CHAPTER VIII.Camels—The Sakaria—Geiweh—Yakoob Khan—Kashgar—The Greeks in league with the Tzar—The Kara Su—A strategic position—Terekli—Bashi Bazouks firing at a target—The river Goonook—A black slave—Gondokoro—Abou Saood—How to become rich—Set a slave to catch a slave—Sharabmakes one gay—Mudurlu—Absence of shops—Toujours poulet—English manufactures in Anatolia—A Circassian Zaptieh—A precipice—A baggage-horse upset.The road became more level. We encountered caravans of camels, the animals not being led by a cord attached to a peg through the nose, but by a halter loosely fastened round the neck.They were fine beasts and covered with shaggy hair. This, I was informed, is cut off them at certain seasons in the year, and is then converted into a material for tents and rugs. Each caravan was headed by a man riding a donkey, the pace of the latter being if anything a little superior to that of the huge camels behind them.We continued along the left bank of the river Sakaria, a rapid stream, sixty yards wide and with steep banks; presently we crossed it on a stone bridge, very much out of repair. The centre part had fallen away. This had been replaced by wooden beams covered with loose earth. Presently we came to a large valley abounding with corn, vines, and mulberry-trees, and I halted for the night in the village of Geiweh. The Mudir, a sort of local mayor, came out to meet us, and insisted that I should be his guest. He was a very communicative man, and informed me that Yakoob Khan was about to bring an army of 50,000 men to assist the Sultan."How will he come?" I inquired."By the sea," remarked my host, his geographical knowledge about Kashgar not being very extensive. He next informed me that Persia was supposed to be very friendly towards Russia, and that the Turks hated the Persians, but liked the Christians, with the exception of the Greeks, whom they believed to be in league with the Tzar.Shortly after leaving Geiweh, the valley takes a circular form, and is at least three miles in diameter; hills with slopes well adapted for artillery fire surround it on every side. Thelittle stream Kara Su, which is only knee deep, traverses the district, and finds its way a few miles further down into the Sakaria. The Geiweh valley would be a magnificent position into which to entice a careless general. The exit towards the east is by a steep ravine with precipitous banks, and on the west it is blocked by the Sakaria.We now reached Terekli, a small town with about 800 houses. Every house was full of soldiers, who wereen routeto the capital. The sun was descending over the mountain tops as we rode through the narrow streets. Hundreds of Bashi Bazouks were performing wild evolutions in the plain below; some men were firing at a target from horseback at a gallop, others whirling their rifles about to the imminent danger of the bystanders. The many coloured dresses of this guerilla soldiery and of the lookers-on, lit up the surroundings of the landscape. The wild shouts of the horsemen re-echoed over the mountains. From the distant peaks the bleating of the goats could be faintly heard, as the shepherds were driving them home for shelter. This sound was mingled with the lowing of cattle and the rippling of the stream below. It was a romantic picture. It vividly recalled to my mind some scenes in the Basque provinces during the late Carlist war.The soldiers started at four the following morning, singing in chorus as they marched through the streets. An hour later we continued our journey through a mountainous district strewed with blocks of granite, and soon afterwards crossed the little river Goonook, another tributary of the Sakaria.[6]Here the scenery is very wild; the hills are of all shapes and forms, as if cast down at haphazard by the Titans of old. Now we find a series of natural bastions and ramparts, looking as if they had been chiselled out of the hard white rocks, and then approach a slate mountain, large black stones lying about in endless profusion. Presently we ride along a path bounded on both sides by a precipice. Our track twines like a silver thread amidst the crags which hide the way before us.We round a corner. A small village is seen below, Torbali is reached, and a Bey, the great man of the place, invites us to share his dwelling.A little later, a black slave brought me as a present from his master, some small trout and fresh eggs. The slave could talk Arabic. He had been born near Gondokoro, and had been kidnapped from that part of the world by a partyof Arabs under Sir Samuel Baker'sbête noir, Abou Saood. I asked him if he would like to return to his own country."Yes," he said, "if the Effendi is going there with Abou Saood. We could then catch plenty of slaves.""I know where to find them," he added, "we should soon become rich."There is an old proverb, "Set a thief to catch a thief," but here it seemed equally applicable to slaves. I was struck by the extreme eagerness to kidnap his countrymen which was evinced by this negro gentleman."Well," I said, "how are you treated by your master?""He is a good man," was the reply, "there is plenty to eat, and not much to do.""One thing is bad here," he added, "the master does not drinksharab(wine). I likesharab—lots ofsharab, it makes one gay. Will the Effendi give me a littlesharab?""I have not any. I do not drink myself.""And yet you are rich," said the slave. "You have money to buy it, happy man that you are. If I were like you I would drink, drink, drink, all day and all night!""But Osman does not drink, he attends to the Prophet's laws.""Osman is a horse; he does not know what is good," was the reply.At this moment the voice of the Bey was heard. "Gell!" (come) resounded through the building; the negro, leaving me, hurried off to his master.It was a nine hours' march to Mudurlu, our next halting-place, the route leading through a very mountainous district. The village, or small town, of Mudurlu contains 800 mud houses, which, at the average rate of five people to a family, would give about 4000 inhabitants. The traveller, when journeying in this part of Anatolia, is much struck by the absence of shops. He may pass through village after village, small town after small town, and, unless it be market day, he will be unable to purchase anything."Can I buy some meat?" I would inquire of Osman."We will see, Effendi. I will run to the Khan, and inquire of the people there."This was Osman's favourite amusement. Under the pretence of making purchases, he would go to the different Khans, talk for some time to the assembled villagers about his own merits, drink several cups of coffee, and return."Well, where is the meat?""Effendi, there is no meat.""Have you been to look?""Look, Effendi! My clothes are moist with perspiration. But there are some chickens; they will do for our dinner."This was the daily food—chicken. It is not a bad diet if a man is living a sedentary life, and not taking much exercise, but after a nine hours' ride he requires something a little more nourishing.Toujours perdrixwas too much for a French cardinal; if the holy gentleman had been riding through Turkey, he would have foundtoujours pouletan equally unsubstantial diet. A crowd assembled to see us depart. The people in Mudurlu taking as much interest in an Englishman as the inhabitants of London would take in a chimpanzee or newly arrived gorilla. Asiatics have a very high opinion of our skill as manufacturers. English goods, can be met with in almost every large town in Anatolia, and the Turks prefer English merchandise to the cheaper but inferior articles sent from Belgium or America.The Zaptieh who went with me was a magnificent-looking fellow. Picture to yourself a tall, dark Circassian, with large piercing eyes, and carefully trimmed beard—a striking contrast to the huge white turban which surrounded his fez. He was dressed in a green jacket with red facings;a blue waistcoat peered from beneath it, and a pair of green trousers and red leather boots covered his extremities. He was armed with a sword and revolver, and, when the road permitted, was continually exercising his horse. Now he would break into a gallop, go at headlong speed for fifty yards, then, pulling his steed almost on his haunches, he would start in another direction, and, bending from the saddle-bow, touch the ground. All this was done with the most consummate grace and ease—in fact, as if horse and rider were one.Soon we left behind us the light sandy soil which admitted of such-like evolutions. A chain of steep heights had to be passed. The mud became at each moment deeper. The baggage animals had great difficulty in ascending with their loads. We were struggling up an almost perpendicular height. At our feet and at least forty yards below yawned a deep abyss. The path itself was in no place more than ten feet wide. The sound of an oath issuing from Osman's lips attracted my attention. One baggage-horse lay on the ground; he was kicking violently, and his head and shoulders were over the precipice. Osman had thrown my rifle into the mud, so as to be able to use his hands morefreely, and was endeavouring to make his way to the fallen animal. The Turk's high boots came half off each time he lifted his feet, owing to the sticky nature of the soil. Luckily, perhaps, for us it was so sticky, the gun-case, which was buried in the clay, kept the horse from rolling. The Circassian and Radford had time to reach his head. Pulling off the pack-saddle, they divided the luggage among the other animals. We gradually gained the summit of the hill.
Camels—The Sakaria—Geiweh—Yakoob Khan—Kashgar—The Greeks in league with the Tzar—The Kara Su—A strategic position—Terekli—Bashi Bazouks firing at a target—The river Goonook—A black slave—Gondokoro—Abou Saood—How to become rich—Set a slave to catch a slave—Sharabmakes one gay—Mudurlu—Absence of shops—Toujours poulet—English manufactures in Anatolia—A Circassian Zaptieh—A precipice—A baggage-horse upset.
The road became more level. We encountered caravans of camels, the animals not being led by a cord attached to a peg through the nose, but by a halter loosely fastened round the neck.
They were fine beasts and covered with shaggy hair. This, I was informed, is cut off them at certain seasons in the year, and is then converted into a material for tents and rugs. Each caravan was headed by a man riding a donkey, the pace of the latter being if anything a little superior to that of the huge camels behind them.
We continued along the left bank of the river Sakaria, a rapid stream, sixty yards wide and with steep banks; presently we crossed it on a stone bridge, very much out of repair. The centre part had fallen away. This had been replaced by wooden beams covered with loose earth. Presently we came to a large valley abounding with corn, vines, and mulberry-trees, and I halted for the night in the village of Geiweh. The Mudir, a sort of local mayor, came out to meet us, and insisted that I should be his guest. He was a very communicative man, and informed me that Yakoob Khan was about to bring an army of 50,000 men to assist the Sultan.
"How will he come?" I inquired.
"By the sea," remarked my host, his geographical knowledge about Kashgar not being very extensive. He next informed me that Persia was supposed to be very friendly towards Russia, and that the Turks hated the Persians, but liked the Christians, with the exception of the Greeks, whom they believed to be in league with the Tzar.
Shortly after leaving Geiweh, the valley takes a circular form, and is at least three miles in diameter; hills with slopes well adapted for artillery fire surround it on every side. Thelittle stream Kara Su, which is only knee deep, traverses the district, and finds its way a few miles further down into the Sakaria. The Geiweh valley would be a magnificent position into which to entice a careless general. The exit towards the east is by a steep ravine with precipitous banks, and on the west it is blocked by the Sakaria.
We now reached Terekli, a small town with about 800 houses. Every house was full of soldiers, who wereen routeto the capital. The sun was descending over the mountain tops as we rode through the narrow streets. Hundreds of Bashi Bazouks were performing wild evolutions in the plain below; some men were firing at a target from horseback at a gallop, others whirling their rifles about to the imminent danger of the bystanders. The many coloured dresses of this guerilla soldiery and of the lookers-on, lit up the surroundings of the landscape. The wild shouts of the horsemen re-echoed over the mountains. From the distant peaks the bleating of the goats could be faintly heard, as the shepherds were driving them home for shelter. This sound was mingled with the lowing of cattle and the rippling of the stream below. It was a romantic picture. It vividly recalled to my mind some scenes in the Basque provinces during the late Carlist war.
The soldiers started at four the following morning, singing in chorus as they marched through the streets. An hour later we continued our journey through a mountainous district strewed with blocks of granite, and soon afterwards crossed the little river Goonook, another tributary of the Sakaria.[6]Here the scenery is very wild; the hills are of all shapes and forms, as if cast down at haphazard by the Titans of old. Now we find a series of natural bastions and ramparts, looking as if they had been chiselled out of the hard white rocks, and then approach a slate mountain, large black stones lying about in endless profusion. Presently we ride along a path bounded on both sides by a precipice. Our track twines like a silver thread amidst the crags which hide the way before us.
We round a corner. A small village is seen below, Torbali is reached, and a Bey, the great man of the place, invites us to share his dwelling.
A little later, a black slave brought me as a present from his master, some small trout and fresh eggs. The slave could talk Arabic. He had been born near Gondokoro, and had been kidnapped from that part of the world by a partyof Arabs under Sir Samuel Baker'sbête noir, Abou Saood. I asked him if he would like to return to his own country.
"Yes," he said, "if the Effendi is going there with Abou Saood. We could then catch plenty of slaves."
"I know where to find them," he added, "we should soon become rich."
There is an old proverb, "Set a thief to catch a thief," but here it seemed equally applicable to slaves. I was struck by the extreme eagerness to kidnap his countrymen which was evinced by this negro gentleman.
"Well," I said, "how are you treated by your master?"
"He is a good man," was the reply, "there is plenty to eat, and not much to do."
"One thing is bad here," he added, "the master does not drinksharab(wine). I likesharab—lots ofsharab, it makes one gay. Will the Effendi give me a littlesharab?"
"I have not any. I do not drink myself."
"And yet you are rich," said the slave. "You have money to buy it, happy man that you are. If I were like you I would drink, drink, drink, all day and all night!"
"But Osman does not drink, he attends to the Prophet's laws."
"Osman is a horse; he does not know what is good," was the reply.
At this moment the voice of the Bey was heard. "Gell!" (come) resounded through the building; the negro, leaving me, hurried off to his master.
It was a nine hours' march to Mudurlu, our next halting-place, the route leading through a very mountainous district. The village, or small town, of Mudurlu contains 800 mud houses, which, at the average rate of five people to a family, would give about 4000 inhabitants. The traveller, when journeying in this part of Anatolia, is much struck by the absence of shops. He may pass through village after village, small town after small town, and, unless it be market day, he will be unable to purchase anything.
"Can I buy some meat?" I would inquire of Osman.
"We will see, Effendi. I will run to the Khan, and inquire of the people there."
This was Osman's favourite amusement. Under the pretence of making purchases, he would go to the different Khans, talk for some time to the assembled villagers about his own merits, drink several cups of coffee, and return.
"Well, where is the meat?"
"Effendi, there is no meat."
"Have you been to look?"
"Look, Effendi! My clothes are moist with perspiration. But there are some chickens; they will do for our dinner."
This was the daily food—chicken. It is not a bad diet if a man is living a sedentary life, and not taking much exercise, but after a nine hours' ride he requires something a little more nourishing.Toujours perdrixwas too much for a French cardinal; if the holy gentleman had been riding through Turkey, he would have foundtoujours pouletan equally unsubstantial diet. A crowd assembled to see us depart. The people in Mudurlu taking as much interest in an Englishman as the inhabitants of London would take in a chimpanzee or newly arrived gorilla. Asiatics have a very high opinion of our skill as manufacturers. English goods, can be met with in almost every large town in Anatolia, and the Turks prefer English merchandise to the cheaper but inferior articles sent from Belgium or America.
The Zaptieh who went with me was a magnificent-looking fellow. Picture to yourself a tall, dark Circassian, with large piercing eyes, and carefully trimmed beard—a striking contrast to the huge white turban which surrounded his fez. He was dressed in a green jacket with red facings;a blue waistcoat peered from beneath it, and a pair of green trousers and red leather boots covered his extremities. He was armed with a sword and revolver, and, when the road permitted, was continually exercising his horse. Now he would break into a gallop, go at headlong speed for fifty yards, then, pulling his steed almost on his haunches, he would start in another direction, and, bending from the saddle-bow, touch the ground. All this was done with the most consummate grace and ease—in fact, as if horse and rider were one.
Soon we left behind us the light sandy soil which admitted of such-like evolutions. A chain of steep heights had to be passed. The mud became at each moment deeper. The baggage animals had great difficulty in ascending with their loads. We were struggling up an almost perpendicular height. At our feet and at least forty yards below yawned a deep abyss. The path itself was in no place more than ten feet wide. The sound of an oath issuing from Osman's lips attracted my attention. One baggage-horse lay on the ground; he was kicking violently, and his head and shoulders were over the precipice. Osman had thrown my rifle into the mud, so as to be able to use his hands morefreely, and was endeavouring to make his way to the fallen animal. The Turk's high boots came half off each time he lifted his feet, owing to the sticky nature of the soil. Luckily, perhaps, for us it was so sticky, the gun-case, which was buried in the clay, kept the horse from rolling. The Circassian and Radford had time to reach his head. Pulling off the pack-saddle, they divided the luggage among the other animals. We gradually gained the summit of the hill.