DEPARTURE FROM THE KHABOUR.--ARAB SAGACITY.--THE HOL.--THE LAKE OF
KHATOUNIYAH.--RETURN OF SUTTUM.--ENCAMPMENT OF THE SHAMMAR.--ARAB
HORSES.--THEIR BREEDS.--THEIR VALUE.--THEIR SPEED.--SHEIKH
FERHAN.--YEZIDI VILLAGES.--FALCONS.--AN ALARM. ABOU MARIA.--ESKI
MOSUL.--ARRIVAL AT MOSUL.--RETURN OF SUTTUM TO THE DESERT.
Mr. Hormuzd Rassam having sufficiently recovered from his dangerous
illness to be able to ride a deloul, and no remains, except pottery and
bricks, having been discovered in the mounds of Umjerjeh, we left the
encampment of Suleiman Agha on the 29th of April, on our return to Mosul.
We again visited the remarkable volcanic cone of Koukab. As we drew near
to it, Mijwell detected, in the loose soil, the footprints of two men,
which he immediately recognised to be those of Shammar thieves returning
from the Kurdish encampments. The sagacity of the Bedouin in determining
from such marks, whether of man or beast, and, from similar indications,
the tribe, time of passing, and business, of those who may have left them,
with many other particulars, is well known. In this respect he resembles
the American Indian, though the circumstances differ under which the two
are called upon to exercise this peculiar faculty. The one seeks or avoids
his enemy in vast plains, which, for three-fourths of the year, are
without any vegetation; the other tracks his prey through thick woods and
high grass. The quickness of perception is the result of continual
observation and of caution encouraged from earliest youth. Whilst the
child in a civilised country is still under the care of its nurse, the
Bedouin boy is compelled to exercise his highest faculties, and on his
prudence and sagacity may sometimes depend the safety of his tribe.
The expert Bedouin can draw conclusions from the footprints and dung of
animals that would excite the astonishment of an European. He will tell
whether the camel was loaded or unloaded, whether recently fed or
suffering from hunger, whether fatigued or fresh, the time when it passed
by, whether the owner was a man of the desert or of the town, whether a
friend or foe, and sometimes even the name of his tribe.
We encamped for the night near the mound of Thenenir, and resumed our
journey on the following morning. Bidding farewell to the pleasant banks
of the Khabour, we struck into the Desert in the direction of the Sinjar.
Extensive beds of gypsum, or alabaster, such as was used in the Assyrian
edifices, formed for some miles the surface of the plain. We soon
approached a dense mass of reeds and rank herbage, covering a swamp called
the Hol, which extends from the Lake of Khatouniyah to within a short
distance of the Khabour. This jungle is the hiding-place of many kinds of
wild beasts: lions lurk in it, and in the thick cover the Bedouins find
their cubs.
During our journey an Arab joined us, riding on a deloul, with his wife.
His two children were crammed into a pair of saddle-bags, a black head
peeping out of either side. He had quarrelled with his kinsmen, and was
moving with his family and little property to another tribe.
After a six hours' ride we found ourselves upon the margin of a small
lake, whose surface reflected the deep blue of the cloudless sky. In the
midst was a peninsula, joined to the mainland by a narrow causeway, and
beyond it a small island. On the former were the ruins of a town, whose
falling walls and towers were doubled in the clear waters.
The small town of Khatouniyah was, until recently, inhabited by a tribe of
Arabs. A feud, arising out of the rival pretensions of two chiefs, sprang
up amongst them. The factions fought, many persons were killed, and the
place was consequently deserted, one party joining the Tai Arabs near
Nisibin, the other the Yezidis of Keraniyah. We traced the remains of
cultivation, and the dry water-courses, which once irrigated plots of rice
and melon beds. The lake may be about six miles in circumference. The
water, although brackish, like nearly all the springs in this part of the
Desert, is not only drinkable, but, according to the Bedouins, exceedingly
wholesome for man and beast. It abounds in fish, some of which are said to
be of very considerable size, and waterfowl and waders, of various kinds,
congregate on the shores.
We had scarcely resumed our march in the morning when we spied Suttum and
Khoraif coming towards us, and urging their fleet mares to the top of
their speed. A Jebour, leaving our encampment at Umjerjeh, when Hormuzd
was dangerously ill, had spread a report[135] in the Desert, that he was
actually dead. To give additional authenticity to his tale he had minutely
described the process by which my companion's body had been first salted,
and then sent to Frankistan in a box, on a camel. Suttum, as we met,
showed the most lively signs of grief; but when he saw the dead man
himself restored to life, his joy and his embraces knew no bounds.
We rode over a low undulating country, at the foot of the Sinjar hills,
every dell and ravine being a bed of flowers. About five miles from
Khatouniyah we passed a small reedy stream, called Suffeyra, on which the
Boraij (Suttum's tribe) had been encamped on the previous day. They had
now moved further into the plain, and we stopped at their watering-place,
a brackish rivulet called Sayhel, their tents being about three miles
distant from us in the Desert. Their mares, camels, and sheep came to
Sayhel for water, and during the whole day there was one endless line of
animals passing to and fro before our encampment. I sat watching them from
my tent. As each mare and horse stopped to drink at the troubled stream,
Suttum named its owner and its breed, and described its exploits. The
mares were generally followed by two or three colts, who are suffered,
even in their third year, to run loose after their dams, and to gambol
unrestrained over the plain. It is to their perfect freedom whilst young
that the horses of the Desert owe their speed and the suppleness of their
limbs.
It may not be out of place to add a few remarks on the subject of Arab
horses. The Bedouins, as it is well known, divide their thorough-breds
into five races, descended, as some declare, from the five favourite mares
of the Prophet. The names, however, of these breeds vary amongst different
tribes. According to Suttum, who was better acquainted with the history
and traditions of the Bedouins than almost any Arab I ever met, they are
all derived from one original stock, the Koheyleh, which, in course of
time, was divided, after the names of celebrated mares, into the following
five branches:--Obeyan Sherakh, Hedba Zayhi, Manekia Hedrehji, Shouaymah
Sablah, and Margoub. These form the _Kamse_, or the five breeds, from
which alone entire horses are chosen to propagate the race. From the
_Kamse_ have sprung a number of families no less noble, perhaps, than the
original five; but the Shammar receive their stallions with suspicion, or
reject them altogether. Among the best known are the Wathna Khersan, so
called from the mares being said to be worth their weight in gold; (noble
horses of this breed are found amongst the Arab tribes inhabiting the
districts to the east of the Euphrates, the Beni Lam, Al Kamees, and Al
Kithere;) Khalawi, thus named from a wonderful feat of speed performed by
a celebrated mare in Southern Mesopotamia; Jaiaythani, and Julfa. The only
esteemed race in the Desert which, according to Suttum, cannot be traced
to the _Kamse_, is the Saklawi, although considered by the Shammar and by
the Bedouins of the Gebel Shammar, as one of the noblest, if not the
noblest, of all. It is divided into three branches, the most valued being
the Saklawi Jedran, which is said to be now almost extinct.
To understand how a man, who has perhaps not even bread to feed himself
and his children, can withstand the temptation of such large sums, it must
be remembered that, besides the affection proverbially felt by the Bedouin
for his mare, which might, perhaps, not be proof against such a test, he
is entirely dependent upon her for his happiness, his glory, and, indeed,
his very existence. An Arab possessing a horse unrivalled in speed and
endurance, and it would only be for such that enormous prices would be
offered, is entirely his own master, and can defy the world. Once on its
back, no one can catch him. He may rob, plunder, fight, and go to and fro
as he lists. No man has a keener sense of the joys of liberty, and a
heartier hatred of restraint, than the true Bedouin. Give him the Desert,
his mare, and his spear, and he will not envy the wealth and power of the
greatest of the earth. He plunders and robs for the mere pleasure and
excitement which danger and glory afford.
A mare is generally the property of two or more persons, who have a share
in her progeny, regulated by custom, and differing according to the tribe.
The largest number of horses, as well as those of the most esteemed
breeds, are still to be found, as in the time of Burckhardt, amongst the
tribes who inhabit Mesopotamia and the great plains watered by the
Euphrates and Tigris. These rich pastures, nourished by the rains of
winter and spring, the climate, and--according to the Arabs--the brackish
water of the springs rising in the gypsum, seem especially favorable to
the rearing of horses. The best probably belong to the Shammar and Aneyza
tribes.
The present Sheikh of the Gebel Shammar, Ibn Reshid, has, I am informed, a
very choice stud of mares of the finest breeds, and their reputation has
spread far and wide over the Desert. The Nawab of Oude, the
Ekbal-ed-Doulah, a good judge of horses, who had visited many of the
tribes, and had made the pilgrimage to the holy cities by the little
frequented route through the interior of Nedjd, assured me that the finest
horses he had ever seen were in the possession of the Shereef of Mecca.
The Arab horse is more remarkable for its exquisite symmetry and beautiful
proportions, united with wonderful powers of endurance, than for
extraordinary speed. I doubt whether any Arab of the best blood has ever
been brought to England. The difficulty of obtaining them is so great,
that they are scarcely ever seen beyond the limits of the Desert.
Their color is generally white, light or dark grey, light chestnut, and
bay, with white or black feet. Black is exceedingly rare, and I never
remember to have seen dun, sorrel, or dapple. I refer, of course, to the
true-bred Arab, and not to the Turcoman or to Kurdish and Turkish races,
which are a cross between the Arab and Persian.
Their average height is from 14 hands to 14-3/4, rarely reaching 15; I
have only seen one mare that exceeded it. Notwithstanding the smallness of
their stature they often possess great strength and courage. But their
most remarkable and valuable quality is the power of performing long and
arduous marches upon the smallest possible allowance of food and water. It
is only the mare of the wealthy Bedouin that gets even a regular feed of
about twelve handfuls of barley, or of rice in the husk, once in
twenty-four hours. During the spring alone, when the pastures are green,
the horses of the Arabs are sleek and beautiful in appearance. At other
times they eat nothing but the withered herbs and scanty hay gathered from
the parched soil, and are lean and unsightly. They are never placed under
cover during the intense heat of an Arabian summer, nor protected from the
biting cold of the Desert winds during the winter. The saddle is rarely
taken from their backs, nor are they ever cleaned or groomed. Thus
apparently neglected, they are but skin and bone, and the townsman marvels
at seeing an animal, which he would scarcely take the trouble to ride
home, valued almost beyond price.
The Shammar Bedouins give their horses, particularly when young, large
quantities of camels' milk. I have heard of mares eating raw flesh, and
dates are frequently mixed with their food by the tribes living near the
mouth of the Euphrates. The Shammar and Aneyza shoe their horses if
possible, and wandering farriers regularly visit their tents. The Arab
horse has but two ordinary paces, a quick and easy walk, sometimes
averaging between four and five miles an hour, and a half running canter.
The Bedouin rarely puts his mare to full speed unless pursued or pursuing.
In the evening, as I was seated before my tent, I observed a large party
of horsemen and riders on delouls approaching our encampment. They stopped
at the entrance of the large pavilion reserved for guests, and picketing
their mares, and turning loose their dromedaries adorned with gay
trappings, seated themselves on the carpets. The chiefs were our old
friends, Mohammed Emin and Ferhan, the great Shammar Sheikh. We cordially
embraced after the Bedouin fashion. I had not seen Ferhan since the
treacherous murder of his father by Nejib Pasha of Baghdad[136], to which
he alluded with touching expressions of grief, bewailing his own
incompetency to fill Sofuk's place, and to govern the divided tribe. He
was now on his way with the Jebour Sheikh to recover, if possible, the
government treasure, plundered by the Hamoud, for which, as head of the
Shammar, he was held responsible by the Porte.
After they had eaten of the feast we were able to prepare for them, they
departed about sunset for the tents of the Jebours. I embraced Mohammed
Emin for the last time, and saw him no more during my residence in
Assyria.
On the 4th of May we made a short day's journey of five hours to a
beautiful stream issuing from the Sinjar hill, beneath the village of
Khersa or Chersa. A Bedouin of the Boraij tribe accompanied us riding on a
swift white dromedary of a true Nedjid breed. This animal was scarcely
taller than a large English horse.
Leaving the plain, which was speckled as far as the eye could reach with
the flocks and tents of the Bedouins, we skirted the very foot of the
Sinjar. Khersa had been deserted by its inhabitants, who had rebuilt their
village higher up on the side of the hill.
Since the loss of Hattab, Suttum had never ceased pining for a falcon
worthy to take his place. He had been counting the hours of his visit to
this part of the Sinjar, known only to yield to the borders of the Persian
Gulf in producing the finest and bravest hawks for the chase. He was not
successful, however, in pleasing himself with those which were offered to
him.
Next day we made but little progress, encamping near a spring under the
village of Aldina, whose chief, Murad, had now returned from his
captivity. Grateful for my intercession in his behalf, he brought us sheep
and other provisions, and met us with his people as we entered the valley.
At his urgent request, I aided materially in inducing the people to pay
the dues of the tax-gatherer who was at that time in the village.
During the negociations, Suttum, surrounded by clamorous Yezidis, was
sitting in the shade, examining unfledged hawks. At length three were
deemed worthy of his notice: one being pretty well advanced in days was
sent to his tent for education, under the charge of the rider of the Nedjd
deloul. The others, being yet in a weak state, were restored to the nest,
to be claimed on his return from Mosul. The largest bird, being a very
promising specimen, cost five gazees or 1_l._; the others, three gazees
and a half, as the times were hard, and the tax-gatherers urgent for ready
money.
We rode on the following day for about an hour along the foot of the
Sinjar hill, which suddenly subsides into a low undulating country. The
narrow valleys and ravines were blood-red with gigantic poppies. The
Bedouins adorned the camels and horses with the scarlet flowers, and
twisted them into their own head-dresses and long garments. Even the
Tiyari dressed themselves up in the gaudy trappings of nature, and as we
journeyed chanting an Arab war-song, we resembled the return of a festive
procession from some sacrifice of old. During our weary marches under a
burning sun, it required some such episodes to keep up the drooping
spirits of the men, who toiled on foot by our sides. Poetry and flowers
are the wine and spirits of the Arab; a couplet is equal to a bottle, and
a rose to a dram, without the evil effects of either. Would that in more
civilised climes the sources of excitement were equally harmless!
In the evening Suttum inveighed bitterly against a habit of some
travellers of continually taking notes before strangers. I endeavoured to
explain the object and to remove his fears. "It is all very well," said
the Sheikh, "and I can understand, and am willing to believe, all you tell
me. But supposing the Turks, or any body else, should hereafter come
against us, there are many foolish and suspicious men in the tribe, and I
have enemies, who would say that I had brought them, for I have shown you
everything. You know what would be the consequences to me of such a
report. As for you, you are in this place to-day, and 100 days' journey
off to-morrow, but I am always here. There is not a plot of grass or a
spring that that man (alluding to one of our party) does not write down."
Suttum's complaints were not unreasonable, and travellers cannot be too
cautious in this respect, when amongst independent tribes, for even if
they do not bring difficulties upon themselves, they may do so upon
others.
We had a seven hours' ride on the delouls, leaving the caravan to follow,
to the large ruin of Abou Maria,[137] passing through Tel Afer. The Jehesh
were encamped about two miles from the place. My workmen had excavated for
some time in these remarkable mounds, and had discovered chambers and
several enormous slabs of Mosul marble, but no remains whatever of
sculpture.
A short ride of three hours brought us to Eski (old) Mosul, on the banks
of the Tigris. According to tradition this is the original site of the
city. There are mounds, and the remains of walls, which are probably
Assyrian. Mosul was still nine caravan hours distant, and we encamped the
next night at Hamaydat, where many of our friends came out to meet us. On
the 10th of May we were again within the walls of the town, our desert
trip having been accomplished without any mishap or accident whatever.
Suttum left us two days after for his tents, fearing lest he should be too
late to join the warriors of the Khorusseh, who had planned a grand
_ghazou_ into Nedjd. He urged me to accompany them; but I had long
renounced such evil habits, and other occupations kept me in Mosul.
Finding that I was not to be persuaded, and that the time was at length
come for us to part, he embraced me, crammed the presents we had made to
himself and his wives into his saddle-bags, and, mounting his deloul, rode
off with Mijwell towards the Desert.