CHAPTER XIX
ASCENT OF SIPAN
August 2.—Walking our horses all the way, we reached Adeljivas in four hours, excluding stoppages. The track follows the shore of the lake the whole distance, and you never lose the expanse of waters. In fact, it is the base of the block of limestones on the west of Sipan that you are skirting throughout the ride; although at first, and for some distance, the stratified rocks are superseded by intrusive material of igneous origin. These sombre heights are flanked by low foothills of purple conglomerate, which have been thrown into a succession of shallow folds, with an axis parallel to the shore. But as you approach Adeljivas the igneous rocks give way, and the conglomerate thins out and disappears. The limestone meets the waters, which it tinges with its own white hue. Hardened almost to the state of marble, it is in places full of corals. The scene becomes remarkable in the neighbourhood of the town, where cliffs of this description and of great elevation descend abruptly into the depths above which you ride.[1] Where these recede and leave the shore, giving place to a wide alluvial strip at the foot of Sipan, long concealed, is situated Adeljivas. The castle clings to the cliff; the gardens clothe the alluvial soil. In other respects our journey was not, perhaps, noteworthy. Besides Tunus, we passed only a couple of hamlets the whole way. Such oases of verdure—for the walnuts are especially fine—were much more rare than one would expect. But the district is unsafe; and it was patrolled by soldiers before we passed. This precaution was perhaps due to the presence by our side of the Kaimakam of Akhlat. His colleague of Adeljivas came out to meet us, near the border of his administrative district. The promontories along this shore do not protrude far; but they are bold, and with several prongs or bluffs. They offer no difficulties to the road. Lagoons have been forming on a large scale within the bays, due probably to the rise in level of the lake.
Passing through the enclosure of the ruinous walled city, which recalled the Kala or Ottoman fortress at Akhlat, we encamped among the gardens of the more modern quarter.[2] The trees are well grown, and provided us with deep shade. At least one considerable stream descends from the interior; the oasis is of some extent. Early next day we made our way in the lightest of clothing from our tents in the heart of the orchards to the margin of the shore. It was some little distance, but the walk was all that we could wish. The morning is the time to enjoy the picturesqueness of any Eastern town. There will be shadows to give relief to the scene, and light sufficient to bring out the colours. The deep white dust upon the lanes has not yet been disturbed. Draughts of freshness from the groves and gardens keep the air sweet and cool. Such a straggling lane or two, between low walls of mud and stone, took us past an old mulberry tree studded with red fruit, and a fountain gushing forth by the side of the way. So we came to a little valley, opening out towards the lake, and harbouring a swift and shallow rivulet, black with the shadows of an avenue of willows. A mass of foliage, on either side of the adjacent meadows, screened the pleasant place from fortress and suburb, except for a glimpse of the citadel in the west.
We stripped on a narrow margin of pebble-strewn shore, regretting our purple rocks at Akhlat. The water is shallow for some distance out; but, in spite of the embouchures of the irrigation channels, it was most intensely blue. We swam forth, enjoying the buoyancy of the waves, with the distant barrier of the Kurdish mountains before our eyes. Their bare escarpments towered up to their crown of snow. In the reverse direction the landscape was already flooded with light, and the foliage merged into the general brilliancy of tone. A conspicuous object was the ruinous citadel, proudly placed against the cliffs—the single witness in the scene to a period of human masterfulness in direct contrast to the actual insignificance of the human element in this fair and richly-gifted land.
When we returned there were two wooden couches with leather seats, and a couple of chairs, of similar pattern and equal shabbiness, arrayed upon the sward. These unusual objects had been unearthed for our benefit. They were not long in finding occupants among the personages of importance who were desirous of paying us the honour of a visit. The Commandant of the garrison came, accompanied by his aide-de-camp; they were followed by the burly mufti, and by several notables; last of all came the two Kaimakams. It was a medley of striped military trousers and gold lace, of flowing cloaks and white turbans, of black frock-coats and the tasselled fez. Each had a word to say upon the details of the expedition; each could help if one would only give them time. My great regret was that time failed me to receive their suggestions; there were indeed so many things which must be done. First I had to feed and water my horses, for the forage had not arrived in the early morning. When it came, the several owners were at variance, one with another; and I was obliged to seize it by force. Then there were my people, who would surely go without their breakfast rather than take the trouble to procure victuals. These I had provided with great difficulty overnight; but the cook had experienced trouble with his fire. Such everyday concerns were augmented on this occasion by several affairs of much greater consequence. It was necessary to engage at least ten porters; when these had been got together with infinite difficulty, there was no possibility of arriving at terms and a price. By the time the Kaimakam appeared, the orchard was alive with people, all intent on delaying the conclusion of their several bargains for the mere love of talk. That official was of great assistance, because he fixed the price himself, and ordered each man to conclude his business on those terms.
But there was one matter which called for very delicate treatment, and of which the ultimate issue was not so clear. It was most important that our escort, during the journey through the wild districts interposed between Sipan and Bingöl, should be composed of men who might be trusted at least so far as not to involve us in unnecessary brawls. They must obey my orders to the letter; but my authority could only exist by delegation from a higher authority; and it was essential that they should both respect and fear this source. Now the Kaimakam of Akhlat alone inspired me with confidence that his men would think twice before daring to play the fool. But Adeljivas belonged to the vilayet of Van; and his colleague would certainly insist in sending his own zaptiehs at least as far as the borders of that of Bitlis. And at what point in that bleak region could one hope to pick up the others? Fortune came to my aid in arriving at a settlement. It so happened that the Vali of Van had not been informed of our intention to enter his province. Indeed the ascent of Sipan had not formed part of our original programme. Now the Vali was alarmed at the prospect of a possible visit on our part to his capital. Adeljivas was so very near; we should be across in no time. And Van was in a state of unrest. His subordinate had telegraphed overnight that we had arrived, and might return after our excursion to Sipan. This it was in the interest of the Vali to prevent. A message came that very morning, conveying greetings from his Excellency, but enquiring whether we were furnished with a permission to travel, or even with a tezkere, or travelling pass. Of course he well knew that no such documents were in our possession, since the whole question of the right of the Palace to prevent Englishmen from travelling had been raised in connection with our persons. The incident brought the very wind into our sails which we had been courting on every side. We had not the least intention of going to Van. But the Kaimakam of Adeljivas would now be anxious to be rid of us for good and all. When therefore I placed before him the two alternatives, of returning and perhaps proceeding to reason with his Excellency in the capital; or of pushing on direct from Sipan and leaving his territory as fast as possible—the latter course was at once and joyfully approved. And when I made it a condition that the men of the Kaimakam of Akhlat should be allowed to meet us at the base of the mountain upon our descent, this proposal was also accepted without demur.
It was noon by the time these various matters had been decided—not a bad piece of work under the circumstances. There only remained the last and saddest of our duties—to say good-bye to the energetic and admirable official who had accompanied us thus far on our road. What a contrast between this Circassian, lithe of figure and nimble of mind, and his heavy, thick-skulled colleague of Adeljivas! In the latter I had recognised the former Kaimakam of Vostan—him whom I had met at Akhavank. What memories arose of Khachatur and his famous dinner! I learnt that he had already descended to his tomb.... Nothing could be more pathetic than the spectacle of an honest man, endeavouring to cope, not only with the inherent difficulties of his post, but also with the tricks of such rascals in high places as you see on every side. Such is the lot of the Kaimakam of Akhlat. It touched us to the quick. It is quite as sad as the sufferings of the Armenians. In the Turkish service there still remain a number of excellent officials—men well capable of dealing with the Armenian question in a manner conformable at once to humanity and to their country’s good. But they are flouted, and set aside. Some retire, others are constrained to effect a shabby compromise; while the younger or less steadfast become rapidly demoralised, and end as badly as they commenced well.
Two villages had been mentioned as both presenting a good base from which to climb Sipan. One was Norshunjik, and the other Uran Gazi. The first is situated on the south-western side of the mountain, and the second rather more round towards the west. Uran Gazi—a Circassian settlement—was, after some debate, selected, owing chiefly to the reputation and resources of its head men. It may be reached in about two hours from Adeljivas. Riding in a northerly direction, we pursued a winding track which became involved in the recesses of the hills. We must have been close to the break-off of the plateau of limestone on the west of Sipan; but the view towards the east was never open. The limestone was all about us, white and barren as usual, in striking contrast to the verdant scene we had left behind. So high did the escarpments tower, that although we continued to rise at a considerable gradient for a space of about an hour, it was only towards the latter portion of the ascent that we obtained a view of the summit region of the great volcano. But the vista towards the lake was of striking beauty, with the ruinous castle standing up against the blue. Deep below us on our left hand we admired the site of a walled monastery, high-seated in a broad valley. There was more traffic along this track than one might have expected; we kept meeting laden donkeys and a number of wayfarers. The adjacent slopes were, in places, strewn with blocks of lava.