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CHAPTER VII.
On Marsovan plain — A conqueror's saying — Achmet a Bulgarian
mohadji— Charcoal-burners — A singular
ravine — The making of
pekmez—An ominous noise—Amasia the most picturesque city in
Asia Minor— Its precipices and river—Choosing a meal—Kabob
Moonrise, singing, and drums.
Before we left Marsovan Achmet stipulated for a
limit to the distance he was to go. He would go
to Sivas, about a hundred and fifty miles, but not
farther, fearing that if he did, snow might prevent
his return until the spring. His wife and family,
he said, were in Marsovan, and he could not leave
them uncared-for during several months.
On a fresh morning, bright and sunny as any, I
left the Mission before eight o'clock, rode through
the streets in order to avoid comment, and alighted
at the edge of the town. The plain sank gently
before me, its farther end closed by the huge blue
precipices of Amasia thirty miles away, which showed
my evening goal. And now, where the way divided
beside the ruined tomb of some long-forgotten holy
man, I took the Amasia road, feeling that all Asia
Minor was to come. The warm South was my large
destination—as it always should be for the perfect
excursion on foot. And on the journey so much
to be seen that few strangers had looked upon
Old cities of the plateau ;
great mountains ; the
cave-dwellers' land of Cappadocia ; inland defiles of
Taurus ; the historic Cilician Pass ; and perhaps forgotten
mountain strongholds of those Pamphylian
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