Chapter X: Ibreez. the Great Plain. Devleh

_June 8th._—Started for Ibreez, a ride of about three hours. We rode through green lanes bordered by thick hedges and rows of willow and poplar. The crops and flowers were luxuriant, and, as I always found to be the case in this country where water was plentiful, singing birds of many kinds abounded. The wheat was just in bloom, and the climate resembled the very finest June weather in England, excepting that the sun was far more powerful, the air brilliantly clear, and the landscape incomparably more beautiful. A thunderstorm on the preceding evening had rendered everything fresh and green.

On our left, at the foot of a hill, and in a large grove of the greenest trees, is the village of Tont. Being built of mud-bricks of deep red earth, its colour is in strong contrast with the orchards and gardens round it. Above it is the village of Sarijah; below it, and near our route, is Dourlaz. In front of us, to the east, were the orchards of Ghaibe Keui; the view southwards was bounded by a line of mountains, and in a beautiful nook at their foot was the village of Dedekoi; the wide expanse of woodland and cultivated ground around it marked the presence of an abundant source, which there issued from the mountain side. These villages are famed for their excellent fruit, and especially for grapes. Wine is not usually made in this district, but bad “raki” is made in large quantities and meets with a ready consumption, principally from the Armenian Christians of Eregli and its neighbourhood.

Very beautiful were the shadows cast by the clouds on the mountains and the plain. They resembled great bands and expanses of blue, violet, brown, and even black, velvet, according to the nature of the ground on which they were cast.

After passing Dourlaz we entered a lane overgrown with trees—especially huge old walnuts, whose cool shade was most grateful—and traversed by a crystal-clear, and swiftly running brook, an offset of the Ibreez river. I noticed the hazel, bramble, and hawthorn, not now in bloom, with many other of our English trees and flowers. Very remarkable were the number and tameness of the nightingales. They were singing in all directions, and several times, as I passed close by the bush or tree in which the little songster was, I halted near enough to see the open beak and swelling throat from which the rich notes flowed, and the bird neither broke off its melody, nor showed the least sign of fear. The lane resembled some pretty, neglected lane in Devonshire, only much more beautiful. It was a scene which formed a striking contrast to the arid and desolate sterility of the great plain. But perhaps these sudden and almost startling contrasts yield some of the exquisite charms of travel in Asia Minor. After passing Ghaibe Keui, we saw, high up on the mountain side, a lofty precipice of bright red rock, separated from a similar rock by a deep ravine. Ibreez is at its foot. Before us, in the valley, was the village of Xanapa, on a low conical hill. Its river, fed by rain and melted snow, rises in a ravine far up under Bulghar Dagh, but unfortunately this muddy torrent discolours the stream from Ibreez. The Ibreez river is strong, deep, and rapid, clear as crystal, but of a deep blue tint; we rode along it for some distance, and then turned to the right, over a low rocky hill, towards Ibreez. Just then a violent thunderstorm burst over the mountains, and we hurried through the green lanes, and up the rocky ascent that led to the village, and took shelter in the house of the mukhtar, Ali Aga, a retired sub-officer of the Turkish army.

Coffee was served, and when the rain had ceased I went out to see the village. Its position is extremely beautiful, just at the mountain’s base, under the red rocks and deep ravine already mentioned. The houses are mostly of mud-brick, excepting the house of Ali Aga, which is of stone, and is really clean and comfortable. There are about 700 inhabitants, all Muslim. I observed at the mosque a few columns and Corinthian capitals of white marble, but could not learn whence they had been brought. The great charms of Ibreez are its stream, the mass of verdure around it, and the pure, cold, bracing air of the place. The river issues in a great jet from the rock under the western of the two precipices which form the ravine, but all the ground around it is full of springs so vast in volume that at the little bridge, not a hundred yards from the source, it has already become a deep, raging torrent, perfectly impassable, which foams and leaps over the great rocks in its channel of red, black, white, and yellow marble, and white and yellow limestone. A ruined mill some distance down, built in the stream, and groves of splendid walnut trees, made a picturesque addition to the prospect. After I had lingered for a long time admiring this beautiful stream, the mukhtar led me across the bridge and through a grove of walnut trees for some 200 yards down the opposite side of the river. Here a branch from the main stream flows in a deep, narrow channel along the foot of a dark red limestone rock, and upon a portion of its face, that had been prepared for the purpose, were carved a most interesting bas-relief and inscription. I at once determined to remain and make a careful drawing of them. The mukhtar offered his house for our lodging, and I sent back our guide to Eregli to inform the khanji that we should return on the morrow. The guide, a young Armenian, a stout, sturdy fellow, had given us much amusement by his naïve questions. Amongst other things he asked if he could be admitted as a private soldier into the British army. When I asked if he would like to serve in the Sultan’s army, “Yes, willingly,” he replied, “but it is not allowed.” He said he paid thirty piastres per annum as exemption tax from military service (about 5_s._).

It was too late to begin the drawing that day, but one of the villagers offered to show me some ruins in the mountain above the village, which it would be necessary to visit on horseback. Accordingly we mounted and proceeded up the mountain side, till the guide led us into a narrow and savage glen, with precipitous sides of red rock, which wound deep and far up into the heart of the mountain; our road was up the bed of the torrent—now dry—which descended through this narrow cleft, and is encumbered by loose angular blocks of limestone; a great natural arch of rock rose high up in front of us. After an ascent of about half an hour, we saw far above, on the sides of the glen, three small buildings; to the largest of them, on the east side of the glen, we with difficulty mounted.

It proved to be a little Christian chapel, probably a hermitage, now utterly ruined and dismantled, but no doubt once very pretty. The apse had been hewn out of the overhanging rock, and the chapel built on a strong masonry platform. The whole interior had been lined with cement, on which had been painted the figure of our Lord, and saints. But few fragments of these frescoes remain, and only one head, to show what the place had once been.

But the style of art was by no means bad. The expression of the sole remaining face was fine, and the colouring still vivid, although it was probably 900 to 1000 years old—perhaps older—and had been evidently long exposed to the elements through the fall of the roof; the overhanging rock, however, shelters it from sun and rain. It must have been indeed a savage and lonely residence in winter! I did not visit the two smaller chapels, as I was told that no portion of the frescoes in them remained.

As we descended to the spot where our horses were standing, which we had left behind us during the steep ascent, the intense silence of the glen, only broken by the distant song of the thrush, was very impressive.

Our guide showed us an old fortress on the precipice above the village; it was of Byzantine style, but presented nothing of interest.

We found Ali Aga’s house clean and comfortable enough. Some most unwelcome guests had arrived during our absence—two tall, fine-looking and very devout Muslims (one of whom was praying all day and night too!). They were “ushirjis,” farmers of the taxes, come to value the dîme, and their arrival had caused great consternation amongst the villagers, for they had orders to value even the honey, and the little crop of fruit and nuts in the gardens, and they themselves intended to farm the dîme.

We entered the house while their commission was being read aloud. The complaints of the villagers were loud and bitter, for the poor people have literally nothing left, and are, moreover, deeply in debt. They had not suffered quite so much as most of the villages round, but they too had lost nearly all their sheep and goats, and most of their cows and horses. A great many of their children had died from want of proper food, and seven or eight families had perished of absolute starvation. The Government was exacting the arrears of taxes with much severity, and they said that the money-lenders were afraid to advance them any more money. Some of the poor fellows openly exclaimed, that “any Government would be preferable to the present Government!” We sat down to supper with the mukhtar, and the two ushirjis, but I fared badly; I cannot easily adapt myself to the native style of eating, and before I have eaten enough the dish is removed.

After supper there was a long discussion about the stream, and the ushirjis told some very foolish legends about it. Amongst other things, they declared it was not in existence before Muslim times, but had been called forth by one of the Prophet’s “Companions,”[17] and I unintentionally gave them much offence by saying that in all probability the bas-relief was only carved in that particular spot on account of the proximity of the stream, and if so, that certainly the bas-relief was at least 2500 years old, probably much more, and long before the time either of Issa or of Mohammed. The stream therefore could not have arisen in the manner they supposed, but probably existed from the beginning of this present world. Hereupon they were silent, and spoke no more. These men are a good illustration of “pride, ignorance, bigotry, and avarice combined!”

_June 9th._—Rose at daybreak, and walked out to the river. As I went out one of the ushirjis was at his morning prayer. Usually even the most devout Muslims content themselves with the three principal hours of prayer, at morning, noon, and evening; but our friend’s devotions seemed unintermittent! I was awakened in the night by a cold blast from the mountains, rushing in through the wooden shutters of the windows, and from my corner near the fireplace I saw one of our new acquaintances kneeling on his prayer carpet, and bending with the canonical prostrations. To men of this hard grasping character, the prophet’s words would bear no meaning, “For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings!”

The morning was one of the loveliest I ever saw, and the mountain air like draughts of champagne. After breakfast I made a drawing of the bas-relief and inscriptions.

The rock on which they are carved rises from the stream to a height of about forty feet. Its colour is of a deep dull red, or yellowish red, but stained in lighter and deeper patches by exposure to the sun and air through so many centuries. The portion on which the bas-relief is carved had been chiselled down and prepared for the work, the rest of the rock surface remains in its natural state.

The bas-relief consists of two figures—one much larger than the other—cut in relief of about four or five inches. I can only give the various dimensions by guess, as I had no means of measuring the figures, which were inaccessible without a ladder. But by dint of careful comparison I think my conjectural measurements are not very far wrong. The larger figure is about twenty feet in height, the smaller about twelve, and the feet of the larger figure are about eight feet above the level of the stream which flows at the base of the rock. It seems to be a representation of some great personage, offering prayers or thanksgivings to a deity—the god, it should seem, of corn and wine.

The design of both figures, though somewhat rough in the outline, owing to the coarseness of the material and to natural decay, is very good; the anatomy is extremely well indicated, much after the manner of the Assyrian sculptures. The left hand of the larger figure is especially well indicated, the delicate outline of the thumb articulations being admirably rendered, not in the conventional style of the Egyptian sculptures, but as if copied directly from nature. The limbs of the larger figure are massy and bulky, and in this point also the work resembles Assyrian rather than Egyptian sculpture. The god is represented with a high conical hat, or helmet, from which project four horns, two in front, two behind. The rim is formed by a flat band, and a similar band or ribbon runs round the hat above. A snake seems to be attached to the hat. The beard, which is thick and close-curled, runs up to the temples. The hair is of a similar character, disposed in rows of thick curls, but without ornament.

Neither of the figures appears to have earrings. The god is clad in a close-fitting tunic, reaching half-way down the thigh, and turned up both in front and behind. The lower part of the arms, from above the elbow, is bare; but while the fold of the tunic sleeve is represented on the left arm, it is omitted on the right arm. On the wrists are massy but plain bracelets. Round the waist is a broad girdle ornamented with lines, something like arrow-heads. The legs, from the middle of the thigh downwards, are bare; the muscles of the calf and the knees being well rendered. The god wears boots turned up in front, and bound round the leg above the ankle by thongs, and a piece of leather reaching half-way up the shin, exactly as it is worn to this day by the peasants of the plain of Cilicia, round Adana. In his outstretched left hand he holds a large handful of ears of bearded wheat, the wheat of the country, the stalks reaching the ground behind his left foot, which is stepping forward; and between his feet is represented a vine stock. In his left hand he holds a cluster of grapes; two other larger clusters hang from the branch he is grasping, and behind him hangs a fourth cluster. The expression of the face is jovial and benevolent, the features well indicated, especially the highly aquiline nose. The lips are small and not projecting, and the moustache is short, allowing the mouth to be seen. The inscription is carved on the space between the face and the line of the arm, hand, and ears of wheat.

In front of him stands the other figure. The expression and character of feature in this is very different. The eye seems more prominent, the nose more curved, and flattened upon the face, the lips more projecting, the hair and beard equally, or even more, crisp, and thickly curled. On the head is a tall rounded cap, with flat bands round it, on which square plates, of gold perhaps, seem to be sewn. In front of the cap is an ornament of precious stones, such as is still worn by Oriental princes. The figure is clad in a long loose robe, covered with squares, and heavily fringed at the bottom.[18] A mantle embroidered below, and secured at the breast by a clasp of precious stones, covers the robe; round the waist is a girdle, from which hangs a heavy tassel or fringe. On the right leg, just below the fringe of the under robe, appears to be the lower part of the trousers, and the feet are shod with shoes curved up in front. One hand, with the forefinger erect, is extended in front of the face as if in the attitude of prayer or praise. A heavy collar or necklace encircles the neck; it appears to be of rings or bands of gold, fixed around some other material. The end of the necklace hangs upon the shoulder.

As in the Assyrian sculpture, perspective is partially neglected in the drawing of both these figures.

Behind the smaller of the two there is also an inscription, carved upon the smooth portion of the rock. Some of the characters in it are similar to those of the upper inscription. Some appear to be heads of animals; one represents the head of a man, the eye, beard, nose, and conical cap being very distinct. But this inscription is much obliterated, and I could not make out the first letter of the upper line. There is another inscription below the bas-relief, and just above the present level of the stream. This also seems to consist in great part of the heads of animals.

A portion of the rock surface has been smoothed for it, but it is so much obliterated, that it is impossible to make out a considerable part of it; the outlines, even of the part I have represented, are faint and indistinct. The villagers said that there were yet other inscriptions, but below the present water level, and only visible when the stream is at its lowest, at the end of summer.

The villagers knew no tradition concerning the bas-relief, and could give no information as to the ruins of any ancient town in the neighbourhood. It is obvious, however, that the monument belongs to a period long previous to the settlement of the Greeks in this part of Asia Minor; and Ibreez with its magnificent stream (whose pure, ice-cold waters would be so grateful during the burning heat of summer), with its forests, and the wide extent of fertile land below it, might well have been the favourite summer residence of some prince of ancient times, who desired to display by this monument his devotion and gratitude.

The name of the village is derived from the Persian آب “water,” ريز “pouring,” the participle of ریختن “to pour.” The same words are also used as a composite noun substantive, and mean “a vessel for pouring water,” “a waterspout.”

This place was visited in 1737 by Otter, the Swedish traveller, who had been sent to the East by the French minister, Le Comte de Maurepas. He states that the river of Eregli rises from the mountains of Ardouste, three hours from Eregli. He mentions the sudden increase of the river, almost immediately after its rise, and says it sinks into a hollow rock called “Doudne” (Duden), at the foot of the Mounts Bouzoglan and Bulgar, opposite “Kara Bouna” (Kara Bounar). “On a taillé dans le rocher où est sa source, une figure d’homme qu’on appelle ‘Abris.’ L’on veut que ce soit une corruption du nom d’un certain ‘Abrinos,’ seigneur de ce lieu. Il tient dans une main quelques épis, et dans l’autre deux grappes de raisin.”

The people told him that this water petrified objects, and showed him a caravanserai built of stone deposited by the water. Otter gives the same derivation of the name “Ibreez” as above; but, strange to say, he makes no mention whatever of the inscriptions. The peasants of that time must have been in a far more prosperous condition than at present, for Otter speaks of the abundance of fruit and vegetables. “He was told that more than eighty (!!!) sorts of pears grew there!” His Turkish was not at fault, for he was a consummate Oriental linguist, and had with him a Turkish teacher, so that the eighty sorts of pears must be regarded as an Oriental hyperbole.

Otter’s description of the bas-relief is, with trifling exceptions, correct so far as it goes, but it is, so to speak, a mere reference. A longer account of it, though neither complete nor quite accurate, was given about a century later by the Prussian Major Fischer, who, in 1839-40, was engaged with a party of Prussian engineer officers under the celebrated Moltke in making a survey of Asia Minor. The account, together with an engraving of the bas-relief, is given in Ritter’s “Erdkunde” (18 Theil, iii. Buch, West Asien). But the drawing does not do justice to the subject, the copy of the longest inscription is defective and inaccurate, and the other inscriptions are not noticed. Even the name of the village is given incorrectly. It is not _Iwris_, as in Kiepert’s map, but _Ibreez_, as Otter gives it.

It seems, however, that Major Fischer was obliged to copy the inscription in haste, and from a distance, and he admits that a more accurate examination of the monument is to be desired. He suggests that perhaps some portion of the inscription may be in cuneiform characters, and thus some explanation about the figures may be obtained. The characters, however, are Hamathite, that mysterious language which has hitherto baffled all attempts to interpret, and of which no bilingual inscription has, I believe, been as yet discovered.

On returning to my host’s house I found that a zaptieh had come from Eregli with orders to exact the arrears of taxes from the villagers. He was talking with one poor fellow, who with tears in his eyes was protesting that he had nothing left. “You have your garden,” said the zaptieh, “sell that!” “Janum (my dear fellow),” replied the man, “only find me a purchaser, and I will sell it.” It is piteous to see the way in which these poor people are treated; they complain bitterly, but they submit without resistance. Their temperament, their religion, their training, all tend to this end. And yet they are a brave and high-spirited race. The Government gave them little or no help in their sore need, and now all that is cared for is to exact the taxes! and for this the little “all” they have is taken. No wonder if the Turkish peasant be careless and indolent.

The mukhtar seemed much dejected. Well, indeed, he might be. Even their honey must pay the dîme. In this beautiful flowery district almost every house has one or two hives of bees, and the honey is of excellent quality, but “Sic vos non vobis.” Let us hope that the fiery trial of 1876-7 may bring about a change for the better in the position of these unfortunate men.

I was delighted with my visit to this lovely spot; it is one of the most romantic and beautiful places I ever saw. High above, but out of sight from the village, tower the mighty ridges of Bulghar Dagh. In front is the beautiful hilly district through which we had come, full of villages. The green orchards and gardens of Eregli seem quite close, and farther to the left the great plain extends in an unbroken level all the way to Karaman.

The Ibreez River is famed for its fish. On our way back we saw a man fishing with a casting net in the stream. He had caught several fish, but he was on the opposite side of the river, and too far off for me to see what the species was. From the description given by the villagers it could not be trout, and I could only perceive that the fish were very silvery, and had a broad square tail. The cultivated land of Ibreez is not extensive, and although there is abundance of water, the position of the land will not admit of irrigation.

We reached Eregli in three and a quarter hours, and at once called upon the kaimakam, who gave orders that baggage horses should be provided for me next day. The Government mail to Constantinople was to leave next morning, and I wrote several letters to send by it. But I had much difficulty in posting them. It was necessary to give them to the mudir of the telegraph. But at sunset he had retired to his house, and his house was far away on the outskirts of the town, fully three-quarters of an hour from the khan, for Eregli is a very straggling place. We wandered up and down lanes, between high walls of mud-brick, and overshadowed by great trees, till I thought we should never reach our destination. The song of the nightingale resounded in every quarter, accompanied, it is true, by a hoarse chorus of frogs. The night was chill and damp after the hot day, exactly the temperature to bring on fever. Arrived at the mudir’s house, we found that he was absent, but a neighbour who was waiting for him received us. In the course of conversation he told me that Eregli was formerly a rich and flourishing place; but it lay on the line of route between Constantinople and Syria, and after the conquest of Syria and Egypt by Sultan Selim II. the ill-disciplined troops of those times used to commit such atrocities as they passed through, that the population fled, and Eregli gradually decayed. The material of the buildings being mostly unbaked mud-brick, there would be no remains of architecture. He added that Eregli contains only about 600 houses, and under 3000 inhabitants. There are about fifty Armenian families and a very few Greeks. At last, tired of waiting, I rose to go away, when our new acquaintance brought us to another house, where at last we found the mudir, who took charge of my letters. It was near midnight when we returned to the khan, nearly three hours having been occupied in posting my letters!

The price of provisions in Eregli is very low, e.g. ten eggs for 1 piastre (not so much as 2¼_d._). A very large pot of milk, enough for half-a-dozen people, 1½ piastre; and it was excellent milk, pure and unadulterated. Adulteration of food is most severely punished, indeed it is practically unknown in Turkey. Excellent bread, better than most English baker’s bread, costs 1½ piastres per oke. Leavened bread, however, is to be had only in the towns; meat, 4 to 5 piastres; butter, 12 piastres; sugar, 3 piastres; cheese, 4 piastres per oke. The oke is equivalent to 400 drams Turk, and weighs 2¾ lbs. avoirdupois. At present the T. 1_l._ contains 106 piastres = 18_s._ Eng.[19]

_June 10th._—Various visitors called, amongst them Salih Effendi, our medical friend, and the priest of the Armenian community. He is a fine-looking man, and was treated very courteously by the Turks who chanced to enter my room while he was there. They all called him “Papas Effendi.” He breakfasted with me, and before leaving gave me his blessing in a long Armenian prayer, and ended with the Lord’s Prayer in Turkish. Then he wished me a safe return to my home. He said that his flock were very poor, and I gave him a little money for the poorest.

There was some difficulty in obtaining muleteers, so that I could not start till after midday, and even on this high plateau the heat during the middle hours of the day is at times overpowering.

The people of the khan, including our poor little attendant Osman, seemed sorry that we were leaving so soon, and indeed I have been much pleased with my stay in this wretched, decayed, little place. These poor Armenians have treated us very kindly.

Whilst waiting for the baggage horses I made a sketch of Hassan Dagh from the window of our room. This great extinct volcano rises in two abrupt pyramidal summits to the height of 8000 feet. It is quite insulated, and is still covered half-way down with snow.

On the N.W. of Eregli are marshes which extend for an hour and a half’s ride; a little beyond are others, greater and impassable; but the immediate neighbourhood of the town is marshy, and the sickly odour of the marsh was plainly perceptible, even in the daytime. A salt efflorescence covered the plain, and the distance displayed a very vivid mirage. In front of us were the two extinct volcanoes of so symmetrically regular a form, which I have before mentioned. Our muleteers called them both by the same name, Mount Mekkeh; one of them they said was the Yaila of Kara Bounar, but I must have mistaken his words, for when I examined it with the telescope I saw that it was only a mass of tufa dust, utterly devoid of vegetation, and so not fitted for pasturage.

As we emerged from the marsh the vegetation of the plain began to improve. The flowers were truly wonderful in quantity and colour. There were flowers of various tints of red and yellow, eight to ten species at least, and amongst them some of the most brilliant red or yellow that can be conceived. There were flowers of crimson, orange, and scarlet, mauve, pink, and lake; it was a veritable flower garden! Yellow trefoil and clover grew in the greatest profusion. I could understand, now that I had seen this plain, how the villagers could have kept the great number of sheep and cattle of which I had been told.

The heat soon began to diminish, and as we mounted the hills that skirted the plain an easterly breeze swept across the wide expanse, delightfully cool, and laden with fragrance. Dark streaks of violet and green marked the position of distant Eregli. The shadows cast by the clouds were like violet velvet. The snow on the mountains glittered like silver, and the contrasts of colour on the volcanic hills around were wonderfully beautiful. I could see fully 30 miles back along the snowy peaks and ridges of Bulghar Dagh; Karajah Dagh lay due N.; Hassan Dagh, N.E. by N.; Allah Dagh, over Nigdeh, far away on the N.E. by E.; it was a landscape full of grandeur, and indescribably beautiful withal.

At 4.30 P.M. we reached a Turkman encampment, and were received very kindly. These people were suffering much from marsh fever and ophthalmia. Unfortunately I had no sulphate of zinc, but I gave them some quinine. Poor fellows! they too had lost almost everything, yet they did not wish to take any recompense for the refreshment they gave us, but I insisted on their receiving it.

I had an opportunity here of examining the round, felt-covered Turkman tents; they are very convenient, but difficult to describe. The centre piece of the roof is a strong hoop of hard wood, five to six feet in diameter, on the inner circumference of which a number of ribs are fixed, passing through a central disc of wood. In the outer circumference of the hoop a number of separate ribs can be inserted, so as to curve downwards like the ribs of an umbrella when opened, and thus a roof is formed twelve to fourteen feet in diameter, and combining great strength with lightness.

The wall is formed of separate pieces of lattice, made of ribs which are fastened together, not by pegs or nails, but by short thongs of hide with a knot at either end, so that the whole piece of lattice work is most flexible, can be easily closed up when the tent is struck, and is transported without injury.

In order to set up the tent, the curved ribs are inserted in the outer circumference of the hoop, the separate sets of lattice are tied together in a circle, thus forming the wall, and the roof ribs are firmly lashed to it above. This framework, when fixed together, is very firm, and additional steadiness is given by the form of the lattice work, which bends a little inwards at the middle, and thus the wall of lattice projects a little at top and bottom, in the shape of a dice-box.

The whole is then covered with thick and heavy felt cloths, called “kedji” (or “ketche”), eight small or six large being required. These are firmly sewn to the framework, and to each other, and thus a tent is formed impervious to wind and weather (even a fire can be lighted in it), and it can be kept cool in summer by removing some of the side cloths.

These tents are the only dwellings of the nomad Turkmans, who in winter frequent the plains, and as summer advances gradually migrate higher and higher into the mountains, for the sake of pasturage. The frames are made principally at Kaisariyeh, and cost about 250 piastres; each pair of ribs in the lattice work costs, when fixed, about 2½ piastres. The felt cloths are made at Nigdeh, Bor, and the neighbourhood, and cost about 60 piastres each. Considering the amount of work in them, the price of these tents is amazingly low.

We left the camp at 5.45 P.M. The road was over rounded marble hills, the marble cropping up in great white sheets, and this formation extends over many square miles. In the centre of this district lay the village of Devleh, at which we intended to pass the night; but the ride was far longer than we had anticipated, and the route most uninteresting. There was not so much as even a bush, nothing but scanty grass or herbage; the sameness and loneliness of the district were most strange. In bad weather a man might easily be lost in this strangely monotonous bit of country, and in winter, travellers not unfrequently perish in the snow. A few piles of stones have been heaped up at intervals along the road, to serve as landmarks, but they are far apart, and of insufficient height. We could not have found the way had the night been dark; but the moon shone brightly, and at about 9 P.M. we reached our destination, and were lodged in the Government House, close to the river. Devleh is in a deep ravine in these marble hills, through which runs a small stream, and there is here also a perennial spring, the only one within a distance of eight to ten hours’ ride all round. In the valley, along the stream, is a small extent of cultivated land, but it was always from their flocks that the people derived their chief support. The position of the place is very inaccessible, being many hours from any other village, in a sterile and inhospitable wilderness, seamed with deep ravines.

Before 1873, Devleh contained 700 houses, now only about 200 are inhabited, the rest are deserted, and fast falling or fallen to ruin. The famine began in 1873, owing to want of rain; but the people might have tided over this had it not been for the destruction of their flocks and herds. The winter of 1873-4 was terribly severe, the snowfall unprecedented in the memory of living man, and 48,000 sheep and goats are said to have perished! They had 400 pairs of oxen, of these about 5 per cent. survived the winter; each house had owned a cow or two, only some 5 per cent. of these remained. And then they were reduced to the most dreadful straits, deaths from downright starvation became terribly frequent, many perished in the attempt to reach Koniah or Adana. They ate grass, herbs, the leaves of what few bushes they could find (there is scarcely a tree within a dozen hours round!). At last, some in their despair tried to satisfy the pangs of hunger by grinding down and eating a kind of clay which they found in some of the limestone rocks; and then the mortality became threefold greater. A Turk whom we met at Eregli, named “Hallam Oglou,” took a specimen of this stuff to show to the Governor of Koniah; he tried his utmost to obtain aid for the poor starving creatures, but all in vain, the distress was so widespread and severe, that the wretched provincial authorities were utterly paralyzed. And indeed, even had money and food been at hand,—which was not the case,—very little could have been done, owing to the lack of organization and means of transport. The few inhabitants who remain are those who were once rich. Hitherto they have had something to sell, either cooking utensils or carpets, &c., but now absolutely nothing is left to them. The poor have emigrated, or are dead; those who were formerly rich are reduced to the extremest indigence; they live on money borrowed from the merchants with whom they used to do business. Their wealth consisted in their flocks, but these are all gone; the coming harvest will support life, but there will be no surplus to sell. The Government gave them seed last autumn, otherwise they could not have sown any of their land, but last year the taxes had been exacted by the most violent means, and this year the same course would be pursued, but the unfortunate men have literally nothing left to sell, and the money-lenders will make them no more advances. They did so before, in hope of being repaid at last year’s harvest. Now, even that resource is stopped. Such was the sad tale told me by some of the villagers.

The representative of the kaimakam came to see if we needed any help from him, but all we required was a little charcoal for our fire, and a jar of water.