Chapter VI

THE SAVROON AND SOMBAZ RIVERS. ROCK FORTRESSES OF ANAZARBA AND SIS.

_May 9th._—Awakened by the sound of many goat-skin churns all around us. The women of the village were hard at work churning last night’s and this morning’s milk. In another place milking was going on, and in a third bread-making. Two women squatted facing each other, each with a small round wooden table in front of her, by her side was a mass of well-kneaded flour and water in a wooden bowl; taking a bit of this, as large as the fist, the woman dexterously rolled it out flat on the table, by means of a small rolling-pin, about as thick as a ruler, and then presented it, hanging on the roller, to a third woman, seated near a fire close by, over which stood a tripod, covered with a round plate of iron, slightly convex, on this she laid the thin sheet of dough, which she had dexterously received from the other woman upon a similar rolling-pin. It was just warmed through, and then the baking was sufficient; soon a heap of these thin cakes was piled at her side.

Near the door of our hut was one of the native threshing machines. This primitive instrument is a thick piece of pine wood, thickly set on the under side with flint stones, fixed along the grain of the wood (Isaiah xli. 15); on this a man sits and is dragged by a pair of bullocks round and round upon the heap of grain which is to be threshed out.

The fort consists of a large square keep and another square tower, at some distance towards the S.W. of the cliff. On the N.E. side is an enclosure, surrounded by walls, and a small tower, with a gateway and pointed arch. The cliff is as steep but not quite so high as Boudroum. The line of turf was in strong contrast with the deep red of the rock.

I observed here the only ferry on the river for several days’ distance (as we heard), but there was at present no boat. It consisted of a wooden stage, with upright posts, and a windlass on which to roll the tow rope, set horizontally between the uprights; the bars were fixed in the roller. It would not be easy to punt or row a boat at present across the rapid stream, and this, perhaps, may account for the extremely few boats there are on the river. Although both the Jeihaàn and Seihoun have fish, though not of good quality, and abound with enormous eels, there are no fishermen; the Osmanlis are not fish-eaters, at least in Cilicia.

We started at 7.30 A.M., passing along the river bank, between the river and the foot of the cliff. Then turning round the S.W. corner of the mountain, we made for Anazarba. The immediate neighbourhood of the mountain, and the plain for some distance round it, is covered with fields of fine barley, which seemed especially luxuriant under the mountain, owing to the shade and moisture it afforded; there was abundance of clover, equal to the sown clover of an English field, as deep as the horses’ knees (of course growing wild), and a perfect parterre of brilliant flowers, red, blue, white, and yellow, colouring the whole surface of the plain, and filling the air with their scent. The marigold, buttercup, poppy, and bugloss of an intense blue, were the most plentiful. Although the sun is very powerful, the stiff, tenacious soil has not yet parted with its moisture, and the heavy night dews, with an occasional thunder shower, keep every place full of verdure; still, rain is much needed for the cotton and sesame crops.

Anazarba is about four hours distant in a direct line, but the plain was full of marshes, and the Savroon,[12] a deep and rapid stream, had to be crossed. There was a bridge on the direct road, but it had been broken down, and, it is needless to add, not repaired. We were obliged, therefore, to make a long détour. Every now and then we turned towards Anazarba in hope of being able to cross to it, but at every encampment we heard the same report, namely, that it was impossible to cross the river or the marshes. At length, after passing through Endal and Boz-Koyou Keui, and retracing our road nearly to Bazaar, we came to Orta Oglou Keui, about one hour S.W. from Bazaar, and were told of a ford, a little below Bazaar, by which we should be able to cross. The Savroon here separates into two branches, which unite again a little below. We crossed the first branch, the water being up to the horse’s belly, and the stream very rapid; a number of cattle and people were also crossing, amongst others a Turk and his wife; the woman was supported on either side by her husband and another man. Fords such as this are sometimes very dangerous, so easily may one be carried off and drowned when trying to cross these rapid mountain streams. The second ford was about one hour to the S.W., but this was easy to cross; we rested awhile on the opposite bank, but there was not a tree, scarcely a bush, to afford shelter from the scorching sun, and then continued our way, always keeping the great rock of Anazarba on our left till we had passed three-fourths round it. Then we turned towards it, and at 2.50 P.M. crossed the Sombaz by a bridge of two arches. This, too, is a deep and rapid stream, but less of a mountain torrent than the Savroon. Its source is a great spring, or collection of springs, in the mountains at Boujak, six hours from Anazarba, on the edge of the plain to the N.E., and its water is clearer than the Savroon. It flowed from our right to our left at the bridge, and its general course is towards the south. These streams unite not far from Anazarba, then the Sombaz sweeps round the east end of the mountain and falls into the Jeihaàn, about three hours from Anazarba.

We reached Anazarba at 4.30 P.M., having been eight hours and a half in the saddle. This great rock fortress, once the chief stronghold of the earlier princes in the Armenian dynasty of Roupen, is on the top of a high mountain, which in most places presents only precipitous walls of rock. The site of the ancient city is under the precipice, and a double line of wall with an exterior ditch surrounds it. After passing through a ruined sally-port in the wall near the great gate, which is itself blocked up, we alighted at the house of a Syrian of Tripoli, named Nicola Arslan. This man had been a farmer of the revenue, and had purchased the dîme of the district round Anazarba. The speculation turned out badly, and according to his own account, which is probably exaggerated, he lost 70,000 piastres (nearly 660_l._); not discouraged, however, he bought from the Government the land round Anazarba, including, I suppose, the site of the old city. The price paid seems ridiculously small, it was fifteen Turkish piastres (about three francs) per “douloum” (the douloum equals about forty square metres). The conditions of purchase were as usual, payment of the Government dîme, and obligation to keep the land under cultivation; if left uncultivated for five years (_I think_) the land “ipso facto” reverts to the Government.

Arslan is said to be a very daring and resolute man, so that even the thievish prowling Circassians avoid him; and I should say, judging from his looks, that he would not hesitate to shoot down any one of them whom he might catch stealing his cattle.

A little colony of Syrians (Greek Christians) has gathered round him here, nearly all of whom are in his employ, and they suffer no Muslim or Circassian to reside amongst them. We heard that before this man settled in the place, Anazarba was by no means secure, owing to marauders from the Circassian villages around; now however it is safe. The village consists of some twenty houses, built inside the circuit of the wall; and the houses are much superior to those in most of the villages we had seen. Arslan lived in a long low house of one story, with an open corridor all along the front. From this corridor the door opens into a wide barn-like place, the roof of which is supported by stout timber pillars. One portion of this is used as a stable, another part as a storehouse, where the grain, &c., is kept, and a third part serves for a kitchen; the flooring of all this is earth. At the farther end is a small room with a floor of planking, fitted up with cupboards, &c. This serves for Arslan’s parlour, bedroom, and everything else. Like most of the rooms we saw, it is low and dark, its small windows only admitting a feeble light, although the sun may be shining brilliantly outside. It was furnished with a number of fine yorghans, carpets, and cushions. We were hospitably received, and I kept up a conversation with our host in Arabic. He said he hoped for a good harvest this year to make up for some of his losses. He did not like the country, but what could he do? The inundations of the past few months had caused him much damage, and he had not been able to bring down his supply of firewood, so deep and wide had been the flood on the plain. His land was very fertile, and never required manure. He sowed cotton one year, the next either barley or wheat, but in consequence of want of water, no second crop could be grown in the year, so that the land lay fallow three to four months. The villagers never grew beans or peas because “it was not the custom.”

Arslan did not indulge in the luxury of knives, spoons, and forks, but ate with his fingers, in the native style. He seemed a soured and disappointed man, and his athletic form, and strongly marked and gloomy features, as he sat smoking his narghileh, testified that he would prove an awkward customer in a “difficulty.” He was, however, very polite to us. After a long conversation, and pledging us repeatedly in some “raki” which we had brought with us from Bazaar, he lent us some yorghans, and we lay down to sleep, but the heat of the room, and the multitude of fleas, kept me awake nearly all night!

_May 10th._—Rose at sunrise. A dense fog over the whole country. Asked my host if this place was healthy; he replied, “Yes! he had lived here some six or seven years, and had always enjoyed good health; the heat was not excessive, as it was tempered by the sea-breeze. They had only cistern or well water, somewhat brackish, but abundant, and not unwholesome.”

As I have before said, the great rock of Anazarba forms on one side a line of vast precipitous cliffs, which sink like a wall to the depth of some 600 to 800 feet. Under this stupendous rock lay the old city enclosed by a double wall and ditch; the latter, although almost filled up, can still be plainly traced; the outer wall also is quite ruined, and in some parts very little of it is left. A great part of the inner wall is still in excellent preservation. It is a thick wall of large hewn stones, with upwards of fifty square towers at regular intervals, the towers being about 33 feet square. It is entirely a restoration of a debased age, and constructed from the ruins of the former city, all sorts of fragments having been inserted in it in course of building. The general outline of the site is an irregular parallelogram, of which the precipice forms one side, the end of the wall at either side being built up to the precipice. The interior presents nothing but a confused mass of ruins, overgrown with brushwood, turf, weeds, and long rank grass. Scarcely a portion of any building stands erect and perfect. There are the ruins of a large church and of a gymnasium, great shapeless masses of rubble wall faced with brick. Four gates remain. The principal is the great gateway near which we entered; this is blocked up, and only a small broken sally-port is now used; opposite to it is the triumphal arch. Between them ran a line of street, once bordered, as at Boudroum and Pompeiopolis, by two lines of columns. But not a column remains erect, and not one is perfect; indeed, it would appear as if they had never been finished, for I did not observe a single capital. Most of them are of limestone, some of grey granite, and they are scattered about the town in the strangest manner, as if rolled out of the way after the earthquake which destroyed the town, and there left.

Anazarba has suffered from earthquakes almost more than any city known. Three great earthquakes are recorded, each of which almost utterly destroyed it; the first was in the reign of Nerva, the second and worst was in the reign of Justin. In the reign of his successor, Justinian, it was again destroyed in the same way, and the existing walls of the town were built by order of the Emperor. Strangely enough one edifice alone of the old city seems to have escaped destruction. It is the Arch of Triumph, which still stands—magnificent, though shorn of its original grandeur—at the other extremity of the colonnade, and within the circuit of Justinian’s wall. It contains a central arch of ornate Corinthian style, and two smaller side arches of plain Ionic. A wall on either side, with Corinthian pilasters, forms an approach to the archway, and is as high as the archway itself, thus making a kind of large open court in front of it, but this is cumbered with huge masses of carved stone and fragments of columns that have fallen from their bases; all three arches, however, are still perfect.

Each of the piers at the side of the great arch was once faced by two granite columns, resting on a base that projected from the general frontage of the archway. These columns had supported a massive architrave, adorned with wreaths of foliage, &c. Above the architrave was an equally massive pediment, ornamented in a similar way, and although the columns have fallen, much of the architrave and its pediment still remain in their place, so great and solid are the blocks of which they are carved, and the huge stones by which their weight is still partly sustained.

The whole upper portion of the Arch of Triumph is in ruin, its great stones dislocated and threatening to fall; but it is strange how even so much of this fine monument should have survived the many shocks of earthquake by which this country has been convulsed. Besides the three arches, an arched passage traverses the piers from side to side.

The subjoined are the measurements which I took of the dimensions of the gateway, but I find that they differ both from those given by Texier, and from the measurements of my companion, which themselves also widely differ.

There is no inscription upon the Arch of Triumph, but it is of a style common towards the end of the second century, and in many respects it resembles the architecture of the Roman part of the temple at Baalbec.

On the left-hand side, beyond the Arch of Triumph, and close under the precipice, is the site of the theatre. Only its general outline can be made out, nothing is left of it but a few pieces of granite columns and fragments of rudely carved architrave. Behind the theatre is a roughly hewn rock staircase, which forms the shortest ascent to the first enceinte of the fortress. Directly in front of the archway, but at a distance of about 200 yards, is the site of the stadium. It was formed by cutting away some projecting pieces of rock, and the precipice formed one side of it. The position of the seats is still visible.

Three aqueducts supplied Anazarba with water, all derived from different spots in the mountains on the edge of the plain northwards from the city. One of them is of pipes carried underground, the two others were on arches. Of one, thirty-two large arches are still standing, a little way outside the north gate by which we entered, and its line of fallen arches may be traced all across the plain till lost to sight. The line of the other may be traced, but none of its arches are standing. In front of the gate is a building into which these aqueducts led, and which seems to have served for the distribution of the water. The construction of the remaining aqueduct was simple, but strong, of rubble masonry, cased with hewn stones. The water-way was of brickwork lined with cement. A great accumulation of stony deposit from the water has formed on the piers and in the arches.

The “prise d’eau” of the great aqueduct is about six hours to the north of Anazarba, near the village of Boujak. A vast number of springs rise here, and the source of the Sombaz is at this spot; there is also not far from the village one of the border fortresses. The “prise d’eau” of the second aqueduct is at a place called Hammamkeui, some two hours distant N.W. by W. of Anazarba. The “prise d’eau” of the underground aqueduct is about two hours distant to the N.W., at a place called “Allahpongar,” or, as my informant pronounced it, “Allahpoir.” The Sombaz sweeps along the N.E. side of the mountain, and falls into the Savroon, and their united streams enter the Jeihaàn, about three hours from Anazarba.

After breakfast a guide came to show us over the fortress; the easiest way of ascent is by the rock steps behind the theatre, but he said there was another path up a ravine, a little way outside the Arch of Triumph. The ravine winds upwards amidst great fallen blocks of rock, and under smooth overhanging rock walls; a little distance up it are some inscriptions, apparently funereal, but scarcely legible. After emerging from the ravine, we began to mount the rock. The whole surface of this rock and of the neighbouring mountain slopes are covered with huge sarcophagi, all broken and displaced, and with many arched tombs of masonry. About half-way up to the fortress are the remains of a church, the lower part of which (fully half) is quarried in the hard blue rock; the upper part was built of extremely massy blocks of the same materials. It had three apse windows, and pilasters of the Ionic order. Bulky and heavy as are the blocks of which it was constructed, they have been thrown or rolled to some considerable distance, and testify to the violent shocks of earthquake, which have destroyed the town. A road quarried in the rock, and bordered by sarcophagi, led us at last to the outer wall of the first enceinte. This wall is of yellow limestone, with towers at regular intervals, and extends quite across the mountain top, from the cliff above the city to the cliff on the other side. The gateway, now in ruin, is on the left-hand side over the city; all the towers are of like construction, the upper story is vaulted, and each one has a large cistern under it for collecting rain-water. A way, which is reached from the inside by a number of flights of stone steps, runs all along the battlements. The wall along the edge of the east cliff, on the side away from the city, has fallen down in places, and although on that side the precipices are not perpendicular, as over the city, yet they are practically inaccessible. The garrison, however, must have had some means of descent, as there is a gateway on that side. It was closed by folding doors, which of course have long since disappeared. On either side of the doorway are strong stone sockets, to receive the upright bar on which the gate swung, and there is a deep orifice in the wall at the side of the door, into which to push back the bar which fastened it, exactly as one sees on a smaller scale in the native houses in Egypt.

In the middle of the first enceinte is a small square church, the sepulchral chapel of the Roupenian barons of Cilicia as long as Anazarba was the capital of the country. It is composed of a nave and two aisles, arched and vaulted with brick. The roof was supported by four square pillars of hewn stone, one of which has fallen. It has a triple apse at the east end, in which and in other parts of the building, traces of fresco painting may be seen, but all imperfect. It has three doors; round the arch of the south door is a pretty Arabic ornamentation, and a long Armenian inscription runs round the building on the outside under the eaves. In other respects this chapel is of extremely plain construction.

Between the first and second enceinte of the fortress is a large tower standing alone. It is possible to reach this tower, and we succeeded in doing so, by climbing over a rock at the left-hand corner, but it requires a steady eye and foot, for the edge of the great precipice above the city is at the foot of this rock, only a few yards distant, and slightly concealed by a thin fringe of grass and herbage. On a stone high up on the near side of the tower is a long Armenian inscription. The inner enceinte is quite inaccessible from this side, for between it and the tower the rock has been cut away so as to form a kind of ditch, over which a drawbridge afforded a passage in the old days. The rock at the bottom of this ditch is not flat, but cut to a sharp angle like the high pitched roof of a house, and even if this could be crossed, there is no direct access to the fortress beyond, except by a most dangerous path at the foot of the wall, where the least false step would inevitably prove fatal, as close below, the great precipice descends like a wall. I should have supposed that nothing but a chamois or a mountain goat could traverse such a path, but our guide said he had passed along it several times. There is an easier access from the other side of the old city below, but we did not visit this inner enceinte, the heat of the sun and the fatigue of mounting being very great. There are a few Armenian and (we were told) Italian inscriptions in it.

I observed no inscription inside the city, but in the rock, about 300 yards beyond the great gate, on the road to Sis, and opposite the arches of the aqueduct, is a bas-relief, the upper part of which is still in tolerably good preservation. A long inscription had been carved in the rock below it, but only a small portion of it remains, the whole of the lower part being obliterated. I give it as well as I could decipher it, but it is high up, and in the brilliant sunlight very difficult to make out. In front of the first figure in the second compartment is carved what appears like the head and beak of a vulture.

ΚΡΟΚΟΣ ΠΑΠΗΣ ΤΕ=ΦΟΝ ΑΛΛΗΚΙΟΣ ΙΕΓΑΡΑ
ΑΓΟΝΩΝΣΥΝΟΥΧΟΝΦΥΛΑΣΣΟΜΕ
ΙΗ ΑΝΟΙΓΕΟΥΠΑΡΘ
]

After resting awhile at Arslan’s house, we started at about 2 P.M. for Sis. We followed the line of the aqueduct till we came to the village of Hadjilar, about one hour from Anazarba. The villagers had gone to their yaila in the mountains, and there did not seem to be a single inhabitant left to keep watch over the luxuriant crops of wheat and barley, round the place. Here we crossed by a bridge one of the tributaries of the Sombaz, a deep and sluggish stream, but were obliged to make a long détour to avoid the deep mud in front of the bridge. If this be the condition of the road, now summer is so nigh, what must it be during winter! The arches of the aqueduct, which had been gradually diminishing in size, and becoming constantly more ruinous since we left Anazarba, continue in a straight line towards the mountains. We left them on the right, and turned towards the N.W. A short distance beyond Hadjilar we entered the hills, and a succession of smaller plains, at a higher level than the great plain.

The country is covered by the flocks and herds of the Turkmans. At several of their encampments I noticed fine greyhounds. Although the heat was great, these dogs had a covering on the back and loins.

These Turkmans are the makers of the Karamanian “Killim” carpets, which they weave on an upright frame. The designs are traditional, and probably have been handed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. The material is entirely of sheep’s wool, spun by the women; the dyes are mostly vegetable; the red, of the madder root (kizil boya) and cochineal insect; the yellow, of the yellow berry; the blue, of indigo; the green, a preparation of copper or arsenic, is imported from Europe. They have also a beautiful deep brown dye, but I could not learn what it was. Although these carpets are inferior to the carpets of Persia or Khorassan, their beauty and brilliancy are remarkable. A number of very fine “Killim” carpets (I heard) had been exhibited at the Vienna Exhibition, by a Greek merchant of Adana. They had attracted much attention, and gained a prize, but the poor weavers themselves appear to draw but little profit from their skill. “Sic vos non vobis,” is the rule in Turkey. At one of the encampments the people showed me some specimens; they asked a price for them at the rate of 3_l._ to 3_l._ 10_s._ for a carpet measuring about 13 feet by 4 feet. But I was told by our interpreter that their selling price was less than this. Of course it is the Oriental custom always to ask more than the amount for which the article will be sold.

The approach to Sis is very beautiful, from the picturesque appearance of the great red rock, with the fortress on its top, backed by a broken range of mountains of the deepest purple tint. A little stream descends the valley, along which the road from Anazarba passes, and its course is marked by gardens and orchards full of orange and lemon trees, an uncommon sight in Cilicia.

The town of Sis is on the steep slope at the base of the mountain. It looks well from a distance, but like most Eastern towns its beauty is all external. It is a wretched decaying place, consisting of ruinous stone houses, filthy in the extreme, and (unlike Marash) appears to have no special industry. The people, who are chiefly Armenian Christians, present a very wretched appearance.

We alighted at the khan after about four hours’ ride. The appearance of our lodging was not very inviting, and I preferred to sleep outside on a bench, rather than in the room which the khanji offered. The room was fitted up with a stage about 3 feet high, but in place of stairs a loose stone was placed. This was the only help for mounting the stage, so that every time one descended there was a risk of spraining the ankle, and every time one mounted it was necessary to be very cautious not to strike the head against a beam placed exactly above the edge of the stage, and carefully arranged as to height above the stage for the head to dash against it; my friend, who was tall, struck his head against the beam several times.

(Afternoon)

_Stanford’s Geogˡ. Estabᵗ._]

And here I must digress, in order to make a few remarks on the stupid “insouciance” of the Orientals. If, as was the case at Sis, a stage be placed in a room, it is usually so high that there is difficulty in mounting, and risk of a fall in stepping down from it, and very seldom is it thought necessary to arrange two or three steps, by which to go up or down. I noticed in several places flights of stairs, stone and wood, the upper step of which is less in width than the others, so that a stranger descending in the dark is very apt to fall, for who could anticipate such a perverse arrangement? Holes in stairs or floors are never repaired, and if you put your foot through one of them and hurt yourself, so much the worse for you! Nothing will be done until the stairs or floors are so utterly ruined that they cannot be repaired, but must be renewed. Again, if there be any inconvenient place in which to fix a nail, or a piece of wood, in itself utterly useless! so that it may wound hand, or face, or eye, or head, there, where one has least reason to expect it, it is certain to be found.

The Oriental, however, is seldom or never “in a hurry,” and by reason of his slow, deliberate, movements suffers less from such inconveniences than the more impetuous European. Still, all these _little_ matters mark the general character of the people, and if there are two ways of arranging anything, or doing anything, the one easy, safe, and convenient, the other difficult, inconvenient, or dangerous, the latter is that which these Orientals will prefer to adopt; and I am convinced that the Osmanlis, if left to themselves, would go on for centuries exactly as they go on now; there would be no change, no improvement, nothing but stagnation and decay!

_May 11th._—The fatigue and heat of the last two or three days had quite exhausted us, and we felt but little inclination for the hard work of ascending to the top of the mountain, on which is the old fortress of Sis, an expedition, as we heard, far more laborious and difficult than the examination of the fortress of Anazarba. But besides this, my friend was already suffering from the first attacks of the disease which a fortnight later, alas! was to prove fatal to him. We therefore determined to give up to-day to comparative rest, and on the morrow to make the best of our way to Adana, where some degree of comfort, and medical help if needed, could be obtained.

Excepting the fortress and the Church of the Patriarchate, which is on the site of the old palace of the Armenian kings, Sis offers nothing whatever of interest. Although Sis is the seat of the Patriarchate, the Patriarch prefers to reside at Aintab, only coming to Sis at intervals “because (we heard) the Armenians of Sis do not show him much respect or regard.”

The monastery containing his palace, with its garden, and the church, is some hundreds of feet above the town, and the whole forms a triangular space, surrounded by a high wall.

Although unable to exert himself to any great extent, my friend paid a visit with me to the church. We were received by the resident priest, a man of about fifty, with an extremely handsome face, aquiline nose, and bright piercing eyes. We saw no other ecclesiastic, and he appeared to be living almost alone, in this dreary solitude.

After entering the lower gate of the enclosure, we passed, by means of successive flights of steps, from one platform to another. The whole is a confused assemblage of courtyards, corridors, rooms large and small, but all in a dirty and neglected condition. The priest received us in the house of the Patriarch, which is at the highest point of the triangular enclosure, and looks down upon the town, with its flat-roofed houses built in terraces, one row rising above the other. The monastery with most of the church was built by the Patriarch Kyriakos in about 1810, but already is falling to ruin, being in a sad state of neglect and disrepair. This Patriarch was afterwards murdered by the chief Turkman Bey of the district.

The church is a spacious square building, with a flat roof supported by square pillars of masonry. At its east end are the usual three apse-like recesses, each with its altar. Over the central altar is a canopy of Italian stucco work, covered with gilding, all in very bad taste. The walls at this end of the church are inlaid for some feet from the ground with porcelain tiles resembling those in the mosque of Sultan Suleiman at Constantinople. There is another shrine on the north side of the church, to which a steep flight of stone steps led up. This shrine also was richly ornamented with stucco work and gilding. The Patriarch had a seat there, as well as one in the nave. Pictures of the usual quaint style were hung in various parts of the church. In front of the central apse, the floor of which was raised high above the floor of the church, are a number of quaintly carved bronze lions, which serve as stands for two large and rather fine brass candelabras. The most remarkable thing in the church is the marble chair in which the kings of Armenia sat at their coronation. On the back and sides of the chair is carved their blazon, a lion rampant, and a double eagle. In the north-west corner are the tombs of several of the patriarchs. The portico along the west front of the church is in a most dangerous state of disrepair, and may fall at any moment. Our guide said that on the return or next visit of the Patriarch it would be repaired; but it appeared doubtful whether it would remain erect for many days!

Against the wall, under the portico, were hung what served as the bells of the church (for the Muslims in general hold bells in the utmost abhorrence), viz. a large piece of iron, a large and thick piece of wood, and a smaller similar piece. These are sounded at different times, according to the divine service that is to be celebrated.

Although I put many questions through our interpreter to the Armenians with whom I came in contact, not one could give me the least information about the history or antiquities of their town; so that, though there are several other churches (all, however, in a ruinous state), I could find out nothing about them; my account of Sis is, therefore, of necessity very incomplete.

The fortress, as seen from below, appears to crown the rugged points of the mountain in several places, and a high wall enclosing the whole follows the undulations of the surface. It has precipices of enormous depth on almost every side, and must have been nearly impregnable in the old days. With the capture of the fortress of Sis, by El Melek el Ashraf, Sultan of Egypt, in 1374, the Armenian dynasty in Cilicia ceased to reign; for, although the king, Leo VI. (of Lusignan) succeeded in escaping to the mountains, he was blockaded in the fortress of Capan, which is to the N.W. of Sis, and after a siege of nine months was forced to surrender by famine, and with his family sent prisoner to Cairo. To my great regret I was prevented from visiting the fortress, owing to the intense heat and to my friend’s ill-health.

_May 12th._—Left at 9 A.M. for Adana. We crossed the river of Sis, the Kesik Tchai, by a bridge of ten arches, some round, some pointed. Messis, and the fortress of Toumlo Kalaat, were in a line S.W. by S. The number of springs in the mountain range to the north of Sis must be very great, for we crossed no less than three large streams and several brooks in the course of the morning, all flowing southwards toward the Jeihaàn. At 10 A.M. we crossed Deli Tchai; at 10.30 A.M. another stream equally large, the Kara Pongar Tchai; at 11 A.M. the brook of Idam, near the village of the same name. We passed the sites of several ancient villages. At 11.30 we came to a single standing column amidst many fallen columns and bases “in situ,” with cisterns and rock tombs, amongst them several blocks of rock roughly carved into the form of steps. The route was dreary and uninteresting. None of the high mountains could be seen, as they were enveloped in mist and vapour. The heat was intense, and there was not a tree, nor even a bush, to afford the slightest shelter from the burning rays of the sun. At 1 P.M. we came to a deep muddy brook bordered by bushes; on the outside of the parapet of the bridge which spanned it, was a single tree, but it cast no shade on our side, and there was not a bush large enough to afford cover, so that I was obliged to hang my coat upon the highest I could find, and crouch beneath it for shelter. At 1.50 we crossed another large brook, and from this point the country became more broken and mountainous. At 3.30 we crossed a large brook fed by melted snow, and having a considerable village near it.

We were now in a district of the most beautiful hills and downs, with dells full of pasturage rich and green, and watered by an abundance of small streams. These hills are of conglomerate, covered with clay, and the stiff, tenacious soil parts with its moisture very slowly, so that, although the sun is fierce, the verdure is still fresh. A cool breeze from the S.W. was blowing, and we had emerged from the dull, stifling heat of the plain. It is strange how quickly air and vegetation change as one ascends; the air becomes pure and bracing, and the cystus, with the snow-drop tree and other mountain shrubs, again begin to appear. We had intended to halt for the night at a khan called Khan Deresi, but a peasant whom we met told us it was closed, and no one living in it. After continually ascending we reached at 6 P.M. a district of poor and rocky soil, covered with brushwood, and dismounted at the summer encampment of the villagers of Keumerdli Keui; this was merely a few huts of wattle and brushwood, and there were no tents. The villagers offered us yorghans, but could give us no kind of shelter, except a goats’ hair rug stretched upon poles. It was but a poor defence against rain, but it was all they could provide, so we piled our baggage under it, hoping thus to secure it in some measure from wet, and prepared to bivouac. Yaourt and milk were brought. Our interpreter made coffee and pilaff, but no barley could be had for the horses, so they were tethered out at a little distance from the camp to graze, and, for fear of thieves, two of the villagers were told off to keep watch over them during the night. In the midst of these arrangements the headman came up to say that two suspicious characters, known to be thieves, had come into the camp. Hereupon a council was held. Nothing would have been easier than for such rogues, when everyone was asleep, to make a dash upon the horses, to escape with them, and to sell them for anything they would fetch in some remote village, where there would be no danger of inconvenient inquiries. In order to prevent such thefts, it is the custom at night to fetter the horses’ fore-legs by means of a chain, with clips passing round the leg. The chain is fastened by a very ingenious contrivance, which, however, it is not easy to describe. At one end of the chain is a small cylinder of iron, closed at either end by a plate pierced in such a shape as to admit the passage of an iron bolt, which is attached to the other end of the chain. To the sides of this bolt pieces of iron are fastened, like springs, which, as the bolt is forced in, close up, and so all can pass through the opening in the cylinder plate. After passing through it they again expand, and thus the bolt cannot be withdrawn except by means of the key, which is inserted at the other end of the cylinder, and has notches or angles exactly fitting the springs, so that when this key is forced down upon the bolt the springs are again closed up, and the bolt can be withdrawn. After awhile the headman came to me, and asked if they should “put on the irons.” “Yes,” said the interpreter, “you must do it.” “Of course,” I said, “then there will be no danger,” thinking they meant to fetter the horses’ legs. Hearing a scuffle soon afterwards, I went up to see what was the matter, and great was my surprise at finding that the two rogues had been clapped in the irons instead of the horses! They did not, however, seem at all indignant, as honest men would have been, but laughed, and took it all good-humouredly enough. By-and-by one of them drew out a kind of fife, and began to play a tune.

We appointed another watchman to look after them, and then lay down to sleep. It rained heavily in the night, and the most vivid lightning was playing in all directions along the distant mountain ridges, displaying their jagged crests and peaks for a moment in brilliant light, to be succeeded instantly by pitchy darkness. The thunder was extremely heavy, but I slept at intervals. In the morning the villagers gave our prisoners their breakfast, and let them go. I went to take a look at them, and was convinced that the headman had done wisely in securing them. Thief and vagabond were written on their faces. They did not seem at all disconcerted, but laughed at me, when I came up. One was dressed in an old cotton quilted gown, the other in a dress of sheepskins with the wool inside. They had been lying out in the rain all night, but seemed none the worse for it, and accepted all as a matter of course. The headman said he was sure they had come with the intention of stealing anything they could lay hands on, and had he not put them in irons, we should probably have missed some of our horses in the morning. I fear such an interference with the liberty of the subject would hardly have passed off so easily in Europe!

_May 13th._—Left our bivouac at 6 A.M. The route was over hills of conglomerate covered with stiff clay, a very difficult road in wet weather. The horses slipped continually, sometimes even to the very edge of the deep ravines cut by the streams. In about half an hour we passed the khan; a small party of travellers had taken shelter in one of the buildings belonging to it, but the people of the khan were absent; and here began a succession of thunderstorms, which, with brief intervals, lasted all the day. The lightning, thunder, and rain were most violent; the passage of the valleys was literally through miles of mud and water; sometimes the road crossed a ridge of hills, where there was a rocky or sandy soil, but it was extremely difficult to advance at all through the valleys, and over the clay slopes. At length, amidst incessant rain, we reached the edge of the great plain, and came in sight of Adana. It was still about an hour and a half distant. For more than seven hours on that day we had suffered, with but slight intermissions, from a violent tempest of rain and hail, with lightning and thunder, and now the storm raged more heavily than ever. The road was a perfect quagmire, covered with water a foot deep. The ditches became great running streams, and we could only advance step by step. We passed many of the country people; their condition in wet weather is wretched in the extreme. Their food, their clothing, and their lodging, are ill adapted to resist the inclement weather that sometimes prevails here in winter and spring; and at seasons like the present, fever and dysentery commit great ravages amongst them. Some of them were toiling up to the middle in mud and water, under great loads of firewood, others were tugging along camels that looked as miserable as their owners! There was no shelter for miles: even the very cattle were shrinking together from the pitiless storm! The entrance to the bridge of Adana, and the bridge itself, were crowded with flocks of sheep and goats driven in from the neighbourhood of the town, and the poor little lambs and goats, only a few days or weeks old, were cowering under the parapet to shelter themselves from the storm. We rode through the town to our lodging amidst a deluge of water-spouts from the roofs, and were highly contented at finding ourselves once more in the comparative civilization of Adana.

The interpreter who had hitherto accompanied us was a young Greek of Antioch, named Hanna (John), who could speak a little French. He had received a month’s wages in advance before we left Mersina, and on the journey I had given him various sums. I must admit that hitherto he had behaved extremely well, but either he was tired of the rough life and hardships we had been obliged to endure of late, or perhaps he had received some more eligible offer. However this may have been, he left us at Adana; but with the usual shifty and cunning spirit which seems innate in the Christians of the Levant, he could not do it in a straightforward way. After supper he came in and asked for another advance of wages, which I very unwisely gave him; then later on he returned, said he wished to go to Tarsus to see his family, and promised faithfully to return on the morrow. My companion was most unwilling to consent, but as we should not be able to start again for some days, I persuaded him to agree, although of course it was very embarrassing to be deprived of our interpreter in such a place. I found out afterwards that Hanna remained at the khan, gambling and drinking raki, till near midnight, and then took one of our poor tired horses and started for Tarsus, without any intention of returning; of course, had he said plainly that he wished to leave us, and had he not drawn more money than was due to him, I should have had no ground of complaint whatever against him. Fortunately, I was able to manage tolerably well without him, and our excellent friend Mr. Schiffmann gave us his assistance; so that the man’s conduct did not cause any serious inconvenience.

_May 14th._—A day of rest. All the afternoon, I was vainly expecting the return of our interpreter, according to his promise. At evening we accompanied Mr. Schiffmann to some gardens a little way out of the town, a very general resort of the Adaniotes. Here they sit among alleys of vine, lemon, and orange trees, and listen to the music of some Cypriote Greeks, which is superior to most of the music to be heard in Turkey. The Christians drink small glasses of “raki” (a spirit distilled from grape “must” and flavoured with gum mastic, and which is in consequence called all over Turkey “mastica”), the more sober Muslims drink only coffee. All alike smoke the Syrian water-pipe (narghileh). Very few ladies appear, and even they are veiled up to the eyes, and for the most part keep away from the gentlemen.