[2] The illustration was taken from a hill near Khedonun, almost in the centre of the basin-like area. But the appearance both of basin and of mountain are substantially the same from the Palandöken Pass. I may refer my reader to the similar landscape taken in winter (Ch. VIII. [Fig. 161]). [↑]
CHAPTER XIII
FROM KHINIS TO TUTAKH
We pitched our tents upon the plain, above the cañon, on soil consisting of a deposit of lacustrine sands and gravels, overlying the lavas and tuffs from Bingöl. Far and wide, in an immense half circle, stretched the even, treeless surface—a surface scarcely less blank or less receptive of the hues of the sky than the waters which once rippled there. In the opposite direction rose the shield-shaped mass of Bingöl; we stood at the foot of the several terraces of lava which mount like steps from the plain to the upper platform, whence volcanic emissions on a large scale have poured towards the lower levels. Following the outline northwards, on the confines of the plain, its general character is that of a long bank, with scarcely perceptible declivity; until, about in the region of the pass over which we had journeyed, it again rises and becomes almost horizontal, curving over into the precipitous marbles of the Akh Dagh, which oppose a barrier of commanding proportions in the north. The flat edge of the Tekman highlands is due to a capping of lava, from which the Akh Dagh limestones are free. In the recess of the curve, and in front of the horizontal outline stands a hill of marble with a gently rounded summit. The eye returns to the series of gloomy terraces leading upwards to the eastern summit of Bingöl. Deep cañons sear the lower slopes.
Khinis was little changed since I had last stood in its gloomy valley; but I noticed a larger sprinkling of Kurds with the vulture features, and a greater display of the Hamidiyeh ensign in their lambskin caps. They appeared to have nothing to do; but the Armenian craftsmen were, as usual, busy at work in their booths. The old, outspoken Kaimakam was dead. I could scarcely conceal my feelings when I was introduced to his successor, who, on his part, was at some pains to dissemble his want of ease. It was my old acquaintance, the Kaimakam of Karakilisa; but I refrained from alluding to the adventure about the gun. I was lost in astonishment at the change in his appearance. Four years ago he was a supple young man, full of spirits, proud of his wit, and spending his leisure in hunting Kurds. He had become middle-aged, almost old. His eyes had lost their lustre and his figure its shape. He rolled on the divan as he spoke. I enquired after Ali Bey, the rascally Karapapakh; the reply came that he too was dead. He had pined away—such was his phrase—under Government surveillance. The resourceful character of my old host was the one quality which appeared to remain to him. My cook had mutinied that morning, and could not be found anywhere; but he soon succeeded in tracking him out. He seemed to regret the society of the stupid miralais, the delighted gallery to which he used to play. A single companion of this description was vouchsafed to him at Khinis—an officer of the regular army stationed in the town to drill the Kurdish yeomanry. I enquired of this individual whether I could be shown a regiment exercising. He replied that they were called out only during April. Had they trained last April? The answer was in the negative, but it was hoped they would do so next year. They were very brave men.
My present object was to follow the course of the Murad from Tutakh to Melazkert.[1] By shaping a direct course to the former of these places, we might become involved in an intricate, mountainous country; but, on the other hand, we should avoid the beds of the rivers, and become better acquainted with the configuration of the land. Leaving Khinis soon after noon on the 26th of June, we gained the valley of the Bingöl Su; and, as far as the large Armenian village of Chevermeh, followed its tortuous channel. Low cliffs, composed of lacustrine deposits, border the meadows through which it flows on either hand. Chevermeh, where we forded the stream, has some 150 ant-hill houses; it is surrounded by a pleasant oasis of willow trees, which cluster at the confluence of the Teghtap Su. A few small fields of potato and of vegetable marrow indicated a rather higher standard of life. A hedge of pink wild roses was a pleasure to see. Several very young girls, almost naked, were playing in the shade by the water, and we were surprised to observe the fairness of their hair. Some of the villagers are Protestants, devoted disciples of Mr. Chambers, the head of the American Mission at Erzerum. They are indebted to him for relief during the past years of bad harvests; but they professed themselves confident of an excellent harvest during the present year. The missionaries have established a school and orphanage in their midst. The village reflects the greatest credit upon the Americans, the people being well spoken and polite. They have their share, too, of material prosperity; and we had seldom seen such herds of cattle and droves of horses.
Having gained the heights on the left bank of the river, we struck obliquely across the plain, in the direction of the Akh Dagh, which shone in the softening glow. It is well named the white mountain, being composed of hard calcareous rock, which scarcely supports a trace of vegetation. Seen from in front, it forms a chain many miles in length, inclined, roughly speaking, towards south-east. It has been carved out into valleys of great depth, from which rise a succession of bold peaks. This portion of the plain of Khinis is little cultivated, and in a most haphazard manner. There is, however, an abundance of water, and, if stony, the soil is fairly fertile. From time to time we were compelled to turn aside from a patch of corn which already was in ear. The large Armenian village of Kozli was seen reposing on the basal slope of the Akh Dagh. Another Armenian settlement, that of Yeni Keui, lay directly upon our course. The day was drawing to a close as we approached Dedeveren, a Kurdish village where we decided to camp. We had been travelling through a country which was typically Armenian—a spacious plain, quite treeless, but clothed with warm and delicate hues, and framed in the distance by mountains of great individuality. In one direction it was Bingöl; in another Khamur; while Sipan stood so high that he could be seen from the river valley, always a ghostly presence in the sky. We pitched our tents a little distance west of the village, and looked across its stacks of tezek and wreathing smoke to the dim white form of Sipan. It is characteristic of Kurds that they never approach one another if they have anything to communicate. They remain at a distance and shout. Such clamour is at its height towards evening, when the flocks and herds are brought in from the pastures. Groups of gaily-dressed people had gathered round us; a little boy, stepping forward, makes an offering of a snow-white rabbit. The setting sun sheds a glow of orange and amber above the horizontal outline of Bingöl. A single group of clouds, torn into tatters, as by a storm, repose motionless against the lights of the western sky. As those lights wane a crescent moon has risen above the white mountain, and a little dew falls. Soon the watchman sends his long-sustained cry into the night, arousing the bark and howling of the dogs.
Next morning we proceeded towards the extremity of the Akh Dagh, where it sinks into the plain. After passing a copious spring, welling up in a little basin (the source of the Akher Göl Su), we reached the Armenian hamlet of Gunduz. Our path had led us over ground which was fairly high, and was composed of travertine. A new mountain had come to view behind the Khamur heights. Although of imposing size, it is not placed upon maps; and none of our people knew its name. It was the bold and isolated Bilejan. From Gunduz we made an excursion to the banks of the Bingöl Su, at the large Armenian village of Karachoban. The stream was winding at the base of the Khamur heights, through a river-valley about a mile in width. The fact that these heights are not the train of a volcano, as their appearance might suggest, had already been divined as we made our way at a distance; it was now established beyond doubt. They were seen to consist of lacustrine deposits; higher up, patches of white limestone emerged from the scanty bush. The lavas of Khamur rose at once above and behind them, towering up in terraces. The block of mountain had become low; the river pierces its extremities about two miles below the village. There it assumes its natural course, so long interrupted, and meanders idly to the Murad. The Khamur heights are crossed by a track which we could see from the plain of Khinis in the neighbourhood of Dedeveren. A portion or the whole of that section of the block is known as Zirnek Dagh.