INTRUDERS IN A PANDEMONIUM
(AMADIA AND BOHTAN)
To the south of the Christian cantons of Tkhuma and Salabekan, and
separated from them by a series of high rocky ridges, lies the long
trough-like valley of Amadia, which is here known alternatively as the
Sapna. At its eastern end, as already related, dwell the Sheikhs of
Barzan and Neri; but the western portion is divided among a group of
petty Kurdish Aghas, who are of course _ashiret_ in status like their
neighbours, and who occupy both the main Sapna valley itself, the Ghara
ranges which form the counterscarp separating it from Mosul plain, and
the Berwar valley which lies parallel with it to the northward.
These chiefs, of whom the Mira of Berwar and the Agha of Châl are the
principal, are "small men." None of them can claim a personal following
of more than a few hundred at most; though one or other may figure
prominently at times as the head of a confederacy. Their chronic
condition is that of outlawry for proved acts of violence; and in the
land of Ghara in particular there does not seem to be a single gentleman
of name who is not in that enviable condition--or if there is, we never
heard of him in the course of three years' residence. This fact,
however, does not in the least affect anyone's comfort, or even the
friendliness of his relations with the officials of the Government. It
is rather a _cachet_ of gentility than otherwise.
Bigger men live to east and west of them; namely our old acquaintance
the Sheikh of Barzan, and the Agha of the Sindigul Kurds, whose name is
Abdi. When these men have a disagreement with the Government, it is not
a case of mere outlawry, but of open war; and the Government does not
always, by any means, get the better of them. Abdi Agha of the
Sindigulis is perhaps the better off; for he has a stronghold of the
most magnificent description, to which no Government troops have ever
penetrated, and which is a fair set-off against the religious prestige
of his neighbour. This stronghold is the lofty tableland of Tanina; a
great plateau among the mountains where there are wood and water for the
whole tribe, and pasture in abundance for all their sheep the whole
summer through. It can only be approached, the tale goes (for no
foreigner has ever been allowed to visit its summit), by three easily
guarded ascents; and when once the tribe are on the top, they can afford
to laugh at any force the Government of the district can send against
them. A large force set to blockade the place could not be fed in the
district, while small detachments guarding the "ports" could be
overwhelmed in detail. No doubt resolute troops could storm it; but the
cost would be heavy. The only weakness of the sanctuary appears to lie
in this; that neither man nor beast can live on the top of it during the
winter. When the autumn gales and early snows begin, come down they
must; and in this fact would lie the opportunity of a Government that
really cared about the enforcement of order.
Throughout the district there are plenty of Christian villages, almost
entirely of the Nestorian church, though at the western end of it some
belong to the "Jacobite" body. All of these, however, are _rayat_ or
feudally subordinate, to the Kurdish chiefs among whom they live, and
are little better in fact than serfs. The principal town of the land,
Amadia, is a fully equipped seat of government, with a _kaimakam_, a
lieutenant of gendarmerie, a district judge, and all complete. But his
Excellency the Governor knows better than to issue any order that he
thinks likely to be unpleasant to his neighbours.
Thus these second-rate Aghas are left pretty much to the freedom of
their own will, and the result is as bad a Government as can well be
imagined. An important chief, like the Sheikh of Barzan, may at least
tolerate no other tyrant; and may possibly see that killing off the bees
is not the best way of getting a permanent supply of honey. But the
small men have their own feuds with one another; their train of
dependents that must be supported somehow; and, moreover, a total
absence of conscience--or even of the enlightened self-interest that is
sometimes its working substitute.
As for appealing to the Government for redress against the Agha's
misdoings that is entirely wasted labour; and anyone who does so is apt
to be given a lesson by the feudal chief, to warn others from doing the
like.
A description of some of the actual proceedings of two of the chiefs may
enable the reader who has no knowledge of the ways of Ottoman officials
in the remoter districts to learn what Turkish rule really means.
Reshid, the Mira of Berwar, pays so much lip-deference to the
Government's authority that he does condescend to buy from it the right
of collecting the taxes from the Christian villages, year by year. This
right is usually farmed out by the local officials (the fact that this
is expressly illegal has nothing to do with the matter), the contractor
paying a fixed sum to the Treasury, and making what he can out of the
place. Reshid pays a sum of £5 for each village, which the Treasury
gets; and perhaps another £5 goes in _bakhshish_, to secure that there
shall be no competition, or that some flaw shall be found in any other
offer. Then he extracts some £200 from each village.[141]
It is possible that this is not much more than double the real
assessment; still, even so, one would have thought that it might be
worth while for the provincial governments to institute a better system;
for when that is done in some thirty villages, it really represents a
material loss to a Treasury that is perennially empty. However, you may
talk to a Turk till you are tired, and represent to him that his system
is simply robbery, and stupid robbery too; and that with better methods
he would get ten times as much with one tenth the trouble. You are told
politely to your face that you are under a misapprehension; though this
ignorance of the country is of course pardonable in a foreigner. What is
said or thought privately may perhaps be guessed.
In feuds anything may happen. Thus Mira Reshid has a standing feud, of
twenty years date now, with the men of Tyari; which is said to have
commenced with a treacherous murder under trust in the Mussulman's own
house. It blazed up fiercely in the summer of 1908; and that not without
excuse from the Kurd's point of view, for some Tyari hot-heads (angry at
the fact that a proposed reconciliation had not come off) had carried
out a raid in Berwar territory, and killed Reshid's own brother. That he
should cut the bullet out of the corpse, and send word to the chief of
the Lizan valley (whence the raiders had come) that he was keeping it to
shoot through his heart, was fair enough; but he certainly went beyond
all ordinary rules in proclaiming a _Jehad_ or holy war of Islam against
Christianity, on account of what was at the most a mere tribal feud.
However, all the neighbouring tribes of Kurds rallied at that call, and
he was able to muster 8000 men, armed with modern rifles, against the
short 1500 flintlocks that was all that the threatened sub-district of
Lizan could produce. It says much for the reputation of the Tyari
fighters, that even under those circumstances the Kurds dared no frontal
attack, and were content to make a long counter-march through the
mountains, to reach the head of that Lizan valley (a tributary of the
Zab) which the Christians were defending. Then they marched down it,
plundering as they went, while the Christians on the hill above saw
their houses go up in smoke one after the other.
There was little spoil to take, for the sheep and women had been
prudently sent away to the north; but all the usual courtesies of war
went by the board that day. Trees were girdled; houses and standing
crops were burnt; irrigating channels broken down so as to ruin the
crops in other fields; and the conquerors marched down the valley to
fulfil an old threat that they would "dance in St. George's Church on
St. George's day," and thereafter carry fire and sword up the main
valley of Tyari; which was not directly concerned in the feud.
This last outrage, however, was averted by one daring deed. The church
in question stands at the foot of the side valley, close by the bridge
over the Zab that forms the sole passage to the larger threatened
district. One chief of the Christian mountaineers saw that a band of
brave men might throw themselves into a house which commanded both, and
save their brethren, even if they themselves were ruined. He called for
volunteers who would come down with him and cut across the Kurdish
advance in the effort to gain that point. He would only take men who
would put their lives on the hazard, for no quarter is given in _Jehad_.
He got his party; and the writer must be allowed some pride in the fact
that one of the members of this forlorn hope was a pupil of his own, a
member of the "English School," named Saypu. They reached their point
and prepared for defence; Saypu's last preparation being to take his own
school-books out of the house (which, as it happened, was his own home)
and hide them in a hole in the rock. It was the first token of affection
he had given for them in his life! The little band made good their
defence; and as they had not to deal with the main body of their enemy,
they were actually able to carry out a sortie on their foes as they
retired. Saypu, who had gone into the fight with a borrowed flint-lock,
came out of it with a breech-loader of his own, the fairly won spoil of
its late owner! More important than this, however, was the fact that the
bridge was held. Though the side-valley was burnt from end to end, the
main one was saved from ravage; and the Christians were able to hold
their service on the following Sunday in the still undesecrated Church
of St. George.
Such an open war as this roused even the Ottoman Government to asking
questions; though to do the officials justice, they would have been glad
enough to leave the matter alone if only British Embassies and
Consulates had left them in peace. As it was, they consented to send a
commissioner to somewhere near the district, with instructions to "do
_takikat_" in the case. As a matter of etymology, _takikat_ means
examination or inquiry. As a matter of practice, it means sending an
official with instructions to waste time, and do nothing elaborately;
while the Government at headquarters says to the interfering foreigner,
"you must allow us reasonable space and opportunity for action." After a
few months, this phrase is altered; and the reply is, "well, after all,
it happened a long time ago, and we cannot go into the matter now." In
this case, the commissioner got as far as Amadia, and sent a summons to
Reshid to come down and explain his conduct. Reshid sent out five pounds
to the messenger, and the information that he was ill in bed, and the
gentleman must call again; and this quite satisfied everybody.
This is the sort of procedure that fills a Consul with despair. It is
hard enough to get a disciplinary or reforming order out of the central
Government; and when you have got it, what better are you? There is no
possibility of getting the thing executed. Every Jack-in-office in the
Ottoman service knows what is meant by a "watery command"--an order
extracted by foreign pressure which he is meant to disregard. They know
when the authority means business, and then they answer the rein at
once; but they also know when it does not, and then they do nothing.
Foreign influence cannot possibly see to it that there is a Consul in
every place where oppression can arise. No Power can keep one in every
mudirate; and nothing short of that would be effective. If Turkey is
ever to be reformed, it must be by foreigners who have executive as well
as advisory authority; power, that is, to hang an official who does not
obey orders, or a chief who breaks the peace. Half a dozen such men
would have Kurdistan as safe as Hyde Park inside a year, for if there is
one chance in twenty of trouble ensuing, the Kurd does not raid.
Reshid's only rival in Berwar is the Agha of Châl,[142] an old man who
is the government _Mudir_ of his district. He is also a _Sufi_ by
religious profession; and both of these circumstances should make for
respectability; for the _Mudir_ is put there to keep order, being lowest
on the scale of local governors, and _Sufis_ are usually supposed to be
quiet mystics. Many of them are so in fact, and most interesting
religious philosophers to talk with; but this man is noted for being on
the whole the most crafty murderer in the country-side. It is of course
something to rise to eminence in a profession so crowded as that
peculiar one is locally; but perhaps that is not the most remarkable
thing about this particular Agha. He is the only man of the writer's
acquaintance who keeps a really large herd of domestic Jews. Châl
village is largely populated by men of that race; and they are to all
intents and purposes the serfs of the Agha--his tame money-spinners. The
writer was even offered full rights in one of them for the sum of five
pounds; and if the bargain would have held in more civilized districts
(and the vendor, to do him justice, did not realize that it would not),
it might have been as profitable an investment as is ever likely to come
his way! A Jew of one's very own, bound to put all his financial skill
at your disposal, and to use it solely for your benefit, would be a most
valuable property.
There are other chiefs who keep "tame Jews" in this fashion, though not
on the same scale as does the wise man of Châl. Naturally, you are
expected to protect your own Hebrew, and to guard him against all other
oppressors; even as the King of England used to do, when he had absolute
property in all the Jews in England, and saw to it that their debtors
did not default. Kurdish Aghas, however, do not always rise to this
duty; and the writer has known a case, where the unfortunate Israelite,
who was owned in this fashion by one Agha, was robbed of every penny and
rag he possessed by that Agha's rival. Poor Ibrahim complained, of
course, to his natural lord, on the ground that it was _iyba_ to that
master himself, if his property was robbed in this style. The chief had
to admit that there was something in the argument; but redress by force
of arms (the obvious method) was impossible, because the robber was far
too nearly his equal in strength.
"Your face is blackened my Lord," pleaded the poor Hebrew.
"It is indeed," said the Agha; "but I can't go to war with him
notwithstanding."
Presently he had a really brilliant inspiration. "Look here Ibrahim; I
have it! I'll go and rob his Jew myself!"
That being the way the Kurdish mind works, it will be readily understood
that their unfortunate Christian _rayats_ run considerable peril when
there happens to be feud between two Aghas. Under those circumstances,
it is just as satisfactory on the point of honour--and a good deal more
profitable and less risky--to raid your opponents' unarmed Christian
villages, than his armed Kurdish ones. Both sides practise this amiable
habit with great satisfaction to themselves; and the poor _rayats_
suffer accordingly.
The presence of one powerful Kurdish chief ruling a whole country-side
is thus a distinct improvement (however tyrannous he may be) on the rule
of several rivals. He may at least have the sense to realize that it is
unprofitable to carry the oppression of the _rayats_ too far, lest the
cattle should be ungrateful enough to die on his hands. A story is told
of the brother of the notorious Bedr Khan Beg, that on one occasion when
that great destroyer of Christians was meditating a further massacre, he
appeared in the _diwan_ in labourer's dress, armed with a shovel.
"_Mashallah._ Why this masquerade?" asked his brother the chief.
"Well brother, it is what we shall have to do, if you go on with your
game of massacring all Christians. You will leave none to do the work on
the land."
The acted parable went home, as so often was the case in biblical times;
and the proposed raid was countermanded.
During the Italian and Bulgarian wars, there was of course much heated
feeling among Mussulmans, and much wild talk of a massacre of all
Christians. A Kurd indulging in that sort of swagger in a Christian
village was countered by an argument which naturally no European would
have expected, but which we have reason to believe had considerable
weight in many quarters.
"Of course, you can massacre us," said an old priest, "we are in your
hands. But then, what will King George do?"
"King George!" said the Kurd contemptuously, "his arm does not reach to
Kurdistan."
"No, but he has millions of Mussulman _rayats_ in India," said the
Christian. "If you kill us, think you that he will not take life for
life from them?"
The Kurd was staggered. At first, he was disinclined to believe it
possible for any Christian King to have Mussulman _rayats_. But when
assured on that point, he quite admitted the probability--and more, the
propriety--of King George retaliating on Mussulmans in India for
anything their co-religionists might do to Christians in Kurdistan. The
Oriental is quite philosopher enough to grasp the notion of
_solidarité_.
Moreover it must be inferred that a Kurd has a ghost of a conscience. He
does not himself expect to sleep quiet in his grave unless some
Christian places a rag on it in token of forgiveness. It is a weird
belief, but is fully accepted on all hands. A noted marauder was lately
buried near Amadia, and three Tyari men passing his grave after
nightfall heard awful groans proceeding from it. One, bolder than his
comrades, went nearer, and found an asthmatic sheep. An unlucky
discovery, for it utterly ruined the moral.
The character of the country is tamer than that we have just been
traversing, for it is only in the most rugged and inaccessible gorges
that the _ashiret_ Christians have been able to maintain their
independence. In these Berwar and Sapna districts, the wilder ranges
have been left behind. The valleys are wider, and the hills are usually
forest clad; the prevailing tree being a small type of oak. Fortunately
this is a valuable crop in itself, for it produces a very large
oak-apple; and this is used freely in the dyeing of the local cloth, so
that the trees have a good chance of preservation. The colours produced
vary, according to the process, from pale yellow to dark brown; but as
is always the case with pure vegetable dyes, all are excellent in tone,
and a most gratifying contrast to the cold hard aniline dyes that
European science has introduced to ruin the once beautiful carpets of
this land.
The hills are mostly of limestone, and lie in long parallel ranges, due
east and west, with steep crags and precipices on the crests, and long
tree-clad slopes below. They gradually lose their elevation as they
approach the Mosul plain; but even at the last stand up over that
endless level with a startling abruptness. The rivers, true to their
habit in this land of contradictions, burst clean through these ranges
in their southern course, though they naturally receive tributaries in
each one of the parallels.
Good coal lies under much of this country; the writer having actually
seen one six-foot seam that crops out at four several points along a
line of sixty miles, and is probably continuous in other directions
also. It is of course quite unworked at present. Turkish political
economy teaches that for so long as the coal is there, it is safe, and a
solid national asset. If, however, you dig it up and burn it, it is gone
and cannot be replaced. Besides, mining concessions, or anything else
likely to bring in the foreigner, are anathema to the Ottoman and are
never granted if they can possibly be avoided.
[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN LOWER TKHUMA.
No. 14]
The principal landmark in the Sapna valley is the town of Amadia; a city
set on a hill indeed--perched on the summit of a great isolated knoll
which juts out from the mountains behind it like a bastion from the
curtain of a fortress. The slopes of this knoll are surmounted by a
cresting of limestone precipice, so even and continuous round the whole
circuit of the level summit that it looks from a little distance like a
prodigious artificial wall. The place must have been a notable
stronghold even in Assyrian days, as a much battered bas-relief on
the rock face by the main gate testifies: but the ramparts which Nature
has given it were always sufficient protection; and, except at the two
entrance gateways, no further defences were required. It is now but a
group of mean hovels, no more than a rather large village; but it ranks
in the Sapna valley as the metropolis of the country-side.
Amadia is the only seat of Ottoman Government in the neighbourhood; and
for this reason it was in its vicinity that a "Station" of the
Archbishop's Assyrian Mission was established when it was desirable to
find some centre reasonably accessible for the mountaineers of Tyari and
Tkhuma. This establishment caused a most natural fluttering of the
dovecotes in that respectable and old-fashioned neighbourhood. That the
Kurds should feel eminently disgusted was only to be expected. Good
respectable brigands as they were, and had been for generations, and
having a vested interest in the perpetuation of conditions that made
their ancient trade profitable; what else could they be expected to
feel, at the advent of a Frank who was not only unraidable personally,
but whose mere presence made it appreciably more difficult to raid
others? Formerly if there had ever been questions about the
appropriation of sheep (which did not happen often), it was always easy
to persuade the _kaim[=a]k[=a]m_ to do nothing, and report nothing. An
Englishman, however, was in touch with his Consul, (accursed
institution), and that Consul with the _Vali_; and _Valis_ have a way of
not sympathizing with a Kurdish gentleman's necessities, unless you
purchase that sympathy rather expensively.
Furthermore, there was the Roman Catholic bishop of the district; and he
also objected (and again most naturally and rightly from his point of
view) to the coming of an institution that might put backbone into the
"heretical" church which he was in process of annexing gradually to the
one true fold. We must own that his lordship's methods of going to work
in the matter were perhaps a little crude; but the fact is, that it is
the grossest injustice to judge the modern East by a twentieth-century
standard. If you choose to go and live in mediæval times (somewhere in
the thirteenth century let us say), you must not complain if the people
act in fashion reminiscent of that age. It is best to cultivate a sense
of historical perspective instead, and enjoy the picturesqueness of
things.
The bishop in question was not a European himself, but a native of the
country, and a member of the Chaldæan Church; and there is not the
slightest reason for thinking that his tutors (the Dominican Fathers of
Mosul) were aware of his rather mediæval methods. He would not be likely
to report too definitely to them (if he had any direct correspondence
with them at all, which is not probable) on the broad principle,
familiar in that land, that there are things which a Frank can never be
got to understand, and which for the sake of his peace of mind he had
better not know! His immediate superior, the Chaldæan Patriarch, may
have been better informed. He is an Oriental and so of an understanding
mind; a vigorous mind withal, and not troubled with needless scruples.
It being then desirable to remove the intruding Englishman, his
lordship's first step was to request the _Vali_ to issue an order to
that effect, on the ground that the writer's morals were so abominably
bad, that the Kurds could not tolerate his presence. This attempt
failed; the _Vali_ taking the line that Kurdish morals were not his
business, and that in any case he thought that even an Englishman could
hardly make them worse than they were. We regret to say that his
Excellency, having given this decision, went to lunch with the British
Consul in order to share the ribald joke.
Foiled there, his lordship the bishop next appealed to the local Kurds.
"If you allow that Englishman to settle there" he told them, "he will
set the Government on to you, every time you go a-raiding; and you will
never be able to rob a Christian village in peace and safety again." Of
course the fact was true enough; or rather, it was true that the
foreigner would do his best to produce that desirable result, as far as
the narrow limits of his power extended; and it was all to the good that
the Kurds should believe it. Still, as an Episcopal argument, it was
odd. However, it is the general feeling of the East, that there is no
stone too dirty to throw at your enemy; and that if you set a train for
his destruction, there is never any risk of your getting hoist with your
own petard. It is, after all, only the mediæval feeling, that it was
quite fair to call in the devil to do your work, and then cheat him of
his pay!
Another argument urged upon the Kurds by the bishop was that the coming
of the English meant annexation in the near future. However, this
"back-fired" sadly. Many Kurds, after inquiring if the tale was really
true, exclaimed: "Glory be to Allah! Let us hope the English will be
quicker about it than they sometimes are." For a very fair proportion of
the men in every tribe are really sick of the state of no-government
around them. They are tired of disorder, more than tired of the Turk;
and have discovered that raiding really does not pay in the long run.
Good sport it is; but the outgoings are too heavy. No raids will pay for
the up-keep of a large "following" for ever; and yet if you practise
raiding, a large following must be kept up. So, unable to establish any
sort of government other than the tribal themselves, they are disposed
to welcome almost any change, or the intervention of almost any
foreigner. Though, of course, however welcome a foreigner might be at
first, he would be sure to get cordially hated later when the sweets of
order palled in their turn.
Some Kurdish gentlemen were disposed to welcome the coming of the
English for other and more personal reasons. Among these was a certain
Agha Reshid of Ghara (a distinct man from his namesake of Berwar) whose
fame as a murderer rivalled even that of the Agha of Châl. This
distinguished man came to visit us one day, sadly scaring our household
staff by the train that he thought necessary for his dignity; and
perhaps for his safety also, for both the Government and his private
enemies had designs upon him.
"Will you receive him, Rabbi?" said the servants, "he is the man who has
committed fifteen murders himself."
He proved, however, to be, like Lambro, "as mild a mannered man as ever
scuttled ship or cut a throat;" and after the usual compliments,
disclosed his real business. "Could we see our way to registering him as
a British subject?" The fact was, as he explained, that his enemies were
getting quite troublesome to him now, over the crimes they said he had
committed; and if we could oblige him in this, then he would be entitled
to Consular protection, and that would give him a clean slate. As usual,
in return for that favour he would cheerfully undertake the removal of
any enemies of ours whom we named.
We could only regret our inability to do him the service asked, and
explain that there was really nobody whom we wished to have murdered; a
statement which in the light of our known relations to our neighbours
was received with an incredulity that was courteous, but quite
undisguised. In the interests of science, however, we had to put one
further question. "O Agha, that thing which your enemies say of you
concerning those fifteen murders; is it true at all?"
"O _Effendim_," he answered coolly; "they were all of them my enemies
but two. And one of them was a Jew who had looked at my womankind."
We could not come to an understanding, but we parted the best of
friends.[143]
As for the Christian villagers, they of course welcomed the arrival of
what promised protection, and refused to believe any disclaimers of
political power and aims. "Now we shall be able to send out our sheep to
the far pastures," they proclaimed. To do so previously would have been
a mere invitation to cattle-raiders, which they would not have been slow
to accept!
The person who was most to be pitied in the whole matter was the
unfortunate Governor of Amadia. He had to veil under a decent show of
politeness the disgust that he must have felt over the advent of a
nuisance whom he was bound to protect; and a critic whom he could not
turn out, or altogether disregard. Further, all his Kurdish neighbours
who desired the removal of the foreigner were sure that the governor
could do it if he would; and that he would have done so, had he not been
bribed in a contrary sense.
One can spare some pity for a poor man who finds himself losing his
popularity with his friends for not doing what he would give his ears to
do, if only he were able. Constant petitions were made to him to expel
the foreigner; and when in a weak moment he tried to purchase peace by
issuing an order to that effect, the impracticable Englishman not only
refused to obey it, but appealed to his Consul; and so brought down on
him a sharp reprimand from the _Vali_, and a reminder of the existence
of the "Capitulations" and foreign privileges under them. Yet how was he
to get that fact into a Kurd's understanding?
Finding that the poor _kaimákam_ was not to be moved, the neighbours
thought of taking action themselves. A syndicate of them actually
suggested a reward of £1000 to anyone who would abate the nuisance by
removing the foreigner finally and absolutely from this world. Sundry
gentlemen were willing to undertake the job; so at least local
informants assured us. Maybe their fears spoke, but the thing has been
done with British officers since. This syndicate, however, declined to
produce the money till the job was done; and negotiations broke down on
that point, leaving the Englishman with the satisfaction of feeling that
he was at least rated quite decently high. It would have been a blow to
his natural self-esteem had the price put on his head been a low one;
but £1000 elevates one into an aristocratic circle, to a fellowship with
Claude Duval, Ned Kelly the Australian, "the man Charles Stuart" and
"the Nigger General who almost ruined old Virginny."
Meantime, the British Consul in Mosul felt a little natural anxiety at
these proposals concerning one of his charges, and communicated with a
friend on the matter. This friend was that Abdi Agha of the Sindiguli
Kurds mentioned earlier in this chapter, who was on the most amicable
terms with all English, because his daughter had just been cured in the
English hospital in Mosul. The Consul's suggestion ran much as follows.
"See here my friend; you know those men of Amadia are talking wildly and
making petitions. Could you, who have influence with them, give them a
hint that they are knocking their heads against a stone wall? You know
we none of us want to have trouble; but I shall be obliged to take
serious notice if they go too far."
"Certainly Bey, on my head and eyes be it," said the obliging Agha; and
this was the form in which the "hint" arrived. "O you men of Amadia!
Dogs that you are, I hear that you are barking against my English
friends. Know now that if you do not cease from this forthwith, I will
rob every caravan of yours that goes down to Mosul!"
Application had been made at Constantinople for a _firm[=a]n_ for the
building of a mission house, and this business was proceeding with the
leisureliness characteristic of Ottoman rule. A curious episode occurred
during its progress. The British Consul of Mosul, having naturally left
that oven during the summer, had come up to Amadia; and was there
staying with the writer on the site of the future house, when a Servian
gipsy appeared in the land. This was an old woman, who was unable to
speak any one of the numerous languages current in Kurdistan, and
communicated with the natives by signs only. The Consul's kavass,
however, was a Montenegrin, and through him we were able to communicate
with her. She professed herself a skilled fortune-teller, and
accordingly, more by way of challenge than anything else, she was asked
to show her skill. She asked for anything that the Consul had worn, and
having been given a fragment of an old neck-tie, cut it into shreds,
strewed these on the surface of some water, and presently, after
studying the signs, gave her verdict. "You have come up hither about the
building of a large house on this spot, and there has been a great deal
of opposition to it. However, you need not be afraid, for you have
overcome it, and the house will be built and will abide." About six
weeks later came the news that the issue of the _firm[=a]n_ for the
purpose was practically secured.
Another curious instance of clairvoyance came to the knowledge of the
writer in the same village. A child was lost, and after searching for
it in vain, the parents applied to a certain aged _qashâ_, renowned for
his skill in _kharashutha_ (magic) of all kinds. His method was to take
a pebble from a running stream, and grind it to powder with certain
prayers. Then a long series of names of localities was written on slips
of paper, and these and the dust together were strewn on a basin of
water taken from the running stream. Again prayers were recited, ending
with the invocation, "give a perfect lot;" and the slip of paper that
first floated to the side was taken. The place it named seemed
impossible; for it was a pass between two high mountains, very difficult
of access. Still the parents went up to search; and there sure enough
was found the dead body of the child, who, in obedience to the
mysterious law observed in several such cases, had climbed from height
to height, when lost, till he sank exhausted.
A better position than Amadia for getting unusual knowledge as to the
ways of life and thought in this remote land could hardly be imagined;
particularly when, as was the case with us, medical practice was added
to educational work. This was done partly out of philanthropy, partly
because nothing is so efficient as dosing to take away prejudice! Weird
complaints came to us for doctoring, as will readily be understood; and
possibly the treatment they received would have been considered even
weirder from a real doctor's point of view.[144] Thus the village idiot
came up one day to beg for a cure. He knew that he was mad, and he also
knew the reason; namely that long ago an unscrupulous foe had put a
donkey's brains into his soup, and he had eaten them unwittingly, and
had naturally gone crazy.
We thought of setting imagination to cure what imagination had created,
by solemnly tying our friend down, making a small wound on his stomach,
and then exhibiting some scrap of raw meat to him as the donkey's brain,
safely extracted. We have known of similar cases cured by precisely that
method elsewhere; particularly a girl in Mosul who was persuaded that
she had swallowed a lizard, which was eating her up internally. She
fully intended to die of it; but recovered perfectly on being
chloroformed and being shown, on "coming to" again, a small cut on her
own person, and a lizard in spirits! However, the patient in this case
refused to submit to the operation, and perhaps it was as well; for one
is rather playing with fire in executing such a scheme.
On another occasion, a Kurd came to one of our European staff, with a
request to have a tooth extracted. The Frank, who had served some
apprenticeship at that art, did his office deftly; and the Kurd, filled
with gratitude, offered two mejids (seven shillings) as a fee. This was
refused, as no fees were taken; and the patient was even more
astonished. However, he was a Mussulman gentleman, and to receive a
benefit without making return for it was unthinkable; hence if his next
proposal was bizarre, at least the kindness was genuine.
"Look here, _Effendim_, you are a Christian, are you not? Well, when I
get to Paradise, I shall have seventy houris. You will not have any
where you are going; and I think I may spare you--two!"
An interesting corollary to the above proposition would seem to be that
the market value of a houri is 3/6 sterling, plus compound interest on
that sum for say twenty years, which seems cheap.
Perhaps our most remarkable patient, however, was a poor fellow who was
brought in by a deputation of the men of his village, with a request
that we would cure him of the evil eye! If he looked at a crock of milk,
it upset; if at a sheep, the wolf got it; if at a child, it was likely
enough to tumble into the fire. They were quite fair about the matter,
fully recognizing that it was the poor fellow's misfortune, not his
fault. Still, he was such a nuisance to all the neighbours, that it was
to be hoped that English knowledge would cure him. Unfortunately, we had
to own that there was nothing in the British Pharmacopoeia that
professes to deal with this form of trouble; and though we had, as a
matter of fact, plenty of charms against the evil eye in our possession
(invocations of the Archangel Gabriel against "that light and vile
daughter of perdition" with power to send it away "into the desolate
land, where cocks crow not and foot of beast treads not, there to walk
up and down in dry places, seeking rest and finding none") yet we felt
on the whole that it would not be proper to use these, and the
deputation had to go away disappointed.[145]
Once, on a journey, we have known surgical aid demanded in rather
menacing fashion. We had halted by a spring, when a party of Kurds, all
fully armed of course, turned up from the opposite direction, and
demanded of our servant who and what we might be. Hearing that we were
English, the leader strode over to us at once, displayed a paralysed
arm, and observed, "You have got to cure that."
"That is quite beyond our power, we fear," said we, "you must take that
to the hospital in Mosul."
"Well you know, I think you ought to cure it; because you did it."
"We did it? We never set eyes on you before."
"Well, if it was not you, it was your Consul; but you English are all
one set. He did it when he was shooting at us."
Our friend was, as we then understood, one of the gang who had, a few
years previously, attacked a British Consul in this neighbourhood.[146]
There had been a pretty sharp skirmish, of which this gentleman bore the
token in a bullet that had cut the sinews of his right arm. The Consul
gained great _kudos_ in the affair; for he not only beat off his
assailants, but killed their leader, a man who had the reputation of
being "proof" against shot and steel. Such reputations are almost as
common in these regions now as they were in the highlands of Scotland in
the seventeenth century; but (in spite of the local facilities) the
possessors of such immunity are not held to have acquired it by direct
compact with the Evil One, like Claverhouse and Dalziel, but to have
been born with it in course of nature. Mirza Agha, the Kurd in question,
certainly did his best to live up to his character; for though he
received three wounds that would each have been fatal to most men (two
in the head, and one in the body) he did not die until the fifth day
after the battle.
This comrade of his was not disposed to take vengeance (as might perhaps
have been expected) on all and sundry Englishmen for the loss of his
arm. Having expressed his sense of what was befitting, and provided us
with an instance of the survival of tribal responsibility, for which as
students of history we were bound to be grateful to him, he went on his
way and we saw him no more.
Gradually our relations with our neighbours improved. It is difficult to
keep up malice against a man who provides good "English salt" (quinine);
and thus folk became interestingly, but almost inconveniently, friendly.
What ought one to do, when the wife of a Kurd, who has got into trouble
with his Agha, asks for your intercession; and all the Christians in the
neighbourhood, as well as the man's own friends, assure you that the
object of their prayer is a very good and charitable man, barring the
fact that he commits murders occasionally? What is the really "fit and
beautiful" in the following cause matrimonial, when the applicants come
and throw themselves in the road at your horse's feet, and declare that
you are welcome to ride over them, but get up they will not, till you
have promised them redress?
Jevdet, a worthy Kurd of Ghara (outlaw, of course, like every man in
that happy Alsatia), betrothed his daughter Amin to a neighbour, Tewfik,
in settlement of a debt owed to the latter.[147] However, Amin rebelled
and ran away to a worthy old man of Amadia, one Abd-l-Aziz, who is a
sort of universal uncle to all the neighbourhood, and is at the bottom
of most local intrigues. Abd-l-Aziz, resourceful man, thought that an
alliance with the damsel's family would be valuable; so he betrothed her
at once to a nephew of his own, and reported her to her parents as
"lost, and I don't know where to find her." Presently, however, Amin,
being a lady, changed her mind--mollified by the news that Tewfik had
actually spent the sum of £20 to get possession of her--and got a letter
through to him somehow, begging him to come like a true lover, and
rescue her from the consequences of her own actions. Under these
circumstances Jevdet and Tewfik both came and threw themselves at the
feet of the writer and the Consul, assured us that they had no hope save
in Allah and ourselves, and begged for redress!
Yet of all the negotiations in which we were engaged, that which sticks
most in our memory is the matter of Abdurrahman the Kurd, and the
difficulty first of getting him into prison and afterwards of getting
him out. Abdurrahman had the impudence to rob a messenger who was
bringing down letters to us. He took everything except the letters
themselves (which was courteous) and allowed the messenger to come
wading through the winter snow to our house, clad in nothing but the
envelope.
This was a thing that could not be allowed to pass, and we demanded the
arrest and imprisonment of the thief, who was known to the robbed man.
At first the governor professed inability to do anything in the matter,
and did not see that any duty was incumbent on him. However, an appeal
to the _Vali_ at Mosul produced an order, and in due course Abdurrahman
was lodged in the town gaol. "Get him imprisoned here, not at Mosul,
Rabbi!" had been the advice of one of our servants. "It is no punishment
to be imprisoned at Mosul; they give bread to the captives there
_almost every day_." In more primitive Amadia your friends are at
liberty to supply you; but if they omit that attention, you do not eat.
Abdurrahman had plenty of friends, so he did not fare badly in the
prison; but when he had been there about a week, we received a message
from the _kaimakam_. Would we mind saying if our thirst for vengeance
was glutted yet? For if so, our victim might be released. We sent a
reply to the effect that it was no case of private vengeance, but of the
peace of his Majesty the Sultan; and that if, as we presumed,
Abdurrahman had now served his full sentence, of course he could be
released.
"Oh no," replied the ever-courteous but bored Governor, "our wisdom was
labouring under a misapprehension in this. As for the peace of the
Sultan, his Majesty had not got any; and as for sentence, he had never
even tried the man yet. In fact, he had been at some pains to explain to
our victim's relations (a fairly wild sept of Kurds) that it was not his
fault that their kinsman was in durance, but purely the doing of that
Englishman, who had insisted on it so."
"Then release him with our blessing," said we. "Ten days in the hole you
call a prison is more than enough for a trifling indiscretion such as he
committed."
"Then please," came the message in reply, "would we mind coming up to
the town to sign a document to that effect?" It had been already
prepared, and only needed signature, and a man of our wisdom would
understand that this was necessary, and that in a civilized and
constitutional land like Turkey, the formalities of law must be
observed.
It seemed to us that no great formality could be needful for the release
of a man who had never been tried; but presently we sacrificed a day's
work, rode up to the citadel and after the usual compliments asked for
the necessary document.
"Well, for the document--it should be written at once. It was not indeed
needful that we should sign it, or in fact that any should be written;
but--well, as we were there--would we take it amiss if the _kaimakam_
mentioned that he had been suffering sadly from stomach-ache these
days, and would be grateful if we would prescribe." The rascal had
calculated, quite correctly, that we should never trouble to come up
just for his indigestion, but that if we knew that our victim was
languishing in durance till we appeared, we were pretty certain to do
so! The ingenuity of the "score" so delighted us, that the only revenge
we took was to prescribe the nastiest medicine at our disposal; and so
the document was drawn up, signed, sealed and delivered, and we went off
home in the belief that the business was done now.
No such thing, however. The policeman, who presently came down to take
up the medicine informed us that it was impossible to release our
captive, for the sufficient reason that his Excellency had now been
examining the case, and had come to the conclusion that he was innocent.
Had he been guilty, all would have been well; but he thought that it was
a case of mistaken identity, and proposed to keep poor Abdurrahman till
the messenger could come down to swear to him. If that messenger came as
soon as he was summoned (the very last thing he was likely to do) that
would not mean a delay of more than a fortnight. And then the prisoner
could be released--if innocent, on the ground that he had done nothing;
if guilty, as having served his full sentence several times over!
On this, we frankly threw up the game, and sent word to the Governor
that we were going off on a six weeks' journey, and could not be heard
of till its close. He might keep his prisoner, or ours, in prison till
the crack of doom if he liked; or might release him at once.
Naturally, as soon as we were over the hill, he chose the latter
alternative. Abdurrahman came out again; and he bore so little malice
that on return we found a message from him awaiting us, to the effect
that he would never have meddled with the messenger had he known that
the man belonged to us; and that he would bring us the horns of the
first ibex he shot that summer as a peace-offering. And so, in fact, he
did, and we became very good friends.
Spirits of the mountain and plain beset the path of the wayfarer in
this land, as might be expected. Thus, Mosul plain is haunted by a
fearful type of vampire, the "_hiblabashi_," a satyr, half-man
half-goat, who lures travellers from the path, and sucks their
blood.[148] There is a tomb of one such at Aradin, a village in the
lower hills, whence there issues at times a terrible gadfly, that
infects all whom it bites with madness and hydrophobia. Mercifully,
however, bane and antidote lie, as ever, side by side; for there is a
sulphurous spring by the side of the tomb, and it has healing virtue for
those afflicted in this way.
Belief in a vampire was, of course, practically universal at some period
all the world over; and this is the only thing that the Montenegrin
kavass mentioned above was ever known to fear, having had practically
first-hand acquaintance with one.[149] There is, however, another sort
of spirit that is more peculiar to this land; a type of "brownie" that
haunts the sheepfolds, where the shepherds have often to keep lonely
vigil and get into the frame of mind when men see all sorts of strange
things. In one case, the pixy in question used to come and sit opposite
to the shepherd by the watchfire, and exactly imitate his every action
in dead silence. At last this supernatural companion got on to the
shepherd's nerves. He consulted a wise man, and was given advice that
shows how recent in date the tale must be. He put a bowl of water on his
side of the fire, and a bowl of paraffin on the other; and then, when
the brownie came, he proceeded to soak his own clothes with the water.
The being, of course, imitated him, and did not perceive the difference
between water and oil. After a while, the shepherd took a blazing brand
from the fire and applied it to his clothes, where, of course, it went
out. The brownie did likewise, and found himself in a blaze; on which he
jumped up and fled howling, being apparently material enough to feel
fire. All the other spirits of mountain and river gathered at his call,
and the shepherd began to fear that he had roused Elfindom in good
earnest: but the scorched one, with really magnificent fairness,
declared that after all it was his own doing; and thereafter the
shepherd was left unmolested of nights.
Still, of all survivals from early ages in this land, whether
monumental, superstitious, or religious, none is more remarkable than
the "Sacrifice of Noah." It must be understood that no people here, save
the Armenians, look on the great cone which we call Ararat, but which is
locally known as Aghri Dagh, as the spot where the ark rested. The
biblical term is "the mountains of Ararat" or Urartu, and the term
includes the whole of the Hakkiari range. A relatively insignificant
ridge, known as Judi Dagh, is regarded as the authentic spot by all the
folk in this land; and it must be owned that the identification has
something to say for itself. It is one of the first ranges that rise
over the level of the great plain; and if all Mesopotamia (which to its
inhabitants was the world) were submerged by some great cataclysm, it is
just the spot where a drifting vessel might strand.
Whatever the facts, the tradition goes back to the year A.D. 300 at
least. That date is, of course, a thing of yesterday in this country;
but the tale was of unknown antiquity then, and is firmly rooted in the
social consciousness now. In consequence, Noah's sacrifice is still
commemorated year by year on the place where tradition says the ark
rested--a _ziaret_ which is not the actual summit of the mountain but a
spot on its ridge. On that day (which, strange to say, is the first day
of Ilul, or September 14 of our calendar, and not May 27 mentioned in
the account in Genesis) all faiths and all nations come together,
letting all feuds sleep on that occasion, to commemorate an event which
is older than any of their divisions.
Christians of all nations and confessions, Mussulmans of both _Shiah_
and _Sunni_ type, Sabaeans, Jews, and even the furtive timid Yezidis are
there, each group bringing a sheep or kid for sacrifice; and for one day
there is a "truce of God" even in turbulent Kurdistan, and the smoke of
a hundred offerings goes up once more on the ancient altar. Lower down
on the hillside, and hard by the Nestorian village of Hasana, men still
point out Noah's tomb and Noah's vineyard, though this last, strange to
say, produces no wine now. The grapes from it are used exclusively for
_nipukhta_ or grape treacle, possibly in memory of the disaster that
once befell the Patriarch.
Yezidi legend has it that the ark had a narrow escape of foundering
during its voyage to Judi Dagh, and what would have befallen the race of
man then? It bumped sadly on mount Sinjar, and sprung a serious leak in
consequence.[150] Disaster was only averted by the promptitude of the
Serpent, who wriggled into the hole, coiled himself into a ball on each
side, and then pulled together tightly like a rivet to caulk the leak.
There he remained till the voyage was over; whereupon Noah (with rather
doubtful gratitude) sacrificed and burnt him at once. He must have left
a brood behind him, to be the ancestors of the present stock; but he
perished, and he got his revenge, for from his ashes came forth fleas.
It is at least an unusual thing to find a story of any sort that
attributes disinterested conduct to a serpent; and this legend can
claim, at any rate, such support as is given to it by the great
abundance of the insect referred to in the neighbourhood of this their
original home.
An American sufferer once assured the writer of his conviction that in
the course of ages, the very structure of the sandbank on which stands
the town of Jezireh (just at the foot of Judi Dagh, and on the river
Tigris) had been metamorphosed; and that it was now composed exclusively
of flies, fleas, and fever microbes in approximately equal proportions!
Experience, it must be admitted, makes one disposed to agree with him.
The town is "more Lord of Fleas than any place in Kurdistan."
_Fhairshon had a son_
_Who married Noah's daughter._
And it is gratifying to find that the memory of this mythical personage
is still preserved in the land where he wooed his bride. Noah's
son-in-law (so we are told) was a giant of such prodigious stature that
his attempt at "spoiling ta' flood by drinking up ta' water" may have
had some initial success. Of course he could not get inside the ark, but
he obligingly sat astride of it, and paddled it about with his feet.
What became of him later the legend sayeth not. No doubt he carried off
his wife to Scotland with him; and so passed beyond local ken.
Time passed gradually at Amadia, till even the leisurely Ottoman
processes were complete, and the imperial _firm[=a]n_ for the building
of an "English house" at that centre was duly issued. All ill-feeling
with our neighbours had practically died out before that date; and the
last of it vanished with the document's arrival, every Sanballat and
Geshem in the neighbourhood coming to call, and to explain how delighted
he personally had always been to have us there, and how it was only
"those others" who stirred up bad blood. It is true that one more
consistent man observed, on the occasion of the public reading of the
formal charter in the _diwan_ of the governor, "Poor Mohammed Reshid!
_He_ has to do whatever these Franks tell him"; but he prudently kept
that remark under his breath.
A solemn festival marked the burying of the hatchet; after which the
guests, having consumed more than one sheep between them, went home in
procession with all the spoons of the household in their hats! This
would have suggested at home that the wearers had dined not only well,
but too well; but in Kurdistan it expresses no more than an unusual
satisfaction with the banquet.
NOTE. Much of the district of Bohtan (a region which lies to the
westward of the Sapna valley) is practically unknown to Europeans;
being inhabited only by wild tribes of Kurds, with a scattering of
Christians mostly of the Nestorian Church, as their _rayats_. It is
extremely rugged, and the gorges of the River Bohtan are among the
very finest to be found even in that land.
The following tale of one of its inhabitants is worthy of record,
as showing the heroism and fidelity that can be exhibited at times
by this downtrodden people.
The writer was anxious to visit the Nestorian villages of the
district and had arranged with the Patriarch that he should do so;
but found the scheme vetoed by the British Consul of Van, on the
ground that "I have been speaking to the _Vali_ on the matter, and
he says that two companies of soldiers would not be enough to
guard you there." Under these circumstances he abandoned the
journey; but Rabban Werda, a deacon of the Nestorian Church,
already mentioned in these pages, then volunteered to go alone into
the district and see what he could do for the people there. He
volunteered with, of course, full knowledge of the fact that,
though there would at all events be questions asked if the
Englishman got shot, nobody would trouble about such a trifle as
the death of a mere _rayat_ like himself.
He went and he returned safely; and in the course of his journey he
visited a village called Shernakh, where he received hospitality as
usual in the house of the Agha, but was surprised to find himself
treated with more consideration than is the general lot of a
Christian wanderer under the circumstances.
While he was at supper, one of the Kurdish servants came to him to
say: "Sir Priest, if you have finished, the Lady would wish to
speak to you." "The Lady?" said the deacon, in natural wonder at
the Lady of a Mussulman house asking to see a Christian guest who
was not even a Frank doctor. "The Lady. Our Christian Lady," said
the Kurd; and in absolute bewilderment the deacon allowed himself
to be led to the women's part of the house, and to a private room
in it. Here an aged woman rose to greet him, saying: "God has given
me my prayer at last, and, after sixty years of captivity, I see a
Christian priest before I die."
Her story was as follows: When a girl in her 'teens she had been
carried off from her home as part of the spoil in some raid, like
the little maid who waited on Naaman's wife; and had been assigned
as a portion of his share to the grandfather of the then Agha of
the village. The date was fixed in her mind, by the fact that the
first task given her in her captivity was the baking of bread for
the Kurds who were going on a great raid against her own
kinsfolk--the raid of Bedr Khan Beg in 1845, which is an episode
from which men date still.
Since then, she had been a captive and slave in the Mussulman
house, the only Christian in the place. She had begun, as might be
expected, as the fag and drudge of all the other servants; but had
raised herself by sheer force of character and her own integrity
till she was now manager of household and farm: and she had been,
by the Kurds' own admission, "a blessing to the house" since the
day that she entered it. Further (information again volunteered by
the Kurds themselves) she had not only kept her Christianity in her
solitude, but in a household where all lived in common nobody had
ever known her to neglect her daily prayers or her Friday's fast,
or to do needless work on the Sunday.
One request only she made of the deacon. Finding that he was not
the priest she had thought, and therefore was not able to give her
the "_qurbana_" she had hoped to receive, she asked him to give her
some of the "blessed bread" which her memory told her he would be
likely to have with him. This is bread blessed, but not
consecrated, at the Eucharist, and often carried with them by
Nestorians on a long journey. This he was able to do, and she
declared that she would keep it to be her "_viaticum_" when the
time of her release should come.
Surely one may seek through a good many of the "Acta Sanctorum"
before finding a nobler confession of Christ than that made by this
nameless Nestorian woman.