Armenia, Travels and Studies (Volume 2 of 2) / The Turkish Provinces

by H. F. B. Lynch

It is interesting to compare this impression of the country, formed during our journey along the river, with the conception of its character already present in our minds before we had reached Tutakh. It was while descending from the upland plain above the left bank of the Kersik, as far north as the village of Alkhes, that we had for the first time obtained a prospect from a comparatively low level over the expanse in the direction of Sipan. We stood nearly at the bottom of a wide valley through which trickled a little stream. Yet the view towards that landmark was almost uninterrupted; we appeared, indeed, to be crossing a gulf-like extension of the great plain from which the mountain soars. As often as we became involved in the intricate down country, while pursuing our easterly course to Tutakh, so, not less often, we emerged upon similar openings, where the downs seemed to tongue into the plain. The Kartevin Dagh was the only eminence which in part screened the volcano; but it did not extend beyond a portion of its westerly slopes.

A fierce sun had already browned the scanty herbage of the hillsides, and at noon the thermometer registered 85° in the shade. We were constrained to abandon our tent, and to seek the shelter of a stone building, one of the few above-ground edifices in Tutakh. A spacious room was placed at our disposal by the authorities, with thick walls and a lofty ceiling, constructed of logs. A carpet of thick felt and the gay trappings of the divan added an appearance of comfort to a sense of coolness. But the carpet was overlying a layer of filthy hay, and the divan was nothing better than a stage of mud and straw. The place was indeed a hotbed for noxious insects; legions of fleas continued and intensified the torments which had been interrupted at the approach of night by swarms of flies. Our visitors in the apartment—one might almost say our companions—were an officer of police, a most intelligent individual, and the Colonel of the Karapapakh Hamidiyeh. The former informed us among other matters that the post to Erzerum is always carried by way of Karakilisa. Caravans proceed in summer across the Kilich Gedik to Zeidikan, and so by Pasin to Erzerum. Between Tutakh and Melazkert one has the choice of two ways; one may follow either the left or the right bank. But the fords lower down are said to be less reliable, and we were recommended to proceed by the left bank. The colonel of Karapapakhs was attired in a Circassian dress and spoke Russian fluently. He told me that his people had emigrated from Zarishat (in the Kars-Kagyzman district) after the last Russo-Turkish war. Their earlier seats had been in Daghestan. By remote origin he asserted that they were pure Turks. They contribute altogether three regiments to the Hamidiyeh, of which two are furnished by Tutakh and by Karakilisa, and the third by the tribesmen of Sivas.

July 2. —The Murad opposite Tutakh had a width of a hundred yards; but it was not deeper than two and a half feet. After crossing the ford we proceeded along the left bank, sometimes winding over the westerly slopes of the grassy eminences which screen the Ala Dagh, at others following the alluvial flat in the bed of the river. Lavas, tuffs, and dark volcanic sands were conspicuous on the heights and in the valleys. Oswald observed the frequent introduction of a conglomerate, consisting of well-rounded pebbles or blocks of lava, interbedded with volcanic sands. It may denote that the lake, which filled the basin of Melazkert, extended at one time to this region. A new landmark rose in the north—the magnificent dome of the Kuseh Dagh; while, among our old companions, Khamur could still be seen, and we were in full view of Sipan and Bilejan. But neither the dreary downs on the right bank of the river—our only prospect of any extent—nor the bed of the river itself, with its pebble-strewn flats of alluvium, afforded any refreshment to the eye. No restful groves cast shadows across the sheen of the water, where, here and there, a flock was browsing on the scanty herbage, or a herd of buffaloes wallowed in the oozy mud. I was reminded of the bed of the Tigris below the town of Diarbekr; and, indeed, the Murad flows through these plains of Armenia with much the same appearance as that of its companion at the head of the Mesopotamian plains. It is a slowly-flowing river;[3] and it might, I suppose, be made navigable from Tutakh as far as Karaogli. Locks would be required; but the lower region is so fertile that, with better government, such works might prove remunerative.

We passed through several villages; but they are, for the most part, mere hamlets. One of the largest was Gargalik. With the exception of Baïndir, a Karapapakh settlement, they are inhabited by Sipkanli and Hasananli Kurds. We did not meet a caravan; there were few wayfarers; but from time to time an ill-miened Kurd, armed with a muzzle-loader, rode by, taking stock of us as he passed. At Gargalik, where there is a ford between two villages of this name, we were ushered into the largest of the ant-hill tenements. A burly figure, richly dressed, could just be discerned in the dim light, suffused over the cavernous chamber from an aperture in the roof. The figure was seated on the little daïs which, in such dwellings, divides the chamber from the stable, and from which rise the wooden pillars that support the roof. A strong odour from the horses and cattle, almost beside him, vitiated the air. We waited for some little time while the devotee bowed and muttered, or, with head upraised and lifted voice, uttered the climax of his profession of faith. Then, after a brief silence, he approached us, and received our hands, and welcomed us to his abode. It was Ali Bey, son of the defunct Yusuf Pasha, and chief of all Sipkanli Kurds.[4] It was evident that he had been apprised of our approach, for he displayed three imperial decorations on his breast. And he showed us a cigarette-case, of gold encrusted with jewels, the gift of the Sultan, accompanied by an autograph letter. As far as the Kartevin the inhabitants are Sipkanli; lower down the villages are peopled by Hasananli Kurds.

A heavy shower—which was a rare occurrence—and the approach of night decided us, when we were opposite the village of Hasuna, to take shelter there and encamp. It is inhabited by Hasananli, who described themselves as raya, or cultivators, and it is surrounded by patches of cereals. Each head of a family owns his patch and his animals. The men stand about and loiter in the grove of willows; the women work incessantly from morn till night. On the following day we mounted to one of the peaks of the Kartevin Dagh, which rises immediately above the village. The purple vetch, and a shower of tiny blossoms from the white gypsophila, varied the monotony of the arid slopes with their boulders of lava. Flowering flax, the vivid green of wheat, already in ear, softened the base of the ridge up which we climbed. Nearing the summit, we came upon the yellow immortelles; a little apple tree, bush-high, rose from the crevices in the crags of the peak. This crest had an elevation of 7580 feet above the sea, or of 2400 feet above the village. But the ridges on the north attain a greater height, perhaps of several hundred feet. The Kartevin Dagh appeared to us to be a radial mass, with a number of bold ridges and deep valleys. It is entirely of eruptive volcanic origin.

The basin of Melazkert, with the plain at the foot of Sipan in the direction of Patnotz, was unfolded, mile after mile, at our feet. From the parapet upon which we stood a sharp ridge, with precipitous sides, plunged at right angles into the level expanse. At its extremity lies the village of Karakaya, on the right bank of a little river, which loops along the plain, coming from Patnotz. We see it joining the Murad; and we see the bend of the Murad, which, after receiving this, the second of its considerable affluents below Tutakh, turns westwards, and is soon lost to view. A dark speck, almost in the foreground, at a little distance from the larger river, is recognised as Melazkert. The plain of Patnotz is continuous with the plains of the Murad, and both were covered by a single lake in no remote geological period—a lake extending into the plain of Khinis. The appearance of the expanse is not untrue to its origin; and it would seem as if the waters had but recently receded from these gently-shelving and boulder-strewn tracts. Around them rise the great volcanoes: Sipan, seen from base to summit, and still robed in a mantle of snow; Bilejan, the black mountain, with here and there a fleck of snow, with the outline of the Nimrud crater emerging behind; Khamur, above the region towards which the river is flowing; behind Khamur the snow-field of Bingöl. We observe the low, white hills which join the outlines of the two first-named masses, and which screen the lake of Van. The marble peaks of the Akh Dagh rise with startling boldness; and, further round, we follow the outline of the Mergemir. In that direction the fields of lava with their yellow fennel are conspicuous features in the scene. The circle is completed by the ridges of the Ala Dagh, capped with shining snow. And, turning again towards the south, we admire a small blue lake, reposing at the feet of Bilejan. The snows of Taurus just emerge beyond Nimrud.

After regaining our encampment, we resumed our journey in the late afternoon. Almost opposite the village, the heights on the right bank recede, and describe a line of cliffs at right angles to their former course. The country opens to the plain; but the site of Melazkert was hidden by an escarpment on the left bank of the Patnotz river, where a bed of lake-deposits falls away to the alluvial flats. The track is seen winding over the crest of the bank, made conspicuous by the white soil. The evening was far advanced as we approached this high ground from the floor of fine sand, overgrown by bush and clusters of iris, which fills the area between the two rivers. The affluent, which we forded, was perhaps not wider than fifteen yards; but the water was almost uniform in depth, and reached to our horses’ knees. Mounting the little ridge, we made our way over powdery soil, and soon overlooked the dark mass of Melazkert. The light was failing as we passed through the broken lines of ancient walls, near some barracks alive with bugle-cries.

Fig. 179. Melazkert from the North: Sipan in the background.

We were ushered into the principal room of a single-storeyed stone building, through a dark passage, in which we groped our way. The light of candles fell upon the cushions of a broad divan, and upon the hale complexion of an old man with snow-white hair. He came towards us with outstretched hands, while the chief of our escort introduced us to the Kaimakam of Melazkert. His zaptiehs, to the number of six, had already accompanied us for some distance; we had met them ranged in line and presenting arms. Our host informed us that he was seventy-five years of age, and that a new front tooth was coming in place of one he had lost. He was a native of Bitlis. His sorrow was sincere that he could not lodge us; the town did not possess a suitable house. He therefore begged us to erect our tents in the ancient citadel, where there was a fine site for a camp. We were soon proceeding thither, over ground which sloped upwards to a ruinous cross-wall. The jet of a fountain shone in the twilight from a recess beside the entrance, whence we mounted to a spacious platform, backed by a tower and encircled by walls. Tower and walls alike were massively built.