to and fro. We saw him cantering
off to the neighbouring Armenian village, and we wondered upon what
errand he was bent. At a quarter-past one we commenced to ascend to
a passage of the hills which confine the plain upon the north.
In the space of half-an-hour we had reached an elevation of over
6000 feet. We stopped for some little time to fully realise the
scene which we were now about to leave behind. The terraces of the
Bingöl plateau had been following our steps at some distance on our
left hand. We had come in a northerly direction from Khinis; and
the heights we were preparing to cross were an immediate spur from
that table surface, linking it to the long range on the north of the
plain. Both that spur, or connecting ridge, and the range which it
joined, tended to incline south-west from a latitudinal course. The
plateau itself was now close up; indeed it rose immediately above us,
on the west of our winding track. It is therefore plain that it must
have pursued a north-north-easterly direction, since it had formed a
distant background to the town. I turned the camera upon the flanking
ridge (Fig. 160), and then mounted to an adjacent eminence, almost
on a level with the surface of the plateau. My illustration shows a
formation characteristic of the edge of the terraces, great blocks
of stone welded together as if by a human hand. The surface is flat
and is covered with rough grass, of which the higher stalks pierced
the covering of recent snow.
So little interest is taken by the people in their surroundings that
even the Kaimakam was unable to tell me the name of this adjacent
range, which forms a lofty barrier to the plain. He was of opinion
that it was called the Akh Dagh (white mountain) or Tekman Dagh;
to some it was known as the Kozli Dagh. I prefer to retain the name
which I heard the most often, that of Akh Dagh. East of these linking
hills it assumes lofty proportions; but it appears to die away in
the remote south-east.
In the south, far away, rose the mass of Khamur, with hill ranges
circling round the plain. Above those humble outlines was revealed
the whole fabric of Sipan, some seventy miles distant from where we
stood. Such is the extension of these vast depressions; you cannot
define their limit; they render easy the traffic of peace or the
passage of war. And we may reconstruct in fancy the remote period,
when many of these bold landmarks were wreathed in smoke and reflected
fires, and thundered with the energy of the Globe.
Proceeding at two o'clock, we reached the pass in twenty minutes;
it is just under 7000 feet. We were now in the basin of the Upper
Araxes, approaching the districts on the north. The passage into a
new sphere could scarcely have been accentuated with more emphasis
than on this day. We dived into a dense fog; the cold was intense;
and, whereas not a single flake had hitherto lain on the track, it
was now all strewn with snow. Nor was the change of a merely local
application; it was the commencement of a new order of things.
We rode on a northerly course through beds of vapour over lofty uplands
at an elevation of more than 6000 feet. The track had been worn by
traffic, tracing upon the snow-fields winding furrows of rich brown
soil. A Kurdish village was passed, where our zaptiehs changed with
others; and, a little later, we overlooked a considerable depression
of the surface--the wide valley of a river it appeared to be. It
was clothed with snow and wreathed with mist. We descended into
this valley, said to belong to the district of Tekman, and crossed
the river, called the Bingöl or Pasin Su. It was flowing due north,
and had a breadth of about 15 yards. On the opposite margin of the
depression is placed the Kurdish village of Kulli, where we arrived
at a quarter-past four. It is situated at a level of about 6000 feet;
and, whereas at Khinis (5540 feet) we had enjoyed a temperature of 32°
at 10 P.M., the thermometer now registered at 7 P.M. no less than 7°
of frost (Fahrenheit).
The settlement consists of about fifty tenements, of which six or
seven belong to the Zirkanli tribe and the remainder to sedentary
Kurds. [171] These latter are liable to service in the regular army. A
single house is conspicuous among the huts of mud and stone; it is
used as a receptacle for travellers. We found it in the occupation
of a detachment of Turkish soldiers, on their way from Melazkert to
Erzinjan. Horses and men alike were quartered in the building; but,
after some parley, room was found for us. We joined in the circle of
officers collected round the open fireplace, in which cakes of tezek
glowed. Among other things I learnt that four regiments of Hamidiyeh
are enrolled in the caza of Melazkert. They are furnished by the
Hasananli tribe.
Next morning before eight we continued our journey, the temperature
registering 14° of frost. Mist still hung over the valley; but we
soon were raised above it, again ascending to the table surface which
borders the depression on either side. Full sunlight streamed upon the
undulating snow-field, and was reflected in tiny rays from a thousand
little crystals, placed, like diamonds, on the heads of encrusted
flowers. It was, indeed, over the face of an immense block of elevated
country that our course was directed for some little time. Here and
there, especially in the north, it appeared to be broken by chains
of mountain; but the closer you approached such an apparent barrier,
the more it assumed the familiar features--the flat edges, and the
fanciful castles with their Cyclopean walls. At half-past nine we
obtained a view of the Bingöl Dagh itself, in the furthest horizon
of the south (Fig. 161). We stood at a level of 7130 feet.
At ten o'clock we turned off eastwards to the bed of mist suspended
above the river, which lies in a deep trough. Following for awhile
along the sides of the lofty cliffs which confine it, we admired the
play of the vapours, wreathing like jets of steam. From the edge of
the cliffs on either bank, the table surface of the higher levels
was seen to stretch east and west, and back to the peaks of the Akh
Dagh--a sheet of snow, only broken by the gorge. The Bingöl Su was
pursuing a north-north-easterly direction, which became more northerly
as we progressed. The fog lifted and disappeared; we descended into
the bottom of the gulf, which opened on either side the further we
rode. At a quarter to twelve we arrived in the Kurdish hamlet of
Mejitli, where we decided to make our mid-day halt. We had come a
distance of about 13 miles from Kulli. The river, which had a breadth
of about 20 or 30 yards, was flowing some 50 feet below the village,
with a rapid current, flashing over the rocks. The site of the village
is a little plain on the left bank of the stream having an elevation
of about 5800 feet.
It has already been said that the valley of the Bingöl Su, or Upper
Araxes, offers an easy approach to the districts on the north. The
river pierces a wintry region of the table surface, and traffic
is carried along its bed. But some 2 1/2 miles below the village of
Mejitli it enters a deep and impassable gorge. You mount to the summit
of the lofty precipices which overtower its serpentine course. Again
in the saddle at half-past one, we reached this commanding eminence
at a quarter-past two. Nor did we descend afresh into the trough of
the stream, which proceeded to thread a chaos of mountains in the east.
The view from any point was one of savage beauty (Fig. 162). By
slow degrees the flat surface of the elevated plateau was becoming
riven and broken up. You could still discern the level snow-fields,
burying the stream in the south, and coming towards you on either
bank. But the cloak of winter had not yet hidden the yellow grass
on the adjacent slopes; while in the east the scene was changing to
a wild landscape of hill and mountain, upon which the snow had not
yet effected a hold. A few miles further these features increased
in definition. The layers of lava gave place to hard limestones,
forming peaks which had weathered a soft white. Masses of rock, of a
hue which was green as the rust of copper, or red like that of iron,
were exposed on the sides of the hills. From a foreground of tufted
herbage, sown with yellow immortelles, we looked across this troubled
region in which the river wound its way--a ribbon of changing colours,
skirting the foot of sweeping hillsides or confined in narrow clefts
of stupendous depth. In the far east we caught a glimpse of the snowy
dome of the Kuseh Dagh, which overlooks the plain of Alashkert.
At four o'clock the track diverged, and led us over the undulating
plateau which still continued, but with less regularity, in the
west. A short turn towards north-west brought us almost to the
threshold of the broad depression of Pasin. The ground fell away by
a succession of convexities to a level surface, deeply seated at our
feet (Fig. 163). But far in the north, on its opposite margin, again
appeared the cliffs of a plateau, exalted thousands of feet above
the plain. It represents the extreme extension of the tablelands of
Armenia, to be succeeded by the peripheral ranges in the north. It
was carried west and east, across the horizon. In this neighbourhood
it is known as Kargabazar.
We descended into one of the long valleys by which the heights we were
leaving meet the plain. If Erzerum be the next objective, you cross
to its western side and proceed by way of Ertev. Our own point was
Hasan Kala, a more northerly course, leading through the village of
Ketivan. That considerable Mohammedan settlement is situated at the
end of the valley, whence you issue upon the spacious expanse. We rode
at a rapid trot from this southern verge of the plain to the opposite
margin, upon which is placed the castle and town. It formed a welcome
landmark, which we reached in just an hour, arriving beneath the dusk
at half-past six.
The town, which has a population of several thousands, clusters at
the foot of a long ridge of volcanic rock which projects from the
towering background of mountain into the floor of the plain. The
southerly extremity of that precipitous ridge is crowned by lines of
battlements, a work ascribed to the Genoese. [172] But the present
masters of the country have neglected the fortifications, and have
fallen back upon Erzerum. Pasin lies at the mercy of their good
neighbours, the Russians, who already hold its doors. After fording
the river of Upper Pasin, the Kala Su, as it is called--a sluggish
stream, flowing in a divided channel--we passed through a feudal
gateway within a wall which was in ruins, and groped our way through
irregular lanes heaped with filth. Quarters were at last discovered
in a new and well-kept coffee-house--a room of some size, with a
wooden stage or daïs erected around the bare walls. Upon this stage,
behind the half-screen of an open balustrade, a number of loungers
in various dress, some wearing the turban, others the fez, others
again the Persian lambskin cap, [173] were gathered in groups, sipping
coffee from delicious little cups, and drawing the fragrant fumes of
the Persian tobacco from hubble-bubble or kaleon. In a further corner,
away from the light, one could not mistake some tall, lean figures,
and features of big birds of prey; we were indeed in the presence of
some officers of Hamidiyeh, conspicuous by the brass ensigns on their
lambskin caps. They were spreading their coverlets for the night,
or were turned towards the wall, bowing the head and then the body
in prayer.
We slept in an inner room of this clean little tavern, and resumed
our journey at eleven o'clock on the following day. The streets were
alive with people, a motley band of human beings--for Hasan Kala,
with its warm baths and numerous khans and shops, lies on the main
road to Tabriz. It is lifted a little above the face of the plain
and has an elevation of about 5600 feet. You look back upon its
crumbling walls with a certain sympathy for its fallen greatness,
and wonder whether it will again rise, like Kars, from its fallen
station under a further advance of the Russian Empire towards the
Mediterranean. Behind this deserted fortress--which, nevertheless,
I was forbidden to photograph--we admired the huge bulwark of the
mountain barrier, mocking the works of man. There was the same flat
edge, which had so often excited our wonder, to those formidable
cliffs. East and west, in a long and horizontal outline, they were
drawn beyond the range of sight. The corresponding features on the
south of the plain were less emphasised, the long valleys softening
the abruptness of the higher ground.
Pasin--the reader may remember--is one of the principal links of the
chain of depressions which connect the extremities of western Asia,
and facilitate intercourse between east and west. From the narrows
of Khorasan to the fantastic parapet of the Deveh Boyun, it has a
length of no less than forty-four miles. Our way to Erzerum led us
along this spacious avenue, and, after crossing the humble barrier
which I have just mentioned, debouched upon the city on the opposite
side. We were able to ride at leisure, along a course direct as an
arrow, free to observe the stream of traffic on the highway.
An element of special interest were a number of bullock-carts, laden
pell-mell with heaps of Hamidiyeh uniforms, destined for the rank
and file. They slowly made their way towards Hasan Kala, groaning
and creaking as they went. Long strings of Bactrian camels--huge,
large-humped, shaggy animals--defiled with a lulling symmetry of
movement and measured, noiseless tread. By their side walked the
drivers, Tartars with skins of parchment, their features scarcely
visible beneath their sheepskin caps. Of wayfarers there were many,
and of the most divergent types. Some were mounted on little hacks,
here and there a whole family--turbaned Mussulmans, astride of their
overhanging mattresses, to which were attached a jangling cluster
of cooking pots. A led horse would be encumbered by a still more
formless bundle, which, as you approached, displayed a pair of human
feet. Brawny Armenian peasants, a scattering of thick-set Lazes,
a Kurdish horseman or two swelled the throng.
There are several large villages in the plain of Pasin; but to what
race or mixture of races do the Mohammedan inhabitants belong? I was
impressed by the difference in the physiognomy of these people, which
was quite unlike the type prevailing among settled Kurds. The question
of the racial composition of the non-Kurdish element, inhabiting the
districts on the north, remains a subject for further research. The
Armenians are in a decided minority in Pasin. [174]
A broad chaussée with flanking ditches is carried along the plain,
almost in a straight line. But many of the culverts have fallen in,
forcing vehicles off the road into the soft soil on either side. Still
our horses liked the change, wearied by their long journey and much
clambering over rocks. The ground was free of snow, even on this
fifth day of December, and the air was comparatively mild. [175]
The further we proceeded, the more the expanse narrowed and the
perspective of the two long barriers closed. From afar we fixed our
eyes on what appeared to be an artificial earthwork, thrown across
the narrow head of the plain. At half-past one we were at the foot of
this apparent fortification, with broken ground on either hand. The
muzzles of cannon were turned towards us from the flat top of the
colossal mound, and from two hills which rose on the south of the
road. Indeed we seemed to face a completely impregnable position,
impossible to circumvent. And from a distance one would think that
the meeting walls of mountain were joined together by a transverse dam.
Approaching closer, the road is seen to find a passage between the
hills on the south and the adjacent flat-topped mass. The width of this
passage may be about half-a-mile. Once within the answering horns you
cross a spacious amphitheatre, in which the secret of the formation
is revealed. The two hills belong to the southern wall of mountain,
but so also does the mound. And a line of heights circle inwards from
behind the two hills, to protract the circle outwards to the horn
of the mound. Hills and mound are left behind before those heights
are breasted; or, to continue the figure, you scale the tiers of the
amphitheatre at the point most remote from the narrow opening on its
eastern side.
Such is the position which, due not to man, but to a freak of Nature,
arrests the flow of traffic or the tide of battle. The linking
heights--the opposite curve of the circle--are widely known through
the literature of travel and of Asiatic warfare as the Deveh Boyun,
or the camel's neck. The humps and head are represented, the first
by the two hills, and the second by the mound. The pass, to which the
road climbs, is situated on the neck of the camel; but a second ridge
must be surmounted, which is a little higher, and has an elevation
of about 6850 feet.
From the Deveh Boyun to Erzerum must be a distance of several miles,
since, although we rode at a rapid trot, we did not reach the city
in less than fifty minutes. Two facts, which were unexpected, became
clear as we proceeded. In the first place, the position is by no means
so strong as it might appear, even to a near view, from the eastern
side. There is at least one, and there are probably more than one
passage between the mound and the northern wall of the plain. This
circumstance, and the peculiar character of the ground on the west
of the barrier, which is broken up into precipitous heights, are in
favour of the attack, in so far as they necessitate the employment
of a considerable defensive force. The second surprise was perhaps
more personal; I had formed the conception of a transverse parapet
leading immediately into the plain of Erzerum. But the parapet is
succeeded by the broken ground of which I have spoken, and of which
the heights are crowned with batteries. The road is taken along the
face and among the recesses of the southern barrier; and you are
already above the picturesque site of the famous fortress before you
overlook the full expanse of the level land. We arrived within the
enclosure of the circumvallation at a few minutes before three. [176]