The rocky edges to this plateau on the western side are broken ever and again by rifts, down which a more copious supply of water tumbles from above, opening out into little nooks under the shelter of the heights before joining the main valley of the river below. In such places a village may be found amid a patch of comparatively luxurious cultivation, well illustrated by the vines and mulberries of Rowanduz. This pleasant spot lies at the foot of the steep descent from Karakul upon the plateau, and is marked by the ruins of a fine mediæval castle crowning a prominent cone-like hill.[10] The groves and gardens are watered by a primitive system of irrigation. The rich soil readily repays the labour bestowed upon it in however simple fashion.
Lower down, in the main valley and nearer the river’s bed, the aspect of the country is generally savage and neglected. A short withered scrub speckles the surface of the ground, which is reft in every direction by the dry gullies of winter torrents. The main routes, here as elsewhere, keep consistently along the higher levels, crossing the rifts near their beginnings, before they have become too rough and too steep to scale. Other tracks are found naturally along the river’s bed, which they cross and recross, scaling the cliffs where the water has laid bare the rocks, and at other times passing through more open spaces cheered by narrow strips of corn-land and the rich bloom of a myriad oleanders, wherever the steep banks recede a little way on one side or the other. These lower tracks, however, are never easy to follow, even under favourable conditions, on account alike of the numerous scrambles over cliffs often shaly and precipitous, where a false step of horse or man might lead to disaster, and also of the numerous crossings of the river, often deceptive to any one unfamiliar with the fords. The latter obstacle becomes a grave danger after mountain storms which may have passed almost unnoticed in the valley. Even in summer-time thunder-clouds from time to time collect above the heights, and amid a gorgeous display of lightning and reverberating thunder a torrential rain transforms in a few minutes the rocky basin of the river. The dried-up gullies are now alive with splashing streams, and the slumbering rivulets become foaming torrents, the sudden uproar of scurrying streams and newly born cascades striking the ear with curious strangeness and foreboding.[11] In an hour or two the streams are once more tranquil and the sun has reappeared; but the river below has received nearly all the water that has fallen, and swirls on deep and dangerous. Fords that have little changed their appearance are now impassable, and none but the stranger will attempt to cross them.
Even without such temporary dangers, the unwary traveller in such a country, trying maybe to force a march when unacquainted with the village tracks and local landmarks, will surely come to grief; and though within an hour or two of some village where loyal, if frugal, hospitality awaits him, will find himself lost, with little means of knowing how to direct his footsteps. For the village which he would gain lies hidden out of sight in some sheltered nook, or behind a bend in the river, or beyond a rise of ground. Yet even though he reach the village by night, whether as an armed party or as a benighted wanderer, his welcome is secure, and his life is sacred. No questions will be asked him, nor will any demand the reason of his coming. Warm milk and home-made bread-cakes, and sometimes honey, will be offered him as refreshment; and after a few simple courtesies the best room will be put at his disposal. In the morning the ‘swash-swish’ of the churn, an inflated goatskin, will tell him that the housewife is busied with his breakfast: soon the door is opened and he recognises in his attendant, who lays the round tray before him, none other than his host, the headman of the village. His horse is fed and saddled, and the chief’s son is his guide.
In the main valley, however, we have not found that which we seek. Pushing on then up one of the sources of the river we reach Kartal, in a green dell begirt with wooded hills. Though off the beaten track this place is only one day’s journey by mountain-path from Aintab. Perhaps on this account the people here are freer. Their simplicity of life is the same, but their curiosity is greater and their restraint is less. Here we are soon friends; and have opportunity to study their manners and their features. Their houses are partly hollowed in the hillside as in many parts of Asia Minor, alike for economy in construction, and for better protection against rain and cold. The roofs are built of timber, and so covered with earth that it is difficult in descending from above to distinguish them from the surface of the ground with which they are continuous. The chief industry of the villagers, in addition to the tending of their fields and flocks, is the making of butter and dairy produce, which is sent to the market at Aintab. They are said to be Turkomans, descendants of wanderers from the East who settled here many generations back, and now an element of the Turkish people. But there is something in their faces reminiscent of Hittite portraits, suggested generally in the women, and marked strongly in some of the men, though in others not at all. This glimmer seems to be due to mixture in past times with a pre-existing population; for in the hills above there are settlements of woodmen whom even these villagers regard as a somewhat strange and different people. Here, at last, we come face to face with that remarkable type portrayed so clearly on Egyptian sculptures, and suggested also in the Hittite monuments themselves, characterised by the strong nose in line with the receding forehead, the round protrusion of the head behind, the heavy lips and beard, and the stolid look. The figure is short and thickset, betokening stamina and strength. Our photograph[12] was obtained at Kuchuk Kizil-Hissar, nearer to Aintab, but it is clear that the home of this type is now the mountainous country, where it has persevered in seclusion and still survives.
Our wanderings in this district have not then been fruitless. The traveller may be rewarded also by a picture of wonderful beauty to be seen at sunset from the wooded heights near the sources of the Afrîn River and the Kara Su. Pen cannot describe the delicacy and harmony of the colours in the trees, with the effects of light and shade among their leaves and in the shadows of the foreground; nor could brush compose the majesty and depth imparted by Nature to the distance of this scene. Ridge beyond ridge, of varied forms and softening colours, leads back to where beneath the reddening glow the bold ranges of the Amanus chain are seen purple, even while the snow-clad peaks of far-distant Taurus in the north still gleam in the last lingering rays of light.
PLATE V
KARTAL: VERANDAH OF A HOUSE
Churning, left; crushing grain with a wooden mallet, right back.
KARTAL: GROUP OF TURKOMAN WOMEN