FROM KHINIS TO TUTAKH
We pitched our tents upon the plain, above the cañon, on soil
consisting of a deposit of lacustrine sands and gravels, overlying the
lavas and tuffs from Bingöl. Far and wide, in an immense half circle,
stretched the even, treeless surface--a surface scarcely less blank
or less receptive of the hues of the sky than the waters which once
rippled there. In the opposite direction rose the shield-shaped
mass of Bingöl; we stood at the foot of the several terraces of
lava which mount like steps from the plain to the upper platform,
whence volcanic emissions on a large scale have poured towards the
lower levels. Following the outline northwards, on the confines
of the plain, its general character is that of a long bank, with
scarcely perceptible declivity; until, about in the region of the
pass over which we had journeyed, it again rises and becomes almost
horizontal, curving over into the precipitous marbles of the Akh Dagh,
which oppose a barrier of commanding proportions in the north. The
flat edge of the Tekman highlands is due to a capping of lava, from
which the Akh Dagh limestones are free. In the recess of the curve,
and in front of the horizontal outline stands a hill of marble with
a gently rounded summit. The eye returns to the series of gloomy
terraces leading upwards to the eastern summit of Bingöl. Deep cañons
sear the lower slopes.
Khinis was little changed since I had last stood in its gloomy
valley; but I noticed a larger sprinkling of Kurds with the vulture
features, and a greater display of the Hamidiyeh ensign in their
lambskin caps. They appeared to have nothing to do; but the Armenian
craftsmen were, as usual, busy at work in their booths. The old,
outspoken Kaimakam was dead. I could scarcely conceal my feelings
when I was introduced to his successor, who, on his part, was at some
pains to dissemble his want of ease. It was my old acquaintance,
the Kaimakam of Karakilisa; but I refrained from alluding to the
adventure about the gun. I was lost in astonishment at the change
in his appearance. Four years ago he was a supple young man, full
of spirits, proud of his wit, and spending his leisure in hunting
Kurds. He had become middle-aged, almost old. His eyes had lost their
lustre and his figure its shape. He rolled on the divan as he spoke. I
enquired after Ali Bey, the rascally Karapapakh; the reply came
that he too was dead. He had pined away--such was his phrase--under
Government surveillance. The resourceful character of my old host was
the one quality which appeared to remain to him. My cook had mutinied
that morning, and could not be found anywhere; but he soon succeeded
in tracking him out. He seemed to regret the society of the stupid
miralais, the delighted gallery to which he used to play. A single
companion of this description was vouchsafed to him at Khinis--an
officer of the regular army stationed in the town to drill the Kurdish
yeomanry. I enquired of this individual whether I could be shown a
regiment exercising. He replied that they were called out only during
April. Had they trained last April? The answer was in the negative,
but it was hoped they would do so next year. They were very brave men.
My present object was to follow the course of the Murad from Tutakh
to Melazkert. [223] By shaping a direct course to the former of these
places, we might become involved in an intricate, mountainous country;
but, on the other hand, we should avoid the beds of the rivers, and
become better acquainted with the configuration of the land. Leaving
Khinis soon after noon on the 26th of June, we gained the valley of
the Bingöl Su; and, as far as the large Armenian village of Chevermeh,
followed its tortuous channel. Low cliffs, composed of lacustrine
deposits, border the meadows through which it flows on either
hand. Chevermeh, where we forded the stream, has some 150 ant-hill
houses; it is surrounded by a pleasant oasis of willow trees, which
cluster at the confluence of the Teghtap Su. A few small fields of
potato and of vegetable marrow indicated a rather higher standard of
life. A hedge of pink wild roses was a pleasure to see. Several very
young girls, almost naked, were playing in the shade by the water,
and we were surprised to observe the fairness of their hair. Some
of the villagers are Protestants, devoted disciples of Mr. Chambers,
the head of the American Mission at Erzerum. They are indebted to him
for relief during the past years of bad harvests; but they professed
themselves confident of an excellent harvest during the present
year. The missionaries have established a school and orphanage in their
midst. The village reflects the greatest credit upon the Americans,
the people being well spoken and polite. They have their share, too,
of material prosperity; and we had seldom seen such herds of cattle
and droves of horses.
Having gained the heights on the left bank of the river, we struck
obliquely across the plain, in the direction of the Akh Dagh, which
shone in the softening glow. It is well named the white mountain,
being composed of hard calcareous rock, which scarcely supports
a trace of vegetation. Seen from in front, it forms a chain many
miles in length, inclined, roughly speaking, towards south-east. It
has been carved out into valleys of great depth, from which rise
a succession of bold peaks. This portion of the plain of Khinis is
little cultivated, and in a most haphazard manner. There is, however,
an abundance of water, and, if stony, the soil is fairly fertile. From
time to time we were compelled to turn aside from a patch of corn
which already was in ear. The large Armenian village of Kozli was
seen reposing on the basal slope of the Akh Dagh. Another Armenian
settlement, that of Yeni Keui, lay directly upon our course. The day
was drawing to a close as we approached Dedeveren, a Kurdish village
where we decided to camp. We had been travelling through a country
which was typically Armenian--a spacious plain, quite treeless, but
clothed with warm and delicate hues, and framed in the distance by
mountains of great individuality. In one direction it was Bingöl;
in another Khamur; while Sipan stood so high that he could be seen
from the river valley, always a ghostly presence in the sky. We
pitched our tents a little distance west of the village, and looked
across its stacks of tezek and wreathing smoke to the dim white form
of Sipan. It is characteristic of Kurds that they never approach
one another if they have anything to communicate. They remain at a
distance and shout. Such clamour is at its height towards evening,
when the flocks and herds are brought in from the pastures. Groups of
gaily-dressed people had gathered round us; a little boy, stepping
forward, makes an offering of a snow-white rabbit. The setting sun
sheds a glow of orange and amber above the horizontal outline of
Bingöl. A single group of clouds, torn into tatters, as by a storm,
repose motionless against the lights of the western sky. As those
lights wane a crescent moon has risen above the white mountain, and
a little dew falls. Soon the watchman sends his long-sustained cry
into the night, arousing the bark and howling of the dogs.
Next morning we proceeded towards the extremity of the Akh Dagh, where
it sinks into the plain. After passing a copious spring, welling up
in a little basin (the source of the Akher Göl Su), we reached the
Armenian hamlet of Gunduz. Our path had led us over ground which was
fairly high, and was composed of travertine. A new mountain had come
to view behind the Khamur heights. Although of imposing size, it is not
placed upon maps; and none of our people knew its name. It was the bold
and isolated Bilejan. From Gunduz we made an excursion to the banks
of the Bingöl Su, at the large Armenian village of Karachoban. The
stream was winding at the base of the Khamur heights, through a
river-valley about a mile in width. The fact that these heights
are not the train of a volcano, as their appearance might suggest,
had already been divined as we made our way at a distance; it was
now established beyond doubt. They were seen to consist of lacustrine
deposits; higher up, patches of white limestone emerged from the scanty
bush. The lavas of Khamur rose at once above and behind them, towering
up in terraces. The block of mountain had become low; the river pierces
its extremities about two miles below the village. There it assumes
its natural course, so long interrupted, and meanders idly to the
Murad. The Khamur heights are crossed by a track which we could see
from the plain of Khinis in the neighbourhood of Dedeveren. A portion
or the whole of that section of the block is known as Zirnek Dagh.
While we were returning to Gunduz a party of four horsemen were seen
galloping towards us from Karachoban. They proved to be an officer
of zaptiehs and three men. We had received a summons, when in the
village, to visit the officer; but had excused ourselves from want
of time. It was a forbidding picture, these zaptiehs living at free
quarters in an Armenian village. The fierce and almost black face of
the officer fawned obsequiously upon us when he had learnt who we were.
From Gunduz we made our way over some grassy heights which continue
the outline of the Akh Dagh. They are composed of intrusive rock,
mainly basic in character. The marble of the Akh Dagh, dipping to the
south-east, is interrupted by them; and the range, as such, is brought
to an end. The pass across them is low (6265 feet), but it commands
fine prospects over the country beyond the plain of Khinis. A portion
of the Akh Dagh comes to view, seen on its reverse side. Two bold
ridges were observed, plunging in an east-north-east direction, down
from the summit region to a little river. It became clear that the axis
of the range, as seen from the plain of Khinis, does not correspond
with its axis of elevation. In fact the Akh Dagh appears to consist
of a number of ridges, ranged in echelon towards east-north-east. A
sprinkling of snow rested on the north-eastern slopes, from which
those on the south-west were entirely free. Sipan was exposed from
foot to summit, answered further west by another almost insular mass,
the sombre rock and jagged outline of Bilejan. Vast tracts of plain
were outspread at our feet--without a tree, with only a few rare
patches of cultivation, the soil, where exposed by the plough,
being coloured a rich brown. The air which we were breathing was
strong and invigorating, while the sun, even near five o'clock,
was warm. Motionless grey clouds were suspended over the Akh Dagh;
towards evening they increased in gloom; it lightened, and a few drops
of rain fell. Such is the counterpart upon the tableland of the storms
of the Pontic region. A village lay below us at the beginnings of
the tracts of plain; it was the Armenian village of Gopal, in which
we were to pass the night (5643 feet).
One often wonders, while encamping in such a village as Gopal how the
burden of life can be sustained by its inhabitants. Their property,
their lives, and the chastity of their women are at stake from day to
day. They exist under a perpetual Reign of Terror; and Fear, the most
degrading, the most exhausting of human passions, is their companion
from hour to hour. Conspicuous in this village were a band of Hasananli
Kurds, parasites, no doubt, on the industrious Armenians. A Kurdish
agha, in a gay dress which displayed some beautiful embroidered silk,
visited us in our tent. We admired the sheath of his dagger, which
was finely chased. Between these Kurds and the petty officials and
the hungry zaptiehs, the Armenian cultivator hovers on the margin
between life and death. From time to time a revolution is invented
by an ambitious functionary, and the village becomes the scene of
bloodcurdling deeds.
Gopal is situated at the confluence of two little streams which collect
the drainage of the mountainous country on the east of the Akh Dagh,
and issue upon the plain near the village. The spot is indicated on
Kiepert's map by the site of a place named Karakeupru; but we were
assured that no such village exists in the neighbourhood, and that
Gopal had never borne this name. Further doubts as to the topography
of the map decided us on an excursion to the point where the streams,
which unite at Gopal, discharge into the Bingöl Su. Our guide conducted
us across the plain, which has here the character of downs, through
which the river flows in a deeply-eroded bed. Gopal itself rests on a
wide flat of alluvial land; and the level of the plain on the south
and east is appreciably higher than that of the plain of Khinis. It
has, indeed, been flooded with sheets of lava, which have probably
issued from several points of emission at the base of the hills which
confine it on the north. These lavas appear to have flowed towards the
south-east; in places they are overlaid by calcareous marls. Spaces
of grass occur which are almost free from stone, and over which it is
a pleasure to canter. On the horizon rise Sipan and Bilejan. In the
middle distance we remarked a bold escarpment of limestone which we
had noticed at Karachoban. It forms one side of the gorge through which
the Bingöl Su issues from the plain of Khinis. The beds were seen to be
dipping almost directly towards Sipan; and they are probably continued
across the river into the Khamur heights. After a ride of over an hour,
we arrived at the tongue of high land filling the fork between the
two rivers. Deep below us, at the foot of the cliffs, which are here
composed of limestone, meandered the meeting streams. In one direction
we looked up the gorge of the Bingöl Su; in another towards the face
of the cliff on the left bank of the Gopal Su, which must be several
hundred feet high. The village of Murian, on its right bank, a little
above the confluence, was a mere speck in the bed of the river at
our feet. But we could see its inhabitants running in all directions,
the size of ants, and like ants which have been disturbed. Horsemen
came spurring up the steep side of the precipice, of which we occupied
the neck. Our position was so strong that we had full leisure for our
occupations, myself with the mapping, Oswald with the rocks. Krimizi
Tuzla is neither at nor near this confluence, as the map of Kiepert
shows. The joint waters flow off towards Bayaz Tuzla, which, however,
was invisible. The eye follows their winding reaches for some distance
as they cut their way through a succession of low, white hills. Murian
belongs to the vilayet of Bitlis, and Gopal to that of Erzerum.
In the meantime the horsemen had formed in line on the level ground
north of our position. They proved to be a band of Kurds in the employ
of a Kaimakam who resides in this remote village. That official
stepped forward and saluted us with deference; at his side rode a
sergeant of the regular army, commissioned to drill the Kurds. These
are members of the great Hasananli tribe. The Kaimakam escorted us
for a part of the way to Gopal, over the spacious downs. I employed
my brief experience with yeomanry in England in the endeavour to put
his retinue through some simple exercises. The sergeant translated the
words of command. But it was impossible to keep them in line for any
time. They would burst forward, each trooper vying with his neighbour,
and careering over the plain, the rifle brandished like a spear. The
more I saw of Kurds the deeper grew my impression that they would be
completely worthless in time of war.
On the outskirts of Gopal were encamped some gypsies, who subsist by
making sieves. [224] It was late in the afternoon of the 28th of June
before we left the village, and mounted the cliff on the left bank of
the stream. For several miles we rode in a north-easterly direction
across the upland plain. These levels extend from the ridges of the
Akh Dagh, in the west, to a barrier of marble heights which rose on
our point of course, and appeared to be continued southwards in a
roughly south-east line. The prospect over the region in the direction
of Lake Van disclosed an immense area of comparatively even country,
limited only by the insular masses of Sipan and Bilejan. These masses
were in some sense linked by the long outline of a range of hills,
which, in fact, compose the southern edge of the Murad basin, and
beyond which repose the waters of the great lake. Khamur was boldly
defined in the south-west.
I feel that I shall exhaust the patience of my reader if I follow in
detail the remainder of our journey to Tutakh. I have brought him
along the outskirts of the important plain of Khinis to the region
about Lake Van. In case he may be a traveller, desirous of guidance
over the wild country which separates Gopal from Tutakh, I would offer
the suggestion that he should shape a direct course by his compass; I
doubt that he would be obliged to deviate often or for very far. Such
advice would have saved ourselves from getting lost in the intricate
districts to the north of such a direct line. Nobody knew the way;
there are few villages; and, although the inhabitants appeared to
belong exclusively to the Hasananli, each village was at feud with its
immediate neighbours, and it was impossible to obtain guides. Moreover
the division of the day into tedious units of hours is a process which
in that region is unfamiliar and scarcely known. During the summer the
few inhabitants are scattered in the yailas; the remnant in the village
is largely composed of old men and women, besides the children, male
and female, whose naked stomachs are distended by the quantities of
gritty bread they are obliged to consume. Such scenes of abject poverty
are rarely tempered by a brighter vision--the vision of youth, mature
and unimpaired. The few young women and girls, who have not followed
the flocks and herds, will be busy at their weaving of material for
the black tents, stretching the long strands of goat-hair twine, and
adding the woof to the web. Their loose cotton trousers display the
slimness of their limbs; and it is a pleasure to watch the rhythm of
their bodies, seated by the side of their task with knees apart.
But neither Oswald nor myself regretted our wanderings. By adhering
to the higher levels we obtained a picture of structural features,
which not only confirmed the studies we had pursued together, but
also contributed several interesting facts. It is in this region
that the great lines of elevation and mountain-making describe that
beautiful curve which attains its greatest orographical significance
in the mountains which border the highlands of Armenia and Persia
on the north and on the south. In the south it is the line of the
Armenian Taurus arching over into that of the Zagros chain; while in
the north the wider span of the alps of Pontus and the Chorokh region
is deflected into the border range of Russian Armenia and into the
mountains of Khorasan. [225] Within the area of the Armenian tableland
this curve may be clearly traced; for instance, it is conspicuous in
the trend of the mountains from Palandöken to Kilich Gedik, and in
that of the Aghri Dagh further north. Even in the country over which we
were travelling, some distance south of the former of these barriers,
and of comparatively even nature, the strike of the stratified rocks
displayed the change in direction; while the sheets of lava, which
overlay them, were evidently due to zones of weakness, where the
stress of bending over had been attended with fracture, and the apex
of the arc had given way. Speaking generally, the rocks consisted of
older limestone, hardened into marble, and varied by igneous material,
crystalline in character and of intrusive origin. Upon this foundation
rested layers of later limestone; while over all were outspread the
lavas, sometimes covering the entire series, at others swathing the
base of marble eminences. These lavas had welled up from fissures, for
the most part on the north of our track; they had flowed towards the
south, in the direction of the still distant Murad, often following
the trough of the river valleys, and sometimes altering the course
of the drainage. The change of strike in the stratified rocks was
observed in the neighbourhood of the village of Alkhes. There the
axis of the limestone folds was almost latitudinal; and, as we neared
Tutakh, it assumed a direction of east-south-east. This was also the
direction of the several valleys between Alkhes and the Murad.
In many respects the region resembles Tekman; the higher levels over
which we passed have an elevation of from 6000 to 7500 feet. But the
lavas have played a greater part in its configuration; and the streams,
which were mere runnels, have eaten to an immense depth and flow in
meridional valleys. Thus we were always either picking our way over
a sheet of lava, crumbled into boulders and yellow with fennel, or
descending hundreds of feet into a deep valley through which trickled
a rivulet. We crossed only one considerable stream--the Kersuk or
Kersik. It was winding through a gorge composed of limestone overlying
serpentine, and was changing its course from south-east towards the
south. At the bend, on the left bank, at some height above the river,
is situated the picturesque village of Alkhes. The channel had a
breadth of only a few paces; but the water reached to our horses'
girths.
The district about Alkhes, and for some distance west and east, is
known by the name of Elmali Dere, or the vale of apple trees. These
pleasant trees, with their grey-green foliage, are found in abundance
in the valley and side valleys of the Kersik. But the dreary fennel is
almost the only plant on the higher levels; nor can the eye, far and
wide, thence discern the shape of a tree. In the north the mournful
landscape is framed by the mountains which bend south-eastwards
into the Kilich Gedik. At Alkhes they were known under the name of
Khalias Dagh; at Tutakh, where our informants were better educated,
under that of Mergemir. Towards the south, upon the limits of a wide
semicircle, rose the snow-clad and still distant summits of the Ala
Dagh, rose Sipan and Bilejan. An unknown mountain, of relatively humble
proportions, concealed the western slopes of the giant of Lake Van;
it proved to be Kartevin, a volcanic and insular mass, on the left
bank of the Murad.