The bazaar—Recumbent Persians—Carpets—Cutlery—Russian
calicoes—The houses in Khoi—The schools—A class of lads—The
pedlar—The schoolmaster chastises him—Pillaff—Bonbons—Persian
ladies like sweetmeats—Articles of native manufacture—The
mosque—The Russian officials in Erivan—We leave Khoi—Kotoor
Boghaz—The Turkish captain who was taken prisoner by the
Persians—His explanation of the affair—The Russians are our
fathers—The defile—Magnificent positions for defence—A mineral
spring—The change of temperature.
I arrived at the bazaar. It is a very large building, arched over in
many places, and here and there is constructed of bricks. It was a hot
afternoon. The bazaar was delightfully cool, many of the inhabitants
had gone there merely with the object of lying in the shade. At almost
every step we took, we came upon the forms of some recumbent Persians.
It was rather dark. The idlers' ribs must have suffered. A muttered
curse would be the only sign of the men's disgust; they would turn over
and be asleep again in another minute.
The bazaar was better arranged than any of the market-places which I
had visited in Anatolia. The shops belonging to men who sold one kind
of article were all side by side, and not mixed up with the stalls
belonging to traders in other merchandise. Some carpets were very
beautifully designed, and could have been purchased for one-fourth of
the price they command in the London market. The cutlery mostly came
from Erivan in Russia. An immense quantity of gaudily-coloured Russian
calicoes were exposed for sale.
We came to a samovar (tea-urn) shop. The owner, a sleepy-looking
Persian, was very wide awake, so far as his interests were concerned.
He was engaged in a wordy warfare with a Kurd who wanted to buy an urn
for his house. The conversation became so loud, and the gesticulations
of the Kurd were so energetic, that I thought he was about to attack
the merchant. However, a minute later the affair was settled, and the
purchaser was drinking a glass of tea with the salesman.
Most of the houses in Khoi are built of a sort of brown clay. If it
were not for the numerous mosques which are painted blue and green, the
town would be very sombre in its appearance. Many of the doors to the
buildings were supplied with massive iron knockers—a rarity in Asiatic
Turkey—and the many windows on the ground-floors, which were guarded by
iron bars, rather reminded me of Cordova.
Streams of muddy water ran through the streets. Hundreds of women were
busily engaged in washing the domestic apparel.
We passed by an open window, and, on looking in, I found that the
building was used as a school. A master was seated on the window-sill,
fifty or more children were clustered round his feet. He was teaching
them pieces of the Koran, which the little ones were endeavouring to
learn by heart. A class of lads, averaging, I should say, from fifteen
to twenty years of age, were squatting in a corner occupied in learning
how to write—a very rare accomplishment in Persia, and principally
confined to the merchant classes. Some of the lads had escaped for
a moment from the vigilance of their master, and were buying oranges
from a pedlar. The fruit had been brought from Tabriz, as there are no
orange-trees in the neighbourhood of Khoi. Suddenly the Hodja discovered
their absence; he ran outside the school. He did not confine his blows
to the lads, but allowed the pedlar to share them with his pupils.
We arrived at some pillaff shops; here legs and wings of chickens,
surrounded by piles of rice, were placed before the merchants. One of
them, taking a piece of meat in his fingers from a plate, handed it to
me. He wanted my opinion of his wares.
"Good!" I said.
"Have you pillaff in your country?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"But not like my pillaff?"
"No, not so good."
This greatly delighted the trader: running out of his shop, he insisted
that I should return with him and taste his sweetmeats. These last
were some of them very well made and had been manufactured with a
considerable amount of skill—a trade going on in bon-bons between Khoi
and other towns in the interior. The Persian ladies are very fond of
sweetmeats, a large quantity of these delicacies being consumed in the
different harems.
I wanted to buy some article of native manufacture in silver. It was
impossible; the jewellers kept nothing by them ready made; they could
have executed an order, but this would have been a tedious affair. After
having visited the mosque in the town—a building which was rather more
lofty than the Turkish mosques, but in other respects very similar—I
began to think that it was time for me to continue my journey to Van.
It was very warm here, but the route from Van to Kars would be covered
with snow, and I had only two months left of my leave of absence to
complete the journey to England. The Consul pressed me to stay another
day in his house. However, we had commenced making our preparations, and
I was the more eager to leave the town as I had been given to understand
that my arrival had caused great uneasiness to the Russian officials in
Erivan. From their being so close to Khoi they have begun to look upon
this town as their own territory.
The paternal Government was alarmed lest I should be murdered by the
Persians; and after the extreme solicitude the Russian authorities had
shown for my safety when I was travelling to Khiva, I should have been
deeply grieved to have given them any more annoyance on my account.
The following morning we left Khoi at daybreak. The city stands on
a plain, and is surrounded by a chain of hills, but they are at a
considerable distance from the walls.
The latter gradually disappeared, and, after a march of two hours and a
half along a good road, we arrived at Kotoor Boghaz, a famous pass which
divides the territory of the Sultan from that of the Shah. There is no
Persian military station in the neighbourhood. The Turks have built a
sort of block-house at the entrance of the gorge. Here I found a small
force consisting of one captain, two lieutenants, forty infantry, and
twenty-eight cavalry soldiers. Ahmed was the name of the captain. I now
discovered that he was the identical officer who, six months previous,
had been made prisoner by the Persians, and taken to Khoi. He informed
me that one Turkish soldier, Osman by name, had been killed in the
fray, and that he himself had been kept in chains for forty days in the
gaol at Khoi, during which time he had nothing given him to eat save
bread and water. In addition to this he had to sleep on the bare floor.
According to my informant, the Persian captives who had been sent to
Van had been well treated. They had been given beds in which to sleep,
and had been supplied with pillaff.
"What do you think was the cause of the Persians attacking the Turkish
village?" I inquired.
"The Russians were the origin of the disturbance," replied the officer.
"Whilst I was being taken a prisoner to Khoi, I heard the Persian
soldiers say, 'The Russians are our fathers,' and they laughed at me as
they said so."
"The sooner we fight Russia the better," continued the speaker. "She
will not be half so troublesome to us in open fight as she is at
present."
We proceeded onward through the Kotoor Pass. A little stream, called the
Kotoor Su, dashed along at our feet, and gradually became wider as it
received a succession of small tributaries from the adjacent mountains.
The defile presents a series of magnificent positions for defence. It is
in many places not more than 200 yards broad. Precipitous heights look
down upon the stream from either hand.
There are several mineral springs in this neighbourhood—some being of a
sulphurous nature. These are largely used by the Kurds, who, if unwell,
come here during the summer months and drink the waters.
Presently the guide turned off the path; ascending some rising ground,
he dismounted by the side of a spring. Taking a tin cup from my holster,
I desired him to fill it, after which I tasted the water. It was warm,
and reminded me of the Sprudel spring at Carlsbad, but is much stronger.
Two glasses full of this Kotoor water are equivalent in their effects
to at least four of the Sprudel.
Snow lay on the ground beneath us. At first in patches, then becoming
more frequent it covered the winding path. A hail storm came on. A
cutting wind whistled through the gorge. The sudden difference between
the heat at Khoi, and the cold in the Kotoor Pass, struck a chill to our
very bones. We had been marching for six hours; there were still five
more ere we could reach a resting-place.
Dismounting from our horses, we ran by their side, and tried to restore
the circulation in our bodies. The rapid changes of climate in this
part of Asia Minor are very dangerous to travellers. The natives
have a saying: "A chill in the evening is death in the morn." If any
one experiences a chill, and does not succeed in becoming warm again
immediately, he is certain to feel some ill-effects. We passed by
another hot-spring; it issues from the bank of the Kotoor river. The
guide, borrowing my tin, dismounted, and began to wash his mouth.
"Why are you doing that?" I inquired.
"For tooth-ache," was the reply.
We now learnt that the Kurds have an implicit belief in the efficacy of
this water for such complaints.