HELD UP
The snow-capped mountains of Kurdistan were just visible on the horizon
line; toward them rolled wave after wave of low brown tracts of land,
utterly destitute of any form or sign of life. Behind, as in front,
like the coils of a shining serpent, wound the thin white line of the
Tigris bed, the one response to the light overhead, imparting a sense
of weary pursuit in its never-ending course. Fresh coils unwound
themselves ahead as we toiled after new yet familiar spots on a
never-changing horizon. Now and then the raftsmen dipped their oars
quietly into the water, and with a few strokes twisted the raft into
the straightest part of the river; otherwise, we were helpless, in the
hands of an arbitrary current which made us bide its time as it slunk
pensively round unsuggesting corners, or sped us faster when it gurgled
impatiently over a long reach, where grey rock vied momentarily with
the endless grey mud. We had given ourselves up completely to Time, and
sat all day contemplating one stretch of bank after another as we
swirled along. The ripple of the water, the intermittent splash of the
oars, the crooning songs of the raftsmen all added to the sense of
drowsy contemplation already established by the surrounding view.
Everything was in contemplative harmony: isolated herons fished from
slippery stones, gazing with such intentness into the passing water
that they hardly deigned to raise their heads towards us, and, if they
ever deemed it wiser to move out of our way, they would do so by a very
deliberate walk on to the shore, after fixing a resentful,
half-wondering stare upon us. Flocks of black ducks, suddenly disturbed
round a corner, would rise in silent indignation, and with a sharp
whirr would pass over our heads and drop quietly down on to the waters
behind, smoothing out their ruffled plumage. Fat, ungainly penguins,
sitting in white rows, like surpliced choirs, on the shallow shore,
would scuttle further back along the mud flat, and taking up attitudes
of doubtful interrogation would stare us out of countenance. One and
all they condescended to no notes of fright or alarm, and where any
sound was uttered it impressed us only with a sense of resentful
indignation or of mocking inquiry. We were intruders in specially
reserved spots, and could only offer apologies to our unwilling hosts
by showing our appreciation of their mode of life in a respectful
silence; indeed, to have uttered any sound in such places would have
seemed a crime against Nature. So we floated on, casually returning the
stares of the would-be enemy, while we listened with lazy indifference
to their taunts and threats. At times, when there was complete absence
of life on the shore, we confined our attention to more personal
reflections.
We were a strange assortment of human beings, whom accident had thrown
together to live the same life for an allotted time in such close
companionship on a small space. Here sat the Moslem in friendly
relation with us, Western Christian infidels; the Armenian broke bread
with the hated oppressor of his race and religion, while the Turk, on
his side, had to endure the presence of his despised enemy. The Arab
Zaptiehs and the Kurdish boatmen represented tribes whose traditions
told of constant deadly feuds and warfare. The whim of one among us had
gathered us together. What casual observer would realise what we had in
common? For difference of language, custom, and appearance counts for
little when all are equally exposed to the chance of circumstance; and
the bonds that united us all with a common feeling were the hardships
we endured alike from hunger, cold, and danger. We shivered together in
wind and rain, and basked in the sun together; we suffered pangs of
hunger together, and rejoiced together over a meal; we faced the same
perils with the same chances of escape or annihilation. Whomsoever
Fortune had chosen for her favourites in the ordinary run of life stood
here on the same level as their less fortunate companions, to take
their chance under the same conditions.
We each had our several occupations when we felt that it was possible
to snatch any time from contemplation. Hassan would retire into the hut
at one end of the raft, and, sitting cross-legged on the floor, would
chop up tobacco; whilst one of the Zaptiehs, seated at the door, would
roll up the cigarettes. Now and then he would reach out one to
me.--"Will you smoke, Effendi?"--and the other Zaptieh, seated outside,
would strike me a match.
Arten might easily have worked all day, but he seemed to spend most of
his time contemplating the brazier on which he occasionally cooked
something. At intervals he blew up the live charcoal with measured
puffs; or he would sit perilously near the extreme edge of the raft
contemplating the sky, with the tails of his dirty black overcoat
dangling in the water, holding the dishes in the river until most signs
of the last meal were removed from them. Being an Armenian he was
endowed with a more restless nature, and the apparent contemplation in
his demeanour was but the dejection resulting from a broken spirit.
When not engaged in his own pursuits he would break in on the silence
by pointing out what he considered objects of interest.
"Look! look! there is a bird," he would say; and the true Easterns
would gaze on without moving a muscle, neither looking at him nor the
bird. Arten would look nervously round, knowing from long habit that he
was being despised, but unable to understand the grating, silencing
effect of allusions to the obvious at the moment when the obvious is
being most thoroughly appreciated.
The two raftsmen were obliged to concentrate a certain amount of
attention on the business of navigation, but they seized every moment
they could spare from the task of guiding the raft, and, leaning on
their oars, would devote it to contemplation. They too pointed out
objects of interest, but only in their capacity as local guides, and in
a monosyllabic manner in complete harmony with the occasion.
"Christian village," they would say, without looking round, pointing a
thumb over their shoulders in the direction of a group of mud huts; or
"Arab" when an encampment of black tents appeared on the bank. Hassan
and the soldiers would respond by slowly turning their eyes in the
particular direction; perhaps even going so far as to give vent to a
sudden, sharp "Ha!" if the occasion was one of particular moment.
Arten, however, would jump about the raft.
"A Christian village! Look, it is there; do you see, did you hear? A
Christian village."
No one would answer him.
"Did you hear, Hassan?"
A minute of absolute stillness, and then Hassan's deep, deliberate
voice, with no suggestion of impatience:
"I heard."
But we did not always drift along in a smooth and idle manner; the
mud banks gave way at times to steep, rocky sides, between which the
waters flowed more rapidly, and careful steering with the oars was
required to avoid rocks and whirlpools. And here there were not
infrequent signs of life: rock tombs were cut in the walls of the
rock, and we would have liked to stop and examine them further, but it
was impossible to land the raft at such places, and the current
hurried us on almost before we were aware of their existence. There
was a certain relentlessness about the way we were torn past all
objects of interest; it was like dealing with Time. We were conscious
that things passed now were passed for ever, and that we should never
have another opportunity for realising them. Evidences of ancient
civilisation, episodes in the everyday life of the present tribes, all
seemed to sweep past in bewildering, incredible swiftness; we found it
hard sitting there to believe that it was we who swept past them. Now
we would catch sight of a wedding procession on the bank;--the bride,
plastered with feathers and ornaments, being escorted to the
bridegroom's village amid a din of music and shouting, the sound of
which would follow us long after they were lost to view. Now it would
be a group of women washing their clothes at the river's edge, beating
them on large, flat stones. Now a solitary horseman would stand
motionless on the cliff above, his coloured cloak flowing over his
horse's back, barely concealing the brilliant hues of his embroidered
saddle; he would watch us out of sight and then turn and pursue his
lonely road. Now a shepherd boy would be driving in the flocks of
sheep and goats at sundown; and his weird calls, and the answering
bleat of the animals, would echo and re-echo right away across the
distant hills. Men and women on the bank hailed us as we passed; we
could only cast one look at them and wave back a hurried and kindly
greeting; they knew we must not stop and talk: we came out of a
different world from theirs, and they paused for a moment to gaze at
us and then returned, forgetful of the fleeting vision, to their own
pursuits. Meditative oxen, chewing their cud, surveyed us wonderingly
from the shore. "Why in such a hurry?" they seemed to say, and we
answered, "We are not in a hurry, but we have no power to stop." And
the eagles overhead peered in contemptuous security at us, vaunting
with arrogant flaps the great wings with which they flew whither they
listed, while we were being swept along uncertain currents. A hidden
bird would pour forth his sweet song to cheer us on our way, and the
owls utter a dismal note of warning as of unknown dangers yet to come.
And there was some possibility of danger, for we were still in the
land of the Sultan's irregular troops--the Hamidieh. Our friends,
however, had been decidedly encouraging as we bade them goodbye. "You
will probably meet with Kurds," they said, "but if they do shoot at
you it will only be for the fun of sinking the raft; they may rob you
and strip you, but if you don't resist they won't kill you." We had
felt distinctly elated. We still clung to ideas of life; our clothes
and provisions were a convenience, but no doubt sheepskins and rice
would be always forthcoming if the worst happened. "What would you
mind losing most?" I said to X, on the third day, as we lay on our
backs on the raft, the muddy water rippling very close to our ears and
the muddy banks swinging round as the current changed. "My hot-water
bottle," answered X reflectively; "and you?" "My camera first," I
said, after a pause during which I had pictured X alone with the
hot-water bottle, "and then my stylo." "Yes," said X sympathetically,
"I really don't see how you could get on without them; but perhaps,"
she added consolingly, "if you persuaded the men that there was an
evil spirit inside they would let you keep them." This was a decided
inspiration. I booked it for possible contingencies; a hot-water
bottle and a camera were obvious resting places for the evil eye.
We drifted on; the whirls of a slight rapid caught us--the top end of
the raft where we lay dived suddenly into the water and then rose
again, the bottom end followed suit, we became bowed for a second,
then we were flat once more, and loose things which had started
jumping about, lay still. I shook the water off my sleeve; X stretched
out a hand, without turning her head, to feel whether the "Oxford Book
of English Verse" had been washed away. "Mashallah, the Pashas like
water," volunteered one of the kalekjis, a little, round-faced Kurd in
a brightly-striped coat. "The Pashas are English," answered Hassan, in
a tone of dignified rebuke. "The English fear nothing; why should they
fear water?" The kalekji paused in his work; he was plying the two
poplar poles, with which he guided the raft past shingles and kept it
in the open part of the river. He started rolling up a cigarette. "May
it please Allah to spare us from an attack from Ibrahim Pasha," he
said devoutly, "or even these Pashas may have cause to fear." Hassan
looked at him sternly and with some contempt. "The Pashas are
English," he repeated, "and the Pashas are not afraid of Ibrahim
Pasha." Reasons are superfluous to the Oriental mind; statements are
conclusive; the kalekji lit his cigarette and resumed his task. The
two Zaptiehs, Ali and Achmet, who had been aroused to a slight
attention during the conversation, became listless as before and
puffed away in silence after a simultaneous murmuring of "Aha, aha,
Ibrahim Pasha." The remaining occupant of the raft, Arten, alone
looked disturbed and uncomfortable. He was continually scouting the
horizon, and retired behind the door of the hut whenever a black spot
was visible. He burst into roars of forced merriment, "Ibrahim Pasha!
who is afraid of Ibrahim Pasha? Let him come, and we shall give him a
warm welcome!" His companions gazed in front of them in stolid, silent
contempt.
Silence reigned again--only the splash of the oars was heard and the
beating of the water against the skins. Nothing broke the monotony;
the river wound its way slowly in and out round mud banks; the country
as far as one could see was unbroken, endless mud; the water one drank
and washed in and floated on was diluted mud; the occasional village
on the banks was built of mud, the inhabitants were mud colour; the
very sky gave one a feeling of mud. It was time for a diversion. Away
in the distance, since early morning, there had been a black smudge on
the horizon which was slowly taking more definite shape as we followed
the course of the shiny loops of the river, the one break in this
endless, monotonous waste. We had lazily fixed our eyes in its
direction. Almost imperceptibly it had evolved itself into great
masses of solid, black, limestone rock; a few more turns of the river
and we shot right under them and were suddenly shut inside a narrow
black gorge. Bare walls of rock rose straight up on either side, and
above a narrow stretch of sky-line, with its broken edges formed by
the turreted ends of rock, and in a row, on every point, silent,
motionless, awe-inspiring, sat peering down at us, like sentinels on
guard, great brown vultures of the desert. I fidgeted uneasily; an
armed brigand flesh and blood could stand, but this penetrating,
undivulging, inhospitable gaze was too uncanny. To appear unconcerned
I took out my field-glasses and stared back; with deliberate scorn,
and of one accord, they slowly spread out their great wings, shook
them, and soared up in the air, dropped down the other side of the
rocks, or took up a fresh stand-point a little further removed from
the intruders.
We floated rapidly through the gorge. Already, on one side, the rocks
were giving way to mud banks, though on the right bank the sides rose
steeply in high, jagged cliffs. I lay back with a sense of enjoyment of
life and peace; my thoughts had strayed to Western scenes. We turned a
sharp bend in the river, and I vaguely noticed a native woman carrying
a child in her arms. All of a sudden the atmosphere seemed disquieted,
the two Zaptiehs had seized their rifles and dropped on one knee as if
marking prey; even the imperturbable Hassan was handling a dangerous
and antiquated looking weapon. There were men on the shore hailing us,
and our boatman was shouting back vociferously. "Pashas," said Hassan
in a solemn voice, "put on your hats." I slowly woke to the situation
as I obediently donned the insignia of our nationality. There were men
each side of the bank; they were armed men, and their arms were pointed
at us. "Why, X," I exclaimed ecstatically, "we're held up!" X looked at
me with a pitying expression. "You've been rather a long time taking
that in," she said. This was not the moment for feeling snubbed; I
wished to show that I was now acting with cool deliberation. "X," I
said, "before leaving England we took some trouble with revolver
practice; with much inconvenience we conscientiously wore our revolvers
all through the wilds of Mesopotamia and Armenia; for some weeks we
slept with them, loaded, under our pillows in the Taurus Mountains;
they are now hanging discarded on the walls of the hut. Do you not
think the moment has arrived for giving ourselves some little return
for all the bother they have been?" "They have been a bore," assented
X; "perhaps it is our duty to have them now." I went and fetched them
and solemnly handed X hers. "They are loaded," I said, "but they seem
rather sticky and rusty; I wonder if they will go off." "Please point
the other way if you are going to try," said X. I could not allow this
challenge to my want of knowledge in firearms to pass, and replied with
dignity, "Remember to aim at the middle of the man; then if you miss
his heart you have a chance either way at his head or his legs." "I do
not think I shall fire," said X, "because I cannot do it without
shutting my eyes. I will just point."
The river had become very narrow, though the current was slow; the men
could keep pace with us at a walk; they were masters of the situation.
I gathered my wits together and debated our chances. The Kurds did not
alarm me, but I cast nervous glances at Hassan. "X," I said at last,
"if Hassan fires that blunderbuss, he cannot fail to hit either you or
me." X surveyed the situation critically. "I don't think it will fire,"
she said; "he was trying to shoot with it one day and it would not go
off." I breathed more freely. "Effendi," said one of the soldiers to
Hassan, "tell the ladies to go into the hut." "Pasha," said Hassan,
"you would be more out of the way in the hut." X laughed, Hassan
laughed, the Zaptiehs laughed, we all laughed, except Arten, he did not
laugh--yet. Meanwhile, the Zaptiehs and the boatmen had been yelling
and shouting at the brigands as they kept pace with us on the shore. As
they spoke Kurdish we were unable to know what negotiations were going
on, and could only await developments. They were a fine set of men,
dark, handsome, well set-up, their long, black, curly hair worn down to
the collar. They were dressed in bright colours, and armed to the teeth
with long knives and pistols, besides the rifles they were flourishing.
"There do not seem any villages near," said X. "We shall be very cold
if they take our clothes and we cannot get sheepskins." "Yes," I said,
"and very hungry if we can get no rice. We have longed for this moment,
but there do seem to be inconveniences connected with it." My heart
suddenly warmed within me. "X," I said, "isn't this a splendid piece of
luck?" "Glorious!" said X; and we gave ourselves up to the full
enjoyment of the situation.
We had got into a faster bit of current, and the men had to run to keep
up with us. They seemed to be yielding to the importunities of our
escort; one by one they dropped behind, and finally, with a few parting
yells, stood and gazed at us as we floated on. Indignation swelled in
my veins. "X," I said, in a voice struggling with emotion, "they are
letting us go!" X's face reflected my disappointment and disgust. "And
they did not even fire one little shot!" she said bitterly. "Or try to
burst our skins," I gulped. X tried to take a cheerful view of the
situation. "Never mind," she said, "cheer up, we may have another
chance; we are not out of their country yet." But I was not so easily
comforted; I wanted some outlet for my rage and disappointment, and
seizing my revolver I fired six shots up into the air and flung the
weapon across the raft. The reports rang out loud and clear, and the
echoes slowly died away in the answering rocks. Arten's white face
peered through a chink in the door. X turned to the Zaptiehs and
demanded of them a full account of their conversation. "Effendi," said
the officer, "it is merchandise they want; they dare not touch the
personal effects of the English; they have had some good lessons."
"But," I interrupted, "we are loaded with merchandise." "Effendi," said
the officer, "we swore by Allah that it was all your luggage, and that
if they took it the English Padishah would send his soldiers and kill
them all." "Yes," broke in the other Zaptieh, "and we swore that his
Excellency the English Consul was on board, and that if they fired a
shot he would come out with his great weapon and blow them all into the
next world." The little boatman's face beamed with radiant smiles. "Ah!
the English are a great people," he said; "with you English we are
safe. I have been down the river scores of times, and always at this
place I have been robbed. You saw the solitary woman as we turned the
corner; she was put there to signal when the rafts were coming; if you
see a woman alone on a bank, you know what you are in for. The river
here is narrow and the current slow--you have no chance. On the one
side the banks are low, and they can draw the rafts on shore and unload
the merchandise while the men on the other side, high up on the cliffs,
cover you with their guns."
"Why do you not carry arms?" we said. The man smiled sadly. "Pasha,
what are we against these men? If we float on, they sink the raft by
shooting at the skins till they burst, and we lose raft and merchandise
and all; if we submit quietly, they take what they want and let us go
peaceably. Should we fire back at the men on the low bank within our
range, we are at the mercy of the men on the cliffs, who have good
ambush. No, Allah wishes it. Why should we resist?" There was silence
for a few minutes. The Oriental's first refuge from the ills of the
world is in his subservience to the will of Allah; his second is in his
tobacco: our boatman slowly rolled up a cigarette. "It is not you
English they will harm," he said, "they are afraid of punishment. It is
we poor ones, who can get no redress. They take our little all, and
know we must submit and they are safe." "Surely you can appeal to the
local authorities?" we persisted. The man laughed--a low, quiet laugh.
"The Governor!" he said; "poor man--he is no better off than the rest
of us. He has no authority over these Hamidieh. Only last week he was
set on and robbed himself by a party of them. They stripped him and
threw him over a bridge; he was picked up half dead by a passing
caravan next day. Aman--it is the will of Allah," and he took long,
serene puffs at his cigarette.
During the conversation Arten had emerged from his retreat, and, after
casting furtive glances in all directions to make sure of the enemy's
absence, he seated himself amongst us on the raft and started winking
and giggling. "Ach, Pasha!" he said, "we scared them well. We are under
the protection of God. Their shots came whizzing round our heads but
none could hurt us; they fell round us in the water like hailstones and
the air was black with them, and when we shot back we left them dying
in hundreds on the bank and they were afraid to follow. Ah, ah, it was
a great fight, and we shall be heroes in Stambul." "X," I said, "I fear
this poor creature's head has been turned with fright; do you think a
little quinine would be of any use? We have only that and the eye
lotion left in the medicine case." X looked at me reprovingly. "You
know you only hate him because he is an Armenian," she said; "you will
not make allowances for his belonging to a down-trodden race. It is
only natural he should boast when he knows what a coward he has been."
X was putting new ideas in my head; I transferred my thoughts from
insanity and quinine and looked with fresh interest at Arten. He was a
typical specimen of his race--sallow complexion, dark hair and eyes,
and a huge hooked nose. He was closely buttoned up in a long, thin,
black overcoat, which had evidently descended on his shoulders from
those of a missionary; on his head he wore a dirty red fez, bound round
with a still dirtier coloured handkerchief. He sat hunched up,
shivering with cold or fright, and his eyes wandered about uneasily. I
looked from him to Hassan, and the contrast was indeed striking. Hassan
was the embodiment of strength: there was strength in the massive,
well-balanced proportions of his huge frame; there was strength in the
poise of his head and in the keen level look of his eyes; there was
strength in the quiet repose of his mind and body. If these two men
were to be taken as typical specimens of their respective races, there
was indeed cause to reflect on the result of one race dominating and
crushing another through the course of generations. I sat down to
reflect about it. It was getting dusk; the waters were very still; we
hardly moved. The sun was setting behind us, and the intense redness of
the sky made the rocks underneath look absolutely dead black; the moon
had arisen and cast a silver glimmer over the dark waters--dark from
reflecting the blackness of the rocks; the kalekjis felt their day's
work was over and crooned a low song. We drifted to the shore and made
fast the raft with large stones laid on the ropes. A very unsavoury
smell of cooking alone kept our thoughts well on the solid earth. Arten
appeared at the door of the hut. "Supper is ready, Pashas," he said. So
we ate our supper that night.