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Around the World on a Bicycle V1

T >> Thomas Stevens >> Around the World on a Bicycle V1




Not being able to spare the time for visiting all the objects of interest
enumerated by the guide, I elect to see the howling dervishes as the
most interesting among them. Accordingly we take the ferry-boat across
to Scutari on Thursday afternoon in time to visit the English cemetery
before the dervishes begin their peculiar services. We pass through one
of the largest Mussulman cemeteries of Constantinople, a bewildering
area of tombstones beneath a grove of dark cypresses, so crowded and
disorderly that the oldest gravestones seem to have been pushed down,
or on one side, to make room for others of a later generation, and these
again for still others. In happy comparison to the disordered area of
crowded tombstones in the Mohammedan graveyard is the English cemetery,
where the soldiers who died at the Scutari hospital during the Crimean
war were buried, and the English residents of Constantinople now bury
their dead. The situation of the English cemetery is a charming spot,
on a sloping bluff, washed by the waters of the Bosphorus, where the
requiem of the murmuring waves is perpetually sung for the brave fellows
interred there. An Englishman has charge; and after being in Turkey a
month it is really quite refreshing to visit this cemetery, and note the
scrupulous neatness of the grounds. The keeper must be industry personified,
for he scarcely permits a dead leaf to escape his notice; and the four
angels beaming down upon the grounds from the national monument erected
by England, in memory of the Crimean heroes, were they real visitors
from the better land, could doubtless give a good account of his
stewardship.

The howling dervishes have already begun to howl as we open the portals
leading into their place of worship by the influence of a cherik placed
in the open palm of a sable eunuch at the door; but it is only the
overture, for it is half an hour later when the interesting part of the
programme begins. The first hour seems to be devoted to preliminary
meditations and comparatively quiet ceremonies; but the cruel-looking
instruments of self-flagellation hanging on the wall, and a choice and
complete assortment of drums and other noise-producing but unmelodious
instruments, remind the visitor that he is in the presence of a peculiar
people. Sheepskin mats almost cover the floor of the room, which is kept
scrupulously clean, presumably to guard against the worshippers soiling
their lips whenever they kiss the floor, a ceremony which they perform
quite frequently during the first hour; and everyone who presumes to
tread within that holy precinct removes his over-shoes, if he is wearing
any, otherwise he enters in his stockings. At five o'clock the excitement
begins; thirty or forty men are ranged around one end of the room, bowing
themselves about most violently, and keeping time to the movements of
their bodies with shouts of "Allah. Allah." and then branching off into
a howling chorus of Mussulman supplications, that, unintelligible as
they are to the infidel ear, are not altogether devoid of melody in the
expression, the Turkish language abounding in words in which there is a
world of mellifluousness. A dancing dervish, who has been patiently
awaiting at the inner gate, now receives a nod of permission from the
priest, and, after laying aside an outer garment, waltzes nimbly into
the room, and straightway begins spinning round like a ballet-dancer
in Italian opera, his arms extended, his long skirt forming a complete
circle around him as he revolves, and his eyes fixed with a determined
gaze into vacancy. Among the howlers is a negro, who is six feet three
at least, not in his socks, but in the finest pair of under-shoes in the
room, and whether it be in the ceremony of kissing the floor, knocking
foreheads against the same, kissing the hand of the priest, or in the
howling and bodily contortions, this towering son of Ham performs his
part with a grace that brings him conspicuously to the fore in this
respect. But as the contortions gradually become more-violent, and the
cry of "Allah akbar. Allah hai!" degenerates into violent grunts of "
h-o-o-o-o-a-hoo-hoo," the half-exhausted devotees fling aside everything
but a white shroud, and the perspiration fairly streams off them, from
such violent exercise in the hot weather and close atmosphere of the
small room. The exercises make rapid inroads upon the tall negro's powers
of endurance, and he steps to one side and takes a breathing-spell of
five minutes, after which he resumes his place again, and, in spite of
the ever-increasing violence of both lung and muscular exercise, and the
extra exertion imposed by his great height, he keeps it up heroically
to the end.

For twenty-five minutes by my watch, the one lone dancing dervish - who
appears to be a visitor merely, but is accorded the brotherly privilege
of whirling round in silence while the others howl-spins round and round
like a tireless top, making not the slightest sound, spinning in a long,
persevering, continuous whirl, as though determined to prove himself
holier than the howlers, by spinning longer than they can keep up their
howling - a fair test of fanatical endurance, so to speak. One cannot help
admiring the religious fervor and determination of purpose that impel
this lone figure silently around on his axis for twenty-five minutes,
at a speed that would upset the equilibrium of anybody but a dancing
dervish in thirty seconds; and there is something really heroic in the
manner in which he at last suddenly stops, and, without uttering a sound
or betraying any sense of dizziness whatever from the exercise, puts on
his coat again and departs in silence, conscious, no doubt, of being a
holier person than all the howlers put together, even though they are
still keeping it up. As unmistakable signals of distress are involuntarily
hoisted by the violently exercising devotees, and the weaker ones quietly
fall out of line, and the military precision of the twists of body and
bobbing and jerking of head begins to lose something of its regularity,
the six "encouragers," ranged on sheep-skins before the line of howling
men, like non-commissioned officers before a squad of new recruits,
increase their encouraging cries of "Allah. Allah akbar" as though fearful
that the din might subside, on account of the several already exhausted
organs of articulation, unless they chimed in more lustily and helped
to swell the volume.

Little children now come trooping in, seeking with eager anticipation
the happy privilege of being ranged along the floor like sardines in a
tin box, and having the priest walk along their bodies, stepping from
one to the other along the row, and returning the same way, while two
assistants steady him by holding his hands. In the case of the smaller
children, the priest considerately steps on their thighs, to avoid
throwing their internal apparatus out of gear; but if the recipient of
his holy attentions is, in his estimation, strong enough to run the risk,
he steps square on their backs, The little things jump up as sprightly
as may be, kiss the priest's hand fervently, and go trooping out of the
door, apparently well pleased with the novel performance. Finally human
nature can endure it no longer, and the performance terminates in a long,
despairing wail of "Allah. Allah. Allah!" The exhausted devotees, soaked
wet with perspiration, step forward, and receive what I take to be rather
an inadequate reward for what they have been subjecting themselves to -
viz., the privilege of kissing the priest's already much-kissed hand,
and at 5.45 P.M. the performance is over. I take my departure in time
to catch the six o'clock boat for Galata, well satisfied with the finest
show I ever saw for a cherik. I have already made mention of there being
many beautiful sea-side places to which Constantinopolitans resort on
Sundays and holidays, and among them all there is no lovelier spot than
the island of Prinkipo, one of the Prince's Islands group, situated some
twelve miles from Constantinople, down the Gulf of Ismidt. Shelton Bey
(Colonel Shelton), an English gentleman, who superintends the Sultan's
cannon-foundry at Tophana, and the well-known author of Shelton's "
Mechanic's Guide," owns the finest steam-yacht on the Bosphorus, and
three Sundays out of the five I remain here, this gentleman and his
excellent lady kindly invite me to visit Prinkipo with them for the day.

On the way over we usually race with the regular passenger steamer, and
as the Bey's yacht is no plaything for size and speed, we generally
manage to keep close enough to amuse ourselves with the comments on the
beauty and speed of our little craft from the crowded deck of the other
boat. Sometimes a very distinguished person or two is aboard the yacht
with our little company, personages known to the Bey, who having arrived
on the passenger-boat, accept invitations for a cruise around the island,
or to dine aboard the yacht as she rides at anchor before the town. But
the advent of the " Americanish Velocipediste " and his glistening
machine, a wonderful thing that Prinkipo never saw the like of before,
creates a genuine sensation, and becomes the subject of a nine-days'
wonder. Prinkipo is a delightful gossipy island, occupied during the
summer by the families of wealthy Constantinopolitans and leading business
men, who go to and fro daily between the little island and the city on
the passenger-boats regularly plying between them, and is visited every
Sunday by crowds in search of the health and pleasure afforded by a day's
outing. While here at Constantinople I received by mail from America a
Butcher spoke cyclometer, and on the second visit to Prinkipo I measured
the road which has been made around half the island; the distance is
four English miles and a fraction. The road was built by refugees employed
by the Sultan during the last Russo-Turkish war, and is a very good one;
for part of the distance it leads between splendid villas, on the verandas
of which are seen groups of the wealth and beauty of the Osmanli capital,
Armenians, Greeks, and Turks - the latter ladies sometimes take the privilege
of dispensing with the yashmak during their visits to the comparative
seclusion of Prinkipo villas - with quite a sprinkling of English and
Europeans. The sort of impression made upon the imaginations of Prinkipo
young ladies by the bicycle is apparent from the following comment made
by a bevy of them confidentially to Shelton Bey, and kindly written out
by him, together with the English interpretation thereof. The Prinkipo
ladies' compliment to the first bicycle rider visiting their beautiful
island is: "O Bizdan kaydore ghyurulduzug em nezalcettt sadi bir dakika
ulchum ghyuriorus nazaman bir dah backiorus O bittum gitmush." (He glides
noiselessly and gracefully past; we see him only for a moment; when we
look again he is quite gone.) The men are of course less poetical, their
ideas running more to the practical side of the possibilities of the new
ox-rival, and they comment as follows: "Onum beyghir hich-bir-shey
yemiore hich-bir-shey ichmiore Inch yorumliore ma sheitan gibi ghiti-ore,"
(His horse, he eats nothing, drinks nothing, never gets tired, and goes
like the very devil.) It is but fair to add, however, that any bold
Occidental contemplating making a descent on Prinkipo with a, "sociable"
with a view to delightful moonlight rides with the fair; authors of
the above poetic contribution will find himself "all at sea" upon, his
arrival, unless he brings a three-seated machine, so that the mamma can
be accommodated with a seat behind, since the daughters of Prinkipo
society never wander forth by moonlight, or any other light, unless thus
accompanied, or by some; equally staid and solicitous relative.

For the Asiatic tour I have invented a "bicycle tent" - a handy contrivance
by which the bicycle is made to answer the place of tent poles. The
material used is fine, strong sheeting, that will roll up into a small
space, and to make it thoroughly water-proof, I have dressed it with
boiled linseed oil. My footgear henceforth will be Circassian moccasins,
with the pointed toes sticking up like the prow of a Venetian galley. I
have had a pair made to order by a native shoemaker in Galata, and, for
either walking or pedalling, they are ahead of any foot-gear I ever wore;
they are as easy as a three-year-old glove, and last indefinitely, and
for fancifulness in appearance, the shoes of civilization are nowhere.
Three days before starting out I receive friendly warnings from both the
English and American consul that Turkey in Asia is infested with brigands,
the former going the length of saying that if he had the power he would
refuse me permission to meander forth upon so risky an undertaking. I
have every confidence, however, that the bicycle will prove an effectual
safeguard against any undue familiarity on the part of these frisky
citizens. Since reaching Constantinople the papers here have published
accounts of recent exploits accomplished by brigands near Eski Baba. I
have little doubt but that more than one brigand was among my highly
interested audiences there on that memorable Sunday.

The Turkish authorities seem to have made themselves quite familiar with
my intentions, and upon making application for a teskere (Turkish passport)
they required me to specify, as far as possible, the precise route I
intend traversing from Scutari to Ismidt, Angora, Erzeroum, and beyond,
to the Persian frontier. An English gentleman who has lately travelled
through Persia and the Caucasus tells me that the Persians are quite
agreeable people, their only fault being the one common failing of the
East: a disposition to charge whatever they think it possible to obtain
for anything. The Circassians seem to be the great bugbear in Asiatic
Turkey. I am told that once I get beyond the country that these people
range over - who are regarded as a sort of natural and half-privileged
freebooters - I shall be reasonably safe from molestation. It is a common
thing in Constantinople when two men are quarrelling for one to threaten
to give a Circassian a couple of medjedis to kill the other. The Circassian
is to Turkey what the mythical "bogie" is to England; mothers threaten
undutiful daughters, fathers unruly sons, and everybody their enemies
generally, with the Circassian, who, however, unlike the "bogie" of the
English household, is a real material presence, popularly understood to
be ready for any devilment a person may hire him to do.

The bull-dog revolver, under the protecting presence of which I have
travelled thus far, has to be abandoned here at Constantinople, having
proved itself quite a wayward weapon since it came from the gunsmith's
hands in Vienna, who seemed to have upset the internal mechanism in some
mysterious manner while boring out the chambers a trifle to accommodate
European cartridges. My experience thus far is that a revolver has been
more ornamental than useful; but I am now about penetrating far different
countries to any I have yet traversed. Plenty of excellently finished
German imitations of the Smith & Wesson revolver are found in the magazines
of Constantinople; but, apart from it being the duty of every Englishman
or American to discourage, as far as his power goes, the unscrupulousness
of German manufacturers in placing upon foreign markets what are, as far
as outward appearance goes, the exact counterparts of our own goods, for
half the money, a genuine American revolver is a different weapon from
its would-be imitators, and I hesitate not to pay the price for the
genuine article. Remembering the narrow escape on several occasions of
having the bull-dog confiscated by the Turkish gendarmerie, and having
heard, moreover, in Constantinople, that the same class of officials in
Turkey in Asia will most assuredly want to confiscate the Smith & Wesson
as a matter of private speculation and enterprise, I obtain through the
British consul a teskere giving me special permission to carry a revolver.
Subsequent events, however, proved this precaution to be unnecessary,
for a more courteous, obliging, and gentlemanly set of fellows, according
to their enlightenment, I never met any where, than the government
officials of Asiatic Turkey. Were I to make the simple statement that I
am starting into Asia with a pair of knee-breeches that are worth fourteen
English pounds (about sixty-eight dollars) and offer no further explanation,
I should, in all probability, be accused of a high order of prevarication.
Nevertheless, such is the fact; for among other subterfuges to outwit
possible brigands, and kindred citizens, I have made cloth-covered buttons
out of Turkish liras (eighteen shillings English), and sewed them on in
place of ordinary buttons. Pantaloon buttons at $54 a dozen are a luxury
that my wildest dreams never soared to before, and I am afraid many a
thrifty person will condemn me for extravagance; but the "splendor"
of the Orient demands it; and the extreme handiness of being able to cut
off a button, and with it buy provisions enough to load down a mule,
would be all the better appreciated if one had just been released from
the hands of the Philistines with nothing but his clothes - and buttons - and
the bicycle. With these things left to him, one could afford to regard
the whole matter as a joke, expensive, perhaps, but nevertheless a joke
compared with what might have been. The Constantinople papers have
advertised me to start on Monday, August 10th, "direct from Scutari."
I have received friendly warnings from several Constantinople gentlemen,
that a band of brigands, under the leadership of an enterprising chief
named Mahmoud Pehlivan, operating about thirty miles out of Scutari,
have beyond a doubt received intelligence of this fact from spies here
in the city, and, to avoid running direct into the lion's mouth, I decide
to make the start from Ismidt, about twenty-five miles beyond their
rendezvous. A Greek gentleman, who is a British subject, a Mr. J. T.
Corpi, whom I have met here, fell into the hands of this same gang, and
being known to them as a wealthy gentleman, had to fork over 3,000 ransom;
and he says I would be in great danger of molestation in venturing from
Scutari to Ismidt after my intention to do so has been published.






CHAPTER X.




THE START THROUGH ASIA.

In addition to a cycler's ordinary outfit and the before-mentioned small
wedge tent I provide myself with a few extra spokes, a cake of tire
cement, and an extra tire for the rear wheel. This latter, together with
twenty yards of small, stout rope, I wrap snugly around the front axle;
the tent and spare underclothing, a box of revolver cartridges, and a
small bottle of sewing-machine oil are consigned to a luggage-carrier
behind; while my writing materials, a few medicines and small sundries
find a repository in my Whitehouse sole-leather case on a Lamson carrier,
which also accommodates a suit of gossamer rubber.

The result of my study of the various routes through Asia is a determination
to push on to Teheran, the capital of Persia, and there spend the
approaching winter, completing my journey to the Pacific next season.

Accordingly nine o'clock on Monday morning, August 10th, finds me aboard
the little Turkish steamer that plies semi-weekly between Ismidt and the
Ottoman capital, my bicycle, as usual, the centre of a crowd of wondering
Orientals. This Ismidt steamer, with its motley crowd of passengers,
presents a scene that upholds with more eloquence than words Constantinople's
claim of being the most cosmopolitan city in the world; and a casual
observer, judging only from the evidence aboard the boat, would pronounce
it also the most democratic. There appears to be no first, second, or
third class; everybody pays the same fare, and everybody wanders at his
own sweet will into every nook and corner of the upper deck, perches
himself on top of the paddle-boxes, loafs on the pilot's bridge, or
reclines among the miscellaneous assortment of freight piled up in a
confused heap on the fore-deck; in short, everybody seems perfectly free
to follow the bent of his inclinations, except to penetrate behind the
scenes of the aftmost deck, where, carefully hidden from the rude gaze
of the male passengers by a canvas partition, the Moslem ladies have
their little world of gossip and coffee, and fragrant cigarettes. Every
public conveyance in the Orient has this walled-off retreat, in which
Osmanli fair ones can remove their yashmaks, smoke cigarettes, and comport
themselves with as much freedom as though in the seclusion of their
apartments at home.

Greek and Armenian ladies mingle with the main-deck passengers, however,
the picturesque costumes of the former contributing not a little to the
general Oriental effect of the scene. The dress of the Armenian ladies
differs but little from Western costumes, and their deportment would
wreathe the benign countenance of the Lord Chamberlain with a serene
smile of approval; but the minds and inclinations of the gentle Hellenic
dames seem to run in rather a contrary channel. Singly, in twos, or in
cosey, confidential coteries, arm in arm, they promenade here and there,
saying little to each other or to anybody else. By the picturesqueness
of their apparel and their seemingly bold demeanor they attract to
themselves more than their just share of attention; but with well-feigned
ignorance of this they divide most of their time and attention between
rolling cigarettes and smoking them. Their heads are bound with jaunty
silk handkerchiefs; they wear rakish-looking short jackets, down the
back of which their luxuriant black hair dangles in two tresses; but the
crowning masterpiece of their costume is that wonderful garment which
is neither petticoat nor pantaloons, and which can be most properly
described as "indescribable," which tends to give the wearer rather an
unfeminine appearance, and is not to be compared with the really sensible
and not unpicturesque nether garment of a Turkish lady. The male companions
of these Greek women are not a bit behind them in the matter of gay
colors and startling surprises of the Levantine clothier's art, for they
likewise are in all the bravery of holiday attire. There is quite a
number of them aboard, and they now appear at their best, for they are
going to take part in wedding festivities at one of the little Greek
villages that nestle amid the vine-clad slopes along the coast - white
villages, that from the deck of the moving steamer look as though they
have been placed here and there by nature's artistic hand for the sole
purpose of embellishing the lovely green frame-work that surrounds the
blue waters of the Ismidt Gulf. Several of these merry-makers enliven
the passing hours with music and dancing, to the delight of a numerous
audience, while a second ever-changing but never-dispersing audience is
gathered around the bicycle. The verbal comments and Solomon-like opinions,
given in expressive pantomime, of this latter garrulous gathering
concerning the machine and myself, I can of course but partly understand;
but occasionally some wiseacre suddenly becomes inflated with the idea
that he has succeeded in unravelling the knotty problem, and forthwith
proceeds to explain, for the edification of his fellow-passengers, the
modus operandi of riding it, supplementing his words by the most
extraordinary gestures. The audience is usually very attentive and highly
interested in these explanations, and may be considerably enlightened
by their self-constituted tutors, whose sole advantage over their auditors,
so far as bicycles are concerned, consists simply in a belief in the
superiority of their own particular powers of penetration. But to the
only person aboard the steamer who really does know anything at all about
the subject, the chief end of their exposition seems to be gained when
they have duly impressed upon the minds of their hearers that the bicycle
is to ride on, and that it goes at a rate of speed quite beyond the
comprehension of their - the auditors' - minds; "Bin, bin, bin. Chu, chu,
chu. Haidi, haidi, haidi." being repeated with a vehemence that is
intended to impress upon them little less than flying-Dutchman speed.

The deck of a Constantinople steamer affords splendid opportunity for
character study, and the Ismidt packet is no exception. Nearly every
person aboard has some characteristic, peculiar and distinct from any
of the others. At intervals of about fifteen minutes a couple of Armenians,
bare-footed, bare-legged, and ragged, clamber with much difficulty and
scraping of shins over a large pile of empty chicken-crates to visit one
particular crate. Their collective baggage consists of a thin, half-grown
chicken tied by both feet to a small bag of barley, which is to prepare
it for the useful but inglorious end of all chickendom. They have
imprisoned their unhappy charge in a crate that is most difficult to get
at. Why they didn't put it in one of the nearer crates, what their object
is in climbing up to visit it so frequently, and why they always go
together, are problems of the knottiest kind.

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