LIFE IN SULAIMANIA
Matti came in early next morning, and with porters we took away the
goods and deposited them in the new house, where we found two or three
buyers of my merchandise waiting. These chose the skins of “run” they
desired, and having at last settled a price which gave me a profit of
some twenty-five per cent., we repaired to the shop of one of them
to have the goods weighed by a public weigher. When we arrived that
functionary was not forthcoming, so I installed myself in the grocer’s
shop, high up above the raisins, almonds, walnuts, and spices that he
sold, and smoked cigarettes while he vended and attempted to carry on
a conversation with me in Persian, of which he knew a little. It had
often been a mystery to me how a retail grocer made his money; but
now, being a wholesale dealer in an article he sold retail, I saw the
game, which he was frank enough to display. His scales were not of the
fairest, to start with, and when weighing, he would, when possible,
leave in the pan the heavy wooden spoon with which he ladled out the
grease. If a large amount were required there would be a haggle over
the price, and the buyer probably got his purchase at a reasonable
weight, but the small buyer who came for a few ounces was invariably
defrauded, either by the calculation of the price, which he probably
could not work out, or by the deficient amount given him. And so
with three shahis worth of raisins, or the kran’s worth of almonds,
which the grocer handed to the buyer in a long spoon which reached
the remotest basin without necessitating his moving. In no shops in
Kurdistan, except the drug and spice sellers, is anything wrapped
up, and this habit makes a handkerchief the most essential part of
a man’s gear. To buy in the bazaar one goes provided with at least
three handkerchiefs, if the mixing of dates, meat, and fruit in one
handkerchief is to be avoided.
Hama at last found a weighing man, who appeared with an immense
steelyard supported upon a long pole, to carry which two porters had to
be called, each with an end upon his shoulder. The weights were entered
in a little book, and the names of the buyers, sellers, and material
under them. We then made up the account, and having paid the weighing
fee, half each, settled down to counting out twelve hundred krans, in
two-kran pieces, a process that took half an hour, with the examination
for bad and cracked coins. This done, we left, with expressions
of esteem on both sides, the money wrapped in the ever-necessary
handkerchief.
We banked it with Matti, who locked it with the rest of my money in
his iron box, and then we sent for “kebab”--scraps of meat cooked
over charcoal--and with these and bread, made what is called the
“merchant’s lunch.” All the afternoon I sat outside the office making
the acquaintance of the Kurdish merchants round about. One of these, a
certain Hama Ali, spoke Persian extremely well, and was very proud of
having been to Kashan in Persia, where he had unsuccessfully attempted
to trade against a ring of Persian merchants; and while cursing their
business astuteness, praised their nice manners and hospitality, and
that to a Sunni, who is hated among the Persian Shi’a.
The evening meal was a frugal affair of boiled rice and meat, and a
cucumber or two procured for me in the bazaar by the old dame of the
house; and an hour after eating I turned in upon the stones of the
courtyard, that being the coolest place, for the nights were stuffy.
Early in the morning I received a visit from the old Mustafa Beg,
Mudir Effendi, my companion in the caravanserai on my first arrival
at Sulaimania. He expressed genuine pleasure at seeing me again, and
stayed for an hour or two, drinking the morning tea. He lamented, as
always, the lack of his appointment, which he could not take up, and
cursed the ill-luck that had transplanted him from Tripoli in Africa to
Sulaimania. He had learned no Kurdish, had found no new friends, and
passed his days as he had done before, visiting the official Turks,
sitting in the post-office, and dining at the shaikhs’ house. His old
fingers, white and well-kept, trembled so much that he could barely sew
on the buttons of his garments, a task he was continually engaged upon;
and his pride, that kept him respectable and clean, necessitated his
getting up in the night to wash his own garments in the caravanserai
cistern, for he could not be seen doing such work, nor had he, indeed,
another change of raiment.
[Sidenote: THE MUDIR EFFENDI]
He was somewhat avaricious, I discovered, for he had enough cash to
purchase more clothing, and at length I gained his consent to buy the
material for another shirt and trousers, so we repaired to the bazaar.
My costume of those days, in town, was one which gained some respect
for me among others, and should, perhaps, have lessened my own for
myself.
I wore an old pair of pyjamas under the dressing-gown I had adopted
in Kirkuk, and a good abba thrown over these gave me a peculiar
appearance, which apparently passed among the Sulaimanians for
distinction.
In the bazaar we spent a long time before the old man could decide what
quality of white cotton to buy, and a great curiosity was roused among
the shopkeepers as to who he could be, for he made himself conspicuous
by his arrogance and his loud tones of an Arabic, so different from
the dialect of Bagdad, the only Arabic known to Sulaimania. So while
he haggled, I accepted the invitation of a Kurdish shopman on the
opposite side of the alley, and joined him in a cigarette, answering
his questions as a return for his hospitality. The vociferating old man
caused him some amusement, as it did the others; and his ignorance of
their native Kurdish bent them the more upon driving a hard bargain,
for he bore the mark of the Turk, and was to be detested accordingly.
At last, however, he completed his purchase, and we came back to
the house and arranged with a sempstress found for us by Baji
Raihan, the old woman of the house. For the sum of nine “baichu”
(or about ninepence) we arranged with this rakish girl, with the
big turban cocked over one eye, to sew the shirts. It being noon by
now, we lunched in the upper portico, and the old man left for the
caravanserai, while I, in the custom of the country, lay down to sleep
for an hour or two.
In this way several days passed. Each morning or afternoon I spent
at Matti’s office, chatting to the idle merchants, for the Hamavands
held the road and no business was done. Habib Badria, who was reckoned
as one of the more progressive of the Mosul Christians, and who,
in token of the fact, had discarded the Christian turban for the
fez, delighted to talk of Europe, and would hold great discussions
as to the possibility of his making a living in Paris--the aim and
end of his desires. After a while he displayed a great interest in
municipal affairs, and would converse for hours about motor dust-carts,
underground drains, and such things, never dreamed of in Sulaimania
till he heard of them from me. It was a hard task to convince him
that London was bigger than Paris, and he regarded it as even a
little unmannerly to hint at such, while he obviously forgave me for
exaggerating about a nation of which I was a subject; for though I was
known as Ghulam Husain the Persian, I had taken care to spread the fact
that I was a British subject, to avoid annoyance at the Turks’ hands.
Mustafa Beg as a rule avoided the Christians, and though perfectly
friendly towards them, did not consider it quite compatible with his
dignity to be seen sitting with them. He had almost remonstrated with
me on the subject, but he checked himself as he observed with an
unction I do not think hypocritical, “Well, well, you say your prayers
like a good Muslim, for I have seen you many a time, and what harm if
an infidel give you entertainment?”
[Sidenote: A MILITARY ACADEMY]
The old man came each morning for his tea and cigarettes, and the idea
struck me one day to ask him if any of his Turkish acquaintances would
like to purchase a Mauser pistol I possessed. He inspected the weapon,
and taken with its neat appearance, promised to do his best. In the
afternoon he returned, and apologising for coming at an unseemly hour,
said that he had not succeeded in finding a purchaser for my pistol,
but had discovered a new friend for me. He went on to describe how he
had enlarged upon my merits and knowledge of Persian and French to the
mudir, or director of the Military School of Sulaimania, an affair run
by the Government, and attended by the sons of the Turkish officials in
Sulaimania and of a few of the Kurds employed in the local government.
This individual Mustafa Beg was extremely anxious for me to meet, and
urged me to accompany him to the school, where the mudir lived all
day, although lessons ceased at 11 A.M. in this warm weather, having
commenced at 6 A.M.
The school was upon the outskirts of the town, in a high enclosure.
Half of this formed a pretty garden, and the rest a playground, while
the building itself was but a row of neglected rooms along one wall.
The European style of culture and education supposed to be imparted
to the pupils was evidenced by a high horizontal bar, the sign of
gymnastic exercises never performed. Over the doors were the signs
“Birinji,” “Ekinji,” “Uchinji,” “Durdinji,” and “Baishinji”--first,
second, third, fourth, and fifth classes. At the edge of the garden
strip was a large tank of clear water, and above it a canopy of boughs
had been made, to form what the Kurds call a “chardaq.”
Here upon a high bench sat the Mudir Effendi, a fat little man duly
decked with tin stars and strapped trousers, an insignificant Turk of
Sivas, who spoke no language but his own, if a few words of French
be excepted. A younger man was seated near him in a chair, playing
with his sword, and he was introduced to me as the “Ekinji Mu’allim,”
or second in command of the school. His linguistic accomplishments
included a slight knowledge of Persian and Arabic, and a good knowledge
of Kurdish, for he was a native of the Kirkuk district. The mudir
received me very graciously, not being able to refrain, however, from
the Turkish habit of showing an overwhelming inquisitiveness as to my
nationality, reason for coming to Sulaimania, what I was doing, and
anything else he could think of to afford a question. Mustafa Beg,
however, made capital of his queries, and made them the occasion of
an eulogy of my accomplishments, adding as a final and convincing
proof, that I had lived several years in London, and had seen Bombay,
Constantinople, and Teheran. These qualifications immediately gave me
a position, and having readily answered some schoolmaster questions
as to the population of London and Paris, and the strength of the
British Army, I was admitted to terms of the greatest friendship. The
little man had never been nearer to Constantinople than Smyrna, and
like all Turks in the uncongenial climate of Kurdistan, lamented his
presence there. He was good enough to compliment me upon my knowledge
of Kurdish, a tongue he confessed he could never acquire, and besought
me to teach him Persian and French. Being a military man, his thought
ran upon matters martial, and his questions soon came round to the
subject. He could not comprehend how a State like England could
possibly hang together without compulsory service, and expressed the
greatest surprise that I could have escaped it. What upset him more
than anything else was the obvious fact that without military service
no man in Turkey could carry his “tezkere,” a document all must have,
and without which the subject is liable to suspicion and annoyance, and
he failed to see why a British subject, not being liable to service,
could possess one. In fact, he lamented the system which only gave a
passport to the subject when he travelled in certain foreign lands, and
considered such a lack of control over the individual to be a lively
cause of anarchy and rebellion. After partaking of tea, and some Regie
cigarettes which he produced specially for my benefit, we made our
excuses and asked permission “to be excused.” As I was about to leave,
a note arrived from Hama, who was at Halabja, and its contents caused
me to go down to search for Matti, whom I found in the bazaar.
[Sidenote: COMMERCIAL TRANSACTIONS]
Hama had gone to Halabja soon after I had come to Sulaimania, to
receive a large consignment of “run” which I had contracted to buy.
The transaction had been one common enough in these parts. Under the
guarantee of Mansur the Christian I had advanced to one Makha, a Jew
(with the fiercest red head I ever saw on any one), a sum to go out
into the highways and byways of Kurdistan and purchase gradually of the
Kurds, who had been storing up the precious oil as they prepared it,
waiting the advent of such a buyer. So having arrived at Sulaimania
I had to send Hama back, for the time was near when the Jew should
return, and my man must be there to receive the merchandise and arrange
transport. Hama, however, had not liked the idea of going to Halabja
empty-handed; like all Kurds who have come in contact with trade and
business, he was keen to experiment. So after a consultation with Matti
and Habib Badria, the former of whom did not quite like the idea, it
was arranged that he should take with him a load of shoes and a few odd
things, for sale to the shopkeepers of Halabja. Accordingly, before he
left we went to the shoemakers’ bazaar. Here is a long street with wide
and deep booths on either side, occupied entirely in the manufacture
of shoes. These are of three designs: a red leather shoe turned up to
a blunt point, a black one of the same shape, and a female shoe, a
slipper with only a toe-cap ornamented with steel beads, and a long
high heel--which is added only after the shoe is bought, and which is
put on by a man whose trade it is to perform only this part of the
shoemaking business.
Here in one of the shops we took seats and waited while the shopman
collected from his neighbours’ and his own stock a sufficient number
of shoes. In order that dispute might be lessened to a certain
extent, a Christian was called in who, being not of our religion,
might be assumed to be free from prejudice against, or favour for,
any one of us. He tested the shoes and examined them, and through him
we conducted all the negotiations. As each pair of shoes had to be
bargained for, the process took some time. Custom, too, demanded that
a certain formality should be observed. The owner would first mention
a fancy price, and to save time the other holders would, instead of
arguing, solidly ejaculate the phrase, “Warra la khwaru!” (“Come
down!”), repeating it till almost the right price was reached, when the
arbitrator would step in, and after a short argument would settle a
price about midway between the buyer’s and seller’s figure, and which
both were bound to accept. In this way, in the space of five hours,
we purchased some fifty pairs of shoes, and having paid the money,
Hama carried away all the footgear in a sack. These, with a sample of
cigarette papers and a dozen rosaries, made his stock, and he left next
morning.
I now had a letter from him, and from Mansur. The former told me of
his successes with the shoe-selling, which had, while not great, been
satisfactory, and the latter attempted to explain why Makha the Jew
had not returned from Juanru with the “run.” Matti was rather inclined
to regard my efforts with disfavour, and would, I think, have tried
to dissuade me, for he knew that I was not experienced in trading.
Habib, on the other hand, was extremely keen that I should open an
office in their caravanserai, and in this he was strongly seconded by
one Antoine, a merchant of twenty years’ standing in Sulaimania, and
two bankruptcies during that time, a feature of Oriental trading which
sometimes betokens considerable acumen and astuteness rather than
commercial inaptitude. Antoine was a buyer for certain merchants in
Bagdad and Mosul, and when I made his acquaintance, was purchasing gum
tragacanth. Now I, too, was quite willing to buy tragacanth, but he had
become alarmed, and had managed to form a small ring which had little
difficulty in shutting me out. I attempted even to make Antoine act as
broker for me, and in an interview when Matti was present as witness,
forced a promise out of him, but he repudiated it afterwards. Yet he
would constantly come along as I sat outside Matti’s shop, and in his
queer Persian exhort me to buy skins, or wheat, and affirm that he had
made great profit in deals. He had a younger brother who assisted him,
a big honest lad, who stood rather in fear of him and his wily ways.
For years he had been in close touch with the Musulman merchants, and
was considerably disliked by his co-religionists on account of his
habit of doing business on Sunday--a day which the Arab and Chaldean
Christian observes as strictly as is done in Scotland, and passes in as
dull a way.
[Sidenote: CHALDEAN ACQUAINTANCES]
Matti also was assisted by a younger brother, a somewhat surly fellow,
but good-hearted enough, and to him fell the task of cooking their food
on the verandah outside the office. For these Chaldeans of Mosul live
day and night in their rooms, which are office and home combined; and
such men as Matti and Antoine had existed thus, in what we should call
a small dark cellar full of merchandise, for two decades. In normal
times, that is, when business was good, and passage after dark in the
streets not dangerous, the Christians divided themselves into messes
of five and six, each taking turn to cook; but now, with the general
insecurity forbidding intercourse between Matti’s caravanserai, the
Khan-i-’Ajam, and the caravanserai where the other merchants lived,
and the terrible depression in trade, they had all retrenched, and
with the exception of Matti and Habib, who still kept up the habit,
each did for himself; and Habib might be seen every other day watching
a sizzling pot anxiously while he sold cottons, or leaving a heap of
half-prepared stuffed cucumbers to attend to a Kurdish buyer.
As often as they could induce me to stay, I would dine with Matti and
Habib, but at first Matti had been very diffident, and had, in order to
satisfy himself upon a certain point, ordered some lunch one day when
I was present, and invited me to join. I had refused, but he continued
to press, and I continued to excuse myself till at last he sighed, and
said with signs of a little chagrin:
“I thought you were a liberal-minded Musulman, and would not consider
me unclean, but I see that it is true that the Persians are more
particular than the Sunni, and will not eat with a Christian.”
The good man seemed so hurt in thus explaining himself, and it was so
extremely ill-bred on my part to refuse and slight a man who did so
much for me, that I speedily denied this bigotry, and dipped my hand
into the dish with him, to his considerable satisfaction.
After this he would have had me dine every night with him, and was
extremely difficult to refuse, but it would not have been politic for a
Muslim, even though a Shi’a and no follower of the tenets of the Sunni
Kurds, to become known as one who fed with Christians, and I restricted
myself to feeding once a week with them. The Kurds have no scruples,
for the caravanserai keeper, one Hama, a native of Aoraman, a bovine
creature who served the Christians very faithfully, had the habit of
consuming the considerable residue of their great meals.
I was surprised at first at the enormous quantities they ate at dinner.
At sundown the caravanserai would be closed, and benches placed round
a patch of garden they had made in the courtyard. On the benches,
cushions and thick mattresses were arranged, and here Matti, Antoine,
and Habib, the seniors, took their places, divesting themselves of
their heavy turbans and loosening their waistbelts. They were usually
joined here by a Bagdad Jew, a great handsome fellow, who kept everyone
in a good humour by his jokes. Then the cry would go out, “Jib ul
piala,” and the younger brothers would bring forth each a little
glass bottle, wrapped about with a damp napkin to keep the contents
cool. As darkness fell, the same younger brothers, who performed the
menial jobs, spread a carpet upon the courtyard floor and a coloured
table-cloth upon it. As soon as the eatables had been turned out upon
dishes the elder brothers left their couches, and squatting round the
dishes, all set to work in the earnest fashion typical of Eastern
diners, saying little till the meal was finished. The quantities of
meat these Christians ate excited my wonder, and caused me to remark
upon the fact to them. Habib, who always professed a knowledge of
European thought and ideas, rather scorned me, for he accused me
of having appropriated the European fallacy that unless a man took
exercise he should not eat much meat, and he pointed out the futility
of the argument by drawing attention to his and Matti’s excellent
health and condition.
[Sidenote: CHALDEAN HABITS]
Dinner was finished half an hour after sunset, and after a short
interlude of conversation most of the company would sleep, to rise with
the sun in the morning. One or two nights I slept there on one of the
courtyard benches, but the sandflies were so numerous that I preferred
my own roof, where there was usually a cool breeze.
One morning I was seated in my little upper room, upon my carpet,
writing, when the courtyard door was thrown open and Mustafa Beg,
accompanied by half a dozen Kurds, entered, and at my invitation
ascended.
They all came crowding into the little room, and Mustafa Beg invited a
youth to the highest place. The others took places anywhere, and two
stood at the doorway, being servants. The old man introduced the lad
as Sayyid Nuri, son of Shaikh Ahmad, a prominent member of the hated
family of Shaikhs. Now, in Sulaimania a man who has escaped the notice
of this family thanks Heaven, and prays for continued freedom from
their acquaintance. Equally the day is accursed that one of the family
discovers the unfortunate. It had been the boast of the quarter, too,
that up to the present no shaikh had set his foot in its streets, for
it was a respectable business quarter, well guarded, and too alert to
be surprised by the night attacks of the shaikhs’ roughs and robbers.
Well did I know that the advent of Sayyid Nuri here would disturb
the peace of the “mahalla” and make myself unpopular, for none were
distrusted more than those whom the shaikhs treated in a friendly
manner.
Sayyid Nuri himself was a mean but sharp-looking youth, a type of the
mixture of Turkoman and Kurd that is found in Sulaimania, for he had
the bravado look of the latter and the scanty moustache and long, wavy
nose of a certain section of the former. He rustled in silk, and wore
fine cotton socks. In his belt was stuck a huge knife, and a revolver
dangled in its case from under his zouave jacket. Still, for all his
unprepossessing appearance, for a member of the family from whom
arrogance and all that is objectionable was to be expected, he was very
polite.
Mustafa Beg seemed to think that, in bringing him there he had done
me a great service, and sat beaming upon both of us, and listening
to the Kurdish around him. The lad spoke excellent Turkish, for, as
he explained, the family had plenty of dealings with the Turks. When
he found that Mustafa Beg had not been wrong in describing me as a
Persian, he was delighted, for all he desired to do was to air his
knowledge of that language, which was not excessive.
From the first, however, he could not control his inquisitive nature,
which led him to handle everything and turn over the most obvious
things with a query as to their use. From somewhere he had heard
that I was a doctor, and as ill-luck would have it, I had arranged in
the room--which I had fondly imagined to be private--a row of nine or
ten small bottles, containing a few medicines I had accumulated on my
passage from Constantinople. These he saw at once, and reaching up,
pulled them down one by one, examining and smelling them, and with
the inspection of each, grew more convinced that my denials were but
lies, and that I could cure as well as another. Mustafa Beg, however,
came in here to my rescue, by asserting that he knew me not to be a
doctor, although I possessed some knowledge of the science. This hardly
satisfied Sayyid Nuri, so he took a couple of purgative pills, and two
of calomel that I added, saying that he would try them, and would know
afterwards whether I was a doctor by the quality of the purgative!
[Sidenote: AN INQUISITIVE VISITOR]
Then he found one of the red india-rubber sponges which are so common
nowadays, and which had somehow escaped loss during my journeyings.
This quite upset him. Its use he appreciated at once, for I pointed
out that it was used in the bath for washing and rubbing the skin.
But by chance he smelled it, and the odour of rubber that it gave out
so disgusted him that he left it alone at once. But what he had come
to see was the Mauser pistol, and to keep him quiet, for he hopped
around the room overturning all my papers and books, I produced it.
The weapon, however, did not meet with the favourable reception I had
hoped, for he said he had seen and possessed one before. He found a
fine pastime provided in a charge of dummy cartridges given by the
sellers, with which to practise manipulating the weapon without danger.
His companions were ignorant of their harmless nature, and watched with
interest his movements. Having loaded, he cocked his pistol and covered
the man who sat opposite him, amusing himself by making him move this
way and that to be out of aim. Mustafa Beg regarded these operations
with dismay, and evidently thought that Sayyid Nuri having trapped an
enemy in another man’s house, was going to kill and leave him there
and let his death lie at my door, and he besought him in tones of
earnest appeal to put down the pistol. His companions, seeing he did
not desist, also joined in the protest, and he put it down, and then
proceeded to enjoy the astonishment that followed his explanation of
the nature of the cartridges.
Having exhausted the joke, he was at a loss for something to do, and
explained his miserable existence, for he pointed out that as son of
Shaikh Ahmad he had more money than he could spend--which was perfectly
true--and was bound down to Sulaimania. He sighed for Kirkuk and its
big, busy bazaars, and its proximity to Bagdad, which was his first
aim, and stood in his eyes the first city of the world. His questions
regarding Constantinople were few, and made more from a sense of
thoroughness in his queries than a desire for information, and he
thought it but a poor place compared even to Mosul. It took a long time
to satisfy him as to the reason of my presence in Sulaimania, and I saw
he did not believe that I was only remaining a short time, nor that my
aim was the commerce in which I was engaged; for to him a merchant was
inseparable from his office, and a man who spoke European languages and
possessed medicines was obviously there for some other reason.
To my immense relief I at last got rid of him. Old Mustafa Beg had
himself not anticipated the annoyance that would result from his visit,
and was, I could see, very penitent and regretful, for in his own
way he was jealous and did not wish others to be free of the house,
a futile hope in Sulaimania, where the unmarried man who refuses
free permission of entry to all and sundry is regarded as a lunatic,
or an excessive evildoer who would conceal the actions that must be
necessarily wicked because done behind closed doors.
The neighbours’ protests against the visits were not long in coming.
The old house-dame had been out at one of their houses and returned
with a long complaint from several of them, the gist of which was that
if this was the company I preferred I had better go elsewhere to enjoy
it, for the advent of a shaikh in a quarter was the forerunner of all
evil. Opposite to our house, however, a certain merchant lived, whose
wife was one of the ancient family of the Hakkari religious chiefs, and
bore the man’s title of “Khan” that indicated her lineage. She was thus
related to the shaikhs themselves, and I resolved to appeal to her when
occasion should arise. So I kept a look-out for her husband, and when
he arrived, called him in. He was a pleasant man, much respected in the
quarter, and kept up the tradition of the Kurds that the stranger must
be protected. I explained to him the circumstances of the visit, and he
promised to send his wife to the shaikh house if the lad came again,
and tell them that his presence was not required in the quarter. He
lost no time in clearing my character of the blame that had attached to
it, and took the most effective means to do so, for as it was sunset,
and the women were spreading the bed-clothes behind the “chikha” or mat
screens on the roofs, he ascended and announced in a loud voice that
Ghulam Husain was more sorry than they at the visit, and had called him
to witness his displeasure, and request his assistance in preventing
any annoyance to the quarter. His emphatic utterance and assertion
of going surety for my good intentions called forth expressions of
gratitude from the people around, and I saw that by my action I had
gained in their estimation.
[Sidenote: A COMPLAINT FROM THE NEIGHBOURS]
In the bazaar and coffee-houses there was but one topic of conversation
these days--the Hamavands. We heard rumours of their intention to raid
Sulaimania, and at nights their riders came openly to the shaikhs’
house to receive their orders. Once or twice they actually looted a
few houses on the west side of the town. Not a soul dared venture
forth. Matti used to tell me of happier times when the Christians and
Kurds too used to go outside upon the low hills and spend days in the
cooler air picnicking to the accompaniment of music--and I suspected,
in the case of the Christians, too much ’araq. But now, to venture
outside the fringe of houses upon any except the north-east side was
to court robbery, if not destruction. And then the futile talk of the
“ta’qib,” or punishment that was to be dealt out to the tribe! We
heard reports--and these seemed true--of regiments of soldiers from
Anatolia and Mesopotamia collecting at Chemchemal, and judging from
letters coming from Mosul and Bagdad, we were able to keep a check
upon rumour, and ascertained that there were in reality some three or
four thousand military, foot and “mule-riders,” gathered there--to
extinguish a couple of hundred rough horsemen. All these troops were
kept idle by the Mosul authorities to wait for a commander, and as
long as funds from the shaikhs poured into the Mosul Vali’s pocket,
the commander was kept engaged in pressing business elsewhere, and the
Hamavands redoubled their audacity, actually raiding Chemchemal itself
and killing some soldiers.
Meanwhile the state of the district was becoming worse, for travellers
were threatened not only by roving parties of Jafs and Hamavands, but
by the local soldiery also, for the “binbashis” had consumed what
little cash could be collected for their pay, and the “muhasibichis,”
or accountants, grew daily fatter upon sequestrated funds. Soldiers
were leaving for their native places, or retiring over the frontier
to Persia--taking with them their new Mauser rifles; and in Halabja a
colonel commanded five half-tamed Kurdish levied men instead of his
usual fifty.
Then the affair occurred which threw ridicule and despair alike upon
the Turks of the district. A quarter “tabur,” or about one hundred
men, was ordered to replenish the Sulaimania garrison, which from a
normal five hundred men had fallen to thirty-four. These were also
used to convoy about seventy rifles and proportionate ammunition for
distribution among the frontier posts. They started from Chemchemal,
commanded by a colonel (“binbashi”) and two majors (or “yuzbashi”),
and accompanied by several “’askar katibi” (accountants), and other
Government officials with their wives and families. Across the
Chemchemal plain they saw no signs of Hamavands, though they threw
out scouts, and those sent forward to reconnoitre at the Bazian
cleft through the hills saw no one. Consequently they approached the
break, where the sundered hill presents a V-shaped entrance to the
Bazian plain, without misgiving. The place is so formed that from the
Chemchemal side it is impossible to see ahead very far, as the ground
rises, and the break is only about ten yards wide at the bottom,
sloping up and away to the hill-tops.
[Sidenote: A HAMAVAND ATTACK]
When they had passed the outcrop of rock that forms the break, and
the last man had entered Bazian, the hills above them suddenly rang
with the shouts of the Hamavands, and from each side they raced
down helter-skelter, their hill-ponies leaping cleverly down the
boulder-strewn slopes. At a distance of fifty yards they opened fire,
and the first to fall was a “yuzbashi.” The soldiers gathered in a
bunch, and the non-combatants attempted to rush back through the gap,
to find themselves confronted by three or four horsemen, who fell upon
them and stripped them, leading away their loaded animals. The Turks
were returning the fire, but, taken at a disadvantage, made no effect
upon the quick-moving Hamavands, who wheeled around them. Yet they held
out for a little, and attempted to push forward.
In point of numbers the Turks had the advantage, and their weapons
were ten-shot Mausers as against Martini carbines, but their shooting
must have been of the poorest, for they only succeeded in wounding
one Hamavand. Several, too, tried to break away, and were immediately
picked off. In a quarter of an hour the “binbashi” fell, shot through
the chest, and twelve soldiers, too, were dead, and a score wounded.
The remainder cast away their arms, seeing resistance futile, and
the Kurds came upon them and stripped the caravan, relieving it
of all its rifles and ammunition, carrying away or tearing off the
soldiers’ uniforms, and looting the noncombatant passengers. There
was an indescribable confusion; soldiers on foot and unarmed strove
to escape on all sides, and horsemen with the shouts of a drover to
his cattle rounded them up. Squads of Hamavands, driving before them
mules of the defeated party, shouted at and encouraged their refractory
and frightened captives. As is usual in these cases, everything was
being done with the utmost speed, and the Hamavands, infuriated by the
resistance they had met with, were more merciless than usual to those
whom they stripped. The men they simply denuded, and scared the women
with fierce gestures and display of long knives to make sure of their
handing over anything they might have concealed.
One of the women who had been robbed told me that some of the Hamavands
had brought their wives with them, putting them behind rocks while the
fight proceeded, and calling them out afterwards to enquire into the
dress of the female captives more intimately than a man could have
done; for in these Muslim lands even among the wildest Kurds, a man
will seldom offend a Musulman woman’s modesty, and the Hamavand is a
singularly pious tribe, stopping even its raiding parties to pray in a
body at the appointed times.
The men they left in little more than a shirt--and at last cleared
off, taking with them the wife and daughter of one of the majors,
whom they subsequently restored after having placed them in the care
of the chief’s womenfolk for a time. The remains of the caravan, twos
and threes of half-naked men, and weeping women, proceeded on foot,
reaching Sulaimania next day, hungry and ashamed.
It was not unnatural that the possibility of such catastrophes, and
their actual occurrence, did a great deal of damage to the Turkish
name, and indeed in the coffee-houses opinion was freely expressed. The
Turks were jeered at, and their soldiery ridiculed. The shaikhs were
rapidly becoming a terror to Sulaimania. Not a night passed without
murders occurring, and in every case the assassins were known, and were
shaikhs’ men. One night an attempt was made upon the Khan-i-’Ajam,
where Matti and my other Christian acquaintances lived. Some of them
were sleeping on the roof, when sounds of scraping against the outer
wall attracted their attention. They waited for a while, and Habib
brought out his old Snider rifle. After some time one of the burglars
had nearly succeeded in piercing the thick masonry, and at a certain
moment, upon a signal, the occupants of the caravanserai raised a shout
and fired a shot into the darkness, at which the robbers fled. They,
however, became involved with a caravan just coming into Sulaimania,
and a cry was raised among the muleteers. The people round about,
sleeping on their roofs, woke at the noise, and in the surprise and
confusion of the moment, imagining the Hamavands had at last carried
out their threat of raiding Sulaimania, commenced a brisk fire upon the
caravan, killing some mules and wounding a couple of muleteers who had
not been able to convince the natives of their harmlessness in time.
The robbers had taken advantage of the turmoil to get away, and by the
time the caravan had once more got under way, half the people were
beginning to find out the cause.
[Sidenote: TOWN DISORDERS]
Such events would take place every night, the shaikhs taking advantage
of the time to revenge themselves upon their enemies, and at the same
time shout defiance at the Constitutional Government. It was seldom
that we could sleep quietly from dark till dawn, for the firing around
us, and the bullets that often buzzed overhead, kept us alert.
I was sitting in my courtyard a few days after the night attempt on the
caravanserai when a moth-eaten creature in a kind of blue uniform with
red shoulder-straps presented himself at the door. This was one of the
four “policemen” of the place, a visit from whom I had been expecting
for some time, for the fat police commissaire had been annoying Habib
with enquiries as to my identity and reasons for staying in Sulaimania,
and it had occurred to me that he would at some time demand my
passport. The policeman now enquired whence I had come, and why staying
in Sulaimania; and on my asserting that I was from Constantinople and
bound for Persia, but trying to do some business in Sulaimania till
the country settled a little, flatly contradicted me, told me I was
from Persia, and a suspect, and demanded my passports. These I utterly
refused, and offered to come and see the mutasarrif (governor) with
him, claiming exemption from such annoyance, as a subject of England,
and pointing out that now I had been six weeks in Sulaimania there
was time to have seen if I had any nefarious intentions, and to have
demanded proofs of my identity sooner. The man was not, however,
satisfied, and continued to demand the papers, and I to refuse him,
while the people of the quarter gradually collected, and each, as he
or she learned, broke into protestations of my respectability, and
guaranteed my honesty. As the policeman still remained, the women
began to express themselves somewhat freely regarding his behaviour,
and at length, seeing that no good could be done by staying--only
possible harm--for the people were inclined to be unpleasant to him, he
discontinued his demands and returned to the bazaar. My good-hearted
neighbours urged me to complain to the mutasarrif, or at any rate get
the affair settled over the heads of the police, or, they prophesied,
I should have great trouble with them, and the annoyance they would
consider it their duty to give me.
So I adopted their counsels, and went first to see old Mustafa Beg and
ask his views. I found him in his cell, drinking a cup of coffee he had
just brewed, and on seeing me he beamed and gave the full salutation,
as was his wont, the sonorous “Salamun ’alaikum wa rahmatu’llah
wa barikatahu.” He insisted on my taking coffee, which was a long
operation, for he had to make it over a little charcoal brazier, and
having made it, find another cup, for he had but one in use, and only
a single saucer in all when the second cup was found in a bag full of
odds and ends.
[Sidenote: ANNOYED BY POLICE]
I then told him what had happened, and as the recital proceeded,
his indignation, never far to seek, burst forth in such phrases as
“Adabsiz!” “Keupek ughlu!” “Tarbiatsiz!” (Mannerless! Sons of dogs!
Ignorant creatures!), and then affirmed that he would at once see
the commissaire of police and demand an apology. On second thoughts,
however, he considered it wiser to seek assistance from the Mudir
Effendi of the School. He bustled around, and having changed his
trousers and coat--for he put aside his better clothes when in his
cell, to save them--locked his door, and we went to the school, where
we found the schoolmaster on his bench in the garden. To him the old
man poured out the tale in fluent Turkish, while the effendi nodded
his head and played with his beads, and when he had finished, the old
man banged with his stick upon the ground and once more abused the
police. The Mudir Effendi then asked me why I had really come here,
and I pointed out that even had I come as a “sayyah” or tourist, that
no objection could be raised unless I be proved to engage myself in an
undesirable pursuit. Further, that as far as circumstances permitted
I had occupied myself in business, but that it was somewhat difficult
to trade in a place whence no roads were open to the neighbouring
districts. This he agreed to, and having asked me to state that I was a
British subject, said he would speak to the police. He said they had a
right to demand the “ubur tezkere,” or Turkish travelling passport, but
none to remove other passports, nor were they authorised to annoy even
a suspect in his own house.
As I could expect nothing more from him, I thanked him and left, and he
with Mustafa Beg went towards the Serai or Governor’s house to see the
police commissaire, who had an office there.