LEAVE ARBAN.--THE BANKS OF THE KHABOUR.--ARTIFICIAL
MOUNDS.--MIJWELL.--THE CADI OF THE BEDOUINS.--THE THAR, OR BLOOD
REVENGE.--CAUTION OF ARABS.--A NATURAL CAVERN.--AN EXTINCT
VOLCANO.--THE CONFLUENTS OF THE KHABOUR.--BEDOUIN MARKS.--SULEIMAN
AGHA.--ENCAMPMENT AT UM-JERJEH.--THE TURKISH IRREGULAR CAVALRY.--MOUND
OF MIJDEL.--RUINS OF THE KHABOUR.--MOHAMMED EMIN LEAVES US.--VISIT TO
KURDISH TENTS AND HAREM.--THE MILLI KURDS.--THE FAMILY OF
RISHWAN.--ARAB LOVE-MAKING.--THE DAKHEEL.--BEDOUIN POETS AND
POETRY.--TURKISH CAVALRY HORSES.
The hot weather was rapidly drawing near. Enough had not been discovered
in the mound of Arban, nor were there ruins of sufficient importance near
the river, to induce me to remain much longer on the Khabour. I wished,
however, to explore the stream, as far as I was able, towards its
principal source, and to visit Suleiman Agha, the Turkish commander, who
was now encamped on its banks. In answer to a letter, he urged me to come
to his tents, and to bring the Sheikh of the Jebours with me, pledging
himself to place no restraint whatever on the perfect liberty of the
chief. With such a guarantee, I ventured to invite Mohammed Emin to
accompany me. After much hesitation, arising from a very natural fear of
treachery, he consented to do so.
On the 19th of April we crossed the Khabour, and on the following morning
we commenced our journey to the eastward. Mohammed Emin was still in doubt
as to whether he should go with me or not; but at last, after more than
once turning back, he took a desperate resolution, and pushed his mare
boldly forward. His children commended him, with tears, to my protection,
and then left our caravan for their tents.
We rode from bend to bend of the river, without following its tortuous
course. Its banks are belted with poplars, tamarisks, and brushwood, the
retreat of wild boars, francolins, and other game, and studded with
artificial mounds, the remains of ancient settlements. This deserted
though rich and fertile district must, at one time, have been the seat of
a dense population. It is only under such a government as that of Turkey
that it could remain a wilderness. The first large ruin above Arban, and
some miles from it on the left bank of the river, is called Mishnak. About
one mile and a half beyond is another ruin called Abou Shalah, and three
miles further up the stream a third, called Taaban, upon which are the
remains of a modern fort. After a short day's journey of four hours and a
half, we encamped near a large mound named Mehlaibiyah.
Next morning Suttum returned to his tents with Rathaiyah, leaving us under
the care of his younger brother Mijwell. After I had visited the Turkish
commander, whom he did not appear over anxious to meet, he was to join us
in the Desert, and accompany me to Mosul. Mijwell was even of a more
amiable disposition than his brother; and although he could neither read
nor write, he was one of the cadis or judges of the Shammar, an office
hereditary in the family of the Saadi, at the head of which is Rishwan.
The old man had delegated the dignity to his younger son, who, by the
consent of his brothers, will enjoy it after their father's death.
Disputes of all kinds are referred to these recognised judges. Their
decrees are obeyed with readiness, and the other members of the tribe are
rarely called upon to enforce them. They administer rude justice; and,
although pretending to follow the words of the Prophet, are rather guided
by ancient custom than by the law of the Koran, which binds the rest of
the Mohammedan world. The most common source of litigation is, of course,
stolen property. They receive for their decrees, payment in money or in
kind; and he who gains the suit has to pay the fee. Amongst the Shammar,
if the dispute relates to a deloul, the cadi gets two gazees, about eight
shillings; if to a mare, a deloul; if to a man, a mare. Various ordeals,
such as licking a red-iron, are in use, to prove a man's innocence. If the
accused's tongue is burnt, no doubt exists as to his guilt.
One of the most remarkable laws in force amongst the wandering Arabs, and
one probably of the highest antiquity, is the law of blood, called the
Thar, prescribing the degrees of consanguinity within which it is lawful
to revenge a homicide. Although a law, rendering a man responsible for
blood shed by any one related to him within the fifth degree, may appear
to members of a civilised community one of extraordinary rigour, and
involving almost manifest injustice, it must nevertheless be admitted,
that no power vested in any one individual, and no punishment, however
severe, could tend more to the maintenance of order and the prevention of
bloodshed amongst the wild tribes of the Desert. As Burckhardt has justly
remarked, "this salutary institution has contributed in a greater degree
than any other circumstance, to prevent the warlike tribes of Arabia from
exterminating one another."
If a man commit a homicide, the cadi endeavours to prevail upon the family
of the victim to accept a compensation for the blood in money or in kind,
the amount being regulated according to custom in different tribes.
Should the offer of "blood-money" be refused, the "Thar" comes into
operation, and any person within the "khomse," or the fifth degree of
blood of the homicide, may be legally killed by any one within the same
degree of consanguinity to the victim.[130]
Mijwell now took Suttum's place in the caravan, and directed the order of
our march. Leaving the caravan to pursue the direct road, I struck across
the country to the hill of Koukab, accompanied by Mohammed Emin and
Mijwell. This remarkable cone, rising in the midst of the plain, had been
visible from our furthest point on the Khabour. Some of the Arabs declared
it to be an artificial mound; others said, that it was a mountain of
stones. Mohammed Emin would tell me of a subterranean lake beneath it, in
a cavern large enough to afford refuge to any number of men.
After descending some fifty feet into the cave, we found ourselves on the
margin of a lake of fresh water. The pitchy darkness prevented our
ascertaining its size, which could not have been very great, although the
Arabs declared that no one could reach the opposite side. The cave is
frequently a place of refuge for the wandering Arabs, and the Bedouins
encamp near it in summer to drink the cool water of this natural
reservoir.
Leaving the cavern and issuing from the ravine, we came to the edge of a
wide crater, in the centre of which rose the remarkable cone of Koukab.
All around were evidences of the remains of an extinct volcano, which had
been active within a comparatively recent geological period, even perhaps
within the time of history, or tradition, as the name of the mound amongst
the Arabs denotes a jet of fire or flame, as well as a constellation.
I ascended the cone, which is about 300 feet high, and composed entirely
of loose lava, scoria, and ashes, thus resembling precisely the cone
rising in the craters of Vesuvius and AEtna. It is steep and difficult of
ascent, except on one side, where the summit is easily reached even by
horses. Within, for it is hollow, it resembles an enormous funnel, broken
away at one edge, as if a molten stream had burst through it. Anemonies
and poppies, of the brightest scarlet hue, covered its sides; although the
dry lava and loose ashes scarcely seemed to have collected sufficient soil
to nourish their roots. It would be difficult to describe the richness and
brilliancy of this mass of flowers, the cone from a distance having the
appearance of a huge inverted cup of burnished copper, over which poured
streams of blood.
From the summit of Koukab I gazed upon a scene as varied as extensive.
Beneath me the two principal branches of the Khabour united their waters.
To the left, or the west, was the true Khabour, the Chaboras of the
ancients; a name it bears from its source at Ras-al-ain (_i. e._ the head
of the spring). The second stream, that to the east, is the ancient
Mygdonius, flowing through Nisibin. Khatouniyah and its lake were just
visible, backed by the solitary hill of the Sinjar. The Kurdish mountains
bounded the view to the east. In the plain, and on the banks of the
rivers, rose many artificial mounds; whilst, in the extreme distance to
the north could be distinguished the flocks and black tents of a large
wandering tribe. They were those of the Chichi and Milli Kurds, encamped
with the Turkish commander Suleiman Agha.
We found our companions near the junction of the rivers, where a raft had
been constructed to enable us to cross the smaller stream. I had sent the
Bairakdar two days before to apprise Suleiman Agha of my intended visit,
and to learn how far I could with safety take Mohammed Emin with me to the
Turkish camp. He had returned, and was waiting for me. The Agha had given
a satisfactory guarantee for the Sheikh's safety, and had sent an officer,
with a party of irregular troops, to receive me.
We had scarcely crossed the river before a large body of horsemen were
seen approaching us. As they drew nigh I recognised in the Turkish
commander an old friend, "the Topal," or lame, Suleiman Agha, as he was
generally called in the country. He had been Kiayah or
lieutenant-governor, to the celebrated Injeh Bairakdar Mohammed Pasha,
and, like his former master, possessed considerable intelligence, energy,
and activity. From his long connection with the tribes of the Desert, his
knowledge of their manners, and his skill in detecting and devising
treacheries and stratagems, he was generally chosen to lead expeditions
against the Arabs. He was now, as I have stated, endeavoring to recover
the government treasure plundered by the Hamoud Bedouins.
His tents were about six miles distant; and, after exchanging the usual
salutations, we turned towards them. Many fair speeches could scarcely
calm the fears of the timid Jebour Sheikh. Mijwell, on the other hand,
rode boldly along, casting contemptuous glances at the irregular cavalry,
as they galloped to and fro in mimic combat. The delta, formed by the
two streams, was covered with tents. We wended our way through crowds of
sheep, horses, cattle, and camels. Suleiman Agha lived under the spacious
canvas of the chief of the Chichi Kurds. The tents of the Kurdish tribes,
who wander in the low country at the foot of the mountains in winter and
spring, and seek the hill pastures in the summer, and especially those of
the principal men, are remarkable for their size, and the richness of
their carpets and furniture. They are often divided into as many as four
or five distinct compartments, by screens of light cane or reeds, bound
together with many-colored woollen threads, disposed in elegant patterns
and devices. Carpets hung above these screens complete the divisions. In
the tents of the great chiefs there is a separate compartment for the
servants, and one for the mares and colts.
I sat a short time with Suleiman Agha, drank coffee, smoked, and listened
patiently to a long discourse on the benefits of _tanzimat_, which had put
an end to bribes, treachery, and irregular taxation, especially intended
for Mohammed Emin, who was however by no means reassured by it. I then
adjourned to my own tents, which had been pitched upon the banks of the
river opposite a well-wooded island, and near a ledge of rocks forming one
of those beautiful falls of water so frequent in this part of the Khabour.
We were encamped near the foot of a large artificial Tel called Umjerjeh;
and on the opposite side of the Khabour were other mounds of the same
name. My Jebour workmen began to excavate in the ruins the day after our
arrival. I remained in my tent to receive the visits of the Kurdish chiefs
and of the Hyta-Bashis, or commanders of the irregular cavalry. From these
free-booters I have derived much curious and interesting information
relating to the various provinces of the Turkish empire and their
inhabitants, mingled with pleasant anecdotes and vivid descriptions of men
and manners. They are generally very intelligent, frank, and hospitable.
Although too often unscrupulous and cruel, they unite many of the good
qualities of the old Turkish soldier with most of his vices. They love
hard-drinking and gambling, staking their horses, arms, and even clothes,
on the most childish game of chance. Their pay, at the same time, is
miserably small, rarely exceeding a few shillings a month, and they are
obliged to plunder the peaceable inhabitants to supply their actual wants.
The race is now fast disappearing before the Nizam, or regular troops.
On the second day, accompanied by Mijwell, I visited a large mound called
Mijdel, on the right bank of the river about five miles above Umjerjeh. It
is a lofty platform, surrounded by groups of smaller mounds, amongst which
may still be traced the lines of streets and canals. It is about four or
five miles from the ridge of Abd-ul-Azeez. These low hills, scantily
wooded with dwarf oak, are broken into innumerable valleys and ravines,
which abound, it is said, with wild goats, boars, leopards, and other
animals. According to my Bedouin informants, the ruins of ancient towns
and villages still exist, but they could only give me the name of one,
Zakkarah. On the opposite side of the Khabour, and running parallel with
the Abd-ul-Azeez range, is another line of small hills, called Hamma, in
which there are many wells.
The Shammar Bedouins encamp on the banks of this part of the Khabour
during the hot months. The mound of Mijdel is a favorite resort of the
Boraij in the "eye of the summer:" the waters of the river are always
cool, and there is sufficient pasture for the flocks and herds of the
whole tribe.
An Arab whom I met in the tent of one of the Hyta-Bashis, pretended that
he was well acquainted with the ruins called _Verhan-Shehr_[131], of which
I had so frequently heard from the natives of Mardin and the Shammar. He
described them as being on a hill three days distant from our encampment,
and to consist of columns, buildings, and sculptured stones like those of
Palmyra.
In the evening Mohammed Emin left us. Suleiman Agha had already invested
him with a robe of honor, and had prevailed upon him to join with Ferhan
in taking measures for the recovery of the plundered treasure. The scarlet
cloak and civil treatment had conciliated the Jebour chief, and when he
parted with the Turkish commander in my tent there was an unusual display
of mutual compliments and pledges of eternal friendship. Mijwell looked on
with indignant contempt, swearing between his teeth that all Jebours were
but degenerate, ploughing Arabs, and cursing the whole order of
_temminahs_.[132]
We were detained at Umjerjeh several days by the severe illness of Mr.
Hormuzd Rassam. I took the opportunity to visit the tents of the Milli,
whose chief, Mousa Agha, had invited us to a feast. The spacious tent of
the chief was divided by partitions of reeds tastefully interwoven with
colored wool. The coolest part of the salamlik had been prepared for our
reception, and was spread with fine carpets and silken cushions. The chief
and his brothers, followed by their servants bearing trays loaded with
cups, presented the coffee to their guests.
After some conversation we went to the harem, and were received by his
mother, a venerable lady, with long silvery locks and a dignified
countenance and demeanor. Her dress was of the purest white and
scrupulously clean. Altogether she was almost the only comely woman I had
seen amongst Eastern tribes. The wives and daughters of the chiefs, with a
crowd of women, were collected in the tent; but it was evident, at a
glance, that they were of a different race from the wandering tribes of
the Desert.
The principal ladies led us into the private compartment, divided by
colored screens from the rest of the tent. It was furnished with more than
usual luxury. The cushions were of the choicest silk, and the carpets (in
the manufacture of which the Milli excel) of the best fabric. Sweetmeats
and coffee had been prepared for us, and the women did not object to
partake of them at the same time. Mousa Agha's mother described the
various marriage ceremonies of the tribe. Our account of similar matters
in Europe excited great amusement amongst the ladies. The Milli girls are
highly prized by the Kurds. Twenty purses, nearly 100_l._, we were
boastingly told, had been given for one of unusual attractions. The chief
pointed out one of his own wives who had cost him that sum. Other members
of the same establishment had deserved a less extravagant investiture of
money. The prettiest girls were called before us, and the old lady
appraised each, amidst the loud laughter of their companions, who no doubt
rejoiced to see their friends valued at their true worth. They were all
tatooed on the arms, and on other parts of the body, but less so than the
Bedouin ladies. The Kurdish ladies do not, like the Mussulman women of the
town, conceal their features with a veil; nor do they object to mingle, or
even eat, with the men. During my stay at Umjerjeh I invited the harem of
the Chichi chief, and their friends, to a feast in my tent--an
invitation they accepted with every sign of satisfaction.
The Milli were formerly one of the wealthiest Kurdish tribes; but they
were wantonly plundered, and almost reduced to want, by the Turkish troops
three years ago. Although the Porte openly condemned the outrage, and had
promised compensation, no step whatever had been taken to restore the
stolen property, the greater part of which had passed into the government
treasury.
Mijwell, during our visit, had been seated in a corner, his eyes wandering
from the tent and its furniture to the horses and mares picketed without,
and to the flocks pasturing around. He cast, every now and then,
significant glances towards me, which said plainly enough, "All this ought
to belong to the Bedouins. These people and their property were made for
_ghazous_." As we rode away I accused him of evil intentions. "Billah, ya
Bej!" said he, "there is, indeed, enough to make a man's heart grow white
with envy; but I have now eaten his bread under your shadow, and should
even his stick, wherewith he drives his camel, fall into my hand, I would
send it to him." He entertained me, as we returned home, with the domestic
affairs of his family. Rathaiyah had offered herself in marriage to
Suttum, and not he to her; a common proceeding, it would appear, among the
Bedouins. Mijwell rather looked upon his brother with pity, as a henpecked
husband. He himself, although already married to one wife, and betrothed
to Maizi, whom he would soon be able to claim, was projecting a third
marriage. His heart had been stolen by an unseen damsel, whose beauties
and virtues had been the theme of some wandering Arab rhymers, and she was
of the Fedhan Aneyza, the mortal enemies of the Shammar. Her father was
the sheikh of the tribe, and his tents were on the other side of the
Euphrates. The difficulties and dangers of the courtship served only to
excite still more the ardent mind of the Bedouin. His romantic imagination
had pictured a perfection of loveliness; his whole thoughts were now
occupied in devising the means of possessing this treasure.[133] He had
already apprised the girl of his love by a trusty messenger, one of her
own tribe, living with the Shammar, and she had, at last, promised him her
hand, if he could claim her in her own tent. Mijwell had now planned a
scheme which he was eager to put into execution. Waiting until the Fedhan
were so encamped that he could approach them without being previously
seen, he would mount his deloul, and leading his best mare, ride to the
tent of the girl's father. Meat would, of course, be laid before him, and
having eaten he would be the guest, and under the protection of the
Sheikh. On the following morning he would present his mare, describing her
race and qualities, to his host, and ask his daughter; offering, at the
same time, to add any other gift that might be thought worthy of her. The
father, who would probably not be ignorant of what had passed between the
lovers, would at once consent to the union, and give back the mare to his
future son-in-law. The marriage would shortly afterwards be solemnised,
and an alliance would thus be formed between the two tribes. Such was
Mijwell's plan, and it was one not unfrequently adopted by Bedouins under
similar circumstances.
The laws of Dakheel, another very remarkable branch of Bedouin
legislation, in force amongst the Shammar, are nearly the same as those of
the Aneyza and Hedjaz Arabs, of which Burckhardt has given so full and
interesting an account. I have little, therefore, to add upon the
subject, but its importance demands a few words. No customs are more
religiously respected by the true Arab than those regulating the mutual
relations of the protected and protector. A violation of Dakheel (as this
law is called) would be considered a disgrace not only upon the individual
but upon his family, and even upon his tribe, which never could be wiped
out. No greater insult can be offered to a man, or to his clan, than to
say that he has broken the Dakheel. A disregard of this sacred obligation
is the first symptom of degeneracy in an Arab tribe; and when once it
exists, the treachery and vices of the Turk rapidly succeed to the honesty
and fidelity of the true Arab character. The relations between the Dakheel
and the Dakhal (or the protector and protected) arise from a variety of
circumstances, the principal of which are, eating a man's salt and bread,
and claiming his protection by doing certain acts, or repeating a certain
formula of words. Amongst the Shammar, if a man can seize the end of a
string or thread, the other end of which is held by his enemy, he
immediately becomes his Dakheel. If he touch the canvas of a tent, or can
even throw his mace towards it, he is the Dakheel of its owner. If he can
spit upon a man, or touch any article belonging to him with his teeth, he
is Dakhal, unless of course, in case of theft, it be the person who caught
him. A woman can protect any number of persons, or even of tents.[134] If
a horseman ride into a tent, he and his horse are Dakhal. A stranger who
has eaten with a Shammar, can give Dakheel to his enemy; for instance, I
could protect an Aneyza, though there is blood between his tribe and the
Shammar. According to Mijwell, any person, by previously calling out
"Nuffo" (I renounce), may reject an application for Dakheel.
An Arab who has given his protection to another, whether formally, or by
an act which confers the privilege of Dakheel, is bound to protect his
Dakhal under all circumstances, even to the risk of his own property and
life. I could relate many instances of the greatest sacrifices having been
made by individuals, and even of whole tribes having been involved in war
with powerful enemies by whom they have been almost utterly destroyed, in
defence of this most sacred obligation. Even the Turkish rulers respect a
law to which they may one day owe their safety, and more than one haughty
Pasha of Baghdad has found refuge and protection in the tent of a poor
Arab Sheikh, whom, during the days of his prosperity, he had subjected to
every injury and wrong, and yet who would then defy the government itself,
and risk his very life, rather than surrender his guest. The essence of
Arab virtue is a respect for the laws of hospitality, of which the Dakheel
in all its various forms is but a part.
Amongst the Bedouins who watched our camels was one Saoud, a poet of
renown amongst the tribes. With the exception of a few ballads that he had
formerly composed in honor of Sofuk, and other celebrated Shammar Sheikhs,
he chiefly recited extemporary stanzas on passing events, or on persons
who were present. He would sit in my tent of an evening, and sing his
verses in a wild, though plaintive, strain, to the great delight of the
assembled guests, and particularly of Mijwell, who, like a true Bedouin,
was easily affected by poetry, especially with such as might touch his own
passion for the unknown lady. When the bard improvised an amatory ditty,
the young chief's excitement was almost beyond control. The other Bedouins
were scarcely less moved by these rude measures, which have the same kind
of effect on the wild tribes of the Persian mountains. Such verses,
chanted by their self-taught poets, or by the girls of their encampment,
will drive warriors to the combat, fearless of death, or prove an ample
reward on their return from the dangers of the _ghazou_ or the fight. The
excitement they produce exceeds that of the grape. He who would understand
the influence of the Homeric ballads in the heroic ages, should witness
the effect which similar compositions have upon the wild nomades of the
East. The art of improvising seems innate in the Bedouin. Although his
metre and mode of recitation are rude to European ears, his rich and
sonorous language lends itself to this species of poetry, whilst his
exuberant imagination furnishes him with endless beautiful and appropriate
allegories. The wars between the tribes, the _ghazou_, and their struggles
with the Turks, are inexhaustible themes for verse, and in an Arab tent
there is little else to afford excitement or amusement. The Bedouins have
no books; even a Koran is seldom seen amongst them: it is equally rare to
find a wandering Arab who can read. They have no written literature, and
their traditional history consists of a little more than the tales of a
few storytellers who wander from encampment to encampment, and earn their
bread by chanting verses to the monotonous tones of a one-stringed fiddle
made of a gourd covered with sheep-skin.
The day of our departure now drew nigh, and Suleiman Agha, to do us honor,
invited us to a general review of the irregular troops under his command.
The horsemen of the Milli and Chichi Kurds, and of the Arab tribes who
encamped with them, joined the Turkish cavalry, and added to the interest
and beauty of the display. The Hyta-Bashis were, as usual, resplendent in
silk and gold. There were some high-bred horses in the field; but the men,
on the whole, were badly mounted, and the irregular cavalry is daily
degenerating throughout the empire. The Turkish Government have unwisely
neglected a branch of their national armies to which they owed most of
their great victories, and at one time their superiority over all their
neighbours. The abolition of the Spahiliks, and other military tenures,
has, of course, contributed much to this result, and has led to the
deterioration of that excellent breed of horses which once distinguished
the Ottoman light cavalry. No effort is now made by the government to keep
up the race, and the scanty pay of the irregular troops is not sufficient
to enable them to obtain even second-rate animals. Everything has been
sacrificed to the regular army, undoubtedly an essential element of
national defence; but in a future war the Turks will probably find reason
to regret that they have altogether sacrificed it to the ancient irregular
horse.
The Kurds, although encumbered by their long flowing garments and huge
turbans, are not bad horsemen. Mijwell, however, as he scanned the motley
crowd with his eagle eye, included them all in one expression of ineffable
contempt.
[Illustration: Volcanic Cone of Koukab.]