All the luggage was on the pack-horses. But the boy so entreated me to comply with his request that I could not refuse. Unpacking my bag, I gave him a box of pills. The lad's face became radiant with delight. Taking off the lid, he took out a couple and ate them on the spot. Then, touching his head with my hand, he hurried off in another direction.
"He is a rogue," said Mohammed, chuckling. "He does not want the medicine for his father. It is for himself. He wants to set up as a hakim in the village. When once it is known that you have given him some medicine, he will be a person of great importance in the neighbourhood."
Presently we came to a place where the camels, which were in the van of our party, had come to a halt. One of the animals had almost disappeared in a snow-drift, nothing save his long neck could be seen. The men coaxed and whipped their unruly beasts, all was to no purpose, they would not move a step.
I thought that we should have to dig out the road with shovels. However, the Kurd who directed the operations did not resort to this measure. Ordering one of the Persians to make his camels retire about 200 yards, the Kurd called twenty of the best mounted of the villagers to his side, then striking his horse and shouting wildly, he galloped along the track and charged the drift. In a second or two nothing could be seen but the head of the rider, his steed was entirely hidden from our view. After a few struggles the man backed the animal out of the snow, having made a hole in it some twenty feet long by four wide. The next horseman rode at the place, like his leader. Each Kurd followed in succession. They finally forced a passage.
It was a wild sight to witness—these Kurds in their quaint head-dresses, and on strong, fine-looking steeds of Turkoman breed, many of them quite sixteen hands high, charging the snow-drifts, yelling and invoking Allah—the Persians, phlegmatic and still, seemingly not caring a straw about the matter—the lieutenant encouraging the Kurds by cries and gesticulations, but having too great a regard for his own safety to gallop at the ridges—and the leading horseman now far in front, his horse apparently swimming through the snow as he slowly burst the barrier.
It was hard work even following in the steps of the Kurds. If a horse or camel deviated a hair's breadth from the line marked out, he would be often buried in a drift, and a long time be wasted in extricating him.
The track led over a succession of rising ground until we reached Zedhane, an Armenian village with about thirty houses.
We were close to the village of Molla Suleiman, and were not far from Toprak Kale—a town in which a sanguinary drama had been enacted but a very few months previous. I will relate the story as it has been told me by an eye-witness of part of the scene.
Four years ago a Kurd was Caimacan at Toprak Kale. His grandfather had been a sort of king at Bayazid; the family being well off and having relatives married to some magnates in Stamboul, had considerable influence in the district. However, many complaints had been made about the conduct of this Caimacan. He was removed from his post. It was given to a Circassian. This gave rise to a feud between the ex- and the new governors—the Kurd often vowing vengeance against his newly-appointed successor. Shortly before my informant's visit to Toprak Kale, the Kurd's father had died. His family was in mourning.
An Armenian peasant, who resided in Toprak Kale, was about to be married. It is the custom amongst the Christians in this part of Asia Minor, when the wedding ceremony is concluded, to beat drums, hire a band of what they call musicians, and fire guns in the air, as a sign of general rejoicing.