The officer shook his head; he did not believe in serpents. He stuck to his original idea.
The soldiers by this time had succeeded in clearing away the débris. An aperture was exposed to view. It was about the same width as the one through which we had previously passed, and, on reaching the opposite side, several tunnels were found, branching in different directions.
Taking a ball of string, we attached it to a stone by the entrance. Gradually unwinding the cord, we advanced along one of the passages—now crawling flat on our stomachs, and then stumbling over heaps of rubbish—the Consul, who was rather blown by his exertions, remaining in the first room, and solacing himself during our absence with a cigarette.
Presently a candle went out. We had to send for another. Two or three small caverns were now passed. Finally we arrived at the bare rock. There was no exit. We had explored the caves on one side.
Retracing our steps, we tried the other tunnels, but, after a very short time, found that they too ended in the bare rock. There was nothing more to be done, and, returning to the open air, I soon afterwards reached my quarters. My faith in Armenian stories was still more shaken by the events of the morning. I had been told that I should see gigantic caverns: they had turned out to be small places, most of them not more than twelve feet square.
The officer who accompanied me was intelligent for a Turk, but he could not understand our getting up so early and riding through deep snow, merely to explore an old cave. Curiosity about antiquities does not enter into a Turk's composition. He lives for the present. What has happened is finished and done with.
That evening I dined with a general of engineers. Some officers on his staff and Fezzee Pacha were amongst the guests. After dinner the son of my host—a child of ten years of age—came into the room, accompanied by an attendant. The boy was dressed in a cadet's uniform, and had a very pleasant cast of countenance.
"He is a pretty boy," I remarked to his father.
"Mashallah!" interrupted the old Hungarian. "Say Mashallah," he added, "or else the father will be afraid of the evil eye! You have no idea how superstitious the Turks are," continued the speaker, in French; "if you had not said Mashallah, and subsequently anything had happened to the child, they would then have declared that it was owing to you."
The engineer general was much surprised to learn that almost every Englishman could read and write, and would not believe me till the Hungarian had corroborated my statement.