Through Armenia on Horseback ... With map and illustrations

Preface

. IT was after a hard day's travel — we had been in the saddle twelve long hours and had stopped for the night at a little village on the banks of the Tigris. It was cold beyond the reach of language to express. Mr. Sidney Whitman, Dr. Wallish and I had just finished our evening meal, prepared by Migurditch, our Armenian cook and had sought the welcome solace of cigars. The room which had been allotted to us had two defects. First, it could not be heated though the pile of cow-dung was blazing in the fireplace. Second, there were holes in the wall, but no windows ; glass is too expensive a luxury for that part of the world. The frozen air chilled us to the bones and we begged our host, a kind old Turk, who looked as I imagine Abraham must have looked when he had reached his three-score and tenth anni versary, to fill all these holes in the wall with hay.

None of us was sleepy, however. Our camp beds were in readiness, but there was no disposition to occupy them. Perhaps we were Preface VI too tired to sleep. It is possible to be so. So we sat with our fur overcoats on, talking about the experiences of the day, the precipice just behind us, the long caravans of camels we had met, and a group of rough-looking fellows who had passed us in the middle of the after noon, brigands to a certainty, but sullenly quiet as we had twenty cavalrymen with us, who would not have been sorry if they had seen a good chance for a brush. Dr. Wallish is a scholar, thoroughly abreast of the times ; Mr. Whitman knew Moltke, is honored with the friendship of Bismarck, and has a thousand anecdotes on his tongue's tip, while as for myself — I am an American, have seen something of the Civil War, and so had a good deal to say about our national institutions, our industries, and the spirit of the people.

The fire burned dimly. The oil in the lamp was nearly spent. It was just such a lamp as Roman boys used to light themselves to bed with, a vessel filled with oil and a wick floating about in it supported by a cork. " How many books have been written on Ar menia and the Armenians ? " asked the doctor. " More than you can count," replied Mr. Whitman. " They are mostly one-sided, how ever, and untrustworthy. One man is in love Preface VII with the Turks and his book is a eulogy. An other one pities the Armenians and his book is a libel on the Turkish government." " True," added the doctor. " It is worse than folly to visit this country with precon ceived notions. Turkey is like the Bible — you can find anything in it you may happen to want. If you come here with a theory you will find plenty of facts to back the theory no matter what the theory may be.

There are not many books on Turkey in which you can not find a bias. Hence the strangely contra dictory statements that are met with." Whitman turned to me and remarked : " And you, do you propose to write a book also ? " " That is my purpose," I answered, " and I have notes enough already to fill a large vol ume." "Well," said Dr. Wallish, "if you can be impartial " I had been getting under the blankets and said in sleepy tones, " I shall try to be. Good night, gentlemen." And here is the book. I know that I have looked at both sides of the Armenian question, but whether I have seen both sides or not, I must leave you to determine. G. H. H. CONTENTS CHAPTER FACE I. — Purpose of the Expedition . . . i II. — The Golden Horn .... 19 III. — To Trebizond ..... 39 IV. — Zigana Pass ...... 64 V.— Over Kop Dagh 86 VI. — Erzeroom ...... 106 VII. — The Massacres 128 VIIL — Another View of the Massacres . 148 IX. — Queer People 174 X. — Ararat ...... 199 XI. — Hamidiehs and Massacres . . 222 XII. — The Weakness of Turkey . . . 244 XIII. — Westward Bound .... 265 XIV. — The Missionaries 291 XV. — Turkish Schoolhouses . . .310 XVI. — An Armenian's View .... 321 XVII. — A Summary ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Map of Mr. Hepworth's Route inside front cover GEORGE H. HEPWORTH . . .

Frontispiece Kurdish Ox-Cart .... Title-page Sidney Whitman ...... 3 Our Turkish Escort ...... 4 A Turkish Beggar 16 An Out-of-Door Coffee Stand ... 26 A Typical Crowd ...... 38 Trebizond . . . . . . . -52 A Group of Lazis ...... 66 A Restaurant . . .... .84 Erzeroom ........ 106 Missionary's House in Erzeroom . . . 122 Dealers in Rosaries ...... 126 An Eating-House ...... 136 A Dervish ........ 150 A Kurdish Chief 161 Shoemakers 174 A Kurdish Nobleman. ..... 192 A Kurdish Merchant ..... Illustrations XII PAGP Sekki Pacha and his Staff .... 230 Beggars ........ 246 Armenian Girls .....•• 266 Diarbekir ........ 278 Aintab ........ 285 A Dervish ........ 300 Barbers i Through Armenia on Horseback chapter I. THE PURPOSE OF THE EXPEDITION. WHEN Mr. Bennett asked by cable if I would like to go to Anatolia, I was as much surprised as I should have been by an order to pack my gripsack and take the first aerial express to Mars to find out what those signals mean which the inhabitants of that planet are supposed to be making to the Earth.

Would I like to go ? An old fellow like me, who had reached a point somewhat beyond the sixtieth degree of life's latitude, trust my self to the tender mercies of Lazi and Kurdish brigands, or run the risk of being quietly buried under the snow of some wild mountain pass ? These possibilities were not exactly attractive. Through Armenia on Horseback 2 It was to be my duty to take a bird's-eye view of the Armenian region, where so many horrible massacres have taken place, and to discover, so far as possible, the present condition and future prospects of this nearly ex terminated race. It occurred to me that such an expedition might be merely a dream of the night which would be forgotten in the morning, a mere flash of journalistic genius, and so I begged for mercy. When I afterwards learned that the matter was seriously regarded by him, that, since the rumors from Armenia during the last few years have been not only vague but contradictory, the purpose was to get at the truth and the whole truth, I saw that the opportunity was a providential one and ought not to be rejected.

I wrote to him accord ingly, and with his usual promptitude he answered, " Take the next steamer and meet me in Paris." So I packed my trunk, said good-bye to my friends with a heavy and sink ing heart, and was soon on the deck of the Champagne bound for Havre. It seems that Mr. Bennett had entertained this plan for a long time. In a protracted interview with the Sultan at Constantinople the subject had been discussed, and it became clear to Mr. Bennett that His Majesty, whether SIDNEY WHITMAN Purpose of the Expedition 3 rightly or wrongly, was under a strong convic tion that the reports from the Armenian district contained more fiction than fact. If you say that this declaration on his part was prob ably a matter of diplomatic finesse, that he must have been perfectly acquainted with the condition of affairs, but wished to conceal it, then I must aver that it was a great mistake to consent to my taking part in the enterprise.

He was told frankly that I was a clergyman, and that my sympathies were with the Arme nians. When, however, he was assured that I could be impartial, that I had rather a keen appetite for facts whether they backed my prejudices or opposed them, he withdrew all opposition and assured Mr. Bennett that in such case he was not only eager to have me go, but would give orders that I should have every opportunity for as thorough an investigation as the time to be spent on the journey would permit. He made only one condition, namely, that I was to be accompanied by Mr. Sidney Whit man, with whom he had personal relations, and in whom he had great confidence. In token of his earnestness he offered to send three or four of his aides de camp as a kind of body guard and half-a-dozen sergeants for purposes Through Armenia on Horseback 4 of protection in case of danger from the brigands who infest that region.

Our little com pany, therefore, consisted of Sirry Bey, Colonel Tewfik Bey, Lieut. Colonel Rushdi Bey, Khaled Bey, secretary of the expedition, Mr. Whitman, and myself. When I have mentioned the names of these gentlemen, I see the criticism that at once arises in your mind. You say, and nobody can blame you for saying, that I was hedged about by Turks and a Turkophile, and that it would be impossible to get at the truth. Un der like circumstances, I should make the same comment ; and if at this stage you shrug your shoulders or even ridicule the expedition, my only answer is that at the first blush you are quite right. I felt the weight of that possi bility, and for awhile was somewhat oppressed by it. A thousand times I asked myself as I looked out of my window in the Pera Palace Hotel if I was shrewd enough to detect any attempt to influence me, and, when detected, if I was strong-willed enough to resist it.

In a word, I looked on the matter just as you do, and was more than half inclined to retreat. I recalled Mr. Bennett's parting injunction, to lift my hat and politely say " Good-morning " if I saw that any pressure was being brought to bear OUR TURKISH ESCORT. to interfere with entire freedom of action and investigation, and wondered if it might not be well to take that step, and so have done with the whole affair. Then two facts occurred to me — you see I am in the confessional and laying my heart bare to you. First, this was the only way in which it would be possible to go from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean and so through Armenia from north to south. The Sultan has never allowed any representative of the press to take such a journey. This may be a mistake on his part, and I am inclined to think it is, be cause the refusal distinctly implies that there is something hidden which must not be dis closed ; but still that has always been his policy.

Many travellers have gone along parts of the route which we were to take, but so far as I know, not one has made the whole journey. Here was an invitation to travel where we chose, as long and as far as we chose, and could I afford to neglect it ? In order to put the declaration of freedom to a test, I took the best map of Asia Minor that could be found, and marked with red ink all the salient points which I thought it necessary to visit, that is to say, the points at which the massacres had occurred. I wanted to get as far into the interior as possible, and as close to the Russian and Persian frontiers as I could, and so drew a line from Trebizond to Erze room, thence to Van, thence along the lake shore to Bitlis, thence to Diarbekir, and thence to Alexandretta, by way of Aintab. This would give me a chance to pass through the Sassoon district, to see the Kurds, now being organized into Hamidieh regiments, — called Hamidieh in honor of His Majesty Abdul Hamid — and to get a glimpse of the stalwart Circassians.

Mr. Whitman assisted me in laying out this route, and we both agreed that it would furnish us with more facts and opportunities for observa tion than any other. That map was submitted to the Sultan, and I awaited the result with some anxiety. If my plan were accepted, it would prove that the Sultan really meant that the investigation should be without let or hindrance on his part. If it were rejected, and another suggested, it would show that I was to work under cover of surveillance, in which case it would be mere folly to engage in the enterprise. You may judge of my surprise and delight therefore, when I received word from Yildiz that the Sultan was pleased with the route we had chosen, and that we might talce our departure as soon as the proper preparations could be made. My mind was at once set at ease, and I felt sure that I could enter upon my work without any hampering limitations.

The second fact which gave me hope was equally important in its bearings. It has been my conviction that no good can result from dwelling in detail on the horrors which have taken place. They make a lurid picture, and one which, as I afterwards discovered, even the Turks speak of in whispers as though they ap preciated the infamy of their bloody deeds. I have noticed on many occasions that when I talk to an official about the commercial inter ests of Turkey, or discuss her relations to the European Powers, he is entirely frank and his voice is natural and clear, but when I change the conversation and speak of these dreadful massacres, his whole bearing is different. He instinctively looks around to see if anyone is within hearing distance, draws his chair up closer to mine and speaks in suppressed tones.

It is an unwelcome subject, and no one feels free to say what he thinks. I am very sure that the whole nation is conscious of its guilt, and blushes with shame whenever the subject is alluded to. If we could call back the many dead, then it would be worth our while to talk about the massacres, but since that is impossible, we must needs treat them as a frightful nightmare, and concentrate our attention on the remnant of the nation which has suffered untold persecution, and do what we can to relieve their present distress. Let the dead past bury its dead, while we look to the future of the survivors and give them the good cheer of a helping hand. In an interview with the Sultan, Mr. Whit man mentioned this fact, but His Majesty would not listen to it. He declared that it was his wish to have the massacres investigated, for it was his opinion that the stories which had reached the western world were gross ex aggerations.

He insisted, therefore, that this matter should not be neglected, and assured us that we should find his statements to be true. Let me add another incident, which occurred when we were well on our way, and which proves rather conclusively that the Sultan was willing that my determination to investigate fairly and critically should in no way be inter fered with. We reached Erzeroom after many days of exceedingly hard travel. We had put two dangerous mountain passes behind us and were pretty well worn out. The constant nervous strain had told on us all, and one of our party had fallen so seriously ill that the constant attendance of a skilled physician was required. We fully expected to leave him and push on without him. He was very brave and plucky, though, and assured us that when we were ready to start he would go with us.

When I tried to dissuade him, telling him frankly that I considered his life in peril, he still persisted. And so the matter rested for a few days. Suddenly I learned that our route was to be changed, and my suspicions were aroused. In stead of going to Bitlis, one of the sections where the massacres had been most tragical, and where they were accompanied with horrors at which the whole world shuddered, we were to go to Erzingen, thence to Sivas, thence round the mountains rather than across them to Khar poot, and so to the South and the Mediterra nean. This would interfere with me very greatly, for I wanted to get into the interior and among the Kurds as speedily as possible. The other route had been taken by others, while the one I chose was through the midst of the worst things that had happened.

All my arguments, however, were of no avail. I was told that the roads were blocked, that no caravan had been able to get through, and that even the mail ponies, who face almost any kind of weather, had been at a standstill for five days. Matters looked rather blue for awhile, and on thinking the subject over I concluded that there were just two things for me to do, either to go back to Trebizond and so home with the conscious ness of failure, or else to push on alone with the help of a few zaptiehs, or mounted policemen, for protection. I discussed the subject with Mr. Whitman from every possible standpoint. I showed him plainly that to leave out the Kurds and Bitlis was to surrender the most important factor in the problem. He insisted that it was not the Sultan's wish to evade any examination that I might wish to make, that the objection to the Bitlis route probably arose from the fact that one of the party was ill and did not care to venture on the more dangerous route.

I refused to accept that statement and admit can didly that I had a strong feeling that my pre liminary letters had given offence, and that under some plausible excuse the whole affair was to be brought to an end. When I talked with those who were best acquainted with the subject they said, without a single exception, " Bitlis of course — any other route would be a suspicious compromise." One of them added significantly, " If you wish to get at the kernel of the nut, go to Bitlis ; if you do not, go to Erzingen." Then I said to Mr. Whitman, " Let us have this matter settled at headquarters. Write a telegram which will reach the Sultan, and then we shall know where we are." The telegram was written and sent, and I assure you, the next forty-eight hours were fraught with great solicitude. At the end of that time a clean cut answer came back to the effect that if I had chosen the Bitlis route, we were to go that way and no other.

The matter was settled, and settled my way, and settled by the proper authority. I say, therefore, without any hesitation that the Sultan was entirely honest in his desire to give me free scope. It is no doubt true that he does not agree with many of the conclusions I have reached, for in my judgment the subject has been misrepresented in the Palace. Still neither he nor anybody else would respect me, and in fact I should not respect myself — which is perhaps the most important thing — unless I told the truth as I understood it, and told it without any fear or the hope of favor. I do not say that I am right in my deductions, but I do say that the Sultan agreed to give me the use of a perfectly free and independent pen, that he kept his agreement, and that I have used it to the best of my ability.

The Sultan honestly believes that the facts of the case have been misstated to Europe and America, and this was his chief motive in al lowing our investigation. I am bound to say this because I believe it to be true. Of course my friends will not agree with me in this mat ter, and equally of course I shall be accused, with more or less plausibility, of being one of the Sultan's apologists. I cannot help it how ever. My business is not to tell what other people believe, or to corroborate their state ments, but to describe the situation as I saw it with my own eyes, regardless of what either friend or foe may think. I do not say that my opinion is the correct one, I only say that it is my opinion. But while I think the Sultan is honest in his belief, I also think he has been misinformed. Neither he nor anyone else knows how many were killed during these massacres, for accu racy is impossible.

The Armenians cannot be safely trusted because their terror makes mul tiplication easy. The Turkish officials cannot be trusted, for since all Europe was infuriated their business was to minimize the affair. The documents sent to the Palace, the only means of information which the Sultan could com mand, were a tissue of falsehoods. They threw all the blame on the Armenians, they exaggerated the number of Turks who were killed, represented the call to arms on the part of a few revolutionists as the uprising of a whole people, and denied that any villages had been given up to plunder. I speak with all the more emphasis of this matter because I have seen some of these documents, have had them translated, and therefore feel sure of my ground. Shrewd as the Sultan is, and no one will deny that he is the ablest sovereign that Turkey has had in more than a century, he is perfectly powerless when he calls for exact facts.

He must needs trust somebody, and if it is for the interest of those whom he trusts to conceal the truth, they can do so successfully and with impunity. He is the most unenviable man on the planet. Not only uneasy, but insecure, lies the head that wears the crown of Turkey. The Sultan is not only in danger from without, but most of all in danger from within. He leads the narrowest life of any monarch in Europe, is practically an imperial prisoner. He lives in isolated splendor, suspicious of everybody, and with good reason to be so. He never goes be yond his garden walls, and whatever news he gets is filtered through a dozen secretaries, who read the papers every day and translate into Turkish such items as they choose. But of this, more anon. It is unnecessary to add that the historical associations which fill Asia Minor, as various as the flowers which fill its fields in summer, had a peculiar attraction for me.

One may travel in any direction and the memory of great deeds and important events will follow him. There is hardly a village, certainly not a city in the long route from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean which does not contain relics of the past, not merely the past of two thousand years ago, but of the still more distant times when the human race was primitive and making its first feeble efforts at civilization. Far away on the northeast of Armenia, rises in magnificent splendor Mount Ararat, its snow covered summit seventeen thousand feet from the level of the sea, a landmark which all the people of the region, Mohammedans as well as Christians, regard with a feeling of awe. It is one of the spectacles which I have always de sired to behold, for it is a centre around which so many events that we hold sacred revolve.

Then, too, just south of Erzeroom, is the fabled location of the Garden of Eden. The guide-book says that the mercury often falls to fifteen or twenty degrees below zero, which led me to suppose that Adam and Eve must have needed some warmer covering than fig leaves ; but the legend had its fascination nevertheless, and my imagination was stirred. When one of my New York friends, an Ar menian, assured me that that section of the country was famous for its apples, I felt that there must be some truth in the legend, and so the dream of going through the Garden of Eden on horseback was a very pleasant one. If you stand on the shore of the bay of Alexandretta, far in the south-west, you see two pillars, so I had read, four or five miles distant. These were erected close to the spot where the whale and Jonah had their mutually disa greeable experiences, Jonah being glad to get rid of the whale, and the whale being equally happy, doubtless, to get rid of Jonah.

Whether the story is true or not, it has its charm. There is so much of history which is legendary, and so much of legend which may contain a veritable historical nodule, that discrimination is not always easy, and one may be pardoned if he enjoys the right emotion at the wrong time. At any rate, it was an interesting possibility that I might see the place where everybody said and somebody believes the whale and Jonah parted company. Only a short distance to the north of Alex andretta lie the famous plains of Issus, where the Persians met the forces of Alexander the Great. The bay in front was covered with Persian war vessels while the hills in the back ground were a vast camp. From the deck of a steamer anchored in the offing one could get a glimpse of the whole marvellous scene with "the mind's eye, Horatio," and become intoxicated with the memories therewith con nected.

Then, too, the traveller is reminded of St. Paul, for the city of Tarsus is almost within range of a good field-glass. Strabo tells us that in respect to philosophy and general edu cation it was the successful rival of Alexandria and Athens. Here Paul spent his infancy, a Hebrew of the Hebrews, untouched by Roman influence or Greek heresies. It would be a great privilege to follow him in his boyish wan derings, and to visit the place where he spent the earliest years of his life. Asia Minor has been the battle-field on which eastern and western monarchs have met in A TURKISH BEQOAR. Purpose of the Expedition 17 mortal combat. Trebizond was an important city under the Romans, and Trajan made it one of his capitals. Hadrian erected public buildings there, and spent great treasure in improve ing its harbor.

Later on, in the thirteenth century, Alexius Comnenus founded an em pire on the Black Sea shores, with Trebizond as his capital. His palace was famed for its magnificence, and the royal family were equally famed for their beauty, even the Moslem rulers of Persia seeking the daughters' hands in mar riage, on account of their comeliness. One may find there bits of the old wall, and several watch-towers whose age runs back to the Chris tian era. And from this city of Trebizond to the distant south you are constantly reminded of the past, of the most heroic part of the past. You meet the Crusaders on their way to Jerusalem, and find numerous relics which remind you of those days when war was the business of mankind. In Bitlis, in Diarbekir, everywhere indeed, troops have marched for conquest, and long caravans of camels have for twenty centuries brought the products of the Orient to a western market.

You will not be surprised, therefore, that over and above the sad question of recent massaa cres, I felt the peculiar attraction which only historical associations can furnish. To with draw for a time from the unceasing activities of the nineteenth century, and journey through the vast silences of a land whose air was thick with memories of ancient days was, irrespec tive of other considerations, an opportunity not to be lightly laid aside. Add to this the conviction that I might pos sibly be of some service to the stricken and despairing Armenians, that my sympathies were with them in their unspeakable misery, that an independent investigation of their con dition and their prospects might lay new facts before the American public, and you can see that though I dreaded the journey, for I had some slight knowledge of its inevitable hard ships, I at the same time undertook it with high anticipations.

Whatever might happen, it seemed to me a duty to be performed, and that ended the matter. So with a heavy heart I packed my steamer-trunk and started for Paris.

Chapter II. The Golden Horn

FROM my room on the fifth floor of the Pera Palace Hotel, Constantinople, I had a magnificent view. Far off, on hill-tops, were a barracks and an almshouse, types of our modern civilization, which is cruel with one hand and kind with the other. On the near left was the sleepy water of the Golden Horn, a mirror in which the sun seemed glad to re flect itself, and beyond it an immense ceme tery on the slope of a steep ascent, while on the extreme left rose the picturesque minarets of San Sophia, so old that it is crumbling, beautiful once, but now impressive because of its decrepitude. Immediately in front of my window was another cemetery, whose head stones dated back to time immemorial, and leaned every which way, as though they were tired of recording the alleged virtues of the dead, and wanted to rest on the sod.

Of course there was a grove of cypress-trees, as there is almost everywhere in Turkey where mortality lies in its last slumber, and to these trees came at sunset, a flock of ravens, thousands in number, announcing their approach with strange cries. At sunrise in the morning they took their departure, many of them flying so close to my balcony that I thought of Poe's marvellous poem, and wondered if they were coming in to " perch above my chamber door " with that ill-omened word " Nevermore." I grew quite nervous with something like super stition, thinking that perhaps they were warn ing me against the undertaking to which I had set my hand. Nearly all travellers are in love with Con stantinople, and declare that it is the freest city on the planet, but I prefer some other, almost any other place to live in.