Radford—His health—The farmer's house—The high elevation—My
brother will look down the precipices—The Frat—The
scenery—A caravan—How to pass it—The weather—Turks in Egin—A
coracle—Beautiful fish—Sick soldiers—Twenty-four hours without
food—Egin—The Caimacan—The Cadi—His story—Daniel—Samson—His
riches, his 10,000 wives, all of them fat and lovely—His
treasure-chests—The lovely daughters of the mountaineers—The
officers died; the Pachas died; and last of all, Samson
died—The fate of the Russians.
I was beginning to be a little alarmed about the health of my servant
Radford. So far he had not been ill, and had resisted the fatigue of
wading through deep snow, of bad sleeping accommodation and indifferent
fare. He had complained of a pain in his heart, during our march that
morning, and had not been able to walk uphill save at a very slow rate.
On arriving at the farmer's house, he had lain down in a corner, and,
according to Mohammed, was very ill. I went to him, and, feeling his
pulse, found that it intermitted. He was feverish, and complained of a
pain in the head.
"Would he be able to march the following day?"
"He thought he should."
I was exceedingly doubtful about it; and, leaving word with Mohammed to
call me, should his fellow-servant be taken worse in the night, I lay
down by the side of our horses and tried to go to sleep.
I myself, for several days past, had experienced considerable difficulty
in wading through the snow, but was inclined to believe that this
was owing to our elevation above the level of the sea, and that the
diminished pressure of air upon my body, combined with the hard work,
was the real cause of this weakness. However, the fact remained that the
poor fellow was knocked up. It would be impossible to remain for more
than a day or two in our present quarters. I determined to push on as
fast as his health would permit to Erzingan; for once there we should
be within a nine days' march of Trebizonde, and it would be possible,
if he were still poorly, for me to send him home to his relations.
To my great delight he was a little better in the morning, though still
very weak. He would have been unable to walk; he had strength enough
left to sit on a horse. I gave orders that he was on no account to go
on foot, and resolved to let him ride my horse from time to time, should
his own animal be unable to carry him through the drifts.
"My brother will be on horseback all the day. He will look well down
the precipices," said Mohammed with a chuckle.
He had observed that the Englishman did not relish riding a few
inches from a chasm, and Mohammed was rather amused to learn that his
fellow-servant would now no longer have the chance of walking by the
precipices. He himself, though not particularly brave in other respects,
never seemed to value his neck when on horseback. No matter how steep
the slopes might be, Mohammed seldom or ever took the trouble to
dismount from his animal, which, under the influence of two good feeds
of barley every day, had improved considerably since the march from
Tokat.
"Why should I dismount?" Mohammed would say. "If I am to slip and be
killed, it will happen, and I cannot prevent it."
The fellow had been accustomed to a mountainous country all his life,
and had previously been employed as a Zaptieh. This may account for
his coolness on horseback. But, at a later period of the journey, and
when it was necessary for us to descend some rapids in a boat, Mohammed
showed unmistakable signs of fear, and was not at all to be consoled by
Radford's remark that, if he (Mohammed) were to be drowned, it would be
his fate, and so would not signify.
We reached the crest of a lofty height. A wide stream appeared below
our feet.
"What is the name of that river?" I inquired. The welcome announcement,
"The Frat," made me aware that at last I had arrived on the banks of the
Euphrates—here a broad stream about 120 yards wide and nine or ten feet
deep. Numerous boulders half choked up the river's channel. The waves
splashed high in the air as they bounded over these obstacles; the sound
of the troubled waters could be distinctly heard even at our elevation.
We continued the march alongside the bank of the world-renowned river.
The path was cut out of the solid rock. In some places the track was
not above four feet wide. No balustrade or wall had been made to keep a
horse or rider from slipping down the chasm. Presently the road wound
still higher amidst the mountains. The river beneath us seemed no
broader than a silver thread.
On we went. The sound of bells made us aware that there was a caravan
approaching. Our guide rode first. A few moments later, about 100 mules,
all laden with merchandise, could be seen coming towards our party. We
should have to pass them; how to do so seemed a difficult problem to
solve. The track was not wider than an average dinner-table.
The guide soon settled the matter. Taking a whip, he struck the leading
mule; the latter, to avoid punishment, ran with his load up a steep
slope along the side of the path. The rest of the animals followed.
There seemed to be scarcely foothold for a goat, but the mules found
one. They were removed from the path on which we stood, my people could
advance in safety.
Numbers of vines clad the lower part of the mountain slopes. Here and
there a few châlets made of white stone could be seen. These, I was
informed, belong to the wealthier Turks of Egin, who come to reside here
during the grape season.
Below us some fishermen were seated in a boat apparently made of
basket-work. It looked like a Welsh coracle, but was of much larger
dimensions. They were engaged in fishing with a sort of dragnet, one of
them was busily employed in mending a smaller one of the same kind.
"Beautiful fish are caught here," said the guide. "Some are 100 okes in
weight (about 260 lbs.). The people salt, and eat them in the winter."
We met some sick soldiers lying across the path. They had fallen out of
the ranks and were basking themselves in the sun, utterly regardless of
the fact that their battalion was, ere this, a two hours' march ahead
of them.
"What is the matter with you?" I inquired of one man.
"Footsore," was his reply, at the same time pointing to his frost-bitten
feet.
"And with you?" to another.
"I, Effendi, I am weak and hungry."
"What! have you had no breakfast?"
"No."
I then discovered that these soldiers had been twenty-four hours without
food! There was no grumbling at this breakdown in the commissariat
department. The men were solacing themselves with a cigarette, the
property of one of the party, and which he was sharing with his
comrades.
Our route leads us by some high rocks. They are broken into strange and
fantastic forms; they rear themselves up on each bank of the Euphrates,
and frown down on the waters below. Here domes and pinnacles stand out
in bold relief; there, the figure of a man, shaped as if from the hands
of a sculptor, is balanced on a projecting stone, and totters on the
brink of the abyss.
Mulberry and apple-trees grow in wild profusion along the banks. We
leave them behind. The track steadily ascends. We are more than 1200
feet from the waters. I gaze down on the mighty river; it winds its
serpent-like coils at our feet. They twist and foam and lose themselves
behind the crags. Higher we go.
Vegetation disappears, we are in the realms of snow; continuing for some
miles over the waste, the path descends into a valley. Egin lies before
us.
It is a long, straggling town, with a population of 10,000 souls, and
much resembles Arabkir. We rode over the roofs of many houses ere we
reached our destination—the house of an Armenian merchant, who had
ridden out himself to place it at our disposal. The following day I
called upon the Caimacan—a little man, who spoke Italian very fairly.
He had been only seven months at his present post. The Cadi was seated
at his side. After the governor had announced that the Conference was a
failure—a piece of news which I had heard before—the Cadi observed that
he should like to tell me a story.
"He relates a story very well," said the Caimacan.
"We all like his stories," said the rest of the company.
"By all means," I said; and the Cadi, thus encouraged, began,—
"Many thousand years ago there was a prophet—he was a great man, he was
a marvel—his name was Daniel!"
This last word was duly repeated by the assembled guests; and the
Caimacan gave a little cough.
"I have heard this story before," he observed; "but it is a good one.
Go on."
"Well," continued the Cadi, "Daniel had a dream. In his dream he saw
a young man, Samson was his name. Samson was beautifully dressed; his
clothes alone would have cost all the gold and caime that have ever been
circulated at Constantinople. The rings on his fingers were encrusted
with precious stones—beautiful stones—each one more bright and lovely
than the eye of the most beautiful woman whom mortal man has ever seen.
"But, Samson himself was pale, his features were wasted away; he was
very thin, and, on carefully looking at him, Daniel discovered that he
was dead. There was a large scroll of paper lying at his feet. No other
man could have deciphered the letters on it; but the Prophet read them
at once, and he galloped his eye over the scroll with the same rapidity
as a hunter in pursuit of a hare—"
"He read very quickly!" interrupted the Caimacan.
"Daniel was a Hodja" (learned man), observed the Cadi indignantly; "of
course he did!"
"Samson had conquered almost the whole world," continued the speaker;
"but, there was one very poor and mountainous country which did not
acknowledge him as its lord.
"Samson had 10,000 wives, all of them fat and lovely. The keys of his
treasure-chests were in themselves a load for 10,000 camels. He was all
vigorous and able to enjoy every blessing which Allah had bestowed upon
him—"
"Was he not satisfied with 10,000 wives?" remarked one of the audience.
"No," said the Cadi. "Some men are never satisfied; Samson was one of
them. He wanted more. His heart was not full, he wished to conquer the
poor country, and take a few wives from the lovely daughters of the
mountaineers. He came with an enormous army. The people fled. The troops
ate up everything. There were no more provisions. There was nothing left
even for the king. Samson offered 10,000 sacks of gold for a handful of
millet-seed. It could not be purchased. The soldiers died; the sergeants
died; the officers died; the Pachas died; and, last of all, Samson
died!"
"Let this be the fate of the Russians if they come here," added the
Cadi. "The Tzar has much land—he is rich—he has many more soldiers than
we have, he has everything to make life happy. Yet he is not content; he
wishes to take from his poor neighbour the pittance which he possesses.
Let Allah judge between him and us," continued the speaker. "And God
alone knows who will be victorious!"
"We shall beat them!" said the Caimacan.
Soon afterwards my visit came to an end.