CHAPTER XV

INTRUDERS IN A PANDEMONIUM

(AMADIA AND BOHTAN)

To the south of the Christian cantons of Tkhuma and Salabekan, and separated from them by a series of high rocky ridges, lies the long trough-like valley of Amadia, which is here known alternatively as the Sapna. At its eastern end, as already related, dwell the Sheikhs of Barzan and Neri; but the western portion is divided among a group of petty Kurdish Aghas, who are of course _ashiret_ in status like their neighbours, and who occupy both the main Sapna valley itself, the Ghara ranges which form the counterscarp separating it from Mosul plain, and the Berwar valley which lies parallel with it to the northward.

These chiefs, of whom the Mira of Berwar and the Agha of Châl are the principal, are "small men." None of them can claim a personal following of more than a few hundred at most; though one or other may figure prominently at times as the head of a confederacy. Their chronic condition is that of outlawry for proved acts of violence; and in the land of Ghara in particular there does not seem to be a single gentleman of name who is not in that enviable condition--or if there is, we never heard of him in the course of three years' residence. This fact, however, does not in the least affect anyone's comfort, or even the friendliness of his relations with the officials of the Government. It is rather a _cachet_ of gentility than otherwise.

Bigger men live to east and west of them; namely our old acquaintance the Sheikh of Barzan, and the Agha of the Sindigul Kurds, whose name is Abdi. When these men have a disagreement with the Government, it is not a case of mere outlawry, but of open war; and the Government does not always, by any means, get the better of them. Abdi Agha of the Sindigulis is perhaps the better off; for he has a stronghold of the most magnificent description, to which no Government troops have ever penetrated, and which is a fair set-off against the religious prestige of his neighbour. This stronghold is the lofty tableland of Tanina; a great plateau among the mountains where there are wood and water for the whole tribe, and pasture in abundance for all their sheep the whole summer through. It can only be approached, the tale goes (for no foreigner has ever been allowed to visit its summit), by three easily guarded ascents; and when once the tribe are on the top, they can afford to laugh at any force the Government of the district can send against them. A large force set to blockade the place could not be fed in the district, while small detachments guarding the "ports" could be overwhelmed in detail. No doubt resolute troops could storm it; but the cost would be heavy. The only weakness of the sanctuary appears to lie in this; that neither man nor beast can live on the top of it during the winter. When the autumn gales and early snows begin, come down they must; and in this fact would lie the opportunity of a Government that really cared about the enforcement of order.

Throughout the district there are plenty of Christian villages, almost entirely of the Nestorian church, though at the western end of it some belong to the "Jacobite" body. All of these, however, are _rayat_ or feudally subordinate, to the Kurdish chiefs among whom they live, and are little better in fact than serfs. The principal town of the land, Amadia, is a fully equipped seat of government, with a _kaimakam_, a lieutenant of gendarmerie, a district judge, and all complete. But his Excellency the Governor knows better than to issue any order that he thinks likely to be unpleasant to his neighbours.

Thus these second-rate Aghas are left pretty much to the freedom of their own will, and the result is as bad a Government as can well be imagined. An important chief, like the Sheikh of Barzan, may at least tolerate no other tyrant; and may possibly see that killing off the bees is not the best way of getting a permanent supply of honey. But the small men have their own feuds with one another; their train of dependents that must be supported somehow; and, moreover, a total absence of conscience--or even of the enlightened self-interest that is sometimes its working substitute.

As for appealing to the Government for redress against the Agha's misdoings that is entirely wasted labour; and anyone who does so is apt to be given a lesson by the feudal chief, to warn others from doing the like.

A description of some of the actual proceedings of two of the chiefs may enable the reader who has no knowledge of the ways of Ottoman officials in the remoter districts to learn what Turkish rule really means. Reshid, the Mira of Berwar, pays so much lip-deference to the Government's authority that he does condescend to buy from it the right of collecting the taxes from the Christian villages, year by year. This right is usually farmed out by the local officials (the fact that this is expressly illegal has nothing to do with the matter), the contractor paying a fixed sum to the Treasury, and making what he can out of the place. Reshid pays a sum of £5 for each village, which the Treasury gets; and perhaps another £5 goes in _bakhshish_, to secure that there shall be no competition, or that some flaw shall be found in any other offer. Then he extracts some £200 from each village.[141]

It is possible that this is not much more than double the real assessment; still, even so, one would have thought that it might be worth while for the provincial governments to institute a better system; for when that is done in some thirty villages, it really represents a material loss to a Treasury that is perennially empty. However, you may talk to a Turk till you are tired, and represent to him that his system is simply robbery, and stupid robbery too; and that with better methods he would get ten times as much with one tenth the trouble. You are told politely to your face that you are under a misapprehension; though this ignorance of the country is of course pardonable in a foreigner. What is said or thought privately may perhaps be guessed.

In feuds anything may happen. Thus Mira Reshid has a standing feud, of twenty years date now, with the men of Tyari; which is said to have commenced with a treacherous murder under trust in the Mussulman's own house. It blazed up fiercely in the summer of 1908; and that not without excuse from the Kurd's point of view, for some Tyari hot-heads (angry at the fact that a proposed reconciliation had not come off) had carried out a raid in Berwar territory, and killed Reshid's own brother. That he should cut the bullet out of the corpse, and send word to the chief of the Lizan valley (whence the raiders had come) that he was keeping it to shoot through his heart, was fair enough; but he certainly went beyond all ordinary rules in proclaiming a _Jehad_ or holy war of Islam against Christianity, on account of what was at the most a mere tribal feud.

However, all the neighbouring tribes of Kurds rallied at that call, and he was able to muster 8000 men, armed with modern rifles, against the short 1500 flintlocks that was all that the threatened sub-district of Lizan could produce. It says much for the reputation of the Tyari fighters, that even under those circumstances the Kurds dared no frontal attack, and were content to make a long counter-march through the mountains, to reach the head of that Lizan valley (a tributary of the Zab) which the Christians were defending. Then they marched down it, plundering as they went, while the Christians on the hill above saw their houses go up in smoke one after the other.

There was little spoil to take, for the sheep and women had been prudently sent away to the north; but all the usual courtesies of war went by the board that day. Trees were girdled; houses and standing crops were burnt; irrigating channels broken down so as to ruin the crops in other fields; and the conquerors marched down the valley to fulfil an old threat that they would "dance in St. George's Church on St. George's day," and thereafter carry fire and sword up the main valley of Tyari; which was not directly concerned in the feud.

This last outrage, however, was averted by one daring deed. The church in question stands at the foot of the side valley, close by the bridge over the Zab that forms the sole passage to the larger threatened district. One chief of the Christian mountaineers saw that a band of brave men might throw themselves into a house which commanded both, and save their brethren, even if they themselves were ruined. He called for volunteers who would come down with him and cut across the Kurdish advance in the effort to gain that point. He would only take men who would put their lives on the hazard, for no quarter is given in _Jehad_. He got his party; and the writer must be allowed some pride in the fact that one of the members of this forlorn hope was a pupil of his own, a member of the "English School," named Saypu. They reached their point and prepared for defence; Saypu's last preparation being to take his own school-books out of the house (which, as it happened, was his own home) and hide them in a hole in the rock. It was the first token of affection he had given for them in his life! The little band made good their defence; and as they had not to deal with the main body of their enemy, they were actually able to carry out a sortie on their foes as they retired. Saypu, who had gone into the fight with a borrowed flint-lock, came out of it with a breech-loader of his own, the fairly won spoil of its late owner! More important than this, however, was the fact that the bridge was held. Though the side-valley was burnt from end to end, the main one was saved from ravage; and the Christians were able to hold their service on the following Sunday in the still undesecrated Church of St. George.

Such an open war as this roused even the Ottoman Government to asking questions; though to do the officials justice, they would have been glad enough to leave the matter alone if only British Embassies and Consulates had left them in peace. As it was, they consented to send a commissioner to somewhere near the district, with instructions to "do _takikat_" in the case. As a matter of etymology, _takikat_ means examination or inquiry. As a matter of practice, it means sending an official with instructions to waste time, and do nothing elaborately; while the Government at headquarters says to the interfering foreigner, "you must allow us reasonable space and opportunity for action." After a few months, this phrase is altered; and the reply is, "well, after all, it happened a long time ago, and we cannot go into the matter now." In this case, the commissioner got as far as Amadia, and sent a summons to Reshid to come down and explain his conduct. Reshid sent out five pounds to the messenger, and the information that he was ill in bed, and the gentleman must call again; and this quite satisfied everybody.

This is the sort of procedure that fills a Consul with despair. It is hard enough to get a disciplinary or reforming order out of the central Government; and when you have got it, what better are you? There is no possibility of getting the thing executed. Every Jack-in-office in the Ottoman service knows what is meant by a "watery command"--an order extracted by foreign pressure which he is meant to disregard. They know when the authority means business, and then they answer the rein at once; but they also know when it does not, and then they do nothing. Foreign influence cannot possibly see to it that there is a Consul in every place where oppression can arise. No Power can keep one in every mudirate; and nothing short of that would be effective. If Turkey is ever to be reformed, it must be by foreigners who have executive as well as advisory authority; power, that is, to hang an official who does not obey orders, or a chief who breaks the peace. Half a dozen such men would have Kurdistan as safe as Hyde Park inside a year, for if there is one chance in twenty of trouble ensuing, the Kurd does not raid.

Reshid's only rival in Berwar is the Agha of Châl,[142] an old man who is the government _Mudir_ of his district. He is also a _Sufi_ by religious profession; and both of these circumstances should make for respectability; for the _Mudir_ is put there to keep order, being lowest on the scale of local governors, and _Sufis_ are usually supposed to be quiet mystics. Many of them are so in fact, and most interesting religious philosophers to talk with; but this man is noted for being on the whole the most crafty murderer in the country-side. It is of course something to rise to eminence in a profession so crowded as that peculiar one is locally; but perhaps that is not the most remarkable thing about this particular Agha. He is the only man of the writer's acquaintance who keeps a really large herd of domestic Jews. Châl village is largely populated by men of that race; and they are to all intents and purposes the serfs of the Agha--his tame money-spinners. The writer was even offered full rights in one of them for the sum of five pounds; and if the bargain would have held in more civilized districts (and the vendor, to do him justice, did not realize that it would not), it might have been as profitable an investment as is ever likely to come his way! A Jew of one's very own, bound to put all his financial skill at your disposal, and to use it solely for your benefit, would be a most valuable property.

There are other chiefs who keep "tame Jews" in this fashion, though not on the same scale as does the wise man of Châl. Naturally, you are expected to protect your own Hebrew, and to guard him against all other oppressors; even as the King of England used to do, when he had absolute property in all the Jews in England, and saw to it that their debtors did not default. Kurdish Aghas, however, do not always rise to this duty; and the writer has known a case, where the unfortunate Israelite, who was owned in this fashion by one Agha, was robbed of every penny and rag he possessed by that Agha's rival. Poor Ibrahim complained, of course, to his natural lord, on the ground that it was _iyba_ to that master himself, if his property was robbed in this style. The chief had to admit that there was something in the argument; but redress by force of arms (the obvious method) was impossible, because the robber was far too nearly his equal in strength.

"Your face is blackened my Lord," pleaded the poor Hebrew.

"It is indeed," said the Agha; "but I can't go to war with him notwithstanding."

Presently he had a really brilliant inspiration. "Look here Ibrahim; I have it! I'll go and rob his Jew myself!"

That being the way the Kurdish mind works, it will be readily understood that their unfortunate Christian _rayats_ run considerable peril when there happens to be feud between two Aghas. Under those circumstances, it is just as satisfactory on the point of honour--and a good deal more profitable and less risky--to raid your opponents' unarmed Christian villages, than his armed Kurdish ones. Both sides practise this amiable habit with great satisfaction to themselves; and the poor _rayats_ suffer accordingly.

The presence of one powerful Kurdish chief ruling a whole country-side is thus a distinct improvement (however tyrannous he may be) on the rule of several rivals. He may at least have the sense to realize that it is unprofitable to carry the oppression of the _rayats_ too far, lest the cattle should be ungrateful enough to die on his hands. A story is told of the brother of the notorious Bedr Khan Beg, that on one occasion when that great destroyer of Christians was meditating a further massacre, he appeared in the _diwan_ in labourer's dress, armed with a shovel.

"_Mashallah._ Why this masquerade?" asked his brother the chief.

"Well brother, it is what we shall have to do, if you go on with your game of massacring all Christians. You will leave none to do the work on the land."

The acted parable went home, as so often was the case in biblical times; and the proposed raid was countermanded.

During the Italian and Bulgarian wars, there was of course much heated feeling among Mussulmans, and much wild talk of a massacre of all Christians. A Kurd indulging in that sort of swagger in a Christian village was countered by an argument which naturally no European would have expected, but which we have reason to believe had considerable weight in many quarters.

"Of course, you can massacre us," said an old priest, "we are in your hands. But then, what will King George do?"

"King George!" said the Kurd contemptuously, "his arm does not reach to Kurdistan."

"No, but he has millions of Mussulman _rayats_ in India," said the Christian. "If you kill us, think you that he will not take life for life from them?"

The Kurd was staggered. At first, he was disinclined to believe it possible for any Christian King to have Mussulman _rayats_. But when assured on that point, he quite admitted the probability--and more, the propriety--of King George retaliating on Mussulmans in India for anything their co-religionists might do to Christians in Kurdistan. The Oriental is quite philosopher enough to grasp the notion of _solidarité_.

Moreover it must be inferred that a Kurd has a ghost of a conscience. He does not himself expect to sleep quiet in his grave unless some Christian places a rag on it in token of forgiveness. It is a weird belief, but is fully accepted on all hands. A noted marauder was lately buried near Amadia, and three Tyari men passing his grave after nightfall heard awful groans proceeding from it. One, bolder than his comrades, went nearer, and found an asthmatic sheep. An unlucky discovery, for it utterly ruined the moral.

The character of the country is tamer than that we have just been traversing, for it is only in the most rugged and inaccessible gorges that the _ashiret_ Christians have been able to maintain their independence. In these Berwar and Sapna districts, the wilder ranges have been left behind. The valleys are wider, and the hills are usually forest clad; the prevailing tree being a small type of oak. Fortunately this is a valuable crop in itself, for it produces a very large oak-apple; and this is used freely in the dyeing of the local cloth, so that the trees have a good chance of preservation. The colours produced vary, according to the process, from pale yellow to dark brown; but as is always the case with pure vegetable dyes, all are excellent in tone, and a most gratifying contrast to the cold hard aniline dyes that European science has introduced to ruin the once beautiful carpets of this land.

The hills are mostly of limestone, and lie in long parallel ranges, due east and west, with steep crags and precipices on the crests, and long tree-clad slopes below. They gradually lose their elevation as they approach the Mosul plain; but even at the last stand up over that endless level with a startling abruptness. The rivers, true to their habit in this land of contradictions, burst clean through these ranges in their southern course, though they naturally receive tributaries in each one of the parallels.

Good coal lies under much of this country; the writer having actually seen one six-foot seam that crops out at four several points along a line of sixty miles, and is probably continuous in other directions also. It is of course quite unworked at present. Turkish political economy teaches that for so long as the coal is there, it is safe, and a solid national asset. If, however, you dig it up and burn it, it is gone and cannot be replaced. Besides, mining concessions, or anything else likely to bring in the foreigner, are anathema to the Ottoman and are never granted if they can possibly be avoided.

The principal landmark in the Sapna valley is the town of Amadia; a city set on a hill indeed--perched on the summit of a great isolated knoll which juts out from the mountains behind it like a bastion from the curtain of a fortress. The slopes of this knoll are surmounted by a cresting of limestone precipice, so even and continuous round the whole circuit of the level summit that it looks from a little distance like a prodigious artificial wall. The place must have been a notable stronghold even in Assyrian days, as a much battered bas-relief on the rock face by the main gate testifies: but the ramparts which Nature has given it were always sufficient protection; and, except at the two entrance gateways, no further defences were required. It is now but a group of mean hovels, no more than a rather large village; but it ranks in the Sapna valley as the metropolis of the country-side.

Amadia is the only seat of Ottoman Government in the neighbourhood; and for this reason it was in its vicinity that a "Station" of the Archbishop's Assyrian Mission was established when it was desirable to find some centre reasonably accessible for the mountaineers of Tyari and Tkhuma. This establishment caused a most natural fluttering of the dovecotes in that respectable and old-fashioned neighbourhood. That the Kurds should feel eminently disgusted was only to be expected. Good respectable brigands as they were, and had been for generations, and having a vested interest in the perpetuation of conditions that made their ancient trade profitable; what else could they be expected to feel, at the advent of a Frank who was not only unraidable personally, but whose mere presence made it appreciably more difficult to raid others? Formerly if there had ever been questions about the appropriation of sheep (which did not happen often), it was always easy to persuade the _kaim[=a]k[=a]m_ to do nothing, and report nothing. An Englishman, however, was in touch with his Consul, (accursed institution), and that Consul with the _Vali_; and _Valis_ have a way of not sympathizing with a Kurdish gentleman's necessities, unless you purchase that sympathy rather expensively.

Furthermore, there was the Roman Catholic bishop of the district; and he also objected (and again most naturally and rightly from his point of view) to the coming of an institution that might put backbone into the "heretical" church which he was in process of annexing gradually to the one true fold. We must own that his lordship's methods of going to work in the matter were perhaps a little crude; but the fact is, that it is the grossest injustice to judge the modern East by a twentieth-century standard. If you choose to go and live in mediæval times (somewhere in the thirteenth century let us say), you must not complain if the people act in fashion reminiscent of that age. It is best to cultivate a sense of historical perspective instead, and enjoy the picturesqueness of things.

The bishop in question was not a European himself, but a native of the country, and a member of the Chaldæan Church; and there is not the slightest reason for thinking that his tutors (the Dominican Fathers of Mosul) were aware of his rather mediæval methods. He would not be likely to report too definitely to them (if he had any direct correspondence with them at all, which is not probable) on the broad principle, familiar in that land, that there are things which a Frank can never be got to understand, and which for the sake of his peace of mind he had better not know! His immediate superior, the Chaldæan Patriarch, may have been better informed. He is an Oriental and so of an understanding mind; a vigorous mind withal, and not troubled with needless scruples.

It being then desirable to remove the intruding Englishman, his lordship's first step was to request the _Vali_ to issue an order to that effect, on the ground that the writer's morals were so abominably bad, that the Kurds could not tolerate his presence. This attempt failed; the _Vali_ taking the line that Kurdish morals were not his business, and that in any case he thought that even an Englishman could hardly make them worse than they were. We regret to say that his Excellency, having given this decision, went to lunch with the British Consul in order to share the ribald joke.

Foiled there, his lordship the bishop next appealed to the local Kurds. "If you allow that Englishman to settle there" he told them, "he will set the Government on to you, every time you go a-raiding; and you will never be able to rob a Christian village in peace and safety again." Of course the fact was true enough; or rather, it was true that the foreigner would do his best to produce that desirable result, as far as the narrow limits of his power extended; and it was all to the good that the Kurds should believe it. Still, as an Episcopal argument, it was odd. However, it is the general feeling of the East, that there is no stone too dirty to throw at your enemy; and that if you set a train for his destruction, there is never any risk of your getting hoist with your own petard. It is, after all, only the mediæval feeling, that it was quite fair to call in the devil to do your work, and then cheat him of his pay!

Another argument urged upon the Kurds by the bishop was that the coming of the English meant annexation in the near future. However, this "back-fired" sadly. Many Kurds, after inquiring if the tale was really true, exclaimed: "Glory be to Allah! Let us hope the English will be quicker about it than they sometimes are." For a very fair proportion of the men in every tribe are really sick of the state of no-government around them. They are tired of disorder, more than tired of the Turk; and have discovered that raiding really does not pay in the long run. Good sport it is; but the outgoings are too heavy. No raids will pay for the up-keep of a large "following" for ever; and yet if you practise raiding, a large following must be kept up. So, unable to establish any sort of government other than the tribal themselves, they are disposed to welcome almost any change, or the intervention of almost any foreigner. Though, of course, however welcome a foreigner might be at first, he would be sure to get cordially hated later when the sweets of order palled in their turn.

Some Kurdish gentlemen were disposed to welcome the coming of the English for other and more personal reasons. Among these was a certain Agha Reshid of Ghara (a distinct man from his namesake of Berwar) whose fame as a murderer rivalled even that of the Agha of Châl. This distinguished man came to visit us one day, sadly scaring our household staff by the train that he thought necessary for his dignity; and perhaps for his safety also, for both the Government and his private enemies had designs upon him.

"Will you receive him, Rabbi?" said the servants, "he is the man who has committed fifteen murders himself."

He proved, however, to be, like Lambro, "as mild a mannered man as ever scuttled ship or cut a throat;" and after the usual compliments, disclosed his real business. "Could we see our way to registering him as a British subject?" The fact was, as he explained, that his enemies were getting quite troublesome to him now, over the crimes they said he had committed; and if we could oblige him in this, then he would be entitled to Consular protection, and that would give him a clean slate. As usual, in return for that favour he would cheerfully undertake the removal of any enemies of ours whom we named.

We could only regret our inability to do him the service asked, and explain that there was really nobody whom we wished to have murdered; a statement which in the light of our known relations to our neighbours was received with an incredulity that was courteous, but quite undisguised. In the interests of science, however, we had to put one further question. "O Agha, that thing which your enemies say of you concerning those fifteen murders; is it true at all?"

"O _Effendim_," he answered coolly; "they were all of them my enemies but two. And one of them was a Jew who had looked at my womankind."

We could not come to an understanding, but we parted the best of friends.[143]

As for the Christian villagers, they of course welcomed the arrival of what promised protection, and refused to believe any disclaimers of political power and aims. "Now we shall be able to send out our sheep to the far pastures," they proclaimed. To do so previously would have been a mere invitation to cattle-raiders, which they would not have been slow to accept!

The person who was most to be pitied in the whole matter was the unfortunate Governor of Amadia. He had to veil under a decent show of politeness the disgust that he must have felt over the advent of a nuisance whom he was bound to protect; and a critic whom he could not turn out, or altogether disregard. Further, all his Kurdish neighbours who desired the removal of the foreigner were sure that the governor could do it if he would; and that he would have done so, had he not been bribed in a contrary sense.

One can spare some pity for a poor man who finds himself losing his popularity with his friends for not doing what he would give his ears to do, if only he were able. Constant petitions were made to him to expel the foreigner; and when in a weak moment he tried to purchase peace by issuing an order to that effect, the impracticable Englishman not only refused to obey it, but appealed to his Consul; and so brought down on him a sharp reprimand from the _Vali_, and a reminder of the existence of the "Capitulations" and foreign privileges under them. Yet how was he to get that fact into a Kurd's understanding?

Finding that the poor _kaimákam_ was not to be moved, the neighbours thought of taking action themselves. A syndicate of them actually suggested a reward of £1000 to anyone who would abate the nuisance by removing the foreigner finally and absolutely from this world. Sundry gentlemen were willing to undertake the job; so at least local informants assured us. Maybe their fears spoke, but the thing has been done with British officers since. This syndicate, however, declined to produce the money till the job was done; and negotiations broke down on that point, leaving the Englishman with the satisfaction of feeling that he was at least rated quite decently high. It would have been a blow to his natural self-esteem had the price put on his head been a low one; but £1000 elevates one into an aristocratic circle, to a fellowship with Claude Duval, Ned Kelly the Australian, "the man Charles Stuart" and "the Nigger General who almost ruined old Virginny."

Meantime, the British Consul in Mosul felt a little natural anxiety at these proposals concerning one of his charges, and communicated with a friend on the matter. This friend was that Abdi Agha of the Sindiguli Kurds mentioned earlier in this chapter, who was on the most amicable terms with all English, because his daughter had just been cured in the English hospital in Mosul. The Consul's suggestion ran much as follows. "See here my friend; you know those men of Amadia are talking wildly and making petitions. Could you, who have influence with them, give them a hint that they are knocking their heads against a stone wall? You know we none of us want to have trouble; but I shall be obliged to take serious notice if they go too far."

"Certainly Bey, on my head and eyes be it," said the obliging Agha; and this was the form in which the "hint" arrived. "O you men of Amadia! Dogs that you are, I hear that you are barking against my English friends. Know now that if you do not cease from this forthwith, I will rob every caravan of yours that goes down to Mosul!"

Application had been made at Constantinople for a _firm[=a]n_ for the building of a mission house, and this business was proceeding with the leisureliness characteristic of Ottoman rule. A curious episode occurred during its progress. The British Consul of Mosul, having naturally left that oven during the summer, had come up to Amadia; and was there staying with the writer on the site of the future house, when a Servian gipsy appeared in the land. This was an old woman, who was unable to speak any one of the numerous languages current in Kurdistan, and communicated with the natives by signs only. The Consul's kavass, however, was a Montenegrin, and through him we were able to communicate with her. She professed herself a skilled fortune-teller, and accordingly, more by way of challenge than anything else, she was asked to show her skill. She asked for anything that the Consul had worn, and having been given a fragment of an old neck-tie, cut it into shreds, strewed these on the surface of some water, and presently, after studying the signs, gave her verdict. "You have come up hither about the building of a large house on this spot, and there has been a great deal of opposition to it. However, you need not be afraid, for you have overcome it, and the house will be built and will abide." About six weeks later came the news that the issue of the _firm[=a]n_ for the purpose was practically secured.

Another curious instance of clairvoyance came to the knowledge of the writer in the same village. A child was lost, and after searching for it in vain, the parents applied to a certain aged _qashâ_, renowned for his skill in _kharashutha_ (magic) of all kinds. His method was to take a pebble from a running stream, and grind it to powder with certain prayers. Then a long series of names of localities was written on slips of paper, and these and the dust together were strewn on a basin of water taken from the running stream. Again prayers were recited, ending with the invocation, "give a perfect lot;" and the slip of paper that first floated to the side was taken. The place it named seemed impossible; for it was a pass between two high mountains, very difficult of access. Still the parents went up to search; and there sure enough was found the dead body of the child, who, in obedience to the mysterious law observed in several such cases, had climbed from height to height, when lost, till he sank exhausted.

A better position than Amadia for getting unusual knowledge as to the ways of life and thought in this remote land could hardly be imagined; particularly when, as was the case with us, medical practice was added to educational work. This was done partly out of philanthropy, partly because nothing is so efficient as dosing to take away prejudice! Weird complaints came to us for doctoring, as will readily be understood; and possibly the treatment they received would have been considered even weirder from a real doctor's point of view.[144] Thus the village idiot came up one day to beg for a cure. He knew that he was mad, and he also knew the reason; namely that long ago an unscrupulous foe had put a donkey's brains into his soup, and he had eaten them unwittingly, and had naturally gone crazy.

We thought of setting imagination to cure what imagination had created, by solemnly tying our friend down, making a small wound on his stomach, and then exhibiting some scrap of raw meat to him as the donkey's brain, safely extracted. We have known of similar cases cured by precisely that method elsewhere; particularly a girl in Mosul who was persuaded that she had swallowed a lizard, which was eating her up internally. She fully intended to die of it; but recovered perfectly on being chloroformed and being shown, on "coming to" again, a small cut on her own person, and a lizard in spirits! However, the patient in this case refused to submit to the operation, and perhaps it was as well; for one is rather playing with fire in executing such a scheme.

On another occasion, a Kurd came to one of our European staff, with a request to have a tooth extracted. The Frank, who had served some apprenticeship at that art, did his office deftly; and the Kurd, filled with gratitude, offered two mejids (seven shillings) as a fee. This was refused, as no fees were taken; and the patient was even more astonished. However, he was a Mussulman gentleman, and to receive a benefit without making return for it was unthinkable; hence if his next proposal was bizarre, at least the kindness was genuine.

"Look here, _Effendim_, you are a Christian, are you not? Well, when I get to Paradise, I shall have seventy houris. You will not have any where you are going; and I think I may spare you--two!"

An interesting corollary to the above proposition would seem to be that the market value of a houri is 3/6 sterling, plus compound interest on that sum for say twenty years, which seems cheap.

Perhaps our most remarkable patient, however, was a poor fellow who was brought in by a deputation of the men of his village, with a request that we would cure him of the evil eye! If he looked at a crock of milk, it upset; if at a sheep, the wolf got it; if at a child, it was likely enough to tumble into the fire. They were quite fair about the matter, fully recognizing that it was the poor fellow's misfortune, not his fault. Still, he was such a nuisance to all the neighbours, that it was to be hoped that English knowledge would cure him. Unfortunately, we had to own that there was nothing in the British Pharmacopoeia that professes to deal with this form of trouble; and though we had, as a matter of fact, plenty of charms against the evil eye in our possession (invocations of the Archangel Gabriel against "that light and vile daughter of perdition" with power to send it away "into the desolate land, where cocks crow not and foot of beast treads not, there to walk up and down in dry places, seeking rest and finding none") yet we felt on the whole that it would not be proper to use these, and the deputation had to go away disappointed.[145]

Once, on a journey, we have known surgical aid demanded in rather menacing fashion. We had halted by a spring, when a party of Kurds, all fully armed of course, turned up from the opposite direction, and demanded of our servant who and what we might be. Hearing that we were English, the leader strode over to us at once, displayed a paralysed arm, and observed, "You have got to cure that."

"That is quite beyond our power, we fear," said we, "you must take that to the hospital in Mosul."

"Well you know, I think you ought to cure it; because you did it."

"We did it? We never set eyes on you before."

"Well, if it was not you, it was your Consul; but you English are all one set. He did it when he was shooting at us."

Our friend was, as we then understood, one of the gang who had, a few years previously, attacked a British Consul in this neighbourhood.[146] There had been a pretty sharp skirmish, of which this gentleman bore the token in a bullet that had cut the sinews of his right arm. The Consul gained great _kudos_ in the affair; for he not only beat off his assailants, but killed their leader, a man who had the reputation of being "proof" against shot and steel. Such reputations are almost as common in these regions now as they were in the highlands of Scotland in the seventeenth century; but (in spite of the local facilities) the possessors of such immunity are not held to have acquired it by direct compact with the Evil One, like Claverhouse and Dalziel, but to have been born with it in course of nature. Mirza Agha, the Kurd in question, certainly did his best to live up to his character; for though he received three wounds that would each have been fatal to most men (two in the head, and one in the body) he did not die until the fifth day after the battle.

This comrade of his was not disposed to take vengeance (as might perhaps have been expected) on all and sundry Englishmen for the loss of his arm. Having expressed his sense of what was befitting, and provided us with an instance of the survival of tribal responsibility, for which as students of history we were bound to be grateful to him, he went on his way and we saw him no more.

Gradually our relations with our neighbours improved. It is difficult to keep up malice against a man who provides good "English salt" (quinine); and thus folk became interestingly, but almost inconveniently, friendly. What ought one to do, when the wife of a Kurd, who has got into trouble with his Agha, asks for your intercession; and all the Christians in the neighbourhood, as well as the man's own friends, assure you that the object of their prayer is a very good and charitable man, barring the fact that he commits murders occasionally? What is the really "fit and beautiful" in the following cause matrimonial, when the applicants come and throw themselves in the road at your horse's feet, and declare that you are welcome to ride over them, but get up they will not, till you have promised them redress?

Jevdet, a worthy Kurd of Ghara (outlaw, of course, like every man in that happy Alsatia), betrothed his daughter Amin to a neighbour, Tewfik, in settlement of a debt owed to the latter.[147] However, Amin rebelled and ran away to a worthy old man of Amadia, one Abd-l-Aziz, who is a sort of universal uncle to all the neighbourhood, and is at the bottom of most local intrigues. Abd-l-Aziz, resourceful man, thought that an alliance with the damsel's family would be valuable; so he betrothed her at once to a nephew of his own, and reported her to her parents as "lost, and I don't know where to find her." Presently, however, Amin, being a lady, changed her mind--mollified by the news that Tewfik had actually spent the sum of £20 to get possession of her--and got a letter through to him somehow, begging him to come like a true lover, and rescue her from the consequences of her own actions. Under these circumstances Jevdet and Tewfik both came and threw themselves at the feet of the writer and the Consul, assured us that they had no hope save in Allah and ourselves, and begged for redress!

Yet of all the negotiations in which we were engaged, that which sticks most in our memory is the matter of Abdurrahman the Kurd, and the difficulty first of getting him into prison and afterwards of getting him out. Abdurrahman had the impudence to rob a messenger who was bringing down letters to us. He took everything except the letters themselves (which was courteous) and allowed the messenger to come wading through the winter snow to our house, clad in nothing but the envelope.

This was a thing that could not be allowed to pass, and we demanded the arrest and imprisonment of the thief, who was known to the robbed man. At first the governor professed inability to do anything in the matter, and did not see that any duty was incumbent on him. However, an appeal to the _Vali_ at Mosul produced an order, and in due course Abdurrahman was lodged in the town gaol. "Get him imprisoned here, not at Mosul, Rabbi!" had been the advice of one of our servants. "It is no punishment to be imprisoned at Mosul; they give bread to the captives there _almost every day_." In more primitive Amadia your friends are at liberty to supply you; but if they omit that attention, you do not eat.

Abdurrahman had plenty of friends, so he did not fare badly in the prison; but when he had been there about a week, we received a message from the _kaimakam_. Would we mind saying if our thirst for vengeance was glutted yet? For if so, our victim might be released. We sent a reply to the effect that it was no case of private vengeance, but of the peace of his Majesty the Sultan; and that if, as we presumed, Abdurrahman had now served his full sentence, of course he could be released.

"Oh no," replied the ever-courteous but bored Governor, "our wisdom was labouring under a misapprehension in this. As for the peace of the Sultan, his Majesty had not got any; and as for sentence, he had never even tried the man yet. In fact, he had been at some pains to explain to our victim's relations (a fairly wild sept of Kurds) that it was not his fault that their kinsman was in durance, but purely the doing of that Englishman, who had insisted on it so."

"Then release him with our blessing," said we. "Ten days in the hole you call a prison is more than enough for a trifling indiscretion such as he committed."

"Then please," came the message in reply, "would we mind coming up to the town to sign a document to that effect?" It had been already prepared, and only needed signature, and a man of our wisdom would understand that this was necessary, and that in a civilized and constitutional land like Turkey, the formalities of law must be observed.

It seemed to us that no great formality could be needful for the release of a man who had never been tried; but presently we sacrificed a day's work, rode up to the citadel and after the usual compliments asked for the necessary document.

"Well, for the document--it should be written at once. It was not indeed needful that we should sign it, or in fact that any should be written; but--well, as we were there--would we take it amiss if the _kaimakam_ mentioned that he had been suffering sadly from stomach-ache these days, and would be grateful if we would prescribe." The rascal had calculated, quite correctly, that we should never trouble to come up just for his indigestion, but that if we knew that our victim was languishing in durance till we appeared, we were pretty certain to do so! The ingenuity of the "score" so delighted us, that the only revenge we took was to prescribe the nastiest medicine at our disposal; and so the document was drawn up, signed, sealed and delivered, and we went off home in the belief that the business was done now.

No such thing, however. The policeman, who presently came down to take up the medicine informed us that it was impossible to release our captive, for the sufficient reason that his Excellency had now been examining the case, and had come to the conclusion that he was innocent. Had he been guilty, all would have been well; but he thought that it was a case of mistaken identity, and proposed to keep poor Abdurrahman till the messenger could come down to swear to him. If that messenger came as soon as he was summoned (the very last thing he was likely to do) that would not mean a delay of more than a fortnight. And then the prisoner could be released--if innocent, on the ground that he had done nothing; if guilty, as having served his full sentence several times over!

On this, we frankly threw up the game, and sent word to the Governor that we were going off on a six weeks' journey, and could not be heard of till its close. He might keep his prisoner, or ours, in prison till the crack of doom if he liked; or might release him at once.

Naturally, as soon as we were over the hill, he chose the latter alternative. Abdurrahman came out again; and he bore so little malice that on return we found a message from him awaiting us, to the effect that he would never have meddled with the messenger had he known that the man belonged to us; and that he would bring us the horns of the first ibex he shot that summer as a peace-offering. And so, in fact, he did, and we became very good friends.

Spirits of the mountain and plain beset the path of the wayfarer in this land, as might be expected. Thus, Mosul plain is haunted by a fearful type of vampire, the "_hiblabashi_," a satyr, half-man half-goat, who lures travellers from the path, and sucks their blood.[148] There is a tomb of one such at Aradin, a village in the lower hills, whence there issues at times a terrible gadfly, that infects all whom it bites with madness and hydrophobia. Mercifully, however, bane and antidote lie, as ever, side by side; for there is a sulphurous spring by the side of the tomb, and it has healing virtue for those afflicted in this way.

Belief in a vampire was, of course, practically universal at some period all the world over; and this is the only thing that the Montenegrin kavass mentioned above was ever known to fear, having had practically first-hand acquaintance with one.[149] There is, however, another sort of spirit that is more peculiar to this land; a type of "brownie" that haunts the sheepfolds, where the shepherds have often to keep lonely vigil and get into the frame of mind when men see all sorts of strange things. In one case, the pixy in question used to come and sit opposite to the shepherd by the watchfire, and exactly imitate his every action in dead silence. At last this supernatural companion got on to the shepherd's nerves. He consulted a wise man, and was given advice that shows how recent in date the tale must be. He put a bowl of water on his side of the fire, and a bowl of paraffin on the other; and then, when the brownie came, he proceeded to soak his own clothes with the water. The being, of course, imitated him, and did not perceive the difference between water and oil. After a while, the shepherd took a blazing brand from the fire and applied it to his clothes, where, of course, it went out. The brownie did likewise, and found himself in a blaze; on which he jumped up and fled howling, being apparently material enough to feel fire. All the other spirits of mountain and river gathered at his call, and the shepherd began to fear that he had roused Elfindom in good earnest: but the scorched one, with really magnificent fairness, declared that after all it was his own doing; and thereafter the shepherd was left unmolested of nights.

Still, of all survivals from early ages in this land, whether monumental, superstitious, or religious, none is more remarkable than the "Sacrifice of Noah." It must be understood that no people here, save the Armenians, look on the great cone which we call Ararat, but which is locally known as Aghri Dagh, as the spot where the ark rested. The biblical term is "the mountains of Ararat" or Urartu, and the term includes the whole of the Hakkiari range. A relatively insignificant ridge, known as Judi Dagh, is regarded as the authentic spot by all the folk in this land; and it must be owned that the identification has something to say for itself. It is one of the first ranges that rise over the level of the great plain; and if all Mesopotamia (which to its inhabitants was the world) were submerged by some great cataclysm, it is just the spot where a drifting vessel might strand.

Whatever the facts, the tradition goes back to the year A.D. 300 at least. That date is, of course, a thing of yesterday in this country; but the tale was of unknown antiquity then, and is firmly rooted in the social consciousness now. In consequence, Noah's sacrifice is still commemorated year by year on the place where tradition says the ark rested--a _ziaret_ which is not the actual summit of the mountain but a spot on its ridge. On that day (which, strange to say, is the first day of Ilul, or September 14 of our calendar, and not May 27 mentioned in the account in Genesis) all faiths and all nations come together, letting all feuds sleep on that occasion, to commemorate an event which is older than any of their divisions.

Christians of all nations and confessions, Mussulmans of both _Shiah_ and _Sunni_ type, Sabaeans, Jews, and even the furtive timid Yezidis are there, each group bringing a sheep or kid for sacrifice; and for one day there is a "truce of God" even in turbulent Kurdistan, and the smoke of a hundred offerings goes up once more on the ancient altar. Lower down on the hillside, and hard by the Nestorian village of Hasana, men still point out Noah's tomb and Noah's vineyard, though this last, strange to say, produces no wine now. The grapes from it are used exclusively for _nipukhta_ or grape treacle, possibly in memory of the disaster that once befell the Patriarch.

Yezidi legend has it that the ark had a narrow escape of foundering during its voyage to Judi Dagh, and what would have befallen the race of man then? It bumped sadly on mount Sinjar, and sprung a serious leak in consequence.[150] Disaster was only averted by the promptitude of the Serpent, who wriggled into the hole, coiled himself into a ball on each side, and then pulled together tightly like a rivet to caulk the leak. There he remained till the voyage was over; whereupon Noah (with rather doubtful gratitude) sacrificed and burnt him at once. He must have left a brood behind him, to be the ancestors of the present stock; but he perished, and he got his revenge, for from his ashes came forth fleas. It is at least an unusual thing to find a story of any sort that attributes disinterested conduct to a serpent; and this legend can claim, at any rate, such support as is given to it by the great abundance of the insect referred to in the neighbourhood of this their original home.

An American sufferer once assured the writer of his conviction that in the course of ages, the very structure of the sandbank on which stands the town of Jezireh (just at the foot of Judi Dagh, and on the river Tigris) had been metamorphosed; and that it was now composed exclusively of flies, fleas, and fever microbes in approximately equal proportions! Experience, it must be admitted, makes one disposed to agree with him. The town is "more Lord of Fleas than any place in Kurdistan."

_Fhairshon had a son_ _Who married Noah's daughter._

And it is gratifying to find that the memory of this mythical personage is still preserved in the land where he wooed his bride. Noah's son-in-law (so we are told) was a giant of such prodigious stature that his attempt at "spoiling ta' flood by drinking up ta' water" may have had some initial success. Of course he could not get inside the ark, but he obligingly sat astride of it, and paddled it about with his feet. What became of him later the legend sayeth not. No doubt he carried off his wife to Scotland with him; and so passed beyond local ken.

Time passed gradually at Amadia, till even the leisurely Ottoman processes were complete, and the imperial _firm[=a]n_ for the building of an "English house" at that centre was duly issued. All ill-feeling with our neighbours had practically died out before that date; and the last of it vanished with the document's arrival, every Sanballat and Geshem in the neighbourhood coming to call, and to explain how delighted he personally had always been to have us there, and how it was only "those others" who stirred up bad blood. It is true that one more consistent man observed, on the occasion of the public reading of the formal charter in the _diwan_ of the governor, "Poor Mohammed Reshid! _He_ has to do whatever these Franks tell him"; but he prudently kept that remark under his breath.

A solemn festival marked the burying of the hatchet; after which the guests, having consumed more than one sheep between them, went home in procession with all the spoons of the household in their hats! This would have suggested at home that the wearers had dined not only well, but too well; but in Kurdistan it expresses no more than an unusual satisfaction with the banquet.

NOTE. Much of the district of Bohtan (a region which lies to the westward of the Sapna valley) is practically unknown to Europeans; being inhabited only by wild tribes of Kurds, with a scattering of Christians mostly of the Nestorian Church, as their _rayats_. It is extremely rugged, and the gorges of the River Bohtan are among the very finest to be found even in that land.

The following tale of one of its inhabitants is worthy of record, as showing the heroism and fidelity that can be exhibited at times by this downtrodden people.

The writer was anxious to visit the Nestorian villages of the district and had arranged with the Patriarch that he should do so; but found the scheme vetoed by the British Consul of Van, on the ground that "I have been speaking to the _Vali_ on the matter, and he says that two companies of soldiers would not be enough to guard you there." Under these circumstances he abandoned the journey; but Rabban Werda, a deacon of the Nestorian Church, already mentioned in these pages, then volunteered to go alone into the district and see what he could do for the people there. He volunteered with, of course, full knowledge of the fact that, though there would at all events be questions asked if the Englishman got shot, nobody would trouble about such a trifle as the death of a mere _rayat_ like himself.

He went and he returned safely; and in the course of his journey he visited a village called Shernakh, where he received hospitality as usual in the house of the Agha, but was surprised to find himself treated with more consideration than is the general lot of a Christian wanderer under the circumstances.

While he was at supper, one of the Kurdish servants came to him to say: "Sir Priest, if you have finished, the Lady would wish to speak to you." "The Lady?" said the deacon, in natural wonder at the Lady of a Mussulman house asking to see a Christian guest who was not even a Frank doctor. "The Lady. Our Christian Lady," said the Kurd; and in absolute bewilderment the deacon allowed himself to be led to the women's part of the house, and to a private room in it. Here an aged woman rose to greet him, saying: "God has given me my prayer at last, and, after sixty years of captivity, I see a Christian priest before I die."

Her story was as follows: When a girl in her 'teens she had been carried off from her home as part of the spoil in some raid, like the little maid who waited on Naaman's wife; and had been assigned as a portion of his share to the grandfather of the then Agha of the village. The date was fixed in her mind, by the fact that the first task given her in her captivity was the baking of bread for the Kurds who were going on a great raid against her own kinsfolk--the raid of Bedr Khan Beg in 1845, which is an episode from which men date still.

Since then, she had been a captive and slave in the Mussulman house, the only Christian in the place. She had begun, as might be expected, as the fag and drudge of all the other servants; but had raised herself by sheer force of character and her own integrity till she was now manager of household and farm: and she had been, by the Kurds' own admission, "a blessing to the house" since the day that she entered it. Further (information again volunteered by the Kurds themselves) she had not only kept her Christianity in her solitude, but in a household where all lived in common nobody had ever known her to neglect her daily prayers or her Friday's fast, or to do needless work on the Sunday.

One request only she made of the deacon. Finding that he was not the priest she had thought, and therefore was not able to give her the "_qurbana_" she had hoped to receive, she asked him to give her some of the "blessed bread" which her memory told her he would be likely to have with him. This is bread blessed, but not consecrated, at the Eucharist, and often carried with them by Nestorians on a long journey. This he was able to do, and she declared that she would keep it to be her "_viaticum_" when the time of her release should come.

Surely one may seek through a good many of the "Acta Sanctorum" before finding a nobler confession of Christ than that made by this nameless Nestorian woman.