CHAPTER XXXIV.Ardanusch—The Ardahan river—Shadavan scenery—Crossing the mountains—The roof of the world—The Tschorock river—Mohammed is afraid—Kismet—If a Christian is ill—Going to Paradise—Does a Christian send for a doctor?—A vast amphitheatre—Kale or the old fortress of Ardanusch—Akiska—War—The Mostaphas are to be called out—The road to Livana—The cayek.We rode by several Turkish and Kurd villages in the direction of Ardanusch. The track was firm and tolerably level. After a four hours' march we crossed the Ardahan river on a wooden bridge about seventy yards long by sixteen feet wide. The structure was very much out of repair; the planks were loose in many places, here and there large holes in the timber let us see the river below. We halted at Shadavan, a Turkish village containing about thirty houses, and close to the water's edge. I had intended to have made a longer march, but the hired steeds were wretched brutes. They had shown unmistakable signs of fatigue. The proprietor of the housein which we stopped owned large flocks of sheep, the country round Ardahan being chiefly grazing land. He informed me that for every thousand sheep he possessed, the tax collector took from him the sum of thirty liras annually. There was no tax for sheep under a year old, nor for cows and oxen.Two hours after leaving Shadavan, the path crossed a high mountain. It was covered with its winter garb; this fortunately was frozen hard and afforded a firm foothold. The scenery around us became each moment more wild; fir-trees, shaded in their cold white robes, embroider the sides of the steep; huge rocks, their northern faces covered with snow, but black as ebony towards the south, frown down on the glistening carpet. The track wound higher and higher. A thick oppressive mist enveloped us like a shroud. We were above the clouds. The air became each moment more rarefied. We breathed with difficulty, owing to our elevation. It seemed at last as if we had reached the roof of the earth. A plateau lay before us.Onward we march. Our horses struggle through the drifts. Every minute we have to stop to let them take breath. At last the road begins to descend; now abruptly for a few hundred yards,we slide down some glaciers; then it dips over a succession of crests, each one lower than its predecessor. We reach the regions of vegetation, and, continuing for some time our descent, find that winter has been left behind us.There were many villages in this district, fruit-trees abounded throughout the neighbourhood. No more snow could be seen. The weather was oppressively warm. The Tschoroch river dashed along at our feet on its way to Batoum. Mohammed, pointing at the rapid stream, said something to my English servant."What is he saying?" I inquired."He don't like the idea of going in a boat, sir," replied Radford. "He is afraid that he will be drowned.""Do you know how to swim, Mohammed?" I inquired."No, Effendi. Cannot we continue our journey by road to Batoum?" he added. "The road is safe, but the water is dangerous.""Mohammed, it may be written in your kismet that you are to be drowned.""Perhaps, Effendi. But—""But what?""If I am to die, I would sooner end my days in a bed.""You ought to be very glad to have the chance of dying," I now remarked. "Only think of the many wives who are awaiting you in the next world."Mohammed here shrugged his shoulders."Effendi, you are a Christian.""Yes.""Do Christians believe in a future state of happiness?""Yes.""Do they think that their heaven will be more delightful than this earth?""Yes.""If a Christian is ill, does he send for a hakim (physician)?""Yes."Then added Mohammed triumphantly, "Why does he do so; he ought to be delighted at the chance of speedily going to Paradise, and yet Effendi, according to you, the Christian does his best to postpone the pleasure."The track now became very bad, it led several times across the river which was spanned by rickety wooden bridges. The may-trees were in full blossom. The voices of a thousand songsters chirruping amidst the branches echoed over the waters.We enter what appears to be a vast amphitheatre.The Coliseum at Rome on a gigantic scale lies before us. Its walls are represented by a circular range of hills, the boxes looking down upon the arena by numerous châlets, they jut forth from the slopes. An enormous rock faces us. It stands out on one side of the amphitheatre, and might have been an emperor's throne. The boxes grow larger as we ride across the arena. The resemblance fades away. A speck appears on the crest of a neighbouring height; bigger and bigger it becomes."Kale, or the old fortress of Ardanusch," says our guide, pointing to it. Soon afterwards we put up for the night in a house belonging to the Caimacan of the district. This official informed me that it was only an eighteen hours' march to Akiska, the Russian frontier station. The road to the border was a good one; artillery could be brought along it. There were no troops in Ardanusch, and the governor was much alarmed lest the Russians should commence the war by an attack upon his town. Whilst we were conversing, a servant brought him a letter which had been sent on by special messengers from Ardahan.The Caimacan opened the envelope. "War!" he cried. "An order has come for me to call out all the Mostaphas (the last reserve) in this district. TheGovernment would have never put itself to this expense unless our Padishah had felt sure that war was inevitable."Leaving me, the governor went out to give the necessary orders for the execution of the Sultan's mandate.We continued onward to Livana; the track was sometimes so narrow that we had to ride or lead our horses in Indian file. Now we come to a place where ten men could defend the road against an army, and then to a spot where the path has given way altogether, and fallen into the stream below. Our guide reins his horse backward. It is impossible to turn. We essay another route, and presently again strike the river. A large cayek was anchored by the bank. A man coming up to me proposed that we should go in his boat to Batoum."How much money do you want for taking us there?" I inquired."Ten liras, Effendi.""Go away, sheep's son!" ejaculated Mohammed indignantly; "we will ride to Livana, which is only four hours' march from here; and then, if it pleases the Effendi to entrust himself to a boatman, I will get a ship for two liras—rascal that you are to ask ten liras for the hire of your little cayek!"
Ardanusch—The Ardahan river—Shadavan scenery—Crossing the mountains—The roof of the world—The Tschorock river—Mohammed is afraid—Kismet—If a Christian is ill—Going to Paradise—Does a Christian send for a doctor?—A vast amphitheatre—Kale or the old fortress of Ardanusch—Akiska—War—The Mostaphas are to be called out—The road to Livana—The cayek.
We rode by several Turkish and Kurd villages in the direction of Ardanusch. The track was firm and tolerably level. After a four hours' march we crossed the Ardahan river on a wooden bridge about seventy yards long by sixteen feet wide. The structure was very much out of repair; the planks were loose in many places, here and there large holes in the timber let us see the river below. We halted at Shadavan, a Turkish village containing about thirty houses, and close to the water's edge. I had intended to have made a longer march, but the hired steeds were wretched brutes. They had shown unmistakable signs of fatigue. The proprietor of the housein which we stopped owned large flocks of sheep, the country round Ardahan being chiefly grazing land. He informed me that for every thousand sheep he possessed, the tax collector took from him the sum of thirty liras annually. There was no tax for sheep under a year old, nor for cows and oxen.
Two hours after leaving Shadavan, the path crossed a high mountain. It was covered with its winter garb; this fortunately was frozen hard and afforded a firm foothold. The scenery around us became each moment more wild; fir-trees, shaded in their cold white robes, embroider the sides of the steep; huge rocks, their northern faces covered with snow, but black as ebony towards the south, frown down on the glistening carpet. The track wound higher and higher. A thick oppressive mist enveloped us like a shroud. We were above the clouds. The air became each moment more rarefied. We breathed with difficulty, owing to our elevation. It seemed at last as if we had reached the roof of the earth. A plateau lay before us.
Onward we march. Our horses struggle through the drifts. Every minute we have to stop to let them take breath. At last the road begins to descend; now abruptly for a few hundred yards,we slide down some glaciers; then it dips over a succession of crests, each one lower than its predecessor. We reach the regions of vegetation, and, continuing for some time our descent, find that winter has been left behind us.
There were many villages in this district, fruit-trees abounded throughout the neighbourhood. No more snow could be seen. The weather was oppressively warm. The Tschoroch river dashed along at our feet on its way to Batoum. Mohammed, pointing at the rapid stream, said something to my English servant.
"What is he saying?" I inquired.
"He don't like the idea of going in a boat, sir," replied Radford. "He is afraid that he will be drowned."
"Do you know how to swim, Mohammed?" I inquired.
"No, Effendi. Cannot we continue our journey by road to Batoum?" he added. "The road is safe, but the water is dangerous."
"Mohammed, it may be written in your kismet that you are to be drowned."
"Perhaps, Effendi. But—"
"But what?"
"If I am to die, I would sooner end my days in a bed."
"You ought to be very glad to have the chance of dying," I now remarked. "Only think of the many wives who are awaiting you in the next world."
Mohammed here shrugged his shoulders.
"Effendi, you are a Christian."
"Yes."
"Do Christians believe in a future state of happiness?"
"Yes."
"Do they think that their heaven will be more delightful than this earth?"
"Yes."
"If a Christian is ill, does he send for a hakim (physician)?"
"Yes."
Then added Mohammed triumphantly, "Why does he do so; he ought to be delighted at the chance of speedily going to Paradise, and yet Effendi, according to you, the Christian does his best to postpone the pleasure."
The track now became very bad, it led several times across the river which was spanned by rickety wooden bridges. The may-trees were in full blossom. The voices of a thousand songsters chirruping amidst the branches echoed over the waters.
We enter what appears to be a vast amphitheatre.The Coliseum at Rome on a gigantic scale lies before us. Its walls are represented by a circular range of hills, the boxes looking down upon the arena by numerous châlets, they jut forth from the slopes. An enormous rock faces us. It stands out on one side of the amphitheatre, and might have been an emperor's throne. The boxes grow larger as we ride across the arena. The resemblance fades away. A speck appears on the crest of a neighbouring height; bigger and bigger it becomes.
"Kale, or the old fortress of Ardanusch," says our guide, pointing to it. Soon afterwards we put up for the night in a house belonging to the Caimacan of the district. This official informed me that it was only an eighteen hours' march to Akiska, the Russian frontier station. The road to the border was a good one; artillery could be brought along it. There were no troops in Ardanusch, and the governor was much alarmed lest the Russians should commence the war by an attack upon his town. Whilst we were conversing, a servant brought him a letter which had been sent on by special messengers from Ardahan.
The Caimacan opened the envelope. "War!" he cried. "An order has come for me to call out all the Mostaphas (the last reserve) in this district. TheGovernment would have never put itself to this expense unless our Padishah had felt sure that war was inevitable."
Leaving me, the governor went out to give the necessary orders for the execution of the Sultan's mandate.
We continued onward to Livana; the track was sometimes so narrow that we had to ride or lead our horses in Indian file. Now we come to a place where ten men could defend the road against an army, and then to a spot where the path has given way altogether, and fallen into the stream below. Our guide reins his horse backward. It is impossible to turn. We essay another route, and presently again strike the river. A large cayek was anchored by the bank. A man coming up to me proposed that we should go in his boat to Batoum.
"How much money do you want for taking us there?" I inquired.
"Ten liras, Effendi."
"Go away, sheep's son!" ejaculated Mohammed indignantly; "we will ride to Livana, which is only four hours' march from here; and then, if it pleases the Effendi to entrust himself to a boatman, I will get a ship for two liras—rascal that you are to ask ten liras for the hire of your little cayek!"