CHAPTER IX

THE DEBATABLE LAND (GAWAR, TERGAWAR, MERGAWAR)

Jilu, take it all round, is the most savage bit of primæval chaos in all the "_ashiret_" districts of Kurdistan; yet a short journey beyond it brings us to a district which is in a much more advanced stage of geological development, the strange plain of Gawar. Starting in the morning from one of the glens which lie absolutely under the peaks and crags of Galiashin, our caravan has to traverse one of the grandest, narrowest, and rockiest gorges even in this land of wild ravines--the magnificent gorge of Ishtazin. And yet by the evening, after crossing a range that much resembles our own Sussex downs on a large scale, we are camping on an absolutely level plain of great extent--the "_Gawar_."

This word, presumably Kurdish, appears to mean a level plain surrounded by mountains; and it is used, singly and in combination, more than once in the neighbourhood. But our new camping-place is "_the_ Gawar" _par excellence_, "The Level." It is the bed of an ancient lake, and so has a general family resemblance to the "morfa" of Tremadoc in North Wales, though the hills surrounding it are considerably higher than Snowdon; and the change from mountain to plain is so abrupt and obvious that one can say definitely to a few yards where one leaves the one and enters on the other. The point is further emphasized, by an old pebble beach.

The plain measures about sixteen miles by ten, and is in form an oval with pointed ends, the long axis running nearly north and south. It is absolutely treeless, save for a few poplars round the villages that are scattered over its face. Though but little of the plain is cultivated it is all magnificently fertile; for the black alluvial soil grows anything that will endure the long winter and deep snow natural at an elevation of six thousand feet; and the corn and melons of Gawar are famous throughout the land.

A considerable river, the Nihila or Nile, wanders down the centre and is joined by several others from the high mountains at the sides. This river on leaving the plain flows northward through a deep and fine gorge to join the Albak; and their united streams constitute the Zab.

Being thus a dead level, Gawar looks as easy a place to cross as well can be. We see our destination before us perhaps twelve miles away, and nothing seems to be necessary but to make a bee-line for it. In reality few things are more difficult than crossing this or a similar plain, unless you know the way or have a guide who knows it. The river is bordered with wide swamps; and such fords as exist upon it (and they are not many) can only be approached from certain directions: while the stranger is constantly liable to stumble (like the luckless Duke of Monmouth) on "rhines" or irrigating channels; the muddy bottoms of which are unfordable for animals, except at certain points known only to the villagers around.

A fertile level like this should swarm with villages and carry a large population; but of the villages that once were here (almost all of which were Nestorian Christian) many are now absolutely deserted, and others have become Kurdish and so do little work in the world. This has been brought to pass, not by the villagers abandoning their Christianity--for that is so rare a thing as to be almost unknown--but by what foreign residents characterize as "the hermit crab Act."

This process is as follows. Given a village of Christians, with Kurds in the neighbourhood: a party of Kurds (men who have probably made their own village too hot to hold them, or who have quarrelled with their chief) come and settle at free quarters in the place as "guests." The villagers cannot turn them out; for the intruders are armed, and they are not; and stingless worker bees can hardly expel sting-bearing drones. If they appeal to the Government for redress, the official is bribed by the intruders to do nothing (the _bakhshish_ being extorted from the villagers); and the answer is made "have not these Mussulmans the right to reside where they like?" If any man does head an attempt to evict them, a "dead set" is made at him till he is worried into leaving the village and his land; and this the Kurds immediately appropriate, forcing the other villagers to work it for them without pay. The village mill is usually one of the first places taken, and a liberal percentage of the corn goes as a fee for the grinding of it. Meantime, what the presence of these fellows means for the "_rayats_" in the way of petty oppression, and what the consequences are to the girls of the village, anyone who has some knowledge of human nature can be left to guess for himself.

If the plan prospers other Kurds join; and the leader of the gang presently builds him a small hold, or kala (again with the forced labour of the villagers), and at length the bulk of the Christians are worried out of the country. Only a few are kept, as serfs, to till for their new masters the land that they and their fathers once owned; and what was a Christian village has become Kurd.

If ever one sees a Kurdish village which has good fields, and signs of good cultivation, one can be sure that it was originally Christian, and that it has gone through this process.

Apart from the brutality of the proceeding, the matter illustrates the impossibility of the Turk as a modern governor, unless he is most radically reformed and supervised. One presumes that what the Government wants is a set of peaceable, tax-paying subjects. Yet here, not one village, but scores of villages, inhabited by peaceable _rayats_ who do pay their taxes and ask for nothing better than to be left alone under Ottoman rule; are allowed to be emptied, and filled up by Kurds who let the land go to waste, who never pay taxes at all, and can be trusted _not_ to fight for the Turk in any real emergency.

However, the officials of the day benefit by the _bahkshish_ that the Kurds pay them. And here we touch the real root of the matter. The Turk is not deliberately aiming at the extirpation of his Christian subjects. He has no deeper policy in his mind than just to go on _eskissi gibi_, "in the same old way," and let the officials fill their pockets in peace. As a man he has many virtues; and there never was an Englishman yet who dealt with him, and did not come to like him: but as a governor he is execrable; in that he is too lazy to see that things go well, and allows an unspeakably corrupt Civil Service to ruin the land as it likes. Will he ever do the one thing that can save him, and allow himself to be administered by some European Power, as Egypt has been? Perhaps a quotation from "Odysseus," shrewdest of European observers of Turkey, can give the answer. "'This country is just one big dish of soup,' said the _Vali_, 'and nobody has any real use for soup except to eat it. We eat in the old-fashioned way, with big spoons; you want to come along with gimlets and bore holes in the bottom of it, and suck. Then you propose that eating with spoons shall be abolished as old fashioned, because you know that we have no gimlets, and don't understand sucking.'"[103]

A level plain like Gawar, with a Government headquarters and garrison at its town of Diza, ought to be as easily controlled a _kaimakamlik_ as one could wish. And so it is normally; though an Albanian _kaimakam_, Haidar Beg, did rouse rather a storm when he put a recalcitrant Kurdish chief on a donkey, face to the tail, and rode him in that fashion all round Diza town. Still he had the place in order; "Not a dog barked without leave when Haidar ruled," is the local saying to this day.

Some time after his departure, however, the district was the scene of one of the very few attacks on a British Consul that have taken place in the land. Lawless as the country is, the foreign resident is generally safe; because such trouble follows for everybody if he is interfered with. In twelve years, the writer has only known five deliberate attacks on Europeans (though plenty were planned and did not come off); and only one of the five had fatal consequences,--at least to the European. Three of these attacks were on British Consuls--"for the fellows will go wandering into such dangerous places, just to make maps," as a harassed Ottoman official explained.

In this case the British Consul, accompanied by the writer, had reached the plain of Gawar from Neri. They were "escorted" by a _zaptieh_ provided by the Sheikh of that place and belonging to his tribe; and as it was just subsequent to the incident of the stolen horses, escort and travellers were not on the very best of terms. _Zaptieh_ and muleteers declared that they would stop, early in the afternoon, at a Kurdish village called Alikhan, at the entry into Gawar plain; while the Englishmen had ordered that a push should be made for Diza. The _zaptieh_ waxed so insolent in the dispute that he was summarily dismissed. He dashed off in a fury to the village, and called on the men of the place to come out and plunder the Franks as they passed. These poured out like bees at the call, and a scuffle resulted in which the baggage mule of the party was captured with the bulk of its load. Only the maps and photographic negatives were salved: and the two Englishmen and their kavass were pursued by the crowd for about half an hour, deep into the swamps towards Diza; while the _zaptieh_ (apparently the only man who had a gun) kept firing steadily on them till his cartridges gave out. Perhaps the most discreditable side to the whole affair was that he failed to hit even one of the party in that period; but it was a Turkish Government rifle that he was using; so that probably, under the circumstances, the target was the safest place. The Consul's Serbian kavass begged most earnestly for permission to try "just one shot" in answer; but the Consul knew too well what the result of that one shot might be, and did not wish to kill.

We must add that prompt redress was given on this occasion. Soldiers were dispatched to the guilty village from Diza without delay. The stolen goods were restored; and the two muleteers brought in as prisoners. But the _zaptieh_, the principal culprit, had escaped.

The _kaimakam_ had a taste for melodrama, and had the prisoners brought before him immediately. He called upon the Consul for his statement, and then demanded of the prisoners what they had got to say.

These worthies at once paraded an arm (said to be broken) and a black eye (the genuineness of which was past question), and poured out a flood of eloquence. They had marched all day, and were very weary; and had begged of the Consul to let the exhausted beasts feed for one little half-hour before pushing further on. This he had refused, with oaths and vile abuse; beating deponent the while till his arm was broken, and he lay helpless on the grass. Assault on the Consul? Before Allah there had been no such thing. How could they lift a hand against his greatness? Had not the _zaptieh_ fired shots? Nay, he had but interceded with the Bey in all humility; and the Bey had turned on him and deponent (raising his head painfully from the grass) saw the _zaptieh_ flying for dear life, while the Consul pursued him, firing shots at him from a revolver!

It was a fine coherent tale, and well told; but the witness's dramatic instinct carried him away in the course of it, and he gesticulated freely with the "broken" arm.

The _kaimakam_ rose with the majesty natural to one who combines the offices of judge and jury, and delivered the judgment of the court. "The English do not tell lies; but ye are liars and the sons of liars. Bring fetters, and hale these scoundrels to the dungeon forthwith." Fetters of pantomimic magnitude were brought accordingly; but while they were being put on, the _kaimakam_ marred the grandeur of the proceedings by suggesting to the Consul that as he had now two captives on whom he could wreak his vengeance, perhaps he might be disposed to pardon the third, who would be hard to catch!

He was somewhat disappointed on finding that the impracticable Englishman was willing to pardon the two who had been caught; but disposed to insist that the worst criminal must be punished! However, the fugitive was caught and imprisoned later.

As for the two muleteers, they were released in an hour or so at our request; and came to express their hope that the little unpleasantness would not cause any diminution of the customary _bahkshish_! It was not their fault, really; they had been possessed of the Devil at the time, and that was surely excuse enough for poor simple men!

The seat of a governorship of low grade, like a _kaimakamlik_, is always a home of oppression in Turkey. "Jack in office" is not an unknown thing elsewhere; but he is usually not worse than annoying, and is sometimes amusing. In Turkey, however (particularly in the out-of-the-way districts), there is nobody to exercise a wholesome discipline on Jack, or to care much what he does in small matters.

Further, all the officials at such posts are low down in the scale, whether they have been long in the service or not; and so they have either no character to lose, or else a fortune to make. An elderly man, who has made his money and his name, is sometimes as good a governor as the people are in a condition to appreciate; but not so the junior. Thus it comes to pass that British Consuls of experience say that they have known good _Valis_ fairly often, and even decent _mutaserifs_ occasionally; but a good _kaimakam_ is a _rara avis_ indeed. We have known two in ten years; both of them being Albanians, and both gentlemen. But in each case the barbarian was not very far below the surface--any more than he is in an Englishman sometimes.

Thus in a small centre like Diza of Gawar, even the European traveller may occasionally meet with discourtesy; particularly since the Revolution has given the petty official an excuse for saying: "We are civilized and constitutional now; therefore we need not treat these beastly Franks with any more consideration than our own people."

We have even heard of such things as the commandeering of the beasts of an English traveller "for Government service." The act implies that the beasts and their owner are marched off with military baggage or something equivalent, for an unknown distance and time. The horses (which are the owner's livelihood) are usually not released till they are broken down with overwork, and are never paid for. "Government does not pay."

In the case referred to, the English traveller appealed, of course, to the _kaimakam_; and received a courteous apology, and an assurance that the soldiers should be ordered to return the animals. But the sergeant in charge of the party, while admitting that he had received the order, declared that he would see the _kaimakam_ hanged before obeying it; so matters did not seem to be appreciably advanced. On the following morning, however, the traveller's servant turned up, with the horses, and a broad grin.

"Well done, Yukhanan! How did you get them?" said the traveller.

"Why, Rabbi, I found that my enemy Ratu the Kurd was in the town with three mules. So I just said to the soldiers, 'there are much better beasts down there; and no one will mind if you take them, while there's bound to be a row if you take these.'"

So all ended well; though the Englishman, who thought he had carried matters with quite a properly high hand, was humiliated on hearing his servant observe to the universe at large, "Nevertheless, had Rabbi Mr. X. been here, _he_ would have thrashed those soldiers as they deserved long before this."[104]

The plain of Gawar is apparently rather a favourite haunt of those whom the Oriental will speak of (very rarely, and nervously) as "the Good People"--the Jann of the "Arabian Nights." One cave in particular, in the hills that border the plain, is notoriously teeming with them; and any man who enters there usually comes out mad, if he ever emerges at all. Once, a few years ago, a party of thirty Kurds undertook its exploration, and went in well armed. They did not penetrate far, however, for presently one of the leaders saw, or thought he saw, _something_; and superstitious panic being one of the most infectious things under the sun, the whole party bolted instantly. Being rather ashamed of themselves when they reached the open air, they impressed an unfortunate Christian to go and see what it was that they had run away from; and when he (not unnaturally) demurred at going alone to investigate that which had just put thirty armed men to flight, they simply gave him the choice between doing that and being shot incontinent.

Under this pressure he entered, and vanished for some hours; at the end of which time he crawled out--mad as his predecessors had been. In time, however, he recovered more or less, and told a marvellous tale; though how far the poor fellow really believed it, and how far he was giving his tyrants their money's worth, so to speak, is a problem past our solving.

He told how he had followed the cave till it widened out into a spacious meadow, down the middle of which meandered the stream that flowed from its mouth. On either side of the river stood stately palaces of marble (? stalactite formation), and in front of these, on thrones of gold set with jewels, sat all the kings of the Jann, attended by their houris and their vassals. They summoned the intruder before their _diwan_, and sentenced him to instant death for having violated their privacy: but on his plea of strong compulsion, he was reprieved and released; though awful warnings were uttered against any other profane person who should presume to enter this their sanctuary.

Such is the story told to us by the Patriarch of the Nestorian Church; a gentleman who is sufficiently educated to smile at the superstitions of his fathers--at least during the day, and in European company. And anyone who will take magnesium wire and penetrate into the cavern, will certainly gain much local _kudos_, and may possibly have an interesting experience.

"Will you come with us, your Grace, and see what is really in the cave?" we asked of the Patriarch when he had finished his story.

"I will Rabbi--that is if you will go in first;" replied his Beatitude.[105]

Two roads lead from Diza of Gawar (the name Diza is a common one) down to the plain of Urmi; but we took the more difficult and picturesque, leading down the valley of Mar B'Ishu. This is one of the most famous of the shrines of the Nestorian Church, commemorating a hermit round whose cell a monastery subsequently gathered. The monastery has passed away, but a group of three Christian villages fill the valley (a small side gorge just off the main road); and here the church still stands, an unusually elaborate specimen of Nestorian architecture.

Externally it is like all the mountain churches, a mere cube of masonry; though rather larger than usual, for in this case the external dimensions are an approximate square of eighty feet. The building has a stone vault, the flat mud roof of the country being superimposed as an outer covering. It was, however, too great a feat for the mountain builders to throw an arch of eighty feet span, twenty feet being as much as they could compass; and hence the interior of the building is divided into the multitude of separate chapels and vestibules, sacristies and baptisteries, as shown on the plan--a plan which may give some idea of the building, but can make no claim to accuracy.

Windows are almost unknown in the mountain churches, the sanctuary in particular being almost pitch dark at all times; and the door, to avoid risk of desecration,[106] is seldom more than three feet in height. Close by the church is the cell in the cliff (a small natural cavern) that was the hermitage of Mar B'Ishu, the _Rabban_. And here a freakish water-drip has formed a stalactite which has a rude resemblance to the human figure; and which is accordingly reverenced as a statue of the saint formed by angel's hands.

Considered as a work of art, the statue does not do any great credit to its supernatural artists; but it is a most exceptional thing to find an image of any sort, or of any origin, reverenced by any member of the Nestorian Church. No Evangelical has a greater dislike for anything that savours of "idolatry." Even pictures are rigorously forbidden in their churches; though curtains and the like are employed to as great an extent as their means allow. As an "ornament," only the plain cross (in wood or metal), with no figure upon it, is permitted; and this, lying on a table at the entry of the sanctuary, is kissed by every worshipper as he enters the church. No other sacred symbol is ever introduced.

If the Nestorians, however, are "Protestant" enough in some ways to satisfy the most rigid of English Evangelicals, they have some other customs that would considerably startle those good people; and conspicuous among these is their rite of animal sacrifice. This church of Mar B'Ishu is one of many in the land which are "Lord of Name"; and whither folk bring regularly goats and sheep, and sometimes even oxen, that they may be solemnly sacrificed at the church door.

The rite is practically the same as described in Leviticus, except that there is no burning of any part of the offering. The animal is brought, and its throat cut by the man who brings it; after which the priest takes of the blood and "strikes in on the lintel of the door" of the church. A solemn feast then takes place on the flesh of the sacrifice, the priest having his regular perquisites of hide and shoulder. The custom has the look of an Old Testament survival; but as a matter of fact, we suspect that it is far older than Moses. We may have here essentially the same sacrifices as those which were old in this land in the days when Abraham went forth from it; and which Moses merely codified in the wilderness some centuries after Abraham had taught them to his sons.

Sacrifice, it must be remembered, is not peculiar to these Nestorians. Yezidis, as already mentioned, practise similar rites. And every Mussulman will do the same at least once in the year; for on the _Korban Bairam_ he always sacrifices an animal of some sort, in remembrance of Father Abraham's sacrifice, not of Isaac (as Jews and Christians erroneously say), but of Ishmael.

At first it seems strange, and contrary to the whole tenor of the New Testament, to find Christians still persisting in the sacrifices of the old dispensation. But an Oriental has usually a good reason at the back of his mind for everything that he does; if only the Western can have the patience to find it, and to remember that European lines are not the only ones on which the human intellect can work.

In this case, if you ask him why he sacrifices, he is apt to reply, "Why not? It was the custom of my fathers of old, and can you show me any text that forbids it?"

If you produce texts about "one offering," or any others of the sort, he has still a thrust to deliver that it is hard to parry. "Excuse me, but is not Saint Paul's example as good as Saint Paul's precept,[107] which our fathers do not interpret in the same way as you do. He took the four young men, and saw to it that an offering was made for himself and every one of them. May we not do what Saint Paul did?"

So the sacrifices continue: openly in this out-of-the-way corner of the world; and under the rose in better known parts, like Palestine, more frequently than many people believe. Nothing that ever was well established in the East has altogether ceased to exist in the hearts of men.

The gorge narrows below Mar B'Ishu, passing the only fresh-water lake in Kurdistan, which was brought into being a few years ago by a great landslip. In the ravine is a curious series of springs charged so heavily with iron that the water looks almost blood colour as it wells out of the rock, and leaves deep crimson stains on the cliffs. Its taste is curiously acrid; and (as might be expected) it is freely used as a tonic, and is very good for the purpose.

Local legend declares that it was by this road that the victorious Persians brought away the True Cross from Jerusalem, when Chosroës, after his capture of that city, sent the relic as a gift to his Christian queen, Shirin; and that healing waters sprang up wherever the bearers put down their sacred load.

The gorge dies out in the curious fold of the hills that is called Mergawar at one point of its length, Tergawar at another, and other names at other places. It is not a true valley, for the rivers run across it and break through its boundary hills by deep gorges; but it forms, on the eastern side of the Hakkiari Mountains, much the same sort of moat as is formed on the southern side by the similar valley of Amadia.

It provides an easy passage practicable in the depth of winter, from Armenia to Kirkuk and Baghdad. And it was probably for this reason that the Ottoman Government so coveted the possession of this district; for it afforded them the means of moving the Baghdad army corps to the Russian frontier, without making the long detour to the west that would otherwise be necessitated by the mountains of Kurdistan.

Tergawar has always been a land of war, even when it was not a debatable land between Turkey and Persia. Here are several villages of Nestorians--as ever a good fighting stock; and these being tolerably well armed are chronically at feud with their Kurdish neighbours, a small broken clan recognizing no one head, and known as the "Begzadi." The principal Christian chief, a man of the name of Bajan, had a reputation as a warrior even among those who were men of war from their youth. His absolute fearlessness had brought him triumph repeatedly against the longest odds, and his enemies even esteemed him invulnerable. One day, in the heat of a fight, he forced his way single-handed into a house where five Kurds had gathered; and they surrendered to him in a body. When their friends chaffed them afterwards, saying, "Bajan is a good fighter, no doubt; but still he was but one, and you were five"; they simply replied, "Well, what could we do? We fired at him, and the bullets flattened on his coat."

Even to this day old men who have served under John Jacob in India will say that they have seen him shake the bullets out of his tunic after a skirmish.

Tough old Bajan is dead now, we regret to say; but dead in a way befitting. He went to help a Kurdish friend in battle, just from sheer love of a fight; and a bullet that took him behind the ear and came out at his forehead was too much even for his invulnerability.

The Christians of the Tergawar villages (Marwana, Kurana, Balulan, and others) were good fighters, as has been said, but fairly good average Christians withal; though one owns sorrowfully that fiery old Bajan was "not so good a Christian as so good a knight should be." They were undeniably rowdy and turbulent, however; quarrelling among themselves almost as much as they did with the Kurds! Grazing rights and boundaries were usually the _casus belli_; a fruitful cause of bad blood, whether among the Dandie Dinmonts of Liddesdale or the borderers of Persia and Turkey.

As Christians, they have, of course, their clergy; but these are peasants like themselves, living as they do, and hardly better taught. The _qashi_ or priests may indeed be able to read the services, and it is not the thing for them to take part actually in the tribal battles. But this disability does not apply to the deacons (_shamashi_), who in the Nestorian Church form a regular grade in the ministry, with regular duties of their own, and are not merely candidates for the priesthood. These may go out to fight if the case requires it; and more than one reverend deacon among them leads the fighting as efficiently as he leads the prayers.

One prominent Kurdish Agha, a certain Bedr Khan Beg, takes out his Christian village to battle, as readily as his Kurdish one: and the village deacon is his second in command.

This Bedr Khan Beg is no relation whatever to his famous (or infamous) namesake of Bohtan, of whom we make mention elsewhere. He is a chief of the Begzadi Kurds whose prowess and activity have won him much local reputation, but who can boast no such formidable following as the Sheikhs of Neri or Barzan. For ourselves, we feel bound to speak well of him; for did he not once offer, out of pure goodwill, to make proclamation in the district that if we or any of our servants had to complain of any molestation, "I, Bedr Khan Beg, will hang at least two Kurds every time!" It is true that we scrupled to lay ourselves under such an obligation to him; but Bedr Khan Beg (like General Robert Craufurd) had a reputation of being uncommonly likely to carry out his threats.

He adopted a similar expedient with conspicuous success a little later. Some citizen of Urmi owed him money, and refused to discharge his just debt. Accordingly he published his intention of killing one _Seyyid_ a month until such time as he received payment. Urmi _Seyyids_ are mostly _Shiahs_, whereas Bedr Khan Beg is a _Sunni_; though it may be doubted whether this was a point to which he attached much weight.

The unfortunate _Seyyids_, of course, had no concern in the debt whatever; but they are the most influential caste in Urmi. And now, to save their own skins, they began to apply pressure to the debtor: which was exactly what Bedr Khan Beg had calculated upon all along![108]

Of the two bishops who control the church in this land, one (now dead) was a feeble old man, noted only for possessing in his house the fiercest fleas in all Mergawar. The other, however, is of a different stamp. Not that one counts him as precisely an ideal Prelate, seeing that he occasionally has to stop to spell a word in the service, and would be put to it to write his own name. However, in Kurdistan you are not in the twentieth century, but in the fourteenth--or perhaps the dark ages outright--and in those times Mar Dinkha of Tergawar might readily be paralleled in England. There was a Bishop Beaumont of Durham who made five or six shots at the word _episcopalis_ in the reading of a formal document; and finally swore a round oath--said _soit pour dit_--and went on. Now we have often heard Mar Dinkha stumble, but we have never heard him swear!

There are better precedents for his lack of learning, too, than mediæval England can furnish. The "Apostolical Constitutions" (a fourth century composition) distinctly contemplate the existence of illiterate bishops as a very possible phenomenon. "If the bishop cannot write, he should be at least possessed of native shrewdness," says the author of the compilation. Is not the age of Nicaea a good time for precedents, O purist in matters ecclesiastical? Mar Dinkha would pass the test proposed there; and his discipline, if of the roughest, is perhaps for that reason the better suited for his flock. Once he came to his friends of the Archbishop's Mission with a request for a new pastoral staff. The old one (a stout stick of oak) had "become broken" over the back of a village _qasha_ (rector) whom he found ploughing on Sunday!

In the year 1903 the chronic trouble among these disorderly elements blazed up in a notable conflagration. Grazing quarrels started it, as usual; but it must be owned that the hotheads among the Christians did their best to aggravate matters. They had a trick of ridiculing the differences between _Shiah_ and _Sunni_ among the Mussulmans, by labelling one dog "Ali" and another "Mohammed," dressing them up as soldier and _mollah_, and then setting them to fight; and this might well have angered more peaceable people than their Begzadi neighbours. It was not surprising that a confederacy was formed to attack the guilty village of Mawana, which was then at open feud with its Christian ally of Balulan, and so appeared an easy prey.

If the men of Mawana had gone out of their way to provoke the quarrel, at least they fought it out stoutly. Finding how formidable was the confederacy against them, they gathered together--some fifty fighters in all--and went up in a body to the church of the village. There each and all kissed the cross, as a solemn committal of their cause to God, and then commenced the fighting. Though outnumbered seven to one they beat back four assaults in the course of seven days. "And in that time," as they told proudly after, "not any of the houses of our village were burnt, save one; and that belonged to a man of the Protestants, who had refused to come and kiss the cross with the rest of us." Still, as their cartridges ran low, the matter began to look ugly; for if the Kurds should ever be able to close, numbers must tell their tale.

On the seventh night of the siege help came unexpectedly. Over the hill lay the other Christian village of Balulan, just then at open feud with Mawana, and so without immediate concern in this quarrel. Still, as they heard of the siege, they began to grow more and more restive. Ablahad, the village deacon, at last gathered all the men together, told them that now they must forget the feud, and called for volunteers to go down with him and help their brethren. Soon he had as many as he wanted, a picked band, with all the cartridges they could carry. Old Bajan could not give them leave to go, but he carefully and ostentatiously looked the other way; and the little party stole out that night to put their lives in hazard for their enemies.

The deacon knew his ground; and (strictly enjoining his men to hold their fire) he led them straight down upon one of the strongest Kurdish pickets. There was a challenge--and no reply. The sentry fired--and the startled picket sprang to their feet. It was the chance for which Ablahad was waiting! One shattering volley at close quarters disabled eight and twenty of the enemy. The Christians were through the leaguer, and entered Mawana without losing a man, and with their supply of cartridges intact.

Nor was this all their success; for so badly were the besiegers' nerves shaken that (thinking the relieving force to be far larger than it really was) they raised the siege that night, and departed to their homes. "And when men arose in the morning and looked out, thanks be to God, the enemy had departed."

Gallant _shamasha_ Ablahad did not live long after his brilliant success. About a fortnight later he, with a party of Mawana men, was caught in a little isolated village by overwhelming numbers of Kurds. The Kurds, to their credit be it said (though fully aware of his recent exploit), offered him leave to depart in safety and honour as soon as they learned of his presence among their foes. Bedr Khan Beg himself, the leader of their party, came forward in person to bring the message before the firing began.

"We have no quarrel with you, _shamasha_; nor with Bajan your Lord. And we seek for none. Do you go your way," he cried. "But for these men of Mawana there is blood between us and them and we must settle it here."

"I thank you for your offer," replied the deacon firmly. "But I am here with my friends, and I will see it out with them."

The fight was desperate; but it could have but one ending. The houses were fired; and though the defenders cut their way through the walls from room to room hoping to escape under cover of the smoke, they had finally to choose between suffocation and coming out into the open. And there the little band were shot down to the last man.

And so died Ablahad the deacon, surely by as good a death as a man need wish to die.

Bedr Khan Beg reported the facts himself to the English in Urmi; pointing out that really under the circumstances he could do no otherwise than stand by the faith of Islam in the fight; "but you will understand that my heart is the same as ever, and there is no breach of friendship between me and you."

Picturesque and grand as the fighting days were, they came to an end shortly after this episode. In 1906 the Persian Government determined to make an effort to reduce the Kurds to order; and some sort of force was sent up to the mountains for the purpose, the Christians being called on to assist the Persian Government in the work. Unfortunately the Turkish authority took this opportunity to intervene, and to secure (as they hoped) a border province which they coveted. A small Turkish force was sent for the purpose, probably in response to some appeal of the Kurds for help; and at its appearance the Persian army fled to Urmi in the most absurd panic. As for their allies, the Assyrians of the Tergawar villages, whom they had called to arms on their side (and who alone had behaved decently on that day of shame), nobody gave a second thought to them. So the villages they had defended so long and so gallantly were plundered by the Kurds at last, the Turks making no effort to prevent so ordinary an incident of war. After the Persian army had fled, it was the men of the villages who, under their own leaders and against heavy odds, covered the retreat of their women and children.

For some time the Tergawar men were refugees in Urmi plain; and some of them were accommodated there in villages built by local notables, who were glad of the opportunity of securing that valuable economic factor, a good head of labour for their estates. When the Ottoman occupation of the border province seemed to be assured, many of them ventured back to their homes, and reoccupied some at least of their villages. But with the evacuation of the disputed territory by the Ottomans, as a consequence of the need of all possible troops in the Balkans, the face of events was altered once again. However, in the interval, Urmi had become to all intents and purposes Russian territory; and if the province is nominally Persian, it is practically under Russian rule. The rule of the Muscovite may not be all that one would wish, but at least he is not likely to sanction open war between the tribes; and if only order is guaranteed, the Christians may hope to be able to live in the future more tranquilly, if less picturesquely, than they have done in the past.