Chapter XIII

VALLEY OF THE CALYCADNUS. PALÆPOLIS. ERMENEK.

_June 24th._—Rose at daybreak, and proceeded to sketch the castle. We usually took a supply of bread (leavened) when it could be obtained. Owing to the scarcity, the flour is everywhere of very bad quality, and the baker detained us till nearly midday before he would bake for us. A strange procrastinating people these Osmanlis! Even the promise of extra pay failed to quicken him out of his routine.

The only inscription I could hear of or discover at Mout was the so-called “Yatar Tash,” or Prostrate Stone. It is about a quarter of an hour from the town, in the hilly ground to the S.W. From the account given of it by the people at Kestel I had expected something better. It proved to be only a portion of an inscription, and even that in great part defaced. It is on a stone which once formed part of the lintel of a great gateway. The stone has been broken and a large part lost. The inscription was reversed, and the letters so faint that I could only make out a portion; even that is full of errors, but it is interesting, as containing the names of two Roman emperors.

ΠΕΡΤΙΝΑΚΟϹΕΒΚΑΙΜΑΡΚΟΥ * * *
ϹΚΕΥΛϹΗΗΑΑΠΟΙΠΕΙΟΟΝΡΟΥΑ
Κ ΨΡΙΟΥΗΓΕΜΟΝΟϹ
]

About half an hour beyond Mout, near a little hamlet called “Mout Baghtchaler,” perhaps a suburb of Claudiopolis, are very extensive ruins and many sarcophagi. Its position was evidently due to two magnificent springs, almost equal to the fountain at Mout. A little farther on is another source, with an ancient ruin on a hill near it. There is abundance of excellent water on this east side of the Calycadnus valley. In about three-quarters of an hour we passed four magnificent sources; I do not know how the people could bear the summer heat of this valley were it not for these crystal, ice-cold springs. The river valley is bounded on both sides by very lofty ranges of limestone mountains. Their lower slopes, and the multitudinous hill ranges that fill up the plain and descend to the river, are all of tufa, of a light cream, or reddish colour. They are very sterile, having little or no vegetation on them except stunted juniper trees. The heat of the wind yesterday at Mout was caused by its passing over these sun-heated tufa hills. As seen from Mout, some of them have a very strange outline.

We crossed the Calycadnus at the village of Ibrahul. A little above the village there had been a bridge over the river, but it was broken down last year, and of course has remained in the same condition! There is some talk of repairing it, but “bakaloum” (“we will see”) steps in of course and stops the way; besides, cash is very scarce! So in the meantime travellers must ford the stream as best they may, for there is no boat, and of course in spring time the usual percentage must be drowned in trying to do it! In order to cross, guides are necessary, for at times the channel shifts, and so rapid is the current that the horses’ heads must be held.

On entering the village of Ibrahul we inquired for guides, and soon a tall, good-humoured negro offered his services. We sent him to try and find another man, for at least two were required. Whilst we were waiting, a well-dressed Turk came up, doubtless one of the chief people of the village, and Hassan, our cavass, after saluting him very politely, told him our needs, and begged him to try and find us another guide. He could not well refuse, and went away, but after an absence of not more than three minutes he returned, having clearly made no attempt to find anyone. “Janum!” (my dear fellow!) he said, “all the men are either sick or busy reaping, or up in the yailas, there is nobody!” “But” (said the cavass) “I am on Government business, surely there must be somebody in the village!” then after a pause, “Can’t you show us the way?” “Yes,” replied the man, “but tell me first what you are going to give me?” Said our man, “I told you I was on Government business, and, if necessary, you are bound to help me for nothing.” “What!” said the Turk, “am I to guide those ‘giaours’ over the river for nothing?” Scarcely had the opprobrious word issued from his lips, than, to my intense surprise, Hassan dismounted, and rained a shower of cuffs upon him. “Now,” said he, “after _that_, _you_ shall show us the way across the river.” I ventured to put in a slight remonstrance, on which Hassan quietly remarked, “I know my own business, and if you wish to get along, you must leave matters in my hands!” Of course I was silent after this, so the unlucky fellow submitted to his fate. Arrived at the river he doffed his fine dress, and we all crossed together. The stream, though very rapid, was not so difficult to ford as I had expected; its water only reached the flaps of the saddle, but it is now very late in the season, and I can believe that earlier in the year the danger would be great.

Arrived at the other side, we gave a present of money and some tobacco to the “Arab Oglou” (son of an Arab), as Hassan called the negro, but he would not suffer us to give anything to the other man. The swiftness of the Gieuk Sou is due to its very rapid descent. Its sources in Nawàhi and the group of Isaurian mountains are upwards of 5000 feet above the sea. Tchihatcheff declares that in the upper part of its course it descends at the rate of 44 feet per mile, and for the last 50 miles from the sea, at the rate of 13 feet per mile.

The view of the two mountains on the west side of the Calycadnus valley, which we had seen from Mauga, is far grander when seen from the valley itself. The range on S.W. is “Bardat,” on N.E. “Adrass”; between them, in the distance, appears another great range, “Geden.” The river of Ermenek makes its way through a ravine of immense depth, between the two former, and, as usual in these mountains, both terminate abruptly in tremendous precipices, 3000 to 4000 feet in sheer depth, and presenting a magnificent frontage of great red-rock wall, crowned above with thick forest.

As we could not find our path through the brush on the river side, Hassan impressed first one of the people he met, and then another, to show us a portion of the way; at last a boy mounted his donkey and led us to the place where the villagers of Soushati were at work reaping their harvest. Now none of my people knew the way, so a guide was necessary, and Hassan therefore asked for the mukhtar. No one returned any answer. “I want a guide for money (pără ylàn),” he cried out; “we will pay him. Will no one show us the road?” Again no reply. This was too much, so he changed his tone. Riding up to the nearest man, he bade him come with us. No notice was taken; the man coolly went on reaping. Then Hassan lost his temper; riding at him like a fury, he seized him by his turban, and when this fell off, by the coat, and tore him along, but the man lay down and began to bellow for help. Then Hassan dismounted and administered a really severe beating with his sheathed sword, but the man still lay and bellowed. It may seem hard treatment, and I much regretted to see it, but I dared not interfere, and certainly the churlishness of these people merited some punishment. “He would not dare do this,” said Nahli, “if we were not with him, the villagers would return blow for blow.” But I am convinced, on the contrary, that had we been alone without our cavass we should have fared very badly ourselves.

At last, seeing the turn things were taking, the mukhtar came forward, and gave us a guide. Everyone assured me, and I found it thoroughly borne out, that I should find the peasants of this district sullen, churlish, and inhospitable. They are not Osmanlis, nor Muslim (except in some cases externally), but Nusairiyeh.

At last we began to ascend the cream-coloured tufa hills with which the valley is bordered; these hills are very steep and sterile, and scarcely a drop of water is to be found in them. After about half-an-hour’s ascent we came to the tent of a Yourouk, near a tiny brackish spring, the last water we should find for some hours. He told us that beyond, there was absolutely no water, and that no grass grew on these hills except when the spring is exceptionally rainy. Leaving him, we continued our route, a most difficult and tiring ride, up and down slopes at a marvellous inclination, where of course we were forced to dismount. The tufa changed to yellow or white sandstone rock of extreme hardness, exactly like the fine hard sandstone of Upper Egypt. There was neither grass nor water, and no vegetation beyond a few stunted juniper trees.

For about three hours we advanced through the same kind of country. At length, about five o’clock, we made the last ascent, and saw before us the side of Adrass Dagh, separated from the line of tufa hills by very wide and deep ravines full of dense forest. The mountain is the edge of a great plateau, and not only the side towards “Bardat” and the Ermenek river, but its whole length, is one series of deep, red precipices; the great ravines below, and slopes up to, the foot of the precipices are full of forests of pine and oak, and the summit stands thick with “ketràn.” Our road was up the valley parallel with the mountain side till we could mount transversely to its N.E. corner. Far away on the right rose two extinct volcanic cones; one of them, lying north by west, our guide called Sindal. Our host of that night called one Daoush Tepe, the other Bozoglou; our cavass next day said they were called “Marash.” How is it possible to obtain correct information from such people? But Hassan was right, not the people of the country.

At the top of the ascent we dismissed our guide; we could not possibly have found the way without him, and I gave him a liberal bucksheesh, to his surprise and evident gratification; at the same time I improved the occasion by bidding him tell his fellow-villagers “not to be so churlish another time. Europeans always paid, and paid well, for services, and did not require men to work for nothing.” “All very well,” grumbled Ali, the souriji; “but you won’t change the nature of these wretches. They are only half Muslim! pah-h!” And he spat on the ground as the villager went away.

The precipices of Bardat seen from the spot which we had now reached are truly enormous, 4000 feet at least in height. A long, level plateau succeeded, covered with scattered juniper trees. There are but few dwellers in this inhospitable region, and they live here only during summer. In the distance were the ruins of a large khan, “Alaja Khan,” long since disused, and the hamlet of Sarchizàlana, consisting of three or four huts, near the site of an old ruined town, now merely a large heap of stones. Scattered about are many sarcophagi, but all except one smashed to fragments. On that one I deciphered ΒΑΛϹΕΜΕΙΟΝ ΝΕΚΚΙΛΑΒΑ. The rest of the inscription was quite defaced by time and lichen; the figures of the wife and husband were also defaced.

Our halting place that night should have been the village of Bejeh, in the valley between Sarchizàlana and Adrass, but we were told that all the villagers would either be employed harvesting or in their yailas, and we should find the place quite deserted. Therefore we stayed with the village miller, who was bivouacking in the valley below, and gathering his harvest. He had nothing to offer but a scanty ration of barley bread and a little sour yaourt for ourselves, and some barley in the straw for our horses. But, being better provided, we gave them a pilaff, and afterwards slept by the side of their camp fire. Our host was very talkative; he is a great hunter, and said that chamois are plentiful in Adrass Dagh. He told us also a tale about a bright fire which appeared sometimes at night on Daoush Tepe; but no one had ever found out the exact spot whence it came. He described the mountain as “like a cup,” with high walls of slag and black cinders. Some of the others confirmed his tale, but of those present none except the miller had seen it. The rest spoke from hearsay. If true it is curious, and this fire may be something of the same nature as the perpetual fire, the “Yanar Tash,” or “Burning Rock,” at Phaselis, on the east coast of Lycia (the ancient “Chimæra”), only that this would be intermittent, whereas that is perpetual. But I think our friend’s tale was an invention, or, at least, the effect of his imagination, for no one of the others could give any clear account of it. Our host also proposed to the interpreter to show me a place in Adrass, the Kalaat, as he called it, full of sculptures and inscriptions, if I would give him T. 1_l._ But his account of this also was very shadowy, and I declined the proposal on Nahli’s advice. My interpreter was offended at something the man either said or did, and revenged himself next morning by giving him no bucksheesh.

_June 25th._—Rose at daybreak. The crops all along the valley are very rich, especially the barley. This season, at least, all fear of famine may be set aside. After bathing in the little stream, we pursued our way up the valley through woods of plane and walnut. About an hour from our bivouac were the mills belonging to our host, overshadowed by grand old plane trees. Arrived at the head of the valley, we began to ascend a succession of tufa and sandstone slopes, all extremely steep, towards the N.E. corner of Adrass Dagh. Nearly the whole distance had to be accomplished on foot; but we were refreshed by many fountains and much shade of trees. Near the highest point we passed the village of Yalinuztcha Bagh, and far below on the right Tchatak Bagh. The whole length of the Calycadnus valley lay beneath us, with the lines of tufa hills on either side, and the wall of mountains which we had descended on the way to Mout. I could even faintly distinguish the rock of Mauga, and, far away, the sterile top of Kestel.

We were now far above the volcanic cones, and the air became constantly purer and cooler. At last, by a slippery stair of rock, we reached the highest point, passed under a great rock at the end of Adrass, and turned leftwards. We were now on the north side of Adrass, separated from it by a profound ravine. The whole top of the mountain is a great plateau, covered in many parts and all along its sides with woods of “ketràn.” A bad and rocky track led over heights almost equal to Adrass in elevation, and the site of Balabolu (Palæpolis) was before us. Many long détours had to be made, so as to pass round the heads of the numerous ravines between us and it. In one of these ravines my horse suddenly started at the sight of a large snake that had been killed near the path. It was about three feet long, very thick, with a short, thin tail, in colour, grey spotted with black; the head had been smashed by some passer-by. At 1.30 we came to the site of the old city, and rode through a perfect wilderness of broken sarcophagi to the yaila encampment, consisting of about a dozen tents and huts. I obtained, after some difficulty, a little bread and yaourt, for I was faint from hunger, and then started to explore the ruins. They were upon a rocky eminence, bounded on S. and S.E. by deep precipices, on west by a very deep ravine between it and Adrass, with almost perpendicular sides. On the north lie a surprising number of sarcophagi, all broken or opened. They are all of coarse limestone, and of very rough workmanship. On many had been inscriptions, but these, with two exceptions, are utterly effaced, and even these two are only legible in part.

ΔΙΟϹ ΤΗΝΔΕΕΓΛΥΨΕΝΜΙΚΡΑΧΑΡΙΖΟΜΕΝΟϹ
ΛΙΘΟϹ ΜΕΝ
ΕϹΤΩϹ
ΗΛΙΚΙΗΝΕϹΕΡΩΤΑΤΑΜΗΛΙΟΝΩΡΙΟΝΗΒΗϹ
]

The emblems and ornaments upon them are chiefly the cross, an ornament like the head of a daisy, a wreath, a scallop shell, &c. Here and there were busts or small full-length figures, but all mutilated. The covers of some are carved in trellis-work or scales; a few had a colossal reclining lion or panther. There were also many rock tombs. The site of the town itself is encumbered by great heaps of stones, and nothing remains erect but a few feet of wall in places. The whole is overgrown by the most magnificent juniper trees (“ardidj,” “Juniperus excelsa”), many of them nine to twelve feet in diameter. The juniper grows with a trunk enormously thick at the base, but rising rapidly to a point. My guide gave me the tradition of the capture of this town by the Muslim. The possessors of the town must at that time have been Armenians, and not Greeks; but I nowhere saw any Armenian remains, everything was Greek. The soldiers of Karaman Oglou came with a great many “manganik” (mangonels), and battered the town from the hill above the cemetery until they had destroyed it. This occurred in the year 783 of the Hejra = about A.D. 1382. He knew it from the date on the tombs of the Muslim soldiers killed in the siege, and he pointed out the spot where they had been buried on the other side of the ravine. If my informant’s date be correct, the destroyers of Palæpolis were the soldiers of Khalil, Sultan of Karaman, and grandson of Karaman Oglou. He warned me to be careful how I walked through the ruins, as the snakes were very numerous; they were, moreover, both venomous and vicious, “not fearing man.” “He had known several persons killed by snake bites, and one who was saved by cutting off his toe! There were snakes of all colours; one very bad kind was black, with bright red under the throat.”

On my return to the encampment I found a great dispute raging between my people and the villagers. They had been told, both by the cavass and the interpreter, that for everything they supplied they would be paid. We had extracted a little bread and yaourt from them with much difficulty, and as we heard hens clucking, they had to promise some eggs and milk for supper; but they would bring nothing for our horses, and swore by all that was holy—“by the Faith,” “by the Prophet”—that they had neither grass nor barley. Now, as we had eaten some barley bread, this could scarcely be true; and just at the height of the dispute Hassan espied a donkey laden with grass being stealthily brought into the camp. He at once despatched Ali to intercept this cargo, and then forced the men to bring another load. It was more difficult to obtain barley. Hassan sat quietly smoking our narghileh, with two or three of the villagers standing before him, and protesting, with wild gesticulations, that they had not a grain of barley in the camp, to all of which he only replied at intervals, “Arpai! arpai!” (barley! barley!) until his patience was exhausted; then, suddenly springing up, he caught the mukhtar of the village, and began to give him a sound cuffing.

The truth is, they had plenty of all that we required, but from ill-will they would not produce it; and I am sure that had we been without a cavass, both we and our horses might have starved for all they cared. It seems as if nothing but force will avail with these people; even for promised payment, they will bring out nothing, but Hassan well knew how to manage them. Strange to say, after the cuffing everything that we needed was produced; we all became excellent friends, eight or ten of them came and sat round our fire, and we gave them tea and tobacco. As they sipped the tea (sweetened with sugar—an unusual luxury) they told us that in several places of the neighbourhood the tea-plant grows wild, and some of the villagers on the hills near Ermenek cultivate it to a small extent; but, though I tried, I never succeeded in obtaining a specimen. The supper they sent us was really good in its way. It consisted of milk soup, with burghoul (pilled wheat), sandwiches of barley bread and new cheese, fried in butter; two kinds of curds, fresh cheese, and pilaff of burghoul. They could not give us a hut, so we slept under one of the junipers; the night air was very cold, but there was no rain.

_June 26th._—Examined, and tried to sketch, some of the numerous groups of sarcophagi, but was greatly impeded by the villagers, who never left me for a minute. One man was especially troublesome; he was constantly nudging me, and rubbing his forefinger and thumb together. He kept on begging me to tell him where and how the old treasures could be found: “We are very poor; pray, tell us.” But, on the contrary, they are really _well_ off for Karamania; they have many cattle, and a great number of sheep and goats. One of them was pointed out to me as a great bee-keeper, and I well remember the whining, miserable tone of the man’s voice as he sat at our fire. Tired at length of their importunity, I sent them to the interpreter for the information they needed, by whom of course they were well chaffed.

Left Balabolu at 11 A.M. The cold night was followed by a hot, windless day. Our route still continued up the ravine, which was nearly deserted, and almost uncultivated. Sometimes we crossed a spur of the mountains, and these ascents were always steep and difficult. At the bottom of one a woodcutter was at work, who, when he saw us approach, hastily gathered a few wild flowers, and flung them before my horse’s feet.

The last ascent at the head of the valley is, literally, as steep as the roof of a house, and very tired we were when we had led our horses to the top of it. I felt the fatigue of this day more than of any other day since leaving Adana; perhaps on account of the previous night’s chill.

We had now been continually ascending for more than two days. The ascent of yesterday had brought us up to the level of that part of Adrass which faces Mout. To-day’s ascent carried us over the top of its northern portion, which is much more elevated, and called by the people “Tchal Dagh.” The aspect of the country is now changed, and broken and rugged limestone rocks take the place of rich vegetation. Far as the eye could reach no cultivation was visible, nor was there a village or house in sight, nor any signs of human life save two or three Yourouk tents. There was no grass, but a few aromatic herbs grew on the barren soil; the hill slopes, however, were covered with juniper, some of them of enormous size. So we proceeded, until, having crossed the plateau, we descended suddenly into a deep ravine cleft in the limestone plateau, similar in character to the ravine of Geuèzz. It is called “Korou Deresi” (the “dry or parched valley”), from the appearance of its great precipitous sides. These, which are from 700 to 1000 feet high, of light red and cream colour, appear exactly as if calcined and burnt by fire.

But the valley itself is far from being dry or parched. Scarcely 300 yards from our descent into it, a large and crystal-clear source bursts out with great force, and, swollen by the numerous springs on either side, soon becomes a considerable river. From the foot of the line of precipices, a slope of 150 to 300 yards runs down to the river at a steep angle of inclination; and the line of every source, as it bears its tribute to the river, is marked by a broad band of emerald green herbage. The valley runs almost due north and south; many of the numerous caverns on its sides are inhabited by bee-keepers. A large quantity of excellent honey is produced here, and we could see the rows of hives—hollow sections of pine, high up on timber shelves at the sides of the rock caverns. After about three-quarters of an hour’s ride, we suddenly turned to the right into a similar valley running east and west, down which another considerable stream was flowing. After following this for about half an hour, we came to a mill, where we intended to stop for the night; but the inmates were only women, and they had no barley for our horses, so we were obliged to go on to Ermenek. After crossing the river above the mill, we turned leftwards, up an ascent as steep as any we had yet mounted. The pines were here magnificent trees; I noticed many from 120 to 150 feet high. The track was over rough and broken rock, and at the top was a wide, rocky plateau, of the same character as that we had crossed in the morning. Before us was the mountain, at the foot of which is Ermenek. In all directions were high mountain ranges, one rising behind the other; in the far distance was the snow range, two days from the coast, above Selinti and Anamour. These mountains must be of great height, as they are still covered with snow. The descent to Ermenek is a steep, rocky staircase, requiring nearly an hour to accomplish from the brow of the plateau. Evening was fast changing into night, but there was just enough light to enable us to find the way; and after passing through a long line of street, we came to a miserable little khan—the only place of shelter we could find. There was not a room to be had, but an Armenian watchmaker offered us a corner of his own room. A hasty supper was made—I had not eaten since 6 A.M.—and then, utterly exhausted, I lay down to sleep.

_June 27th._—Rose still tired, and with a painful headache; a very close, hot morning. At about 11 A.M. a heavy thunderstorm came on, and with it a terrible shower of hail. The hail fell thick and incessantly for more than half an hour, and did immense damage. The leaves and fruit of the orchards were cut to pieces, the vines utterly ruined, the standing grain bruised and broken as if by blows of a stick or a blunt knife. We hear of cattle and sheep killed, and of people carried off by the torrents in the ravines, and drowned. The whole district has suffered terribly. The hailstones at first were of the size of peas and beans, but at last hail fell as large as walnuts! To my great regret, our good cavass, Hassan, had started on his return to Kestel just before the storm came on. I hope he was not surprised by it in a place where shelter could not be had, for it was enough to kill any one long exposed to its violence.

A perfect torrent of rain descended from the mountain above the town, bringing down with it a vast quantity of hail. Following the line of street, it turned exactly into the yard of our khan, and after flooding the little yard, burst over into the stable where our horses had been placed. The man who brought them out, was obliged to wade through a torrent of muddy water and hail up to the waist. Of course we left the khan, for apart from this trouble, we could obtain no room; so we removed to a bazaar where a number of traders from Kaisariyeh lodged. Here we found a good room, commanding a magnificent view of Ermenek, and the deep valley below it. There are no panes of glass to break in Ermenek, and our windows had not so much as a shutter. In winter even the rich inhabitants hang up carpets to keep out the cold. The afternoon being fine, I walked out in order to see an inscription which had been mentioned to me by a Greek shoemaker of the town. It turned out to be quite unimportant—a little funereal inscription, and even that illegible. The shoemaker accompanied me to the place, and all the way the simpleton went on babbling of hidden treasure, which was only to be found by means of the old inscriptions! On the other hand, he could not tell me the name of a single mountain, or any of the natural features of that district—another instance of their misty ideas of locality, and the little interest these people take in their own country! Returned fatigued, but the walk gave me an opportunity of observing what enormous damage the hail-storm had done.

_June 28th._—Rose much refreshed. A lovely morning followed the storm. Paid a visit to the kaimakam, who is a polite and intelligent man. He had visited France and Italy, and had lived for some time in Malta. We had a long political conversation with him, and he seemed generally well informed; but I noticed that he always tried to turn the conversation to some other subject when I asked information about the Ottoman Empire. I left him favourably impressed with his superiority to most of those I met. He promised to give me a cavass; but neither he nor any other person in Ermenek could give me accurate information about the route I wished to take. My object was to visit the ruins of the old Greek city of Isaura, and so, after passing through the district of Allah Dagh (the ancient Isauria), to make my way either to Adalia or to Smyrna, as I should think best. Now, in Kiepert’s map the village nearest Isaura is called “Hadschilar.” As I found out afterwards, its real name is “Aijilar,” and this trifling difference caused me no end of trouble. No one in Ermenek knew any of the villages about Isaura, and all my inquiries were fruitless. It seems that there is a road direct and easy, although long, from Ermenek to Khadem; and in the latter place people knew more about the villages round Isaura. If, therefore, I had gone direct to Khadem, I should probably have escaped fever, and saved myself a great deal of fatigue and annoyance. But those whom I asked, never even told me of this road; and as I saw only the _mountain_ of Khadem marked on the map, and no _village_ of that name, I concluded that the whole route was through a wilderness, and therefore was obliged to follow the guidance of our stupid cavass. But of this I shall speak by-and-by.

Ermenek contains about 1200 houses, and from 4000 to 4500 inhabitants. It is built high up in a nook, under the mountain which backs it, and which here, as all along, terminates in high, abrupt precipices. The houses are nestled together close up under the brow of the precipice, and the slope on which the town stands is so steep that often the roadway passes over the roofs of the row of houses beneath. The town has a southern aspect, and its climate is mild in winter, considering its elevation, as it is sheltered by the mountain at the back. From a little distance the houses seem exactly similar; all have flat earthen roofs, all are alike in colour, and nearly alike in form. The town is much crowded, and one cannot walk 100 yards in any direction without going up and down the steepest, stoniest ascents and descents that any town ever contained! This renders the place very disagreeable; indeed, I cannot imagine for what reason this particular spot was chosen for the settlement, when a position so much finer lies just below. From the town a long declivity of fertile and well-cultivated land extends for a distance of one and a half hour’s ride down to the Ermenek river. All the newer portion of Ermenek is built here, and some of the houses in this quarter are really good, and surrounded by fine gardens and orchards. The supply of water is extremely abundant in the upper town, almost every second street having its fountain, ice-cold and pure; but there would have been the same advantage below. On the opposite side of the river, facing the town, there is a vast declivity, well cultivated and full of villages. Some of them seem of considerable size, as Kazanji, Sarimazi, Ak Monastir, and Gieurmeli, where there is a good bridge over the Ermenek river. At the top of the declivity is a great mountain plateau, in which are the yailas of the various villages; but in winter it is impassable from snow. Several great mountain ranges rise from this plateau; but the whole district is uninhabited, except in summer time by a few wandering Turcomans and Yourouks. Some of the higher ranges of these mountains are covered with perennial snow, and reach a height above the sea of 10,000 to 12,000 feet. Then on the S.W. is the rugged broken top of Shah-en Nour Dagh, far inferior in height to the long, rugged chain of Yout Dagh, and the peaked mountains above Selinti, which rise beyond it. Almost all these mountains are thickly covered with forest; some of them, without exaggeration, are like so many vast walls, so precipitous are their sides. I inquired if it was possible to cross the yailas and reach the sea-coast near Adalia, but could gain no trustworthy information. One man said it was possible; another denied it. I think it could only be done during the height of summer, and even then by long détours, and with a supply of provisions for five or six days; and the only trustworthy guide would be a Yourouk who had lived in the highlands.

I did not like Ermenek or its people. There is little or nothing to do or see in the place, and the people are rude and overreaching; even the baker, who promised faithfully to give us some pure wheaten bread, and was paid accordingly, gave us the sour abominable stuff with which the Smyrniote Greeks have inundated the whole province. The only decent fellows I met were the traders of Kaisariyeh in whose bazaar we lodged, and one or two Armenians.

We found a little Greek restaurant. The food was not good, and the prices were high, but even this is a slight mark of advancing civilization. The town is horribly filthy, with a wretched, poverty-stricken population. It was truly sad to see the pinched and worn expression in the faces of some of the children. Several of the girls even of twelve to thirteen years of age wore no veil, and I saw many most beautiful faces with regular features, and often light hair and blue eyes. In 1873-4 a number of the people died of hunger; and much cattle perished. Very little was done for the sufferers by their fellow-townsmen, for although many rich Muslims reside in the place, they are said to be avaricious and grasping. I was told (e.g.) that a ring of merchants had imported from Selefkeh a large quantity of Cypriote wheat. It had cost them about 2½ piastres per oke, but they refuse to sell under 4½ piastres, although the people are next door to starvation. A little incident occurred in illustration of the distress now prevalent.

Whatever may be the faults of the Turks, thus much may be said in their favour. Never in any Turkish town is the glaring vice to be seen which almost every street in an European city presents. Indeed, in most places, a woman of known bad character is not allowed by the authorities to remain. But at evening, Ali, our souriji, told my interpreter that two young Turkish women had been making improper overtures to him. We told him, “they must have had designs upon his purse, for it could hardly be his face which would attract them.” At which he grinned a Cyclopean grin, and said that he “never had anything to do with cattle of that kind.” Nahli said that at the time of his former visit to the place such a thing could not have occurred, and he explained it by the crushing and general misery arising from the famine. I was much amused by Nahli’s account of that visit. It seems that in 1872 a Frenchman named Peyronnet engaged him at Mersina, as interpreter, to accompany him to Ermenek on a botanical mission. The botany of the district round Ermenek is extremely rich, and Peyronnet, who was a clever and well-educated, but eccentric man, had been commissioned to make a collection of the plants and flowers of the district. It was supposed that he had been sent out of the way to escape the consequences of some political complication. They reached Ermenek, and lived a jovial Bohemian sort of life for some time, and the adventures and eccentricities of Peyronnet were very amusing, but often somewhat indecorous. By-and-by cash ran short, and no remittances arrived, so having exhausted their credit, the pair were forced to migrate, and not having means to hire transport, they were obliged to make their way to Mersina on foot. The easiest route is _viâ_ Selefkeh, and by boat along the coast, but instead of taking the road to Selefkeh, they turned by mistake over the mountains towards Mout, and lost their way in the forest. Nahli’s description of their shifts was most amusing: the hardship of the journey, the brutality of the villagers, how they came to a place where the Ermenek Sou runs between lofty precipices; finally, how, half-starved, they reached the village of Bejeh (already mentioned), and begged some food from the villagers, but were refused; whereupon, rendered desperate, they helped themselves, on which a general scrimmage arose, but the two strangers proving very tough customers, the villagers finally gave them some bread and a few piastres, and sent them on their way rejoicing. They reached Mout and at last Mersina in wretched plight, and almost shoeless. Nahli never received a “para” of pay, and poor Peyronnet was afterwards sent to Constantinople by means of a subscription got up at Mersina, but was killed in a duel a short time after his arrival there.

Such adventurers are as yet somewhat uncommon in Turkey, but I have heard that in China and India they abound.

Of the ancient town Germanicopolis, on the site of which Ermenek stands, nothing remains excepting numerous rock tombs high up in the face of the cliff, but all rifled, although of course foolish tales, of treasures hidden in them, abound. There is a rock fortress in the precipice above the town, consisting of caves and galleries in the rock, faced here and there by walls. It is now inaccessible, as an earthquake has shaken down the stone staircase by which it was reached. Huge masses of rock overhang the town; occasionally one falls and smashes a house or two, but hitherto without much loss of life.

I could obtain no information as to my proposed route, so finally decided to make for Alata, which seemed according to the map the nearest spot to Isaura. As this would necessarily take us through the country round Allah Dagh, I inquired at the Government House if the district were safe for travel, and was assured that at present I need be under no apprehension, although a short time back it had been unsafe. This accorded with what I had heard at Karaman.

_June 29th._—Could not start before 10.30 A.M. Rode up the rock stair by which we had come, to the heights above the town, and then turned northwards. The road was level and easy, but one of the very few uninteresting roads I have seen in Asia Minor, as it lay through a valley between rocks of rough limestone, which cut off the prospect. At intervals we passed caves inhabited by bee-keepers. The shelves at their sides, and on stages, were filled with sections of pine trunks serving as hives. The botany of Ermenek is specially rich in flowers, and the honey is of superior quality.

At 1.30 we emerged from the valley. Altoun Tash Dagh (“Golden Stone Mountain”), an isolated mass, was in front, on our left a wide mountain landscape was in sight, with a long range of snow mountains of great height extending from W. to N.W. They are above Alaya, and our cavass called them Geueu Dagh. The intermediate country is full of lower ranges of mountains, which quite conceal the base of the snow range. There are no villages in all that district, only during the summer months a few Yourouks wander throughout it.

We halted to allow our horses to graze on a beautiful bit of pasture, but its owner speedily made his appearance, and we pacified him by a few piastres. He came from Durnebul, a village five hours from Ermanek; the hail-storm of the 27th had reached even thus far. It had killed near the village two men and a boy, and many animals; the goats, however, had sheltered themselves in the crevices of the rocks, and not many had been killed. The ripening crops here are very much cut up, and the hail is still lying in places a foot deep.

Soon after we passed along high ground at the edge of a very beautiful and extensive depressed valley which lay some two thousand feet below us. It is a large district, well cultivated and full of villages, and is called “Nawàhi.” The slopes to the mountain plateaux above it are fresh and green, and full of dense forests of “ketràn.” Across the upper end of this depression runs a range of great precipices, under which the Calycadnus takes its rise. Another river, which flows into the Calycadnus, rose almost beneath our feet.

In a line with the upper end of “Nawàhi” we passed along a narrow and dangerous rock path on the mountain side; the limestone here was extremely solid, almost like marble. I noticed many fossils of galerite embedded in it, and a large quantity of bivalves like the scallop, as large as the largest Red Sea oyster-shells.

At 4.30 we reached Altoun Tash Dagh; we had Gelibel Dagh on our right, Muharram Bel Dagh in front. Gelibel, as seen from our side, is a vast slope, terminating suddenly in a mighty precipice from the highest edge. All these mountains are bare masses of the very hardest limestone, the surface of them cracked and split into fissures innumerable, as if they had been suddenly exposed to the action of great cold, or of water, whilst yet glowing with heat as forced upwards from the bowels of the earth.

The climate here is exactly like the finest spring weather in England, only bright, dry, and bracing. The turf is thick and soft, the wheat only two to three inches high. In the hollows of the mountains are many little valleys, beautifully green and full of herbage and young crops.

At 5 P.M. we came to a Yourouk encampment, the last human habitation we should find for many hours. When possible I always stayed at a Yourouk camp, rather than in a village. The people themselves are civil and hospitable, their tents are in general neat and clean, and their food, which comprises good bread, eggs, milk, and yaourt—sometimes, even excellent butter—is usually far superior to the food which is to be found in the villages. We were very kindly received, by an old lady who gave up her tent to us, brought out fine yorghans, &c., and was most hospitable. She is a widow, having only one daughter, a married woman who came to see us, and brought her two little children for a bit of sugar each. When I asked the old lady, if she had any son, “No,” she said, “they are all gone, all extinct (gitdi-teukendi); only I and my daughter are left.” The young woman wore no veil. Her headdress was loaded with silver coin, “all the fruit of her own hard work,” said the old lady with pardonable pride. I noticed here the belts which the women wore, consisting of a broad band of green or yellow leather, on which is fixed a number of bosses of wrought silver, very heavy and solid.

Our hostess was evidently in comfortable circumstances; the tent was well provided, her husband’s gun and sword were hanging in their place, and there was a number of goats’ hair sacks full of wheat and other commodities. She brought us a supper of sandwiches, of new barley bread fried in butter, with cheese between, excellent yaourt and milk, and a dish of crumbled bread, somewhat resembling macaroni fried in butter, with new wheaten bread unleavened.

When I lay down to sleep she drew out from a leathern case a fine “killim” carpet, covered me with it in a most motherly way, and withdrew to her daughter’s tent. In the morning I gave her an extra “bucksheesh” and a present of tea.