D’Anville is certainly in error when he seeks to identify Theodosiopolis with Hasan Kala in Pasin. [↑]
CHAPTER X
RETURN TO THE BORDER RANGES—ΘΆΛΑΤΤΑ, ΘΆΛΑΤΤΑ!
From Erzerum to the Black Sea, at the nearest point, near Rizeh, is a distance as the crow flies of 88 miles, or, measured to Trebizond, of 114 miles. Yet the distance by the main road to the ancient capital of the Grand-Comneni is little less than 200 miles.[1] This large discrepancy is due to the great height of the block of mountain on the north of the plain of Erzerum, and, more especially, to the essential character of the sea of troughs and ridges, interposed between the town of Baiburt and the coast. The Turkish Government have built a magnificent chaussée across this country, constructed in the seventies by French engineers. But whatever its value in time of war, it has failed to revolutionise the methods of transport in vogue from immemorial time. Vehicular traffic is conducted between the termini in summer, and in winter the journey is feasible on a sledge. But the camel, the mule, and the packhorse are still the principal means of carriage, and the caravan has not yet fallen into disuse. With horses which were short of work after their long rest in Erzerum we reached Trebizond during the height of winter in six days.
At this season of the year the traveller is warned to beware of the blizzards which render formidable the crossing of the Kop Pass. The name of that pass is pronounced with a certain degree of terror in the bazars and coffee-houses of Erzerum. Each winter brings its catalogue of disasters to man and beast, buried in the driving snow on those bleak heights. Nor is it easy to perform the passage in a single day from Erzerum, waiting in the city for a favourable occasion. The Kop is situated about forty miles west of the provincial capital; and the barrier upon which it is placed—the wall on the north of Erzerum—can scarcely be surmounted at a more adjacent point while it is covered by the snows. For it is only the continual plying of caravans across a pass which, in this latitude and at so great an elevation above the sea, renders it practicable all the year round. Caravans have chosen the Kop, and there is nothing left to the traveller but to acquiesce in their choice. It was therefore decided to make our first day’s stage at the village of Ashkala, on the banks of the Euphrates, a stage of over thirty miles, and thence, on the following day, should the weather be favourable, to take the ascent of the range.
We set out at eleven o’clock on the morning of the 6th of February—a dim winter’s day, when the sun was struggling with the grey mists spread over the face of land and sky. The thermometer registered no less than 20° of frost (Fahrenheit); plain and mountain were completely covered with deep snow. Even the road scarcely revealed a patch of brown soil, and was distinguishable only by the parallel dints of the ditches in the foreground of the white expanse. But the city was conspicuous on the lowest slope of the southern barrier, where the vaulted summits and bold convexities of that lofty wall of mountain sweep into the lake-like plain. There it lay, a sombre mass, from which projected into the murky atmosphere the outline of a tower, the needle forms of minarets. On its either flank, in a wide half-circle, the chain of heights advanced into the open, more elevated and less contracted towards the north-east, declining but more adjacent on the west. In both directions, the opposite horns of this bay of snow-clad eminences appeared to touch the answering parapet in the north—west and east in a long, straight line, fretted by the shapes of cones and humps, stretched the barrier of that still distant range. The point of apparent intersection between the two outlines are, in fact, the open doors of the plain. In the north-east it is the inlet which leads towards Olti, known as the Gurgi Boghaz: in the west the valley which receives the Kara Su.
Our course was directed towards Ilija, a village of above-ground houses at the foot of the western promontory, near some hot springs. The summer road to Erzinjan diverges towards the west shortly after you have left Erzerum. It is taken across the horn of heights, up a partial opening, which, however, was barely visible. The view across the plain and along the summits of the northern barrier extends from the Deveh Boyun and the distant heights of Kargabazar to the Kop mountain in the west. Several individual heights may be distinguished from their fellows: Sheikhjik, a beautiful cone, north-west of Erzerum; then Akhbaba, a cockscombed outline, and next Jejen, a symmetrical peak. The flat-topped, broad-shouldered mass, which closes the series, is the Kop, beneath whose shadow lies the pass.
In the village of Gez—a cluster of houses, partly Mohammedan and partly Armenian—we made a stay of twenty minutes, and said farewell to some of our friends, who had driven out to meet us in a sledge. Sleighing is much in favour during the winter, both among rich and poor. Little black specks come gliding over the snow-field in the neighbourhood of the town. Taking shape, they are seen to consist sometimes of a lean hack drawing a couple of longitudinal logs, placed upon skates; or a graceful car, drawn by a pair of high-stepping horses, brushes past you at a rapid trot. Near Ilija we crossed a stream of warm water, which proceeded to follow us on our right hand; and at three o’clock we had reached the spot near the extremity of the promontory where the Kara Su might be expected to enter the narrows.
But the river was quite invisible, buried beneath the canopy which stretched to the opposite mountains without a break. After doubling the horn, which was low, and was succeeded by gentle eminences, we made our way down the valley, between these hills and the northern barrier, through a dreary landscape upon which the mist hung. A fine fox with a sweeping brush made off across the snow, and found it difficult to escape from sight. I viewed him away with a shout which surprised our followers, giving vent to a whole season’s abstinence. At four o’clock we passed the lonely station of Yeni Khan; and, an hour later, a road branched off across the hills, leading to Erzinjan. In another half-hour we crossed the mouth of a large side valley through which was hissing a considerable stream. It comes from the mountains on the north, and is called the Serchemeh Chai; the combined waters below the junction with the Kara Su are generally known as the Frat or Euphrates.[2] We were surprised to observe the manner in which the connection was effected between this ice-free torrent and the buried Kara Su. Descending to the trough of the valley, the rapid current was introduced into the same bed in which the companion river slept; nor did it dip beneath the canopy, but hurried along by the side of its partner, fretting the edge of the ice. When we crossed, a little later, by a substantial bridge to the right bank, the united ice and flowing water had a width of fifty paces. The valley had narrowed and become almost Alpine in appearance since the bifurcation of the roads. In such surroundings is situated the picturesque village of Kagdarich, just above the bridge, on the right bank.