Fig. 116. Sipan from the Plain of Patnotz.
Not less eloquent an illustration of the decay of the Ottoman Empire was the landscape through which we passed. Mile after mile, the eye ranged across the floor of the alluvial plain to the lower slopes of the great volcano which, with the hills circling towards them, compose a basin-like area of vast extent. The fertile soil lies idle, as though the waters had lately receded; in the distance some goats and cattle browsed the burnt and scanty grass. Nature alone has made the most of exceptional opportunities; and Sipan, with this plain on one flank and the lake of Van upon the other, is worthy to rank among the most beautiful objects in the natural world ([Fig. 116]). There, can be little difference between the level of the expanse on either side; plain and sea have an elevation of about 5500 feet. The summit of the slowly-rising fabric which divides them attains an altitude of 13,700 feet. The history of the mountain may be studied to advantage from this, the northern side. There can be little doubt that it possessed a central crater, of which the walls have fallen in upon the north. The southern rim still stands, presenting an almost horizontal outline of sharp rock, harbouring drifts of snow.[5] The processes of denudation have been busy with the slopes of this ancient cone, and have broken the surface into knife-like ridges. We stood for half-an-hour in full face of the pile. After crossing two little rivulets which wandered out from the hills behind us, we arrived at half-past ten in Patnotz.
We found it nothing better than a wretched Kurdish village, with some one hundred huts and numerous stacks of dried manure. It is situated at the foot of the hill range which we had been skirting, and which had gradually been circling round towards Sipan. It overlooks the plain and the opposite volcano. About thirty of the tenements are occupied by Armenian families, and there is a row of shops which rise proudly from the ground. On the further outskirts a large stone building was in process of being erected; the Armenian masons were busy with the work. It was to serve as a school and for other purposes, and was due to the policy in favour with the Sultan, of educating the Kurds. I understood that the funds were provided by the Turkish Government. We rode up to a group of people assembled before this palace, and enquired for the chief. Among them was an individual of heavy build and forbidding features, attired in a long coat of military pattern, and displaying the brass ensign of the Hamidiyeh on the sheepskin cap which he wore. It was Hoseyn Pasha, lord of the Haideranli, and ruler of the territory of Patnotz. The irregular mouth and nose, and the dull, sparkless eyes correspond with the reputation which he bears. But discontent as well as malice was written upon his countenance; and the situation explained the humour of the man. His followers would no doubt argue that he was assisting at his own destruction; this school was the visible evidence of the Ottoman yoke. I have no doubt that he would console them with the assurance of its futility; and I am certain that he would be right. Meanwhile he had appropriated the completed apartments as a residence for himself. I waited for him to invite us to be his guests in his new quarters; but he beckoned to an attendant to find us a room in one of the huts. So I dismounted, and myself led the way into the schoolhouse, obliging him either to affront or follow me. He chose the latter course. Continuing the same tactics, I bade him take a seat by my side on his own divan. In his company was a fine specimen of the Kurdish nation, whose mien contrasted with that of his chief; and a genial Turk who had travelled, and was at once a man of the world and a parasite of the lowest type. This gentleman was delighted to have an opportunity of conversing about the affairs of the outside world; it was to him that I addressed the conversation until the sullen temper of the chief relaxed. When I was able to put some questions in return for those which I had answered, the tongue of Hoseyn Pasha had commenced to flow. He told me he was the titular chief of the Hasananli Kurds, a tribe of which the Haideranli, Adamanli, and Sipkanli were offshoots or species. This widely-spread genus extended to the Persian frontier. I asked him why his people did not cultivate the plain, and augment their wealth and numbers. He replied that in the absence of communications and markets they were not encouraged to take such a course. We lunched off some wretched cheese, inlaid with herbs in Kurdish fashion; and, after commending our companions to his sense of responsibility, took leave at a quarter-past eleven o’clock.
I am sorry that I am not able to present a better description of the features of the country between Patnotz and the lake of Van. I hope that some future traveller will be able to ascend the sides of the hills along the trough of which we rode for many miles. I should advise him to devote at least three days to the journey between Karakilisa and Akantz. The first night would be spent at Tutakh, the second at Patnotz. Hoseyn Pasha was astonished to hear of our intention to push on to our destination by a single stage. But the zaptieh knew of no village in which we might safely sojourn, before reaching the territory of Akantz. The authority of the Turkish Government is little better than a name among the valleys of the Ala Dagh. I was assured that I had formed a wrong conception of the distance, which, measured direct on the map of Kiepert, amounts to no more than twenty-one miles. Arrived at Akantz, I computed that we had covered, from station to station, no less than thirty-six miles. An incident which occurred just after our departure contributed to hasten our steps. A Kurd, mounted on a swift Arab, cantered ahead of us and was soon lost to sight. The zaptieh was certain it was an emissary of the chief, whose treachery he feared. The word would be given to the bands in the district that helpless travellers were passing their way. I think it more probable that he was bearer of orders not to attack us on any account.
From Patnotz we proceeded in an easterly direction towards the ridge which bounds the plain upon the east. It connects with the hills which we had so long been skirting, and which hollow inwards beyond the village. A few minutes before twelve we were on the summit of the low pass, and were leaving behind us the landscape of the plain. We entered a broad valley, which, with a grassy hill range on either side, stretched away towards south-east. The range on our right concealed from view the lower slopes of Sipan, and was distant about a mile. Its elevation above the valley was at first not greater than from 100 to 500 feet; but, as we proceeded, it rose to a more considerable altitude, and, at the same time, came closer up to the track. On our left hand the barrier was more remote and loftier, some five miles off, and some 1000 feet above our heads. The heights were streaked with snow; according to our informants, they belong to the system of the Ala Dagh. We rode for several hours between these two ridges, the ground rising as we advanced. Here and there a little brook threaded the waste soil, flowing towards the west. At one o’clock we came up with a long line of bullock carts, travelling from Erzerum to Van. We counted no less than seventy of these primitive vehicles, crawling over the ground with creaking wheels. Several horsemen accompanied the caravan, their persons bristling with arms of every kind. The leader was a Turk of quality and some importance. He told me that the journey occupied eight days, and that the Murad was crossed at Tutakh. Each of the drivers was said to be in possession of weapons, although they did not happen to be wearing them as we passed.
Three-quarters of an hour later we crossed a nice stream which, according to the zaptieh, flows into the lake. The transparent current pursued for some distance a roughly parallel direction to the south-easterly course upon which we rode. It left us to diverge southwards towards the barrier on our right; but we could not discover at what point it pierced the hills. A few horses were grazing upon its margin, and we wondered to whom they might belong. The track continued to approach the immediate foot of those hills, and they continued to increase in height. But it became evident that the average elevation of the ground had risen, for we were on a level with the higher slopes of the opposite range. At three o’clock we reached the end of the long valley, which narrows towards its head. The hills roll away; you stand on a lofty platform which commands a distant prospect of the lake of Van.
Dismounting on the rough soil, we stood for half-an-hour in contemplation of the scene. All our horses showed signs of fatigue; that of the dragoman was quite exhausted, and his plump rider required to be lifted from the saddle. We had covered, according to estimate, some 18 miles from Patnotz and over 33 from Köshk. The instruments were uncased, and the elevation taken, which I compute in round numbers at 1000 feet above the level of the lake. Below us lay spacious tracts of undulating country—friable soil, modelled into hummock shapes. We could follow the long profile of the hills on our left hand, dying away towards the still remote shore. The waters were scarcely visible beyond the detail of the middle distance—a glimpse of blue in the lap of the expanse. They represent the gulf-like extremity of the inland sea, of which the broad face is hidden from these slopes. But the scale and tendency of the land forms prepared us for such a presence, which they were aptly designed to usher in. We stood on the edge of a great half-circle; the view ranged to some sharp summits, belonging to a ridge on the opposite side of the lake, which must have been some 40 miles away. Our zaptieh knew it under the name of Besh Parmak, or the mountain of the five fingers. The arc of the curve was composed by the heights in that direction, arresting the softness of the vaulted hills and shelving ground. We were shown a long bank which had the appearance of a mound, and was distinguished from similar shapes by its size. It lay in the distant trough of the landscape, and was said to overlook the town of Akantz.
I placed the dragoman on my own horse, and was obliged to perpetrate the cruelty of riding his jaded animal. We had the benefit of the incline; but the nature of the ground was against us, necessitating long winds. Deep gullies obstructed our course; or we were turned aside by rising land. If I have estimated correctly, we were separated from our destination by a space of fifteen miles. We took to the saddle at half-past three; we did not arrive until past seven; and we must have covered some eighteen miles. At half-past four we crossed the first running water, and we were at the first village at a little before five. Karakilisa (Black Church) is well named, for it possesses a little church of black stone, with group of gables and conical dome. It is inhabited by Armenians, and has an air of prosperity; we were refreshed by the rare sight of a group of trees. The next settlement, Hipsinek, was also Armenian; we had emerged from the wild Kurdish zone. As we neared the lower levels, the deep silence of the evening was broken by a loud, rumbling sound. It was a river, descending from the mountains, and flowing in a stony bed. They call it the Buyuk Chai or Erishat; we crossed it, and arrived, soon after, at a village which bears the last of these names. It was half-past six o’clock; the light was uncertain; we were near water and on marshy ground. A villager was hailed; he showed us the way with a lantern to the solid land beyond. We proceeded at a walking pace along the foot of a dark cliff to the houses of Akantz.