We rode on a northerly course through beds of vapour over lofty uplands at an elevation of more than 6000 feet. The track had been worn by traffic, tracing upon the snow-fields winding furrows of rich brown soil. A Kurdish village was passed, where our zaptiehs changed with others; and, a little later, we overlooked a considerable depression of the surface—the wide valley of a river it appeared to be. It was clothed with snow and wreathed with mist. We descended into this valley, said to belong to the district of Tekman, and crossed the river, called the Bingöl or Pasin Su. It was flowing due north, and had a breadth of about 15 yards. On the opposite margin of the depression is placed the Kurdish village of Kulli, where we arrived at a quarter-past four. It is situated at a level of about 6000 feet; and, whereas at Khinis (5540 feet) we had enjoyed a temperature of 32° at 10 P.M., the thermometer now registered at 7 P.M. no less than 7° of frost (Fahrenheit).
The settlement consists of about fifty tenements, of which six or seven belong to the Zirkanli tribe and the remainder to sedentary Kurds.[17] These latter are liable to service in the regular army. A single house is conspicuous among the huts of mud and stone; it is used as a receptacle for travellers. We found it in the occupation of a detachment of Turkish soldiers, on their way from Melazkert to Erzinjan. Horses and men alike were quartered in the building; but, after some parley, room was found for us. We joined in the circle of officers collected round the open fireplace, in which cakes of tezek glowed. Among other things I learnt that four regiments of Hamidiyeh are enrolled in the caza of Melazkert. They are furnished by the Hasananli tribe.
Next morning before eight we continued our journey, the temperature registering 14° of frost. Mist still hung over the valley; but we soon were raised above it, again ascending to the table surface which borders the depression on either side. Full sunlight streamed upon the undulating snow-field, and was reflected in tiny rays from a thousand little crystals, placed, like diamonds, on the heads of encrusted flowers. It was, indeed, over the face of an immense block of elevated country that our course was directed for some little time. Here and there, especially in the north, it appeared to be broken by chains of mountain; but the closer you approached such an apparent barrier, the more it assumed the familiar features—the flat edges, and the fanciful castles with their Cyclopean walls. At half-past nine we obtained a view of the Bingöl Dagh itself, in the furthest horizon of the south ([Fig. 161]). We stood at a level of 7130 feet.
Fig. 161. The Central Tableland, Bingöl in the distance, from near Kulli.
At ten o’clock we turned off eastwards to the bed of mist suspended above the river, which lies in a deep trough. Following for awhile along the sides of the lofty cliffs which confine it, we admired the play of the vapours, wreathing like jets of steam. From the edge of the cliffs on either bank, the table surface of the higher levels was seen to stretch east and west, and back to the peaks of the Akh Dagh—a sheet of snow, only broken by the gorge. The Bingöl Su was pursuing a north-north-easterly direction, which became more northerly as we progressed. The fog lifted and disappeared; we descended into the bottom of the gulf, which opened on either side the further we rode. At a quarter to twelve we arrived in the Kurdish hamlet of Mejitli, where we decided to make our mid-day halt. We had come a distance of about 13 miles from Kulli. The river, which had a breadth of about 20 or 30 yards, was flowing some 50 feet below the village, with a rapid current, flashing over the rocks. The site of the village is a little plain on the left bank of the stream having an elevation of about 5800 feet.
It has already been said that the valley of the Bingöl Su, or Upper Araxes, offers an easy approach to the districts on the north. The river pierces a wintry region of the table surface, and traffic is carried along its bed. But some 2½ miles below the village of Mejitli it enters a deep and impassable gorge. You mount to the summit of the lofty precipices which overtower its serpentine course. Again in the saddle at half-past one, we reached this commanding eminence at a quarter-past two. Nor did we descend afresh into the trough of the stream, which proceeded to thread a chaos of mountains in the east.
Fig. 162. Looking down the Valley of the Upper Araxes from below Mejitli.
The view from any point was one of savage beauty ([Fig. 162]). By slow degrees the flat surface of the elevated plateau was becoming riven and broken up. You could still discern the level snow-fields, burying the stream in the south, and coming towards you on either bank. But the cloak of winter had not yet hidden the yellow grass on the adjacent slopes; while in the east the scene was changing to a wild landscape of hill and mountain, upon which the snow had not yet effected a hold. A few miles further these features increased in definition. The layers of lava gave place to hard limestones, forming peaks which had weathered a soft white. Masses of rock, of a hue which was green as the rust of copper, or red like that of iron, were exposed on the sides of the hills. From a foreground of tufted herbage, sown with yellow immortelles, we looked across this troubled region in which the river wound its way—a ribbon of changing colours, skirting the foot of sweeping hillsides or confined in narrow clefts of stupendous depth. In the far east we caught a glimpse of the snowy dome of the Kuseh Dagh, which overlooks the plain of Alashkert.