RECEPTION BY THE YEZIDIS.--VILLAGE OF GUZELDER.--TRIUMPHAL MARCH TO
REDWAN.--REDWAN.--ARMENIAN CHURCH.--THE MELEK TAOUS, OR BRAZEN
BIRD.--TILLEH.--VALLEY OF THE TIGRIS.--BAS RELIEFS.--JOURNEY TO
DEREBOUN--TO SEMIL--ABDE AGHA--JOURNEY TO MOSUL.--THE YEZIDI
CHIEFS.--ARRIVAL AT MOSUL.--XENOPHON'S MARCH FROM THE ZAB TO THE BLACK
SEA.
I was awoke on the following morning by the tread of horses and the noise
of many voices. The good people of Hamki having sent messengers in the
night to the surrounding villages to spread the news of our arrival, a
large body of Yezidis on horse and on foot had already assembled, although
it was not yet dawn, to greet us and to escort us on our journey. They
were dressed in their gayest garments, and had adorned their turbans with
flowers and green leaves. Their chief was Akko, a warrior well known in
the Yezidi wars, still active and daring, although his beard had long
turned grey. The head of the village of Guzelder, with the principal
inhabitants, had come to invite me to eat bread in his house, and we
followed him. As we rode along we were joined by parties of horsemen and
footmen, each man kissing my hand as he arrived, the horsemen alighting
for that purpose. Before we reached Guzelder the procession had swollen to
many hundreds. The men had assembled at some distance from the village,
the women and children, dressed in their holiday attire, and carrying
boughs of trees, congregated on the housetops.
Soon after our arrival several Fakirs[5], in their dark coarse dresses and
red and black turbans, came to us from the neighbouring villages. Other
chiefs and horsemen also flocked in, and were invited to join in the
feast, which was not, however, served up until Cawal Yusuf had related his
whole history once more, without omitting a single detail. After we had
eaten of stuffed lambs, pillaws, and savory dishes and most luscious
grapes, the produce of the district, our entertainer placed a present of
home-made carpets at my feet, and we rose to depart. The horsemen, the
Fakirs, and the principal inhabitants of Guzelder on foot accompanied me.
At a short distance from the village we were met by another large body of
Yezidis, and by many Jacobites. A bishop and several priests were with
him. Two hours' ride, with this great company, the horsemen galloping to
and fro, the footmen discharging their firearms, brought us to the large
village of Koshana. The whole of the population, mostly dressed in pure
white, and wearing leaves and flowers in their turbans, had turned out to
meet us; women stood on the road-side with jars of fresh water and bowls
of sour milk, whilst others with the children were assembled on the
housetops making the _tahlel_. Resisting an invitation to alight and eat
bread, and having merely stopped to exchange salutations with those
assembled, I continued on the road to Redwan, our party swollen by a fresh
accession of followers from the village. As we passed through the defile
leading into the plain of Redwan, we had the appearance of a triumphal
procession, but as we approached the small town a still more enthusiastic
reception awaited us. First came a large body of horsemen, collected from
the place itself, and the neighbouring villages. They were followed by
Yezidis on foot, carrying flowers and branches of trees, and preceded by
musicians playing on the tubbul and zernai.[6] Next were the Armenian
community headed by their clergy, and then the Jacobite and other
Christian sects, also with their respective priests; the women and
children lined the entrance to the place and thronged the housetops. I
alighted amidst the din of music and the "tahlel" at the house of Nazi,
the chief of the whole Yezidi district, two sheep being slain before me as
I took my feet from the stirrups.
I took up my quarters in the Armenian church, dining in the evening with
the chiefs to witness the festivities.
The change was indeed grateful to me, and I found at length a little
repose and leisure to reflect upon the gratifying scene to which I had
that day been witness. I have, perhaps, been too minute in the account of
my reception at Redwan, but I record with pleasure this instance of a
sincere and spontaneous display of gratitude on the part of a much
maligned and oppressed race. To those, unfortunately too many, who believe
that Easterns can only be managed by violence and swayed by fear, let this
record be a proof that there are high and generous feelings which may not
only be relied and acted upon without interfering with their authority, or
compromising their dignity, but with every hope of laying the foundation
of real attachment and mutual esteem.
The church stands on the slope of a mound, on the summit of which are the
ruins of a castle belonging to the former chiefs of Redwan. It was built
expressly for the Christians of the Armenian sect by Mirza Agha, the last
semi-independent Yezidi chief, a pleasing example of toleration and
liberality well worthy of imitation by more civilised men. Service was
performed in the open iwan, or large vaulted chamber, during the
afternoon, the congregation kneeling uncovered in the yard. The priests of
the different communities called upon me as soon as I was ready to receive
their visits. The most intelligent amongst them was a Roman Catholic
Chaldaean, a good humoured, tolerant fellow, who with a very small
congregation of his own did not bear any ill-will to his neighbours. With
the principal Yezidi chiefs, too, I had a long and interesting
conversation on the state of their people and on their prospects.
Redwan is called a town, because it has a bazar, and is the chief place of
a considerable district. It may contain about eight hundred rudely-built
huts, and stands on a large stream, which joins the Diarbekir branch of
the Tigris, about five or six miles below. The inhabitants are Yezidis,
with the exception of about one hundred Armenian, and forty or fifty
Jacobite and Chaldaean families. A Turkish Mudir, or petty governor,
generally resides in the place, but was absent at the time of my visit.
We slept in a long room opening on the courtyard, and were awoke long
before daybreak by the jingling of small bells and the mumbling of
priests. It was Sunday, and the Armenians commence their church services
betimes. I gazed half dozing, and without rising from my bed, upon the
ceremonies, the bowing, raising of crosses, and shaking of bells, which
continued for above three hours, until priests and congregation must have
been well nigh exhausted. The people, as during the previous afternoon's
service, stood and knelt uncovered in the courtyard.
[Illustration: The Melek Taous, or Copper Bird of the Yezidis.]
The Cawals, who are sent yearly by Hussein Bey and Sheikh Nasr to instruct
the Yezidis in their faith, and to collect the contributions forming the
revenues of the great chief, and of the tomb of Sheikh Adi, were now in
Redwan. The same Cawals do not take the same rounds every year. The
Yezidis are parcelled out into four divisions for the purpose of these
annual visitations, those of the Sinjar, of Kherzan, of the pashalic of
Aleppo, and of the villages in northern Armenia, and within the Russian
frontiers. The Yezidis of the Mosul districts have the Cawals always
amongst them. I was aware that on the occasion of these journeys the
priests carry with them the celebrated Melek Taous, or brazen peacock, as
a warrant for their mission. As this was a favorable opportunity, I asked
and obtained a sight of this mysterious figure. A stand of bright copper
or brass, in shape like the candlesticks generally used in Mosul and
Baghdad, was surmounted by the rude image of a bird in the same metal, and
more like an Indian or Mexican idol than a cock or peacock. Its peculiar
workmanship indicated some antiquity, but I could see no traces of
inscription upon it. Before it stood a copper bowl to receive
contributions, and a bag to contain the bird and stand, which takes to
pieces when carried from place to place. There are four such images, one
for each district visited by the Cawals. The Yezidis declare that,
notwithstanding the frequent wars and massacres to which the sect has been
exposed, and the plunder and murder of the priests during their journeys,
no Melek Taous has ever fallen into the hands of the Mussulmans. Mr.
Hormuzd Rassam was alone permitted to visit the image with me. As I have
elsewhere observed,[7] it is not looked upon as an idol, but as a symbol
or banner, as Sheikh Nasr termed it, of the house of Hussein Bey.
Having breakfasted at Nazi's house we left Redwan, followed by a large
company of Yezidis, whom I had great difficulty in persuading to turn back
about three or four miles from the town. My party was increased by a very
handsome black and tan greyhound with long silky hair, a present from old
Akko, the Yezidi chief. Touar, for such was the dog's name, soon forgot
his old masters, and formed an equal attachment for his new.
Cawal Yusuf, and the Yezidi chiefs, had sent messengers even to Hussein
Bey to apprise him of our coming. As they travelled along they scattered
the news through the country, and I was received outside every village by
its inhabitants. At Tilleh, the united waters of Bitlis, Sert, and the
upper districts of Bohtan, join the western branch of the Tigris. The two
streams are about equal in size, and at this time of the year both
fordable in certain places. We crossed the lower, or eastern, which we
found wide and exceedingly rapid, the water, however, not reaching above
the saddle-girths.
The spot at which we crossed was one of peculiar interest. It was here
that the Ten Thousand in their memorable retreat forded this river,
called, by Xenophon, the Centritis. The Greeks having fought their way
over the lofty mountains of the Carduchians, found their further progress
towards Armenia arrested by a rapid stream. The ford was deep, and its
passage disputed by a formidable force of Armenians, Mygdonians, and
Chaldaeans, drawn up on an eminence 300 or 400 feet from the river. In
this strait Xenophon dreamt that he was in chains, and that suddenly his
fetters burst asunder of their own accord. His dream was fulfilled when
two youths casually found a more practicable ford, by which the army,
after a skilful stratagem on the part of their commander, safely reached
the opposite bank.[8]
The sun had set before our baggage had been crossed, and we sought, by the
light of the moon, the difficult track along the Tigris, where the river
forces its way to the low country of Assyria, through a long, narrow, and
deep gorge. Huge rocks rose perpendicularly on either side, broken into
many fantastic shapes, and throwing their dark shadows over the water. In
some places they scarcely left room for the river to pursue its course;
and then a footpath, hardly wide enough to admit the loaded mules, was
carried along a mere ledge overhanging the gurgling stream. The gradual
deepening of this outlet during countless centuries is strikingly shown by
the ledges which jutt out like a succession of cornices from the sides of
the cliffs. The last ledge left by the retiring waters formed our pathway.
We found no village until we reached Chellek. The place had been deserted
by its inhabitants for the Yilaks, or mountain pastures.
For three hours during the following morning we followed the bold and
majestic ravine of the Tigris, scenes rivalling each other in grandeur and
beauty opening at every turn. Leaving the river, where it makes a sudden
bend to the northward, we commenced a steep ascent, and in an hour and a
half reached the Christian village of Khouara. We rested during the heat
of the day under the grateful shade of a grove of trees, and in the
afternoon we stood on the brink of the great platform of Central Asia.
Beneath us were the vast plains of Mesopotamia, lost in the hazy distance,
the undulating land between them and the Taurus confounded, from so great
a height, with the plains themselves; the hills of the Sinjar and of
Zakko, like ridges on an embossed map; the Tigris and the Khabour, winding
through the low country to their place of junction at Dereboun; to the
right, facing the setting sun, and catching its last rays, the high cone
of Mardin; behind, a confused mass of peaks, some snow-capped, all rugged
and broken, of the lofty mountains of Bohtan and Malataiyah; between them
and the northern range of Taurus, the deep ravine of the river and the
valley of Redwan. I watched the shadows as they lengthened over the plain,
melting one by one into the general gloom, and then descended to the large
Kurdish village of Funduk, whose inhabitants, during the rule of Beder
Khan Bey, were notorious amongst even the savage tribes of Bohtan for
their hatred and insolence to Christians.
Although we had now nothing to fear, I preferred seeking another spot for
our night's halt, but this was not permitted by Resoul Kiayah, who sent
after us, and was so urgent in his hospitality that we were compelled to
pass the night in the village. The Kurds of Funduk wear the Bohtan dress
in its full perfection, a turban nearly three feet in diameter, shalwars
or trowsers of enormous width, loose embroidered jackets, and shirt
sleeves sweeping the ground; all being striped deep dull red and black,
except the under-linen and one kerchief tied diagonally across the turban,
which is generally of bright yellow. They are armed, too, to the teeth,
and as they crouched round the fires on the housetops, their savage
countenances peering through the gloom, my London companion, unused to
such scenes, might well have fancied himself in a den of thieves. The
Kiayah, notwithstanding his bad reputation, was exact in all the duties of
hospitality; the supper was abundant, the coffee flowed perpetually, and
he satisfied my curiosity upon many points of revenue, internal
administration, tribe-history, and local curiosities.
We passed the night on the roof without any adventure, and resumed our
journey before dawn on the following morning, to the great relief of Mr.
C., who rejoiced to feel himself well out of the hands of such dangerous
hosts. Crossing a mountain wooded with dwarf oaks, by a very difficult
pathway, carried along and over rocks containing many excavated tombs, we
descended to Fynyk, a village on the Tigris supposed to occupy the site of
an ancient town (Phoenica).[9]
After we had breakfasted, some Kurds who had gathered round us, offered to
take me to a rock, sculptured, they said, with unknown Frank figures. We
rode up a narrow and shady ravine, through which leapt a brawling torrent,
watering fruit trees and melon beds. The rocks on both sides were
honeycombed with tombs. The bas-relief is somewhat above the line of
cultivation, and is surrounded by excavated chambers. It consists of two
figures, dressed in loose vests and trowsers, one apparently resting his
hand on the shoulder of the other. There are the remains of an
inscription, but too much weather-worn to be copied with any accuracy. The
costume of the figures, and the forms of the characters, as far as they
can be distinguished, prove that the tablet belongs to the Parthian
period.
We quitted Fynyk in the afternoon. Accompanied by Cawal Yusuf and Mr. C.,
I left the caravan to examine some rock-sculptures, in a valley leading
from Jezireh to Derghileh, the former stronghold of Beder Khan Bey. The
sculptures are about two miles from the high road, near a small fort built
by Mir Saif-ed-din, and now occupied by a garrison of Arnaouts. There are
two tablets, one above the other; the upper contains a warrior on
horseback, the lower a single figure. Although no traces of inscription
remain, the bas-reliefs may confidently be assigned to the same period as
that at Fynyk.
We found the caravan at Mansouriyah, where they had established themselves
for the night. This is one of the very few Nestorian Chaldaean villages of
the plains which has not gone over to the Roman Catholic faith. It
contains a church, and supports a priest. The inhabitants complained much
of oppression, and unfortunately, chiefly from brother Christians formerly
of their own creed. I was much struck with the intelligence and beauty of
the children; one boy, scarcely twelve years of age, was already a
shamasha, or deacon, and could read with ease the Scriptures and the
commentaries.
We left Mansouriyah at four in the morning, passing Jezireh about dawn,
its towers and walls just visible through the haze on the opposite bank of
the Tigris. Shortly after we were unexpectedly met by a number of Yezidi
horsemen, from whom we learnt that the country was in a very disturbed
state, on account of the incursions of the Desert Arabs; but as a strong
party was waiting to accompany us to Semil, I determined upon taking the
shorter, though more dangerous and less frequented, road by Dereboun. This
road, impracticable to caravans except when the river Khabour is
fordable, winds round the spur of the Zakko hills, and thus avoids a
difficult and precipitous pass. Dereboun is a large Yezidi village
standing on the western spur of the Zakko range. Numerous springs burst
from the surrounding rocks, and irrigate extensive rice-grounds. Below is
the large Christian village of Feshapoor, where there is a ferry across
the Tigris. We were most hospitably entertained by the Yezidi chief, one
of the horsemen who had met us near Jezireh.
We mounted our horses as the moon rose, and resumed our journey,
accompanied by a strong escort, which left us when we were within five or
six miles of Semil. It was late in the forenoon before we reached our
halting-place, after a dreary and fatiguing ride. We were now fairly in
the Assyrian plains; the heat was intense--that heavy heat, which seems to
paralyse all nature, causing the very air itself to vibrate. The high
artificial mound of the Yezidi village, crowned by a modern mud-built
castle, had been visible in the distance long before we reached it,
miraged into double its real size, and into an imposing group of towers
and fortifications. Almost overcome with weariness, we toiled up to it,
and found its owner, Abde Agha, the Yezidi chieftain, seated in the gate,
a vaulted entrance with deep recesses on both sides, used as places of
assembly for business during the day,[10] and as places of rest for guests
during the night. He was of a tall, commanding figure, with the deepest
and most powerful voice I ever heard. We arrived earlier than he had
expected, our forced march from Dereboun having saved us some hours, and
he apologised for not having ridden out to meet us. His reception was most
hospitable; the lamb was slain and the feast prepared. But a sudden attack
by the Bedouin on a neighbouring village obliged him reluctantly to leave
us, and be absent during our stay. Being urged to depart, through
apprehension of the Bedouin, we pushed forward, when suddenly a large body
of horsemen appeared on a rising ground to the east of us. We could
scarcely expect Arabs from that quarter; however, all our party made ready
for an attack. Cawal Yusuf and myself, being the best mounted, rode
towards them to reconnoitre. Then one or two horsemen advanced warily from
the opposite party. We neared each other. Yusuf spied the well-known black
turban, dashed forward with a shout of joy, and in a moment we were
surrounded, and in the embrace of friends. Hussein Bey and Sheikh Nasr,
with the Cawals and Yezidi elders, had ridden nearly forty miles through
the night to meet and escort me, if needful, to Mosul! Their delight at
seeing us knew no bounds; nor was I less touched by a display of gratitude
and good feeling, equally unexpected and sincere.
They rode with us as far as Tel Eskoff, where the danger from the Arabs
ceased; and I was now once more with old friends. In the afternoon, as we
rode towards Tel Kef, I left the high road with Hormuzd to drink water at
some Arab tents. As we approached we were greeted with exclamations of
joy, and were soon in the midst of a crowd of men and women, kissing our
knees, and exhibiting other tokens of welcome. They were Jebours, who had
been employed in the excavations. Hearing that we were again going to dig
after old stones, they at once set about striking their tents to join us
at Mosul or Nimroud.
As we neared Tel Kef we found groups of my old superintendents and workmen
by the roadside. There were fat Toma, Mansour, Behnan, and Hannah, joyful
at meeting me once more, and at the prospect of fresh service. In the
village we found Mr. Rassam (the vice-consul) and Khodja Toma, his
dragoman, who had made ready the feast for us at the house of the Chaldaean
bishop. Next morning, as we rode the three last hours of our journey, we
met fresh groups of familiar faces. Then as we ascend an eminence midway,
walls, towers, minarets, and domes rise boldly from the margin of the
broad river, cheating us into the belief, too soon to be dispelled, that
Mosul is still a not unworthy representative of the great Nineveh. As we
draw near, the long line of lofty mounds, the only remains of mighty
bulwarks and spacious gates, detach themselves from the low undulating
hills; now the vast mound of Kouyunjik overtops the surrounding heaps:
then above it peers the white cone of the tomb of the prophet Jonah; many
other well-remembered spots follow in rapid succession; but we cannot
linger. Hastening over the creaking bridge of boats, we force our way
through the crowded bazars, and alight at the house I had left two years
ago. Old servants take their places as a matter of course, and, uninvited,
pursue their regular occupations as if they had never been interrupted.
Indeed it seemed as if we had but returned from a summer's ride: two years
had passed away like a dream.
I may in this place add a few words on part of the route pursued by
Xenophon and the Ten Thousand during their memorable retreat, the
identification of which had been one of my principal objects during our
journey. I have, in the course of my narrative, already pointed out one
or two spots signalled by remarkable events on their march.
I must first state my conviction that the parasang, like its
representative, the modern farsang or farsakh of Persia, was not a measure
of distance very accurately determined, but rather indicated a certain
amount of time employed in traversing a given space. That Xenophon
reckoned by the common mode of computation of the country is evident, by
his employing, almost always, the Persian "parasang," instead of the Greek
stadium; and that the parasang was the same as the modern hour, we find by
the distance between Larissa (Nimroud) and Mespila (Kouyunjik) being given
as six parasangs, corresponding exactly with the number of hours assigned
by the present inhabitants of the country, and by the authorities of the
Turkish post, to the same road. The six hours in this instance are equal
to about eighteen English miles.
The ford, by which the Greeks crossed the Great Zab (Zabates) may, I
think, be accurately determined. It is still the principal ford in this
part of the river, and must, from the nature of the bed of the stream,
have been so from the earliest periods. It is about twenty-five miles from
the confluence of the Zab and Tigris.[11] The Greeks could not have
crossed the Zab above the spot I have indicated, as the bed of the river
is deep, and confined within high rocky banks. They might have done so
_below_ the junction of the Ghazir, and a ravine worn by winter rains may
correspond with the valley mentioned by Xenophon, but I think the Ghazir
far more likely to have been the torrent bed viewed with so much alarm by
the Greek commander, and the passage of which Mithridates might have
disputed with some prospect of success.[12]
That Larissa and Mespila are represented by the ruins of Nimroud and
Kouyunjik no one can reasonably doubt. Xenophon's description corresponds
most accurately with the ruins and with the distance between them.
From Mespila the Greeks marched four parasangs, and probably halted near
the modern village of Batnai, between Tel Kef and Tel Eskof, an ancient
site exactly four hours, by the usual caravan road, from Kouyunjik.
Instead of fording the Khabour near its junction with the Tigris, and thus
avoiding the hills, they crossed them by a precipitous pass to the site of
the modern Zakko. They reached this range in four days, traversing it on
the fifth, probably by the modern caravan road. They were probably much
retarded during the last day, by having to fight their way over three
distinct mountain ridges. It is remarkable that Xenophon does not mention
the Khahour, although he must have crossed that river either by a ford or
by a bridge[13] before reaching the plain. Yet the stream is broad and
rapid, and the fords at all times deep. Nor does he allude to the Hazel, a
confluent of the Khabour, to which he came during his first day's march,
after leaving Zakko. These omissions prove that he does not give an
accurate itinerary of his route.
Four days' march, the first of only sixty stadia, or about seven
miles,[14] brought the Greeks to the high mountains of Kurdistan, which,
meeting the Tigris, shut out all further advance, except by difficult and
precipitous passes, already occupied by the Persians. Xenophon, having
dislodged the enemy from the first ridge, returned to the main body of the
army, which had remained in the plain. This must have been near Fynyk,
where the very foot of the Kurdish mountains is first washed by the river.
The spot agrees accurately with Xenophon's description, as it does with
the distance. "The Greeks," says he, "came to a place where the river
Tigris is, both from its depth and breadth, absolutely impassable; no road
appeared, the craggy mountains of the Carduchians hanging over the river."
Xenophon preferred the route across the mountains of Kurdistan, as it led
into Armenia, a country from which they might choose their own road to the
sea, and which abounded in villages and the necessaries of life.
Beyond the Carduchian mountains there were, according to the prisoners,
two roads into Armenia, one crossing the head waters of the principal
branch of the Tigris, the other going round them; that is, leaving them to
the left. These are the roads to this day followed by caravans, one
crossing the plains of Kherzan to Diarbekir, and thence, by well-known
mountain-passes to Kharput, the other passing through Bitlis. Xenophon
chose the latter. The villages in the valleys and recesses of the
mountains are still found around Funduk; and, on their first day's march
over the Carduchian hills, the Greeks probably reached the neighbourhood
of this village. There now remained about ten parasangs to the plain
through which flows the eastern branch of the Tigris; but the country was
difficult, and at this time of the year (nearly midwinter)[15], the lower
road along the river was impassable. The Greeks had, therefore, to force
their way over a series of difficult passes, all stoutly defended by
warlike tribes. They were consequently four days in reaching the
Centritis, or eastern Tigris, the united waters of the rivers of Bitlis,
Sert, and Bohtan. It was impossible to cross the river at this spot in the
face of the enemy. At length, a ford was discovered higher up, and
Xenophon, by skilful strategy, effected the passage. This must have been
at a short distance from Tilleh, as the river, narrowed between rocky
banks, is no longer fordable higher up.
Owing to the frequent incursions of the Carduchi, the villages along the
banks of the Bitlis had been abandoned, and the Greeks were compelled to
turn to the westward, to find provisions and habitations. Still _there was
no road_ into Armenia, particularly at this time of year, for an army
encumbered with baggage, except that through the Bitlis valley. The
remains of an ancient causeway are even now to be traced, and this
probably has always been the great thoroughfare between western Armenia
and the Assyrian plains. Xenophon consequently made nearly the same
detour as I had made on my way from Constantinople.
Six marches, of five parasangs each, brought them to the small river
Teleboas, which I believe to have been the river of Bitlis. After crossing
the low country of Kherzan, well described by Xenophon as "a plain varied
by hills of an easy ascent," the Greeks must necessarily have turned
slightly to the eastward to reach the Bitlis valley, as inaccessible
mountains stopped all further progress. My caravan was thirty-three hours
in journeying from Bitlis to Tilleh, corresponding exactly with the six
days' march of the Greeks. They probably came to the river somewhat below
the site of the modern town, where it well deserves the epithet of
"beautiful." It may have then had, as at this day, many villages near its
banks. It will be observed that Xenophon says that _they came to_, not
that they _crossed_, the Teleboas.
From this river they reached the Euphrates in six marches, making, as
usual, five parasangs each day; in all, thirty parasangs, or hours. I
believe, therefore, that, after issuing from the valley of Bitlis,
Xenophon turned to the westward, leaving the lake of Wan a little to the
right, though completely concealed from him by a range of low hills.[16]
Skirting the western foot of the Nimroud Dagh range, he passed through a
plain thickly inhabited, abounding in well-provisioned villages, and
crossed here and there by ranges of hills. This country still tallies
precisely with Xenophon's description.
We have not, I conceive, sufficient data in Xenophon's narrative to
identify with any degree of certainty his route after crossing the
Euphrates. We know that about twenty parasangs from that river the Greeks
encamped near a hot spring, and this spring might be recognised in one of
the many which abound in the country. It is most probable that the Greeks
took the road still used by caravans through the plains of Hinnis and
Hassan-Kalah, as offering the fewest difficulties. But what rivers are we
to identify with the Phasis and Harpasus, the distance between the
Euphrates and Phasis being seventy parasangs, and between the Phasis and
Harpasus ninety-five, and the Harpasus being the larger of the two rivers?
I am on the whole inclined to believe, that either the Greeks took a very
tortuous course after leaving the Euphrates, making daily but little
actual progress towards the great end of their arduous journey, the
sea-coast, or that there is a considerable error in the amount of
parasangs given by Xenophon; that the Harpasus must be the Tcherouk, and
the Phasis either the Araxes or the Kur[17]; and that Mount Theches, the
holy mountain from which the Greeks beheld the sea, was between Batoun and
Trebizond, the army having followed the valley of the Tcherouk, but
leaving it before reaching the site of the modern port on the Black Sea.
[Illustration: Subterranean Excavations at Kouyunjik.]