Chapter III: Adana. Messis and the Amanus

_April 24th._—Left for Adana at 9.50 A.M.; the distance being about five hours’ ride. The weather very hot, and the mountains thickly covered with vapour. The mirage was quite as vivid on this great plain as it is on the desert between Alexandria and Aboukir. The cultivation of the land between Mersina and Adana is good, but far inferior to the cultivation between Tarsus and Adana. The grain crops are especially fine, the fields would do credit to the farmers of any country, and near Adana the cultivation was admirable. All this improvement is the result of the last fifteen to twenty years. I had expected to see a large extent of marsh and uncultivated land, but here almost every acre is utilized. This province much resembles the Delta of Egypt, and might be made in proportion equally productive. The whole district has at some remote period formed a vast marsh, but now it seems to be tolerably well drained. There are many villages along the high road, all (as we were told) Mahommedan. We passed, on our left, Yaramish; opposite to this is a very large, vaulted, ancient cistern, Merdiballi Koyou. Next, on our left, we passed Keuteû Keui; opposite to this is one of the many earthen mounds which rise from the wide level of the plain. These mounds are raised at regular intervals, and were evidently intended as places of observation, from which signals could be given of the approach of marauders or plunderers. In this part of the plain their shape is slightly different from those near Mersina. Their outline is thus. We could count many, all alike, till they faded away in the distance.

The bridge over the Cydnus, of three arches, was probably erected by Justinian, but there is no inscription on it. The river is here a deep and rapid stream, but of no great breadth.

We passed many villages, and at length Adana appeared, surrounded by miles upon miles of flourishing vineyards.

At a distance, the town looks well, and we found it an exceptionally clean and bustling place, with well-kept and (strange to say) well-paved streets.

We lodged at a café kept by two Greek brothers, named Pierides, and after a little repose went out to see the town, and found our way to the river. Though much lower than in the early spring, it is still a noble stream, flowing with a deep and rapid current. Its water is thickly charged with whitish mud, and it would evidently do for the Cilician plain what the Nile does for Egypt were it utilized.

A bridge of twenty arches (fifteen large, five small) spans it, measuring 414 paces from one entrance gate to the other. The arches differ both in size and shape, and show traces of many different reparations. The foundations are Roman; it would require more engineering skill than either Arabs or Turks possessed to throw a bridge over so large and violent a river as the Sarus.

The first bridge was built by the Emperor Adrian, together with many other public constructions that have disappeared; but its piers, which were of great hewn stones, had fallen into decay in the time of the Emperor Justinian. Accordingly, the Emperor turned aside the course of the river and thoroughly rebuilt those portions of the bridge, which were out of repair. Afterwards the river was turned back into its former channel.[5]

We were told that the population of Adana amounted to about 35,000 souls; but there are no “data” that can be trusted, and we had an amusing instance of the want of accuracy in estimating numbers which prevails here. One informant said that Tarsus contained about 15,000 people; another thought between 4000 and 5000; I should reckon the population at from 7000 to 8000, for it is an extensive, straggling place, and we saw a very great number of children. Adana, on the other hand, is closely built, and probably has a population of at least 20,000 souls. There are many very good houses, and it conveys the impression of being a thriving, bustling place. The greater part of its people are Muslim; but there are many Christians, mostly Orthodox Armenians, with a few Catholic Armenians, a few Greeks, and some Protestants attached to an American Presbyterian Mission.

There was no mistaking the look of surprise and dislike expressed on the faces of the well-to-do and official class, as we walked through the streets; the common people took very little notice of us, but in one place the children favoured us with a few stones, and some uncomplimentary doggrel verses.

We learnt that the Governor of the vilayet of Adana was Safvet Pasha, late Governor of Trebizonde. He had been recalled from Trebizonde in consequence of his severe treatment of the peasants belonging to the district round it. These poor people—cruelly oppressed and defrauded by the farmers of the revenue—had assembled in Trebizonde to the number of several thousands, in order to present a petition to the governor; but when, upon his refusal to receive it, they were unwilling to disperse, he called out troops, and ordered them to fire upon the crowd. (I merely give the account as it appeared in the ‘Levant Herald.’) Some twenty were killed and many wounded, and the movement was suppressed. Thereupon he was removed, but appointed to the post of Governor of Adana, for which probably he has been obliged to pay a heavy sum at Stamboul; but opportunities of recouping himself will no doubt offer.

We went to pay our respects to him, and I presented my firman. He is a fine-looking, elderly man, tall and stout, of stately and reserved demeanour. We found him smoking a very handsome silver “narghileh,” the tube of which trailed seven or eight feet along the floor. He received us most courteously, even rose from his chair as we entered, ordered cigarettes and coffee to be brought for us, and gave us every assistance for our journey. He spoke French with tolerable fluency. We had every reason to be grateful for his reception of us, and his recommendation proved afterwards of the utmost use to me when alone in the interior of Karamania. I mention all this quite independently of his behaviour to the peasants of Trebizonde; for which, if correctly described, no reprobation can be too strong.

We had brought an introduction to one of the very few pure Europeans in Adana, Mr. Schiffmann, a Swiss merchant, and we next called upon him. He speaks German, French, English, and Turkish. He said that the country was perfectly safe for travellers, and the climate of Adana, at present, healthy; but that when the summer heat begins much sickness prevails. The hot weather lasts from May to the first rainfall in September or October, and the heat in the great plain would be unendurable were it not for the sea-breezes. Every morning the S.W. wind begins to blow at Mersina at about 10 A.M., it reaches Adana about an hour later, and dies out at 6 P.M.; the nights are hot, and the dew-fall heavy. I admired Mr. Schiffmann’s carpets. One kind he called “Tchali,” for two of these—enough to cover a divan—he had given 2_l._; for a fine Karamanian carpet, called “Killim,” he had given 4_l._; but these prices were low, in consequence of the great scarcity of money in the country. I think, however, that these carpets are very inferior to the Persian carpets sold in the bazaars of Cairo.

We next called upon a mining engineer in the Turkish service, a German, named “Fishbach.” He has been so long in the country that he has become quite like the Turks, and had I met him in the street I should have taken him for a genuine Osmanli. He could give us no information about the district through which we intended to pass; but he gave us an interesting account of his discovery of the ancient gold mines, worked by Philip of Macedon and Alexander the Great, some seven to eight hours from Salonica, (I think) on the river Kilik. There was a great number of chambers connected by galleries, many of which were so low and narrow that they could only be explored by crawling. He had observed in one place a rich vein of silver, which the old miners had neglected, they must therefore have found something more precious; but he could discover nothing except oxide of iron, mixed with an earth; he had tried some of this with mercury, and obtained a small quantity of gold, enough to “pay,” but the Turkish Government refused to give a concession for working the mine. The old Macedonian galleries were a perfect labyrinth; he had come upon the remains of people who had been lost in them, and near one such heap he had found a small earthen lamp, with incrustations of arsenic upon it; this he showed to us. Mr. Fishbach thought the old miners worked in a rough and wasteful way, by washing the mineral, and gathering the gold as it was precipitated down the course of the stream, so that much must have been lost.

He showed us some specimens of coal from Ayass Youmourtalik, a port to the east of Mersina. Mahmoud Pasha, the last Governor of Adana, had sent him to examine and report upon the veins of coal near that place. He had tried some of the most promising veins, and had sunk a shaft about fifty metres deep. The vein became thicker, and the coal improved in quality as the mine was carried down; and he thought, if the necessary expense was incurred, good coal might be obtained; but the first thing a Turk looks to is what amount of peculation can be made, and unless there be a good opportunity for this, or the returns be rich and immediate, the undertaking—whatever it may be—is soon abandoned. In this case, however, a French engineer, also in the Ottoman service, reported unfavourably, and Mahmoud Pasha reproached Mr. Fishbach; his reply was, that time and expense were needed to make even a garden productive, much more a mine. But in consequence of this affair, Mr. Fishbach was about to leave for Diàrbekìr. One of the specimens of coal he showed us was good, the other very poor.

It being Easter Sunday (old style) we visited the Greek church; a great crowd filled the church, and the noise, the confusion, the seeming lack of reverence, were most repulsive. The nasal chant of the Greek priests is extremely disagreeable, and I have often thought that the simple worship of the Muslim shows a far deeper spirit of reverence than the ceremonial of three-fourths of the Christian Church. The Bishop of Adana, a remarkably handsome man, splendidly robed, passed round the church amid the crowd, slowly waving a thurible, from which the fumes of incense passed right and left amidst the people as he walked along, and I must admit that the earnest devotion displayed by some of the poorer members of the congregation was very striking. A priest, also splendidly robed, preceded the bishop. He bore a staff, on the top of which were tied three lighted tapers. The bishop carried his crozier; it seemed to have a griffin’s or eagle’s head in gold at the extremity of either crook. Most of the congregation, on entering the church, purchased a small wax taper from a man near the door. In general, the taper was returned to the seller after the worshipper had carried it alight a short time.

Tired of the heat and noise, we returned to our lodging. Our host spoke very highly of the bishop, “he was a good man,” “did his duty conscientiously,” “had established schools, &c.,” “he was very poorly paid,” “for the Greeks of Adana were not rich, and, moreover, far from liberal, but the bishop had a private fortune, which he expended in a most exemplary manner.”

Later on in the afternoon our friend took us to a café and garden on the river, where we refreshed ourselves with coffee and narghilehs. It seems that the improvements in Adana were entirely due to Khalil Pasha, the former governor, who had commenced the road from Mersina in 1867. This man had lived a long time in Malta, where he had imbibed European ideas, and he determined to improve Adana till it bore some resemblance to Malta. The means, however, which he employed were certainly questionable. Finding all his wishes thwarted by the opposition or apathy of the leading people, he purposely set fire to the bazaar and the most filthy quarter of the town, and when the people wished to rebuild on the void space, he forced them to lay out the streets as he desired, and follow his directions as to the style of houses. The fire caused a loss of 30,000_l._ to 40,000_l._, but Adana, as a city, benefited immensely. Khalil Pasha’s plan succeeded so well that he seriously contemplated continuing the operation on another quarter. The people, however, strongly objected to being burnt out any further, and made representations at Constantinople which led to his recall, and as he was not a taker of bucksheesh, and had spent all his ready cash, he actually had not the means of paying his passage to Constantinople, and was obliged to borrow T. 200_l._ from Mavromati, the rich Greek merchant of Mersina, which he afterwards duly repaid. After him there were no more “improving” governors.

Our friend spoke of the resources of the province. The chief productions are wheat, barley, sesame seed, and cotton—there is a little sugar-cane, but it is mostly consumed in the towns. Scarcely any peas or beans are grown. The culture of tobacco is being abandoned by the peasants in all parts of the empire, so great is the vexation, and often even heavy loss, entailed on the grower owing to the monopoly lately established.

The richest portion of the province lies between Adana, Messis, and Karadash (Cape Mallus). The district of Karadash is the head-quarters of the grain produce and export, and, from some peculiarity in its position, rain very seldom fails there, so that the grain crop is tolerably certain.

Most of the cotton land lies between the Sarus and Pyramus. The Cilician cotton is very white, but poor in quality and short in staple. Both wheat and cotton degenerate, and have a tendency to sink back into the type of the district; e.g. fine white wheat from Syria, sown in Cilicia, produces a much more abundant crop than the flinty red wheat of the country; but unless the seed be constantly renewed the crop degenerates; the same thing occurs with the fine Mako cotton seed from Egypt. Ibrahim Pasha, of Egypt, during the occupation of Cilicia (1832-40) caused a number of palm trees to be planted in this district. In Adana they _live_, and even bear fruit, but the fruit is not eatable. A few palms remain also at Messis, and here and there in the plain; but beyond Messis none are found.

As in Egypt so here it is the custom to advance money to the cultivator on the security of the incoming crop. If the harvest be good, the debt is paid; if it fail, the Government will not help the lender, and he runs great risk of losing the money advanced, as the Government never forces the peasant to sell his land in order to pay such kind of debt.

Land is never manured, except garden land near towns, but the inundations of the river, though they do much mischief, also do much good by bringing down a vast amount of alluvial soil. What is needed is a system of canalization. There will be a great future for this province when the Government ceases to oppose all improvement. There has been much talk of a railway from Mersina to Adana, and thence to Karadash, but after great expense had been incurred in surveys, engineering plans, &c., nothing was done. The port at Ayass was a very fine natural harbour, land-locked, deep, and able to contain any number of ships, but it was quite neglected; a large naval division of the British fleet had once wintered there. The Turkish Government, however, were aware of its great advantages, and would not allow any of the land near it to be sold. It may one day be the port for an Euphrates Valley Railway. The population of this great plain, which in ancient times probably supported at least 3,000,000 inhabitants, and was full of great cities, does not now exceed 300,000, not one-quarter enough for its cultivation. The communications are very bad. In winter and in the rainy season the roads, excepting the _one_ road, are impassable even for horses, much more for camels. Grain, therefore, for which the merchant had advanced money to the “fellahhin,” could not be brought down to the ports, and lay on the farms, at the buyers’ risk, exposed to damage from the weather, owing to defective storage, bad barns, &c.

All the trees on the plain had been gradually destroyed and none planted to replace them, and the landed proprietors, even the rich Greeks and Armenians, would not plant.

A few years ago there was a fine oak forest about six hours up the Sarus, on the east bank of the river, this had now been destroyed, and it was necessary to go two hours’ distance from the river before wood could be obtained. Twenty-five years earlier the edge of the forest could be seen from Adana! If ever the forests on the mountains round the plain should be much diminished, the plain would suffer immensely from want of rain. Our friend added that the Turkish portion of the population was losing ground in wealth, in social influence, even in number. There were very few rich Turkish families now in Adana, while, on the contrary, the Christian population was increasing, and gaining ground also in influence and wealth. A large number of the Christians were now rich landed proprietors, but they were ignorant and prejudiced, and, unlike the Christians in many other parts of the empire, had not yet begun to recognise the necessity and advantage of education for their children. Moreover, they were disunited, the different sects could not “pull together.” They had begun to lift up their heads considerably, yet it was only within the last few years that they had ventured to display their wealth. Formerly a rich Christian proprietor, who might have several thousands of pounds sterling, _in cash_, in his house, would borrow money at 2 or 3 per cent. per month, in order to appear poor, like the Egyptian “fellahh,” but now they are not so fearful of the authorities.

I have since heard (1876) that the Government is exacting the taxes, and all arrears, with the utmost severity, owing to the great financial straits to which the war has reduced it. But the unfortunate peasants are utterly impoverished, and, in consequence, large Governmental sales of real property are taking place all over the interior. At such sales a human jackal, some miserable Armenian or Greek, attends as agent for the rich rayahs, and buys up the peasant’s land and houses, often for a quarter of their intrinsic value; and in this way the land is falling into the hands of the native Christians to a very great extent.

I was told also that the buying and selling of slaves is no longer common, white slaves, however (Circassians), are still bought, generally from their parents, to become the wives of the purchasers, a sale that could scarcely be prohibited.

Of late years brigandage had much diminished, places into which, a few years back, no one could venture, were now perfectly safe. Once all the east bank of the Sarus was unsafe, now much of the country between the Sarus and Pyramus was even richly cultivated.

After leaving the garden we crossed the bridge and passed up the other side of the river. Travellers differ in their account of the number of arches. Pococke reckons 20; Paul Lucas 15; and L’Anglois 18; if all be computed, even to the smallest, there are 20, viz. 15 large, 5 small. Of these, probably only one (that nearest the town on the western side) remains as it was built by Adrian; the rest were reconstructed under Justinian, and, having been repaired both by Saracens and Armenians, are irregular both in size and shape. Two gates, one at either end, close it, but the fortifications to which these gates belonged have disappeared. In the middle of the bridge, and set in a niche over the largest pier, is a small room, built by Mahmoud Pasha, to which he constantly resorted at sunset to enjoy the cool air from the mountains. At Adana, however, slanderous tongues are not wanting, and it was asserted that the Wali’s privacy used to be ofttimes cheered by other draughts besides the breezes of Bulghar Dagh! The stream is now deep and violent, like the Nile at flood time, and thickly charged with white mud. Unlike the Cydnus, the water of the Sarus is of good quality.

Kizil Dagh in the distance

_Stanford’s Geogˡ. Estabᵗ._]

Under a small clump of trees on the river bank a party of Turks, about twenty in number, were enjoying the cool evening breeze. They were finely dressed in the costume of the country, instead of wearing the wretched Stamboul uniform, and seemed persons of some standing. As we returned, all were engaged in their evening devotions; the chief person, an Imām or Kadi, was kneeling in front, and the others in a line behind him; as they bowed their foreheads to the earth together, and remained prostrate in prayer, I could not help inwardly contrasting this simple, solemn, reverential, act of devotion with the noisy confusion and tawdry ceremonial of the morning in the Greek church.

Never in any place have I seen such picturesque costumes as in Adana; almost every other person one meets wears a different costume. Each district is distinguished by some variety; it is not merely the colour but even the _shape_ that differs; and in every case the dress is striking and picturesque. It is remarkable, also, what a high degree of personal beauty these people possess. An absolutely _ugly_ person is never seen; the children, especially, have a fine, healthy complexion, splendid eyes and teeth, and beautifully-expressive countenances. One _never_ sees here the poor, rickety, cachectic children which are, alas! so common at home. The men are fine, strong, stalwart fellows, and, to judge from the young girls, the women—whom of course one does not see—must be remarkably good-looking. It is true the weakly die out; perhaps it is better this should be so; at all events those who remain are extremely fine men; such a race, properly governed, need have no fear of Russia, or of any other foreign power; and I am now beginning to understand how it was that the Turks were so formidable to Europe in the olden days. Man for man, they would hold their ground with any people.[6]

We passed on our return the principal mosque—the Olou Jamaa. Amidst a population like that of Adana, any attempt to enter a mosque without the authorization of the Governor is not advisable, but from the street we obtained a view of the court through some windows closed by strong iron gratings. At the intersection of the bars in this grating are large angular knobs of iron, upon each of which is carved an ornament or flower. On two of the knobs are the opening words of the Koran. The court is surrounded by a fine arcade of pointed arches in marble and fine limestone. This mosque, with its handsome minaret, is probably the most beautiful building in the province. A number of storks’ nests lodged on the minaret above the muezzin’s gallery had a strange effect.

The Adaniots seem to know little and care less about the history of this really handsome building. Some told me it had been a Christian church, others that it had been built by the Genoese; its latest founder was a certain Ramazan Zadeh, a descendant of El Ramadan Oglou, the Khorassani chief, who, in the fifteenth century, with his Turkman followers, conquered most of Cilicia, and founded there a dynasty, afterwards destroyed by the Osmanlis.

My friend Mr. Ancketill visited this mosque in 1877. He writes of it as follows:—

“Seeing my opportunity, I asked permission to visit the great mosque, the ‘Olou Jamaa.’ For a whole hour the Kaimakam of Mersina, who is at present here—an educated man, and well disposed towards me—strove to convince the Wali that my request was reasonable, and only with difficulty could he obtain permission for me. The Kaimakam himself accompanied me. This mosque was built in the time of Sultan Suleiman, son of Selim I. It is in fact, however, an old Christian church turned into a mosque. A certain Ramazan Zadeh, one of the Dere Beys of Cilicia, rebuilt almost the whole structure in 1177, Hejra = A.D. 1763, as shown by an inscription on the wall close to the eastern door.

“The inner walls of the mosque are inlaid for five to six feet with encaustic tiles of a very beautiful pattern. These are very ancient, and one portion of the work is a perfect ‘bijou’ of its class. The prevailing colour in them is blue. The centre of the edifice is supported by ancient marble columns—monoliths—their capitals have either been removed or replaced by others of a barbarous design, or the sculpture on them has been cut away and a rude imitation of foliage carved in its stead.

“On some portions of the side walls the tiles are of more modern date. These were probably inserted by Ramazan Zadeh. This man appears to have been a great public benefactor. He built and endowed a hospital at Adana, or probably there would be none; none exists at Tarsus.

“At the S.E. corner in the grounds of the bath opposite the mosque are the remains of an ancient Christian church. An old and intelligent scribe told me that he remembered a Latin inscription on the wall of this church bearing date 400 years after Christ. This inscription was taken away by an Italian, Dr. Orta, in the time of Ibrahim Pasha.”

_April 27th._—Left Adana for Messis at 8 A.M. Although the sky was overcast, the heat was most oppressive. Our road was through the great plain towards a ridge of low, rocky hills rising from the level surface like a small island. Long lines of sheep and camels were grazing in all directions, and it was strange to see how the sheep followed their shepherd in a perfectly regular line, avoiding the cultivated spaces and keeping only to the pasture. There was not a tree, nor even a bush, to be seen for many miles. The soil would produce magnificent trees—indeed, round Adana itself the oak and ash are very fine—but, excepting in the immediate neighbourhood of the town, there is no wood whatever, nothing to break the monotonous level except a few isolated, rocky hills, and mounds like those at Mersina, rising at intervals till the eye can no longer distinguish them from the horizon.

At midday we reached Messis (Mopsuestia). The modern village contains about 300 houses, some on the east, some on the west, side of the river. The greater part of the population is Muslim, but there are seventy Armenian families, and a few Greeks. Above the village is a portion of the Amanus Mountain, called Nour Dagh, of the most graceful shape, with bold, broken crest; but even at this early season there is not a bush, nor even a tuft of grass, to vary the light grey surface of the rocky slopes. A bridge of nine arches connects the east and west banks; but of these arches one is entirely, and another partially destroyed. They were blown up by the Turkish army when retreating from Syria after their defeat at Beylan, in 1832, by the Egyptians under Ibrahim Pasha. A temporary bridge of wood had been placed across the broken arches, and so it has remained ever since. The construction of this bridge is like that of the bridge of Adana; both were rebuilt by Justinian, but there was a more ancient bridge at Messis, which had fallen into a very ruinous state at the time of Justinian, and was probably erected by Adrian. Of its later fortunes nothing seems to be known. Pococke tells us[7] that in 1737 five of its arches had been carried away by inundations. Otter, in the previous year, had passed the river at Messis, in company of the Persian ambassador and his suite. He says that at that time only the three arches in the middle of the bridge were broken down. The company, after long delay, were obliged to pass on rafts and ferry boats, were much annoyed and mulcted by the people of Messis, and lost several of their best horses by drowning in the rapid stream.

Above Messis the Pyramus passes through a deep ravine, with rocky slopes at a distance of 50 to 300 yards from the stream. It flows with a full, deep, even, and majestic current, and when the snows of the Taurus melt, the inundations of the river do immense damage. The villagers told me that every year the inundations last from two to two and a half months; but in 1874-5, owing to the excessive rainfall and snow, the inundation had lasted five months. The bridge was for a long time impassable; many men and animals were lost, and at Messis itself one of the floating corn-mills was washed away and sunk, and eight persons were drowned.

The plain above Messis seems to be at a much higher level than below it, and the lower course of the river is bordered by extensive marshes, so that in the hot season Messis is quite as unhealthy a place as Tarsus or Mersina.

ANCIENT MOPSUESTIA.

_Stanford’s Geogˡ. Estabᵗ._

London: Edward Stanford, 55, Charing Cross.]

The village occupies only a portion of the site of the old town; its detached houses are built amidst heaps of débris, fragments of wall, and broken columns of white limestone, grey Egyptian granite, and rough conglomerate. A few fine Corinthian capitals remain, but nothing perfect or unbroken.

The acropolis was near the river, on an eminence resembling one of the mounds in the plain. There are foundations of hewn stone all over it, but no building remains. The steep bank facing the river is full of foundations of concrete, and very solid walls, but all this is a reconstruction of a later age, for many broken columns are built into it. Of the town wall only a small portion near the gateway remains. It is of great thickness and solidity, and built of large hewn stones. The stadium is on the N.E. of the town, but all its seats have been removed, only huge masses of concrete remain, in which the rows of seats seem to have been fixed.

The inscriptions of Messis have been often before described, few now remain, and those neither new nor interesting. On a large slab of grey limestone in the village the following was cut in bold letters:—

ϹΑΓΙΟϹΙϹΧΥΡΟϹΑΓΙΟϹΑΘΑΝΑΤΟϹ
ΩΘΙϹΛΙΗΜΑϹΕΛΕΗϹΟΝΗΜΑϹ
]

The other inscriptions were in the cemeteries to the N.W. of the village.

The implements carved on the column are perhaps a symbol of the man’s trade; probably this was the monument of a stonemason, but it may be an Armenian tomb. In the Armenian cemetery of Adana is the tomb of a tailor, on which a pair of scissors and a pic measure are carved.

While making a sketch of the bridge I fell in with a Syrian whose parents had fled from Saida in 1839, during the war with Mehemet Ali. He was then only six years old. He complained much of the exactions of the Government officials; seeing my drawing he inquired with much interest if a railway was about to be constructed.

ΜΚΑΝΙΝΙΟΣΦΡΟΝ
ΤΩΝΜΚΑΝΙΝΙΩ
ΚΛΩΔΙΑΝΩΤΟΥΙΩ
ΚΑΙΤΟΙΣΙΔΙΟΙΣ
]

† ΤΟΠΑΝ
ΠΑΥΛΟΥ
ΤΡΙΒΟΥ
ΝΟΥΚΡΙ
ΝΔΙΩ
ΤΟΥ
†
]

At 3 P.M. we started for Giameli Keui, at which we intended to remain for the night. The road, after crossing the bridge of Messis, follows the east bank of the Pyramus. The river measures here from 90 to 120 yards in breadth, higher up it is broader, but here deep, rocky banks confine it. Its water is of a redder tinge than the Sarus; cliffs of chalk and red loam 150 to 200 feet high, rise at some little distance back from the stream, and the strip of land between them and the river is very well cultivated. Yet farther back rise the steep, broken, ash-coloured, volcanic declivities of the Nour Dagh. I think the Pyramus is a finer stream than the Sarus, but there is no large city like Adana upon it, and from what these rivers now are one cannot accurately judge of their condition in the hot season. After riding up the river bank for about half an hour, we crossed a low spur of the Amanus, where it approaches the river closely, and entered a very extensive plain, part of the great plain; on our right it ran up to the foot of the Amanus, but it was separated from the rest of the plain on our left by the river. The soil here is of extreme fertility, a fine, black mould, without a stone or a pebble, and is covered for (literally) thousands of acres by the finest natural clover. Even our souriji could not forbear uttering a few words of admiration as he halted the horses to let them graze on it awhile.

and the Pyramus

_Stanford’s Geogˡ. Estabᵗ._]

In front of us were two great detached portions of the mountain, the more easterly crowned by a large ruined fortress with round towers, called Ilan Kalesi (Snake Castle), probably built by one of the Armenian kings, to check the incursions of the fierce mountaineers from the Amanus. Higher up the river, but on the opposite side of the stream, is another similar fortress, Toomlu Kalaat, which we were unable to visit, as there was no means of crossing the stream. A few hours farther to the east, in the mountains beyond Ilan Kalesi, there is yet another fortress, called Kourt Kalesi (Wolf’s Castle). It is in reality a fortified khan, built (it is said) by Sultan Murad III., about 1580, for the convenience of caravans passing between Constantinople and Aleppo or Bagdad. It could accommodate 2000 travellers, with their train of baggage animals, and is surrounded by a wall of hewn stone 30 feet in height; but though of the most massive and solid construction it has been long abandoned, and is falling to ruin. It was once the stronghold of Mustak Bey, almost the last of the Dere Beys. He was son of the famous rebel and brigand Aga, of Baias, “Kutchuk Ali,” and was as successful as his father in defying the power of the Padshàh, until conciliation succeeded where force had failed. Mustak Bey, after having been confirmed in his father’s possessions as a loyal subject of his sovereign, died about ten years ago, at the ripe age of eighty, one of the very few rebels who managed to escape destruction from the serpent policy of the Porte.

As we reached the middle of the plain, the clover was succeeded by some of the finest grass I ever saw, starred with countless beautiful wild flowers; enormous thistles 8 to 9 feet high, with great purple heads, were intermingled with clumps of honeysuckle and wild rose. Of the soil nothing could be seen, beyond the narrow and rarely-trodden track, and even this track was almost smothered by the rich vegetation. Clouds of bright-winged butterflies flitted from blossom to blossom. Myriads of little green frogs leaped backwards and forwards across the path; these little creatures are only about half an inch in length, and are of the most brilliant grass green imaginable. Here and there we came upon a tortoise slowly waddling onwards; the little frogs would leap about him, and the butterflies flit around him, as if in playful salutation; the whole face of nature seemed to beam with smiles.

The only indications of man’s presence were a few tobacco plants, growing luxuriantly, a patch of Indian corn, and one or two deserted shepherds’ huts.

Even in the remotest corners of the plain, the artificial mounds already described rise at long intervals from the level surface, yet sufficiently near to each other for a good look-out to be kept up.

Ages upon ages have passed since this plain bore a harvest that was worth the watching; but its wondrous fertility still remains.

It is like some vast neglected garden, only Nature has avenged herself upon man for his neglect, and there is a terrible drawback attached to all this beauty and fertility; it is one of the most unhealthy districts in the empire. When once the heats of summer have set in, flight is the only means of preserving health and life, neither native nor stranger being able to resist the deadly malaria of this terrestrial paradise.

Wherever the virgin soil is opened, virulent marsh fever seems to burst forth and smite down all around, and nothing but generations of patient culture can subdue the soil afresh, and render this plain a safe abode for man. Wherever we approached the higher ground, the vegetation changed again into a perfect carpet of flowers, and everywhere the pasture was most abundant, the lower slopes of Amanus being especially rich in herbage and grass. Amongst the bushes the yellow jasmine grew luxuriantly. There were fine cyclamens, abundance of brilliant poppies and veronica, the blue bugloss everywhere, with cystus, and anemones of many colours.

The whole of this district is well watered by abundant springs from the Amanus, and owing to the extensive marshes caused by them the route was rendered extremely difficult. Indeed, a few weeks earlier, this track would have been quite impracticable in consequence.

The country seems almost depopulated; during the whole afternoon we saw only two or three Turkman huts; it was not till we had come far out upon the plain that we saw the villages of the Circassians along the river. These men, immigrants from the Caucasus, were settled here about ten years ago; but they are not desirable neighbours. Everywhere the rest of the people spoke of them in terms of dislike; they are fierce and predatory, great cattle-lifters and horse-stealers. Most of them were low of stature, dark-complexioned and ill-favoured; their women have a reputation for beauty, but those whom we saw were by no means good-looking. The Circassian villages consist of scattered groups of houses generally made of wattle covered with clay or mortar, the roof of thatch secured by bands of plaited grass; fine fields of barley surround some of the houses; but the Circassians are rather a pastoral than an agricultural people. One of them conversed some time with us; he said that the soil was extremely fertile, but that not a fiftieth part of it is cultivated.

Giameli Keui is so named from its mosque, whose whitewashed minaret is conspicuous miles away. We were told that when the usual tax (the Dîme) was demanded of these people, they declared they could not afford to pay it; but that in lieu of it they would build a mosque. Strange to say, their proposal was accepted, and the mosque of Giameli Keui was duly erected.

We found a lodging in an empty house, but fleas, mosquitos, and the loud croaking of innumerable frogs from the marshes round the village, banished sleep. In the evening, some of the villagers came to visit us, as is customary, and in the course of conversation one of them, who seemed an intelligent man, told us the following legend about the old fortress of Ilan Kalesi, or “Snake Castle,” which crowns one of the rugged spurs of the Amanus, and is plainly visible from Messis. Much of it is almost a verbal translation from the Turkish of our acquaintance, who seemed thoroughly to believe it all.

“Once upon a time, and a very long time ago, Sheikh Meran, as
everybody knows, the king of the serpents, held his court at
Ilan Kalesi, the Serpents’ Castle, and ruled like our Padshàh
over his numerous subjects. His head and his body down to the
waist were like those of a man, but below he was formed like a
snake, and was all tail.

“At that time there lived in Tarsus a king who was greatly
afflicted with leprosy, of which he desired to be cured.

“Now there was in Tarsus a certain Jew, a very clever sorcerer,
and he told the king that if Sheikh Meran could be caught, and
his tail cut off and boiled, the grease therefrom would cure
the king’s leprosy, but that in order to capture him it would
be necessary to discover a certain man with a black mark on his
back between the shoulders, for he knew where to find Sheikh
Meran in his castle. The king rejoiced at the prospect of a
cure, gave secret orders to the Jew to watch everyone who came
to the public bath, in order to discover the man with a black
mark between his shoulders.

“Sheikh Meran, who knew everything, because he was so wise,
called the shepherd of the castle, who was really the man with
the black mark on his back, and told him all that was going
on in Tarsus, the advice the Jew had given to the king, and
the secret order, ‘and,’ said he, ‘if the Jew discovers you
the king will try to force you to tell where I am, so you
must promise that you will not tell.’ The shepherd promised
that he would not tell, and in order to make sure that the
Jew should not find him he left the place altogether. Seven
years afterwards the shepherd came to Tarsus, and, thinking
the affair forgotten, and the Jew no longer on the watch, he
went to the public bath; but the Jew, who had never given up
his search, was there, and spied the black mark upon his back.
Thereupon he carried him off to the king, who threatened to
kill him if he would not show the place in the castle where
Sheikh Meran was. The terrified shepherd consented, and
accompanied the king, the Jew, and his people to the castle.

“Sheikh Meran, who knew all that had happened, made no
resistance, but he called the shepherd aside and spoke to him
thus: ‘No one can avoid what is foreordained. I know you could
not help telling, because they would have killed you otherwise.
I shall allow myself to be taken, and have given orders to my
subjects to bite no one. When they have killed me, my serpent
part, from the waist down, when boiled, will cure the king; my
head is rank poison, and the Jew will boil it and give you the
soup to drink; my body from head to waist, when boiled, will
make him who drinks the soup a great physician; the Jew will
drink this himself unless you can manage to exchange cups with
him without his seeing you do it.’

“Sheikh Meran allowed himself to be killed accordingly; the
grease of his tail cured the king of his leprosy, the Jew
boiled his head and body in separate pots, and pouring the
soup into cups, he placed the one which he knew contained the
head before the shepherd, and that containing the body before
himself. The shepherd, however, drew his attention to the
beautiful gardens of Tarsus, and whilst his head was turned,
changed the cups. The Jew, turning suddenly, said: ‘Let us
drink! Let us drink!’ in a brisk manner. They drank together,
and the Jew died upon the spot.

“Then the shepherd returned into the mountains, where, to his
astonishment, the flowers and plants beckoned to him, and
whispered in his ear their several virtues, and as he did not
know how to write he procured a scribe to write down all they
said.

“They vied with each other in whispering their secrets, and the
scribe could not write fast enough so as to set down all they
said.

“One day a beautiful flower told him that one drop of her
essence would restore a man that was nearly strangled. ‘Ha!
ha!’ said the shepherd, ‘that is a secret of great value; I
will try it.’

“Accordingly he prepared the essence, and arranged a cord to
strangle himself. The cord tightened, and just as he was half
strangled he raised the cup of essence to his lips, when,
alas! Satan dashed it out of his hand. And so the shepherd was
hanged; but the scribe who had written down what the flowers
and plants said, became the great physician.”

Such was the legend of Ilan Kalesi.

The distance from Messis to Giameli Keui is about three hours; the view of the country along the route is magnificent; at every point of the compass except the east, high ranges of snow mountains border the great plain. But we suffered much from the intense heat in the river valley and ravines. In the hot season this district must be well-nigh uninhabitable.