In the first quarter of the thirteenth century there was another great migration towards Asia Minor, towards rather than into the peninsula, because it partly scattered itself in the mountains of Armenia and partly turned southward, going over the Taurus and Amanus ranges into Cilicia and Syria. Some got as far as Egypt. The earlier Seljuk invasion had been that of settlers following a victorious army. This invasion was that of refugees fleeing before a terrible foe. For Djenghiz Khan and his Mongol horde had come out of central Asia, and all who could, even the bravest, fled before him. The lesson had been quickly learned that to resist him meant certain death. Because it was a migration of families, with all their worldly possessions, and because they had to hurry and did not know where they were going, the great bulk of them did not advance far.[2]

Most of the bands, after settling for some years in the mountains of Armenia and in the upper valley of the Euphrates, were tempted by the death of Djenghiz Khan to return home. The steep mountains and narrow valleys of Rum had dissuaded them from trying for better luck farther west. It was too much up hill and down dale for their cattle.[3] The resolute and adventurous pushed on into Asia Minor, although in doing so they must have lost or have left behind most of their women and children and flocks. For they were small warrior bands, bent upon enlisting in the army of Alaeddin Kaï Kobad, the last illustrious sultan of the Konia Seljuk line--illustrious because he had not yet met the Mongols and was looked upon by the fugitives as a possible saviour and avenger. Even if they had not the intention of putting themselves under the protection of Alaeddin when they set their faces westward, they must needs have come into contact with him. For of the two roads into Asia Minor from Armenia, the upper one lay through Sivas and Angora, and the lower through Caesarea, Akseraï, and Konia. Whichever route they took would lead them through the Seljuk dominions.

It is doubtful if Alaeddin viewed the appearance of these fighting bands with any other emotion than that of alarm. In spite of their undoubted skill as fighters, the Seljuk Sultan did not dare to enroll many of them in his army. If he were defeated in battle, or if he should die, he knew well that such vigorous mercenaries might upset his line. He could rely upon their fidelity neither against the Kharesmians with whom he was at that time fighting (many of them were from that Sultan’s country), nor against the Mongols with whom he must soon measure his strength. So he followed the policy dictated by prudence. Resisting the temptation of using them in his own army, he granted to their leaders as fiefs districts on the frontiers of his rapidly diminishing empire which were hardly his own to give, where they would have to work out their own salvation by mastering local anarchy in their respective ‘grants’, or, like the Israelites of Canaan, fight for what had been allotted to them, against the Byzantine Emperors of Nicaea.

Under these circumstances, the tribe of destiny would be that which occupied the grant nearest Constantinople and the remnant of the Byzantine Empire. The Turkish tribe which settled on the borders of Bithynia, either by the direction and with the permission of Alaeddin Kaï Kobad,[4] or independently of the Seljuks of Konia,[5] was that whose first historic chief was Osman, the father of the Osmanlis.

With the other Turkish tribes, which succeeded in establishing independent emirates, the Osmanlis did not come into contact until the reign of Orkhan. So it is unnecessary to trace their fortunes here.[6]

III

There are no Ottoman sources to which the historian may go for the origin of the Ottoman people and royal house, or for their history during the fourteenth century. They have no written records of the period before the capture of Constantinople.[7] Their earliest historians date from the end of the fifteenth century, and the two writers to whom they give greatest weight wrote at the end of the sixteenth and the early part of the seventeenth century.[8] From the point of view, then, of recording historical facts, one hesitates in our day to follow the example of von Hammer, by setting forth at length, after a scientific collation, the legends which the simple-minded Osmanlis have always accepted without question. The Byzantines give us nothing worthy of credence about the origin of the Osmanlis, for the reason that they had no means of getting authoritative information. As for the early European writers, their testimony is valuable only as a reflection of the idea which Christendom had of the Osmanlis when they were becoming a menace to European civilization.[9]

On the other hand, these legends are not to be ignored, as they have been by the latest authoritative writer on Ottoman history.[10] Where authenticated facts are lacking, traditions must be examined and carefully weighed. This is essential when we are considering the origins of a people. For no race has ever recorded its birth. The beginnings of a people are so insignificant that they remain unnoticed in general history until the attention of others is attracted to them by their own achievements.

Who were the people that took upon themselves the name of Osman, their chief, and whom we must, from the moment of their very first encounters with the Byzantines, clearly distinguish from the other groups of Anatolian Turks that had gathered around other leaders? Did they, at the beginning of Osman’s career, have any distinct national consciousness? Did they have any past? Did they start the foundation of a state with a definite goal before them? Was there any other cause for their amazing growth and success than the mere fact that they had the most fortunate geographical position, on the confines of a decaying empire?

With the purpose, then, of suggesting an answer to some of these questions, and paving the way for an answer to the others later on, what the Osmanlis accept concerning their origin and their history before 1300 must be set forth and examined.[11]

In the year of the Hegira 616,[12] ‘because there was no more rest to be found in all Persia’ for the Turks who had been forced out of the Khorassan[13] by the approach of Djenghiz Khan, ‘all the wandering Turks, fifty thousand families, followed their leader, Soleiman Shah,[14] and set out for Rum. Then was Alaeddin I, son of Kaï Kosrew, the builder of Konia, entered upon the rule of Rum. These fifty thousand nomad families journeyed several years in the neighbourhood of Erzerum and Erzindjian, changing from winter to summer quarters and plundering the unbelievers who lived there. But ... finally ... Soleiman Shah marched again towards his homeland, with the intention of passing through the district of Aleppo. As they came to the neighbourhood of Djaber, they wanted to venture across the Euphrates. Soleiman Shah drove his horse into the river to seek a ford. The bank was rocky, so the horse slipped and fell into the river with Soleiman Shah. His end was regarded as a warning (decision) of destiny: it appeared to be the command of God.... A part of these Turks remained to dwell there.... There was a division among the followers of Soleiman Shah. Some of them, who now carry the name of Turcomans of Syria, went into the wilderness. Others went towards Rum, and became ancestors of the nomad tribes who still wander in Rum.

‘Soleiman Shah at his death left four sons: Sonkur tigin, Gundogdu, Ertogrul, the champion of the faith,[15] and Dundar. Some of the Turks followed these four brothers, turned themselves again in the direction of Rum, and came to the ... source of the Euphrates. While Ertogrul and Dundar remained there with about four hundred nomad families, the two other brothers turned back again to their home.’ Ertogrul marched farther into Rum, and settled near Angora at the foot of Karadjadagh. From there he wandered to Sultan Oejoenu.[16]

Neshri now tells a story which is repeated by later Ottoman historians as a fact. Neshri says that he heard this story from a ‘trustworthy’ man, who had heard it from the stirrup-holder of Orkhan, who, in turn, had heard it from his father and his grandfather. This is worthy of mention, for it is one of the very few instances where an Oriental historian has taken the trouble to connect his facts with what might be termed an original source:

‘As Ertogrul, with about four hundred men, was marching into Rum, Sultan Alaeddin[17] was engaged in a fight with some of his enemies. As they came near, they found that the Tartars were on the point of beating Sultan Alaeddin. Now Ertogrul had several hundred excellent companions with him. He spoke to them: “Friends, we come straight upon a battle. We carry swords at our side. To flee like women and resume our journey is not manly. We must help one of the two. Shall we aid those who are winning or those who are losing?” Then they said unto him, “It will be difficult to aid the losers. Our people are weak in number, and the victors are strong!” Ertogrul replied, “This is not the speech of bold men. The manly part is to aid the vanquished. The prophet says that he shall come to the helpless in time of need. Were man to make a thousand pilgrimages, he finds not the reward that comes to him when at the right moment he turns aside affliction from the helpless!” Thereupon Ertogrul and his followers immediately grasped their swords, and fell upon the Tartars ... and drove them in flight. When the Sultan saw this he came to meet Ertogrul, who dismounted, and kissed the Sultan’s hand. Whereupon Alaeddin gave him a splendid robe of honour and many gifts for his companions. Then gave he to the people of Ertogrul a country by name Sugut for winter and the mountain range of Dumanij[18] for summer residence. From this decides one rightly that the champion of the faith, Osman, was born at Sugut. Then was Karadja Hissar, like Biledjik, not yet captured, but was subject to Sultan Alaeddin. These were three districts.’