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Around the World on a Bicycle V1

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




Since the occupation of Ears by the Russians, the military mantle of that
important fortress has fallen upon Erzeroum and Erzingan; the booming
of cannon fired in honor of the Sultan's birthday is awakening the echoes
of the rock-ribbed mountains as I wheel eastward down the valley, and
within about three miles of the city I pass the headquarters of the
garrison. Long rows of hundreds of white field-tents are ranged about
the position on the level greensward; the place presents an animated
scene, with the soldiers, some in the ordinary blue, trimmed with red,
others in cool, white uniforms especially provided for the summer, but
which they are not unlikely to be found also wearing in winter, owing
to the ruinous state of the Ottoman exchequer, and one and all wearing
the picturesque but uncomfortable fez; cannons are booming, drums beating,
and bugles playing. From the military headquarters to the city is a
splendid broad macadam, converted into a magnificent avenue by rows of
trees; it is a general holiday with the military, and the avenue is alive
with officers and soldiers going and returning between Erzingan and the
camp. The astonishment of the valiant warriors of Islam as I wheel briskly
down the thronged avenue can be better imagined than described; the
soldiers whom I pass immediately commence yelling at their comrades ahead
to call their attention, while epauletted officers forget for the moment
their military dignity and reserve as they turn their affrighted chargers
around and gaze after me, stupefied with astonishment; perhaps they are
wondering whether I am not some supernatural being connected in some way
with the celebration of the Sultan's birthday - a winged messenger, perhaps,
from the Prophet. Upon reaching the city I repair at once to the large
customhouse caravanserai and engage a room for the night. The proprietor
of the rooms seems a sensible fellow, with nothing of the inordinate
inquisitiveness of the average native about him, and instead of throwing
the weight of his influence and his persuasive powers on the side of the
importuning crowd, he authoritatively bids them "haidy!" locks the
bicycle in my room, and gives me the key. The Erzingan caravanserai - and
all these caravanserais are essentially similar - is a square court-yard
surrounded by the four sides of a two-storied brick building; the ground-
floor is occupied by the offices of the importers of foreign goods and
the customhouse authorities; the upper floor is divided into small rooms
for the accommodation of travellers and caravan men arriving with goods
from Trebizond. Sallying forth in search of supper, I am taken in tow
by a couple of Armenians, who volunteer the welcome information that
there is an "Americanish hakim" in the city; this intelligence is an
agreeable surprise, for Erzeroum is the nearest place in which I have
been expecting to find an English-speaking person. While searching about
for the hakim, we pass near the zaptieh headquarters; the officers are
enjoying their nargileh in the cool evening air outside the building,
and seeing an Englishman, beckon us over. They desire to examine my
teskeri, the first occasion on which it has been officially demanded
since landing at Ismidt, although I have voluntarily produced it on
previous occasions, and at Sivas requested the Vali to attach his seal
and signature; this is owing to the proximity of Erzingan to the Russian
frontier, and the suspicions that any stranger may be a, subject of the
Czar, visiting the military centres for sinister reasons. They send an
officer with me to hunt up the resident pasha; that worthy and enlightened
personage is found busily engaged in playing a game of chess with a
military officer, and barely takes the trouble to glance at the proffered
passport: "It is vised by the Sivas Vali," he says, and lackadaisically
waves us adieu. Upon returning to the zaptieh station, a quiet, unassuming
American comes forward and introduces himself as Dr. Van Nordan, a
physician formerly connected with the Persian mission. The doctor is a
spare-built and not over-robust man, and would perhaps be considered by
most people as a trifle eccentric; instead of being connected with any
missionary organization, he nowadays wanders hither and thither, acquiring
knowledge and seeking whom he can persuade from the error of their ways,
meanwhile supporting himself by the practice of his profession. Among
other interesting things spoken of, he tells me something of his recent
journey to Khiva (the doctor pronounces it "Heevah"); he was surprised,
he says, at finding the Khivans a mild-mannered and harmless sort of
people, among whom the carrying of weapons is as much the exception as
it is the rule in Asiatic Turkey. Doubtless the fact of Khiva being under
the Russian Government has something to do with the latter otherwise
unaccountable fact. After supper we sit down on a newly arrived bale of
Manchester calico in the caravanserai court, cross one knee and whittle
chips like Michigan grangers at a cross-roads post-office, and spend two
hours conversing on different topics. The good doctor's mind wanders as
naturally into serious channels as water gravitates to its level; when
I inquire if he has heard anything of the whereabout of Mahmoud Ali and
his gang lately, the pious doctor replies chiefly by hinting what a
glorious thing it is to feel prepared to yield up the ghost at any moment;
and when I recount something of my experiences on the journey, instead
of giving me credit for pluck, like other people, he merely inquires if
I don't recognize the protecting hand of Providence; native modesty
prevents me telling the doctor of my valuable missionary work at Sivas.
After the doctor's departure I wander forth into the bazaar to see what
it looks like after dark; many of the stalls are closed for the day, the
principal places remaining open being kahvay-khans and Armenian wine-shops,
and before these petroleum lamps are kept burning; the remainder of the
bazaar is in darkness. I have not strolled about many minutes before I
am corralled as usual by Armenians; they straightway send off for a
youthful compatriot of theirs who has been to the missionary's school
at Kaizareah and can speak a smattering of English. After the usual
programme of questions, they suggest: "Being an Englishman, you are of
course a Christian," by which they mean that I am not a Mussulman.
"Certainly," I reply; whereupon they lug me into one of their wine-shops
and tender me a glass of raki (a corruption of "arrack" - raw, fiery
spirits of the kind known among the English soldiers in India by the
suggestive pseudonym of "fixed bayonets"). Smelling the raki, I make a
wry face and shove it away; thev look surprised and order the waiter to
bring cognac; to save the waiter the trouble, I make another wry face,
indicative of disapproval, and suggest that he bring vishner-su.
"Vishner-su" two or three of them sing out in a chorus of blank amazement;
"Ingilis. Christian? vishner-su." they exclaim, as though such a
preposterous and unaccountable thing as a Christian partaking of a non-
intoxicating beverage like vishner-su is altogether beyond their
comprehension. The youth who has been to the Kaizareah school then
explains to the others that the American missionaries never indulge in
intoxicating beverages; this seems to clear away the clouds of their
mystification to some extent, and they order vishner-su, eying me
critically, however, as I taste it, as though expecting to observe me
make yet another wry countenance and acknowledge that in refusing the
fiery, throat-blistering raki I had made a mistake.

Nothing in the way of bedding or furniture is provided in the caravanserai
rooms, but the proprietor gets me plenty of quilts, and I pass a reasonably
comfortable night. In the morning I obtain breakfast and manage to escape
from town without attracting a crowd of more than a couple of hundred
people; a remarkable occurrence in its way, since Erzingan contains a
population of about twenty thousand. The road eastward from Erzingan is
level, but heavy with dust, leading through a low portion of the valley
that earlier in the season is swampy, and gives the city an unenviable
reputation for malarial fevers. To prevent the travellers drinking the
unwholesome water in this part of the valley, some benevolent Mussulman
or public-spirited pasha has erected at intervals, by the road side,
compact mud huts, and placed there in huge earthenware vessels, holding
perhaps fifty gallons each; these are kept supplied with pure spring-water
and provided with a wooden drinking-scoop. Fourteen miles from Erzingan,
at the entrance to a ravine whence flows the boisterous stream that
supplies a goodly proportion of the irrigating water for the valley, is
situated a military outpost station. My road runs within two hundred
yards of the building, and the officers, seeing me evidently intending
to pass without stopping, motion for me to halt. I know well enough they
want to examine my passport, and also to satisfy their curiosity concerning
the bicycle, but determine upon spurting ahead and escaping their bother
altogether. This movement at once arouses the official suspicion as to
my being in the country without proper authority, and causes them to
attach some mysterious significance to my strange vehicle, and several
soldiers forthwith receive racing orders to intercept me. Unfortunately,
my spurting receives a prompt check at the stream, which is not bridged,
and here the doughty warriors intercept my progress, taking me into
custody with broad grins of satisfaction, as though pretty certain of
having made an important capture. Since there is no escaping, I conclude
to have a little quiet amusement out of the affair, anyway, so I refuse
point-blank to accompany my captors to their officer, knowing full well
that any show of reluctance will have the very natural effect of arousing
their suspicions still further. The bland and childlike soldiers of the
Crescent receive this show of obstinacy quite complacently, their swarthy
countenances wreathed in knowing smiles; but they make no attempt at
compulsion, satisfying themselves with addressing me deferentially as
"Effendi," and trying to coax me to accompany them. Seeing that there is
some difficulty about bringing me, the two officers come down, and I at
once affect righteous indignation of a mild order, and desire to know
what they mean by arresting my progress. They demand my tesskeri in a
manner that plainly shows their doubts of my having one. The teskeri is
produced. One of the officers then whispers something to the other, and
they both glance knowingly mysterious at the bicycle, apologize for
having detained me, and want to shake hands. Having read the passport,
and satisfied themselves of my nationality, they attach some deep
mysterious significance to my journey in this incomprehensible manner
up in this particular quarter; but they no longer wish to offer any
impediment to my progress, but rather to render me assistance. Poor
fellows! how suspicious they are of their great overgrown neighbor to
the north. What good-humored fellows these Turkish soldiers are! what
simple-hearted, overgrown children. What a pity that they are the victims
of a criminally incompetent government that neither pays, feeds, nor
clothes them a quarter as well as they deserve. In the fearful winters
of Erzeroum, they have been known to have no clothing to wear but the
linen suits provided for the hot weather. Their pay, insignificant though
it be, is as uncertain as gambling; but they never raise a murmur. Being
by nature and religion fatalists, they cheerfully accept these undeserved
hardships as the will of Allah. To-day is the hottest I have experienced
in Asia Minor, and soon after leaving the outpost I once more encounter
the everlasting mountains, following now the Trebizond and Erzingan
caravan trail. Once again I get benighted in the mountains, and push
ahead for some time after dark. I am beginning to think of camping out
supperless again when I hear the creaking of a buffalo araba some distance
ahead. Soon I overtake it, and, following it for half a mile off the
trail, I find myself before an enclosure of several acres, surrounded
by a high stone wall with quite imposing gateways. It is the walled
village of Housseubegkhan, one of those places built especially for the
accommodation of the Trebizond caravans in the winter. I am conducted
into a large apartment, which appears to be set apart for the hospitable
accommodation of travellers. The apartment is found already occupied by
three travellers, who, from their outward appearance, might well be taken
for cutthroats of the worst description; and the villagers swarming in,
I am soon surrounded by the usual ragged, flea-bitten congregation. There
are various arms and warlike accoutrements hanging on the wall, enough
of one kind or other to arm a small company. They all belong to the three
travellers, however; my modest little revolver seems really nothing
compared with the warlike display of swords, daggers, pistols and guns
hanging around; the place looks like a small armory. The first question
is-as is usual of late - "Russ or Ingilis." Some of the younger and less
experienced men essay to doubt my word, and, on their own supposition
that I am a Russian, begin to take unwarrantable liberties with my person;
one of them steals up behind and commences playing a tattoo on my helmet
with two sticks of wood, by way of bravado, and showing his contempt for
a subject of the Czar. Turning round, I take one of the sticks away and
chastise him with it until he howls for Allah to protect him, and then,
without attempting any sort of explanation to the others, resume my seat;
one of the travellers then solemnly places his forefingers together and
announces himself as kardash (my brother), at the same time pointing
significantly to his choice assortment of ancient weapons. I shake hands,
with him and remind him that I am somewhat hungry; whereupon he orders
a villager to forthwith contribute six eggs, another butter to fry them
in, and a third bread; a tezek fire is already burning, and with his own
hands he fries the eggs, and makes my ragged audience stand at a respectful
distance while I eat; if I were to ask him, he would probably clear the
room of them instanter. About ten o'clock my impromptu friend and his
companion order their horses, and buckle their arms and accoutrements
about them to depart; my "brother" stands before me and loads up his
flintlock rifle; it is a fearful and wonderful process; it takes him at
least two minutes; he does not seem to know on which particular part of
his wonderful paraphernalia to find the slugs, the powder, or the patching,
and he finishes by tearing a piece of rag off a by-standing villager to
place over the powder in the pan. While he is doing all this, and
especially when ramming home the bullet, he looks at me as though expecting
me to come and pat him approvingly on the shoulder. When they are gone,
the third traveller, who is going to remain over night, edges up beside
me, and pointing to his own imposing armory, likewise announces himself
as my brother; thus do I unexpectedly acquire two brothers within the
brief space of an evening. The villagers scatter to their respective
quarters; quilts are provided for me, and a ghostly light is maintained
by means of a cup of grease and a twisted rag. In one corner of the room
is a paunchy youngster of ten or twelve summers, whom I noticed during
the evening as being without a single garment to cover his nakedness;
he has partly inserted himself into a largo, coarse, nose-bag, and lies
curled up in that ridiculous position, probably imagining himself in
quite comfortable quarters. "Oh, wretched youth." I mentally exclaim,
"what will you do when that nose-bag has petered out?" and soon afterward
I fall asleep, in happy consciousness of perfect security beneath the
protecting shadow of brother number two and his formidable armament of
ancient weapons. Ten miles of good ridable road from Houssenbegkhan, and
I again descend into the valley of the west fork of the Euphrates,
crossing the river on an ancient stone bridge; I left Houssenbegkhan
without breakfasting, preferring to make my customary early start and
trust to luck. I am beginning to doubt the propriety of having done so,
and find myself casting involuntary glances toward a Koordish camp that
is visible some miles to the north of my route, when, upon rounding a
mountain-spur jutting out into the valley, I descry the minaret of
Mamakhatoun in the distance ahead. A minaret hereabout is a sure indication
of a town of sufficient importance to support a public eating-khan,
where, if not a very elegant, at least a substantial meal is to be
obtained. I obtain an acceptable breakfast of kabobs and boiled sheeps'-
trotters; killing two birds with one stone by satisfying my own appetite
and at the same time giving a first-class entertainment to a khan-full
of wondering-eyed people, by eating with the khan-jee's carving-knife
and fork in preference to my fingers. Here, as at Houssenbeg-khan, there
is a splendid, large caravanserai; here it is built chiefly of hewn
stone, and almost massive enough for a fortress; this is a mountainous,
elevated region, where the winters are stormy and severe, and these
commodious and substantial retreats are absolutely necessary for the
safety of Erzingan and Trebizond caravans during the winter. The country
now continues hilly rather than mountainous The road is generally too
heavy with sand and dust, churned up by the Erzingan mule-caravans, to
admit of riding wherever the grade is unfavorable; but much good wheeling
surface is encountered on long, gentle declivities and comparatively
level stretches.

During the forenoon I meet a company of three splendidly armed and mounted
Circassians; they remain speechless with astonishment until I have passed
beyond their hearing; they then conclude among themselves that I am
something needing investigation; they come galloping after me, and having
caught up, their spokesman gravely delivers himself of the solitary
monosyllable, "Russ?" "Ingilis," I reply, and they resume the even tenor
of their way without questioning me further. Later in the day the hilly
country develops into a mountainous region, where the trail intersects
numerous deep ravines whose sides are all but perpendicular. Between
the ravines the riding is ofttimes quite excellent, the composition being
soft shale, that packs down hard and smooth beneath the animals' feet.
Deliciously cool streams flow at the bottom of these ravines. At one
crossing I find an old man washing his feet, and mournfully surveying
sundry holes in the bottom of his sandals; the day is hot, and I likewise
halt a few minutes to cool my pedal extremities in the crystal water.
With that childlike simplicity I have so often mentioned, and which is
nowhere encountered as in the Asiatic Turk, the old fellow blandly asks
me to exchange my comparatively sound moccasins for his worn-out sandals,
at the same time ruefully pointing out the dilapidated condition of the
latter, and looking as dejected as though it were the only pair of sandals
in the world.

This afternoon I am passing along the same road where Mahmoud Ali's gang
robbed a large party of Armenian harvesters who had been south to help
harvest the wheat, and were returning home in a body with the wages
earned during the summer. This happened but a few days before, and
notwithstanding the well-known saying that lightning never strikes twice
in the same place, one is scarcely so unimpressionable as not to find
himself involuntarily scanning his surroundings, half expecting to be
attacked. Nothing startling turns up, however, and at five o'clock I
come to a village which is enveloped in clouds of wheat chaff; being a
breezy evening, winnowing is going briskly forward On several threshing-floors.
After duly binning, I am taken under the protecting wing of a prominent
villager, who is walking about with his hand in a sling, the reason
whereof is a crushed finger; he is a sensible, intelligent fellow, and
accepts my reply that I am not a crushed-finger hakim with all reasonableness;
he provides a substantial supper of bread and yaort, and then installs
me in a small, windowless, unventilated apartment adjoining the buffalo-
stall, provides me with quilts, lights a primitive grease-lamp, and
retires. During the evening the entire female population visit my dimly-
lighted quarters, to satisfy their feminine curiosity by taking a timid
peep at their neighbor's strange guest and his wonderful araba. They
imagine I am asleep and come on tiptoe part way across the room, craning
their necks to obtain a view in the semi-darkness.

An hour's journey from this village brings me yet again into the West
Euphrates Valley. Just where I enter the valley the river spreads itself
over a wide stony bed, coursing along in the form of several comparatively
small streams. There is, of course, no bridge here, and in the chilly,
almost frosty, morning I have to disrobe and carry clothes and bicycle
across the several channels. Once across, I find myself on the great
Trebizond and Persian caravan route, and in a few minutes am partaking
of breakfast at a village thirty-five miles from Erzeroum, where I learn
with no little satisfaction that my course follows along the Euphrates
Valley, with an artificial wagon-road, the whole distance to the city.
Not far from the village the Euphrates is recrossed on a new stone bridge.
Just beyond the bridge is the camp of a road-engineer's party, who are
putting the finishing touches to the bridge. A person issues from one
of the tents as I approach and begins chattering away at me in French.
The face and voice indicates a female, but the costume consists of jack-
boots, tight-fitting broadcloth pantaloons, an ordinary pilot-jacket,
and a fez. Notwithstanding the masculine apparel, however, it turns out
not only to be a woman, but a Parisienne, the better half of the Erzeroum
road engineer, a Frenchman, who now appears upon the scene. They are
both astonished and delighted at seeing a "velocipede," a reminder of
their own far-off France, on the Persian caravan trail, and they urge
me to remain and partake of coffee.

I now encounter the first really great camel caravans, en route to Persia
with tea and sugar and general European merchandise; they are all camped
for the day alongside the road, and the camels scattered about the
neighboring hills in search of giant thistles and other outlandish
vegetation, for which the patient ship of the desert entertains a
partiality. Camel caravans travel entirely at night during the summer.
Contrary to what, I think, is a common belief in the Occident, they can
endure any amount of cold weather, but are comparatively distressed by
the heat; still, this may not characterize all breeds of camels any more
than the different breeds of other domesticated animals. During the
summer, when the camels are required to find their own sustenance along
the road, a large caravan travels but a wretched eight miles a day, the
remainder of the time being occupied in filling his capacious thistle
and camel-thorn receptacle; this comes of the scarcity of good grazing
along the route, compared with the number of camels, and the consequent
necessity of wandering far and wide in search of pasturage, rather than
because of the camel's absorptive capacity, for he is a comparatively
abstemious animal. In the winter they are fed on balls of barley flour,
called nawalla; on this they keep fat and strong, and travel three times
the distance. The average load of a full-grown camel is about seven
hundred pounds.

Before reaching Erzeroum I have a narrow escape from what might have
proved a serious accident. I meet a buffalo araba carrying a long
projecting stick of timber; the sleepy buffaloes pay no heed to the
bicycle until I arrive opposite their heads, when they - give a sudden
lurch side wise, swinging the stick of timber across my path; fortunately
the road happens to be of good-width, and by a very quick swerve I avoid
a collision, but the tail end of the timber just brushes the rear wheel
as I wheel past. Soon after noon I roll into Erzeroum, or rather, up to
the Trebizond gate, and dis-mount. Erzeroum is a fortified city of
considerable importance, both from a commercial and a military point of
view; it is surrounded by earthwork fortifications, from the parapets
of which large siege guns frown forth upon the surrounding country, and
forts are erected in several commanding positions round about, like
watch-dogs stationed outside to guard the city. Patches of snow linger
on the Palantokan Moiintains, a few miles to the south; the Deve Boyuu
Hills, a spur of the greater Palantokans, look down on the city from
the east; the broad valley of the West Euphrates stretches away westward
and northward, terminating at the north in another mountain range.

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