CHAPTER XVII.Clearing the way—Leaving Daha—My father was well cleaned last night—The wonderful medicine—Charging the snow-drifts—Turkoman steeds—The Persians—The lieutenant—Zedhane—Molla Suleiman—Toprak Kale—A sanguinary drama—The Caimacan—The rivals—An Armenian peasant—The marriage ceremony—The Circassian Governor—The Kurd's mother—Revenge—His father's bones—The Circassian's wives—The Governor in bed—The fight—The feud between the Kurds and Circassians—Camels in the water.On the morrow we were up before daybreak, and not only ourselves, but almost all the male inhabitants of the village. They had turned out, some on horseback and others with spades and shovels, to try and force a passage through the snow. In addition to these men there were two caravans, comprising between them over 200 camels, and accompanied by fifty Persians. It was very cold. The lieutenant was doubtfulwhether we should succeed in clearing a way before us. According to the Kurd, there were still six feet of snow in many places along the track.Just as we were leaving Daha, the eldest son of my host approached and apologized for the absence of his father. There was evidently something on the lad's mind, he hesitated as he said "Good-bye.""Is there anything I can do for you?" I observed."Yes, Effendi, there is," said the boy, delighted at the ice being thus broken for him. "But I am afraid to ask for it."I now began to be a little alarmed, thinking that possibly the lad had set his heart on possessing my little express rifle or revolver, both of which he had much admired on the previous evening."What is it?""Effendi," replied the boy, "I know that it is contrary to our ideas of hospitality for a host to ask for a present from a guest; but in this case my father—""What does he want?" I remarked a little hastily, as it was anything but agreeable sitting still in the cold."He was so well cleaned last evening," continued the lad; "he has never been so well cleaned before! He would like you to give him some more of that wonderful medicine."All the luggage was on the pack-horses. But the boy so entreated me to comply with his request that I could not refuse. Unpacking my bag, I gave him a box of pills. The lad's face became radiant with delight. Taking off the lid, he took out a couple and ate them on the spot. Then, touching his head with my hand, he hurried off in another direction."He is a rogue," said Mohammed, chuckling. "He does not want the medicine for his father. It is for himself. He wants to set up as a hakim in the village. When once it is known that you have given him some medicine, he will be a person of great importance in the neighbourhood."Presently we came to a place where the camels, which were in the van of our party, had come to a halt. One of the animals had almost disappeared in a snow-drift, nothing save his long neck could be seen. The men coaxed and whipped their unruly beasts, all was to no purpose, they would not move a step.I thought that we should have to dig out the road with shovels. However, the Kurd whodirected the operations did not resort to this measure. Ordering one of the Persians to make his camels retire about 200 yards, the Kurd called twenty of the best mounted of the villagers to his side, then striking his horse and shouting wildly, he galloped along the track and charged the drift. In a second or two nothing could be seen but the head of the rider, his steed was entirely hidden from our view. After a few struggles the man backed the animal out of the snow, having made a hole in it some twenty feet long by four wide. The next horseman rode at the place, like his leader. Each Kurd followed in succession. They finally forced a passage.It was a wild sight to witness—these Kurds in their quaint head-dresses, and on strong, fine-looking steeds of Turkoman breed, many of them quite sixteen hands high, charging the snow-drifts, yelling and invoking Allah—the Persians, phlegmatic and still, seemingly not caring a straw about the matter—the lieutenant encouraging the Kurds by cries and gesticulations, but having too great a regard for his own safety to gallop at the ridges—and the leading horseman now far in front, his horse apparently swimming through the snow as he slowly burst the barrier.It was hard work even following in the steps ofthe Kurds. If a horse or camel deviated a hair's breadth from the line marked out, he would be often buried in a drift, and a long time be wasted in extricating him.The track led over a succession of rising ground until we reached Zedhane, an Armenian village with about thirty houses.We were close to the village of Molla Suleiman, and were not far from Toprak Kale—a town in which a sanguinary drama had been enacted but a very few months previous. I will relate the story as it has been told me by an eye-witness of part of the scene.Four years ago a Kurd was Caimacan at Toprak Kale. His grandfather had been a sort of king at Bayazid; the family being well off and having relatives married to some magnates in Stamboul, had considerable influence in the district. However, many complaints had been made about the conduct of this Caimacan. He was removed from his post. It was given to a Circassian. This gave rise to a feud between the ex- and the new governors—the Kurd often vowing vengeance against his newly-appointed successor. Shortly before my informant's visit to Toprak Kale, the Kurd's father had died. His family was in mourning.An Armenian peasant, who resided in Toprak Kale, was about to be married. It is the custom amongst the Christians in this part of Asia Minor, when the wedding ceremony is concluded, to beat drums, hire a band of what they call musicians, and fire guns in the air, as a sign of general rejoicing.The peasant, knowing that the Kurd's father had recently died, went to the ex-Caimacan, and asked his permission for the wedding to take place, as it would be impossible to have it without the music, gun-firing, &c.The Kurd consented, provided that he received a present, this the Armenian gladly promised to give. The marriage ceremony began, but when the Armenians in Toprak Kale commenced beating drums, &c., the noise reached the Kurd's mother's ears. She hastened to her son, asked him how he could allow people to insult his father's memory, and insisted that he should instantly put a stop to the proceedings.The son allowed himself to be persuaded, and sent some servants, who broke in the heads of the drums. The peasant was very indignant. He at once proceeded to the Circassian, the actual Caimacan, and related everything that had happened."Did the Kurd accept a present from you?" inquired the governor."Yes.""Very well," continued the Caimacan, "go back to your house. My servants shall accompany you. Make more noise than before. Get more drums; beat them harder than ever, and do not spare your powder. I will show the people in Toprak Kale who is Caimacan—the Kurd or myself."This was done. When it came to the ears of the Kurd's mother, she told him that he must be revenged on the foe, or his father's bones would not be able to rest in peace in the tomb. The Kurd consented. That evening he went to the Caimacan's house, accompanied by two of his brothers, and inquired of a servant where his master was."In the harem," replied the attendant, much surprised at so late a visit on the part of the ex-Caimacan."Go and tell him I am here," said the Kurd; then, without waiting for an answer, he pushed aside the man, and tried to force a way into the apartment reserved for the Circassian's wives. The governor was in bed at the time. He heard the noise: snatching his sword from thesheath, he rushed to the entrance. The Kurd fired at him with a pistol, the ball going through the Circassian's shoulder; but the latter was able to cut down his foe. The Kurd's relatives now rushed upon the governor. He called loudly for assistance; his brother, who slept in another room, hurried to the rescue, the result of the encounter being that three of the opponents were killed, whilst the Circassian governor was left desperately wounded on the field of battle.In the meantime hundreds of Kurds, who had heard of the disturbance, came down from the adjacent mountain. They vowed that they would kill every Circassian in the neighbourhood. The Circassians trooped into Toprak Kale, and swore that they would exterminate the Kurds.Fortunately the gentleman who related this story to me was able to despatch a mounted Armenian to the governor at Bayazid asking him to send some troops to the scene of the disturbance. The soldiers arrived in time to prevent a battle royal between the two factions. This probably would have ended in the annihilation of every Kurd and Circassian in the district, neither side being inclined to grant any quarter to its foe.We rode through Molla Suleiman. All the houses in this village were filled with soldiery. On emerging into the open country I found that the path in front of us was blocked by a caravan coming from Persia. A pond was on the right-hand side of the path. The leading camel-driver led his animals along the frozen water, so as to avoid a collision with our party. He miscalculated the thickness of the ice; a loud splash made us aware that it had given way beneath the camels. Five of the huge beasts were sprawling in the water, here about five feet deep; their packs, containing timbaki, Persian tobacco, became dripping wet. The animals, frightened at the breaking of the ice, lay down on all fours. They refused to get up, in spite of the cries and the whips of their drivers.
Clearing the way—Leaving Daha—My father was well cleaned last night—The wonderful medicine—Charging the snow-drifts—Turkoman steeds—The Persians—The lieutenant—Zedhane—Molla Suleiman—Toprak Kale—A sanguinary drama—The Caimacan—The rivals—An Armenian peasant—The marriage ceremony—The Circassian Governor—The Kurd's mother—Revenge—His father's bones—The Circassian's wives—The Governor in bed—The fight—The feud between the Kurds and Circassians—Camels in the water.
On the morrow we were up before daybreak, and not only ourselves, but almost all the male inhabitants of the village. They had turned out, some on horseback and others with spades and shovels, to try and force a passage through the snow. In addition to these men there were two caravans, comprising between them over 200 camels, and accompanied by fifty Persians. It was very cold. The lieutenant was doubtfulwhether we should succeed in clearing a way before us. According to the Kurd, there were still six feet of snow in many places along the track.
Just as we were leaving Daha, the eldest son of my host approached and apologized for the absence of his father. There was evidently something on the lad's mind, he hesitated as he said "Good-bye."
"Is there anything I can do for you?" I observed.
"Yes, Effendi, there is," said the boy, delighted at the ice being thus broken for him. "But I am afraid to ask for it."
I now began to be a little alarmed, thinking that possibly the lad had set his heart on possessing my little express rifle or revolver, both of which he had much admired on the previous evening.
"What is it?"
"Effendi," replied the boy, "I know that it is contrary to our ideas of hospitality for a host to ask for a present from a guest; but in this case my father—"
"What does he want?" I remarked a little hastily, as it was anything but agreeable sitting still in the cold.
"He was so well cleaned last evening," continued the lad; "he has never been so well cleaned before! He would like you to give him some more of that wonderful medicine."
All the luggage was on the pack-horses. But the boy so entreated me to comply with his request that I could not refuse. Unpacking my bag, I gave him a box of pills. The lad's face became radiant with delight. Taking off the lid, he took out a couple and ate them on the spot. Then, touching his head with my hand, he hurried off in another direction.
"He is a rogue," said Mohammed, chuckling. "He does not want the medicine for his father. It is for himself. He wants to set up as a hakim in the village. When once it is known that you have given him some medicine, he will be a person of great importance in the neighbourhood."
Presently we came to a place where the camels, which were in the van of our party, had come to a halt. One of the animals had almost disappeared in a snow-drift, nothing save his long neck could be seen. The men coaxed and whipped their unruly beasts, all was to no purpose, they would not move a step.
I thought that we should have to dig out the road with shovels. However, the Kurd whodirected the operations did not resort to this measure. Ordering one of the Persians to make his camels retire about 200 yards, the Kurd called twenty of the best mounted of the villagers to his side, then striking his horse and shouting wildly, he galloped along the track and charged the drift. In a second or two nothing could be seen but the head of the rider, his steed was entirely hidden from our view. After a few struggles the man backed the animal out of the snow, having made a hole in it some twenty feet long by four wide. The next horseman rode at the place, like his leader. Each Kurd followed in succession. They finally forced a passage.
It was a wild sight to witness—these Kurds in their quaint head-dresses, and on strong, fine-looking steeds of Turkoman breed, many of them quite sixteen hands high, charging the snow-drifts, yelling and invoking Allah—the Persians, phlegmatic and still, seemingly not caring a straw about the matter—the lieutenant encouraging the Kurds by cries and gesticulations, but having too great a regard for his own safety to gallop at the ridges—and the leading horseman now far in front, his horse apparently swimming through the snow as he slowly burst the barrier.
It was hard work even following in the steps ofthe Kurds. If a horse or camel deviated a hair's breadth from the line marked out, he would be often buried in a drift, and a long time be wasted in extricating him.
The track led over a succession of rising ground until we reached Zedhane, an Armenian village with about thirty houses.
We were close to the village of Molla Suleiman, and were not far from Toprak Kale—a town in which a sanguinary drama had been enacted but a very few months previous. I will relate the story as it has been told me by an eye-witness of part of the scene.
Four years ago a Kurd was Caimacan at Toprak Kale. His grandfather had been a sort of king at Bayazid; the family being well off and having relatives married to some magnates in Stamboul, had considerable influence in the district. However, many complaints had been made about the conduct of this Caimacan. He was removed from his post. It was given to a Circassian. This gave rise to a feud between the ex- and the new governors—the Kurd often vowing vengeance against his newly-appointed successor. Shortly before my informant's visit to Toprak Kale, the Kurd's father had died. His family was in mourning.
An Armenian peasant, who resided in Toprak Kale, was about to be married. It is the custom amongst the Christians in this part of Asia Minor, when the wedding ceremony is concluded, to beat drums, hire a band of what they call musicians, and fire guns in the air, as a sign of general rejoicing.
The peasant, knowing that the Kurd's father had recently died, went to the ex-Caimacan, and asked his permission for the wedding to take place, as it would be impossible to have it without the music, gun-firing, &c.
The Kurd consented, provided that he received a present, this the Armenian gladly promised to give. The marriage ceremony began, but when the Armenians in Toprak Kale commenced beating drums, &c., the noise reached the Kurd's mother's ears. She hastened to her son, asked him how he could allow people to insult his father's memory, and insisted that he should instantly put a stop to the proceedings.
The son allowed himself to be persuaded, and sent some servants, who broke in the heads of the drums. The peasant was very indignant. He at once proceeded to the Circassian, the actual Caimacan, and related everything that had happened.
"Did the Kurd accept a present from you?" inquired the governor.
"Yes."
"Very well," continued the Caimacan, "go back to your house. My servants shall accompany you. Make more noise than before. Get more drums; beat them harder than ever, and do not spare your powder. I will show the people in Toprak Kale who is Caimacan—the Kurd or myself."
This was done. When it came to the ears of the Kurd's mother, she told him that he must be revenged on the foe, or his father's bones would not be able to rest in peace in the tomb. The Kurd consented. That evening he went to the Caimacan's house, accompanied by two of his brothers, and inquired of a servant where his master was.
"In the harem," replied the attendant, much surprised at so late a visit on the part of the ex-Caimacan.
"Go and tell him I am here," said the Kurd; then, without waiting for an answer, he pushed aside the man, and tried to force a way into the apartment reserved for the Circassian's wives. The governor was in bed at the time. He heard the noise: snatching his sword from thesheath, he rushed to the entrance. The Kurd fired at him with a pistol, the ball going through the Circassian's shoulder; but the latter was able to cut down his foe. The Kurd's relatives now rushed upon the governor. He called loudly for assistance; his brother, who slept in another room, hurried to the rescue, the result of the encounter being that three of the opponents were killed, whilst the Circassian governor was left desperately wounded on the field of battle.
In the meantime hundreds of Kurds, who had heard of the disturbance, came down from the adjacent mountain. They vowed that they would kill every Circassian in the neighbourhood. The Circassians trooped into Toprak Kale, and swore that they would exterminate the Kurds.
Fortunately the gentleman who related this story to me was able to despatch a mounted Armenian to the governor at Bayazid asking him to send some troops to the scene of the disturbance. The soldiers arrived in time to prevent a battle royal between the two factions. This probably would have ended in the annihilation of every Kurd and Circassian in the district, neither side being inclined to grant any quarter to its foe.
We rode through Molla Suleiman. All the houses in this village were filled with soldiery. On emerging into the open country I found that the path in front of us was blocked by a caravan coming from Persia. A pond was on the right-hand side of the path. The leading camel-driver led his animals along the frozen water, so as to avoid a collision with our party. He miscalculated the thickness of the ice; a loud splash made us aware that it had given way beneath the camels. Five of the huge beasts were sprawling in the water, here about five feet deep; their packs, containing timbaki, Persian tobacco, became dripping wet. The animals, frightened at the breaking of the ice, lay down on all fours. They refused to get up, in spite of the cries and the whips of their drivers.