In the meantime the horsemen had formed in line on the level ground north of our position. They proved to be a band of Kurds in the employ of a Kaimakam who resides in this remote village. That official stepped forward and saluted us with deference; at his side rode a sergeant of the regular army, commissioned to drill the Kurds. These are members of the great Hasananli tribe. The Kaimakam escorted us for a part of the way to Gopal, over the spacious downs. I employed my brief experience with yeomanry in England in the endeavour to put his retinue through some simple exercises. The sergeant translated the words of command. But it was impossible to keep them in line for any time. They would burst forward, each trooper vying with his neighbour, and careering over the plain, the rifle brandished like a spear. The more I saw of Kurds the deeper grew my impression that they would be completely worthless in time of war. On the outskirts of Gopal were encamped some gypsies, who subsist by making sieves. [224] It was late in the afternoon of the 28th of June before we left the village, and mounted the cliff on the left bank of the stream. For several miles we rode in a north-easterly direction across the upland plain. These levels extend from the ridges of the Akh Dagh, in the west, to a barrier of marble heights which rose on our point of course, and appeared to be continued southwards in a roughly south-east line. The prospect over the region in the direction of Lake Van disclosed an immense area of comparatively even country, limited only by the insular masses of Sipan and Bilejan. These masses were in some sense linked by the long outline of a range of hills, which, in fact, compose the southern edge of the Murad basin, and beyond which repose the waters of the great lake. Khamur was boldly defined in the south-west.