CHAPTER I

DESCEND INTO TURKISH TERRITORY

October 24.--The track which we were following winds for some distance along the spine of the range. You cross and cross again from the one to the other watershed, overlooking now the open spaces of the southern landscape, now the narrow and encumbered cañon of the Araxes below the adjacent cliffs of the tableland. The rocky parapets and gloomy valleys appear to extend from basin to basin, at right angles to the axis of the chain. West of the crags about us, and isolated from them, rose a shapely mass with black but snow-streaked sides. Darkness was falling when we descended from this lofty position into one of the valleys of the southern slopes. In its recesses we came upon a little Kurdish settlement, which seemed to promise shelter during the night.

Kurtler--Kurds! No sooner have we crossed the frontier than we find ourselves in their midst. The mountains of Kurdistan are more than 100 miles distant; yet these parasites fasten upon the countryside. Still their presence is appropriate and is not unwelcome, so long as they are confined to alpine solitudes like those which surround the village of Chat. Tufts of grass, interspersed with an endless crop of stones, were the only pasture which we had seen for some time. Yet the shepherds were in possession of a considerable stock of hay, against the approach of a winter season which can scarcely lack rigour at an elevation of 6700 feet above the sea. Their habitations just protrude above the level of the ground; and, once within the doorway, you proceed through narrow passages into the very bowels of the earth. In the darkness you stumble upon the forms of cattle or wake a ragged child. We took up our quarters in one of the largest of the subterranean chambers, lit our candles, and spread our carpet on the bare soil. We were surprised to discover that the roof of the apartment was artificial--layers of mud and straw, held together by laths of wood, and supported by huge beams. The walls, too, were built up of rough stones, plastered together; it was evident that the room was only three-parts buried, and that it communicated directly with the outer air. In fact we could see an aperture, the rude counterpart of a window, above the opening to the winding passage through which we had come. On the side opposite this only entrance a square hole in the face of the wall nourished a smouldering fire. The smoke wreathed upwards to a vent in the roof, or was sucked inwards towards the tunnelled approach.

When morning broke we were glad to issue from the fetid atmosphere of this human burrow into the pure mountain air. A few gaunt figures were standing upon the higher stages of the eminence which had provided a suitable site for these underground operations, and which rose like a large ant-hill from the waste of stone. Women squatted before the doors of the straggling tenements, weaving the bright rugs for which their race is famed. We proceeded down the glen, along the banks of a little stream. It finds an easy exit from the heart of the mountains, threading the trough of one of the meridional valleys. After riding for an hour and a half, we opened out the southern landscape from some high ground above the village of Amat (Fig. 108).

The great plain of Alashkert was outspread before us, bounded on the further side by the snow-capped mountains of the Ala Dagh, which stretched across the horizon from the east. Just before us, this lofty range was seen to recede into the misty background, the outlines bending away towards south-west. But the barrier was resumed at no considerable interval by a chain of hills, less distant, although of humbler proportions, called Kilich Gedik, or the sharp sword. We could just descry the site of Karakilisa, backed by the recess of the Ala Dagh. We knew that the Murad must be flowing through that nebulous passage in the opposite bulwark of the plain. The surface of the ground below us was level as water; the expanse was greatest in the west. In that direction the spurs of the range upon which we stood plunged by a succession of promontories into the floor of the plain. We were reminded of the valley of the Araxes in the neighbourhood of Erivan. Both depressions have the appearance of inland seas at the foot of the mountains, the one on the northern, the other on the southern side. But that of Alashkert is much more elevated (5500 feet), and less sheltered; you miss the presence of those extensive stretches of orchard and verdure which soften the landscape through which the Araxes flows. The eye wanders out over dim, ochreous tracts, broken by patches of fallow, and seamed by white rivulets. Just below the Armenian settlement we reached the margin of the level ground, and cantered along, almost on a compass course. We saw several insignificant villages; but the district was wild, the soil for the most part unreclaimed. Flocks of duck and geese took wing at our approach; cranes, with their long necks, sailed across the sky. In the course of an hour and a half we reached the street of Karakilisa, a distance from Amat, measured direct, of 9 miles.

A motley crowd collected round us as we enquired for the government quarters; a hundred curious faces were upturned towards us, and our ears were greeted with the cry of Ferengi! Ferengi! passed like a shuttlecock from mouth to mouth. The little town was full of stir; new shops and houses were in course of erection; it was evident that trade and traffic were on the increase. We had almost crossed it from end to end, when we were ushered into a modest building, of which the hall or outer chamber was thronged with people, for the most part peasants; while an old servitor or usher, with white beard and a flowing robe, was marshalling the rows of slippers by the threshold of an inner door. At our approach he drew aside the quilted curtain which screened this sanctuary, and turned the handle and bade us pass within. The low divan, which on three sides followed the walls of the apartment, was already occupied by a full complement of seated figures; they appeared to be engaged in deliberation when we broke in upon their séance. A little man with vivacious eyes was directing the conversation; he sat on the only chair behind a table covered with faded baize. Although we could scarcely doubt that our arrival had been announced beforehand, we seemed to take these notables by surprise. The little man rose from his chair; the assembly huddled together in order to give us place on the divan. Compliments were exchanged; coffee and cigarettes were provided; the discussion was adjourned by tacit consent. One by one, after satisfying without displaying their curiosity, the councillors stole from the room.

Meanwhile the figure at the table--it was the Kaimakam, or district governor--had examined our numerous and weighty credentials, and had directed a billet to be provided and prepared. Our effects, which arrived later, were not subjected to examination; no excisemen or policemen dogged our steps. Such officials are almost unknown in this happy country! so we reflected with a sense of immense relief. The way they worry the people in the neighbouring empire passes the capacity of the uninitiated to realise. The Greek poet was certainly wrong when he gave expression to the sentiment that anarchy is the greatest of human ills. Here we were, enlightened observers, exchanging order for disorder with rapturous delight! We were free to wander as we willed, to enjoy a British liberty without so much as the restraint of roads and walls. Coming from Russia, the contrast was indeed startling; independence is far preferable to feeling reasonably certain that you will not be knocked on the head by a Kurd.

The Kaimakam escorted us to the adjacent barracks, in which a whitewashed room had been made ready to receive us. It belonged to the quarters of the superior officer--with the rank of Miralai--a Turk of great stature and broad shoulders, to whom we were introduced. He wore a dark blue military tunic of European pattern and material; but he had forgotten to fasten the lower buttons of this imposing garment, as well as the upper ones of the trousers beneath. His mouth and ears and nostrils were of unusual proportions; the expression of the face was kind, and denoted a childlike, buoyant nature--de bonne bête humaine, as one might say. In him we found an agreeable and a sensible companion. He bustled about the place, was accustomed to shave each Friday; he settled every difficulty with eh, wallah! accompanied by a hearty laugh. From time to time the troops were visited by the Liva, or commandant, an aged figure with a beard of snow. He had been at Plevna, and had made the campaign of Bulgaria; but nothing remained of him now but a worn-out body, made doubly infirm by an inveterate habit of getting drunk.

The peculiar care and constant plague of these high officials were the newly-enrolled regiments which, under the name of Hamidiyeh, flatter the vanity but sap the throne of the reigning Sultan. Am I guilty of indiscretion when I say that the prevailing opinion of them in official circles is one of contempt, not unmixed with alarm? Your high-placed Turk will quote at their expense his favourite proverb, the fish begins to stink from the head. The young men are the sons of their fathers, who are Kurds and brigands; the example of the fathers is transmitted to the sons. Something might be done, if the process were arrested--if the recruits were removed from their homes. When I objected that the Tsar's Cossacks presented in some respects a hopeful analogy, I would be met by the reply that the Russian autocrat employed strong measures, the like of which the Turkish Government was too mild to enforce.

Perhaps my reader is already aware that the Hamidiyeh are irregular cavalry, who owe their origin to the endeavour of the Sultan Abdul Hamid to emulate the example which gave to Russia her Cossack troops. They are recruited for the most part among the Kurdish tribes; the name of yeomanry expresses the nature of their military service, but cannot be applied to the class to which they belong. The force is still undergoing the initial process of organisation. At the time of our journey it afforded the principal topic of conversation. Yuzbashis, or sergeants, of the regular army were being poured into the country, and distributed among the villages, to instil into the shepherds the rudiments of drill. Depots of arms were being established in convenient centres; and it was the intention of the authorities to keep the weapons under lock and key, except when they should be required for the annual trainings in spring. Hundreds and thousands of suits of uniform were arriving in the principal towns, loaded on bullock carts. Each regiment had been allowed to exercise its own fancy upon the choice of a distinctive garb. The result was an incongruous mixture of the braids and gold lace of Europe with the Georgian finery of a serried row of silvered cartridge cases, banded across the breast of a skirted coat. How proud they seemed, and how insensible of their ridiculous appearance in our eyes--the long-beaked Kurds, the swarthy Karapapakhs, masquerading down the street of Karakilisa in these strange creations of the tailors of Pera or Stambul! They did not require pressing to consent to be photographed--a group of Kurds (Fig. 109), a group of Karapapakhs (Fig. 110). Some of the principal officers of either regiment are represented in my illustrations; and I would beg my reader to observe the seated Kurd in the Georgian dress--it is Eyub Pasha with his son and nephew. Behind him stands his principal henchman, who, although a Kurd, has seen service with regular troops.

In the caza, or administrative subdivision, of Karakilisa three regiments of Hamidiyeh have been enrolled. Two are recruited from Kurds of the Zilanli tribe; the third from Karapapakhs. This people--who take their name from their caps of black lambskin--are found on either side of the Russo-Turkish frontier, and are no doubt related to the Tartars of Azerbaijan. The Kaimakam informed me--but I question whether his statement, even if true, can apply to more than a small number--that the fathers of those among them who inhabit this district were followers of the famous Shamyl. According to his account they were at that time settled in Daghestan, whence they removed to their present seats. He added that their villages were 8 in number in this caza; that their regiment had a strength of 800 men; and that they had branded no less than 650 horses with the military mark. Their chief, Ali Bey, is a man of hideous features, whom we recognised as the same individual who had been seated in the place of honour, when we broke in upon the deliberations of the Kaimakam. I now learnt the purport of their lively discussion; it had been a question of fixing a price for grain. Months ago Ali Bey had made a contract with the Kaimakam to supply the cereal for Government purposes at a stated price. The time had just arrived for delivering it into the granaries; but the price had risen, almost to famine rates. In the drawer of the green baize table was securely buried the precious document, behind a lock of which alone the Kaimakam possessed the key. How great was the dismay of the wretched official to find that it had been abstracted, and to recognise that the robbery might cost him his place! His despoiler felt quite safe behind his Hamidiyeh uniform and his paper figures of 800 men-at-arms.

But the Kaimakam was not the man to go to sleep beneath an injury; he possessed both energy and brains. He and the Miralai would each evening repair to our quarters, and discuss the events of the day over coffee and pipes. On one occasion, in company with the Miralai, we had awaited to a late hour the arrival of the Kaimakam. When at last he made his appearance, his clothes were covered with dust and he was wearing his long top-boots. His eyes were bright with excitement as he narrated in vivid language the story of his day's work. Kurds from Lake Balük had made a foray into his district, and had plundered the village of Mangasar, inhabited in equal numbers by Armenians and Mussulmans. He had proceeded in person to the scene of their depredations, and at the head of his motley followers had forced them to retire after a sanguinary fight. What was the origin of this man whose animated face and supple character contrasted strangely with the wooden figures of officers and notables who attended his divan? He told me he was an Albanian; he was, of course, a Mohammedan; but his whole appearance stamped him a Greek. Compared with Kurds like Eyub Pasha, with their resemblance to big birds, he stood on the opposite pole of human development. Although in point of years the youngest of the group, he led them all by the nose. A situation had scarcely been stated when he had already discovered the solution; he shared the feelings as well as the thoughts of the individual to whom he was lending his ear. I have no doubt that he was far the superior of Ali Bey in the successful practice of every kind of deceit. He professed himself my friend; I am sure he took a pleasure in abusing the confidence which I was obliged to affect. We had almost exhausted our stock of money when we arrived in Karakilisa; between us and the town of Van, where we might hope to replenish it, lay the wildest districts of Asiatic Turkey. Semi-civilised communications are entirely wanting in those regions; it was even impossible to hire a caravan. It was necessary to purchase horses; three days were consumed in finding the animals; having selected four, at an average price of £6 apiece, we were without funds to defray our expenses in the town. The Kaimakam might no doubt have advanced the few pounds in perfect safety; but he had cast longing eyes upon my gun. Alleging that he had already spent the last instalment of his allowance, he insisted that the usurers, who would supply him with the money, required that I should leave the weapon in his charge. It was arranged that, the moment the debt had been recovered, he would despatch the valuable pledge to Erzerum. No sooner had we reached Van than I contrived to send him the amount by way of Bayazid. Weeks later, upon my arrival in the capital of his provincial government, the gun had not yet come to hand. The Vali, or Governor-General, was recently dead; no successor had been appointed; the fact that I was an Englishman was scarcely worth recalling to the petty authorities, daily witnesses of the feebleness of the British Government, and full of contempt for the British Power. When my property was at last restored to me through the good offices of Mr. Graves, the whole winter and part of the spring had gone by. The Kaimakam had wreaked his revenge; the weapon came in broken pieces, and the barrels bore the marks of heavy blows.

I was unable to ascertain with any accuracy the number of the inhabitants, whether of the district or of the town. The Kaimakam, although extremely communicative on other subjects, professed to have been forbidden to make them known. According to the most recent official statistics, the caza contains no less than 58 villages, and possesses a population of 5377 Mohammedans and 1902 Armenians. For the town in particular I have not had access to any information; but I should judge that the residents might be put down at 1500 to 2000, of whom the Armenians would be nearly two-thirds. With the exception of the shops, the houses are in general little better than the usual village tenements, half buried beneath the ground. But Karakilisa is increasing in importance day by day, being situated on the great avenue of communication between Persia and the Black Sea. Strings of camels, with their finery of coloured tassels, were continually passing at a stone's throw from our door (Fig. 111). They were bearing the multitudinous wares of Europe for distribution among the Eastern bazars. They proceed by way of Trebizond, Erzerum, and Bayazid to the city of Tabriz. The place has also the advantage of being both a military and an administrative centre; there is always something going on. The fashionable amusement of the day were the Hamidiyeh. A luxurious coffee-house had just been built for their delectation; their name was on every tongue.

It was whispered in fear and terror by the poor Armenians. I visited their bishop, and found him in a state of blank despair. He was afraid to receive me, and sent me excuses--which, however, I refused to accept. After some parley with intermediaries he made his appearance--a stout figure, a thick-lipped, common face. He refused to listen to the simple questions which I addressed to him, and burst out into abuse. Europe, and especially England, had played the part of swindlers towards his miserable race. Their hopes had been incited by delusive professions, which had only served to alarm the Sultan and let loose the Kurds. Nor could they look to Russia, the arch-offender, fanning the agitation for ends of her own. The poor man continued in this strain until he was nearly beside himself; I was obliged to leave him to his rage. His diocese embraces the districts between Zeidikan and Bayazid, and extends southwards to the borders of the vilayet, or Government, of Van. His church at Karakilisa is little better than four stone walls. An ignorant priest imparts instruction in a wretched little building which can scarcely be dignified by the name of school.

One afternoon we made an excursion to the point where the Murad changes direction, and flows through the gap towards the south. Between the barracks in which we were lodged, on the extreme outskirts of Karakilisa, and the river, flowing placidly over the plain, there extends a considerable tract of marshy ground and low covert, the home of plover and innumerable water-birds. We crossed a stream which, coming from Aghri Dagh, passes just beneath the barracks to join the Murad a little further west (Kör Su), and made across the marsh in the direction of a little Armenian village which stands on the left bank of the principal body of water, almost due south of the town. Just below this settlement, called Küp Keran, we forded the Murad, which was winding at the foot of a gentle eminence of the southern border through a pebbly and many-channelled bed. Either shore was quite a museum of living wildfowl; in especial we admired a beautiful species of golden duck of which the wings were flaked with white bands. Avoiding the swamp on the opposite margin, we followed this bank for some distance: and a little later crossed back to the northern side. About a mile and a half below Küp Keran the river describes a beautiful curve, and enters the spacious passage of the hills. It is pushed southwards by rising ground at the base of the Kilich Gedik barrier; but the higher outlines of that range, as well as those of the snowy Ala Dagh in the east, are several miles removed from its shores. It flows towards grassy hills, among which you lose the silver thread which the eye has followed as far as a village, named Dombat. The breadth of the Murad at the bend, where its errant waters had issued from the marsh, did not appear to us to exceed thirty yards. The intense stillness of the scene was in harmony with the quiet sunset which shed radiance over mountain, river, and plain. From the lofty bulwark of the northern chain, beyond the lake-like surface of the steppe, rose the form of a single summit, overtowering its neighbours--the shapely dome of the Kuseh Dagh (Fig. 112). The fantastic profile of the system was drawn across the horizon in hues of opal to the far east. In that direction we could clearly see the magnificent bastions of Ararat, mounting the sky behind these heights. The snowfields were flushed with a delicate madder; we noticed that from this side they appear to gather to a single peak, the eminence upon which we had stood. We remarked the convex modelling of the lower slopes of the system along the opposite margin of the plain. A shorter way was shown us for the return to Karakilisa (Fig. 113), which leaves the river and crosses the head of the marsh.