Bleeding Armenia: Its history and horrors under the curse of Islam

by Augustus Warner Williams; M. Smbat Gabrielean

The mountains of Ararat, rise about sixty miles north of Lake Van. After crossing the mountain divide which separates the watershed of Van from that of Ararat, a valley opens out to the northeast. It was one of the highways for the armies of the middle ages and the head of the valley was once a strongly fortified city. Here were erected the fortresses that protected the eastern frontier of the Byzantine Empire when it stood at the zenith of its power.

Continuing our journey northwards the upland pastures are soon reached and the Kurdish encampments with their black tents begin to be very numerous. But being armed with a firman from the Porte, and with an official escort we pass on without serious trouble. Now we come upon a large encampment with numerous tents stretching along the course of a clear mountain stream.

The men are a wild, surly looking set with hair streaming down in long straggling locks. All of course are fully armed. The possessions of these nomad Kurds may be seen about the encampment—sheep, goats, oxen, cows, herds of horses, big mastiff dogs and greyhounds clothed with small coats.

A first look at the Kurdish tents gives a person the idea that they are chilly habitations, but there are tents within tents or separate rooms partitioned off, having a plentiful supply of carpets, rugs and pillows that are very comfortable indeed even in the cold nights they have at that elevation of nearly eight thousand feet.

Resuming our journey and soon after crossing a ridge a thousand feet higher than the valley where we have rested—the whole mass of Ararat—not merely the snow capped dome—suddenly reveals itself from base to summit—a most splendid sight.

Although the summit of Great Ararat, which has an elevation of seventeen thousand nine hundred and sixteen feet, yields in height to the peaks of the Caucasus in the north and to Demavend (nineteen thousand four hundred feet) in the east, nearly five hundred miles away, yet, as Bryce in his admirable book has observed, there can be but few other places in the world where a mountain so lofty rises from a plain so low. The summit of Great Ararat has the form of a dome and is covered with perpetual snow; this dome crowns an oval figure, the length of which is from northwest to southeast, and it is therefore the long side of this dome which we see from the valley of the Araxes. On the southeast, as we follow the outline farther, the slope falls at a more rapid gradient of from thirty to thirty-five degrees and ends in the saddle between the two mountains at a height of nearly nine thousand feet. From that point it is the shape of the Little Ararat which continues the outline towards the east; it rises in the shape of a graceful pyramid to the height of twelve thousand eight hundred and forty feet, and its summit is distant from that of Great Ararat a space of nearly seven miles. The southeastern slope of the lesser Ararat corresponds to the northwestern slope of the greater mountain and descends to the floor of the river valley in a long and regular train.

This mountain forms the boundary stone of three great Empires, the northern slopes of Great Ararat belong to Russia, the southern slopes to Turkey, while a portion of Little Ararat belongs to Persia.

From Ararat it is a six days’ journey to Erzeroum along what may be called the roof of Western Asia—these elevated plains being about six thousand feet high, and forming the watershed between the Persian Gulf and the Caspian Sea. While its own barrenness is as wearisome to the eye as the plains of Wyoming from Laramie to the Wasatch Mountains, it is constantly sending forth its streams to fertilize the far off plains to the east and the south.

From the western slope of Ararat the Euphrates takes its rise—rapidly cuts for itself a deep bed through steep walls of rock. Half a day’s journey down the river brings us in sight of the Monastery of Utch Keliseh or “Three Churches.” Only one, however, can be discovered—but that is the finest Ecclesiastical building in all Ancient Armenia, though in a sad state of disrepair, having been sacked by the Kurds a few years ago.

It is built of large blocks of black and grey stone. It has both round and pointed arches; the western door has a rude cable moulding over it, and much interlaced ornament. But it would take the pen of a Ruskin and numerous photographs to make the stones of this old church as eloquent as the Stones of Venice, although the story they could tell would be far more tragic than any story told beside the murmuring waves of the Adriatic. These ruined Monasteries and Churches tell us of a superior order of architecture for the houses also in the days of prosperity, but now the poverty of the villagers is described by their dwellings which are sometimes large in area, with low stone wall, flat roofs, the living-room raised but a foot or two above the floor of the stables. Here they are obliged to live—during the bitter cold winter—the warmth from the presence of the cattle being necessary to keep themselves from perishing, and for the sake of the heat, the smells and the noises are endured. Another day’s travel will bring us through Delibaba pass which is a succession of hills and valleys leading into the plains northward. After many miles of travel across the broad plain through which runs the Araxes eastward, the steep climbing of two extended ridges brings us to the top of the mountain slope that stretches down into the plain of Erzeroum, the city being built on the hillsides before they sweep out into the plain.