25686	----	None 
17150	----	Transcribed from the 1903 T. & T. Clark edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk THE OLDEST CODE OF LAWS IN THE WORLD THE CODE OF LAWS PROMULGATED BY HAMMURABI, KING OF BABYLON B.C. 2285-2242 _TRANSLATED_ BY C. H. W. JOHNS, M.A. LECTURER IN ASSYRIOLOGY, QUEENS' COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE AUTHOR OF "ASSYRIAN DEEDS AND DOCUMENTS" "AN ASSYRIAN DOOMSDAY BOOK" EDINBURGH T. & T. CLARK, 38 GEORGE STREET 1903 PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED FOR T. & T. CLARK, EDINBURGH LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, AND CO. LIMITED NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS FIRST IMPRESSION . . . _February_ 1903. SECOND IMPRESSION . . . _March_ 1903. THIRD IMPRESSION . . . _May_ 1903. FOURTH IMPRESSION . . . _June_ 1903. "The discovery and decipherment of this Code is the greatest event in Biblical Archaeology for many a day. A translation of the Code, done by Mr. Johns of Queens' College, Cambridge, the highest living authority on this department of study, has just been published by Messrs. T. & T. Clark in a cheap and attractive booklet. Winckler says it is the most important Babylonian record which has thus far been brought to light."--_The Expository Times_. INTRODUCTION The Code of Hammurabi is one of the most important monuments in the history of the human race. Containing as it does the laws which were enacted by a king of Babylonia in the third millennium B.C., whose rule extended over the whole of Mesopotamia from the mouths of the rivers Tigris and Euphrates to the Mediterranean coast, we must regard it with interest. But when we reflect that the ancient Hebrew tradition ascribed the migration of Abraham from Ur of the Chaldees to this very period, and clearly means to represent their tribe father as triumphing over this very same Hammurabi (Amraphel, Gen. xiv. 1), we can hardly doubt that these very laws were part of that tradition. At any rate, they must have served to mould and fix the ideas of right throughout that great empire, and so form the state of society in Canaan when, five hundred years later, the Hebrews began to dominate that region. Such was the effect produced on the minds of succeeding generations by this superb codification of the judicial decisions of past ages, which had come to be regarded as 'the right,' that two thousand years and more later it was made a text-book for study in the schools of Babylonia, being divided for that purpose into some twelve chapters, and entitled, after the Semitic custom, _Ninu ilu sirum_, from its opening words. In Assyria also, in the seventh century B.C., it was studied in a different edition, apparently under the name of 'The Judgments of Righteousness which Hammurabi, the great king, set up.' These facts point to it as certain to affect Jewish views before and after the Exile, in a way that we may expect to find as fundamental as the Babylonian influence in cosmology or religion. For many years fragments have been known, have been studied, and from internal evidence ascribed to the period of the first dynasty of Babylon, even called by the name Code Hammurabi. It is just cause for pride that Assyriology, so young a science as only this year to have celebrated the centenary of its birth, is able to emulate astronomy and predict the discovery of such bright stars as this. But while we certainly should have directed our telescopes to Babylonia for the rising of this light from the East, it was really in Elam, at Susa, the old Persepolis, that the find was made. The Elamites were the great rivals of Babylonia for centuries, and it seems likely that some Elamite conqueror carried off the stone from a temple at Sippara, in Babylonia. However that may be, we owe it to the French Government, who have been carrying on explorations at Susa for years under the superintendence of M. J. de Morgan, that a monument, only disinterred in January, has been copied, transcribed, translated, and published, in a superb quarto volume, by October. The ancient text is reproduced by photogravure in a way that enables a student to verify word by word what the able editor, Father V. Scheil, _Professeur a l'Ecole des Hautes-Etudes_, has given as his reading of the archaic signs. The volume, which appears as _Tome IV., Textes Elamites-Semitiques_, of the _Memoires de la Delegation en Perse_ (Paris, Leroux, 1902), is naturally rather expensive for the ordinary reader. Besides, the rendering of the eminent French savant, while distinguished by that clear, neat phrasing which is so charming a feature of all his work, is often rather a paraphrase than a translation. The ordinary reader who desires to estimate for himself the importance of the new monument will be forced to wonder how and why the same word in the original gets such different renderings. Prolonged study will be needed to bring out fully the whole meaning of many passages, and it may conduce to such a result to present the public with an alternative rendering in an English dress. Needless to say, scholars will continue to use Scheil's edition as the ultimate source, but for comparative purposes a literal translation may be welcome as an introduction. The monument itself consists of a block of black diorite, nearly eight feet high, found in pieces, but readily rejoined. It contains on the obverse a very interesting representation of the King Hammurabi, receiving his laws from the seated sun-god Samas, 'the judge of heaven and earth.' Then follow, on the obverse, sixteen columns of writing with 1114 lines. There were five more columns on this side, but they have been erased and the stone repolished, doubtless by the Elamite conqueror, who meant to inscribe his name and titles there. As we have lost those five columns we may regret that he did not actually do this, but there is now no trace of any hint as to who carried off the stone. On the reverse side are twenty-eight columns with more than 2500 lines of inscription. A great space, some 700 lines, is devoted by the king to setting out his titles, his glory, his care for his subjects, his veneration of his gods, and incidentally revealing the cities and districts under his rule, with many interesting hints as to local cults. He also invokes blessing on those who should preserve and respect his monument, and curses those who should injure or remove it. A translation of this portion is not given, as it is unintelligible without copious comment and is quite foreign to the purpose of this book, which aims solely at making the Code intelligible. I desire to express my obligations to Dr. F. Carr for his many kind suggestions as to the meaning of the Code. The Index will, it is hoped, serve more or less as a digest of the Code. One great difficulty of any translation of a law document must always be that the technical expressions of one language cannot be rendered in terms that are co-extensive. The rendering will have implications foreign to the original. An attempt to minimise misconceptions is made by suggesting alternative renderings in the Index. Further, by labelling a certain section, as the law of incest, for example, one definitely fixes the sense in which the translation is to be read. Hence it is hoped that the Index will be no less helpful than the translation in giving readers an idea of what the Code really meant. No doubt this remarkable monument will be made the subject of many valuable monographs in the future, which will greatly elucidate passages now obscure. But it was thought that the interest of the subject warranted an immediate issue of an English translation, which would place the chief features of the Code before a wider public than those who could read the original. The present translation is necessarily tentative in many places, but it is hoped marks an advance over those already published. Dr. H. Winckler's rendering of the Code came into my hands after this work was sent to the publishers, and I have not thought it necessary to withdraw any of my renderings. In some points he has improved upon Professor Scheil's work, in other points he is scarcely so good. But any discussion is not in place here. I gratefully acknowledge my obligations to both, but have used an independent judgment all through. I hope shortly to set out my reasons for the differences between us in a larger work. A few of Dr. Winckler's renderings are quoted in the Index, and marked--Winckler's tr. C. H. W. JOHNS. CAMBRIDGE, _January_ 31, 1903. THE TEXT OF THE CODE section 1. If a man weave a spell and put a ban upon a man, and has not justified himself, he that wove the spell upon him shall be put to death. section 2. If a man has put a spell upon a man, and has not justified himself, he upon whom the spell is laid shall go to the holy river, he shall plunge into the holy river, and if the holy river overcome him, he who wove the spell upon him shall take to himself his house. If the holy river makes that man to be innocent, and has saved him, he who laid the spell upon him shall be put to death. He who plunged into the holy river shall take to himself the house of him who wove the spell upon him. section 3. If a man, in a case pending judgement, has uttered threats against the witnesses, or has not justified the word that he has spoken, if that case be a capital suit, that man shall be put to death. section 4. If he has offered corn or money to the witnesses, he shall himself bear the sentence of that case. section 5. If a judge has judged a judgement, decided a decision, granted a sealed sentence, and afterwards has altered his judgement, that judge, for the alteration of the judgement that he judged, one shall put him to account, and he shall pay twelvefold the penalty which was in the said judgement, and in the assembly one shall expel him from his judgement seat, and he shall not return, and with the judges at a judgement he shall not take his seat. section 6. If a man has stolen the goods of temple or palace, that man shall be killed, and he who has received the stolen thing from his hand shall be put to death. section 7. If a man has bought silver, gold, manservant or maidservant, ox or sheep or ass, or anything whatever its name, from the hand of a man's son, or of a man's slave, without witness and bonds, or has received the same on deposit, that man has acted the thief, he shall be put to death. section 8. If a man has stolen ox or sheep or ass, or pig, or ship, whether from the temple or the palace, he shall pay thirtyfold. If he be a poor man, he shall render tenfold. If the thief has nought to pay, he shall be put to death. section 9. If a man who has lost something of his, something of his that is lost has been seized in the hand of a man, the man in whose hand the lost thing has been seized has said, 'A giver gave it me,' or 'I bought it before witnesses,' and the owner of the thing that is lost has said, 'Verily, I will bring witnesses that know my lost property,' the buyer has brought the giver who gave it him and the witnesses before whom he bought it, and the owner of the lost property has brought the witnesses who know his lost property, the judge shall see their depositions, the witnesses before whom the purchase was made and the witnesses knowing the lost property shall say out before God what they know; and if the giver has acted the thief he shall be put to death, the owner of the lost property shall take his lost property, the buyer shall take the money he paid from the house of the giver. section 10. If the buyer has not brought the giver who gave it him and the witnesses before whom he bought, and the owner of the lost property has brought the witnesses knowing his lost property, the buyer has acted the thief, he shall be put to death; the owner of the lost property shall take his lost property. section 11. If the owner of the lost property has not brought witnesses knowing his lost property, he has lied, he has stirred up strife, he shall be put to death. section 12. If the giver has betaken himself to his fate, the buyer shall take from the house of the giver fivefold as the penalty of that case. section 13. If that man has not his witnesses near, the judge shall set him a fixed time, up to six months, and if within six months he has not driven in his witnesses, that man has lied, he himself shall bear the blame of that case. section 14. If a man has stolen the son of a freeman, he shall be put to death. section 15. If a man has caused either a palace slave or palace maid, or a slave of a poor man or a poor man's maid, to go out of the gate, he shall be put to death. section 16. If a man has harboured in his house a manservant or a maidservant, fugitive from the palace, or a poor man, and has not produced them at the demand of the commandant, the owner of that house shall be put to death. section 17. If a man has captured either a manservant or a maidservant, a fugitive, in the open country and has driven him back to his master, the owner of the slave shall pay him two shekels of silver. section 18. If that slave will not name his owner he shall drive him to the palace, and one shall enquire into his past, and cause him to return to his owner. section 19. If he confine that slave in his house, and afterwards the slave has been seized in his hand, that man shall be put to death. section 20. If the slave has fled from the hand of his captor, that man shall swear by the name of God, to the owner of the slave, and shall go free. section 21. If a man has broken into a house, one shall kill him before the breach and bury him in it (?). section 22. If a man has carried on brigandage, and has been captured, that man shall be put to death. section 23. If the brigand has not been caught, the man who has been despoiled shall recount before God what he has lost, and the city and governor in whose land and district the brigandage took place shall render back to him whatever of his was lost. section 24. If it was a life, the city and governor shall pay one mina of silver to his people. section 25. If in a man's house a fire has been kindled, and a man who has come to extinguish the fire has lifted up his eyes to the property of the owner of the house, and has taken the property of the owner of the house, that man shall be thrown into that fire. section 26. If either a ganger or a constable, whose going on an errand of the king has been ordered, goes not, or hires a hireling and sends him in place of himself, that ganger or constable shall be put to death; his hireling shall take to himself his house. section 27. If a ganger or a constable, who is diverted to the fortresses of the king, and after him one has given his field and his garden to another, and he has carried on his business, if he returns and regains his city, one shall return to him his field and his garden, and he shall carry on his business himself. section 28. If a ganger or a constable who is diverted to the fortresses of the king, his son be able to carry on the business, one shall give him field and garden and he shall carry on his father's business. section 29. If his son is young and is not able to carry on his father's business, one-third of the field and garden shall be given to his mother, and his mother shall rear him. section 30. If a ganger or a constable has left alone his field, or his garden, or his house, from the beginning of his business, and has caused it to be waste, a second after him has taken his field, his garden, or his house, and has gone about his business for three years, if he returns and regains his city, and would cultivate his field, his garden, and his house, one shall not give them to him; he who has taken them and carried on his business shall carry it on. section 31. If it is one year only and he had let it go waste, and he shall return, one shall give his field, his garden, and his house, and he shall carry on his business. section 32. If a ganger or a constable who is diverted on an errand of the king's, a merchant has ransomed him and caused him to regain his city, if in his house there is means for his ransom, he shall ransom his own self; if in his house there is no means for his ransom, he shall be ransomed from the temple of his city; if in the temple of his city there is not means for his ransom, the palace shall ransom him. His field, his garden, and his house shall not be given for his ransom. section 33. If either a governor or a magistrate has taken to himself the men of the levy, or has accepted and sent on the king's errand a hired substitute, that governor or magistrate shall be put to death. section 34. If either a governor or a magistrate has taken to himself the property of a ganger, has plundered a ganger, has given a ganger to hire, has stolen from a ganger in a judgement by high-handedness, has taken to himself the gift the king has given the ganger, that governor or magistrate shall be put to death. section 35. If a man has bought the cattle or sheep which the king has given to the ganger from the hand of the ganger, he shall be deprived of his money. section 36. The field, garden, and house of a ganger, or constable, or a tributary, he shall not give for money. section 37. If a man has bought the field, garden, or house of a ganger, a constable, or a tributary, his tablet shall be broken and he shall be deprived of his money. The field, garden, or house he shall return to its owner. section 38. The ganger, constable, or tributary shall not write off to his wife, or his daughter, from the field, garden, or house of his business, and he shall not assign it for his debt. section 39. From the field, garden, and house which he has bought and acquired, he may write off to his wife or his daughter and give for his debt. section 40. A votary, merchant, or foreign sojourner may sell his field, his garden, or his house; the buyer shall carry on the business of the field, garden, or house which he has bought. section 41. If a man has bartered for the field, garden, or house of a ganger, constable, or tributary, and has given exchanges, the ganger, constable, or tributary shall return to his field, garden, or house, and shall keep the exchanges given him. section 42. If a man has taken a field to cultivate and has not caused the corn to grow in the field, and has not done the entrusted work on the field, one shall put him to account and he shall give corn like its neighbour. section 43. If he has not cultivated the field and has left it to itself, he shall give corn like its neighbour to the owner of the field, and the field he left he shall break up with hoes and shall harrow it and return to the owner of the field. section 44. If a man has taken on hire an unreclaimed field for three years to open out, and has left it aside, has not opened the field, in the fourth year he shall break it up with hoes, he shall hoe it, and harrow it, and return to the owner of the field, and he shall measure out ten _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_. section 45. If a man has given his field for produce to a cultivator, and has received the produce of his field, and afterwards a thunderstorm has ravaged the field or carried away the produce, the loss is the cultivator's. section 46. If he has not received the produce of his field, and has given the field either for one-half or for one-third, the corn that is in the field the cultivator and the owner of the field shall share according to the tenour of their contract. section 47. If the cultivator, because in the former year he did not set up his dwelling, has assigned the field to cultivation, the owner of the field shall not condemn the cultivator; his field has been cultivated, and at harvest time he shall take corn according to his bonds. section 48. If a man has a debt upon him and a thunderstorm ravaged his field or carried away the produce, or the corn has not grown through lack of water, in that year he shall not return corn to the creditor, he shall alter his tablet and he shall not give interest for that year. section 49. If a man has taken money from a merchant and has given to the merchant a field planted with corn or sesame, and said to him, 'Cultivate the field, reap and take for thyself the corn and sesame which there is,' if the cultivator causes to grow corn or sesame in the field, at the time of harvest the owner of the field forsooth shall take the corn or sesame which is in the field and shall give corn for the money which he took from the merchant, and for its interests and for the dwelling of the cultivator, to the merchant. section 50. If the field was cultivated or the field of sesame was cultivated when he gave it, the owner of the field shall take the corn or sesame which is in the field and shall return the money and its interests to the merchant. section 51. If he has not money to return, the sesame, according to its market price for the money and its interest which he took from the merchant, according to the standard fixed by the king, he shall give to the merchant. section 52. If the cultivator has not caused corn or sesame to grow in the field, he shall not alter his bonds. section 53. If a man has neglected to strengthen his bank of the canal, has not strengthened his bank, a breach has opened out itself in his bank, and the waters have carried away the meadow, the man in whose bank the breach has been opened shall render back the corn which he has caused to be lost. section 54. If he is not able to render back the corn, one shall give him and his goods for money, and the people of the meadow whose corn the water has carried away shall share it. section 55. If a man has opened his runnel to water and has neglected it, and the field of his neighbour the waters have carried away, he shall pay corn like his neighbour. section 56. If a man has opened the waters, and the plants of the field of his neighbour the waters have carried away, he shall pay ten _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_. section 57. If a shepherd has caused the sheep to feed on the green corn, has not come to an agreement with the owner of the field, without the consent of the owner of the field has made the sheep feed off the field, the owner shall reap his fields, the shepherd who without consent of the owner of the field has fed off the field with sheep shall give over and above twenty _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_ to the owner of the field. section 58. If from the time that the sheep have gone up from the meadow, and the whole flock has passed through the gate, the shepherd has laid his sheep on the field and has caused the sheep to feed off the field, the shepherd who has made them feed off the field one shall watch, and at harvest time he shall measure out sixty _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_ to the owner of the field. section 59. If a man without the consent of the owner of the orchard has cut down a tree in a man's orchard, he shall pay half a mina of silver. section 60. If a man has given a field to a gardener to plant a garden and the gardener has planted the garden, four years he shall rear the garden, in the fifth year the owner of the garden and the gardener shall share equally, the owner of the garden shall cut off his share and take it. section 61. If the gardener has not included all the field in the planting, has left a waste place, he shall set the waste place in the share which he takes. section 62. If the field which has been given him to plant he has not planted as a garden, if it was corn land, the gardener shall measure out corn to the owner of the field, like its neighbour, as produce of the field for the years that are neglected, and he shall do the ordered work on the field and return to the owner of the field. section 63. If the field was unreclaimed land, he shall do the ordered work on the field and return it to the owner of the field and measure out ten _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_ for each year. section 64. If a man has given his garden to a gardener to farm, the gardener as long as he holds the garden shall give to the owner of the garden two-thirds from the produce of the garden, and he himself shall take one-third. section 65. If the gardener does not farm the garden and has diminished the yield, he shall measure out the yield of the garden like its neighbour. NOTE.--Here five columns of the monument have been erased, only the commencing characters of column xvii. being visible. The subjects of this last part included the further enactments concerning the rights and duties of gardeners, the whole of the regulations concerning houses let to tenants, and the relationships of the merchant to his agents, which continue on the obverse of the monument. [See page 58.] Scheil estimates the lost portion at 35 sections, and following him we recommence with section 100. . . . the interests of the money, as much as he took, he shall write down, and when he has numbered his days he shall answer his merchant. section 101. If where he has gone he has not seen prosperity, he shall make up and return the money he took, and the agent shall give to the merchant. section 102. If a merchant has given to the agent money as a favour, and where he has gone he has seen loss, the full amount of money he shall return to the merchant. section 103. If while he goes on his journey the enemy has made him quit whatever he was carrying, the agent shall swear by the name of God and shall go free. section 104. If the merchant has given to the agent corn, wool, oil, or any sort of goods, to traffic with, the agent shall write down the price and hand over to the merchant; the agent shall take a sealed memorandum of the price which he shall give to the merchant. section 105. If an agent has forgotten and has not taken a sealed memorandum of the money he has given to the merchant, money that is not sealed for, he shall not put in his accounts. section 106. If an agent has taken money from a merchant and his merchant has disputed with him, that merchant shall put the agent to account before God and witnesses concerning the money taken, and the agent shall give to the merchant the money as much as he has taken threefold. section 107. If a merchant has wronged an agent and the agent has returned to his merchant whatever the merchant gave him, the merchant has disputed with the agent as to what the agent gave him, that agent shall put the merchant to account before God and witnesses, and the merchant because he disputed the agent shall give to the agent whatever he has taken sixfold. section 108. If a wine merchant has not received corn as the price of drink, has received silver by the great stone, and has made the price of drink less than the price of corn, that wine merchant one shall put her to account and throw her into the water. section 109. If a wine merchant has collected a riotous assembly in her house and has not seized those rioters and driven them to the palace, that wine merchant shall be put to death. section 110. If a votary, a lady, who is not living in the convent, has opened a wine shop or has entered a wine shop for drink, that woman one shall burn her. section 111. If a wine merchant has given sixty _KA_ of best beer at harvest time for thirst, she shall take fifty _KA_ of corn. section 112. If a man stays away on a journey and has given silver, gold, precious stones, or treasures of his hand to a man, has caused him to take them for transport, and that man whatever was for transport, where he has transported has not given and has taken to himself, the owner of the transported object, that man, concerning whatever he had to transport and gave not, shall put him to account, and that man shall give to the owner of the transported object fivefold whatever was given him. section 113. If a man has corn or money upon a man, and without consent of the owner of the corn has taken corn from the heap or from the store, that man for taking of the corn without consent of the owner of the corn from the heap or from the store, one shall put him to account, and he shall return the corn as much as he has taken, and shall lose all that he gave whatever it be. section 114. If a man has not corn or money upon a man and levies a distraint, for every single distraint he shall pay one-third of a mina. section 115. If a man has corn or money upon a man and has levied a distraint, and the distress in the house of his distrainer dies a natural death, that case has no penalty. section 116. If the distress has died in the house of his distrainer, of blows or of want, the owner of the distress shall put his merchant to account, and if he be the son of a freeman (that has died), his son one shall kill; if the slave of a free-man, he shall pay one-third of a mina of silver, and he shall lose all that he gave whatever it be. section 117. If a man a debt has seized him, and he has given his wife, his son, his daughter for the money, or has handed over to work off the debt, for three years they shall work in the house of their buyer or exploiter, in the fourth year he shall fix their liberty. section 118. If he has handed over a manservant or a maidservant to work off a debt, and the merchant shall remove and sell them for money, no one can object. section 119. If a debt has seized a man, and he has handed over for the money a maidservant who has borne him children, the money the merchant paid him the owner of the maid shall pay, and he shall ransom his maid. section 120. If a man has heaped up his corn in a heap in the house of a man, and in the granary a disaster has taken place, or the owner of the house has opened the granary and taken the corn, or has disputed as to the total amount of the corn that was heaped up in his house, the owner of the corn shall recount his corn before God, the owner of the house shall make up and return the corn which he took and shall give to the owner of the corn. section 121. If a man has heaped up corn in the house of a man, he shall give as the price of storage five _KA_ of corn _per GUR_ of corn _per annum_. section 122. If a man shall give silver, gold, or anything whatever, to a man on deposit, all whatever he shall give he shall shew to witnesses and fix bonds and shall give on deposit. section 123. If without witness and bonds he has given on deposit, and where he has deposited they keep disputing him, this case has no remedy. section 124. If a man has given silver, gold, or anything whatever to a man on deposit before witnesses and he has disputed with him, one shall put that man to account, and whatever he has disputed he shall make up and shall give. section 125. If a man has given anything of his on deposit, and where he gave it, either by housebreaking or by rebellion, something of his has been lost, along with something of the owner of the house, the owner of the house who has defaulted all that was given him on deposit and has been lost, he shall make good and render to the owner of the goods, the owner of the house shall seek out whatever of his is lost and take it from the thief. section 126. If a man has lost nothing of his, but has said that something of his is lost, has exaggerated his loss, since nothing of his is lost, his loss he shall recount before God, and whatever he has claimed he shall make up and shall give to his loss. section 127. If a man has caused the finger to be pointed against a votary, or a man's wife, and has not justified himself, that man they shall throw down before the judge and brand his forehead. section 128. If a man has married a wife and has not laid down her bonds, that woman is no wife. section 129. If the wife of a man has been caught in lying with another male, one shall bind them and throw them into the waters. If the owner of the wife would save his wife or the king would save his servant (he may). section 130. If a man has forced the wife of a man who has not known the male and is dwelling in the house of her father, and has lain in her bosom and one has caught him, that man shall be killed, the woman herself shall go free. section 131. If the wife of a man her husband has accused her, and she has not been caught in lying with another male, she shall swear by God and shall return to her house. section 132. If a wife of a man on account of another male has had the finger pointed at her, and has not been caught in lying with another male, for her husband she shall plunge into the holy river. section 133. If a man has been taken captive and in his house there is maintenance, his wife has gone out from her house and entered into the house of another, because that woman has not guarded her body, and has entered into the house of another, one shall put that woman to account and throw her into the waters. section 134. If a man has been taken captive and in his house there is no maintenance, and his wife has entered into the house of another, that woman has no blame. section 135. If a man has been taken captive and in his house there is no maintenance before her, his wife has entered into the house of another and has borne children, afterwards her husband has returned and regained his city, that woman shall return to her bridegroom, the children shall go after their father. section 136. If a man has left his city and fled, after him his wife has entered the house of another, if that man shall return and has seized his wife, because he hated his city and fled, the wife of the truant shall not return to her husband. section 137. If a man has set his face to put away his concubine who has borne him children or his wife who has granted him children, to that woman he shall return her her marriage portion and shall give her the usufruct of field, garden, and goods, and she shall bring up her children. From the time that her children are grown up, from whatever is given to her children they shall give her a share like that of one son, and she shall marry the husband of her choice. section 138. If a man has put away his bride who has not borne him children, he shall give her money as much as her dowry, and shall pay her the marriage portion which she brought from her father's house, and shall put her away. section 139. If there was no dowry, he shall give her one mina of silver for a divorce. section 140. If he is a poor man, he shall give her one-third of a mina of silver. section 141. If the wife of a man who is living in the house of her husband has set her face to go out and has acted the fool, has wasted her house, has belittled her husband, one shall put her to account, and if her husband has said, 'I put her away,' he shall put her away and she shall go her way, he shall not give her anything for her divorce. If her husband has not said 'I put her away,' her husband shall marry another woman, that woman as a maidservant shall dwell in the house of her husband. section 142. If a woman hates her husband and has said 'Thou shalt not possess me,' one shall enquire into her past what is her lack, and if she has been economical and has no vice, and her husband has gone out and greatly belittled her, that woman has no blame, she shall take her marriage portion and go off to her father's house. section 143. If she has not been economical, a goer about, has wasted her house, has belittled her husband, that woman one shall throw her into the waters. section 144. If a man has espoused a votary, and that votary has given a maid to her husband and has brought up children, that man has set his face to take a concubine, one shall not countenance that man, he shall not take a concubine. section 145. If a man has espoused a votary, and she has not granted him children and he has set his face to take a concubine, that man shall take a concubine, he shall cause her to enter into his house. That concubine he shall not put on an equality with the wife. section 146. If a man has espoused a votary, and she has given a maid to her husband and she has borne children, afterwards that maid has made herself equal with her mistress, because she has borne children her mistress shall not sell her for money, she shall put a mark upon her and count her among the maidservants. section 147. If she has not borne children her mistress may sell her for money. section 148. If a man has married a wife and a sickness has seized her, he has set his face to marry a second wife, he may marry her, his wife whom the sickness has seized he shall not put her away, in the home she shall dwell, and as long as she lives he shall sustain her. section 149. If that woman is not content to dwell in the house of her husband, he shall pay her her marriage portion which she brought from her father's house, and she shall go off. section 150. If a man to his wife has set aside field, garden, house, or goods, has left her a sealed deed, after her husband her children shall not dispute her, the mother after her to her children whom she loves shall give, to brothers she shall not give. section 151. If a woman, who is dwelling in the house of a man, her husband has bound himself that she shall not be seized on account of a creditor of her husband's, has granted a deed, if that man before he married that woman had a debt upon him, the creditor shall not seize his wife, and if that woman before she entered the man's house had a debt upon her, her creditor shall not seize her husband. section 152. If from the time that that woman entered into the house of the man a debt has come upon them, both together they shall answer the merchant. section 153. If a man's wife on account of another male has caused her husband to be killed, that woman upon a stake one shall set her. section 154. If a man has known his daughter, that man one shall expel from the city. section 155. If a man has betrothed a bride to his son and his son has known her, and he afterwards has lain in her bosom and one has caught him, that man one shall bind and cast her into the waters. section 156. If a man has betrothed a bride to his son and his son has not known her, and he has lain in her bosom, he shall pay her half a mina of silver and shall pay to her whatever she brought from her father's house, and she shall marry the husband of her choice. section 157. If a man, after his father, has lain in the bosom of his mother, one shall burn them both of them together. section 158. If a man, after his father, has been caught in the bosom of her that brought him up, who has borne children, that man shall be cut off from his father's house. section 159. If a man who has brought in a present to the house of his father-in-law, has given a dowry, has looked upon another woman, and has said to his father-in-law, 'Thy daughter I will not marry,' the father of the daughter shall take to himself all that he brought him. section 160. If a man has brought in a present to the house of his father-in-law, has given a dowry, and the father of the daughter has said, 'My daughter I will not give thee,' he shall make up and return everything that he brought him. section 161. If a man has brought in a present to the house of his father-in-law, has given a dowry, and a comrade of his has slandered him, his father-in-law has said to the claimant of the wife, 'My daughter thou shalt not espouse,' he shall make up and return all that he brought him, and his comrade shall not marry his wife. section 162. If a man has married a wife and she has borne him children, and that woman has gone to her fate, her father shall have no claim on her marriage portion, her marriage portion is her children's forsooth. section 163. If a man has married a wife, and she has not granted him children, that woman has gone to her fate, if his father-in-law has returned him the dowry that that man brought to the house of his father- in-law, her husband shall have no claim on the marriage portion of that woman, her marriage portion belongs to the house of her father forsooth. section 164. If his father-in-law has not returned him the dowry, he shall deduct all her dowry from his marriage portion and shall return her marriage portion to the house of her father. section 165. If a man has apportioned to his son, the first in his eyes, field, garden, and house, has written him a sealed deed, after the father has gone to his fate, when the brothers divide, the present his father gave him he shall take, and over and above he shall share equally in the goods of the father's house. section 166. If a man, in addition to the children which he has possessed, has taken a wife, for his young son has not taken a wife, after the father has gone to his fate, when the brothers divide, from the goods of the father's house to their young brother who has not taken a wife, beside his share, they shall assign him money as a dowry and shall cause him to take a wife. section 167. If a man has taken a wife, and she has borne him sons, that woman has gone to her fate, after her, he has taken to himself another woman and she has borne children, afterwards the father has gone to his fate, the children shall not share according to their mothers, they shall take the marriage portions of their mothers and shall share the goods of their father's house equally. section 168. If a man has set his face to cut off his son, has said to the judge 'I will cut off my son,' the judge shall enquire into his reasons, and if the son has not committed a heavy crime which cuts off from sonship, the father shall not cut off his son from sonship. section 169. If he has committed against his father a heavy crime which cuts off from sonship, for the first time the judge shall bring back his face; if he has committed a heavy crime for the second time, the father shall cut off his son from sonship. section 170. If a man his wife has borne him sons, and his maidservant has borne him sons, the father in his lifetime has said to the sons which the maidservant has borne him 'my sons,' has numbered them with the sons of his wife, after the father has gone to his fate, the sons of the wife and the sons of the maidservant shall share equally in the goods of the father's house; the sons that are sons of the wife at the sharing shall choose and take. section 171. And if the father in his lifetime, to the sons which the maidservant bore him, has not said 'my sons,' after the father has gone to his fate the sons of the maid shall not share with the sons of the wife in the goods of the father's house, one shall assign the maidservant and her sons freedom; the sons of the wife shall have no claim on the sons of the maidservant for servitude, the wife shall take her marriage portion and the settlement which her husband gave her and wrote in a deed for her and shall dwell in the dwelling of her husband, as long as lives she shall enjoy, for money she shall not give, after her they are her sons' forsooth. section 172. If her husband did not give her a settlement, one shall pay her her marriage portion, and from the goods of her husband's house she shall take a share like one son. If her sons worry her to leave the house, the judge shall enquire into her reasons and shall lay the blame on the sons, that woman shall not go out of her husband's house. If that woman has set her face to leave, the settlement which her husband gave her she shall leave to her sons, the marriage portion from her father's house she shall take and she shall marry the husband of her choice. section 173. If that woman where she has entered shall have borne children to her later husband after that woman has died, the former and later sons shall share her marriage portion. section 174. If she has not borne children to her later husband, the sons of her bridegroom shall take her marriage portion. section 175. If either the slave of the palace or the slave of the poor man has taken to wife the daughter of a gentleman, and she has borne sons, the owner of the slave shall have no claim on the sons of the daughter of a gentleman for servitude. section 176. And if a slave of the palace or the slave of a poor man has taken to wife the daughter of a gentleman and, when he married her, with a marriage portion from her father's house she entered into the house of the slave of the palace, or of the slave of the poor man, and from the time that they started to keep house and acquired property, after either the servant of the palace or the servant of the poor man has gone to his fate, the daughter of the gentleman shall take her marriage portion, and whatever her husband and she from the time they started have acquired one shall divide in two parts and the owner of the slave shall take one-half, the daughter of a gentleman shall take one-half for her children. If the gentleman's daughter had no marriage portion, whatever her husband and she from the time they started have acquired one shall divide into two parts, and the owner of the slave shall take half, the gentleman's daughter shall take half for her sons. section 177. If a widow whose children are young has set her face to enter into the house of another, without consent of a judge she shall not enter. When she enters into the house of another the judge shall enquire into what is left of her former husband's house, and the house of her former husband to her later husband, and that woman he shall entrust and cause them to receive a deed. They shall keep the house and rear the little ones. Not a utensil shall they give for money. The buyer that has bought a utensil of a widow's sons shall lose his money and shall return the property to its owners. section 178. If a lady, votary, or a vowed woman whose father has granted her a marriage portion, has written her a deed, in the deed he has written her has not, however, written her 'after her wherever is good to her to give,' has not permitted her all her choice, after the father has gone to his fate, her brothers shall take her field and her garden, and according to the value of her share shall give her corn, oil, and wool, and shall content her heart. If her brothers have not given her corn, oil, and wool according to the value of her share, and have not contented her heart, she shall give her field or her garden to a cultivator, whoever pleases her, and her cultivator shall sustain her. The field, garden, or whatever her father has given her she shall enjoy as long as she lives, she shall not give it for money, she shall not answer to another, her sonship is her brothers' forsooth. section 179. If a lady, a votary, or a woman vowed, whose father has granted her a marriage portion, has written her a deed, in the deed he wrote her has written her 'after her wherever is good to her to give,' has allowed to her all her choice, after the father has gone to his fate, after her wherever is good to her she shall give, her brothers have no claim on her. section 180. If a father to his daughter a votary, bride, or vowed woman has not granted a marriage portion, after the father has gone to his fate, she shall share in the goods of the father's house a share like one son, as long as she lives she shall enjoy, after her it is her brothers' forsooth. section 181. If a father has vowed to God a votary, hierodule, or _NU- BAR_, and has not granted her a marriage portion, after the father has gone to his fate she shall share in the goods of the father's house one- third of her sonship share and shall enjoy it as long as she lives, after her it is her brothers' forsooth. section 182. If a father, to his daughter, a votary of Marduk, of Babylon, has not granted her a marriage portion, has not written her a deed, after the father has gone to his fate, she shall share with her brothers in the goods of the father's house, one-third of her sonship share, and shall pay no tax; a votary of Marduk, after her, shall give wherever it is good to her. section 183. If a father to his daughter, a concubine, has granted her a marriage portion, has given her to a husband, has written her a deed, after the father has gone to his fate, she shall not share in the goods of the father's house. section 184. If a man to his daughter, a concubine, has not granted a marriage portion, has not given her to a husband, after the father has gone to his fate, her brothers according to the capacity of the father's house, shall grant her a marriage portion and shall give her to a husband. section 185. If a man has taken a young child 'from his waters' to sonship, and has reared him up, no one has any claim against that nursling. section 186. If a man has taken a young child to sonship, and when he took him his father and mother rebelled, that nursling shall return to his father's house. section 187. The son of a _NER-SE-GA_, a palace warder, or the son of a vowed woman no one has any claim upon. section 188. If an artisan has taken a son to bring up, and has caused him to learn his handicraft, no one has any claim. section 189. If he has not caused him to learn his handicraft, that nursling shall return to his father's house. section 190. If a man the child whom he took to his sonship and has brought him up, has not numbered him with his sons, that nursling shall return to his father's house. section 191. If a man, after a young child whom he has taken to his sonship and brought him up, has made a house for himself and acquired children, and has set his face to cut off the nursling, that child shall not go his way, the father that brought him up shall give to him from his goods one-third of his sonship, and he shall go off; from field, garden, and house he shall not give him. section 192. If a son of a palace warder, or of a vowed woman, to the father that brought him up, and the mother that brought him up, has said 'thou art not my father, thou art not my mother,' one shall cut out his tongue. section 193. If a son of a palace warder, or of a vowed woman, has known his father's house, and has hated the father that brought him up or the mother that brought him up, and has gone off to the house of his father, one shall tear out his eye. section 194. If a man has given his son to a wet nurse, that son has died in the hand of the wet nurse, the wet nurse without consent of his father and his mother has procured another child, one shall put her to account, and because, without consent of his father and his mother, she has procured another child, one shall cut off her breasts. section 195. If a man has struck his father, his hands one shall cut off. section 196. If a man has caused the loss of a gentleman's eye, his eye one shall cause to be lost. section 197. If he has shattered a gentleman's limb, one shall shatter his limb. section 198. If he has caused a poor man to lose his eye or shattered a poor man's limb, he shall pay one mina of silver. section 199. If he has caused the loss of the eye of a gentleman's servant or has shattered the limb of a gentleman's servant, he shall pay half his price. section 200. If a man has made the tooth of a man that is his equal to fall out, one shall make his tooth fall out. section 201. If he has made the tooth of a poor man to fall out, he shall pay one-third of a mina of silver. section 202. If a man has struck the strength of a man who is great above him, he shall be struck in the assembly with sixty strokes of a cow- hide whip. section 203. If a man of gentle birth has struck the strength of a man of gentle birth who is like himself, he shall pay one mina of silver. section 204. If a poor man has struck the strength of a poor man, he shall pay ten shekels of silver. section 205. If a gentleman's servant has struck the strength of a free- man, one shall cut off his ear. section 206. If a man has struck a man in a quarrel, and has caused him a wound, that man shall swear 'I do not strike him knowing' and shall answer for the doctor. section 207. If he has died of his blows, he shall swear, and if he be of gentle birth he shall pay half a mina of silver. section 208. If he be the son of a poor man, he shall pay one-third of a mina of silver. section 209. If a man has struck a gentleman's daughter and caused her to drop what is in her womb, he shall pay ten shekels of silver for what was in her womb. section 210. If that woman has died, one shall put to death his daughter. section 211. If the daughter of a poor man through his blows he has caused to drop that which is in her womb, he shall pay five shekels of silver. section 212. If that woman has died, he shall pay half a mina of silver. section 213. If he has struck a gentleman's maidservant and caused her to drop that which is in her womb, he shall pay two shekels of silver. section 214. If that maidservant has died, he shall pay one-third of a mina of silver. section 215. If a doctor has treated a gentleman for a severe wound with a bronze lancet and has cured the man, or has opened an abscess of the eye for a gentleman with the bronze lancet and has cured the eye of the gentleman, he shall take ten shekels of silver. section 216. If he (the patient) be the son of a poor man, he shall take five shekels of silver. section 217. If he be a gentleman's servant, the master of the servant shall give two shekels of silver to the doctor. section 218. If the doctor has treated a gentleman for a severe wound with a lancet of bronze and has caused the gentleman to die, or has opened an abscess of the eye for a gentleman with the bronze lancet and has caused the loss of the gentleman's eye, one shall cut off his hands. section 219. If a doctor has treated the severe wound of a slave of a poor man with a bronze lancet and has caused his death, he shall render slave for slave. section 220. If he has opened his abscess with a bronze lancet and has made him lose his eye, he shall pay money, half his price. section 221. If a doctor has cured the shattered limb of a gentleman, or has cured the diseased bowel, the patient shall give five shekels of silver to the doctor. section 222. If it is the son of a poor man, he shall give three shekels of silver. section 223. If a gentleman's servant, the master of the slave shall give two shekels of silver to the doctor. section 224. If a cow doctor or a sheep doctor has treated a cow or a sheep for a severe wound and cured it, the owner of the cow or sheep shall give one-sixth of a shekel of silver to the doctor as his fee. section 225. If he has treated a cow or a sheep for a severe wound and has caused it to die, he shall give a quarter of its price to the owner of the ox or sheep. section 226. If a brander without consent of the owner of the slave has branded a slave with an indelible mark, one shall cut off the hands of that brander. section 227. If a man has deceived the brander, and has caused him to brand an indelible mark on the slave, that man one shall kill him and bury him in his house, the brander shall swear, 'Not knowing I branded him,' and shall go free. section 228. If a builder has built a house for a man and has completed it, he shall give him as his fee two shekels of silver _per SAR_ of house. section 229. If a builder has built a house for a man and has not made strong his work, and the house he built has fallen, and he has caused the death of the owner of the house, that builder shall be put to death. section 230. If he has caused the son of the owner of the house to die, one shall put to death the son of that builder. section 231. If he has caused the slave of the owner of the house to die, he shall give slave for slave to the owner of the house. section 232. If he has caused the loss of goods, he shall render back whatever he has caused the loss of, and because he did not make strong the house he built, and it fell, from his own goods he shall rebuild the house that fell. section 233. If a builder has built a house for a man, and has not jointed his work, and the wall has fallen, that builder at his own cost shall make good that wall. section 234. If a boatman has navigated a ship of sixty _GUR_ for a man, he shall give him two shekels of silver for his fee. section 235. If a boatman has navigated a ship for a man and has not made his work trustworthy, and in that same year that he worked that ship it has suffered an injury, the boatman shall exchange that ship or shall make it strong at his own expense and shall give a strong ship to the owner of the ship. section 236. If a man has given his ship to a boatman, on hire, and the boatman has been careless, has grounded the ship, or has caused it to be lost, the boatman shall render ship for ship to the owner. section 237. If a man has hired a boatman and ship, and with corn, wool, oil, dates, or whatever it be as freight, has freighted her, that boatman has been careless and grounded the ship, or has caused what is in her to be lost, the boatman shall render back the ship which he has grounded and whatever in her he has caused to be lost. section 238. If a boatman has grounded the ship of a man and has refloated her, he shall give money to half her price. section 239. If a man has hired a boatman, he shall give him six _GUR_ of corn per year. section 240. If a ship that is going forward has struck a ship at anchor and has sunk her, the owner of the ship that has been sunk whatever he has lost in his ship shall recount before God, and that of the ship going forward which sunk the ship at anchor shall render to him his ship and whatever of his was lost. section 241. If a man has taken an ox on distraint, he shall pay one- third of a mina of silver. section 242. If a man has hired a working ox for one year, he shall pay four _GUR_ of corn as its hire. section 243. If a milch cow, he shall give three _GUR_ of corn to its owner. section 244. If a man has hired an ox or sheep and a lion has killed it in the open field, that loss is for its owner forsooth. section 245. If a man has hired an ox and through neglect or by blows has caused it to die, ox for ox to the owner of the ox he shall render. section 246. If a man has hired an ox and has crushed its foot or has cut its nape, ox for ox to the owner of the ox he shall render. section 247. If a man has hired an ox and has caused it to lose its eye, he shall pay half its price to the owner of the ox. section 248. If a man has hired an ox, and has crushed its horn, cut off its tail, or pierced its nostrils, he shall pay a quarter of its price. section 249. If a man has hired an ox, and God has struck it and it has died, the man who has hired the ox shall swear before God and shall go free. section 250. If a wild bull in his charge has gored a man and caused him to die, that case has no remedy. section 251. If the ox has pushed a man, by pushing has made known his vice, and he has not blunted his horn, has not shut up his ox, and that ox has gored a man of gentle birth and caused him to die, he shall pay half a mina of silver. section 252. If a gentleman's servant, he shall pay one-third of a mina of silver. section 253. If a man has hired a man to reside in his field and has furnished him seed, has entrusted him the oxen and harnessed them for cultivating the field--if that man has stolen the corn or plants, and they have been seized in his hands, one shall cut off his hands. section 254. If he has taken the seed, worn out the oxen, from the seed which he has hoed he shall restore. section 255. If he has hired out the oxen of the man or has stolen the corn and has not caused it to grow in the field, that man one shall put him to account and he shall measure out sixty _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_ of land. section 256. If his compensation he is not able to pay, one shall remove the oxen from that field. section 257. If a man has hired a harvester, he shall give him eight _GUR_ of corn per year. section 258. If a man has hired an ox-driver, he shall give him six _GUR_ of corn per year. section 259. If a man has stolen a watering machine from the meadow, he shall give five shekels of silver to the owner of the watering machine. section 260. If he has stolen a watering bucket or a harrow, he shall pay three shekels of silver. section 261. If a man has hired a herdsman for the cows or a shepherd for the sheep, he shall give him eight _GUR_ of corn _per annum_. section 262. If a man, ox, or sheep to [this section is defaced]. section 263. If he has caused an ox or sheep which was given him to be lost, ox for ox, sheep for sheep, he shall render to their owner. section 264. If a herdsman who has had cows or sheep given him to shepherd, has received his hire, whatever was agreed, and his heart was contented, has diminished the cows, diminished the sheep, lessened the offspring, he shall give offspring and produce according to the tenour of his bonds. section 265. If a shepherd to whom cows and sheep have been given him to breed, has falsified and changed their price, or has sold them, one shall put him to account, and he shall render cows and sheep to their owner tenfold what he has stolen. section 266. If in a sheepfold a stroke of God has taken place or a lion has killed, the shepherd shall purge himself before God, and the accident to the fold the owner of the fold shall face it. section 267. If a shepherd has been careless and in a sheepfold caused a loss to take place, the shepherd shall make good the fault of the loss which he has caused to be in the fold and shall pay cows or sheep and shall give to their owner. section 268. If a man has hired an ox, for threshing, twenty _KA_ of corn is its hire. section 269. If he has hired an ass, for threshing, ten _KA_ of corn is its hire. section 270. If he has hired a calf (goat?), for threshing, one _KA_ of corn is its hire. section 271. If a man has hired oxen, a wagon, and its driver, he shall give one hundred and eighty _KA_ of corn _per diem_. section 272. If a man has hired a wagon by itself, he shall give forty _KA_ of corn _per diem_. section 273. If a man has hired a labourer, from the beginning of the year till the fifth month, he shall give six _SE_ of silver _per diem_; from the sixth month to the end of the year, he shall give five _SE_ of silver _per diem_. section 274. If a man shall hire an artisan-- (_a_) the hire of a . . . five _SE_ of silver (_b_) the hire of a brickmaker five _SE_ of silver (_c_) the hire of a tailor . five _SE_ of silver (_d_) the hire of a stone-cutter . _SE_ of silver (_e_) the hire of a . . . _SE_ of silver (_f_) the hire of a . . . _SE_ of silver (_g_) the hire of a carpenter four _SE_ of silver (_h_) the hire of a . . . four _SE_ of silver (_i_) the hire of a . . . _SE_ of silver (_j_) the hire of a builder. . . _SE_ of silver _per diem_ he shall give. section 275. If a man has hired a (boat?) _per diem_, her hire is three _SE_ of silver. section 276. If a man has hired a fast ship, he shall give two and a half _SE_ of silver _per diem_ as her hire. section 277. If a man has hired a ship of sixty _GUR_, he shall give one- sixth of a shekel of silver _per diem_ as her hire. section 278. If a man has bought a manservant or a maidservant, and he has not fulfilled his month and the _bennu_ sickness has fallen upon him, he shall return him to the seller, and the buyer shall take the money he paid. section 279. If a man has bought a manservant or a maidservant and has a complaint, his seller shall answer the complaint. section 280. If a man has bought in a foreign land the manservant or the maidservant of a man, when he has come into the land, and the owner of the manservant or the maidservant has recognised his manservant or his maidservant, if the manservant or maidservant are natives without price he shall grant them their freedom. section 281. If they are natives of another land the buyer shall tell out before God the money he paid, and the owner of the manservant or the maidservant shall give to the merchant the money he paid, and shall recover his manservant or his maidservant. section 282. If a slave has said to his master 'Thou art not my master,' as his slave one shall put him to account and his master shall cut off his ear. * * * * * The judgements of righteousness which Hammurabi the mighty king confirmed and caused the land to take a sure guidance and a gracious rule. The following three sections, which are known to belong to the Code from copies made for an Assyrian king in the seventh century B.C., are given here for the sake of completeness. They obviously come within the space once occupied by the five erased columns. section X. If a man has taken money from a merchant and has given a plantation of dates to the merchant, has said to him, 'The dates that are in my plantation take for thy money,' that merchant shall not agree, the dates that are in the plantation the owner of the plantation shall take, and he shall answer to the merchant for the money and its interests according to the tenour of his bond. The dates that are over, which are in the plantation, the owner of the plantation shall take forsooth. section Y. . . . the man dwelling (in the house) has given to the owner (of the house) the money of its rent in full for the year, the owner of the house has ordered the dweller to go out when his days are not full, the owner of the house, because he has ordered the dweller to leave when his days are not full, (shall give) of the money which the dweller gave him. . . . section Z. If a man has to pay, in money or corn, but has not money or corn to pay with, but has goods, whatever is in his hands, before witnesses, according to what he has brought, he shall give to his merchant. The merchant shall not object, he shall receive it. INDEX _The numbers refer to the sections of the Code_. Abatement, of rent, for loss of crop, 45, 46. of interest, 48. Accidental loss, by storm or deluge, falls on tenant, 45. shared by landlord, if before rent is paid, 46. by drought, storm, or deluge, postpones payment of debt, 48. Adjournment, for production of witnesses, 13. not to exceed six months, 13. Adoption, of natural son, 185. of child of living parents, 186. parents may object, 186. votary or palace official cannot object, 187. by artisan, 188. no one can reclaim child, if he has been taught handicraft, 188. otherwise can be reclaimed, 189. adopted son must be formally acknowledged, 190. if not, returns to real parents on death of adoptive father, 190. adopted son cannot be cut off without legal process, 191. has one-third child's share, 191. but no part of estate, 191. repudiation by adopted son severely punished, 192 ff. Adultery, 129. penalty, drowning, 129. Agent, relation to principal or merchant-- must keep accounts, 100. of money received, 100. of interest due, 100. if unsuccessful, repays capital only, 101. if a loser, repays capital in full, 102. if robbed, can be excused payment, 103. must keep account of goods, 104. stating money value, 104. take inventory, 104. give receipt, 104. pays threefold for his defaults, 106. Allotment, to ganger, constable, or tributary, 30. _See_ Benefice. Allowances, to divorced wife, 137. usufruct of field, garden, and goods. Alteration of date for repayment, 48. called 'wetting tablet,' 48. Approving lease, 44. _See_ Lease. Assault, of gentleman by gentleman, 202, 203. in a quarrel, 206. of poor man by poor man, 204. of gentleman by slave, 205. of pregnant woman, causing miscarriage-- gentle woman, 209. poor woman, 211. slave, 213. causing her death-- gentle woman, 210. poor woman, 212. slave, 214. _See_ under Fines. Assessment of damages-- by sheep to growing crops, 57. ,, to ripe crops, 58. for cutting down tree in orchard, 59. for not carrying out terms of lease, 42, 44. for assault. _See_ Fines. for carelessness. _See_ Neglect. for culpable lack of skill. _See_ Doctor. Assignment for debt-- of bare field, 49. of corn field, 50. of date plantation, X. of crop, Y. of wife, child, or slave, to work off debt, 115. Average yield, assessed damages, 42, 43, 44, 55, 62, 65. Backbiting, 161. Bailiff. _See_ Reeve, Ganger, Constable, Benefice. Bailment, without witness or deed-- from domestic inferior=theft, 7. Banishment. _See_ Exile. Bearing sentence sought to be obtained. _See_ Retaliation. Benefice, the land, house, garden, and stock-- assigned by king to ganger, constable, or tributary, 30. inalienable, 32, 36, 37. sale, or purchase, forbidden, 35. price paid forfeited, 35. not to be exchanged, 41. not to be devised to females, 38. may be deputed, 27. hereditary, 28. forfeited, by disuse, 30. may not be pledged, 38. saleable to other official (?), 40. Betrothed, maiden lived in father's house, 130. Bigamy, in ignorance, 135. Blood money. _See_ Wit. Boatmen, their duties and privileges, 234-241. same word denotes boat-builder (Winckler's tr.). Boats, passenger, 276. freight boat, 277. building, 234. of 60 _GUR_, built, 234 (Winckler's tr.) collision of, 241. wreck of, 235, 236. Bond, a written deed or contract-- needed for legal purchase, 7. for debt, 52. for storage, 122. for legal marriage, 128. shepherd's, 264. Branding, brander, 226, 227. on forehead, for slander, 127. slave without consent of owner, 226, 227. Brawling, in wine shop, 109. Breach of contract-- by lessee, 42, 44, 256. _See_ Lease, Metayer, Neglect. of promise, 159. Breasts, cut off, 194. Bride-price, a present to prospective father-in-law-- usually returned with wife to bridegroom, 163. given back by husband to divorced wife, if not a mother, 138. returned to suitor, if not accepted, 160, 161. forfeited if suitor changes his mind, 159. if not given back to bridegroom with wife, deducted from marriage portion repaid to father-in-law, on death of wife, without children, 164. assessed at one mina of silver, for gentleman, 139. ,, one-third mina, for poor man, 139. to be set aside for unmarried son, by his brothers, on division of father's property, 166. Brothel (?). _See_ Wine shop. Builder's duties and privileges, 228. of boats, 234 (Winckler's tr.). Burning, as penalty-- for votary, opening or entering wine shop, 110. man and mother in incest, 157. thief at fire, 25. Business. _See_ Agent, Merchant, Office. Buyer of benefice must discharge duties, 40. Calling to account, 42, 108, 112, 113, 116, 124, 133, 141, 194, 255, 265. Capital suit, 3. Captives, 133, 280. Carrier's privileges and responsibilities, 112. Cattle, damage _feasant pauperies_, 57. Changeling, foisted on parents, 194. Charges, for warehousing, 121. one-sixtieth value, 121. Children. _See_ Custody, Mother, Remarriage, Widow. born of wife remarried, uuder impression her husband was dead, stay with second husband, 135. not to dispute mother's settlement, 150. share equally at father's death, 165. reserving settlements by deed, 165. of second marriage to be furnished with bride-price, or portion, 166. of different mothers, share separately own mother's portions, 167. but father's property equally, 167. of bride and maid share equally, if latter acknowledged as sons in father's lifetime, former having preference, 170. otherwise, children of maid do not share, 171. of slave woman and free father are free, 171. of slave man and free mother are free, 175. these take half father's goods at death, 175. Collision, 241. Commission, trade on, 100-105. _See_ Agent, Merchant. Compensation, for eviction of tenant, Y. for highway robbery, 23. Composition, for loss of life, 224. for bride-price, 139. Concubine, divorced, 137. not allowed, if wife provides maid, 144. allowed, if votary wife has no children, 145. not to rival wife, 145. father may give daughter as, 183. and give marriage portion, 183. if so, she has no share of his goods at his death, 183. otherwise, brothers must give her a portion, 184. Conjugal rights, denial of, 142. Conscript. _See_ Militia. Constable, or bailiff, runner, 36-41. not to depute duty, 26. in enforced absence on royal business, 27. may depute, and resume on return, 27. son may be deputy, 28. provision for child, in absence, 29. neglect of benefice, 30. three years' limit, 30. one year does not forfeit, 31. captured abroad on king's business, 32. to be ransomed, 32. benefice inalienable, 33. benefice protected, 34. not to be hired out, 35. plundered, 35. oppressed, 35. sale of benefice illegal, 35. benefice not to be exchanged, 41. Contract. _See_ Bond. Corn land, 62. Corporate liability, 23, 32. Corvee. _See_ Militia. Courtship, 159, 161. Cow, in milk, hire of, 243. Creditor. _See also_ Merchant. must not ill treat pledge for debt, 116. must release at end of three years, 117. may sell pledged slave, on removal, 118. may not repay himself from debtor's goods, 113. Crop, assigned for debt, 51. sold at king's price, 51. Crown, man's. _See_ Strength. Cultivation of fields-- operations needful, 43. Custody of child, in mother, 29. Cutting down trees-- assessment of damage, half mina of silver per tree, 59. Damage to crops, by sheep-- assessed at twenty _GUR per GAN_, 57. to ripe crops, at sixty _GUR per GAN_, 58. by flooding field, 56. by cutting down trees, assessed at half mina of silver per tree, 59. Damages, for breach of contract, 42, 44. for eviction from purchase, 12. for eviction from house, Y. _Damnum sine injuria_, 115, 118, 123, 250. Date palm, plantation of, X. Daughter cannot inherit benefice, 38. Death penalty, inflicted for-- witchcraft, 1. threatening witnesses, 3. perjury, 3. theft, 4. receiving stolen goods, 4. buying from domestic inferior, 7. taking on deposit from domestic inferior, 7. in default of multiple restitution, for theft of second order, 8. appropriation of lost properly, 9. selling lost property, 10. vexatious claim of property as lost, 11. kidnapping, 14. procuring desertion of slave, 15. harbouring fugitive slave, 18. ,, of defaulting militia, 16. detaining fugitive slave, 18. keeping recaptured slave, 19. housebreaking, 21. highway robbery, 22. theft at fire, 25. allowing seditious brawling in wine shop, 109. rape of betrothed maiden, 130. for ganger, constable, neglecting duty, 26. ,, ,, sending substitutes, 26. causing death of pregnant woman by assault, 210. for getting a slave branded unknown to owner, 227. for building so badly as to cause death of owner, 229. _See also_ Burning, Drowning, Impalement. Death of defendant, 12. Debt, abatement for damage by storm, deluge, and drought, 48. not to be repaid from debtor's goods, without his consent, 113. hostages for, 117. to be well treated, 118. released after three years, 117. of man before marriage, not binding on wife, 151. of woman before marriage, not binding on husband, 151. of both after marriage, binding on both, 151. Debtor's risk, 48. privileged to pay in kind, Z. Defamation, 161. Deferred foreclosure, 48. Degradation from office, 5. Deification of river Euphrates, 2. _Delegatus non potest delegare_, 26, 33. Deposit. _See_ Storage, Trust, Warehouse, 7. not recoverable unless witnessed and sealed for, 123. from domestic inferior, illegal without witnessed contract, 7. Desertion, by husband, of wife-- involuntary, 133. of city and wife, 136. of adoptive parents, 193. Detention of fugitive slave punished, 19. Disinheritance, for incest, 159. of son, 168. not without legal process and for good cause, 168. Distraint for debt, 114, 115. unjustified, fine one-third mina of silver, each time, 114. death of person taken in, 115, 110. not allowed on warehoused goods, 120. of working ox fined, 241. District liable, for highway robbery, 23. for ransom of official, 32. Diverted to, perhaps 'captured in,' Winckler's tr. Divorce, 137, 138. wife takes her bride-price, 137. or fixed sum, one mina of silver from gentleman, 139. or fixed sum, one-third mina from poor man, 140. Doctor, privileges and responsibilities, 215-221. fees for cures, 215, 221. causes death, 218-220. paid by assailant, 206. Domestic inferior. _See_ Minor. Dowry. _See_ Bride-price. Drowning, as penalty for-- selling drink too cheap, 109. adultery, 129. bad wife, 143. incest with daughter-in-law, 155. deserting husband's house in his enforced absence, being provided with proper maintenance, 133. Dyke, 53. Ear cut off as penalty, 205. Endowment of office. _See_ Benefice. Equals, assault of, 200, 203, 206. Evicted purchaser reimbursed, 9. tenant reimbursed, Y. Exchange, of benefice illegal, 41. Exile, penalty for incest, 154. Eye, torn out as penalty, 193. struck out in assault, 196. disease of, 215. cure of, fee for, ten shekels of silver, 215. loss of eye, assessed at five shekels of silver, 220. False judgement, penalty for, 5. claims for money or goods, 106, 107, 126. accusation of adultery, 131. Farm. _See_ Lease. Fatal assault of gentleman by gentleman, 207. of gentleman by poor man, 208. Favourite son, may be gifted by father, 165. in his lifetime, 165. by written deed, 165. other children no claim against, 165. takes equal share with them on father's death, 165. Fees for curing wound, or disease of eye, by surgical operation-- gentleman pays ten shekels of silver, 215. poor man pays five shekels of silver, 216. slave pays two shekels of silver, 216. cure of broken limb or diseased bowel-- gentleman pays five shekels, 221. poor man pays three shekels, 222. slave pays two shekels, 223. cure of bad wound of ox or sheep, one-sixth of shekel, 224. for building house, two shekels _per SAR_, 228. to boatman for navigating boat, two shekels, 234. warehousing goods, one-sixtieth value, 121. Fines imposed for-- unlawful distraint, one-third mina, 114. seducing daughter-in-law before marriage, half mina, 156. aggravated assault, gentleman on gentleman, one mina, 203. aggravated assault, poor man on poor man, ten shekels, 204. fatal wound in quarrel, gentleman to gentleman, half mina, 207. fatal wound in quarrel, poor man to poor man, third mina, 208. assault on pregnant gentlewoman, causing miscarriage, ten shekels, 209. assault on pregnant poor woman, causing miscarriage, five shekels, 211. assault on pregnant slave, causing miscarriage, two shekels, 213. assault on pregnant poor woman, causing her death, half mina, 212. assault on pregnant slave, causing her death, third mina, 214. causing death of ox or sheep, by careless operation, quarter price, 225. distraint on working ox, one-third mina, 241. mutilation of hired ox, quarter price, 248. letting vicious ox gore a man to death, half mina, 251. stealing corn or plants, on metayer, sixty _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_, 255. letting oxen, taken on metayer, sixty _GUR_ of corn _per GAN_, 255. theft of watering machine, five shekels, 259. theft of water bucket, or plough, (harrow?), three shekels, 260. (_N.B_.--Fines reckoned in silver, 60 shekels to the mina.) Fires, theft at, 25. Floods, 45, 46, 48. Forfeit of price paid in illegal purchase, 35, 37, 177. oxen and field, for neglect to cultivate, 256. Forfeiture of claim-- by self-help, 113. by cruelty, 116. Fortress of the king, may be 'defeat of the king,' Winckler's tr. Foster mother, duties and liabilities, 194. Freedom, of hostage for debt, after three years, 117. to marry, as she chooses, on part of divorced wife, after bringing up children, 137. daughter-in-law, seduced before marriage, 158. widow, leaving settlement to children, 172. Free-men sold into slavery, to pay fine, 54. Fugitive, slave, 16, 17. poor man, 16. Ganger, associated with constable, _q.v_. Gentleman, one of three estates, contrasted with poor man and slave, 196, 197, 199, etc. Gift. _See_ Favourite son. Goring by ox, 250, 251. Gouging out eye, 196. penalty, 196, 198. Governor, duties and liabilities, 23, 33 ff. not to delegate duty, 34. nor accept substitute, 34. not to oppress subordinates, 35. Granary, 113. Guilty knowledge, by buyer of stolen goods, 10. Hand of God, 45, 46, 48. Hands cut off, penalty for-- striking father, 195. causing death by careless operation on free-man, 218. branding slave, without owner's knowledge, 226. Harbouring, fugitive slave, 16. militiaman, or conscript, 16. Herdsmen. _See_ Shepherds. Highway robbery, 22. _See_ Robbery. Hire, of land, house, garden. _See_ Lease. scale fixed by king, 44, 51. wages fixed for-- boatman, 6 _GUR_ of corn _per annum_, 239. working ox, 4 ,, ,, 242. cow in milk, (?) 3 ,, ,, 243. reaper 8 ,, ,, 257. thresher 6 ,, ,, 258. herdman, or shepherd, 8 ,, ,, 261. ox, for threshing, 20 _KA_ of corn _per diem_, 268. ass, for threshing, 10 ,, ,, 269. calf, for threshing, 1 _KA_ ,, ,, 270. oxen, wagon, and driver, 180 ,, ,, 271. wagon alone, 40 ,, ,, 272. labourer, first five months, 6 _SE_ silver ,, 273. ,, last seven months, 5 ,, ,, 273. artisan, 5 ,, ,, 274. brickmaker, 5 ,, ,, 274. tailor, 5 ,, ,, 274. stonecutter, 5 (?) ,, ,, 274. milkman, 5 ,, ,, 274. carpenter, 4 ,, ,, 274. a _SA_, 4 ,, ,, 274. boat, 3 ,, ,, 275. passenger boat, 2.5 ,, ,, 276. freight boat of 60 _GUR_, 1/6 shekel ,, 277. (_N.B_.--In corn measure, 1 _GUR_=300 _KA_, worth one shekel of silver, and one shekel=80 _SE_. Hostage for debt. _See_ Mancipium. Housebreaking, 21, 125. Husband. _See_ Re-marriage, Wife, Divorce, Separation. Hypothecation, of crop, regulated, 49. Identification of lost property, 9. Ignorance, plea of, 206, 227. Illegal purchase, 35, 37. Impalement, as penalty, 153. for procuring husband's death, 153. Incest, 154-158. of man and daughter, 154. of man and daughter-in-law, 155, 156. of man and mother, 157. of man and stepmother, 158. Inheritance. _See_ Share. Innocent wife, separation from bad husband, 142. _See_ Separation. Interest on loan, etc., 49, 50, 100, X. abatement, 48. Intimidation of witnesses, 3. Jilting, 159. Judge, duties and liabilities, 5, 9, 127, 167, 168, 172, 177. Judgement, false. _See_ False. by default, 10. Kidnapping, 14. King's standard, 44, 51. _See_ Hire, Scale. Lancet, bronze, used in surgical operations, 215, 218, 220. Landlord's risks, 46. Lease, of house, Y. field to cultivate, 42. ,, to reclaim, three years, 44. ,, to plant as garden, five years, 60. garden to till, 64. terms, not invalidated by neglect, 52. damages for not carrying _out_ terms, 63. _See_ Metayer. Levy. _See_ Militia. _Lex talionis_. _See_ Retaliation. Libel. _See_ Slander. Lion, referred to, 244, 266. Local liability for-- compensation for highway robbery, 23, 24. redemption of captive official, 32. Loss, by burglary or rebellion, 125. of hired animal, by lion, 244. ,, by neglect, 245. ,, by blows, 245. ,, by hand of God, 249. of flock or herd, by hand of God, 266. ,, by lion, 226. of crop, when shared by landlord, 45. of interest. _See_ Abatement. Lost property, recovery by owner, 9. sale by finder=theft, 9. Lying, 11, 12. Magistrate, over township, 23, 24. Maid, female slave-- given by wife to husband, to bear children, 144. not to rival mistress, 146. if so, reckoned slave again, 146. not sold, if a mother, 146. may be sold, if not, 146. children, acknowledged by husband, in his lifetime, share equally with wife's children, 170. otherwise, free, but not heirs, 171. Maintenance, of wife in absence, 133-135. of divorced wife, 137. or concubine, 137. _Malice prepense_ 206. Malicious abuse of process, 12. Mancipium, hostage to work off debt-- natural death, 115. done to death, 116. free after three years, if free born, 117. slave, can be sold, by creditor on removal, 118. but not if mother of debtor's children, 119. redeemed by debtor, 119. Mansion, 'great house.' _See_ Palace. Manslaughter, of mancipium, 116. if slave, penalty one-third mina of silver, 116. by blow in quarrel, 207, 208. Marks, on slave. _See_ Branding. Marriage portion, given by father to bride-- returned on divorce, 137. not to bad wife, 141. returned to injured wife, 142. ,, to invalid wife, who leaves husband, 149. property of wife's children, 162. father of bride cannot reclaim, if she has children of the marriage, 162. returned, if wife dies childless, 163. less bride-price, if not repaid to husband, 164. if wife re-marry, shared by children of both marriages, 173. taken by children of first marriage, if none of second, 174. free wife of slave, takes her marriage portion, if any on his death, for self and children, 175. Master's right over married slave's property, 175, 176. pays for slave's cure, 217, 223. _See_ Slave. Merchant, trader, relations with agent, 100-107. official (?), 40. as creditor, money-lender, 40, 49, 116, 118, 119, 152, X, Z. bound to accept goods, for money or corn, Z. pays fivefold for overcharging agent 107. likely to change residence, 118. Metayer, system of lease, landlord finds seed, implements, working animals, etc. _See_ also Lease, 253. Militia, or conscript, for _corvee_-- fugitive from, 9. granted to governor, 33. Minor, status of, 7. Miscarriage, 209. _See_ Assault, Fine. Money, not sealed for, cannot enter account, 105. _See_ Hire, Price, Fines. Mortgage. _See_ Debt. Mortgagor's power of sale, 118. option to refuse foreclosure, X. Mother, has custody of children, 29. incest with, 157. Mutilation, as penalty. _See_ Branding, Ear, Eye, Hands, Breasts, Tongue. of hired ox, 248. either punishment of offending member, or retaliation for mutilation. _See_ Retaliation. Neglect, to cultivate field leased, 42, 43. to reclaim field leased, 44. to set up dwelling, 47. to strengthen dyke, 53. to plant garden leased, 61-63. to till garden, 65. to build house properly, 232. to cultivate on metayer, 253. to confine vicious ox, 251, 252. Oath, in legal process. _See_ Sworn Deposition, 9. for purgation, 20, 131, 227, 266. as to loss, 23, 103, 126, 240, 249. as to deposit, 120. as to injury, 206. Office, duty of official, 40. Officials, _PA-PA_ and _NU-TUR_-- duties and liabilities, 33, 34. _See_ Governor, Ganger, Constable, Reeve, Bailiff, Runner, Palace, Judge. Ordeal, by water, nature of, 2. for witchcraft, 2. purgation of slander, 132. Ox, working, not to be distrained on, 241. ,, hire, 242. furious, 250. vicious, 251. Palace, equivalent to state, king, gentleman's residence-- property of, 11. ransom by, 32. place of judgement, 109. Palace official, 'one who stands in the presence'-- child of, may be adopted without demur, 192. Perjury, 3, 4. Personal property of official pledged, 39. Pin-money. _See_ Settlement. Pledge, of benefice, illegal, 38. personal property allowed, 39. _See_ Debt. Poor man, separate estate, contrasted with gentleman and slave-- theft from, 8. abduction of slave from, 15. liable to conscription or levy, 16. reduced charges for divorce, 140. owned slave, 15, 175, 176. his eye or limb valued at one mina of silver, 198. his tooth valued at one-third mina of silver, 201. assault by poor man, 204. assault by, 208. fee for cure of wound or eye, 208. fee for cure of limb or bowel, 222. Pregnant woman. _See_ Assault, Fine. Prescriptive right to benefice acquired by discharge of office, 30. Presumption, 7. Price of drink not to be less than corn, 108. except at harvest time, then five-sixths, 111. Principal. _See_ Merchant. Procuration of desertion of slave from master, 15. Produce rent, 42. of field, one-half or one-third crop, 46. of garden, two-thirds crop, 64. Ransom, of captive official, 32. by serf, 32. by town, 32. by palace, 32. Rape, of betrothed maiden, 130. Rebellion, loss by, 125. Receipt, sealed written document-- to be taken by agent for goods committed, 104. to be taken by depositor, 124, 125. Receiving of stolen goods, 10. Reclaiming lease, 44. Recovery, of lost property, 9, 10, 126. of deposit, 124, 125. Redemption of pledge or mancipium, 119. debtor must redeem a maid who has borne him children, 119. Reeve. _See_ Ganger. Referees. _See_ Witnesses. Refusal to name owner, 19. of conjugal rights, 141. Reimbursement to evicted purchaser, 9. Re-marriage of divorced woman, 141. of widow, 173. her marriage portion shared equally by children of both marriages, 173. if no children of second marriage, those of first take all, 174. Remission of penalty, 129. Rents, usually share of produce, 46, 64. fixed by Code for-- land leased to be reclaimed, three years free, fourth year ten _GUR per GAN_, 44; cf. 63. land leased to plant as garden, four years free, fifth year half- produce, 60; cf. Lev. xix. 25. garden leased to till, two-thirds produce, 64. abatement, if crop destroyed, 45. no abatement if culpable negligence, 52. Repatriation of slave, 280, 281. Repudiation of adoptive parents-- by son of votary, or palace official, 192. _Res perit domino_, 115. Restitution, compensation, damages, reimbursement-- simple, 9, 10, 12. goods for goods, 232. ox or ass, for same, 245, 246, 263. slave for slave, 219, 231. of deposit, 125. threefold, for cheating principal, 106. fivefold, for goods lost or stolen by carrier, 112; cf. 12. sixfold, for over-charging agent, 107. tenfold, for theft by poor man, 8. ,, for culpable loss by herdsman or shepherd, 265. twelvefold, for false sentence by judge, 5. thirtyfold, for theft by gentleman, 5. Retaliation, eye for eye, 196. limb for limb, 197. tooth for tooth, 200. son for son, 116, 230. slave for slave, 219, 231. suitor to bear penalty he sought to bring, 4, 13. _See_ Restitutions. Return, of slave purchased-- permissible within one month, for disease, 278. or other undisclosed defect, 279. Reward, for capturing fugitive slave, 17. Risks, landlord's, 45, 46. lessor's, 244. warehouseman's, 125. tenant's, 45. Robbery, 22, 23. Runnel, 55. Runner. _See_ Constable. Sacrilegious theft-- of first order, 6. of second order, 8. Sale of, man and property, to pay fine, 54. wife or child, for debt, 117. crops to pay, according to scale, 51. Scale damages. _See_ King's standard. Scandal, 132. Scourging, with cowhide whip, sixty strokes, 202. Second marriage, 166, 167. _See_ Re-marriage, Widow. Seduction, of betrothed daughter-in-law, 155. of slave, from service, 15. Self-help, forbidden, 113. Separation, of husband and wife-- grounds for, on part of husband-- gone out, deserted home, 142. belittled wife, 142. on part of wife-- set to desert home, 141. quarrelsome, 141. ruinous, 141. belittled husband, 141. Settlement, or pin-money, estate, or goods settled on wife-- by husband, in lifetime, by written deed, 150. children not to dispute, 150. wife has freedom of testamentary devise, 150. among her children of that marriage, 150. wife may not leave to brothers, 150. widow enjoys for life, if she remains in husband's house, 171. widow bequeaths to children, 171. ,, resigns if she re-marries, 172. compare gift to favourite child. Share, of father's property, on his death-- equally by all children, 165. divorced wife, as one child, 137. with reservation apart, of gift to favourite, 165. ,, ,, of wife's settlement, 150. ,, ,, bride-price for unmarried son, 166. ,, ,, portion for votary sister, 178. of mother's marriage portion, on her death, 167. all her children equally, 167. children of second wife share own mother's portion, 167. children of both mothers share equally in father's property, 167. children of maid, if acknowledged, share equally with children of wife, latter taking precedence, 170. Shepherds, duties and liabilities of, 262-267. Slander, against votary or married woman, 127. of wife, 132. of suitor, 161. judiciary, against referees, 3. of title, 11. liability for, passively transmitted, 12. seditious, 109. Slave, one of three estates, domestic inferior-- not free to contract except by deed and bond, 6. seduction from service, penal, 15. fugitive, harbouring, 16. ,, capturing, 17. ,, retaining, 19. ,, refuses to name owner, 18. ,, re-escape of captured, 20. subject to levy, 16. marries free woman, 175. children free, 175. woman marries master, bears sons, not to be sold, 119. cure of, paid for by master, 218, 223. his eye or limb, valued at half-price, 199. assault on free-man by slave, 205. gored by ox, 251. of poor man, 219. captured and repatriated, 280. freed, if native, 281. rebellious, repudiates master, 282. Speculation in crops, futures, discouraged, 49, 50, X. Spell, magical. _See_ Witchcraft. Stay of case, for production of witnesses, 13. Stolen goods, guilty purchase of=theft, 10. Storage. _See_ Warehouse, Deposit. Strength of a man, crown of the head (?), genitalia-- penalty for wounding the, of-- superior, 202. equal, 203. poor man, 204. free-man by slave, 205. Striking or wounding. _See_ Assaults. of father by son, 195. Sub-letting, not to be objected to, 47. Subornation, of perjury, 4. Summons to appear before judge, 127. _See_ Calling to account. Superior, assault of, 202. Surgeon. _See_ Doctor. Sworn deposition, 9, 23, 103, 120, 126, 206, 240, 249. Tablet, broken, annulment of contract, 37. wetted, to rewrite date, 48. Temple, property protected, 6, 8. bound to ransom captive, 32. Tenant's risks, 45. Theft, first order, involving entry, 6. second order, in the open, 8. by keeping property found, 9. by selling property found, 10. aggravated at fire, 25. from deposit, 120. under metayer, 254. _See_ Bailment, Lost property, Sacrilegious, Stolen goods, Treasonable, Receiving. Threatening witnesses, 3. Threshing floor, 113. Tongue cut out, 192. Treasonable theft, first order, 6. second order, 8. Trespass, to realty, 54. dolus, 54. culpa, 55. Tributary, a beneficed person, paid tribute, 36-41. benefice inalienable, 36. _See_ Benefice. Trust, deposit, regulated-- corn in granary, 120. any goods, 122. Undertaking. _See_ Lease. Untitled possession, 9, 10. Veterinary surgeon, duties and liabilities of, 224, 225. Vexatious claim of property as lost, 11. _Vivum vadium_, 49. Votary, not to open or enter wine shop, 110. protected from slander, 127. as wife, 145. gives maid to husband, to bear children, 146. not to be rivalled by maid, 147. dowered as for marriage, 178. free to leave her portion, if allowed by father's deed, 178, 179. otherwise, brothers assume charge of her estate and maintain her, 178. or if they do not content her, she farms it out, 178. if father gives her no portion, entitled on his death to one child's share, 180. but must leave to brothers, 180. if dedicated by father, and not portioned, entitled to one-third share at his death, 181. must leave this to brethren, 181. if dedicated by father to Marduk of Babylon, and not portioned, entitled to one-third share at his death, 182. pays no taxes, 182. leaves property as she likes, 182. her child may be adopted, without her consent, 193. ,, if adopted, severely punished for repudiating adopted parents, 193. usually lived in convent, 110. cannot alienate or mortgage estate, 178. unless power granted by father's deed, 179. when brothers cannot interfere, 179. Wages. _See_ Hire. Warden. _See_ Constable. Wards, children of re-married widow, by first marriage, 177. Warehousing, 120-126. fee for, one-sixtieth value, 121. liability for loss in warehouse, 125. Waste, 59. land. _See_ Reclaiming lease, 44, 63. Weights, great, 108. Widow, on husband's death-- stays in his house, 171. takes her portion and settlement, 171. may not alienate them from children, 171. if no settlement, takes portion, and one child's share, 172. children cannot turn her out without legal process, 172. if she wishes to leave and re-marry, resigns settlement to children, but takes portion, 172. on her death, children of both marriages divide her portion equally, 172. with young children, may marry, but she and husband are bound trustees for the children, 177. Wife, of free-man, not to be slandered, 127. not legally married, without bonds, 128. adultery by, drowned, 129. falsely accused, 131. slandered, 132. of captive husband, 133-135. bound to preserve fidelity if provided for, 133. otherwise, may re-marry, 134. but must rejoin husband, on return, 135. children, of second marriage, if any, stay with father, 135. deserted, 136. divorce of, who has borne children, 137. divorced, takes marriage portion, usufruct of field, garden, and property, only leaves house, has custody and education of children, then takes one child's share, and is free to re-marry, 137. ,, and if not a mother, takes marriage portion and bride-price, 138. ,, or in lieu of bride-price, fixed sum, 139, 140. may seek divorce, 141. bad, divorced without compensation, 141. ,, reduced to status of slave, 141. denies conjugal rights, 142. if bad, drowned, 143. if justified by husband's cruelty, separated, 142. good, stays at home, is not quarrelsome, economical, does not belittle her husband, has no vice, 142. may give maid to husband to bear children, 144. husband then may not take concubine, 144. maid may not rival, 145. childless, does not give maid, husband can take concubine, 145. concubine not to rival, 145. invalid, to be maintained, not divorced, 148. ,, husband can marry second wife, 148. ,, may leave husband, taking portion, 149. second wife only allowed, if first be invalid, or divorced, 137-141, 148. can leave settlement to any child she prefers, 150. liability for husband's debts, 151. procuring death of husband, for love of another, impaled, 153. of official, no claim on benefice, 38. deserted, free to marry, 136. Wine seller, duties and liabilities, 108-110. not to sell drink cheaper than corn, 108. relaxation of this rule, 111. not to suffer brawling or seditious talk, 109. bound to hale brawlers to palace, 109. votary not to be, 110. Wit, 24, 116. Witchcraft, laws against, 1, 2. Witnesses-- (1) referees, elders of township, assessors of judge. (2) knowing facts, recognising property. (3) to document. penalty for threatening, death, 3. ,, bribing, to bear sentence, 4. necessary for legal purchase, 7, 9. time granted to produce, 13. to deposit, 122. knowing lost property, 9. Working expenses, 49. Wounds, given in quarrel, 206. grievous, cure by doctor, 215, 217, 218. to cattle, cure, 225. PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH. 
13665	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 13665-h.htm or 13665-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/6/6/13665/13665-h/13665-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/3/6/6/13665/13665-h.zip) WAR IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN by KERMIT ROOSEVELT Captain Motor Machine-Gun Corps, British Expeditionary Forces Captain Field Artillery, American Expeditionary Forces Illustrated from Photographs by the Author New York 1919 [Illustration: Kermit Roosevelt. From the drawing by John S. Sargent, July 8, 1917] To The Memory of My Father Contents I. OFF FOR MESOPOTAMIA II. THE TIGRIS FRONT III. PATROLLING THE RUINS OF BABYLON IV. SKIRMISHES AND RECONNAISSANCES ALONG THE KURDISH FRONT V. THE ADVANCE ON THE EUPHRATES VI. BAGHDAD SKETCHES VII. THE ATTACK ON THE PERSIAN FRONT VIII. BACK THROUGH PALESTINE IX. WITH THE FIRST DIVISION IN FRANCE AND GERMANY Illustrations Kermit Roosevelt Map of Mesopotamia showing region of the fighting Ashar Creek at Busra Golden Dome of Samarra Rafting down from Tekrit Captured Turkish camel corps Towing an armored car across a river Reconnaissance The Lion of Babylon A dragon on the palace wall Hauling out a badly bogged fighting car A Mesopotamian garage A water-wheel on the Euphrates A "Red Crescent" ambulance A jeweller's booth in the bazaar Indian cavalry bringing in prisoners after the charge The Kurd and his wife Sheik Muttar and the two Kurds Kirkuk A street in Jerusalem Japanese destroyers passing through the gut at Taranto I OFF FOR MESOPOTAMIA It was at Taranto that we embarked for Mesopotamia. Reinforcements were sent out from England in one of two ways--either all the way round the Cape of Good Hope, or by train through France and Italy down to the desolate little seaport of Taranto, and thence by transport over to Egypt, through the Suez Canal, and on down the Red Sea to the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf. The latter method was by far the shorter, but the submarine situation in the Mediterranean was such that convoying troops was a matter of great difficulty. Taranto is an ancient Greek town, situated at the mouth of a landlocked harbor, the entrance to which is a narrow channel, certainly not more than two hundred yards across. The old part of the town is built on a hill, and the alleys and runways winding among the great stone dwellings serve as streets. As is the case with maritime towns, it is along the wharfs that the most interest centres. During one afternoon I wandered through the old town and listened to the fisherfolk singing as they overhauled and mended their nets. Grouped around a stone archway sat six or seven women and girls. They were evidently members of one family--a grandmother, her daughters, and their children. The old woman, wild, dark, and hawk-featured, was blind, and as she knitted she chanted some verses. I could only understand occasional words and phrases, but it was evidently a long epic. At intervals her listeners would break out in comments as they worked, but, like "Othere, the old sea-captain," she "neither paused nor stirred." There are few things more desolate than even the best situated "rest-camps"--the long lines of tents set out with military precision, the trampled grass, and the board walks; but the one at Taranto where we awaited embarkation was peculiarly dismal even for a rest-camp. So it happened that when Admiral Mark Kerr, the commander of the Mediterranean fleet, invited me to be his guest aboard H.M.S. _Queen_ until the transport should sail, it was in every way an opportunity to be appreciated. In the British Empire the navy is the "senior service," and I soon found that the tradition for the hospitality and cultivation of its officers was more than justified. The admiral had travelled, and read, and written, and no more pleasant evenings could be imagined than those spent in listening to his stories of the famous writers, statesmen, and artists who were numbered among his friends. He had always been a great enthusiast for the development of aerial warfare, and he was recently in Nova Scotia in command of the giant Handley-Page machine which was awaiting favorable weather conditions in order to attempt the nonstop transatlantic flight. Among his poems stands out the "Prayer of Empire," which, oddly enough, the former German Emperor greatly admired, ordering it distributed throughout the imperial navy! The Kaiser's feelings toward the admiral have suffered an abrupt change, but they would have been even more hostile had England profited by his warnings: "There's no menace in preparedness, no threat in being strong, If the people's brain be healthy and they think no thought of wrong." After four or five most agreeable days aboard the _Queen_ the word came to embark, and I was duly transferred to the _Saxon_, an old Union Castle liner that was to run us straight through to Busra. As we steamed out of the harbor we were joined by two diminutive Japanese destroyers which were to convoy us. The menace of the submarine being particularly felt in the Adriatic, the transports travelled only by night during the first part of the voyage. To a landsman it was incomprehensible how it was possible for us to pursue our zigzag course in the inky blackness and avoid collisions, particularly when it was borne in mind that our ship was English and our convoyers were Japanese. During the afternoon we were drilled in the method of abandoning ship, and I was put in charge of a lifeboat and a certain section of the ropes that were to be used in our descent over the side into the water. Between twelve and one o'clock that night we were awakened by three blasts, the preconcerted danger-signal. Slipping into my life-jacket, I groped my way to my station on deck. The men were filing up in perfect order and with no show of excitement. A ship's officer passed and said he had heard that we had been torpedoed and were taking in water. For fifteen or twenty minutes we knew nothing further. A Scotch captain who had charge of the next boat to me came over and whispered: "It looks as if we'd go down. I have just seen a rat run out along the ropes into my boat!" That particular rat had not been properly brought up, for shortly afterward we were told that we were not sinking. We had been rammed amidships by one of the escorting destroyers, but the breach was above the water-line. We heard later that the destroyer, though badly smashed up, managed to make land in safety. We laid up two days in a harbor on the Albanian coast, spending the time pleasantly enough in swimming and sailing, while we waited for a new escort. Another night's run put us in Navarino Bay. The grandfather of Lieutenant Finch Hatton, one of the officers on board, commanded the Allied forces in the famous battle fought here in 1827, when the Turkish fleet was vanquished and the independence of Greece assured. Several days more brought us to Port Said, and after a short delay we pushed on through the canal and into the Red Sea. It was August, and when one talks of the Red Sea in August there is no further need for comment. The _Saxon_ had not been built for the tropics. She had no fans, nor ventilating system such as we have on the United Fruit boats. Some unusually intelligent stokers had deserted at Port Said, and as we were in consequence short-handed, it was suggested that any volunteers would be given a try. Finch Hatton and I felt that our years in the tropics should qualify us, and that the exercise would improve our dispositions. We got the exercise. Never have I felt anything as hot, and I have spent August in Yuma, Arizona, and been in Italian Somaliland and the Amazon Valley. The shovels and the handles of the wheelbarrows blistered our hands. [Illustration: Map of Mesopotamia showing region of the fighting. Inset, showing relative position of Mesopotamia and other countries.] We had a number of cases of heat-stroke, and the hospital facilities on a crowded transport can never be all that might be desired. The first military burial at sea was deeply impressive. There was a lane of Tommies drawn up with their rifles reversed and heads bowed; the short, classic burial service was read, and the body, wrapped in the Union Jack, slid down over the stern of the ship. Then the bugles rang out in the haunting, mournful strains of the "Last Post," and the service ended with all singing "Abide With Me." We sweltered along down the Red Sea and around into the Indian Ocean. We wished to call at Aden in order to disembark some of our sick, but were ordered to continue on without touching. Our duties were light, and we spent the time playing cards and reading. The Tommies played "house" from dawn till dark. It is a game of the lotto variety. Each man has a paper with numbers written on squares; one of them draws from a bag slips of paper also marked with numbers, calls them out, and those having the number he calls cover it, until all the numbers on their paper have been covered. The first one to finish wins, and collects a penny from each of the losers. The caller drones out the numbers with a monotony only equalled by the brain-fever bird, and quite as disastrous to the nerves. There are certain conventional nicknames: number one is always "Kelley's eye," eleven is "legs eleven," sixty-six is "clickety click," and the highest number is "top o' the 'ouse." There is another game that would be much in vogue were it not for the vigilance of the officers. It is known as "crown and anchor," and the advantage lies so strongly in favor of the banker that he cannot fail to make a good income, and therefore the game is forbidden under the severest penalties. As we passed through the Strait of Ormuz memories of the early days of European supremacy in the East crowded back, for I had read many a vellum-covered volume in Portuguese about the early struggles for supremacy in the gulf. One in particular interested me. The Portuguese were hemmed in at Ormuz by a greatly superior English force. The expected reinforcements never arrived, and at length their resources sank so low, and they suffered in addition, or in consequence, so greatly from disease that they decided to sail forth and give battle. This they did, but before they joined in fight the ships of the two admirals sailed up near each other--the Portuguese commander sent the British a gorgeous scarlet ceremonial cloak, the British responded by sending him a handsomely embossed sword. The British admiral donned the cloak, the Portuguese grasped the sword; a page brought each a cup of wine; they pledged each other, threw the goblets into the sea, and fell to. The British were victorious. Times indeed have sadly changed in the last three hundred years! I was much struck with the accuracy of the geographical descriptions in Camoens' letters and odes. He is the greatest of the Portuguese poets and wrote the larger part of his master-epic, "The Lusiad," while exiled in India. For seventeen years he led an adventurous life in the East; and it is easy to recognize many harbors and stretches of coast line from his inimitable portrayal. Busra, our destination, lies about sixty miles from the mouth of the Shatt el Arab, which is the name given to the combined Tigris and Euphrates after their junction at Kurna, another fifty or sixty miles above. At the entrance to the river lies a sand-bar, effectively blocking access to boats of as great draft as the _Saxon_. We therefore transshipped to some British India vessels, and exceedingly comfortable we found them, designed as they were for tropic runs. We steamed up past the Island of Abadan, where stand the refineries of the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. It is hard to overestimate the important part that company has played in the conduct of the Mesopotamian campaign. Motor transport was nowhere else a greater necessity. There was no possibility of living on the country; at first, at all events. General Dickson, the director of local resources, later set in to so build up and encourage agriculture that the army should eventually be supported, in the staples of life, by local produce. Transportation was ever a hard nut to crack. Railroads were built, but though the nature of the country called for little grading, obtaining rails, except in small quantities, was impossible. The ones brought were chiefly secured by taking up the double track of Indian railways. This process naturally had a limit, and only lines of prime importance could be laid down. Thus you could go by rail from Busra to Amara, and from Kut to Baghdad, but the stretch between Amara and Kut had never been built, up to the time I left the country. General Maude once told me that pressure was being continually brought by the high command in England or India to have that connecting-link built, but that he was convinced that the rails would be far more essential elsewhere, and had no intention of yielding. I don't know the total number of motor vehicles, but there were more than five thousand Fords alone. On several occasions small columns of infantry were transported in Fords, five men and the driver to a car. Indians of every caste and religion were turned into drivers, and although it seemed sufficiently out of place to come across wizened, khaki-clad Indo-Chinese driving lorries in France, the incongruity was even more marked when one beheld a great bearded Sikh with his turbaned head bent over the steering-wheel of a Ford. Modern Busra stands on the banks of Ashar Creek. The ancient city whence Sinbad the sailor set forth is now seven or eight miles inland, buried under the shifting sands of the desert. Busra was a seaport not so many hundreds of years ago. Before that again, Kurna was a seaport, and the two rivers probably only joined in the ocean, but they have gradually enlarged the continent and forced back the sea. The present rate of encroachment amounts, I was told, to nearly twelve feet a year. The modern town has increased many fold with the advent of the Expeditionary Force, and much of the improvement is of a necessarily permanent nature; in particular the wharfs and roads. Indeed, one of the most striking features of the Mesopotamian campaign is the permanency of the improvements made by the British. In order to conquer the country it was necessary to develop it,--build railways and bridges and roads and telegraph systems,--and it has all been done in a substantial manner. It is impossible to contemplate with equanimity the possibility of the country reverting to a rule where all this progress would soon disappear and the former stagnancy and injustice again hold sway. [Illustration: Ashar Creek at Busra] As soon as we landed I wandered off to the bazaar--"suq" is what the Arab calls it. In Busra there are a number of excellent ones. By that I don't mean that there are art treasures of the East to be found in them, for almost everything could be duplicated at a better price in New York. It is the grouping of wares, the mode of sale, and, above all, the salesmen and buyers that make a bazaar--the old bearded Persian sitting cross-legged in his booth, the motley crowd jostling through the narrow, vaulted passageway, the veiled women, the hawk-featured, turbaned men, the Jews, the Chaldeans, the Arabs, the Armenians, the stalwart Kurds, and through it all a leaven of khaki-clad Indians, purchasing for the regimental mess. All these and an ever-present exotic, intangible something are what the bazaar means. Close by the entrance stood a booth festooned with lamps and lanterns of every sort, with above it scrawled "Aladdin-Ibn-Said." My Arabic was not at that time sufficient to enable me to discover from the owner whether he claimed illustrious ancestry or had merely been named after a patron saint. A few days after landing at Busra we embarked on a paddle-wheel boat to pursue our way up-stream the five hundred intervening miles to Baghdad. Along the banks of the river stretched endless miles of date-palms. We watched the Arabs at their work of fertilizing them, for in this country these palms have to depend on human agency to transfer the pollen. At Kurna we entered the Garden of Eden, and one could quite appreciate the feelings of the disgusted Tommy who exclaimed: "If this is the Garden, it wouldn't take no bloody angel with a flaming sword to turn me back." The direct descendant of the Tree is pointed out; whether its properties are inherited I never heard, but certainly the native would have little to learn by eating the fruit. Above Kurna the river is no longer lined with continuous palm-groves; desert and swamps take their place--the abode of the amphibious, nomadic, marsh Arab. An unruly customer he is apt to prove himself, and when he is "wanted" by the officials, he retires to his watery fastnesses, where he can remain in complete safety unless betrayed by his comrades. On the banks of the Tigris stands Ezra's tomb. It is kept in good repair through every vicissitude of rule, for it is a holy place to Moslem and Jew and Christian alike. The third night brought us to Amara. The evening was cool and pleasant after the scorching heat of the day, and Finch Hatton and I thought that we would go ashore for a stroll through the town. As we proceeded down the bank toward the bridge, I caught sight of a sentry walking his post. His appearance was so very important and efficient that I slipped behind my companion to give him a chance to explain us. "Halt! Who goes there?" "Friend," replied Finch Hatton. "Advance, friend, and give the countersign." F.H. started to advance, followed by a still suspicious me, and rightly so, for the Tommy, evidently member of a recent draft, came forward to meet us with lowered bayonet, remarking in a businesslike manner: "There isn't any countersign." Except for the gunboats and monitors, all river traffic is controlled by the Inland Water Transport Service. The officers are recruited from all the world over. I firmly believe that no river of any importance could be mentioned but what an officer of the I.W.T. could be found who had navigated it. The great requisite for transports on the Tigris was a very light draft, and to fill the requirements boats were requisitioned ranging from penny steamers of the Thames to river-craft of the Irrawaddy. Now in bringing a penny steamer from London to Busra the submarine is one of the lesser perils, and in supplying the wants of the Expeditionary Force more than eighty vessels were lost at sea, frequently with all aboard. As was the custom, we had a barge lashed to either side. These barges are laden with troops, or horses, or supplies. In our case we had the first Bengal regiment--a new experiment, undertaken for political reasons. The Bengali is the Indian who most readily takes to European learning. Rabindranath Tagore is probably the most widely known member of the race. They go to Calcutta University and learn a smattering of English and absorb a certain amount of undigested general knowledge and theory. These partially educated Bengalis form the Babu class, and many are employed in the railways. They delight in complicated phraseology, and this coupled with their accent and seesaw manner of speaking supply the English a constant source of caricature. As a race they are inclined to be vain and boastful, and are ever ready to nurse a grievance against the British Government, feeling that they have been provided with an education but no means of support. The government felt that it might help to calm them if a regiment were recruited and sent to Mesopotamia. How they would do in actual fighting had never been demonstrated up to the time I left the country, but they take readily to drill, and it was amusing to hear them ordering each other about in their clipped English. They were used for garrisoning Baghdad. After we left Amara we continued our winding course up-stream. A boat several hours ahead may be seen only a few hundred yards distant across the desert. The banks are so flat and level that it looks as if the other vessels were steaming along on land. The Arab river-craft was most picturesque. At sunset a mahela, bearing down with filled sail, might have been the model for Maxfield Parrish's _Pirate Ship_. The Arab women ran along the bank beside us, carrying baskets of eggs and chickens, and occasionally melons. They were possessed of surprising endurance, and would accompany us indefinitely, heavily laden as they were. Their robes trailed in the wind as they jumped ditches, screaming out their wares without a moment's pause. An Indian of the boat's crew was haggling with a woman about a chicken. He threw her an eight-anna piece. She picked up the money but would not hand him the chicken, holding out for her original price. He jumped ashore, intending to take the chicken. She had a few yards' start and made the most of it. In and out they chased, over hedge and ditch, down the bank and up again. Several times he almost had her. She never for a moment ceased screeching--an operation which seemed to affect her wind not a particle. At the end of fifteen minutes the Indian gave up amid the delighted jeers of his comrades, and returned shamefaced and breathless to jump aboard the boat as we bumped against the bank on rounding a curve. One evening we halted where, not many months before, the last of the battles of Sunnaiyat had been fought. There for months the British had been held back, while their beleaguered comrades in Kut could hear the roar of the artillery and hope against hope for the relief that never reached them. It was one phase of the campaign that closely approximated the gruelling trench warfare in France. The last unsuccessful attack was launched a week before the capitulation of the garrison, and it was almost a year later before the position was eventually taken. The front-line trenches were but a short distance apart, and each side had developed a strong and elaborate system of defense. One flank was protected by an impassable marsh and the other by the river. When we passed, the field presented an unusually gruesome appearance even for a battle-field, for the wandering desert Arabs had been at work, and they do not clean up as thoroughly as the African hyena. A number had paid the penalty through tampering with unexploded grenades and "dud" shells, and left their own bones to be scattered around among the dead they had been looting. The trenches were a veritable Golgotha with skulls everywhere and dismembered legs still clad with puttees and boots. At Kut we disembarked to do the remaining hundred miles to Baghdad by rail instead of winding along for double the distance by river, with a good chance of being hung up for hours, or even days, on some shifting sand-bar. At first sight Kut is as unpromising a spot as can well be imagined, with its scorching heat and its sand and the desolate mud-houses, but in spite of appearances it is an important and thriving little town, and daily becoming of more consequence. The railroad runs across the desert, following approximately the old caravan route to Baghdad. A little over half-way the line passes the remaining arch of the great hall of Ctesiphon. This hall is one hundred and forty-eight feet long by seventy-six broad. The arch stands eighty-five feet high. Around it, beneath the mounds of desert sand, lies all that remains of the ancient city. As a matter of fact the city is by no means ancient as such things go in Mesopotamia, dating as it does from the third century B.C., when it was founded by the successors of Alexander the Great. My first night in Baghdad I spent in General Maude's house, on the river-bank. The general was a striking soldierly figure of a man, standing well over six feet. His military career was long and brilliant. His first service was in the Coldstream Guards. He distinguished himself in South Africa. Early in the present war he was severely wounded in France. Upon recovering he took over the Thirteenth Division, which he commanded in the disastrous Gallipoli campaign, and later brought out to Mesopotamia. When he reached the East the situation was by no means a happy one for the British. General Townshend was surrounded in Kut, and the morale of the Turk was excellent after the successes he had met with in Gallipoli. In the end of August, 1916, four months after the fall of Kut, General Maude took over the command of the Mesopotamian forces. On the 11th of March of the following year he occupied Baghdad, thereby re-establishing completely the British prestige in the Orient. One of Germany's most serious miscalculations was with regard to the Indian situation. She felt confident that, working through Persia and Afghanistan, she could stir up sufficient trouble, possibly to completely overthrow British rule, but certainly to keep the English so occupied with uprisings as to force them to send troops to India rather than withdraw them thence for use elsewhere. The utter miscarriage of Germany's plans is, indeed, a fine tribute to Great Britain. The Emir of Afghanistan did probably more than any single native to thwart German treachery and intrigue, and every friend of the Allied cause must have read of his recent assassination with a very real regret. When General Maude took over the command, the effect of the Holy War that, at the Kaiser's instigation, was being preached in the mosques had not as yet been determined. This jehad, as it was called, proposed to unite all "True Believers" against the invading Christians, and give the war a strongly religious aspect. The Germans hoped by this means to spread mutiny among the Mohammedan troops, which formed such an appreciable element of the British forces, as well as to fire the fury of the Turks and win as many of the Arabs to their side as possible. The Arab thoroughly disliked both sides. The Turk oppressed him, but did so in an Oriental, and hence more or less comprehensible, manner. The English gave him justice, but it was an Occidental justice that he couldn't at first understand or appreciate, and he was distinctly inclined to mistrust it. In course of time he would come to realize its advantages. Under Turkish rule the Arab was oppressed by the Turk, but then he in turn could oppress the Jew, the Chaldean, and Nestorian Christians, and the wretched Armenian. Under British rule he suddenly found these latter on an equal footing with him, and he felt that this did not compensate the lifting from his shoulders of the Turkish burden. Then, too, when a race has been long oppressed and downtrodden, and suddenly finds itself on an equality with its oppressor, it is apt to become arrogant and overbearing. This is exactly what happened, and there was bad feeling on all sides in consequence. However, real fundamental justice is appreciated the world over, once the native has been educated up to it, and can trust in its continuity. The complex nature of the problems facing the army commander can be readily seen. He was an indefatigable worker and an unsurpassed organizer. The only criticism I ever heard was that he attended too much to the details himself and did not take his subordinates sufficiently into his confidence. A brilliant leader, beloved by his troops, his loss was a severe blow to the Allied cause. Baghdad is often referred to as the great example of the shattered illusion. We most of us have read the _Arabian Nights_ at an early age, and think of the abode of the caliphs as a dream city, steeped in what we have been brought up to think of as the luxury, romance, and glamour of the East. Now glamour is a delicate substance. In the all-searching glare of the Mesopotamian sun it is apt to appear merely tawdry. Still, a goodly number of years spent in wandering about in foreign lands had prepared me for a depreciation of the "stuff that dreams are made of," and I was not disappointed. It is unfortunate that the normal way to approach is from the south, and that that view of the city is flat and uninteresting. Coming, as I several times had occasion to, from the north, one first catches sight of great groves of date-palms, with the tall minarets of the Mosque of Kazimain towering above them; then a forest of minarets and blue domes, with here and there some graceful palm rising above the flat roofs of Baghdad. In the evening when the setting sun strikes the towers and the tiled roofs, and the harsh lights are softened, one is again in the land of Haroun-el-Raschid. The great covered bazaars are at all times capable of "eating the hours," as the natives say. One could sit indefinitely in a coffee-house and watch the throngs go by--the stalwart Kurdish porter with his impossible loads, the veiled women, the unveiled Christian or lower-class Arab women, the native police, the British Tommy, the kilted Scot, the desert Arab, all these and many more types wandered past. Then there was the gold and silver market, where the Jewish and Armenian artificers squatted beside their charcoal fires and haggled endlessly with their customers. These latter were almost entirely women, and they came both to buy and sell, bringing old bracelets and anklets, and probably spending the proceeds on something newer that had taken their fancy. The workmanship was almost invariably poor and rough. Most of the women had their babies with them, little mites decked out in cheap finery and with their eyelids thickly painted. The red dye from their caps streaked their faces, the flies settled on them at will, and they had never been washed. When one thought of the way one's own children were cared for, it seemed impossible that a sufficient number of these little ones could survive to carry on the race. The infant mortality must be great, though the children one sees look fat and thriving. Baghdad is not an old city. Although there was probably a village on the site time out of mind, it does not come into any prominence until the eighth century of our era. As the residence of the Abasside caliphs it rapidly assumed an important position. The culmination of its magnificence was reached in the end of the eighth century, under the rule of the world-famous Haroun-el-Raschid. It long continued to be a centre of commerce and industry, though suffering fearfully from the various sieges and conquests which it underwent. In 1258 the Mongols, under a grandson of the great Genghis Khan, captured the city and held it for a hundred years, until ousted by the Tartars under Tamberlane. It was plundered in turn by one Mongol horde after another until the Turks, under Murad the Fourth, eventually secured it. Naturally, after being the scene of so much looting and such massacres, there is little left of the original city of the caliphs. Then, too, in Mesopotamia there is practically no stone, and everything was built of brick, which readily lapses back to its original state. For this reason the invaders easily razed a conquered town, and Mesopotamia, so often called the "cradle of the world," retains but little trace of the races and civilizations that have succeeded each other in ruling the land. When the Tigris was low at the end of the summer season, we used to dig out from its bank great bricks eighteen inches square, on which was still distinctly traced the seal of Nebuchadnezzar. These, possibly the remnants of a quay, were all that remained of the times before the advent of the caliphs. II THE TIGRIS FRONT A few days after reaching Baghdad I left for Samarra, which was at that time the Tigris front. I was attached to the Royal Engineers, and my immediate commander was Major Morin, D.S.O., an able officer with an enviable record in France and Mesopotamia. The advance army of the Tigris was the Third Indian Army Corps, under the command of General Cobbe, a possessor of the coveted, and invariably merited, Victoria Cross. The Engineers were efficiently commanded by General Swiney. The seventy miles of railroad from Baghdad to Samarra were built by the Germans, being the only Mesopotamian portion of the much-talked-of Berlin-to-Baghdad Railway, completed before the war. It was admirably constructed, with an excellent road-bed, heavy rails and steel cross-ties made by Krupp. In their retreat the Turks had been too hurried to accomplish much in the way of destruction other than burning down a few stations and blowing up the water-towers. The rolling-stock had been left largely intact. There were no passenger-coaches, and you travelled either by flat or box car. Every one followed the Indian custom of carrying with them their bedding-rolls, and leather-covered wash-basin containing their washing-kit, as well as one of the comfortable rhoorkhee chairs. In consequence, although for travel by boat or train nothing was provided, there was no discomfort entailed. The trains were fitted out with anti-aircraft guns, for the Turkish aeroplanes occasionally tried to "lay eggs," a by no means easy affair with a moving train as a target. Whatever the reason was, and I never succeeded in discovering it, the trains invariably left Baghdad in the wee small hours, and as the station was on the right bank across the river from the main town, and the boat bridges were cut during the night, we used generally, when returning to the front, to spend the first part of the night sleeping on the station platform. Generals or exalted staff officers could usually succeed in having a car assigned to them, and hauled up from the yard in time for them to go straight to bed in it. Frequently their trip was postponed, and an omniscient sergeant-major would indicate the car to the judiciously friendly, who could then enjoy a solid night's sleep. The run took anywhere from eight to twelve hours; but when sitting among the grain-bags on an open car, or comfortably ensconced in a chair in a "covered goods," with _Vingt Ans Après_, the time passed pleasantly enough in spite of the withering heat. While still a good number of miles away from Samarra we would catch sight of the sun glinting on the golden dome of the mosque, built over the cleft where the twelfth Imam, the Imam Mahdi, is supposed to have disappeared, and from which he is one day to reappear to establish the true faith upon earth. Many Arabs have appeared claiming to be the Mahdi, and caused trouble in a greater or less degree according to the extent of their following. The most troublous one in our day was the man who besieged Kharthoum and captured General "Chinese" Gordon and his men. Twenty-five years later, when I passed through the Sudan, there were scarcely any men of middle age left, for they had been wiped out almost to a man under the fearful rule of the Mahdi, a rule which might have served as prototype to the Germans in Belgium. [Illustration: Golden Dome of Samarra] [Illustration: Rafting down from Tekrit] Samarra is very ancient, and has passed through periods of great depression and equally great expansion. It was here in A.D. 363 that the Roman Emperor Julian died from wounds received in the defeat of his forces at Ctesiphon. The golden age lasted about forty years, beginning in 836, when the Caliph Hutasim transferred his capital thither from Baghdad. During that time the city extended for twenty-one miles along the river-bank, with glorious palaces, the ruins of some of which still stand. The present-day town has sadly shrunk from its former grandeur, but still has an impressive look with its great walls and massive gateways. The houses nearest the walls are in ruins or uninhabited; but in peacetime the great reputation that the climate of Samarra possesses for salubrity draws to it many Baghdad families who come to pass the summer months. A good percentage of the inhabitants are Persians, for the eleventh and twelfth Shiah Imams are buried on the site of the largest mosque. The two main sects of Moslems are the Sunnis and the Shiahs; the former regard the three caliphs who followed Mohammed as his legitimate successors, whereas the latter hold them to be usurpers, and believe that his cousin and son-in-law, Ali, husband of Fatimah, together with their sons Husein and Hasan, are the prophet's true inheritors. Ali was assassinated near Nejef, which city is sacred to his memory, and his son Husein was killed at Kerbela; so these two cities are the greatest of the Shiah shrines. The Turks belong almost without exception to the Sunni sect, whereas the Persians and a large percentage of the Arabs inhabiting Mesopotamia are Shiahs. The country around Samarra is not unlike in character the southern part of Arizona and northern Sonora. There are the same barren hills and the same glaring heat. The soil is not sand, but a fine dust which permeates everything, even the steel uniform-cases which I had always regarded as proof against all conditions. The parching effect was so great that it was not only necessary to keep all leather objects thoroughly oiled but the covers of my books cracked and curled up until I hit upon the plan of greasing them well also. In the alluvial lowlands trench-digging was a simple affair, but along the hills we found a pebbly conglomerate that gave much trouble. Opinion was divided as to whether the Turk would attempt to advance down the Tigris. Things had gone badly with our forces in Palestine at the first battle of Gaza; but here we had an exceedingly strong position, and the consensus of opinion seemed to be that the enemy would think twice before he stormed it. Their base was at Tekrit, almost thirty miles away. However, about ten miles distant stood a small village called Daur, which the Turks held in considerable force. Between Daur and Samarra there was nothing but desert, with gazelles and jackals the only permanent inhabitants. Into this no man's land both sides sent patrols, who met in occasional skirmishes. For reconnaissance work we used light-armored motor-cars, known throughout the army as Lam cars, a name formed by the initial letters of their titles. These cars were Rolls-Royces, and with their armor-plate weighed between three and three-quarters and four tons. They were proof against the ordinary bullet but not against the armor-piercing. When I came out to Mesopotamia I intended to lay my plans for a transfer to the cavalry, but after I had seen the cars at work I changed about and asked to be seconded to that branch of the service. A short while after my arrival our aeroplanes brought in word that the Turks were massing at Daur, and General Cobbe decided that when they launched forth he would go and meet them. Accordingly, we all moved out one night, expecting to give "Abdul," as the Tommies called him, a surprise. Whether it was that we started too early and their aeroplanes saw us, or whether they were only making a feint, we never found out; but at all events the enemy fell back, and save for some advance-guard skirmishing and a few prisoners, we drew a blank. We were not prepared to attack the Daur position, and so returned to Samarra to await developments. Meanwhile I busied myself searching for an Arab servant. Seven or eight years previous, when with my father in Africa, I had learned Swahili, and although I had forgotten a great deal of it, still I found it a help in taking up Arabic. Most of the officers had either British or Indian servants; in the former case they were known as batmen, and in the latter as bearers; but I decided to follow suit with the minority and get an Arab, and therefore learn Arabic instead of Hindustanee, for the former would be of vastly more general use. The town commandant, Captain Grieve of the Black Watch, after many attempts at length produced a native who seemed, at any rate, more promising than the others that offered themselves. Yusuf was a sturdy, rather surly-looking youth of about eighteen. Evidently not a pure Arab, he claimed various admixtures as the fancy took him, the general preference being Kurd. I always felt that there was almost certainly a good percentage of Turk. His father had been a non-commissioned officer in the Turkish army, and at first I was loath to take him along on advances and attacks, for he would have been shown little mercy had he fallen into enemy hands. He was, however, insistent on asking to go with me, and I never saw him show any concern under fire. He spoke, in varying degrees of fluency, Kurdish, Persian, and Turkish, and was of great use to me for that reason. He became by degrees a very faithful and trustworthy follower, his great weakness being that he was a one-man's man, and although he would do anything for me, he was of little general use in an officers' mess. I had two horses, one a black mare that I called Soda, which means black in Arabic, and the other a hard-headed bay gelding that was game to go all day, totally unaffected by shell-fire, but exceedingly stubborn about choosing the direction in which he went. After numerous changes I came across an excellent syce to look after them. He was a wild, unkempt figure, with a long black beard--a dervish by profession, and certainly gave no one any reason to believe that he was more than half-witted. Indeed, almost all dervishes are in a greater or less degree insane; it is probably due to that that they have become dervishes, for the native regards the insane as under the protection of God. Dervishes go around practically naked, usually wearing only a few skins flung over the shoulder, and carrying a large begging-bowl. In addition they carry a long, sharp, iron bodkin, with a wooden ball at the end, having very much the appearance of a fool's bauble. They lead an easy life. When they take a fancy to a house, they settle down near the gate, and the owner has to support them as long as the whim takes them to stay there. To use force against a dervish would be looked upon as an exceedingly unpropitious affair to the true believer. Then, too, I have little doubt but that they are capable of making good use of their steel bodkins. Why my dervish wished to give up his easy-going profession and take over the charge of my horses I never fully determined, but it must have been because he really loved horses and found that as a dervish pure and simple he had very little to do with them. When he arrived he was dressed in a very ancient gunny-sack, and it was not without much regret at the desecration that I provided him with an outfit of the regulation khaki. My duties took me on long rides about the country. Here, and throughout Mesopotamia, the great antiquity of this "cradle of the world" kept ever impressing itself upon one, consciously or subconsciously. Everywhere were ruins; occasionally a wall still reared itself clear of the all-enveloping dust, but generally all that remained were great mounds, where the desert had crept in and claimed its own, covering palace, house, and market, temple, synagogue, mosque, or church with its everlasting mantle. Often the streets could still be traced, but oftener not. The weight of ages was ever present as one rode among the ruins of these once busy, prosperous cities, now long dead and buried, how long no one knew, for frequently their very names were forgotten. Babylon, Ur of the Chaldees, Istabulat, Nineveh, and many more great cities of history are now nothing but names given to desert mounds. Close by Samarra stands a strange corkscrew tower, known by the natives as the Malwiyah. It is about a hundred and sixty feet high, built of brick, with a path of varying width winding up around the outside. No one knew its purpose, and estimates of its antiquity varied by several thousand years. One fairly well-substantiated story told that it had been the custom to kill prisoners by hurling them off its top. We found it exceedingly useful as an observation-post. In the same manner we used Julian's tomb, a great mound rising up in the desert some five or six miles up-stream of the town. The legend is that when the Roman Emperor died of his wounds his soldiers, impressing the natives, built this as a mausoleum; but there is no ground whatever for this belief, for it would have been physically impossible for a harassed or retreating army to have performed a task of such magnitude. The natives call it "The Granary," and claim that that was its original use. Before the war the Germans had started in excavating, and discovered shafts leading deep down, and on top the foundations of a palace. Around its foot may be traced roadways and circular plots, and especially when seen from an aeroplane it looks as if there had at one time been an elaborate system of gardens. We were continually getting false rumors about the movements of the Turks. We had believed that it would be impossible for them to execute a flank movement, at any rate in sufficient strength to be a serious menace, for from all the reports we could get, the wells were few and far between. Nevertheless, there was a great deal of excitement and some concern when one afternoon our aeroplanes came in with the report that they had seen a body of Turks that they estimated at from six to eight thousand marching round our right flank. The plane was sent straight back with instructions to verify most carefully the statement, and be sure that it was really men they had seen. They returned at dark with no alteration of their original report. As can well be imagined, that night was a crowded one for us, and the feeling ran high when next morning the enemy turned out to be several enormous herds of sheep. As part consequence of this we were ordered to make a thorough water reconnaissance, with a view of ascertaining how large a force could be watered on a march around our flank. I went off in an armored car with Captain Marshall of the Intelligence Service. Marshall had spent many years in Mesopotamia shipping liquorice to the American Tobacco Company, and he was known and trusted by the Arabs all along the Tigris from Kurna to Mosul. He spoke the language most fluently, but with an accent that left no doubt of his Caledonian home. We had with us a couple of old sheiks, and it was their first ride in an automobile. It was easy to see that one of them was having difficulty in maintaining his dignity, but I was not quite sure of the reason until we stopped a moment and he fairly flew out of the car. It didn't seem possible that a man able to ride ninety miles at a stretch on a camel, could be made ill by the motion of an automobile. However, such was the case, and we had great difficulty in getting him back into the car. We discovered far more wells than we had been led to believe existed, but not enough to make a flank attack a very serious menace. The mirage played all sorts of tricks, and the balloon observers grew to be very cautious in their assertions. In the early days of the campaign, at the battle of Shaiba Bund, a friendly mirage saved the British forces from what would have proved a very serious defeat. Suleiman Askari was commanding the Turkish forces, and things were faring badly with the British, when of a sudden to their amazement they found that the Turks were in full retreat. Their commanders had caught sight of the mirage of what was merely an ambulance and supply train, but it was so magnified that they believed it to be a very large body of reinforcements. The report ran that when Suleiman was told of his mistake, his chagrin was so great that he committed suicide. It was at length decided to advance on the Turkish forces at Daur. General Brooking had just made a most successful attack on the Euphrates front, capturing the town of Ramadie, with almost five thousand prisoners. It was believed to be the intention of the army commander to try to relieve the pressure against General Allenby's forces in Palestine by attacking the enemy on all three of their Mesopotamian fronts. Accordingly, we were ordered to march out after sunset one night, prepared to attack the enemy position at daybreak. During a short halt by the last rays of the setting sun I caught sight of a number of Mohammedan soldiers prostrating themselves toward Mecca in their evening prayers, while their Christian or pagan comrades looked stolidly on. It was late October, and although the days were still very hot and oppressive, the nights were almost bitterly cold. A night-march is always a disagreeable business. The head of the column checks and halts, and those in the rear have no idea whether it is an involuntary stop for a few minutes, or whether they are to halt for an hour or more, owing to some complication of orders. So we stood shivering, and longed for a smoke, but of course that was strictly forbidden, for the cigarettes of an army would form a very good indication of its whereabouts on a dark night. All night we marched and halted, and started on again; the dust choked us, and the hours seemed interminable, until at last at two in the morning word was passed along that we could have an hour's sleep. The greater part of the year in Mesopotamia the regulation army dress consisted of a tunic and "shorts." These are long trousers cut off just above the knee, and the wearer may either use wrap puttees, or leather leggings, or golf stockings. They are a great help in the heat, as may easily be understood, and they allow, of course, much freer knee action, particularly when your clothes are wet. The reverse side of the medal reads that when you try to sleep without a blanket on a cold night, you find that your knees are uncomfortably exposed. Still we were, most of us, so drunk with sleep that it would have taken more than that to keep us awake. At three we resumed our march, and attacked just at dawn. The enemy had abandoned the first-line positions, and we met with but little resistance in the second. Our cavalry, which was concentrated at several points in nullahs (dry river-beds), suffered at the hands of the hostile aircraft. The Turk had evidently determined to fall back to Tekrit without putting up a serious defense. They certainly could have given us a much worse time than they did, for they had dug in well and scientifically. Among the prisoners we took there were some that proved to be very worth while. These Turkish officers were, as a whole a good lot--well dressed and well educated. Many spoke French. There is an excellent gunnery school at Constantinople, and one of the officers we captured had been a senior instructor there for many years. We had with us among our intelligence officers a Captain Bettelheim, born in Constantinople of Belgian parentage. He had served with the Turks against the Italians and with the British against the Boers. This gunnery officer turned out to be an old comrade of his in the Italian War. Many of the officers we got knew him, for he had been chief of police in Constantinople. Apparently none of them bore him the slightest ill-will when they found him serving against them. Among the supplies we captured at Daur were a lot of our own rifles and ammunition that the Arabs had stolen and sold to the Turks. It was impossible to entirely stop this, guard our dumps as best we could. On dark nights they would creep right into camp, and it was never safe to have the hospital barges tie up to the banks for the night on their way down the river. On many occasions the Arabs crawled aboard and finished off the wounded. There was only one thing to be said for the Arab, and that was that he played no favorite, but attacked, as a rule, whichever side came handier. We were told, and I believe it to be true, that during the fighting at Sunnaiyat the Turks sent over to know if we would agree to a three days' truce, during which time we should join forces against the Arabs, who were watching on the flank to pick off stragglers or ration convoys. That night we bivouacked at Daur, and were unmolested except for the enemy aircraft that came over and "laid eggs." Next morning we advanced on Tekrit. Our orders were to make a feint, and if we found that the Turk meant to stay and fight it out seriously, we were to fall back. Some gazelles got into the no man's land between us and the Turk, and in the midst of the firing ran gracefully up the line, stopping every now and then to stare about in amazement. Later on in the Argonne forest in France we had the same thing happen with some wild boars. The enemy seemed in no way inclined to evacuate Tekrit, so in accordance with instructions we returned to our previous night's encampment at Daur. On the way back we passed an old "arabana," a Turkish coupé, standing abandoned in the desert, with a couple of dead horses by it. It may have been used by some Turkish general in the retreat of two days before. It was the sort of coupé one associates entirely with well-kept parks and crowded city streets, and the incongruity of its lonely isolation amid the sand-dunes caused an amused ripple of comment. Our instructions were to march back to Samarra early next morning, but shortly before midnight orders came through from General Maude for us to advance again upon Tekrit and take it. Next day we halted and took stock in view of the new orders. The cavalry again suffered at the hands of the Turkish aircraft. I went to corps headquarters in the afternoon, and a crowd of "red tabs," as the staff-officers were called, were seated around a little table having the inevitable tea. A number of the generals had come in to discuss the plan of attack for the following day. Suddenly a Turk aeroplane made its appearance, flying quite low, and dropping bombs at regular intervals. It dropped two, and then a third on a little hill in a straight line from the staff conclave. It looked as if the next would be a direct hit, and the staff did the only wise thing, and took cover as flat on the ground as nature would allow; but the Hun's spacing was bad, and the next bomb fell some little way beyond. I remember our glee at what we regarded as a capital joke on the staff. The line-officer's humor becomes a trifle robust where the "gilded staff" is concerned, notwithstanding the fact that most staff-officers have seen active and distinguished service in the line. Our anti-aircraft guns--"Archies" we called them--were mounted on trucks, and on account of their weight had some difficulty getting up. I shall not soon forget our delight when they lumbered into view, for although I never happened personally to see an aeroplane brought down by an "Archie," there was no doubt about it but that they did not bomb us with the same equanimity when our anti-aircrafts were at hand. [Illustration: Captured Turkish camel corps] That night we marched out on Tekrit, and as dawn was breaking were ready to attack. As the mist cleared, an alarming but ludicrous sight met our eyes. On the extreme right some caterpillar tractors hauling our "heavies" were advancing straight on Tekrit, as if they had taken themselves for tanks. They were not long in discovering their mistake, and amid a mixed salvo they clumsily turned and made off at their best pace, which was not more than three miles an hour. Luckily, they soon got under some excellent defilade, but not until they had suffered heavily. Our artillery did some good work, but while we were waiting to attack we suffered rather heavily. We had to advance over a wide stretch of open country to reach the Turkish first lines. By nightfall the second line of trenches was practically all in our hands. Meanwhile the cavalry had circled way around the flank up-stream of Tekrit to cut the enemy off if he attempted to retreat. The town is on the right bank of the Tigris, and we had a small force that had come up from Samarra on the left bank, for we had no means of ferrying troops across. Our casualties during the day had amounted to about two thousand. The Seaforths had suffered heavily, but no more so than some of the native regiments. In Mesopotamia there were many changes in the standing of the Indian battalions. The Maharattas, for instance, had never previously been regarded as anything at all unusual, but they have now a very distinguished record to take pride in. The general feeling was that the Gurkhas did not quite live up to their reputation. But the Indian troops as a whole did so exceedingly well that there is little purpose in making comparisons amongst them. At this time, so I was informed, the Expeditionary Force, counting all branches, totalled about a million, and a very large percentage of this came from India. We drew our supplies from India and Australia, and it is interesting to note that we preferred the Australian canned beef and mutton (bully beef and bully mutton, as it was called) to the American. At dusk the fighting died down, and we were told to hold on and go over at daybreak. As I was making my way back to headquarters a general pounced upon me and told me to get quickly into a car and go as rapidly as possible to Daur to bring up a motor ration-convoy with fodder for the cavalry horses and food for the riders. A Ford car happened to pass by, and he stopped it and shoved me in, with some last hurried injunction. It was quite fifteen miles back, and the country was so cut up by nullahs or ravines that in most places it was inadvisable to leave the road, which was, of course, jammed with a double stream of transport of every description. When we were three or four miles from Daur a tire blew out. The driver had used his last spare, so there was nothing to do but keep going on the rim. The car was of the delivery-wagon type--"pill-boxes" were what they were known as--and while we were stopped taking stock I happened to catch sight of a good-sized bedding-roll behind. "Some one's out of luck," said I to the driver; "whose roll is it?" "The corps commander's, sir," was his reply. After exhausting my limited vocabulary, I realized that it was far too late to stop another motor and send this one back, so I just kept going. Across the bed of one more ravine, the sand up to the hubs, and we were in the Daur camp. I managed to rank some one out of a spare tire and started back again. My driver proved unable to drive at night, at all events at a pace that would put us anywhere before dawn, so I was forced to take the wheel. By the time I had the convoy properly located I was rather despondent of the corps commander's temper, even should I eventually reach him that night, which seemed a remote chance, for the best any one could do was give me the rough location on a map. Still, taking my luminous compass, I set out to steer a cross-country course. I ran into five or six small groups of ambulances filled with wounded, trying to find their way to Daur, and completely lost. Most had given up--some were unknowingly headed back for Tekrit. I could do no more than give them the right direction, which I knew they had no chance of holding. Of course I could have no headlights, and the ditches were many, but in some miraculous way, more through good luck than good management, I did find corps headquarters, and what was better still, the general's reprimand took the form of bread and ham and a stiff peg of whiskey--the first food I had had since before daylight. During the night the Turks evacuated the town. Their forces were certainly mobile. They could cover the most surprising distances, and live on almost nothing. We marched in and occupied. White flags were flying from all the houses, which were not nearly so much damaged from the bombardment as one would have supposed. This was invariably the case; indeed, it is surprising to see how much shelling a town can undergo without noticeable effect. It takes a long time to level a town in the way it has been done in northern France. In this region the banks of the river average about one hundred and fifty feet in height, and Tekrit is built at the junction of two ravines. No two streets are on the same level; sometimes the roofs of the houses on a lower level serve as the streets for the houses above. Many of the booths in the bazaar were open and transacting business when we arrived, an excellent proof of how firmly the Arabs believed in British fair dealing. Our men bought cigarettes, matches, and vegetables. Yusuf had lived here three or four years, so I despatched him to get chickens and eggs for the mess. I ran into Marshall, who was on his way to dine with the mayor, who had turned out to be an old friend of his. He asked me to join him, and we climbed up to a very comfortable house, built around a large courtyard. It was the best meal we had either of us had in days--great pilaus of rice, excellent chicken, and fresh unleavened bread. This bread looks like a very large and thin griddle-cake. The Arab uses it as a plate. Eating with your hands is at first rather difficult. Before falling to, a ewer is brought around to you, and you are supplied with soap--a servant pours water from the ewer over your hands, and then gives you a towel. After eating, the same process is gone through with. There are certain formalities that must be regarded--one of them being that you must not eat or drink with your left hand. In Tekrit we did not find as much in the way of supplies and ammunition as we had hoped. The Turk had destroyed the greater part of his store. We did find great quantities of wood, and in that barren, treeless country it was worth a lot. Most of the inhabitants of Tekrit are raftsmen by profession. Their rafts have been made in the same manner since before the days of Xerxes and Darius. Inflated goatskins are used as a basis for a platform of poles, cut in the up-stream forests. On these, starting from Diarbekr or Mosul, they float down all their goods. When they reach Tekrit they leave the poles there, and start up-stream on foot, carrying their deflated goatskins. The Turks used this method a great deal bringing down their supplies. In pre-war days the rafts, keleks as they are called, would often come straight through to Baghdad, but many were always broken up at Tekrit, for there is a desert route running across to Hit on the Euphrates, and the supplies from up-river were taken across this in camel caravans. The aerodrome lay six or seven miles above the town, and I was anxious to see it and the comfortable billets the Germans had built themselves. I found a friend whose duties required motor transportation, and we set off in his car. A dust-storm was raging, and we had some difficulty in finding our way through the network of trenches. Once outside, the storm became worse, and we could only see a few yards in front of us. We got completely lost, and after nearly running over the edge of the bluff, gave up the attempt, and slowly worked our way back. When we started off on the advance I was reading Xenophon's _Anabasis_. On the day when we were ordered to march on Tekrit a captain of the Royal Flying Corps, an ex-master at Eton, was in the mess, and when I told him that I was nearly out of reading matter, he said that next time he came over he would drop me Plutarch's _Lives_. I asked him to drop it at corps headquarters, and that a friend of mine there would see that I got it. The next day in the heat of the fighting a plane came over low, signalling that it was dropping a message. As the streamer fell close by, there was a rush to pick it up and learn how the attack was progressing. Fortunately, I was far away when the packet was opened and found to contain the book that the pilot had promised to drop for me. After we had been occupying the town for a few days, orders came through to prepare to fall back on Samarra. The line of communication was so long that it was impossible to maintain us, except at too great a cost to the transportation facilities possessed by the Expeditionary Forces. Eight or ten months later, when we had more rails in hand, a line was laid to Tekrit, which had been abandoned by the Turks under the threat of our advance to Kirkuk, in the Persian hills. It was difficult to explain to the men, particularly to the Indians, the necessity for falling back. All they could understand was that we had taken the town at no small cost, and now we were about to give it up. For several days I was busy helping to prepare rafts to take down the timber and such other captured supplies as were worth removing. The river was low, leaving a broad stretch of beach below the town, and to this we brought down the poles. Several camels had died near the water, probably from the results of our shelling, and the hot weather soon made them very unpleasant companions. The first day was bad enough; the second was worse. The natives were not in the least affected. They brought their washing and worked among them--they came down and drew their drinking-water from the river, either beside the camels or down-stream of them, with complete indifference. It is true this water percolates drop by drop through large, porous clay pots before it is drunk, but even so, it would have seemed that they would have preferred its coming from up-stream of the derelict "ships of the desert." On the third day, to their mild surprise, we managed with infinite difficulty to tow the camels out through the shallow water into the main stream. We finally got our rafts built, over eighty in number, and arranged for enough Arab pilots to take care of half of them. On the remainder we put Indian sepoys. They made quite a fleet when we finally got them all started down-stream. Two were broken up in the rapids near Daur, the rest reached Samarra in safety on the second day. We had a pleasant camp on the bluffs below Tekrit--high-enough above the plain to be free of the ordinary dust-storms, and the prospect of returning to Samarra was scarcely more pleasant to us than to the men. Five days after we had taken the town, we turned our backs on it and marched slowly back to rail-head. III PATROLLING THE RUINS OF BABYLON We returned to find Samarra buried in dust and more desolate than ever. A few days later came the first rain-storm. After a night's downpour the air was radiantly clear, and it was joy to ride off on the rounds, no longer like Zeus, enveloped in a cloud. It was a relief to see the heat-stroke camps broken up. During the summer months our ranks were fearfully thinned through the sun. Although it was the British troops that suffered most, the Indians were by no means immune. Before the camps were properly organized the percentage of mortality was exceedingly large, for the only effective treatment necessitates the use of much ice. The patient runs a temperature which it was impossible to control until the ice-making machines were installed. The camps were situated in the coolest and most comfortable places, but in spite of everything, death was a frequent result, and recoveries were apt to be only partial. Men who had had a bad stroke were rarely of any further use in the country. Another sickness of the hot season which now began to claim less victims was sand-fly fever. This fever, which, as its name indicates, was contracted from the bites of sand-flies, varied widely in virulence. Sometimes it was so severe that the victim had to be evacuated to India; as a rule he went no farther than a base hospital at Baghdad or Amara. One of the things about which the Tommy felt most keenly in the Mesopotamian campaign was that there was no such thing as a "Cushy Blighty." To take you to "Blighty" a wound must mean permanent disablement, otherwise you either convalesced in the country or, at best, were sent to India. In the same manner there were no short leaves, for there was nowhere to go. At the most rapid rate of travelling it took two weeks to get to India, and once there, although the people did everything possible in the way of entertaining, the enlisted man found little to make him less homesick than he had been in Mesopotamia. Transportation was so difficult and the trip so long that only under very exceptional circumstances was leave to England given. One spring it was announced that officers wishing to get either married or divorced could apply for leave with good hopes of success. Many applied, but a number returned without having fulfilled either condition, so that the following year no leaves were given upon those grounds. The army commander put all divorce cases into the hands of an officer whose civil occupation had been the law, and who arranged them without the necessity of granting home leave. A week after our return to Samarra a rumor started that General Maude was down with cholera. For some time past there had been sporadic cases, though not enough to be counted an epidemic. The sepoys had suffered chiefly, but not exclusively, for the British ranks also supplied a quota of victims. An officer on the staff of the military governor of Baghdad had recently died. We heard that the army commander had the virulent form, and knew there could be no chance of his recovery. The announcement of his death was a heavy blow to all, and many were the gloomy forebodings. The whole army had implicit confidence in their leader, and deeply mourned his loss. The usual rumors of foul play and poison went the rounds, but I soon after heard Colonel Wilcox--in pre-war days an able and renowned practitioner of Harley Street--say that it was an undoubted case of cholera. The colonel had attended General Maude throughout the illness. The general had never taken the cholera prophylactic, although Colonel Wilcox had on many occasions urged him to do so, the last time being only a few days before the disease developed. [Illustration: Towing an armored car across a river] [Illustration: Reconnaissance] General Marshall, who had commanded General Maude's old division, the Thirteenth, took over. The Seventeenth lost General Gillman, who thereupon became chief of staff. This was a great loss to his division, for he was the idol of the men, but the interest of the Expeditionary Force was naturally and justly given precedence. In due course my transfer to the Motor Machine-Gun Corps came through approved, and I was assigned to the Fourteenth battery of light-armored motor-cars, commanded by Captain Nigel Somerset, whose grandfather, Lord Raglan, had died, nursed by Florence Nightingale, while in command of the British forces in the Crimean War. Somerset himself was in the infantry at the outbreak of the war and had been twice wounded in France. He was an excellent leader, possessing as he did dash, judgment, and personal magnetism. A battery was composed of eight armored cars, subdivided into four sections. There was a continually varying number of tenders and workshop lorries. The fighting cars were Rolls-Royces, the others Napiers and Fords. At that time there were only four batteries in the country. We were army troops--that is to say, we were not attached to any individual brigade, or division, or corps, but were temporarily assigned first here and then there, as the need arose. In attacks we worked in co-operation with the cavalry. Although on occasions they tried to use us as tanks, it was not successful, for our armor-plate was too light. We were also employed in raiding, and in quelling Arab uprisings. This latter use threw us into close touch with the political officers. These were a most interesting lot of men. They were recruited in part from the army, but largely from civil life. They took over the civil administration of the conquered territory and judiciously upheld native justice. Many remarkable characters were numbered among them--men who had devoted a lifetime to the study of the intricacies of Oriental diplomacy. They were distinguished by the white tabs on the collars of their regulation uniforms; but white was by no means invariably the sign of peace, for many of the political officers were killed, and more than once in isolated towns in unsettled districts they sustained sieges that lasted for several days. We often took a political officer out with us on a raid or reconnaissance, finding his knowledge of the language and customs of great assistance. Sir Percy Cox was at the head, with the title "Chief Political Officer" and the rank of general. His career in the Persian Gulf has been as distinguished as it is long, and his handling of the very delicate situations arising in Mesopotamia has called forth the unstinted praise of soldier and civilian alike. Ably assisting him, and head of the Arab bureau, was Miss Gertrude Bell, the only woman, other than the nursing sisters, officially connected with the Mesopotamian Expeditionary Forces. Miss Bell speaks Arabic fluently and correctly. She first became interested in the East when visiting her uncle at Teheran, where he was British minister. She has made noteworthy expeditions in Syria and Mesopotamia, and has written a number of admirable books, among which are _Armurath to Armurath_ and _The Desert and the Sown_. The undeniable position which she holds must appear doubly remarkable when the Mohammedan official attitude toward women is borne in mind. Miss Bell has worked steadily and without a leave in this trying climate, and her tact and judgment have contributed to the British success to a degree that can scarcely be overestimated. The headquarters of the various batteries were in Baghdad. There we had our permanent billets, and stores. We would often be ordered out in sections to be away varying lengths of time, though rarely more than a couple of months. The workshops' officer stayed in permanent charge and had the difficult task of keeping all the cars in repair. The supply of spare parts was so uncertain that much skill and ingenuity were called for, and possessed to a full degree by Lieutenant Linnell of the Fourteenth. A few days after I joined I set off with Somerset and one of the battery officers, Lieutenant Smith, formerly of the Black Watch. We were ordered to do some patrolling near the ruins of Babylon. Kerbela and Nejef, in the quality of great Shiah shrines, had never been particularly friendly to the Turks, who were Sunnis--but the desert tribes are almost invariably Sunnis, and this coupled with their natural instinct for raiding and plundering made them eager to take advantage of any interregnum of authority. We organized a sort of native mounted police, but they were more picturesque than effective. They were armed with weapons of varying age and origin--not one was more recent than the middle of the last century. Now the Budus, the wild desert folk, were frequently equipped with rifles they had stolen from us, so in a contest the odds were anything but even. We took up our quarters at Museyib, a small town on the banks of the Euphrates, six or eight miles above the Hindiyah Barrage, a dam finished a few years before, and designed to irrigate a large tract of potentially rich country. We patrolled out to Mohamediyah, a village on the caravan desert route to Baghdad, and thence down to Hilleh, around which stand the ruins of ancient Babylon. The rainy season was just beginning, and it was obvious that the patrolling could not be continuous, for a twelve-hour rain would make the country impassable to our heavy cars for two or three days. We were fortunate in having pleasant company in the officers of a Punjabi infantry battalion and an Indian cavalry regiment. Having commandeered an ancient caravan-serai for garage and billets, we set to work to clean it out and make it as waterproof as circumstances would permit. An oil-drum with a length of iron telegraph-pole stuck in its top provided a serviceable stove, and when it rained we played bridge or read. I was ever ready to reduce my kit to any extent in order to have space for some books, and Voltaire's _Charles XII_ was the first called upon to carry me to another part of the world from that in which I at the moment found myself. I always kept a volume of some sort in my pocket, and during halts I would read in the shade cast by the turret of my car. The two volumes of Layard's _Early Adventures_ proved a great success. The writer, the great Assyriologist, is better known as the author of _Nineveh and Babylon_. The book I was reading had been written when he was in his early twenties, but published for the first time forty years later. Layard started life as a solicitor's clerk in London, but upon being offered a post in India he had accepted and proceeded thither overland. On reaching Baghdad he made a side-trip into Kurdistan, and became so enamored of the life of the tribesmen that he lived there with them on and off for two years--years filled with adventure of the most thrilling sort. I had finished a translation of Xenophon shortly before and found it a very different book than when I was plodding drearily through it in the original at school. Here it was all vivid and real before my eyes, with the scene of the great battle of Cunaxa only a few miles from Museyib. Babylon was in sight of the valiant Greeks, but all through the loss of a leader it was never to be theirs. On the ground itself one could appreciate how great a masterpiece the retreat really was, and the hardiness of the soldiers which caused Xenophon to regard as a "snow sickness" the starvation and utter weariness which made the numbed men lie down and die in the snow of the Anatolian highlands. He remarks naïvely that if you could build a fire and give them something hot to eat, the sickness was dispelled! The rain continued to fall and the mud became deeper and deeper. It was all the Arabs could do to get their produce into market. The bazaar was not large, but was always thronged. I used to sit in one of the coffee-houses and drink coffee or tea and smoke the long-stemmed water-pipe, the narghile. My Arabic was now sufficiently fluent for ordinary conversation, and in these clubs of the Arab I could hear all the gossip. Bazaar rumors always told of our advances long before they were officially given out. Once in Baghdad I heard of an attack we had launched. On going around to G.H.Q. I mentioned the rumor, and found that it was not yet known there, but shortly after was confirmed. I had already in Africa met with the "native wireless," and it will be remembered how in the Civil War the plantation negroes were often the first to get news of the battles. It is something that I have never heard satisfactorily explained. In the coffee-houses, besides smoking and gossiping, we also played games, either chess or backgammon or munkula. This last is an exceedingly primitive and ancient game--it must date almost as far back as jackstones or knucklebones. I have seen the natives in Central Africa and the Indians in the far interior of Brazil playing it in almost identical form. In Mesopotamia the board was a log of wood sliced in two and hinged together. In either half five or six holes were scooped out, and the game consisted in dropping cowrie shells or pebbles into the holes. When the number in a particular hollow came to a certain amount with the addition of the one dropped in, you won the contents. In most places the coffee was served in Arab fashion, not Turkish. In the latter case it is sweet and thick and the tiny cup is half full of grounds; in the former the coffee is clear and bitter and of unsurpassable flavor. The diminutive cup is filled several times, but each time there is only a mouthful poured in. Tea is served in small glasses, without milk, but with lots of sugar. The spoons in the glasses are pierced with holes like tea-strainers so that the tea may be stirred without spilling it. There was in particular one booth I could never tire watching. The old man who owned it was a vender of pickles. In rows before him were bottles and jars and bowls containing pickles of all colors--red, yellow, green, purple, white, and even blue. Above his head were festoons of gayly painted peppers. He had a long gray beard, wore a green turban and a flowing robe with a gold-braided waistcoat. In the half-lights of the crowded, covered bazaar his was a setting in which Dulac would have revelled. At Museyib we led a peaceful, uneventful existence--completely shut in by the mud. We had several bazaar rumors about proposed attacks upon the engineers who were surveying for a railroad that was to be built to Hilleh for the purpose of transporting the grain-crop to the capital. Nothing materialized, however. The conditions were too poor to induce even the easily encouraged Arabs to raid. One morning when I was wandering around the gardens on the outskirts of the town I came across some jackals and shot one with my Webley revolver. It was running and I fired a number of times, and got back to town to find that my shooting had started all sorts of excitement and reports of uprisings. Christmas came and the different officers' messes organized celebrations. The mess we had joined was largely Scotch, so we decided we must make a haggis, that "chieftain of the pudden race." The ingredients, save for the whiskey, were scarcely orthodox, but if it was not a success, at least no one admitted it. As soon as the weather cleared we made a run to Kerbela--a lovely town, with miles of gardens surrounding it and two great mosques. The bazaar was particularly attractive--plentifully supplied with everything. We got quantities of the deliciously flavored pistachio-nuts which were difficult to obtain elsewhere, as well as all sorts of fruit and vegetables. There were no troops stationed in the vicinity, so the prices were lower than usual. The orders were that we should go about in armed bands, but I never saw any marked indication of hostility. The British, true to the remarkable tact and tolerance that contributes so largely to their success in dealing with native races, posted Mohammedan sepoys as guards on the mosques, and no one but Moslems could even go into the courtyards. If this had not been done, there would have been many disturbances and uprisings, for the Arabs and Persians felt so strongly on the question that they regarded with marked hostility those who even gazed into the mosque courtyards. Why it is so different in Constantinople I do not know, but there was certainly no hostility shown us in Santa Sophia nor in the mosque of Omar in Jerusalem. Be that as it may, forbidden fruit is always sweet, and the Tommies were inclined to force an entrance. During a change of guard a Tommy who had his curiosity and initiative stimulated through recourse to arrick, the fiery liquor distilled from dates, stole into the most holy mosque in Kerbela. By a miracle he was got out unharmed, but for a few hours a general uprising with an attendant massacre of unbelievers was feared. The great mosque lost much of its dignity through an atrocious clock-tower standing in the courtyard in front of it. It had evidently been found too expensive to cover this tower with a golden scale to shine in the sun, so some ingenious architect hit upon the plan of papering it with flattened kerosene-tins. It must have glinted gloriously at first, but weather and rain had rusted the cans and they presented but a sorry spectacle. From the thousand and one uses to which these oil-cans have been put by the native, one is inclined to think that the greatest benefit that has been conferred on the natives by modern civilization is from the hands of the Standard Oil Company. There were a fair number of Indians living in Kerbela before the war, for devout Shiahs are anxious to be buried near the martyred sons of Ali, and when they are unable to move to Kerbela in their lifetime they frequently make provisions that their remains may be transported thither. The British found it a convenient abode for native rulers whom they were forced to depose but still continued to pension. [Illustration: The Lion of Babylon] [Illustration: A dragon on the palace wall] Hilleh, which stands near the ruins of ancient Babylon, is a modern town very much like Museyib. I never had a chance to study the ruins at any length. Several times we went over the part that had been excavated by the Germans immediately before the war. I understand that this is believed to be the great palace where Belshazzar saw the handwriting on the wall. It is built of bricks, each one of which is stamped in cuneiform characters. There are very fine bas-reliefs of animals, both mythical and real. In the centre is the great stone lion, massively impressive, standing over the prostrate form of a man. The lion has suffered from fire and man; there have even been chips made in it recently by Arab rifles, probably not wantonly, but in some skirmish. Standing alone in its majesty in the midst of ruin and desolation amid the black tents of a people totally unable to construct or even appreciate anything of a like nature, it gave one much to think over and moralize about. The ruins of Babylon have been excavated only in very small part; there are great isolated mounds which have never been touched, and you can still pick up in the sand bits of statuary, and the cylinders that were used as seal-rings. The great city of Seleucia on the Tigris was built largely with bricks and masonry brought by barge from the ruins of Babylon through the canal that joined the two rivers. The prophecy of Isaiah has fallen true: And Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees' excellency, shall be as when God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah. It shall never be inhabited, neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation: neither shall the Arabian pitch tent there; neither shall the shepherds make their fold there. But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there. And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses, and dragons in their pleasant palaces: and her time is near to come, and her days shall not be prolonged. A few days after Christmas, we were ordered to return to Baghdad. The going was still bad. We had a Ford tender in advance to find and warn us of the softest spots. Once it got into the middle of such a bottomless bog that, after trying everything else, I hit upon the idea of rolling it out. It was built all enclosed like a bread-van, and we turned it over and over until we had it clear of the mud. We had hard work with the heavy cars--sometimes we could tow one out with another, but frequently that only resulted in getting the two stuck. Once when the cars were badly bogged I went to a near-by Arab village to get help. I told the head man that I wanted bundles of brush to throw in front of the cars in order to make some sort of a foundation to pass them over. He at once started turning out his people to aid us, but after he had got a number of loads under way he caught sight of one of his wives, who, instead of coming to our assistance, was washing some clothes in a copper caldron by the fire. There followed a scene which demonstrated that even an Arab is by no means always lord of his own household. The wife refused to budge; the Arab railed and stormed, but she went calmly on with her washing, paying no more attention to his fury than if he were a fractious, unreasonable child. At length, driven to a white heat of rage, the head man upset the caldron into the fire with his foot. The woman, without a word, got up and stalked into a near-by hut, from which she refused to emerge. There was nothing for her discomfited adversary to do but go on with his rounds. By manoeuvring and digging and towing we managed to make seven miles after fourteen hours' work that first day. Night found us close beside an Arab village, from which I got a great bowl of buffalo milk to put into the men's coffee. Early in the morning we were off again. The going was so much better that we were able to make Baghdad at ten o'clock in the evening. IV SKIRMISHES AND RECONNAISSANCES ALONG THE KURDISH FRONT We spent a few days making repairs and outfitting before starting off again. This time our destination was Deli Abbas, the headquarters of the Thirteenth Division. The town is situated in the plains below the foot-hills of the Persian Mountains, on the banks of the Khalis Canal, some seventy miles north-east of Baghdad. At dawn we passed out of the north gate, close to where General Maude is buried, and whirled across the desert for thirty miles to Bakuba, a prosperous city on the banks of the Diyala. From the junction of the greater Zab down to Kurna, where the Euphrates joins, this stream is the most important affluent of the Tigris. It was one of those bright, sparkling mornings on which merely to be alive and breathe is a joy. We passed a number of caravans, bringing carpets and rugs from Persia, or fruit and vegetables from the rich agricultural district around Bakuba. The silks manufactured here are of a fine quality and well known throughout the country. After passing the big aerodrome near the town, the going became very bad; we struggled along through the village of Deltawa, in and out of unfathomable ditches. The rivers were in flood, and we ran into lakes and swamps that we cautiously skirted. Dark overtook us in the middle of a network of bogs, but we came upon an outpost of Welsh Fusiliers and spent the night with them. We had smashed the bottom plate of one of the cars, so that all the oil ran out of the crank-case, but with a side of the ever-useful kerosene tin we patched the car up temporarily and pushed off at early dawn. Our route wound through groves of palms surrounding the tumble-down tomb of some holy man, occasional collections of squalid little huts, and in the intervening "despoblado" we would catch sight of a jackal crouching in the hollow or slinking off through the scrub. Deli Abbas proved a half-deserted straggling town which gave evidence of having once seen prosperous days. Some Turkish aeroplanes heralded our arrival. In front of us rose the Jebel Hamrin--Red Hills--beyond them the snow-clad peaks of the Kurdish Range. A few months previous we had captured the passes over the Jebel, and we were now busy repairing and improving the roads--in particular that across the Abu Hajjar, not for nothing named by the Arabs the "Father of Stones." Whenever the going permitted we went out on reconnaissances--rekkos, as we called them. They varied but slightly; the one I went on the day after reaching Deli Abbas might serve as model. We started at daybreak and ran to a little village called Ain Lailah, the Spring of Night, a lovely name for the small clump of palm-trees tucked away unexpectedly in a hollow among barren foot-hills. There we picked up a surveyor--an officer whose business it was to make maps for the army. We passed through great herds of camels, some with small children perched on their backs, who joggled about like sailors on a storm-tossed ship, as the camels made away from the cars. There were villages of the shapeless black tents of the nomads huddled in among the desolate dunes. We picked up a Turk deserter who was trying to reach our lines. He said that his six comrades had been killed by Arabs. Shortly afterward we ran into a cavalry patrol, but the men escaped over some very broken ground before we could satisfactorily come to terms with them. It was lucky for the deserter that we found him before they did, for his shrift would have been short. We got back to camp at half past eight, having covered ninety-two miles in our windings--a good day's work. Each section had two motorcycles attached to it--jackals, as one of the generals called them, in apt reference to the way in which jackals accompany a lion when hunting. The cyclists rode ahead to spy out the country and the best course to follow. When we got into action they would drop behind, and we used them to send messages back to camp. The best motorcyclist we had was a Swiss named Milson. He was of part English descent, and came at once from Switzerland at the outbreak of the war to enlist. When he joined he spoke only broken English but was an exceedingly intelligent man and had been attending a technical college. I have never seen a more skilful rider; he could get his cycle along through the mud when we were forced to carry the others, and no one was more cool and unconcerned under fire. The personnel of the battery left nothing to be desired. One was proud to serve among such a fine set of men. Corporal Summers drove the car in which I usually rode, and I have never met with a better driver or one who understood his car so thoroughly, and possessed that intangible sympathy with it which is the gift of a few, but can be never attained. We were still in the rainy season. We had to travel as light as possible, and all we could bring were forty-pounder tents, which correspond to the American dog-tent. Very low, they withstood in remarkable fashion the periodical hurricanes of wind and rain. They kept us fairly dry, too, for we were careful to ditch them well. There was room for two men to sleep in the turret of a Rolls, and they could spread a tarpaulin over the top to keep the rain from coming in through the various openings. The balance of the men had a communal tent or slept in the tenders. The larger tents in the near-by camps blew down frequently, but with us it happened only occasionally. There are happier moments than those spent in the inky blackness amid a torrential deluge, when you try to extricate yourself from the wet, clinging folds of falling canvas. Time hung heavily when the weather was bad, and we were cooped up inside our tents without even a hostile aeroplane to shoot at. One day when the going was too poor to take out the heavy cars, I set off in a tender to visit another section of the battery that was stationed thirty or forty miles away in the direction of Persia, close by a town called Kizil Robat. We had a rough trip, with several difficult fords to cross. It was only through working with the icy water above our waists that we won through the worst, amid the shouts of "Shabash, Sahib!" ("Well done!") from the onlooking Indian troops. I reached the camp to find the section absent on a reconnaissance, for the country was better drained than that over which we were working. A few minutes later one of the cyclists came in with the news that the cars were under heavy fire about twenty-five miles away and one of them was badly bogged. I immediately loaded all the surplus men and eight Punjabis from a near-by regiment into the tenders. We reached the scene just after the disabled car had been abandoned. Some of the Turks were concealed in a village two hundred and fifty yards away; the rest were behind some high irrigation embankments. The free car had been unable to circle around or flank them because of the nature of the terrain. The men had not known that the village was occupied and had bogged down almost at the same time that the Turks opened fire. By breaking down an irrigation ditch the enemy succeeded in further flooding the locality where the automobile was trapped. The Turks made it hot for the men when they tried to dig out the car. The bullets spattered about them. It was difficult to tell how many Turks we accounted for. As dark came on, the occupants of the disabled car abandoned it and joined the other one, which was standing off the enemy but had lost all four tires and was running on its rims. We held a consultation and decided to stay where we were until dawn. We had scarcely made the decision when one of our cyclists arrived with orders from the brigade commander to return immediately. Although exceedingly loath to leave the armored car, we had no other course than to obey. It was after midnight by the time we made back to camp. We were told that a small attack had been planned for the morning, and that then we could go out with the troops and recover our car, using some artillery horses to drag it free. The troops soon began filing past, but we didn't pull out till three o'clock, by which time we were reinforced by an armored car from another battery. We were held back behind the advanced cavalry until daylight, and felt certain that the Turks would have either destroyed or succeeded in removing our car. Nor were we wrong, for just as we breasted the hill that brought the scene of yesterday's engagement into view, we saw the smoke of an explosion and the men running back into the village. We cleared the village with the help of a squadron of the Twenty-First cavalry, and found that the car had been almost freed during the night. It was a bad wreck, but we were able to tow it. I wished to have a reckoning with the village head man, and walked to an isolated group of houses a few hundred yards to the left of the village. As I neared them a lively fusillade opened and I had to take refuge in a convenient irrigation ditch. The country was so broken that it was impossible for us to operate, so we towed the car back to camp. [Illustration: Hauling out a badly bogged fighting car] [Illustration: A Mesopotamian garage] Our section from Deli Abbas was moved up to take the place of the one that had been engaged, which now returned to Baghdad. We were camped at Mirjana, a few miles north of Kizil Robat, on the Diyala River. A pontoon bridge was thrown across and the cars were taken over to the right bank, where we bivouacked with a machine-gun company and a battalion of native infantry. The bed of the river was very wide, and although throughout the greater part of the year the water flowed only through the narrow main channel, in the time of the spring floods the whole distance was a riotous yellow torrent. We had no sooner got the cars across than the river began to rise. During the first night part of the bridge was carried away, and the rest was withdrawn. The rise continued; trees and brush were swept racing past. We made several fruitless attempts to get across in the clumsy pontoons, but finally gave it up, resigning ourselves to being marooned. We put ourselves on short rations and waited for the river to fall. If the Turks had used any intelligence they could have gathered us in with the greatest ease, in spite of our excellent line of trenches. On the fourth day of our isolation the river subsided as rapidly as it had risen. We had good patrolling conditions, and each day we made long circuits. Sometimes we would run into a body of enemy cavalry and have a skirmish with them. Again we would come upon an infantry outpost and manoeuvre about in an effort to damage it. The enemy set traps for us, digging big holes in the road and covering them over with matting on which they scattered dirt to make the surface appear normal. The nearest town occupied by the Turks was Kara Tepe, distant from Mirjana eight or ten miles as the crow flies. In the debatable land were a number of native villages, and such inhabitants as remained in them led an unpleasantly eventful existence. In the morning they would be visited by a Turkish patrol, which would be displaced by us in our rounds. Perhaps in the evening a band of wild mountainy Kurds would blow in and run off some of their few remaining sheep. Then the Turks would return and accuse them of having given us information, and carry off some hostages or possibly beat a couple of them for having received us, although goodness knows they had little enough choice in the matter. There was one old sheik with whom I used often to sit and gossip while an attendant was roasting the berries for our coffee over the near-by fire. He was ever asking why we couldn't make an advance and put his village safely behind our lines, so that the children could grow fat and the herds graze unharmed. In this country Kurdish and Turkish were spoken as frequently as Arabic, and many of the names of places were Turkish--such as Kara Tepe, which means Black Mountain, and Kizil Robat, the Tomb of the Maidens. My spelling of these names differs from that found on many maps. It would be a great convenience if some common method could be agreed upon. At present the map-makers conform only in a unanimous desire to each use a different transliteration. Kizil Robat is an attractive town. I spent some pleasant mornings wandering about it with the mayor, Jameel Bey, a fine-looking Kurdish chieftain of the Jaf tribe. He owned a lovely garden with date-palms, oranges, pomegranates, and figs. Tattered Kurds were working on the irrigation ditches, and a heap of rags lying below the wall in the sun changed itself into a small boy, just as I was about to step on it. Jameel's son was as white, with as rosy cheeks, as any American baby. Harry Bowen, brother-in-law of General Cobbe, was the political officer in charge of Kizil Robat. He spoke excellent Arabic and was much respected by the natives. His house was an oasis in which I could always look forward to a pleasant talk, an excellent native dinner, and some interesting book to carry off. Although the town was small, there were three good Turkish baths. One of them belonged to Jameel Bey, but, judging from the children tending babies while squatting in the entrance portico, was generally given over to the distaff side and its friends. The one which we patronized, while not so grand a building, had an old Persian who understood the art of massage thoroughly, and there was nothing more restful after a number of days' hard work with the cars. In the end of February there passed through Kizil Robat the last contingent of our former Russian Allies. They were Cossacks--a fine-looking lot as they rode along perched on their small chunky saddles atop of their unkempt but hardy ponies. When Russia went out of the war they asked permission to keep on fighting with us. They were a good deal of a problem, for they had no idea whatever of discipline, and it was most difficult to keep them in hand and stop them from pillaging the natives indiscriminately. They had been completely cut off from Russia for a long time but were now on their way back. A very intelligent woman doctor and a number of nurses who had been with them were sick with smallpox in one of our hospitals in Baghdad. When they recovered they were sent to India, for it was not feasible to repatriate them by way of Persia. When the Russians first established connection with us, some armored cars were sent to bring in the Cossack general, whose name we were told was Leslie. We were unprepared to find that he spoke no English! It turned out that his ancestors had gone over from Scotland to the court of Peter the Great. V THE ADVANCE ON THE EUPHRATES Early in March we got orders to return to Baghdad, where all the armored cars were to be concentrated preparatory to an attack on the Euphrates front. There was much speculation as to our mission. Some said that we were to break through and establish connection with General Allenby's forces in Palestine. While I know nothing about it authoritatively, it is certain that if the state of affairs in France had not called for the withdrawal from the East of all the troops that could be spared, the attack that was launched in October would have taken place in March. We could then have advanced up the Euphrates, and it would have been entirely practical to cross over the desert in the cars by way of Tadmor. When we got word to come in, the roads were in fearful shape and the rain was falling in torrents, but we were so afraid that we might miss the attack that we salvaged everything not essential and started to fight our way through the mud. It was a slow and wearisome process, but we managed to get as far as Bakuba by evening. The river was rising in one of its periodical floods and we found that the pontoon bridge had been cut half an hour before our arrival. No one could predict how long the flood would last, but the river rarely went down sufficiently to allow the bridge to be replaced within a week. At that time the railroad went only as far as Bakuba, and crossed the river on a wooden trestle, so I decided to try to load the motors on a flat car and get across the Diyala in that way. After having made arrangements to do this I wandered off into the bazaar to get something to eat. In native fashion I first bought a big flap of bread from an old woman, and then went to a pickle booth to get some beets, which I wrapped in my bread. Next I proceeded to a meat-shop and ordered some lamb kababs roasted. The meat is cut in pellets, spitted on rods six or eight inches long, and lain over the glowing charcoal embers. In the shop there are long tables with benches beside them. The customer spreads his former purchases, and when his kababs are ready he eats his dinner. He next proceeds to a coffee-house, where he has a couple of glasses of tea and three or four diminutive cups of coffee to top off, and the meal is finished. The Arab eats sparingly as a rule, but when he gives or attends a banquet he stuffs himself to his utmost capacity. Next morning we loaded our cars successfully and started off by rail for Baghdad, some thirty miles away. The railroad wound across the desert, with here and there a water-tank with a company from a native regiment guarding it. As we stopped at one particularly desolate spot, a young officer came running up and asked if we would have tea with him. He took us to his tent, where everything was ready, for he apparently always met the two trains that passed through daily. Poor fellow, he was only a little over twenty, and desperately lonely and homesick. Many of the young officers who were wounded in France were sent to India with the idea that they could be training men and getting on to the methods of the Indian army while yet recuperating and unfit to go back to the front. They were shipped out with a new draft when they had fully recovered. This boy had only been a month in the country, and ten days before had been sent off in charge of his Sikh company to do this wearisome guard duty. We spent a few days in Baghdad refitting. The cars were to go out camouflaged to resemble supply-trucks, for every precaution was taken to prevent the Turks from realizing that we were massing men for an attack. The night before we were to start, word came in that the political officer at Nejef had been murdered, and the town was in revolt. We were ordered to send a section there immediately, so Lieutenant Ballingal's was chosen, while the rest of us left next morning with the balance of the battery for Hit. The first part of the route lay across the desert to Falujah, a prosperous agricultural town on the Euphrates. Rail-head lies just beyond at a place known as Tel El Dhubban--the "Hill of the Flies." From there on supplies were brought forward by motor transport, or in Arab barges, called shakturs. We crossed the river on a bridge of boats and continued up along the bank to Ramadie. Here I stayed over, detailed to escort the army commander on a tour of inspection. The smaller towns along the Euphrates are far more attractive than those on the Tigris. The country seems more developed, and most inviting gardens surround the villages. Hit, which lies twenty miles up-stream of Ramadie, is an exception. It is of ancient origin and built upon a hill, with a lovely view of the river. It has not a vestige of green on it, but stands out bleak and harsh in contrast to the palm-groves fringing the bank. The bitumen wells near by have been worked for five thousand years and are responsible for the town being a centre of boat manufacture. With the bitumen, the gufas and mahelas are "pitched without and within," in the identical manner in which we are told that the ark was built. The jars in which the women of the town draw water from the river, instead of being of copper or earthenware as elsewhere, are here made of pitched wicker-work. The smell of the boiling bitumen and the sulphur springs is trying to a stranger, although the natives regard it as salubrious, and maintain that through it the town is saved from cholera epidemics. We had captured Hit a few weeks previously, and the aeroplanes flying low over the town had reported the disagreeable smell, attributing it to dirt and filth. "Eyewitness," the official newspaper correspondent, mentioned this in despatches, and when I was passing through, a proclamation of apology was being prepared to soothe the outraged and slandered townsfolk. [Illustration: A water-wheel on the Euphrates] After taking the army commander back to rail-head, we retraced our steps with all speed to Hit, and thence the eight miles up-stream to Salahiyeh. The road beyond Hit was in fearful shape, and the engineers were working night and day to keep it open and in some way passable. In the proposed attack we were to jump off from Salahiyeh, and it was here that the armored cars were assembled. Our camp was close to a Turkish hospital. There were two great crescents and stars laid out for a signal to warn our aeroplanes not to drop bombs. One of the crescents was made of turf and the other of limestone. The batteries took turns in making the reconnaissances, in the course of which they would come in for a good deal of shelling. The road was unpleasant, because the camels and transport animals that had been killed during the Turkish retreat from Hit were by now very high. For some unknown reason there were no jackals or vultures to form a sanitary section. After reconnoitring the enemy positions and noting the progress they were making in constructing their defenses, we would make a long circuit back to camp. One unoccupied morning I went over to an island on the river. Its cool, restful look had attracted me on the day I arrived, and it quite fulfilled its promise. Indeed, it was the only place I came across in Mesopotamia that might have been a surviving fragment of the Garden of Eden. It was nearly a mile long, and scattered about on it were seven or eight thick-walled and well-fortified houses. The entire island was one great palm-grove, with pomegranates, apricots, figs, orange-trees, and grape-vines growing beneath the palms. The grass at the foot of the trees was dotted with blue and pink flowers. Here and there were fields of spring wheat. The water-ditches which irrigated the island were filled by giant water-wheels, thirty to fifty feet in diameter. These "naurs" have been well described in the Bible, and I doubt if they have since been modified in a single item. There are sometimes as many as sixteen in a row. As they scoop the water up in the gourd-shaped earthenware jars bound to their rims, they shriek and groan on their giant wooden axles. On the night of March 25 we got word that the long-expected attack would take place next morning. We had the cars ready to move out by three. Since midnight shadowy files had been passing on their way forward to get into position. One of our batteries went with the infantry to advance against the main fortified position at Khan Baghdadi. The rest of us went with the cavalry around the flank to cut the Turks off if they tried to retreat up-stream. We were well on our way at daybreak. The country was so broken up with ravines and dry river-beds that we knew we had a long, hard march ahead of us. Our maps were poor. A German officer that we captured had in some manner got hold of our latest map, and noting that we had omitted entirely a very large ravine, became convinced that any enveloping movement we attempted would prove a failure. As it happened, we came close to making the blunder he had anticipated, for we started to advance down to the river along the bank of a nullah which would have taken us to Khan Baghdadi instead of eight or ten miles above it, as we wished. I think it was our aeroplanes that set us straight. I was in charge of the tenders with supplies and spares, and spent most of the time in the leading Napier lorry. Occasionally I slipped into an armored car to go off somewhere on a separate mission. The Turks had doubtless anticipated a flanking movement and kept shelling us to a certain extent, but we could hear that they were occupying themselves chiefly with the straight attacking force. By afternoon we had turned in toward the river and our cavalry was soon engaged. The country was too broken for the cars to get in any really effective work. By nightfall we hoped we were approximately where we should be, and after making our dispositions as well as the circumstances would permit, we lay down beside the cars and were soon sound asleep. At midnight we were awakened by the bullets chipping the rocks and stones among which we were sleeping. A night attack was evidently under way, and it is always an eerie sensation. We correctly surmised that the Turks were in retreat from Khan Baghdadi and had run into our outposts. In a few minutes we were replying in volume, and the rat-tat-tats of the machine-guns on either side were continuous. The enemy must have greatly overestimated our numbers, for in a short time small groups started surrendering, and before things had quieted we had twelve hundred prisoners. The cavalry formed a rough prison-camp and we turned in again to wait for daylight. At dawn we started to reconnoitre our position to find out just how matters stood. We came upon a body of two thousand of the enemy which had been held up by us in the night and had retreated a short distance to wait till it became light before surrendering. Among them were a number of German officers. They were all of them well equipped with machine-guns and rifles. Their intrenching tools and medical supplies were of Austrian manufacture, as were also the rolling kitchens. These last were of an exceedingly practical design. While we were taking stock of our capture we got word that Khan Baghdadi had been occupied and a good number of prisoners taken. We were instructed to press on and take Haditha, thirty miles above Khan Baghdadi. It was hoped that we might recapture Colonel Tennant, who was in command of the Royal Flying Corps forces in Mesopotamia. He had been shot down at Khan Baghdadi the day before the attack. We learned from prisoners that he had been sent up-stream immediately, on his way to Aleppo, but it was thought that he might have been held over at Haditha or at Ana. We found that a lot of the enemy had got by between us and the river and had then swung back into the road. We met with little opposition, save from occasional bands of stragglers who concealed themselves behind rocks and sniped at us. Numbers surrendered without resistance as we caught up with them. We disarmed them and ordered them to walk back until they fell in with our cavalry, or the infantry, which was being brought forward in trucks. As we bowled along in pursuit the scene reminded me of descriptions in the novels of Sienkiewicz or Erckmann-Chatrian. The road was littered with equipment of every sort, disabled pack-animals, and dead or dying Turks. It was hard to see the wounded withering in the increasing heat--the dead were better off. We reached the heights overlooking Haditha to find that the garrison was in full retreat. Most of it had left the night before. Those remaining opened fire upon us, but in a half-hearted way, that was not calculated to inflict much loss. Many of the inhabitants of the town lived in burrows in the hillsides. Some of these caves had been filled with ammunition. The enemy had fired all their dumps, and rocks were flying about. We endeavored to save as much of the material as was possible. We were particularly anxious to get all papers dealing with the Arabs, to enable us to check up which were our friends and which of the ones behind our lines were dealing treacherously with us. We recaptured a lot of medical equipment and some ammunition that had been taken from our forces during the Gallipoli campaign. Haditha is thirty-five miles from Khan Baghdadi, and Ana is an equal distance beyond. It was decided that we should push on to a big bridge shown on the map as eight miles this side of Ana. We were to endeavor to secure this before the Turks could destroy it, and cross over to bivouac on the far side. The road was in fair shape. Many of the small bridges were of recent construction. We soon found that our map was exceedingly inaccurate. Our aeroplanes were doing a lot of damage to the fleeing Turks, and as we began to catch up with larger groups we had some sharp engagements. The desert Arabs hovered like vultures in the distance waiting for nightfall to cover them in their looting. That night we camped near the bridge. At dusk the Red Cross ambulances and some cavalry caught up. The latter had had a long, hard two days, with little to eat for the men and less for the horses, but both were standing up wonderfully. They were the Seventh Hussars and just as they reached us we recaptured one of their sergeants who had been made prisoner on the previous night. He had covered forty miles on foot, but the Turks had treated him decently and he had come through in good shape. We always felt that the Turk was a clean fighter. Our officers he treated well as long as he had anything to give or share with them. With the enlisted men he was not so considerate, but I am inclined to think that it was because he was not accustomed to bother his head much about his own rank and file, so it never occurred to him to consider ours. The Turkish private would thrive on what was starvation issue to our men. The attitude of many of the Turkish officers was amusing, if exasperating. They seemed to take it for granted that they would be treated with every consideration due an honored guest. They would complain bitterly about not being supplied with coffee, although at the time we might be totally without it ourselves and far from any source of supply. The German prisoners were apt to cringe at first, but as soon as they found they were not to be oppressed became arrogant and overbearing. At different times we retook men that had been captives for varying lengths of time. I remember a Tommy, from the Manchesters, if I am not mistaken, who had been taken before Kut fell, but had soon after made his escape and lived among the Kurdish tribesmen for seven or eight months before he found his way back to us. Quite a number of Indians who had been set to work on the construction of the Berlin-to-Baghdad Railway between Nisibin and Mosul made good their escape and struggled through to our lines. It was a great relief when the Red Cross lorries came in and we could turn over the wounded to them. All night long they journeyed back and forth transporting such as could stand the trip to the main evacuation camp at Haditha. By daybreak we were once more under way. Under cover of darkness the Arabs had pillaged the abandoned supplies, in some cases killing the wounded Turks. The transport animals of the enemy and their cavalry horses were in very bad shape. They had evidently been hard put to it to bring through sufficient fodder during the wet winter months when the roads were so deep in mud as to be all but impassable. Instead of being distant from Ana the eight miles that we had measured on the map, we found that we were seventeen, but we made it without any serious hindrance. The town was most attractive, embowered in gardens which skirt the river's edge for a distance of four or five miles. In addition to the usual palms and fruit-trees there were great gnarled olives, the first I had seen in Mesopotamia, as were also the almond-trees. It must be of great antiquity, for the prophet Isaiah speaks of it as a place where kings had reigned, but from which, even in his time, the grandeur had departed. The greater part of the enemy had already abandoned the town, but we captured the Turkish governor and a good number of the garrison, and many that had escaped from Haditha. The disaster at Khan Baghdadi had only been reported the afternoon before, as we had of course cut all the telegraph wires, and the governor had not thought it possible we would continue the pursuit so far. He had spent most of his life in Hungary and had been given this post only a few months previous to our advance. From the prisoners we had taken at Haditha we had extracted conflicting estimates as to the time when Colonel Tennant, the commander of our air forces, had been sent on, and from those we took at Ana we received equally varying accounts. The cars had been ordered to push on in search of the colonel as long as sufficient gasolene remained to bring them back. Captain Todd with the Eighth Battery was in the lead when some thirty miles north of Ana they caught sight of a group of camels surrounded by horsemen. A couple of belts from the machine-guns scattered the escort, and Colonel Tennant and his companion, Major Hobart, were soon safe in the turret of one of the cars. From some of our Turkish captives we heard about a large gold convoy which had been sent back from Ana; some said one day, and others two, before our arrival. The supply of fuel that we had brought in the tenders was almost exhausted, so that it would be necessary to procure more in order to continue the pursuit. Major Thompson, who was in command of the armored-car detachment, instructed me to take all the tenders and go back as far as was necessary to find a petrol dump from which I could draw a thousand gallons. I emptied the trucks and loaded them with such of the wounded as could stand the jolting they were bound to receive because of the speed at which I must travel. I also took a few of the more important prisoners, among them the governor of Ana. He was a cultivated middle-aged man who spoke no Arabic but quite good French. It was mid-afternoon when we started, and I hadn't the most remote idea where I would find a sufficient quantity of petrol. During the run back we were sniped at occasionally by Turks who were still hiding in the hills. A small but determined force could have completely halted the cars in a number of different places where the road wound through narrow rock-crowned gorges, or along ledges cut in the hillside and hemmed in by the river. In such spots the advance of the armored cars could either have been completely checked, or at all events seriously hampered and delayed, merely by rolling great boulders down on top of us. When we had retraced our steps for about sixty miles I was lucky enough to get wind of an enemy petrol dump that our men had discovered. It was a special aeroplane supply and the colonel of the infantry regiment who was guarding it had been instructed to allow none of it to be used for automobiles. He showed his desire to co-operate and his ability to read the spirit rather than the letter of a command by letting me load my tenders. The L.A.M. batteries were well regarded and we everywhere encountered a willingness to meet us more than half-way and aid us in the thousand and one points that make so much difference in obtaining results. By the time that we had everything in readiness for our return run it was long after dark and the men were exhausted. I managed to get some tea, but naturally no sugar or milk. The strong steaming brew served to wash down the scanty supply of cold bully beef. Fortunately it was a brilliant starlit night, but even so it was difficult to avoid ditches and washouts, and the road seemed interminable. Not long after we left we ran into a couple of armored cars that had been detailed to bring the rescued aviators back, after they had been reoutfitted and supplied as far as our limited resources would permit. During the halt I found that my sergeant had produced from somewhere or other an emergency rum ration which he was issuing. An old-army, experienced sergeant always managed to hold over a reserve from former issues for just such occasions as this, when it would be of inestimable value. I had been driving all day and had the greatest difficulty in keeping awake. Twice I dozed off. Once I awakened just as the car started over the edge of an embankment; the other time a large rock in the road brought me back to the world. It was two o'clock in the morning when we wearily crept into Ana. The expedition to capture the gold convoy was to start at four, so after two hours' sleep I bundled into one of the Rolls-Royces and the column swung out into the road. Through the mist loomed the sinister, businesslike outlines of the armored car ahead of me. Captain Carr of the Thirteenth L.A.M.B.'s[1] was in command of the expedition. Unless we were in action or in a locality where we momentarily expected to be under fire from rifle or machine-gun, the officer commanding the car and his N.C.O. stood in the well behind the turret, steadying themselves with leather loops riveted to its sides. On long runs the tool-boxes on either side of the well formed convenient seats. When the car became engaged the crew would get inside, pulling the steel doors shut. The slits through which the driver and the man next him looked could be made still smaller when the firing was heavy, and the peep-holes at either side and in the rear had slides which could be closed. The largest aperture was that around the tube of the gun. Splinters of lead came in continuously, and sometimes chance directed a bullet to an opening. One of our drivers was shot straight through the head near Ramadie. The bottom of the car was of wood, and bullets would ricochet up through it, but to have had it made of steel would have added too much weight. The large gasolene-tank behind was usually protected by plating, but even so was fairly vulnerable. A reserve-tank holding ten gallons was built inside the turret. We almost invariably had trouble with the feed-pipes leading from it. During the great heat of the summer the inside of the turret was a veritable fiery furnace, with the pedals so hot that they scorched the feet. [Footnote 1: Light Armored Motor Battery.] Forty miles above Ana we came upon a large khan. These road-houses are built at intervals along the main caravan routes. Their plan is simple: four walls with two tiers of rooms or booths built into them, enclosing an open court in which the camels and horses are tethered during the night. The whole is strongly made to resist the inroads of the desert tribesmen. As we drove to the heavy gate, a wild clamor met our ears from a confused jumble of Jewish and Armenian merchants that had taken refuge within. Some of them had left Ana on their way to Aleppo before the news of the fall of Khan Baghdadi had reached the town. Others had been despatched by the Turks when the news of our advance arrived. All had been to a greater or lesser degree plundered by the Arabs. Most of the baggage animals had been run off, and the merchants were powerless to move. The women were weeping and imploring help, and the children tumbled about among the confused heaps of merchandise. Some of the Armenians had relations in Baghdad about whom I was able to give them bits of information. All begged permission to go back to Ana and thence to the capital. We, of course, had no means of supplying them with transportation, and any attempt to recapture their lost property was out of the question. A few miles on we made out a troop of Arabs hurrying inland, a mile or so away from us, across a couple of ravines. They had some of the stolen camels and were laden down with plunder. Two of our cars made a fruitless attempt to come to terms with them, but only succeeded in placing a few well-aimed bursts from their machine-guns among them. We now began to come up with bands of Turks. We ran across a number of isolated stragglers who had been stripped by the Arabs. A few had been killed. They as a rule surrendered without any hesitation. We disarmed them and told them to walk back toward Ana. Several times we had short engagements with Turkish cavalry. As a general thing the ground was so very broken up that it was impossible to manoeuvre. I was riding a good deal of the time in the Ford tender that we had brought along with a few supplies, and when one of the tires blew out I waited behind to replace it. The armored cars had quite a start and we raced along to catch them. In my hurry I failed to notice that they had left the road in pursuit of a troop of cavalry, so when we sighted a large square building of the sort the Turks use as barracks, I made sure that the cars had been there before me. We drove up to the door and I jumped out and shoved it open. In the yard were some infantry and a few cavalry. I had only my stick--my Webley revolver was still in its holster. There was nothing to do but put on a bold front, so I shouted in Arabic to the man I took to be the officer in command, telling him to surrender, and trying to act as if our forces were just outside. I think he must have been more surprised than I was, for he did so immediately, turning over the post to me. Eldridge, the Ford driver, had succeeded in disengaging the rifle that he had strapped in beside him, and we made the rounds under the escort of our captive. One wing of the post was used as a hospital, under the charge of an intelligent little Armenian. He seemed well informed about the war, and asked the question that was the universal wail of all the Armenians we encountered: "When would Great Britain free their country, and would she make it an independent state?" There was a definite limit to the number of prisoners we could manage to carry back, but I offered the doctor to include him. His answer was to go to his trunk and produce a picture of his wife and little daughter. They were, he told me, in Constantinople, and it was now two years since he had had leave, so that as his turn was due, he would wait on the chance of seeing his family. When the cars came up we set off again in pursuit of the elusive gold convoy. We could get no accurate information concerning it. Some said it was behind, others ahead. We never ran it down. It may well be that it was concealed in a ravine near the road a few yards from where we passed. Just short of a town called Abu Kemal we caught three Germans. They were in terror when we took them, and afterward said that they had expected to be shot. Under decent treatment they soon became so insolent that they had to be brought up short. [Illustration: A "Red Crescent" ambulance] During the run back to Ana we picked up the more important of our prisoners and took them with us. Twenty-two were all we could manage. I was running one of the big cars. It was always a surprise to see how easy they were to handle in spite of the weight of the armor-plate. We each took great pride in the car in which we generally rode. All had names. In the Fourteenth one section had "Silver Dart" and "Silver Ghost" and another "Gray Terror" and "Gray Knight." The car in which I rode a great deal of the time met its fate only a few days before the armistice, long after I had gone to France. Two direct hits from an Austrian "eighty-eight" ended its career. It was after midnight when we got back to our camp in a palm-garden in Ana. Although we had not succeeded in capturing the gold convoy, we had brought in a number of valuable prisoners, and among other things I had found some papers belonging to a German political agent whom we had captured. These contained much information about the Arab situation, and through them it was all but proved that the German was the direct instigator of the murder of the political officer at Nejef. An amusing sidelight was thrown in the letters addressed by Arab sheiks through this agent to the Kaiser thanking him for the iron crosses they had been awarded. There must have been an underlying grim humor in distributing crosses to the Mohammedan Arabs in recognition of their efforts to withstand the advance into the Holy Land of the Christian invaders. On our arrival at Ana we were told that orders had come through that the town be evacuated on the following morning. Preparations were made to blow up the ammunition dump, which was fortunately concentrated in a series of buildings that joined each other. We warned the inhabitants and advised them to hide in the caves along the hillsides. We ourselves went back to the camp which we had occupied near the bridge the night before entering Ana. During the afternoon Major Edye, a political officer, turned up, travelling alone with an Arab attendant. He pitched his camp, consisting of a saddle and blanket, close beside us. He was an extraordinarily interesting man, with a great gift for languages. In the course of a year or so's wandering in Abyssinia he had learned both ancient and modern Abyssinian. There was a famous German Orientalist with whom he corresponded in the pre-war days. He had mailed him a letter just at the outbreak, which, written in ancient Abyssinian, must have been a good deal of a puzzle to the censors. The main explosion, taking place at the appointed time, was succeeded by smaller ones, which continued at gradually lengthening intervals throughout the night. General Cassels, who had commanded the cavalry brigade so ably throughout the advance, wished to return to Ana on the following morning in order to check up the thoroughness with which the dump had been destroyed. He took an escort of armored cars, and as I was the only one in the batteries who could speak Arabic, my services were requisitioned. As we approached the town the rattle of the small-arms ammunition sounded like a Fourth of July celebration. The general noticed that I had a kodak and asked me to go out into the dump and take some photographs. There was nothing to do but put on a bold front, but I have spent happier moments than those in which I edged my way gingerly over the smoking heaps to a ruined wall from which I could get a good view for my camera. As I came back a large shell exploded and we hastily moved the cars farther away. I went to the mayor's house to find out how the town had fared. He was a solemn old Arab, and showed me the damage done by the shells with an absolutely expressionless face. The houses within a fair radius had been riddled, but the natives had taken our warning and no one had been killed. After a cup of coffee in a lovely garden on the river-bank, I came back to the cars and we ran on through to Haditha. Here we were to remain for a week or ten days to permit the evacuation of the captured supplies. Thus far we had been having good luck with the weather, but it now began to threaten rain. We crawled beneath the cars with our blankets and took such precautions as were possible, but it availed us little when a veritable hurricane blew up at midnight. I was washed out from under my car, but before dark I had marked down a deserted hut, and thither I groped my way. Although it was abandoned by the Arabs, living traces of their occupancy remained. Still, even that was preferable to the rain, and the roof proved unexpectedly water-tight. All next day the storm continued. The Wadi Hauran, a large ravine reaching back into the desert for a hundred and fifty miles, became a boiling torrent. When we crossed over, it was as dry as a bone. A heavy lorry on which an anti-aircraft gun was mounted had been swirled away and smashed to bits. The ration question had been difficult all along, but now any further supply was temporarily out of the question. Oddly enough, I was the only member of the brigade occupying Haditha who could speak enough Arabic to be of any use, so I was sent to look up the local mayor to see whether there was any food to be purchased. The town is built on a long island equidistant from either bank. We ferried across in barges. The native method was simpler. They inflated goatskins, removed their clothes, which they had fastened in a bundle on top of their heads, and with one hand on the goatskin they paddled and drifted over. By starting from the head of the island they could reach the shore opposite the down-stream end. The bobbing heads of the dignified old graybeards of the community looked most ludicrous. On landing they would solemnly don their clothes, deflate the skins, and go their way. The mayor proved both intelligent and agreeable. The food situation was such that it was obviously impossible for him to offer us any serious help. We held a conclave in the guest-house, sitting cross-legged among the cushions. In the centre a servant roasted coffee-beans on the large shovel-spoon that they use for that purpose. The representative village worthies impressed me greatly. The desert Arabs are always held to be vastly superior to their kinsmen of the town, and it is undoubtedly true as a general rule; nevertheless, the elders of Haditha were an unusually fine group of men. We got a few eggs, which were a most desirable luxury after a steady diet of black unsweetened tea and canned beef. We happened to have a sufficient supply of tea to permit us to make an appreciated gift to the village. My shoes had collapsed a few days before and I borrowed a pair from a Turk who had no further use for them. These were several sizes too large and fashioned in an oblong shape of mathematical exactness. Even in the motor machine-gun service, there is little that exceeds one's shoes in importance, and I was looking forward with almost equal eagerness to a square meal and a pair of my own shoes. The supply of reading-matter had fallen very low. I had only Disraeli's _Tancred_, about which I found myself unable to share Lady Burton's feelings, and a French account of a voyage from Baghdad to Aleppo in 1808. The author, Louis Jacques Rousseau, a cousin of the great Jean Jacques, belonged to a family of noted Orientalists. Born in Persia, and married to the daughter of the Dutch consul-general to that country, he was admirably equipped for the distinguished diplomatic career that lay before him in the East and in northern Africa. His treatises on the archæological remains that he met with on his many voyages are intelligent and thorough. The river towns have changed but little in the last hundred years, and the sketch of Hit might have been made only yesterday. Within three days after the rise, the waters of the Wadi Hauran subsided sufficiently for us to cross, and I received orders to return to Baghdad. The rain had brought about a change in the desert since we passed through on our way up. The lines of Paterson, the Australian poet, kept running through my head: "For the rain and drought and sunshine make no changes in the street, In the sullen line of buildings and the ceaseless tramp of feet, But the bush hath moods and changes, as the seasons rise and fall, And the men who know the bushland they are loyal through it all." The formerly arid floor of the desert was carpeted with a soft green, with myriads of little flowers, all small, but delicately fashioned. There were poppies, dwarf daisies, expanses of buttercups, forget-me-nots, and diminutive red flowers whose name I did not know. It started raining again, and we only just succeeded in winning our way through to Baghdad before the road became impassable. VI BAGHDAD SKETCHES Although never in Baghdad for long at a time, I generally had occasion to spend four or five days there every other month. The life in any city is complex and interesting, but here it was especially so. We were among a totally foreign people, but the ever-felt intangible barrier of color was not present. For many of the opportunities to mingle with the natives I was indebted to Oscar Heizer, the American consul. Mr. Heizer has been twenty-five years in the Levant, the greater part of which time he has spent in the neighborhood of Constantinople. The outbreak of the war found him stationed at one of the principal ports of the Black Sea. There he witnessed part of the terrible Armenian massacres, when vast herds of the wretched people were driven inland to perish of starvation by the roadsides. Quiet and unassuming, but ever ready to act with speed and decision, he was a universal favorite with native and foreigner alike. With him I used to ferry across the river for tea with the Asadulla Khan, the Persian consul. The house consisted of three wings built around a garden. The fourth side was the river-bank. The court was a jungle of flowering fruit-trees, alive with birds of different kinds, all singing garrulously without pause. There we would sit sipping sherbet, and cracking nuts, among which salted watermelon seeds figured prominently. Coffee and sweets of many and devious kinds were served, with arrack and Scotch whiskey for those who had no religious scruples. The Koran's injunction against strong drink was not very conscientiously observed by the majority, and even those who did not drink in public, rarely abstained in private. Only the very conservative--and these were more often to be found in the smaller towns--rigorously obeyed the prophet's commands. It was pleasant to smoke in the shade and watch the varied river-craft slipping by. The public bellams plied to and fro, rowed by the swart owners, while against them jostled the gufas--built like the coracles of ancient Britain--a round basket coated with pitch. No Anglo-Saxon can see them without thinking of the nursery rhyme of the "wise men of Gotham who went to sea in a tub." These gufas were some of them twenty-five feet in diameter, and carried surprising loads--sometimes sheep and cattle alone--sometimes men and women--often both indiscriminately mingled. Propelling a gufa was an art in itself, for in the hands of the uninitiated it merely spun around without advancing a foot in the desired direction. The natives used long round-bladed paddles, and made good time across the river. Crossing over in one was a democratic affair, especially when the women were returning from market with knots of struggling chickens slung over their shoulders. Asadulla Khan's profile always reminded me of an Inca idol that I once got in Peru. Among his scribes were several men of culture who discoursed most sagely on Persian literature; on Sadi and Hafiz, both of whom they held to be superior to Omar Khayyam. I tried through many channels to secure a manuscript of the "Rubaiyat," but all I succeeded in obtaining was a lithograph copy with no place or date of publication; merely the remark that it had been printed during the cold months. I was told that the writings of Omar Khayyam were regarded as immoral and for that reason were not to be found in religious households. My Persian friends would quote at length from Sadi's _Gulistan_ or _Rose Garden_, and go into raptures over its beauty. * * * * * Below the consulate was a landing-place, and when we were ready to leave we would go down to the river-bank preceded by our servants carrying lanterns. They would call "Abu bellam" until a boat appeared. The term "abu" always amused me. Its literal meaning is "father." In the bazaars a shop-owner was always hailed as "father" of whatever wares he had for sale. I remember one fat old man who sold porous earthenware jars--customers invariably addressed him as "Abu hub"--"Father of water-coolers." My best friend among the natives was a Kurdish chief named Hamdi Bey Baban. His father had been captured and taken to Constantinople. After living there a number of years in semicaptivity he died--by poison it was said. Hamdi was not allowed to return to Kurdistan until after he was a grown man and had almost forgotten his native language. He spoke and read both French and English. Eventually permission was granted him to live in Baghdad as long as he kept out of the Kurdish hills, so he set off by motor accompanied only by a French chauffeur. Gasolene was sent ahead by camel caravan to be left for him at selected points. The journey was not without incident, for the villagers had never before seen an automobile and regarded it as a devil; often stones were thrown at them, and on one occasion they were mobbed and Hamdi only escaped by driving full speed through the crowd. His existence in Baghdad had been subject to sudden upheavals. Once he was arrested and convoyed back to Constantinople; and just before the advance of the British his life was in great danger. Naturally enough he had little love for the Turk and staked everything on the final victory of the Allies. He intended writing a book on the history of his family, in which he was much interested. For material he was constantly purchasing books and manuscripts. In the East many well-known histories still exist only in manuscript form, and when a man wishes to build up a library he engages scribes and sends them to the place where a famous manuscript is kept with an order to make a copy. In the same way Hamdi Bey had men busied transcribing rare chronicles dealing with the career of his family--extant in but one or two examples in mosques. He once presented me with a large manuscript in Persian in which his family is mentioned, the mention taking the form of a statement to the effect that seventeen of them had had their heads removed! Next to various small tradesmen with whom I used to gossip, drink coffee, and play dominoes, my best Arab friend was Abdul Kader Pasha, a striking old man who had been a faithful ally to the British through thick and thin. The dinners at his house on the river-bank were feasts such as one reads of in ancient history. Course succeeded course without any definite plan; any one of them would have made a large and delicious meal in itself. True to Arab custom, the son of the house never sat down at table with his father, although before and after dinner he talked and smoked with us. [Illustration: A jeweller's booth in the bazaar] I had a number of good friends among the Armenians. There was not one of them but had some near relation, frequently a parent or a brother or sister, still among the Turks. Sometimes they knew them to be dead, more frequently they could only hope that such was the case and there was no further suffering to be endured. Many of these Armenians belonged to prominent families, numbering among their members men who had held the most important government posts in Constantinople. The secretary of the treasury was almost invariably an Armenian, for the race outstrips the Jews in its money touch. With one family I dined quite often--the usual interminable Oriental feast varying only from the Arab or Turkish dinners in a few special national dishes. All, excepting the aged grandmother, spoke French, and the daughters had a thorough grounding in the literature. Such English books as they knew they had read in French translations. The house was attractively furnished, with really beautiful rugs and old silverware. The younger generation played bridge, and the girls were always well dressed in European fashion. Whence the clothes came was a mystery, for nothing could have been brought in since the war, and even in ante-bellum days foreign clothes of that grade could never have been stocked but must have been imported in individual orders. The evenings were thoroughly enjoyable, for everything was in such marked contrast to our every-day life. It must be remembered that these few Armenians were the only women with whom we could talk and laugh in Occidental fashion. By far the best-informed and cleverest Arab was Père Anastase. He was a Catholic, and under the supervision of the Political Department edited the local Arab paper. All his life he had worked building up a library--gathering rare books throughout Syria and Mesopotamia. He was himself an author of no small reputation. Just before the British took Baghdad the Germans pillaged his collection, sending the more valuable books to Constantinople and Berlin, and turning the rest over to the populace. The soldiers made great bonfires of many--others found their way to the bazaars, where he was later able to repurchase some of them. When talking of the sacking of his house, Père Anastase would work himself into a white heat of fury and his eyes would flash as he bitterly cursed the vandals who had destroyed his treasures. It was in Baghdad that I first ran into Major E.B. Soane, whose _Through Mesopotamia and Kurdistan in Disguise_ is a classic. Soane was born in southern France, his mother French and his father English. The latter walked across the United States from ocean to ocean in the early forties, so Soane came by his roving, adventurous spirit naturally. When still but little more than a boy he went out to work in the Anglo-Persian Bank, and immediately interested himself in the language and literature of the country. Some of his holidays he spent in the British Museum translating and cataloguing Persian manuscripts. Becoming interested in the Kurds, he spent a number of years among them, learning their languages and customs and joining in their raids. As soon as we got a foothold in the Kurdish Hills, Soane was sent up to administer the captured territory. His headquarters were at Khanikin, twenty-five miles from Kizil Robat and but a short distance from the Persian frontier. One morning during the time that I was stationed in that district I motored over to see him. It was a glorious day. The cloud effects were most beautiful, towering in billows of white above the snow peaks, against a background of deepest blue. The road wound in and out among the barren foot-hills until suddenly as I topped a rise I saw right below a great clump of palm-trees, with houses showing through here and there--the whole divided by a lovely river bestridden by an old seven-arch bridge. I picked my way through the narrow streets, scattering ragged Kurds right and left; past part of the covered bazaar, until I came to a house with a large courtyard, thronged with a motley array of Kurdish irregulars, armed with every sort of weapon. It was there that Soane administered his stern but practical justice, for he thoroughly understood how to handle these men. The district had suffered fearfully, for it had been occupied in turn by Turk and Russian, and then Turk again, before we took it over, and the unfortunate natives had been pillaged and robbed mercilessly. Thousands starved to death. When I was at Deli Abbas ghastly bands of ragged skeletons would come through to us begging food and work. Soane turned a large khan on the outskirts of the town into a poorhouse, and here he lodged the starving women and children that drifted in from all over Kurdistan. It was a fearful assemblage of scarecrows. As they got better he selected women from among them to whom he turned over the administration of the khan. They divided the unfortunates in gangs, and supervised the issue of dates on which they were fed. Such as were physically able were employed in cleaning the town. The Kurds are a fine, self-respecting race and it was easy to understand Soane's enthusiasm for them. * * * * * In Baghdad you lived either in the cellars or on the housetops. The former were called serdabs. A large chimney, cowled to face the prevailing wind, served for ventilation, and on the hottest days one was cool and comfortable. We slept on the roofs, and often dined there, too. Since the town was the General Headquarters of the Expeditionary Force, one was always sure to meet many friends. A comfortable and well-run officers' club was installed, as well as warrant officers' and enlisted men's clubs. Occasionally race meetings were planned and the various divisions would send representatives. Frank Wooton, the well-known jockey, was a despatch-rider, and usually succeeded in getting leave enough to allow him to ride some general's horses. An Arab race formed part of the programme. Once a wild tribesman who had secured a handsome lead almost lost the race by taking off his cloak and waving it round his head as he gave ear-piercing shouts of triumph. The Arab riding second was less emotional and attended better to the business in hand, but his horse was not quite good enough to make the difference. The scene at the race-course was a gay one. The color was chiefly contributed by the Jewesses who wore their hooded silk cloaks of lively hue--green or pink or yellow. The only crowd that I saw to vie with it was one which watched the prisoners taken at Ramadie march through the town. Turkish propaganda, circulated in the bazaars, gave out that instead of taking the prisoners we claimed, we had in reality suffered a defeat, and it was decided that the sight of the captive Turks would have a salutary effect upon the townsmen. Looking down from a housetop the red fezzes and the gay-colored abas made the crowd look like a vast field of poppies. When I was at Samarra an amusing incident took place in connection with a number of officers' wives who were captured at Ramadie. The army commander didn't wish to ship them off to India and Burma with their husbands, so he sent them up to Samarra with instructions that they be returned across the lines to the Turks. After many aeroplane messages were exchanged it was agreed that we should leave them at a designated hill and that the Turks would later come for them. Meanwhile we had arranged quarters for them, trying to do everything in a manner that would be in harmony with the Turkish convenances. When the wives were escorted forth to be turned back to their countrymen, they were all weeping bitterly. Whether it was that the Turk in his casual manner decided that one day was as good as another, or whether he felt that he had no particular use for these particular women, we never knew, but at all events twenty-four hours later one of our patrols came upon the prisoners still forlornly waiting. We shipped them back to Baghdad. Occasionally I would go to one of the Arab theatres. The plays were generally burlesques, for the Arab has a keen sense of humor and greatly appreciates a joke. Most of the puns were too involved for me to follow, but there was always a certain amount of slap-stick comedy that could be readily understood. Then there was dancing--as a whole monotonous and mediocre; but there was one old man who was a remarkable performer, and would have been appreciated on any stage in the world. The topical songs invariably amused me--they were so universal in spirit. The chorus of one which was a great hit ran: "Haido, haido, rahweni passak!" "I say, I say, show me your pass." There had been much trouble with spies and every one was required to provide himself with a certificate of good conduct and to show it on demand. It was to this that the song referred. Captain C.G. Lloyd was my companion on many rambles among the natives. He had been stationed in Burma and India for many years, and was a good Persian scholar. Like every one who has knocked about to any extent among native peoples, his career had not been lacking in incident. I remember on one occasion asking him why it was that he never joined me in a cup of coffee when we stopped at a coffee-house. He replied that he had always been wary of coffee since a man with him was poisoned by a cup which was intended for him. I always looked forward to a trip to Baghdad, for it gave me a chance to mingle in a totally different life from that which daily surrounded me, and temporarily, at least, forget about the war in which the world was plunged. Still, the morning set to leave invariably found me equally glad to shove off once more into the great expanses of the desert. VII THE ATTACK ON THE PERSIAN FRONT When I reached headquarters after the attack on the Euphrates front, I was expecting to hear that my transfer to France had gone through and receive orders to proceed thither immediately. It had always been my intention to try to join the American army once it began to take a real part in the war, and for some time past I had been casting about in my mind for the best method to carry out my plans. When affairs looked so very black for the Allied forces in March and April, 1918, I decided that France was the place where every one, who could by any possibility manage it, should be. General Gillman, the chief of staff, had on more than one occasion shown himself a good friend, and I determined to once more task his kindness. He said that he thought he could arrange for my transfer to France, and that once there I could work out the best way of getting into the American army. Everything went well, and I was daily expecting my orders, when Major Thompson, who commanded the brigade of armored cars, sent for me and told me that an advance was being planned on the Kurdish front. Only two batteries were to be taken--the Eighth and the Thirteenth--but he said that he would like to have me go along in command of the supply-train. Of course I jumped at the chance, as the attack promised to be most interesting. We were told to be ready to move on an hour's notice. For several days the weather held us back. The rain, helped out by the melting snow from the mountains, caused the rivers to rise in flood. The Tigris rose sixteen feet in a night. The lower bridge was broken and washed away. Everything possible was done to reinforce the upper bridge, but it was hourly expected to give way under the strain of the whirling yellow waters. The old Arab rivermen said that they could tell by the color just which of the tributaries were in spate. When they saw or thought they saw a new admixture, they would shake their heads and say: "Such and such a river is now also in flood--the Tigris will rise still further." On the night of April 24 we at length got our orders and at six o'clock the following morning we set out, prepared to run through to Ain Leilah. The country was indeed changed since I passed through six weeks before. The desert had blossomed. We ran through miles and miles of clover; the sweet smell seemed so wholesomely American, recalling home and family, and the meadows of Long Island. The brilliant red poppies were more in keeping with the country; and we passed by Indian cavalry reinforcements with the scarlet flowers stuck in their black hair and twined in the head-stalls of the horses. As we approached the hills they looked less bleak--a soft green clothed the hollows, and the little oasis of Ain Leilah no longer stood out in the same marked contrast as when last I visited it. The roads were in good shape, and we reached camp at four in the afternoon. I took one of the tenders and set off to look up some old friends in the regiments near by. As I passed a group of Arabs that had just finished work on the roads, I noticed that they were playing a game that was new to me. A stake was driven into the ground, with a horsehair rope ten or twelve feet in length attached to it. An old man had hold of the end of the rope. About the stake were piled some clothes, and the Arabs were standing around in a circle just out of reach of the man with the rope. The object was to dart in and snatch up something from the heap without the old man who was on guard catching you. They were enjoying themselves hugely--the oldest graybeards behaving as if they were children--a very pleasant side of the Arab. Our instructions were to be ready to pull out before daybreak. The mission was, as usual, a flanking one. The direct attack was to be delivered on Kara Tepe, and, if that were successful, upon Kifri. We were to intercept the arrival of reinforcements, or cut off the retreat of the garrisons, as the case might be. In the early morning hours the country was lovely--rolling grass land "with a hint of hills behind"--miles of daisies with clusters of blood-red poppies scattered through them--and occasional hollows carpeted with a brilliant blue flower. In the river courses there were numbers of brilliantly hued birds--the gayest colors I saw in Mesopotamia with the exception of the vivid arsenic-green birds around Ana on the Euphrates. In one place I thought that the ground was covered with red flowers, but a close inspection proved it to be myriads of tiny red insects swarming on the grass stems. Column marching is slow and wearisome, and after the sun rose the heat became intense. The dust smothered us; there was not a breath of air to rid us of it for even a moment. The miles seemed interminable. At noon we halted beside a narrow stream known as Oil River--a common name in this part of the country where oil abounds and the water is heavily impregnated with it. For drinking it was abominable--and almost spoiled the tea upon which we relied for a staple. A few miles beyond, the engineers found a suitable location to throw a bridge across the creek. The main body was halted at a place known as Umr Maidan and we were sent over the bridge to form across the main road leading from Kara Tepe back into the Turkish territory. It was nightfall before we had effected a crossing, and we groped our way along until we came upon the road. It was impossible to do very much in the way of selecting a position, but we arranged the cars as best we could. When you were off at large in the desert you were what the army called "Out in the blue," and that was certainly our situation on the night of April 26. We all expected that we would intercept traffic going one way or the other, but the night passed without incident or excitement. [Illustration: Indian cavalry bringing in prisoners after the charge] By four in the morning we were once more feeling our way along through the darkness. As it lightened we came under observation by the Turks, who started in to shell us. We learned from our aeroplanes that Kifri had been evacuated; the garrison was falling back along a road running parallel to the one on which we were, separated by eight or ten miles of broken country. By this time our cavalry had caught up with us. They pushed off across country to intercept the Turks. We attempted to do likewise but it was more difficult, and what with dodging in and out to avoid a ravine here or a hill there, we made little headway. At length we struck a road that led in approximately the direction whither we wished to go. It was already early afternoon before, upon topping a rise, we caught sight of a good-sized body of Turks marching on a road which ran along the base of a range of steep, stony hills. We put on as much speed as was possible, and headed north to try to intercept them. The cavalry were coming from the south, and while we were circling around they charged in upon the Turks. It was a stirring scene. The powerful Indians sat their horses with the utmost grace. Their drawn sabres flashed in the sun. As they came to close quarters the turbaned heads bent forward and we could hear the shouts and high-pitched cries of triumph as the riders slashed at the foe. The wounded and dead testified to their skill as swordsmen. The whole sight reminded me more of the battle books I read as a boy than anything I saw in the war. About six hundred prisoners were taken, but many of the Turks escaped to the mountains and lay among the rocks, whence they could snipe at us with impunity. They were a tenacious lot, for all next day when we were using the road below the hills they continued to shoot at us from the places whence it was impossible to dislodge them. While the prisoners were being brought in we caught sight of one of our aeroplanes crashing. Making our way over to it we found that neither the pilot nor the observer was seriously hurt. Flying in Mesopotamia was made unusually difficult by the climatic conditions. The planes were designed for work in France and during the summer months the heat and dryness warped the propeller blades and indeed all the wooden parts. Then, too, the fine dust would get into the machinery when the aviator was taxiing for a start. Many pilots coming out from France with brilliant records met an early and untimely end because they could not realize how very different the conditions were. I remember one poor young fellow who set off on a reconnaissance without the food and water he was required by regulations to carry. He got lost and ran out of gasolene--being forced to land out in the desert. The armored cars went off in search of him, and on the second morning after he had come down they found his body near their bivouac. He had evidently got that far during the night and died of exhaustion and exposure practically within hearing. He was stripped of his clothes; whether this had been done by himself or by the tribesmen was never determined. A death of this sort always seems so much sadder than being legitimately killed in combat. The L.A.M. batteries were in close touch with the Royal Flying Corps, for when news came in that a plane was down in the desert or some part of the debatable land, we would be detailed to go out in search of the occupants. A notice printed in Arabic, Persian, Turkish, and Kurdish was fastened into each aeroplane informing the reader of the reward that would be paid him if the pilot were brought in safety to the British lines. This was done in case a plane got lost and was driven down out of its course among the tribesmen. The night of the 27th we bivouacked once more "out in the blue." Dawn found me on my way back to Umr Maidan to lay in a new supply of gasolene. I made a rapid trip and caught up with the armored cars in action in a large swampy plain. The grass was very high and the ground so soft that it was difficult to accomplish anything. Two or three small hills offered vantage-points, but they were not neglected by the Turk, and among those that fell was the colonel of the Twenty-First cavalry--the regiment that had acquitted itself so well in the charge of the day before. We were ten miles from Tuz Khurmartli, the next important town held by the enemy now that Kifri had been taken. It was thither that the Turks had been retreating when we cut them off. Finding that we were unable to operate effectively where we were, it was decided that we should make our way across to the Kifri-Kirkuk road and advance along it to make a frontal attack upon Tuz. Our orders were to proceed to a deserted village known as Kulawand, and wait there for the command to advance. When we got to the road we found the hills still occupied by camel-guns and machine-guns. We replied ineffectively, for we had no means of dislodging them, nor did the cavalry when they came up. Kulawand we found to be a fair-sized native village unoccupied save for a single hut full of old women and children. Here we waited until nightfall for the orders that never came. I sat under a ruined wall reading alternatively Camoens' _Lusiad_ and _David Harum_ until darkness fell. During the night some infantry came up, both native and British. They had had stiff marching during the last few days, and were done up, but very cheerful at the prospect of an attack on the morrow. They had some hard fighting ahead of them. The King's Own in particular distinguished itself in taking a stubbornly contested and strongly held hill. At dawn we were under way. We had heard reports during the night that the Turks had evacuated Tuz--but it was not long before we found that such was not the case. They were still there and showed every evidence of staying. A small village five or six miles to the southwest was also bitterly contested. Our cavalry did some excellent work, capturing small hills held with machine-guns. We advanced down the road beside the hills. A mile before reaching Tuz we ran into the Aq Su, a large stream flowing through a narrow cleft in the hills. Fortunately the river was very low, and there were several places where it was spread out over such a wide bed that it seemed as if it might be possible to get the cars across. I emptied a Ford van and set out to do some prospecting. First I went up-stream, which was toward the mountains, but I could not go far, for there was an ancient fort situated at the mouth of the gorge, and it had not been evacuated. Finding a likely looking place a little below, I made a cast and just succeeded in getting through. It was easy to see that it would not be possible for the low-swung Rolls to cross under their own power, for the fly-wheel would throw the water up into the motor. There was nothing to do but send back for artillery horses to pull the armored cars across. Meanwhile, as our artillery had practically ceased firing on the town and the Turks seemed to have entirely evacuated it, I thought that I would go up and take over and see whether there had not been some valuable documents left behind. I drove along past some abandoned artillery into the main street. A number of Turkish soldiers came up to surrender and I told them to have the Reis Beledia--the town mayor--report to me. When he came I directed him to take me to the quarters of the Turkish commanding general. As we drove through the covered bazaar everything was closed. Scarcely anybody was in the streets--but I could see the inhabitants peeping out from behind lattices. It was a good thing to have the old mayor along, for he served as an excellent hostage, and I kept close watch upon him. He brought me to a prosperous, neat-looking house with heavy wooden doors. In response to his summons an old woman came and ushered us into a large, cool room, well furnished and with beautiful Kurdish rugs. There we found four young girls, who, it was explained to me, formed the Turkish general's "field harem." He had left in too much of a hurry to take them with him. They were Kurds and Circassians, or Georgians--and the general had shown no lack of taste in his selection! True to the tradition of the Garden of Eden, this harem proved disastrous to a brother officer who, having heard of my capture, sent me "priority" over the field service lines a ribald message as to its disposition. "Priority" wires are sent only on affairs of the greatest importance, and when I left the country my friend was slated to explain matters before a court martial. There were no papers of any great value to be found, and I told the mayor to take me to the more important ammunition and supply dumps. By the time I had located these some cavalry had come in, and I went back to the river to help get the fighting cars across. Once we had these safely over we set out in pursuit of the Turks. The next town of importance was a ramshackle mud-walled affair called Tauq, twenty miles beyond, on the far side of a river known as the Tauq Chai. The leading cars pursued to within sight of the town and came in for a good deal of shelling. The Turks we captured were in far poorer shape than those we had recently taken on the Euphrates front. Their shoes were worn out, they were very ragged, and, what was of greater significance, they were badly nourished. The length of their line of communications had evidently severely strained them. Supplies had to come overland all the way from Nisibin, which is more than a hundred miles beyond Mosul. The broken country made the transportation a difficult problem to solve. It was a miracle that they had the morale to fight as they did under such disadvantageous conditions. Here, as throughout the campaign, it was a continual source of pride to see the way in which our soldiers behaved to the natives. I never heard of a case in which man, woman, or child was wrongfully treated. Minor offenses were sometimes committed, but these were quickly righted. No doubt there were isolated instances of wrong-doing, for in such a large army there are bound to be degenerate individuals from whose conduct it is unfair to judge the whole. That night we encamped in the outskirts of Tuz, not far from the Turkish aerodrome. Next morning one of the batteries was ordered to reconnoitre as far as the town--pursuing a different route than that taken on the previous day. The commanding officer asked me to go along because of my knowledge of Arabic. The road followed the telegraph-lines, and part of the time that was the only way in which we could distinguish it from the surrounding country. Of course, the map was hopelessly incorrect. The villages were not even rightly named. A great deal of reconnoitring was called for, and in one village we had to knock the corner off a mud house to enable us to make a sharp right-angle turn. The natives were in pitiful condition. The Turks had not only taken all their crops, but even the grain that should be reserved to sow for the following year. The sheep had been killed in the lambing season, so the flocks were sadly depleted. Such standing grain as there was left looked flourishing. The wheat waved above the cars. As we came out of a deep, broad ravine that had caused us much delay and difficulty, we caught sight of an attractive town situated on a steep, flat-topped hill. Upon drawing near, a fine-looking, white-bearded Arab rode up on a small gray mare. He said that he was the head man of the town; that he hated the Turks, and would like to be of any assistance possible to us. I asked him if the enemy had evacuated Tauq. He replied that they had. I then asked him if he were positive about it. He offered to accompany us to prove it. The trail was so bad that we could not go fast, and he rode along beside us at a hand-gallop. When we came to the river in front of the town we found that it was impossible to get the armored cars across. The Turks had evidently fallen back, but not far, for they were dropping in shells with regularity. Our Arab friend told us that there was a bridge six miles up-stream, but it was too late for us to attempt it, and we turned back to Tuz after arranging with Sheikh Muttar to meet us in the morning. [Illustration: The Kurd and his wife] [Illustration: Sheik Muttar and the two Kurds] Next day we found him waiting for us as he had promised. With him were two handsome Kurds. One of them had his wife perched behind him on the horse's crupper. Together they undertook to guide us up to the bridge. It was invariably difficult to find out from natives whether or not a road was passable for motor-cars. They were accustomed to think only in terms of horses or men, and could not realize that a bad washout might be impassable for automobiles. Curiously enough, even those natives whom we had taken along with us on several reconnaissances as guides could not be trusted to give an opinion as to the feasibility of a proposed route. We experienced no little trouble in following our guides to the bridge, although we afterward discovered a good road that cut off from the main trail about half-way between Tuz and Tauq. When we reached the bridge we found it to be a solid, well-built affair of recent construction. The retreating Turks had tried to blow it up, but the most vital charges had failed to go off, so the damage done would not be sufficiently serious to stop our passage, after six or seven hours' preliminary work. We immediately sent back for the engineers, and put in the time while waiting by taking a much-needed bath in the rapids beneath one of the side arches. Every one who has wandered about in the waste places of the world can recall certain swims that will always stand out in his memory. Perhaps they have been after a long and arduous hunt--perhaps at the end of a weary march. Our plunge in the Tauq Chai took its place among these. In the late afternoon we drove back to Tuz. Our camp there was anything but cheerful, for swarms of starving townsfolk hovered on the outskirts ready to pounce on any refuse that the men threw away. Discarded tin cans were cleaned out until the insides shone like mirrors. The men gave away everything they could possibly spare from their rations. As the news spread, the starving mountain Kurds began straggling in; and the gruesome band made one glad to leave camp early and return after dark. Our line of communication was so extended that it was impossible to attempt any relief work. The following morning we crossed over the bridge with little trouble, but ran into a lot of difficulty when we tried to make our way down to the town. A couple of miles above the main town there is a small settlement grouped on a hill around the mosque of Zain El Abidin. The "mutabelli," or keeper of the shrine, is an important personage in the community, so when he appeared riding a richly caparisoned stallion and offered to accompany us to the town, we welcomed the opportunity of going in under such good auspices. We decided to take Seyid Mustapha, for that was his name, in one of the Ford vans with us. It was comparatively easy to get the light car up over the precipitous, rocky trail; and eventually one of the fighting cars succeeded in following. I was driving, with Mustapha beside me. In front of us on a white horse galloped the Seyid's attendant singing and shouting and proclaiming our arrival. We stopped at Mustapha's house for a cup of coffee and a discussion of events. The information which we secured from him afterward proved unusually correct. I took him on with us to the town so that he could identify the head man and see that we got hold of the right people. Our reception was by no means cordial, although after we had talked a little and explained what we were after, the mayor became cheerful and expansive. He had a jovial, rotund face, covered in large part by a bushy beard, and would have done excellently as a model for Silenus. In the town were a handful of Turkish stragglers--among them a stalwart Greek who spoke a little English. He said that he had been impressed into service by the Turks and was most anxious to join our forces. We found large stores of ammunition and other supplies, among them a wireless set. What interested us most, I am afraid, was the quantity of chickens that we saw strutting about. A few of them and a good supply of eggs found their way to the automobiles in short order. We were always very particular about paying for whatever we took, and seeing that the men did likewise; our reputation went before us, and the native, as a rule, took it for granted that we would pay. It was up to the officers to see that the prices were not exorbitant. We always used Indian currency--the rupee and the anna. In normal times a rupee is about a third of a dollar. Throughout the occupied area Turkish currency also circulated, but the native invariably preferred to be paid in Indian. Curiously enough, even on entering towns like Tauq, we found the inhabitants eager for payment in rupees. I was told that in the money market in Baghdad a British advance would be heralded by a slump in Turkish exchange. Paper rupees were almost everywhere as readily accepted as silver, but paper liras and piasters were soon of so little value that they were no longer in circulation. When we got back to camp I found a wire informing me that I had been transferred to the American army, and ordering me to report at once to Baghdad to be sent to France. Major Thompson asked me if I would delay my return until the end of the advance. It was rumored that we would continue to push on and would attack Kirkuk. Many felt that the difficulty that was already being experienced in rationing us would preclude our thrusting farther. Still, I made up my mind that as long as the major wished it and would wire for permission I would stay a few days longer on the chance of the attack continuing. On the morning of the 3d we moved camp to the far side of the Tauq Chai bridge. When the tenders were unloaded I started back to bring up a supply of gasolene, with the purpose of making a dump in case we were called upon for a further advance. I was told that the nearest supply from which I could draw was at Umr Maidan; and the prospect of running back, a distance of seventy miles, was not cheerful. When I got as far as Tuz I found a friend in charge of the dump there, and he let me draw what I wanted, so I turned back to try to get to the bridge by dark. One car after another got in trouble; first it was a puncture, then it was a tricky carburetor that refused to be put to rights; towing-ropes were called into requisition, but the best had been left behind, and those we had were rotted, and broke on every hill. Lastly a broken axle put one of the tenders definitely out of commission, and, of course, I had to wait behind with it. To add to everything, a veritable hurricane set in, with thunder and lightning and torrents of rain. The wind blew so hard that I thought the car would be toppled over. What made us more gloomy than anything else was the thought of all the dry river courses that would be roaring floods by morning, and probably hold up the ration supply indefinitely. Two days later the orders for which we had been waiting came through. We were to march upon a town called Taza Khurmatli, lying fifteen miles beyond Tauq and ten short of Kirkuk. If we met with no opposition there we were to push straight on. From all we could hear Taza was occupied only by cavalry, which would probably fall back without contesting our advance. The cars had been out on reconnaissance near the town for the last two days, and had come in for artillery and machine-gun fire; but it was believed that the Turks had everything ready to withdraw their guns on our approach. In the gray light that preceded dawn we saw shadowy columns of infantry and artillery and cavalry passing by our camp. The costumes of the different regiments made a break in the drab monotony. The Mesopotamian Expeditionary Force was composed of varied components. Steel helmets could be worn only in winter. In many of the native regiments the British officers wore tasselled pugrees, and long tunics that were really shirts, and an adaption of the native custom of wearing the shirt-tails outside the trousers. The Gurkhas were supplied with pith helmets. It was generally claimed that this was unnecessary, but the authorities felt that coming from a cold, high climate they would be as much affected by the Mesopotamian sun as were Europeans. The presence of the Indian troops brought about unusual additions to the dry "General Routine Orders" issued by general headquarters. One of them, referring to a religious festival of the Sikhs, ran: "The following cable message received from Sunder Signh Hagetha, Amritsar, addressed to Sikhs in Mesopotamian force: "To our most Dear Brothers now serving the Benign King-Emperor oversea, the chief Khalsa Dewan tenders hearty and sincere greetings on the auspicious Gurpurb of First Guru. You are upholding the name and fame of Gurupurb. Our hearts are with you and our prayers are that Satguru and Akalpurkh may ever be with you and lead you to victory and return home safe, after vanquishing the King-Emperor's foes, with honor and flying colors." The British Empire was well and loyally served by her Indian subjects, and by none more faithfully than the Sikhs. We let the column get well started before we shoved off in our cars. The trail was wide enough to pass without interfering; and long before we were in sight of Taza we had taken our place ahead. As was foreseen, the enemy evacuated the town with scarce a show of resistance. I set off to interview the local head man. In the spring all the upper Mesopotamian towns are inundated by flocks of storks, but I have never seen them in greater force than in Taza. On almost every housetop were a couple, throwing their heads back and clattering their beaks in the odd way that gives them their onomatopoetic Arabic name of Lak-Lak. It sounded like the rattle of machine-guns; so much so that on entering the village, for the first second I thought that the Turks were opening up on us. No native will molest a stork; to do so is considered to the last degree inauspicious. There was but little water in the river running by Taza, and we managed to get the cars through under their own power. A few miles farther on lay a broad watercourse, dry in the main, but with the centre channel too deep to negotiate, so there was nothing to be done without the help of the artillery horses. The Turks were shelling the vicinity of the crossing, so we drew back a short distance and sent word that we were held up waiting for assistance to get us over. Once we had reached the far side we set out to pick our way round Kirkuk to get astride the road leading thence to Altun Kupri. This is the main route from Baghdad to Mosul, the chief city on the upper Tigris, across the river from the ruins of Nineveh. It was a difficult task finding a way practicable for the cars, as the ground was still soft from the recent rains. It was impossible to keep defiladed from Turkish observation, but we did not supply them with much in the way of a target. At length we got round to the road, and started to advance down it to Kirkuk. The town, in common with so many others in that part of the country, is built on a hill. The Hamawand Kurds are inveterate raiders, and good fortifications are needed to withstand them. As we came out upon the road we caught sight of our cavalry preparing to attack. The Turks were putting up a stout resistance, with darkness fast coming to their aid. After approaching close to the town, we were ordered to return to a deserted village for the night, prepared to go through in the early morning. The co-ordinates of the village were given, and we easily found it on the map; but it was quite another proposition to locate it physically. To add to our difficulties, the sky clouded over and pitchy blackness settled down. It soon started to rain, so we felt that the best we could do was select as likely a spot as came to hand and wait for morning. I made up my mind that the front seat of a van, uncomfortable and cramped as it was, would prove the best bed for the night. My estimate was correct, for at midnight the light drizzle, that was scarcely more than a Scotch mist, turned into a wild, torrential downpour that all but washed away my companions. The waterproof flap that I had rigged withstood the onslaughts of wind and rain in a fashion that was as gratifying as it was unexpected. The vivid flashes of lightning showed the little dry ravine beside us converted into a roaring, swirling torrent. The water was rushing past beneath the cars, half-way up to their hubs. A large field hospital had been set up close to the banks of the stream at Taza. We afterward heard that the river had risen so rapidly that many of the tents and a few ambulances were washed away. By morning it had settled down into a steady, businesslike downpour. We found that we were inextricably caught in among some low hills. There was not the slightest chance of moving the fighting cars; they were bogged down to the axle. There was no alternative other than to wait until the rain stopped and the mud dried. Fortunately our emergency rations were still untouched. Our infantry went over at dawn, and won through into the town. If it had not been for the rain we would have made some important captures. As it was, the Turks destroyed the bridge across the Hasa Su and retreated to Altun Kupri by the road on the farther bank. From a hill near by we watched everything, powerless to help in any way. At noon the sky unexpectedly cleared and the sun came out. We unloaded a Ford van, and with much pushing and no little spade work managed to get it down to a road running in the direction of Kirkuk. We found the surface equal to the light car, and slowly made our way to the outskirts of the town, with occasional halts where digging and shoving were required. We satisfied ourselves that, given a little sun, we could bring the armored cars out of their bog and through to the town. [Illustration: Kirkuk] Next morning, in spite of the fact that more rain had fallen during the night, I set to work on my tenders, and at length succeeded in putting them all in Kirkuk. We were billeted in the citadel, a finely built, substantial affair, with a courtyard that we could turn into a good garage. The Turks had left in great haste, and, although they had attempted a wholesale destruction of everything that they could not take, they had been only partially successful. In my room I found a quantity of pamphlets describing the American army--with diagrams of insignia, and pictures of fully equipped soldiers of the different branches of the service. There was also a map of the United States showing the population by States. The text was, of course, in Turkish and the printing excellently done. What the purpose might be I could not make out. The wherefore of another booklet was more obvious. It was an illustrated account of alleged British atrocities. Most of the pictures purported to have been taken in the Sudan, and showed decapitated negroes. Some I am convinced were pictures of the Armenian massacres that the Turks had themselves taken and in a thrifty moment put to this useful purpose. This pamphlet was printed at the press in Kirkuk. There were a number of excellent buildings--mainly workshops and armories, but the best was the hospital. The long corridors and deep windows of the wards looked very cool. An up-to-date impression was given by the individual patient charts, with the headings for the different diagnoses printed in Turkish and French. The doctors were mainly Armenians. The occupants were all suffering from malnutrition, and there was a great deal of starvation in the town. I did not wish to return to Baghdad until I could be certain that we were not going to advance upon Altun Kupri. The engineers patched up the bridge, and we took the cars over to the other side and went off on a reconnaissance to ascertain how strongly the town was being held. The long bridge from which it gets its name could easily be destroyed, and crossing over the river would be no light matter. The surrounding mountains limited the avenue of attack. Altogether it would not be an easy nut to crack, and the Turks had evidently determined on a stand. What decided the army commander to make any further attempt to advance was most probably the great length of the line of communications, and the recent floods had made worse conditions which were bad enough at the best. The ration supply had fallen very low, and it seemed impossible to hold even Kirkuk unless the rail-head could be advanced materially. I put in all my odd moments wandering about the bazaars. The day after the fall the merchants opened their booths and transacted business as usual. The population was composed of many races, chiefly Turcoman, Kurd, and Arab. There were also Armenians, Chaldeans, Syrians, and Jews. The latter were exceedingly prosperous. Arabic and Kurdish and Turkish were all three spoken. Kirkuk is of very ancient origin--but of its early history little is known. The natives point out a mound which they claim to be Daniel's tomb. Two others are shown as belonging to Shadrach and Meshech; that of the third of the famous trio has been lost. There are many artificial hills in the neighborhood, and doubtless in course of time it will prove a fruitful hunting-ground for archæologists. As far as I could learn no serious excavating has hitherto been undertaken in the vicinity. The bazaars were well filled with goods of every sort. I picked up one or two excellent rugs for very little, and a few odds and ends, dating from Seleucid times, that had been unearthed by Arab laborers in their gardens or brick-kilns. There were some truck-gardens in the outskirts, and we traded fresh vegetables for some of our issue rations. There are few greater luxuries when one has been living on canned foods for a long time. I saw several ibex heads nailed up over the doors of houses. The owners told me that they were to be found in the near-by mountains, but were not plentiful. There is little large game left in Mesopotamia, and that mainly in the mountains. I once saw a striped hyena. It is a nocturnal animal, and they may be common, although I never came across but the one, which I caught sight of slinking among the ruins of Istabulat, south of Samarra, one evening when I was riding back to camp. Gazelle were fairly numerous, and we occasionally shot one for venison. It was on the plains between Kizil Robat and Kara Tepe that I saw the largest bands. Judging from ancient bas-reliefs lions must at one time have been very plentiful. In the forties of the last century Sir Henry Layard speaks of coming across them frequently in the hill country; and later still, in the early eighties, a fellow countryman, Mr. Fogg, in his _Land of the Arabian Nights_, mentions that the English captain of a river steamer had recently killed four lions, shooting from the deck of his boat. Rousseau speaks of meeting, near Hit, a man who had been badly mauled by a lion, and was going to town to have his wounds cared for. Leopards and bears are to be met with in the higher mountain regions, and wild boars are common in many districts. They inhabit the thickets along the river-banks, in country that would permit of much sound sport in the shape of pig-sticking. Game-birds are found in abundance; both greater and lesser bustard; black and gray partridges, quail, geese, duck, and snipe. A week's leave could be made provide good shooting and a welcome addition to the usual fare when the wanderer returned. Every sort of shotgun was requisitioned, from antiquated muzzle-loaders bought in the bazaar to the most modern creations of Purdy sent out from India by parcel-post. After waiting a few days further, to be certain that an attack would not be unexpectedly ordered, I set out on my return trip to Baghdad. The river at Taza was still up, but I borrowed six mules from an accommodating galloping ambulance, and pulled the car across. We went by way of Kifri, a clean, stone-built town that we found all but empty. The food situation had become so critical that the inhabitants had drifted off, some to our lines, others to Persia, and still others to Kirkuk and Mosul. Near Kifri are some coal-mines about which we had heard much. It is the only place in the country where coal is worked, and we were hoping that we might put it to good use. Our experts, however, reported that it was of very poor quality and worth practically nothing. VIII BACK THROUGH PALESTINE Several days later I embarked at Baghdad on one of the river boats. I took Yusuf with me to Busra to put me aboard the transport for Egypt. It was the first time he had ever been that far down-stream, and he showed a fine contempt for everything he saw, comparing it in most disparaging terms to his own desolate native town of Samarra. The cheapness, variety, and plenty of the food in the bazaars of Busra were the only things that he allowed in any way to impress him. I was fortunate enough to run into some old friends, and through one of them met General Sutton, who most kindly and opportunely rescued me from the dreary "Rest-Camp" and took me to his house. While I was waiting for a chance to get a place on a transport, he one morning asked me to go with him to Zobeir, where he was to dedicate a hospital. Zobeir is a desert town of ten thousand or so inhabitants, situated fifteen miles inland from Busra. The climate is supposed to be more healthful, and many of the rich and important residents of the river town have houses there to which they retire during the summer months. To an outsider any comparison would seem only a refinement of degrees of suffocation. The heat of all the coastal towns of the Persian Gulf is terrific. Zobeir is a desert town, with its ideals and feelings true to the inheritance of the tribesmen. It is a market for the caravans of central Arabia. A good idea of the Turkish feeling toward it may be gathered from the fact that the inhabitants were exempt from military service. This was a clear admission on the part of the Turk that he could not cope with the situation, and thought it wisest not to attempt something which he had no hope of putting through. It was, therefore, a great triumph for the British and a sure wedge into the confidence of the desert folk when the hospital was opened, for any people that can introduce so marked an innovation among the hidebound desert communities must have won their confidence and respect in a remarkable degree. Ibrahim, the hereditary Sheikh of Zobeir, himself contributed largely to the fund for the endowment. It was arranged that Doctor Borrie, who among his other duties ran the civil hospital at Busra, should periodically include Zobeir in his rounds. The Sheikh showed us over the building. It was cool, comfortable, and very sanitary. The Indian who was to be resident physician had every appearance of intelligence and proficiency. Old Ibrahim gave us a large banquet of the orthodox type. There was a sheep roasted whole, and dishes of every sort of meat and vegetable marshalled upon the table, which fairly groaned beneath their weight. We had innumerable speeches. General Sutton made an excellent address, which an interpreter translated into Arabic. Our Arabian hosts were long-winded, and the recognized local orator was so classical in his phrases and forms and tenses that it was impossible to do more than get the general drift of what he said. Luckily I had in my pocket a copy of the _Lusiads_, which I surreptitiously read when the speeches became hopelessly long drawn out. I was allotted space on a British India, boat, the _Torrilla_, that was to take to Egypt a field artillery regiment of the Third Division. As we dropped down-stream and I watched a disconsolate Yusuf standing on the dock, I felt that another chapter had closed--an interesting one at that. I was not left long to muse on what the next would bring forth before there was a cry of "fire"; and from where I was standing in the smoking-room I could see, through the open hatchways, the soldiers hurrying about below decks. As the ship was well ballasted with ammunition, anything that happened would, take place quickly, and only those on the spot could hope to control events, so I stayed where I was. A few minutes later the fire was reported out. The long two weeks' trip through the Persian Gulf and round to the Red Sea was monotonously peaceful. Being "unattached," I had no regular duties. Occasionally I attended "stables," and wandered around the horse lines. The great heat below decks had far less effect upon the horses than would be supposed. Of course, they were well cared for, and many were seasoned veterans that had taken more than one long sea voyage. If I am not mistaken, only one was lost on the trip. Most of the time I lay back in my rhoorkhee chair and read whatever I could find in the ship's library. The wireless broke down a few days after we left Busra, so we got no news whatever of the outer world, and soon ceased to speculate on what might be happening in France. At length, on the morning of June 4, we dropped anchor in Suez harbor. We had hoped that the _Torrilla_ would run through the canal to Port Said, but the disembarkation officer told us that we were all to be unloaded at Suez and proceed by rail. When I reached Alexandria I learned that a convoy had just sailed and there would not be another for two weeks at earliest. Sir Reginald Wingate, who had long been a family friend, was the British High Commissioner. Lady Wingate and he with the utmost hospitality insisted on my moving out to the residency to wait for my sailing. When I left for Mesopotamia Lord Derby had given me a letter to General Allenby which I had never had an opportunity to present. Sir Reginald suggested that I could not do better than make use of this enforced delay by going up to Palestine. The railway was already running to Jerusalem and you could go straight through from Cairo with but one change. At Kantara you crossed the canal and entered the military zone. Leaving there at half past eleven in the evening the train reached Ludd, which was general headquarters, at seven the following morning. Every one that I had ever met who knew General Allenby was wildly enthusiastic about him, and you had only to be with him a few minutes to realize how thoroughly justified their enthusiasm was. He represented the very highest type of the British soldier, and more need not be said. On the morning on which I arrived an attack was in progress and we could hear the drumming of the guns. The commander-in-chief placed a car at my disposal and I went around visiting old friends that I had made in Mesopotamia or still earlier in England, before the war. Among the latter was Colonel Ronald Storrs, the military governor of Jerusalem. With him I spent several days. Life in the Holy City seemed but little changed by the war. There was an interesting innovation in the Church of the Nativity at Bethlehem. The different Christian religious sects, in particular the Greek and Latin Catholics, were prone to come to blows in the church, and bloodshed and death had more than once been the result. To obviate this it had been the custom to have a regular relief of Turkish soldiers stationed in the church. Their place was now taken by British and French and Italians. Each nationality in rotation furnished the guard for a day. At the festival of the distribution of the Sacred Fire from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem there were usually a number of accidents caused by the anxiety to reach the portal whence the fire was given out. The commander-in-chief particularly complimented Colonel Storrs upon the orderly way in which this ceremony was conducted under his régime. The population of Jerusalem is exceedingly mixed--and the percentage of fanatics is of course disproportionately large. There are many groups that have been gathered together and brought out to the Holy Land with distinctly unusual purposes. One such always had an empty seat at their table and confidently expected that Christ would some day appear to occupy it. The long-haired Russian and Polish Jews with their felt hats and shabby frock coats were to be met with everywhere. In the street where the Jews meet to lament the departed glory of Jerusalem an incongruous and ludicrous element was added by a few Jews, their bowed heads covered with ancient derby hats, wailing with undefeated zeal. [Illustration: A street in Jerusalem] It is a mournful fact that the one really fine building in Jerusalem should be the Mosque of Omar--the famous "Dome of the Rock." This is built on the legendary site of the temple of Solomon, and the mosaics lining the inside of the dome are the most beautiful I have ever seen. The simplicity is what is really most felt, doubly so because the Christian holy places are garish and tawdry, with tin-foil and flowers and ornate carving. It is to be hoped that the Christians will some day unite and clean out all the dreary offerings and knickknacks that clutter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Moslems hold the Mosque of Omar second in sanctity only to the great mosque in the holy city of Mecca. It is curious, therefore, that they should not object to Christians entering it. Mohammedans enter barefoot, but we fastened large yellow slippers over our shoes, and that was regarded as filling all requirements. Storrs pointed out to me that it was quite unnecessary to remove our hats, for that is not a sign of respect with Moslems, and they keep on their red fezzes. The mosque was built by the Caliph Abd el Melek, about fifty years after Omar had captured Jerusalem in 636 A.D. Many of the stones used in building it came from the temple of Jupiter. In the centre lies the famous rock, some sixty feet in diameter, and rising six or seven feet above the floor of the mosque. To Mohammedans it is more sacred than anything else in the world save the Black Stone at Mecca. Tradition says that it was here that Abraham and Melchizedek sacrificed to Jehovah, and Abraham brought Isaac as an offering. Scientists find grounds for the belief that it was the altar of the temple in the traces of a channel for carrying off the blood of the victims. The Crusaders believed the mosque to be the original temple of Solomon, and, according to their own reports, rededicated it with the massacre of more than ten thousand Moslems who had fled thither for refuge. The wrought-iron screen that they placed around the rock still remains. The cavern below is the traditional place of worship of many of the great characters of the Old Testament, such as David and Solomon and Elijah. From it Mohammed made his night journey to heaven, borne on his steed El Burak. In the floor of the cavern is an opening covered with a slab of stone, and said to go down to the centre of the world and be a medium for communicating with the souls of the departed. The military governor has been at work to better the sanitary conditions in Jerusalem. Hitherto the only water used by the townsfolk had been the rain-water which they gathered in tanks. Some years ago it was proposed to bring water to the city in pipes, some of which were already laid before the inhabitants decided that such an innovation could not be tolerated. The British have put in a pipe-line, and oddly enough it runs to the same reservoir whence Pontius Pilate started to bring water by means of an aqueduct. They have also built some excellent roads through the surrounding hills. Here, as in Mesopotamia, one was struck by the permanent nature of the improvements that are being made. Even to people absorbed in their own jealousies and rivalries the advantages that they were deriving from their liberation from Turkish rule must have been exceedingly apparent. The situation in Palestine differed in many ways from that in Mesopotamia, but in none more markedly than in the benefits derived from the propinquity of Egypt. Occasional leaves were granted to Cairo and Alexandria and they afforded the relaxation of a complete change of surroundings. I have never seen Cairo gayer. Shepherd's Hotel was open and crowded--and the dances as pleasant as any that could be given in London. The beaches at Ramleh, near Alexandria, were bright with crowds of bathers, and the change afforded the "men from up the line" must have proved of inestimable value in keeping the army contented. There were beaches especially reserved for non-commissioned officers and others for the privates--while in Cairo sightseeing tours were made to the pyramids and what the guide-books describe as "other points of interest." When I left Mesopotamia I made up my mind that there was one man in Palestine whom I would use every effort to see if I were held over waiting for a sailing. This man was Major A.B. Paterson, known to every Australian as "Banjo" Paterson. His two most widely read books are _The Man from Snowy River_ and _Rio Grande's Last Race_; both had been for years companions of the entire family at home and sources for daily quotations, so I had always hoped to some day meet their author. I knew that he had fought in the South African War, and I heard that he was with the Australian forces in Palestine. As soon as I landed I asked every Australian officer that I met where Major Paterson was, for locating an individual member of an expeditionary force, no matter how well known he may be, is not always easy. Every one knew him. I remember well when I inquired at the Australian headquarters in Cairo how the man I asked turned to a comrade and said: "Say, where's 'Banjo' now? He's at Moascar, isn't he?" Whether they had ever met him personally or not he was "Banjo" to one and all. On my return to Alexandria I stopped at Moascar, which was the main depot of the Australian Remount Service, and there I found him. He is a man of about sixty, with long mustaches and strong aquiline features--very like the type of American plainsman that Frederic Remington so well portrayed. He has lived everything that he has written. At different periods of his life he has dived for pearls in the islands, herded sheep, broken broncos, and known every chance and change of Australian station life. The Australians told me that when he was at his prime he was regarded as the best rider in Australia. A recent feat about which I heard much mention was when he drove three hundred mules straight through Cairo without losing a single animal, conclusively proving his argument against those who had contested that such a thing could not be done. Although he has often been in England, Major Paterson has never come to the United States. He told me that among American writers he cared most for the works of Joel Chandler Harris and O. Henry--an odd combination! While in Egypt I met a man about whom I had heard much, a man whose career was unsurpassed in interest and in the amount accomplished by the individual. Before the war Colonel Lawrence was engaged in archæological research under Professor Hogarth of Oxford University. Their most important work was in connection with the excavation of a buried city in Palestine. At the outbreak of hostilities Professor Hogarth joined the Naval Intelligence and rendered invaluable services to the Egyptian Expeditionary Forces. Lawrence had an excellent grounding in Arabic and decided to try to organize the desert tribes into bands that would raid the Turkish outposts and smash their lines of communication. He established a body-guard of reckless semioutlaws, men that in the old days in our West would have been known as "bad men." They became devoted to him and he felt that he could count upon their remaining faithful should any of the tribes with which he was raiding meditate treachery. He dressed in Arab costume, but as a whole made no effort to conceal his nationality. His method consisted in leading a tribe off on a wild foray to break the railway, blow up bridges, and carry off the Turkish supplies. Swooping down from out the open desert like hawks, they would strike once and be off before the Turks could collect themselves. Lawrence explained that he had to succeed, for if he failed to carry off any booty, his reputation among the tribesmen was dead--and no one would follow him thereafter. What he found hardest on these raids was killing the wounded--but the dread of falling into the hands of the Turks was so great that before starting it was necessary to make a compact to kill all that were too badly injured to be carried away on the camels. The Turks offered for Colonel Lawrence's capture a reward of ten thousand pounds if dead and twenty thousand pounds if alive. His added value in the latter condition was due to the benefit that the enemy expected to derive from his public execution. No one who has not tried it can realize what a long ride on a camel means, and although Lawrence was eager to take with him an Englishman who would know the best methods of blowing up bridges and buildings, he could never find any one who was able to stand the strain of a long journey on camel back. Lawrence told me that he couldn't last much longer, things had broken altogether too well for him, and they could not continue to do so. Scarcely more than thirty years of age, with a clean-shaven, boyish face, short and slender in build, if one met him casually among a lot of other officers it would not have been easy to single him out as the great power among the Arabs that he on every occasion proved himself to be. Lawrence always greatly admired the Arabs--appreciating their many-sidedness--their virility--their ferocity--their intellect and their sensitiveness. I remember well one of the stories which he told me. It was, I believe, when he was on a long raid in the course of which he went right into the outskirts of Damascus--then miles behind the Turkish lines. They halted at a ruined palace in the desert. The Arabs led him through the various rooms, explaining that each was scented with a different perfume. Although Lawrence could smell nothing, they claimed that one room had the odor of ambergris--another of roses--and a third of jasmine;--at length they came to a large and particularly ruinous room. "This," they said, "has the finest scent of all--the smell of the wind and the sun." I last saw Colonel Lawrence in Paris, whither he had brought the son of the King of the Hedjaz to attend the Peace Conference. When I got back to Alexandria I found that the sailing of the convoy had been still further delayed. Three vessels out of the last one to leave had been sunk, involving a considerable loss of life. The channel leading from the harbor out to sea is narrow and must be followed well beyond the entrance, so that the submarines had an excellent chance to lay in wait for outgoing boats. The greatest secrecy was observed with regard to the date of leaving and destination--and of course troops were embarked and held in the harbor for several days so as to avoid as far as possible any notice being given to the lurking enemy by spies on shore. The transports were filled with units that were being hurried off to stem the German tide in France, so casual officers were placed on the accompanying destroyers and cruisers. I was allotted to a little Japanese destroyer, the _Umi_. She was of only about six hundred and fifty tons burden, for this class of boat in the Japanese navy is far smaller than in ours. She was as neat as a pin, as were also the crew. The officers were most friendly and did everything possible to make things comfortable for a landsman in their limited quarters. The first meal on board we all used knives and forks, but thereafter they were only supplied to me, while the Japanese fell back upon their chop-sticks. It was a never-failing source of interest to watch their skill in eating under the most difficult circumstances. One morning when the boat was dancing about even more than usual, I came into breakfast to find the steward bringing in some rather underdone fried eggs, and thought that at last I would see the ship's officers stumped in the use of their chop-sticks. Not a bit of it; they had disposed of the eggs in the most unsurpassed manner and were off to their duties before I myself had finished eating. [Illustration: Japanese destroyers passing through the gut at Taranto] We left Alexandria with an escort of aeroplanes to see us safely started, while an observation balloon made fast to a cruiser accompanied us on the first part of our journey. The precautions were not in vain, for two submarines were sighted a short time after we cleared the harbor. The traditional Japanese efficiency was well borne out by the speed with which our crew prepared for action. Every member was in his appointed place and the guns were stripped for action in an incredibly short time after the warning signal. It was when we were nearing the shores of Italy that I had best opportunity to see the destroyers at work. We sighted a submarine which let fly at one of the troopers--the torpedo passing its bow and barely missing the boat beyond it. Quick as a flash the Japanese were after it--swerving in and out like terriers chasing a rat, and letting drive as long as it was visible. We cast around for the better part of an hour, dropping overboard depth charges which shook the little craft as the explosion sent great funnels of water aloft. The familiar harbor of Taranto was a welcome sight when we at length herded our charges in through the narrow entrance and swung alongside the wharf where the destroyers were to take in a supply of fuel preparatory to starting out again on their interminable and arduous task. IX WITH THE FIRST DIVISION IN FRANCE AND GERMANY I My transfer to the American army appointed me as captain of field artillery instead of infantry, as I had wished. Just how the mistake occurred I never determined, but once in the field artillery I found that to shift back would take an uncertain length of time, and that even after it was effected I would be obliged to take a course at some school before going up to the line. It therefore seemed advisable to go immediately, as instructed, to the artillery school, at Saumur. The management was half French and half American. Colonel MacDonald and Colonel Cross were the Americans in charge, and the high reputation of the school bore testimony to their efficiency. It was the intention of headquarters gradually to replace all the French instructors with Americans, but when I was there the former predominated. It was of course necessary to wait until our officers had learned by actual experience the use of the French guns with which our army was supplied. When men are being taught what to do in combat conditions they apply themselves more attentively and absorb far more when they feel that the officer teaching them has had to test, under enemy fire, the theories he is expounding. The school was for both officers and candidates. The latter were generally chosen from among the non-commissioned officers serving at the front; I afterward sent men down from my battery. The first part of the course was difficult for those who had either never had much mathematical training or had had it so long ago that they were hopelessly out of practice. A number of excellent sergeants and corporals did not have the necessary grounding to enable them to pass the examinations. They should never have been sent, for it merely put them in an awkward and humiliating position--although no stigma could possibly be attached to them for having failed. The French officer commanding the field work was Major de Caraman. His long and distinguished service in the front lines, combined with his initiative and ever-ready tact, made him an invaluable agent in welding the ideas and methods of France and America. His house was always filled with Americans, and how much his hospitality meant to those whose ties were across the ocean must have been experienced to be appreciated. The homes of France were ever thrown open to us, and the sincere and simple good-will with which we were received has put us under a lasting debt which we should be only too glad to cherish and acknowledge. Saumur is a delightful old town in the heart of the château country. The river Loire runs through it, and along the banks are the caves in some of which have been found the paintings made by prehistoric man picturing the beasts with which he struggled for supremacy in the dim dark ages. The same caves are many of them inhabited, and their owners may well look with scorn upon the châteaux and baronial castles of whose antiquity it is customary to boast. There is an impressive castle built on a hill dominating the town, and in one of the churches is hung an array of tapestries of unsurpassed color and design. The country round about invited rambling, and the excellent roads made it easy; particularly delightful were the strolls along the river-banks, where patient fisherfolk of every sex and age sat unperturbed by the fact that they never seemed to catch anything. One old lady with a sunbonnet was always to be seen seated on a three-legged stool in the same corner amid the rocks. She had a rusty black umbrella which she would open when the rays of the sun became too searching. The buildings which were provided for the artillery course had formerly been used by the cavalry school, probably the best known in the world. Before the war army officers of every important nation in the Occident and Orient were sent by their governments to follow the course and learn the method of instruction. My old friend Fitzhugh Lee was one of those sent by the United States, and I found his record as a horseman still alive and fresh in the memory of many of the townspeople. Soon after the termination of my period of instruction I was in command of C Battery of the Seventh Field Artillery in the Argonne fighting. I was standing one morning in the desolate, shell-ridden town of Landres et St. George watching a column of "dough-boys" coming up the road; at their head limped a battered Dodge car, and as it neared me I recognized my elder brother Ted, sitting on the back seat in deep discussion with his adjutant. I had believed him to be safely at the staff school in Langres recuperating from a wound, but he had been offered the chance to come up in command of his old regiment, the Twenty-Sixth, and although registered as only "good for light duty in the service of supply," he had made his way back to the division. While we were talking another car came up and out from it jumped my brother-in-law, Colonel Richard Derby--at that time division surgeon of the Second Division. We were the only three members of the family left in active service since my brother Quentin, the aviator, was brought down over the enemy lines, and Archie, severely wounded in leg and arm, had been evacuated to the United States. I well remember how once when Colonel Derby introduced me to General Lejeune, who was commanding his division, the general, instead of making some remark about my father, said: "I shall always be glad to meet a relative of a man with Colonel Derby's record." On the 11th of November we had just returned to our original sector after attacking Sedan. None of us placed much confidence in an armistice being signed. We felt that the German would never accept the terms, but were confident that by late spring or early summer we would be able to bring about an unconditional surrender. When the firing ceased and the news came through that the enemy had capitulated, there was no great show of excitement. We were all too weary to be much stirred by anything that could occur. For the past two weeks we had been switched hither and yon, with little sleep and less food, and a constant decrease in our personnel and horses that was never entirely made good but grew steadily more serious. The only bursts of enthusiasm that I heard were occasioned by the automobile trucks and staff cars passing by after dark with their headlights blazing. The joyous shouts of "Lights out!" testified that the reign of darkness was over. Soon the men began building fires and gathering about them, calling "Lights out!" as each new blaze started--a joke which seemed a never-failing source of amusement. We heard that we were to march into Germany in the wake of the evacuating army and occupy one of the bridge-heads. All this came through in vague and unconfirmed form, but in a few days we were hauled back out of the line to a desolate mass of ruins which had once been the village of Bantheville. We were told that we would have five days here, during which we would be reoutfitted in every particular. Our horses were in fearful shape--constant work in the rain and mud with very meagre allowance of fodder had worn down the toughest old campaigners among them. During the weary, endless night march on Sedan I often saw two horses leaning against each other in utter exhaustion--as if it were by that means alone that they kept on their feet. We were told to indent for everything that we needed to make our batteries complete as prescribed in the organization charts, but we followed instructions without any very blind faith in results--nor did our lack of trust prove unwarranted, for we got practically nothing for which we had applied. There were some colored troops near by engaged in repairing the roads, and a number of us determined to get up a quartet to sing for the men. We went to where the negroes had built themselves shelters from corrugated-iron sheets and miscellaneous bits of wreckage from the town. We collected three quarters of our quartet and were directed to the mess-shack for the fourth. As we approached I could hear sounds of altercation and a voice that we placed immediately as that of our quarry arose in indignant warning: "If yo' doan' leggo that mess-kit I'll lay a barrage down on yo'!" A platform was improvised near a blazing fire of pine boards and we had some excellent clogging and singing. The big basso had evidently a strong feeling for his steel helmet, and it undoubtedly added to his picturesqueness--setting off his features with his teeth and eyes gleaming in the firelight. On the evening of the second day orders came to move off on the following morning. We were obliged to discard much material, for although the two days' rest and food had distinctly helped out the horse situation, we had many animals that could barely drag themselves along, much less a loaded caisson, and our instructions were to on no account salvage ammunition. We could spare but one horse for riding--my little mare--and she was no use for pulling. She was a wise little animal with excellent gaits and great endurance. We were forced to leave, behind another mare that I had ridden a good deal on reconnaissances, and that used to amuse me by her unalterable determination to stick to cover. It was almost most impossible to get her to cut across a field; she preferred to skirt the woods and had no intention of exposing herself on any sky-line. In spite of her caution it was on account of wounds that she had eventually to be abandoned. I trust that the salvage parties found her and that she is now reaping the reward of her foresight. We were a sorry-looking outfit as we marched away from Bantheville. My lieutenants had lost their bedding-rolls and extra clothes long since--as every one did, for it was impossible to keep your belongings with you--and although authorized dumps were provided and we were told that anything left behind would be cared for, we would be moved to another sector without a chance to collect our excess and practically everything would have disappeared by the time the opportunity came to visit the cache. But although the horses and accoutrements were in bad shape, the men were fit for any task, and more than ready to take on whatever situation might arise. Our destination was Malancourt, no great distance away, but the roads were so jammed with traffic that it was long after dark before we reached the bleak, wind-swept hillside that had been allotted to us. It was bitterly cold and we groped about among the shattered barbed-wire entanglements searching for wood to light a fire. There was no difficulty in finding shell-craters in which to sleep--the ground was so pockmarked with them that it seemed impossible that it could have been done by human agency. This country had been an "active" area during practically all the war, and the towns had been battered and beaten down first by the Boche and then by the French, and lately we ourselves had taken a hand in the further demolition of the ruins. Many a village was recognizable from the encompassing waste only by the sign-board stuck in a mound announcing its name. The next day's march took us through Esné, Montzeville, and Bethainville, and on down to the Verdun-Paris highway. We passed by historic "Dead Man's Hill," and not far from there we saw the mute reminders of an attack that brought the whole scene vividly back. There were nine or ten tanks, of types varying from the little Renault to the powerful battleship sort. All had been halted by direct hits, some while still far from their objective, others after they had reached the wire entanglements, and there was one that was already astride of the first-line trench. The continual sight of ruined towns and desolated countryside becomes very oppressive, and it was a relief when we began to pass through villages in which many of the houses were still left standing; it seemed like coming into a new world. At ten in the evening I got the battery into Balaicourt. A strong wind was blowing and the cold was intense, so I set off to try to find billets for the men where they could be at least partly sheltered. The town was all but deserted by its inhabitants, and we managed to provide every one with some degree of cover. Getting back into billets is particularly welcome in very cold or rainy weather, and we all were glad to be held over a day on the wholly mythical plea of refitting. Although the time would not be sufficient to make any appreciable effort in the way of cleaning harness or _matériel_, the men could at any rate heat water to wash their clothes and themselves. The next day's march we regarded as our first in the advance into Germany to which we had so long looked forward. We found the great Verdun highway which had played such an important part in the defense that broke the back of the Hun to be in excellent shape and a pleasant change from the shell-pitted roads to which we had become accustomed. It was not without a thrill that I rode, at the head of my battery, through the missive south gate of Verdun, and followed the winding streets of the old city through to the opposite portal. Before we had gone many miles the road crossed a portion of the far-famed Hindenburg line which had here remained intact until evacuated by the Boche a few days previously under the terms of the armistice. We made a short halt where a negro engineer regiment was at work making the road passable. A most hospitable officer strolled up and asked if I wanted anything to eat, which when you are in the army may be classified with Goldberg's "foolish questions." A sturdy coal-black cook brought me soup and roast beef and coffee, and never have I appreciated the culinary arts of the finest French chef as I did that meal, for the food had been cooked, not merely thrown into one of the tureens of a rolling kitchen, which was as much as we had recently been able to hope for. The negro cook looked as if he would have been able to emulate his French confrère of whom Major de Caraman told me. The Frenchman was on his way to an outpost with a steaming caldron of soup. He must have lost the way, for he unexpectedly found himself confronted by a German who ordered him to surrender. For reply the cook slammed the soup-dish over his adversary's head and marched him back a prisoner. His prowess was rewarded with a Croix de Guerre. It was interesting to see the German system of defense when it was still intact and had not been shattered by our artillery preparation as it was when taken in an attack. The wire entanglements were miles in depth, and the great trees by the roadside were mined. This was done by cutting a groove three or four inches broad and of an equal depth and filling it with packages of explosive. I suppose the purpose was to block the road in case of retreat. Only a few of the mines had been set off. Passing through several towns that no longer existed we came to Etain, where many buildings were still standing though completely gutted. The cellars had been converted into dugouts with passages and ramifications added. We were billeted in some German huts on the outskirts. They were well dug in and comfortably fitted out, so we were ready to stay over a few days, as we had been told we should, but at midnight orders were sent round to be prepared to march out early. The country was lovely and gave little sign of the Boche occupation except that it was totally deserted and when we passed through villages all the signs were in German. There was but little originality displayed in naming the streets--you could be sure that you would find a Hindenburg Strasse and a Kronprinz Strasse, and there was usually one called after the Kaiser. The mile-posts at the crossroads had been mostly replaced, but occasionally we found battered metal plaques of the Automobile Touring Club of France. Ever since we left Verdun we had been meeting bands of released prisoners, Italians and Russians chiefly, with a few French and English mingled. They were worn and underfed--their clothes were in rags. A few had combined and were pulling their scanty belongings on little cars, such as children make out of soap-boxes. The motor-trucks returning to our base after bringing up the rations would take back as many as they could carry. We came across scarcely any civilians until we reached Bouligny, a once busy and prosperous manufacturing town. A few of the inhabitants had been allowed to remain throughout the enemy occupation and small groups of those that had been removed were by now trickling in. The invader had destroyed property in the most ruthless manner, and the buildings were gutted. The domestic habits of the Hun were always to me inexplicable--he evidently preferred to live in the midst of his own filth, and many times have I seen recently captured châteaux that had been converted into veritable pigsties. The inhabitants went wild at our entry--in the little villages they came out carrying wreaths and threw confetti and flowers as they shouted the "Marseillaise." The infantry, marching in advance, bore the brunt of the celebrations. What interested me most were the bands of small children, many of them certainly not over five, dancing along the streets singing their national anthem. It must have been taught them in secret. In the midst of a band were often an American soldier or two, in full swing, thoroughly enjoying themselves. The enthusiasm was all of it natural and uninspired by alcohol, for the Germans had taken with them everything to drink that they had been unable to finish. Bouligny is not an attractive place--few manufacturing towns are--but we got the men well billeted under water-tight roofs, and we were able to heat water for washing. My striker found a large caldron and I luxuriated in a steaming bath, the first in over a month, and, what was more, I had some clean clothes to pull on when I got out. One evening, when returning from a near-by village, I met a frock-coated civilian who inquired of me in German the way to Etain. I asked him who he was and what he wanted. He answered that he was a German but was tired of his country and wished to go almost anywhere else. He seemed altogether too apparent to be a spy, and even if he were I could not make out any object that he could gain. I have often wondered what became of him. The Boches had evidently not expected to give up their conquests, for they had built an enormous stone-and-brick fountain in the centre of the town, and chiselled its name, "Hindenburg Brunnen." Above the German canteen or commissary shop was a great wooden board with "Gott strafe England"--a curious proof of how bitterly the Huns hated Great Britain, for there were no British troops in the sectors in front of this part of the invaded territory. We worked hard "policing up" ourselves and our equipment during the few days we stayed at Bouligny. One morning all the townsfolk turned out in their best clothes, which had been buried in the cellars or hidden behind the rafters in the attics, to greet the President and Madame Poincaré, who were visiting the most important of the liberated towns. It was good to hear the cheering and watch the beaming faces. On November 21 we resumed our march. Close to the border we came upon a large German cemetery, artistically laid out, with a group of massive statuary in the centre. There were some heroic-size granite statues of Boche soldiers in full kit with helmet and all, that were particularly fine. As we passed the stones marking the boundary-line between France and Lorraine there was a tangible feeling of making history, and it was not without a thrill that we entered Aumetz and heard the old people greet us in French while the children could speak only German. The town was gay with the colors of France--produced from goodness knows where. Children were balancing themselves on the barrels of abandoned German cannon and climbing about the huge camouflaged trucks. We were now where France, Luxemburg, and Lorraine meet, and all day we skirted the borders of first one and then the other, halting for the night at the French town of Villerupt. The people went wild when we rode in--we were the first soldiers of the Allies they had seen, for the Germans entered immediately after the declaration of war, and the only poilus the townsfolk saw were those that were brought in as prisoners. We were welcomed in the town hall--the German champagne was abominable but the reception was whole-hearted and the speeches were sincere in their jubilation. I was billeted with the mayor, Monsieur Georges. After dinner he produced two grimy bottles of Pol Roger--he said that he had been forced to change their hiding-place four times, and had just dug them up in his cellar. They were destined for the night of liberation. Monsieur Georges was thin and worn; he had spent two years in prison in solitary confinement for having given a French prisoner some bread. His eighteen-year-old daughter was imprisoned for a year because she had not informed the authorities as to what her father had done. No one in the family would learn a single word of German. They said that all French civilians were forced to salute the Germans, and each Sunday every one was compelled to appear in the market-place for general muster. The description of the departure of their hated oppressors was vivid--the men behind the lines knew the full portent of events and were sullen and crestfallen, but the soldiers fresh from the front believed that Germany had won and was dictating her own terms; they came through with wreaths hung on their bayonets singing songs of victory. I had often wondered how justly the food supplies sent by America for the inhabitants of the invaded districts were distributed. Monsieur Georges assured me that the Germans were scrupulously careful in this matter, because they feared that if they were not, the supplies would no longer be sent, and this would of course encroach upon their own resources, for even the Hun could not utterly starve to death the captured French civilians. The mayor told me of the joy the shipments brought and how when the people went to draw their rations they called it "going to America." We sat talking until far into the night before I retired to the luxury of a real bed with clean linen sheets. There was no trouble whatever in billeting the men--the townsmen were quarrelling as to who should have them. Next morning, with great regret at so soon leaving our willing hosts, we marched off into the little Duchy of Luxemburg. We passed through the thriving city of Esch with its great iron-mines. The streets were gay with flags, there were almost as many Italian as French, for there is a large Italian colony, the members of which are employed in mining and smelting. Brass bands paraded in our honor, and we were later met by them in many of the smaller towns. The shops seemed well filled, but the prices were very high. The Germans seemed to have left the Luxemburgers very much to themselves, and I have little doubt but that they would have been at least as pleased to welcome victorious Boches had affairs taken a different turn. Still they were glad to see us, for it meant the end of the isolation in which they had been living and the eventual advent of foodstuffs. As we rode along, the countryside was lovely and the smiling fields and hillsides made "excursions and alarums" seem remote indeed. It felt unnatural to pass through a village with unscarred church spires and houses all intact--such a change from battered, glorious France. We were immediately in the wake of the German army, and taken by and large they must have been retiring in good order, for they left little behind. Our first night we spent at the village of Syren, eight kilometres from the capital of the Duchy. Billeting was not so easy now, for we were ordered to treat the inhabitants as neutrals, and when they objected we couldn't handle the situation as we did later on in Germany. No one likes to have soldiers or civilians quartered on him, and the Luxemburgers were friendly to us only as a matter of policy. Fortunately, the chalk marks of the Boche billeting officers had not been washed off the doors, and these told us how many men had been lodged in a given house. In my lodging I was accorded a most friendly reception, for my hostess was French. Her nephew had come up from Paris to visit her a few months before the outbreak of the war, and had been unable to get back to France. To avoid the dreaded internment camp he had successfully passed as a Luxemburger. In the regiment there were a number of men whose parents came from the Duchy; these and a few more who spoke German acquired a sudden popularity among their comrades. They would make friends with some of the villagers and arrange to turn over their rations so that they would be cooked by the housewife and eaten with the luxurious accompaniment of chair and table. The diplomat would invite a few friends to enjoy with him the welcome change from the "slum" ladled out of the caldrons of the battery rolling kitchen. I had always supposed that I had in my battery a large number of men who could speak German--a glance over the pay-roll would certainly leave that impression--but when I came to test it out, I found that I had but four men who spoke sufficiently well to be of any use as interpreters. Next morning we made a winding, roundabout march to Trintange. Here we were instructed to settle down for a week or ten days' halt, and many worse places might have been chosen. The country was very broken, with hills and ravines. Little patches of woodland and streams dashing down rocky channels on their way to join the Moselle reminded one of Rock Creek Park in Washington. The weather couldn't be bettered; sharp and cold in the early morning with a heavy hoarfrost spreading its white mantle over everything, then out would come the sun, and the hills would be shrouded in mist. My billeting officer had arranged matters well, so we were comfortably installed and in good shape to "police up" for the final leg of the march to Coblenz. I had now my full allowance of officers--Lieutenants Furness, Brown, Middleditch, and Pearce. In active warfare discipline while stricter in some ways is more lax in others, and there were many small points that required furbishing. Close order drill on foot is always a great help in stiffening up the men, and such essentials as instruction in driving and in fitting harness required much attention. In the American army much less responsibility is given to the sergeants and corporals than in the British, but even so the spirit and efficiency of an organization must depend largely on its non-commissioned officers. We were fortunate in having an unusually fine lot--Sergeant Cushing was a veteran of the Spanish War. He had been a sailor for many years, and after he left the sea he became chief game warden of Massachusetts. In time of stress he was a tower of strength and could be counted upon to set his men an example of cool and judicious daring. The first sergeant, Armstrong, was an old regular army man, and his knowledge of drill and routine was invaluable to us. He thoroughly understood his profession, and was remarkably successful in training raw men. Sergeants Grumbling, Kubelis, and Bauer were all of them excellent men, and could be relied upon to perform their duty with conscientious thoroughness under the most trying conditions. One afternoon I went in to Luxemburg with Colonel Collins, the battalion commander. The town looks thoroughly mediæval as you approach. It might well have been over its castle wall that Kingsley's knight spurred his horse on his last leap; as a matter of fact the village of Altenahr, where the poet laid the scene, is not so many miles away. The town is built along the ragged cliffs lining a deep, rocky canyon spanned by old stone bridges. The massive entrance-gates open upon passages tunnelled through the hills, and although the modern part of the town boasts broad streets and squares, there are many narrow passageways winding around the ancient quarter. I went into a large bookstore to replenish my library, and was struck by the supply of post-cards of Marshal Foch and Kitchener and the King and Queen of Belgium. All had been printed in Leipzig, and when I asked the bookseller how that could be, he replied that he got them from the German commercial travellers. He said that he had himself been surprised at the samples shown him, but the salesman had remarked that he thought such post-cards would have a good sale in Luxemburg, and if such were the case "business was business," and he was prepared to supply them. There was even one of King Albert standing with drawn sword, saying: "You shall not violate the sacred soil of my country." A publication that also interested me was a weekly paper brought out in Hamburg and written in English. It was filled with jokes, beneath which were German notes explaining any difficult or idiomatic words and phrases. With all their hatred of England the Huns still continued to learn English. Thanksgiving Day came along, and we set to work to provide some sort of a special feast for the men. It was most difficult to do so, for the exchange had not as yet been regulated and the lowest rate at which we could get marks was at a franc, and usually it was a franc and a quarter. Some one opportunely arrived from Paris with a few hundred marks that he had bought at sixty centimes. For the officers we got a suckling pig, which Mess Sergeant Braun roasted in the priest's oven. He even put the traditional baked apple in its mouth, a necessary adjunct, the purpose of which I have never discovered, and such stuffing as he made has never been equalled. We washed it down with excellent Moselle wine, for we were but a couple of miles from the vineyards along the river. In the afternoon I borrowed a bicycle from the burgomaster and trailed over to Elmen, where I found my brother just about to sit down to his Thanksgiving dinner served up by two faithful Chinamen, who had come to his regiment in a draft from the West Coast. After doing full justice to his fare I wended my way back to Trintange in the rain and dark. The next day we paid the men. For some it was the first time in ten months. To draw pay it was necessary to sign the pay-roll at the end of one month and be on hand at the end of the following month to receive the money. No one could sign unless his service record was at hand, and as this was forwarded to the hospital "through military channels" when a man was evacuated sick or wounded, it rarely reached his unit until several months after he returned. It may easily be seen why it was that an enlisted man often went for months without being able to draw his pay. This meant not only a hardship to him while he was without money, but, it also followed that when he got it he had a greater amount than he could possibly need, and was more than apt to gamble or drink away his sudden accession of wealth. We always tried to make a man who had drawn a lot of back pay deposit it or send it home. Mr. Harlow, the Y.M.C.A. secretary attached to the regiment, helped us a great deal in getting the money transferred to the United States. The men, unless they could spend their earnings immediately, would start a game of craps and in a few days all the available cash would have found its way into the pocket of the luckiest man. They would throw for appallingly high stakes. On this particular pay-day we knew that the supply of wine and beer in the village was not sufficient to cause any serious trouble, and orders were given that no cognac or hard liquor should be sold. A few always managed to get it--all precautions to the contrary notwithstanding. II On the 1st of December we once more resumed our march and at Wormeldange crossed over the Moselle River into Hunland. The streets of the first town through which we passed were lined with civilians, many of them only just out of uniform, and they scowled at us as we rode by, muttering below their breath. A short way out and we began to meet men still in the field-gray uniform; they smiled and tried to make advances but our men paid no attention. When we reached Onsdorf, which was our destination, the billeting officer reported that he had met with no difficulty. The inhabitants were most effusive and anxious to please in every way. Of course they were not Prussians, and no doubt were heartily tired and sick of war, but here, as throughout, their attitude was most distasteful to us--it was so totally lacking in dignity. We could not tell how much they were acting on their own initiative and to what extent they were following instructions. Probably there was something of both back of their conduct. Warnings had been issued that the Germans were reported to be planning a wholesale poisoning of American officers, but I never saw anything to substantiate the belief. Next morning we struck across to the Saar River and followed it down to its junction with the Moselle. The woods and ravines were lovely, but from the practical standpoint the going was very hard upon the horses. We marched down through Treves, the oldest town in Germany, with a population of about thirty thousand. In the fourth century of our era Ausonius referred to it as "Rome beyond the Alps," and the extent and variety of the Roman remains would seem to justify the epithet. We were halted for some time beside the most remarkable of these, the Porta Nigra, a huge fortified gateway, dating from the first century A.D. The cathedral is an impressive conglomeration of the architecture of many different centuries--the oldest portion being a part of a Roman basilica of the fourth century, while the latest additions of any magnitude were made in the thirteenth. Most famous among its treasures is the "holy coat of Treves," believed by the devout to be the seamless garment worn by Christ at the crucifixion. The predominant religion of the neighborhood is the Roman Catholic, and on the occasions when the coat is exhibited the town is thronged by countless pilgrims. Leaving Treves we continued down along the river-bank to Rawen Kaulin, where we turned inland for a few miles and I was assigned to a village known as Eitelsbach. The inhabitants were badly frightened when we rode in--most of the men hid and the women stood on the door-steps weeping. I suppose they expected to be treated in the manner that they had behaved to the French and Belgians, and as they would have done by us had the situation been reversed. When they found they were not to be oppressed they became servile and fawning. I had my officers' mess in the schoolmaster's house. He had been a non-commissioned officer of infantry, and yet he wanted to send his daughters in to play the piano for us after dinner. We would have despised the German less if he had been able to "hate" a little more after he was beaten and not so bitterly while he felt he was winning. The country through which we marched during the next few days was most beautiful. We followed the winding course of the river, making many a double "S" turn. The steep hills came right to the bank; frequently the road was cut into their sides. A village was tucked in wherever a bit of level plain between the foot of the hill and the river permitted. When the slopes gave a southern exposure they were covered with grape-vines, planted with the utmost precision and regularity. Every corner and cranny among the rocks was utilized. The original planting must have been difficult, for the soil was covered with slabs of shale. The cultivator should develop excellent lungs in scaling those hillsides. The leaves had fallen and the bare vines varied in hue from sepia brown to wine color, with occasional patches of evergreen to set off the whole. Once or twice the road left the river to cut across over the mountains, and it cost our horses much exertion to drag the limbers up the steep, slippery trail. It was curious to notice the difference between those who dwelt along the bank and the inhabitants of the upland plateau. The latter appeared distinctly more "outlandish" and less sleek and prosperous. The highlands we found veiled in mist, and as I looked back at the dim outlines of horse and man and caisson, it seemed as if I were leading a ghost battery. We were in the heart of the wine country, and to any one who had enjoyed a good bottle of Moselle such names as Berncastel and Piesport had long been familiar. In the former town I was amused on passing by a large millinery store to see the proprietor's name was Jacob Astor. The little villages inevitably recalled the fairy-tales of Hans Andersen and the Grimm brothers. The raftered houses had timbered balconies that all but met across the crooked, winding streets through which we clattered over the cobblestones. Capping many of the beams were gargoyles, demons, and dwarfs, and a galaxy of strange creatures were carved on the ends of the gables that jutted out every which way. The houses often had the date they were built and the initials of the couple that built them over the front door, frequently with some device. I saw no dates that went further back than the late sixteen hundreds, though many of the houses doubtless were built before then. The doors in some cases were beautifully carved and weathered. The old pumps and wells, the stone bridges, and the little wayside shrines took one back through the centuries. To judge by the records carved on wall and house, high floods are no very uncommon occurrence--the highest I noticed was in 1685, while the last one of importance was credited to 1892. We were much surprised at the well-fed appearance of the population, both old and young, for we had heard so much of food shortages, and the Germans when they surrendered had laid such stress upon it. As far as we could judge; food was more plentiful than in France. Rubber and leather were very scarce, many of the women wore army boots, and the shoes displayed in shop-windows appeared made of some composition resembling pasteboard. The coffee was evidently ground from the berry of some native bush, and its taste in no way resembled the real. Cigars were camouflaged cabbage-leaves, with little or no flavor, and the beer sadly fallen off from its pre-war glory. Still, in all the essentials of life the inhabitants appeared to be making out far better than we had been given to believe. We met with very little trouble. There were a few instances where people tried to stand out against having men billeted in their houses, but we of course paid no attention except that we saw to it that they got more men than they would have under ordinary circumstances. Every now and then we would have amusing side-lights upon the war news on which the more ignorant Boches had been fed. A man upon whom several of my sergeants were quartered asked them if the Zeppelins had done much damage to New York; and whether Boston and Philadelphia had yet been evacuated by the Germans--he had heard that both cities had been taken and that Washington was threatened and its fall imminent. Our men behaved exceedingly well. Of course there were individual cases of drunkenness, but very few considering that we were in a country where the wine was cheap and schnapps plentiful. There were the inevitable A.W.O.L.'s and a number of minor offenses, but I found that by making the prisoner's life very unattractive--seeing to it that they performed distasteful "fatigues," giving them heavy packs to carry when we marched, and allowing them nothing that could be construed as a delicacy--I soon reformed the few men that were chronically shiftless or untidy or late. When not in cantonments the trouble with putting men under arrest is that too often it only means that they lead an easier life than their comrades, and it takes some ingenuity to correct this situation. Whenever it was in any way possible an offender was dealt with in the battery and I never let it go further, for I found it made for much better spirit in a unit. The men were a fine lot, and such thoroughgoing Americans, no matter from what country their parents had come. One of my buglers had landed in the United States only in 1913; he had been born and brought up on the confines of Germany and Austria, and yet when a large German of whom he was asking the way said, "You speak the language well--your parents must be German," the unhesitating reply was: "Well, my mother was of German descent!" The battery call read like a League of Nations, but no one could have found any cause of complaint in lack of loyalty to the United States. The twelfth day after we had crossed over the river from Luxemburg found us marching into Coblenz. We were quartered in large brick barracks in the outskirts of the city. The departing Germans had left them in very bad shape, and Hercules would have felt that cleaning the Augean stables was a light task in comparison. However, we set to work without delay and soon had both men and horses well housed. Life in the town was following its normal course; the stores were well stocked and seemed to be doing a thriving trade. We went into a café where a good orchestra was playing and had some very mediocre war beer, and then I set off in search of the Turkish bath of which I was much in need. The one I found was in charge of an ex-submarine sailor, and when I was shut in the steam-room I wondered if he were going to try any "frightfulness," for I was the only person in the bath. My last one had been in a wine-vat a full week before, and I was ready to risk anything for the luxury of a good soak. Orders to march usually reached us at midnight--why, I do not know; but we would turn in with the belief that we would not move on the following day, and the next we knew an orderly from regimental headquarters would wake us with marching instructions, and in no happy frame of mind we would grumblingly tumble out to issue the necessary commands. Coblenz proved no exception to this rule. As we got under way, a fine rain was falling that was not long in permeating everything. Through the misty dripping town the "caissons went rolling along," and out across the Pfaffendorf bridge, with the dim outlines of the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein towering above us. The men were drowsy and cold. I heard a few disparaging comments on the size of the Rhine. They had heard so much talk about it that they had expected to find it at least as large as the Mississippi. We found the slippery stones of the street ascending from the river most difficult to negotiate, but at length everything was safely up, and we struck off toward the bridge-head position which we were to occupy for we knew not how long. The Huns had torn down the sign-posts at the crossroads; with what intent I cannot imagine, for the roads were not complicated and were clearly indicated on the maps, and the only purpose that the sign-posts could serve was to satisfy a curiosity too idle to cause us to calculate by map how far we had come or what distance lay still before us. A number of great stone slabs attracted our attention; they had been put up toward the close of the eighteenth century and indicated the distance in hours. I remember one that proclaimed it was three hours to Coblenz and eighteen to Frankfort. I have never seen elsewhere these records of an age when time did not mean money. The march was in the nature of an anticlimax, for we had thought always of Coblenz as our goal, and the good fortune in which we had played as regarded weather during our march down the valley of the Moselle had made us supercritical concerning such details as a long, wearisome slogging through the mud in clumsy, water-logged clothes. At length we reached the little village of Niederelbert and found that Lieutenant Brown, whose turn it was as billeting officer, had settled us so satisfactorily that in a short time we were all comfortably steaming before stoves, thawing out our cramped joints. With the exception of Lieutenant Furness my officers belonged to the Reserve Corps, and we none of us looked forward to a long tour of garrison duty on the Rhine or anywhere else. Furness, who had particularly distinguished himself in liaison work with the infantry, held a temporary commission in the regular army, but he was eager to go back to civil life at the earliest opportunity. In Germany the prospect was doubly gloomy, for there would be no intercourse with the natives such as in France had lightened many a weary moment. Several days later regimental headquarters coveted our village and we were moved a few miles off across the hills to Holler. We set to work to make ourselves as snug and comfortable as possible. I had as striker a little fellow of Finnish extraction name Jahoola, an excellent man in every way, who took the best of care of my horse and always managed to fix up my billet far better than the circumstances would seem to permit. The days that followed presented little variety once the novelty of the occupation had worn off. The men continued to behave in exemplary fashion, and the Boche gave little trouble. As soon as we took up our quarters we made the villagers clean up the streets and yards until they possessed a model town, and thereafter we "policed up" every untidiness of which we might be the cause, and kept the inhabitants up to the mark in what concerned them. The head of the house in which I was lodged in Niederelbert told me that his son had been a captain in the army but had deserted a fortnight before the armistice and reached home in civilian clothes three weeks in advance of the retreating army. Of course he was not an officer before the war--not of the old military school, but the fact that he and his family were proud of it spoke of a weakening discipline and morale. Now that we had settled down to a routine existence I was doubly glad of such books as I had been able to bring along. Of these, O. Henry was the most popular. The little shilling editions were read until they fell to pieces, and in this he held the same position as in the British army. I had been puzzled at this popularity among the English, for much of his slang must have been worse than Greek to them. I also had _Charles O'Malley_ and _Harry Lorrequer_, Dumas' _Dame de Monsereau_ and _Monte Cristo_, Flaubert's _Education Sentimentale_, Gibbon's _Rise and Fall_, and Borrow's _Zincali_. These with the Oxford Books of French and English verse and a few Portuguese and Spanish novels comprised my library, a large one considering the circumstances. It was always possible to get books through the mail, although they were generally many months en route. Soon after we reached the bridge-head, officers of the regular army began turning up from the various schools whither they had been sent as instructors. We all hoped to be released in this manner, for we felt that the garrison duty should be undertaken by the regulars, whose life business it is, in order to allow the men who had left their trades and professions to return to their normal and necessary work. In the meantime we set out to familiarize ourselves with the country and keep our units in such shape that should any unforeseen event arise we would be in a position to meet it. The horses required particular attention, but one felt rewarded on seeing their improvement. There were many cases of mange which we had been hitherto unable to properly isolate, and good fodder in adequate quantity was an innovation. For the men we had mounted and unmounted drill, and spent much time in getting the accoutrements into condition for inspection. During part of the march up rations had been short, and for a number of days were very problematical. Sufficient boots and clothing were also lacking and we had had to get along as best we could without. Now that we were stationary our wants were supplied, and the worst hardship for the men was the lack of recreation. A reading-room was opened and a piano was procured, but there was really no place to send them on short passes; nothing for them to do on an afternoon off. When I left, trips down the Rhine were being planned, and I am sure they proved beneficial in solving the problem of legitimate relaxation and amusement. My father had sent my brother and myself some money to use in trying to make Christmas a feast-day for the men. It was difficult to get anything, but the Y.M.C.A. very kindly helped me out in procuring, chocolates and cigarettes, and I managed to buy a couple of calves and a few semi-delicacies in the local market. While not an Arabian Night feast, we had the most essential adjunct in the good spirits of the men, who had been schooled by their varied and eventful existence of the past eighteen months to make the most of things. In the middle of January my brother and I left for Paris. I was very sorry to leave the battery, for we had been through much together, but in common with most reserve officers I felt that, now that the fighting was over, there was only one thing to be desired and that was to get back to my wife and children. The train made light of the distance over which it had taken us so long to march, and the familiar sight of the friendly French towns was never more welcome. After several months on duty in France and Italy, I sailed on a transport from Brest, but not for the wonderful home-coming to which I had so long looked forward. 
18031	----	(http://dp.rastko.net) from page images and digital files generously made available by the University of Georgia Libraries (http://fax.libs.uga.edu/) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 18031-h.htm or 18031-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/0/3/18031/18031-h/18031-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/0/3/18031/18031-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through the University of Georgia Libraries. See http://fax.libs.uga.edu/DS49x2xM465D/ A DWELLER IN MESOPOTAMIA Being the Adventures of an Official Artist in the Garden of Eden by DONALD MAXWELL With Sketches in Colour, Monochrome, and Line +-------------------------- + | | | _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ | | | +-------------------------- + | | | THE LAST CRUSADE | | ADVENTURES WITH A | | SKETCH BOOK | | | | WITH BIBLE AND BRUSH | | IN PALESTINE | | [_In preparation_] | | | +-------------------------- + | | | THE BODLEY HEAD | | | +-------------------------- + [Illustration: THE GOLDEN TOWERS OF KHADAMAIN] [Illustration] London: John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo Street New York: John Lane Company MCMXXI William Clowes and Sons, Limited, London and Beccles, England. PREFACE Few adventurous incidents in our lives seem romantic at the time of their happening, and few places we visit are invested with that glamour that haunt them in recollection or anticipation. I remember comparing the colour scheme of a barge in Baghdad with that of one in Rochester. It was a comparison most unfavourable to Baghdad--a thing the colour of ashes with a thing of red and green and gold. Yet now that I am back in Rochester, the romance lingers around memories of dusty mahailas. It is easy to forget discomfort and insects and feel a certain glamour coming back to things which, at the time, represented the commonplaces of life. There certainly _is_ a glamour about Mesopotamia. It is not so much the glamour of the present as of the past. To have travelled in the land where Sennacherib held sway, to have walked upon the Sacred Way in Babylon, to have stood in the great banquet hall of Belshazzar's palace when the twilight is raising ghosts and when little imagination would be required to see the fingers of a man's hand come forth and write upon the plaster of the wall, to wander in the moonlight into narrow streets in Old Baghdad, with its recollections of the Arabian Nights: these things are to make enduring pictures in the Palace of Memory, that ideal collection where only the good ones are hung and all are on the line. Although it was for the Imperial War Museum that I went to Mesopotamia, these notes are not about the War, but they are a series of impressions of Mesopotamia in general. The technical side of my work I have omitted, and any account of the campaign in this field I have left to other hands. The sketches here collected might be described as a bye-product of my mission in Mesopotamia; but most of them are the property of the Imperial War Museum, and it is by the courtesy of the Art Committee of that body that I have now been able to reproduce them. THE BEACON, BORSTAL, ROCHESTER. _June_ 12, 1920. CONTENTS PAGE I. THE FIERY FURNACE 1 II. THE VENICE OF THE EAST 15 III. SINBAD THE SOLDIER 27 IV. THE WISE MEN FROM THE WEST 37 V. BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON 49 VI. ARABIAN NIGHTS IN 1919 67 VII. IN OLD BAGHDAD 89 VIII. PARADISE LOST 97 IX. THE DESERT OF THE FLAMING SWORD 109 X. THE KINGS OF THE EAST 119 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PLATES IN COLOUR AND MONOCHROME THE GOLDEN TOWERS OF KHADAMAIN _Frontispiece_ ABADAN, PERSIA, THE OIL QUAYS 4 H.M.S. _MANTIS_, ONE OF THE MONITORS ON THE TIGRIS 12 HOSPITAL HULKS AT BASRA 18 "THE SOLEMN PALMS WERE RANGED ABOVE, UNWOO'D OF SUMMER WIND" 22 THE HOUSE OF SINBAD THE SAILOR, BASRA 24 A BEND IN "THE NARROWS" OF THE TIGRIS 30 A MARSH ARABS' REED VILLAGE 34 MUD HOUSES ON THE TIGRIS 40 A MAHAILA OF THE INLAND WATER TRANSPORT 42 EZRA'S TOMB 44 ON THE EUPHRATES, EARLY MORNING 52 BABYLON, THE EXCAVATIONS AT EL-KASR 56 AN OLD WORLD CRAFT: A TYPE OF BOAT UNCHANGED SINCE THE DAYS OF SINBAD 60 BELLAMS UNDER SAIL 62 BABYLON THE GREAT IS FALLEN, IS FALLEN 64 A STREET IN KHADAMAIN 70 MOONLIGHT, BAGHDAD 72 A NOCTURNE OF BAGHDAD 74 MAHAILA AND MARSH ARAB'S BELLAM 80 A MOONLIGHT FANTASY: KUT, FROM THE RUINS OF THE LICQUORICE FACTORY 94 DAWN AT AMARA 100 A BACKWATER IN EDEN 102 PUFFING BILLY ON THE TIGRIS 106 SUNSET ON THE TIGRIS 112 SHEIK SAAD AND THE PERSIAN MOUNTAINS 114 HIT, KNOWN TO THE ARABS AS THE MOUTH OF HELL 116 A BRITISH CRUISER IN THE PERSIAN GULF 122 LIST OF LINE SKETCHES ABADAN 2 "SERRIED RANKS OF TALL IRON FUNNELS" 6 SHIP LOADING WITH OIL 7 "A MYSTERIOUS-LOOKING FURNACE TOWER" 9 "CRUDE STEAM ENGINES EVOLVED BY TITANS WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG" 11 IN ASHAR CREEK 16 SUNSET, OLD BASRA 21 DHOWS, BASRA 26 MONITOR "MOTH" AT BASRA 28 THE SIRENS OF THE NARROWS 33 NOAH'S ARK, 1919 36 UPWARD BOUND ON THE TIGRIS 38 HILLAH 47 CTESIPHON 50 ANCIENT IRRIGATION CHANNEL NEAR HILLAH 55 TOWER OF BABEL. FIG. 1 57 THE TOWER OF BABEL 59 TOWER OF BABEL. FIG. 2 60 TOWER OF BABEL. FIG. 3 61 GOUFAS ON THE TIGRIS 68 "A MAGIC VIGNETTE OF PALMS, EASTERN BUILDINGS, AND A LARGE SOUTH-WESTERN RAILWAY ENGINE" 77 "SUDDENLY WE CAME UPON A SCENE OF STRANGE BEAUTY AND DRAMATIC EFFECT" 79 "BY GARDEN PORCHES ON THE BRIM, THE COSTLY DOORS FLUNG OPEN WIDE" 82 "ALL ROUND THE FRAGRANT MARGE, FROM FLUTED VASE AND BRAZEN URN, IN ORDER, EASTERN FLOWERS LARGE." 83 "BY BAGHDAD'S SHRINES OF FRETTED GOLD, HIGH-WALLED GARDENS, GREEN AND OLD." 85 SHOWING THE SIMPLICITY OF MESOPOTAMIAN DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE. TIGRIS 88 BAGHDAD 90 "PUFFING BILLY" IN BAGHDAD 91 A BIT OF OLD BAGHDAD 93 "BLOSSOMS AND FRUIT AT ONCE OF GOLDEN HUE APPEARED, WITH GAY ENAMELLED COLOURS MIXED." 98 "HIGH, EMINENT, BLOOMING AMBROSIAL FRUIT OF VEGETABLE GOLD." 105 THE WALLS OF HIT 110 HIT 120 SAMARA 121 I THE FIERY FURNACE [Illustration: Abadan.] [Illustration] THE FIERY FURNACE There is an unenviable competition between places situated in the region of Mesopotamia and the Persian Gulf as to which can be the hottest. Abadan, the ever-growing oil port, which is in Persia and on the starboard hand as you go up the Shatt-el-Arab, if not actually the winner according to statistics, comes out top in popular estimation. Its proximity to the scorching desert, its choking dustiness and its depressing isolation, are characteristics which it shares with countless other places among these mud plains. But it can outdo them all with its bleached and slime-stained ground in which nothing can grow, its roaring furnaces and its all-pervading smell of hot oil. Across the broad waters of the Shatt-el-Arab there stretches a lonely strip of country bounded by a wall of palm-tops. Like all the land here it is cultivated as long as it borders the river and thickly planted with date groves. Then lies a nondescript belt that just divides the desert from the sown, and then, a mile or so inland, scorched and unprofitable wilderness. Into this monotonous spiked sky-line the sun was wont to cut his fiery way without much variety of effect every evening, and night rushed down, bringing respite from this heat; for it is happily one of the compensations of life in these parts that the nights are cool, however hot the day. About 150 miles from this busy spot lie the oilfields of the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. Two adventurous iron pipes start courageously with crude oil and conduct it by or through or over every obstacle from these wells to Abadan. In the early days of the war great and successful efforts were made to protect this line of supply, which was of vital importance to the British Navy. The Turks lost Fao, the fort that commanded the entrance to the Shatt-el-Arab, within a few days of the opening of hostilities. They had imagined it such a formidable obstacle to our approach that they were thrown suddenly on their beam ends when we took it. Consequently they could not keep us out of Abadan, but fell back on Beit Naama vainly attempting to block the river by sinking ships. One of the hulks, however, swung round and left a channel through which a passage was simple. I once sketched some of these old ships as they lay throughout the period of hostilities. Since then they have been partially blown up. A divers' boat was at work when I made my drawing and the first charge was fired about three minutes after I had finished, removing the funnel and one mast of the principal derelict. [Illustration: ABADAN, PERSIA, THE OIL QUAYS] Well, to begin my story. It was evening. The sun was setting in the orthodox manner described above. Abadan was looking very much as usual. The smoke was smoking, the pumps were pumping, the works were working, and all the oilers along the quay, like all well-behaved oilers, were oiling. As if to protest against the frankly commercial atmosphere of everything and everybody at Abadan, a dhow that might have belonged to Sinbad the Sailor himself was making slow headway before the failing breeze under a huge spread of bellying canvas--an apparition from another age, relieved boldly against the dark hull of a tank steamer. The flood tide had spent itself and the river seemed unusually still as twilight deepened and the many lights of the works wriggled in long reflection in the water. A spell of enchantment seemed to lie over everything, and the faint purring hum from the distant oil blast furnaces pervaded the still air. Old Sinbad came to anchor and night set in. This is all very peaceful and picturesque to write about now, but at the time I was in a motor boat that had left Mahommerah to take me for a run and it had broken down and seemed unlikely to start again in spite of all the coxswain's efforts. Consequently we were drifting about on the stream and likely to be swept down by the ebb tide. We were unfortunately on the far side of the river from Abadan, and consequently our plight would not be observed from the works. The situation was not a pleasant one because we stood a very good chance of being run down by some incoming steamer. [Illustration: "Serried ranks of tall iron funnels."] When it was clear that we should drift down below the region of the oil quays I thought we would see what our lungs could do. Timing our shouts together, the coxswain and I, we sent up a tremendous hail to the lowest of the piers. Again and again we startled the night, until at last we heard an answering hallo. In a few minutes a motor-boat bore down upon us. It was the British Navy in the shape of an engineer lieutenant commander. He took us in tow, carried me off to his bungalow, arranged about the boat being berthed and looked after till the morning, and proved a most cheery soul full of good looks and given to hospitality. When I explained my job he roared with laughter. "Just the right time to arrive," he said. "Subject one, Abadan at night complete with tanks; subject two, works, oil, one in number--sketched in triplicate--why, my Lords Commissioners will be awfully bucked. They've put a couple of millions into this show, you know. Say 'when,' it can't hurt you, special Abadan brand." [Illustration: Ship loading with oil.] I said "when." I kept on saying "when," and then as a measure of self-protection suggested sketching the works while I could distinguish tanks from palm trees. So we went out and had a preliminary look round, reserving the "Grand Tour of the Inferno," as my host named our projected expedition, until after dinner. I will not attempt to explain the processes of oil refining. I am merely concerned in narrating what it looks like. I know little beyond the fact that the crude oil arrives by pipe from the oilfields by means of several pumping stations and that it is cooked or distilled over furnaces and converted into different grade oils from petrol to heavy fuel oil. As a spectacle, however, I found a journey through this weird region most fascinating and mysterious. At night it appears as a vast plain gleaming with lights and studded with dark objects, half seen and suggesting primitive machinery of uncouth proportions. Huge lengths of pipes creep from the shadows on one hand into the far-off regions of blackness on the other. Armed with an electric torch, which the Chief carried, and a large sketch-book which I regretted taking almost as soon as we started, we set out on our quest of Dantesque scenery. At first our road ran along the quays by the river side. A camouflaged Admiralty oiler was loading fuel oil by means of three pipes that looked like the tentacles of an octopus clutching on to the side of the ship. Near this quay was a gate, and we entered the wire fence that surrounds the works and the area of the tanks and struck out over a dark waste. The novice who roams about this place in the dark spends a lot of time falling over pipes. They are stretching all over the place without any method that is apparent. The Chief showed up most of them with his torch, and so I fell about only just enough to get used to the feel of the ground as a preliminary to what was coming later. It had rained heavily two or three days before, consequently there were lake districts, slimy reaches of mixed oil and mud and dried, hard-looking islands that were in reality traps to the unwary. The top only was firm, and it had the playful property of sliding rapidly on the greasy substratum and thus sitting you down without warning when you thought you had reached dry land. [Illustration: "A mysterious-looking furnace tower."] Had I known more about Abadan before I started I would have taken a course of lessons in tight-rope walking, for that seems to be a great asset in getting along. The Chief was quite a Blondin. He could walk or run any length of pipe and never swerve. Much practice had made him an adept. There were places where the only alternative to walking in mud and water was this balancing feat along the pipe lines. When I had fallen several times and covered myself with a mixture that looked like grey condensed milk mixed with butter and felt like a poultice, I got my second wind. I was still recognizable as a human being. All fear of making myself in a worse mess had vanished, and thus, freed from nervousness, I began to get quite daring. The Chief saw in me the making of a first-class pipe walker, and prophesied that I should be able to attain the speed of three miles an hour. I still fell off, however, enough not to get a swelled head on the subject. After what to me seemed miles, and which as a matter of fact must have been about five hundred yards, we emerged from the lake region and were able to find a track along the ground. It skirted a railway line and led toward some buildings and machinery. A dull glow began to illuminate the scene and show up our path. [Illustration: "Crude steam engines evolved by Titans when the world was young."] A building loomed up against the sky. It was dimly lit by firelight and suggested to me a glimpse of the Tower of London with the corner turrets knocked off. In front of this were some vast boilers with uncouth chimneys stretching out of sight into the dark sky. The whole thing, weird and eerie, was reflected in pools of water, through which black figures toiled and splashed, pushing some loaded trollies. Then we came out into a lighted area at the foot of a mysterious-looking furnace tower, where strangely clad men, not unlike tattered and disreputable monks, were hauling at a great black object, some boiler or piece of machinery. The workmen on closer view showed that they were dressed in sacking or some such rough material in a sort of tunic. They wore long curly hair and curious hats that looked like Assyrian helmets. "What race are these men?" I asked the Chief. "They are the Medes and Persians," he replied. "And what is that tower?" "Oh, that--," he paused for a few seconds, "that's Nebuchadnezzar's Fiery Furnace heated seven times hotter." He was evidently determined to do me well from the point of view of local colour and picturesque Biblical association. I think, however, he missed a chance when later on we saw mysterious writing in Arabic characters upon the wall of an engine house. He should at least have read it out as MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. [Illustration: H.M.S. _MANTIS_, ONE OF THE MONITORS ON THE TIGRIS] Abadan is on an island and the pipe line crosses the water from the mainland. We could see it stretching away across the flat land into the darkness where the sky-line of the palm belt by the waterside was just visible. It is strange to reflect that all this scene of careless activity is dependent on those two pipes, each about 14 inches in diameter, connecting it with a point 150 miles away. I came again in the morning to look at the works. They did not appear half so mysterious as when seen in the dark. The Tower of London had shrunk into quite a small buttressed building of brick and Nebuchadnezzar's Fiery Furnace dwindled considerably in size. The Medes and Persians, on the other hand, looked wilder and more "operatic" than at night. I think as a matter of fact they were Kurds. It is a very simple style of get-up to imitate. For purposes of private theatricals I will tell you how to do it, in case you should find the stage direction, "_Alarums and excursions. Enter the Medes and Persians._" Take a very tattered, colourless, and ill-fitting dressing gown, without a girdle and flopping about untidily. Wear long black curly hair to shoulder. Put plenty of grease on. Then knock handle off a round-bottomed saucepan, very sooty, and place on your head. Dirty your face and you might walk about Abadan without attracting notice. I daresay if I knew something technical about the refining of oil I should not find these works so fascinating. There is always a glamour about a thing only half understood. Probably the retorts and boilers and all the apparatus here are of the very latest pattern, yet so strangely unlike modern machinery do they seem that I find myself wondering if I have gone back into some previous age and unearthed strange things of prehistoric antiquity. These solemn-looking turbaned Indians might be tending the first uncouth monsters of engineering--the antediluvians of machinery. These serried ranks of tall iron funnels, these rude furnaces fed by crawling snakes of piping, these roaring domes of fire might be crude steam engines evolved by Titans when the world was young. [Illustration] II THE VENICE OF THE EAST. [Illustration: In Ashar creek.] [Illustration] THE VENICE OF THE EAST Before the war, when Mesopotamia was a more distant land than it is to-day, Basra was often referred to as the Venice of the East. Few travellers were in a position to test the accuracy of the comparison, and so it aroused little comment. No Venetians had returned from Basra burning with indignation and filled with a desire to get even with the writer who first thought of the parallel, probably because no Venetian had ever been there. A few simple souls, who had delighted in the mediæval splendours of Venice, dreamed of a Venice still more romantic--a Venice with all her glories of art tinged with the glamour and witchery of the Arabian Nights, a Venice whose blue waterways reflected stately palms and golden minarets. Other souls, like myself, less simple and sufficiently salted to know that these Turnerian dreams are generally the magical accidents of changing light and seldom the result of any intrinsic interest in the places themselves--even they had a grievance when they saw the real Basra. Was this the Venice of the East, this squalid place beside soup-coloured waters? Was this the city that reveals the past splendours of Haroun Alraschid as Venice reveals the golden age of Titian and the Doges? The first general impression of Basra is that of an unending series of quays along a river not unlike the Thames at Tilbury. The British India boats and other transports lying in the stream or berthed at the wharves might be at Gravesend and the grey-painted County Council "penny steamboats" at their moorings in the river look very much as they looked in the reach below Charing Cross Bridge. Another thing which makes the contrast between Venice and Basra rather a painful one is the complete and noticeable absence of anything of the slightest architectural interest in this Eastern (alleged) counterpart of the Bride of the Adriatic. Whereas in Venice the antiquarian can revel in examples of many centuries of diverse domestic architecture from ducal palace to humble fisherman's dwelling on an obscure "back street" canal, in Basra there abounds a great deal of rickety rubbish that never had any interest in itself and which depends for its effect on the flattering gilding of the sun and the intangible glamour of Eastern twilight. In fact Basra might be described from an architectural point of view as a great heap of insanitary and ill-built rubbish which can look collectively extraordinarily picturesque. I have seen bits on Ashar Creek (as for instance the wooden old-tin-and-straw-mat-covered buildings shown in the centre of the sketch in the heading to this chapter) look most romantic and beautiful. Yet they will not bear any close inspection, without revealing themselves as monuments of slovenliness and dirt. [Illustration: HOSPITAL HULKS AT BASRA] In spite, however, of these drawbacks and disappointments, to those who would find Venetian character by the waters of Mesopotamia, there are two features in Basra that do undoubtedly bring Venice to mind--the boats and the canals. The bellam is a long, flat-bottomed boat not unlike a punt but narrowing at each end to a point, the stem and stern-post alike ending in a high curved piece suggestive of a gondola. These craft are propelled by two men standing one at each end like gondoliers and punting the boat along by poles. If the water is too deep to bottom it they sit and propel the boat with paddles. The canals of Basra are multitudinous. They are artificially dug and are really more canals than creeks, although they are always called creeks. Ashar Creek is the most important of these waterways. It is generally packed with craft from big mahailas, the type of vessel shown in the sketch facing page 16, to the ubiquitous bellam. Old Basra lies up here. As I approached it one evening, with the sun going down, it looked most gorgeous. Palms and gardens on the right and the buildings of the town on the left, and boats approaching, dream-like In the sunset glow. I have sketched the effect roughly in the line drawing on page 21. Some of the regions up these creeks are extremely beautiful. For once there was nothing disappointing even in comparison--although comparisons, as we have seen, are odious--with Venetian waterways. For once we have something that can surpass in beauty anything that Venice can show. Basra can boast no architecture, but Nature, coming to her assistance, can produce, between sunshine and water, vistas of orange-laden trees overtopped with palms and all reflected in the still canal. I have known seven kinds of fruit to overhang the banks of one creek at the same time. [Illustration: Sunset, Old Basra.] I hired a bellam manned by two fearsome-looking pirates and explored unending waterways in and around Basra. The main thoroughfares run at right angles to the river, but there are numerous narrow branches communicating from one to the other, in some places forming a network of little channels. Some of these were beautiful beyond description. The tide is felt in all these waters, and sometimes, during a spring tide, the effect of some of these date palm plantations, with the ground just covered, is strange. Hundreds of palms seem to be growing up out of a lake, and the glades reflected in the still water is dream-like and enchanting, recalling Tennyson's nocturne-- "Until another night in night I enter'd, from the clearer light, Imbower'd vaults of piller'd palm." The pirates were quite jolly fellows who pointed out various things to me as being worthy of interest. By this time the natives have got up, in a most superficial way, the things which they think will interest the Englishman. Every group of palm trees more than twenty in number is pointed out as the Garden of Eden, every bump of ground more than six feet high is the mount on which the Ark rested, and every building more than fifty years old is the one undoubted and authentic residence of Sinbad the Sailor. An old house in Mesopotamia in which Sinbad the Sailor had _not_ lived would be equivalent to one of England's ancient country mansions in which Queen Elizabeth had never slept. The fact that Sinbad the Sailor is a literary creation doesn't discourage the Arabs in the least. During this voyage of mine by bellam through the multitudinous creeks of Basra a remarkable thing happened. Under the circumstances it was a providential happening. _I ran into Brown_. [Illustration: ".... THE SOLEMN PALMS WERE RANGED ABOVE, UNWOO'D OF SUMMER WIND"--_Recollections of the Arabian Nights_] Now I do not expect the readers of some previous notes of my sketching escapades[1] to believe this. It is almost too wonderful that a chronicler of travels in desperate need of some comic relief to save his book from dulness would be so lucky as to pick up such excellent copy as Brown, without previous intrigue. Nevertheless I do solemnly state that I had not the slightest idea where Brown was doing his bit in the war. I had last heard of him in France in the Naval Division. That we should both have travelled half across the world to meet with a crash in a backwater at Basra was one of the strangest freaks of fortune I have come across. My two pirates were poling along quite merrily when we took a right angle turn in fine style. It is evident that the low foliage had hidden the side channel into which we shot, and they had not seen what became evident too late, a motor-boat at right angles across the creek, apparently stuck fast. I had just time to observe two naval officers and the native coxswain struggling with poles to turn the boat round, or free it from its unserviceable position with regard to the bank when the prow of my bellam took a flying leap over the motor-boat, precipitating my two boatmen into the water, and sending me by means of a somersault into the launch. Somewhat stunned I lay gazing up at a piece of blue sky in which I could discern the green leaves of palm trees. When in the midst of this blue dome above I beheld Brown perched on the top of a palm tree exhibiting with a look of blank astonishment on his face, waving an arm as if in a kind of bewildered greeting, I gave up the struggle for existence and became resigned to my fate. Without doubt Brown, whom I had last heard of in France, had been killed and was now doing his best to welcome me into a happier and better world. It would be quite like Brown to try and outdo the ordinarily accepted symbolism of bearing a palm branch by attempting to wave a whole palm tree, for this he seemed most undoubtedly to be doing, embracing its trunk and swaying from side to side. Subsequently, when things had sorted themselves out in my mind, and when I found I was still in the land of the living I realized that he was attempting to descend to earth. He was no less astonished than I. After baling out the bellam and restoring order in the launch we found that the casualties were nil, and proceeded to compare notes. Brown, it appeared, had joined the Naval Division, been to Antwerp, Gallipoli and France, and then been transferred for gunnery duties to the rivers of Mesopotamia, and was now Lieut. R.N.V.R. in the _Dalhousie_ stationed at Basra. His occupation, when I came across him in this unexpected way, was that of a leader of an expedition in a motor-boat with two R.N. victims to find a new route to somewhere or other which could not possibly be approached by water. His enthusiasm had been so infectious that he had persuaded these gallant and guileless officers to go with him, and was, at the moment of my arrival, attempting to get a better geographical idea of the surrounding country by climbing a palm tree and shouting directions to the unfortunate occupants of the boat below, who were hopelessly stuck. The sudden impact of the bellam, uncomfortable as it was for all concerned, succeeded where they had failed, in getting them off the mud. [Illustration: THE HOUSE OF SINBAD THE SAILOR, BASRA] An old-world touch is given to the waters of Basra by the high-sterned dhows anchored in the river. Above Ashar Creek the scenery of the banks with its wharves and big steamers is not particularly characteristic of the East. Some of it might be by the Thames at Tilbury Docks. But by Khora Creek and in the lower reaches of the river at Basra, these old-world ships, with their quaint lines and steep, naked masts, are more in keeping with our recollections of Sinbad the Sailor, or perhaps of the days of the Merchant Venturers of our own Elizabethan days. It is to be supposed that the type of ship that has survived in the East to the present day, like the mahaila and the goufa, is very much unchanged like everything else, and tells us faithfully what sort of ships there were in these waters some two thousand years ago or more. If this surmise be a correct one, then we can trace the poop tower of the _Great Harry_ and the square windows and super-imposed galleries of the _Victory's_ stern to this common ancestor. I wish I had been able to get an elevation of the details of one of these more ornate sterns. It would be interesting to compare the work with that in the ships of the Middle Ages and see if there is a definite development of type from East to West via the Mediterranean. We passed down Ashar Creek just after sunset, and the house of Sinbad, with its picturesque surroundings, thoroughly looked the part. The tower of the mosque stood out against a lemon-coloured sky, and wandering wisps of purple smoke curled up from countless hearths. Some giant mahailas, nearly obliterated the crooked little galleries that overlook the creek, and a few boats glided silently down towards the open river. Lights began to appear and stars studded the darkening sky. Faint sounds of chanting music floated across the water and all the world was still. [Illustration: Dhows Basra.] III SINBAD THE SOLDIER [Illustration: Monitor "Moth" at Basra.] [Illustration] SINBAD THE SOLDIER After a few days among the waterways of Mesopotamia one can get hardened against surprises. The most amazing and outrageous types of craft soon meet the eye as commonplaces of river life. Things that would make a Thames waterman sign the pledge proceed up and down without arousing any comment. Noah's ark, with its full complement, could ply for hire between Basra and Baghdad, and the lion's roaring would be accepted as the necessary accompaniment of a somewhat old type of machinery resuscitated for the war. I have seen boats jostling each other cheek by jowl that might have been taking part in a pageant entitled "Ships in All the Ages." There were Thornycroft motor-boats and Sennacharib goufas, mahailas and Thames steamboats, an oil-fuel gunboat and a stern paddler that could have come out of a woodcut of the first steamboat on the Clyde--and all these in the same reach. I travelled in this last extraordinary vessel for a short time. She was in charge of a sergeant of the Inland Water Transport, with an Indian pilot and miscellaneous crew, and my adventurous cruise called to mind both the travels of Ulysses and the Hunting of the Snark. The sergeant could not speak Hindustani and the pilot could not speak a word of English. Mistakes of the most frantic nature were common, especially when we were being whirled round and round by the stream at a difficult corner. In the midst of controversy unrelieved by any glimmer of understanding on the part of anybody present we would slide gracefully into a state of rest on a mudbank or bump violently against the shore. Luckily, it seemed as easy to get off the mudbank as to get on it, and we finally got into positions we wanted to for making sketches of various points. The pantomimic violence of the sergeant, together with diagrams in my sketch-book, were ultimately successful. [Illustration: A BEND IN "THE NARROWS" OF THE TIGRIS] Nearly all the Tigris steamers proceeding up river have loaded lighters on each side of them. These act as fenders at the corners and take the bump whenever the bank is encountered. The progress is slow and there is often a good deal of waiting, for in the region between Ezra's tomb (above Kurna) and Amara there is not room for two steamers thus encumbered to pass with safety. These waters are known as the Narrows. Signal stations are placed at various intervals, and a signal is made to clear the way, generally for the down-river boat, the up-river craft, which, with the stream against them, will not have to turn round in stopping, tying up to the bank. This manoeuvre is done in a few minutes. The steamer that is to stop runs alongside the bank and natives with stakes jump out and drive them into the marsh ground. She moors to these until the other vessel has passed downwards. The sketch facing page 30 was done from a steamer bound up-river, which had tied up under these conditions. The paddler coming down has a lighter on each side of her as the one sketched on page 38. She will come down toward the leading marks shown on the right-hand side of the picture, and then slide along the bank, using the lighter on the port side as a fender. Then she will leave the bank and shoot across to the other side of the river, taking the next turn with her starboard lighter. This drawing will serve to show the general nature of most Mesopotamian river scenery, dead flat, with nothing or little to relieve the monotony, a great expanse of muddy waters and featureless dust, with just a suggestion in one direction of a low line of blue--very faint. It tells of the far-away Persian mountains and of snow. The great feature of the Narrows, however, and one which all our dwellers in Mesopotamia will remember vividly as long as they live, is the egg-sellers from the Marsh Arab villages on the banks. Although a steamer proceeding up-river may be kicking up a great fuss in the water and apparently thumping along at a great rate, it is, in reality, making only about four knots on the land. Consequently, when it sidles into the bank, with one of its lighters touching the marsh, the natives who are selling things can keep up, and a running--literally running--fire of bargaining is maintained between the ship's company and the Arabs. They are all women who do the selling--weird figures in black carrying baskets of eggs and occasionally chicken. Gesticulating, shouting, shrieking, they rush along beside the up-going steamer and keep even with it. In the middle of a bargain the steamer may edge away until a great gulf is fixed between the bargainers. Sometimes it will slide along the other bank and a fresh company of yelling Amazons will try and open up negotiations for eggs while the frenzied and now almost demented sellers left behind rend their clothes and shout imprecations at their rivals. Another turn of the current, however, and the vessel again nears the shore of the original runners and the deal is finished. [Illustration: The Sirens of the Narrows.] One girl kept up for miles and at last sold her basket of eggs. She got a very good price for them, but apparently she wanted her basket back again. The buyer insisted that the basket was included, and the seller shrieked frantically that it was not. She kept up with us for some miles, making imploring gestures, kneeling down with her arms outstretched as though she was begging for her life, and yelling at the top of her voice, tears streaming down her cheeks. The basket would be worth twopence or less and she had made many shillings on the deal. Finally, a soldier good-naturedly threw it to her and it fell in the water about three feet from the shore. She hurled herself upon it waist deep in the water and seized it, then waved her arms and leaped about in a dance of ecstatic triumph that would have made her fortune at the Hippodrome. Another feature of the Narrows is the reed villages. This, of course, does not exclusively belong to this region, but it is here, when tied up to the bank, that the best opportunity of a close view is taken. That houses can be built in practically no time and out of almost anything has been abundantly claimed at home by numerous enterprising firms by ocular demonstration at the Building Trades and Ideal Home Exhibitions. Cement guns and climbing scaffolding, we are assured, will raise crops of mansions at a prodigious pace, and the housing problem is all but solved. If we have not noticed many new houses it is not for want of inventors. Yet the best of these efforts is elaborately cumbersome compared with housing schemes on these flat lands bordering the Tigris and Euphrates. Not only has the Marsh Arab evolved a style of dwelling that can be built in a night, but he can boast of a device still more alluring in its naivity and utility--the _Portable Village!_ [Illustration: A MARSH ARAB REED VILLAGE] I once made a sketch of a Marsh Arabs' village at evening (reproduced facing p. 34), and on returning thither on the following morning to verify certain details, I found it had gone! I succeeded in tracking it down again by the afternoon, about ten miles from its former situation, and found the mayor (or whatever the Marsh-Mesopotamian equivalent may be) inspecting the finishing touches being made to the borough. Of course it is frightfully muddling, all this moving about of villages, to the stranger who is not keeping a sharp look-out and marking well such impromptu geographical activity. Along the shores of the rivers of Mesopotamia and in the innumerable lagoons and backwaters that abound can be found large areas of tall reeds, ranging from quite slight rushes to canes twenty feet high. It is with such material the Marsh Arab builds. The long rods he bends into arches like croquet hoops. On this skeleton, not unlike the ribs of a boat turned upside down, he stretches large mats woven out of rushes. At the ends he builds up a straight wall of reed straw bound up in flat sheaves. An opening is left for an entrance, a mat, sometimes of coloured material, doing duty for a door. So much for the principal and removable part of the village. However, the town planner will add to this by improvising mud enclosures for animals, and an occasional wall and "tower." The mud is mixed with cut grass and reeds, quickly drying into a hard substance, and sufficiently permanent for anything that such a temporary village requires. In the bright sunlight of the Mesopotamian plains, and probably also on account of their prominence at a distance over the flat land, some of these mud buildings look quite imposing. I remember once approaching a city with ramparts, towers, and formidable walls which, on close inspection, turned out to be a small mud enclosure of the most decrepit kind. Great changes have been made in the rule of the waterways of Mesopotamia. Sinbad the Sailor has given place to Sinbad the Soldier, the Inland Water Transport. We have learnt, as we were advised to do in regard to the things of Mesopotamia, to think amphibiously. [Illustration: Noah's Ark, 1919.] IV THE WISE MEN FROM THE WEST [Illustration: Upward bound on the Tigris.] [Illustration] THE WISE MEN FROM THE WEST The story of Mesopotamia is a story of irrigation. "It is not improbable," writes Sir William Willcocks, the great irrigationist, "that the wisdom of ancient Chaldea had its foundations in the necessity of a deep mastery of hydraulics and meteorology, to enable the ancient settlers to turn what was partially a desert and partially a swamp into fields of world-famed fertility." The civilizations of Babylon and Assyria owed their very life to the science of watering the land, and even in the later times of Haroun Alraschid their great systems had been well maintained. It is said of Maimûn, the son and successor of this monarch, that he exclaimed, as he saw Egypt spread out before him, "Cursed be Pharaoh who said in his pride, 'Am I not Pharaoh, King of Egypt?' If he had seen Chaldea he would have said it with humility." Allowing for a certain amount of patriotic exaggeration, the exclamation at least shows at what a high degree of excellence the irrigation system of Mesopotamia was maintained in the 10th century A.D. Yet Mesopotamia is to-day a desert except for the regions in the immediate vicinity of the rivers. You can go westwards from Baghdad to the Euphrates, and every mile or so you will have to cross earthworks, not unlike irregular railway embankments, showing a vast system of irrigation channels both great and small. But there is not a drop of water near and not a tree and no sign of any life. How came the change and how can such a network of channels have ceased to work entirely? The reason is to be found in some past neglect of the ancient dams that kept the water on a high level, so that it could flow by means of artificial canals at a greater height (and consequently at a slower rate) than the rivers themselves. The Tigris and Euphrates are rivers fed by the melting snow in the mountains of Armenia. The hotter the season and the more necessary a plentiful supply of water, the greater is the amount brought down. The rivers, however, when they reach the flat alluvial plain between the region round about Baghdad and the Persian Gulf, when left to themselves are always bringing down a deposit and choking themselves up and then breaking out in a new direction, causing swamps and turning much of the land into useless marsh. Consequent also upon this silting-up process the banks of the rivers are higher than the surrounding country, and there is a gentle drop in the level of the land as it recedes from the river. [Illustration: MUD HOUSES ON THE TIGRIS] The object of the ancient irrigationists was to tap the rivers at the higher part of this plain, and then, by means of great canals, lead the water where they wanted it. Large reservoirs and lakes for storing surplus water were made, and thus the uneven delivery of water by the rivers was checked and a more regular and manageable supply maintained. The greatest of these ancient channels was the Nahrwân. A regulator, the ruins which are still traceable in the bed of the Tigris, turned sufficient water into this high-level river at Dura. It stretched southwards for about 250 miles along the left bank of the Tigris. It was the neglect of this canal that led to a fearful catastrophe which must have been responsible for the death of millions; a catastrophe which turned some 20,000 square miles of fruitful land, teeming with populous cities, into a dismal swamp. The intake from the Tigris of this and other canals evidently silted up, and thus enormous volumes of water, usually carried off by them in times of flood, helped to swell this river till, bursting its banks, it inundated the whole country. The result remains to-day--a vast tract of swampy land, barren and almost useless, except to a few wandering tribes of Arabs. And now the land which sent its Wise Men to the West is looking towards the West again for aid. If its ancient prosperity is to be restored, if Chaldea is again to be a granary to the world, it is to the West that it must turn. Science and machinery shall again make the waste places to be inhabited and the desert blossom as the rose. Thus shall the wise men return to them--the Wise Men of the West. In every important agricultural centre are to be found irrigation officers--the first-fruits of British occupation. There was only one subject of conversation in Mesopotamia in the winter of 1918-1919, and that was the chances of getting back home. There was very little to do at Basra except watch steamers load up with the more fortunate candidates for demobilization and give them a send-off. Brown had no difficulty in getting three weeks' leave to accompany me in some of my expeditions to gather up such fragments as remained of naval subjects on the rivers. We determined on a voyage of discovery up the Euphrates in search of the famous "fly-boats" which had figured so vividly in the early days of naval river fighting, and which now were more or less peacefully employed. I had to make many sketches of them for further use, and succeeded in finding a whole "bag" at Dhibban. [Illustration: A MAHAILA OF THE INLAND WATER TRANSPORT] We embarked in an ancient-looking stern paddler named _Shushan_. As we had to camp out in a somewhat rough-and-ready way, with not a little discomfort owing to a spell of very cold weather, Brown insisted on referring to her as _Shushan the Palace_. She had a tall funnel, like the tug in Turner's _Fighting Témeraire,_ and kicked up a tremendous wash with her paddle, the whole effect being faintly reminiscent of a hay-making machine. She pushed her way along, slightly "down by the head," as if she had suddenly thought of something and was putting on a spurt to make up for lost time. I cannot lay hands on a sketch of her, but the one reproduced at the head of this chapter will give some idea of her character. Take away one funnel and place it amid-ships, reduce her tonnage a little, and you have the _Shushan_ to the life. This gallant little curiosity is no late conscripted product of the war. She is one of the pukka ships of the Navy in Mesopotamia--one of the Old Contemptibles. Armed with a three-pounder which caused such havoc to her decks when fired that it is reported the ship had to be turned round after each round. Two shots in succession in the same direction would have wrecked the vessel. A host of amusing stories of her exploits were told us by her C.O., who was an R.N.V.R. Lieutenant. Some practical joker produced a cylinder alleged to be in cuneiform writing. A translation of the inscription proved beyond doubt that the _Shushan_ was used by Nebuchadnezzar as a royal yacht, and is the last surviving link with the Babylonian navy. When the Turks had fled from Kurna and we were chasing them up the river with an amazing medley of craft, like a nightmare of Henley regatta suddenly mobilized, the _Shushan_ was in the forefront of the battle. Led by the sloops _Espiègle_, _Clio_, and _Odin_, the Stunt Armada came to Ezra's Tomb at twilight. The river was high and the land in between the great bends was a maze of rushes and lagoons. Hospital hulks like Noah's arks, little steamers, and loaded mahailas jostled each other in their endeavours to get up against the strong stream. The hulks and the barges were dropped at the bend shown in the sketch, facing page 46, and the _Odin_ anchored. We had captured already some Turkish barges, and prisoners had to be collected. The rest pushed on. Across the bend, some two or three miles away, the Turkish gunboat _Marmaris_ was putting on every ounce of fuel she had, and a mass of mahailas and tugs were doing their best to escape the Nemesis that awaited them. Then the sloops opened fire, and a desultory cannonade was kept up as it grew darker and darker. At last it was too dark to get any sort of aim, and firing ceased. The _Marmaris_ had been set alight by her crew, but we captured the whole of the enemy's flotilla. [Illustration: EZRA'S TOMB] Ezra's Tomb is a splendid spot to look at. Mosquitoes at times makes it far from pleasant to live in. The blue-tiled dome surrounded by palms, one of which is bending down in a manner strange to such a straight-growing tree, is an oasis in a vast wilderness of nothing in particular. The Euphrates from a scenic point of view might be described as more wooded than the Tigris. There are some delightful glimpses of waterside verdure and rush-covered shores. To the archæologist and the historian Mugheir is intensely interesting, for the great mound discloses the site of the ancient Ur--Ur of the Chaldees--from which Abraham set out towards Canaan. Up till now, upon a map of the world in Abraham's time, the good little _Shushan_ would still be at sea. She would be approaching the coast at the mouth of the river Euphrates, the Tigris flowing-out some fifty miles further east. Dockyards and busy workshops would proclaim the vicinity of this capital, the greatest of all the cities of Chaldea. Since these prosperous days the sea has receded about 150 miles, and left Ur a nondescript heap to be disputed over by professors. At length, when we had said good-bye to the _Shushan_ and taken to a motor-boat, we arrived at Hillah, bent on finding the house of the irrigation officer. We landed on the wrong side of the river and rashly let the boat go back. Brown maintains now that this was my idea, but as a matter of fact it was one of his attempts at a picturesque approach--for my benefit. Brown has a vivid imagination, and sees so clearly in his mind how a place _ought_ to be that he really believes it is so. In this case he pictured us approaching Hillah and looking down upon miles and miles of fruitful gardens intersected with little waterways--a sort of landscape-garden Venice. This view could only be obtained from a high cliff, and as there was no cliff in lower Mesopotamia, except in Brown's imagination, it was natural that he would be disappointed. A sudden white fog, moreover, took away any chance of a view of any kind, and we were soon hopelessly lost. Some soldiers we met on the way told us to keep straight on and then turn to the left by some palm trees. As we soon encountered some palm trees every few yards we wondered whether they intended to be humorous. I don't think they did, however. The optimism of you-can't-possibly-miss-it type is too general. The man who says "turn down by some trees" knows the place well, and can see certain trees in his mind's eye. He will turn when he sees the right trees, but you will probably get lost. Needless to say, everything went wrong with our scheme of approaching the irrigation works from a picturesque angle. The dense fog thickened and shrouded the neighbourhood of the river in impenetrable mystery. We kept turning down by palm trees as directed, but to no purpose. We struck the river bank again after much wandering and kept to it, hoping the mist would clear. A man in a goufa appeared from nowhere and floated away out of sight into nowhere like a ghostly visitant from another world. The sun began to show through the fog and blue sky appeared overhead. Soon the steaming vapours dispersed, showing a view of buildings among palm trees and a bridge of boats. [Illustration: Hillah.] Here again we were held up while countless mahailas passed through, but we succeeded in getting over at last and eventually found the house of the Wise Men, the headquarters of the irrigation officers. Had we been ambassadors on a diplomatic visit to Hillah, we could not have been more hospitably entertained or given greater facilities for getting about in a most fascinating region of the world for any one who felt the glamour of history in this once highly civilized country. Great buildings like Ctesiphon near Baghdad or traces of the vast irrigation works of the past are full of interest, but for romance and mystery there is no piece of the world more fraught with meaning than this site of the city of Nebuchadnezzar, nearly 200 square miles in extent, and now, but for the comparatively small tract of irrigated land, a desert. "Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils." [Illustration] V BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON [Illustration: Ctesiphon.] [Illustration] BY THE WATERS OF BABYLON The irrigation officers at Hillah were ideal hosts, not only from the commonly accepted standpoint, but from that of an artist. They let me roam about and sketch what _I_ wanted, not what _they_ wanted. They gave me every means of transport, and such suggestions as they made as to possible subjects were excellent and offered with such tact that there was no difficulty in abstaining from sketching or going on with something else. How often does the unfortunate painter suffer from the well-meaning host, who with an admiration for his calling, which is both extremely flattering and tremendously inconvenient, tries to do him well--especially if he dabbles a little in water-colour painting himself. An organized attack on all the real or supposed picturesque bits in the neighbourhood is planned and the members of his family outdo each other in praiseworthy endeavours to help on the great cause of Art. The campaign is prefaced by a violent discussion at G.H.Q. as to the best landscape within easy reach, and Millie, who has had lessons in pastelles, prevails over Mollie, who merely does pen painting. The wretched painter is then hauled triumphantly into a car surrounded by the artistic, who regard him with almost heathen veneration and feel thrilled by the fact that they, too, observe that the sky is blue and the trees are green. Arriving at the chosen scene and viewing it from the spot "from which they always take it," the unfortunate artist is stood or seated down, book in hand, complete with paintbox and water, and expected to begin. _He_ does not have any voice in the choosing of the view. It is high noon. The sun is right in front of him and everything is so hard that even Turner could make nothing of it. The worshippers at the shrine of art stand round in awed anticipation, waiting for the masterpiece. It is useless for him to protest that the conditions are impossible. "After such kindness that would be a dismal thing to do." So he contrives to make some sort of a drawing which dims the lustre of his reputation in their eyes for many years to come. [Illustration: ON THE EUPHRATES, EARLY MORNING] The major took us in his car to various points along the river and explained the means employed in irrigation. On the Euphrates there are two methods used for local irrigation apart from the system of canals flowing from the river. One is the water-wheel, a curious contrivance built out on stone piers. It consists of a huge paddle-wheel with buckets like those of a dredger, that fills a trough that runs down into the fields. The other is a water-raising device that is worked by bullocks. A large leather skin is hauled up from the river by a rope over a wheel. This rope is harnessed to a bullock which walks backwards and forwards hauling up the water-skin and letting it down again. When the full skin reaches the top it hits against a bar and pours itself out into a trough. These two systems, as can be easily imagined, are good only for the land in the immediate vicinity of the river bank, as the supply of water is necessarily not large. Above Hit the frequency of the water-wheels with their stone piers causes so much obstruction that navigation for any large boats is impossible. In one place there are seven wheels abreast. At last we arrived at an old bridge crossing one of the ancient canals, which branched off from the river in a westerly direction. I have sketched it on page 57. It is extremely interesting as an example of the resuscitation of the old waterways of Babylonia. The banks of this channel here take almost a mountainous character for so flat a country. This piling up of mounds has been caused by clearing the silt from the entrance to the intake of the canal. From the vantage point of this high ground we could see a goodly prospect, and on the one side the river, here called the Hindeyeh canal, with its green shore and on the other a belt of date palms and beyond the illimitable desert. Some five or six miles away there appeared a mound surmounted by a tower, a curious object alone in the great expanse of flat land. "What is that thing," I asked, "that looks like a ruined castle on the Rhine?" "The Tower of Babel," replied the major, "or rather that is its popular name. It is Birs Nimrûd on the map." Brown wanted to start straight away and "discover" it, but we persuaded him to assent to lunch first. The major was too busy for such an escapade, but he suggested lending us a Ford car which would do anything with the desert and which we could not break, so we returned to Hillah. After lunch we set out on our expedition, Brown very silent and full, no doubt, of romantic projects, and arrived back again at the bridge where I made my sketch. It appears that the route was not direct as far as the car was concerned, owing to the crossing of some water channels, but that on foot we should be able to do it. I knew Brown was concocting something, and he soon let out what it was. His scheme was to send the car round to meet us at the Tower of Babel and we would walk. I think he rather liked the idea of saying "Tower of Babel" to the driver instead of "home." I consented, rather against my better judgment, for I fear Brown's enthusiasm for dramatic settings. His pathetic belief that my next picture for the R.A. would be entitled "The Tower of Silence," and that I should achieve a masterpiece in depicting the blood-red ruin at sunset across the desert was somewhat disarming. He forgot in his enthusiasm that if the sun _did_ set when we were in the required position we should be benighted on the plain without food or shelter, and not at all in the mood for painting pictures. [Illustration: Ancient irrigation channel near Hillah.] Practical difficulties still existed, inasmuch as we were for a long time unable to explain to the native driver that he was to meet us at Birs Nimrûd, and feared, if we were not very explicit, he would return to Hillah and we might never be heard of again. Brown's pantomimic attempts at direction were obscure even to me, and I am sure the driver thought he had gone out of his mind. They consisted in his stooping down with his hand on the ground, then rising slowly, turning round and round, his hand describing a spiral curve, till it shot up straight over his head. Then he pointed to the car. There was evidently some implied connection between the spiral curve and the car. How long this would have gone on I do not know had I not tried the words "Birs Nimrûd." The driver understood this and I think we made it clear that whatever happened he was to be at Birs Nimrûd and wait for us. So we started off on foot. [Illustration: BABYLON: THE EXCAVATIONS AT EL KASR] [Illustration: Tower of Babel (Fig. 1).] When we were well under way, I asked Brown, who is a freemason, if he was endeavouring to reach the understanding of the native by means of some mystic Eastern ritual unknown to me. He was quite scornful of my want of intelligence and explained that his movements were intended to describe the tower that had been built from earth to reach up into heaven. It was perfectly clear, he maintained, that if he first indicated the Tower of Babel and then the Ford car, the driver would see, had he been reasonably intelligent, that he was to take the car to the tower. The journey over the plain towards the mound and tower was not so eventful as we had expected it to be. Beyond jumping many small watercourses or negotiating muddy patches left by the recent rain, we found no difficulty in keeping a straight course. A herd of camels trotted away as we approached and we started up a fox. Otherwise we came across no sign of life. As we advanced mile upon mile the mysterious tower seemed to get further away, an illusion possible in flat countries. I have often observed a similar phenomenon in Holland. Perhaps in this case mirage had something to do with it. A mosque or tomb became visible and then, almost suddenly, we seemed to get to close quarters with everything. A ridge rose up from the flat land and from this point of vantage, known as the tomb of Abraham, we could look across a level zone a few hundred yards wide to the long, irregular hummock about a hundred feet high, although in this setting it looked a great deal more. The east side of this small range is scored with miniature wadies washed out by rain, and the crowning ruin appeared (as in sketch, Fig. 1), casting a long shadow down the slope of the hill. Leaving the high ground we skirted the foot of the mound, going southwards and seeing it from the point of view indicated in Fig. 2, and then as at Fig. 3. A group of Arabs bargaining about coins and attempting to sell curios to two British officers, who had dismounted from their horses, made a tremendous hubbub and, as Brown noted, gave the right local colour as to the confusion of tongues. I am ill-equipped with books of reference out here, but in one of Murray's handbooks I have unearthed the following note--all I can find about this place:-- [Illustration: The Tower of Babel.] [Illustration: Tower of Babel (Fig. 2).] "BIRS NIMR�D, about 2½ hours from Hillah, is a vast ruin crowned apparently by the ruins of a tower rising to a height of 153½ ft. above the plain, and having a circumference of rather more than 2000 feet. The Birs, which was situated within the city of Borsippa, has been wrongly identified with the Tower of Babel. It is the temple of Nebo, called the 'Temple of the seven spheres of Heaven and Earth,' and was a sort of pyramid built in seven stages, the stairs being ornamented with the planetary colours, and on the seventh was an ark or tabernacle. The Birs was destroyed by Xerxes and restored by Antiochus Soter. The Tower of Babel was possibly the Esagila of the inscriptions, or the E-Temenanki--a tower not yet identified. Not far from Birs Nimrûd are the ruins of Hashemieh, the first residence of the Abbaside Khalifs." Brown would have none of this. Anything is anathema to Brown which destroys topographical romance. He is a fierce enemy to "higher criticism," which does away with the whale in the book of Jonah or the snow-clad summit of Mount Ararat as the resting-place of the ark. It is quite exciting, he maintains, to picture the ark stuck on the perilous ice-peaks of a glacier, with Noah and his family endeavouring to get the elephants and giraffes safely down a ravine like the Mer de Glace to the more temperate regions of the plains below. How much better than thinking of it stuck fast on some wretched mound by the Euphrates, 30 feet high. [Illustration: AN OLD WORLD CRAFT, A TYPE OF BOAT UNCHANGED SINCE THE DAYS OF SINBAD] [Illustration: Tower of Babel (Fig. 3).] Here was a find, too good to be lost, a high tower on a mound visible from afar and unrivalled by any equally picturesque claimant. It looked the part splendidly, so the Tower of Babel it should be as far as Brown was concerned. As a matter of fact, Brown "let himself go" with historical speculations and discovered not only that this was the Tower of Babel, but that it was the site of Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace, with evident signs, from a fragment of calcined brick, which he bore away in triumph, that it had been heated seven times hotter on some occasion. We climbed about the ruin, unearthed several coins, which seemed quite plentiful in one place where the rain had washed down the side of a small mound, and found obvious signs of some great conflagration. Brown says that, as no one has got any better explanation of this fire than he has, he will stick to his furnace theory. The native driver turned up all right with the car and took us back to Hillah. From there we crossed the river by the bridge of boats and at a distance of about five miles came upon the scene of the great excavations, which, although the city is said to have extended over an area of some 200 square miles, is generally known as the site of Babylon. It was in 1899, that the German archæologist, Dr. Koldeway, began excavations on a large scale and with systematic care. Although Babylon was a site occupied by some city in prehistoric times, as stone and flint implements denote, the earliest _houses_ of which there are any traces belong to about 2000 B.C. It was Nebuchadnezzar, however (605--562 B.C.), who rebuilt the city and made it very splendid, and it is to this period of his reign that the greater part of the ruins of the great city belong. The mound Babil is thought to be the palace of Nebuchadnezzar II. An inscription reads: "On the brick wall towards the north my heart inspired me to build a palace for the protecting of Babylon. I built there a palace, like the palace of Babylon, of brick and bitumen." [Illustration: BELLAMS UNDER SAIL] The principal excavations are in the Kasr, at one time a vast block of buildings where are still the traces of a great and broad street used as a processional road to the temple of E-Sagila, which lies to the south about 700 yards away. Some of the stones of this road are in their original places, and there are pieces of brick pavement, each bearing cuneiform characters. If you take up a brick and look at it casually, you might think that it had "Jones & Co." or the "Sittingbourne Brick Co." stamped upon it and it does not look at all old. It is rather startling to be told that the letters read:-- "I am Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon; I paved the Babel Way with blocks of _shadu_ stone for the procession of the great lord Marduk. O Marduk, Lord, grant long life." These mounds of the Kasr have suffered by successive generations of brick getters. Half Hillah is said to be built out of bricks from the ruins of Babylon, and bricks are still taken for any building operations that occur within easy access of these well-nigh inexhaustible supplies. In one place, the Temple of Nin-Makh, the Great Mistress, there are to be found an immense number of little clay images, thought to be votive offerings made by women to the great Mother Goddess. In the Mound of Amram, according to Major R. Campbell Thompson, are traces of the E-Temenanki referred to in Murray's handbook as not yet identified. [My Murray's handbook is 15 years old.] He writes, in a most useful little book published in Baghdad, 1918, "History and Antiquities of Mesopotamia":--"A hundred yards north of the north slope of Amram is the ancient _zigurrat_ or temple-tower of the famous E-Temenanki: 'the foundation stone of Heaven and Earth' (the Tower of Babylon). The enclosing wall forms almost a square, and part has been excavated, but all the buildings have suffered from brick-robbers. The remains of the actual Tower are towards the south-west corner. "Many ancient restorations were carried out here. Professor Koldeway found inscriptions of Esarhaddon and Sardanapalus and thereafter inscriptions of Babylonian Kings. Herodotus calls the group of buildings 'the brazen-doored sanctuary of Zeus Below,' and he describes the zigurrat as a temple-tower in eight stages. The cuneiform records of Nabopolassar relate how the god Marduk commanded him 'to lay the foundation of the Tower of Babylon ... firm on the bosom of the underworld while its top should stretch heavenwards.'" The first impression of the Kasr is that of a shelled town or mined flour mill, where nothing remains but the lower walls of buildings. From a painter's point of view, the scene of this great city, about which he has pictured so much, is somewhat disappointing. There is such an absence of anything suggestive of palaces and streets. Frankly, the ruins of the cement works at Frindsbury are, pictorially, far more suggestive. I have always said that the hanging gardens of Borstal knocked spots off the hanging gardens of Babylon, and now I know it. So much for a first impression. After awhile, however, wandering amongst these hummocks and pits, with here and there a suggestion of a gateway or pavement, the glamour of it all begins to return. [Illustration: BABYLON THE GREAT IS FALLEN, IS FALLEN] It is not to the eye that the appeal of poetry is made, but to the imagination. There is a figure of a stone lion trampling on a man, but this was unearthed and set up by a French engineer, and is not explanatory of any scheme of sculptural work. It is merely a monument. There is also a brick pillar, the bricks being uncommonly like London stock bricks, which might be part of a fallen chimney in a ruined factory. These are the only architectural signs at first visible. On descending to the passages and ways made by the base walls of buildings, lions and monsters moulded in the brickwork appear, but they are only to be seen at close quarters, and in one part of this vast wilderness of brick, and do not affect in any way the general character of the place--a place of loneliness and of utter desolation. The whole area is like a small range of hills, down the slopes of which are steep descents to clefts sometimes filled with reeds and rushes and stagnant pools of water. The site of the world-renowned hanging gardens is now marked by a series of nondescript lumps. The great temple of Marduk is a dusty heap of brick rubbish, and the Palace of Nebuchadnezzar appears as a mean slag heap looking down upon a land desolate and empty. This is Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees. "It shall never be inhabited, neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation; neither shall the Arabian pitch tent there; neither shall the shepherds make their fold there. "But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there and satyrs shall dance there. "And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses, and dragons in their pleasant palaces." [Illustration] VI ARABIAN NIGHTS IN 1919 [Illustration: GOUFAS ON THE TIGRIS] [Illustration] ARABIAN NIGHTS IN 1919 Somewhere in Mesopotamia, in the desert country that lies between the Euphrates at Felujeh and the Tigris, and in the neighbourhood of a walled-in group of buildings known as Khan Nuqtah, in the month of February of this year, and on a singularly miserable and rainy afternoon, there might have been seen a dark object moving very slowly across the uninteresting field of vision. At a distance it would not have been very easy to make out the nature of the thing, and a newcomer to the scene, with no local knowledge of circumstantial evidence to guide him, would have hesitated between a buffalo or a hippopotamus and finally given a vote in favour of it being some slime-crawling saurian that we come across in pictures of antediluvian natural history. A closer view, however, would have made clear to him that it was no animal, but some species of tank, coated and covered with mud, accompanied by three similarly encased attendants, probably human beings, staggering and skidding about in its immediate vicinity. From time to time, one of these three would mount on the head or fore-part of this object, with the effect of causing it to slide and plunge forward for a few yards to stick again and again, snorting and panting and unable apparently to make any further progress. A detective, equipped with a certain amount of motor knowledge, might have been able to discern that the mud-encrusted monster was a Ford car. A tailor, whose technical training would help him to penetrate the disguise of thick slime, might have been able to recognize by the cut of their clothes that the first of the three figures was an R.A.F. driver and the other two were naval officers. As a matter of fact one of these forlorn representatives of our boasted sea-power was Brown, and the other one, although I think he would have hesitated to swear to his identity at the time, was the unfortunate writer of these chronicles. There was no doubt about it; we were done. "At the present rate of progress we shall reach Baghdad in about ten days," said the driver, "and it's getting worse." [Illustration: A STREET IN KHADAMAIN] A few more hours' rain and no power on earth would move the car an inch. We knew from experience that nothing could be done for four or five days, so we faced the situation philosophically, shouldered a bag each and staggered in the sliding mud in the direction of the Khan. We started off with no illusions as to our fate if we encountered rain, and were therefore quite prepared for this. There was nothing for it but to camp out somehow until the sun had been given a chance. The fact that we had been able to reach this point with the Khan and railway close at hand was a piece of luck for which we were thankful. Brown was by far the best exponent of this art of walking in mud while carrying weight. The driver was quite good at it, having had considerable practice on similar occasions. I was uncompromisingly bad. I sat down three or four times to the driver's once. Brown did not sit down at all, but he did some amazing movements in skidding, reminding one in a somewhat vague way of the tramp cyclist of the music-hall stage. I have often thought since these days of mud in Mesopotamia that a vast fortune might be made by some one who could find a commercial use for a substance, as slippery as oil, as indelible in staining properties as walnut juice, and as adhesive as fish glue. Large quantities of Mesopotamian mud could be shipped to London and made up into tubes. Then all that would be necessary would be three distinctive labels. One could describe it as a wonderful lubricant and cheap substitute for machine oil. Another could proclaim to the world a new washable distemper. A third could laud it as a marvellous paste or cement that would adhere to anything whatsoever. "There is one comfort," Brown gasped in an interval between two very energetic spells of sliding, "if we can't move the Ford, nobody else can!" In the circumstances of the moment I cannot say that I felt much "comfort" in contemplating the car's condition. In fact I didn't care in the least whether I saw the thing again or not. All I cared about was reaching the Khan and putting down my bag. We found tracks where some scrubby plants were growing, where the surface was passable, but as we neared the entrance to the Khan, where carts and horsemen had made a veritable quagmire, we stuck, all three, without apparently any prospect of getting on at all unless we abandoned our baggage. However, some Arabs came to our assistance and relieved us of our burdens, so that we gained our objective. Beginning our toilet by scraping each other down with a ruler, so that we could see which was which, we soon evolved into something like our normal selves. We had a few clothes to change into, but neither Brown nor I had a complete set of everything. The result was that Brown looked like a naval officer that had taken up cement making and I appeared to be a cement worker, finished off, as the eye followed me downwards, with very smart trousers and regulation naval boots. [Illustration: MOONLIGHT, BAGHDAD] The Khan was a poor enough shelter as far as accommodation went, but we managed to make up a good fire and get tolerably dry. Some tea, made by the ever resourceful driver, raised our spirits considerably, and we talked over plans for the immediate future. Enquiries revealed the fact that we were in great luck about trains, which appeared at intervals of several days, as one was due in a few hours that would reach Baghdad the same night. The driver had found others held up with their cars, so we left him to stand by till better weather made movement possible and decided to put in a few days at Baghdad instead of waiting here. At about 7 o'clock, a train of miscellaneous construction steamed in from the direction of Dhibban, bound for Baghdad. This bit of line runs from Baghdad to the Euphrates and is important because it links up the two great waterways and is always available when motor transport is impossible on account of the state of the roads. We clambered into a covered van, specially reserved--a sort of Mesopotamian Pullman car. It contained a great litter of odd baggage and two Hindu officers who were very luxuriously fitted up with beds and a table. Divesting ourselves of our wet trench-coats, for it was still raining, we made some sort of a seat of our bags and were tolerably comfortable. Brown, who, now that he was dry and warm and well fed, was in the highest spirits, prophesied that our arrival in the enchanted city of the Arabian Nights was well timed, for it was Friday night, when all the mosques would be lighted up. "A million tapers flaring bright From twisted silvers look'd to shame The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd Upon the mooned domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd Hundreds of crescents on the roof Of night new-risen."[2] So sang Brown, with a map spread out, proving to me that we must alight at Baghdad South to get the best effect as we gazed entranced at the night glory of Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold and walked on to find romance and mystery by many a shadow-chequer'd lawn. "So much better," he argued, "to approach it gradually like this instead of arriving in a matter-of-fact way by train." It was still raining hard, and I had grave doubts about the splendour we were enjoying so much in anticipation, but I did not throw all cold water on his scheme, especially as much of it was planned for my benefit. Art would be the richer, although we, its humble devotees, might be the wetter. I forget now, very clearly what did happen when we arrived at Baghdad South, because we had stopped some time, shunting about, and did not know that we were there. When at last we discovered that we were at the station the train was just moving off. Brown shouted to me to jump out and take our bags. I did so as best I could, but found myself up to my ankles in liquid mud, not a good position at any time for catching heavy baggage at a height, but singularly awkward in view of the fact that Brown in the dark could not see where I was and hurled the bags just out of reach, but sufficiently near to me to cover me with a kind of soup. [Illustration: A NOCTURNE OF BAGHDAD] My next recollection is that of Brown, dark against the sky, describing a parabolic curve and alighting further up the line. The train had gone, and a sloppy gurgling noise mingled with muffled exclamations growing more distinct indicated that Brown was endeavouring to walk in my direction. These were the only sounds that interrupted the steady noise of pouring rain. There was nothing in sight. Not only was it that we could not see the splendour of Baghdad; we could not see each other. After an interval of groping about and finding bearings, we began to get accustomed to the gloom and discerned some sheds or buildings up the line. Thinking this was the station we plodded on as steadily as possible through the mud. Dimly, through the rain, we could make out some palms and what appeared to be a domed building and a minaret. Then we reached a large wooden shed out of the shadow of which loomed an engine. It evidently had steam up, so we stopped and gave it a hail. I think I shall never forget the surprise of the next few minutes. As if in answer to our hail, a door opened in the dark mass of the shed and revealed a workshop brilliantly lighted. Out of this stepped an Arab with a lamp in his hand, and gave us an answering shout We stepped into the light. I don't know which was most surprised, the native at seeing such curious figures staggering under large bags through the mud, or we, at beholding in the beam of light from the shed a magic vignette of palms, Eastern buildings and a large South Western Railway engine. Brown was delighted. "The slave of the lamp," he cried, "calling up spirits from the vasty mud. I don't believe this engine is real, but it will do to get us into Baghdad." And it _did_. We found a soldier driver and a stoker, got leave from headquarters to use the engine to run into Baghdad West, hurled our bags on to the coal in the tender and were transported unscathed by further mud to the quay by the waters of the Tigris. It was too dark to see much. A multitude of steamboats and mahailas lined the shore. The river was in flood and looked black and forbidding, and it was impossible to see across to the other side. The only light was supplied by a few electric lamps at intervals along the road. It still rained dismally and we made for a canteen close at hand. Here we felt quite at home, for there were several other arrivals as muddy as we were and even worse. Considering this was only a restaurant attached to a rest camp, we fared very well. Our baggage we left there and set out on foot to try and reach Navy House, which was the other side of the river. There were two boat-bridges we were told, and the upper one would lead us into the right quarter. The old Navy House, near to G.H.Q., was now used by some one else, and the British Navy, shrunk to very small proportions as far as Baghdad was concerned, "carried on" in a back street. [Illustration: "A magic vignette of palms, Eastern buildings and a large South Western Railway engine."] Our first check was at the bridge. Owing to the river being in flood, it was open, that is, the middle section had been floated out, for fear that the hawsers would not stand the strain and the only road across was the Maude Bridge lower down. Brown was delighted. The rain had stopped and he anticipated adventure. The idea of getting across the river in a _goufa_ flashed across his mind, but a glance at the foaming, tearing water was sufficient deterrent even to an optimist like Brown. It might be done in daylight, but at night it would be suicide. We decided to make our way through the narrow streets that led by the side of the river until we struck the main road that approached the bridge of boats half a mile or so down. In theory this sounded very feasible, but in practice, owing to the tortuous nature of the ways and to the fact that it was very dark, we soon got lost. Twice, when we thought we were progressing well, we came upon the same place again. Then we struck the river, more or less by accident, and took fresh bearings of the general direction we were to pursue. We plunged into a covered way, arched overhead like a cloister. This had the advantage of being dry and our speed increased considerably. From time to time a dim light gave a glimmer to show us the way. [Illustration: "Suddenly we came upon a scene of strange beauty and dramatic effect."] It was late and there were few people about. The figures that flitted by were silent and mysterious. A window here and there was lighted up, but for the most part the houses were dark and without sign of life. We found no "splendours of the golden prime of good Haroun Alraschid," but for all that the narrow streets looked romantic and weird. The sky had cleared and the moonlight had given a glamour of phantasy to the vistas of the street. Suddenly we came upon a scene of strange beauty and dramatic effect. A turn in this narrow and cloister-like way brought us to an arched opening, with some steps leading to the water. It was a sheltered inlet from the surging and swirling stream of the Tigris, a kind of pocket built round by crazy old balconied buildings. This was filled with goufas, the weird round boat of the upper river, and the animated scene of people either embarking or disembarking made a strange people. We saw this scene for a few moments only, as we made our way through the crowd at this point. I have since wondered where all these goufas were going. They could not have intended to cross the river under present conditions. I think the rapidly rising river must have upset all calculations as to mooring boats at this point and their owners were making sure that they were secure. The noise and apparent excitement was probably nothing but the usual Eastern custom of making a great fuss about nothing. [Illustration: MAHAILAS AND MARSH ARAB'S BELLAM] At last, after much marching and counter-marching, we struck the main thoroughfare leading to the Maude bridge, which we crossed. The thick, seething waters foamed and struggled against the pontoons and swept down between them like roaring devils. We were very glad to get over, for it looked as though a little more force would have carried the whole thing away. Once clear of the bridge we found ourselves in New Street, the thoroughfare made since the British occupation, and incidentally we ran into a cheery naval officer who picked us up and deposited us again at Navy House, whither he was bound. Had we not received this timely aid I think we should have gone on looking for Navy House all night. A more amazing situation for it could not have been found, if you searched the world over. Wedged in, cheek by jowl, with buildings that might have figured in the tall streets of old London, it lay nowhere near the water, down a very narrow and crooked lane, where mules and men, camels and beggars jostled each other on their lawful occasions. When we had settled down there and had fine weather for several days, Brown, loath to waste the romance of old Baghdad during glorious moonlight nights, insisted on some mysterious expeditions which were for the purpose of adventure, but ostensibly arranged to give me an opportunity of sketching. He produced an Arab, arrayed in strange garments, to carry a light and generally act as a guide. We called him the slave of the lamp. I am quite certain that he thought Brown was mad, but this belief on the whole was rather an advantage, as he treated him with all the more respect because of his affliction, which he regarded as a special visitation of Allah. [Illustration: "By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide."] [Illustration: "All round about the fragrant marge, From fluted vase and brazen urn, In order, Eastern flowers large."] I was surprised that he seemed to take great delight in my sketching, and several times, when I was making notes of some quaint latticed windows overhanging the narrow road, so that they nearly met, he became quite excited, chuckling and laughing to himself, as if in the enjoyment of some tremendous joke. I discovered afterwards that Brown's native servant had been pulling the leg of our worthy slave, by telling him that these nightly expeditions were for the purpose of carrying off some ravishingly beautiful lady from one of the harems. No doubt he thought my sketching merely a blind. Measurements with a pencil were obviously part of some incantation. While on the subject of sketching, especially quick note-taking under difficult conditions, I want a word with my fellow-craftsmen should they chance to take up this book. The difficulties of drawing by twilight, lamplight, and the still greater difficulty of drawing in colour under blazing sunlight, cannot easily be exaggerated. How many times has a sketch done in a failing light looked strong in tone, only to go to pieces when seen under normal conditions? How often the sunlight on your paper flatters your colours, so that you think you are improvising in a most joyous way, and when you get home you find nothing but dinginess and mud! [Illustration: "By Baghdad's shrines of fretted gold, High-walled gardens, green and old."] Probably you have thought it out and found some solution as I did, but in case these difficulties are still formidable I will tell you of _one_ way to reduce them to impotence. I take with me, on all occasions where there is to be great uncertainty of light, some coloured chalks. About six colours, picked to suit the kind of work attacked; either chalk pencils or hard pastilles will give you certain colour values in whatever light you find yourself, and even if you can hardly see what you are drawing these _must_, to some extent, standardize your values, so that your rough work can be washed over and brought up to any pitch of detail subsequently, without danger of the main tones of your sketch being wrong. The speed with which a sketch can be carried forward in this way, and the "quality" obtained by the rapid fusion of the chalk with the colour wash, are both pleasant surprises when experimenting in this medium. Night after night we sallied forth and roamed about the narrow ways and tortuous turnings of old Baghdad. The bazaars are mostly covered in with arched masonry, and the effect is that of a long side aisle in a very untidy and greatly secularized cathedral. From time to time glimpses of the dark-blue, star-filled sky showed through openings overhead, and sometimes a quaintly framed view of a dome or minaret. On one occasion we embarked in a goufa, and floated down the rapidly flowing river, keeping close to the left bank and taking advantage of every eddy and corner of slack water made by projecting buildings, lest we should be swept down too far and lose control of our curious and difficult craft. The level of the water was far above the usual height and came up to the very thresholds of these riverside houses. We floated on, sometimes under the walls of dark gardens, sometimes getting glimpses of interiors--interiors which in this glamour of night romance suggested something of the splendour of Baghdad's old glory:-- "By garden porches on the brim, The costly doors flung open wide, Gold glittering through lamplight dim." We landed by the Maude bridge and explored further afield, finding "high-walled gardens" where we beheld "All round about the fragrant marge, From fluted vase and brazen urn, In order, Eastern flowers large." By day, Baghdad is not so impressive. Too much squalor is apparent. Yet there are quaint street scenes. Ancient windows, overhanging the street in one quarter, reminded me strongly of pictures of old London. The feature that I could not help noticing, not only in Baghdad but in all Mesopotamia, was the absence of local colour. It is true that the sun gives a blazing and confused suggestion of colour to objects by contrast with bluish shadows, especially in the evening, but there is often very little colour in things themselves. The East is supposed to be full of blazing colour and the North gray and drab. Yet compare a barge in Rotterdam or Rochester with one in Baghdad. The former is picked out in green and gold and glows with rich, red sails, while the latter, for all its sunshine, is the colour of ashes--not a vestige often of paint or gilding. Some mahailas I found with traces of rich colouring, blue and yellow (see sketch facing page 34), but this was exceptional. Perhaps the scarcity of paint during years of war may have had something to do with this noticeable absence of colouring in regard to both houses and boats. In spite of this slovenliness in detail there is colour and light in all recollections of Baghdad's dusty streets. Somehow the discomfort and squalor is soon forgotten and the romance and picturesqueness of these far-off streets remains as a very pleasant memory amidst the winter fogs and coldness of our northern lands. [Illustration: Showing the simplicity of Mesopotamian domestic architecture. Tigris.] VII IN OLD BAGHDAD [Illustration: BAGHDAD] [Illustration: "Puffing Billy in Bagdad."] IN OLD BAGHDAD I suppose there is no city to be found anywhere in the world that would quite reach the standard of dazzling splendour of the Baghdad that we conjure up in our imagination when we think of the City of the Arabian Nights in the romantic days, so dear to our childhood, of Haroun-al-Raschid. We expect so much when we come to the real Baghdad, and we find so little--so little, that is, of the glamour of the East. Few "costly doors flung open wide," but a great deal of dirt. Few dark eyes of ravishingly beautiful women peering coyly through lattice windows, but a great deal of sordid squalor. Few marvellous entertainments where we can behold the wonderful witchery of Persian dancing girls, but a theatre, the principal house of amusement in Baghdad--and lo, a man selling onions to the habitués of the stalls! Of all the deadly dull shows I have ever seen I think the one I saw at Baghdad furnished about the dullest. There were two principal dancing girls--stars of the theatrical world of Mesopotamia--and a few others forming a kind of chorus. The orchestra, on the stage, consisted of a guitar, a sort of dulcimer, and a drum. The musicians made a most appalling noise and rocked to and fro, as if in the greatest enjoyment of the thrilling harmonies they were creating. The stars came on one at a time, the odd one out meanwhile augmenting the chorus, and sang a few verses of a song to a tune that can only be described as a Gregorian chant with squiggly bits thrown in. Of course I was unable to understand the words, but can bear witness to the fact that the tune did not vary the whole evening, and every gesture and attitude of the singer was exactly the same again and again as she went through the performance, and the dance which concluded each six or eight verses was also exactly the same every time. After this had been going on for about an hour the other girl came to the footlights. It was natural to expect a change; but no, she went through it all as if she had most carefully understudied the part. Neither of these girls was pretty or in the least attractive to look at. All I could assume, as the audience seemed quite satisfied, was that the words must have been extraordinarily brilliant or that the Baghdad public was very easily entertained. [Illustration: A bit of Old Baghdad.] The journey from Basra to Baghdad takes nearly a week in a "fast" steamer. It can be done, however, express, by taking the train from Basra to Amara, leaving Basra about five in the evening and arriving at Amara in the morning. Then the journey is continued by boat to Kut, and thence from Kut in the evening by train, arriving in Baghdad in the early morning--the whole distance within two days. The railway does not run the whole way. The journey from Amara to Kut sounds a mere link across the river, as the full name of Kut is Kut-el-Amara, and most people naturally suppose Amara is part of Kut. This is another Amara, however. The Amara from which we embark for Kut, a day's journey in a fast boat, is a large camp, and quite a town for Mesopotamia, captured from the Turks, early in the war, by sheer bluff. The Turkish commandant surrendered to a naval launch under the impression that about half the sea-power of the British Empire lay in the offing. As a matter of fact no other help of any kind arrived until the next day, and all the surrendered forces were kept on good behaviour by a Lieutenant and a marine--I think with one revolver between them. Kut looks quite an imposing place from across the river. The sketch at the top of this article shows it when the water of the Tigris was particularly high. It is drawn from the site of the famous liquorice factory, which is now represented by a few mud heaps and one rusted piece of machinery. The long arcade with brick pillars runs along the margin of the river, suggestive of some ancient Babylonian city from this distance, and is but a sorry enough place in reality. [Illustration: A MOONLIGHT FANTASY: KUT FROM THE RUINS OF THE LICQUORICE FACTORY] Very little of the Baghdad as we know it to-day is old. By tradition it was founded in 762 A.D., and became the renowned capital of the Arab empire. It is said that the city grew till it covered some 25 square miles, reaching its high-water mark of splendour and magnificence under the Sultan Haroun-al-Raschid. The fame of its schools and learning was world-wide, and Baghdad became to the East what Rome became in the West. For some five centuries this pre-eminence continued, until the Turkish nomadic tribes from Central Asia came on to the stage. They conquered Persia, Mesopotamia, and Syria. The Turks extended their conquests to Egypt, and Baghdad, now on the decline, kept her head above water for another century. But Chingiz Khan, the Mongol, appeared on the scene, and his son and successor, Ogotay, overran the Caucasus, Hungary, and Poland. Baghdad was sacked by Hulagu in 1258, and the irrigation works of Mesopotamia were destroyed. In spite of her decline and fall Baghdad is still a holy place to all faithful Mohammedans. It is the Mecca of the Shiah Mussulmans. Kerbela and Nejef are the great places of burial for the faithful, and among the common sights of the plains of Mesopotamia are endless caravans of corpses from the Persian hills or from the distant north. The British occupation of Baghdad has been responsible for one broad street through the city, possible for ordinary traffic, but most of the bazaars are long covered-in ways, arched like cloisters and very picturesque at night. There are some wonderful blues on domes and minarets, but it is not until you see the golden towers of Khadamain that you get any glimpse of the splendour of the golden prime of good Haroun-al-Raschid. Khadamain is a great place of pilgrimage, and so zealously guarded is the place that it is said no Christian would ever be allowed to come out of the great mosque alive. A golden chain hangs across the entrance. This can be seen in frontispiece sketch of this book. All good Mussulmans kiss this chain as they enter the sacred precincts. From many delightful points of view the gleaming towers of this place, seen through the palms and reflected in the flooded lagoons at the margin of the river, do indeed give us something of the colour and romance that we had expected to see and yet so rarely find in the sun-baked lands of Mesopotamia. [Illustration] VIII PARADISE LOST [Illustration: "Blossoms and fruit at once of golden hue Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed." --_Paradise Lost, IV_.] [Illustration] PARADISE LOST The statement often made that Mesopotamia is a vast desert through which run two great rivers, bare but for the palm trees on their banks and flat as a pancake, is true as far as it goes. It is possible, however, to picture a land entirely different from Mesopotamia and still stick to this description. I have met countless men out there who have told me that they had built up in their minds a wrong conception of the country and a wrong idea of its character simply by letting their imagination get to work on insufficient data. To begin with, the word "desert" generally suggests sand. People who have been to Egypt or seen the Sahara naturally picture a sandy waste with its accompanying oases, palms and camels. Mesopotamia, however, is a land of clay, of mud, uncompromising mud. The Thames and Medway saltings at high tide, stretching away to infinity in every direction--this is the picture that I carry in my mind of the riverside country between Basra and Amara. No blue, limpid waters by Baghdad's shrines of fretted gold, but pea-soup or _café au lait_. Even the churned foam from a paddle wheel is _café au lait_ with what a blue-jacket contemptuously referred to as "a little more of the _au lait!_" At a distance it can be blue, gloriously blue, by reflection from the sky, but it will not bear close examination. The railway skirts the river here, running from Ezra Tomb to Amara having started from Basra. Amara must not be confused with Kut-el-Amara. The names are a source of great confusion to newcomers. When I was told that the railway did not go any further than Amara, I lightheartedly pictured myself making my way across the river in a goufa or bellam and scorned the suggestion that I might have to wait some time for a steamer to Kut. I thought Kut was on one side of the river and Amara on the other. It is, however, a twenty-four hours' journey in a fast boat. It is perfectly true that the country is "as flat as a pancake" in original formation, but the traces of ancient irrigation systems, to say nothing of buried cities--Babylon is quite mountainous for Mesopotamia--make it a very bumpy plain in places. [Illustration: DAWN AT AMARA] Now that the British are in occupation of the land instead of the Turk, the natural assumption of every patriotic Briton is that the desert will immediately blossom as the rose and the waste places become inhabited. But the difficulties, which are many--finance being, perhaps, the least of them--arise on all sides, when a study of the subject goes a little deeper than the generalizations popularly made about irrigation and its revival in a land which was once, before all things, dependent for its prosperity upon this science. Of the two great rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates, the banks of the Euphrates are the more wooded and picturesque and the Tigris is the busier. The backwaters, creeks and side channels of both are exceedingly beautiful, and here one can get a glimpse of the fertility that must have belonged to Mesopotamia when it was a network of streams and when the forests abounded within its borders. Centuries of neglect and the blight of the unspeakable Turk have dealt hardly with this country. It is indeed a Paradise Lost and it will be many a long day before it is Paradise Regained. A beginning, however, has been made. Our army of occupation includes "irrigation officers," and gradually the work of watering the country is extending. Hardly any tree but the palm is found, yet this is only for want of planting. The soil is good, and with an abundance of water, everything, from a field of corn to a forest, is possible. I made some study of the irrigation work in progress, and picked up a little rudimentary information concerning this problem of the watering of the land, although I lay no claim to technical knowledge on the subject. The chief difficulty does not seem to be that of making the desert blossom as the rose, but that of causing the waste places to be inhabited. What the Babylonians with slave labour could do, modern machinery and science can quite easily achieve; but the difficulty of finding sufficient people to live in this resuscitated Eden will be great. Mesopotamia is not a white man's country. India would appear to be the direction in which to look for colonists, but it is an unfortunate fact that the Arab does not like the Indian and the Indian does not like the Arab. Sooner or later there would be trouble. [Illustration: A BACKWATER IN EDEN] In the creeks the water is much clearer than in the river, as it deposits the silt when it flows more placidly than in the turmoil of the main stream. Oranges, bananas, lemons, mulberries abound, and vines trailing from palm to palm in some of the backwaters. In one narrow arm near Basra, a sort of communication trench between two canals, I saw orange bushes overhanging the water, and, growing with them, some plant with great white bells. I have sketched the effect on page 98, and incidentally show a bellam in which an old Arab is pushing his way through the overhanging shrubs. On page 105 is a goufa, a type of round wicker boat in vogue two thousand six hundred years ago and still in use. Talk about standardization: here is a craft standardized before the days of Sennacherib! Assyrian sculptures in the British Museum show this boat in use exactly as it is to-day, and although we have no records, it probably was in use for ages previously. Noah, possibly, had one as dinghy to the Ark. The goufa is made like a basket and then coated with bitumen. This type of boat gives a touch of fantasy to the scenery of the Tigris and Euphrates, especially when filled with watermelons and paddled by a man whose appearance suggests Abraham attempting the role of Sinbad the Sailor for "the pictures." Of all the things I saw in my travels in Mesopotamia, I think a goufa was about the most satisfactory. It is a delightful shape and a fascinating colour--a sort of milky blue-grey--somewhere between the colour of an elephant and an old lead vase. It satisfies that craving for mystery which we are led to expect when we travel to the East. When we first see a goufa we do not know quite what it is. It may be something to do with magic. Another curiosity of the Upper Tigris is the raft of light wood and air-inflated skins which comes down from the north to Samara and Baghdad. On this section of the river there are many shallows, sometimes caused by traces of old rubble weirs. Consequently any kind of craft which drew more than a few inches would be always in trouble. These rafts, made of light saplings lashed together, are rendered buoyant by being packed underneath with goat-skins inflated with air. Thus they require only a very slight depth of water to float them, and they are sufficiently tough to stand bumping and scraping over shoals and shallows. The men who manoeuvre these strange craft have some sort of tent or shelter to protect them from the sun, and they row with huge paddles. This rowing is sufficient to keep some sort of steering way on the raft, enough to enable it to get from one bank of the river to the other as it floats down. Wood is scarce in the Baghdad region, and the material of these rafts is sold together with the cargo on its arrival at its destination. The crew proceed back by road to Diarbekr or some up-river town to bring down another raft. The glamour of the East is felt mostly in the West. In an atmosphere of fog and wet streets, sun-baked plains with endless caravans and belts of date-palms by Tigris' shore seem the most delightful of prospects. Memory and imagination, those two artists of never-failing skill, leave out of the picture all dust and squalor--and insects! Yet to those who are sojourning by the Waters of Babylon or resting in sight of the golden towers of Khadamain romance and mystery would seem to dwell in a glimpse of Waterloo Bridge, with ghostly barges gliding silently by a thousand lamps, or in the grey cliffs of houses that make looming vistas down a London street. [Illustration: "High, eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit Of vegetable gold;"--_Paradise Lost, IV._] Of all places in the world, Baghdad, the city of Haroun-al-Raschid, is the one around which cling the romantic ideas of the enchanted East. For this reason "Chu Chin Chow" will probably be still running in ten years' time. It is a play which has become almost a symbol of Eastern romance. In Mesopotamia I observed that it was a standard of comparison. "Like 'Chu Chin Chow'" or "quite the Oscar Asche touch" were expressions frequently heard among our men who were describing something picturesque they had seen. Now I may as well confess before I go any further, that I have not seen "Chu Chin Chow." I have never been able to get in. During the war, leave in London was an opportunist affair, with no notice in advance to allow for advance booking, and so I never succeeded in my quest of the glamour of the East--on the stage. But war, which brought with it so many disadvantages brought also many opportunities. Although I was unable to get into His Majesty's Theatre, I succeeded in getting into Baghdad. I found streets through which beggars and British officers, camels and Ford cars jostled each other, often in vain attempts to get on. You can imagine the state of things on a busy morning. By day there is so much more rubbish and dirt to take the romance away from the picturesque, but at night, especially by moonlight, the quaint streets of old Baghdad do give an element of mystery and adventure that the Arabian Nights and the stage lead us to expect. [Illustration: PUFFING BILLY ON THE TIGRIS] I came upon a wonderful group of buildings by the banks of the Tigris. It appears to have been a disused mosque. The minarets are shorn of their tops, and look like huge candlesticks. A dark passage, vaulted like the aisle of a cathedral, led down to covered bazaars. Again, at Basra, the House of Sinbad in Ashar Creek has quite the effect of a wonderfully staged production. The huge, high-prowed mahailas, the crazy wooden galleries skirting the river, the quaint, squat minaret appearing over the flat roofs, and the dim light of lamps reflected in the still water made a picture at twilight that it would be difficult to beat for mystery and romance. A man in black with a fire of brushwood in the bow of a mahaila added a touch of magic to the scene. I don't know in the least what he was doing with this pillar of fire, but it was extraordinarily effective, and it made you feel you were getting your money's worth out of the show. Or, again, for mystery and romance, here is another scene on the Tigris between Amara and Kut. The evening is still. No breeze stirs the sliding surface of the river. On every side immeasurable plains stretch from horizon to horizon, "dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous gloom of leaden-coloured even," save where the misty blue ridge of the Persian mountains links heaven to earth, gleaming with a ghostly chain of snow beneath a rose-flushed sky. A few marsh Arabs' reed huts and a distant fire are the only signs that the world is inhabited. A faint rhythmical beating is growing more distinct, the herald of the slow progress of an up-coming steamer. Before night is fallen she has passed--a strange object with high funnel and clattering stern paddle, an apparition it would seem from our Western world of a hundred years ago, moving slowly across the crowded stage of modern war's necessities. I observed her number was S 31, but I believe she is known by her intimate friends as "Puffing Billy." [Illustration] IX THE DESERT OF THE FLAMING SWORD [Illustration: THE WALLS OF HIT] [Illustration] THE DESERT OF THE FLAMING SWORD Since I have returned to England I constantly run up against people who ask me, sometimes jokingly and sometimes almost seriously, if I have brought back any sketches of the Garden of Eden, and a conversation invariably follows as to the authenticity or otherwise of the traditional site. Is it true that Mesopotamia was the cradle of the human race, and, if so, are the descriptions in the book of Genesis concerning the world known to Adam and Noah, however figuratively they may be taken, in keeping with the natural conditions of such a land? However much Paradise may have been lost, can the traveller see in Mesopotamia any signs of beauty and richness of verdure out of which the artist and the poet could visualize a garden of the Lord? The answer, as they say in Parliament, where no one could be expected to give a downright and straightforward "yes" or "no," is in the affirmative. The scenes of these early dramas are characteristically Mesopotamian. The well-ordered garden "planted" with the tree of life "in the midst," and a river to water it, the ark of Noah pitched "within and without with pitch" as the ancient goufa is still pitched, the Tower of Babel, built with brick instead of stone and with slime (_i.e._ bitumen) for mortar--all these things belong to the flat, sun-baked lands of this alluvial plain. At Kurna, Arab tradition has placed Eve's Tree. It is a sorry looking, scraggy thing. It does not seem good for food, nor is it pleasant for the eyes and a tree to be desired. Another traditional Garden of Eden is at Amara, and the Eden of the Sumerian version of the story is thought by Sir William Willcocks to have been on the Euphrates between Anah and Hit. [Illustration: SUNSET ON THE TIGRIS] The "planting" of the garden and certain details brought out in the short description of its features suggest very strongly the things that would occur to the mind of a writer living in an irrigated country. Milton's gorgeous backgrounds are almost entirely northern. He has striven to give it an eastern touch here and there, but such stage management consists chiefly in bringing in a few palms from the greenhouse. His description "of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides with thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild," and "of that steep savage hill," are entirely northern in feeling. The same northern wildness pervades the garden. Note the "flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art in beds and curious knots, but Nature boon poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plain." In irrigation lands like Mesopotamia it is the combination of great heat and abundant water that makes for luxuriant growth. Milton conceives the most romantic and wild scenery on hill and dale and savage defile, suddenly brought into order for the use of man. The Bible story speaks only of features to be found in a land like Babylonia. Sir William Willcocks thinks that the word translated "mist" would probably be better rendered "inundation," and that the writer is speaking of a country where inundation rather than rainfall was the support of life to the vegetable world. Genesis ii. 5 and 6 would then read: "For the Lord God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was not a man to till the ground. "But there went up an inundation from the earth, and watered the whole face of the ground." The description of the planting of the garden is very suggestive of a tract of bare land to which irrigation has been brought. "And _out of the ground_ made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight." The garden, too, is watered, not by rainfall, but by a river which parts into different heads, as do the Tigris and Euphrates when they spread out upon the flat alluvial land below Baghdad. Compare the "scenery" in St. John's Revelation with that of the writer of Genesis when the kings of the earth and the great men sought to hide from the wrath of God. They "hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; And said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us and hide us." Adam and Eve could hide themselves only "amongst the trees" of the garden. [Illustration: SHEIK SAAD AND THE PERSIAN MOUNTAINS] The story of Noah and the flood has a very close parallel in a record of Berosus, the Babylonian priest Xisuthros had a dream in which the deity announced to him that on a certain day all men should perish in a deluge of water, and ordered him to take all the sacred writings and bury them at Sippar, the City of the Sun, then to build a ship, provide it with ample stores of food and drink and enter it with his family and his dearest friends, also animals, both birds and quadrupeds of every kind. Xisuthros did as he had been bidden. When the flood began to abate, on the third day after the rain had ceased to fall, he sent out some birds to see whether they would find any land, but the birds, having found neither food nor place to rest upon, returned to the ship. A few days later Xisuthros once more sent the birds out; but they again came back to him, this time with muddy feet. On being sent out again a third time they did not return at all. Xisuthros then knew that the land was uncovered, made an opening in the roof of the ship, and saw that it was stranded on the top of a mountain. He came out of the ship with his wife, daughter, and pilot, built an altar, and sacrificed to the gods, after which he disappeared together with them. When his companions came out to seek him they did not see him, but a voice from Heaven informed them that he had been translated among the gods to live for ever, as a reward for his piety and righteousness. The voice went on to command the survivors to return to Babylonia, unearth the sacred writings, and make them known to men. They obeyed, and, moreover, built many cities and restored Babylon.[3] An eminent authority on the history of Mesopotamia told me that he considered the deluge to have been a purely local catastrophe in the flat land of Babylonia. The Arabs use the same word alternately for mountain or desert. If such a use has come down from long ago the extraordinary statements in Genesis vii. 20: "Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail; and the mountains were covered," may be easily reconciled. It has always seemed to me that mountains which were covered by 24 feet of water must have looked very insignificant even in the flat land of Chaldea. If, however, the word "desert" will serve equally well for the word "mountain" we have an account of a flood that could easily destroy the "world" of Mesopotamia. The annual flood from which the nomadic inhabitants were used to escaping (as they do now by moving up to the higher ground) became a wide-spread inundation till the highest "desert" was covered and the population drowned. The Biblical account of the Ark suggests to any dweller in Mesopotamia that it was a gigantic mahaila. The pitching inside and out is still practised in putting together some of the Euphrates boats, and the method of making a goufa, covering it on both sides with bitumen, has a strong family likeness to the method of boat-building used in those primitive times. The Jew, however, was always a typical landlubber, and one would expect a specification for the building of a ship would lack nautical details. Not so, however, the Assyrian tablet relating to the Ark. It was, we are told, a true ship. It was decked in. It was well caulked in all its seams. It was handed over to a pilot. It was navigated in proper style. "I steered about the sea. The corpses drifted about like logs. I opened a port-hole.... I steered over countries which were now a terrible sea." The pilot made the land at Nizir and let her go aground. Near Ezra's Tomb on the Tigris I saw a boat very much like Noah's ark of the toy shop, and made a scribbled sketch of it, which is reproduced on page 36. [Illustration: HIT, KNOWN TO THE ARABS AS "THE MOUTH OF HELL"] Beside the fertile tract of country above Hit on the Euphrates--a land which has been identified as the Sumerian Garden of Eden--stretches a wild and desolate region, a place of bitumen and smoke of incrusted salt and sulphur, of rock and fiery heat--known to the Arabs as the Mouth of Hell. It guards the garden from approach by the nature of its inhospitable ground, and so I have called it, this burning wilderness, the Desert of the Flaming Sword, The town of Hit, evil smelling and grim, stands sentinel between the fertile river-bank and the ever-smoking plain. We reached this region in a car from Felujeh, travelling through Dhibban, where we crossed the Euphrates by a bridge of boats and on to Rhamadie. Thence the track is a rough one through desert country, undulating in places and becoming rougher. Some ridges of barren hill cut off the view from time to time as we approach Hit, and we surmount one of these, obtaining a goodly prospect of the river, to plunge down again into a wilderness glittering with crystals. At first sight we might be entering the valley of diamonds of the Arabian Nights, but, alas, a close inspection shows the glittering objects to be merely pieces of rock, a sort of white marble. Then we come to mounds of curious pale earth and ground yellow with sulphur, and then, far descried beneath its black coils of smoke, the walls of Hit. The car was boiling by this time, and owing to some breakage we had to stop, as we drew close to the town. We left the driver, however, to tinker about with the old Ford, and plunged into the wilds, Brown being particularly anxious to see what all the smoke was about. The sun heat was still intense, and it was difficult to tell the real size of anything owing to the mirage. A sort of temple seemed to detach itself from the ground, and it was apparently floating about in an ever-changing lake. Little black men were stoking a furnace, and a river of some black substance, well banked up with earth, was flowing at our feet. I think I have seldom seen so weird a sight. The ground is full of bitumen, and to make lime the Arabs stack up alternate stones and blocks of bitumen, setting fire to the pile. The effect of these kilns with their great columns of heavy, black smoke, writhing and coiling up into the still sky, was indescribable. The shadow of coming night crept across the desert, turning the gold and purple of the ground to the colour of ashes. The high walls of the town still caught the sunset and glowed dull red against the darkening sky. A fringe of palms, beyond, showed where the river flowed, the river that watered the garden where the land was green and good. But the grim ramparts of Hit stretched like a line of fire between, forbidding and impassable. Higher and higher the shadows climbed till the tall minaret stood out alone, a sentinel and a flaming sword. A hundred sooty figures toiled and grovelled in the ground. In the sweat of their faces shall they eat bread. X THE KINGS OF THE EAST [Illustration: Hit.] [Illustration: SAMARA] THE KINGS OF THE EAST The future of Mesopotamia with its enormous productive potentialities is a subject fraught with great interest to all those who have studied her past. Will this country again become one of the granaries of the world, and will it ever be, like Egypt, an important asset of our Empire? At first, when the war had freed the country from the Turkish yoke, it was assumed that it would rise into unheard-of prosperity under the fatherly care of British protection. Schemes of irrigation, long planned and to some small extent begun, even under the Turkish regime, were to re-stock Eden and benefit the whole world. The Baghdad railway would bring the wares of the East quickly to our doors, and it had even been anticipated that Nineveh would become as much a resort for European tourists as Rome. All this, however, was foretold in the time when a new world was expected as soon as hostilities ceased. Another tune has been called now, and we find countless advocates of the policy to get out of Mesopotamia altogether and let well alone. Capitalization, like charity, we are told must begin at home, and thirty millions, estimated by the Inspector of Irrigation in Egypt, as necessary to turn Mesopotamia into a prosperous country with an annual revenue in fifty years time of ten millions a year, should be used for house building in England and not for empire building in Chaldea. On the other hand, wise men have told us that the Mesopotamian oilfields near Mosul are to be of great importance, like the Persian wells that have their pipe-line outfall at Abadan, and that a firm and fatherly hand is necessary to keep the country in a state of trade development. Should our sphere of influence be withdrawn from Mesopotamia things will revert back to chaos. Already trouble with the various tribes is brewing. Not the least of the problems in controlling the marauding activities of some of the nomadic tribes is the difficulty of meting out adequate punishment to peace-breakers. The fact that all the stock-in-trade of a township amounts to a few pots and pans and house material of cane matting and mud makes it impossible to impress them by destroying their houses. In a few days everything would be rebuilt as before. It could often happen that the punitive expedition arrived to find the town moved to some district not mentioned in the orders for the day. [Illustration: A BRITISH CRUISER IN THE PERSIAN GULF] Mesopotamia under the Turks was in some ways worse off than others of his badly governed possessions. The officials who were sent from Constantinople into various provinces regarded the job as a poor one, as far as the amenities of life were concerned, and one to be endured while making as big a pile as possible from the ground-down natives. I should imagine that one of these officials would be about as popular with the landowners as a publican was among the Jews. An ancient prophecy foretells that the great river Euphrates shall be dried up that the way of the kings of the East shall be prepared. The time has come, if the war was indeed Armageddon. German engineers in 1914 had made a highway and effectively "dried up" the waters of the river for the passage of the armies. They themselves expected to be kings of the East although coming from the West, and some, it is interesting to note, explain the Prussians as of Oriental origin. At the same time the claims both of oil and empire kept us busy in the Persian Gulf. It looked as if we were to share this new kingdom or sphere of influence with Germany, until the war came and sorted things out. There are some who see in vast irrigation schemes a "drying up" of the Euphrates that shall bring colonists from the Far East so that the denizens of China or Japan shall begin, like the Saxons in Kent, to get a footing in the country and become, in very substance, the Yellow Peril. He is a rash man who would prophesy concerning the future of Mesopotamia as far as our empire is concerned. Perhaps before these pages are in print something decisive will have occurred. We read daily in our newspapers of rumours of war with restless tribes around Mosul, and of raids and skirmishes. The land of Shinar, where Abraham dwelt, with its silent traces of the great civilizations which it fostered, Babylonian and Assyrian, Persian, Greek and Arabian, is once more, by the chances of war, an open book, and time alone will show what is to be written therein. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [1] "Adventures with a Sketch Book." [2] Tennyson: "Recollections of the Arabian Nights." [3] From Ragozin's _Chaldea_. THE END _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ ADVENTURES WITH A SKETCH BOOK With numerous Illustrations in colour and black and white by the Author. Crown 4to. 12/6 net. "Artistically, and from the literary point of view, it is one of the most delectable travel books that have been published for many a long day, for Mr. Maxwell has not only an eye for the picturesque, and a frank, clear style both of pen and brush, but he has the even rarer gift of finding old-world romance and adventure in places near at hand where their presence would never be suspected by the ordinary traveller.... Mr. Maxwell's book is wholly free from any suspicion of guide-book padding, and is as interesting and exciting to read as a work of romantic fiction. The chief feature which should ensure it a permanent position on the library shelf are the very vital and expressive illustrations, the very spacing of which on the printed page is delight to the eye."--_Observer._ "There is certainly no lack of vitality in Mr. Maxwell's sketches, and his adroit economic draughtsmanship, his keen observation, and the feeling of personal interpretation in his work give them genuine distinction."--_Sunday Times._ "Mr. Maxwell is a most original traveller.... We have said so much of Mr. Maxwell the writer and traveller, that there is a danger of forgetting Mr. Maxwell the artist. All the work has character; most of it has that delicacy of colour and outline which we have learned to associate with the author."--_Athenæum._ "On page after page Mr. Maxwell delights the eye with views and 'bits' picturesque, quaint or amusing, while his anecdotes and adventures make us laugh and long to follow in his footsteps, for he has the gift of description in words as well as in pictures. This is one of the most thoroughly satisfactory artist-tourist books we have seen, and its publisher has done justice to the good material at his disposal."--_Morning Post._ "A delightful survey of scenes. Mr. Maxwell's drawings are full of the right touch and insight, all faithfully conveyed and put into a sumptuous book."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ "This is an exceedingly charming book. Mr. Maxwell's book is a genuine sketch book."--_Daily News._ "Contains many clever drawings.... Charmingly sketched."--_Evening Standard._ _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ THE LAST CRUSADE 1914-1918 With 100 Sketches In Colour, Monochrome, and Line made by the author in the autumn and winter of 1918, when sent on duty to Palestine by the Admiralty for the Imperial War Museum. Crown 4to £1 5s. net. "Exceedingly interesting.... The letterpress is full of vitality and humour; the reader is irresistibly carried on from one incident to another without a dull moment."--_Saturday Review._ "A very handsome book. It makes good reading, and a still better 'picture book,' and it is a valuable addition to the vast literature of the war."--_Westminster Gazette._ "Full of good matter. The pictures are finely done, and neither the Colour nor the black and white reproductions leave anything to be desired. It is indeed one of the best war books published."--_Outlook._ "A very handsome souvenir of the Last Crusade."--_Pall Matt Gazette._ "Mr. Maxwell has made a most delightful album of scenes in the Holy Land."--_Globe._ "A very beautiful and inspiring book."--_Graphic._ "Mr Maxwell's book is an exceedingly entertaining one both to read and to look at."--_Field._ "Mr. Maxwell's sketches are extremely good and vivid, and the text is lively and readable."--_Land and Water._ "The drawings possess great artistic merit. One of the most attractive books which the war has yet evoked."--Connoisseur. John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo St., W. 1. 
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17584	----	LETTERS FROM MESOPOTAMIA IN 1915 AND JANUARY, 1916, FROM ROBERT PALMER, WHO WAS KILLED IN THE BATTLE OF UM EL HANNAH, JUNE 21, 1916 AGED 27 YEARS _PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY_ * * * * * _He went with a draft from the 6th Hants to reinforce the 4th Hants. The 6th Hants had been in India since November, 1914._ * * * * * War deemed he hateful, for therein he saw Passions unloosed in licence, which in man Are the most evil, a false witness to The faith of Christ. For when by settled plan, To gratify the lustings of the few, The peoples march to battle, then, the law Of love forgotten, men come out to kill Their brothers in a hateless strife, nor know The cause wherefor they fight, except that they Whom they as rulers own, do bid them so. And thus his heart was heavy on the day That war burst forth. He felt that men could ill Afford to travel back along the years That they had mounted, toiling, stage by stage-- --A year he was to India's plains assigned Nor heard the spite of rifles, nor the rage Of guns; yet pondered oft on what the mind Experiences in war; what are the fears, And what those joys unknown that men do feel In stress of fight. He saw how great a test Of manhood is a stubborn war, which draws Out all that's worst in men or all that's best: Their fiercest brutal passions from all laws Set free, men burn and plunder, rape and steal; Or all their human strength of love cries out Against such suffering. And so he came In time to wish that he might thus be tried, Partly to know himself, partly from shame That others with less faith had gladly died, While he in peace and ease had cast a doubt, Not on his faith, but on his strength to bear So great a trial. Soon it was his fate To test himself; and with the facts of war So clear before him he could feel no hate, No passion was aroused by what he saw, But only pity. And he put all fear Away from him, terming it the offspring Of an unruly mind. Like some strong man Whom pygmies in his sleep have bound with threads Of twisted cobweb, and he to their plan Is captive while he sleeps, but quickly shreds His bonds when he awakes and sees the thing That they have bound him with. His faith and will Purged all evil passions from his mind, And left there one great overmastering love For all his fellows. War taught him to find That peace, for which at other times he strove In vain, and new-found friendship did fulfil His thoughts with happiness. Such was the soul That he perfected, ready for the call Of his dear Master (should it to him come), Scornful of death's terrors, yet withal Loath to leave this life, while still was some Part of the work he dreamed undone, his goal As yet unreached. There was for such an one A different work among those given, Who've crossed the border of eternity In youthful heedlessness,--as unshriven Naked souls joined the great fraternity O' the dead, while yet their life was just begun ... And so he went from us unto his task, For all our life is as it were a mask That lifteth at our death, and death is birth To higher things than are upon this earth. L.P. * * * * * FLASHMAN'S HOTEL, RAWAL PINDI. _April 25th, 1915._ TO HIS MOTHER. They are calling for volunteers from Territorial battalions to fill gaps in the Persian Gulf--one subaltern, one sergeant, and thirty men from each battalion. So far they have asked the Devons, Cornwalls, Dorsets, Somersets and East Surreys, but not the Hampshires. So I suppose they are going to reserve us for feeding the 4th Hants in case they want casualties replaced later on. Even if they come to us, I don't think they are likely to take me or Luly, because in every case they are taking the senior subaltern: and that is a position which I am skipping by being promoted along with the three others: and Luly is a long way down the list. But of course I shall volunteer, as there is no adequate reason not to; so I thought you would like to know, only you mustn't worry, as the chance of my going is exceedingly remote: but I like to tell you everything that happens. * * * * * Four months after he wrote this, in August, 1915, Robert was on leave at Naini Tal, with Purefoy Causton, a brother officer. * * * * * MÉTROPOLE HOTEL, NAINI TAL. _August 3rd_, 1915. TO HIS MOTHER. It has been extremely wet since I last wrote. On Saturday we could do nothing except laze indoors and play billiards and Friday was the same, with a dull dinner-party at the end of it. It was very nice and cool though, and I enjoyed those two days as much as any. On Sunday we left Government House in order to be with Guy Coles during his three days' leave. It rained all the morning: we went to Church at a spikey little chapel just outside Government House gate. It cleared about noon and we walked down to the Brewery, about three miles to meet Guy. When he arrived we had lunch there and then got ponies. We had arranged to take Guy straight to a picnic with a nice Mrs. Willmott of Agra, who comes here for the hot weather. So we rode up past the lake and to the very top of Agarpatta, one of the humps on the rim of hills. It took us over two hours, and the mist settled in just as we arrived, about 5, so we picnicked chillily on a misty mountain-top; but Mrs. Willmott and her sister are exceptionally nice people, so we all enjoyed it. They have two small children and a lady nurse for them. I never met one before, but it is quite a sensible plan out here. We only got back to this Hotel just before dinner, and there I found a wire from Major Wyatt asking me if I would command a draft and take it to the 4th Hants in the Persian Gulf. This is the exact fulfilment of the calculation I wrote to you in April, but it came as a surprise at the moment. I was more excited than either pleased or depressed. I don't hanker after fighting, and I would, of course, have preferred to go with the regiment and not as a draft. But now that I'm in for it, the interest of doing something after all these months of hanging about, and in particular the responsibility of looking after the draft on the way, seems likely to absorb all other feelings. What appeals to me most is the purely unmilitary prospect of being able to protect the men, to some extent, from the, I'm sure, largely preventible sickness there has been in the P.G. The only remark that ever made me feel a sudden desire to go to any front was when O'Connor at Lahore told me (quite untruly as it turned out) that "the Hampshires are dying like flies at Basra." As a matter of fact, they only had ten deaths, but a great deal of sickness, and I do enjoy the prospect of trying to be efficient about that. As for fighting, it doesn't look as if there would be much, whereon Purefoy greatly commiserates me; but if that is the only privation I shan't complain! I'm afraid your lively imagination will conjure up every kind of horror, and that is the only thing that distresses me about going: but clearly a tropical climate suits me better than most people, and I will be very careful to avoid all unnecessary risks! both for your peace of mind and also to keep the men up to the mark, to say nothing of less exalted motives. I know no details at all yet. I am to return to Agra on Saturday, so I shall only lose forty-eight hours of my most heavenly fortnight here. I got this wire Sunday evening and Purefoy sat up talking on my bed till quite late as we had a lot to say to each other. _August 4th._ On Monday morning it was pouring harder than ever, quite an inch to the hour. I walked across to the Telegraph Office and answered the Major's wire, and got wet through. After breakfast I chartered a dandy and waded through the deluge to the station hospital, where the M.O. passed me as sound, without a spark of interest in any of my minor ailments. I then proceeded to the local chemist and had my medicine-case filled up, and secured an extra supply of perchloride. There is no Poisons Act here and you can buy perchloride as freely as pepper. My next visit was to the dentist. He found two more decayed teeth and stopped them with incredible rapidity. The climate is so mild that though I was pretty wet through I never felt like catching a cold from being operated on. He was an American with a lady assistant to hold one's mouth open! I never feel sure that these dentists don't just drill a hole and then stop it: but no doubt teeth decay extremely quickly out here. Then I went back to the Telegraph Office and cabled to Papa and got back in time for lunch after the moistest morning I ever remember being out in. This hotel is about the worst in the world, I should say, though there are two in Naini reputed to be worse still. It takes in no newspaper, has no writing-paper, only one apology for a sitting-room, and can't supply one with fuel even for a fire. However, Moni Lal is resourceful and we have survived three days of it. Luckily there is an excellent custom here by which visitors belonging to another club, _e.g._, the Agra Club can join the Naini Club temporarily for 1s. per day. So we spent the afternoon and evening at the Club and I spiflicated both Purefoy (giving him forty and two turns to my one) and Guy at Billiards. On Tuesday (yesterday) we got up at 7.0 and went for a sail on the lake. Guy is an expert at this difficult art and we circumnavigated the place twice before breakfast with complete success and I learned enough semi-nautical terms to justify the purchase of a yachting cap should occasion arise. After breakfast we were even more strenuous and climbed up to Government House to play golf. It came on to rain violently just as we arrived, so we waited in the guard-room till it cleared, and then played a particularly long but very agreeable 3-ball, in which I lost to Guy on the last green but beat Purefoy three and one. We got back to lunch at about 3.15. As if this wasn't enough I sallied out again at 4.0 to play tennis at the Willmotts, quite successfully, with a borrowed racquet, my own having burst on introduction to the climate of this place. Mrs. W. told me that there was a Chaplain, one Kirwan, here just back from the Persian Gulf, so I resolved to pursue him. I finished up the day by dining P. and G. at the Club, and after dinner Purefoy, by a succession of the most hirsute flukes, succeeded in beating me by ten to his great delight. I went to bed quite tired, but this morning it was so lovely that I revived and mounted a horse at 7.0 leaving the other two snoring. I rode up the mountain. I was rewarded by a most glorious view of the snows, one of the finest I have ever seen. Between me and them were four or five ranges of lower hills, the deepest richest blue conceivable, and many of their valleys were filled with shining seas of rolling sunlit cloud. Against this foreground rose a quarter-circle sweep of the snows, wreathed and garlanded with cloud wracks here and there, but for the most part silhouetted sharply in the morning sun. The grandest mass was in the centre: Nanda Devi, 25,600, which is the highest mountain in the Empire, and Trisoul, over 22,000. There were six or eight other peaks of over 20,000 ft. I got back to the Hotel for breakfast, and from 9.30 to 10.45 we played tennis, and then changed hastily and went to Church for the War Anniversary Service. The station turned out for this in unprecedented numbers--churchgoing is not an Anglo-Indian habit--and there was no seat to be had, so I sat on the floor. The Bishop of Lucknow, Foss's uncle, preached. After the service I waylaid the Revd. Kirwan and found he was staying with the Bishop, who immediately asked us to lunch. So Purefoy and I went to lunch--Guy preferring to sail--and I extracted quite a lot of useful information from K. Incidentally the Bishop showed me a letter from Foss, who wrote from the apex of the Ypres salient. He isn't enjoying it much, I'm afraid, but was quite well. When we left the Bishop, it was coming out so fine that we decided to ride up and try again to see the snows. So up we rode, and the cloud effects were lovely, both over the plains and among the mountains; but they hid more than half the snows. We rode down again to Valino's, the nutty tea-shop here, where we had reserved a table on the balcony. Guy was there before us and we sat there till nearly seven listening to the band. We got back to dinner where Purefoy had secured one of his innumerable lightning friends to dine with us, and adjourned to the Club for billiards afterwards: quite a full day. _Thursday: Government House._--Another busy day. It was fine again this morning, so we all three rode up to Snow View and got an absolutely perfect view: the really big snows were clear and cloudless, while the lower slopes and hills and valleys were flooded with broken seas of dazzling cloud. I put it second only to the Darjeeling view. After breakfast Purefoy and I came up and played golf. Guy took fright at the chance of being asked in to lunch here and went sailing again. A shower made us late in starting, and we only got through twelve holes, after many misfortunes. I ended dormy five. Lady M. had been in bed ever since we left, but is up to-day, looking rather ill still. To-night there is a dinner party. _Friday._--The dinner party was uneventful. I sat next a Mrs. ----, one of the silliest females I ever struck. Her only noteworthy remark was that of course the Germans were well equipped for the War as they had been preparing for it for arcades and arcades. It is wet again to-day. No mail has arrived. I start for Agra after lunch. I have had a delicious holiday. My address now will be: "Attached 1/4 Hants Regt., I.E.F. 'D,' c/o India Office, S.W." and post a day early. * * * * * NAINI TAL CLUB. _August 4th, 1915._ To N.B. I got a telegram on Sunday asking me to take out a draft to the 4th Hants, in the Persian Gulf, so my address till further notice will be "I.E.F. 'D,' c/o India Office, S.W." I thought I should hate the idea of going to the P.G., but now that it's come along I'm getting rather keen on going. We have been kicking our heels so long while everyone else has been slaving away at the front, that one longs to be doing something tangible and active. The P.G. is not exactly the spot one would select for a pleasure trip: but on the other hand there is likely to be more to do there that is more in my line than the purely military side of the business. The main trouble there is sickness and I'm sure a lot of it is preventible: and though in a battle I should be sure to take the wrong turn and land my detachment in some impossible place, I don't feel it so beyond me to remind them to boil their water and wear their helmets. I don't know when I'm off, having heard nothing but the bare telegram. They don't want me back in Agra till Saturday, so I shall almost finish my full fortnight's leave. It has been heavenly here and the memory of it will be a joy for months to come. The forests are lovelier than ever: the ferns which clothe the trees are now full grown, and pale purple orchids spangle the undergrowth. Wild dahlias run riot in every open bank, and the gardens are brilliant with lilies and cannas. It rained with drenching persistence for three days, but the last two have been lovely. I got up early this morning, rode up a mountain and saw the most superb view of the snows. The brown hills between me and the snows had their valleys full of rolling white clouds, and the result was a study in deepest blue and purest white, more wonderful I think than anything I've seen. The whole station turned out to the Anniversary Service to-day. It is dreadful to think that we've all been denying our Christianity for a whole year and are likely to go on doing so for another. How our Lord's heart must bleed for us! It appals me to think of it. * * * * * GOVERNMENT HOUSE, NAINI TAL. _August 5th, 1915._ TO HIS FATHER. I have written all the news to Mamma this week. The chief item from my point of view is that, as I cabled to you, I am to take a draft from our two Agra Double Coys. to reinforce the 4th Hants, who are now at Nasiriya on the Euphrates. I got the wire asking me to do this on Sunday, but have heard no details since (this is Thursday night), so I presume they know nothing more at Agra or the Major or Luly would surely have written. On the other hand the Major wants me back in Agra by Saturday, so I suppose I shall be starting some time next week, but unless I hear before posting this I can tell you nothing of the strength or composition of the draft or the date of sailing. Everyone insists on ([Greek: alpha]) congratulating me for going to a front and ([Greek: beta]) condoling that it is the P.G. I don't really agree with either sentiment. I'm afraid I regard all war jobs as nasty, and the more warlike the nastier, but I do think one ought to taste the same cup as all one's friends are drinking, and if I am to go to any front I would as soon go to the P.G. as anywhere. It will be a new part of the world to me and very interesting. The only bore is being separated from the regiment. _Friday._--I had a talk on Wednesday with a Chaplain just returned from Basra, and he told me we're likely to stand fast now holding the line Nasiriya-Awaz (or some such place on the Tigris). An advance on Baghdad is impossible without two more divisions, because of the length of communications. There is nothing to be gained by advancing to any intermediate point. The only reason we went as far as Nasiriya was that it was the base of the army we beat at Shaiba, and they had reformed there in sufficient strength to be worth attacking. This is not thought likely to happen again, as the Dardanelles will increasingly absorb all Turkey's resources. It seems to me that what is wanted here pre-eminently is thinking ahead. The moment the war stops unprecedented clamours will begin, and only a Government which knows its aim and has thought out its method can deal with them. It seems to me, though my judgment is fearfully hampered by my inability to get at any comprehensive statement of most of the relevant facts, that the aim may be fairly simply defined, as the training of India to self-government within the Empire, combined with its good administration in trust meanwhile. That gives you a clear criterion--India's welfare, not British interests, and fixes the limit of the employment of Indians as the maximum consistent with good government. The _method_ is of course far more difficult and requires far more knowledge of the facts than I possess. But I should set to work at it on these lines:-- 1. Certain qualities need to be developed, responsibility, public spirit, self-respect and so on. This should be aimed at (i) by our own example and teaching, (ii) by a drastic reform of higher education. 2. The barbarisms of the masses must be attacked. This can only be done by a scheme of universal education. 3. The material level of civilisation should be raised. This means agricultural and industrial development, in which technical education would play a large part. Therefore, your method may be summed up in two words, sympathy and education. The first is mainly, of course, a personal question. Therefore, preserve at all costs a high standard of _personnel_ for I.C.S. Try to get imaginative men at the top. Let all ranks understand from the outset the aim they have to work for, and let Indians know it. Above all let every official act prove it, confidence is a plant of slow and tender growth here. Beware of phrases and western formulæ; probably the benevolent autocrat, whether English or Indian, will always govern better than a committee or an assembly. The second--education--is a question of _£ s. d._ The aim should be a far-sighted and comprehensive scheme. A great effort to get the adequate funds should be made and a scheme capable of ready expansion started. Reform of higher education will be very unpopular, but should be firmly and thoroughly carried out; it ought not to cost much. The bulk of the money at first should go to technical education and the encouragement of agriculture and industry. This will be remunerative, by increasing the country's wealth. Elementary education would have to begin by supplying schools where asked for, at a certain rate. From this they would aim at making it gradually universal, then free, then compulsory. But that will be many years hence inevitably. I should work at a policy on these lines: announce it, invite Indian co-operation, and meanwhile deal very firmly with all forms of disorder. * * * * * AGRA. _August 12th, 1915._ To R.K. This last list is almost more than I can bear. It is hardly possible to think of poor dear Gilbert as killed. Do let me know how Foss is and how he gets on. Your letters are such a joy, and they give me news I get from nobody else. I'm afraid my share in the correspondence may become even less than before, as I shall henceforth be on more than nominally active service and under the eye of the censor. Luly is clamouring for lunch, which we eat at 11, and I shall have no peace afterwards till the ship reaches a landlocked bit of Gulf: so goodbye for the present. * * * * * "S.S. VARSOVA," BOMBAY. _August 16th, 1915._ TO HIS MOTHER. I shall just have time to write you a line about our journey so far, and may be able to write to Papa later. They gave me a very nice farewell dinner on Friday at Agra. Raju came and sat next me and it all went off very well. Almost the whole station turned up. After dinner we sat outside, playing the gramophone, etc. Swift, seconded by Luly and Purefoy, made a determined effort to make me tight by standing me drinks and secretly instructing the Khitmagar to make them extra strong; but I was not quite green enough for that and always managed to exchange drinks at the last moment with the result that Swift got pretty tight and I didn't. I sat in the bungalow talking to Purefoy till 2, and was up again at 6. From 6 till 11 I was busy with seeing to things and hardly had a moment's peace. We paraded at 10.45 and marched to the station, with the Punjabis band leading us. It was excessively warm for marching orders--96° in the shade--and the mile to the station was quite enough. There was a great crowd on the platform and everyone was very nice and gave us a splendid send-off. I was too busy all the time to feel at all depressed at leaving Luly and Purefoy, which I had rather feared I should. Partings are, I think, much more trying in the prospect than at the actual moment, because beforehand the parting fills one's imagination, whereas at the moment one's hopes of meeting again come into active play. Anyway, I hadn't time to think much about it then, and I was already very sleepy. We started at 12.5. At 1.30 Sergt. Pragnell came running along to say that L/C. Burgess was taken very bad; so I went along, with the Eurasian Assistant-Surgeon, who was travelling with us to Bombay. (These Eurasian A.-S.'s are far more competent than the British R.A.M.C. officers, in my experience.) We found Burgess with all the symptoms of heat-stroke, delirium and red face and hot dry skin. A thermometer under his armpit, after half a minute, showed a temperature of 106°. So the A.S. had all his clothes removed and laid him on a bench in the draught and dabbled him gently with water all over from the water-bottles. Apparently in these cases there are two dangers, either of which proves fatal if not counteracted: (1) the excessive temperature of the body. This rises very rapidly. In another half an hour it would have been 109°, and 110° is generally fatal. This he reduced, by the sponging and evaporation, to about 100° in the course of an hour. But the delirium continued, because (2) the original irritation sends a rush of blood to the head, causing acute congestion, which if it continues produces apoplexy. To prevent this we wanted ice, and I had wired on to Gwalior for some, but that was three hours ahead. Luckily at about 3 we halted to let the mail pass, and a railway official suggested stopping it. This we did, I got some ice which soon relieved the situation. But of course we couldn't take poor Burgess with us, so we wired for an ambulance to meet us at Jhansi, and put him ashore. Meanwhile at Gwalior a pleasant surprise was in store. We had "train rations" on the usual measly Indian scale, but for tea on Saturday we were to rely on tea provided by Scindia at Gwalior. Happily a Maharajah's ideas of tea are superior to a Quartermaster's, and this is what we had for fifty men! Unlimited tea, with sugar, twenty-five tinned cheeses, fifty tins of sausages and twenty-five 2lb. tins of Marie biscuits! This feed tinted the rest of the journey rose-colour. The only other incident was the loss by one of the men of his haversack, which he dropped out of window. Yesterday, Sunday, was much cooler. When I woke at Bhopal it was only 76° and it only got even as high as 89° for about half-an-hour. We ran into rain in the afternoon. We reached Bhusawal at 7 p.m. and had to wait four hours to be picked up by the Nagpur mail. In the refreshment room I met a Terrier gunner officer who was P.M.C. of the Mess at Barrackpore when we messed there in December. He was just back from a course at Mhow and had been positively told by the Staff Officers there that his and most other T. batteries were to be sent back to Europe in a month's time: and moreover that a whole division of Ts. was going to the Persian Gulf and another to E. Africa. The air is full of such rumours. Here the Embarkation N.C.O. says 78,000 K's have already sailed to relieve us. But the mere number of the rumours rather discredits them. And the fact of their using us for drafts to P.G. seems to show they don't intend moving the units. We left Bhusawal at midnight and arrived here at 9.15 without incident. Bombay is its usual mild and steamy self, an unchanging 86°, which seemed hot in November, but quite decently cool now. This boat is, from the officers' point of view, far more attractive than the "Ultonia." Being a B.I. boat it is properly equipped for the tropics and has good 1st class accommodation. She is about 6,000 tons. The men are, I'm afraid, rather crowded. There will be 1,000 on board when complete. We pick up some at Karachi. We sail to-morrow morning. If not too sea-sick I will write to Papa and post it at Karachi. I am going out now to do a little shopping and get my hair cut, and I shall post this in the town. P.S.--The whole country is deliciously green now, not a brown patch except the freshest ploughed pieces, and the rivers no longer beggarly trickles in a waste of rubble, but pretty pastoral streams with luxuriant banks. * * * * * "S.S. VARSOVA," _August 21st_,1915. To N.B. I don't know when I shall next get one of your letters. It will have to follow me painfully round _via_ Agra. And if I post this at Basra, it will have to go back to Bombay before starting for England; though people here are already talking of the time when we shall have finished the Baghdad Railway and letters come by rail from England to Basra in about 5 days. Meanwhile as I have no letters of your's to answer and no news to discuss, I will try and give you an account of myself and my fifty veterans since I last wrote. The fifty just form a platoon. You see, my retromotion goes on apace. A Company Commander from August to April, a Company Second in Command from May to August, and now a platoon Commander. I shall find the stage of Sergeant harder still to live up to if it comes to that. Twenty-five are from 'D' Double Company; but only seven of these are from my own original lambs of 'F': because they wouldn't take anyone under twenty-three, and as I have mentioned before, I think, very few of 'F' have qualified for pensions. As it is, two of the seven gave false ages. The other twenty-five are from a Portsmouth Company--townees mostly, and to me less attractive than the village genius: but I daresay we shall get on all right. Our start wasn't altogether auspicious--in fact taking a draft across the middle East is nearly as difficult to accomplish without loss as taking luggage across Scotland. We had a very good send-off, and all that--concert, dinner, band, crowd on the platform and all the moral alcohol appropriate to such occasions. It was a week ago, to-day, when we left Agra, and Agra climate was in its top form, 96° in the shade and stuffy at that. So you can imagine that it was not only our spirits that were ardent after a mile's march to the station in marching order at noon. An hour after the train had started one of my lance-corporals collapsed with heat-stroke. The first-aid treatment by the Eurasian M.O. travelling with us was a most instructive object lesson. The great thing is to be in time. We were summoned within ten minutes of the man's being taken ill. His temperature was already 106°: the M.O. said that in another half-hour it would have been 109° and in an hour he would probably have been dead. We stripped him stark, laid him in the full draught, and sponged him so as to produce constant evaporation: held up the Punjab mail and got 22lbs. of ice to put under his head: and so pulled him round in less than two hours. We had to leave him at Jhansi though, and proceeded to Bombay forty-nine strong. The ten-little-nigger-boy process continued at Bombay. We arrived on board on Monday morning: and though orders were formally issued that nobody was to leave the docks without a pass, no attempt was made to prevent the men spending the day in the town, which they all did. On the Tuesday morning the crew told the men we should not be sailing till Wednesday: and accordingly a lot of them went shopping again. But for once in a way the ship actually sailed at the appointed time, 11 a.m. on Tuesday, and five of my gallant band were left behind. However they were collected by the Embarkation Authorities, and together with their fellow-victims of nautical inaccuracy from the other drafts were sent up by special train to Karachi, where they rejoined us: the C.O. according them a most unsympathetic reception, and sentencing them all (rather superfluously) to Confinement to Barracks for the remainder of the voyage. There are no fewer than forty-one units on board this ship. They include drafts from almost every Territorial Battalion in India, convalescents rejoining the regular battalions already in Mesopotamia, and various engineers and gunners. The ship is grossly overcrowded--1,200 on board an ordinary 6,000 ton liner. The officers are very well off, though. She is a bran-new boat, built for this very run (in anticipation of the Baghdad Railway), with big airy cabins and all the latest improvements in lights, fans and punkahs. There is nobody I know on board and though they are quite a pleasant lot they don't call for special comment. The C.O. is a genial major of the Norfolks. He did some star turns the first two days. There was a heavy monsoon swell on, and the boat rolled so, you could hardly stand up. However the Major, undaunted, paraded about a score of men who had squeaked on to the ship after the roll-call at Bombay. These were solemnly drawn up in a line as defaulters and magisterially called to attention to receive judgment. On coming to attention they over-balanced with the regularity of ninepins in a row: and after three attempts the major had to harangue them standing (nominally) at ease. Even so, his admonition was rather impaired by his suddenly sitting down on the deck, and having to leave rather hurriedly for his cabin before the peroration was complete. We are just going through the Straits of Ormuz now: we saw the coast of Persia on and off all to-day. We spent Thursday, by the bye, at Karachi, an awful hole it looks--treeless and waterless and very much the modern port. It reminds one strongly of Port Said, though not _quite_ so repulsive: and there is a touch of Suez thrown in. So far it has been quite cool, 84 to 86°: but we shall be beyond the cloud-zone to-morrow and right inside the Gulf, so I expect it will get hot now. We expect to reach Basra on Tuesday evening. After that our movements are wholly unknown to us. The casualty lists just before we left were so dreadful that I am rather dreading the moment when we see the next batch. * * * * * "H.M.S. VARSOVA," OFF FARS IS. _August_ 22, 1915. To R.K. It is too warm to be facetious, and I have no letter of yours to answer: so you will have to put up with a bald narrative of our doings since I last wrote. They gave us various binges at Agra before we left. A concerted effort to make me tight failed completely: in fact of the plotters it could be said that in the same bet that they made privily were their feet taken. We left on Saturday, 15th: fifty rank and file and myself. One had a heat-stroke almost as soon as the train had started (result of marching to the station at noon in marching order and a temperature of 96°) and we had an exciting hour in keeping his temperature below 109° till we met the mail and could get some ice. We succeeded all right and sent him safely to hospital at Jhansi. The rest of the journey was cooler and uneventful. We reached Bombay at 9.15 a.m. on Monday, and went straight on board. The ship did not sail till next day and when it did they contrived to leave thirty-two men behind, including five of mine. This is a new and pleasant boat, almost 6,000 tons and fitted up with every contrivance for mitigating heat. But there are far too many persons on board: nearly 1,200: and as they simply can't breathe between decks, the decks are as crowded as a pilgrim ship's. There are over forty units represented: including drafts from about twenty-eight T.F. battalions. We had the devil of a swell the first two days, though luckily we hit off a break in the monsoon. Anyway, Mothersibb preserved me from sea-sickness: but in every other respect I felt extremely unwell. We reached Karachi on the Thursday morning and stayed there all day. It is a vile spot, combining the architectural features of a dock with the natural amenities of a desert. The only decent spot was a Zoo and even that had a generally super-heated air. The thirty-two lost sheep turned up at Karachi, having been forwarded by special train from Bombay. No fatted calf was killed for them: in fact they all got fourteen days C.B. and three days pay forfeited; though, as Dr. Johnson observed, the sea renders the C.B. part rather otiose. All Friday we coasted along Baluchistan and Persia. It is surprising how big a country Persia is: it began on Friday and goes right up into Europe. On Saturday we reached the Straits of Ormuz and to-day (Sunday) we are well inside the Gulf, as the mention of Fars doubtless conveyed to you. It is getting pronouncedly hotter every hour. It was a quarter to one when I began this letter and is now half-past twelve, which is the kind of thing that is continually happening. Anyway the bugle for lunch has just gone, and it is 96° in my cabin. I have spent the morning in alternate bouts of bridge and Illingworth on Divine Immanence: I won Rs three at the former: but I feel my brain is hardly capable of further coherent composition until nourishment has been taken. So goodbye for the present. It will take ages for this to reach you. * * * * * "P.S.S. KARADENIZ," BASRA. _Friday, August 27th_, 1915. TO HIS MOTHER. I wrote to Papa from just outside the bar, which is a mud-bank across the head of the Gulf, about seventeen miles outside Fao. We anchored there to await high tide, and crossed on Tuesday morning. Fao is about as unimpressive a place as I've seen. The river is over a mile wide there, but the place is absolutely featureless. In fact all the way up it is the same. The surrounding country is as flush with the river as if it had been planed down to it. On either side runs a belt of date palms about half a mile wide, but these are seldom worth looking at, being mostly low and shrubby, like an overgrown market garden. Beyond that was howling desert, not even picturesquely sandy, but a dried up marsh overblown with dust, like the foreshore of a third-rate port. The only relief to the landscape was when we passed tributaries and creeks, each palm-fringed like the river. Otherwise the only notable sights were the Anglo Persian Oil Works, which cover over a hundred acres and raised an interesting question of comparative ugliness with man and nature in competition, and a large steamer sunk by the Turks to block the channel and, needless to add, not blocking it. There was a stiff, warm wind off the desert, hazing the air with dust and my cabin temperature was 100°. Altogether it was rather a depressing entrée, since amply atoned for so far as Nature is concerned. We reached Basra about 2 p.m. and anchored in midstream, the river being eight hundred yards or so wide here. The city of Basra is about three miles away, up a creek, but on the river there is a port and native town called Ashar. The scene on the river is most attractive, especially at sunrise and sunset. The banks rise about ten feet from the water: the date palms are large and columnar; and since there is a whole series of creeks, parallel and intersecting--they are the highways and byeways of the place--the whole area is afforested and the wharves and bazaars are embowered in date groves. The river front and the main creeks are crowded with picturesque craft, the two main types being a large high prowed barge, just what I picture to have taken King Arthur at his Passing, but here put to the prosaic uses of heavy transport and called a mahila; and a long darting craft which can be paddled or punted and combines the speed of a canoe with the grace of a gondola and is called, though why I can't conceive, a bhellum. Some of the barges are masted and carry a huge and lovely sail, but the ones in use for I.E.F.D. are propelled by little tugs attached to their sides and quite invisible from beyond, so that the speeding barges seem magically self-moving. Ashore one wanders along raised dykes through a seemingly endless forest of pillared date palms, among which pools and creeks add greatly to the beauty, though an eyesore to the hygienist. The date crop is just ripe and ripening, and the golden clusters are immense and must yield a great many hundred dates to the tree. When one reaches the native city the streets are unmistakably un-Indian, and strongly reminiscent of the bazaar scene in Kismet. This is especially true of the main bazaar, which is a winding arcade half a mile long, roofed and lined with shops, thronged with men. One sees far fewer women than in India, and those mostly veiled and in black, while the men wear long robes and cloakes and scarves on their heads bound with coils of wool worn garland-wise, as one sees in Biblical pictures. They seem friendly, or rather wholly indifferent to one, and I felt at times I might be invisible and watching an Arabian Nights' story for all the notice they took of me. By the way, I want you to send me a portable edition of the Arabian Nights as my next book, please. But the most fascinating sight of all is Ashar Creek, the main thoroughfare, as crowded with boats as Henley at a regatta. The creek runs between brick embankments, on which stand a series of Arabian cafes, thronged with conversational slow moving men who sit there smoking and drinking coffee by the thousand. It is a wonderful picture from the wooden bridge with the minaret of a mosque and the tops of the tallest date palms for a background. So much for Ashar: I've not seen Basra city yet. We're here till Sunday probably, awaiting our river boats. There were not enough available to take us all up on Wednesday, so those who are for the front line went first. They have gone to a spot beyond Amara, two-thirds of the way to Kut-al-Amara, which is where the Shatt-al-Hai joins the Tigris. The Shatt-al-Hai is a stream running from the Tigris at K-al-A to the Euphrates at Nasria, and that line is our objective. There is likely to be a stiff fight for the K-al-A, they say, rather to my surprise. But the 4th Hants has been moved to Amara and put on line of communication for the present; so our thirst for bloodshed is not likely to be gratified. We have moved across to this ship while awaiting our river boat. They use ships here as barracks and hotels, very sensibly seeing that there are none fit for habitation on land; while being about 400 yards from either bank we are practically free from mosquitoes. But this particular ship is decidedly less desirable for residential purposes than the Varsova. It was originally a German boat and was sold to the Turks to be used for a pilgrim ship to Mecca; and I can only conclude either that the Turkish ideas of comfort are very different to ours or that the pilgrimage has a marked element of asceticism. But I am quite ready to put up with the amenities of a Turkish pilgrim ship. What does try me is the murderous folly of military authorities. They wouldn't let us take our spine-pads from Agra, because we should be issued with them here. They have none here and have no idea when they will get any. Incidentally, no one was expecting our arrival here, least of all the 4th Hants. Everyone says a spine-pad is a necessary precaution here, so I am having fifty made and shall try and make the Colonel pay for them. Every sensible Colonel made his draft stick to theirs; but our's wouldn't let us take them, because Noah never wore one. To continue the chapter of incredible muddles; the 780 who went off on Wednesday were embarked on their river-boat--packed like herrings--at 9 a.m. and never got started till 4 p.m. A bright performance, but nothing to our little move. This boat is 600 yards from the Varsova, and they had every hour in the twenty-four to choose from for the move. First they selected 2 p.m. Wednesday as an appropriate hour! It was 100° in the shade by 1 p.m., so the prospect was not alluring. At 1.30 the order was washed out and for the rest of the day no further orders could be got for love or money. We were still in suspense yesterday morning, till at 8.30--just about the latest time for completing a morning movement--two huge barges appeared with orders to embark on them at 10! Not only that, but although there are scores of straw-roofed barges about, these two were as open as row boats, and in fact exactly like giant row boats. To complete the first situation, the S. and S. had not been apprised of the postponement, and so there was no food for the men on board. Consequently they had to load kits, etc., and embark on empty stomachs. Well, hungry but punctual, we embarked at 10 a.m. It was 102° in my cabin, so you can imagine what the heat and glare of 150 men in an open barge was. Having got us into this enviable receptacle, they proceeded to think of all the delaying little trifles which might have been thought of any time that morning. One way and another they managed to waste three-quarters of an hour before we started. The journey took six minutes or so. Getting alongside this ship took another half hour, the delay mainly due to Arab incompetence this time. Then came disembarking, unloading kits and all the odd jobs of moving units--which all had to be done in a furnace-like heat by men who had had no food for twenty hours. To crown it all, the people on board here had assumed we should breakfast before starting and not a scrap of food was ready. The poor men finally got some food at 2 p.m. after a twenty-two hours fast and three hours herded or working in a temperature of about 140°. Nobody could complain of such an ordeal if we'd been defending Lucknow or attacking Shaiba, but to put such a strain on the men's health--newly arrived and with no pads or glasses or shades--gratuitously and merely by dint of sheer hard muddling--is infuriating to me and criminal in the authorities--a series of scatter-brained nincompoops about fit to look after a cocker-spaniel between them. Considering what they went through, I think our draft came off lightly with three cases of heat-stroke. Luckily the object lesson in the train and my sermons thereon have borne fruit, and the men acted promptly and sensibly as soon as the patients got bad. Two began to feel ill on the barge and the third became delirious quite suddenly a few minutes after we got on board here. When I arrived on the scene they had already got him stripped and soused, though in the stuffy 'tween decks. I got him up on deck (it was stuffy enough there) and we got ice, and thanks to their promptness, he was only violent for about a quarter of an hour and by the time my kit was reachable and I could get my thermometer, an hour or so later, he was normal. There was no M.O. on board, except a grotesque fat old Turk physician to the Turkish prisoners, whose diagnosis was in Arabic and whose sole idea of treatment was to continue feeling the patient's pulse (which he did by holding his left foot) till we made him stop. The other two were gradual cases and being watered and iced in time never became delirious; so we may get off without any permanent casualties; but they have taken a most useful corporal and one private to hospital, which almost certainly means leaving them behind on Sunday. The other men were all pretty tired out and I think it does credit to their constitutions they stood it so well. I, having my private spine-pad and glasses, was comparatively comfortable, also I had had breakfast and didn't have to shift kits or even my own luggage. I don't dislike even extreme heat nearly as much as quite moderate cold. I gather it doesn't get so cold here as I thought. 37° is the lowest temperature I've heard vouched for. I haven't time nowadays to write many letters, so I'm afraid you must ask kind aunts, etc., to be content with parts of this; I hope _they'll_ go on writing to _me_ though. * * * * * "P.S.S. KARA DEUIZ," BASRA, To N.B. _August 29, 1915._ I hope you will be indulgent if I write less regularly now: and by indulgent I mean that you will go on writing to me, as I do enjoy your letters so much. I expect I shall have slack times when there will be plenty of leisure to write: but at others we are likely to be busy, and you never can be sure of having the necessary facilities. And personally I find my epistolary faculties collapse at about 100° in the shade. I wrote quite happily this morning till it got hot; and only now (4.45) have I found it possible to resume. We get it 102 to 104° every day from about noon to four, and it oppresses one much more than at Agra as there is no escaping from it and flies are plentiful: but about now a nice breeze springs up, and the evenings are fairly pleasant. I thought we were leaving for Amarah to-day, so I told Mama my letter to her would have to do all-round duty, which is mean, I admit, but I had no day off till to-day. Not that I've been really busy, but I've been out a lot, partly getting things and partly seeing the place. I've just heard I must go ashore with another sick man immediately after evening service (the Bishop of Lahore is coming on board), so I shall have to cut this measly screed very short. We load kits on our river-boat at 7 a.m. to-morrow and start sometime afterwards for Amarah. My letter to Mama will give you such news as there is. Since writing it I've seen Basra city, which is disappointing, less picturesque than Ashar: also the Base Hospital, which strikes me very favourably, the first military hospital that has: Dum Dum wasn't bad. We have a lot of Turkish prisoners on board here, and the Government is trying the experiment of letting them out on parole and paying them Rs 10/- a week so long as they report themselves. It is a question whether the result will be to cause the whole Turkish army to surrender, or whether their desire to prolong the war will make the released ones keep their parole a secret. I daresay it will end in a compromise, half the army to surrender and the other half to receive Rs 5/- a week from the surrendered ones to fight on to the bitter end. I must go and dress for Church parade. * * * * * To P.C., _September, 1915._ "I believe that if I could choose a day of heavy fighting of any kind I liked for my draft, I should choose to spend a day in trenches, under heavy fire without being able to return it. The fine things of war spring from your chance of being killed: the ugly things from your chance of killing." * * * * * _September, 1915._ TO THE SAME. "I wonder how long H---- 's 'delirious joy' at going to the front will last. Those who have seen a campaign here are all thoroughly converted to my view of fronts. I can't imagine a keener soldier than F----, and even he says he doesn't care if he never sees another Turk, and as to France, you might as well say, 'Hurrah, I'm off to Hell.' Pat M---- goes as far as to say that no sane fellow ever has been bucked at going to the front, as distinguished from being anxious to do his duty by going there. But I don't agree with him. Did you see about the case of a Captain in the Sikhs, who deserted from Peshawar, went to England, enlisted as a private under an assumed name, and was killed in Flanders? The psychology of that man would be very interesting to analyse. It can't have been sense of duty, because he knew he was flagrantly violating his duty. Nor can you explain it by some higher call of duty than his duty as a Sikh Officer, like the duty which makes martyrs disobey emperors. It must have been just the primitive passion for a fight. But if it _was_ that, to indulge it was a bad, weak and vicious thing to do. Yet it clearly wasn't a selfish thing to do: on the contrary, it was heroic. He deliberately sacrificed his rank, pay, and prospects and exposed himself to great danger. Still, as far as I can see, he only did it because his passion for fighting was stronger than every other consideration, and therefore he seems to me to be morally in the same class as the man who runs away with his neighbour's wife, or any other victim of strong (and largely noble) passions. And I believe that the people who say they are longing to be at the front can be divided into three classes (1) those who merely say so because it is the right thing to say, and have never thought or wished about it on their own. (2) Those who deliberately desire to drink the bitterest cup that they can find in these times of trouble. These men _are_ heroes, and are the men who in peace choose a mission to lepers. (3) The savages, who want to indulge their primitive passions. Perhaps one ought to add as the largest class (4) those who don't imagine what it is like, who think it will be exciting, seeing life, an experience, and so on, and don't think of its reality or meaning at all." * * * * * AMARA. _Thursday, September 2nd, 1915._ TO HIS MOTHER. I only had time to scrawl a short note last night before the mail went. But I wrote to Papa the day before we left Basra. Our embarkation was much more sensibly managed this time, a Captain Forrest of the Oxfords being O.C. troops, and having some sense, though the brass hats again fixed 10 a.m. as the hour. However he got all our kits on the barge at 7 and then let the men rest on the big ship till the time came. Moreover the barge was covered. We embarked on it at 9.30 and were towed along to the river steamer "Malamir," to which we transferred our stuff without difficulty as its lower deck was nearly level with the barge. The only floater was that my new bearer (who is, I fear, an idiot) succeeded in dropping my heavy kit bag into the river, where it vanished like a stone. Fortunately that kind of thing doesn't worry me much; but while I was looking for an Arab diver to fish for it it suddenly re-appeared the other side of the boat, and was retrieved. These river boats are flat-bottomed and only draw six feet. They have two decks and an awning, and there was just room for our 200 men to lie about. Altogether there were on board--in the order of the amount of room they took up--two brass hats, 220 men (four Hants drafts and some odds and ends), a dozen officers, four horses and a dozen native servants and a crew. Altogether I had to leave four sick men at Basra, all due more or less to that barge episode, and I have still two sickish on my hands, while two have recovered. There was a strong head-wind and current so we only made about four or five knots an hour. The river is full of mud banks, and the channel winds to and fro in an unexpected manner, so that one can only move by daylight and then often only by constant sounding. Consequently, starting at noon on Monday, it took us till 5 p.m. Wednesday to do the 130 miles. It is much less for a crow, but the river winds so, that one can quite believe Herodotus's yarn of the place where you pass the same village on three consecutive days. Up to Kurna, which we reached at 7 a.m. Tuesday, the river is about 500 yards to 300 yards broad, and the country mainly poor, bare, flat pasture; the date fringe diminishing and in places altogether disappearing for miles together. At the water's edge, as it recedes, patches of millet had been and were being planted. The river is falling rapidly and navigation becomes more difficult every week. Kurna is aesthetically disappointing. The junction of the rivers is unimpressive, and the place itself a mere quayside and row of mud houses among thin and measly palms. It is of course the traditional site of Eden. Above Kurna the river is not only halved in width, as one would expect, but narrows rapidly. Most of the day it was only a hundred yards wide and by evening only 60; and of the sixty only a narrow channel is navigable and that has a deep strong current which makes the handling of the boat very difficult. In the afternoon we passed Ezra's Tomb, which has a beautiful dome of blue tiles, which in India one would date Seventeenth Century. Otherwise it looked rather "kachcha" and out of repair, but it makes an extremely picturesque group, having two clumps of palms on either side of an otherwise open stretch of river. Soon afterwards we came to a large Bedouin Village, or rather camp, running up a little creek and covering quite fifteen acres. They can't have been there long, as the whole area was under water two months ago. Their dwellings are made of reeds, a framework of stiff and pliant reeds and a covering of reed-matting; the whole being like the cover of a van stuck into the ground and one end closed; but smaller, about 5ft. × 4ft. × 7ft. There were about 100 of these and I should put the population at 700. A whole crowd of boys and some men came out and ran along with us, and dived in for anything we threw overboard. They swam like ducks of course. All the boys and most of the men were quite naked, which is a thing you never see in India. Any boy over twelve there has a loin-cloth. There seemed to be very few men about: a lot of women came to the doors of their huts. They made no attempt to veil their faces, which even the beggar women in Basra did. Only one girl and one woman ran with the boat; the girl dived with the best; the woman was dressed and her function was to carry the spoils. Incidentally our men discovered a better use for their ration biscuits than attempting to eat them. They made excellent ducks and drakes on the water and the swimmers were quite keen on them. I must say they tasted rather musty besides being very hard, but I think the men chiefly objected to a very small brown beetle which was abundant in them. When the sun got low we tied up to the bank for twenty minutes and a good many of the men had a bathe; but owing to the current we had to make them keep within a yard or two of the bank. Next morning, Wednesday, a half-gale was blowing against us and progress was slower than ever. The river got wider again, nearly 200 yards in places, and the wind lashed it into waves. It was a great bore, because you couldn't put anything down for a second. Also three days confined to a minute deck-space made me rather bilious. In the afternoon the wind blew us ashore when we were in sight of Amara, and it took nearly half an hour to get us off again. Finally, we arrived here about 5 p.m. This is a town of about 10,000 inhabitants, on the left bank of the Tigris. On the river front is a quay about a mile long, and an equally long row of continental-looking houses. It almost reminds one of Dieppe at moments. The river is about 150 yards wide, and on the other side there are hardly any houses, just a narrow fringe of dates and some fields. All the inhabitants of the river-front have been turned out and it is occupied with offices, stores, hospitals and billets. We occupy a block of four houses, which have a common courtyard behind them, a great cloistered yard, which makes an admirable billet for the men. We officers live in two of the houses, the third is Orderly Room, etc., and the fourth is used by some Native Regiment Officers. There is no furniture whatever, so it is like camping with a house for a tent. We sleep on the roof and live on the verandahs of the little inner courts. It is decidedly cooler than Basra, and last night I wanted a blanket before dawn for the first time since April (excluding the Hills, of course). In my room now (2.45 p.m.) it is 96° but there is plenty of breeze about. It seems to be just a chance when the mail goes out: I hope to write to Papa later on in the week and give him the news of this place and the regiment. If I spell names of places without a capital letter it will be for an obvious reason. Also note that the place which is marked on the map Kut-al-Amara is always referred to here as Kut. _P.S_.--In regard to what you say about the ducks, I'm told that teal are common in Turkey and snipe in Arabia, but not so common as mallard in England or pintail in India. The bitterns here boom just like guns. * * * * * ATT. 1/4 HANTS, I.E.F. "D," C/o INDIA OFFICE, S.W. AMARAH, _September 4th_,1915. To R.K. Yours from Albemarle Street reached me just before we left Basra. It gave me the first news of Charles Lister's second wound. We get almost no news here. Potted _Reuter_ is circulated most days, but each unit may only keep it half an hour, so its two to one against one's seeing it. My only resource is the _Times_ which laboriously dogs my steps from England: but it has already been pinched en route four times, so I can't rely on seeing even that: therefore in the matter of casualties, please be as informative as you can, regardless of originality. As I told you in my last letter that I was going to Nasiriyah, it won't surprise you to find I've got here instead. We reached Basra (it would be much nicer to spell it Bassorah, but I can't be bothered to) on the feast of St. Bartholomew, which the Military call 24/8/15. Considering what places are like out here, B. is wonderfully attractive and picturesque. At least Ashar is, which is the port; Beroea: Corinth:: Ashar: Basra. To begin with it stands between six and eight feet above the river level, an almost unique eminence. Then lots of major and minor creeks branch out from the river and from the main streets. All round and in every unbuilt on space are endless groves of date palms, with masses of yellow dates. The creeks are embanked with brick and lined with popular café's where incredible numbers of Arabs squat and eat or drink huggas and hacshish and the like. The creeks and river swarm with bhellums and mahilas. A bhellum is a cross between a gondola and a Canada canoe: and a mahila is a barge like the ones used by King Arthur, Elaine or the Lady of Shallott: and its course and destination are generally equally vague. We stayed six days at B. mainly on a captured Turkish pilgrim ship. I suggest a Turkish pilgrimage as a suitable outlet for the ascetic tendencies of your more earnest spikelets. It was hot, but nothing fabulous. My faithful thermometer never got beyond 104 in my cabin. The disadvantage of any temperature over 100 indoors is that the fan makes you hotter instead of cooler. There are only two ways of dealing with this difficulty. One is to drink assiduously and keep an evaporation bath automatically going: but on this ship the drinks used to give out about 4 p.m. and when it comes to neat Tigris-cum-Euphrates, I prefer it applied externally. So I used to undress at intervals and sponge all over and then stand in front of the fan. While you're wet it's deliciously cool: as soon as you feel the draught getting warm, you dress again and carry on. This plan can't be done here as there are no fans. I suppose you realised that Austen Chamberlain was only indulging his irrepressible sense of humour when he announced in the H. of C. that in Mesopotamia "The health of troops has on the whole been good. Ice and fans are installed wherever possible," _i.e._ nowhere beyond Basra. The hot weather sickness casualties have been just over 30% of the total force: but as they were nearly all heat-stroke and malaria, it ought to be much better now. Already the nights are cool enough for a blanket to be needed just before dawn. Of course they run up the sick list by insane folly. When we moved to our Turkish ship there was every hour of the day or night to choose from to do it in, and plenty of covered barges to do it in. So they selected 10 a.m., put 150 men into an open barge, gave them no breakfast, and left them in the barge two hours to move them 600 yards, and an hour unloading baggage afterwards! Result, out of my forty-nine, three heat-strokes on the spot, and four more sick the next day. We left Basra on the 30th. It took us two-and-a-half days to do the 130 miles up here, against a strong wind and current. The Regiment has moved here from Nasiriyah. This place is 130 miles North of Basra and 120 South of Kut-el-Amarah (always known as Kut). As to our movements, the only kind of information I can give you would be something like this. There are fifteen thousand blanks, according to trustworthy reports, at blank. We have blank brigades and our troops are blanking at blank which is two-thirds of the way from here to blank; and I think our intention is to blank with all our three blanks as soon as possible, but this blank is remaining on lines of communications here for the present. Not very interesting is it? So I won't reel off any more. From the little scraps of news that have come through, it looks as if the Balkans were going to be the centre of excitement. If Bulgaria has agreed to let the Germans through as I suspect she has, I'd bet on both Greece and Roumania joining the Allies. * * * * * AMARAH. _September 4th_, 1915. TO HIS FATHER. We get hardly any news up here, so please kindly continue your function of war correspondent whenever you have time, and especially mention any casualties which affect me. One of the few bits of news which have reached us is a report of a speech of yours in which you mention that Milner's Committee recommended the Government to guarantee 45s. a year for four years, but the Government wouldn't. Reuter deduces from this that we have found a way of keeping the whip hand of submarines: but it looks to me much more like Free Trade shibboleths + the fact that there has already been a 30% increase in the area under wheat. I hope you will have written me something about this. Now for the military news. This battalion, when we arrived here, was nominally nearly 300 strong, but actually it could hardly have paraded 100. This reduction is nearly all due to sickness. The deaths from all causes only total between forty and fifty, out of the original 800: and of these about twenty-five, I think, were killed in action. But there has been an enormous amount of sickness during the hot weather, four-fifths of which has been heat-stroke and malaria. There have been a few cases of enteric and a certain number of dysentery; but next to heat and malaria more men have been knocked out by sores and boils than by any disease. It takes ages for the smallest sore to heal. Of the original thirty officers, eight are left here, Major Stillwell, who is C.O., one Captain, Page-Roberts, a particularly nice fellow, and five subalterns, named Harris, Forbes, Burrell, Bucknill and Chitty: (Chitty is in hospital): and Jones, the M.O., also a very nice man and a pretty good M.O. too. The new Adjutant is a Captain from 2nd Norfolks named Floyd: he is also nice and seems good: was on Willingdon's staff and knows Jimmy. In honour of our arrival, they have adopted Double Company system. I am posted to "A" Double Company, of which the Company Commander and only other officer is Harris, aet. 19. So I am second in command and four platoon commanders at once, besides having charge of the machine-guns (not that I am ever to parade with them) while Chitty is sick. It sounds a lot, but with next to no men about, the work is lessened. On paper, "A" D.C was seventy-two strong, which, with my fifty, makes 122: but in fact, of these 122, twenty-five are sick and sixteen detached permanently for duties at headquarters and so on, leaving eighty-one. And these eighty-one are being daily more and more absorbed into fatigues of various kinds and less and less available for parade. In a day or two we shall be the only English battalion remaining here, so that all the duties which can't be entrusted to Indian troops will fall on us. I haven't had time to observe the birds here very much yet, but they seem interesting, especially the water-birds. With regard to what I wrote to Mamma about the teal, people who have been up the river say they saw a very big flock of them at Kut. There were a lot of snipe with them and about twenty bitterns, which surprises me. And about eighty miles north of here there is a mud flat where great numbers of mallards are assembling for migration northwards: and there are more bitterns there than there are higher up even. These flocks about the equinoxes are very curious. I expect the mallards will migrate northwards, and the teal soon afterwards will become very scarce, but I hope the bitterns will stay where they are. The snipe are less interesting: they move about all over the place, wherever they can pick up most food. These people put the size of the flock of teal at a hundred and fifty and the mallards at five hundred, but you should, I think, multiply the first by a hundred and the second only by ten. I got Mamma's letter via the India Office just after we got here. I quite agree with her view of war, though I must admit the officers of 1/4 Hants seem to me improved by it. While sitting on that court martial at Agra I expressed my view in a sonnet which I append, for you to show to Mamma: How long, O Lord, how long, before the flood Of crimson-welling carnage shall abate? From sodden plains in West and East the blood Of kindly men streams up in mists of hate Polluting Thy clear air: and nations great In reputation of the arts that bind The world with hopes of Heaven, sink to the state Of brute barbarians, whose ferocious mind Gloats o'er the bloody havoc of their kind, Not knowing love or mercy. Lord, how long Shall Satan in high places lead the blind To battle for the passions of the strong? Oh, touch thy children's hearts, that they may know Hate their most hateful, pride their deadliest foe. I must stop now, as a mail is going out and one never knows when the next will be. * * * * * NORFOLK HOUSE. AMARAH, _September 13th_, 1915. TO HIS FATHER. As I have written the news to Mamma this week I will tell you what I gather of the campaign and country generally. There's no doubt that old Townshend, the G.O.C., means to push on to Baghdad "ekdum"; and if the Foreign Office stops him there will be huge indignâ. It seems to me that the F.O. should have made itself quite explicit on the point, one way or the other months ago: to pull up your general in full career is exasperating to him and very wasteful, as he has accumulated six months' supplies for an army of 16,000 up here, which will have to be mostly shipped back if he is pulled up at Kut. The soldiers all say the F.O. played the same trick on Barratt in the cold weather. They let him get to Qurnah, and he wanted and prepared to push on here and to Nasiryah, which were then the Turkish bases. But the F.O. stopped him and consequently the Turks could resume the offensive, and nearly beat us at Shaibah. The _political_ people say that the soldiers had only themselves to thank they were nearly beaten at Shaibah. They were warned in December that the whole area between Sh. and Basrah would be flooded later on, and were urged either to dig a canal or build a causeway; but they pooh-poohed it: and consequently all supplies and ammunition at Shaibah had to be carried across 8 miles of marsh, 4ft. to 1in. deep. As for the country, it is said to be very fertile wherever properly irrigated. At present the water is distributed about as badly as it could be. The annual rise of the river makes vast feverish swamps, and the rest of the country is waterless. Any stray Bedouin tribe that feels like growing a crop can go and cut a hole in the bank and irrigate a patch for one season and then leave it; and these cuts form new channels which as often as not lose themselves in a swamp. Meanwhile this haphazard draining off of the water is seriously impairing the main streams, especially that of the Euphrates, which is now almost unnavigable in the low water season. To develop the country therefore means (1) a comprehensive irrigation and drainage scheme. Willcock's scheme I believe is only for irrigation. I don't know how much the extreme flatness of the country would hamper such a scheme. Here we are 200 miles by river from the sea and only 28ft. above sea-level. It follows (2) that we must control the country and the nomad tribes from the highest _barrage_ continuously down to the sea. (3) We must have security that the Turks don't interfere with the rivers above our barrage, or even neglect the river banks. All this seems to me to point to a repetition of our Egyptian experience. We shall be drawn, whether we like it or not, into a virtual protectorate at least as far up as the line Kut-Nasiryah, along the Shatt-al-Hai, and that will have to extend laterally on the east to the Persian frontier and on the west to the Arabian tableland. I don't see how we can hope to get off with less: and that being so, I believe it would be better to take on the whole at once. North of the Shatt-al-Hai line (_i.e_. Kut-Nasiryah) it would be very exhausting to go, and very awkward politically, as you soon get among the holy places of the Shiahs, especially Karbala, which is their Mecca. But it's no use blinking the fact that a river is a continuous whole, and experience shows that the power which controls the mouth is sooner or later forced to climb to its source, especially when its up-stream neighbours are hostile and not civilised. And what power of Government will be left to Turkey after the war? It looks as if she will be as bankrupt, both financially and politically, as Persia; and I see no real hope of avoiding a partition à la Persia into British and Russian spheres of interest. In that case it seems to me the British sphere should go to the Shatt-al-Hai, and the Russian begin where the plain ends, or at any rate north of Mosul. Are you at liberty to tell me whether there is already an understanding with Russia about this country, and if so how far it goes? As for the climate, I don't think it is any worse than the plains of India. When it is properly drained the fever will be much less: and under peace conditions the water can be properly purified and the heat dealt with. The obvious port is Basra; it is said that the bar outside Fao could easily be dredged to 26ft. The only other really good harbour is Koweit, I gather: but our game is to support the independence of K.: make it the railway terminus, but by using Basra you make your rail-freight as low as possible and have your commercial port where you can directly control matters. I wish they would get a move on in the Dardanelles. It seems to me Germany is running a fearful risk by committing herself so deeply into the interior of Russia at this time of year. The only explanation I can find is that at each rush she has been much nearer to cutting off a Russian army than has transpired and so is tempted on: nearer perhaps than the Russians ever intended, which may be the reason of the Grand Duke's removal to the Caucasus. * * * * * AMARAH. _September 11th_. TO HIS MOTHER. For the men, newspapers would be as welcome as anything. I think Papa might divert those weekly papers from Agra here, as they get a large supply in the Regimental Reading Room at Agra. What strikes me about the 1/4th is that they are played out. They've no vitality left in them. Out of about 300 men there are seventy sick, mostly with trifling stomach or feverish attacks or sores, which a robust man would get over in two days; but it takes them a fortnight, and then a week or two afterwards they crock up again. One notices the same in their manner. They are listless and when off duty just lie about. When I see men bathing or larking it is generally some of our drafts. I hope the cold weather will brace them up a bit. I do wish I had more gifts in the entertaining line, though of course there are very few men left to entertain when you've allowed for all our guards and the men just off guard. * * * * * The house is two-storeyed, with thick brick walls, built round an open well-like court. There is a broad verandah all round the court, on to which every room opens. There is also a balcony on the W. side overlooking the river. We sleep on the roof a.p.u. The sun sets right opposite this balcony, behind a palm-grove, and the orange afterglows are reflected all up the westward bend of the river, which is very lovely: though personally I like the more thrilling cloud sunsets better than these still rich glowings of the desert. * * * * * The men sleep in huts just behind. These are sensibly built of brick. Only the S. side is walled up, and even there a space is left between the wall and the ceiling. The rest is just fenced with reed trellis work. The roofs are of reed matting, the floors brick with floor-boards for sleeping on. Boards and bedding are put out in the sun by day. The men are very contented in them. If I ask my men how they like it compared to India, they all say they like it better. "Why, you gets a decent dinner here, Sir." My experience quite confirms that of Sir Redvers Buller and other great authorities. If you feed T.A. well you can put him in slimy trenches and he'll be perfectly happy: but he'd never be contented in Buckingham Palace on Indian rations. Here we are of course on war rations, cheese, bacon and jam, bully beef and quite decent mutton, and condensed milk. Vegetables are scarce, so lime juice is an issue: and they are said just to have made beer one, which would be the crown of bliss. Every man gets (if he's there) five grains of quinine a day. There are, however, far fewer mosquitoes than I expected. I've only seen one myself. The only great pest is flies: but even of those there are far fewer here than in Basra. When I hear what the 1/4th have been through, I think we are in luxury. They had a very rough trek to Ahway and Illah in Persia in May, and coming back much exhausted were stationed a month in Ashar Barracks (Basra). Here for a fortnight it never went below 100° by night and was 115° by day--damp heat: and the barracks (Turkish) were in a state which precluded rest: the record bag for one man in one morning was sixty fleas from his puttees alone. And of course what Austen told the H. of C. about fans, ice and fruit was all eyewash. * * * * * A man in our Coy. died last night. I'd never seen him or knew he was ill. I was rather shocked at the way nobody seemed to care a bit. The Adjt. just looked in and said "who owns Pte. Taylor A." Harris said "I do: is he dead?" Adjt. "Yes: you must bury him to-morrow." Harris: "Right o." Exit Adjt. To do Harris justice, he doesn't know the man and thought he was still at Nasiriyah. None of the man's old Coy. officers are here. * * * * * AMARAH. _September_ 21, 1915. TO HIS MOTHER. The provision for the sick and wounded is on the whole fairly good now. Six months ago it was very inadequate, too few doctors and not enough hospital accommodation. My men who were in the Base Hospital at Basra spoke very well of it: it had 500 men in it then, and is capable of indefinite expansion. The serious cases are invalided to India by the hospital ship _Madras_. It is said that 10,000 have gone back to India in this way. It is a curious fact that the Indian troops suffered from heat-stroke every bit as much as the British. There are now four hospitals here (1) a big one for native troops, (2) one for British troops which has expanded till it occupies three large houses, (3) one for British officers, which will be used for all ranks if the casualties next Saturday are heavy, (4) one for civilians. There seems to be no lack of drugs or dressings or invalid foods. * * * * * AMARAH. _September_ 24, 1915. TO N.B. Two letters from you rolled up together this mail, for both of which many thanks. Like everyone else you write under the cloud of Warsaw and in the expectation of the enemy forthwith dashing back on us in the West. But the last two months have made it much harder for him to do that soon, if at all: and I hope the month which will pass before you get this will have made it harder still. I found it difficult weeks ago to explain what induced the Germans to commit themselves so deeply into the interior of Russia so late in the season, and I came to the conclusion that with each forward movement they had been much nearer to enveloping and smashing the Russians than the Reuters would have led one to suppose: and so had been lured on. It now looks to me as if they are playing for one of two alternatives. If Von Below can get round their right flank he will try a last envelopment: if that flank falls back far enough to uncover Petrograd, he will make a dash for P. But all that will mean locking up even bigger forces in the East. Indeed it seems so reckless that I can only account for it by supposing either that they are confident of rushing Petrograd and paralysing Russia within a few weeks: or that they are in a desperate plight and know it. As for the future, I think it would be a mistake to expect this war to produce a revolution in human nature and equally wrong to think nothing has been achieved if it doesn't. What I do hope is that it will mark a distinct stage towards a more Christian conception of international relations. I'm afraid that for a long time to come there will be those who will want to wage war and will have to be crushed with their own weapons. But I think this insane and devilish cult of war will be a thing of the past. War will only remain as an unpleasant means to an end. The next stage will be, one hopes, the gradual realisation that the ends for which one wages war are generally selfish: and anyway that law is preferable to force as a method of settling disputes. As to whether National ideals can be Christian ideals, in the strict sense they can't very well: because so large a part of the Christian ideal lies in self-suppression and self-denial which of course can only find its worth in individual conduct and its meaning in the belief that this life is but a preparation for a future life: whereas National life is a thing of this world and therefore the law of its being must be self-development and self-interest. The Prussians interpret this crudely as mere self-assertion and the will to power. The Christianising of international relations will be brought about by insisting on the contrary interpretation--that our highest self-development and interest is to be attained by respecting the interests and encouraging the development of others. The root fallacy to be eradicated of course, is that one Power's gain is another's loss; a fallacy which has dominated diplomacy and is the negation of law. I think we are perceptibly breaking away from it: the great obstacle to better thinking now is the existence of so many backward peoples incapable (as we think) of seeking their own salvation. Personally I don't see how we can expect the Christianising process to make decisive headway until the incapables are partitioned out among the capables. Meanwhile let us hope that each new war will be more unpopular and less respectable than the last. I'm afraid I haven't even the excuse of a day's fishing without any fish. Now for your letter of August 11th. I'm sorry you are discouraged because the programme you propounded to Auntie's work-party in February has not been followed. But comfort yourself with the reflection that the programme which Kaiser Bill propounded to _his_ work-party has not been followed either. Your Balkan programme, or rather Bob's, does not at present show much more sign of fulfilment than the one you propounded to Auntie's work-party, I'm afraid. As usual nothing whatever has happened here. Elaborate arrangements have been made to have a battle to-morrow 120 miles up the river at Kut. It ought to be quite a big show: the biggest yet out here. As the floods are gone now it may be possible to walk right round them and capture the lot. If we pull off a big success the G.O.C. is very keen to push on to Baghdad, but it is a question whether the Cabinet will allow it. It means another 200 miles added to the L. of c.: and could only be risked if we were confident of the desert Arabs remaining quiet. Personally I see no solid argument for our going to Baghdad, and several against it (1) the advance would take us right through the sacred Shiah country, quite close to Karbala itself (Karbala is to the Shiah Mohammedans--and the vast majority of Indian Mahommedans are Shiahs--what Mecca is to the Sunnis; and Baghdad itself is a holy city). It would produce tremendous excitement in India and probably open mutiny among the Moslem troops here if they were ordered up. (2) Surely Russia wouldn't like it. (3) We can't expect to hold it permanently. Everything, so far as I can see, points to portioning this country into a British sphere and a Russian, with a neutral belt in between, on the Persian model, except that the "spheres" may be avowed protectorates. The British one must come up far enough to let us control the irrigation and drainage of Lower Mesopotamia properly: and stop short of the holy cities: say to the line Kut-el-Amarah (commonly called Kut)--Nasiriyah, along the Shatt-al-Hai. The Russians would, I suppose, come down to about Mosul. This campaign is being conducted on gentlemanly lines. When we took a lot of prisoners at Nasiriyah we allowed the officers to send back for their kits. In return, last week, when one of our aeroplanes came down in the enemy's lines and the two airmen were captured, they sent a flag of truce across to us to let us know that the prisoners were unhurt and to fetch their kits. I just missed Sir Mark Sykes who cruised through here two days ago. I have written to him in the hope of catching him on his way back. * * * * * AMARAH. _September_ 27, 1915. TO R.K. After censoring about 100 of my Company's letters I feel this will be a very incorrect performance. What strikes one too is the great gain in piquancy of style achieved by the omission of all punctuation. How could I equal this for instance "The Bible says this is a land of milk and honey there is plenty of water and dust about if thats what they mean?" or "The sentry shot an Arab one night soon after we got here I saw him soon afterwards caught him in the chest a treat it did." I'm so glad to hear that Foss is getting on well: let me know the extent and nature of the damage. We hardly ever get a casualty list here: and I can't take that to mean there have been none lately: so my news of fractured friends hangs on the slender thread of the safe arrival of my _Times_ every week--and on you and others who are not given to explaining that Bloggs will have given me all the news, no doubt. The War Office, fond as ever of its little joke, having written my C.O. a solemn letter to say they couldn't entertain the idea of my promotion seeing that under the Double Coy. system the establishment of Captains is reduced to seven and so on, and having thereby induced him to offer me the unique felicity of bringing a draft to this merry land, has promptly gazetted my promotion, and antedated it to April 2nd, so that I find myself a Double Coy. Commander and no end of a blood. My importance looks more substantial on paper than on parade: for of the 258 men in "A" Double Coy. I can never muster more than about thirty in the flesh. You see so many have overeaten themselves on the ice and fresh vegetables which Austen dwelt upon in the H. of C. or have caught chills from the supply of punkahs and fans (_ib._) that 137 have been invalided to India and twenty-five more are sick here. Then over fifty are on jobs which take them away from the Coy. and from ten to twenty go on guards every day. However my dignity is recognised by the grant of a horse and horse allowance. Unless it is postponed again, the great battle up-river should be coming off to-day. I hope it is, as it is the coolest day we've had since April. In fact it is a red-letter day, being the first on which the temperature has failed to reach 100° in this room. You wouldn't believe me how refreshing a degree 96° can be. We have also heard fairy-tale like rumours of an advance of Four Thousand Yards in France, but I have not seen it in black and white yet. Having so few men available there are not many parades, in fact from 7 to 8 a.m. about four times a week is all that I've been putting in. And as a tactful Turk sank the barge containing all my Company's documents sometime in July there is an agreeable shortage of office business. So I am left to pass a day of cultured leisure and to meditate on the felicity of the Tennysonian "infinite torment of flies." I read Gibbon and Tennyson and George Eliot and the _Times_ by turns, with intervals of an entertaining work, the opening sentence of which is "Birds are warm-blooded vertebrate animals oviparous and covered with feathers, the anterior limbs modified into wings, the skull articulating with the vertebral column by a single occipital condyle" and so on. I also work spasmodically at Hindustani. I rather fancy my handwriting in the Perso-Arabic script. Arabic proper I am discouraged from by the perverse economy of its grammar and syntax. It needs must have two plurals, one for under ten and one for over, twenty-three conjugations, and yet be without the distinction of past and future. Which is worse even than the Hindustani alphabet with no vowels and four z's--so _unnecessary_, isn't it, as my Aunts would say. * * * * * AMARAH. _September_ 29, 1915. TO HIS FATHER. One's system has got so acclimatised to high temperatures that I find it chilly and want my greatcoat to sit in at any temperature under 80°, under 100° is noticeably warm. The men are getting livelier already and the sick list will soon, I hope, shrink. The chief troubles are dust and flies. About four days per week a strong and often violent wind blows from the N.W., full of dust from the desert, and this pervades everything. The moment the wind stops the flies pester one. They all say that this place is flyless compared to Nasiriyah, where they used to kill a pint and a half a day by putting saucers of formalin and milk on the mess table and still have to use one hand with a fan all the time while eating with the other, to prevent getting them into their mouths. Here it is only a matter of half a dozen round one's plate--we feed on the first floor, which is a gain. In the men's bungalows I try to keep them down by insisting on every scrap of food being either swept away or covered up: and the presence or absence of flies is incidentally a good test as to whether the tables and mugs, etc., have been properly cleaned. They are worse in the early morning. When I ride through the town before breakfast they settle all up the sunny side of me from boot to topi, about two to the square inch, and nothing but hitting them will make them budge. They are disgusting creatures. Of course the filthy habits of the natives encourage them. The streets are littered with every kind of food-scraps and dirt: and the Arab has only two W.C.'s--the street and the river. Our chief tyranny in his eyes is that we have posted sanitary police about who fine him 2_s_. if he uses either: but like all reforms it is evaded on a large scale. The theory that the sun sweetens everything is not quite true. Even after several days' sun manure is very offensive and prolific: and many parts of the streets are not reached by the sun at all: and in any case the flies get to work much sooner than the sun. We have just had news from the front that a successful action has been fought, the enemy's left flank turned and several hundred prisoners taken--our own casualties under 500. So the show seems to have come off up to time. We were afraid it might have to be postponed, as a raiding party got round and cut our L. of C., but this does not appear to have worried them. I hope they will be able to follow this success up and capture all their guns and stores, if not a large proportion of their forces. Two days ago we got the best news that we have had for a very long time from both European fronts, an advance of from one to three miles over nearly half the Western front, with about 14,000 prisoners: and Russian reports of 8,000 dead in front of one position and captures totalling something like 20,000. Since then no news has come through, which is very tantalising, as one longs to know whether the forward move has been continued. I am afraid even if it has there will be more enormous casualty lists than ever. The most boring thing about this place is that there are no amusing ways of taking exercise, which is necessary to keep one fit. As a double Coy. Commander I have a horse, a quiet old mare which does nothing worse than shy and give an occasional little buck on starting to canter. But the rides are very dull. There are only three which one may call A, B and C, thus: [Illustration] A is the flooded area, and when it is dry it is caked as hard as brick, and not a vegetable to vary the landscape. B takes one through the little ground, the four cemeteries, and the deserted brick-kilns: by the time one is through these it is generally time to go home: and even beyond it is market gardens and one can only ride on foot-paths: and there are only two foot-paths through the barbed wire defences. C is good soft-surfaced desert, much the best riding ground though its virtues are negative. But to reach it one has to cross the Tigris by the boat-bridge, and this is apt to be cut at any moment for the passage of boats, which means a delay of half an hour, not to be lightly risked before breakfast: and in the afternoons the interval between excessive sun and darkness is very brief. It is too hot to ride with pleasure before 4.30 and the sun sets at 5.30: and the dusty wind is at its worst till about 5. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 7, 1915. TO HIS BROTHER. Thanks awfully for your letter. It was one of the best I've had for a long time. And many congratulations on the birth of a daughter. I'm delighted it went off so well, and only hope she and Grace are both flourishing. I am sorry to hear about Benison. I suppose he was in some unit or other. You saw of course that Stolley was killed some time ago. At present, at any rate, we're a very comfortable distance behind the firing line. This has been the advanced base for the Kut show. By river we are 130 miles above Basra and about the same below Kut. The action there on the 27th and 28th was a great success, but the pursuit was unfortunately hung up and prevented our reaping quite the full fruits. This was partly due to a raid on our L. of C. scuppering some barge-loads of fuel, but chiefly to the boats getting stuck on mud banks. This river is devilish hard to navigate just now. It winds like a corkscrew, and though it looks 150 yards wide, the navigable channel is quite narrow, and only 4ft. to 6ft. deep at that. So all the river boats have to be flat bottomed, and the strong current and violent N.W. wind keeps pushing them on the mud banks at every bend. [Illustration] The Turks had, they think, 15,000 men and 32 guns. Their position was twelve miles long and most elaborately entrenched and wired with all the German devices, and rested on a marsh at either end. We had about 10,000 men of all arms and 25 or 27 guns, seven of them on river boats, I think. Townshend's attack was as follows. He made all his reconnaissances and preparations as for an attack on their right flank, and on Monday, 27th he deployed a brigade, A. on that side of the river, leaving only two battalions, B. on the right bank, and keeping two battalions in reserve, C. For various reasons this attack had made very little progress by sunset and was last seen digging itself in. Then as soon as it got dark almost the whole of A. together with the reserve C. was ordered to march round to the enemy's left flank and attack Fort E. at dawn. So they moved off, intending to go between Marsh 1 and Marsh 2; but in the dark they went round outside Marsh 2, and at dawn after a twelve mile march found themselves at G. They completely surprised and quickly captured Fort E. and the section E. and F., their casualties here being mainly from our own artillery, as was inevitable: but they were enfiladed from F. and had to reform and dig themselves in on a front parallel with the river, and send for artillery support. Meanwhile the skeleton left on our left flank and the force B. were pressing a frontal attack, supported by the guns: and by the afternoon the outflanking force A. was able to resume its advance, which it was keen to finish as the men were very tired and had run out of water. But just then the whole Turkish reserve turned up on their right front and flank, having been hurried back from the right flank to which our feint had drawn them, across the bridge D. whence they deployed in crescent formation. Apparently this new danger had a very bracing effect on the thirsty ones; it is a rash man that stands between T.A. and his drink. They went straight for the centre of the crescent, as far as I can make out, with the Turkish reserves on their front and flanks and the Turkish firing line in their rear. This was where most of the casualties occurred, but after a stiff fight the Turks broke and ran: and there was a tremendous crush at the bridge D. where they started shooting each other freely. Meanwhile, the Turkish Commander announced that he had received a telegram from the Sultan requiring the immediate presence of himself and army at Constantinople: so the firing line took the hint and started for the new alignment by the shortest route. However, as everybody's great idea was to put the river between himself and the enemy he'd been facing, two streams met at the bridge D. and there were further scenes. By this time it was dark, and our troops were utterly exhausted, so nothing more was done for the moment. Our casualties were 85 killed and 1,158 wounded, an extraordinary proportion. We haven't had any reliable information of the enemy's losses yet: but we took about 1,300 prisoners. I must stop now. I am very fit and a Capt., 3rd Senior Officer out here for the moment (excluding Adjutant O.M.O.) and am commanding "A" double Coy. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_8, 1915 TO N.B. Two lots of letters arrived this mail, including yours of August 30th and September 6th, for which many thanks. If I said that this war means the denying of Christianity I ought to have explained myself more. That phrase is so often used loosely that people don't stop to think exactly what they mean. If the Germans deliberately brought about the war to aggrandise themselves, as I believe they did, that was a denial of Christianity, _i.e._ a deliberate rejection of Christian principles and disobedience to Christ's teaching: and it makes no difference in that case that it was a national and not an individual act. But once the initiating evil was done, it involved the consequence, as evil always does, of leaving other nations only a choice of evils. In this case the choice for England was between seeing Belgium and France crushed, and war. In choosing war I can't admit there was any denial of Christianity, and I don't think you can point to any text, however literally you press the interpretation, which will bear a contrary construction. Take "Resist not him that doeth evil" as literally as you like, in its context. It obviously refers to an individual resisting a wrong committed against himself, and the moral basis of the doctrine seems to me twofold: (1) As regards yourself, self-denial, loving your enemies, etc., is the divine law for the soul; (2) as regards the wronger nothing is so likely to better him as your unselfish behaviour. The doctrine plainly does not refer to wrongs committed in your presence against others. Our Lord Himself overthrew the tables of the money-changers. And the moral basis of His resistance to evil here is equally clear if you tolerate evils committed against others: (1) your own morale and courage is lowered: it is shirking; (2) the wronger is merely encouraged. If I take A.'s coat and A. gives me his cloak also, I may be touched. But B.'s acquiescence in the proceeding cannot possibly touch me and only encourages me. Now the Government of a country is nearly always in the position of B. not A., because a country is not an individual. In our case we were emphatically in the position of B.: but I would justify the resistance of Belgium on the same grounds. Of course as I said last week, national standards can't be as self-sacrificing as individual standards: and never can be until all the individuals in a nation are so Christian as to choose unanimously the self-sacrificing course. I agree that the Dardanelles outlook is very serious, and it now looks as if Germany had got Bulgaria to come in against us. We ought to concentrate on a decision there as vigorously as the Germans did in Poland, and let us hope with more success. The big offensive in France came off and seems to have done remarkably well for a few days: but we have heard nothing more of it for over a week. I'm afraid that means we exhausted ourselves and lost heavily. The outstanding fact here is that the hot weather is over. It is now only unpleasant to be out from 10 till 4, and then only in the sun. The transition is going on rapidly and by the end of this month I expect to see cold weather conditions established. I have played football twice and been out shooting twice. There is a large black partridge to be shot here which is very good to eat. I can give you no details about the Kut fight. In fact you probably know more than we do: I must stop now. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 11, 1915. TO L.R. The weather has got cooler so rapidly that I have been shooting and playing football quite happily. The chief things to shoot are a big black partridge (which will soon be extinct) and a little brown dove, later on there are snipe, and already there are duck, but these are unapproachable. Many thanks for your letters of August 27th, and September 8th, which arrived together this mail. I think Mrs. Ricketts takes an unduly optimistic view when she says the Germans mean the war to be decided out here. Nothing would suit us better. Meanwhile, we certainly seem to mean to go to Baghdad, and that will mean at least one other big fight: but so far they show no sign of moving us up to the firing line. This last show was a big success and nearly was a much bigger, only our men having fought for two days and marched twelve miles in the intervening night and having run out of water, were not able to press the pursuit very vigorously. I take it the next show will come off in about three weeks' time, sooner if possible. I have heard a good deal vaguely about the Angels at Mons. It is very interesting. I gather that A. Machen wrote a magazine story and that this has got embodied with the real stories and is therefore supposed to have originated them. If Begbie's forthcoming book on them is good, do send it to me. We have had no such stories out here, so far as I know. As to being pessimistic about the future, I think our mistake was to underestimate Germany's striking force. You must always keep the German calculations in mind as well as our hopes, and you will see that the former have been falsified quite as much as the latter--in fact much more. They calculated--and not without having worked it all out thoroughly--that their superior armaments and mobility would enable them (1) to smash France within a few weeks, (2) to manoeuvre round the Russians and defeat their armies in detail till they sued for peace, (3) to dominate the continent and organise it for the settlement with England. We ought to be devoutly thankful that (1) failed: but Instead we assumed that the worst was over and that (2) would fail as signally. As a matter of fact (2) looks like failing after all; but it has been near success for much longer than (1) was and consequently has achieved more. But if you remember, both Papa and K. said at the outset it would be a three years' war: which clearly meant that they expected us to get the worst of it the first year, equalise matters the second year and not be decisively victorious till the third year. Luly has plenty of friends at Agra and is really very happy there, so you may be at ease about him. Many thanks for your offer to send us things for the cold. But the danger is overlapping, so I will refer you to Mamma, to whom I wrote about it some time back: and I hope _she_ is combining with Mrs. Bowker of Winchester (wife of 1/4th Colonel) who is organising the sending of things to the battalion as a whole. You might mention to Mamma that, in addition to the articles I've told her of, newspapers and magazines would be very acceptable. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 17, 1915. TO N.B. Many thanks for your little letter wishing me Godspeed out here, it has only just followed me on, and reached me soon after your letter of September 12th in which you ask me about Persia. I assure you I know less of what is happening in Persia--though we can see the Persian hills from here--than you do. Your letter was my first news of the Consul General's death, which I have seen since in _The Times_ as well. All I know is that German gold working on the chronic lawlessness has made the whole country intolerably disturbed. The Government is powerless. The disorder is mainly miscellaneous robbery: in the north there is a good deal of hostility to Russia, but nothing approaching organised war or a national rising. In May Arab raiders threatened Ahwaz where the Anglo-Persian Oil Company's pipe-line runs; and at the Persian Government's request a force, including 1/4 Hants, went up there and dispersed them. Then in August the unrest in Bushire got acute, and two officers were killed in an ambush. So they sent a force to occupy it. I don't know how large it was; I imagine two battalions or so and a few guns. Since then I've heard nothing. Mark Sykes, whom I saw about October 6th, said he thought things were quieter there now. For the Persian situation generally, up to last year, the best account I've seen is in Gilbert Murray's pamphlet on "The Foreign Policy of Sir E. Grey." There's no doubt these weak corrupt semi-civilised States are a standing temptation to intriguers like the Germans and so a standing danger to peace. That is going to be the crux here too, after the war. If I make up my mind and have the energy, I will write my views more fully on the subject in a week or two. There is a lull here and no news. But there seems no doubt that we are going to push up to Baghdad. The enemy are now in their last and strongest position, only twenty miles from B.: and we are concentrating against it. Undoubtedly large reinforcements are on their way up, but we don't know how many. I expect you may look for news from these parts about November 7th. It is getting quite cold. Yesterday the wind began again and we all had to take to our overcoats, which seems absurd as it was over 80°. To-day it was only 74° indoors all the morning and we sat about in "British warms." And the nights seem Arctic. To get warm last night I had to get into my flea-bag and pile a sheet, a rug and a kaross on top of that: it was 70° when I went to bed and went down to 62° at dawn. As it goes down to 32° later on, I foresee we shall be smothered in the piles of bed-clothes we shall have to accumulate. I continue to play football and ride intermittently. I believe I could mount a middle-sized English horse without serious inconvenience now. I have begun to try to pick up a little Arabic from the functionary known as the Interpreter. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 18, 1915. TO M.H. I'm so glad the saris are what you wanted. If you pay £5 into my a/c at Childs, it will be simplest. Everyone--except I suppose the victims--seems to have regarded the Zeppelin raid as a first-class entertainment. I think they do us vastly more good than harm, but it would be a satisfaction to bag one. So poor Charles Lister was killed after all. He is a tremendous loss. And ----, who could have been spared much better, has been under fire in Gallipoli for months without being touched. I agree with Charlie's sentiments. What is so desperately trying about the Army system is that mere efflux of time puts a man who may be, and generally is, grossly stupid, in command of much more intelligent people, whose lives are at his bungling mercy. If Napoleon, who won his Italian campaign at 27, had been in the British Army he wouldn't have become a Major till 1811. It is an insane system which no business would dream of adopting. Yet it wouldn't do to abolish it, or you destroy the careers of 4/5 of your Officers. The reform I should like would be to make every third promotion in any regiment compulsorily regardless of seniority. I am having a few lessons in Arabic now, but it is a much more difficult language than Hindustani, and the only available "Munshi" is the regimental interpreter who can't read and speaks very broken English, and the only available book deals with classical Egyptian and Syrian Arabic, which are to the Arabic of to-day as Latin, French and Italian are to Spanish. So my acquirements are likely to be limited. There is absolutely no news here. Reinforcements are said to be coming but have not arrived. The next show should come off about November 10th. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 11, 1915. TO R.K. I have just seen in the _Times_ that Charles Lister died of his wounds. It really is heart-breaking. All the men one had so fondly hoped would make the world a little better to live in seem to be taken away. And Charles was a spirit which no country can afford to lose. I feel so sorry for you too: he must have been very dear to you personally. How the world will hate war when it can pause to think about it. I had quite a cheerful letter from Foss this mail. I wonder he wasn't more damaged, as the bullet seems to have passed through some very important parts of him. I am rather dreading the lists which are bound to follow on our much-vaunted advance of three weeks ago. As for the Dardanelles, it is an awful tragedy. And now with Bulgaria against us and Greece obstructed by her King, success is farther off than ever. No, Luly is not with me: I was the only officer with the draft. As for impressions of our surroundings they are definite but not always communicable. If this neighbourhood could certainly be identified with Eden, one could supply an entirely new theory of the Fall of Adam. Here at Amarah we are 200 miles by river from the sea and 28ft. above sea level. Within reach of the water anything will grow: but as the Turks levied a tax on trees the date is the only one which has survived. There are little patches of corn and fodder-stuff along the banks, and a few vegetable gardens round the town. Otherwise the whole place is a desert and as flat as this paper: except that we can see the bare brown Persian mountains about forty miles off to the N.N.E. The desert grows little tufts of prickly scrub here and there, otherwise it is like a brick floor. In the spring it is flooded, and as the flood recedes the mud cakes into a hard crust on which a horse's hoof makes no impression; but naturally the surface is very rough in detail, like a muddy lane after a frost. So it is vile for either walking or riding. The atmosphere can find no mean between absolute stillness--which till lately meant stifling heat--and violent commotion in the form of N.W. gales which blow periodically, fogging the air with dust and making life almost intolerable while they last. These gales have ceased to be baking hot, and in another month or two they will be piercingly cold. The inhabitants are divided into Bedouins and town-Arabs. The former are nomadic and naked, and live in hut-tents of reed matting. The latter are just like the illustrations in family Bibles. What I _should_ be grateful for in the way of literature is if you could find a portable and readable book on the history of these parts. I know it's rather extensive, but if there are any such books on the more interesting periods you might tell Blackwell to send them to me: I've got an account there. My Gibbon sketches the doings of the first four Caliphs: but what I should like most would be the subsequent history, the Baghdad Caliphs, Tartar Invasion, Turkish Conquest, etc. For the earlier epochs something not too erudite and very popular would be most suitable. Mark Sykes tells me he is about to publish a Little Absul's History of Islam, but as he is still diplomatising out here I doubt if it will be ready for press soon. As for this campaign, you will probably know more about the Kut battle than I do. Anyway the facts were briefly these. The Turks had a very strongly entrenched position at Kut, with 15,000 men and 35 guns. We feinted at their right and then outflanked their left by a night march of twelve miles. (Two brigades did this, while one brigade held them in front.) Then followed a day's hard fighting as the out-flankers had to storm three redoubts successfully before they could properly enfilade the position. Just as they had done it the whole Turkish reserve turned up on their right and they had to turn on it and defeat it, which they did. But by that time it was dark, the troops were absolutely exhausted and had finished all their water. Nobody could tell how far the river was, so the only thing to do was to bivouac and wait for daylight. In the night the Turks cleared out and got away. If we could have pressed on and seized their bridge, we should have almost wiped them out: but it was really wonderful we did as much as we did under the circumstances. Our casualties were 1243, but only 85 killed. The Turkish losses are not known: we captured about 1400 and 12 of the guns: we buried over 400, but don't know how many the local Arabs buried. Our pursuit was delayed by the mud-banks on the river, and the enemy was able to get clear and reform in their next position, about ninety miles further north. We are now concentrating against them and it is authoritatively reported that large reinforcements have been sent from India. This means they intend going for Baghdad. It seems to me rash: but I suppose there is great need to assert our prestige with the Moslem world, even at the expense of our popularity: for B. is a fearfully sacred place. I should also like from Blackwell's a good and up-to-date map of these parts, _i.e._ from the Troad to the Persian Gulf. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 21, 1915. TO HIS MOTHER. It is hard from here to be patient with the Government for not taking a bolder line all round and saying frankly what they want. They are omnipotent if they would only lead. Now we hear that Carson has resigned. I can't hitch that on to the conscription crisis, yet it doesn't say it is from ill-health: it is a puzzle. Life is as uneventful as usual here. I have nearly finished _The Woman in White_. It is really one of the best thrillers I've read, and Count Fosco more than fulfils my expectations: I wonder if Haldane keeps white mice. I have also finished Tennyson. I have read him right through in the course of the year, which is much the best way to read a poet, as you can follow the development of his thoughts. His mind, to my thinking, was profound but not of very wide range, and strangely abstract. His only pressing intellectual problems are those of immortality and evil, and he reached his point of view on those before he was forty. He never advances or recedes from the position summarised in the preface to "In Memoriam," d. 1849. The result is that his later work lacks the inspiration of restlessness and discovery, and he tends to put more and more of his genius into the technique of his verse and less into the meaning. The versification is marvellous, but one gets tired of it, and he often has nothing to say and has to spin out commonplaces in rich language. One feels this even in the "Idylls of the King," which are the best of his later or middle long efforts: they are artificial, not impulsive; Virgil, not Homer; Meredith calls them 'dandiacal flutings,' which is an exaggeration. But I can quite see how irritating Tennyson must be to ardent sceptics like Meredith and the school which is now in the ascendant. To them a poet is essentially a rebel, and Tennyson refused to be a rebel. That is why they can't be fair to him and accuse him of being superficial. I think that a very shallow criticism of him. He saw and states the whole rebels' position--"In Memoriam" is largely a debate between the Shelley-Swinburne point of view and the Christian. Only he states it so abstractly that to people familiar with Browning's concrete and humanised dialectic it seems cold and artificial. But it's really his sincerest and deepest thought, and he deliberately rejects the rebel position as intellectually and morally untenable: and adopts a position of aquiescent agnosticism on the problem of evil subject to an unshakeable faith in immortality and the Love of God. This is a red rag to your Swinburnes. That is why I asked you to send me Swinburne, as I want to get to the bottom of his position. Shelley's I know, and it is, in my opinion a much more obvious, easier, and more superficial one than Tennyson's: besides being based on a distorted view of Christianity. Shelley in fact wanted to abolish Christianity as the first step towards teaching men to be Christian. Of all the agnostics, Meredith is the one that appeals to me most: but I've not read his poetry, which I believe has much more of his philosophy in it than his novels have. _P.S._ I have just seen your appeal in the _Hampshire Herald_ for £500 for a motor ambulance boat, in which you say the Red Cross have already sent us two such boats. All I can say is that nobody in this regiment has ever seen or heard of these boats: and they certainly have not been used for transporting sick and wounded either from Nasiriyah or from Kut. If they were in Mesopotamia at all, it is incredible that we shouldn't have heard of them. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 22, 1915. TO L.R. I don't think there is any likelihood of Luly's coming here. For one thing our battalion 1/6th is too weak to afford another draft at present; and even if it sent one there are many officers who would be asked before Luly. As a matter of fact we have just heard we 1/4th are getting large reinforcements from our proper resources, _viz._ 250 from 2/4th at Quetta and 50 from those invalided in the hot weather. Your letter of September 5th arrived well after that of September 22nd. I'm glad the ---- are optimistic: if Belgians can be we should be able to. But I can't help feeling the Government is lamentably weak and wanting in leadership: the policy of keeping the nation in the dark seems to me to be insane. There is no news to report here. We still do very little work, but the weather is quite pleasant. I am very well. There is not much to do. The country is very dull for walking and riding. The birds here are very few compared to those in India. On the river there are pied Kingfishers. On the flooded land and especially on the mud-flats round it there are large numbers of sandpipers, Kentish and ringed plovers, stints and stilts, terns and gulls, ducks and teal, egrets and cranes: but as there is not a blade of vegetation within a mile of them there are no facilities for observation, still less for shooting. There are several buzzards and falcons and a few kites, but vultures are conspicuous by their absence. There are no snakes or crocodiles either. Scavenging is left to dogs and jackals; and there is a hooded crow, not very abundant, which is peculiar to this country, having white where the European and Eastern Asiatic species have grey--a handsome bird. In the river there are a few sharks and a great abundance of a carp-like fish which runs up to a very large size. The Quartermaster can buy two 70lb. fish every morning for the men's breakfasts, and has been offered one of 120lb. * * * * * AMARAH, _October_ 31, 1915. TO N.B. I do hope your "fifty submarines" is true. I shan't think much of you if you can't get official confirmation from Cousin Arthur: but if he is impenetrably discreet, you might at least get him to explain--or pass it on to me if you know already--what conceivable harm it could do if we published the bare numbers of submarines "accounted for" without any particulars of when, where, or how. As for this campaign it is the old story of the Empire repeating itself. When it began they only meant to secure the oil-pipe and protect British interests at Basra. But they found to their great surprise that you can't stay comfortably on the lower waters of a great river with an enemy above you any more than you could live in a flat with the lodger above continually threatening your life. A river like the Tigris or Euphrates is a unit, and the power which occupies its mouth will inevitably be drawn to its source unless it meets the boundaries of a strong and civilised state on the way. Turkey will be neither after the war. What has happened so far? [Sidenote: Dec.-Jan.] We occupied the Shattal-Arab as far as Kurnah. We sat still. The Turks, based on Nasiriyah attacked us and nearly recaptured Basra. [Sidenote: April] We beat them at Shaiba, and for safety's sake had to push them from their base. [Sidenote: May] Then the double advance to Amarah and Nasiriyah. [Sidenote: July] We pushed the Turks out, and they promptly reformed at Kut and prepared to threaten us again. So we pushed forward again and beat them at Kut. [Sidenote: September] Now they have reformed at a point, only twenty miles from ----, their present base. We shall go for them there no doubt, and push them back once more. But what does it all lead to? Imagine peace restored. What will Turkey be like? She will be bankrupt, chaotic, totally incapable of keeping order among these murderous Bedouins. The country would be a second Persia under her. Persia is intolerable enough for the Europeans who trade there at present: but the plight of this country might easily be worse. We are bound to control the bit from Basra to the sea to protect existing interests. The whole future of that area--as of all Mesopotamia--depends on a scientific scheme of drainage and irrigation. At present half the country is marsh and half desert. Why? Because under Turkish rule the river is never dredged, the banks are never repaired, stray Arabs can cut haphazard canals and leave them to form marshes, and so on. Now an irrigation and drainage scheme is vitally necessary, but (1) it involves a large outlay; (2) to be effective it must start a long way up-stream; (3) there must be security for the good government _not only_ of the area included in the scheme, but of the whole course of the river above it. These Asiatic rivers are tricky things: they run for hundreds of miles through alluvial plains which are as flat as your hand. Here at Amarah, 200 miles from the mouth of the Tigris, we are only 28ft. above sea-level. Consequently the river's course is very easily altered. Look at Stanford's map of this region and see how the Euphrates has lost itself between Nasiriyah and Basra--"old channel," "new channel," creeks, marshes, lakes, flood-areas and so on; the place is a nightmare. That kind of thing is liable to happen anywhere if the river is neglected. So that our schemes for Lower Mesopotamia might be spoilt by the indolence of those in possession higher up the river: let alone the security of the trade-routes which would be at the mercy of wild Arabs if Turkey collapses. All this inclines me more and more to believe that we shall be forced, sooner or later, to occupy the whole Mesopotamian plain as far as Mosul or to whatever point is the southern limit of Russian control. At first I favoured a "neutral zone" from Mosul to Kut, and I shouldn't be surprised if that plan still finds favour at home. But frankly I see no prospect of a strong enough Government to make the neutral zone workable; on the contrary everything points to the absorption of the Persian neutral zone by either us or Russia, probably us. I am still a Captain, but no longer a Coy. Commander. A large draft from India has arrived, 11 officers and 319 men from 1/4th and 2/4th, invalids returned. I am now second in command of a Coy. of respectable size. * * * * * AMARAH. _October_ 10, 1915. TO HIS FATHER. I agree with most of your reflections about the moral justification of war. War is an evil, because it is the product of sin and involves more sin and much suffering. But that does not mean it is necessarily wrong to fight. Once evil is at work, one of its chief results is to leave good people only a choice of evils, wherein the lesser evil becomes a duty. I'm not prepared to say we've been wholly guiltless in the whole series of events which produced this war: but in the situation of July, 1914, produced as it was by various sinful acts, I am quite sure it was our duty to fight, and that it is our duty to fight on till German militarism is crushed. And I certainly can't believe we ought not to have made such a treaty with Belgium as we did. You've got to face the fact that the spirit which produces war is still dominant. Fight that spirit by all means: but while it exists don't suppose your own duty is merely to keep out of wars. That seems to me a very selfish and narrow view. As for our Lord in a bayonet charge, one doesn't easily imagine it: but that is because it is inconsistent with His mission, rather than His character. I can't imagine a Christian _enjoying_ either a bayonet charge, or hanging a criminal, or overthrowing the tables of a money-changer, or any other form of violent retribution. Your sight of the Zeppelin must have been thrilling. You don't make it clear whether it was by day or night. I am curious to see if my next batch of _Times_ will mention it. Clearly it is very hard to damage Zs. by gun-fire: but I don't understand quite why our aeroplanes can't do more against them. Do they get right back to Germany before daylight? I have been out shooting three times this week, with Patmore of 1/7th Hants, and we got three partridges, six partridges and seven doves respectively. The partridges are big black ones, as large as young grouse, and very good to eat: but they will soon be extinct here as we are operating much in the same way as "the officers" do at Blackmoor. The doves were reported as sand-grouse, and certainly come flighting in from the desert very much in the s.-g. manner: but they are very like turtle doves when shot. On our way home after the first shoot, I saw a falcon catch a swallow on the wing. It had missed one and we were watching it. It flew straight and rather fast past us, just within shot, fairly high. A swallow came sailing at full speed from the opposite direction and would have passed above and to the right of the falcon, and about 6ft. from it. The latter took no notice of it till the crucial moment, when it swerved and darted upwards, exactly as a swallow itself does after flies, and caught the swallow neatly in its talons. It then proceeded on its way so calmly that if you had taken your eye off it for 1/5th second you wouldn't have known it had deviated from its course. It then planed down and settled about 400 yards away on the ground. I have written to Top such details of the Kut battle as I could gather from eye-witness: but I don't think it forms a reliable account, and you will probably find the official version rather different, when it comes out. Anyway it appears to be beyond doubt now that we mean to push on to Baghdad, in spite of your _Beatus possidens_. It was only lack of water and the exhaustion of the troops which prevented a much larger haul this time: and now they are concentrating against the next position, 90 miles further north. We hear again on good authority that 8,000 reinforcements are coming out. They will certainly be needed if we are to hold Baghdad. It seems to me a very rash adventure: especially as Bulgaria's intervention may enable the Turks to send an Army Corps down to Baghdad, in which case we should certainly have to retire. * * * * * AMARAH. _All Saints_, 1915. TO R.K. Your letters have been so splendidly regular that I'm afraid a gap of three weeks may mean you've been ill: but I can't be surprised at anyone at home breaking down under the constant strain of nearness and frequent news. Mesopotamia and a bi-weekly Reuter are certainly efficient sedatives; and the most harrowing crisis of the Russian armies is only rescued from the commonplace by its unintelligibility. Even the heart-breaking casualties, reaching us five weeks old, have nothing like the stab they have in England. Life here requires a Jane Austen to record it. Our interests are focussed on the most ridiculous subjects. Recently they took an ecclesiastical turn, which I think should be reported to you. The station was left "spiritually" in charge of a Y.M.C.A. deacon for a fortnight: and discussion waxed hot in the Mess as to what a Deacon was. The prevailing opinion was that he "was in the Church," but not "consecrated"; so far Lay instinct was sound, if a little vague. Then our Scotch Quartermaster laid it down that a Deacon was as good as a Parson in that he could wear a surplice, but inferior to a parson in that he couldn't marry you. But the crux which had most practical interest for us was whether he could bury us. It was finally decided that he could: but fortunately in actual fact his functions were confined to organising a football tournament and exhibiting a cinema film. He was succeeded by a priest from the notorious diocese of Bombay: who proceeded to shift the table which does duty for altar to the E. side of the R.A.T.A. room and furnish the neighbourhood of it into a faint resemblance to a Church. But what has roused most speculation is the "green thing he wears over his surplice for the early service and takes off before Parade service." I suggested that it was a precaution against these chilly mornings. Gibbon has more to say about these parts than I thought: and I find he alludes to them off and on right down to 1453, so if you haven't been able to find a suitable book, I can carry on with that philosopher's epitome. A large draft has just reached us from India, 11 officers and 319 men. They are partly returned invalids, but mainly 2/4th from Quetta. We shall now be a fairly respectable strength. Cold weather conditions are almost established now. It is only over 80° for a few hours each day, and between 8 p.m. and 9 a.m. I wear a greatcoat. A senior captain having arrived with the draft has taken over "A" Coy. and I remain as second in command. There is singularly little to do at present--about one hour per day. I wonder if you know any of the officers in this push. There is Chitty of Balliol, a contemporary of Luly's: and one Elton among the newly-joined, said to be a double first. They have made me censor of civil telegrams. I see no prospect of peace for a year yet, and not much of our leaving this country till well after peace. I used to think I wasn't easily bored: but it is hard to keep a fresh and lively interest in this flattest and emptiest of countries. _P.S. Tuesday_.--The mail is in for once before the outward mail goes, and it brings yours of 1.10.15. What you report about Charles Lister is exactly what I should have expected. It is an element in all the best lives that their owners are reckless about throwing them away; but it's a little consolation to know that he didn't succeed exactly. Most of my new letters are rather gloomy about the French offensive. We used gas and we're held up: and we're being diddled all round by kings in the Balkans. Elton, by the way, was up at Balliol, a scholar 1911--and knows you, though whether individually or collectively I know not. Also one Pirie of Exeter has come with the draft. * * * * * AMARAH. _November_ 4, 1915. TO L.R. I enclose an extract from a speech which might have been made by you, but was made by--who do you think? Our modern St. David. I read Oliver's _Ordeal by Battle_ before I left Agra. Most of my relations sent me a copy. So far only one has sent me A.J.B.'s _Theism and Humanism_: books are always welcome: but as their ultimate fate is very uncertain, it is wiser to stick to cheap ones. I think the idea of R---- on an Economy League is too delicious. I should so like to hear the details of their economies. I hope you have noticed the correspondence in The _Times_ on Wild Birds and Fruit Growers, and that the latter contemplate invoking the aid of the Board of Agriculture in exterminating the former. The birds here increase as the weather gets colder. Geese, duck and teal are to be seen flighting every day. We shot a pochard on Tuesday and a plover yesterday. Large flocks of night-herons visit the flood-lands and rooks have become common. White wagtails appeared in great numbers a few weeks ago, and sand-grouse are reported in vast numbers further north. As there is no news, perhaps it would interest you to know, how we live in these billets. The house is very convenient on the whole, though cold, as there is no glass in the large windows and the prevailing N.W. wind blows clean through, and there are no fire-places. As to our mode of existence, my day is almost uniformly as follows: 6.30 _a.m._ Am called and drink 1 cup cocoa and eat 4 biscuits. 7.15 _a.m._ Get up. 7.45 _a.m._ Finished toilet and read _Times_ till breakfast. 8.0 Breakfast. Porridge, scrambled eggs, bread and jam, tea. 8.30-9.15. Read _Times_. 9.15-10.15. Parade (or more often _not_, about twice a week 1 parade). 10.15-1.0 Read and write, unless interrupted by duties. 1.0 Lunch. Cold meat, pudding, cheese and bread, lemonade. 1.30-4.0. Read and write. 4.0. Tea, bread and jam. 4.30. Censor Civil Telegrams. 4.45-6.15. Take exercise, _e.g._, walk, ride, fish, shoot, or play football. 6.15. Have a bath. 6.30-7.30. Play skat, or talk on verandah. 7.30. Mess. Soup, fish, meat, veg., pudding, savoury, beer or whisky. 8.45-10.15 Bridge. 10.15. Go to bed. Such is the heroic existence of those who are bearing their country's burden in this remote and trying corner of the globe! _Enclosure_. "Meanwhile, let personal recrimination drop. It is the poison of all good counsel. In every controversy there are mean little men who assume that their own motives in taking up a line are of the most exalted and noble character, but that those who dare differ from them are animated by the basest personal aims. Such men are a small faction, but they are the mischief-makers that have many a time perverted discussion into dissension. Their aim seems to be to spread distrust and disunion amongst men whose co-operation is essential to national success. These creatures ought to be stamped out relentlessly by all parties as soon as they are seen crawling along the floor." * * * * * AMARAH. _November_ 18, 1915. TO L.R. As this week is Xmas mail, I have only time to wish you every blessing and especially those of peace and goodwill which are so sadly needed now. I am dreadfully sorry to hear that S.'s cancer is reappearing. We need more of her sort just now. I pray that she may get over it, but there is no disease which leaves less hope. I suppose everyone is struck by the weakness of a democracy in war time as compared with an autocracy like the German. It is a complaint as old as Demosthenes. But it does not shake my faith in democracy as the best form of Government, because mere strength and efficiency is not my ideal. If a magician were to offer to change us to-morrow into a state on the German model, I shouldn't accept the offer, not even for the sake of winning the war. * * * * * AMARAH. _November_ 23, 1915. TO HIS MOTHER. I strained a muscle in my leg at football yesterday and consequently can't put my foot to the ground at all to-day. It is a great nuisance as I'm afraid it will prevent my going on our little trek into the desert, which will probably come off next Monday. The news of the fight at Suliman Pak came through yesterday morning and we had a holiday on spec, and a salute of twenty-one guns was ordered to be fired. The first effort at 8 a.m. was a ludicrous fiasco. The Volunteer Artillery, having no 'blank,' loaded the guns with charges of plain cordite. The result was that as each round was fired it made about as much noise as a shot-gun, and the packet of cordite would hop out of the barrel and burn peacefully on the ground ten yards away, like a Bengal match. Gorringe arrived in the middle in a fine rage, and stopped the show. I took a snapshot of him doing so which I hope will come out. He then ordered the salute to be fired at noon with live shell. This was quite entertaining. They ranged on the flood-land where we go after the geese, 3,700 yards: and it took the shells about ten seconds to get there. There were some Arab shepherds with their flocks between us and the water, and they didn't appear to enjoy it. They "scorned the sandy Libyan plain as one who wants to catch a train." _Thursday_. As luck would have it, orders came round at 1 p.m. yesterday for half the Battalion (including A. Coy.) to move up-stream at once: and after an afternoon and evening of many flusters and changes of plan, they have just gone off this morning. My wretched leg prevents my going with them: but it is much better to-day and I hope to be able to go by the next boat. Destination is unknown but it can only be Kut or Baghdad: and I infer the latter from the facts (1) that Headquarters (C.O., Adjt. Q.M. etc.) have gone, which means that the other half Battalion is likely to follow shortly: and (2) that they won't want a whole Battalion at Kut. The scale of garrison out here is about as follows. Towns under 5,000 one Coy. or nothing, 5,000-10,000 two Coys. Over 10,000 a (nominal) Battalion: bar Basra where there are only three men and one boy. Baghdad being about 150,000 may reasonably require two Brigades or a Division. We haven't heard yet whether we've got Baghdad. They may even have more fighting to do, though most people don't think so. I will try to cable before I go up. The M.O. says I have slightly overstretched my calf-muscles. I jumped rather high at a bouncing ball while I was running: and I came down somehow with my left leg stuck out in such a way that the knee was bent the wrong way: and so overstretched the muscles at the back of the calf. But I can already walk with two sticks, and hope to be able to get on a boat in two or three days time. A week on the boat will give it a further rest. * * * * * AMARAH. _December 1, 1915._ TO HIS MOTHER. Sophy's death affects me more than any since Goppa's. She was the most intimate of all my aunts, as I have constant memories of her from the earliest times I can remember till she went to live at Oxford. I was always devoted to her, and she had an almost uncanny power of reading my thoughts. I don't feel there can have been a shade of bitterness in death for her, though she loved life; but there is something woefully pathetic in its circumstances, the pain, the loneliness, the misery of the war. I thought about her all yesterday. The sunset was the most wonderful I have seen out here, and it seemed to say that though God could be very terrible yet he was supremely tender and beautiful. How blank and futile a sunset would be to a consistent materialist, as A.J.B. points out in his lectures. The result of publishing what he called my "hymn" in the _Times_ of October 15th has been an application from an earnest Socialist for leave to print it on cards at 8_s._ 6_d._ a 1,000 to create a demand for an early peace! But I couldn't help focussing my thoughts of Sophy into these lines: Strong Son of God is Love; and she was strong, For she loved much, and served; Rejoiced in all things human, only wrong Drew scorn as it deserved. Fair gift of God is faith: 'twas hers, to move The mountains, and ascend The Paradise of saints: which faith and love Made even Death her friend. My leg is much better but will still keep me here some days, as I am not to go till fit to march. It is a great nuisance being unable to take exercise. I was in such splendid condition, and now I shall be quite soft again. However there are compensations. The others are only at Kut, which is as dull as this and much less comfortable; and they have only 60lb. kits, which means precious little. Swinburne I will begin when I feel stronger. The Golden Ass hasn't come. I ordered it years ago, before the war, to be sent on publication. It is a curious product of Latin decadence, about second century; the first notable departure from the classical style. The most celebrated thing in it is the story of Cupid and Psyche: didn't Correggio paint it round the walls of a palace in Rome? I went to see it with Sophy. * * * * * AMARAH. _December 8, 1915._ TO HIS MOTHER. We are more cheerful now. In the first place we are less cold. The wind has dropped and we have devised various schemes for mitigating the excessive ventilation. I have hung two gaudy Arab rugs over my window, with a layer of _Times_ between them and the bars. Some genius had an inspiration, acting on which we have pitched an E.P. tent in the mess room. It just fits and is the greatest success. Finally, I sent my bearer to speculate in a charcoal brazier. This also is a great success. Three penn'orth of charcoal burns for ages and gives out any amount of heat; and there is no smell or smoke: far superior to any stove I've ever struck. So we live largely like troglodytes in darkness but comparative warmth. Between breakfast and tea one can sit on the sunny side of the verandah round the inner court, though all sunshine has still to be shared with the flies; but they're not the flies they were, more like English October flies. Secondly, as far as we can see, the main troubles up stream are over. My account to Papa last mail was not very accurate, but I will write him the facts again, in the light of fuller information. Anyway they're back at Kut now, and ought to be able to look after themselves till our reinforcements come up. The first two boat-loads have arrived here this morning, and are pushing on. But it was a serious reverse and may have very bad effects here and in India and Persia unless it is promptly revenged. Owing to the Salsette's grounding, there will be no mail this week. My leg remains much the same. I can walk quite well with a slight limp but the doctor won't let me walk more than fifty yards. I am very thankful I was stopped from going up to Kut. "A" Coy. has been working at top pressure there, entrenching and putting up wire entanglements. And now they will have to stand a siege, on forty days' rations, till Younghusband and Gorringe can relieve them. So I should be very much _de trop_ there. I always felt that my _entreé_ into the football world should be pregnant with fate, and so it is proving. I have been reading some Swinburne. He disappoints me as a mind-perverse, fantastic and involved. Obscure when he means something, he is worse when he means nothing. As an imagination he is wonderful. His poetry is really a series of vivid and crowding pictures only held together by a few general and loose, though big ideas. His style is marvellously musical but overweighted by his classical long-windedness and difficult syntax. Such a contrast to Tennyson where the idea shines out of the language which is so simple as to seem inevitable, and yet wonderfully subtle as well as musical. * * * * * AMARAH. _December_ 12, 1915. TO R.K. In the stress of the times I can't remember when I last wrote or what I said, so please forgive repetitions and obscurities. Let me begin at November 24th, the day we heard of the victory at Ctesiphon or Sulman Pak. That afternoon I crocked my leg at footer and have been a hobbler ever since with first an elephantine calf and now a watery knee, which however, like the Tigris, gets less watery daily. The very next day (November 25th) half the battalion, including my "A" Coy., was ordered up stream and departed next morning, leaving me fuming at the fancied missing of a promenade into Baghdad. But providence, as you may point out in your next sermon, is often kinder than it seems. Two days later I could just walk and tried to embark: but the M.T.O. stopped me at the last moment. (I have stood him a benedictine for this since.) Meanwhile, events were happening up-river. The Press Bureau's account, I expect, compresses a great deal into "Subsequently our force took up a position lower down the river" or some such _façon de parler_. What happened was this. We attacked without reserves relying on the enemy having none. We have done it several times successfully: indeed our numbers imposed the necessity generally. This time there were reinforcements en route, had we waited. But I anticipate. Well, we attacked, and carried their first line and half their second before darkness pulled us up. A successful day, though expensive in casualties. We bivouacked in their first line. Daybreak revealed the unpleasant surprise of strong enemy reinforcements, who are said to have diddled our spies by avoiding Baghdad: 5,000 of them. As we had started the affair about 12,000 strong to their 15,000, this was serious. They attacked and were driven off. In the afternoon they attacked again, in close formation: our artillery mowed them, but they came on and on, kept it up all night, with ever fresh reinforcements, bringing them to 30,000 strong all told. By dawn our men were exhausted and the position untenable. A retreat was ordered, that meant ninety miles back to Kut over a baked billiard table. The enemy pressed all the way. Once they surrounded our rear brigade. Two officers broke through their front lines to recall the front lot. Another evening we pitched a camp and left it empty to delay the enemy. Daily rearguard actions were fought. Five feverish days got us back to Kut, without disorder or great loss of men; but the loss in material was enormous. All possible supplies had been brought close up to the firing line to facilitate our pursuit: mainly in barges, the rest in carts. The wounded filled all the carts, so those supplies had to be abandoned. The Tigris is a cork-screwed maze of mud-banks, no river for the hasty withdrawal of congested barges under fire. You can imagine the scene. Accounts differ as to what we lost. _Certainly_, two gunboats (destroyed), one monitor (disabled and captured), the telegraph barge and supply barge, besides all supplies, dumped on the bank. Most accounts add one barge of sick and wounded (400), the aeroplane barge, and a varying number of supply barges. In men from first to last we lost nearly 5,000: the Turks about 9,000--a guess of course. The tale of woe is nearly complete. My "A" Coy. got as far as Kut and was set to feverish entrenching and wiring. Now the whole force there, some 8,000 in all, is cut off there and besieged. They have rations (some say half rations) for six weeks or two months, and ammunition. They are being bombarded, and have been attacked once, but repelled it easily. We aren't worried about them; but I with my leg (like another egoist) can't be sorry to be out of it. I should like to be there to mother my men. Our Major is wounded and the other officers infants; the Captain a Colonial one I'm glad to say. Meanwhile our reinforcements have turned up in great numbers and expect to be able to relieve Kut by the end of the month. I mustn't particularise too much. In fact I doubt whether this or any letters will be allowed to go through this week. The men are warned only to write postcards. The dear censor has more excuse where Indians are concerned. I can walk short walks now. Life is rather slow, but I have several books luckily. * * * * * AMARAH. _December_ 20, 1915. TO N.B. There is a double mail to answer this week and only two days to do it in, so this may be rather hurried. I do get the _Round Table_. I don't think it suggests a World State as practical politics, but merely as the only ideal with which the mind can be satisfied as an ultimate end. If you believe in a duty to all humanity, logic won't stop short of a political brotherhood of the world, since national loyalty implies in the last resort a denial of your duty to everyone outside your nation. But in fact, of course, men are influenced by sentiment and not logic: and I agree that, for ages to come at least, a World State wouldn't inspire loyalty. I don't even think the British Empire would for long, if it relied only on the sentiment of the Mother Country as home. The loyalty of each Dominion to the Empire in future generations will be largely rooted in its own distinctive nationalism, paradoxical as that sounds: at least so I believe. Please don't refrain from comments on passing events for fear they will be stale. They aren't, because my _Times's_ are contemporary with your letters: and the amount of news we get by Reuter's is negligible. Indeed Reuter's chiefly enlighten us as to events in Mesopotamia. Last night we heard that Chamberlain had announced in the House that the Turks lost 2,000 and the Arabs 1,000 in the attack on Kut on December 12th: that was absolutely the first we'd heard of it, though Kut is only ninety miles as the crow flies, and my Company is there! All we hear is their casualties, thrice a week. They now total 2 killed and 11 wounded out of 180: nearly all my Company and 3 of my draft wounded. I want to be there very much, to look after them, poor dears: but I must say that T.A's view that a place like Kut is desirable to be in _per se_ never fails to amaze me, familiar though it now is. I had another instance of it last night. About twelve of my draft were left behind on various duties when the Coy. went up-river in such a hurry. Hearing that my knee was so much better they sent me a deputy to ask me to make every effort to take them with me if I went up-river. I agreed, of course, but what, as usual, struck me was that the motives I can understand--that one's duty is with the Coy. when there's trouble around, or even that it's nicer to be with one's pals at Kut than lonely at Amarah--didn't appear at all. The two things he kept harping on were (1) it's so dull to miss a "scrap" and (2) there may be a special clasp given for Kut, and we don't want to miss it. They evidently regard the Coy. at Kut as lucky dogs having a treat: the "treat" when analysed (which they don't) consisting of 20lb. kits in December, half-rations, more or less regular bombardment, no proper billets, no shops, no letters, and very hard work! My leg is very decidedly better now. I can walk half-a-mile without feeling any aches, and soon hope to do a mile. There is an obstinate little puffy patch which won't disappear just beside the knee-cap: but the M.O. says I may increase my walk each day up to the point where it begins to ache. We have had no rain here for nearly a month; but there are light clouds about which make the most gorgeous sunsets I ever saw. * * * * * EXTRACT FROM LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. _December, 1915._ I am looking forward to this trek. Four months is a large enough slice of one's time to spend in Amarah, and there will probably be more interest and fewer battles on this trek than could be got on any other front. The Censor has properly got the breeze up here, so I probably shan't be able to tell you anything of our movements or to send you any wires: but I will try and let you hear something each week; and if we are away in the desert, we generally arrange--and I will try to--for some officer who is within reach of the post to write you a line saying I am all right (which he hears by wireless) but can't write. That is what we have been doing for the people at Kut. But there are bound to be gaps, and they will tend to get more frequent and longer as we get further. No casualties from "A" Coy. for several days: so I hope its main troubles are over. * * * * * EXTRACT OF LETTER TO P.C. _Xmas Day_, 1915. ... I'm so glad Gwalior was a success. I think a good native state is the most satisfactory kind of Government for India in many ways; but (a) so few are really good, if you go behind the scenes and think of such fussy things as security of life and property, taxation and its proportion to benefits received, justice and administration, education, freedom of the subject, and so on. (b) It spells stagnation and the abandonment of the hope of training the mass of the people to responsibility; but I think that is an academic rather than practical point at present. Christmas is almost unbearable in war-time: the pathos and the reproach of it. I am thankful that my Company is at Kut on half-rations. I don't of course mean that: but I'm thankful to be spared eating roast beef and plum pudding heartily, as these dear pachyderms are now doing with such relish. I'm glad they do, and I'd do it too if my Company was here. I'm always thankful for my thin skin, but I'm glad dear God made thick ones the rule in this wintry world. * * * * * AMARAH. EXTRACT FROM LETTER TO N.B. It seems odd to get just now your letter answering my arguments _against_ the advance to Baghdad. They were twofold (1) Military, that we should not have the force to hold it and our communications would be too vulnerable. These objections have been largely met (_a_) by large reinforcements, which will nearly double our forces when they are all up, (_b_) by the monitors--the second is here now; they solve the communication problem. I think now it will take a fresh Army Corps from Constantinople to dislodge us: and I now hear that the difficulties of _its_ communications would be very great. (2) Politically. I thought the occupation of Baghdad would cause trouble (_a_) with Russia, (_b_) with Indian soldiers, (_c_) with Moslems generally. Here again (_a_) P. tells me Russia is giving us a free hand, (_b_) trouble did occur with some Indian Regiments, but it took the mild form of a strike, and the disaffected units have been dispersed by Coys. over the lines of communication. (_c_) As regards Moslems in India, I think I was wrong. The bold course, even to bluffing, generally pays with Orientals. We have incurred their resentment by fighting Turkey and on the whole we had better regain their respect by beating her. Of course we shall respect their religious feelings and prejudices in every practicable way. * * * * * AMARAH. _December_ 26, 1915. TO M.H. I hope you safely received the MS. I sent you last mail. Orders to move have interrupted my literary activities, and I shall have to spend the few days before we start chiefly in testing the fitness of my leg for marching. I went shooting on Friday and walked about six miles quite successfully, bar a slight limp; and I mean to extend progressively up to twelve. The weather has suddenly turned wet, introducing us to a new vileness of the climate. I hope it won't last--it means unlimited slime. I shan't be able to write much or often for some time, I expect, as we shall be marching pretty continuously, I reckon. I shall try and write to Ma and Pa at each opportunity, and to you if there's time and paper available. Your little writing-block may come in handy. One of my draft has been killed and five wounded at Kut. Our casualties there are 21 out of 180. I shall look forward to seeing my men again: I hope about the second Sunday after Epiphany. We shall then march with a force equal to the King of France's on his celebrated and abortive expedition of ascent. Our destination is a profound secret, but you may give Nissit three guesses and make her write me her answers on a Valentine. Christmas passed off quietly and cheerfully. T.A. is so profoundly insensible of incongruities that he saw nothing to worry him in the legend A MERRY CHRISTMAS and the latest casualty list on the same wall of the R.A.T.A. room: and he sang "Peace on earth and mercy mild" and "Confound their politics" with equal gusto. And his temper is infectious while you're with him. The most perplexing Reuter's come through from the Balkans. * * * * * AMARAH. _Christmas Day_, 1915. TO R.K. I hope you got my last letter safely. I enclosed it in my home one to be forwarded. There is little news from this theatre, and what there is we mayn't write, for the most part. My Coy. is being bombarded at Kut still. They have had 21 casualties out of 180. One of my draft is killed and five wounded and here everyone is parroting about a Merry Christmas. Truly the military man is a pachyderm. This is likely to be the last you will hear of me for some time, though I hope to be able to dob out a post-card here and there, perhaps letters now and then. In a word, we're moving next week and are not likely to see billets again till we lodge with the descendants, either of the Caliphs or of Abraham's early neighbours. My leg is so far recovered that I take it as almost certain I shall march too when we go. I am testing it to make sure first. Yesterday it did six miles without damage, though the gait remains Hephaestian. The weather is still cold, and fine and dry. The sunsets are glorious. * * * * * AMARAH. _December_ 26, 1915. TO N.B. Christmas and submarines have made the mails very late and we have again been nearly a fortnight without any. We have got our orders to move and so I look forward to a fairly prolonged period of trekking, during which it will hardly be possible to do more than write odd postcards and occasional short letters; but I will write when I can. We start in two or three days time. I expect my leg will be all right for marching. When I heard we were moving, I went to the hospital to consult the chief M.O. there about it. He examined _both_ my legs gravely and then firmly grasping the sound one pronounced that it had still an excess of fluid in it: which I take to be a sincere though indirect tribute to the subsidence of the fluid in the crocked one. He proceeded to prescribe an exactly reverse treatment to that recommended by the other M.O., which had the advantage of giving me official sanction for pretty well anything I chose to do or not do. The upshot of it was that I decided to test the old leg for myself to determine whether it was fit for marching or not. So I began with a six mile walk on Friday, shooting: and found that my graceful limb did not impede my progress nor develop into any graver symptoms. I was more tired than I should have been a month ago, but that was natural. Yesterday was monopolised by Christmas functions; to-day I mean to try eight or nine miles, and ten or twelve to-morrow. If the thing is going to crock it had better do it before I start: but it shows no sign of it. The latest way of indicating latitude and longitude is like a date, _e.g._ 32.25/44/10: you can take the N. and E. for granted. It has most tactlessly begun to rain again to-day, and with an E. wind it may continue, which will mean a vile slime for marching. The Christmas sports were really great fun: one of them--one-minute impromptu speeches--would make quite a good house-party game. _P.S._--You must think me brutal not to have mentioned my poor men. I have written so many letters this morning, I didn't notice it in this one. They are still being bombarded and have had 21 casualties out of 180: 5 killed, one of my draft, 2 officers slightly wounded. I hope to see them about Twelfth Night--no, say second Sunday after Epiphany! * * * * * CAMP. _January 3_, 1916. TO P.C. ... That afternoon the new draft arrived, headed by Jack Stillwell and Lester Garland. They arrived only 45 strong, having reached Basra over 100. Basra is a nest of military harpies who seize men for obscure duties and make them local sergts. Only 68 escaped from it; and of these 23 fell out on the march--another specimen of R.A.M.C. efficiency. The M.O. at Quetta had merely passed down the line asking each man "Are you fit?" and taking his answer. In this letter A. stands for Amarah, C. for Kut, B. for Ali Gherbi. * * * * * B. _Sunday_, January 2, 1916. TO HIS FATHER. As I shan't be able to mention places in connection with our movements, I shall call the station we left on December 31st A., this place B. and so on; and I think you ought to be able to follow, as I will make the lettering consistent. We left A. at 2 p.m. on Friday. The men were on barges slung on either side of the river-boat, on which various details, our officers and the General and his staff were. I brought my gun and 150 cartridges, and was unexpectedly soon rewarded: for one of the A.C.C's staff came along after lunch and asked for someone to come with him in the motor-boat and shoot partridges. As I was the only one with a gun handy I went. We raced ahead in the motor-boat for half-an-hour and then landed on the right bank and walked up the river for two-and-a-half hours, not deviating even to follow up coveys. There were a lot of birds, but it was windy and they were wild and difficult. Also with only two guns and three sepoys we walked over as many as we put up. Craik (the A.D.C's name, he is an Australian parson in peace-time) was a poor performer and only accounted for three. I got thirteen, a quail, a plover and a hare. I missed three or four sitters and lost two runners, but on the whole shot quite decently, as the extreme roughness of the hard-baked ploughed (or rather mattocked) land is almost more of an obstacle to good shooting than the behaviour of the birds. Craik was a stayer, and as the wind dropped at sunset and the birds grew tamer he persevered till it was dark. Then we had to walk three-quarters-of-a-mile before we could find a place where the boat could get in near the bank: so we had a longer and colder chase to catch up the ship than I had bargained for, especially as I had foolishly forgotten to bring a coat. However, when I got too cold I snuggled up against the engine and so kept parts of me warm. Luckily the ship had to halt at the camp of a marching column, so we caught her up in one-and-a-quarter hours. I pitched my bed on deck up against the boiler, and so was as warm as toast all night. Yesterday morning we steamed steadily along through absolutely bare country. The chief feature was the extraordinary abundance of sand-grouse. I told Mamma of the astonishing clouds of them which passed over A. Here they were in small parties or in flocks up to 200: but the whole landscape is dotted with them from 8 a.m. till 11 and again from 3 to 4: so that any random spot would give one much the same shooting as we had at the Kimberley dams. An officer on board told me that when he was here two months ago, a brother officer had killed fifty to his own gun: and a Punjabi subaltern got twenty-one with five shots. We reached here about 2 p.m. This place is only about forty-five miles from A. as the crow flies, but by river it takes sixteen hours, and with various halts and delays it took us just twenty-four. We only ran on to one mud-bank. The effect was curious. The ship and the port barge stopped dead though without any shock. The starboard barge missed the mud and went on, snapping the hawsers and iron cables uniting us. The only visible sign of the bank was an eddying of the current over it: it was right in midstream. This is a most desolate place. Apart from the village with its few palms and gardens there seems not to be a blade of vegetation within sight. To the N.E. the Persian hills are only fifteen miles away. They have still a little snow (did I mention that the storm which gave us rain at A. had capped these hills with a fine snow mantle?) Here we found "D" Co., which got stranded here when "A" Co. got stuck in C. We are about forty-five or fifty miles from C. as the crow flies, and the guns can be heard quite plainly: but things have been very quiet the last few days. There is an enemy force of 2,000 about ten miles from here, but how long they and the ones at C. will wait remains to be seen. We know nothing of our own movements yet and I couldn't mention them if we did. We have been put into a different brigade, but the brigadier has not been appointed yet. The number of the brigade equals that of the ungrateful lepers or the bean-rows which Yeats intended to plant at Innisfree. We are independent of any division. A mysterious Reuter has come through about conscription. As it quotes the _Westminster_ as saying Asquith has decided on it, I'm inclined to believe it: but it goes on to talk obscurely of possible resignations and a general election. This may catch the same mail as my letter to Mamma from A. _P.S._ Please tell Mamma that just as we were embarking, the S. and T. delivered me two packages, which turned out to be the long-lost blue jerseys. So there is hope for the fishing rods yet. * * * * * _Monday_, January 10, 1915. TO HIS MOTHER. I will use a spare hour to begin an account of our doings since I last wrote, but I don't know when I shall be able to finish it, still less when post it. We left B. last Thursday morning and were told we should march sixteen miles: we marched up the right bank, so our left flank was exposed to the desert, and "D" Company did flank guard. My platoon formed the outer screen and we marched strung out in single file. There were cavalry patrols beyond us again, and anyway no Arab could come within five miles without our seeing him, so our guarding was a sinecure. We paraded as soon as it was light, at 7.15 a.m., but owing to the transport delays, the column did not start till after 9.0. The transport consists of: (a) ships and barges; (b) carts, mules and camels. Each has its limitations. Ships tie you to the river-bank, so every column must have some land transport. Camels can hardly move after rain: they slip and split themselves. The carts are fearfully held up by the innumerable ditches which are for draining the floods back to the river. There are not nearly enough mules to go round and they only carry 160lbs. each. So you can imagine our transport difficulties. The country supplies neither food, fodder nor fuel. Our firewood comes from India. If you leave the river you must carry every drop of drinking water. So the transport line was three times as long as the column itself, and moved more slowly. Our new Brigadier turned up and proved to be a pleasant, sensible kind of man, looking rather like Lord Derby. Having just come from France, he keeps quite cool whatever we encounter. (P.S. We have had a new Brigadier since this one, I haven't yet seen the present one.) The march was slow and rough, as most of the ground was hard-baked plough. The country was as level and bare as a table, bar the ditches, and we hardly saw a human being all day. It took us till after 4 p.m. to do our sixteen miles. About 2 p.m. we began to hear firing and see shrapnel in the distance, and it soon became clear that we were approaching a big battle. Consequently we had to push on beyond our sixteen miles, and went on till Sunset. By this time we were all very footsore and exhausted. The men had had no food since the night before, the ration-cart having stuck in a ditch; and many of the inexperienced ones had brought nothing with them. My leg held out wonderfully well, and in fact has given me no trouble worth speaking of. We had to wait an hour for orders, the Brigadier knowing nothing of the General's intentions. By six it was quite dark, and the firing had ceased: and we got orders to retrace our steps to a certain camping place (marked _I_ on sketch). This meant an extra mile, and immense trouble and confusion in finding our way over ditches and then sorting kits in the dark: but finally we did it, ate a meal, and turned in about 9.30 p.m. pretty well tired out, as we had been on the move fourteen hours and had marched about twenty-one miles. To put the lid on it, a sharp shower of exceedingly frigid rain surprised us all in our beauty sleep, about 11 p.m. and soaked the men's blankets and clothes. Luckily I had everything covered up, and I spread my overcoat over my head and slept on, breathing through the pocket-holes. (I will continue this in diary form and post it if and when I get a chance.) _Friday 7th._ Started at 8.30 and marched quietly about five miles. This brought us within view of the large village of D., which is roughly half-way between B. and C. Between us and it the battle was in full swing. We halted by a pontoon bridge (2 on sketch), just out of range of the enemy's guns, and watched it for several hours. Owing to the utter flatness of the ground, we could see very little of the infantry. It was hot and the mirage blurred everything. Our artillery was clearly very superior to theirs, both in quantity (quite five to one it seemed) and in the possession of high explosive shell, of which the enemy had none: but we were cruelly handicapped (_a_) by the fact that their men and guns were entrenched and ours exposed; and (_b_) by the mirage, which made the location of their trenches and emplacements almost impossible. I had better not say much about the battle yet, but I will give a rough sketch and describe our own experiences. I will only say this, that the two great difficulties our side had to contend with were: (1) the inability of the artillery to locate anything with certainly in the mists and mirage, and (2) the difficulty of finding and getting round the enemy's flanks. Either they had a far larger force than we expected, or they were very skilfully spread out--for they covered an amazingly wide front, quite eight miles, I should say, or more. The battle was interesting to watch, but not exciting. The noise of the shells from field guns is exactly like that of a rocket going up. When the shell is coming towards you, there is a sharper hiss in it, like a whip. It gives you a second or two to get under cover and then crack-whizz as the shrapnel whizzes out. The heavy shells from the monitors, etc., make a noise more like a landslide of pebbles down a beach, only blurred as if echoed. Bobbety's "silk dress swishing through the air" does his imagination credit, but is not quite accurate, nor does it express the spirit of the things quite! About 3.30 we had orders to cross to the left bank. As we passed over the bridge, we put up two duck, who had been swimming there peacefully with the shells flying over their heads every half minute for hours. When we reached the left bank we marched as if to reinforce our right flank. Presently the Brigadier made us line out into echelon of companies in line in single rank, so that from a distance we looked like a brigade, instead of three companies. About 4 we came up to a howitzer battery and lay down about 200 yards from it, thus: [Illustration] We had lain there about ten minutes when a hiss, crack, whizz, and shells began to arrive, invariably in pairs, about where I've put the 1 and 2. We had a fine view. The first notice we had of each shell was the sudden appearance of a white puff, about thirty feet above ground, then a spatter of dust about thirty yards to the right, then the hiss-crack-whizz. They were ranging on the battery, but after a minute or two they spotted the ammunition column, and a pair of shells burst at 3, then a pair at 4. So the column retreated in a hurry along the dotted arrow, and the shells following them began to catch us in enfilade. So Foster made us rise and move to the left in file. Just as we were up, a pair burst right over my platoon. I can't conceive why nobody was hit. I noticed six bullets strike the ground in a semi-circle between me and the nearest man three paces away, and everyone else noticed the same kind of thing, but nobody was touched. I don't suppose the enemy saw us at all: anyway, the next pair pitched 100 yards beyond us, following the mules, and wounded three men in C. Company: and the next got two men of B.--all flesh wounds and not severe. They never touched the ammunition column. We lay down in a convenient ditch, and only one more pair came our way, as the enemy was ranging back to the battery. Of this pair, one hit the edge of the ditch and buried itself without exploding, and the other missed with its bullets, while the case bounced along and hit a sergeant on the backside, not even bruising it. Just before 5 we got orders to advance in artillery formation. My platoon led, and we followed a course shown by the dotted line. We went through the battery and about 300 yards beyond, and then had orders to return to camp. On this trip (which was mere window-dressing) no shell came nearer than fifty yards: in fact our own battery made us jump much more. The whole episode was much more interesting than alarming. Fear is seated in the imagination, I think, and vanishes once the mind can assert itself. One feels very funky in the cold nights when nothing is happening: but if one has to handle men under fire, one is braced up and one's attention is occupied. I expect rifle fire is much more trying: but the fact that shell-fire is more or less unaimed at one individually, and also the warning swish, gives one a feeling of great security. We got back to camp near the river (4 on sketch) about 6, and dug a perimeter, hoping to settle down for the night. But at 7.30 orders came to move at 9.30. We were told that an enemy force had worked round our right flank, and that our brigade had to do a night march eastward down the river and attack it at dawn. So at 10 p.m. we marched with just a blanket apiece, leaving our kits in the camp. After we had gone, the Q.M. made up a big fire and got in no fewer than fifty-two wounded, who were trying to struggle back to the field dressing station from the firing line four or five miles away. The fire attracted them and parties went out to help them in. I think it is very unsatisfactory that beyond the regimental stretcher-bearers there is no ambulance to bring the wounded back: and how can a dozen stretchers convey 300 casualties five miles? It is a case of _sauve qui peut_ for the wounded: and when they get to the dressing station the congestion is very bad, thirty men in a tent, and only three or four doctors to deal with 3,000 or 4,000 wounded. I mention this as confirming my previous criticism of the medical service here. Well, we started out at 10 p.m. and marched slowly and silently till nearly midnight. Then we bivouacked for four-and-a-half-hours (5 on sketch,) and a more uncomfortable time I hope never to spend. We had not dared bring rugs for fear of losing them in the subsequent attack, so I had nothing but my Burberry, a muffler and a woollen helmet. The ground was bare earth everywhere, very damp and cold. I lay in a ditch and slept for three-quarters-of-an hour, and then woke with extremely cold feet, so I walked about a little, and then, finding Foster in the same case, we both took off our Burberrys and laid one under us and one above and lay like babes in the wood. This expedient kept one flank nicely warm, and soon I got North to make a pillow of my other thigh, which kept _that_ warm: but from the knees downwards I was incurably cold and never got to sleep again. The men were better off, having each a blanket, and sleeping in packets of four. _Saturday._ At last 4.30 a.m. arrived and we started marching again. It was a blessing to get one's feet warm but the pleasures of the march were strictly comparative. We trekked on eastwards along the river-bank till sunrise, 7 a.m., when we came on a camp of Arabs who fled shrieking at our approach (6 on sketch.) At 7.30, we halted and had breakfast. Our united efforts failed to find enough fuel to boil a kettle. We waited till 9, when the cavalry patrols returned and reported no sign of the enemy, so we marched back to the pontoon bridge (7 on sketch). I suspect our re-entry _qua_ stage reinforcements was the whole object of our expedition, and the out-flankers were a myth from the beginning. The march back was the most unpleasant we've had. It got hot and the ground was hard and rough and we were all very tired and footsore. A sleepless night takes the stamina out of one. There and back our trek was about twelve miles. On arrival at the bridge we were only allowed half-an-hour's rest and then got orders to march out to take up an 'observation post' on the right flank. Being general reserve is no sinecure with bluffing tactics prevailing. This last lap was extremely trying. We marched in artillery formation, all very lame and stiff. We passed behind our yesterday's friend, the howitzer battery, but at a more respectful distance from the enemy's battery. This latter showed no sign of life till we were nearly two miles from the river. Then it started its double deliveries and some of them came fairly close to some of our platoon, but not to mine. It took us nearly two hours to drag ourselves three miles and the men had hardly a kick in them when we reached the place assigned for our post (8 on sketch). We were ordered to entrench in echelon of companies facing North. I thought it would take till dark to get us dug in (it was 2 p.m.); but luckily our men, lined up ready to begin digging, caught the eye of the enemy as a fine enfilade target (or else they saw our first line mules) and they started shelling us from 6,500 yards (Enemy's battery, 9 on sketch). The effect on the men was magical. They woke up and dug so well that we had fair cover within half an hour and quite adequate trenches by 3. This bombardment was quite exciting. The first few pairs were exactly over "D" Company's trench, but pitched about 100 yards beyond it. The next few were exactly right in range, but about forty yards right, _i.e._ behind us. Just as we were wondering where the third lot would be, our faithful howitzer battery and some heavy guns behind them, which opened all they knew on the enemy battery as soon as they opened on us, succeeded in attracting its fire to themselves. This happened three or four times. Just as they were getting on to us the artillery saved us: there would be a sharp artillery duel and then the Turks would lie quiet for ten minutes, then begin on us again. This went on until we were too well dug in to be a tempting target, and they devoted themselves to our battery. The curious part of it was that though we could see the flash of their guns every time, the mirages made it impossible to judge their ranges or even for our battery to observe its own fire properly. Our howitzer battery unfortunately was not in a mirage, and they had its range to a yard and plastered it with shrapnel. If they had had high explosives they could have smashed it. About 4.30 the mirage cleared and our guns had a free go for the first time that day: (in the morning mists last until the mirage begins). I'm told the mirage had put our guns over 1,000 yards out in their ranging, but I doubt this. Anyway it is the fact that those guns and trenches which were sited in mirages were practically untouched in a heavy two days' bombardment. In that last hour, however, between 4.20 and dark, our heavy guns got into the enemy finely with their high explosives. They blew one of our tormentors bodily into the air at 10,500 yards, and silenced the others, and chased every Turk out of the landscape. All the same, we were rather gloomy that night. Our line had made no progress that we could hear of; we had had heavy losses (none in our battalion), and there seemed no prospect of dislodging the enemy. Their front was so wide we could not get round them, and frontal attacks on trenches are desperate affairs here if your artillery is paralysed by mirages. The troops who have come from France say that in this respect this action has been more trying than either Neuve Chappelle or Ypres, because, as they say, it is like advancing over a billiard-table all the way. To crown our troubles, we were three miles from the river, which meant no water except for necessities--the men had no kits, and it was very cold, and we could not show lights. And finally, after midnight, it began to pour with rain! _Sunday._ At 5.30 we stood to arms. It rained harder than ever and most of us hadn't a dry stitch. At last it got light, the rain gradually stopped, and a thoroughly depressed battalion breakfasted in a grey mist, expecting to be bombarded the moment it lifted. About 8.30 the mist cleared a little, and we looked in vain for our tormentors. Our cavalry reconnoitred and, to our joy, we saw them ride clean over the place where the enemy's line had been the evening before. They had gone in the night. A cold but drying wind sprang up and the sun came out for a short time, and we managed to get our things dry. At 1 o'clock we marched back to the river and found the bridge gone. I think this makes a good place to stop, as it marks the end of our first series of adventures and of the no doubt by now famous battle of D. I enclose a sketch-map to explain our movements. For obvious reasons I can't say much about the battle itself. (I will briefly bring this up to date, post it and try to get a cable through to you.) When we reached the river (10 on sketch), it began to rain again and we spent a very chill and damp afternoon on the bank awaiting orders. About dusk B. and C. Companies were ordered to cross the river to guard the hospital there, and D. stayed to guard the hospital on the left bank. Mercifully our ship was handy, so we got our tents and slept warm, though all our things were wettish. _Monday._ A quiet morning, no orders. A Scotch mist shrouded everything till noon and kept our things damp, but the sun got through at last. C. Company returned to left bank, as all wounded were being shipped across. (N.B. They had to bring them across in our ship. There is still no sign of the Red Cross motor boats up _here_, though I'm glad to hear they've reached Basra.) We got orders to march to D. by night. We started at 8 p.m., "B." Company marching parallel on the other bank. It was seven or eight miles, but we went very slow, and did not get in till 1.30 and our transport not till nearly 3, heavy guns sticking in the ditches. (N.B. Once we got behind the evacuated Turkish line, we found that the ditches had been filled in to allow passage of guns, an expedient which had apparently not occurred to the British Command, for no ditch had been filled in between B, and this point!) _Tuesday._ When morning came we found ourselves camped just opposite D. (11 on sketch), and we are still there. Two fine days (though it freezes at night) and rest have restored us. A mail arrived this morning, bringing letters to December 7th, and your medical parcels. I only returned you the quinine and bandages, of which people in Amara have plenty. They will come in handy for you to send out again. _Here_ everything medical can be used, but I couldn't have brought any more than I did. As it is, I've left a lot at Amarah. I must close now. On these cold nights the little kitchener is invaluable, so is the soup. Of the various brands you sent, Ivelcon is the best. The chocolate is my mainstay on day marches. Also the Diet Tablets are very good. Bivouac Cocoa is also good. The Kaross is invaluable. Stanford's Map has arrived. * * * * * ON THE E. CANAL. _Saturday, January 15th_, 1916. TO HIS MOTHER. I will continue my account of our doings in diary form. Last week we had a kind of general introduction to war. The last few days we have seen a few of its more gruesome details. _12th, Wednesday._ After posting your letter and one to Luly I read some of the Mail's papers. We have had absolutely no outside news since January 1st, and get very little even of the operations of our own force. I then went to see Foster who has had to go sick and lives on our supply ship. About 20 per cent. of our men are sick, mostly diarrhoea and sore feet. The former is no doubt due to Tigris water. They don't carry the chlorinating plant on trek, and men often have to replenish water-bottles during short halts. Personally I have so far avoided unboiled water. I have my bottle filled with tea before leaving camp, and can make that last me forty-eight hours, and eke it out with soup or cocoa in the Little Kitchener at bivouacs. In the evening "D." Company had to find a firing party to shoot three Indians, two N.C.Os. and one sepoy, for cowardice in the face of the enemy. I'm thankful that North and not I was detailed for the job. I think there is nothing more horrible in all war than these executions. Luckily they are rare. The men, however, didn't mind at all. I talked to the corporal about it afterwards--a particularly nice and youthful one, one of my draft--and remarked that it was a nasty job for him to have to do. to which he replied gaily, "Well, sir, I 'ad a bit o' rust in my barrel wanted shootin' out, so it came in handy like." T.A. is a wonderful and attractive creature. _13th, Thursday._ Moved at 7 a.m., carrying food and water for two days. The enemy had been located on the E. Canal, about eight miles from D., and our people were going to attack them. The idea was to hold them in front with a small force, while a much bigger force got round their left flank (the Canal is on the left bank of the river). Our brigade was to support the frontal containing force. We marched about four miles and then halted about 9 a.m. There was a strong and cold S.E. wind blowing, which prevented our hearing any firing, and we could see very little shelling. Our air plane first reported that a certain fort, which stood about a mile in advance of the enemy's left flank, was strongly held; but we seem to have shelled them out of that pretty easily, for about 2 p.m. it reported again that the enemy had left his trenches on the Canal. About 3.30 p.m. we advanced, and reached the aforesaid fort a little before sunset. Here we heard various alarming and depressing reports, the facts underlying which, as far as I can make out at present, were these. The Turks, seeing their left flank being turned, quitted their position and engaged the outflanking force, leaving only about 500 out of their 9,000 to hold the canal. Our outflanking force, finding itself heavily engaged, sent and asked the frontal force to advance, to relieve the pressure. The frontal force, hearing at the same time that the Turks had quitted their Canal trenches, advanced too rashly and were surprised and heavily punished by the remnant left along the Canal, losing half their force and being obliged to retire. So when they met us they naturally gave us the impression that there was a large force still holding the Canal, which we should have to tackle in the morning. We dug ourselves in about 2,000 yards from the Canal. It was very cold and windy, and we had not even a blanket, though I had luckily brought both my greatcoat and Burberry. There was a small mud hut just behind our trench, littered with Turkish rags. The signallers made a fire inside, and two stray Sikhs had rolled themselves up in a corner. It was not an inviting spot, but it was a choice between dirt and cold, and I had no hesitation in choosing dirt. So after a chill dinner, at which I drank neat lime-juice and neat brandy alternately (to save my water-bottle intact), I turned into the hut. The other officers (except North) at first disdained it with disgust, but as the night wore on they dropped in one by one, till by midnight we were lying in layers like sardines. The Colonel was the last to surrender. I have a great admiration for him. He is too old for this kind of game, and feels the cold and fatigue very much: but he not only never complains, but is always quietly making the best of things for everyone and taking less than his share of anything good that is going. Nothing would induce him, on this occasion, to lie near the fire. _14th, Friday._ The night having passed more pleasantly than could have been expected, we stood to arms in the trenches at 5.30 a.m. This is a singularly unpleasing process, especially when all you have to look forward to is the prospect of attacking 9,000 Turks in trenches behind a Canal! But one's attention is fully occupied in trying to keep warm. As soon as it was light we got orders to advance and marched in artillery formation to within 1,200 yards of the Canal, where we found some hastily begun trenches of the day before, and proceeded to deepen them. As there was no sign of the enemy, the conviction grew on us that he must have gone in the night; and presently the order came to stop entrenching and form a line to clear up the battlefield, _i.e._ the space between us and the Canal. This included burying the dead and picking up wounded, as the stretcher parties which had tried to bring the wounded in during the night had been heavily fired on and unable to get further than where we were. I had never seen a dead man and rather dreaded the effect on my queasy stomach; but when it came to finding, searching and burying them one by one, all sense of horror--though they were not pleasant to look upon--was forgotten in an overmastering feeling of pity, such as one feels at the tragic ending of a moving story, only so oppressive as to make the whole scene like a sad and impersonal dream, on which and as in a dream my mind kept recurring to a tableau which I must have seen over fifteen years ago in Madame Tussaud's of Edith finding the body of Harold after the battle of Hastings, and indeed the stiff corpses were more like waxen models than anything that had lived. The wounded were by comparison a cheerful company, though their sufferings during the eighteen hours they had lain there must have been fearful: but the satisfaction of being able to bring them in was our predominant feeling. In the middle of this work we were suddenly recalled and ordered to march to the support of the outflanking force, of whose movements we had heard absolutely nothing. But when we had fallen in, all they did was to march us to the Canal, and thence along it back to the river, where we encamped about 1 p.m. and still are. It was a great comfort to be within reach of water again, though the wind and rain have made the river so muddy that a mug of water from it looks exactly like a mug of tea with milk in it. The wind had continued unabated for two days and now blew almost a gale. The dust was intolerable and made any attempts at washing hopeless. Indeed one's eyes got so full of it the moment they were opened that we sat blinking like owls or shut them altogether. So it was a cheerless afternoon, with rain threatening. Our supply ship with our tents had not come up, but the Major (Stillwell) had a bivouac tent on the second line transport, which he invited me to share, an offer which I gladly accepted. We made it as air-tight as possible, and built a wall of lumps of hard-baked mud to protect us from snipers, and slept quite reasonably warm. It came on to rain heavily in the night, so I was lucky to be under shelter. _15th, Saturday._ This morning it rained on and off till nearly noon, and the wind blew all day and the sun never got properly through: but the rain had laid the dust. _N.B._--With regard to parcels, none are arriving now, just when they're wanted. The fact is they have to economise their transport most rigidly. A staff officer told me that our supply of river-boats just enables one boat (with its pair of barges alongside) to reach us every day; our food for one day fills one entire barge, so that you can imagine there is not much room to spare after ammunition and other war material has been put on board. The mahila convoys are extra, but as they take several weeks to do the journey their help is limited. I have just seen the padre who has been working in the field dressing station. In his station there were two doctors, two nursing orderlies and two native sweepers; and these had to cope with 750 white wounded for five days till they could ship them down the river. Altogether our casualties in the two battles have been well over 5,000, so the Turk has rather scored. This afternoon news is ([Greek: a]) that we have got a new Brigadier. Our brigade manages its commanders on the principle of the caliph and his wives, and has not yet found a Sherazade. ([Greek: b]) that we have got a brigade M.O.O. ambulance. This is a luxury indeed. We are only just over twenty miles from C. now, so we hope to get through after one more battle. _16th, Sunday._ Still in camp. No sun. More rain. Friday's gale and the rise in the river has scattered our only pontoon bridge, and Heaven knows when another will be ready. All our skilled bridge-builders are in C. The people here seem quite incapable of even bridging the Canal, twenty feet wide. Typical, very. I want a new shaving brush--badger's hair, not too large. Mail just going. Best love. _P.S._--We had a Celebration on a boat this morning, which I was very glad of, also a voluntary parade service. * * * * * LAST LETTER FROM R.P. TO L. PALMER GIVING STORY FROM JANUARY 12TH TO JANUARY 21ST. I wrote you last week a summary of our doings during the battle of D. Now I will tell you what we have done since, though it is mostly unpleasant. The evening after I posted last week's letter "D." Coy. had to find a firing party to shoot a havildar, a lance-naik and a sepoy for cowardice in face of the enemy. Thank goodness North and not I was detailed for it. They helped dig their own graves and were very brave about it. They lay down in the graves to be shot. Corp. Boughey was one of the party and when I condoled with him afterwards on the unpleasantness of the job, he replied, "Well, Sir, I 'ad a bit of rust in my barrel wanted shootin' out so it come in handy like"! _Thursday, 13th._ We marched at 7 carrying food and water for two days. We were in support of the frontal containing force. The enemy were on the Canal, eight miles off. We marched about four miles and then halted, and waited most of the day for orders. A strong S.E. wind prevented us hearing anything of the battle but we could see a certain amount of shelling. About 3 p.m. we got orders to go up in support of the frontal force, which (we were told) had advanced, the enemy having abandoned the Canal. We marched another three miles to a fort, which stood about one and a quarter miles from the Canal, and from which we had driven the enemy in the morning. Here we waited till after dark, when we heard that the frontal force had blundered into a Turkish rearguard holding the Canal, and had lost heavily and been obliged to retire. It is these disconcerting surprises which try one's spirit more than anything else. We ate a cold and cheerless supper just beyond the fort, and then dug ourselves in, with other units of our brigade on either side of us. It was windy and very cold. There was a small and filthy hut with every mark of recent Turkish use, just behind the trench, but sooner or later every officer (I among the first) came to the conclusion that dirt was preferable to cold, and we all packed in round a fire which our signallers had lit there. _Friday, 14th._ After a tolerable night we stood to arms at 5.30, a wholly displeasing process. As soon as it was light, we advanced to within 1,200 yds. of the Canal and started digging in. But it soon became clear that the enemy had cleared out in the night, so we stopped digging and started to clear up the battlefield, _i.e._, the space between us and the Canal. The stretcher parties had been out during the night, but they had been fired on so heavily that they could not get beyond the 1,200 yd. line, so there were wounded to pick up as well as dead to bury and equipment to collect. The dead were so pitiable that one quite forgot their ghastliness; but it was a gruesome job searching their pockets. The poor wounded had had a fearful time too, lying out in the cold all night, but the satisfaction of getting them in cheered one up. The ground was simply littered with pointed bullets. In the middle of this job we were recalled and told to march to the support of our outflanking force; but by the time we were collected and fallen in the need for our assistance had apparently passed, for we were merely marched to the Canal and then along it to where it joins the river; where we have been ever since. We got into camp here soon after noon, and were very glad to be within reach of water again. The weather was the limit. It blew a gale all the afternoon, and the dust was so bad one could hardly open one's eyes. We had no tents, but the Major (Stilwell) had a bivouac and invited me in with him, which was a blessing as it rained all night. _Saturday, 15th._ Rained all the morning on and off. Afternoon grey and cold. Nothing doing and no news. Sniping at night. _Sunday, 16th._ Morning grey and cold. Rained all the afternoon and is still at it (8 p.m.). Padre held a celebration on one of the boats, and an open air voluntary parade service. Dug a bridge-head perimetre. We are waiting for the bridge. The gale and the river bust it. _Monday, 17th._ Rained on and off all day. Grey, cold and windy. Ordered to cross river as soon as bridge is ready. Bridge reported ready 6 p.m. so we struck camp. We took only what blankets we could carry. When we reached the bridge, we found it not finished, and squatted till 8.15. Then the bridge was finished and immediately broke. So we had to come back to camp and bivouac. Luckily the officers tents were recoverable, but not the men's. _Tuesday, 18th._ Rain stopped at 8 a.m. Whole place a sea of mud ankle deep, and slippery as butter. Nearly the whole bridge had been washed away or sunk in the night. We got men's tents from the ship, cleared spaces from mud and pitched camp again. Rain started again about 1 p.m. and continued till 4. The Canal or "Wadi" had meanwhile come down in heavy spate and broken that bridge, so we were doubly isolated. I went out to post piquets. It took two hours to walk three miles. Jubber Khan sick all day, so I had to manage for myself, helped by North's bearer. Foster being sick North is O.C. "D." Coy. and I share a 40lb. tent with him. He is 2/4th, son of the Duke of Wellington's Agent at Strathfieldsaye, but has served three years in N. Rhodesia, so is quite used to camp life. Desultory bombardment all day. _Wednesday 19th._ Sun at last; first fine day since Thursday last. Orders to cross Wadi as soon as bridge repaired. Crossed at 4 p.m. and camped in a dry place. _Thursday, 20th._ Fair, sun, heavy bombardment all day. Post going. * * * * * ACCOUNT OF FIGHTING WHICH TOOK PLACE IN THE ATTACK ON THE TURKISH POSITION OF UM EL HANNA, ON JANUARY 21ST, 1916. _By an Officer who was There._ The Turkish position, which is about ten miles up stream from Shaikh Saad, is on the left bank of the Tigris. The position is a very strong one, thoroughly entrenched, with the river protecting its right flank and absolutely secured on its left flank by a very extensive marsh which stretches for miles. Our camp was about five miles from the Turkish position (downstream) but our forward trenches were within about 1,000 yards of it. On January 20th our guns bombarded the enemy's trenches at intervals during the day, and on the following morning at 3 a.m. we moved out of camp preparatory to the attack which was to commence about 6.30 a.m. The ---- Brigade was to push the main attack with the ---- Brigade (ours) in support of it, whilst a third brigade was to make a holding attack on our right. The leading brigade entrenched itself during the night within about 500 yards of the position, whilst our Regiment with one Indian Regiment formed the first line of supports. We were in our trenches about 1,000 yards from the enemy's position, ready to make the attack, by 6 a.m. For some reason, which I do not know, the attack was delayed, and our guns did not open fire till 7.45 a.m. instead of 6.30 as originally intended. At 7.55 a.m. after our guns had bombarded the enemy's trenches for only ten minutes the infantry were ordered to advance to the attack, our support line advancing at the same time. Our Battalion, which consisted of three Companies (one Coy. being in Kut-el-Amara) advanced in three lines, "B" Coy. forming the first line under Lieut. Needham, "C" Coy. the second line under Capt. Page Roberts, and "D" Coy. the third line under Capt. North with Capt. the Hon. R. Palmer as his 2nd in command. Lt.-Col. Bowker was with the third line. As soon as we left the trenches we were under a heavy rifle fire, and as we advanced this became more and more intense, with machine gun and shrapnel fire added. The ground was perfectly flat and open with no form of cover to be obtained, and our casualties soon became very heavy. We continued to advance till we got to within about 150 yards of the enemy's trenches, but by this time our casualties were so heavy that it was impossible to press home the attack without reinforcements, though at the extreme left of our line, our troops actually got into the first line of trenches, but were bombed out of them again by the Turks. No reinforcements reached us, however, and we afterwards heard that the Regiment which should have come up in support of us was enfiladed from their right and was consequently drawn off in that direction. All we could do now was to hold on where we were, making what cover we could with our entrenching tools, and this we did until darkness came on, when we withdrew. The weather had been terrible all that day and night, there being heavy rain with a bitterly cold wind coming off the snow hills. The ground became a sea of mud which made it most difficult to remove the wounded, and many of these had to lie out till the armistice was arranged the following day. * * * * * FURTHER DESCRIPTIONS OF THE FIGHT AT UM EL HANNA, BY EYE-WITNESSES. _By an Officer of the 4th Hants._ "The fighting on the 21st was a pure slaughter. It was too awful.... "The troops from France say that in all their experience there they never suffered so much from weather conditions. "We were wet to the skin and there was a bitter wind coming off the snow hills. Many poor fellows died from exposure that night, I am afraid; and many of the wounded were lying out for more than twenty-four hours until the armistice was arranged the following day." * * * * * _Another written down from a Private's account._ "The three Companies of Hampshires were in support, with two native Regiments, and a Battalion of Connaught Rangers. The Black Watch and Seaforths were in the firing line. The Hants men were next the river. The two native Regiments refused to leave their trenches when they saw the fierce fire from the machine guns. The Connaughts were fighting further off. So the Hampshire men were obliged to go on alone. 'We never made a rush, and just walked slowly through the rain. A slow march to our deaths, I call it.'" He then said they had got mixed up with the Black Watch and got into the first Turkish trench, but had been driven out of it again. He saw Capt. Palmer fall about 200 yards from the trench but did not see whether he got up again, or where he was wounded. * * * * * THORNFIELD, BITTERNE, SOUTHAMPTON, _10th August_, 1916. DEAR LADY SELBORNE, I have just received a letter from 2nd Lt. C.H. Vernon, 1/4 Hants (really 2/7 Hants attached) recording his search for my son's body on the 7th April, 1916, its discovery (as he believes) and its burial. He also adds that "at the same time he looked for Capt. Palmer's, but could not find him. It was afterwards that he heard of his death in the Turkish Camp," and he adds, "Some stories have come through from survivors as to how he lost his life. As far as we can gather, he was the only Hants officer actually to penetrate the Turkish trenches with a few men. That was on the extreme left close to the river. Our men, however, had not been supplied by the Indian Government with bombs. Consequently the Turks, being so provided, bombed them out, and only one or two men escaped capture or death. It was here that Capt. Palmer was mortally wounded while trying to rally his men to hold the captured sector." I think you may like to have this extract about your gallant son. (_Signed_) J.T. BUCKNILL. * * * * * 42, PALL MALL, LONDON, S.W. _8th March_, 1916. The Hampshires were informed that another Battalion was in front of them, and advanced without returning the hostile fire till they got to 1,000 yards from the Turkish trenches--they then found out that there were no British troops in front, so opened fire and advanced. The Connaught Rangers on their right remained behind when they found out the mistake. Two native Battalions in reserve refused to budge, although their officers threatened them with their revolvers. The artillery preparation proved insufficient, but the Hampshires got into shell holes and held on till dark. The medical arrangements broke down, there were insufficient stretcher-bearers, and no chloroform or sufficient bandages. No mention is made of the Arabs, however. There were seventy-five rank and file returned as missing after the fight, and a subaltern, Lieut. Lester Garland, took over the command of the Battalion when my brother collapsed. The Turks claimed to have captured five officers in one action, but there is so much "fog of war" in those parts that it is difficult to identify their claims. (_Signed_) G.H. STILWELL. * * * * * 42, PALL MALL. LONDON, S.W. _1st May_, 1916. At the armistice to collect the wounded it was agreed that all officers and men that fell within 200 yards of the Turkish trenches should be picked up and retained by the Turks as prisoners, while all beyond that zone should be removed by us. Your son was seen within 100 yards of the Turkish trench when he fell, and it was reported that four of his men actually got inside the trench, but were driven out by bombs. My son was with the next platoon to yours, and Bucknill was a little further on. They were obviously well in front, and fell in the enemy's zone. (_Signed_) G.H. STILWELL. * * * * * 1/4TH HAMPSHIRE REGIMENT, I.E.F. "D," C/O INDIA OFFICE, S.W. _20th February_, 1916. I received your cable enquiring about your son to-day, and have wired to the Adjutant General at the base at Basra enquiring whether he has any information not known to the Regiment, as I very much regret to say we have none whatever. All we know is that he started in the attack on the Turkish trenches on the 21st January and has not been seen since. I write to-day as the mail is leaving, but will cable as soon as I get a reply from the base. Out of 310 who went into the attack we had 288 casualties. Bucknill and a good many men are missing as well. There was great difficulty in getting the wounded back as it had to be done at night and the rain and mud were appalling. There was an armistice next day, but we were not allowed to go within a certain distance of the Turkish trenches, so all wounded within that area are probably prisoners. One other officer of ours was captured and we only found that out incidentally. There has been no official list of prisoners and I don't think the Army Headquarters here know who was taken. I don't know whether you would have the means of getting this from the Turks through the War Office. I believe attempts are being made here. I think there is a chance of his being a prisoner as the Regiment got pretty near the trenches, but I can get no information from any of our men. I will cable at once if I hear anything. I saw yesterday a copy of the _Pioneer_ (Allahabad) for January 30th, and that reported your son wounded. I hoped, therefore, that he had been sent to India and the medical people in this country had omitted to make any record of it, but I imagine in that case he would surely have cabled to you himself, and I fear the only hope is that he may be a prisoner of war. Your son was attached to my Company latterly and besides being very keen and capable was a great favourite with the men, and we all miss him very much indeed. I hope your Lordship will accept my deepest sympathy in your anxiety, and I sincerely hope that your son may be safe. (_Signed_) H.M. FOSTER, _Capt. 1/4th Hants Regt._ * * * * * H.M.S. "MANTIS," _May_, 1916. DEAR LORD SELBORNE. I am more grieved than I can say to have given you the news which I telegraphed yesterday. I know how cruel the anxiety of doubt is, and telegraphed to you when I had the evidence which I and my friends here considered reliable. About six days ago I went out to the Turks to discuss terms for the surrender of Kut. I spent the night in their camp and have been with them several times since then. I asked them for information about three names. About two of the names I could get little information. On the third day I received a message from Ali Jenab Bey, telling me that your son had died in hospital, and that all that could be done for him had been done, and asking me to tell you how deeply he sympathised with you. The next day Ali Jenab and two other Turks came into our camp. One of them, Mohammed Riza, a relation of Jenab Pashas, told me that your son had been brought in after the fight on the 21st, slightly wounded in the shoulder and badly wounded in the chest. He had been well looked after by the Doctors and the Colonel of the Regiment (I could not find out which Regiment) had visited him, and at the Doctor's wish sent him some brandy. He did not suffer and the end came after four hours. It is useless to try to tell you how sorry I feel for you and all of yours. In this campaign, which in my mind has been the most heroic of all, many of our men who have given their lives have suffered very long and very terribly, and when one hears of a friend who has gone, one is glad in this place, to know that he has been spared that sacrifice. I am, Yours very sincerely, (_Signed_) AUBREY HERBERT. * * * * * APPENDIX I. THE OFFICIAL ACCOUNT OF THE BATTLE TAKEN FROM SIR PERCY LAKE'S DESPATCH TO THE WAR OFFICE, PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1916. _It will be noticed that it differs from the private accounts in one or two particulars._ _1st phase--January 19--23._ After the battle of Wadi River General Aylmer's leading troops had followed the retreating Turks to the Umm-el-Hannah position, and entrenched themselves at the mouth of the defile, so as to shut the enemy in and limit his power of taking the offensive. The weather at this period was extraordinarily unfavourable. Heavy rains caused the river to come down in flood and overflow its banks, and converted the ground on either bank into a veritable bog. Our bridge across the Wadi was washed away several times, while the boisterous winds greatly interfered with the construction of a bridge across the Tigris, here some 400 yards in width. It was essential to establish Artillery on the right bank of the Tigris, so as to support, by enfilading fire, the attack of our Infantry against the Hannah position. Guns and troops were ferried across, with difficulty, owing to the high wind and heavy squalls of rain, but by the 19th all troops allotted to the right bank had crossed over and were established in the positions from which they were required to co-operate with the main force on the left bank. Meanwhile, the leading Infantry Brigades on the left bank had pushed nearer the enemy. January 20th was devoted to a systematic bombardment of his position, and during the night the Infantry pushed forward their advanced line to within 200 yards of the enemy's trenches. On the morning of the 21st, under cover of an intensive Artillery bombardment, our Infantry moved to the attack. On our right the troops got to within 100 yards of the enemy's line, but were unable to advance further. Our left column, consisting of the Black Watch, 6th Jats, and 41st Dogras, penetrated the front line with a rush, capturing trenches, which they held for about an hour and a half. Supports were sent forward, but, losing direction and coming under heavy fire, failed to reach them. Thus, left unsupported, our previously successful troops, when Turkish counter-attacks developed, were overwhelmed by numbers and forced to retire. Heavy rain now began to fall and continued throughout the day. Telephone communication broke down, and communication by orderly became slow and uncertain. After further artillery bombardment the attack was renewed at 1 p.m., but by this time the heavy rain had converted the ground into a sea of mud, rendering rapid movement impossible. The enemy's fire was heavy and effective, inflicting severe losses, and though every effort was made, the assault failed. Our troops maintained their position until dark and then slowly withdrew to the main trenches which had been previously occupied, some 1,300 yards from those of the enemy. As far as possible all the wounded were brought in during the withdrawal, but their sufferings and hardships were acute under the existing climatic conditions, when vehicles and stretcher-bearers could scarcely move in the deep mud. To renew the attack on the 22nd was not practicable. The losses on the 21st had been heavy, the ground was still a quagmire and the troops exhausted. A six hours' armistice was arranged in order to bury the dead and remove the wounded to shelter. I cannot sufficiently express my admiration for the courage and dogged determination of the force engaged. For days they bivouacked in driving rain on soaked and sodden ground. Three times they were called upon to advance over a perfectly flat country, deep in mud, and absolutely devoid of cover, against well-constructed and well-planned trenches, manned by a brave and stubborn enemy approximately their equal in numbers. They showed a spirit of endurance and self-sacrifice of which their country may well be proud. * * * * * APPENDIX II. EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS FROM OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE 6TH HANTS. Your son was universally liked and respected by all ranks in this Battalion, and one and all will regret his death and loss as much as I do, who knew his sterling worth. His memory will be ever cherished by his brother officers with whom he was so popular. (_Signed_) F.H. PLAYFAIR, _Col_. I was indeed sorry to receive your letter which my brother sent on to me, giving the news of your son's death from his wounds in the Turkish trenches. I had great hopes that his wound might have been a slight one. May I offer Lady Selborne and yourself the most sincere sympathy both of the Regiment and myself in this most sad loss which has come to you. I can assure you both officers and men of the Regiment will miss him tremendously as he was so popular with all. (_Signed_) W. B. STILWELL, _Major_. ---- shewed me the wire about Robert yesterday morning. I can't tell you how sorry I feel for you all. I know I have never lost anyone who meant anything like so much to me, and I am sure that his friendship was one of the greatest blessings for me, in every way, that God could have given me. When a fellow not only has such ideals but actually lives up to them with the determination and consistency with which Robert did, I think there is something very triumphant about his life. Anyway I know that his influence will live on, not in his friends alone, but in everyone with whom he came in contact. I wish you could know what a tremendous lot people thought of him in the Regiment, both officers and men, some of whom had little in common with him. With deepest sympathy for you all. Yours very sincerely, (_Signed_) PUREFOY CAUSTON. FROM A PRIVATE SOLDIER. I had only seen that Robert Palmer had been wounded; the issue giving the subsequent and very terrible report had escaped me. I am more sorry than I can well express. Though I didn't know him personally yet it didn't take long to recognise him as one of the great strengths in the Battalion, it was noticeable from the very first, from the way he handled his Company and went about working for them--on the "Ultonia" it struck me. EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS FROM SCHOOL AND COLLEGE FRIENDS. Accept my most grateful thanks for your kind words of sympathy. As you say, this war, with all its terrible consequences, "had to be," and it is some comfort to us to know that our sons, meant for other things than violence, took their part in it serenely and cheerfully, with no misgivings. I often think of your dear boy and of what he said about the war in that sonnet. But what I most often think of him, as I can of my own son, is "Blessed are the pure in heart." (_Signed_) A.K. COOK. I had looked forward myself to a great career for him: he had so many qualities to ensure success: a sharp, keen mind, which proved its literary quality also at Oxford, an unfailing earnestness and high purpose and a white character: no one could deny the brilliance and the steadiness of his gifts. (_Signed_) M.J. RENDALL. I have just received the "Wykehamist War Roll" and _The Wykehamist_ and in it find the sad news of your boy. I did not know definite news had been received and was still hoping. May I add my letter of sympathy to the many you will have had from all his friends, for though sympathy does not do much good it does sometimes help a little I believe, and say how very, very much I feel for you and Lady Selborne in your loss. He was my senior prefect my first year at "Cook's," and there never was a kinder, fairer and more liked prefect by the small boys all the time I was there, and indeed I think I have never met a better fellow anywhere. (_Signed_) F. LUTTMAN-JOHNSON. I have only just learned from the announcement in to-day's papers that you have no longer any ground for hoping against hope. I did not mean to write to you, but the sense of the loss and of how England will miss him in the years to come has been so strongly in my mind all day that I thought perhaps you would not mind my trying to put it into words. I did not see very much of him, but I have never forgotten the first impression of him that I got as external examiner at Winchester, when he was in Sixth Book and how I felt he was marked out for big work, and I had always looked forward to getting to know him better. It makes one feel very, very old when those on whom one relied to carry on one's work and ideas are taken. But it is a happiness--or at least a sort of shining consolation--to think that one will always remember him as radiantly young. I have lost so many pupils who will never grow up and always be just pupils. Please do not think of replying and pardon this intrusion. (_Signed_) A. ZIMMERN. Bobby was gold all through--for head and heart one in a million. Of all the undergraduates I have known at Oxford during my twenty years of work there, he struck me as most certain by reason of his breadth and sobriety of judgment, intellectual force and sweetness of disposition to exercise a commanding influence for good in the public affairs of the country. Everyone admired and liked him and I know that his influence among his contemporaries, an influence exercised very quietly and unobtrusively, was quite exceptional from the very first. (_Signed_) HERBERT FISHER. Those of us who knew Bobby at Univ. and saw him afterwards in London knew that one way or another he would give his life to the country. The war has only determined the manner of his giving and made the life much shorter, but his memory the more abiding. (_Signed_) ALEC PATERSON, _2nd Lieut_. [Illustration] [Illustration: MAP ENCLOSED IN LETTER OF JAN. 10.] 
22103	----	[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all other inconsistencies are as in the original. Author's spelling has been maintained.] WITH A HIGHLAND REGIMENT IN MESOPOTAMIA [Illustration: General Sir Stanley Maude And His Staff, Baghdad, 1917. _Frontispiece._] WITH A HIGHLAND REGIMENT IN MESOPOTAMIA 1916-1917 BY ONE OF ITS OFFICERS BOMBAY THE TIMES PRESS 1918 TO THE CHILDREN OF THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE ---- REGIMENT BRIEFLY DESCRIBING THE DOINGS OF THE 2ND BATTALION IN MESOPOTAMIA WRITTEN SO THAT THEY MAY NOT FORGET THE HARDSHIPS ENDURED AND THE SACRIFICES WHICH HAVE BEEN MADE ON THEIR BEHALF 1916-1917. AUTHOR'S NOTE. In writing this short account of the 2nd Battalion in Mesopotamia, my aim has not been to write a military history of all that was achieved; that will be the task of some one more competent to judge of merits and demerits than myself. My object has been to give an account in simple language of the two years spent by the Battalion in the Iraq, so that the children of the men of the regiment may know of the brave deeds and the hardships cheerfully borne on their behalf. Two articles describing our last two battles are here reprinted with the permission of Brigadier-General A. G. Wauchope, from whom I have also received many details of our earlier fights, and I am also indebted for information to Captains J. Macqueen, W. E. Blair, W. A. Young, Sergeant-Major W. S. Clark, and other officers of the Battalion. MESOPOTAMIA, _October, 1917._ _Telegram from_ HIS MAJESTY THE KING. Received by Colonel A. G. WAUCHOPE, D.S.O., Commanding, 2nd Battalion--January 1917. I thank you, Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers and men, for the card of New Year's greetings. I have followed the work of the Battalion with great interest. I know how well all ranks have done, what they have suffered, and that they will ever maintain the glorious tradition of the Regiment. GEORGE, R.I., _Colonel-in-Chief_. _Order by G. O. C., ---- Division._ I cannot speak too highly of the splendid gallantry of the ----Highlanders, aided by a party of the ---- Jats, in storming the Turkish Trenches. Their noble achievement is one of the highest. They showed qualities of endurance and courage under circumstances so adverse, as to be almost phenomenal. SIR GEORGE YOUNGHUSBAND, Commanding ---- Division. After the action fought on the 21st January 1916 on the Tigris the above was published. * * * * * _Letter to O. C. 2nd Battalion ----._ Tell the men of your battalion that they have given, in the advance to the relief of Kut, brilliant examples of cool courage, and hard and determined fighting which could not be surpassed. SIR PERCY LAKE, Commanding the Army in Mesopotamia. _July, 1916._ * * * * * _General Munro, C.-in-C, Indian Army, addressing the ---- Regiment, Tigris Front--October 1916._ Your reputation is well known, I need say nothing more. * * * * * To the ---- Regiment. _From Sir Stanley Maude, Army Commander--March 1917._ You led the way into Baghdad, and to lead and be first is the proper place for your Regiment. WITH A HIGHLAND REGIMENT IN MESOPOTAMIA. CHAPTER 1. At the outbreak of war, the 2nd Battalion ---- was stationed at Bareilly, having been in India since the end of the South African War. Of the fighting in that campaign, the 2nd Battalion had had its full share. At first it formed part of General Wauchope's Highland Brigade and fought with traditional stubbornness at Magersfontein and Paadeburg, and later on identified its name with many of the captures and some of the hardest marches of that campaign. On the mobilisation of the Indian Corps, the 2nd Battalion formed part of a Brigade of the ----th Division and landed in France early in October 1914, and were in the trenches holding part of the line near Festubert before the end of the month. At no time, except in the early months of 1916 in Mesopotamia, was the Battalion so severely tried as in these first two months in France. The conditions certainly were comfortable neither to mind or body. The trenches were knee deep in mud and water, and were without dug-outs or shelters; the enemy were in great numbers and combined their aggressive tactics with the use of trench mortars and grenades, weapons of which we had neither knowledge nor training; of rest for man or officer there was little, yet no yard of trench entrusted to the Battalion was ever lost either in France or Mesopotamia. With the spring came better times, and at Neuve Chappelle a fine victory was won at small cost, but on the 9th of May the Battalion suffered heavily in making an attack from the Orchard in front of the Rue-de-Bois. Often and with pleasure have we in the Iraq looked back on that summer spent in Picardy. Scouts and snipers, machine gunners and bombers, we all have different memories of those stirring days as the battalion moved from month to month along the trenches from Givenchy Hill to Northward of Laventie; and of the days of rest in billets behind Bethune, Richebourg and the Rue de Paradis; memories of close comradeship, of well-loved friends, of most noble deeds and of lives freely given for King and Country. But the day we recall now and shall ever recall as the red letter day of the year is the 21st of September. Five battalions of the Regiment joined that day in the battle of Loos, and though separated in the line, at one in spirit, all five battalions swept forward regardless of loss, driving the enemy from their trenches, captured line after line of the position and penetrated deep into the German defences. The 2nd and 4th Battalions had attacked together from Fauguissart and, in reaching the Moulin de Pictre, an advance of two miles made with little support on either left flank or right, the losses had been so severe that the two battalions were afterwards amalgamated into one under the command of Colonel Wauchope. These two battalions, in conjunction with another Highland Regiment under Colonel Thompson, despite several attacks and four mines being blown up within our first line, held Givenchy Hill throughout October. Then, when the Germans quieted down in this neighbourhood, we returned to our old line near the Rue de Bois. There rumour had it that the Indian Corps was soon to be sent to Mesopotamia. Some welcomed the idea of change, no one looked forward to another four months of the mud of Flanders. Almost everyone who did not know imagined that they would be giving up every discomfort which the winter brought for a pic-nic in the East, and a quick, successful and enjoyable march to Baghdad, and so when the rumours were confirmed, the whole battalion was in great spirits. Some obtained short leave to say 'Good-Bye' to their friends across the channel before leaving for the East, where there would be no short visits home, no getting letters and parcels daily, but the Regiment had gained great honour beneath foreign skies, so probably it was going to add to them even if it was only establishing marching records along the Tigris to their goal at Baghdad. Besides, was not Townshend and his gallant force in danger in Kut? And the idea of forming part of the relieving column appealed to every man. So at the end of November the Regiment entrained behind that long Western Front where they had fought for so many months against such terrific odds, and where so many gallant comrades lay buried, and everyone was happy, and no one thought that within a few short weeks the battalion would practically cease to exist. Before they arrived in France, many had never left the shores of Great Britain, and now they were embarking on an Expedition that would reveal to them some of the wonders of the East. Is it any wonder, under those circumstances, that no one was downhearted? The train journey through the heart of France from the mud of the trenches, leaving the cold and cheerless days behind for the sunny south was full of interest, and of looking forward to what was in store. Marseilles, that busy Mediterranean Port which has seen such wonderful scenes of troops arriving from all parts of the world, and of all colours, naturally turned out to see the Regiment it had welcomed to defend its Frontiers a year before, and which was now en-route to defend and fight for the honour of the Allied cause three thousand miles away. And so on December the 6th, it was 'Good-Bye' to the pleasant land of France, and the Regiment embarked on the Transport nine hundred and fifty strong. Having suffered heavy casualties on the Western Front, few of the original number left France, bound for Basrah _via_ the Suez Canal. Before leaving, in appreciation of the stubborn fighting in the battle of Loos by the 2nd Battalion, the Cross of the Legion of Honour was conferred on the Commanding Officer, Colonel A. G. Wauchope, D.S.O. Never was an honour more richly deserved, never was the conferring of one more popular. No one who has not served in the Regiment can possibly be aware of what the Colonel has done to make his Battalion one of the most efficient in Mesopotamia. I was very interested in listening to a story told me by a brother officer who was standing alone in a traverse of a trench. Two Staff Officers were talking in the next traverse and he heard one remark: "Of course, out here at the present the Regiment is Wauchope, and Wauchope is the Regiment." It is a name most closely connected with the fortunes of the ---- Regiment. [Illustration: At The Base. Scene on a creek below Basrah.] [Illustration: Colonel A. G. WAUCHOPE, C.M.G., D.S.O., Commanding The 2nd Battalion ----.] The journey was a pleasant one; the wonderful change from the damp depressing dug-out to a comfortable cabin was appreciated by the officers, and a dry and comfortable place to sleep in, instead of trying to sleep in the mud of a fire trench was welcomed by the men. The usual stay at Port Said after successfully evading the submarines, where the wily Arab fleeces the unsuspecting Tommy, was not without interest. The Padre tells an interesting story about how, when he was returning from home leave to the Regiment in India in 1913, he had his fortune told by one of the many fantastic liars that fatten on the stories they weave in this Eastern cesspool. The Fortune-teller told him that within a year he would be returning to Europe by the same canal. In those piping days of peace he never suspected that it would be with the regiment on Active Service but when almost to the day and within the year, he passed through Port Said on his way to France, this one saying at least of the Fortune-teller was forcibly brought home to his mind. Egypt in December is delightful, and more than one expressed the wish that for a time at all events they could be stationed in this most wonderful country. The Canal displayed enormous activity, there had been no such activity since the days when it was made. Thousands of Arabs and others toiled and died in making this great work. To-day the Canal is guarded by thousands of troops. Enormous camps have been established at different places, and Posts are in existence all along the waterway. It being so narrow, 3-worded conversations take place between the troops on the banks and the men on the Trooper. 'Who are you?' asked the men on the bank. When the reply is returned, shouts of 'Good Old Scotland' are raised ashore. Some asked, 'Where are you going!' 'Mesop' they say. 'Poor Devils', is the encouraging reply. Then some lonely soul asks if any of his Regiment are on board, and so it goes on all day. Some swim out from the shore and shout and talk, but one is chiefly impressed by the great number of men guarding this important waterway. [Illustration: Scenes On The Creeks Below Basrah.] [Illustration: G. J. ANDERSON. H. W. BRUCE, CAPT. A. M. GRIEVE, S. F. G. ALEXANDER, D. H. ANDERSON.] [Illustration: C. J. McCONAGHY.] [Illustration: C. J. McCONAGHY, Capt. A. M. GRIEVE, S. F. G. ALEXANDER, H. W. BRUCE.] At Suez a short stay is made. The water is a wonderful opal colour; the great Desert on our left, the barren rocks, sunburnt and bare on our right, help to make a fascinating picture. One remembers the first time one had passed through the Canal, years before in time of peace, and how one had been filled with admiration for the Medical Officer who came out to the Mail Boat to give it a clean bill of health to pass through the Canal, because she was a woman, and standing month after month of Suez summer weather, which proves too much for many men, leave alone women. But the stay is short and so as the Sun sets, making wonderful colouring over the Desert and sea, the journey down the Red Sea is commenced. The Red Sea in December is shorn of its terrors and can be quite enjoyable. Aden is passed, two or three days steaming along the inhospitable coast of Southern Arabia and the entrance of the Persian Gulf is reached. The Straits of Ormuz have the reputation of being one of the hottest places on earth. The rocky, and wild Arabian coast looks very beautiful in the sunshine with its innumerable islands, and the sea is a dead calm. For some hours the shores on our left are visible, then we steam, up along the Persian shore and get a good view of the barren, rocky mountain range running parallel with the coast. Those who have good glasses make out villages on the shore. The Captain is pestered with questions about the date and time of arrival at Basrah. Excitement is being felt again; one wonders what the news will be, and what has happened to General Townshend; and so at last anchor is dropped at the mouth of the Shatt-el-Arab at the head of the Persian Gulf. The two rivers Tigris and Euphrates join at a place called Kurnah, and from there to the sea the river is called 'Shatt-el-Arab.' Everyone is disappointed that there are no signs of land anywhere, and one wonders in which direction land lies. But what a relief it will be to get off the ship, how delightful to stretch one's legs ashore, as in spite of the good food, the sports and the usual joys of a trooper, it is impossible not to feel cramped and so once again everyone was rejoicing that the sea voyage was at an end. The shore is so low-lying that nothing could be seen of it as the transport had to anchor some miles off the mouth of the river. We had to transship to smaller boats to proceed to Basrah, about eighty miles inland. Transshipping is a long and tedious business but at last it is completed and we say farewell with a cheer to our transport, and the smaller boat steams towards the shore. In about half an hour we make out some palm trees and everyone is on the lookout for their first view of Mesopotamia. Slowly we approach the wide mouth of the river, successfully pass over the bar, and the new campaign for us has begun, and it is the last day of the year--31st December 1915. CHAPTER II. It takes about seven hours from the mouth of the river to Basrah. The journey up is of interest as none have been here before, and everything is new. Both sides of the river the banks are covered with palm trees, stretching inland for distances varying from 500 yards to three miles, and after that all is desert. We pass Abadan on our right where the pipes of the oil fields belonging to the Anglo-Persian Oil Coy. reach the river from Ahwaz. It has been said that the Mesopotamian Campaign was started in the first place to protect these oil-fields. One wonders now if it would have been advisable to protect them and hold Basrah only, and not push forward further inland. But it is easy to be wise after the event, and high politics, tactics and strategy do not form part of an account of the doings of the 2nd Battalion--so I must not be led astray. The river is very broad and is navigable for hundreds of miles. Mohammerah, the Persian town at the junction of the Shatt-el-Arab and Karun rivers, looked an interesting place. It is; as many months later I was fortunate enough to be able to spend some time there. The Sheikh of Mohammerah has proved a good friend to the British, and almost opposite his palace one can see the remains of the three steamers in the river which the Turks sunk in a vain endeavour to block the passage as they retreated; as good fortune or Providence would have it, one boat in sinking swung round and left the passage open. At Mohammerah is a big Convalescent Hospital for white as well as Indian troops. We noticed some large barrack looking houses on our left, one in particular, 'Beit Naama', attracting attention; but more about that later on as this establishment has now been turned into an hospital for officers. And so at last anchor is dropped off Basrah, as 'Ashar' is usually referred to as 'Basrah' by everyone out of the actual place. Was this the romantic spot from which Sinbad the Sailor started on his wonderful voyages?--was this the spot that so many have imagined must be one of the wonderful places of the East?--when they are thousands of miles away from it. A famous traveller has said, "that its European inhabitants only remain alive during the day through a perception of the humour of their situation, and by night through the agency of the prayers of their despairing relatives." For Basrah has the most malarial air, the most choleraic water, and the most infernal climate of any spot in the world outside 'Tophet.' [Illustration: The Padre.] [Illustration: The Quarter-master.] [Illustration: Everyday Scenes In Ashar.] [Illustration: Ashar Barracks.] [Illustration: Street Scenes In Ashar.] One Company of the Regiment had travelled out on a different transport--with another Highland unit and arrived a day or so in advance and were awaiting the arrival of the main body at Basrah. They were very interested in the place and were full of their adventures and of rumours. One thing was evident, one thing alone mattered, troops were needed, urgently needed, at the front; and we were at once ordered to proceed up river. The Regiment transshipped in midstream, not even having time to land, and were taken up by two river boats, with barges attached on either side. Not a man who made that journey and is still alive will ever forget the "P-7" or the "Salimi." The time since leaving France had not been wasted; everything that could possibly be done to keep the men fit and their minds active was done. Physical drill every morning, sports were got up, concerts,--the Colonel himself taking a big interest and share in everything that tended to the comfort of his men. At the best of times, life on a Troopship is a cramped existence, but in comparison to the up river voyages, it is a life of luxury. The world has been scoured for river boats for this campaign; steamers from the Nile, the Irrawady and the Thames are doing excellent work in carrying troops and supplies to the fighting line. Part of the river is so narrow that it is dangerous for paddle boats to attempt the journey without lighters attached as bumping into the sides of the bank the paddle boxes would be smashed. The trip up the river in January is by no means a pleasure one. It is not now! and it was much less so in January 1916. The nights are cold and in the early morning the river is lost in mist. At nights it is usually necessary to tie up at the side of the bank or to anchor in midstream. Only on bright moonlight nights, and not always then, can progress be made. The flood season on the Tigris is at its height about May and continues so till about the end of June. The river gradually falls in July and August and is at its lowest level during the months of September, October and November. It rises during the rains in December and January, sometimes as much as four or five feet, and this keeps the river fairly high during the following two months. In April the river rises still higher owing to the melting of the snow on the mountains in the north. These are the normal changes that come as regularly as winter follows autumn. There may be slight variations such as more rain one winter season than another, for instance, January 1916 was far wetter than January 1917. There are occasional high floods owing to the rain, and in January 1896 the river rose eight feet in one night at Baghdad. [Illustration: Capt. MACQUEEN, R.A.M.C., On His Way To Europe.] [Illustration: Entrance To Ashar Barracks.] [Illustration: Basrah Barracks.] [Illustration: Arabs Enjoy An Al Fresco Meal Of Dates.] [Illustration: The Sheik Of Zobeir And His Son.] [Illustration: Arab Bazaar.] The men crowded on to the barges attached to the side of the paddle boats and of course everything was of interest, everything was new in this, the oldest country in the world. Because Kurnah at the junction of the Tigris and the Euphrates has the reputation of being the site of the Garden of Eden, many and various are the jokes which have been made against this most unfortunate of places by members of the Expeditionary Force, but all amount to the one thing--that Adam and Eve had very little to lose in being driven out, if it is unchanged since those days. The belt of Palm trees which so attracted our attention along the banks from the mouth of the Gulf to Basrah still continues, but they are thinning down very considerably and by the time Kurnah is reached the belt has no depth at all. There is no question of a halt, no question of a rest, "Push On" is the order of the day. It may seem somewhat absurd now, but it brings home to one the eagerness of all to share in the relief of Kut, that the first thing the Colonel did on landing at Basra was to wire to the Corps Commander at the front asking him to arrange for the Battalion to follow up the Relieving Column if it had passed Ali Garbi before the Regiment arrived. Regardless of risk, regardless of orders, urged on by the Colonel, the two steamers bearing the battalion pushed forward by night as by day for fear of not overtaking the Relieving Column. The winding of the river seemed interminable to those eager to be at the front, and there is little to relieve the monotony of the flat plain, save the colouring at dawn and dusk, and the appearance of a few mahelas floating down stream with their broad sails outspread to catch the north-west wind. At Kurnah the Palm belt ceases and only at odd places and around villages are trees again to be seen. One cannot fail to be struck with the enormous possibilities the country offers for cultivation if only properly irrigated. Thousands and thousands of acres of the best of soil, and everywhere as flat as Salisbury Plain. We now begin to see small Arab villages along the banks of the river; they look dirty and dilapidated. The Arabs look filthy, but some have very pleasant faces, and both men and women impress one with their strength. This campaign is of course not only an eye-opener to them but also a God-send. They beg and steal on every possible occasion and on going through the narrows a lot of amusement is obtained in bargaining with them. The troops crowd on to the barges, as they bump along the sides of the river banks which are only two or three feet higher than the barge, and buy from the Arab women and children running along the banks selling eggs and fowls; as the demand has risen the prices have also advanced, and whereas at the opening of the campaign one could buy a dozen eggs for fourpence, by January 1917, I have seen officers pay twopence each or more. It is scarcely safe to jump ashore, as any moment the boat may launch out again into the middle of the stream, but when tied up by the bank waiting for another boat to pass brisk business can be carried on. The boats going up usually give way to those coming down, as the ones coming down may have wounded and sick, and all must be done to get them down to hospital as soon as possible, and so the time passes. At one end of the Narrows is Ezra's Tomb, a building surmounted by a blue tiled dome, which is evidently of no very ancient origin. We were informed that the edifice had been erected in memory of Ezra by a wealthy Jew, and that the place had become a sort of place of pilgrimage. Clustering round it is a small Arab hamlet with the usual sprinkling of Palm trees, and an abundance of dirt and filth, without which surely the Arab could not exist. [Illustration: The Officers Mess, Falahiyah, The Adjutant, Captain N. M. RITCHIE, D.S.O., Studies Military Law.] [Illustration: J. M. COWIE, T. HENDERSON, A. A. YOUNG (Killed), G. V. STEWART, T. GILLESPIE (Killed).] [Illustration: J. M. COWIE, G. V. STEWART, T. HENDERSON, J. H. COTTERELL (Killed), H. W. BRUCE (Killed).] [Illustration: At The Bar.] [Illustration: River Scenes.] At the northern end of the Narrows is the village of Qalat Sahib with its minarets and lovely reflections. Then, Amara is sighted. We are now one hundred and twenty miles from our base and this place makes a kind of a half-way house between Basrah and Baghdad, and for the first time the battalion lands in Mesopotamia. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon that the order to disembark was received. Wonder was expressed at the command as everyone knew that this was still a long way behind the firing line, and was it the intention to march the rest of the distance, and if so, why? as we were so much needed. All these queries and doubts however were soon put an end to when it became known that the Colonel had decided to land and practice an attack. He knew that at any moment his Regiment might be thrown into action, and as the long journey was found to have a stiffening effect on one's limbs he decided on some small practice manoeuvres before the actual and real thing took place. What a pleasure to get on shore again! At such a moment a regiment is almost like a boy's school let out after hours; everyone was in high fettle and pleased, our long journey was nearing its end, and very soon we would be relieving General Townshend who had been locked up in Kut since December 5th. By three o'clock all were ashore and an attack on an imaginary enemy was practised, and of course victory achieved; but on returning to the river, it was found that the boats had moved up a mile or so, and tired and weary the Regiment had to go in search of them, and to add to the discomfort the rain started to come down, so that by the time everyone was on board again at seven-thirty it was dark and the men were wet, and a very subdued regiment ate their evening meal in comparison to the high spirits of earlier in the afternoon. However, very soon it would be good-bye to the boats for good, as it was expected that the following day we should land at Ali-el-Gharbi. CHAPTER III. The 2nd Battalion disembarked at Ali-el-Gharbi, one hundred and eighty miles from Basrah. The ground was little better than a bog from the rain of the previous day; with very little rain the whole countryside seems to become a quagmire. The mud is about the most slippery kind to be found anywhere, so that walking is made most difficult. The first work was to unload the barges. All the kit, supplies, and tents had to be taken ashore as we were leaving the boats for good and were now in a hostile country. The unloading is a tedious business and one of the most tiring of fatigues, but when the whole of a regiment is put on to it the work is soon finished. That night No. 1 Company was on Out-Post duty and the rest slumbered. The following morning broke fine and sunny, as so often happens in this country after wet and miserable evenings. The clouds roll up during the night and the morning is such that one feels it is good to be alive. There was a sharpness in the air that made it almost impossible to think that in a few months' time this country would be proving itself to be the hottest in the world. The orders were to be up at dawn and start immediately after breakfast. Part of the Brigade transport was of camels, but the camels getting out of hand disappeared into the desert and the start had to be made without them. It is a fascinating picture to see a long line of camels in single file starting off on a voyage across the desert. But this misadventure had delayed matters and the heat after midday was very trying for marching although in the distance one could see the snow on the higher summits of the Pusht-i-kuh Mountains which form the dividing line between Persia and Turkey. From an aeroplane the picture of the Tigris flowing through this flat country with all its numerous twists and turns must resemble a huge snake. A short halt was made in the middle of the day for lunch, and a final halt was not called till within five miles of Sheikh-Saad, and a distance of twenty-two miles had been covered, not bad work, considering the Regiment had just landed after being cooped up for a month on transports and river boats. But everyone was dead tired and exhausted and No. 1 Company was pleased that they had provided the Out-Posts the previous night, and that it was the turn of No. 2 to do duty. General Younghusband with part of his division had moved out and engaged the enemy, and that night we could see the flashes of the guns and hear the constant rattle of musketry. At break of day General Aylmer, the Corps Commander, rode out past us to the advanced force, but it was not till after nine o'clock that our Brigade advanced some five miles and lay down to await orders. The orders were clear and promised success. One Brigade was to deal with the Turks on the right bank of the Tigris, one Brigade was to hold his forces near the left bank, while a third, with ours in immediate support, was to make the decisive attack on the enemy's left flank. This Brigade and ours therefore manoeuvred to the right for position. Before we had taken sufficient ground to our right, fresh orders arrived directing both Brigades to counter-march back and attack the centre of the enemy's line, against which the Brigade on our left was already moving. Instant action was demanded and instantly the 2nd Battalion and a battalion of Jats moved forward to the attack. No time was given for the issue of orders, no frontage or direction was given, no signal communication was arranged. To all enquiries the one answer was given "Advance where the bullets are thickest" and right there did the 2nd Battalion advance. Magazines were charged and bayonets fixed on the move; the companies moved with great rapidity and wonderful exactness considering the exhausting march of the day before and the little practice they had had in open warfare. But without covering fire, and there was little artillery fire available to cover our attack such an attack over bare open plain cannot succeed unless the enemy be few in numbers or of poor heart. The Turk was neither weak nor faint-hearted, and poured in so deadly a fire that before the leading lines were within 200 yards of the enemy, five hundred of the battalion had been killed or wounded. Other units suffered with almost equal severity, the attack came to an inevitable halt, there were no reserves to drive it home, consequently orders were sent up from the Brigade that the infantry should dig themselves in where they were. Nineteen officers and two-thirds of the men had been hit: Colonel Wauchope was severely wounded by a shell and Major Hamilton Johnstone took over command. [Illustration: The Pipe Band.] [Illustration: Corporal McLEOD.] [Illustration: The Pipe Band.] [Illustration: Our Left Flank At San-i-yat, The Tigris.] [Illustration: Capt. HALDANE Inspects The Hannah Trenches.] [Illustration: At Mohammerah.] But if our losses were heavy and the sufferings great, the Turk had also suffered so heavily at our hands, that he was forced to evacuate his position on the following day, and we occupied it on the 9th. The situation was one of extreme difficulty for the new Commanding officer. If there were few men left there were still fewer officers or sergeants remaining with much experience. Yet the Turks were close to our trenches and re-organisation of the depleted platoons imperative. But his indomitable spirit and the determination within the regiment, so often shown at times of crisis, made the hardest tasks possible. The wounded were brought back, the dead buried; rations were got forward and the trenches securely held. New leaders were appointed, and on January 10th when the Brigade moved forward from Sheikh-Saad the Battalion had been reformed under its well-loved commander, ready as always to do whatever duty lay before. Progress was made up the river bank slowly, but always in the direction of Kut, the aim and object of our every march and fight at this period. The enemy had retreated some miles and, on January 13th, they were attacked and driven out of their position on the Wadi, the 2nd Battalion playing a small but successful part in this action and losing 34 men. The Turks then fell back on to a more strongly entrenched position at Hannah. The rainy season was now in full swing. It rained day after day and the whole country became sodden, making it very difficult to move troops and almost impossible to move artillery. The discomfort the men suffered is almost indescribable, with no tents and everyone chronically wet to the skin and unable to have properly cooked food, made a seemingly hopeless position; but it is wonderful how hardship and discomforts are forgotten at the thought of beleaguered comrades in need of help and, as the country dried up and the sun shone forth, the men's spirits rose. On the eighteenth the 2nd Battalion had orders again to move forward. They did so and occupied a line of trenches about two thousand yards off the enemy, who were strongly entrenched in what is now known as the Hannah position. The whole country here, it must be understood, is absolutely flat, only in the distance twenty or thirty miles away one could see the snow-clad Pusht-i-kuh Mountains. Each night short advances were made and fresh trenches dug, till the night of the 20th. In this manner an advance was made up to within two hundred and fifty yards of the enemy's position. There, under cover of darkness the last line of trenches were dug and the companies deployed into two lines, and there they faced the enemy and awaited dawn. The Battalion and our old friends, the Jats, had been lent to another Brigade detailed to make the decisive assault on the morning of the 21st. Major Hamilton Johnston had made every possible arrangement for a successful assault and the leading lines were well within striking distance of the enemy. But however brilliantly carried out an assault may be, however gallant and determined the men, to ensure a lasting success against a determined foe there must be weight as well as depth in the attack. Now on the night of the 20th, owing to the movement among the troops, lack of reconnaissance and the mud, the troops in rear of the two leading battalions were deployed so far back, that though they moved forward in the morning simultaneously with the Jats and Highlanders, they suffered such losses on their way that none were able to reach the enemy trenches. And dire was our need there for support. At a given signal our artillery opened a light bombardment of seven minutes, then the long awaited and thrilling order to assault was given. The companies made a magnificent response and all rushed forward, crossed the muddy water-logged No Man's Land with their left 200 or 300 yards from the river, and gained the objective, though not without losses. No pause had been made for firing for the bayonet was the weapon our men trusted. More and more it is proved that the bayonet is the weapon that wins the trench, the rifle the defensive weapon that holds it. Yet though no pause had been made our losses in that charge were severe. Major Hamilton Johnston was struck first by bullet and then, almost at once, killed by shell; only four officers reached the objective and of these three were wounded. The Turks fought desperately and it was only after a severe struggle that we captured some 300 yards of the first line trench. The Jats had suffered fully as severely as ourselves, but a certain number joined up with our men and fought right well, but no further assistance was forthcoming. The Colonel was once asked by the Higher Command if such and such a trench could be captured. "My Regiment," he replies, "will capture any trench, but it is a different matter whether it is possible to hold it." Then for one and a quarter hours, the length of time which the trench was held, the Regiment added a very glorious page to its history. Great gallantry was displayed and Lieut. M. M. Thorburn who was severely wounded by a bayonet thrust received the Military Cross as an immediate award. The enemy counter-attacked from two sides and our few bombs, though replenished from some captured from the enemy, were soon expended; but many charges up the trenches were made to bomb them out, two machine guns were captured and put out of action. Slowly however the Turks drove the remnants of our platoons towards the river and the killed and wounded greatly outnumbered the survivors, 2nd Lieutenant Souther was wounded but refused to retire, and every moment the situation was getting more desperate. 2nd Lieutenant Henderson assumed command and was gallantly supported by C.S.M. Proudfoot and Sergeant McDonald. Seeing that the position was untenable, C.S.M. Proudfoot asked 2nd Lieutenant Henderson if he did not think it would be wise to fall back as no assistance was being sent, and men were being uselessly sacrificed. "How can I order the Regiment to retire?" he replied. C.S.M. Proudfoot and Sergt. MacDonald were both killed. Two of the finest men in the regiment they were, and both had been recommended for commissions. Proudfoot would have made a splendid officer; he had perhaps the finest physique of any man in the Battalion and for long had been the best reel dancer. No one who ever knew Sergt. MacDonald will forget him. His soft voice and gentle manner, his readiness to help whoever had need endeared him to all, and many a brave deed had he done as scout leader of the Battalion both in France and Mesopotamia. It now became impossible to remain unsupported in the enemy's position. Slowly and in good order some eighty men, one quarter of those who had started the attack two hours before, retired across No Man's Land and regained our trenches. [Illustration: Captured Turkish Officers.] [Illustration: Turkish Prisoners Arrive At Basrah.] When muster roll was called ninety-nine men remained of this gallant Regiment, out of the nine hundred and fifty who had landed in Mesopotamia less than three weeks before. As many wounded as possible were brought in. The Padre, Major the Revd. Macfarlane did splendid service. Darkness was closing in as the Regiment fell back on to the second line, and the very skies wept at the tragedy being enacted below them. No tents, no warmth, all soaked to the skin, intense cold, and defeated. It is possible to be happy even if wet, cold and hungry if you are victorious, but to be wet, cold and defeated, and yet undaunted is worthy of the highest traditions of heroes. The following day what remained of the Battalion was moved across the river, and 2nd Lieutenant Stewart Smith assumed command, to be followed shortly by Captain Crake. The stay on the right bank of the river was short, and the remnants of the Battalion were again soon on the left bank, but the losses of the Highland units engaged had been so heavy that it was decided to form one Battalion of what remained, under Colonel Thompson. This brilliant officer was shortly afterwards given a Brigade, and during the Campaign of the winter 1916-17 did such excellent work that he was rewarded with the command of a Division again proving that age should not be regarded as a deterrent for promotion if ability is conspicuous. He was only forty when commanding a Brigade. During February and March the Battalion suffered great discomfort, not to speak of hardships. The rainfall was unusually heavy and the country all mud. Difficulty was experienced in getting up supplies. And every day and every hour the Turks were tightening their hold on Kut, so gallantly defended by General Townshend and his brave division. For in reading the history of the battles of this spring, we must always remember that the relief of Kut was the object in view, and for that object our Generals were right in giving battle and in accepting any odds while one chance remained of final success. [Illustration: J. F. C. DIXON, M.C.] [Illustration: S. L. HUNTER.] [Illustration: A. B. CUMMING (Killed 22-4-16).] [Illustration: Zobeir Minaret.] The Regiment was now encamped near the Hannah position, fresh drafts arrived, re-organisation completed and training continued in bombing, trench digging and minor manoeuvres. The great effort on the right bank of March 8th had failed, but within a month another supreme effort was made on the left bank. Another Division had arrived from Gallipoli and, on April 5th, under General Maude, their trusted commander, this Division captured the Hannah position. On the evening of the same day, they gained the Falahiyah trenches and on the same night our column, with the Highland Battalion leading, marched through Falahiyah and advanced up the edge of the Suwakie Marsh with the intention of attacking the Turkish left. As so often happens, however, on a night march, some delay occurred, and at dawn the troops had not reached their objective and were not fully deployed. The Turks opened a very heavy fire practically destroying our leading platoons and, as we were still some six hundred yards from their trenches, the order was given to dig in where we were. This was done, but the weather this year was beyond all precedent, the marsh kept on rising and before evening it had flooded our men out of the new trenches. We were consequently ordered to retire three hundred yards and dig in afresh. On the 7th a demonstration in force was carried out by fresh troops; little was effected by this demonstration as it was checked mainly by shell and machine gun fire before advancing very far. Like many another effort of these heart breaking days, it was fore-doomed to fail; and the spirits of the troops and their fighting value was only maintained by the stern resolve that every man would continue fighting, no matter against what odds, so long as the flag was still flying over Kut. On the night of the 8th, another Division took over our trenches, and on the following evening made a night advance and attacked the San-i-yat position. Heavy casualties were incurred, but they failed to reach the enemy's position. We therefore again took over and held the trenches until April 22nd. A final attack was planned for that day to be made by two Brigades, but at the last moment the Brigade on our right found the ground in their front impassable owing to the rising of the marsh. Consequently in the assault we were exposed to a heavy fire from our right flank as well as from the front. Nevertheless the gallant Highlanders swept across the muddy ground, drove the enemy from his first line and assaulted the second. Lieutenant Forester led his platoon against the third line, but from that gallant assault none returned. Major Inglis, the senior officer with the Battalion, and many another were killed. The enemy trenches were in most places filled with water, to consolidate our position was impossible and, fired on from three sides, the survivors of the Brigade were forced slowly back to their original position. With new drafts the Highland Battalion had attacked at full strength, but suffered during the day over 600 casualties. [Illustration: Views Of Beit Nama Hospital.] [Illustration: In The Garden Of Beit Nama Hospital.] [Illustration: The Hospital Launch.] [Illustration: A Hospital Ship.] [Illustration: Officers' Tents, Falahiyah.] [Illustration: The Mess Tents, Falahiyah.] [Illustration: The Regiment Moves Off.] [Illustration: Arab Girls.] The position now in Kut was almost hopeless, and General Townshend began to destroy his stores and guns. One last but very gallant attempt was to be made to get supplies in, and the General Officer Commanding the Expeditionary Force reported as follows:-- "At 8 p.m., on April 24th, 1916, with a crew from the Royal Navy under Lieutenant Firman, R.N., assisted by Lieut.-Commander Cowley, R.N.V.R., the 'Julnar,' carrying 270 tons of supplies left Falahiyah in an attempt to reach Kut. Her departure was covered by all Artillery and Machine gun fire that could be brought to bear, in the hope of attracting the enemy's attention. She was, however, discovered and shelled on her passage up the river. At 1 a.m., on the 25th, General Townshend reported that she had not yet arrived, and that at midnight a burst of heavy firing had been heard at Magasis, some 8-1/2 miles from Kut by river, which had suddenly ceased. There could be little doubt that the enterprise had failed, and the next day the Air Service reported the 'Julnar' in the hands of the Turks at Magasis. The leaders of this brave attempt, Lieutenant H. O. B. Firman, R.N., and his assistant Lieut.-Commander C. H. Cowley, R.N.V.R., the latter of whom throughout the campaign in Mesopotamia performed magnificent service in command of the 'Mejidieh,' have been reported by the Turks to have been killed, the remainder of the gallant crew, including five wounded, are prisoners of war. Knowing well the chances against them all the gallant officers and men who manned the 'Julnar' for the occasion were volunteers. I trust the services in this connection of Lieut. H. O. B. Firman, R.N., and Lieut-Commander C. H. Cowley, R.N.V.R., his assistant, both of whom were unfortunately killed, may be recognized by the posthumous grant of some suitable honour." ADMIRALTY. "The King has been graciously pleased to approve of the posthumous grant of the Victoria Cross to the undermentioned officers in recognition of their conspicuous gallantry in an attempt to reprovision the Force besieged in Kut-el-Amarah:-- Lieut. Humphry Osbaldeston Brooke Firman, R.N. Lieut.-Comdr. Charles Henry Cowley, R.N.V.R." * * * * * After a stubborn defence for one hundred and forty-three days, General Townshend's supplies were exhausted, and he was compelled to surrender on April 29th, with 9,000 men. [Illustration: On The Banks Of The Tigris. 125° In The Shade.] [Illustration: Beit Nama Hospital.] [Illustration: One Of The Noble Band Of Sisters.] [Illustration: A Winter Sunrise. Beit Nama Hospital.] CHAPTER IV. The strategical importance of Kut-el-Amarah lies in the fact that it is at the junction of the Shatt-el-Hai with the Tigris. The force which controls Kut has the choice of movement down the Hai or the Tigris at will, and this advantage was with the Turk. The summer was rapidly advancing with its awful heat and the enemy, unable to press his advantage any further, was quite willing to remain in his trenches and await events. And so for seven months both sides resorted to trench warfare, and sat down facing each other through the most trying period of the year. The Secretary of State made the following announcement: "General Lake reports on May 20th that the right (South) bank of the Tigris is clear of the enemy as far as the Shatt-el-Hai, except for small rear-guards covering the bridge over the Hai some 500 yards below its junction with the Tigris. Our main force on this bank has reached the line Magasis-Dujailah. On the left (North) bank the enemy are reported to be still occupying the San-i-yat position. Weather is intensely hot and trying, and temperature during the last few days has been over 100 degrees in the shade." Owing to the melting of the snows in Asia Minor the Tigris is at its highest in the spring and early summer and the left of our lines stretched to the water edge. The Suwakie marsh is also very full at this season and forms a natural protection to the right flank of the San-i-yat position. Consequently as the front held was under two miles the lines could be safely held by one Brigade at a time, with the other two in reserve. The procedure adopted during the summer months was for one Brigade to hold the trenches, one Brigade in the forward area rest camp, and the other the rearward area rest camp, situated at the Bridgehead opposite Arab Village, some six miles behind the firing line. Fresh troops were arriving in the country daily, drafts to different regiments to make up for those killed, wounded and sick. A great number coming direct from England and Scotland and quite unaccustomed to the great heat went sick immediately on arrival in the country. In addition, however, many wounded were now returning, the numbers at the front increased, and in May, Colonel Thompson was appointed to the command of a brigade on the right bank, and Colonel Wauchope took over the Highland Battalion. Throughout the summer our Division held the San-i-yat position. In spite of numerous drafts the Highland Battalion remained considerably under strength both in men and officers until August. By that time the Battalion was about twelve hundred strong, and it was split up into its two original units, our comrades being posted to another Brigade. [Illustration: Guns And Boat Captured From The Turks.] [Illustration: Types In Mesopotamia.] These two battalions had served together as the Highland Battalion during a period of their history that will never be forgotten. Close friends in India, the two battalions had now fought shoulder to shoulder in many a hard-fought action, they had captured and defended trenches together under conditions sometimes so desperate that only their faith and confidence in each other enabled the two regiments not only to maintain their glorious traditions but also to enhance their reputation. No jealousy marred the good feeling between officers and men; there was nothing but goodwill. We all had absolute trust in Colonel Thompson, and Colonel Wauchope has often said he always found the same spirit, the same wholehearted readiness to perform every duty equally amongst both units. In some ways the Platoon, in some ways the Division is the tactical unit of the British Army, but by tradition, custom and wholesome practise the living organism is the Battalion, and the Commander who ignores that fact loses a source of strength that no other factor fills. It was only the strength of fellowship and their confidence in their two commanders that enabled these two famous regiments to work and fight under every adverse circumstance so wholeheartedly and with the single-minded devotion which they always showed during these trying times. The bond of sentiment holds when other bonds fail. To all to whom regimental feeling appeals there is no sight like the swing of the kilt, no sound like the sound of the pipes. Men of both regiments might often recall how they had charged forward in France, the pipers leading the way, and no body of men had themselves shewn greater gallantry or inspired others with their spirit more than the regimental pipers. Yet even in war the days of battle are few and the days of trial many, and many a time at reveillé and retreat, on the march and in camp has the sound of the massed pipers stirred our memories and stoutened our hearts to face whatever danger or hardship lay before. The old Crimean reveillé was still heard, but a new reveillé, "The Highland Regiment in Mesopotamia," arranged by Pipe-Major Keith, was played more often. During a long march "Scotland's my Ain Hame," and "Neil Gow's Farewell to Whiskey" were often call for, and, on reaching camp, before striking up with "The Blue Bonnets," the pipers always played the Colonel's favourite air, "After the Battle." In these days lack of tents, and the excessive heat were minor troubles compared to the prevalence of sickness and constant flow of casualties. Whatever the strength of the Battalion, the duties had to be performed. Again and again men left their turn of sentry duty only to take part in one of the innumerable but essential working parties. Over and over again men had to work throughout the cooler hours of the twenty-four, and pick up what rest they might in the heat and glare, amid the dust and flies, of midday. But if there was much sickness there was no grumbling, and the energy and thoroughness with which all duties were performed will remain for all time a lasting credit to the men of the Regiment. The average age of the Company Commanders was one and twenty, yet the C. O. told me that never was a Colonel better served in this and every respect. The Adjutant was under twenty, but no more capable or devoted officer was ever Adjutant to the Regiment. The Sergeant Major was absent sick, and during part of the time there were but four sergeants remaining with the Battalion; but the young men specially selected to fill the vacancies, responded to the call, accepted all their responsibilities, and never was the standard of discipline or smartness higher in the Battalion. Of the many awards given to the Battalion I doubt if any were better deserved than the D.S.O. gained by the Adjutant, and the two Military Crosses awarded in succession to our two Regimental Sergeant-Majors. To these might well be added the four D.C.Ms. gained by the four Sergeant-Bombers, two of whom added a bar to their medals, and unsurpassed by any, the D.C.M., with the bar, gained by the Stretcher-Bearer Sergeant. On August 28th, General Maude took over command and his wonderful capacity for administration was soon manifested. Also more boats were arriving for river transport, more supplies, both Medical and Military, were being sent out. Control of the campaign was taken over by the War Office. Canteens were established at different points, enabling both officers and men to buy small luxuries, and the Y.M.C.A. had branches established at many places. The country will never be able to thank the Y.M.C.A. enough for what they did for its soldiers in Mesopotamia. The Hospitals were being rapidly well established, and excellent work was being done to provide all necessary accommodation and comfort for sick men and wounded. Casualty Clearing Stations were in full swing, and hundreds of men were sent down the line from hospital to hospital, in many cases to eventually be sent to India in an endeavour to be restored to health after having endured all sorts of privations and hardships in Mesopotamia. An excellent Officers' Hospital was established at Amara, and went under the name of the "Rawal-Pindi Hospital." It was well run and had a large and capable staff. There were other hospitals at Amara for officers and men and improvements were being added daily. There was a large number of hospitals in Basrah and a very fine one called the Beit Naama Hospital about six miles below Basrah, beautifully situated on the banks of the river and surrounded by palm trees, was opened in June 1916 to try and relieve the pressure of officers coming down river, which No. 3 British General Hospital could not easily cope with. This place was fitted up with electric light and electric fans, hot and cold water baths, lift, ice and soda water factories, up-to-date "X" Ray installation and an Operating Theatre for surgical cases. They took in on an average about 135 officers a month and sent on an average 28 to India. It had accommodation for 100 officers and had a staff of three Medical Officers, a Matron and seven Sisters. The work done by the Nursing Sisters in this country, the untiring devotion to duty displayed under most trying climatic conditions when the temperature rose to nearly 130 degrees in the shade, is beyond all praise, and only those who have seen and suffered in this campaign should be competent to judge. [Illustration: The Second In Command.] [Illustration: The Doctor In The Trenches.] [Illustration: Amongst The Palm Trees.] CHAPTER V. All these improvements, all these reinforcements, all these extra supplies could have but one meaning and but one end in view, and that was as soon as the summer heat was over in the words of Nelson's famous signal to "engage the enemy more closely." The time spent out of the trenches was no holiday, one talked of going back to the Rest Camp. But Rest Camp was only a kindly term; it did not mean, as one might be led to believe, a delightful camp where comfortable chairs and well-served meals were supplied to tired and war-worn officers and men. No such thing; in fact so much the opposite was the case that one often heard it remarked that one got far more rest in the trenches than in any Rest Camp at the immediate front. The Colonel of the Regiment was a thruster. He never wasted a moment himself and would have his regiment the same. On the great Bronze Gong of one of our Battalions is engraved "I mark the hours, Do you?" Certainly the Colonel of the 2nd Battalion did. It was too hot for any drill or outside parades between the hours of 9 a.m. and 5 p.m., so everyone gasped for air inside their tents during those awful hours when the temperature rose to 124° in the shade, and the one thing one prayed for was the hastening of sunset; but if the officers or men slept or tried to sleep during those trying hours it was not so with the Colonel, at almost any time one visited his tent it was to find him busy; he did not seem to know what it was to suffer from fatigue, and during all those trying summer months, when with one solitary exception every officer was off duty ill for some period of time, however short, the Commanding Officer was only confined to his tent for half a day. Duties commenced soon after sunrise and very often before, every opportunity being taken to make as much use of the coolest and light hours of the 24. A very strict course of intensive training was gone through and the results were to make themselves manifest early the next year. Bombing was practiced morning and night. Bayonet fighting was excelled in, and attacks by bombers and bayonetmen were practiced with frequency in trenches especially prepared for the purpose. Officers were trained to march by compass and stars and some were even given a course of riding lessons, nothing being left to chance. The long hot trying summer was not wasted; it was a preparation for what was to come. Long marches were out of the question, but short night marches were often practiced, sometimes by the Battalion alone, sometimes by the whole Brigade with an attack at dawn. These manoeuvres were very popular with everyone; it was possible to enjoy moving about in the cool of the night and the quietness and silence with which it was possible for a whole Regiment to advance on to a supposed enemy position often impressed one. Having marched to a certain point from which an attack was to be delivered, the pre-arranged signal having been given, the bagpipes would burst forth into music and with a wild cheer the whole Regiment would charge forward in wave after wave and the supposed enemy driven from their stronghold. A few moments' rest would be given and the C. O. would call his officers around him and explain, praise or condemn various things which had struck him and, as the sun rose over the Pusht-i-Kuh hills, we would march back to camp. A keen rivalry and competition was established among the various platoons as to which would mount the best guard, and a very searching examination was conducted each evening by the Adjutant and Sergeant-Major. This led to great interest being taken by the whole Battalion in the mounting of the guard, and the smartness of the guard increased by leaps and bounds. The heat, of course, found its victims and in spite of all precautions there was a fair amount of sickness during the summer; it was impossible to avoid it. Great care was taken to see that all drinking water was properly chlorinated, and special waterproof tanks were erected on the river banks. If anyone went sick they were almost immediately sent to the Field Hospital where they got every possible attention. All through the summer the Battalion was very much below strength and the work fell heavily on those remaining. [Illustration: Views In Zobeir. The site of Ancient Basrah, the home of Sinbad the Sailor.] [Illustration: The President, Regimental Institutes.] [Illustration: Captain T. W. STEWART.] It was decided to hold "Highland Sports" on Wednesday, August 30th, and a number of other units, both British and Indian, were asked to take part. A suitable piece of ground was chosen some five miles behind the firing line, and on the day a great concourse of people assembled. The Corps Commander honoured the Regiment and several Generals from other Brigades were also present, our own Brigadier being an interested spectator. The events were keenly contested and the honours were fairly evenly divided. We won the Highland Dancing with a very fine exhibition. Another Highland unit carried off the board jump with a record leap. The officers "Donkey Fight", a scrap "Five aside" between our officers and those of another Highland unit caused huge delight and amusement and before many moments blood was flowing freely. The mile race by the Indian Regiments drew a big crowd and a large number of entries and a great race was won by the Punjabis. The inter-company cross country run was a keen contest. 13 men were chosen from each company, with one officer in charge and an N. C. O. They had to run in full kit and packs also carrying rifles and a severe course of training was gone through. P. P. B. Miller Stirling commanded one company, the brothers Smythe (South Africans and both keen sportsmen) each commanded other companies. I forget who commanded the fourth company. The average time was under ten minutes over a two-mile course, and the remarkable thing showing the uniformity of training was that there was scarcely two minutes' difference in time between any company. But the event of the day was the 'tug-of-war' between the two Highland Regiments. It was the best tug-of-war that many of us had ever witnessed. The sides had been carefully picked and well trained. Officers and men cheered on their respective regiments, the crowd of onlookers swelled till the whole Brigade was looking on in feverish suspense, and so even were the sides that for nearly five minutes not an inch of ground was lost or gained. The cheering ceased and the silence became intense; one could see the veins standing out on the competitors' foreheads and perspiration pouring off their faces, each man pulling to the last ounce, then our coach shouted "come away" and as if by magic they gave a convulsive pull and gained a foot, the spell was broken, and the men of our Regiment looking on gave a wild cheer. In a second everyone was shouting for their side, but slowly, very slowly, inch by inch they were winning, they would lose a foot and then gain two, till after one of the sternest pulls in the history of the Regiment, our opponents crossed the line and we were victors. Both sides sank exhausted to the ground as their Regiments cheered them to the echo. Perhaps some daring Turkish flying man heard that brave cheer from his observation car far above and thought the mad English were practising some new game to worry his existence. That evening at a concert given by the Regiment the General made a speech and congratulated the two teams on the best tug-of war he had ever seen, congratulating them on their splendid staying powers and for the tenacity and determination they had displayed, which he remarked augured ill for the Turk in the coming months. History records how true was his prophesy. Our Brigadier was General Charles Norie whose gallantry in the field was well-known, as in some strange way gallantry ever is known, to every man who served under him. And well loved was Charles Norie. He had lost an arm fighting on the Indian frontier. There have been many depressing optimists since August 1914 who every Autumn swear the war will end next spring, and every spring know it cannot last beyond next autumn. An answer given by one of our Sergeants was consonant to the serene spirit and resolution that filled the regiment and bid defiance to the future. Glancing at the General waving his one arm in the air, he answered some faint-hearted hopeful, "I'm thinking the war will not be over till Norie claps his hands." It is in that spirit that the armies of England win their way through at whatever cost. [Illustration: The P. M. C.] [Illustration: Tigris Salmon.] [Illustration: The Palm Creeks.] That evening the Colonel gave a dinner party and the powers of the Mess President were taxed to the utmost limit. Nearly 40 sat down, the Mess staff rose to the occasion, and the cook turned out things we had never seen before. The next day the Commanding Officer remarked at dinner "Really, P.M.C., I don't at all know why when we have 2 or 3 Generals to dinner you can give us nice white table cloths but at other times it is only bare boards", "Well Sir," he hesitatingly replied, "they were two of Stewart's sheets." Sundays were usually fairly slack days. I sometimes thought that they could have been even slacker, it being so absolutely necessary to have one day's rest a week. Church Parade would be held in the early morning, and another service at 6 in the evening after the sun had set. These evening services were very impressive; we would form round in a half circle sitting on the grass, or what formed a substitute for grass, with the Padre in the middle. The Commanding Officer would sit at one end of the half circle either amongst his officers or at the other end amongst the men, and the Padre knowing well the limits of human endurance and the severe test that the great heat was putting us to, never preached too long a sermon. We all loved him, and as he had been with the Regiment for a dozen years he knew everyone and about everyone, and when he went sick after the great advance on Baghdad, all felt that they had temporarily lost a friend. We were miles away from any village and still further from any town, so there was no one to visit on Sundays and no social life; unlike our comrades in France we were unable to enjoy the hospitality of a friendly population or look forward to going home on leave. We were out here and we knew it meant for months or may be years. Leave in a restricted form was granted to India during the 1916 summer, but that is going from one hot country to another and, though appreciated, could not be compared to going home. We knew two or three days in advance, the day that we would go up to the trenches for our spell, and we usually went in at the commencement of the month, so had the advantage, or disadvantage as it sometimes proved, of having a full moon. The distance to march was about three miles before we reached the end of the communication trench and we never started till late in the afternoon. All that day we were busy preparing our trench kits and packing up the necessary kit which had to be as little as possible. We always marched up in kilts and marched out in kilts, but during our stay there our clothes were the irreducible minimum, shorts and shirts. I well remember my first spell in the trenches of the famous Sanniyat position. We usually held the centre of the line with an Indian Regiment on either side and one in reserve. We left camp soon after seven, the night was one of those wonderful clear still moonlight nights for which this country is justly famous. It was difficult to imagine before one came within sound of rifle fire that a grim struggle was being enacted a mile or so in front, everything was still quiet and peaceful, there were no villages to pass through on our way up, it was simply open flat country with a river on one side and a marsh on the other, a long dusty road leading from the Rest Camps to the rear of the trenches. A light was burning in Brigade Headquarters and a sentry on duty and we silently filed up the long communication trench which was deep in dust as rain had not fallen for months. We passed fatigue parties coming down for rations and the dust was most distressing. The relief of trenches is usually a long and tedious process--handing over stores, getting receipts, pointing out anything of exceptional interest and generally getting settled down for ten or fourteen days. The Regimental Headquarters were about 200 yards behind the front line and connected up by telephone and various companies and platoons took it in turn to do their round of duty in the front line. I think in the trenches you come to know men as you can get to know them in no other place, the reserve of civilization is often thrown off and you know a man for what he is, not for what he would have you think he is. I remember sitting one night on the fire step of the front line trench and having a long and interesting talk with a Sergeant about Nigeria. He was telling me all about his life out there before the war, and the part he took in the Cameroon Campaign. Back in a Rest Camp he would never have got so communicative, but when one knows that one's lives are dependant on each other a close comradeship often results between both officers and men. This gallant fellow some months later was killed as his company was advancing to attack a Turkish position after the capture of Baghdad. I always feel glad I had that talk with him. [Illustration: Ashar Creek.] [Illustration: Ashar Creek.] [Illustration: Native Bazaar, Ashar.] [Illustration: Scenes In Basrah.] The nights in the trenches were the busiest time not only on account of darkness but also on account of coolness. At 9 o'clock in the morning an inspection of rifles and kit would be held by the Company Officers, after which the whole Company would retire to dug-outs in the reserve front line trenches, 10 yards behind the fire trench and then endeavour to get through the day as well as possible. The dug-outs had not the comforts of present day dug-outs on the Western Front. The only roof we had was sail cloth, so if a shell happened to strike it the results were fatal. This sail cloth kept the sun off, but the heat was terrific. Sentries only, and one officer per Company were kept on duty during the day in the front line, where there was not a yard of shade, the sun beat down with relentless vigour and gradually as the day wore on the temperature would rise to 120 degrees in the shade and 160 degrees in the sun and there was no shade. And this was not for a day or two days but week after week. After 9 o'clock in the morning a death-like stillness would creep over everything, both sides suffering too much to be able to add any more suffering to each other. The stillness would be broken now and again by the crack of a sniper's rifle and one dare not look over the parapet. In the early mornings aeroplanes would fly over the lines but without any great show of activity on either side; the heat kept everything quiet. The very flies are scarce in the hottest months, only the sandflies torment one at night, and so the day gradually passes, and as one goes the round to see everything is in order and one sees the men stretched out in their dug-outs, reading, trying to sleep, very few talking and all suffering, one remembers with what irritation one had read in a famous London daily paper, a query--why the Mesopotamian Campaign had come to an end during the summer, why no advance was heard of. One longed to put the writer of that article over the parapet in the sun where within five minutes or less, he would have his question answered. At times, on a hot parching day lying in one's dug-out, one would hear a great flutter of wings as a flight of cranes or wild geese flew over our lines, immediately followed by a loud fusillade of rifle fire as the sentries endeavoured to bring one down; several times a goose was brought down, and I well remember the annoyance of an officer when a goose he had winged managed to flutter across into the Turkish lines. The heat was at the maximum between 2 and 3 when we could almost boil oil in the sun. At 4 o'clock things livened up somewhat and at 5-30 everyone stood ready in the front line awaiting any possible attack but neither side showed any intention of attacking. Night duties were arranged, parapets had to be mended, new trenches dug, barbed wire put out and all the necessary work in connection with trench warfare continued. Officers patrols were regularly sent out into "No Man's Land" to examine the enemy's wire and find out if he were sapping forward. As the summer advanced the marsh receded on the left of the enemy's line, and this gave our scouts an opportunity to patrol and harass the Turks by penetrating in rear of their left flank. Much gallant work was done in this direction and much credit gained by the Regiment, for the Colonel considered that a good test of the fighting energy of a Company was the vigour of its patrol duties, and a good number of the Turkish sentries, I feel sure, agreed with him. The usual night "Hate" started about six when both sides opened fire, rifle and machine gun, on the opposite trenches, this was kept up all night, some nights would be more lively than others, some nights would be comparatively quiet, but now and again an artillery bombardment would take place, when we always seemed to give more than we got. Both we and the Turk were very free with rifle grenades, but what troubled us most was a special pattern of trench mortar that threw a heavy bomb over quarter of a mile. One night I remember one landed in and blew up the whole of the regimental cookhouse; luckily the cooks were sleeping elsewhere and it was only the dixies that suffered. [Illustration: The Tree Of Knowledge, Kurnah. Supposed Site Of The Garden Of Eden.] [Illustration: Ashar Creek.] I have always considered myself a very light sleeper, but one evening I had cause to come to another conclusion. I had just come off duty from the front line and was speaking to a brother officer outside my dug-out about 9 o'clock when suddenly we opened artillery fire on the Turkish position with considerable vigour, and they replied but in a milder form. I retired and lay down in my dug-out listening to the shells whistling above and praying to Providence that none would land on my sail cloth roof. In about half an hour the bombardment ceased and one wondered what damage had been done and how many lives lost. I then slept. At breakfast the next morning remarking on the bombardment I was asked "which"? "Which?" I replied, "why last night's of course," "Yes, but the first or second?" "Well, I only heard one," I said. "Oh! another took place at midnight," I was informed. I had slept through it and had not heard a sound. So trench life must tire one out somewhat to enable one to sleep so soundly as to be unaware of a bombardment. On still nights when possible the very perfection of the night made men less inclined to fire rifles at each other's trenches. I used to hear a Turk singing. He had a deep rich voice and I often stood in the front line or in a communication trench listening to him as his voice carried across "No Man's Land" from the Turkish line 120 yards away. It used to fascinate me quite a lot and one felt that under the eastern sky, in the land of Sinbad the Sailor and Omar Khayyam that war had not quite killed romance. I wonder what happened to that singer. I wonder if in the great push to Baghdad and beyond he was killed or if he is now singing to his fellow-prisoners in captivity in India, or if he is still cheering on his comrades in the front line further up the Tigris. I don't suppose one will ever know, but if he should ever read these lines I would like him to know he not only cheered his own side but gave pleasure to at least one of his enemies. [Illustration: The Ship Of The Desert Plays An Important Part In Mesopotamia.] [Illustration: Ruins Of "Old Bassorah."] We used to have three Officers' Messes when in the trenches. The Headquarters Mess presided over by the Colonel and two Company Messes, presided over by their respective Company Commanders. The Headquarters Mess was a very comfortable affair, a big dug-out, and made in such a way that ground formed the table in the middle and seats all around, the sides were well banked up with sand bags and outside a small ante room where one could sit and smoke in the evening, and the roof was the sky and a very wonderful sky during those long rainless cloudless months. Round about the Headquarters, the Colonel, the Adjutant, the Doctor, the Sergeant-Major, had their dug-outs, and the Mess did for Orderly Room also. The Company Messes were not so elaborate, and were situated nearer the front line and close to our own dug-outs. We endeavoured however to make ourselves as comfortable as possible, but for some reason or other the flies took a great liking to our Mess (No. 1 Company), and at any time day or night they were assembled in their hundreds on our canvas roof. We had a large war map fixed up on to the mud wall to enable us to follow events and we had occasional visits from the Padre and the Doctor, but it was not a healthy place, no part of the second line was; the second line was about a 100 yards behind the first, and for some reason it seemed to give the Turks much more pleasure to put their shells nearer to the second line than the first. I have picked small flowers growing on the front line parapet, but I have never seen any on the second. During my first spell in the trenches after being in the front line, I was put in charge of the reserves in the reserve trenches and spent three awful days and four awful nights in this position. The heat seemed to be worse here than anywhere. I had to spend my days in a small 40 lbs. tent lying on the ground gasping for air as the sun poured down with relentless fury. It was burning hot from the moment it rose till it set 14 hours after over the Arabian Desert. The men were slightly more fortunate in that they had a bigger tent, but they suffered also and it was at these times that one could not but admire the spirit of the 'British Soldier.' One seldom heard a complaint, of course they were "fed up" with the heat, everyone was the Archangel Gabriel would have been, but there was never any thought given to anything else but to "stick it at whatever cost." The officer in reserve was attached to the Headquarters Mess and so one was likely to get any news going. Lying in my tent reading, I now forget the name of the book, but I came across the passage which I will always remember "The writing which Nebuchadnezar saw on the wall." As I read that I felt convinced that Nebuchadnezar never saw any writing on the wall and when I reached the Mess that evening, the first one to come in was the Doctor and being a good Presbyterian I felt sure he would have this knowledge at his fingers' ends, so I asked him who saw the writing on the wall and he immediately replied "Nebuchadnezar". "Not at all," I said, and I told him I had just read the same thing in a book but felt convinced it was wrong, he felt certain the book was right. "Very well," I said, "I'll bet you, you are wrong," he accepted the bet. The Adjutant came in soon after and supported the Doctor. I now saw a veritable gold mine before me and he too was willing to back his knowledge against mine. We decided to refer the matter to the Colonel, so when he came in we asked his opinion. The Colonel was not only a gallant soldier but he was a cautious Scotchman. "Well," he said, "I think it was Nebuchadnezar, but I would not be willing to back too much on it." It is only necessary to turn to the 5th Chapter of Daniel to see who won the bets. That night sanction came for several N.C.O.'s and men to go on leave to India for a month. Sanction had been hanging fire for some time and the lucky ones were beginning to despair. My sergeant was among the lucky ones and I knew how pleased he would be when I got back and told him to report to Headquarters at 5 the next morning for leave to India. It was late when I got back, but little did he mind being disturbed to receive such news. I vouch for it that he slept well that night and did not oversleep himself in the morning. To those in France who get leave every three or four months it is impossible to understand what leave even to India once in one or two years means, but when the news comes that we can get leave for England, it will indeed be a red letter day for us all. I was so exhausted the next day with the heat that I was unable to appear at Mess. The Colonel sent up to find out what was wrong and wanted me to return to the rest camp at once, but I was not sufficiently done up for that, and I only relate this incident to show the thoughtfulness of the Commanding Officer for those under him. [Illustration: Quartermaster-sergeant HOBBS.] [Illustration: The Regimental Sergeant-major In The Trenches. Sergeant-major A. SMART, M.C.] [Illustration: Pipe Major KEITH.] [Illustration: No. 3 British General Hospital.] The next evening after the Regiment was relieved the reserves being the last to come out of the trenches, I found a horse waiting for me, on the Commanding Officer's instructions, so that I would not have the exertion of the march back to camp; that and similar incidents made our affection for our Commanding Officer a very real thing. But being in reserve had one compensation, in the early morning before the sun rose and just at dawn to lie and watch the wonderful colourings on the Pusht-i-Kuh Hills, colours changing every moment, was always pleasurable, and suddenly a shell would burst near the artillery position and one would know the daily Hate and Strafe had started, and shortly after the sun would rise. We spent some uncomfortable evenings being shelled in these trenches, and watching and waiting for them to burst was not an enjoyable occupation. There were no safe dug-outs to seek safety in, one had to stick it out wherever one was situated and hope for the best. The damage done was seldom great beyond knocking the trenches about a bit and these were soon repaired. Having been put in charge of a digging party one morning in the rearward area whose duty it was to widen and deepen a communication trench, I saw a good opportunity while the work was going on of looking for souvenirs in the shape of Turkish shell caps. So getting out of the trench I commenced a search and continued for some time but without success, when I was driven to seek shelter in the trench by a shell bursting in close proximity, they had evidently spotted someone walking about and opened fire, but it did not last for long. During our period in the trenches if there was very little doing, as was usually the case during the hot weeks, we were in turn sent down to the Depot three miles behind for two days' rest, and it was an absolute and complete rest. One had nothing whatever to do, get up at any time, go to bed at any time, complete relaxation, those two days were a great boon to us. To have absolutely nothing to do was a great luxury and anything out of the ordinary routine was enjoyable. During my spell of leave at the Depot one evening sitting round the Mess table which we had outside on account of the great heat, we were discussing the movements of the Regiment during the past 20 years and when I remarked that I had watched the Regiment embarking at Durban for India 15 years before, the Quartermaster said, "I was there and out of the whole Battalion that embarked that day, there are only two of us left with the Regiment, the Sergeant-Major and myself". I little thought as I watched the 2nd Battalion saying farewell to South Africa that 15 years later I would share in some of its trials on the banks of the Tigris. Sitting in the Headquarters Mess in the evening, as I previously stated, one got all the news, about 8 o'clock the Quartermaster would appear having come up from the Depot in charge of the rations party and to make his report. The mails would be brought up by them too and if the English mail was due and had arrived with letters and papers great was the excitement. Our letters took about six weeks from England to the firing line, but we were allowed to send week-end cables at a very reduced rate, something like 6_d._ a word, and could send them off actually from the trenches on their long journey half across the world. The food, taking everything into consideration, was good, although of necessity it had to greatly consist of tinned and dried varieties and we suffered somewhat from lack of fresh vegetables. Later an improvement in this respect was effected. [Illustration: Scenes In The Trenches At San-i-yat.] [Illustration: The Filters.] [Illustration: Captain MACQUEEN, R.A.M.C., And His Aid Post.] [Illustration: Indian Water Carriers At San-i-yat.] A flag of truce was always an interesting event. A white flag would be prominently displayed by one side above the trench and kept there till the other side responded and also hoisted a flag, and two or three officers would go out from either side meeting in the middle of "No Man's Land" where the business was discussed. Sometimes it would be simply handing over a letter or letters; other times the business would take longer. A truce of some hours' duration would sometimes be arranged. The longest I remember was for 24 hours when we exchanged sick prisoners; but there was no fraternizing; we might sit on the parapet of our trench and the Turk would do the same; but there was no attempt made to be friendly; the Turk knew and so did we that within a few short months we would be at death grips with each other and that one side or the other would be driven out of the present strong positions we had taken up; but whichever side won, the losses of both would be great and so we sat and looked at each other during those short respites, and both sides adhered strictly to the truce. When it expired it was not safe to show even a helmet over the parapet. The Colonel told me that several times the same Turkish officer brought the flag of truce. He spoke French easily and said he had been fighting more or less continuously the last eight years--in the Iraq against Arabs, in Tripoli against the Italians, in Gallipoli, and now on the Tigris against the British. He had been wounded four times, and was again wounded and taken prisoner by us during the advance, 1917. In 1916 we were fighting a foe, elated by his success at Kut, and it was only after our victories in the spring of 1917, that he showed any signs of war weariness. One hot and sunny morning I was speaking to one of our sentries who had been watching a Turk appear above their parapet and had already had one shot at him and was waiting to get another and I had scarcely moved a 100 yards down the trench when the unfortunate sentry having looked over too far received a bullet clean through his head. Once or twice during the hot weather bombing parties went over for short raids but without very much success and very little advantage. I witnessed no instance of gas being used but precautions were taken and gas helmets issued with orders that they must always be carried whilst in the fire zone. Gongs were placed at intervals all along the front line and had to be sounded at the first alarm, but fortunately that alarm never came. [Illustration: The Regiment In The Trenches At San-i-yat.] [Illustration: In The San-i-yat Trenches.] [Illustration: Looking Towards The Turkish Lines At San-i-yat.] One of my duties was to buy stores for the Officers' Mess and the men's canteen and before Field Force Canteens were opened immediately behind the firing line it meant a trip down to Sheikh Saad about once a month, after the arrival of the canteen boat, of which we were duly notified. Buying was usually brisk but we generally got our fair share of anything going and the Regimental Canteen retailed to the men at just above cost price, everything was disposed of in a very short space of time as the things for sale were looked upon as luxuries and in great demand. On the morning of the anniversary of Loos the Commanding Officer addressed the Regiment and proclaimed the day a holiday stating that night a ration of whisky would be issued to commemorate the event. I heard afterwards that it was all the Sergeant-Major could do to keep the men from cheering, weeks and months had passed since the men had had anything stronger than tea to drink and this ration was much appreciated. Another very welcome event was the arrival of parcels from Lady Carmichael's Gift Fund in Calcutta. A great deal of gratitude is due to Lady Carmichael and her staff and the ladies of India for the way the fund was organised. They sent us shirts and shorts and towels and soap, razors, chocolates, mufflers, cigarettes, tobacco, tinned fruit and _chutney_. Certainly the best _chutney_ I ever tasted came in a gift, I remember it was home made and came from Assam and the maker's name written on the jar. I told the Mess Sergeant to write a special letter thanking the maker, thinking that by doing so some more might appear. But I am sorry to have to say, none did. As the summer began to draw to an end preparations had to be made for the winter. The terrific heat of the summer had gone and now the biting cold of winter had to be prepared for. If the coming winter was going to be anything like the previous one, then we were going to suffer; but preparations for it were in full swing. The Doctor gave an order for a supply of rubber water bottles for his aid post, whereupon a very liberal and kind-hearted officer cabled home for one for each officer. I don't know if anyone else used them for heat purposes. I know I used mine. Fifteen years in tropical climates has made the 'cold' one of my worst enemies, but if they were not used as hot water bottles they certainly were as air cushions; this same officer never neglected an opportunity of doing acts of kindness to his brother officers and men immediately under his command, and when he was eventually invalided to India he still remembered his friends and sent them delightful and much appreciated parcels. [Illustration: Qualat Saleh.] [Illustration: Rawal Pindi Hospital, Amara.] [Illustration: On The Banks Of The Tigris.] [Illustration: A Marching Post.] [Illustration: The Bridge At Arab Village.] CHAPTER VI. Everything was ready. The Regiment was in excellent form and fettle, highly trained and efficient, and the powers that be knew that it could be depended on to a man. The first rains had fallen and it was cool without being cold. Mesopotamia takes a long time to cool after the great summer heat and does not usually get very cold till January, and on December 13th the British offensive began on the right bank of the Tigris near Kut, and very severe fighting took place. It was not till February 1917 that the last Turkish position on this bank was captured. In the meantime, on the left bank, the position for the moment remained much the same. Limpits could not cling with greater tenacity to their native rock than the Turks stuck to their position at San-i-yat. It would seem as if nothing could drive them out from this, the strongest position in Mesopotamia. 'Xmas Day and New Year's Day were spent out of the trenches, but in the forward area. Events were moving rapidly on the other bank, but the marvellous secrecy with which the Commander-in-Chief kept all his plans inspired the greatest confidence in those under him. No one knew his plans; everything was a dead secret; it was even rumoured that his immediate staff were often kept in ignorance up to the last moment, but all ranks had confidence. On January 21st at 4 p.m. we struck camp at Faliyeh, crossed the river and for 10 days occupied a position along the Narrows from Chahela Mounds to near Beit-a-Essa, a distance of about five miles, establishing picquets along the line. This was a most welcome change. We had been on one side of the river for practically a whole year and new duties and new country broke the monotony. Each Company was divided up. Three Companies holding the line along the Tigris bank and the fourth in reserve. Casualties were very light and Captain Haldane did excellent work sniping and kept the enemy well in hand. The gunners were good enough to remark that a great change was noticeable since the line had been taken over by us; this was probably a little bit of flattery on the part of the Artillery men, but it was quite welcome. During these days the Commanding Officer was an unknown quantity as one never knew where he would next appear on the five-mile line. I think that he must have known every inch of it. We were relieved by another Highland Regiment and a very pleasant ten days came to an end with a march back across the river to the forward area and back to the now muddy trench at San-i-yat. It was now bitterly cold and uncomfortable at night and the mud in the trench almost as bad as the dust in the summer. Bombardments were of daily occurrence and the Turk must have had a most uncomfortable January. About the middle of February the Army Commander determined to make a combined attack with one force at the Shumran bend, and with one of our brigades at San-i-yat. The attack at San-i-yat was delivered by two Indian Battalions of our Brigade under great disadvantages, and though at first successful, the attackers were eventually compelled to withdraw back to our lines. Every officer and every man regretted that the Battalion had not been selected to take part in the attack in the first instance, and were eager to lead the Brigade in another assault. This indeed was the wish of the whole Brigade, and orders in fact were issued to that effect, but two days later, when every arrangement had been completed, it was decided to make the attack with a fresh Brigade and ours was withdrawn and held as a reserve. [Illustration: Scenes On The River Tigris.] [Illustration: A Post On The Tigris.] Before leaving the trenches, however, the Colonel ordered two officer's patrols to go out the last night to examine the enemy's wire and locate, if possible, the position of their machine guns, thinking thus to assist the attack of the coming Brigade. Of these patrols one was led by Lieut. Cowie and met with rather exciting adventures. Cowie and two scouts crawled across "No Man's Land" to within 20 yards of the Turkish trench without mishap. Then creeping along the enemy's wire they spotted a machine gun with the team standing beside it. Right into this group the three threw three grenades, wounding several Turks as we afterwards learned. Inevitably the alarm was given, rifle fire broke out in all directions and, before the patrol could make good their escape, Cowie and one of his men were hit. The Turks saw the two figures lying close to their own wire, jumped the parapet, and made both prisoners, and carried them within their lines. They were well treated, if not well fed, by their captors, and two days later when the retirement began were moved out of the Turkish hospital on to a steamer. This boat was one of two that when trying to escape some days later up the Tigris were captured, after a short but severe engagement, by our gunboats. Cowie, in the confusion of the fight, forced the pilot of his steamer to run her aground and, though most of the Turks effected their escape, Cowie and his orderly instead of continuing their journey to Aleppo, found themselves at General Headquarters attended to by several surgeons and Intelligence Officers, anxious to dress their wounds and hear their story. On the 22nd the attack was delivered by a battalion of Highlanders and a Punjabi battalion. Under a heavy artillery bombardment they gained the enemy's first line without much loss. Then after severe fighting they captured the enemy's second line and consolidated their position. The Turks made several counter attacks and though nothing could move the Highlanders, the position on the left was not quite secure. Our battalion was therefore ordered back to the trenches, and the Colonel obtained leave to send two platoons under Captain Young across to the Turkish position in order to strengthen the left of our new line. Captain Young was wounded, but the two platoons that night and the following day held the line down to the river where a counter attack was most expected. The Colonel asked leave to push forward that day, but it was not till nightfall that two battalions of our Brigade were ordered to pass through the other Brigade and take the enemy's 4th line. It was necessarily a slow business moving up unknown trenches at night, and the battalion on our left met with considerable resistance. However, if progress was slow it was sure, our patrols pushed steadily forward, the enemy's snipers were forced back and before dawn the whole San-i-yat position was in our hands, and the Turks in full retreat. Thus fell this position which for ten long months had held us up, and had claimed such a big toll of lives from both sides. The sky was clear and without cloud. The same sun shone out on victors as on vanquished, on pursued and pursuers. One wondered how often, ten months before, the gallant defenders of Kut had looked towards this position longing, hoping, praying for its capture which was only now accomplished. Meanwhile after very hard fighting the Tigris had been bridged at Shumran above Kut and our infantry was pouring across. Patrols of the 2nd Battalion were immediately sent forward towards the Nakhailat position some two miles further east and the two leading companies followed in attack formation. An Indian battalion conformed to our movements on the left, while the leading battalions of the other Brigade began to appear on our right rear. None of our men will ever forget the scene that morning, nor the feeling of freedom and elation as our lines passed over trench after trench now deserted by the Turks, and it was these trenches over which we were now so casually advancing that we had been anxiously watching from behind our parapet for nearly a year. It seemed increditable, but we passed by trenches filled with Turkish dead. We passed several of the heavy minenwerfers whose shells had been a source of such trouble and loss the last few months, and before 8 a.m. after some little sniping and the capture of a few prisoners the Nakhailat position was also ours. Here a pause was made by order of the General to give time to another Brigade to secure our right flank, and then in conjunction with the Indians on our left the Regiment advanced in attack formation with patrols well ahead against the Suwada position, but the crossing of the Shumran Bend the day before had rendered resistance impossible and, after a little firing and the capture of a few more prisoners, the last of the Turkish trenches fell into our hands before noon. The Divisional Commander now ordered a halt. An order doubtless necessary, but that was somewhat reluctantly obeyed, the troops being anxious to get in touch with their vanishing foe, and it was not till 4 p.m. that an order came to send two patrols some four miles further north to the Horse Shoe lake. As it was uncertain what they might encounter the Commanding Officer sent forward four platoons and they reached the Nwhrwan Ridge without opposition. Our Colonel proposed that the rest of the Brigade should push forward after the enemy, but instead of this patrols were brought back about midnight, and it was not till the next day that the line of the Dahra Canal was taken up by the Division, the Turks by then being many miles to the north. On February 24th Kut fell in the hands of the British and the King cabled to the Army Commander: "I congratulate you and the troops under your command on the successes recently obtained, and feel confident that all ranks will spare no effort to achieve further success. It is gratifying to me to know that the difficulties of communications which hitherto hampered your operations have been overcome" George R.I. [Illustration: LUNN Has A Quiet Rest And Smoke.] [Illustration: B. H. LUNN And C. V. HENDRY.] [Illustration: Map: The Operations At Kut-el-amara, Showing The Wide Turning Movements South Of The River.] When some five months later I stood on the summit of Kut's famous minaret, from which Briton and Turk had each in their turn observed the enemy closing in on them, and from which one could see the junction of the Hai with the Tigris now very low, the ruins of what was the Liquorice Factory, and miles away Es Sinn and San-i-yat, it was impossible not to be impressed and to feel a certain sadness and yet a great admiration for all those lives which had been so freely given to uphold the honour of the flag and the dignity of the Empire, and how when failure after failure had dogged our steps, grit and perseverance had at last won the day, and success crowned our efforts. Kut was ours; it must have cheered those lonely prisoners in captivity in the fastnesses of Asia Minor when the news eventually leaked through that their defeat was avenged and that the flag which Townshend had been compelled to haul down once again flew over the small but famous village to the Banks of the Tigris. Pursuing is only slightly less arduous than being pursued, and in his despatches well might the Army Commander have quoted those famous words used centuries before by another great leader when an equally strenuous pursuit was in progress. 'Faint yet pursuing'. One has to remember that these same troops had been cooped up in trenches for nearly a year, and to suddenly be called upon to take a prominent part in such a pursuit as was now in progress was no ordinary strain. Not a man in No. 1. Platoon fell out on the march from San-i-yat to Baghdad, a record of which the platoon and its officer might well be proud. The going was bad, there was no road as one understands a road in England, it was plain flat open country. A stay was made at Dahra and then a night march carried us to Shumran, where there were signs of a cavalry fight and prisoners were being brought in. The Brigade had orders to clear the battlefield and booty of all kinds, guns and ammunition were collected, rifles which had been thrown away, as it is easier to run without one than with, and what little surplus kit the Turk possessed had been discarded, so that his flight might not be impeded; they were all out for Baghdad and we were all out after them, but we were out-running our Transport and Supplies, and the meals during the great pursuit were both scanty and irregular, but who cared, so long as we had enough to carry us on. All England was looking on, and day by day following our progress with feverish interest. "Is Baghdad going to be taken" was on everyone's lips. Beards were making their appearance even on the youngest soldiers' chins, numbers of men were being knocked up by the continuous strain and a four days' halt was called at Sheik Jaad, No. 1 Company being sent forward to Beghailah. Still pressing forward we reached Azizie, 46 miles from Baghdad, and the total number of prisoners since the advance now mounted to well over 5,000. Turkish depots and stores at many points were in flames, 38 guns, many machine guns, trench mortars, ships, tugs and barges, miscellaneous river craft and bridging material fell into our hands. Booty was strewn over 80 miles of country and the Arabs living in the neighbourhood must have secured sufficient goods of various description to last them the rest of their lives. Zeur, Bustan, then Ctesiphon were all passed, there being no time or opportunity to stay and examine the famous arch. But as we halted for the night beside the magnificent ruin, one could but reflect on the ironies of a soldier's fortune. Here it was, long before the arch was built, that the Emperor Julian, marching from Constantinople, had been forced to halt his army, and met with disaster and death; and under the ruins of this great arch Townshend, advancing from Basra, had engaged in the battle that eventually brought his division to disaster and captivity. And now Maude, encamped for the night beside the ancient city walls, was pressing forward with his whole force to the capture of Baghdad and Samarra. [Illustration: Different Types Of Boats On The Tigris.] [Illustration: Sailing Boats On The Tigris.] The next morning, the 9th of March, we were glad of a short march to Bawi. The Division crossed the Tigris by a pontoon bridge that night; our Brigade being in reserve. After a hard march we reached Shawa Khan, the enemy retiring before us and our Brigade came under shell fire only. The following day was a very trying one. A gale was blowing right in our faces, and the dust was so thick that our movements on that day resembled some horrible night march. We manoeuvred the whole day, and twice the orders for attack were cancelled owing to the difficulty of gaining contact with the enemy. Towards evening we struck the Euphrates-Baghdad Railway and were preparing to attack when orders came postponing further movements till midnight. Never had any of us experienced such a dust storm. With great difficulty we brought up the 2nd Line Transport, filled the men's water bottles, and formed a Brigade bivouac. Movement was again postponed till 3 a.m. on account of the storm, though some of us thought it had been better to take advantage of the darkness and make the attack at once. At 3 a.m. our patrols were sent forward, the Battalion following in artillery formation. Right well led, the patrols pushed on meeting with no real resistance. When about a mile short of the Iron Bridge that crosses the Kharr Canal, the Colonel received a message that our leading patrol had gained the railway station in Baghdad before 6 a.m., that no Turks remained, and that we were driving out the Arabs with little difficulty. This information was immediately sent back to the Army Commander, and the Red Haeckle was the first British emblem seen in Baghdad. The Medical Officer of the Battalion observing a Turkish flag flying over a building, quickly climbed up and hauled it down. That flag is now a trophy of the Regiment. The Turks had fled, but all that morning firing continued both in the town and neighbouring palm groves, caused chiefly by Arabs and Kurds shooting and looting in all directions. The Brigade, under General Thompson, had the well deserved honour of marching through the city, and order and confidence was soon established. The Regiment took an outpost position on the north of the City towards Kadhimain, and very pleasant was the rest under the shade of the palm groves. The fall of Baghdad was a severe blow not only to the Turks but to the whole Quadruple Alliance, but how many who read that cheering and inspiring news on the morning of March 12th thought of the trials endured and overcome, thought of the sacrifices and losses that had been endured to make that news possible. How many knew of the advance in the blinding dust storm, when men gasped for air and water. How many knew of the fight on the Dialah when the Lancashires covered themselves with glory; these things are not always published but they were suffered, and suffered in such a manner that one felt it a privilege to belong to the same Regiment, Division or Army, and when the congratulatory message from the King, our Colonel in Chief, was read to the different regiments: 'It is with the greatest satisfaction that I have received the good news that you have occupied Baghdad. I heartily congratulate you and your troops on their success achieved under so many difficulties,' one knew that the Head of all our race understood and appreciated all that had been endured suffered, and accomplished. [Illustration: On Board A Paddle Boat Going Up The Tigris.] [Illustration: Kurnah, Supposed Site Of The Garden Of Eden. 124° in shade when this was taken.] [Illustration: Waiting For Another Boat To Pass.] [Illustration: Baghdad As It Exists To-day. Drawn from photographs and a plan provided by the National Electric Construction Company, Limited.] CHAPTER VII. THE BATTLE BEYOND BAGHDAD. By Brigadier-general A. G. WAUCHOPE, C.M.G., D.S.O. The following Chapter appeared in _Blackwoods Magazine_ for August 1917:--'On the banks of the Tigris I am lying in the shadow of a palm, looking down the river on the brick walls and mud roofs, on the mosques and minarets of the city of Baghdad, and as I look I am lost in wonder. For although I am now lying in a grove of date-palms, it is fifteen months since I have seen a tree of any kind; it is fifteen months since I have seen a house or lain under a roof; and this girl coming towards me with hesitating steps, clothed in rags and patches, this little date-seller with her pale face and dark eyes, her empty basket resting on her small, well-shaped head--this is the first woman I have seen or spoken to for more than a year.' Perhaps it is the twilight which gives a feeling of mystery and beauty unknown in the glare and noise of midday, and I hardly know, as the Tigris seems to lose itself in the evening mists, above which the golden minarets of Kazimain still shine and glitter in the setting sun, whether I am truly in the land of reality or if I still linger but half awake in the realm of dreams and fancies, where stand the gates of horn and ivory. [Illustration: The Transport Officer.] [Illustration: Captain R. MACFARLANE, M.C. Killed In Action.] [Illustration: Arabs Bargaining On The Tigris Banks With Troops Going Up River. A brisk trade is done in eggs and fowls.] For to how many during the past two years has not flashed the dream of the capture of this city, Dar-al-Salam, the City of Security? And of those who have seen the vision, how many have wondered from which gate the dream has issued, and how many have been filled with confidence? For that vision has drawn many thousands from Basrah and Amarah--many who are now here in the hour of victory, many who now lie where they fell on the field of battle, and many who are still prisoners and captives. A few days ago, as the columns of the Army of Mesopotamia were hurrying past the great Arch of Ctesiphon, it was impossible not to think of the ---- Division arriving there some eighteen months earlier--that gallant ---- Division, war-worn and depleted in numbers but ever victorious, who found at Ctesiphon, in the hour of their last and most glorious victory, the beginning of their undoing and tragic end. What dream was it of a captured city, of a City of Security, that lured them to their doom, and who was the first dreamer? And who next saw the second dream of fresh battalions and a new organisation that would lead without fail to Baghdad, and had the gift to know that this dream, unlike the other, had passed through the gate of horn? So I mused but a week ago in the palm groves that had been ringing that very morning with rifle-shots, but seemed so quiet and peaceful in the evening light that I felt all the rush of the past pursuit was over, that our efforts had not only been crowned with success, but that a period of rest would now be given to man and beast. For the pursuit had been much more than merely a hot and dusty march of 120 miles from San-i-yat to Baghdad. All through January and February the Army Commander had been preparing the way by a series of small victories which gradually drove the Turks, holding the right bank of the Tigris, across the Shatt-al-Hai, and a dozen miles above Kut. Then came the combined master-stroke on February 22 and 23. First, on the 22nd, came the successful attack on the San-i-yat trenches--the position that had held us at bay for a twelve month--the position that had finally checked our troops, struggling most bravely, but struggling in vain, for the relief of their comrades in Kut. This success drew several Turkish battalions to the help of the San-i-yat garrison, and so weakened the Turkish line elsewhere. And then at dawn, on the 23rd, came the crossing of the Tigris five miles above the Shatt-al-Hai--a crossing that will remain famous in history--when the bravery of the troops will not make one forget the careful preparation of the Commander and his skill in making success possible, by causing the Turk to mass his troops both above and below the actual point selected for crossing. This well-timed and brilliantly executed stroke had sent the Turk flying; but though in the two months' fighting he had lost over 8,000 in prisoners and more than that number in killed and wounded, he was still able to fight a series of stubborn rearguard actions before the road was free to Baghdad. It was dawn on the 11th of March before the Highlanders, who were leading, reached the city, and an order to rest and be thankful had been welcome to troops more used to trench warfare than constant rapid marching in the open. [Illustration: Ezra's Tomb.] [Illustration: An Arab Village.] [Illustration: Fishing By Net On The Tigris.] [Illustration: Arabs Selling Produce On The Banks Of The River.] [Illustration: On The Banks Of The Tigris.] But when airmen brought intelligence that the enemy was holding an entrenched position some twenty miles north of the city, it was obvious that some of us must move up-river and drive him back. It was once remarked by an American officer, who had served throughout the Civil War, that he knew that every soldier in the army was always longing to be in the next battle. He knew this because it was so said by every general and so written by every newspaper editor. And yet, although he had served in several regiments during the war, he had always found that that particular itch was more lively in neighbouring units than in his own. So when orders arrived on the 13th of March for our Division to advance that night, our friends from other divisions congratulated us with what seemed almost undue heartiness on our good fortune in being selected, and the estimate of the numbers of the opposing Turks rose rapidly from five thousand to fifteen thousand. However, the estimated number finally settled down to about half that, with thirty guns, and these figures were subsequently substantiated by captured prisoners. These orders put an end to the peaceful enjoyment of the palm grove, and preparations were hurried forward. Blankets and waterproof sheets were all stacked, men and officers all carried their own great coats and rations for the next day, water-bottles were filled that afternoon, and enough water was carried on mules to refill them once the next day, and no more given to man or animal till the morning of the 15th. This should be borne in mind when judging of the difficulties overcome by the troops in this action, for the shade temperature on the 14th was about 80°, and there was no shade. The Turk certainly had judged it impossible for us to advance so far from the river, for we learned later that he had laid out the trace of most of his trenches between the river and the railway; but our main attack was delivered west of the railway, a success there forcing the withdrawal of the whole of his line. Save for several severe dust-storms the whole pursuit had been blessed with fine weather, and it was on a beautiful starlit night that our Division formed up along the railway for the march towards Mushaidie, a station some twenty miles north of Baghdad on the direct road to Berlin. Night marches, the text-book says, may be made for several reasons, but it does not suggest that one of these ever could be for pleasure. Constant and unexpected checks break the swing that counts so much for comfort on a long march; hurrying on to make up for lost ground, stumbling in rough places, belated units pushing past to the front, whispered but heated arguments with staff officers, all threaten the calm of a peaceful evening and also that of a well-balanced mind. Many a soldier sadly misses his pipe, which, of course, may not be lit on a night march; but to me a greater loss is the silence of those other pipes, for the sound of the bagpipes will stir up a thousand memories in a Highland regiment, and nothing helps a column of weary foot-soldiers so well as pipe-music, backed by the beat of drum. This march was neither better nor worse than its fellows, and we had covered some fourteen miles before we halted at dawn. Then we lay down, gnawed a biscuit, tasted the precious water in our bottles, and waited for what news airmen would bring of the enemy. [Illustration: The Course Of The Baghdad Railway.] [Illustration: Different Types In Mesopotamia.] The day is not wasted on which one has seen the sun rise--perhaps some of us changed the old saying, and felt the day would be well spent for him who saw the sun set,--for in war, however sure the victory, so also is the toll of killed and wounded, and the attack of an enemy entrenched in this country, as bare and open as the African veld, is done readily, gladly, but not without losses; and the time one thinks of these is not in the charge, not in the advance, but in the empty period of waiting beforehand. The needle pricks before, not during, the race. "Remember only the happy hours," and if the most glorious hour in life is the hour of victory in battle, so are the hours preceding battle among the most depressing. I confess, as we sat there idle in the chill dawn, my mind was filled not only with the hope of victory and captured trenches, but with memories of past scenes in France and Mesopotamia, and of a strip of ground the evening after Magersfontein, each battlefield dotted with little groups of men lying rigid, each marked with lines of motionless forms. Action quickly dispels such thoughts, and we all welcomed the definite news that was at last brought of the enemy, and our orders for a farther advance. One brigade was immediately sent forward on the east side of the railway in order to press back the advanced parties of the enemy on their main position, some six miles north of our present halting place. A brave sight it is to see a brigade deploying for action. Even though the scarlet doublet has given place to the khaki jacket, though no pipes sound and no colours are unfurled, the spirit still remains; the spirit that in old days led the British line to victory still fills these little columns scattered at wide intervals over the plain, these little columns of Englishmen, Highlanders, Indians, and Gurkhas. The brigade pushed forward for a mile or two without opposition, then little puffs of white smoke bursting in the air showed that the Turk had opened the battle with salvoes of shrapnel; the little columns quickly spread out into thin lines, and our batteries trotted forward and were soon themselves engaged in action. So far the scene had been clear in every detail, but now as the day advanced, the dust from advancing batteries, the smoke and mirage, formed a fog of war that telephones and signallers could only in part dispel. The mirage in Mesopotamia does not so much hide as distort the truth. The enemy are seldom altogether hidden from view, the trouble is rather to tell whether one is observing a cavalry patrol or an infantry regiment, or if the object moving forward is not in reality a sandhill or a bunch of reeds. The mirage here has certainly a strange power of apparently raising objects above the ground-level. I remember well from a camp near Falahiyah the Sinn Banks, which are perhaps thirty feet above the plain, were quite invisible in the clear morning air, but about noon they were easy to distinguish as a cloudy wall swaying to and fro in the distant haze. Nor shall I forget the instance of an officer who once assured me he had observed five Arab horsemen within a mile of our column: we rode forward, and soon the five shadowy horsemen gave place to five black crows hopping about by the edge of the Suwaicha marsh. But the most curious illusion I have seen in this way was looking towards the Pusht-i-Kuh hills across the marsh from San-i-yat. The foothills, some thirty miles distant, had sometimes the appearance of ending in abrupt white cliffs such as one sees at Dover. The cause of this was a great number of dead fish which had been stranded as the marsh receded, and their white bellies, a mile away, gave the appearance of white cliffs to the base of the Persian hills, which in reality slope very gradually down to the level of the Tigris valley. [Illustration: Arab Girl Labourers.] [Illustration: The Barber.] [Illustration: Washing Clothes.] So in Mesopotamian battles, little can be trusted that is seen, and to gain information of the enemy commanders are bound to rely on reports by aeroplane, messengers, and telephones. The battle now before us was to be fought over ground typical of the Tigris valley and the desert into which it merges. There are no hills, trees, or any distinguishing features, but the strip nearest the river, varying from one to several miles in breadth, is cultivated and intersected with irrigation channels, some six feet, some six inches, in width and depth. These are invaluable as cover to troops on the defensive, and almost impassable to transport carts. It was here the enemy had expected us, and was holding numerous trenches between the river and the railway; but our commanders wisely waited till their information was complete, and then decided to make our main attack on the enemy's extreme right, some six miles from the river. The ground in this part is a wide open desert, bare and level except for a few low sandhills; but in the dips and hollows below the sandhills the khaki-coloured desert changes into a thick growth of fresh green grass, dotted with countless daisies and dandelions, and a little white flower resembling alyssum giving a sweet smell to all the countryside. Some five miles beyond our halting-place a definite ridge runs east and west across the railway, and ends in a low sugar-loaf hill about forty feet high. This ridge was reported to be entrenched and held by the Turk, and this ridge we were ordered to attack and capture. Our first brigade had moved forward on the east side of the railway, but had been eventually held up mainly by enfilade artillery fire coming from positions stretching nearer to the river than to the railway. The whole brigade was now lying stretched out in extended order some three thousand yards ahead of us, with the left regiment touching the railway embankment. Our brigade had followed for some miles in their tracks, but was now ordered to cross to the western side of the railway by a small culvert and form up for the main attack some three or four miles south of the enemy's position. This was done without difficulty, the third brigade of our Division being held in support on our left rear. After the orders and dispositions had been explained to every man, magazines were charged, and the Highland regiment deployed into attack formation in four lines of half-platoons in file. A battalion of Gurkhas was deployed on our left, and the third battalion of the brigade was formed up in rear of the Gurkhas. The main attack was thus to be delivered on a narrow front of five hundred yards, the machine-gun company being held in readiness to support the assaulting battalions as occasion offered. The first-line transport with the reserve ammunition halted near the culvert through which we had crossed the railway, but both our reserve ammunition and our Aide Post were brought forward as the attack developed. [Illustration: Indian Cavalry Watering At Arab Village.] [Illustration: Landing Stores At Arab Village.] [Illustration: The Great Bund Built To Keep Back The Marsh At Falahiyah.] [Illustration: The Liquorice Factory, Kut.] [Illustration: The River At Kut.] [Illustration: Drawing Water At Kut.] [Illustration: View From The Kut Minaret Towards The Hai.] [Illustration: Kut.] [Illustration: Progress Is Being Made At Kut, It Now Has Its Municipality.] [Illustration: Townshend's Trenches, Kut.] [Illustration: Looking Towards Kut.] [Illustration: The Kut Minaret.] At 3-30 p.m. we advanced, and soon had passed the two field batteries covering our front, and reached, without opposition, the lines of the first brigade extended on the east side of the railway. About four o'clock our patrols reported that the enemy was holding not only the main ridge that joins Sugar Loaf Hill with the railway embankment, but also a broken line of low sandhills a few hundred yards in front of the main position. At the same time some shrapnel burst over our leading platoons, and a party of Turks, directly on our left, opened long-range rifle fire. The battalion halted under cover of some sandhills, the final orders were issued, and half a company and two machine-guns were sent to clear the enemy firing from our left flank. Happily the latter retired at once when fired on, and the battalion advanced in perfect order, the small columns extending into line as the enemy's rifle fire grew more and more severe. The Turkish batteries now kept up a regular fire of both shrapnel and high-explosive shell, but these detonated badly, and our losses on this account were small. A _rafale_ of shrapnel will of course destroy any infantry moving in the open, but intermittent shelling, although it appears to be terribly destructive, will not stop resolute troops determined to press forward. But the farther we advanced the more evident it became that Sugar Loaf Hill was the key of the position. It stood seven or eight hundred yards west of the railway, and the enemy's riflemen from the entrenchments on top brought a deadly enfilade fire to bear on our advancing lines. The Gurkhas moving in echelon on our left escaped this, but to meet it and to dominate the enemy's fire, the Highlanders were compelled to extend to the left, their supporting platoons being used to fill up the gap. Two machine-gun sections also pressed gallantly forward, and in spite of continual and heavy losses from now onwards, did much to help us to gain superiority of fire over the enemy. The battle was now divided into two parts. On our left the Turks had been forced to retire from their advanced positions, but on the right they still held some trenches among the broken ground near the railway, two hundred yards in advance of the main position on the ridge; but on the right our losses had not been so severe, nor was our line so extended. On the left the Turk occupied no advanced positions, but he outflanked our line, and the enfilade fire from his commanding positions was causing such losses that it seemed impossible for our men to continue the advance without strong artillery support. Unfortunately this was not forthcoming at the time, because our covering batteries had found they were at extreme range, and were now in the act of moving to a more forward position. If an attacking line wavers and halts within close range of an enemy entrenched, that attack is _done_ until supports come up and give it again an impetus forward. But there were now few supports available, and the moment most critical. Yet all along our front small sections of Highlanders still continued to rise up, make a rush forward, and fling themselves down, weaker perhaps by two or three of their number, but another thirty yards nearer the enemy. Now the last supports pressed into the firing line, and as one leader fell, another took his place. One platoon changed commanders six times in as many minutes, but a lance-corporal led the remaining men with the same dash and judgment as his seniors. [Illustration: The Assistant Adjutant.] [Illustration: Captain W. A. YOUNG, Commanding No. 2 Company.] [Illustration: The Money Changer] It was at this time our Lewis gun teams lost so heavily. The weight of the gun and the extra ammunition carried renders their movements slower than that of their comrades, and consequently the teams offer a better target as well as one specially sought for by the enemy. The officer in charge, Lieut. Gillespie, had brought up two of our guns in the endeavour to subdue the fire from Sugar Loaf Hill, but at the very moment of giving the range his left arm was shattered. He had been light-weight champion of India, and as he now continued fighting, I could not but compare him to his famous predecessor in the Ring, who carried on the fight with one arm broken. I know those brave, brown eyes of his never flinched in pain, nor wavered in doubt, as he made his way back, not to the Aide Post, but in order to bring forward two more guns for the same purpose. But, alas! while directing their fire he was seen by some Turkish riflemen and fell, never again to rise, his breast pierced by two bullets. A number of staff and artillery officers witnessed this attack by a Highland regiment. Some were chiefly impressed by so much individual gallantry, others at the example of what can be achieved by collective determination. Was it the result of hard and constant training, perfect discipline, or _esprit de corps_ that at this moment of trial made these thin extended lines work as if by clockwork to their own saving and the victory of our arms? It was during this advance of five hundred yards that the regiment met with its heaviest losses. With four officers and half his men killed or wounded, and an enemy machine-gun pouring a continuous stream of bullets on to the remainder, the situation is not a happy one for a company sergeant-major, and this was the situation which the young Sergeant-Major Ben Houston of our left company had now to face. He turned round, as so often in battle one does turn round, hoping to see supports pushing forward, and a bullet seared an ugly line across both shoulders. Without waiting, he led his men on, and another bullet struck his bayonet; fragments cut his face and made his eye swell, so that he could not see out of it. Yet when I met him at midnight after the last charge, he told me much of the battle and nothing of his wounds. High praise is due to those who, although weakened by wounds, continue fighting and undertaking fresh responsibilities. The company next on the left fared little better, but these two companies forced the enemy back, and occupied the low sandhills some two hundred yards in advance of his main position, and there waited, by order, before making the final assault. The left company lost two signallers killed, and the next company had four signallers all wounded in the act of calling for more ammunition. Ammunition was brought up, but, though many brave men fell and many brave deeds were done, nothing was carried out with greater bravery, nothing contributed more to our success, than the maintenance of communication throughout the battle. [Illustration: No. 1 Company Prepares For Inter-company Cross-country Run.] [Illustration: Highland Games On The Tigris Front.] [Illustration: The Last Meal In Camp.] [Illustration: The Men's Field Kitchen.] [Illustration: Staff Of Officers' Mess At San-i-yat.] [Illustration: Loading Up The Kits.] The left half battalion, reduced to less than half of its original numbers, was in need of help. This help it now gained from the action of the companies on the right. Undismayed by the enemy shell and rifle fire, these two companies, gallantly assisted by the Indian battalion on the east side of the railway, pressed forward, and at five o'clock charged the enemy, and drove him out of his advanced trenches at the point of the bayonet. The very quickness of the manoeuvre had ensured its success, though it was only achieved with considerable loss to ourselves as well as to the Turk. But the gain was great. Small parties of Highlanders now crept forward among the sand-dunes, two Lewis guns were taken to the east side of the railway embankment, and a hot enfilade fire was brought to bear on the enemy main position. So effective was this that the Turks were forced to evacuate the ridge for some 400 yards nearest the railway, and even from Sugar Loaf Hill his fire weakened, and the relief to our left half battalion and to the Gurkhas was correspondingly great. Streams of wounded Turks were also seen passing from the ridge to the rear: it was not only the British who suffered losses on the 14th of March. The situation was now greatly in our favour, and it only wanted a final charge to complete the success. But this assault could not be made without either artillery support or the arrival of fresh troops to fill up our depleted and extended ranks. Our Colonel, therefore, ordered all companies to wait in the positions they had gained, but to be ready to charge immediately after the batteries had bombarded the enemy trenches. Consequently, during the next hour both sides remained on the defensive. Little ironies pursue us through life; in battle Death sometimes comes with a touch so swift and so ironical that we are made to fear God truly. Englishmen have learned now the meaning of the saying, dear to the French soldier, "de ne pas s'en faire," and in the lull of battle before the bombardment, Sergeant Strachan and Cleek Smith talked of old times. There had been nine Strachans in the regiment when we landed in France two and a half years ago, one of whom was then my orderly. "Any news this morning?" I would sometimes ask.--"Nothing much, sir, only another of the Strachans was killed last night." My orderly had become a sergeant, but the other eight were no longer with the battalion. They had all left, "on command." "Yes," said Cleek Smith, "I wonder why it is so many poor chaps get it the minute they join the regiment, while fellows like you and me go through one show after another and never get a scratch." Scarce a bullet was fired during that half-hour, yet as a full stop to his question came one that found a way to that gallant heart, which had never failed him in the most critical fight, nor on the most dangerous duty when out scouting. Cleek Smith, you know the answer now to an even greater Riddle than the one you put to the last of the Strachans. No man liveth unto himself, and whoever dies in battle, dies for his regiment, his country, and the cause. The telephone plays an important part in open warfare, as it does in the trenches, and though the Brigade Signalling Officer and many of his men were killed, intermittent communication was kept up throughout the battle between the battalion, the covering batteries, and the Brigade Commander. The value of this was now extreme. By telephone our Colonel communicated his intentions to the firing line, and thus prevented those sporadic attacks by independent platoons, at once so gallant, so ineffective, and so deadly in losses. By telephone he explained the situation to the Brigadier, who ordered up half a battalion of another Highland regiment, old friends of ours, but never more wanted than now, and by telephone he arranged that the batteries should bombard as heavily as possible the trenches on the right of Sugar Loaf Hill, the bombardment to begin at 6.25 and to last for six minutes. [Illustration: Sergeant-major I. E. NIVEN.] [Illustration: Interior Of A Hospital Ward In Mesopotamia.] During this hour rifle fire grew less and less, artillery firing ceased. High above the battlefield some crested larks were singing, even as they sing on a quiet evening over the trenches in France, as they sing over the fields at home. A few green and bronze bee-eaters hovered almost like hawks over the sand-dunes, and a cloud of sandgrouse were swinging and swerving across the open ground that divided Highlander from Turk. The wind had died quite away, and a scent of alyssum filled the air. There was no movement among the troops, there was none even among the slender wild grasses of the plain. The sun, that had been blazing all through the day, now hung low in the western sky. The sound of battle was dying, even as the day was dying. "The world was like a nun, breathless in adoration." And we soldiers, absorbed in this remote corner of the world war, intent on the hour immediately before us, lay there breathless in expectancy. Suddenly our 18-pounders opened gun fire. With rare precision shrapnel burst all along the enemy trenches, and at 6-30, as the shelling slackened in intensity, the Highlanders rose as one man, their bayonets gleaming in the setting sun, and, with the Gurkhas on their left, rushed across the open. There was little work for the bayonet. The Turk fled as our men closed, and the position so long and hardly fought for was won. The Highlanders had gained their objective, but had lost heavily in officers and men. The remainder were exhausted by the labours of the past twenty-four hours and by lack of water; but when orders came to push forward and capture Mushaidie railway station there was no feeling of doubt or hesitation. Some time was spent in re-organisation, in bringing up and distributing reserve ammunition; the two left companies were amalgamated, and an officer detailed to act with the right wing of the Gurkhas, since that battalion, though it had not suffered such heavy losses in men, had only two officers left unwounded. The two companies of the supporting Highland battalion now arrived and were detailed as a reserve to our attacking line. The third regiment of our brigade had been operating far out on the left flank, and were now occupying Sugar Loaf Hill, from which they had driven the last remaining Turks, and the Indian regiment on the right of the railway, which had fought so well with us throughout the battle, received orders to halt for the night. And thus we advanced alone; but though hungry, thirsty, weary, worn, there was full confidence among all ranks, and one resolve united all--the determination to press forward and complete the rout of the enemy. A mile ahead we passed a position, strongly entrenched but luckily deserted by the Turks, and it was not for another two miles, when our patrols came close to the station, that the enemy was reported in any numbers. There the patrols described a scene of considerable confusion. A train was shunting, and many Turks rushing about and shouting orders. Our patrols were working half a mile ahead of the regiment, so in spite of every effort it was half an hour later before we filed silently past the station, formed up once again for the attack, and charged with the bayonet. The enemy fired a few shots, one of our men and a few Turks were killed and a few more made prisoners; but the rest fled and disappeared into the night, leaving piles of saddlery, ammunition, and food behind them. But the last train had left Mushaidie, and with it vanished our hopes of captured guns and prisoners. However, we had achieved the task allotted to us, and the moment the necessary pickets had been posted the rest of us forgot exhaustion, forgot victory, in the most profound sleep. [Illustration: No. 1 Company Early Morning Parade Outside Samarra.] [Illustration: Trenches At Samarra.] [Illustration: Bathing In The Tigris.] [Illustration: The Pioneers Of The Regiment In Summer Kit.] [Illustration: Samarra.] We had achieved our task, and, as the corps commander wrote, we had made the 14th of March a red-letter day for all time in the history of the Regiment. I have told the story of these thirty hours of continuous marching and fighting from the point of view of a regimental officer. This is in battle, some say always, very limited in outlook. But certain things are shown clear. Waste of energy brings waste of life and victory thrown away. A regimental leader has, with his many other burdens, to endure the intolerable toil of taking thought, and of transmitting thought without pause into action. And those who work with him are not mere figures, not only items of a unit, but are intimate friends whose lives he must devote himself to preserve, whose lives he must be ready to sacrifice as freely as his own. It is well that we neither know nor decide the issues of life and death. There is, I think, a second meaning in the oft-quoted line of Lucretius, _Nec bene promeritis capitur_, _nec tangitur ira_. Our prayers are not attended to perhaps because of their very foolishness. I believe when we congratulate ourselves after a battle that we and our friends are still in the land of the living, that in some mysterious way there may be a counterpart on the other side of the veil--that there may be welcome and rejoicing also on behalf of those who have passed through the portals of death. Although every mother's son of us must experience a feeling of dread in stepping alone into the night that no man knows, must be filled with sorrow and move with a heavy heart when his comrades and those filled with the glory of youth and promise depart, still we can, all of us, also feel thankful for the loan of their help and strength. Two years of war, two years of living constantly in the presence of death, has brought to me, as it has brought to many, the assurance that it is well equally with those who remain here as it surely is with those who pass away. And we have no other answer to the last question ever asked by Cleek Smith. "It is only after the sun hath set that the owls of Athenae wing their flight." The following day the battalion remained at Mushaidie; a dust storm was blowing and many reports came in of the enemy returning to make a counter-attack. But his defeat had been too severe and he made no real resistance again till we encountered him a month or so later some 30 miles further north near Istabulat. Meanwhile our brigade received orders to concentrate on the Tigris at the Babi Bend, some six miles east of Mushaidie. A pleasant week of comparative rest was spent there and then, there being no signs of the enemy, we were withdrawn to our old camping ground in the palm groves, that line the river bank between Kazimain and the City of Baghdad. The re-organisation of our platoons after the recent losses was completed, and fresh equipment and clothing issued. Two companies were split up on outpost duty, but even so time was found for military training and for some visits to the City, an equal pleasure to officers and men. The Colonel was sent for to Army Headquarters, and General Maude was most complimentary to the Regiment for their great fight. [Illustration: Tent Pitching.] [Illustration: The Cultivation Of The Date Palm At Basrah.] In April the division moved forward, and the brigade again marched past the Babi Bend, northward of Mushaidie to Beled Station, where we had a few days' halt and some of us shot a number of sandgrouse. Thence we pressed on till we overtook the Turks entrenched beyond the Median Wall, holding a strong position about Istabulat. From this it was necessary to drive them, our objective being the railhead at Samarrah. CHAPTER VIII. THE BATTLE THAT WON SAMARRAH. The following article by Brigadier-General A. G. Wauchope, C.M.G., D.S.O., is here republished with permission: There stretches, some sixty miles north of Baghdad, from the Tigris to the Euphrates, a famous fortified line known to the Greeks as the Median Wall. It is skilfully constructed in tiers of mud bricks to a height fully thirty feet above the level of the plain, the whole has been covered over by a thick layer of earth protecting the bricks these many centuries from wind and weather, for the Median Wall is, so some say, the oldest building in all the world. It formed certainly the outer line of the defences of the Kingdom of Babylon under Nebuchadnezzar II, when it ran from Opis on the Tigris to Hit on the Euphrates and this line in far earlier times marked the boundary between the two ancient peoples of Akkad and Sumer, and was probably even then a fortification of first importance. However that may be, it stands to-day the most prominent landmark in all this district of the Tigris valley; though broken, tumbledown mounds represent the great wall towards the Euphrates, for many miles near the Tigris it stands without a break, with strong projecting bastions to give flank defence every forty or fifty yards, and at wider intervals the wall rises so as to form some sort of keep or watch tower. [Illustration: Date Palm Scenes Below Basrah.] [Illustration: T. HENDERSON. M.C. G. V. STEWART. C. RYRIE.] [Illustration: At Arab Village.] [Illustration: Undepressed.] Whoever built the great wall built it for the purposes of war, and no building, I venture to say, has ever had so many battles fought within its neighbourhood. Every race through every age, Aryan and Turanian, Babylonian and Assyrian, Median and Persian, armies from Greece and armies from Rome, have, during the past thousands of years, slaughtered each other with extraordinary thoroughness below these mud bastions; and more recently, but with the same seeming futility, Turk has murdered Arab and Arab Turk, the destruction of villages, mosques and canals marking, as of old, the soldiers sacrifice to the God of War. Standing this morning on these ancient ramparts, I watch the sun rise over this land which, once so rich and fertile, now shows hardly a sign of human habitation, this country where not a tree nor a house has been allowed for many years to stand, over which the blight of misrule has lain as a curse for centuries and I see yet one more army going forth to battle; once again columns of armed men sweep forth to encounter similar columns, to kill and to capture within sight of the Median Wall. And watching these columns of Englishmen and Highlanders, of Hindus, Gurkhas and bearded Sikhs advancing to the coming conflict, one felt the conviction that this struggle was being fought for the sake of principles more lofty, for ends more permanent, for aims less fugitive, for issues of higher service to the cause of humanity, than those that had animated the innumerable and bloody conflicts of the past. The delta of the Tigris ends a few miles below Samarrah. That is to say, whoever holds the district about Samarrah controls the waters of the Tigris. For lower down in the Baghdad valaiyet the river in its annual flood deposits so much mud on its bed as to raise itself in course of centuries, above the level of the plain. Consequently, artificial banks about three feet high have been built all along the river, and were these to be cut during the flood season, the whole surrounding country would be inundated and the spring crops destroyed. This renders the districts of Samarrah of great natural importance, and the fact that the Germans had completed a railway between Baghdad and Samarrah, made it also desirable for the British to hold it. The country here differs little from the rest of the Tigris valley, the same level plain of loam and mud, a strip of two or three miles nearest the river highly irrigated, and at this season, green with young corn and barley; further afield the bare, brown, featureless desert stretching out endlessly in every direction. Dawn and dusk transform this shadowless wilderness into a land of the most wonderful colour and atmosphere, but throughout the heat of the day the glare and dust make it hateful to white men. And even in April, the shade temperature runs to 110 degrees Fahrenheit, and where troops march in this country without trees there is no shade from the sun, no escape from the heat. [Illustration: The Arch Of Ctesiphon.] [Illustration: The Regiment Passing The Arch Of Ctesiphon En Route For Baghdad, March 1917.] [Illustration: Women Drawing Water From The River.] [Illustration: "Gufas'" Or Circular Boats At Baghdad.] [Illustration: The Entrance To The Mosque Kadhimain.] Besides the Median Wall, there remain two outward and visible signs of the older civilisation that flourished in happier times. There are, at frequent intervals, low flat mounds composed of old sunbaked bricks the sites of ancient cities; so numerous are these that they seem to justify the Chaldean proverb, boasting of the prosperity of the people, that a cock may spring from house to house without lighting on the ground from Babylon to the sea. The other are the walls of the canals that served to irrigate the country between the two rivers. These canals have for centuries past been dry and useless, but their walls, twenty or thirty feet high, and many miles in length, remain as the most conspicuous monument of the fallen greatness of Mesopotamia. That they will again be put to their original purpose was the confident assertion of Sir William Willcocks, and with Turkish misrule finally banished from the land, a few years may see these canals again filled with water, bringing wealth and plenty to a happier generation. But to-day they seem to have but the one use of acting as tactical features on the battlefield, as was indeed the case in this fight near Istabulat. For some days before the 31st April, the British had been collecting behind the Median Wall, facing the Turkish position which lay some three miles to the north of the Wall, and some twelve miles south of Samarrah. A very well selected position it proved, and a very difficult one to attack. The Turkish left rested securely on a re-entrant bend of the Tigris. Thence the line ran east and west across the Dujail River, and continued for a mile along a dry canal, until it met the railway a little to the north of Istabulat station. Both the Railway and the Dujail run roughly north-west to south-east, but the Tigris towards Samarrah bends due west. Consequently the Turks by refusing their right were able to rest that flank on the ruins of the ancient city of Istabulat. These ruins consisted of some low mounds and the high walls of an old canal that had run from the Tigris across the present line of the Railway four miles to the north of the station. The whole country was absolutely flat and bare, except for the broken and uneven walls of the Dujail River and Istabulat Canal. The so-called Dujail River is a canal that takes off from the right bank of the Tigris some four miles north of the Median Wall. It has been dug and re-dug, till it now flows below the level of the surrounding country, but its walls are fully twenty feet high, and so form the one dominant tactical feature of the level Tigris plain in this district. A couple of miles south of Istabulat station, the Dujail cuts through the Median Wall about a mile to the east of the Railway, which runs from Baghdad through the Median Wall, past Istabulat, and so on to Samarrah. By the 18th April, the British were holding that part of the Median Wall that runs roughly for a couple of miles eastwards from the Dujail River to the River Tigris, other troops, also in rear of the Median Wall, continued our line on the west bank of the Dujail, and a third body was held in reserve. The open nature of the country, and the difficulty of distinguishing the enemy's main position from his advanced trenches, made the problem of attack uncommonly difficult, and the thorough bombardment of his trenches before assault almost impossible. The key to the position was obviously the high double wall of the Dujail River. These walls are a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards wide at the top, and being very broken and uneven give some cover to skirmishers in attack or defence. An attack along this line is also made somewhat easier by a small ridge of sandhills that had originally formed the walls of an old canal, which flowed in earlier centuries between the Tigris and the Dujail. Photographs taken by our airmen showed that the Turks had strengthened their line where it crossed the Dujail, by building a strong redoubt on its eastern bank some 300 yards long by 150 broad; here too were a number of machine gun emplacements and, a little in rear, six or eight gun pits. On the 18th a Highland Regiment pushed forward a strong patrol along the east bank of the Dujail, an Indian Battalion doing the same on the west bank, the two patrols working together and giving each other mutual support. Both Regiments encountered the Turkish outposts within six hundred yards, and after driving them some distance back, the patrols were withdrawn at night. As an attack on the enemy position was decided on, the Battalion Commander suggested that a line of strong points should be constructed about a mile ahead of our line, that when these had been made good, a second line of strong points a further eight hundred yards in advance should be constructed, so that by this means the final assault might be made from a short distance to the enemy's main position, and also by this means artillery officers would be able to locate definitely the enemy's main trenches and the guns could be brought up within 2,000 yards before the Infantry should assault. This idea was adopted. During the 19th the Highland Regiment, by some fine patrol work, drove the enemy advanced troops back with little loss, and during the night three strong points were built a mile in advance, two on the east and one on the west bank of the Dujail. From these points both the Highlanders and the Punjabis skirmished further forward on the 20th, and the enemy's position was becoming seriously threatened with but little loss to ourselves. One incident in this patrol fighting must not pass unnoted. An artillery officer had been sent forward in the morning to observe the ground and enemy positions from our strong point on the east bank of the Dujail. It was a task of considerable danger, for already several of our men had been hit by enemy snipers, and at this moment a wounded man was being carried back by the stretcher bearers. The artillery officer had crawled a little ahead of the Strong Point in order to observe more freely, but his gallantry was ill rewarded by a bullet striking him and incapacitating him from coming back, or even escaping from his exposed position. Easton had been Sergeant of the Highlanders stretcher bearers since his predecessor had been killed when recovering wounded, and he himself had won the Distinguished Conduct Medal for a fine piece of work in France. Without hesitation Easton now ran forward from the strong point and, though the enemy snipers were dropping bullets all round, roughly bandaged the officer, picked him up on his back, staggered down to the river and got him across under the welcome shelter of the other bank, though the stream was over six feet deep. For this action Sergeant Easton now wears a bar to his Distinguished Conduct Medal. [Illustration: Street Scenes In Baghdad.] [Illustration: British Residency, Baghdad.] [Illustration: Hotel Maude, Baghdad.] [Illustration: The Bridge At Baghdad.] On the 20th it was definitely decided that the situation demanded an immediate advance, and a direct frontal attack was ordered to take place at dawn on the following morning. One force were to lead the attack at 5 a.m. on the east of the Dujail, the Highlanders to advance along the east bank of that canal, and one Company of the Punjabis on the west bank. On the right of the Highlanders a battalion of Gurkhas were to advance from the right strong point with a battalion of Indian Infantry in echelon on their right near the Tigris, another battalion being held in reserve. When this attack had gained ground a second force was to advance over the bare plain on the west of the Dujail, and their right to gain touch with the left of the Company of Punjabis on the Dujail bank. The objectives of the main attack were the redoubt, and the two bridges which crossed the Dujail immediately above it. A third force was held back in reserve. The orders were thus very clear, and the plan simple; the main difficulty was to ensure effective artillery co-operation, since to come within effective range of the Redoubt our batteries would be forced to move forward over very open ground, and counter-battery work would be obviously hard to arrange. The frontage of broken ground open to the Highlanders was but little over 150 yards; the Commanding Officer therefore wisely determined to attack on a narrow frontage of two platoons rather than expose his men on the bare plain, and with the Dujail giving the direction to his left, trust to the impetus of eight lines to force the enemy's position. Precisely at 5 a.m., the covering batteries opened fire on the enemy outposts, the leading platoons charged forward and, without pausing to fire, but advancing by a series of swift rushes drove back the Turkish advanced troops about a thousand yards from our strong points. A few Turks were bayonetted, a number more shot by the fire of a well-placed Lewis gun, but the surprise of the attack and the rapidity of its execution saved our men from any severe loss during this first advance. But as our leading platoons drew near to the enemy main positions, they came under an enfilade fire from the west bank of the Dujail, and a number of men had to swing round to the left, and, from the crest of the wall, reply to the enemy not two hundred yards distant on the opposite bank. The succeeding lines, however, pressed forward, section after section rushed on to the help of their comrades, every rise and every knoll along the river was held by snipers and the battle developed into a fierce contest between skirmishers. But it was not of long duration. Shortly after 6 o'clock nearly two miles of country had been cleared of the enemy, our men were not to be denied, and the leading section of Highlanders made a gallant charge and rushed the main redoubt, killing a certain number of its defenders and driving out the remainder. The success of the attack was greatly due to the rapidity, but its very rapidity had led to considerable intervals occurring between the eight lines that had originally advanced to the assault. Some platoons had been forced to engage the enemy on the opposite bank, others with Lewis guns were keeping down the fire of the enemy who were holding several small trenches ahead, and a number of men had fallen, never to rise again; consequently for the first few minutes there were less than a hundred men in the redoubt, and these were subject to a heavy fire from their front, and enfilading fire from their left. [Illustration: The Quartermaster, Assistant Adjutant, Transport Officer, 2nd In Command, And The Colonel Watching The Regimental Sports At The Front.] [Illustration: Captain T. W. STEWART, Captain W. A. YOUNG And The PADRE.] [Illustration: The Mesopotamian Railway.] Now was the moment when artillery support was most needed. But as before explained, this, owing to the nature of the ground, had been most difficult to arrange. The batteries posted under cover of the Median Wall, soon found themselves, as the enemy retired, at extreme range, had been obliged in consequence to advance to new positions. This is a matter which takes longer than the actual bringing up of the guns; fresh observations must be made by artillery officers, new telephone wires must be made, new communications established, and correct ranges ascertained of the new targets before effective support can be given. This was all being done, but under great difficulties, because the enemy had established a strong barrage in rear of the assaulting troops. Many of our gunners were hit, especially among the telephone operators; consequently, just at this critical time, there was little or no artillery support to be had. Now the Turk is a stubborn fighter. His men on the west bank of the Dujail had not yet been driven so far back as those opposing the Highlanders, and they now opened a very galling fire from the west bank at a range of only two to four hundred yards. The Redoubt had been taken at 6-15 a.m. Within ten minutes the Turks on the east bank had organised a strong body to make a counter attack, and these headed by parties of bombers, rushed the Redoubt, drove the few defenders back, and held its front and side faces. But their triumph was short lived. It was a proud boast of the Highlanders that of all the miles of entrenchments that had at one time or another been entrusted to them not one yard had even been surrendered to the enemy; it was their stern resolve that no Highlander should lie unavenged, that no man who wore the Red Haeckle should give his life in vain. The Redoubt had once been theirs, and in its trenches lay the bodies of their comrades who had died to hold it. It was the Redoubt they had set forth to capture; now more than ever they were determined that not a live Turk should dispute possession. The platoons that had originally formed the rear waves were now fast coming up, bombs and bombers were called for, and an immediate counter-attack organised. But the losses were now very heavy. Within a minute, one Captain and two Subalterns were killed, two Captains and two Subalterns wounded, and a heavy proportion among the rank and file also fell. The smallest hesitation, the slightest wavering, and the Turks had made good their success. But there was no hesitation and, though only one unwounded officer remained, there was no wavering. The bombers dashed forward, every available man followed, and within fifteen minutes of its loss, the entire Redoubt was recaptured and its forward trenches rapidly consolidated. The Highlanders' boast still held true, the Red Haeckle was again victorious. Many were the dead, many the wounded to testify to the gallant deeds that led to this success. An Artillery Officer, who witnessed the assault, wrote:-- "That day the Highlanders without help won a victory that only those who saw it can realise was among the most gallant fought in this war." [Illustration: The Colonel.] [Illustration: The Adjutant.] [Illustration: The Mosques Of Baghdad.] What is the secret, whence comes this spirit, of the wave of bravery that seizes soldiers at these great moments? Many of the very men who charged forward had, but ten minutes before, been driven back, many of their comrades lay dead beside them, they had lost their accustomed leaders, shrapnel and heavy shell were bursting among them, and when the cry for bombs and bombers was given, it must have seemed to many to be but the prelude to disaster, the vain cry for further and useless sacrifice. What is it then that stops the individual from hanging back, from letting others lead, from justifying himself to himself by continuing to fire in comparative safety at longer ranges? Who would detect him? Might he not argue plausibly enough, that his covering fire would be of more assistance to his comrades than his rushing uselessly forward at their head? The secret of it lies in _esprit de corps_, in the willing surrender by the individual of his freedom of action, by the voluntary sacrifice of the individual for the good of all. And greater love hath no man than this:--that he giveth his life for his friend. The gallantry of those who lie dead, whether British, or Indian, or Turk cannot be told, but one incident that was witnessed by several is worthy of record. The Redoubt measured several hundred yards on its front and side faces, and the attackers were few in number. One of these, Private Melvin had by some chance so damaged his bayonet that he could not fix it on his rifle. Throwing that weapon aside, he rushed forward where his comrades were scarce, and the enemy in plenty, and encountered a group of Turks single handed. With bayonet and fist he brought three to the ground, the remaining six, stunned by the violence of his attack, surrendered, and were brought back by this brave old soldier in triumph to his Company. For this deed Private Melvin was subsequently awarded the Victoria Cross. [Illustration: Samarra.] [Illustration: Wireless Station, Baghdad. Destroyed by the Huns.] [Illustration: Samarra Railway Station.] [Illustration: Resting After The Battle Of Istabulat.] [Illustration: No. 4 Company Before Istabulat Under The Median Wall. P. SMYTH, A. E. BARISTOW, R. WALKER, and G. V. STEWART in Foreground.] [Illustration: Ground Over Which The Regiment Advanced To Attack The Turkish Strong Point Beneath The +.] Battalion Headquarters now moved up close in rear of the Redoubt, the telephonic communication was established with the Brigade, and Companies reorganised according to their losses. And fortunate it was that this was done with no loss of time. For the Turk had intended to hold this line of entrenchments, of which the Redoubt was the key, and the main defence of the two bridges, throughout the summer, and he was not going to surrender the position without further struggle. Two counter-attacks formed up and advanced against the front face of the Redoubt, a few Turks got within fifty or a hundred yards of the Redoubt, but each attack was broken up by steady rifle fire and Lewis gun fire, and our position made more secure. A little nullah ran from the Turks' second position to within fifty yards of the Redoubt, and up this channel from time to time he sent parties of bombers, but these were easily held in check. A group of machine guns from further up the Dujail swept the crest of the hard-won parapet, and men less experienced in war had suffered more than did those who bore the Red Haeckle. But no experience of war could save men from the high explosive shell which burst throughout the day among the trenches, destroying indiscriminately parapet and defenders. These 5.9 shell the Highlanders had known all too well in France, and the number of bursts reminded our men rather of a bombardment in the trenches of Flanders than the shell fire ordinary to Mesopotamia. And to this bombardment the defenders of the Redoubt were subject from time to time throughout that long day. It is a constant puzzle, why in this life so many things that are at first merely disagreeable are allowed to make so great a noise and to continue for so long a time that they become almost unbearable. It is a question that often confronts one at a comic opera, always in the near neighbourhood of a gramophone, but never with such persistent irritation as when undergoing a bombardment from high explosive shell. Nothing is more trying to the nerves, for and from it there is no escape. This war has been defined as a war, not of infantry, nor of artillery, but of effective co-operation between the two. The nature of the ground, and the skill with which the enemy had chosen his positions had prevented this co-operation from being as effective as is usual in our army, and this in spite of every effort being made by our Artillery Officers, and in spite of many casualties among their batteries. In consequence, the enemy's batteries were never silenced, and kept up a heavy fire throughout the day, and our losses were heavy. On our right the Gurkhas had advanced in gallant style at the same time as the Highlanders, and in spite of a stubborn resistance had pushed the enemy back along the line of the old canal, and kept up with our advance. Then with the sand dunes dipped to the level of the plain and the salient bend of the Tigris narrowed their front, the Gurkhas swung round to their left in a most soldierly fashion, and, despite, heavy losses, joined the Highlanders on the Dujail, and for the rest of the day shared the honours and the dangers of the defence of the Redoubt and the trenches near it. The Indian Regiment advancing still further on the right had met with misfortune, for, on reaching a small rise in the ground, their lines had been suddenly swept with machine gun fire at a range of three hundred yards. Many men fell within the space of a few minutes, and it became necessary to bring up the Reserve Battalion to their assistance. Consequently no further advance was possible on this flank, nor on the west flank did the situation offer any greater promise. The Punjabi Regiment on the immediate left of the Highlanders had fought under great difficulties, but with such determination that they eventually dug themselves in opposite the Redoubt on the west bank of the Dujail, though half their men were killed or wounded. On their left again, another Highland Battalion, old friends of ours, both in peace and war, had pressed the enemy back, and occupied some eight hundred yards of an old irrigation channel that ran westward from the Dujail towards the railway. Further to the west, this dry channel remained in the hands of the Turks, and bombing attacks were carried on throughout the day. Another battalion had also suffered considerably from shell fire, and was posted in echelon on the left rear. It was evident that without a renewed bombardment and strong reinforcements, no further advance was possible on either side. We had advanced a couple of miles, driven the enemy from his strongest positions, and gained our immediate objectives. It was evident, that to the day following must be left the final advance and capture of Samarrah. This account of the fighting near Samarrah purports to give no general view of the whole action. Enough, if something clear is shown of the part played by one Regiment, and of the fighting by its immediate neighbours. The Highlanders had had some tough battles during the past few months, and during this day's fighting had lost over a third of their total strength in killed and wounded. On the next morning it was found that the Turks had retired several miles on to the ruins of the ancient city of Istabulat, but it was not until the afternoon that the battle was continued. Then it was fought with the same violence, and with equal stubbornness as on the day before. Again the Turk was driven out of his positions, and again, like the gallant fighter he is, he held on till nightfall. Orders were given to renew the attack at dawn on the third day of the battle, but as day broke the patrols of Highlanders sent back word that the enemy had evacuated his forward positions, and we advanced in attack formation straight on Samarrah. The Highlanders were leading, and passed through the ancient ruins and the several lines of enemy trenches; those trenches held so stubbornly by the Turk, empty now, save for groups of dead bodies and a few of unhappy wounded who had not been moved during the night. Surely the world offers no scene more pitiful than that of a battlefield after action. I know, by personal experience, the suffering entailed in lying day and night untended with broken limbs, the utter weariness from wounds, and the exhaustion after conflict, the tragedy of all surroundings, the cries of those who cry for help that never comes, a passionate longing for death alternating with a craven fear of foe and wandering marauder, and above all, the horror of the great vultures swinging round and round in ever closer circles. Little of the pomp or ceremony of war was seen by the Highlanders as they marched that morning through the Turkish entrenchments at the head of the British troops, the first regiment to enter Samarrah as they had marched some six weeks earlier the first to enter Baghdad. Such is the story of the part played by the Highland Regiment in this hard-fought battle, but though I have told the tale from the point of view of a Regimental Officer, I am not forgetful of the deeds of others. My endeavour has been to give a picture of events as one man meets them in a course of a day's fighting, not to give a narrative of deeds of which I know little and saw nothing. But of the gallant help given by the Gurkhas I have spoken and, after some experience of war both in France and in Mesopotamia, I add my testimony to the value of the loyal services rendered by so many of our Indian Regiments; it will stand to their honour for all time that they have fought throughout these years so bravely and so faithfully. War is a noble comradeship, and the ties that now bind the Indian and British troops will not easily be severed. The relationship between British and Indian officers is invariably happy; difficulties of language, however, sometimes give a little humour to a long campaign. When I was first given command of a Brigade formed of both British and Indian Battalions I made a point of speaking to each Indian officer, and saying something in appreciation of his services. To this the senior Indian officer replied with the usual Eastern compliments, and then added:-- "Many Generals have come to see us, but each usually spares us but a couple of minutes; you, in your kindness, have spoken to each of us for half an hour and we shall indeed fight bravely for you, for of all Generals, you, O Brigadier, are the most long minded." [Illustration: At The Front. The Regiment In The San-i-yat Trenches. Sergeant BISSET and Sergeant MURDOCH both killed in action.] [Illustration: That Able Administrator General Sir PERCY L. COX And An Influential Arab Sheikh.] CHAPTER IX. On April 20th, Colonel J. Stewart took over the command of the Regiment, and Colonel A. G. Wauchope became a Brigadier. It was a great blow to the Regiment to lose their Colonel, and very difficult for any other man coming after him; but the new Colonel proved a worthy successor to the old and the Regiment was fortunate in having two such men in succession to guard its interests and its honour. Months later when I congratulated the General on the successes of his old Regiment and on his promotion, he said, "Yes, yes, B., the Regiment was splendid, but I am not too sure that the other matter is altogether a matter for congratulation." I felt certain that had it been left to his own choice he would have preferred to remain with his Highlanders than accept any higher command. With the capture of Samarrah it can be said that the winter campaign of 1916-1917 came to an end. We held the rail head of the Baghdad railway and had captured sixteen locomotives, 224 trucks and two barges of ammunition. Already at the end of April, the heat of the coming summer which was to prove the hottest on record could be felt, and the thermometer in that month reached 114° in the shade. The actual fighting was for the time being practically over, and it was decided that Samarrah should be our advanced position on the Tigris. Preparations were at once commenced to make the position a strong one, and sufficient to hold up any attack which the enemy might have in view; but the summer coming on the Turks were not anxious to be aggressive and took up their most advanced positions some five or six miles further up the Tigris. The summer was consequently passed under much more pleasant conditions than in 1916. The Turks being far distant a number of officers and men were granted a month's leave to India; tents, rations and comforts were plentiful. The Regiment was at full strength and, despite the heat, the men maintained their health throughout the summer. The main task was the digging of several lines of trenches in front of the old city of Samarrah, but training was carried on continuously so that the Regiment might be ready as always for whatever operations were to take place in the coming cold weather. The Battalion had now spent nearly two years in Mesopotamia, and of the thousand who landed not two hundred remained, and of these many had been wounded. What contrasts the two years offer. In the first period one effort succeeded another, but neither training nor valour were sufficient to redress the balance of the scales, and despite every sacrifice Kut fell. Then came the months when we held San-i-yat, when there were few men and arduous duties, intolerable heat and no comfort. The spring of the second year was marked by a succession of victories, and achievements for all time memorable; the forcing of San-i-yat, the entry to Baghdad, the battles of Mushaidie and Istabulat; and finally the last few months of comparative peace and plenty. Throughout the two years the indomitable spirit of the Battalion showed itself true to the finest traditions of the Regiment, and it is open to question whether memory of the hundred survivors fighting their way back from the Turkish trenches on the 21st of January, does not extort as much admiration as the memory of the three companies, after 30 hours of continuous marching and successful fighting, charging at midnight into the station at Mushaidie. SUMMARY OF OFFICER CASUALTIES suffered by the 2nd Bn. during its service in Mesopotamia, July 1916 to May 1917. Killed in Action | 16 | Includes Captain Duncan, R.A.M.C., | | and 2/Lieut. A. E. Sinclair Died from wounds | 8 | ... Died from disease | 1 | ... Missing | 2 | Captain D. C. Hamilton Johnstone | | and 2/Lieut. H. F. Forrester. | | Both wounded Prisoners of War | 1 | 2/Lieut. A. H. Quine. Wounded in Action | 42 | Includes officers wounded more | | than once, each occasion being | | counted separately. Does not | | include cases where officers have | | subsequently died from wounds. Invalided to India | 50 | As above, includes instances of | | invaliding more than one as | | separate items. Also includes all | | cases of officers wounded who | | were in consequence thereof invalided. DETAILS OF OFFICER CASUALTIES in important battles. Killed Died in from action. wounds. Wounded. Missing P. of W. 7th January, 1916 3 .. 16 .. .. 21st January, 1916 2 .. 3 1 .. 22nd April, 1916 5 .. 2 1 .. 14th March, 1917 1 4 5 .. .. 21st April, 1917 2 3 4 .. 1 ---------------------------------------------- TOTAL 13 7 30 2 1 LIST OF OFFICERS who served with the 2nd Battalion in Mesopotamia, 1916-17. BRIG.-GENERAL A. G. WAUCHOPE, C.M.G., D.S.O. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 16th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 9th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 18th May, 1916. To be Bt.-Lt.-Colonel, 2nd June, 1916. Promotion to rank of Major ante-dated to 15th September 1914. (_London Gaz._, dated 14th September, 1916). To be Bt.-Colonel, 23rd December, 1916. Assumed Command, Brigade. 20th April, 1917. To be Bde. Commander, 11th May, 1917. COLONEL J. STEWART. Embarked, Devonport, 26th December, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st March, 1917. To be A.-Lt.-Col. whilst Commanding a Battn. 5th May, 1917. MAJOR T. G. F. COCHRANE. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 16th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 27th August, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd September, 1916. To be A/Major whilst 2nd in Command, 14th September, 1916. Relinquishes above, 15th April, 1917. To be A/Major on H. Q. of a Battn., 15th May, 1917. MAJOR D. C. HAMILTON-JOHNSTONE. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. To be Tempy. Major, 7th January, 1916. Wounded and Missing, 21st-22nd January, 1916. MAJOR C. R. B. HENDERSON. Embarked, Marseilles, 26th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th January, 1916. Promoted Major, 8th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 14th April, 1916. Tenure of Adjt. expired, 4th January, 1917. MAJOR THE REV. ANDREW MACFARLANE. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. MAJOR THE HON. R. T. C. MURRAY. Embarked, Devonport, 10th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 14th March, 1916. To India for duty with A. H. Q., 3rd April, 1916. CAPTAIN J. ANDERSON. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. To be Hony. Captain, 3rd June, 1916. CAPTAIN J. A. BARSTOW, M.C. Embarked, Devonport, 11th July, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 10th August, 1916. Wounded in Action, 21st April, 1917. CAPTAIN A. E. BLAIR. Embarked, Devonport, 10th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 14th March, 1916. CAPTAIN H. JOHN BLAMPIED. Embarked, Devonport, 7th June, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th July, 1916. To be Asst. Censor, 28th January, 1917. To be Censor, I.E.F. "D", 1st April, 1917. CAPTAIN R. H. CRAKE (ATTACHED). Held command of Btn. during latter portion of January, 1916. CAPTAIN P. G. EGERTON. Posted to the Battalion, 30th June, 1917. CAPTAIN C. D. GILMOUR, M.C. Embarked, Devonport, 20th January, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st February, 1916. Wounded in Action, 22nd April, 1916. Invalided to India, 2nd May, 1916. To England, 11th June, 1916. Awarded the Military Cross, 22nd December, 1916. CAPTAIN A. M. GRIEVE. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Invalided to India, 5th July, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 27th May, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th June, 1917. CAPTAIN J. B. S. HALDANE. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd December, 1916. Wounded in Action, 22nd February, 1917. Invalided to India, 19th March, 1917. CAPTAIN J. N. INGLIS. Embarked, Devonport, 20th January, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st February, 1916. Killed in Action, 22nd April, 1916. CAPTAIN R. MACFARLANE, M.C. Embarked, Bombay, 11th April, 1916. Disembarked Basrah, 17th April, 1916. (Date of Embarkation in U. K. is not known). Wounded in Action, 10th June, 1916. Camp Area Comdt., Ma'gil, 14th July, 1916. Wounded in Action, 14th March, 1917. Awarded the Military Cross, 31st March, 1917. Killed in Action, 21st April, 1917. CAPTAIN M. E. PARK, D.S.O. Embarked, Marseilles, 25th November, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 28th December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Wounded in Action, 10th April, 1916. Awarded the Silver Medal for Valour by H. M. the King of Italy. CAPTAIN R. M. PURVIS. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 20th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 17th March, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 24th March, 1916. Wounded in Action, 10th April, 1916. Invalided to India, 27th April, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 20th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 28th January, 1917. Died from wounds, 14th March, 1917. Promoted Captain, from 8th March, 1916. (_London Gaz._, dated 23rd August, 1916.) CAPTAIN R. D. ROBERTSON. Posted, December, 1917. CAPTAIN N. M. RITCHIE, D.S.O. Embarked, Devonport, 20th January, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st February, 1916. To be Adjutant, _vice_ Major C. R. B. Henderson, 5th January, 1917. Invalided to India, 12th June, 1917. Awarded the D.S.O., 1917. CAPTAIN K. W. L. SIMONET (ATTACHED). Posted for temporary duty, 16th January, 1916. Killed in Action, 21st January, 1916. CAPTAIN J. TODD. Embarked, Marseilles, 10th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th January, 1916. Apptd. Transport Officer, 22nd July, 1916. CAPTAIN L. H. WILLETT. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd December, 1916. Wounded in Action, 21st April, 1917. Invalided to India, 8th May, 1917. CAPTAIN W. A. YOUNG, M.C. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 20th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 17th March, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 24th March, 1916. To be T/Lieut., Supmy., 8th July, 1916. Wounded in Action, 22nd February, 1917. Awarded the Military Cross. CAPTAIN THE REV. A. SILVER. Posted to the Regiment, 30th April, 1917. CAPTAIN A. W. DUNCAN, R.A.M.C. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Was killed in Action whilst M. O. with another Regiment, 9th March, 1916. CAPTAIN G. F. GUNLETTE, R.A.M.C. For duty as M. O., 24th March, 1917. Relieved, 28th March, 1917. CAPTAIN J. MACQUEEN, R.A.M.C. Joined Bn. as M. O., 18th July, 1916. Struck off, tour expired, 25th March, 1917. CAPTAIN W. MOORE CAMERON, R.A.M.C. Posted as M. O., 28th March, 1917. CAPTAIN T. W. STEWART. Embarked, Devonport, 24th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. Invalided to India, 31st January, 1917. _Lieutenants._ H. BOWIE. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 16th January, 1916. Relinquishes Tempy. rank of Lieutenant, 7th January, 1916. W. COUTTS HUNTER. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 20th January, 1916. To England from Egypt, 19th March, 1916. C. V. S. COOKS. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 16th January, 1916. Invalided to England, 7th April, 1916. G. CURDIE. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 21st January, 1916. Invalided to India, 4th February, 1916. Promoted T/Capt., 23rd November, 1915. Relinquishes Tempy. rank, 19th January, 1916. Invalided to England, from Egypt, 7th April, 1916. A. B. CUMMING. Embarked, Marseilles, 25th November, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 28th December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 20th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 25th March, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 1st April, 1916. Killed in Action, 22nd April, 1916. J. F. C. DIXON, M.C. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Wounded in Action, 21st January, 1916. Invalided to India, 30th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 9th June, 1916. Disembarked Basrah, 16th June, 1916. To be Lieutenant, 18th July, 1916. Invalided to India, 23rd November, 1916. Awarded the Military Cross, 22nd December 1916. R. H. DUNDAS. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 21st January, 1916. Invalided to India, 7th March, 1916. F. J. FELL. Posted to Battalion, 9th December, 1917. J. O. HUTCHINSON. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Killed in Action, 7th January, 1916. R. W. MACFARLANE GRIEVE. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 20th January 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 6th April, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th April, 1916. Invalided to India, 26th November, 1916. C. J. McCONAGHEY. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Killed in Action, 22nd April, 1916. W. W. McEWAN, M.C. Embarked, Marseilles, 12th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st January, 1916. To Regiment, 1st March, 1916. Wounded in Action, 22nd April, 1916. Invalided to India, 2nd May, 1916. Re-embarked, Karachi, 14th August, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 20th August, 1916. Invalided to India, 30th October, 1916. Awarded the Military Cross, 22nd December, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 17th May, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd May, 1917. H. A. T. PLUNKETT. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Killed in Action, 7th January, 1916. G. G. B. MILLER STIRLING. Embarked, Suez, 21st June, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th July, 1916. Died from Wounds, 14th March, 1917. D. C. STEWART SMITH. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Apptd. Transport Officer, 10th January, 1916. Commanding Battn., 22nd to 23rd January, 1916. Acting Adjutant, 24th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 29th March, 1916. Re-embarked, Karachi, 13th July, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 16th July, 1916. Invalided to India, 26th August, 1916. Invalided to U. K., 4th October, 1916. M. M. THORBURN, M.C. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 21st January, 1916. Invalided to India, 4th February, 1916. Awarded the Military Cross, January 1916. Invalided to England from Egypt, 25th April, 1916. WITHEY, R. W. Posted to the Battalion, 6th December, 1917. _2nd Lieutenants._ D. H. ANDERSON. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Killed in Action, 22nd April, 1916. G. J. ANDERSON. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1910. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Killed in Action, 22nd April, 1916. C. ST. G. ALEXANDER. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Invalided to India, 4th May, 1916. (Wounded in Action, 22nd April, 1916). To England from Egypt. D. S. GORDON BROWN. Embarked, Bombay, 11th April, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 17th April, 1916. Accidentally wounded, 28th June, 1916. Invalided to India, 5th August, 1916. H. W. BRUCE. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Invalided to India, 30th May, 1916. Embarked, Karachi, 27th August, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd September, 1916. Wounded in Action, 6th November, 1916. Killed in Action, 17th February, 1917. E. BRUCE. Embarked, Devonport, 16th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd March, 1916. Invalided to India, 11th May, 1916. Embarked, Karachi, 14th August, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 20th August, 1916. Died from Disease (Paratyphoid-A), 17th November, 1916. A. E. BAIRSTOW. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd December, 1916. J. C. W. BROAD. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 16th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 22nd May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 30th May, 1916. Invalided to India, 15th June, 1916. K. BUCHANAN. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 20th January, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 8th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 16th May, 1916. Invalided to India, 26th August, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 25th February, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th March, 1917. P. A. to Dir. of Port Admin. and Conservancy, 6th May, 1917. J. C. R. BUCHANAN. Embarked, Devonport, 9th February, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd May, 1917. C. J. R. BROWN. Embarked, Karachi, 19th March, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th March, 1917. Wounded in Action, 21st April, 1917. Died from Wounds, 21st May, 1917. J. A. BYRON. Embarked, Karachi, 19th March, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th March, 1917. T. M. COWIE. Embarked, Devonport, 15th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st November, 1916. Unofficially reported Pris. of War, 17th February, 1917. Recaptured, 1st March, 1917. (Wounded 17th February 1917). Invalided to India, 15th March, 1917. A. CROMBIE. Embarked, Devonport, 26th April, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st May, 1916. J. H. COTTERELL. Embarked, Devonport, 10th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 14th March, 1916. Wounded in Action, 22nd April, 1916. Invalided to India, 27th April, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 27th November, 1916. Died from wounds, 15th March, 1917. A. T. DOWNIE. Embarked, Bombay, 17th April, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd May, 1917. J. DAWSON. Embarked, Devonport, 7th June, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th July, 1916. Invalided to India, 6th November, 1916. Returned to England and died. A. DOUGLAS. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 13th January, 1916. Reported dangerously ill, 18th January, 1916. Died from Wounds, 9th February, 1916. H. F. FORRESTER. Embarked, Devonport, 10th February, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 14th March, 1916. Wounded and Missing, 22nd April, 1916. T. GANT. Promoted from C. S. M., 6th February, 1917. Wounded in Action, 14th March, 1917. To be A. Qr. Master., 12th May, 1917. T. GILLESPIE. Embarked, Devonport, 21st October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st November, 1916. Killed in Action, 14th March, 1917. J. F. GILLIES. Embarked, Devonport, 24th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. Invalided to India, 28th June, 1916. To England, from Egypt, 30th September, 1916. A. GILROY. Embarked, Devonport, 10th September, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 10th October, 1916. Wounded in Action, 21st April, 1917. To be Lieutenant, 1st January, 1917. Invalided to India, 18th May, 1917. J. T. GRASSIE, D.S.O. Embarked, Devonport, 20th January, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 21st February, 1916. Wounded in Action, 6th April, 1916. Invalided to India, 10th April, 1916. Invalided to U. K. from Egypt, 7th May, 1916. Awarded the D.S.O., 22nd December, 1916. K. GRAHAM SCOTT. Embarked, Devonport, 25th December, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 9th March, 1917. W. G. GRIERSON. Embarked, Devonport, 5th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd March, 1917. C. E. GERRARD. Embarked, Karachi, 19th March, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th March, 1917. T. A. HENDERSON, M.C. Embarked, Marseilles, 25th November, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 28th December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Awarded the Military Cross, 22nd December, 1916. Awarded the Order of St. Vladimir, 4th Col., with Swords, (_London Gaz._, 5th July, 1917). Invalided to India, 23rd May, 1917. S. L. HUNTER. Embarked, Bombay, 27th July, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 1st August, 1916. Joined 3rd Echelon, as Record Officer, 22nd March, 1917. B. S. HOUSTON, M.C. Promoted from C.S.M., 16th February, 1917. Awarded the Military Cross, 31st March, 1917. C. V. HENDRY. Embarked, Devonport, 7th June, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th July, 1916. Invalided to India, 6th November, 1916. P. J. HAYE. Embarked, Devonport, 5th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd March, 1917. D. HAIG. Embarked, Devonport, 15th January, 1917, Disembarked, Basrah, 21st March, 1917. Invalided to India, 16th June, 1917. M. JAMIESON. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd December, 1916. A. L. JACKSON. Posted to the Battalion, 28th August, 1917. J. JEFF. Embarked, Devonport, 24th May, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. A. S. JOHNSTON. Embarked, Bombay, 24th March, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 28th March, 1917. T. KINNEAR. Promoted from C.S.M., 6th February, 1917. Wounded in Action, 22nd February, 1917. Apptd. Transport Officer, 3rd May, 1917. B. H. LUNN. Embarked, Devonport, 24th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. Invalided to India, 8th December, 1916. Has since been invalided to England. T. LOUDON. Embarked, Devonport, 5th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd March, 1917. J. MACGREGOR. Posted to the Battalion, 13th September, 1917. G. M. MACKENZIE. Embarked, Devonport, 24th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. Transferred to M. Gun Corps, 26th October, 1916. MANN, J. A. Posted to the Battalion, 6th December, 1917. D. MURRAY STEWART. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd December, 1916. R. S. MORRISON. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Killed in Action, 7th January, 1916. W. D. MONTGOMERIE. Embarked, Bombay, 17th May, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 23rd May, 1917. A. MUIR. Promoted from C.S.M., 29th May, 1917. D. McARTHUR. Embarked, Devonport, 5th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd March, 1917. Died from Wounds, 21st April, 1917. T. PEEL. Embarked, Devonport, 5th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd March, 1917. Died from Wounds, 21st April, 1917. J. C. PATERSON. Embarked, Marseilles, 5th December, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st December, 1915. Wounded in Action, 7th January, 1916. Invalided to India, 16th January, 1916. To England, from Egypt, 19th March, 1916. W. PORTER. Posted to the Battalion, 21st November, 1917. B. H. QUINE. Embarked, Devonport, 7th June, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th July, 1916. To be F. T. C. O., Dvn., 1st August, 1916. Relieved from above, 26th August, 1916. Invalided to India, 3rd September, 1916. A. H. QUINE. Embarked, Karachi, 19th March, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th March, 1917. Reported Missing, 21st April, 1917. Reported Pris. of War, 21st April, 1917. G. RYRIE. Embarked, Devonport, 11th July, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 10th August, 1916. Invalided to India, 28th November, 1916. Re-embarked, Bombay, 27th May, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 4th June, 1917. J. C. RITCHIE, M. C. Embarked, Devonport, 5th January, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 22nd March, 1917. Awarded the Military Cross, 22nd May, 1917. Apptd. A. Adjt., 27th May, 1917. A. SCOBIE. Posted to the Battalion, 13th September, 1917. A. E. SINCLAIR. Embarked Devonport, 24th May, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. Transferred to M. Gun Corps, 26th October, 1916. Killed in Action, 5th December, 1916. P. J. SCOTLAND. Posted to the Battalion, 9th December, 1917. G. V. STEWART. Embarked, Bombay, 11th April, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 17th April, 1916. Wounded in Action, 14th March, 1917. G. B. SMART. Embarked, Suez, 16th September, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th September, 1916. Wounded in Action, 14th March, 1917. F. H. SOUTAR Embarked, Marseilles, 25th November, 1915. Disembarked, Basrah, 28th December, 1915. Killed in Action, 21st January, 1916. T. L. SMITH. Posted to the Battalion, 13th September, 1917. P. E. SYMTHE. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 2nd December, 1916. Confirmed in rank of 2nd Lieutenant, 18th October 1916. Wounded in Action, 21st April, 1917. Invalided to India, 12th June, 1917. R. M. SMYTHE. Embarked, Devonport, 9th October, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 14th December, 1916. Wounded in Action, 14th March, 1917. Confirmed in rank of 2nd Lieut., 18th October, 1916. A. G. WOYKA. Embarked, Devonport, 26th April, 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 31st May, 1916. Invalided to India, 15th January, 1917. R. WALKER. Embarked, Karachi, 19th March, 1917. Disembarked, Basrah, 26th March, 1917. Killed in Action, 21st April, 1917. A. A. YOUNG. Embarked, Devonport, 24th May 1916. Disembarked, Basrah, 13th June, 1916. Cypher Officer, G. H. Q. Base, 28th June, 1916. Joined Bn. in the Fd., 25th November, 1916. Died from Wounds, 14th March, 1917. _Nominal roll of W.Os., N.C.Os., and men, 2nd Bn., numerically arranged, who have been killed in action, died of wounds, disease, etc., during service in Mesopotamia, from 1st January 1916 to 15th June 1917._ -------+----------------------+-------------+-----------+------------------------- Regtl. | Rank and Name. | Cause of Date of Place of No. | | Death. Death. Death. | +-------------+-----------+------------------------- | | Place of burial, if known. -------+----------------------+--------------------------------------------------- 72|Sergt. T. Archer | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). AR/116|A/Cpl. D. Dakers | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 133|Sergt. T. Murray | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 578|A/Cpl. J. Gibb | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 598|Pte. J. Hogg | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 622|Pte. J. Lynch | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 672|Corpl. R. Pratt | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 773|L/Cpl. R. Whyte | K. in A. 6-11-16 The Field. | |Cemetery near Jullundur St. Sann-i-yat. 781|Corpl. U. Hutchison | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, | | 7th Divn., Sketch No. 5, Istabulat. 797|Pte. A. Milne | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, | | 7th Divn., Sketch No. 5, Istabulat. 814|Pte. G. McAulay | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. 896|Sergt. G. Johnston | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... 981|Pte. G. Hazeldean | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. 1020|L/Sgt. J. Mulholland | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1038|Pte. T. McFarlane | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1060|L/Sgt. J. Inglis | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1207|L/Cpl. A. Brown | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1335|L/Cpl. A. Cowie | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97 Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 1346|Pte. A. Whannel | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1418|L/Cpl. W. Mack | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 1426|Pte. A. Reoch | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1449|Piper J. Davis | K. in A. 25-9-15 France. | | ... 1452|Pte. J. Smith | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 1472|Sergt. R. Madill | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1591|Sergt. D. Hamilton | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1619|L/Cpl. W. Noble | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 1642|A/Sgt. D. Neill | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 1701|Sergt. T. Henderson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1714|L/Cpl. D. Duke | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... 1780|Sergt. D. Finlay, V.C.| K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 1791|Pte. G. Burness | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 1856|A/Cpl. D. Hughes | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 1859|A/C. S.M.T. Bissett | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 1884|Corpl. R. Speed | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22 T.C. 97 Sq. G-7 Istabulat. 1899|Pte. Craig, R. | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 2003|Pte. T. Teirney | K. in A. 23-6-16 The Field. | | ... 2029|A/Sgt. A. Kiddle | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 2084|Sergt. J. Barrie | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 3/2160|Corpl. W. Gow | K. in A. 20-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 2185|Dmr. G. Bullion | K. in A. 6-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 2277|L/Cpl. W. Grimmond | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 2316|A/Sergt. T. Marshall | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 2451|L/Cpl. N. Campbell | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 3/2496|Pte. H. Duffy | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2508|Pte. S. Mowat | K. in A. 22-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. 2511|A/Cpl. D. Simpson | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 3/2519|Pte. J Downie | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2520|L/Cpl. C. Low | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). 2545|Corpl. T. Brown | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2564|L/Cpl. G. Mitchell | K. in A. 13-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. 3/2569|Pte. B. Cunningham | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2585|Pte. R. McQuarrie | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2584|Pte. J. O'Donnell | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22 T.C. 97, Sq. G-7. Istabulat (G.R.C.). 3/2614|Pte. J. Black | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2621|Pte. J. Cook | K. in A. 6-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/2632|Pte. E. Clark | K. in A. 13-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. 3/2674|Pte. G. Stevenson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). 2701|Pte. F. Gibo | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 2745|Pte. L. Phee | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/3012|Pte. A. Hay | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 3/3074|Pte. P. Glancy | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/3100|Pte. T. Burke | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | | ... S/3342|Sergt. J. Lees | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 3/3360|Pte. J. Campbell | K. in A. 9-5-15 France. | | ... 3380|Pte. J. Strachan | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/3471|Pte. J. Harman | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/3590|Pte. G. Forbes | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3874|Pte. R. Wilson | K. in A. 6-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 3/3917|Pte. F. Robertson | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/4144|Pte. A. Mailer | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/4151|Pte. E. Harkness | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/4221|Pte. E. Graham | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22 T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 3/4222|Pte. D. Cuthbert | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/4484|L/Cpl. J. Shirra | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, | | Istabulat (G.R.C). S/5142|Pte. J. Bennett | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/6113|Pte. J. Stuart | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/6259|Pte. F. Stafford | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/6405|L/Cpl. T. Weir | K. in A. 13-3-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/6415|Pte. A. Rogerson | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/6652|Pte. P. Hughes | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/6711|Pte. G. Jones | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/6757|L/Cpl. W. Taylor | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 6818|Pte. T. Caddow | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/6958|Pte. E. McLure | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7009|L/Cpl. J. Gibson | K. in A. 9-8-16 The Field. | | ... S/7019|Pte. J. Hay | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabul. S/7088|A/Sgt. R. McLauchan | K. in A. 13-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map. L-2, Rev. Irwin. S/7094|Pte. J. Coulter | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7097|L/Cpl. C. McRae | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). 7100|L/Cpl. F. Wilkins | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7283|Pte. D. Bell | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7346|Pte. A. Dickson | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/7507|Pte. W. McKennie | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | | ... S/7508|Pte. T. Lamb | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7548|Pte. A. McKay | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/7560|Pte. J. Tarberts | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7580|Pte. J. Baillie | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/7592|Pte. R. Bowman | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7595|Pte. G. Drysdale | K. in A. 6-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7616|L/Cpl. J. McLaughlan | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7738|Pte. A. Moncur | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7743|Pte. A. Mann | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/7748|Pte. T. McPherson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7757|Pte. W. Gillispie | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7771|C.-S.-M. D. Palmer | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 7912|C.-S.-M. R. Proudfoot | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7926|Pte. J. McCormack | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7943|Pte. W. Beatte | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7957|Pte. J. Whyte | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7967|Pte. E. Brown | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/7994|Corpl. A. Critchton | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/7996|Pte. W. Graham | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8057|Pte. J. Thomson | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8062|Pte. D. Hardley | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/8082|Pte. J. Ramsay | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). 8169|Pte. E. Rooke | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8192|Pte. M. McMahon | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/8202|Pte. D. Winter | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22 T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 8235|Pte. R. Lindsay | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8252|Pte. D. Kilgour | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8316|Pte. S. McKillop | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | | ... S/8329|Pte. J. Suttie | K. in A. 6-3-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8330|Pte. G. Smith | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8349|L/Cpl. A. Cochrane | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/8389|Pte. J. Clark | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8390|Corpl. P. Robertson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8428|Pte. J. Wilson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8444|Sergt. A. McDonald | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 8458|A/Cpl. J. Hughes | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8500|Pte. W. McNee | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8534|Pte. R. McDonald | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8551|Pte. A. Gibson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat (G.K.C.). S/8571|L/Cpl. D. McPhee | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | | ... S/8696|Pte. J. Bell | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8705|Pte. F. Fraser | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8765|Pte. J. Stewart | K. in A. 18-6-16 The Field. | | ... S/8785|Pte. J. Liddle | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/8867|Pte. J. Smith | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/8890|Pte. T. Cranston | K. in A. 13-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. S/8918|Pte. J. Lamb | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9194|A/Cpl. J. Dougal | K. in A. 21-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9207|Pte. J. Orr | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad Battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9231|Pte. T. Reid | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9339|Pte. T. Williamson | K. in A. 20-4-17 The Field. | | ... 9383|Sergt. D. Murdoch | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, point 40-22 T.C. 97. | | Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 9437|C.-S.-M. G. Davidson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 9451|Pte. P. Davie | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). S/9504|Pte. C. Low | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9544|Segt. T. McCutcheon | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9563|Pte. C. Thomson | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9643|Pte. H. Fraser | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/9952|Pte. C. Turner | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/10006|Pte. J. Ross | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). S/10028|Pte. J. Barnes | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. SRA/10113|Pte. T. Belcher | K. in A. 13-2-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. S/10170|Pte. E. Holmes | K. in A. 21-1-18 The Field. | |Probably Hannah battlefield (G.R.C.). 10240|L/C. A. Gibson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. SRA/10278|Pte. B. Wilson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). SRA/10299|Pte. E. Kenny | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/10340|Pte. J. Dick | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). S/10374|Pte. P. Paul | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). SRA/10429|L-Cpl. A. Robertson | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). S/10469|Pte. R. Barrie | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10477|Pte. A. Graham | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/10480|Pte. W. Ballingall | K. in A. 13-1-16 The Field. | |Orah battlefield, Map L-2, Rev. Irwin. S/10482|Pte. D. McFarlane | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). 10489|Pte. J. Sims | K. in A. 7-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). S/10537|L/Cpl. W. Malcolm | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10539|L/Cpl. P. Hardie | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10545|Pte. T. Baillie | K. in A. 5-12-16 The Field. | |Jullundur St. Cemetery, Sann-i-yat (G.R.C.). S/10564|Pte. J. Dalton | K. in A. 21-1-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/10566|Pte. D. McLean | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/10567|Pte. J. Dawson | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10574|Pte. K. O'Donnell | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10586|Pte. M. Paul | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10592|Pte. E. Smith | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10598|L/Cpl. J. McKay | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10621|Pte. W. Lang | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10633|Pte. W. Watson | K. in A. 5-11-16 The Field. | |Jullundur St. Cemetery, Sann-i-yat (G.R.C.). S/10634|L/Cpl. P. Reilly | K. in A. 17-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/10638|Pte. F. Inglis | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10648|Pte. J. Wylie | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10651|L/Cpl. D. Small | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/10656|Pte. P. Barnes | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11147|A/Cpl. J. Harkins | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11175|L/Cpl. J. Little | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11193|Pte. J. Clark | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/11305|Pte. J. McLean | K. in A. 13-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11333|Pte. J. Galbraith | K. in A. 14-10-16 The Field. | |Cemetery at 28 B.F.A., Faliheyah Bend. S/11369|Pte. R. Niven | K. in A. 24-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/11532|Pte. A. Huitton | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/11533|Pte. B. Bogan | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11570|Pte. J. Smith | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11572|Pte. J. Stewart | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11613|Pte. H. Greenwood | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/11631|L/Cpl. J. Wallace | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/11669|Pte. G. Law | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/11673|Pte. G. Hayes | K. in A. 16-6-16 The Field. | | ... S/11726|Pte. A. Carmichael | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11371|Pte. C. Wilson | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11866|Pte. T. Galloway | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/11869|Pte. J. Studholme | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | |Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/11891|Pte. D. Mathers | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/11958|Pte. R. McNaughten | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, | | 7th Division, sketch No. 5, Istabulat. S/12096|Pte. W. Cross | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, 7th | | Division, sketch No. 5, Istabulat. S/12202|L/Cpl. E. Doggett | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/12238|Pte. D. McCraw | K. in A. 11-12-16 The Field. | |Jullundur St. Cemetery. Sann-i-yat. S/12395|Pte. A. Johnstone | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | | ... S/12435|Pte. W. Jamieson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, Sq. G-7, T.C. 97, Istabulat. S/12475|Pte. J. Keir | K. in A. 22-4-16 The Field. | Probably Sann-i-yat battlefield (G.R.C.). S/12494|Pte. A. Tuckerman | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/13111|Pte. A. Smith | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 13170|Pte. A. Lawson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 13177|L/Cpl. H. Plain | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... SRA/13207|L/Cpl. J. Robson | K. in A. 20-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/13267|L/Cpl. M. Brown | K. in A. 10-10-16 The Field. | |Old Cemetery behind Meerut Trench, Sann-i-yat. S/13458|Pte. A. Brember | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/13956|Pte. G. Cross | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/14517|Pte. C. Winters | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/14994|Pte. J. McCallum | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/15066|Pte. D. Stewart | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/15068|Pte. J. Lawson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/15069|Pte. J. McLeod | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/15127|Pte. W. Coyne | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, G-7, | | 7th Division, sketch No. 5, Istabulat. S/15537|Pte. J. Gemmell | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, G-7, | | 7th Division, sketch No. 5, Istabulat. S/15632|Pte. J. Adam | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Dujail battlefield, T.C. 97, G-7, | | 7th Division, sketch No. 5, Istabulat. S/15700|Pte. G. Crick | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/15853|Pte. J. Wiseman | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/15866|Pte. W. McKay | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/16233|Pte. P. Dair | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 16303|L/Cpl. P. McSkimming | K. in A. 11-2-17 The Field. | |Jullundur St. Cemetery, Sann-i-yat. S/16353|Pte. H. McKay | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 17481|Corpl. H. Bowman | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 17483|Pte. J. Eglin | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/19311|Pte. G. Neilson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. S/19316|Pte. J. Sanderson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | | ... 19426|Pte. J. Clark | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 19435|Pte. D. Aitken | K. in A. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... 19436|Pte. J. Crawford | K. in A. 17-2-17 The Field. | |Jullundur St. Cemetery, Sann-i-yat. 19450|Corpl. L. Wiseman | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 19456|Pte. J. Wilkinson | K. in A. 21-4-17 The Field. | |Point 40-22, T.C. 97, Sq. G-7, Istabulat. 69|L/Cpl. A. McBurnie |Died fr. Wds. 9-1-16 The Field. | | ... 79|Pte. E. Miller |Died fr. Wds. 20-4-17 19 Cas. C1. Stn. | |Sindiyeh Cemetery, T.C. 87, Sq. 1-H. 3/471|Pte. W. Taggart |Died fr. Wds. 16-1-16 No. 5 Fd. Amb. | | ... 828|Sergt. A. Downie |Died fr. Wds. 5-5-16 3 B.G.H., Amara. | | ... 941|A/Cpl. R. McNee |Died fr. Wds. 22-1-16 3a B.G.H., Amara. | | ... 1305|Pte. J. Macrae |Died fr. Wds. 30-1-16 3a B.G.H., Amara. | | ... 1381|Pte. G. Hendric |Died fr. Wds. 30-1-16 3a B.G.H., Amara. | | ... 3/1755|Pte. P. McPhee |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 The Field. | | ... 1831|Pte. A. Mauby |Died fr. Wds. 17-1-16 No. 2 B.G.H., Amara. | | ... 1947|Pte. T. Morrison |Died fr. Wds. 6-4-16 The Field. | | ... 3/2112|Pte. J. Welsh |Died fr. Wds. 11-4-17 32 B.G.H., Amara. | |Amara Cemetery, Row No. II, A, Grave No. 13. 2117|L/Cpl. R. McBean |Died fr. Wds. 8-2-16 3a B.G.H., Basra. | |Basra. 2145|Sergt. G. McGregor |Died fr. Wds. 7-12-16 20 B.F.A. | |Br. Cemetery at 20 B.F.A., Falaheyeh, Row. No. 4 3/2312|Pte. H. Dand |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 3a B.G.H., Basra | | ... 2355|L/Cpl. J. Cunningham |Died fr. Wds. 16-3-17 The Field. | |Hassiawah, (15 mls. N. of Baghdad). 2381|Pte. W. Gibb |Died fr. Wds. 22-1-16 The Field. | | ... 3/2647|Pte. A. Robertson |Died fr. Wds. 15-1-16 3a B.G.H., Amara | | ... 2675|Pte. F. Morrison |Died fr. Wds. 15-3-17 The Field. | | ... 3/2742|Pte. H. McMillan |Died fr. Wds. 19-12-16 20 B.F.A. | |Cemetery at 20 B.F.A. S/2876|Pte. R. Brown |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-17 130 I.F.A. | | ... S/2903|Pte. W. Marshall |Died fr. Wds. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/2920|Pte. J. Anderson |Died fr. Wds. 24-1-17 The Field. | |Chabela Mound Cemetery, T.C. 61, 16c, 48, 19, | | Grave No. 2. S/3198|Pte. J. Forbes |Died fr. Wds. 12-4-16 R-P. B.G.H., Amara | | ... S/3358|L/Cpl. D. Richardson |Died fr. Wds. 25-4-16 S.S. Mejidieh. | | ... 3/3362|Pte. T. Welsh |Died fr. Wds. 3-5-16 3 B.G.H., Amara. | | ... S/3755|Pte. A. Ettrick |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 S.S. Mejidieh. | | ... S/3934|Pte. A. Fleming |Died fr. Wds. 25-4-16 3a B.G.H., Amara | | ... S/4004|Pte. B. Evans |Died fr. Wds. 27-4-16 3a B.G.H., Amara. | |Amara. S/4093|Corpl. J. Gillies |Died fr. Wds. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/4218|Pte. W. Mackie |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/5230|Pte. J. McDougall |Died fr. Wds. 17-2-17 The Field. | |Jullundur St. Cemetery, Sann-i-yat. S/5658|Pte. T. S. |Died fr. Wds. 26-4-16 S.S. Mejedeih. | | ... S/6436|Pte. F. Bewley |Died fr. Wds. 24-3-17 3a B.S.H. S-Sd. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Row 6, Gr. No. 364. S/6689|Pte. W. Dewar |Died fr. Wds. 18-2-16 3a B.G.H. Basra. | | ... S/6964|A/Cpl. G. Combe |Died fr. Wds. 6-3-17 23 B.S.H. Amara. | |Amara Cemetery, Grave No. VII, 6, 7. S/6972|H. Rodgers |Died fr. Wds. 6-9-16 The Field. | |Cemetery at 20 B.F.A. S/7122|Pte. A. Lamont |Died fr. Wds. 25-1-16 3a B.G.H. Amara. | | ... S/7207|L/Cpl. J. Young |Died fr. Wds. 5-3-16 3 B.G.H. Amara. | | ... S/7399|Pte. D. Urquhart |Died fr. Wds. 20-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/7427|Pte. A. Rae |Died fr. Wds. 8-1-16 The Field. | | ... S/7430|A/Cpl. D. Moncreiff |Died fr. Wds. 13-1-16 The Field. | | ... S/7479|Pte. J. Shannon |Died fr. Wds. 19-1-16 3 B.G.H., Amara. | | ... S/7538|Pte. M. Stewart |Died fr. Wds. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/7730|Pte. J. Stewart |Died fr. Wds. 22-6-16 The Field. | | 8175|Sergt. J. Lugton |Died fr. Wds. 15-3-17 Motor Convoy. 128 I.F.A. | |5 miles N. of Tagi Rly. Stn. and | | 40 E. of railway line. S/8183|Pte. F. Scott |Died fr. Wds. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/8266|Pte. W. Stewart |Died fr. Wds. 8-1-16 The Field. | |Probably Sheikh-Saad (G.R.C.). S/8356|Pte. A. Trory |Died fr. Wds. 7-9-16 The Field. | | ... S/8709|Pte. J. Ferguson |Died fr. Wds. 14-1-16 2 B.G.H., Amara. | | ... S/8856|Pte. J. Elliott |Died fr. Wds. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/9159|Pte. C. Wilson |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/9728|L/Cpl. E. Thomson |Died fr. Wds. 15-3-17 128 I.F.A. | | ... RA/10072|Pte. J. Davy |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/10155|Pte. P. Welsh |Died fr. Wds. 8-1-16 The Field. | | ... SRA/10285|Pte. A. Harker |Died fr. Wds. 8-1-16 The Field. | | ... S/10432|Pte. T. Wilson |Died fr. Wds. 15-3-17 128 I.F.A. | |5 miles N. of Tagi Station | | and 40 E. of Railway. RA/10439|Pte. W. Hallam |Died fr. Wds. 14-4-17 32 B.G.H., Amara. | |Amara Cemetery, Grave No. II, A, 14. S/10639|Pte. J. Walker |Died fr. Wds. 27-4-16 3a B.G.H., Basra. | | ... S/10652|L/Cpl. A. Kay |Died fr. Wds. 24-5-17 32 B.G.H., Amara. | | ... S/10654|L/Cpl. C. Williams |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/11259|Pte. P. Hiley |Died fr. Wds. 29-4-16 3a B.G.H., Amara. | | ... S/11535|Pte. D. Smith |Died fr. Wds. 22-4-16 The Field. | | ... S/11769|Pte. J. Nicol |Died fr. Wds. 1-6-16 The Field. | |Cemetery at 20 B.F.A. S/12162|Pte. W. Cannell |Died fr. Wds. 24-4-17 130 I.F.A. | | ... S/12321|L/Cpl. L. Latto |Died fr. Wds. 23-4-17 No. 7 B.F.A. | |T.C. 96, 6-E, 3-1. S/12512|Pte. A. Swanston |Died fr. Wds. 24-2-17 The Field. | | ... S/13103|Pte. W. Benson |Died fr. Wds. 22-4-17 No. 19 B.F.A. | |S.-E. of Ry. culvert about 4-3/4 miles | | S.-E. of Istabulat Station, T.C. 97, K-9, 5-6. 13186|L/Cpl. W. Campbell |Died fr. Wds. 15-3-17 128 I.F.A. | | ... S/13260|Pte. W. Nelson |Died fr. Wds. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/13325|Pte. T. Simpson |Died fr. Wds. 14-3-17 The Field. | | ... S/14626|Pte. T. Hanvey |Died fr. Wds. 23-4-17 130 I.F.A. | | ... S/16060|Pte. C. Ogilvie |Died fr. Wds. 25-4-17 16 C.C.S. | |Grave No. A-22 (Cemetery unknown). S/16041|Pte. C. Gray |Died fr. Wds. 26-4-17 32 B.G.H. | |Amara Cemetery, Grave VIII, Block B-1. S/16082|Pte. P. Glen |Died fr. Wds. 9-5-17 2 B.G.H. | | ... S/16323|Pte. A. Thompson |Died fr. Wds. 20-5-17 32 B.G.H. | | ... 19445|Pte. D. Porter |Died fr. Wds. 21-4-17 19 B.F.A. | | ... 1062|Sgt. W. Hanton |Enteric. 6-7-16 3 B.G.H. | | ... 513|L/Cpl. G. Robertson |Suffocation 24-1-16 The Field. | | ... 1549|Pte. J. Bennett |Dysentery. 21-9-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Grave No. F-59. 3/2008|Pte. D. Mathieson |Gastritis. 18-6-17 Falaheyeh. | |Cemetery at 26 B.F.A. 3/2475|A/Sgt. W. Chrystal |Sun-stroke. 19-6-16 Kurna. | |Christian burial ground, Kurna, Row B, Grave 11. 2750|Dmr. J. Watt |Para-typh. 10-7-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Grave No. 105 3/3572|Pte. G. Billington |Para-typh. 1-7-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Grave No. 105 3892|Pte. J. Sanderson |Disease. 29-6-16 S.S. Malamir. | | ... 3/4229|Pte. J. Clark |Heat-stroke 26-7-16 Amara. | | ... 3/4246|Pte. T. Clowe |P.U.O. 7-7-16 Amara. | | ... 3/4251|Pte. P. McGinley |Suffocation 27-6-16 Amara. | | ... 3/4252|Pte. S. Johnstone |Enteric. 4-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/4874|Pte. J. Fettes |Gastritis. 20-7-16 Falaheyeh. | |Cemetery at 20 B.F.A. S/6709|Pte. W. Sherriff |Enteritis. 27-5-16 Falaheyeh. | | ... 3/7229|Pte. E. Dunbar |Heat-stroke 3-7-16 3 B.G.H. | | ... S/7622|Pte. W. Ferguson |Enteric. 3-10-16 33 B.G.H. | | ... S/7643|Pte. E. Wallace |Heat-stroke 20-7-16 Basrah. | | ... S/8024|Pte. A. McLaren |Dysentery. 29-5-16 3 B.G.H. | | ... S/8040|Pte. S. Russell |Dysentery. 21-6-16 R. Boat P-4. | | ... 8052|Sgt. G. Warden |Enteric. 26-5-17 127 C.F.A. | | ... 8390|Pte. W. Murphy |Typhus. 20-4-17 Amara. | |Amara Cemetery, Grave No. VIII, A. 5. S/8713|L/Cpl. J. Cairney |Drowned Acc. 14-3-16 The Field. | | ... S/8715|Pte. J. Oliphant |N.Y.D. fever 17-8-16 Sheikh-Saad. | | ... S/8888|Pte. D. Fleming |Malaria. 2-8-16 The Field. | | ... 9852|Pte. J. Beattie |Dysentery. 30-12-16 33 B.G.H. | |Hakimeyeh Cemetery, Makina, Row C, No. 15. S/10012|Pte. R. Cowper |Cholera. 19-5-16 The Field. | | ... S/10047|Pte. R. Broadbent |Heat-stroke 1-7-16 Falaheyeh. | |Cemetery at 20 B.F.A. SRA/10271|Pte. A. Howard |Enteric. 9-7-16 Amara. | | ... 10488|L/Cpl. D. Ramsay |Dysentery. 2-5-16 3 B.G.H. | | ... S/10527|Pte. H. Roberts |Enteric. 14-7-16 Amara. | | ... 1757|Pte. P. Cameron |Drowned. 15-8-16 Basrah. | | ... S/5414|Pte. R. Craigie |Enteric. 8-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/10591|Pte. T. Surgener |Malaria. 15-7-16 Makina. | | ... S/10599|Pte. J. Lewis |Enteric. 8-8-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Grave No. 184. S/11537|Pte. J. Preston |Dysentery 12-10-16 3 B.G.H. | | ... S/11540|Pte. W. Mills |Enteric. 14-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/11709|Pte. B. McMeechan |Disease. 27-6-16 Sheikh-Saad. | | ... S/12115|Pte. A. Robertson |Enteric. 18-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/12328|Pte. J. Broadbent |Heat stroke 5-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/12433|Pte. J. Kirkland |Enteric. 24-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/12437|Pte. R. Younghusband |Enteric. 5-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/12474|Pte. J. Porter |Disease. 14-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/12519|Pte. J. Christie |Bronche. 10-6-16 Alexandria. | |Pneumonia | | ... S/12531|Pte. W. Morrison |Dysentery. 22-9-16 Falaheyeh. | | ... S/13131|L/Cpl. W. Forbes |Dysentery. 20-7-16 Basrah. | | ... S/13137|Pte. F. Docherty |P.U.O. 28-6-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery. S/13144|Pte. S. Lennox |Enteritis. 22-7-16 Basrah. | | ... S/13145|Pte. J. McHugh |Typhoid. 28-6-16 Sheikh-Sand. | | ... S/13148|Pte. A. McDougall |Enteric. 28-6-16 Amara. | | ... S/13154|Pte. E. Ross |Dysentery. 20-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/13160|L/Cpl. J. Selkirk |Disease. 29-6-16 S.S. Mejidieh. | |Christian Burial-ground, Kurna, Row B, Grave 14. S/13176|Pte. F. Tait |Drowned. 23-6-16 Sheikh-Saad. | | ... 13191|Pte. J. Carroll |Disease. 29-6-16 S.S. Mejidieh. | |Christian Burial-ground, Kurna, Row B, Grave 13. S/13192|Pte. J. Connelly |Heat-stroke 26-6-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery. S/13225|Pte. T. Davidson |Enteric. 2-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/13227|Pte. R. Boyd |Enteritis. 30-6-16 The Field. | | ... S/13233|Pte. J. Reddie |Heat-stroke 2-7-16 3 B.G.H. | | ... S/13234|Pte. N. Sweeney |Dysentery. 21-7-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Grave No. 18. S/13243|Pte. J. Bain |Disease. 28-6-16 Sheikh-Saad. | |Sheikh-Saad Cemetery, Grave No. 18. S/13913|Pte. C. McMillan |Malaria. 3-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/13982|Pte. J. Duff |Enteric. 8-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/13989|Pte. J. King |Enteric. 4-3-17 3 B.G.H. | |Hakameyeh Cemetery, Grave No. D-9 S/14009|Pte. G. Carson |Drowned. 13-1-17 The Field. | | ... S/14016|Pte. A. Flynn |Enteric. 12-7-16 Amara. | | ... S/15105|Pte. E. Gay |Dysentery. 26-12-16 R. Boat P-53. | | ... S/15666|Pte. A. Bewick |Jaundice. 25-6-17 16 C.C. Station. | | ... 17512|Pte. C. Rattray |Dysentery. 7-12-16 32 B.G.H. | |Amara Cemetery, Plot C, Row 4, No. 9. -------+----------------------+--------------------------------------------------- _Nominal Roll of W.Os., N.C.Os., and men of the 2nd Battalion reported 'Missing' or 'Wounded and missing' during the service of that Unit in I.E.F. "D"._ (up to 31st July 1917). +----------+-----------------------+----+----------------------+ Regimenta | Rank and Name. |Coy.| | No. | | | | +----------+-----------------------+----+----------------------| S/7159 |L/C. Beattie, L. | 4 |Missing, 7-1-16. | 3/5192 |Pte. Black, W. | 3 |W. and M., 7-1-16. | S/5198 |Pte. Dixon, J. | 2 |Do. | S/10496 |L/C. Haig, W. | 1 |Do. | 3/2483 |Pte. Hutchison, G. | 3 |Do. | 9661 |Pte. McConville, T. | 4 |Do. | S/7753 |Pte. Menelaws, G. | 1 |Missing, 7-1-16. | S/10323 |Pte. Miller, J. | 3 |W. and M., 7-1-16. | S/8005 |Pte. Nicholson, T. | 2 |Missing, 7-1-16. | 3/2901 |Pte. Smith, C. | 1 |Do. | S/7159 |Pte. Wilson, G. | 4 |Do. | S/7056 |L/C. Carmichael, B. | 1 |Missing, 8-1-16. | 8408 |C.Q.M.S. Jessop, A. | 2 |Do. | 2718 |Pte. McKnight, J. | 2 |Do. | 1110 |Pte. Duncan, D. | 2 |Do. | | | | Died a Prisoner of | | | | War at Mosul, 1-3-16.| S/8257 |Pte. Campbell, H. | 2 |W. and M., 13-1-16. | 1891 |Pte. Kerwin, J. | 1 |Missing, 13-1-16. | S/8730 |Pte. Rodger, A. | 2 |W. and M., 13-1-16. | S/8319 |Pte. Armstrong, G. | 3 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | 3/3389 |Pte. Bain, J. | 2 |Missing, 21-1-16. | S/9034 |Pte. Barnes, C. | 1 |Do. | 1166 |Pte. Baxter, F. | 1 |Do. | 1862 |L/C. Birse, A. | 3 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | S/8750 |Pte. Bradie, J. | 2 |Missing, 21-1-16. | S/8496 |Pte. Cairns, W. | 2 |Do. | S/8912 |Pte. Chapman, A. | 4 |Do. | S/8417 |Pte. Crerar, J. .. | 2 |Do. | S/7104 |Pte. Dalziell, G. | 2 |Do. | 1234 |Pte. Docherty, N. | 1 |Do. | 3/2872 |Pte. Dunleavy, A. | 2 |Do. | S/8874 |Pte. Fairfull, J. | 1 |Do. | 166 |A/C. Gair, M. | 1 |Do. | 3/2282 |Pte. Garland, P. | 4 |Do. | 10475 |Pte. Grey, J. | 1 |Do. | S/8452 |Pte. Hamilton, D. | 1 |Do. | 9260 |Sgt. Humm, T. | 2 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | 10338 |Pte. Ireland, G. | 3 |Missing, 21-1-16. | S/10161 |Pte. James, G. | 4 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | S/10147 |Pte. Law, S. | 1 |Missing, 21-1-16. | S/10337 |Pte. Leach, R. | 1 |Do. | 1084 |Pte. McBride. G. | 1 |Do. | S/3984 |Pte. McComb, A. | 1 |Do. | SRA/10442 |Pte. McKenzie, J. | 4 |Do. | S/7574 |Pte. Matheson, P. | 1 |Do. | S/2941 |L/C. Menzies, J. | 4 |Do. | S/7936 |Pte. Mitchell, J. | 1 |Do. | S/8688 |Pte. Mitchell, W. | 3 |Do. | 1921 |A/C. Murray, R. | 1 |Do. | S/10207 |A/S. Newton, R. | 3 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | S/8494 |Pte. Ormiston, T. | 3 |Do. | 887 |C.S.M. Oswald, W. | 1 |Missing, 21-1-16. | 1802 |Pte. Paton, J. | 1 |Do. | 10501 |Pte. Pollock, D. | 1 |Do. | S/7120 |Pte. Rennie, S. | 2 |Do. | 659 |Pte. Robertson, N. | 1 |Do. | 1605 |A/C. Shand, D. | 2 |Do. | 634 |Pte. Shaw, J. | 3 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | 3/3970 |Pte. Sim, D. | 1 |Missing, 21-1-16. | S/7658 |L/C. Spriggs, W. | 3 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | 8/3854 |L/C. Swan, T. | 4 |Missing, 21-1-16. | S/8880 |Pte. Thomson, P. | 3 |Do. | S/7621 |Pte. Vanbeick, A. | 2 |Do. | S/8744 |Pte. Weatherspoon, R. | 2 |Do. | 10242 |Pte. Westrop, W. | 1 |Do. | S/8932 |Pte. Whyte D. | 3 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | S/6733 |Pte. Wilkins, E. | 1 |Missing, 21-1-16. | 1989 |Pte. Wilson, R. | 3 |Do. | S/7902 |Pte. Worthington, H. | 1 |W. and M., 21-1-16. | S/10029 |Pte. Irving, R. | 1 |Missing, 28-1-16. | S/7032 |Cpl. Cumming, G. | 3 |W. and M., 6-4-16. | S/10576 |Pte. Barbour, W. | 2 |Missing, 22-4-16. | 8/11800 |Pte. Beattie, G. | 3 |Do. | 898 |Pte. Beveridge, J. | 2 |Do. | S/10641 |Pte. Buchan, J. | 2 |Do. | S/10579 |Pte. Campbell, J. | 3 |Do. | 682 |Pte. Carr, A. | 4 |Do. | S/9850 |Pte. Churchard, R. | 3 |W. and M., 22-4-16. | S/10563 |Pte. Clark, T. | 2 |Missing, 22-4-16. | S/4235 |Pte. Cranson, J. | 1 |Missing, 22-4-16. | S/9562 |Pte. Currie, W. | 2 |Do. | S/8638 |Pte. Fleming, W. | 2 |Missing, 22-4-16. | | | | Officially reported | | | | killed in action, | | | | 22/4. | S/10581 |Pte. Ford, W. | 3 |Missing, 22-4-16. | S/10560 |Pte. Gouge, F. | 2 |Do. | 3/8960 |Cpl. Green, H. | 2 |Do. | S/8594 |Pte. Hamilton, J. | 3 |Do. | S/10671 |Pte. Hamilton, D. | 2 |Do. | S/10644 |Pte. Henderson, W. | 4 |W. and M., 22-4-16. | S/11758 |Pte. Kirkham, W. | 2 |Missing, 22-4-16. | S/9501 |Pte. Lauchlan, W. | 2 |Do. | S/10568 |Pte. Low, W. | 2 |Do. | S/11966 |Pte. McCarthy, A. | 2 |Do. | S/10135 |Pte. McGlennon, J. | 2 |Do. | 3/4223 |Pte. McGregor, A. | 4 |Do. | S/10662 |Pte. McLaren, J. | 2 |Do. | 1889 |Pte. McLean, R. | 3 |Do. | 2635 |Pte. Marshall, D. | 1 |Do. | S/4379 |Pte. Marshall, G. | 3 |Do. | S/7697 |Pte. Montgomery, H. | 1 |Do. | S/11286 |Pte. Morgan, G. | 4 |W. and M., 22-4-16. | S/3346 |Pte. Morrison, D. | 1 |Missing, 22-4-16. | 8166 |Pte. Morrison, S. | 1 |Do. | S/10536 |L/C. Ramsay, J. | 2 |Do. | S/11751 |Pte. Russell, J. | 2 |Do. | S/11557 |Pte. Smith, A. | 2 |Do. | S/11753 |Pte. Smith, E. | 2 |Do. | S/3708 |Pte. Sinclair, J. | 1 |Do. | S/11390 |Pte. Stewart, J. | 1 |Do. | S/11607 |Pte. Styles, S. | 1 |Do. | 1459 |L/C. Torrance, G. | 3 |Do. | S/4076 |Pte. Walker, J. | 1 |W. and M., 22-4-16. | 7908 |C.S.M. Wilkie, A. | 1 |Missing, 22-4-16. | 2772 |Pte. Whyte, R. | 4 |Missing, 22-4-16. | | | | Officially accepted | | | | as having died | | | | between 22-4-16 and | | | | 2-2-17. | S/4239 |Pte. Wilson, R. | 1 |Missing, 22-4-16. | S/10674 |Pte. Wilson, J. | 2 |Missing, 22-4-17. | | | | Officially reported | | | | killed in action, | | | | 22-4-16. | S/10668 |Pte. Wilson, J. | 2 |Missing, 22-4-16. | S/10540 |L/C. Wood, C. | 1 |Missing, 22-4-16. | | | | Officially | | | | reported killed | | | | in action, 22-4-16. | S/15657 |Pte. Carlyle, W. | 1 |Missing, 14-3-17. | 15613 |Pte. Cook, J. | 1 |W. and M. 14-3-17. | 3/10222 |Pte. Harris, A. | 2 |Do. | S/11776 |Pte. Hewitt, G. | 1 |Do. | S/11307 |L/C. Hutchison, J. | 1 |Do. | S/15892 |Pte. Jennings, R. | 1 |Do. | S/15080 |Pte. Watt, J. | 4 |Do. | S/13905 |Pte. Batchelor, C. | 3 |Missing, 21-4-17. | S/11835 |Pte. Burnett, W. | 3 |Do. | S/3569 |Pte. Campbell, J. | 4 |Do. | 17494 |Pte. Gilfillan, T. | 2 |Do. | | |____| | | TOTAL |125 |Of whom 4 have now | | | | been officially | | | | reported as died or | | | | killed in action. | +---------+-----------------------+----+----------------------+ Total Missing, battle of 7th Jan. 1916 11 Do. do. 13th January 1916 3 Do. do. 21st January 1916 50 Do. do. 22nd April 1916 44 Do. do. 14th March 1917 7 Do. do. 21st April 1917 4 Missing, various dates 6 PRISONERS OF WAR. ------------+---------------------+----+----------------------+ Regimental | | | | No. | Rank and Name |Coy.| | ------------+---------------------+----+----------------------+ SRA/10254 | Pte. Cottle, T. | 1 |Pris. of War, Mosul. | | | | Captured, 7-1-16. | S/11543 | Pte. McDonald, G. | .. |Pris. of War, Afion | | | | Kara Hissar, Captured| | | | 22-4-16. | SRA/10062 | Pte. Debnam, J. | 4 |Captured, 21-1-16. | | | | Released in September| | | | 1916 and invalided | | | | to India. | ------------+---------------------+----+----------------------+ GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. I.E.F. "D." ORDER OF THE DAY, No. 53. After a period of severe and strenuous fighting extending with only short pauses over a period of two months, I wish to express to the Navy, to Lieut.-Generals Marshall and Cobb, to the Divisional and Brigade Commanders, to the staffs including my own and to all ranks of the fighting troops, my warmest thanks for their splendid work and my congratulations on their brilliant successes. To the Regimental Officers, N.C.Os. and men, a special word is due for their matchless heroism and fighting spirit, and for their grit and determination so fully in accord with the best traditions of British and Indian Regiments. Whilst regretting deeply the casualties necessarily incurred in the attainment of our object, the series of stinging blows dealt to the enemy, his severe losses which are out of all proportion to the size of his force and his obviously faltering spirit afford ample proof to all ranks that their sacrifices have not been made in vain. My thanks too are due to Major-General MacMunn, to the Director and their assistants and to all ranks of the Administrative Services and Departments, both in the field and on the lines of communication who in face of unexampled difficulties have by sterling work and energy risen superior to them and regularly met the needs of the fighting troops with ample supplies, stores and munitions without which the loss of lives would have been considerably increased and success rendered impossible, and have been the means of providing every comfort, attainable for the sick and wounded. To each and every member of the Navy and Army and to those who, though not belonging to either of the services have helped to bring about the results achieved I tender my earnest thanks for their wholehearted and magnificent efforts. The end is not yet; but with such absolute co-operation and vigour animating all continuance of our success is assured. (SD.) F. S. Maude, Lieut.-Gent., _Commanding I.E.F. "D."_ _15th February 1917._ * * * * * GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. I.E.F. "D." ORDER OF THE DAY, No. 64. I have received the following message from His Imperial Majesty the King-Emperor:-- "March 11th.--It is with greatest satisfaction that I have received the good news that you have occupied Baghdad. I heartily congratulate you and your troops on the success achieved under so many difficulties.--George R.I." I have sent the following reply:-- "March 12th.--Your Imperial Majesty's gracious message has been communicated to all ranks of the forces serving in Mesopotamia by whom it has been received with feelings of intense gratitude, loyalty and devotion. The difficulties by which we have been confronted have only increased our determination to surmount them." The following are some of the other messages received and replies sent:-- From His Excellency the Viceroy of India:-- "March 13th.--My most hearty congratulations to yourself and the troops under your command on the capture of Baghdad which has been achieved by their gallantry and devotion to duty." "March 14th.--Your Excellency's kind message has been received with sincere gratitude by all ranks of the forces in Mesopotamia. Nothing could have exceeded the valour and endurance of the troops both British and Indian under trying conditions." * * * * * From The Grand Duke Nicholas:-- "March 10th.--I and the Caucasus Army send heartiest congratulations on the new success won by the glorious troops under your command. The Caucasus Army will do all in their power to further your developments and successes." "March 12th.--On behalf of the troops serving in Mesopotamia I beg to thank your Imperial Highness very warmly for kind message which is much appreciated by us all. Our Russian comrades in Caucasus may rest assured that we shall continue to do our utmost to assist their operations already so successfully commenced." * * * * * From the Right Hon'ble the Secretary of State for War:-- "March 13th.--His Majesty's Government desire me to convey to you and all ranks under your command their cordial congratulations on the noble feat of arms which has led to your occupation of Baghdad. They fully recognise the difficulties which you have faced and overcome and wish to express their high appreciation of the skilful plan of operations, the careful co-ordination of the administrative work and the courage and endurance of the troops." "March 14th.--Your message conveying approbation of His Majesty's Government with respect to our efforts has been received with widespread pleasure by all ranks of the forces in Mesopotamia. The difficulties by which we were met were soon swept aside by the dauntless valour and endurance of the troops ably seconded by the thorough and smooth working of the administrative services." * * * * * From His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief in India:-- "March 12th.--To you and your gallant troops I desire to convey my own and the warmest congratulations of all ranks in India on your splendid achievements. The valour, devotion to duty and determination which have defeated a stubborn enemy and culminated in the capture of Baghdad evoke our highest admiration." "March 14th.--All ranks of the forces in Mesopotamia thank Your Excellency most warmly for your most kind message. It is a particular source of satisfaction to us to feel that our efforts are appreciated so thoroughly by our comrades in India. British and Indian troops have vied with each other in valour and endurance and difficulties met with have only stimulated our determination to surmount them." * * * * * From Admiral Sir David Beatty, G.C.B., K.C.V.O., D.S.O.:-- "March 12th.--Please accept, on behalf of the Grand Fleet and myself, our admiration and congratulations upon the magnificent achievement in capturing Baghdad by the gallant forces under your command." "March 14th.--Your message has been received with widespread pleasure by all ranks of the forces in Mesopotamia. During operations the Navy has, as usual, played its part nobly. We are particularly proud at receiving congratulations from the Grand Fleet, which has itself done much superb work consistently during past two and a half years." * * * * * From Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, G.C.B., G.C.V.O., K.C.I.E., Commander-in-Chief Armies in France:-- "March 16th.--Your brilliant achievements and continued successes are a great delight and a great encouragement to all ranks under my command." "March 16th.--Most grateful for kind message--much valued." * * * * * From Vice-Admiral Sir Rosslyn E. Wemyss, K.C.B., C.M.G., M.V.O., Naval Commander-in-Chief, British East Indies:-- "March 14th.--Please accept hearty congratulations of self and whole of Indian Squadron on your splendid success. I am proud to think that the Royal Navy has been able to co-operate with your troops." "March 16th.--Most grateful to you and East Indies Squadron for kind message. Royal Navy here have co-operated with our operations brilliantly." * * * * * From General Sir Archibald Murray, K.C.B., K.C.M.G., C.V.O., D.S.O., Commander-in-Chief, Egyptian Expeditionary force:-- "Your splendid series of successes are being watched with the profoundest delight and gratification by all ranks of the Egyptian Force. Bridging operations must have been grandly carried out. Once more our heartiest congratulations." "Most grateful for kind message. All ranks appreciate it, especially coming as it does from a Commander and troops who have themselves done so brilliantly. Our troops here have been quite magnificent." * * * * * From Lieut.-General G. F. Milne, C.B., D.S.O., Commander-in-Chief British Forces at Salonika:-- "March 12th.--Hearty congratulations to you and your Army from all ranks of the Salonika Force." "March 13th.--We all thank you very warmly for kind message." * * * * * From Major-General A. R. Hoskins, C.M.G., D.S.O., Commanding East African Force:-- "March 13th.--Hearty congratulations from all ranks East African Force to Mesopotamian Force on brilliant achievements." "March 16th.--Most grateful for kind message much appreciated by us all." * * * * * From the Right Hon'ble the Lord Mayor of London:-- "March 13th.--The City of London sends hearty congratulations on the capture of the historic City of Baghdad." "March 14th.--Your Lordship's kind message conveying congratulations of the City of London is very warmly appreciated by all ranks of the forces in Mesopotamia. Qualities of courage and endurance displayed by troops throughout operations have been superb." F. S. MAUDE, _Lieut.-General_, Commanding Indian Expeditionary Force "D." _30th March 1917._ * * * * * GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. I.E.F. "D." ORDER OF THE DAY, No. 66. In pursuance of the authority delegated to me by His Imperial Majesty the King-Emperor, I make the following awards for gallantry and distinguished service in the field:-- _Awarded the Military Cross._ CAPTAIN ROBERT MACFARLANE--For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. Although wounded early in the action he continued to lead his Company with great determination until the evening, when the position was finally taken by a bayonet charge. With great courage and skill he led his Company up to a position from which he was able to enfilade the enemy at close range, thereby greatly assisting the charge. SECOND-LIEUTENANT BENJAMIN SMITH HOUSTON,--For conspicuous gallantry and ability in leading the second line of his battalion with excellent judgment under heavy fire. After reinforcing the first line he took command of the left portion of it including some 60 men of an Indian Infantry regiment who were without an officer and led them on during the charge and subsequent advance on the railway station. He had recently done fine work when in command of a patrol. _Awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal._ No. 1081, SERGEANT JAMES STRACHAN--For conspicuous gallantry and ability in action. When all four of his Company Officers had been wounded, he took command of the left flank of the battalion. He ably directed their fire and later led forward what remained of his company across the open and drove the enemy out of his position taking some prisoners. NO. 19438, LANCE-CORPORAL GEORGE MCGABE,--For conspicuous gallantry and resource during operations. Seeing that a gap existed between an Indian Regiment and his own, and that the former in this locality had lost all their officers, he took charge of their Lewis guns and filled the gap. Later, he was conspicuous for his gallantry in leading the Indian Infantrymen in the charge across the open. _Awarded the Military Medal._ No. 2262, SERGEANT FRANK CONNEL. F. S. MAUDE, _Lieut.-General_, Commanding I.E.F. "D". _31st March 1917._ * * * * * GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. I.E.F. "D." ORDER OF THE DAY, No. 76. His Imperial Majesty the King-Emperor, has conveyed the following message to me:-- "May 8th.--The series of successes achieved in defeating the Turkish Forces brought against you since your capture of Baghdad reflect the very highest credit upon you and all ranks under your command. Your progress is all the more appreciated by your fellow countrymen in that they are conscious of the trying conditions under which your troops have fought.--George R.I." The following reply has been sent by me:-- "May 9th.--Your Imperial Majesty's gracious message expressing approbation of our recent successes has filled all ranks of the Navy and Army in Mesopotamia with loyal enthusiasm. The valour and devotion to duty of the troops conscious of their superiority over the enemy have been superb, whilst in spite of great heat recently experienced their health remains most satisfactory." * * * * * From the Right Hon'ble the Secretary of State for War:-- "May 8th.--War Cabinet desire me to convey their high appreciation of your recent operations which have resulted in the defeat of the enemy's forces and the successful occupation of the greater part of the Baghdad Vilayat. The splendid spirit and gallantry displayed by the troops under trying climatic conditions and the skill shown by your subordinate commanders merit high commendation and are a proof of the efficiency and devotion to duty of all ranks of the force under your command." "May 9th.--Your telegram conveying approval of War Cabinet at success of our recent operations is greatly appreciated by all ranks in Mesopotamia. Fighting spirit and endurance of troops have been admirable throughout in spite of great heat recently." F. S. MAUDE, _Lieut.-General_, Commanding Indian Expeditionary Force "D." _11th May 1917._ * * * * * GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. I.E.F. "D." ORDER OF THE DAY, No. 82. In pursuance of the authority delegated to me by His Imperial Majesty the King-Emperor, I make the following award for gallantry and distinguished service in the field:-- _Awarded a Bar to Distinguished Conduct Medal._ No. 1543, SERGEANT CHARLES EASTON.--For conspicuous gallantry in action. Seeing that an officer had been hit some 80 yards in front of his post and was unable to move owing to continuous sniping, he ran forward, dressed his wounds, and got him back to the river bank. As sniping still continued, he swam the river, supporting the wounded Officer, and gained the other bank. Had the Officer not been moved, he must again have been hit by the enemy's snipers who were within 300 yards. F. S. MAUDE, _Lieut.-General_, Commanding Indian Expeditionary Force "D." _17th June 1917._ * * * * * GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. MESOPOTAMIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE. ORDER OF THE DAY, No. 96. In pursuance of the authority delegated to me by His Imperial Majesty the King-Emperor, I make the following awards for gallantry and distinguished service in connection with operations in the field covering the period April 1st to September 30th, 1917, inclusive. _Awarded Second Bar to Distinguished Conduct Medal._ No. 2702, SERGEANT WILLIAM LOGAN.--For conspicuous gallantry and ability. At a critical moment he led forward a party of bombers under heavy fire and controlled them with great skill until wounded. By his courage and coolness he materially assisted in repelling a counter-attack and in re-taking a redoubt, [Awarded D.C.M., _London Gazette_, 20th October, 1916, Bar to D.C.M., _London Gazette_, 29th August, 1917]. _Awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal._ No. 3-2377, PRIVATE GEORGE BEVERIDGE.--For conspicuous gallantry and initiative. He repeatedly carried messages back from the firing line under heavy fire and, at a critical moment, rallied his comrades after a counter-attack and led them to the final capture of the position. His courage and dash were most marked. No. 2334, PRIVATE JOSEPH CLARK.--For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. He displayed great resource and initiative in re-organising both British and Indian troops after a counter-attack, in time to meet successfully a second one. His bravery and coolness throughout the day greatly encouraged his men. He has done fine work on other occasions. * * * * * GENERAL HEAD QUARTERS. MESOPOTAMIAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE. ORDER OF THE DAY. No. 102. The following extract from the _London Gazette_ is published for general information:-- His Majesty the King has been graciously pleased to approve of the award of the Victoria Cross to the undermentioned Officers, Non-commissioned Officers and Men:-- WAR OFFICE, _26th November 1917._ No. 871, PRIVATE CHARLES MELVIN, Highlander Regiment (_Kirriemuir_).--For most conspicuous bravery, coolness and resource in action. Pte. Melvin's Company had advanced to within fifty yards of the front-line trench of a redoubt, where, owing to the intensity of the enemy's fire, the men were obliged to lie down and wait for reinforcements. Pte. Melvin, however, rushed on by himself, over ground swept from end to end by rifle and machine gun fire. On reaching the enemy trench, he halted and fired two or three shots into it, killing one or two enemy, but as the others in the trench continued to fire at him, he jumped into it, and attacked them with his bayonet in his hand, as owing to his rifle being damaged, it was not "fixed." On being attacked in this resolute manner most of the enemy fled to their second line, but not before Pte. Melvin had killed two more and succeeded in disarming eight unwounded and one wounded. Pte. Melvin bound up the wounds of the wounded man, and then driving his eight unwounded prisoners before him, and supporting the wounded one he hustled them out of the trench, marched them in and delivered them over to an officer. He then provided himself with a load of ammunition and returned to the firing line where he reported himself to his platoon sergeant. All this was done, not only under intense rifle and machine gun fire, but the whole way back Pte. Melvin and his party were exposed to a very heavy artillery barrage fire. Throughout the day Pte. Melvin greatly inspired those near him with confidence and courage. W. R. MARSHALL, _Lieut.-General_, Commanding-in-Chief, Mesopotamian Expeditionary Force. GENERAL HEADQUARTERS, _6th March 1918._ Printed and published by E. G. Pearson at the Times Press, Bombay--2519'18 
7096	----	The Babylonian Story of the Deluge as Told by Assyrian Tablets from Nineveh. By E. A. Wallis Budge. The Discovery of the Tablets at Nineveh by Layard, Rassam and Smith. In 1845-47 and again in 1849-51 Mr. (later Sir) A. H. Layard carried out a series of excavations among the ruins of the ancient city of Nineveh, "that great city, wherein are more than sixteen thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left; and also much cattle" (Jonah iv, II). Its ruins lie on the left or east bank of the Tigris, exactly opposite the town of Al-Mawsil, or Môsul, which was founded by the Sassanians and marks the site of Western Nineveh. At first Layard thought that these ruins were not those of Nineveh, which he placed at Nimrûd, about 20 miles downstream, but of one of the other cities that were builded by Asshur (see Gen. x, 11, 12). Thanks, however, to Christian, Roman and Muhammadan tradition, there is no room for doubt about it, and the site of Nineveh has always been known. The fortress which the Arabs built there in the seventh century was known as "Kal'at-Nînawî, i.e., "Nineveh Castle," for many centuries, and all the Arab geographers agree in saying that tile mounds opposite Môsul contain the ruins of the palaces and walls of Nineveh. And few of them fail to mention that close by them is "Tall Nabi Yûnis," i.e., the Hill from which the Prophet Jonah preached repentance to the inhabitants of Nineveh, that "exceeding great city of three days' journey" (Jonah iii, 3). Local tradition also declares that the prophet was buried in the Hill, and his supposed tomb is shown there to this day. The Walls and Palaces of Nineveh. The situation of the ruins of the palaces of Nineveh is well shown by the accompanying reproduction of the plan of the city made by Commander Felix Jones, I.N. The remains of the older palaces built by Sargon II (B.C. 721-705), Sennacherib (B.C. 705-681), and Esarhaddon (B.C. 681-668) lie under the hill called Nabi Yûnis, and those of the palaces and other buildings of Ashur-bani-pal (B.C. 681-626) under the mound which is known locally as "Tall al-'Armûshîyah," i.e., "The Hill of 'Armûsh," and "Kuyûnjik." The latter name is said to be derived from two Turkish words meaning "many sheep," in allusion to the large flocks of sheep that find their pasture on and about the mound in the early spring. These two great mounds lie close to the remains of the great west wall of Nineveh, which in the time of the last Assyrian Empire was washed by the waters of the river Tigris. At some unknown period the course of the river changed, and it is now more than a mile distant from the city wall. The river Khausur, or Khoser, divides the area of Nineveh into two parts, and passing close to the southern end of Kuyûnjik empties itself into the Tigris. The ruins of the wails of Nineveh show that the east wall was 16,000 feet long, the north wall 7,000 feet long, the west wall 13,600 feet, and the south wall 3,000 feet; its circuit was about 13,200 yards or 7 1/2 miles. Discovery of the Library of the Temple of Nebo at Nineveh. In the spring of 1852 Layard, assisted by H. Rassam, continued the excavation of the "South West Palace" at Kuyûnjik. In one part of the building he found two small chambers, opening into each other, which he called the "chamber of records," or "the house of the rolls." He gave them this name because "to the height of a foot or more from the floor they were entirely filled" with inscribed baked clay tablets and fragments of tablets. Some tablets were complete, but by far the larger number of them had been broken up into many fragments, probably by the falling in of the roof and upper parts of the walls of the buildings when the city was pillaged and set on fire by the Medes and Babylonians. The tablets that were kept in these chambers numbered many thousands. Besides those that were found in them by Layard, large numbers have been dug out all along the corridor which passed the chambers and led to the river, and a considerable number were kicked on to the river front by the feet of the terrified fugitives from the palace when it was set on fire. The tablets found by Layard were of different sizes; the largest were rectangular, flat on one side and convex on the other, and measured about 9 ins. by 6 1/2 ins., and the smallest were about an inch square. The importance of this "find" was not sufficiently recognized at the time, for the tablets, which were thought to be decorated pottery, were thrown into baskets and sent down the river loose on rafts to Basrah, whence they were despatched to England on a British man o' war. During their transport from Nineveh to England they suffered more damage from want of packing than they had suffered from the wrath of the Medes. Among the complete tablets that were found in the two chambers several had colophons inscribed or scratched upon them, and when these were deciphered by Rawlinson, Hincks and Oppert a few years later, it became evident that they had formed part of the library of the Temple of Nebo at Nineveh. Nebo and His Library at Nineveh. Nothing is known of the early history of the Library [1] of the Temple of Nebo at Nineveh. There is little doubt that it was in existence in the reign of Sargon II, and it was probably founded at the instance of the priests of Nebo who were settled at Nimrûd (the Calah of Gen. X, 11), about 20 miles downstream of Nineveh. Authorities differ in their estimate of the attributes that were assigned to Nebo ( Nabu) in Pre-Babylonian times, and cannot decide whether he was a water-god, or a fire-god, or a corn-god, but he was undoubtedly associated with Marduk, either as his son or as a fellow-god. It is certain that as early as B.C. 2000 he was regarded as one of the "Great Gods" of Babylonia, and about 1,200 years later his cult was general in Assyria. He had a temple at Nimrûd in the ninth century B.C., and King Adad-Nirari (B.C. 811-783) set up six statues in it to the honour of the god; two of these statues are now in the British Museum. Under the last Assyrian Empire he was believed to possess the wisdom of all the gods, and to be the "All-wise" and "All-knowing." He was the inventor of all the arts and sciences, and the source of inspiration in wise and learned men, and he was the divine scribe and past master of all the mysteries connected with literature and the art of writing (, duppu sharrute). Ashur-bani-pal addresses him as "Nebo, the beneficent son, the director of the hosts of heaven and of earth, holder of the tablet of knowledge, bearer of the writing-reed of destiny, lengthener of days, vivifier of the dead, stablisher of light for the men who are troubled" (see tablet R.M. 132) In the reign of Sargon II the temple library of Nebo was probably housed in some building at or near Nabi Yûnis, or, as George Smith thought, near Kuyûnjik, or at Kuyûnjik itself. As Layard found the remains of Nebo's Library in the South West Palace, it is probable that Ashur-bani-pal built a new temple to Nebo there and had the library transferred to it. Nebo's temple at Nineveh bore the same name as his very ancient temple at Borsippa (the modern Birs-i-Nimrûd), viz., "E-Zida." Discovery of the Palace Library of Ashur-bani-pal. In the spring of 1852 Layard was obliged to close his excavations for want of funds, and he returned to England with Rassam, leaving all the northern half of the great mound of Kuyûnjik unexcavated. He resigned his position as Director of Excavations to the Trustees of the British Museum, and Colonel (later Sir) H. C. Rawlinson, Consul-General of Baghdâd, undertook to direct any further excavations that might be possible to carry out later on. During the summer the Trustees received a further grant from Parliament for excavations in Assyria, and they dispatched Rassam to finish the exploration of Kuyûnjik, knowing that the lease of the mound of Kuyûnjik for excavation purposes which he had obtained from its owner had several years to run. When Rassam arrived at Môsul in 1853, and was collecting his men for work, he discovered that Rawlinson, who knew nothing about the lease of the mound which Rassam held, had given the French Consul, M. Place, permission to excavate the northern half of the mound, i.e., that part of it which he was most anxious to excavate for the British Museum. He protested, but in vain, and, finding that M. Place intended to hold Rawlinson to his word, devoted himself to clearing out part of the South West Palace which Layard had attacked in 1852. Meanwhile M. Place was busily occupied with the French excavations at Khorsabad, a mound which contained the ruins of the great palace of Sargon II, and had no time to open up excavations at Kuyûnjik. In this way a year passed, and as M. Place made no sign that he was going to excavate at Kuyûnjik and Rassam's time for returning to England was drawing near, the owner of the mound, who was anxious to get the excavations finished so that he might again graze his flocks on the mound, urged Rassam to get to work in spite of Rawlinson's agreement with M. Place. He and Rassam made arrangements to excavate the northern part of the mound clandestinely and by night, and on 20th December, 1853, the work began. On the first night nothing of importance was found; on the second night the men uncovered a portion of a large bas-relief; and on the third night a huge mass of earth collapsed revealing a very fine bas-relief, sculptured with a scene representing Ashur-bani-pal standing in his chariot. The news of the discovery was quickly carried to all parts of the neighbourhood, and as it was impossible to keep the diggings secret any longer, the work was continued openly and by day. The last-mentioned bas-relief was one of the series that lined the chamber, which was 50 feet long and 15 feet wide, and illustrated a royal lion hunt. [2] This series, that is to say, all of it that the fire which destroyed the palace had spared, is now in the British Museum (see the Gallery of the Assyrian Saloon). Whilst the workmen were clearing out the Chamber of the Lion Hunt they came across several heaps of inscribed baked clay tablets of "all shapes and sizes," which resembled in general appearance the tablets that Layard had found in the South West Palace the year before. There were no remains with them, or near them, that suggested they had been arranged systematically and stored in the Chamber of the Lion Hunt, and it seems as if they had been brought there from another place and thrown down hastily, for nearly all of them were broken into small pieces. As some of them bore traces of having been exposed to great heat they must have been in that chamber during the burning of the palace. When the tablets were brought to England and were examined by Rawlinson, it was found from the information supplied by the colophons that they formed a part of the great Private Library of Ashur-bani-pal, which that king kept in his palace. The tablets found by Layard in 1852 and by Rassam in 1853 form the unique and magnificent collection of cuneiform tablets in the British Museum, which is now commonly known as the "Kuyûnjik Collection." The approximate number of the inscribed baked clay tablets and fragments that have come from Kuyûnjik and are now in the British Museum is 25,073. It is impossible to over-estimate their importance and value from religious, historical and literary points of view; besides this, they have supplied the material for the decipherment of cuneiform inscriptions in the Assyrian, Babylonian and Sumerian languages, and form the foundation of the science of Assyriology which has been built up with such conspicuous success during the last 70 years. Ashur-bani-pal, Book-Collector and Patron of Learning. Ashur-bani-pal (the Asnapper of Ezra iv, 10) succeeded his father Esarhaddon B.C. 668, and at a comparatively early period of his reign he seems to have devoted himself to the study of the history of his country, and to the making of a great Private Library. The tablets that have come down to us prove not only that he was as great a benefactor of the Library of the Temple of Nebo as any of his predecessors, but that he was himself an educated man, a lover of learning, and a patron of the literary folk of his day. In the introduction to his Annals as found inscribed on his great ten-sided cylinder in the British Museum he tells us how he took up his abode in the chambers of the palace from which Sennacherib and Esarhaddon had ruled the Assyrian Empire, and in describing his own education he says: "I, Ashur-bani-pal, within it (i.e., the palace) understood the wisdom of Nebo, all the art of writing of every craftsman, of every kind, I made myself master of them all (i.e., of the various kinds of writing)." [3] These words suggest that Ashur-bani-pal could not only read cuneiform texts, but could write like a skilled scribe, and that he also understood all the details connected with the craft of making and baking tablets. Having determined to form a Library in his palace he set to work in a systematic manner to collect literary works. He sent scribes to ancient seats of learning, e.g., Ashur, Babylon, Cuthah, Nippur, Akkad, Erech, to make copies of the ancient works that were preserved there, and when the copies came to Nineveh he either made transcripts of them himself, or caused his scribes to do so for the Palace Library. In any case he collated the texts himself and revised them before placing them in his Library. The appearance of the tablets from his Library suggests that he established a factory in which the clay was cleaned and kneaded and made into homogeneous, well-shaped tablets, and a kiln in which they were baked, after they had been inscribed. The uniformity of the script upon them is very remarkable, and texts with mistakes in them are rarely found. How the tablets were arranged in the Library is not known, but certainly groups were catalogued, and some tablets were labelled. [4] Groups of tablets were arranged in numbered series, with "catch lines," the first tablet of the series giving the first line of the second tablet, the second tablet giving the first line of the third tablet, and so on. Ashur-bani-pal was greatly interested in the literature of the Sumerians, i.e., the non-Semitic people who occupied Lower Babylonia about B.C. 3500 and later. He and his scribes made bilingual lists of signs and words and objects of all classes and kinds, all of which are of priceless value to the modern student of the Sumerian and Assyrian languages. Annexed is an extract from a List of Signs with Sumerian and Assyrian values. The signs of which the meanings are given are in the middle column; the Sumerian values are given in the column to the left, and their meanings in Assyrian in the column to the right. To many of his copies of Sumerian hymns, incantations, magical formulas, etc., Ashur-bani-pal caused interlinear translations to be added in Assyrian, and of such bilingual documents the following extract from a text relating to the Seven Evil Spirits will serve as a specimen. The 1st, 3rd, 5th, etc., lines are written in Sumerian, and the 2nd, 4th, 6th, etc., lines in Assyrian. The tablets that belonged to Ashur-bani-pal's private Library and those of the Temple of Nebo can be distinguished by the colophons, when these exist. Two forms of colophon for each class of the two great collections of tablets are known, one short and one long. The short colophon on the tablets of the King's Library reads:--"Palace of Ashur-bani-pal, king of hosts, king of the country of Assyria" and that on the tablets of the Library of Nebo reads:--"[Country of ?] Ashur-bani-pal, king of hosts, king of the country of Assyria." See on the Tablet of Astrological Omens, p. 22. The longer colophons are of considerable interest and renderings of two typical examples are here appended:-- I. Colophon of the Tablets of the Palace Library. (K. 4870.) 1. Palace of Ashur-bani-pal, king of hosts, king of the country of Assyria, 2. who trusteth in the god Ashur and the goddess Bêlit, 3. on whom the god Nebo (Nabû) and the goddess Tasmetu 4. have bestowed all-hearing ears 5. and his possession of eyes that are clearsighted, 6. and the finest results of the art of writing 7. which, among the kings who have gone before, 8. no one ever acquired that craft. 9. The wisdom of Nebo [as expressed in] writing, of every kind, 10. on tablets I wrote, collated and revised, 11. [and] for examination and reading 12. in my palace I placed--[I] 13. the prince who knoweth the light of the king of the gods, Ashur. 14. Whosoever shall carry [them] off, or his name side by side with mine 15. shall write may Ashur and Bêlit wrathfully 16. sweep away, and his name and his seed destroy in the land. 2. Colophon of the Tablets of the Library of Nebo. (RM. 132.) 1. To Nebo, beneficent son, director of the hosts of heaven and of earth, 2. holder of the tablet of knowledge, he who hath grasped the writing reed of destinies, 3. lengthener of days, vivifier of the dead, stablisher of light for the men who are perplexed, 4. [from] the great lord, the noble Ashur-bani-pal, the lord, the approved of the gods Ashur, Bêl and Nebo, 5. the shepherd, the maintainer of the holy places of the great gods, stablisher of their revenues, 6. son of Esarhaddon, king of hosts, king of Assyria, 7. grandson of Sennacherib, king of hosts, king of Assyria, 8. for the life of his souls, length of his days, [and] well-being of his posterity, 9. to make permanent the foundation of his royal throne, to hear his supplications, 10. to receive his petitions, to deliver into his hands the rebellious. 11. The wisdom of Ea, the precious priesthood, the leadership, 12. what is composed for the contentment of the heart of the great gods, 13. I wrote upon tablets, I collated, I revised 14. literally according to all the tablets of the lands of Ashur and Akkad, 15. and I placed in the Library of E-Zida, the temple of Nebo my lord, which is in Nineveh. 16. O Nebo, lord of the hosts of heaven and of earth, look upon that Library joyfully for years (i.e., for ever). 17. Of Ashur-bani-pal, the chief, the worshipper of thy divinity, daily the reward of the offering-- 18. his life decree, so that he may exalt thy great godhead. The tablets from both Libraries when unbroken vary in size from 15 inches by 8 5/8 inches to 1 inch by 7/8 inch, and they are usually about 1 inch thick. In shape they are rectangular, the obverse being flat and tile reverse slightly convex. Contract tablets, letter tablets and "case" tablets are very much smaller, and resemble small pillows in shape. The principal subjects dealt with in the tablets are history, annalistic or summaries, letters, despatches, reports, oracles, prayers, contracts, deeds of sale of land, produce, cattle, slaves, agreements, dowries, bonds for interest (with impressions of seals, and fingernails, or nail marks), chronography, chronology, Canons of Eponyms, astrology (forecasts, omens, divinations, charms, spells, incantations), mythology, legends, grammar, law, geography, etc. [5] George Smith's Discovery of the Epic of Gilgamish and the Story of the Deluge. The mass of tablets which had been discovered by Layard and Rassam at Nineveh came to the British Museum in 1854-5, and their examination by Rawlinson and Norris began very soon after. Mr. Bowler, a skilful draughtsman and copyist of tablets, whom Rawlinson employed in making transfers of copies of cuneiform texts for publication by lithography, rejoined a considerable number of fragments of bilingual lists, syllabaries, etc., which were published in the second volume of the Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia, in 1866. In that year the Trustees of the British Museum employed George Smith to assist Rawlinson in sorting, classifying and rejoining fragments, and a comprehensive examination of the collection by him began. His personal interest in Assyriology was centred upon historical texts, especially those which threw any light on the Bible Narrative. But in the course of his search for stories of the campaigns of Sargon II, Sennacherib, Esarhaddon and Ashur-bani-pal, he discovered among other important documents (1) a series of portions of tablets which give the adventures of Gilgamish, an ancient king of Erech; (2) An account of the Deluge, which is supplied by the Eleventh Tablet of the Legend of Gilgamish (in more than one version); (3) A detailed description of the Creation; (4) the Legend of the Descent of Ishtar into Hades in quest of Tammuz. The general meaning of the texts was quite clear, but there were many gaps in them, and it was not until December, 1872, that George Smith published his description of the Legend of Gilgamish, and a translation of the "Chaldean Account of the Deluge." The interest which his paper evoked was universal, and the proprietors of the "Daily Telegraph" advocated that Smith should be at once dispatched to Nineveh to search for the missing fragments of tablets which would fill up the gaps in his texts, and generously offered to contribute 1,000 guineas towards the cost of the excavations. The Trustees accepted the offer and gave six months' leave of absence to Smith, who left London in January, and arrived in Môsul in March, 1873. In the following May he recovered from Kuyûnjik a fragment that contained "the greater portion of seventeen lines of inscription belonging to the first column of the Chaldean account of the Deluge, and fitting into the only place where there was a serious blank in the story." [6] During the excavations which Smith carried out at Kuyûnjik in 1873 and 1874 he recovered many fragments of tablets, the texts of which enabled him to complete his description of the contents of the Twelve Tablets of the Legend of Gilgamish which included his translation of the story of the Deluge. Unfortunately Smith died of hunger and sickness near Aleppo in 1876, and he was unable to revise his early work, and to supplement it with the information which he had acquired during his latest travels in Assyria and Babylonia. Thanks to the excavations which were carried on at Kuyûnjik by the Trustees of the British Museum after his untimely death, several hundreds of tablets and fragments have been recovered, and many of these have been rejoined to the tablets of the older collection. By the careful study and investigation of the old and new material Assyriologists have, during the last forty years, been enabled to restore and complete many passages in the Legends of Gilgamish and the Flood. It is now clear that the Legend of the Flood had not originally any connection with the Legend of Gilgamish, and that it was introduced into it by a late editor or redactor of the Legend, probably in order to complete the number of the Twelve Tablets on which it was written in the time of Ashur-bani-pal. The Legend of the Deluge in Babylonia. In the introduction to his paper on the "Chaldean Account of the Deluge," which Smith read in December, 1872, and published in 1873, he stated that the Assyrian text which he had found on Ashur-bani-pal's tablets was copied from an archetype at Erech in Lower Babylonia. This archetype was, he thought, "either written in, or translated into Semitic Babylonian, at a very early period," and although he could not assign a date to it, he adduced a number of convincing proofs in support of his opinion. The language in which he assumed the Legend to have been originally composed was known to him under the name of "Accadian," or "Akkadian," but is now called "Sumerian." Recent research has shown that his view on this point was correct on the whole. But there is satisfactory proof available to show that versions or recensions of the Legend of the Deluge and of the Epic of Gilgamish existed both in Sumerian and Babylonian, as early as B.C. 2000. The discovery has been made of a fragment of a tablet with a small portion of the Babylonian version of the Legend of the Deluge inscribed upon it, and dated in a year which is the equivalent of the 11th year of Ammisaduga, i.e. about B.C. 2000. [7] And in the Museum at Philadelphia [8] is preserved half of a tablet which when whole contained a complete copy of the Sumerian version of the Legend, and must have been written about the same date. The fragment of the tablet written in the reign of Ammisaduga is of special importance because the colophon shows that the tablet to which it belonged was the second of a series, and that this series was not that of the Epic of Gilgamish, and from this we learn that in B.C. 2000 the Legend of the Deluge did not form the XIth Tablet of the Epic of Gilgamish, as it did in the reign of Ashur-bani-pal, or earlier. The Sumerian version is equally important, though from another point of view, for the contents and position of the portion of it that remains on the half of the tablet mentioned above make it certain that already at this early period there were several versions of the Legend of the Deluge current in the Sumerian language. The fact is that the Legend of the Deluge was then already so old in Mesopotamia that the scribes added to or abbreviated the text at will, and treated the incidents recorded in it according to local or popular taste, tradition and prejudice. There seems to be no evidence that proves conclusively that the Sumerian version is older than the Semitic, or that the latter was translated direct from the former version. It is probable that both the Sumerians and the Semites, each in their own way, attempted to commemorate an appalling disaster of unparalleled magnitude, the knowledge of which, through tradition, was common to both peoples. It is, at all events, clear that the Sumerians regarded the Deluge as an historic event, which they were, practically, able to date, for some of their tablets contain lists of kings who reigned before the Deluge, though it must be confessed that the lengths assigned to their reigns are incredible. It is not too much to assume that the original event commemorated in the Legend of the Deluge was a serious and prolonged inundation or flood in Lower Babylonia, which was accompanied by great loss of life and destruction of property. The Babylonian versions state that this inundation or flood was caused by rain, but passages in some of them suggest that the effects of the rainstorm were intensified by other physical happenings connected with the earth, of a most destructive character. The Hebrews also, as we may see from the Bible, had alternative views as to the cause of the Deluge. According to one, rain fell upon the earth for forty days and forty nights (Gen. vii, 12), and according to the other the Deluge came because "all the fountains of the "great deep" were broken up, and "the flood-gates of heaven were opened" (Gen. vii, 11). The latter view suggests that the rain flood was joined by the waters of the sea. Later tradition, based partly on Babylonian and partly on Hebrew sources, asserts in the "Cave of Treasures" [9] that when Noah had entered the Ark and the door was shut, "the sluices of heaven were opened, and the deeps were rent asunder," and "that the Ocean, that great sea that surroundeth the whole world, vomited its waters, and the sluices of heaven being opened, and the deeps of the earth being rent asunder, the storehouses of the winds were opened, and the whirlwinds broke loose, and the Ocean roared and poured out its waters in floods." The ark was steered over the waters by an angel who acted as pilot, and when that had come to rest on the mountains of Kardô (Armenia) "God commanded the waters and they separated from each other. The waters that had been above ascended to their place above the heavens, whence they had come; and the waters that had come up from under the earth returned to the lower deep; and the waters that were from the Ocean returned into it" (Brit. Mus. MS. Orient. No. 25,875, fol. 17b, col. 1 and fol. 18a, cols. 1 and 2). Many authorities seeking to find a foundation of fact for the Legend of the Deluge in Mesopotamia have assumed that the rain flood was accompanied either by an earthquake or a tidal wave, or by both. There is no doubt that the cities of Lower Babylonia were nearer the sea in the Sumerian Period than they are at the present time, and it is a generally accepted view that the head of the Persian Gulf lay further to the north at that time. A cyclone coupled with a tidal wave is a sufficient base for any of the forms of the Legend now known. A comparison of the contents of the various Sumerian and Babylonian versions of the Deluge that have come down to us shows us that they are incomplete. And as none of them tells so connected and full a narrative of the prehistoric shipbuilder as Berosus, a priest of Bêl, the great god of Babylon, it seems that the Mesopotamian scribes were content to copy the Legend in an abbreviated form. Berosus, it is true, is not a very ancient authority, for he was not born until the reign of Alexander the Great, but he was a learned man and was well acquainted with the Babylonian language, and with the ancient literature of his country, and he wrote a history of Babylonia, some fragments of which have been preserved to us in the works of Alexander Polyhistor, Eusebius, and others. The following is a version of the fragment which describes the flood that took place in the days of Xisuthrus, the tenth King of the Chaldeans, and is of importance for comparison with the rendering of the Legend of the Deluge, as found on the Ninevite tablets, which follows immediately after. The Legend of the Deluge According to Berosus. "After the death of Ardates, his son Xisuthrus reigned eighteen sari. In his time happened a great Deluge; the history of which is thus described. The Deity, Cronus, appeared to him in a vision, and warned him that upon the 15th day of the month Daesius there would be a flood, by which mankind would be destroyed. He therefore enjoined him to write a history of the beginning, procedure and conclusion of all things; and to bury it in the city of the Sun at Sippara; and to build a vessel, and take with him into it his friends and relations; and to convey on board everything necessary to sustain life, together with all the different animals, both birds and quadrupeds, and trust himself fearlessly to the deep. Having asked the Deity, whither he was to sail? he was answered, 'To the Gods': upon which he offered up a prayer for the good of mankind. He then obeyed the divine admonition; and built a vessel 5 stadia in length, and 2 in breadth. Into this he put everything which he had prepared; and last of all conveyed into it his wife, his children, and his friends. After the flood had been upon the earth, and was in time abated, Xisuthrus sent out birds from the vessel; which, not finding any food nor any place whereupon they might rest their feet, returned to him again. After an interval of some days, he sent them forth a second time; and they now returned with their feet tinged with mud. He made a trial a third time with these birds; but they returned to him no more: from whence he judged that the surface of the earth had appeared above the waters. He therefore made an opening in the vessel, and upon looking out found that it was stranded upon the side of some mountain; upon which he immediately quitted it with his wife, his daughter, and the pilot. Xisuthrus then paid his adoration to the earth, and, having constructed an altar, offered sacrifices to the gods, and, with those who had come out of the vessel with him, disappeared. They, who remained within, finding that their companions did not return, quitted the vessel with many lamentations, and called continually on the name of Xisuthrus. Him they saw no more; but they could distinguish his voice in the air, and could hear him admonish them to pay due regard to religion; and likewise informed them that it was upon account of his piety that he was translated to live with the gods; that his wife and daughter, and the pilot, had obtained the same honour. To this he added that they should return to Babylonia; and, it was ordained, search for the writings at Sippara, which they were to make known to mankind: moreover that the place, wherein they then were, was the land of Armenia. The rest having heard these words, offered sacrifices to the gods; and taking a circuit journeyed towards Babylonia." (Cory, Ancient Fragments, London, 1832, p. 26ff.) The Babylonian Legend of the Deluge as Told to the Hero Gilgamish by His Ancestor Uta-Napishtim, Who Had Been Made Immortal by the Gods. The form of the Legend of the Deluge given below is that which is found on the Eleventh of the Series of Twelve Tablets in the Library of Nebo at Nineveh, which described the life and exploits of Gilgamish (), an early king of the city of Erech. As we have seen above, the Legend of the Deluge has in reality no connection with the Epic of Gilgamish, but was introduced into it by the editors of the Epic at a comparatively late period, perhaps even during the reign of Ashur-bani-pal (B.C. 668-626). A summary of the contents of the other Tablets of the Gilgamish Series is given in the following section of this short monograph. It is therefore only necessary to state here that Gilgamish, who was horrified and almost beside himself when his bosom friend and companion Enkidu (Eabâni) died, meditated deeply how he could escape death himself. He knew that his ancestor Uta-Napishtim had become immortal, therefore he determined to set out for the place where Uta-Napishtim lived so that he might obtain from him the secret of immortality. Guided by a dream in which he saw the direction of the place where Uta-Napishtim lived, Gilgamish set out for the Mountain of the Sunset, and, after great toil and many difficulties, came to the shore of a vast sea. Here he met Ur-Shanabi, the boatman of Uta-Napishtim, who was persuaded to carry him in his boat over the "waters of death," and at length he landed on the shore of the country of Uta-Napishtim. The immortal came down to the shore and asked the newcomer the object of his visit, and Gilgamish told him of the death of his great friend Enkidu, and of his desire to escape from death and to find immortality. Uta-Napishtim having made to Gilgamish some remarks which seem to indicate that in his opinion death was inevitable, 1. Gilgamish [10] said unto Uta-Napishtim, to Uta-Napishtim the remote: 2. "I am looking at thee, Uta-Napishtim. 3. Thy person is not altered; even as am I so art thou. 4. Verily, nothing about thee is changed; even as am I so art thou. 5. [Moved is my] heart to do battle, 6. But thou art at leisure and dost lie upon thy back. 7. How then wast thou able to enter the company of the gods and see life?" Thereupon Uta-Napishtim related to Gilgamish the Story of the Deluge, and the Eleventh Tablet continues thus:-- 8. Uta-Napishtim said unto him, to Gilgamish: 9. "I will reveal unto thee, O Gilgamish, a hidden mystery, 10. And a secret matter of the gods I will declare unto thee. 11. Shurippak, [11] a city which thou thyself knowest, 12. On [the bank] of the river Puratti (Euphrates) is situated, 13. That city was old and the gods [dwelling] within it-- 14. Their hearts induced the great gods to make a wind-storm (a-bu-bi), [12] 15. Their father Anu, 16. Their counsellor, the warrior Enlil, 17. Their messenger En-urta [and] 18. Their prince Ennugi. 19. Nin-igi-azag, Ea, was with them [in council] and 20. reported their word to the house of reeds. [First Speech of Ea to Uta-Napishtim who is sleeping in a reed hut.] 21. O House of reeds, O House of reeds! O Wall, O Wall! 22. O House of reeds, hear! O Wall, understand! 23. O man of Shurippak, son of Ubara-Tutu. 24. Throw down the house, build a ship, 25. Forsake wealth, seek after life, 26. Abandon possessions, save thy life, 27. Carry grain of every kind into the ship. 28. The ship which thou shalt build, 29. The dimensions thereof shall be measured, 30. The breadth and the length thereof shall be the same. 31. ... the ocean, provide it with a roof." [Uta-Napishtim's answer to Ea.] 32. "I understood and I said unto Ea, my lord: 33. [I comprehend] my lord, that which thou hast ordered, 34. I will regard it with great reverence, and will perform it. 35. But what shall I say to the town, to the multitude, and to the elders?" [Second Speech of Ea.] 36. "Ea opened his mouth and spake 37. And said unto his servant, myself, 38. ... Thus shalt thou say unto them: 39. Ill-will hath the god Enlil formed against me, 40. Therefore I can no longer dwell in your city, 41. And never more will I turn my countenance upon the soil of Enlil. 42. I will descend into the ocean to dwell with my lord Ea. 43. But upon you he will rain riches: 44. A catch of birds, a catch of fish 45. ... an [abundant] harvest, 46. ... the prince (?) of the darkness 47. ... shall make a violent cyclone [to fall upon you]." [The Building of the Ship.] 48. As soon as [the dawn] broke... [Lines 49-54 broken away.] 55. The weak [man] ... brought bitumen, 56. The strong [man] ... brought what was needed. 57. On the fifth day I decided upon its plan. 58. According to the plan its walls were 10 Gar (i.e. 120 cubits) high, 59. And the circuit of the roof thereof was equally 10 Gar. 60. I measured out the hull thereof and marked it out (?) 61. I covered (?) it six times. 62. Its exterior I divided into seven, 63. Its interior I divided into nine, 64. Water bolts I drove into the middle of it. 65. I provided a steering pole, and fixed what was needful for it, 66. Six sar of bitumen I poured over the inside wall, 67. Three sar of pitch I poured into the inside. 68. The men who bear loads brought three sar of oil, 69. Besides a sar of oil which the offering consumed, 70. And two sar of oil which the boatman hid. 71. I slaughtered oxen for the [work]people, 72. I slew sheep every day. 73. Beer, sesame wine, oil and wine 74. I made the people drink as if they were water from the river. 75. I celebrated a feast-day as if it had been New Year's Day. 76. I opened [a box of ointment], I laid my hands in unguent. 77. Before the sunset the ship was finished. 78. [Since] ... was difficult. 79. The shipbuilders brought the ... of the ship, above and below, 80. ... two-thirds of it. [The Loading of the Ship.] 81. With everything that I possessed I loaded it (i.e. the ship). 82. With everything that I possessed of silver I loaded it. 83. With everything that I possessed of gold I loaded it. 84. With all that I possessed of living grain I loaded it. 85. I made to go up into the ship all my family and kinsfolk, 86. The cattle of the field, the beasts of the field, all handicraftsmen I made them go up into it. 87. The god Shamash had appointed me a time (saying) 88. The Power of Darkness will at eventide make a rain-flood to fall; 89. Then enter into the ship and shut thy door. 90. The appointed time drew nigh; 91. The Power of Darkness made a rain-flood to fall at eventide. 92. I watched the coming of the [approaching] storm, 93. "When I saw it terror possessed me, 94. I went into the ship and shut my door. 95. To the pilot of the ship, Puzur-Bêl (or Puzur-Amurri) the sailor 96. I committed the great house (i.e. ship), together with the contents thereof. [The Abubu (Cyclone) and its effects Described.] 97. As soon as the gleam of dawn shone in the sky 98. A black cloud from the foundation of heaven came up. 99. Inside it the god Adad (Rammânu) thundered, 100. The gods Nabû and Sharru (i.e. Marduk) went before, 101. Marching as messengers over high land and plain, 102. Irragal (Nergal) tore out the post of the ship, 103. En-urta (Ninib) went on, he made the storm to descend. 104. The Anunnaki [13] brandished their torches, 105. With their glare they lighted up the land. 106. The whirlwind (or, cyclone) of Adad swept up to heaven. 107. Every gleam of light was turned into darkness. 108. ...... the land ...... as if ...... had laid it waste. 109. A whole day long [the flood descended] ... 110. Swiftly it mounted up ..... [the water] reached to the mountains 111. [The water] attacked the people like a battle. 112. Brother saw not brother. 113. Men could not be known (or, recognized) in heaven. 114. The gods were terrified at the cyclone. 115. They betook themselves to flight and went up into the heaven of Anu. 116. The gods crouched like a dog and cowered by the wall. 117. The goddess Ishtar cried out like a woman in travail. 118. The Lady of the Gods lamented with a loud voice [saying]: [Ishtar's Lament.] 119. "Verily the former dispensation is turned into mud, 120. Because I commanded evil among the company of the gods. 121. When I commanded evil among the company of the gods, 122. I commanded battle for the destruction of my people. 123. Did I of myself bring forth my people 124. That they might fill the sea like little fishes?" [Uta-Napishtim's Story continued.] 125. The gods of the Anunnaki wailed with her. 126. The gods bowed themselves, and sat down, and wept. 127. Their lips were shut tight (in distress) ... 128. For six days and nights 129. The storm raged, and the cyclone overwhelmed the land. [The Abating of the Storm.] 130. When the seventh day approached the cyclone and the raging flood ceased: 131. --now it had fought like an army. 132. The sea became quiet and went down, and the cyclone and the rain-storm ceased. 133. I looked over the sea and a calm had come, 134. And all mankind were turned into mud, 135. The land had been laid flat like a terrace. 136. I opened the air-hole and the light fell upon my face, 137. I bowed myself, I sat down, I cried, 138. My tears poured down over my cheeks. 139. I looked over the quarters of the world--open sea! 140. After twelve days an island appeared. 141. The ship took its course to the land of Nisir. 142. The mountain of Nisir held the ship, it let it not move. 143. The first day, the second day, the mountain of Nisir held the ship and let it not move. 144. The third day, the fourth day, the mountain of Nisir held the ship and let it not move. 145. The fifth day, the sixth day, the mountain of Nisir held the ship and let it not move. 146. When the seventh day had come 147. I brought out a dove and let her go free. 148. The dove flew away and [then] came back; 149. Because she had no place to alight on she came back. 150. I brought out a swallow and let her go free. 151. The swallow flew away and [then] came back; 152. Because she had no place to alight on she came back. 153. I brought out a raven and let her go free. 154. The raven flew away, she saw the sinking waters. 155. She ate, she pecked in the ground, she croaked, she came not back. [Uta-Napishtim Leaves the Ship.] 156. Then I brought out everything to the four winds and offered up a sacrifice; 157. I poured out a libation on the peak of the mountain. 158. Seven by seven I set out the vessels, 159. Under them I piled reeds, cedarwood and myrtle (?). 160. The gods smelt the savour, 161. The gods smelt the sweet savour. 162. The gods gathered together like flies over him that sacrificed. [Speech of Ishtar, Lady of the Gods.] 163. Now when the Lady of the Gods came nigh, 164. She lifted up the priceless jewels which Anu had made according to her desire, [saying] 165. "O ye gods here present, as I shall never forget the lapis-lazuli jewels of my neck 166. So shall I ever think about these days, and shall forget them nevermore! 167. Let the gods come to the offering, 168. But let not Enlil come to the offering, 169. Because he would not accept counsel and made the cyclone, 17O. And delivered my people over to destruction." [The Anger of Enlil (Bêl).] 171. Now when Enlil came nigh 172. He saw the ship; then was Enlil wroth 173. And he was filled with anger against the gods, the Igigi [saying]: [14] 174. "What kind of a being hath escaped with his life? 175. He shall not remain alive, a man among the destruction!" [Speech of En-Urta.] 176. Then En-Urta opened his mouth and spake 177. And said unto the warrior Enlil (Bêl): 178. Who besides the god Ea can make a plan? 179. The god Ea knoweth everything. 180. He opened his mouth and spake 181. And said unto the warrior Enlil (Bêl), 182. O Prince among the gods, thou warrior, 183. How couldst thou, not accepting counsel, make a cyclone? 184. He who is sinful, on him lay his sin, 185. He who transgresseth, on him lay his transgression. 186. But be merciful that [everything] be not destroyed; be long-suffering that [man be not blotted out]. 187. Instead of thy making a cyclone, 188. Would that a lion had come and diminished mankind. 189. Instead of thy making a cyclone 19O. Would that a wolf had come and diminished mankind. 191. Instead of thy making a cyclone 192. Would that a famine had arisen and [laid waste] the land. 193. Instead of thy making a cyclone 194. Would that Urra (the Plague god) had risen up and [laid waste] the land. 195. As for me I have not revealed the secret of the great gods. 196. I made Atra-hasis to see a vision, and thus he heard the secret of the gods. 197. Now therefore counsel him with counsel." [Ea deifies Uta-Napishtim and his Wife.] 198. "Then the god Ea went up into the ship, 199. He seized me by the hand and brought me forth. 200. He brought forth my wife and made her to kneel by my side. 2O1. He turned our faces towards each other, he stood between us, he blessed us [saying], 202. Formerly Uta-Napishtim was a man merely, 203. But now let Uta-Napishtiin and his wife be like unto the gods, ourselves. 204. Uta-Napishtim shall dwell afar off, at the mouth of the rivers." [Uta-Napishtim Ends his Story of the Deluge.] 205. "And they took me away to a place afar off, and made me to dwell at the mouth of the rivers." The contents of the remainder of the text on the Eleventh Tablet of the Gilgamish Series are described on p. 54. The Epic of Gilgamish. [15] The narrative of the life, exploits and travels of Gilgamish, king of Erech, filled Twelve Tablets which formed the Series called from the first three words of the First Tablet, Sha Nagbu Imuru, i.e., "He who hath seen all things." The exact period of the reign of this king is unknown, but there is no doubt that he lived and ruled at Erech before the conquest of Mesopotamia by the Semites. According to a tablet from Niffar he was the fifth of a line of Sumerian rulers at Erech, and he reigned 126 years; his name is said to mean "The Fire-god is a commander." [16] The principal authorities for the Epic are the numerous fragments of the tablets that were found in the ruins of the Library of Nebo and the Royal Library of Ashur-bani-pal at Nineveh, and are now in the British Museum. [17] The contents of the Twelve Tablets may be briefly described thus: The First Tablet. The opening lines describe the great knowledge and wisdom of Gilgamish, who saw everything, learned everything, understood everything, who probed to the bottom the hidden mysteries of wisdom, and who knew the history of everything that happened before the Deluge. He travelled far over sea and land, and performed mighty deeds, and then he cut upon a tablet of stone an account of all that he had done and suffered. He built the wall of Erech, founded the holy temple of E-Anna, and carried out other great architectural works. He was a semi-divine being, for his body was formed of the "flesh of the gods," and "Two-thirds of him were god, and one-third was man" (l. 51). The description of his person is lost. As Shepherd (i.e., King) of Erech he forced the people to toil overmuch, and his demands reduced them to such a state of misery that they cried out to the gods and begged them to create some king who should control Gilgamish and give them deliverance from him. The gods hearkened to the prayer of the men of Erech, and they commanded the goddess Aruru to create a rival to Gilgamish. The goddess agreed to do their bidding, and having planned in her mind what manner of being she intended to make, she washed her hands, took a piece of clay and spat upon it, and made a male creature like the god Anu. His body was covered all over with hair. The hair of his head was long like that of a woman, and he wore clothing like that of Gira (or, Sumuggan), a goddess of vegetation, i.e., he appeared to be clothed with leaves. He was different in every way from the people of the country, and his name was Enkidu (Eabani). He lived in the forests on the hills, ate herbs like the gazelle, drank with the wild cattle, and herded with the beasts of the field. He was mighty in stature, invincible in strength, and obtained complete mastery over all the creatures of the forests in which he lived. One day a certain hunter went out to snare game, and he dug pit-traps and laid nets, and made his usual preparations for roping in his prey. But after doing this for three days he found that his pits were filled up and his nets smashed, and he saw Enkidu releasing the beasts that had been snared. The hunter was terrified at the sight of Enkidu, and went home hastily and told his father what he had seen and how badly he had fared. By his father's advice he went to Erech, and reported to Gilgamish what had happened. When Gilgamish heard his story he advised him to act upon a suggestion which the hunter's father had already made, namely that he should hire a harlot and take her out to the forest, so that Enkidu might be ensnared by the sight of her beauty, and take up his abode with her. The hunter accepted this advice, and having found a harlot to help him in removing Enkidu from the forests (thus enabling him to gain a living), he set out from Erech with her and in due course arrived at the forest where Enkidu lived, and sat down by the place where the beasts came to drink. On the second day when the beasts came to drink and Enkidu was with them, the woman carried out the instructions which the hunter had given her, and when Enkidu saw her cast aside her veil, he left his beasts and came to her, and remained with her for six days and seven nights. At the end of this period he returned to the beasts with which he had lived on friendly terms, but as soon as the gazelle winded him they took to flight, and the wild cattle disappeared into the woods. When Enkidu saw the beasts forsake him his knees gave way, and he swooned from sheer shame; but when he came to himself he returned to the harlot. She spoke to him flattering words, and asked him why he wandered with the wild beasts in the desert, and then told him she wished to take him back with her to Erech, where Anu and Ishtar lived, and where the mighty Gilgamish reigned. Enkidu hearkened and finally went back with her to her city, where she described the wisdom, power and might of Gilgamish, and took steps to make Enkidu known to him. But before Enkidu arrived, Gilgamish had been warned of his existence and coming in two dreams which he related to his mother Ninsunna, and when he and Enkidu learned to know each other subsequently, these two mighty heroes became great friends. The Second Tablet. When Enkidu came to Erech the habits of the people of the city were strange to him, but under the tuition of the harlot he learned to eat bread and to drink beer, and to wear clothes, and he anointed his body with unguents. He went out into the forests with his hunting implements and snared the gazelle and slew the panther, and obtained animals for sacrifice, and gained reputation as a mighty hunter and as a good shepherd. In due course he attracted the notice of Gilgamish, who did not, however, like his uncouth appearance and ways, but after a time, when the citizens of Erech praised him and admired his strong and vigorous stature, he made friends with him and rejoiced in him, and planned an expedition with him. Before they set out, Gilgamish wished to pay a visit to the goddess Ishkhara, but Enkidu, fearing that the influence of the goddess would have a bad effect upon his friend, urged him to abandon the visit. This Gilgamish refused to do, and when Enkidu declared that by force he would prevent him going to the goddess, a violent quarrel broke out between the two heroes, and they appealed to arms. After a fierce fight Enkidu conquered Gilgamish, who apparently abandoned his visit to the goddess. The text of the Second Tablet is very much mutilated, and the authorities on the subject are not agreed as to the exact placing of the fragments. The above details are derived from a tablet at Philadelphia. [18] The Third Tablet. The correct order of the fragments of this Tablet has not yet been ascertained, but among the contents of the first part of its text a lament by Enkidu that he was associated with the harlot seems to have had a place. Whether he had left the city of Erech and gone back to his native forest is not clear, but the god Shamash, having heard his cursing of the harlot, cried to him from heaven, saying, "Why, O Enkidu, dost thou curse the temple woman? She gave thee food to eat which was meet only for a god, she gave thee wine to drink which was meet only for a king, she arrayed thee in splendid apparel, and made thee to possess as thy friend the noble Gilgamish. And at present Gilgamish is thy bosom friend. He maketh thee to lie down on a large couch, and to sleep in a good, well-decked bed, and to occupy the chair of peace, the chair on the left-hand side. The princes of the earth kiss thy feet. He maketh the people of Erech to sigh for thee, and many folk to cry out for thee, and to serve thee. And for thy sake he putteth on coarse attire and arrayeth himself in the skin of the lion, and pursueth thee over the plain." When Enkidu heard these words his anxious heart had peace. To the Third Tablet probably belongs the fragment in which Enkidu relates to Gilgamish a horrifying dream which he had had. In his dream it seemed to him that there were thunderings in heaven and quaking upon earth, and a being with an awful visage, and nails like all eagle's talons, gripped him and carried him off and forced him to go down into the dark abyss of the dread goddess, Irkalla. From this abode he who once "went in never came out, and he who travelled along that road never returned, he who dwelleth there is without light, the beings therein eat dust and feed upon mud; they are clad in feathers and have wings like birds, they see no light, and they live in the darkness of night." Here Enkidu saw in his dream creatures who had been kings when they lived upon the earth, and shadowy beings offering roasted meat to Anu and Enlil, and cool drinks poured out from waterskins. In this House of Dust dwelt high priests, ministrants, the magician and the prophet, and the deities Etana, Sumukan, Eresh-kigal, Queen of the Earth, and Bêlitsêri, who registered the deeds done upon the earth. When Gilgamish heard this dream, he brought out a table, and setting on it honey and butter placed it before Shamash. The Fourth Tablet. Gilgamish then turned to Enkidu and invited him to go with him to the temple of Nin-Makh to see the servant of his mother, Ninsunna, in order to consult her as to the meaning of the dream. They went there, and Enkidu told his dream, and the wise woman offered up incense and asked Shamash why he had given to her son a heart which could never keep still. She next referred to the perilous expedition against the mighty King Khumbaba, which he had decided to undertake with Enkidu, and apparently hoped that the god would prevent her son from leaving Erech. But Gilgamish was determined to march against Khumbaba, and he and Enkidu set out without delay for the mountains where grew the cedars. The Fifth Tablet. In due course the two heroes reached the forest of cedars, and they contemplated with awe their great height and their dense foliage. The cedars were under the special protection of Bêl, who had appointed to be their keeper Khumbaba, a being whose voice was like the roar of a storm, whose mouth was like that of the gods, and whose breath was like a gale of wind. When Enkidu saw how dense was the forest and how threatening, he tried to make Gilgamish turn back, but all his entreaties were in vain. As they were going through the forest to attack Khumbaba, Enkidu dreamed two or three dreams, and when he related them to Gilgamish, this hero interpreted them as auguries of their success and the slaughter of Khumbaba. The fragmentary character of the text here makes it very difficult to find out exactly what steps the two heroes took to overcome Khumbaba, but there is no doubt that they did overcome him, and that they returned to Erech in triumph. The Sixth Tablet On his return to Erech, Gilgamish 1. Washed his armour, cleaned his weapons, 2. Dressed his hair and let it fall down on his back. 3. He cast off his dirty garments and put on clean ones 4. He arrayed himself in the [royal head-cloth], he bound on the fillet, 5. He put on his crown, he bound on the fillet. 6. Then the eyes of the Majesty of the goddess Ishtar lighted on the goodliness of Gilgamish [and she said], 7. "Go to, Gilgamish, thou shalt be my lover. 8. Give me thy [love]-fruit, give to me, I say. 9. Thou shalt be my man, I will be thy woman. 10. I will make to be harnessed for thee a chariot of lapis-lazuli and gold. 11. The wheels thereof shall be of gold and the horns of precious stones. 12. Thou shalt harness daily to it mighty horses. 13. Come into our house with the perfume of the cedar upon thee. 14. When thou enterest into our house 15. Those who sit upon thrones shall kiss thy feet. 16. Kings, lords and nobles shall bow their backs before thee. 17. The gifts of mountain and land they shall bring as tribute to thee. 18. Thy ... and thy sheep shall bring forth twins. 19. Baggage animals shall come laden with tribute. 20. The [horse] in thy chariot shall prance proudly, 21. There shall be none like unto the beast that is under thy yoke." In answer to Ishtar's invitation Gilgamish makes a long speech, in which he reviews the calamities and misfortunes of those who have been unfortunate enough to become the lovers of the goddess. Her love is like a door that lets in wind and storm, a fortress that destroys the warriors inside it, an elephant that smashes his howdah, etc. He says, "What lover didst thou love for long? Which of thy shepherds flourished? Come now, I will describe the calamity [that goeth with thee]." He refers to Tammuz, the lover of her youth, for whom year by year she arranges wailing commemorations. Every creature that falls under her sway suffers mutilation or death, the bird's wings are broken, the lion is destroyed, the horse is driven to death with whip and spur; and his speech concludes with the words: "Dost thou love me, and wouldst thou treat me as thou didst them?" When Ishtar heard these words she was filled with rage, and she went up to heaven and complained to Anu, her father, and Antu, her mother, that Gilgamish had cursed her and revealed all her iniquitous deeds and actions. She followed up her complaint with the request that Anu should create a mighty bull of heaven to destroy Gilgamish, and she threatened her father that if he did not grant her request she would do works of destruction, presumably in the world. Anu created the fire-breathing (?) bull of heaven and sent him to the city of Erech, where he destroyed large numbers of the people. At length Enkidu and Gilgamish determined to go forth and slay the bull. When they came to the place where he was, Enkidu seized him by the tail, and Gilgamish delivered deadly blows between his neck and his horns, and together they killed, him. As soon as Ishtar heard of the death of the bull she rushed out on the battlements of the walls of Erech and cursed Gilgamish for destroying her bull. When Enkidu heard what Ishtar said, he went and tore off a portion of the bull's flesh from his right side, and threw it at the goddess, saying, "Could I but fight with thee I would serve thee as I have served him! I would twine his entrails about thee." Then Ishtar gathered together all her temple women and harlots, and with them made lamentation over the portion of the bull which Enkidu had thrown at her. And Gilgamish called together the artisans of Erech who came and marvelled at the size of the bull's horns, for their bulk was equal to 30 minas of lapis-lazuli, and their thickness to the length of two fingers, and they could contain six Kur measures of oil. Then Gilgamish took them to the temple of the god Lugalbanda and hung them up there on the throne of his majesty, and having made his offering he and Enkidu went to the Euphrates and washed their hands, and walked back to the market-place of Erech. As they went through the streets of the city the people thronged about them to get a sight of their faces. When Gilgamish asked: "Who is splendid among men? Who is glorious among heroes?" these questions were answered by the women of the palace who cried: "Gilgamish is splendid among men. Gilgamish is glorious among heroes." When Gilgamish entered his palace he ordered a great festival to be kept, and his guests were provided by him with beds to sleep on. On the night of the festival Enkidu had a dream, and he rose up and related it to Gilgamish. The Seventh Tablet. About the contents of the Seventh Tablet there is considerable doubt, and the authorities differ in their opinions about them. A large number of lines of text are wanting at the beginning of the Tablet, but it is very probable that they contained a description of Enkidu's dream. This may have been followed by an interpretation of the dream, either by Gilgamish or some one else, but whether this be so or not, it seems tolerably certain that the dream portended disaster for Enkidu. A fragment, which seems to belong to this Tablet beyond doubt, describes the sickness and death of Enkidu. The cause of his sickness is unknown, and the fragment merely states that he took to his bed and lay there for ten days, when his illness took a turn for the worse, and on the twelfth day he died. He may have died of wounds received in some fight, but it is more probable that he succumbed to an attack of Mesopotamian fever. When Gilgamish was told that his brave friend and companion in many fights was dead, he could not believe it, and he thought that he must be asleep, but when he found that death had really carried off Enkidu, he broke out into the lament which formed the beginning of the text of the next Tablet. The Eighth Tablet. In this lament he calls Enkidu his brave friend and the "panther of the desert," and refers to their hunts in the mountains, and to their slaughter of the bull of heaven, and to the overthrow of Khumbaba in the forest of cedar, and then he asks him: "What kind of sleep is this which hath laid hold upon thee? "Thou starest out blankly (?) and hearest me not!" But Enkidu moved not, and when Gilgamish touched his breast his heart was still. Then laying a covering over him as carefully as if he had been his bride, he turned away from the dead body and in his grief roared like a raging lion and like a lioness robbed of her whelps. The Ninth Tablet. In bitter grief Gilgamish wandered about the country uttering lamentations for his beloved companion, Enkidu. As he went about he thought to himself, "I myself shall die, and shall not I then be as Enkidu? "Sorrow hath entered into my soul, "Because of the fear of death which hath got hold of me do I wander over the country." His fervent desire was to escape from death, and remembering that his ancestor Uta-Napishtim, the son of Ubara-Tutu, had become deified and immortal, Gilgamish determined to set out for the place where he lived in order to obtain from him the secret of immortality. Where Uta-Napishtim lived was unknown to Gilgamish, but he seems to have made up his mind that he would have to face danger in reaching the place, for he says, "I will set out and travel quickly. I shall reach the defiles in the mountains by night, and if I see lions, and am terrified at them, I shall lift up my head and appeal to the goddess Sin, and to Ishtar, the Lady of the Gods, who is wont to hearken to my prayers." After Gilgamish set out to go to the west he was attacked either by men or animals, but he overcame them and went on until he arrived at Mount Mashu, where it would seem the sun was thought both to rise and to set. The approach to this mountain was guarded by Scorpion-men, whose aspect was so terrible that the mere sight of it was sufficient to kill the mortal who beheld them; even the mountains collapsed under the glance of their eyes. When Gilgamish saw the Scorpion-men he was smitten with fear, and under the influence of his terror the colour of his face changed; but he plucked up courage and bowed to them humbly. Then a Scorpion-man cried out to his wife, saying, "The body of him that cometh to us is the flesh of the gods," and she replied, "Two-thirds of him is god, and the other third is man." The Scorpion-man then received Gilgamish kindly, and warned him that the way which he was about to travel was full of danger and difficulty. Gilgamish told him that he was in search of his ancestor, Uta-Napishtim, who had been deified and made immortal by the gods, and that it was his intention to go to him to learn the secret of immortality. The Scorpion-man in answer told him that it was impossible for him to continue his journey through that country, for no man had ever succeeded in passing through the dark region of that mountain, which required twelve double-hours to traverse. Nothing dismayed, Gilgamish set out on the road through the mountains, and the darkness increased in density every hour, but he struggled on, and at the end of the twelfth hour he arrived at a region where there was bright daylight, and he entered a lovely garden, filled with trees loaded with luscious fruits, and he saw the "tree of the gods." The Tenth Tablet. In the region to which Gilgamish had come stood the palace or fortress of the goddess Siduri-Sabîtu, and to this he directed his steps with the view of obtaining help to continue his journey. The goddess wore a girdle and sat upon a throne by the side of the sea, and when she saw him coming towards her palace, travel-stained and clad in the ragged skin of some animal, she thought that he might prove an undesirable visitor and so ordered the door of her palace to be closed against him. But Gilgamish managed to obtain speech with her, and having asked her what ailed her, and why she had closed her door, he threatened to smash the bolt and break down the door. In answer Siduri-Sabitu said to him:-- 33. "Why are thy cheeks wasted? Thy face is bowed down, 34. "Thine heart is sad, thy form is dejected. 35. "Why is there lamentation in thy heart?" And she went on to tell him that he had the appearance of one who had travelled far, that he was a painful sight to look upon, that his face was burnt, and finally seems to have suggested that he was a runaway trying to escape trom the country. To this Gilgamish replied: 39. "Why should not my cheeks be wasted, my face bowed down, 40. "My heart sad, my form dejected?" And then he told the goddess that his ill-looks and miserable appearance were due to the fact that death had carried off his dear friend Enkidu, the "panther of the desert," who had traversed the mountains with him and had helped him to overcome Khumbaba in the cedar forest, and to slay the bull of heaven, Enkidu his dear friend who had fought with lions and killed them, and who had been with him in all his difficulties; and, he added, "I wept over him for six days and nights ... before I would let him be buried." Continuing his narrative, Gilgamish said to Sabîtu-Siduri: 57. "I was horribly afraid.... 58. "I was afraid of death, and therefore I fled through the country. The fate of my friend lieth heavily upon me, 59. "Therefore am I travelling on a long journey through the country. "The fate of my friend lieth heavily upon me, 60. "Therefore am I travelling on a long journey through the country. 61. "How is it possible for me to keep silence about it? How is it possible for me to cry out [the story of] it? 62. "My friend whom I loved hath become like the dust. "Enkidu, my friend whom I loved hath become like the dust. 63. "Shall not I myself also be obliged to lay me down 64. "And never again rise up to all eternity?" 65. Gilgamish [continued] to speak unto Sabîtu [saying]: 66. "[O] Sabîtu, which is the way to Uta-Napishtim? 67. "What is the description thereof? Give me, give me the description thereof. 68. "If it be possible I will cross the sea, 69. "If it be impossible I will travel by land." 70. Then Sabîtu answered and said unto Gilgamish: 71. "There is no passage most assuredly, O Gilgamish. 72. "And no one, from the earliest times, hath been able to cross the sea. 73. "The hero Shamash (the Sun-god) hath indeed crossed the sea, but who besides him could do so? 74. "The passage is hard, and the way is difficult. 75. "And the Waters of Death which block the other end of it are deep. 76. "How then, Gilgamish, wilt thou be able to cross the sea? 77. "When thou arrivest at the Waters of Death what wilt thou do?" Sabîtu then told Gilgamish that Ur-Shanabi, the boatman of Uta-Napishtim, was in the place, and that he should see him, and added: 81. "If it be possible cross with him, and if it be impossible come back." Gilgamish left the goddess and succeeded in finding Ur-Shanabi, the boatman, who addressed to him words similar to those of Sabîtu quoted above. Gilgamish answered him as he had answered Sabîtu, and then asked him for news about the road to Uta-Napishtim. In reply Ur-Shanabi told him to take his axe and to go down into the forest and cut a number of poles 60 cubits long; Gilgamish did so, and when he returned with them he went up into the boat with Ur-Shanabi, and they made a voyage of one month and fifteen days; on the third day they reached the [limit of the] Waters of Death, which Ur-Shanabi told Gilgamish not to touch with his hand. Meanwhile, Uta-Napishtim had seen the boat coming and, as something in its appearance seemed strange to him, he went down to the shore to see who the newcomers were. When he saw Gilgamish he asked him the same questions that Sabîtu and Ur-Shanabi had asked him, and Gilgamish answered as he had answered them, and then went on to tell him the reason for his coming. He said that he had determined to go to visit Uta-Napishtim, the remote, and had therefore journeyed far and that in the course of his travels he had passed over difficult mountains and crossed the sea. He had not succeeded in entering the house of Sabîtu, for she had caused him to be driven from her door on account of his dirty, ragged, and travel-stained apparel. He had eaten birds and beasts of many kinds, the lion, the panther, the jackal, the antelope, mountain goat, etc., and, apparently, had dressed himself in their skins. A break in the text makes it impossible to give the opening lines of Uta-Napishtim's reply, but he mentions the father and mother of Gilgamish, and in the last twenty lines of the Tenth Tablet he warns Gilgamish that on earth there is nothing permanent, that Mammitum, the arranger of destinies, has settled the question of the death and life of man with the Anunnaki, and that none may find out the day of his death or escape from death. The Eleventh Tablet. The story of the Deluge as told by Uta-Napishtim to Gilgamish has already been given on pp. 31-40, and we therefore pass on to the remaining contents of this Tablet. When Uta-Napishtim had finished the story of the Deluge, he said to Gilgamish, "Now as touching thyself; which of the gods will gather thee to himself so that thou mayest find the life which thou seekest? Come now, do not lay thyself down to sleep for six days and seven nights." But in spite of this admonition as soon as Gilgamish had sat down, drowsiness overpowered him and he fell fast asleep. Uta-Napishtim, seeing that even the mighty hero Gilgamish could not resist falling asleep, with some amusement drew the attention of his wife to the fact, but she felt sorry for the tired man, and suggested that he should take steps to help him to return to his home. In reply Uta-Napishtim told her to bake bread for him and she did so, and each day for six days she carried a loaf to the ship and laid it on the deck where Gilgamish lay sleeping. On the seventh day when she took the loaf Uta-Napishtim touched Gilgamish, and the hero woke up with a start, and admitted that he had been overcome with sleep, and made incapable of movement thereby. Still vexed with the thought of death and filled with anxiety to escape from it, Gilgamish asked his host what he should do and where he should go to effect his object. By Uta-Napishtim's advice, he made an agreement with Ur-Shanabi the boatman, and prepared to re-cross the sea on his way home. But before he set out on his way Uta-Napishtim told him of the existence of a plant which grew at the bottom of the sea, and apparently led Gilgamish to believe that the possession of it would confer upon him immortality. Thereupon Gilgamish tied heavy stones [to his feet], and let himself down into the sea through an opening in the floor of the boat. When he reached the bottom of the sea, he saw the plant and plucked it, and ascended into the boat with it. Showing it to Ur-Shanabi, he told him that it was a most marvellous plant, and that it would enable a man to obtain his heart's desire. Its name was "Shîbu issahir amelu," i.e., "The old man becometh young [again]," and Gilgamish declared that he would "eat of it in order to recover his lost youth," and that he would take it home to his fortified city of Erech. Misfortune, however, dogged his steps, and the plant never reached Erech, for whilst Gilgamish and Ur-Shanabi were on their way back to Erech they passed a pool the water of which was very cold, and Gilgamish dived into it and took a bath. Whilst there a serpent discovered the whereabouts of the plant through its smell and swallowed it. When Gilgamish saw what had happened he cursed aloud, and sat down and wept, and the tears coursed down his cheeks as he lamented over the waste of his toil, and the vain expenditure of his heart's blood, and his failure to do any good for himself. Disheartened and weary he struggled on his way with his friend, and at length they arrived at the fortified city of Erech. [19] Then Gilgamish told Ur-Shanabi to jump up on the wall and examine the bricks from the foundations to the battlements, and see if the plans which he had made concerning them had been carried out during his absence. The Twelfth Tablet. The text of the Twelfth Tablet is very fragmentary, and contains large gaps, but it seems certain that Gilgamish did not abandon his hope of finding the secret of immortality. He had failed to find it upon earth, and he made arrangements with the view of trying to find it in the kingdom of the dead. The priests whom he consulted described to him the conditions under which he might hope to enter the Underworld, but he was unable to fulfil the obligations which they laid upon him, and he could not go there. Gilgamish then thought that if he could have a conversation with Enkidu, his dead friend, he might learn from him what he wanted to know. He appealed to Bêl and asked him to raise up the spirit of Enkidu for him, but Bêl made no answer; he then appealed to Sin, and this god also made no answer. He next appealed to Ea, who, taking pity on him, ordered the warrior god Nergal to produce the spirit of Enkidu, and this god opened a hole in the ground through which the spirit of Enkidu passed up into this world "like a breath of wind." Gilgamish began to ask the spirit of Enkidu questions, but gained very little information or satisfaction. The last lines of the tablet seem to say that the spirit of the unburied man reposeth not in the earth, and that the spirit of the friendless man wandereth about the streets eating the remains of food which are cast out from the cooking pots. E. A. Wallis Budge. Department of Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities, British Museum, July 24th, 1920. Note. The Trustees of the British Museum have published large selections of cuneiform texts from the cylinders, tablets, etc., that were found in the ruins of Nineveh by Layard, Rassam, Smith and others, in the following works:-- CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS OF WESTERN ASIA. Vol. I. 1861. Fol. Il. (Out of print.) ---- Vol. II. 1866. Fol. Il. (Out of print.) ---- Vol. III. 1870. Fol. Il. ---- Vol. IV. Second edition. 1891. Fol. Il. (Out of print.) ---- Vol. V. Plates I.-XXXV. 1880. Fol. 10S. 6d. (Out of print.) ---- Vol. V. Plates XXXVI-LXX. 1884. Fol. 10S. 6d. (Out of print.) ---- Vol. V. Plates I.-LXX. Lithographed reprint. 1909. Fol. Il. 7s. INSCRIPTIONS FROM ASSYRIAN MONUMENTS. 1851. Fol. I1. 1s. CUNEIFORM TEXTS FROM BABYLONIAN TABLETS, &C., IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM. Parts I.-V., VII.-XXIII., XXV., XXVII.-XXXIV. 50 plates each. 1896-1914.7s.6d. each. ---- Part VI. 49 plates. 1898. 7s. 6d. ---- Part XXIV. 50 plates. 1908. Fol. 10s. ---- Part XXVI. 54 plates. 1909. Fol. 12s. ANNALS OF THE KINGS OF ASSYRIA. Cuneiform texts with transliterations and translations. Vol. I. 1903. 4to. 1l. CATALOGUE OF THE CUNEIFORM TABLETS IN THE KOUYUNJIK COLLECTION. Vol. I. 8vo. 1889. 15s. ---- Vol. II. 1891. 15s. ---- Vol. III. 1894. 15s. ---- Vol. IV. 1896. 1l. ---- Vol. V. 1899. 1l. 3s. ---- Supplement. 8vo. I914. 1l. FOOTNOTES [1] A group of Sumerian words for "library" are (girginakku), and these seem to mean "collection of writings." [2] These bas-reliefs show that lions were kept in cages in Nineveh and let out to be killed by the King with his own hand. There seems to be an allusion to the caged lions by Nahum (ii. 11) who says, "Where is the dwelling of the lions, and the feeding place of the young lions, where the lion, even the old lion, walked, and the lion's whelp, and none made them afraid?" [3] (Brit. Mus., No. 91,026, Col. 1, ll. 31-33). [4] K. 1352 is a good specimen of a catalogue (see p. 10); K. 1400 and K. 1539 are labels (see p. 12). [5] For a full description of the general contents of the two great Libraries of Nineveh, see Bezold, Catalogue of the Cuneiform Tablets of the Kouyûnjik. Collection, Vol. V., London, 1899, p. xviiiff.; and King, Supplement, London, 1914, p. xviiiff. [6] Smith, Assyrian Discoveries, London, 1875, p. 97. [7] Published by Scheil in Maspero's Recueil, Vol. XX, p. 55ff. [8] The text is published by A. Poebel with transcription, commentary, etc., in Historical Texts, Philadelphia, 1914, and Historical and Grammatical Texts, Philadelphia, 1914. [9] A famous work composed by members of the College of Edessa in the fifth or sixth century A.D. [10] A transcript of the cuneiform text by George Smith, who was the first to translate it, will be found in Rawlinson, Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia, Vol. IV., plates 43 and 44; and a transcript, with transliteration and translation by the late Prof. L. W. King, is given in his First Steps in Assyrian, London, 1898, p. 161ff. [11] The site of this very ancient city is marked by the mounds of Fârah, near the Shatt al-Kâr, which is probably the old bed of the river Euphrates; many antiquities belonging to the earliest period of the rule of the Sumerians have been found there. [12] Like the habûb of modern times, a sort of cyclone. [13] The star-gods of the southern sky. [14] The star-gods of the northern heaven. [15] The name of Gilgamish was formerly read "Izdubar," "Gizdubar," or "Gishdubar." He is probably referred to as [GR: Gilgamos] in Aelian, De Natura Animalium, XII, 21 (ed. Didot, Paris, 1858, p. 210). [16] Langdon, Epic of Gilgamish, pp. 207, 208. [17] The greater number of these have been collected, grouped and published by Haupt, Das Babylonische Nimrodepos, Leipzig, 1884 and 1891; and see his work on the Twelfth Tablet in Beiträge zur Assyriologie, Vol. I, p. 49ff. [18] See Langdon, The Epic of Gilgamesh, Philadelphia, 1917. [19] The city of Erech was the second of the four cities which, according to Genesis x, 10, were founded by Nimrod, the son of Cush, the "mighty hunter before the Lord. And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech and Accad, and Calneh, in the land of Shinar." The Sumerians and Babylonians called the city "Uruk Ki" ; the first sign means "dwelling" or "habitation," and the second "land, country," etc., and we may regard it as the "inhabited country," par excellence, of Lower Babylonia at a very early period. The site of Erech is well-known, and is marked by the vast ruins which the Arabs call "Warkah," or Al-Warkah. These lie in 31º 19' N. Lat. and 45º 40' E. Long., and are about four miles from the Euphrates, on the left or east bank of the river. Sir W. K. Loftus carried out excavations on the site in 1849-52, and says that the external walls of sun-dried brick enclosing the main portion of the ruins form an irregular circle five and a half miles in circumference; in places they are from 40 to 50 feet in height, and they seem to have been about 20 feet thick. The turrets on the wall were semi-oval in shape, and about 50 feet apart. The principal ruin is that of the Ziggurat, or temple tower, which in 1850 was 100 feet high and 200 feet square. Loftus calls it "Buwáríya," i.e., "reed mats," because reed mats were used in its construction, but bûrîyah, "rush mat," is a Persian not Arabic word, and the name is more probably connected with the Arabic "Bawâr," i.e., "ruin" "place of death," etc. This tower stood in a courtyard which was 350 feet long and 270 feet wide. The next large ruin is that which is called "Waswas" (plur. "Wasâwis"), i.e., "large stone" The "Waswas" referred to was probably the block of columnar basalt which Loftus and Mr. T. K. Lynch found projecting through the soil; on it was sculptured the figure of a warrior, and the stone itself was regarded as a talisman by the natives. This ruin is 246 feet long, 174 feet wide and 80 feet high. On three sides of it are terraces of different elevations, but the south-west side presents a perpendicular façade, at one place 23 feet in height. For further details see Loftus, Chaldea and Susiana, London, 1857, p. 159 ff. Portions of the ruins of Warkah were excavated by the German archaeologists in 1914, and large "finds" of tablets and other antiquities are said to have been made. 
19379	----	http://www.archive.org/details/beyondbaghdad00thomuoft +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note: | | | | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been | | preserved. | | | | A number of obvious typographical errors have been corrected | | in this text. For a complete list, please see the end of | | this document. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ THE LEICESTERSHIRES BEYOND BAGHDAD by EDWARD J. THOMPSON, M.C. Author of 'Mesopotamian Verses,' 'Ennerdale Bridge' 'Waltham Thickets,' Etc. London The Epworth Press J. Alfred Sharp First Edition, December, 1919 To my brother, FRANK D. THOMPSON, Second-Lieutenant Civil Service Rifles, attached King's Royal Rifles; killed in action, near Ypres, Jan. 13, 1917. Our soldier youth thrice-loved, whose laughing face In battle's front can danger meet with eyes No fear could e'er surprise; Nor stain of self in their gay love leave trace, His nature like his name, Frank, and his eager spirit pure as flame. _Waltham Thickets._ PREFACE The Mesopotamian War was a side-show, so distant from Europe that even the tragedy of Kut and the slaughter which failed to save our troops and prestige were felt chiefly in retrospect, when the majority of the men who suffered so vainly had gone into the silence of death or of captivity. When Maude's offensive carried our arms again into Kut, and beyond, to Baghdad, interest revived; but of the hard fighting which followed, which made Baghdad secure, nothing has been made known, or next to nothing. The men in Mesopotamia did not feel that this was unnatural. We felt, none more so, that it was the European War which mattered; indeed, our lot often seemed the harder by reason of its little apparent importance. Yet, after all, Baghdad was the first substantial victory which no subsequent reverse swept away; and it came when the need of victory, for very prestige's sake, was very great. Mr. Candler has written, bitterly enough, of the way the Censorship impeded him in his work as official 'Eye-witness.' His was a thankless task; as he well knows, few of us, though we were all his friends, have not groused at his reports of our operations. No unit groused more on this head than my own division. We usually had a campaign and a bank of the Tigris to ourselves. 'Eye-witness' rightly chose to be with the other divisions across the river. Inevitably the 7th Meerut Division got the meagrest show in such meagre dispatches as the Censors allowed him to send home. The 2nd Leicestershires, an old and proud battalion, with the greatest of reputations on the field of action, remained unknown to the Press and public. Our other two British battalions, the 1st Seaforths and the 2nd Black Watch, could be referred to--even the Censors allowed this--as 'Highlanders'; and those who were interested knew that the reference lay between these two regiments and the Highland Light Infantry. But who was going to connect the rare reference to 'Midlanders' with the Leicestershires? In May, 1917, the 7th Division tried to put together, for the Press, a connected account of their campaigning since Maude's offensive began. After various people, well qualified to do the work, had refused, it was devolved on me, on the simple grounds that a padre, as is well known, has only one day of work a week. The notion fell through. The authorities declined flatly to allow any reference to units by name, and no one took any more interest in a task so useless and soulless. But I had collected so much information from different units that I determined some day to try to put the story together. I have now selected two campaigns, those for railhead and for Tekrit, and made a straightforward narrative. From a multitude of such narratives the historian will build up his work hereafter. An article by General Wauchope appeared in _Blackwood's_, 'The Battle that won Samarrah.' This article not only stressed the fact that the Black Watch were first in Baghdad and Samarra--an accident; they were the freshest unit on each occasion, while other units were exhausted from fighting just finished--but dismissed the second day of 'the battle that won Samarra' with one long paragraph, from which the reader could get no other meaning except the one that this day also was won by the same units as did the fighting of the 21st. This was a handling of fact which appealed neither to the Black Watch, whose achievements need no aid of embellishment from imagination, nor to the Leicestershires, who were made to appear spectators through the savage fighting of two days. If the reader turns to the chapter in this book entitled 'The Battle for Samarra,' he will learn what actually happened on April 22, 1917. The only other reference in print, that I know of, to the fighting for Samarra is the chapter in Mr. Candler's book. This, he tells us, was largely taken over by him from a journalist who visited our battlefields during the lull of summer. He showed the account to officers of my division, myself among them, and they added a few notes. But the chapter remained bare and comparatively uninteresting beside the accounts of actions which Mr. Candler had witnessed. For this book, then, my materials have been: First, my own experience of events _quorum ego pars minima_. Next, my own note-books, carefully kept over a long period in Mesopotamia and Palestine, a period from which these two campaigns of Samarra and Tekrit have been selected. Thirdly, I saw regimental war-diaries and talked with brigade and regimental officers. Most of all, from the Leicestershires I gained information. It is rarely any use to question men about an action; even if they speak freely, they say little which is of value on the printed page. One may live with a regimental mess for months, running into years, as I did with the Leicestershires' subalterns, and hear little that is illuminating, till some electric spark may start a fire of living reminiscence. But from many of my comrades, at one time and another, I have picked up a fact. I am especially indebted to Captain J.O.C. Hasted, D.S.O., for permission to use his lecture on the Samarra battle. I could have used this lecture still more with great gain; but I did not wish to impair its interest in itself, as it should be published. From Captain F.J. Diggins, M.C., I gained a first-hand account of the capture of the Turkish guns. And Major Kenneth Mason, M.C., helped me with information in the Tekrit fighting. My brother, Lieutenant A.R. Thompson, drew the maps. In conclusion, though the Mesopotamian War was of minor importance beside the fighting in Western Europe, for the chronicler it has its own advantages. If our fighting was on a smaller scale, we saw it more clearly. The 7th Division, as I have said, usually had a campaign, with its battles, to themselves. We were not a fractional part of an eruption along many hundreds of miles; we were our own little volcano. And it was the opinion of many of us that on no front was there such comradeship; yet many had come from France, and two divisions afterwards saw service on the Palestine front. Nor can any front have had so many grim jokes as those with which we kept ourselves sane through the long-drawn failure before Kut and the dragging months which followed. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE INTRODUCTION 15 I. BELED 21 II. HARBE 48 III. THE FIRST BATTLE OF ISTABULAT 59 IV. THE BATTLE FOR SAMARRA 70 V. SUMMER AND WAITING 104 VI. HUWESLET; OR, 'THE BATTLE OF JUBER ISLAND' 120 VII. DAUR 124 VIII. AUJEH 131 IX. TEKRIT 135 X. DOWN TO BUSRA 145 INTRODUCTION On November 6, 1914, Brigadier-General Delamaine captured Fao forts, and the Mesopotamian War began in the smallest possible way, the proverbial 'corporal's guard' breaking into an empire. The next twelve months saw a great deal of fighting, unorthodox in every way, carried through in appalling weathers and with the most inadequate forces. In the three days' battle at Shaiba, in April, defeat was hardly escaped. In April and May General Gorringe conducted the Ahwaz operations, near the Persian border, with varying success, and threatened Amara, on the Tigris, midway between Busra and Baghdad. In May Townshend began his advance up-country. By June 3 he had taken Q'urna, where Tigris and Euphrates mingle; presently his miscellaneous marine and a handful of men took Amara, in what was known as 'Townshend's Regatta.' Seventeen guns and nearly two thousand prisoners were taken at Amara. In the heats of July, incredible as it sounds, Gorringe was fighting on the Euphrates, by Nasiriyeh, taking twenty-one guns and over a thousand prisoners. On September 28 Townshend won his last victory at Kut-el-Amara, taking fourteen guns and eleven hundred prisoners. Every one knows what followed: how Ctesiphon was fought in November, with four thousand five hundred and sixty-seven casualties, and how his force raced back to Kut. On December 7 Kut was invested by the Turks. Townshend's stand here saved the lower country to us. Relief forces disembarked at Ali Gharbi, between Amara and Kut, and some of the bitterest fighting the world has seen began. Sheikh Saad (January 6 to 8) was a costly victory. A gleam of hope came with the Russian offensive in Northern Asia Minor. On January 13, at the Wadi, six miles beyond Sheikh Saad and less than thirty miles from Kut, the Turks held us up, but slipped away in the night. All advancing was over flat ground devoid of even scrub-cover, through a region the most desolate in the world. Above Amara there is a place called 'Lone-Tree Village,' which has a small tree ten feet high. Except for a handful of draggled palms at Sheikh Saad, this tree is the only one till Kut is reached, on a river frontage of sixty miles. On January 20 the British suffered a heavy repulse at Umm-el-Hanna, five miles beyond the Wadi. For nearly seven weeks our troops sat down in the swamps, and died of disease. The rains were abnormal. On March 8 a long flank march up the right bank of the Tigris took the enemy by surprise, and reached Dujaileh, less than ten miles from Kut. Time was wasted in an orthodox but unnecessary bombardment. The Turks swarmed back into the redoubt, and we were bloodily thrust back, and returned to our lines before Hanna, with heavy losses in men and transport. After that very few cherished any hope of saving Kut. April was a month of terrible fighting, frontal attacks on a very brave and exultant enemy. The 13th Division, from Gallipoli, took the Hanna trenches, which were practically deserted, on April 5. The day went well for us. In the afternoon Abu Roman lines on the right bank, and in the evening those of Felahiyeh on the left bank, were carried by storm. But next day the first of the five battles of Sannaiyat was fought. We were repulsed. The Turk's procedure was easy. He shot us down as we advanced over flat country. We dug ourselves in four hundred yards away (say). Then we sapped up to within storming distance, and attacked again, to find that the lines were thinly held, with a machine-gun or two, but that another position awaited us beyond, at the end of a long level sweep of desert. On April 9 came the second battle of Sannaiyat. The time has not come to speak frankly of this day; but our men lay in heaps. So from the 16th to the 18th we tried frontal attacks on the other bank, the right again. This was the battle of Beit Aiessa. We did so well that the enemy had to counter-attack, which he did in the most determined manner, forcing us back. It cost him at least three thousand dead; but by this day's work he made sure of Kut and its garrison. Our one hope now was in the Russians. But their offensive halted; and we fought, on the 22nd, the third of the Sannaiyat battles. On the 29th, after a siege of one hundred and forty-three days, Kut surrendered, and with it the biggest British force ever taken by any enemy. A summer inexpressibly harassing and depressed followed; but towards the end of 1916 affairs were reorganized, and at last a general was found. On the night of December 13 we crossed the Shat-el-Hai, and Maude's attack on Kut began. Ten weeks of fighting, very little interrupted by the weather, followed. It was stern work, hand-to-hand and trench-to-trench, as in France. By the end of the third week in February Kut was doomed. The Turk had made the mistake of leaving small, unsupported groups of men in angles and corners of the Tigris. Maude destroyed these, and between the 22nd and the 25th launched his final attacks simultaneously on both banks. A badly managed attack on Sannaiyat had failed on the 17th; but now, on the 22nd, the lines were stormed. Fighting continued here, and the river was crossed and bridged behind the Turks, above Kut, at Shumran. The Sannaiyat garrison fled precipitately, and the 7th Indian Division occupied successively the Nakhailat and Suwada lines with no opposition worth mentioning. Kut fell automatically, the monitors steaming in and taking possession. The infantry had no time to bother about it. Kut had become a symbol only. So the infantry swung by Kut and on to Baghdad. The cavalry and gunboats hunted the enemy northward, till he made a stand on the Diyaleh, a large stream entering the Tigris a few miles below Baghdad. Very heavy fighting and losses had come to the 13th Division, and the 7th Division would be the first to acknowledge that the honour of first entering Baghdad, for whatever it was worth, should have fallen to them. But, in spite of desperate attempts to cross, they were held on the Diyaleh. The 7th Division therefore bridged the river lower down, and after two days of battle in a sandstorm, blind with thirst--for the men had one water-bottle only for the two days--captured Baghdad railway-station, and threw pickets across the river into Baghdad town. This was on March 11. The 13th and 14th Divisions then crossed the Diyaleh, and were in Baghdad almost as soon as any one from the 7th Division. The 7th and 3rd Indian Divisions passed by Baghdad on opposite sides, as they had passed by Kut, and engaged the enemy's rearguards at Mushaidiyeh and in the Jebel Hamrin. They then concentrated again towards Baghdad. This book deals first with the April campaign as it affected the right bank of the Tigris. Between Baghdad and Samarra was a stretch of eighty miles of railroad, the only completed portion, south of Mosul, of the Berlin-Baghdad Railway. If we could capture this the Turk would have to supply his troops from Mosul by the treacherous and shallow Tigris. The Samarra fighting, these railhead battles, was the last organized campaign which the Turk fought. Our First Corps, consisting of two Indian divisions, the 3rd and the 7th, operated against railhead; while the Third Corps, consisting of the 13th Division, the only all-British division in Mesopotamia, and the 14th Indian Division, fought their way up the left bank. After Samarra fell the Turk could do nothing but collect small bodies of troops, which we attacked in detail, usually with success, and throughout 1918, after Tekrit, always attacked with complete success (as we did at Ramadie in September, 1917, destroying the whole force). Ramadie, on the Euphrates, and Tekrit, on the Tigris, were the first of the campaigns of this last phase of the Mesopotamian War, campaigns that were glorified raids. At the time of Tekrit, General Allenby settled for the Turk, once for all, the choice between Palestine and Mesopotamia. Our Tekrit campaign was a sympathetic attack, concurrent with Allenby's great Gaza offensive. This campaign is the theme of the second portion of this book. I BELED Red of gladiolus glimmering through the wheat-- Red flower of Valour springing at our feet! Dark-flowered hyacinth mingling with the red-- Dark flower of Patience on the way we tread! Scarlet of poppy waving o'er the grass-- Honour's bright flags along the road we pass! Thorns that torment, and grassy spikes that fret, Thistles that all the fiery way beset! These shall be theirs, when Duty's day is sped; They shall lie down, the living and the dead. 1. THE WAY TO BELED Baghdad fell on March 11, 1917. The soldier's joy was deepened by the belief that here his warfare was accomplished, his marching finished. Even when we went by the city, and fought battles on either bank, the 7th Indian Division at Mushaidiyeh (March 14) and the 3rd Indian, most disastrously, in the foothills of the Jebel Hamrin (March 25), this comfort was not destroyed. These two hard actions were but the sweeping away of ants' nests from before a house; our position now secured, we should fall back, and rest in Baghdad. The Turk might try to turn us out; but that was a very different affair, and it would be months before he could even dream of an offensive. So in April the 7th Division had withdrawn to Baghdad, all except the 28th Brigade, who were at Babi, a dozen miles up-stream. At Babi it was not yet desert--there was grass and wheat; but the garden-belt and trees had finished. On the 3rd came official news that Tennant, of the R.F.C., had landed among the Cossacks, and been tumultuously welcomed; presently we heard that the Russians and ourselves had joined hands. This was towards the Persian border, on the left bank of the Tigris, where the 13th and 14th Divisions were operating. That force and ours, the 7th, were now to advance together on Samarra; a new campaign was beginning, in which we took the right bank. A Mobile Column was formed, under Brigadier-General Davies, as the spearhead of the 7th Division's thrust. It consisted of the 28th Infantry Brigade (2nd Leicestershires, 51st and 53rd Sikhs, 56th Rifles, and 136th Machine-Gun Company), the 9th Brigade, R.F.A. (less one battery), one section of the 524th Battery, R.F.A., a Light-Armoured Motor-Battery, the 32nd Lancers (less two squadrons), and a half-company of Sappers and Miners; an ammunition column and ambulances. Fritz--the enemy's airman--inspected us before we started. Then the Leicestershires, by twelve and eight miles, marched in two days to a point opposite Sindiyeh, on the Tigris. The Indian battalions cut across country to Sumaikchah, which lies inland. That day and night by Sindiyeh! '_Infandum jubes renovare dolorem._' The day was one of burning discomfort, spent in cracks and nullas, under blanket bivouacs. We had tramped, from dawn, through eight miles of 'chivvy-dusters,' and our camp was now among them. These are a grass which crams the clothes and feet with maddening needles; once in they seemed there 'for duration.' The soldier out East knows them for his worst foe on a march. Lest we should be obsessed with these, we were infested with sandflies and mosquitoes. But large black ants were the principal line in vermin. At dinner they swarmed over us. Man after man dropped his plate and leapt into a dervish-dance, frenziedly slapping his nose and ears. We tried to eat standing; even so, we were festooned. Little Westlake, the 'Cherub,' abandoned all hope of nourishment, and crept wretchedly into a clothes-pile. There was no sleep that night. The river ran beneath lofty bluffs; on the left bank was a far-stretching view of low, rich country, with palms and canals. Fritz visited us, and a monitor favoured us with some comically bad shooting. And after sundown came a moon, benignant, calm, in a cloudless heaven, looking down on men miserable with small vexations, which haply saved them from facing too much the deeper griefs which accompanied them. Next morning, Good Friday, we joined the rest of the column at Sumaikchah. The Cherub with his scouts went ahead to find a road. All the field was jumping with grasshoppers, on which storks were feeding. Scattered bushes looked in the mirage like enemy patrols. We were escorted by Fritz, whose kindly interest in our movements never flagged. We started late, at 6.50 a.m., and without breakfast, the distance being under-estimated. A zigzagging course made the journey into over ten miles, in dreadful heat; we were marching till past noon. When Sumaikchah came in sight, men fell out, exhausted, in bunches and groups. [Illustration: (Map) LOWER MESOPOTAMIA] Though we were unmolested, the countryside was full of eyes. Shortly afterwards an artillery officer, bringing up remounts, sent a Scots sergeant ahead to Sumaikchah, with a strong escort, to bring back rations. The party was fired on by Buddus. The sergeant's report attained some fame; deservedly, so I give it here: 'We were fired on, sirrr.' 'Did you fire back?' 'No, sirrr. I thocht it would have enrrraged them. But I'd have ye know, sirrr, that it's hairrrdly safe to be aboot.' We came, says Xenophon, to 'a large and thickly populated city named Sittake.' His troops encamped 'near a large and beautiful park, which was thick with all sorts of trees, at a distance of fifteen stades from the river.'[1] This description still holds true of Sumaikchah. The ancient irrigation channels are dry, and the town has shrunken; but it remains a large garden-village. Here were melons and oranges, fowls and turkeys, exorbitantly priced, of course; possibly Xenophon's troops got their goods more cheaply in the year 399 B.C. Sumaikchah is an oasis with eighty wells. The water was full of salts. It was bad as water; it was execrable as tea. Many of the wells on the Baghdad-Samarra Railway have these natural salts. Every one who left Sumaikchah next morning was suffering from diarrhoea. Here again one remembers the _Anabasis_ and the troublesome experience which the notes I read at school ascribed to poisonous honey gathered from the flowers of _rhododendron ponticum_. Our brief stay here was unlike anything we had known, except in our racing glimpse of the flowery approaches to Kut. The village had palms and rose bushes. A coarse hyacinth, found already at Mushaidiyeh, now seeding, grew along the railway and in the wheat. We camped amid green corn; round us were storksbills, very many, and a white orchis, slight and easily hidden, the same orchis that I found afterwards in Palestine and in the Hollow Vale of Syria. A small poppy and a bright thistle set their flares of crimson and gold in the green; sowthistle and myosote freaked it with blue; a tall gladiolus, also to be found later by the Aujeh and on Carmel, made pink clusters. Thus did flowers overlay the fretting spikes of our road, and adorn and hide 'the coming bulk of Death.' Through Saturday we rested. Fritz came, of course; and there was a little harmless sniping. The knowledge filtered in that fighting was again at hand. It was accepted without comment, with the soldier's well-known fatalism, the child of faith and despair. 'Every man thinks,' said one to me, 'I don't care who he is. But we believe it's all right till our number's up. Take M----, for instance. When he was left out at Sannaiyat we all envied him; we thought we were for it. But we went through Sannaiyat; and M---- was the first of us to be killed at Mushaidiyeh, his very first action, where we had hardly any casualties.' In the evening the rest of the division came up to take our place. Sunday, by old prescription, was the 7th Division's battle-day; next Sunday being Easter, it was not to be supposed that so fair an occasion would be passed over. Accordingly, when I put in my services, I was told that the brigade would march before dawn, and that some scrapping was anticipated. The Turks were holding Beled Station, half a dozen miles away in a straight line. Their main force was at Harbe, four miles farther. The maps were no use, and distances had to be guessed. 'The force against us,' observed the Brigade-Major, 'is somewhere between a hundred Turks and two guns, and four thousand Turks and thirty-two guns.' 'And if it's the four thousand and thirty-two guns?' 'Then we shall sit tight, and scream for help,' he answered delightedly. 2. THE ACTION FOR BELED Davies's Column were away before breakfast. In the dim light we moved through wet fields of some kind of globe-seeded plant, abundantly variegated with gladiolus and hyacinth. Every one was suffering from our course of Sumaikchah waters, and progress was slow. Splashing through the marshes, we came to undulating upland, long, steady slopes, pebble-strewn and with pockets of grass and poppies. The morning winds made these uplands exceedingly beautiful. Colonel Knatchbull said, the week he died, that what he most remembered from Beled were the flowers through which we marched to battle. As we approached them, the ruffling wind laid its hand on the grasses, and they became emerald waves, a green spray of blades tossing and flashing in the full sunlight. As we passed, the same wind bowed them before it, and they were a shining, silken cloth. The poppies were a larger sort than those in the wheatfields, and of a very glorious crimson. In among the grasses was yellow coltsfoot; among the pebbles were sowthistle, mignonette, pink bindweed, and great patches of storksbill. Many noted the beauty of these flowers, a scene so un-Mesopotamian in its brightness. We were tasting of the joy and life of springtide in happier latitudes, a wine long praetermitted to our lips; and among us were those who would not drink of this wine again till they drank it new in their Father's Kingdom. After Beled we saw no more flowers. With the first line was my friend Private W----. As we pushed forward he looked up, as his custom was, for a 'message.' Perchance, with so many fears and hopes stirring, there was some buzzing along the heavenly wires; but the only word he could get was this one, 'Because.' He puzzled upon it, till the whole flashed on his brain--'Because Thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise Thee.' Thenceforward he went his ways content; neither can any man have gathered greater pleasure from the beauty of the morning and those unwonted flowers than this Plymouth Brother, a gardener by profession, and, as I found in later days, amid the rich deep meadows of the Holy Land, a passionate lover of all wild plants. The left flank was guarded by one section of machine-gunners and one section of the 32nd Lancers. Next to them moved the Leicestershires. Some time after 8 a.m. rifle-fire on our left told us that the Cherub's scouts were in touch with enemy patrols. About 9.30 the first shell came, our advanced guard being some five thousand yards from Beled Station. There were frequent halts, while our few cavalry reconnoitred. Then we passed into a deep broad nulla between two ancient earth-walls. All this terrain had been a network of canals and cultivation. Shrapnel was bursting in our front. We filed out, at the left, on to a plain. Half a mile ahead was the nearer curve of a hilly ground. The main range ran in a Carpathian-like sweep across our front, from west to east; turned, and went across our front again. Beyond this was Beled Station, lying at the point of a wide fork of hills, the left prong a good mile away, but the right bending almost up to it. From the forking to the station was a broken plain of two thousand yards. This plain had to be overcome, with such assistance as the hills gave. The hills were pretty uniform in height, and nowhere above thirty feet. The railway cut directly through the main range, giving the enemy a field of fire for his machine-guns. The range, with its double fold across our front, gave the artillery cover, and enabled us to conceal the smallness of our force; and on both sides of the station it broke into a wilderness of little knobs and hollows, by which we might creep up. The shrapnel was uncomfortably close as we crossed to the first sweep of hilly ground. But it was bursting high, and no casualties occurred. We halted behind the hills, and the artillery left their wagons, taking their guns into position where the range curved north-westerly. Here two four-gun batteries put up a slow and not heavy bombardment on the station. We waited and watched the shrapnel bursting five hundred yards to our right. About noon the Leicestershires were ordered to support the 53rd and 51st Sikhs in an attack on the station. (The 56th Rifles were in reserve throughout the action.) D Company was to move on the left of the railway as a flank-guard, and went forward under Captain Creagh. I must now speak of Second-Lieutenant Fowke, our tallest subaltern. In place of the orthodox shade of khaki he wore a reddish-brown shooting-jacket, which shimmered like bright silk if there was any sun. Nevertheless he was the only Leicestershire subaltern who went through all our battles unwounded. Of his cheerfulness and courage, his wit, and the love with which his colleagues and his men regarded him, the reader will learn. Fowke was detached with his platoon to act on our extreme left in co-operation with our handful of Indian cavalry. The operation was an undesirable one, to advance into a maze of tiny hills, held by an enemy of unknown strength; and as Fowke moved off I remembered the Sieur de Joinville's _Memoirs_ and a passage mentioned between us the previous day. So, as I wished him good luck, I said, 'Be of good cheer, seneschal, for we shall yet talk over this day in the ladies' bowers.' Once upon a time Fowke had read for Holy Orders, a fact which contributed not a little to the astonishment and delight with which he was regarded. He smiled gravely in answer to me, and moved on. But after the scrap he told me that he wished just then that he had continued in his first vocation and become a padre. Behind D Company moved Charles Copeman, O.C. bombers, and a section of machine-gunners under Lieutenant Service. The rest of the machine-gunners followed up along the railway. We who remained crossed the ridge and advanced in artillery formation up the right side of the railway. The Sikhs slipped away into the hills to our right. Readers of _Quentin Durward_ will remember the two hangmen of Louis XI, the one tall, lean, and solemn; the other short, fat, and jolly. Wilson, the Leicestershires' doctor, had two most excellent assistants who occupied much the same positions. But Sergeant Whitehead, who was short, went his sombre way with a gravity that never weakened into a smile; while Dobson, an ex-miner, aged forty-seven, who had deceived the recruiting people most shamelessly and enlisted as under thirty, took life jovially and generally humorously. He was never without his pipe. He enjoyed a large medical practice in the regiment, unofficial and unpaid, and he held strong opinions, observing frequently that he 'didn't hold with' a thing. I remember well the annoyance of Wilson's successor on hearing that Dobson 'didn't hold with' inoculation, which just then was occupying most of the medical officer's time. Another thing that Dobson 'didn't hold with' was the modern notion that some diseases were infectious. Because of his years and medical knowledge, this kindly, never-wearied old hero was always known by the regiment as 'Mester Dobson.' I shall follow their example, and so call him henceforth. I also was of Wilson's entourage, and went with him accordingly. Before we crossed the first ridge we picked up a man prostrate with heat-stroke; we left him under a culvert, in charge of John, Wilson's Indian orderly. Meanwhile D Company found the hills on our left strongly held. Every slope was sown with shallow trenches, earth-scars which held six or seven Turks, and snipers caused us casualties. Lieutenant-Colonel Knatchbull, learning this, on his own initiative swung round B and C Companies across the railway to support D. Wilson now came upon his first casualty, a signaller hit in the spine. We bandaged him, and left him in a shallow nulla, sheltered from the bullets flying over. He died next day. B and C Companies, crossing the railway, pushed up a long narrow nulla to the hills where D were engaged. Service's machine-guns put up a covering fire. The attack had now developed along two distinct lines, and on the railway itself we had no troops. The enemy presently put down a barrage of shrapnel all the right length of the line, where he had seen our men cross, of which barrage every shell during two hours was wasted. As Wilson dropped down the embankment on our left side of the railway, we found machine-gunners sheltering in a quarry, awaiting orders. 'It's unhealthy over there,' said their O.C., Lieutenant Sanderson. 'The Turks have a machine-gun on it.' However, there was a lull as we crossed to the nulla, and only a very few bullets went by. In the nulla Wilson set up his aid-post, sticking a second flag above the railway, for the solitary company that was supporting the Sikhs' attack. Wounded began to come in, the first cases being not bad ones. 'Give you five rupees for that wound, sergeant,' said Mester Dobson. 'You can't have it for seventy-five,' said Sergeant Hayes, as he limped off in search of the ambulances, smiling happily. Perhaps nothing will stir the unborn generations to greater pity than this knowledge, that for youth in our generation wounds and bodily hurt were a luxury. But cases soon came in of men badly hit, in much pain. With them was borne a dead man, Sergeant Lawrence, D.C.M., a quiet and much-liked man. My Plymouth Brother friend came also, and sat aside, saying he could wait, as a stretcher-case was following him. As the doctor saw to that broken body, my friend rested his wounded leg, and we had some talk. The long marches, the nights of little sleep, and the unsheltered days of heat and toil and wearied waiting for evening had tired him out. 'I want rest,' he said, 'and I think the Lord knows it, and has sent rest along.' All our men were brave and cheerful, but no more cheerful hero limped off through the bullets than my calm and gentle friend. Wilson went out for a few minutes to see a man in the second line, hit in the groin. When he returned we had some cruelly broken cases in, and that nulla saw a deal of pain, and grew stale with the smell of blood. A fair number of bullets flew over, and there was the occasional swish of a machine-gun. Mules were killed far back in the second line, and men hit. But the nulla was safe. The misguided Turk shelled and machine-gunned the empty space beyond the railway. Colonel Knatchbull came in and assured Wilson that the nulla was the best and most central place for the aid-post. He searched the front with his glasses. Then he said, 'Marner's dead.' The Leicestershires' attack was held up in the hills. They asked for support, but none was available. They were told to advance as far as they could, and then hold their line till help could come. The hills were thick with excellent positions. Every fold and dip was utilized by a scattered and numerous foe, to whom the ragged ground was like a cloak of invisibility. No artillery help could be given. We could only seize the ground's advantage and make it serve as help to the attack as well as to the defence. It was here that Marner fell. C Company was sheltering in an ancient canal. Seeing a man fall, Captain Hasted called out, 'Keep your heads down.' Almost at that moment Marner looked over, having spotted a sniper who was vexing us, and fell dead at Grant-Anderson's feet. Though in falling he brushed against Hasted, the latter could not pause to see who it was; nor did he know till he cried out, a minute later, that Marner was to move round the flank of the position immediately before them. Some two hundred yards farther on Second-Lieutenant Otter was struck by a bullet which went through both left arm and body, a bad but not fatal wound. But a gracious thought came to the Turkish gunners. Seeing us without artillery support from our own guns, they put two rounds of shrapnel over, the only shells on these ridges during the fight. These burst directly on the Turkish snipers, who did not wait for the hint to be repeated, but went. The Leicestershires topped the last ridge, and were on the plain before the station. Fowke and Service remained to guard the left flank, while Hasted went forward with the bayonet to clear the hills to the left. Fowke, watching benevolently the evolutions of certain horsemen on his left, received a message from our cavalry, 'Those are Arabs on your left, and are hostile to you.' And now it would have meant a bloody advance for A and B Companies against those trenches in the open. But the Turks, held by the Leicestershires' strong steady attack, had given insufficient attention to the movement threatening their left. The two Sikh regiments, though checked and held from time to time by rifle and machine-gun fire, used the broken ground with extraordinary skill. Their experience on the Afghan frontier had trained them for just such work as this. Rising ground was used as positions for covering fire, and every knoll and hummock became a shoulder to lift the force along. Their supporting battery had located the enemy's gun-positions, and kept down his fire. One gun-team bolted, and the crew were seen getting the gun away by hand and losing in the effort. The Sikhs rushed a low hill, which had long checked them, and its garrison of one officer and twenty-five men surrendered. This attack was led by the well-known 'Boomer' Barrett, colonel of the 51st. He slapped the nearest prisoner on the back and bellowed '_Shabash_.'[2] The enemy's resistance crumbled rapidly. A breach had been made in his defence, and the Sikhs poured through. They made two thousand yards, and did a swift left-turn. The enemy on their right slipped off, but the Turks in the trenches covering the station had left things too late. The 51st drove the foe before them to the north of the station, and the 53rd rushed the station itself, capturing eight officers and a hundred and thirty-five men, with two machine-guns. This was about 3 p.m. Wilson now left his aid-post, and we came up the line. All the way the Turk was shelling the railway, but, by that fortunate defect of observation conspicuous throughout, shelling our right exclusively, for not a shell came on the left. We passed the enemy's trenches and rifle-pits, which scarred some six or seven hundred yards of space before the station; there were rifles leaning against the walls, with bayonets fixed. The station had excellent water, a great attraction after the filthy wells of Sumaikchah. No one heeded that the Turk was dropping shells two thousand yards our side of the station. 'He always does that. It's a sort of rearguard business. It's the ammunition he can't get away. He'll be moving his guns quickly enough when we get ours on to them.' But, as the official report afterwards observed, with just annoyance at the enemy's refusal to recognize that the action was finished: 'During the whole of the afternoon and till dusk the enemy continued to shell the captured position with surprising intensity, considering what had been heard of his shortage in gun-ammunition.' What happened, in fuller detail, was this. Beled Station was like the gate of Heaven. With the exception of the Leicestershires, still in the field, all the great and good were gathered there. The first I saw was that genial philosopher, Captain Newitt, of the 53rd Sikhs, sitting imperturbable on a fallen wall and smoking the pipe without which he has never been seen. Not Marius amid Carthage ruins was more careless of the desolation around him. With him was Culverwell, adjutant of the same battalion. They hailed me with joyous affection, and we drank the waters and swapped the news. General Davies came up and asked, 'Have the Leicesters taken any prisoners?' I told him 'No.' He seemed disappointed; then added, 'We've taken over two hundred prisoners, including nine officers and three machine-guns. What were your casualties?' 'About twenty, sir,' I said. 'The 53rd have had thirteen men wounded,' said the Brigade-Major. 'Fifty will cover the casualties for the whole brigade. It's been a most successful action.' Marner's loss was greatly felt. 'I hear you've lost a good officer,' said the Brigadier; and the Brigade-Major added, 'He was the brigade's great stand-by for maps and drawings. I don't know how we can replace him.' Then for a moment we fell to jape and jesting; foolishly, for the Gods are always listening, and the Desert-Gods have long ears. 'You're last from school,' said Brigade-Major McLeod. 'You know Napier's message--"_Peccavi_, I have Sind." Give me a wire for Corps, "I have B-led."' '"_Sanguinevi_,"' I said, 'if such a verb exists. Let's call it very late Latin.' As we spoke, the enemy shortened his range; a shell skimmed the roof, and burst at the embankment bottom, directly under two Sikhs who were cooking. It hurled one man into the air and the other to one side. A great dust went up. Before most people realized what had happened, Wilson and Stones were carrying the men up the bank. This was an extremely brave deed, for a second shell was certain, and, as a matter of fact, a second and a third came just as they had reached our wall. Stones, like many medical officers, was a missionary; he had come from West Africa. He had one of the noblest faces I ever saw; a very gentle and courteous man, fearless and with eager eyes. He served with the 56th Rifles. One of the stricken men was a mass of bleeding ribbons, the top of his head blown off. A cloth was drawn over his face; he was dead. The other had his left leg torn off below the knee, his right heel blown away, and wounds in his head and stomach. He died that evening. Now he lay with scarcely a moan, while Sikhs gathered round and gave such consolation as was possible, an austere, brave group. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP FOR ACTION FOR BELED STATION.] The Turkish gunners now concentrated on the station and its approaches. Our cavalry rode through the Leicestershires' lines as those warriors moved up to an advanced line of defence. They brought a wounded prisoner. The enemy instantly shrapnelled them, and they scattered, the prisoner, for all his broken leg, keeping his seat excellently and riding surprisingly fast. Luck had been with the battalion this day, and it now remained with them. Many had rifles hit. Fowke, who was a magnet for bullets, had his right shoulder's star flattened. But there were no casualties. The enemy, growing vindictive, chased small bodies of even three or four with shrapnel. He continued to pelt the station, throwing at least two hundred rounds on it in two hours. Mules and horses were hit, and many men. Isolated men, holding horses in the open, had a bad time. Several shells landed on the roof, and had there been against us the huge guns of other fronts the station would have gone up in dust. When I saw it again, a month later, I realized what a rough house that tiny spot had experienced. Unexploded shells were still in the walls, and on the inner wall of the side that had sheltered me I counted over twenty direct hits. Fortunately the 5.9's were not in action this day, and every station on the Baghdad-Samarra line has been built as a fortress, massively. By incredible luck no shell came through the doorless openings and rooms behind us; they struck the inner wall and roof. But the water-station behind us gave very poor shelter to the men there. Shells burst on the railway, and sent a sheet of smoke and rubble before them. Two of our guns came up to the hills that had covered the Sikhs' advance, but fired very few shells, failing to find a target. The enemy saw their flashes, and fired back without effect. Then Fritz came and hovered above our huddled crowd with low, deliberate circles. We took it for granted he would bomb us, or, at kindest, spot for his guns. But he just hung over us, and then went to look for our batteries. Before this McLeod offered me a cup of tea. We drank it in a tin shed a few yards south of the station. I wanted the tea horribly, but felt it was 'hairrdly safe to be aboot.' This feeling was shared, for when the staff-captain and signalling-officer joined us, the latter asked, 'Isn't this spot a bit unhealthy, sir?' 'Oh, no,' said McLeod. 'It's quite safe from splinters, and it's no use bothering about a direct hit.' As I had seen high explosive burst pretty well all round, and both windows were smashed of every inch of glass, I could not quite share this confidence that the hut was splinter-proof. But I required that tea. It was very good tea. Had it been shaving water, it would have gone cold at once. But being tea which I wished to drink quickly, it remained at boiling-point and declined to be mollified with milk. However, no more H.E.[3] came our way, only shrapnel. McLeod said we had had at least two thousand Turks against us and at least twelve guns. During the action the enemy reinforced the position from his main one at Harbe. He must have had other casualties in addition to our prisoners. Our left wing, when they occupied the hills, saw four or five hundred Turks 'skirr away' in one body, and the machine-gunners found a target. Raiding-parties of Arabs hung on our flanks throughout the day, and increased the force against us, at any rate numerically. The day had been cloudy and comparatively cool, and an exquisite evening crowned it. With dusk I left the station, where wounded Turks were groaning and shells bursting, and sought the hills. The shrapnel was dying down, and, once off the plain, all was quiet. The scene here was one of great loveliness. The Dujail, a narrow canal from the Tigris, ran swiftly with water of delightful coldness and sweetness. The canal was fringed with flowers, poppies, marguerites, and campions; the innumerable folds and hollows were emerald-green. C Company were holding the extreme left of our picket-line. Here I found Hasted, Hall, Fisher, and Charles Copeman. We held a dry, very deep irrigation-canal, running at right angles to the Dujail. There were no shells, and we could listen composedly to the last of the shrapnel away on the right. The full moon presently flooded the hills with enchantment. But our night was broken by Arab raids. Twice these robbers of the dead and wounded tried to rush us. The first party probably escaped in the bushes, but the second suffered casualties. In the evening Arabs had raided our aid-post, wounding the attendant, who escaped with difficulty. Fortunately there was none but dead there; these they stripped, cutting off one man's finger for the ring on it. All night long they prowled the battlefield and dug up our buried dead. For which, retribution came next day. Fisher and I scraped a hole in our canal, and tried to sleep. But a cold wind sneaked about the nulla, and the hours dragged past with extreme discomfort. No one had blanket or overcoat, and most were in shorts. At dawn we had ten minutes' notice to rejoin the rest of the regiment behind the station. In that ten minutes I had opportunity to admire the soldier-man's resourcefulness. One of the picket, thrusting his hand deep into one of the countless holes in our canal-wall, found two tiny eggs. Raising fat in some fashion--probably a candle-end--he had fried eggs for breakfast before we moved. The eggs were presumed to be grouse-eggs. More likely they were bee-eater's, or may have been snake's or lizard's. These canals are haunted by huge monitors, and there must be tortoises in the Dujail. However, eggs were found, and eggs were eaten. On picket the men's talk was interesting to hear. They were regardless of the discomfort they had known so long; and when his turn came to watch, every man was eager to lend his waterproof sheet to Fisher and me, who had only our thin khaki. Marner's death had gone deep. 'I hear Mr. Marner's dead,' said a voice. 'I'm sorry to hear that,' said another; 'he was a nice feller.' 'He was a good feller an' a',' said a third. 'He was more like a brother to me than an officer,' his platoon-sergeant told me. These were brief tributes to an able and conscientious man, but they sufficed. At Sumaikchah our bivvies had been side by side, where the green was most glowing, and we had rejoiced together in that light and colour. Beled Station was a small action, scarcely bigger than those dignified in the Boer War with the name of battles. Our casualties were little over a hundred for the whole day, and more than half of these were incurred in the station itself. The Leicestershires lost twenty, three killed among them; several of the wounded died later. But the action attained considerable fame locally as a model of a successful little battle. Our losses were miraculously slight. But for the very great skill with which the two separate attacks were organized, and the constant alertness which exploited every one of the ground's endless irregularities, our losses must have been many times heavier. The advance was conducted with caution and the utmost economy of life; but the moment a breach was effected or an opportunity offered, then there was a lightning blow and a swift push forward. Thus the enemy in the station were trapped before they realized that their retreat was threatened. The careless trooping together at the station was the one regrettable thing, and it cost us dear. The water of Beled Station was like the water brought to David from Bethlehem. For the action itself, a small force advanced steadily throughout the day, with unreliable maps, over ten miles of broken country, which was admirably furnished with posts of defence, which posts they seized and turned into advantages for attack. They captured a strong position and over two hundred prisoners, three machine-guns, and some hundreds of rifles with less than half the casualties their numerically superior foe sustained. Since a small battle is an epitome of a large one, and far easier to see in detail, even this lengthy account may have justification. The Army Commander's opinion was shown not alone by his congratulatory message, but by the immediate honours awarded. To the Leicestershires fell one Military Cross[4] and four Military Medals, one of the latter going to Sergeant Batten, Marner's platoon-sergeant. The water-tank leans against the station no longer, and they have repaired the crumbled walls. But the cracks and fissures in the great fort lift eloquent witness to the way both armies desired it, and the quiet, beautiful hills carry their scars also. The rushing brook, the silken grass and pride Of poppies burning red where Marner died, Unchanged! and in the station still, as then, The water that was bought with blood of men. FOOTNOTES: [1] _Anabasis_, Book ii., H.G. Dakyns' translation. The identification of Sumaikchah and Sittake is due to Major Kenneth Mason, R.E., M.C. [2] 'Well done' (Hindustani). [3] High explosive. [4] Westlake's. See next chapter. II HARBE Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. _King Henry V._ If I thought Hell was worse than Mesopotamia, I'd be a good man.--_Sayings of Fowke._ Next morning was one of leisure. The 19th Brigade took up our line, and we bivouacked before the station. We fed and washed and slept. The enemy put a few shells on to the 19th Brigade, doing no damage, and when that Brigade pushed on to Harbe he fell back on his strong lines at Istabulat, another four miles. The 19th Brigade, with only one or two men wounded, seized Harbe and twenty-four railway-trucks, which were of great assistance presently, when the mules drew them along the track with ammunition for the assault on Istabulat. In the afternoon the 28th Brigade followed to Harbe. The heat was considerable, but the journey was short. Beyond the river plunging shells told us that our troops were pushing up both banks of the Tigris simultaneously. The 21st Brigade took over Beled. With them remained the Cherub, wielding for one day the flaming sword of retribution. Arabs had desecrated our graves as they always did, and had stripped our dead. The Cherub put the bodies back and dug several dummy graves. In these last he put Mills bombs; removing the pin, he held each bomb down as the earth was delicately piled over. The deed called for great nerve; he could feel the bomb quick to jump under his finger's pressure. Arabs watched impudently, sniping his party from a few hundred yards away. Neither did they let him get more than a quarter of a mile away, when he had finished, before they flocked down. The Cherub made his way to the station, and watched, as a boy watches a bird-trap. The Arabs fell to scooping out the soil badger-fashion with their hands. There was an explosion, and the earth shot up in a fountain of clods. The robbers ran, but returned immediately and carried off two of their number, casualties. Then they remained to dig. Colonel Leslie, commanding the 21st Brigade, had watched from Beled Station with enthusiasm, and he now turned a machine-gun on them. The Cherub, returning to the scene of his labours, found that the Arabs had dug two feet deeper than his original grave, breaking up the stiff ground with their fingers. To these desperate people a piece of cloth seemed cheap at the cost of two dead or wounded. From first to last nothing moved deeper anger than their constant exhumation of our dead, and murder, for robbery's sake, of the wounded or isolated. Major Harley, A.P.M. of Baghdad in later days, learnt to admire the ability of the Arabs, whose brief Golden Age, when Abbasids ruled, so far outshone contemporary Europe. When he pressed them on their ghoul-like ways, they replied, 'You British are so foolish. You bury the dead with the clothes. The dead do not need clothes, and we do.' The logic of this does not carry far. To them, as Mussulmans, graves were sacrosanct to a unique degree; a suspicion of disrespect on our part would rouse the whole of Islam to flaming wrath. They were criminals, by their own _ethos_, when they desecrated our dead. Moreover, they murdered whenever they could, in the cruellest and beastliest fashion. The marvel is, our actions of reprisal were so rare. Apart from this of the Cherub's, only two came within my personal knowledge. Of these two cases, one I and nearly the whole division considered savage and unjustifiable, which was also the official view. It was the act of a very young subaltern, mistakenly interpreting an order. In the other case an Arab was caught red-handed, lurking in a ditch on our line of march, with one of their loaded knobkerries for any straggler. I do not know what happened, but have no doubt that he was shot. It cannot be said that they acted for patriotic motives, as the Spanish guerrillas against Napoleon's troops. I remember an article[5] by Sir William Willcocks dealing with his experiences before the war, in which he tells how he and a friend went ashore from a steamer on the Tigris. An Arab calmly dropped on one knee and took aim at the Englishmen, as if the latter were gazelles or partridges. He missed, and they followed him into his village, where they asked him why he had fired. The man answered that he did it in self-defence, for the others had fired first. 'That,' said the Englishmen, 'is impossible, for you see we are unarmed.' Hearing this, the village rushed on them and robbed them of their valuables. Yet one of them was an official high in Government service. The other side of the shield, as it affected Brother Buddu, was shown next day at Harbe. At dawn three men and four women were found in the middle of the 19th Brigade's camp, outside General Peebles' tent, wailing. The women said their husbands had been bayoneted and mutilated by Turks a fortnight before, and buried here. This story proved true. The women dug up and bore off the decomposing fragments for decent burial. The Buddu was an alien in his own land, loathed and oppressed by the Turk. In his turn he robbed and slew as chance offered. He pursued the chase for the pelt, and went after human life as our more civilized race go after buck. About this time the Bishop of Nagpur was on his second visit from India. His see was usually mispronounced as Nankipoo. He was following us up to consecrate the graves of our battlefields. Great delight was given by the thought that Westlake's still unexploded bombs would receive consecration also for any retributive work that awaited them. And we brooded over the suggestion that the good Bishop might find, even in Mesopotamia, Elijah's way to heaven, fiery-chariot-wise. Our new camp was amid mounds and ruins. We found green coins, pottery fragments, and shells with very lovely mother-of-pearl. The Dujail ran near by, and made a green streak through an arid waste. The whole landscape seemed one dust-heap, sand and rubbish. But by the brook were poppies, marguerites, delicate pink campions, wheat and barley growing as weeds of former cultivation, and thickets of blue-flowered liquorice. There were many thorns, especially a squat shrub with white papery globes. A large and particularly fleshy broom-rape, recently flowering, festered unpleasantly everywhere. April was well on, and the sun gained power daily. The camp had a thousand discomforts. We lay under bivvies formed of a blanket, supported on a rifle and held down uncertainly by stones. Blinding dust-storms careered over the desert. These _djinns_, with their whirling sand-robes, would swoop down and whisk the poor shelters away. If the courts above take note of blasphemy under such provocation, the Recording Angel's office was hard worked these days. One would be reading a letter, already wretched enough with heat and flies, and suddenly you would be fighting for breath and sight in a maelstrom of dirt, indescribably filthy dirt, whilst your papers flew up twenty feet and your rifle hit you cruelly over the head. As a Marian martyr observed to an enthusiast who thrust a blazing furze-bush into his face, 'Friend, have I not harm enough? What need of that?' One storm at Harbe blew all night, having made day intolerable and meals out of the question. As Fowke curled himself miserably under his blanket for the night, I heard him deliver himself of the opinion quoted at the head of this chapter. Flies may be taken for granted. They swarm in these vile relics of old habitation. Moreover, there had been a Turkish camp at hand. But snakes and scorpions were found also almost hourly. The snakes were small asps; the scorpions were small also, but sufficiently painful. My batman was consumed with curiosity as to what a scorpion was like; he had 'heard tell of them' in Gallipoli. The listening Gods took account of his desire, and he was mildly stung the day we left. We spent the best part of a fortnight at Harbe. Morning and evening were enlivened by regular hates. So we had to dig trenches. But there were more memorable happenings at Harbe than the discomforts. Hebden returned with stores of sorts from Baghdad. Two new subalterns, Sowter and Keely, came. On Tuesday Hall's M.C. for Sannaiyat was announced. We celebrated this with grateful hymn far into night. Thursday brought the Cherub's M.C., another very popular honour, and we sang again, and the mules from their mess sang a chorus back, as before. When as at dusk our Mess carouse, With catches strong and brave, The mules their tuneful hearts arouse, And answer stave for stave. 'Dumb nature' breaks in festive noise, Remembering in this East The mystic bond which knits the joys Of righteous man and beast. Then pass the flowing bowl about-- Our stores have come to-day-- And let the youngest captain shout, And let the asses bray. The thorny trudge awhile forget, And foeman's waiting host! To-morrow bomb and bayonet-- To-night we keep the toast! These light-hearted evenings seemed, even then, sacramental. We were waiting while the Third Corps and the cavalry cleared the other bank of the Tigris, level with us. On the 19th the river was bridged at Sinijah, which made close touch between the two corps possible and passage of men and guns. About the same time the cavalry captured twelve hundred and fifty Turks on the Shat-el-Adhaim. Our wait was necessary. But we knew the enemy was terribly entrenched less than six miles away, and that our sternest fight since Sannaiyat was preparing. 'This will be a full-dress affair, with the corps artillery,' I was told. Some of my comrades were under twenty; others, like Fowke and Grant-Anderson, were men of ripe age and experience in many lands. But all had aged in spirit. Hall, though his years were only nineteen, had grown since Sannaiyat into a man, responsibility touching his old gaiety with power. So we waited on this beach of conflict. One evening stands out by its beauty and unconscious greatness. It happened thus. Remember how young many were, and it is small wonder if depression came at times. After the trying trench warfare before Kut had come the rush to Baghdad, a period of strain and tremendous effort. We had been fighting and marching continuously for many weeks, with every discomfort and over a cursed monotonous plain, without even the palliation of fairly regular mails. When men have been 'going over the top' repeatedly, emerging always with comrades gone, the nerves give way. We longed to be at that Istabulat position. Yet here we had to wait while Cailley's Column fought level with us, and day by day those sullen lines were strengthening. We had barely six thousand men to throw at them. So one night talk became discontented, and some one wished some reinforcement could be with us from the immense armies which our papers bragged were being trained at home. Then another--G.A. or Fowke--replied: Oh that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day! Swiftly that immortal scene, of the English spirit facing great odds invincibly, followed, passage racing after passage. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more! It was an electric spark. I never heard poetry, or literature at all, mentioned save this once. But all were eager and speaking, for all had read _Henry V._ When the lines were reached, Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart, laughter cleansed every spirit present of fear, and the shadow of fear, misgiving. Nothing less grimly humorous than the notion of such an offer being made now, or of the alleged consequences of such an offer, in the instant streaming away of all His Majesty's Forces in Mesopotamia, could have made so complete a purgation. Comedy took upon herself the office of Tragedy. When voices could rise above the laughter, they went on: His passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse. 'Movement-orders down the line and ration-indents,' was the emendation. We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us. And Fowke's voice towered to an ecstasy of sarcasm as he assured his unbelieving hearers that Gentlemen in England, now abed, Shall think themselves accursed they were not here. As a Turkish attack was considered possible, every morning we stood-to for that 'witching hour,' immediately before dawn, which is usually selected for 'hopping the parapet.' The brigades reconnoitred, and exchanged shots with enemy pickets. Fritz came, of course. Then the 19th Brigade went on, and took up a position two miles in front behind the Median Wall, of which more hereafter. The battle preparations went busily forward. Our camp was strewn with pebbles, an old shingle-beach, for we were on the ancient edges of the sea, before the river had built up Iraq.[6] The stones at Beled had been the first signs that we were off the alluvial plain. South of Baghdad it was reported that a reward of £100 would be paid (by whom I never heard) to the finder of any sort of stone. And now, after our long sojourn in stoneless lands, these pebbles were a temptation, and there was a deal of surreptitious chucking-about. One watched with secret glee while a smitten colleague pretended to be otherwise occupied, but nevertheless kept cunning eyes searching for the offender. I enjoyed myself best, for I lay and watched the daily parade of the troops before breakfast, and could inquire genially, 'Have you had a good stand-to?' Fowke asked the wastes in a soaring falsetto, 'Why do the heathen rage?' And he was returned question for question, with 'Why do you keep laughing at me with those big, blue eyes?' Then the camp would rock with song as we fell to shaving and, after, breakfast. The superstitions which old experience had justified waxed strong as the days went by. When McInerney marked out a quoits-court and Charles Copeman dug a mess--these officers found their amusement in singular ways, and would have been hurt had any one attempted to usurp their self-appointed duties--and when I put in services for Sunday, the 22nd, it was recognized that we should march, and fight on the Sabbath. Not more anxiously did the legionary listen for tales of supernatural fires in the corn and of statues sweating blood than the regiments asked each other, 'Have you dug a mess yet? Has the padre put in services?' Two of us went down with colitis--possibly the Sumaikchah waters were not even yet done with--and Fowke, as they left us, profaned Royal Harry's words: He which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart. For all this, Shakespeare had a share in the storming of Istabulat, as will be seen; as the ghost of Bishop Adhemar, who had died at Antioch, was said to have gone before Godfrey of Boulogne's scaling-ladder when the Crusaders took Jerusalem. ('Thank God!' said they. 'He was not frustrate of his vows.') On Friday rain came, and Charles Copeman, who had, as already indicated, a passion for digging--caught, perchance, in boyhood from his father's sexton--dug a funk-hole from the enemy shell-fire. McInerney helped him. Now this was not an ordinary funk-hole. It was a very splendid and elaborate hole, and no one was allowed to come near, lest he cause its perfection to crumble away. So, to dry ourselves after the rain, we all dug, and the Desert-Gods laughed in their bitter little minds as they saw. Among the rest, Sowter and I dug a hole, dug deeply, widely, with much laughter and joyfulness. And to us, as the afternoon wore towards evening, came the C.O., and, after watching us for a few minutes, told us that we marched in an hour. FOOTNOTES: [5] 'Two and a Half Years in Mesopotamia,' _Blackwood's Magazine_ March, 1916. [6] South Mesopotamia; north is Jezireh. III THE FIRST BATTLE OF ISTABULAT These men, the steadfast among spears, dying, won for themselves a crown of glory that fadeth not away.--_Greek Anthology._ In the quiet light we crossed the railway, and moved up to the Median Wall, in all a march of perhaps a mile and a half. This wall was old in Xenophon's time[7]; and along its northern side his army moved, watching, and watched by, the troops of Tissaphernes, moving parallel on the other side. He speaks of it as twenty feet in breadth and one hundred feet in height. Once it was the border between Assyria and Babylonia, and must have stretched to the Euphrates. Even now it runs from the Tigris far into the desert. It has crumbled to one-third of the height given by Xenophon. The semblance of a wall no longer, it is a mighty flank of earth, covering tiers of bricks. It effectually hid our movements as we crossed the plain before it. The Turk was shrapnelling the wall and its approaches, endeavouring to reply to some howitzers. These last we left on our right. As I happened to be the nearest officer, the major came up and asked me that the Leicestershires should move more to the left, in case any of his guns had a premature. We fell silently into our places behind the wall. The artillery behind us were favoured with a certain amount of zizyph-scrub; but the wall furnished no cover but itself. Fowke, who at all times indulged in a great deal of gloomy prognostication, known as 'Fowke-lore,' and received with delight, but not quite implicit belief, foretold that on the morrow our cavalry--it was a point of principle with the infantry to assume that the cavalry, as well as all Higher Commands, were capable of every stupidity and of nothing but stupidity--would cut up B Company, his own, who had a certain unattractive duty assigned to them on the extreme left. He also told us that the Median Wall would be shelled to blazes, which seemed pretty probable. The clearest figure in my memory for this hurried, stealthy evening is J.Y. Copeman, cousin of Charles. 'J.Y.'--for he never carried any graver appellation than mere initials--once a rising lawyer in Vancouver, was now our quartermaster. The gayest and most debonair figure in the division, known and popular everywhere, he was also an incredibly efficient quartermaster. Possibly the same qualities make for success in law and quartermastering. His gaiety was the mask for a most unsleeping energy and very great ability. He was once dubbed, by a person more alliterative than observant, 'a frail, flitting figure with a fly-flap.' Yet he had taken over Brodie's job, at Sannaiyat, when that experienced 'quarter' had wakened suddenly to find that an aeroplane bomb had wounded him. Within a year of this event I was privileged to be present at an argument between our D.A.D.O.S. and our D.A.D.S. & T.,[8] as to whether Copeman or Jock Reid, of the Seaforths, was the greater quartermaster. Where two such authorities failed to come to a decision, I must stand aside, especially as both J.Y. and Reid are my friends. With his ability J.Y. had an indomitable resolve, which made him refuse to go sick. He carried on through months of constant ill-health; sometimes he was borne on one of his own ration-carts, too unwell to walk or ride. He fed alone, but had a familiar, in the shape of a ridiculously clever and most selfish cat. And it is J.Y. whom I remember on this eve of Istabulat--J.Y. marshalling his carts swiftly and silently up to the wall when darkness had fallen, and J.Y. next morning scurrying them away before dawn. A Company went on picket, B and C patrolled before our lines, D lay behind the wall. Fires were kept low. J.Y. got our blankets up to us, and we had some sleep. Next day, the 21st, all kit was packed and on the carts by 4 a.m. Breakfast was at 3.30; hot tea and a slice of bacon. The second line fell back. Then we clung to the wall, and waited; all but Fowke. That warrior moved off to the left with part of B Company, all carrying spades. Their task was to come out of the shelter of the wall as soon as the action began, and to work their spades frantically, sending up such dust-clouds that the bemused Turk might suppose a new Army Corps advancing to attack his right, and take steps accordingly. The brown-coated figure took a sombre farewell of me, reminding us that, though his crowd were going to be cut up by our own cavalry, the rest of us would be shelled into annihilation when Johnny opened on the famous wall. 'He's bound to have the exact range, for it's such a landmark. Besides, he's got German archaeologists with him, who've dug here for years and years; they know every brick. And he's been practising on it for weeks. You saw how he had it last night when we came up.' The two actions which it is customary to call the two Battles of Istabulat were fought in positions some miles apart. The title of Istabulat, or of Dujail River, may fitly be reserved for the first action. The action of the 22nd may then be known as that of Istabulat Mounds. The Istabulat fight was one in which my own Brigade were spectators, except for isolated and piece-meal action. We were in reserve; and the 8th Brigade, of the 3rd Division, were in support, in line with us, and behind the Median Wall. The enemy were trying a new bowler, Shefket Pasha being in command, vice Kazim Karabekir Bey, who had resigned from command of their Eighteenth Corps just before Baghdad fell. We should not have supposed that this made any difference, even had we known. The Istabulat battle has been described in print,[9] though inadequately and, in one important respect, most unfairly. That unfairness I shall correct in the next chapter. But for this first action I do not propose to do more than give an outline of the work of the two Brigades engaged, and an account of our own part in reserve. The enemy's position was of immense strength. Old mounds made an upraised plateau, through which the Dujail Canal ran swiftly between steep and lofty banks. The 19th and 21st Brigades attacked in converging columns, the first thrusting right in, the second coming with an arm sweep round. Thus, both frontal and flank attacks were provided. The enemy's position was so strong, his redoubts so lofty, and the whole formidable terrain had been so entrenched and wired round that I do not believe we hoped to do more than eat our way into a part of his line. The operation was magnificent bluff. His morale was calculated to be now so low that he was likely to evacuate the position if we bit deeply into it. If this view is correct, General Maude was taking a heavy risk. But he not only always made all preparation possible before he struck, but on occasion did not hesitate to strike where the odds should have been against success, but the prize of success was great, and the morale of the troops against him weakened by repeated blows. In the Jebel Hamrin his calculation failed. But at Istabulat it succeeded. But, had the Turk been as he was in Sannaiyat days, two months back, we should have had a week of dreadful fighting instead of one bloody day. Holding Istabulat heights was a force estimated at seven thousand four hundred infantry and five hundred sabres, with thirty-two guns. This force, in its perfect position, we attacked with two weak brigades. The carts had scuttled away; J.Y. and his cat had stalked off through the dimness. We were shivering behind the wall. At 5 a.m. the bombardment opened. From five to seven we brought every gun to bear on the enemy. Istabulat, like the last of Sannaiyat's five battles, was an artillery battle, in the sense that the infantry, less strongly and splendidly supported, would have been helpless. 'I'll never say a word against the gunners again after to-day and Sannaiyat,' said a wounded Seaforths' officer to me in the evening. The field-guns were well up from the start, and the 'hows' soon advanced. When the action began, the latter were half-a-mile behind us at the wall. It was an impressive sight, the smoke rushing out with each discharge, and then swaying back with the gun's recoil. But the guns were rarely stationary long, and we soon had the unwonted experience of finding ourselves well behind our own artillery. Finally, in places our batteries were firing at almost point-blank range; the enemy was simply blasted out of his trenches. Fowke's dust-up drew a few shells; and the Turk strengthened his right to meet this new threat. But presently Fritz came over, very low and very impudent. He reported that it was only Fowke, and sheered off with a contempt quite visible from the ground. He was so low that we fired at him with rifles, vainly; then he went, and was swooping down on the Seaforths' attack and machine-gunning it. The 19th Brigade got their first objectives with very few casualties. But then the enemy poured a murderous fire on to them from every sort of weapon. The 21st Brigade all but accomplished their impossible task. At a critical point a terrible misfortune occurred. The 9th Bhopals--who were playfully and better known as the 9th 'Bo-Peeps'--crossed in front of a strong machine-gun position instead of outflanking it. The Turks held their fire till the regiment was close up. The latter lost two hundred men in three minutes; and a large body of Turks, who were wavering on the edge of surrender, fell back instead. The Bhopals never recovered from this disaster. The skeleton of a battalion which survived the fight was sent down the line, and its place taken by the 1st Guides from India. Two other battalions of the 21st Brigade, the 2nd Black Watch and the 1/8th Gurkhas, crossed a plain bare of cover. They crossed at terrible cost, and scaled the all but sheer walls of the Turkish left. But it was too much; and a counter-attack swept the survivors off, and took two officers and several men prisoners. Evening found our forces held, though the whole enemy front line was ours and our teeth were fixed deeply into the position. The Black Watch had lost all four company commanders, killed. It is not possible to convey to paper the heroism and agony of this day. Mackenzie, of the Seaforths, who won the D.S.O. two months previously at Sannaiyat for valour which in any previous war would have won the V.C., was shot dead as he was offering his water-bottle to a wounded Turk. Irvine, of the 9th Bhopals, was wounded, and lay out all day; two wounded Turks looked after him, surrendering when we ultimately came up. The Gurkhas and Bhopals took two hundred and thirty prisoners. A Black Watch private captured nine Turks and brought them in, himself supporting the last of the file, who was wounded. A machine-gunner, isolated when his comrades were killed or driven back, although wounded, worked his gun till we advanced again. The artillery, as was inevitable from the rôle they filled, suffered. Major the Earl of Suffolk, commanding B/56th Battery, was killed by shrapnel through the heart. He was a popular, unassuming man. Lieutenant Stewart, of the same battery, was wounded. Colonel Cotter, commanding the 56th Brigade, R.F.A., was hit in the forehead. Lieutenant Hart's wrist was shot through. The 14th Battery had two hundred 5.9's burst round them; yet they brought up their team, one by one, and got the guns away, losing men, but no animals. Meanwhile from the Median Wall the 'Tigers'[10] watched the fight. One could not help being reminded of the grand-stand at a football match. Sitting on the further side and below the crest, the officers watched the Indians pushing over the plain steadily through heavy shelling. We saw dreadful pounding away on our left, where 5.9's plunged and burst among the trenches the Seaforths were holding. Yet even a battle grows monotonous; so in the afternoon we went down to the trenches before the wall to rest, so far as heat and flies would permit. In that period of slackness a number of men swarmed up the wall. Instead of sitting where we had done, they sat on the crest, against the sky-line. Hitherto the shrapnel had not come nearer than a ridge four hundred yards away, which had been often and well peppered. But now came the hateful whistle, and the ridge was swept from end to end with both H.E. and shrapnel. In our trenches we were spattered with pebbles. Thorpe, next to me, got a piece of H.E. in his coat. But we escaped a direct hit. One shell passing overhead skimmed the ridge and burst on the other side, scattering Colonel Knatchbull's kit and smashing his fishing-rod. It killed a groom and wounded three other men, and wounded three horses so badly that they all had to be killed. It is always men on duty, holding horses or otherwise unable to escape, who pay for the curiosity of the idle. Firing continued very heavy till dusk. In the evening I buried the man killed by the shell, and then went back to find the clearing-station. Part of a padre's recognized function is to cull and purvey news. And I had many friends engaged. A couple of miles back I found the 7th British Field Ambulance, to which my own chief, A.E. Knott, was attached. The sight here was far more nerve-racking than a battlefield. It was an open human shambles, with miserable men lying about, some waiting on tables to be operated on. Knott was about to help in amputating a leg. In the few words I had with him I learnt that Suffolk was killed. I think I am right when I say that he was the only man killed among our 7th Division gunners. (We had other artillery with us, and they lost heavily.) It seemed strangely mediaeval, as from the days of Agincourt or Creçi, that Death, scarring so many, but forbearing to exact their uttermost, should strike down so great a name and one that is written on so many pages of our history. I knew well how many would mourn the man. I asked Knott the question of questions, 'What are our casualties?' These, one knew, must be heavy; but I was appalled by his reply, 'Sixteen hundred to one o'clock.' I left the wretched scene and went back. Part of the way McLeod, of the Seaforths, his right arm in a sling, wandered with me, talking dazedly of the day and its fortunes. I found an officer with whom I had travelled on a river-boat not long before, when his mind held the presentiment of death in his first action. He, like McLeod, went out from Istabulat with the card, 'G.S.[11] wound, right arm.' So much for presentiment in some cases. A different case occurred next day. I found my mess sitting down to dinner. 'Montag' Warren, our P.M.C., had excellently acquired dates and white mulberries, which last made a stew, poorly tasting, but a change from long monotony. A clamour greeted me. 'Where've you been, padre? What's the news?' I told them we had got on well. Then some one asked, 'But what did you hear about our casualties?' Minds were tense, for every one knew that next day our brigade must take up the attack, and for a whole day we had seen Hell in full eruption on our right. I told them other things I had learnt--told them anything that might brush aside the awkward question. But they demanded to know. Neither do I see how I could have avoided telling. So at last I said, 'Well, what I was told was sixteen hundred.' Silence fell. To some, sixteen hundred may seem a butcher's bill so trifling that brave men--and these were men superlatively brave, officers of the 17th Foot, and some of them had seen more pitched battles than years, had known Ypres and Loos and Neuve Chapelle, Gallipoli and Sheikh Saad--would not concede it a momentary blanching of the cheek. But these sixteen hundred casualties were out of barely four thousand men engaged, including gunners. In that minute each man communed with his own spirit, Voyaging through strange fields of thought alone. The reader will be weary of _Henry V._ Nevertheless Shakespeare came to the aid of us, his countrymen, again as gallant old Fowke quoted from the heart and brain of England: He which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart.... We would not die in that man's company, That fears his fellowship to die with us. So laughter ended a terrible day. Next day our tiny band was the spearhead of a handful of fifteen hundred bayonets, who caught the Turk in his fastnesses, wrested guns and prisoners from him, and slew and broke his forces so that they recoiled for thirty miles. There was no rest. Through the darkness J.Y. flitted to and fro, and here and there a spectral blaze flickered furtively. We had neither blankets nor greatcoats, for fear of shell-fire made it impossible to bring the carts up. The night was infernal with cold; sand-flies rose in myriads from the ground; we shivered and itched in our shorts. Old aches and pains found me out, rheumatism and troubles of a tropical climate. I lay between two men, both of whom had seen their last sunset; one was Sergeant-Major Whatsize. Infinitely far off seemed peace and the time, as Grant-Anderson expressed it, When the Gurkhas cease from gurkhing, and the Sikhs are sick no more. At midnight came a roar, then a crashing. It was Johnny blowing up Istabulat Station. At three o'clock we were aroused. FOOTNOTES: [7] _Anabasis_, Book ii. [8] The Divisional Heads of Ordnance and Supply and Transport. [9] 'The Battle that Won Samarrah,' by Brigadier-General A.G. Wauchope, C.M.G., D.S.O.; _Blackwood's_, April, 1918. [10] The Leicestershires' badge is a tiger, commemorating service in India a century ago. [11] Gun-shot. IV THE BATTLE FOR SAMARRA Salute the sacred dead, Who went and who return not. J.R. LOWELL. Day was welcome, for it brought movement, though movement harassed by cold and then by heat and ever-increasing clouds of flies. We snatched our mugs of tea, our bread and bacon. At 3.30 we moved off. We marched behind the wall, then crossed the Dujail, and pushed towards the left flank of the enemy's position. Vast clouds of white dust shut us close from any knowledge as we climbed up a narrow pass. Fortunately the light was hardly even dim yet. We dropped into a plain, and saw the Hero's Way by which the others had gone. Dead Gurkhas and Highlanders lay everywhere. I have always felt that the sight of a dead Highlander touches even deeper springs of pathos than the sight of any other corpse. Analysed, the feeling comes to this, I think: in his kilt he seems so obviously a peasant, lying murdered on the breast of the Universal Mother. So we marvelled as we saw the way and the way's price--marvelled that any could have survived to that stiff, towering redoubt, with its moat of trenches and the trenches ringing its sides; and marvelled most of all that any should have scaled its top, though for a moment only. These trenches held abundant dead, Turks and our own. On the reverse slope I came on rows of the enemy, huddled on their knees, their hands lifted to shield their heads from the shrapnel which had killed them. Below ran Dujail in its steep ditch; inland the plateau rose, against which the 19th Brigade had surged. For once the Turk's retreat had been precipitate. That master of rearguard warfare had meant to stand here, to save railhead and all its rolling-stock. His dead were more than ours; and all our way was strewn with débris. Candles and cones of sugar were in plenty, ammunition, blankets--for Johnny had not been cold, as we had--bivvies, clothes, slippers. I carried an ammunition-box a few miles, thinking it would make a good letter-case. The enemy had gone. Before passing to tell of this new day's battle I quote, from Hasted's[12] account, a description of Istabulat lines: The Turks intended to spend the summer there; they did not contemplate an attack before the hot weather set in. Three well-concealed lines of trenches had been prepared, on small hills and amongst deep nullas, with the water-supply of the Dujail running through the centre. Advanced redoubts and strong points made the defences formidable. The brigade formed up about 6.30 a.m., the 53rd Sikhs coming in from picket on the extreme right. We passed the 56th Brigade, R.F.A., whose officers eagerly came with us a short distance, telling us of the previous day. We halted for breakfast. [Illustration: BATTLE OF ISTABULAT MOUNDS THE POSITION AT NOON APRIL 22nd] Verbal orders came from Division. They were just 'Push on vigorously.' With it was coupled an assurance that there was nothing against us, that the enemy was fleeing, thoroughly demoralized. We moved on. From across the Tigris guns boomed steadily. Distant glimpses of river showed shoals, islands, spaces green with cultivation. An enemy plane, reconnoitring, was shot down, and pilot and observer killed. This incident had an important influence on the battle which followed. Even at this stage of the campaign, we fought in Mesopotamia, both sides, with the most exiguous number of planes. The Turks having lost their best machine and pilot, our old friend Fritz, feared to risk another. Hence, when the mounds of the ancient city of Istabulat lay across our front, the hostile observation was from the ground in front and from our left flank only. And we were enabled to pass through a depression, whilst his fire went overhead, and so into the mounds. We passed a 5.9 disabled by a direct hit and nearly buried. The bare country was cracked with nullas, some of them deep. Then we opened into artillery formation, and entered utter desert. In front were innumerable mounds, a dead town of long ago. We went warily, with that quiet expectation, almost the hardest of all experiences to endure, of the first shell's coming. The official message was that the enemy was incapable of serious opposition. But of this the rank and file knew nothing; had they known, old experience would have made them sceptical. Fowke's view, that all would prove to be for the worst in the worst of all possible worlds and arrangements, was the reigning philosophy. An adapted edition of Schopenhauer would have sold well in the mess (or anywhere in Mesopotamia). Novelists speak of the hero being conscious that eyes, in the forest or in his room at night (as may be), are watching, watching. This knowledge governs the feeling of 'going in artillery formation,' with the added knowledge that, though in broad sun, you cannot hope to see your foe, who is certain to spring on you, and merely waits till you are well under fire. The bolt fell. About 9 a.m. a double report was heard; then the Cherub sent back word, 'Four enemy snipers retiring.' By 9.30 firing was heavy. The Cherub was wounded, and his two scouts killed. The enemy was invisible, and mirage made ranging impossible. The ground four hundred yards away was a fairyland that danced and glimmered. When a target was perceived, of Turks racing back, the orders for fire were changed quickly, from 'Three hundred yards' to 'fourteen hundred yards.' Very vainly. This mirage continued throughout the fight. Ahead was what we called the 'Second Median Wall,' a crumbled wall some twenty feet high, which ran across the front of the mounds. To its extreme left, our right, and in front of this wall, was the Turkish police-post of Istabulat, by which the battle was presently to be raging. In those mounds the enemy had excellent cover. Our leading company followed the scouts, and took possession of the ruins. The 'Tigers' were arranged in four lines, according to companies, with less than three hundred yards between the lines. Dropping bullets fell fast, especially in the rear lines. About 10 a.m. two shells burst about a hundred yards in front of Wilson and myself. Then Hell opened all her mouths and spat at us. The battalion lay down and waited. Twelve-pounder 'pipsqueaks' came in abundance, with a sprinkling of heavier stuff. Many soldiers prefer the latter. You can hear a 5.9 coming, and it gives you time to collect yourself, and thus perhaps escape giving others the trouble to collect what is left of you. I remember once hearing General Peebles say that in his long experience of many wars he had known only three men absolutely devoid of fear, 'Smith and Brown and--Jones' (mentioning a notorious and most-admired fire-eating brigadier, a little man in whom bursting shells produced every symptom of intoxication except inability to get about). Then he added, 'I'm not sure about Jones.' It is interesting to notice the different ways in which nervousness shows. I remember one man in whom was never observed the slightest emotion amid the terriblest happenings, till one day some one noticed that whenever he went forward he turned up his jacket-collar, as if to shelter from that fiery rain. Myself, I hate the beginning of conflict, and am eager to push well into it and under the shell-barrage. As there is said to be a cool core in the heart of flame, so there is a certain cool centre for the spirit where horror is radiating out to a wide circumference. In the depths one must surrender one's efforts and trust to elemental powers and agonies, but in the shallows all the calls are on the 'transitory being' whose flesh and blood are pitted against machinery. How can the nerves and trembling thought bear up? Yet they have borne up, even in men quick with sense and imagination. I felt restless as we lay on the flat desert listening to the bullets singing by or to a nosecap's leisured search for a victim, dipping and twisting to left and right till at last it thudded down. If one must lie still, then company gives a feeling of security. Fate may have, doubtless has, a special down on you, but even Fate is unlikely to blow you to bits if the act involves blowing to bits several of her more favoured sons. So I remember with amusement my vague vexation with the curiosity that always made my companion get up and stroll about when under fire, peering round. Though he went scarcely five yards, it seemed like desertion. We watched our guns run up to the 'Pimple,' a recently built-up mound slightly ahead of us, lately used as a Turkish O. Pip, now accruing to us for the same purpose. The infantry assumed that these wagons and limbers moving a hundred yards to our right would draw all the enemy's fire, in which case we, helpless on the flat, would be shelled out of this existence. But this did not happen; why, I cannot guess, unless I have correctly traced the reason for that bad observation so marked in the Turkish gunning all through this day. We were in the slightest possible depression, with a scarcely perceptible lift on our left and a steady rise before. Shells plunged incessantly down our left, and went whistling far beyond us. But comparatively few burst among us; and the shrapnel burst far too high to do damage. Our batteries were in position at the 'Pimple.' We rose, marched through a tornado of noise, right-turned, and went across the muzzle of our own guns, also in full blast. In front I saw lines of Leicestershires scaling the slope and melting into the mounds. My diary notes: 'Men's delight to see river.' We came suddenly upon Brother Tigris, basking in beautiful sunlight, becalmed in bays beneath lofty bluffs. In this dreadful land water meant everything; we had had experiences of thirst, not to be effaced in a lifetime. Away from the river men grew uneasy. The river meant abundance to drink, and bathing; everywhere else water was bad, or the supply precarious. We had been away from the river since that night opposite Sindiyeh. So not the crashing shells, the 'pipsqueaks' ripping the air like dried paper, nor the bullets pinging by, prevented men from greeting so dear a sight. Standing on the beach of imminent strife, in act to plunge, men cried, 'The Tigress, the Tigress!' Instantly a scene flashed back to memory from the book so often near to thought in these days: how Xenophon, weary and anxious with the restlessness and depression of his much-tried troops, heard a clamour from those who had reached a hill-crest, and, riding swiftly up to take measures against the expected peril, found them shouting '_Thalatta, Thalatta_.' Seafaring folk, the most of them, they had caught, far below, their first glimpse of the Euxine, truly a hospitable water to them, since it could bear them home. Wilson dressed his first wounded in sheltered, broken ground, high above the river. The peaceful beauty of the place is with me still. Above the blue, unruffled pools green flycatchers darted, and rollers spread metallic wings. The left bank lay low and very lovely with flowers and fields. 'I will answer you,' said Sir Walter Raleigh, asked his opinion of a glass of wine, given as he went to execution, 'as the man did who was going to Tyburn. "This is a good drink, if a man might but tarry by it."' Wilson left me here with Dobson; but almost immediately he sent back asking us to rejoin him. Our few cases, all walking ones, remained in this shelter till such time as they could fall back, and Dobson and I crossed into the mounds. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Our leading company had advanced by rushes to a distance of a hundred and fifty yards beyond the Second Median Wall. They were within three hundred yards of the main enemy trenches. Battalion Head Quarters was at the wall, the 56th Rifles were to the left, the two Sikh regiments a quarter of a mile to the rear. Machine-gun sections were at the wall, supporting the forward regiments. The 56th Brigade, R.F.A., had moved up, and were firing close behind Wilson's new aid-post. Presently two more companies of Leicestershires were sent beyond the wall, the third in response to a message that the front line had suffered heavily and were short of ammunition. Before the final assault, then, the Leicestershires' line, from the east inland, was D, A, B, these three companies in this order. But I am anticipating. Wilson's A.P. was in a dwarf amphitheatre, and was filling up fast. Bullets were zipping over from left and front. The enemy position rested on river and railway, a half-dug position which some six thousand men were frantically completing when we caught them. Away beyond Tigris glittered the golden dome of Samarra mosque; Samarra town and Samarra station, like Baghdad town and station, are on opposite banks of the river. The station was railhead for this finished lower line of eighty miles, and in it were the engines and rolling-stock which had been steadily withdrawn before our advance. Beyond the mounds the ground dropped and stretched, level but broken, swept by machine-gun and rifle, torn with shell and shrapnel, away to Al-Ajik, against Samarra town. Here the Turk resisted savagely. He was ranging on the wall, which was an extremely unhealthy spot, particularly in its gaps, and he enfiladed the mounds from the railway. We flung our fifteen hundred bayonets and our maniple of cavalry at the position. The one British regiment, the Leicestershires, went in three hundred and thirty strong, and lost a hundred and twenty-eight men. Dropping bullets took toll even before we left the mounds. As I came up to join Wilson a man was carried past. It was Major Adams, acting second-in-command of the 53rd Sikhs. He had gone ahead of his battalion to the wall, where a bullet struck him in the forehead. He died within fifteen minutes, and was unconscious as he went past me. No man in the brigade was more beloved. He was always first to offer hospitality. It was he who met our mess when they first reached Sumaikchah and invited them to come to his own for lunch. I never saw him but with a smile of infinite kindliness on his face, and I saw him very often. Face swift to welcome, kindling eyes whose light Saw all as friends, we shall not meet again! Here in the aid-post sat the Cherub, struck at last, a flesh-wound in his thigh; with many others. Next to him was Charles Copeman, unwounded, waiting to go forward with his bombers. Presently came Warren, bright and jaunty as a bird, and carrying his left arm. 'I'm all right,' said Montag, 'got a cushy one here.' On his heels came G.A.; his face was that of a man fresh from the Beatific Vision. Much later, when I had managed to get transport to push him away, I asked him, 'Got your stick, G.A.?' This was a stout stave on which he had carved, patiently and skilfully, his name, 'H.T. Grant-Anderson,' and a fierce and able-looking tiger at the top, then his regiment, then curving round it the names of the actions in which it had supported him: _Sannaiyat_, _Iron Bridge_, _Mushaidie_, _Beled Station_; while down the line now he was to add _Istabulat-Samarra_. This famed work of art he flaunted triumphantly as he climbed into the ambulance. But with these, and before some of them, came very heavy news. By that fatal wall and on the bullet-swept space before it died many of our bravest. Hall, M.C., aged nineteen, who looked like Kipling's Afridi: He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest; Hall fell, facing the finish of our journey and those bright domes of Samarra, already gilded from the sloping sun. His death was merciful, a bullet through the heart; 'and sorrow came, not to him, but to those who loved him.' The theory was strongly held in the Leicestershires that the only way was to advance steadily. This weakened the enemy's morale, and, further, he had no chance to pick out his ranges accurately. To this theory and practice of theirs they put down the fact that, though in the forefront of all their battles, their losses were often so much slighter than those of units that had acted more cautiously. I quote again from Hasted's brilliant lecture on the battle: There was no hesitation about the advance. Rushes were never more than twenty yards, more often ten to fifteen yards, as hard as one could go, and as flat as one could lie, at the end of it. The theory, 'the best way of supporting a neighbouring unit is to advance,' was explained at once. The attention of the enemy's rifles and machine-guns was naturally directed to the platoon or section advancing, even when they had completed their rush. Directly one saw a party getting slated, one took advantage of it to advance oneself, in turn drawing fire, but taking care to finish the rush before being properly ranged on. One seldom halted long enough to open covering-fire, and besides, there was nothing to fire at. Despite the very short halt, it is no exaggeration to say that I have seen men go to sleep between the rushes. Shell-bursts provided excellent cover to advance behind. Individuals, such as runners, adopted a zigzag course with success; we lost very few. Platoons and companies got mixed, but it was not difficult to retell off. Perhaps control was easier owing to very little rifle-fire from our side and the majority of enemy shells landing on the supports. There was no question of men taking insufficient cover; they melted into the sand after five minutes with an entrenching tool, and during the actual advance they instinctively took advantage of every depression. Officers had no wish to stand up and direct; signallers lay flat with telephones. Stretcher-bearers did not attempt to work in front of the wall. Lewis-gunners suffered; they carried gun and ammunition on the march (there were no mules), and the men were tired; their rushes were not so fast as the platoon advances. To G.A., lying waiting, before he was hit, came up his sergeant and said, 'That's Mr. Hall over there, sir. I can see him lying dead.' But G.A. had thoughts which pressed out even grief for his dead friend. 'I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.' Shakespeare might have added these men to those Time stood still withal. For over four hours they lay, within three hundred yards of their invisible foe, under the sleet of bullets. McInerney told me afterwards that it was the heaviest rifle-fire he had known, except the Wadi.[13] The Wadi was the one which made the deepest impression of horror, of all those dreadful and useless slaughters in Aylmer's and Gorringe's attempt to relieve Kut--made this impression, that is, so far as (to paraphrase Macaulay) there _is_ a more or less in extreme horror. And McInerney had seen the 1915 fighting in Flanders. Fortunately the enemy kept most of his shells for farther back. We got plenty in the ruins. But by far the greatest number went far back, where he supposed our reinforcements were coming up. All afternoon we worked in the aid-post under a roof of shells, screaming in both directions, from the enemy and from our own guns. In front the enemy watched the ground so closely that G.A. got his wound by the accident of raising his elbow. But now, as it drew towards noon, there was a clatter as of old iron behind him, and Service, the machine-gunner, rushed up and erected his tripod and lethal toy. No man was more popular than Service in normal times. But to-day he and all his tribe stirred the bitter enmity that Ian Hay tells us the trench-mortar people aroused in France. 'Go away, Service,' his friends entreated. But Service stayed, a fact which precipitated G.A.'s next short rush forward. On the left the three Indian battalions did a holding attack, pushing out from the wall. They lost heavily. The 53rd Sikhs lost their Colonel (Grattan), their second-in-command (Adams), their adjutant (Blewitt), their quartermaster (Scarth), all killed or died of wounds. The last-named, a very gallant and lovable boy, died in my own aid-post, which he reached after nightfall. On the right Graham, of the machine-gunners, won the V.C. For this battle he was attached to the 56th Rifles. In the advance from the mounds and the heavy fighting on the left all his men became casualties. His gun was knocked out, and he was wounded. McKay, his second-in-command, was hit in the throat, and died. Graham then went back for his other gun. This also was knocked out. Meantime he had collected two more wounds. Compelled to retire, he disabled his second gun completely; then he carried on with the Lewis-gun, though very short of ammunition, till a fourth wound put him out of action. Single-handed he held up a strong counter-attack from the Turks massing on our left. Had these got round, the Leicestershires would have been cut off. It is satisfactory to be able to say that he survived, with no worse hurt than a scar across his face. Before noon Wilson asked me to take charge of the aid-post. Dobson remained with me; Wilson and Whitehead went up to the wall and established a new A.P. With me were left many stretcher-cases. In the confused character of the ground my place quickly developed into an independent aid-post, and, in addition to receiving a stream of walking cases, methodically passed down by Wilson, had some hundred and thirty wounded, including Turks, who had no other treatment than such as Dobson and I knew how to give. I had never bandaged a man before, but my hands grew red to the elbow. Dobson worked grandly. As far as possible I left our own men to him, and dressed wounded Turks, of whom seventy were sent in late in the afternoon. This was on the _fiat experimentum in corpore vili_ principle, as my fingers were unskilled, and yet the work was very great. About noon a gun was heard on the left bank of the river. Shrapnel burst 'unpleasantly close,' says Hasted, 'to our front line. More followed, and, after bracketing, seemed to centre about two hundred and fifty yards in front of us. We then realized that General Marshall's Column had joined in, supporting us with enfilade gunfire; we were unable to see their target, and could see nothing of the enemy trenches. We could make out single occasional shivering figures moving laterally in the mirage. One Turk was seen throwing up earth, standing up now and then to put up his hands to us. We tried him at ranges of three hundred to twelve hundred yards, but did not even frighten him; observation was absurdly difficult. Firing slackened down, but on the left, out of sight in a depression, we could hear the 56th engaged.' As Hasted remarks, it seems incredible that our men lay from 11 a.m. till 3.30 p.m. within three hundred yards of the enemy's trenches. Yet such is the fact. At 4 p.m. we put down a concentrated bombardment of twenty minutes. The Leicestershires, a forlorn and depleted hope, moved swiftly up to within assaulting distance, C Company in reserve behind the right. The 51st Sikhs supported the attack. The 56th Rifles put down the heaviest fire they could, of rifles and all the efficient machine-guns with the Brigade. At 4.20 the guns lifted one hundred yards, and the Leicestershires rushed in. Hasted, watchful behind with C Company, pushed up rapidly to assist the front line. A long line of Turks rose from the ground. All these, and the enemy's second line also, were taken prisoners. Dug-outs were cleared, and many officers were taken, where lofty cliffs overhang the Tigris. These prisoners were sent back with ridiculously weak escorts. They were dazed, their spirits broken. G.A., wounded and falling back in search of the aid-post, came on a large body, wandering sheep without a shepherd. These he annexed, and his orderly led them; he himself, using the famous stick as a crook, coaxed them forward. Prisoners came, ten and twenty in charge of one man. When night had fallen, they sat round us and curiously watched us. Altogether the 'Tigers'--hardly two hundred strong by now--took over eight hundred prisoners. Many of these escaped by reason of the poverty of escort. But I will not speak of prisoners now. Whilst our scanty stock of ammunition was being fired at the Turks, retiring rapidly, the Leicestershires were pushing far out of reach of telephone communication. 'Limited objectives were not known in the open fighting.'[14] To Captain Diggins fell an amazing success. Suddenly there were flashes almost in his face. 'Guns,' he shouted, and rushed forward. On and on he rushed, till he reached the enemy's guns, he and three of the men of A Company, which he commanded. These guns were in nullas by the river-bank. Their crews were sitting round them. Diggins beckoned to them to surrender, which they did. He was so blown with running that he felt sick and faint. Nevertheless he recovered, and rose to the occasion. To us, away in the aid-posts, came epic stories of 'Digguens,' with the ease and magnificence of Sir Francis Drake receiving an admiral's sword, shaking hands with the battery commander. He is a singularly great man in action, is Fred Diggins. In all, from several positions, Diggins took seven fourteen-pounders and two 5.9's. They were badly hit, some of them. The horses were in a wretched condition, none of them unwounded. Several were shot by us almost immediately. Diggins sent his prisoners back, battery commanders and all, in charge of Corporal Williamson and one private. On his way back, after delivering up his prisoners, Williamson was killed. Very soon on Diggins's arrival his subalterns, Thorpe and McInerney, joined him. He sent them racing back across the perilous mile which now lay between them and the wall. Thorpe went to Lieutenant-Colonel Knatchbull, and McInerney to Creagh, the second-in-command this day. All did their best to get reinforcements. The two other brigades, however badly hit the previous day, were now close up. The 19th Brigade, becoming aware of the situation, eagerly put their services at our disposal. After the action the official explanation of the loss of the guns was that the Leicestershires got out of hand and went too far; so I was told in the colloquial language which I have set down. A nearer explanation is that they went because of over-confidence somewhere back. Night was falling, and the guns already gone, when reinforcements from the 19th Brigade came past my aid-post and asked me the direction. Had the guns been kept, I verily believe at least one V.C. would have come our way, for Diggins, and M.C.'s for his lieutenants. As it was, Diggins got an M.C. and Thorpe a 'mention.' Nothing came to McInerney, who was one of the many soldiers who went through years of battle, always doing their duty superbly, but emerging ribbonless at the end. Six months later, at Tekrit, these guns took a heavy toll from our infantry. Now, after all effort, scarcely fifty men could be got up to them. In these exalted moments of victory glorious almost beyond belief Sergeant-Major Whatsize fell, twenty yards from the enemy's line. In his last minutes he was happy, as a child is happy. The handful at the guns waited. A large barrel of water had been put there for the Turkish gunners. This was drained to the last drop. The guns were curiously examined. 'Besides the intricate mechanism and beautifully finished gear, there were some German sextants and range-finders, compasses like those on a ship's binnacle, and other instruments on a lavish scale,' says Hasted. But this inspection was cut short, for now came the counter-attack. The Turks began to shell the captured gun-position. Then, from the railway-embankment, nearly a mile to the Leicestershires' left front, several lines of Turks emerged, in extended formation, a distance of fifty yards between each line. At least two thousand were heading for the fifty Leicestershires holding the guns. 'It was like a crowd at a football-match,' a spectator told me. Diggins sent word to Lowther, commanding B Company, a little to his left rear, 'The Turks are counter-attacking.' Lowther replied that he was falling back. Diggins and Hasted fell back in conformity. Hasted was asking his men how many rounds of ammunition they had left. None had more than five rounds, so perforce we ceased fire. The 51st Sikhs, with the exception of Subahdar Aryan Singh and two sepoys, had not appeared. The Leicestershires damaged the guns as they might for half a dozen fevered, not to say crowded, minutes of glorious life. Hasted, who was one of those who enjoyed this destruction, complains that they did not know much about what to do; they burred the breech-block threads and smashed the sights with pickaxes. The Mills bombs put in the bores did not explode satisfactorily. Then they fell back. One of the sergeants was hit in the chest, Sergeant Tivey, a Canadian; he was put on one of the Turkish garrons and led along. 'From the attention he received from the enemy's guns, they must have thought him a Field-Marshal.'[15] The Turks, for all their force, crept up timidly. After securing the guns, they raced to Tekrit, thirty miles away. But they sent a large body in pursuit of the retreating 'Tigers.' The Leicestershires fell back rapidly, the enemy pressing hard. The 51st Sikhs were found, hidden by the hollows of the ground; they had been a buttress to the left flank of that handful of adventurous infantry in their forward sweep into the heart of the Turkish position. It was now that Graham and the 56th Rifles checked the counter-attack, which threatened to drive a wedge between the Leicestershires and the river. The whole front was now connected up, and, in face of an attacking army, British and Indians dug themselves in. The 51st sent along some ammunition. The sun was setting, and in the falling light the last scene of this hard-fought day took place. Turkish officers could be seen beating their men with the flat of their swords. The enemy came, rushing and halting. The sun, being behind them, threw a clear field of observation before them; but over them it flung a glamour and dimness, in which they moved, a shadow-army, silhouettes that made a difficult mark. And our men were down to their last rounds of ammunition. Our guns opened again, but too late, and did not find their target. But the Leicestershires' bombers, sixty men in all, were thrown forward, bringing ammunition which saved the day. Thirty of the sixty fell in that rush. The Turks were now within two hundred and fifty yards; but here they wavered. For half an hour they kept up a heavy rifle-fire. Then, at six o'clock, the 19th Brigade poured in, and the thin lines filled up with Gurkhas, Punjabis, and Seaforths. Moreover, the new-comers had abundance of ammunition. Darkness fell, and our line pushed forward. For over two hours we could hear the Turks man-handling their guns away. But there were strong covering-parties, and our patrols were driven back with loss. Our guns put down a spasmodic and ineffectual fire. Then all became quiet. All along the enemy's line of retreat and far up the river were flares and bonfires. Away in Samarra buildings were in flames, and down the Tigris floated two burning barges, of which more hereafter. I cannot speak as they deserve of the gallant work of the Indian regiments. The severity of their losses is eloquent testimony. 'Boomer' Barrett came down the field, shot through the face, cheerfully announcing his good luck: 'I've got a soft one, right through the cheek.' I have spoken of the 53rd Sikhs. They lost their four senior officers, killed. But every regiment had brave leaders to mourn. One thinks with grief and admiration of that commander, a noble and greatly beloved man, whom a bullet struck down, so that he died without recovering consciousness several days later. Though the body's tasks were finished, his mind worked on the fact that his men had been temporarily checked, and he kept up the cry, 'What will they say in England? The ---- fell back; ---- failed them.' Even so, when duty has become life's ruling atmosphere, One stern tyrannic thought which makes All other thoughts its slave, it matters little that the body should fail. The mind labours yet, fulfilling its unconscious allegiance. He went, unterrified, Into the Gulf of Death. In my aid-post we carried on, secure beneath our canopy of racing shells. The slope gave cover against 'over' bullets, except when it was necessary to walk about. Early in the afternoon, during a lull, a doctor appeared and asked if it was safe to bring up his ambulances. I told him 'Yes'; there were dropping bullets, but very little shell-fire. He replied that he would come immediately. But the supply of shells greatly quickened, and he did not appear again till near darkness, when he brought two motor ambulances, taking five sitting and four lying cases in each. He promised to return, but did not. Apart from these eighteen, only the walking wounded got away, pushing back into our noisy and perilous hinterland. About four o'clock the Turks, in reply to our intense bombardment, put a brief but terrific fire on the mounds, blowing up men on every side. I decided to clear out to where, round the corner, an old wall gave upright shelter. As our first exodus swung round, a huddled, hobbling mass, two 'coal-boxes' burst in quick succession, each closer than the last shell before it. I shouted 'Duck!' We ducked, then made a few yards and ducked for the second time. A perfect sleet of wind and steel seemed to pass overhead. But no one was hit, and we were round the corner, where, I fear, I dropped the Cherub with considerable emphasis on his gammy leg. But indeed we were very lucky. Shells burst on every side of the aid-post--on right and left, but not on us. This was one of the rare occasions when I have felt confidence. Dobson and I were far too busied to worry. Also it seemed hard to believe that a shell would be allowed to fall on that shattered, helpless suffering. I saw, without seeing, things that are burnt into memory. We had no morphia, nothing but bandages. There was a man hit in the head, who just flopped up and down, seemingly invertebrate as an eel, calling out terribly for an hour till he died. Another man, also hit in the head--but he recovered, and I afterwards met him in Bombay--kept muttering, 'Oh those guns! They go through my head!' A large body of prisoners was massed in the hollow beside us. When these marched off, some seventy wounded were sent to me, under the impression that the place was a regular aid-post. They were horribly smashed. General Thomson's Brigade (14th Division) had enfiladed them with artillery fire from the other bank, with dreadful effect. He got into their reserves, their retreat, their hospitals, and broke them up. In one place his fire caught a body of Turks massing for a counter-attack, beneath big bluffs by the water, and heaped the sand with dead and maimed. These men came with their gaping wounds and snapped limbs. Private Clifton, a friend of mine, brought bucket after bucket of water from the river. They drank almost savagely. My inexpert fingers hurt cruelly as I bandaged them, and they winced and cried. But the next minute they would stroke my hand, to show they understood good intentions. They had a great belief in the superiority of our civilization--at any rate in its medical aspect. They insisted, those who had been bandaged by the Turkish aid-posts, in tearing off their bandages--perfectly good ones, but smaller than ours--and on having new bandages from me. Just when the 5.9's blew us round the corner, Waller, adjutant of the 56th Brigade, R.F.A., came up and asked if I could send any one to look at some men just hit by the tornado. Mester Dobson was as busied as a man could be, his inevitable pipe in his mouth, so I went with Waller. One man was breathing, his head broken behind; the others were dead. Beside one of the corpses was a red mass. I saw, noting the fact automatically and without the least squeamishness, that it was his brains. We carried the living man in. In the darkness Dobson came and said. 'There's a wounded officer just come in. I've given him a drink and dressed him.' A minute later he said, 'That officer's dead, sir.' I went across, and found it was Scarth, of the 53rd. No braver spirit went out in this day of storm and sorrow than this very gallant boy. He was aged nineteen. Night fell, and slowly o'er the blood-bought mile They brought a broken body, frail but brave; A boy who carried into death the smile With which he thanked for water that we gave. Steadfast among the steadfast, those who kept The narrow pass whereby the Leicesters swept, Amid the mounded sands of ancient pride He sleeps where Grattan fell and Adams died. I know his father, and the Himalayan oaks and pines amid which he grew to manhood. Men looking on Scarth loved him. The freshness of his mountain home and his free, happy life clung to him to this end, amid the tumults and terrors of our desert battle. The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ide Sent, with his quiver at his side, From hunting beasts in forest-brake, To follow in �neas' wake.[16] At dusk Wilson came. He had been toiling away, exposed and close up to the fighters, as always--there never was a braver regimental medical officer--and he now asked me to be responsible for getting his wounded away, whilst he searched the battlefield. So all his cases were evacuated into my place. At the same time many chits reached me, addressed to the O.C. Clearing-Station. As there was no such person, I opened these. The regimental aid-posts were pressing to be cleared. My own place had men from seven different regiments, British and Indian, as well as Turks, and Wilson was sending more along. So I found McLeod, and we 'phoned down to the field ambulances. These were congested from yesterday's battle and to-day's walking cases, and replied that nothing could be done till dawn. But we were so insistent that about midnight bullock-carts turned up, and I got fifty wounded away. The 'cahars,'[17] in their zeal to remove all kit belonging to the wounded, carried off my water-bottle, haversack, rations, and communion-kit. But before this I had been down to the Tigris in the darkness, and drunk like a wounded wolf. To return to the battle as it died away. The Forward Observing Officer with the Leicestershires sent word back that fourteen guns (instead of nine) had been taken. The news was exultantly forwarded to Corps H.Q. When the case proved to be nine only, and those nine lost again, the message was allowed to stand, the authorities hoping against hope that the guns would walk back into our possession. And Fortune was very good to them. Those guns, indeed, came not back; but, as darkness fell, two burning barges, as already mentioned, floated down the river. One was exploding, like a magazine on fire. This contained ammunition. The other barge, when pulled to shore, was found to contain fourteen field-guns, the number specified to Corps--old guns, but serviceable. Johnny, despairing of getting these away, had set fire to the barge to sink them. So the original message stood, and our loss could be glossed over. And the wastefulness of sinking quite good guns was avoided. The night was sleepless, bitterly cold. Dobson and I kept a watch for Arabs. I sat beside a dead man, and shared his oil-sheet. A few more wounded came in after midnight, among them Sergeant Tivey. All night long wounded Turks crawled the battlefields and cried in the cold. But I heard none of them, for there were groans much nearer. Our unwounded prisoners were crowded into a nulla. Among them was the Turkish Artillery Brigade Commander, who knew some English and kept insisting on a hearing from time to time. But all he ever said was, 'Yes, gentlemen, you have got my guns, but, what is far worse, you have got me.' Had we cared, we might have cheered him with the information that we had not got his guns, but only himself. Yet, considering the relative value, in his eyes, of himself and these, such information would hardly have consoled him. In this battle occurred a case of a man being 'fey.' An officer gave his kit and money to his batman, for distribution to his platoon, the previous night. As he went into action a friend exchanged greetings. He replied, 'Yes, but I'm afraid I'm not coming back to-day.' No one saw him fall, but he was found dead in the mounds, with several wounds. The east was reddening when I saw Haughton, Staff-Captain of the 19th Brigade, on the hillock above the aid-post. This Brigade H.Q. were my best friends in the division. I begged a mug of tea from him, so we went along together. I found General Peebles and Brigade-Major Thornhill, and they gave me an excellent breakfast. The 28th Brigade moved on, following the 21st Brigade, who occupied Samarra. But the wounded remained. Shortly after dawn the medical folk, in fulfilment of their promise, sent up an ordinary motor-car and took away two sitting cases. Nothing else happened. Time passed, and the heat was getting up. So I wandered back some miles, and found hospital-tents. Here was Father Bernard Farrell, the Roman Catholic padre, slaving, as he had done all night. I saw Westlake, and Sowter, who was dying. 'It's been a great fight, padre,' said Sowter, 'a great fight. I'm getting better.' No loss was felt more severely than that of this quiet, able man. He had seen much fighting in France, and in this, his first action with us, he impressed every one with his coolness and efficiency. He had walked across to Lowther, his company commander, to draw his attention to a new and threatening movement of the enemy. Then, as he stopped to bandage a wounded sergeant, a bullet pierced his stomach. The same bullet, leaving his body, went through both legs of Sergeant Lang, the one bullet making six holes. Sowter had been with us one week. I never knew any one whose influence went so deep in so brief a time. Our seven-days' guest, he came and went his ways, Walking the darkness garlanded with praise! Our seven-days' guest! Yet love that this man gained Others have scarce in three-score years attained. The hospital-tents were congested with wounded, and the responsible officer declined to take any more. They had no more stretchers, all being used as beds, and no more space. Fortunately an order came from Division that they must immediately remove some wounded Turks. I said, 'I have some wounded Turks.' 'Yes, but I'm afraid those aren't the Turks meant.' 'Well,' I replied, 'I've been up all night, and I'm very footsore. You might at least give me a lift back.' This was conceded, and I returned in the first of five motor-ambulances. The corporal-in-charge had no idea where he was to find the wounded Turks, so I swept him into my place. This I cleared of every one but a few horribly wounded prisoners, and sent on a note to the M.O. of the 51st Sikhs. The previous day two wounded Turks, a machine-gun officer and a Red Crescent orderly, had arrived in the aid-post. The latter helped nobly with the wounded, so I had a note sent down with them, that they had earned good treatment. The officer had a friend from the same military college in Stamboul, which friend had a ghastly shell-wound in his back. What happened, I think, was this. When his friend was knocked out, the unwounded officer--they were both boys, well under twenty--brought up a medical orderly. All three were then overwhelmed by our rush, and in the confusion the unwounded men kept with the other, to see that he got treatment when opportunity came. So they slipped into my aid-post, where they stopped all night, making no offer to escape. I sent a message to Brigade, but their reply, a verbal one which did not reach me till next evening, was that they had better stay where they were. The unwounded officer's silent anxiety for his friend was most touching, and I pushed the latter away with the midnight convoy. Next morning I sent both officer and orderly to the nearest prisoners' camp; but the sergeant-in-charge returned them, with word that he took only wounded prisoners. So I had to keep them. Weir, the staff-captain, joined me, and we talked to the officer in French while we waited for the divisional second line to come up. We were puzzled as to why the Turks left a position so strong as Istabulat before being actually driven out. The officer's reply was, 'Because of the _tiar_' (aeroplane). I cannot follow this, unless, misunderstanding us, he was referring to this second day's fight and the aeroplane brought down at the beginning. Perhaps, being afraid to send up any other 'planes, they were deceived as to our number. He insisted that we had had three divisions in action, and was mortified when we told him the truth. The sun was getting very hot, and, since no more ambulances came, we were troubled for the few pitifully smashed Turks who still remained. We got covers of sorts for them, though we could not prevent the flies from festooning their wounds. 'It's up to us to do our best,' said Weir. 'We shouldn't care for it if our wounded were left by them.' In the afternoon ambulances began to arrive, and I evacuated these few and saw the evacuation of the Indian regimental A.P.'s commence. My dead were buried, and their graves effaced, so far as possible, against prowling Buddus. The second line arrived, so my prisoners and I set out on our tired trudge to Samarra. I told the Turks of our Somme successes (as we then took them to be) and our more recent March victories in Flanders, pointing out the big improvement. 'In the beginning we had little artillery, but now we have much.' '_Beaucoup_,' he repeated, with conviction. In every way one spared a brave enemy's feelings. Last year they had won; now it was our turn. 'That is so,' said he. This thought comforted him, and the memory of their great triumphs before Kut in early 1916. Did he not wear a medal for those days? '_Pour le mérite_,' the orderly proudly told me. I begged scraps of biscuits from men on the march, and we shared them. I expressed regret for this march on empty stomachs. '_C'est toujours la marche_,' said the officer, shrugging his shoulders. Truly, it must have been; a nightmare of rapid movement and sleeplessness even for us who pursued--hammer and chase ever since Maude broke up the Turkish lines before Kut. As we marched I found that the Indians took us for three prisoners and not two, I being a German officer. But when J.Y. cantered up and hailed me, a laugh ran down the column, with the words 'Padre Sahib.' At Samarra the first person we ran into was General Peebles, to whom I handed over my prisoners, with a request that they should be fed. Haughton promised to see to this. Then a pleasant thing happened. The Turkish officer stepped quickly up to me, saluted, and held out his hand. I saluted back, and we shook hands. They were good fellows, both officer and orderly, and carried themselves like free men. It was now 5 p.m. I joined the 'Tigers.' Fowke and Lowther had each killed a snake after laying their blankets down. They gave me good greeting. I fed and washed, then slept abundantly. For the two Istabulat battles the official return of captures was: Twenty officers and six hundred and sixty-seven men, one 5.9, fourteen Krupp field-guns, two machine-guns, twelve hundred and forty rifles, a quantity of hand-grenades, two hundred rounds of gun-ammunition, five hundred and forty thousand rounds of rifle-ammunition, four limbers, sixteen engines, two hundred and forty trucks, one crane, spare wheels and other stores, two munition barges. Samarra Station was dismantled, but the engines and trucks were there. Up to the last the Turk had meant to keep the railhead, so the engines were only partly disabled, boilers having been removed from some and other parts from others. By putting parts of engines together we got a sufficiency of usable engines. Within a fortnight we had trains running. For the battle of the 22nd both Diggins and Lowther got M.C.'s. If it was the former's élan which carried our wave into the enemy's guns, the latter's judgement played a great part in extricating us without disaster. Hasted, the alert and watchful, had already been gazetted after the fall of Baghdad as D.S.O. He left us shortly after, returning to his own regiment, the Durham Light Infantry, in India. In Rawal Pindi he delivered a lecture on the action in which he had played so brilliant a part. It would be interesting to know if Hasted has ever had an enemy. His personal charm is almost greater than any man has a right to have, especially when the Gods have already made that man an able soldier and administrator. But it is an unfair world. These awards were announced in a _Gazette_ nearly a year later. To Sowter, had he lived, would have fallen a third M.C. Fowke, as well as Thorpe, got a 'mention,' of which he was utterly unaware, being away sick, till I ran into him in Kantara[18] in 1918, about eleven o'clock at night. I roused him from sleep for a chat. When I told him of his 'mention,' he considered that I was making a very successful attempt to be humorous, and laughed himself to sleep again. At intervals till dawn I heard him still laughing in his dreams at a notion so ridiculous. I hope that some other will tell of the deeds of the Indian regiments. Even more I hope that some one will tell, as I cannot, of the gallant and costly charge which our cavalry made on the Turkish trenches to our left, a charge which staggered the enemy as he swung round to cut off the Leicestershires. The 32nd Lancers lost, among others, their Colonel (Griffiths) and their Adjutant (Captain Hunter), killed. These two days' fighting at Istabulat and for Samarra cost us about two thousand four hundred casualties. The 28th Brigade, on the 22nd, lost four hundred and forty-six men. The enemy's losses, including prisoners, must have been at least three thousand. My one note for April 24 is 'Flies.' It was high summer, and in the terrible and waxing heats we lay for over a month longer, with no tents, and with no shelter save our blanket-bivvies. We were the more wretched in that we occupied an old enemy camp, and were entered into full possession of its legacy of filth and flies. On the first Sunday my morning service was swathed in dust, one swirling misery, and I was sore tempted to preach, foreseeing the days to come, on 'These are but the beginning of sorrows.' FOOTNOTES: [12] A lecture delivered by him at Rawal Pindi, India. See Preface. [13] Action of January 13, 1916. [14] Hasted. [15] Hasted. [16] _�neid_, Book IX, Conington's translation. [17] Indian hospital orderlies and bearers. [18] On the Suez Canal. V SUMMER AND WAITING Samarra was entered on April 23, the 21st and 8th Brigades going through the 19th and 28th Brigades. These brigades followed during the course of the day, and the ridge of Al-Ajik fell into our hands. From Samarra northwards high bluffs run with the river, pushing out to it from plateaus stretching across the heart of Jezireh and climbing again beyond the river to the Jebel Hamrin. Below the bluffs are wide spaces of dead ground, beds which the Tigris has forsaken. On the right bank, before the dead ground begins and directly opposite Samarra town, is a plain some ten or dozen miles in length, between the mounds of the battle of April 22 and the crest of Al-Ajik; this plain may be three miles broad. Al-Ajik covers and commands all approaches from the north, and, with the central plateau, shuts the plain within a crescent. Here, behind Al-Ajik, lay our camp for the next seven months. North from Al-Ajik the plateau rolls away to Tekrit, and the same rolling country lies to westward also, broken with nulla and water-hole. To Tekrit, more than twenty miles beyond, the Turkish Army fled. Samarra is a dirty, sand-coloured town, with no touch of brightness but what its famous dome gives it. This dome it was that shone over against the sunset, the last earthly beauty for so many eyes, on that evening of savage battle when the 7th Division flung out its leading brigade and reached, all but held, the Turkish guns. The dome hides the cavern into which the Twelfth Imam vanished, and from which he will emerge, bringing righteousness to a faithless world. Just beyond the dome rises the corkscrew tower, built in imitation of the Babylonian _ziggurats_. To the north-east is 'Julian's Tomb,' a high pyramid in the desert. It was near Samarra that he suffered defeat and died of wounds. For twenty miles round, in Beit Khalifa, Eski Baghdad, and elsewhere, is one confused huddle of ruins. It is hard to believe that such tawdry magnificence as Harun's successors intermittently brought to the town during the precarious times of Abbasid decay is responsible for all these arches and caverns and tumbled bricks. Major Kenneth Mason, already mentioned as having identified Xenophon's Sittake, has collected good reasons for placing Opis, once the great mart of the East, at Eski Baghdad, and not where the maps conjecturally place it, twenty miles farther down Tigris. In summer, green is none save in patches by the river; but a thin scurf of yellow grass and coarse herbage overspread the ruins, in which were abundant partridges and quails. Germans had been excavating before we came, and we found in the town many cases of antiquities, ready packed for transport to Europe. The 7th Division, digging their positions, presently found pottery, glazed fragments, and tear-bottles. The town is walled, and sits above steep bluffs. Tigris, swift and clear like a mountain stream, races by, dividing round an island. Below the town is another island, with an expanse of shingle towards the right bank; to this island Divisional Head Quarters went, a most unfair avoidance of the 'dust-devils' which plagued their brethren. Here were tamarisk thickets, haunted with great metallic beetles, with such wings as Eastern smiths know how to use. The green bushes were good to the eyes, and a pleasant curtain from flying sand. But a sudden rise in the river flushed its shallow right arm, and made the place an island in reality and all inconvenience. The righteous, seeing this, rejoiced. The brigades scattered over the plain, the 8th Brigade going on, after brief pause, to the ravines and jungles of the Adhaim, where the war was dying. May's first week swept the Turk out of the Adhaim Valley, and our troops settled down for the summer. The brigades scattered; blankets came up, and we slept. For over a month we had only bivvies, the usual rifle-supported blanket, tugging and straining at the stones which held it whenever a 'dust-devil' danced by or a sandstorm arose. But E.P.[19] tents dribbled in. Even mails began to arrive, and parcels; and to me, on the first day of ease, came a jubilant telegram from my old friends of the 19th Brigade: 'Come and have tea with us. We have a cake!' I went, and found them where the shingles led to Divisional Island. Blue rollers swung themselves on the air below the cliffs; and on the pebbles an owl skipped and danced, showing off in the beautiful evening sunlight. This was a daily performance, Thornhill told me. It had been General Peebles' birthday, and the brag about the cake was splendidly justified. There were buns also. Summer dragged by. In Baghdad pomegranates blossomed, mulberries fruited, figs ripened. But in Samarra the desert throbbed and shimmered in the growing and great heats. Worst of all, we missed the dates. The fresh dates are the one solace of Mesopotamia. My campaigning recollections are embittered by this memory, that both my two date-seasons were spent up the line, at Sannaiyat and Samarra, where dates never came. Till mid-May the nights remained cool. Mesopotamia's extremes are amazing. After a day intolerable as I have found very few days in India will come a night, not close and sleepless as an Indian night, but cool, even cold. In the April fighting we found the nights bitter. So May gave us a fortnight of tolerable nights; but then fire settled on the land. The flies all died. But the infantry had an elaborate trench-system to dig, so they were not able to die. The ground was solid gypsum. Changes happened. Generals Peebles and Davies went to India on leave. The enemy's Intelligence Department, alert as ever, noted the fact, and gave it out that our losses in the Istabulat battles were even heavier than they had supposed at first, for two generals had left the front, casualties. Such a statement was twice blessed: it cheered the enemy, and cheered us also. In my own brigade Thorpe became staff-captain, in place of Weir, who went home. To all the Leicestershires, and to me especially, Thorpe's going was a heavy loss. 'I could have better spared a better man.' I must henceforth botanize alone. No longer could he teach young subalterns to 'practise music'--in the Socratic sense, that the best music was philosophy--to be repaid with their affectionate regard as 'Daddy.' He wrote to me, a month after his going, that he was becoming as 'great a horseman as John Wesley'; and he lost weight during that summer. He lost a good deal his first week, and in this manner. The Bishop of Nagpur was due to visit us, and all who had subscribed their religion officially as 'C. of E.' were commanded to brighten belts and buttons for a service parade on Wednesday at 6 ak. emma. The parade was held, every one arriving, of course, considerably before the hour. The Divisional General was there, and many generals and colonels; in fact, every Anglican of note, except Thorpe, who sent word, about 6.30, that he had made a mistake, and the service was to be next day, Thursday, at the same hour. At this announcement a wave of uncontrollable grief swept over the vast assembly, and for some days Thorpe was a fugitive. But he returned to normal courses, and in time even this witty inauguration of his reign was forgiven. But I had many inquiries as to the tenets of Wesleyanism. For me, I went sick; recovered; and went sick again, drifting down-stream, and to India. But first Thornhill, Bracken the machine-gunner, and I explored Al-Ajik. Once upon a time the river had washed the foot of Al-Ajik ridge. But now a long stretch of dead ground intervenes before water is reached. Local legend says a lady lived here who played Hero to a Leander on the opposite bank. More obviously, Al-Ajik castle guarded Samarra from the north. The castle is on steep crags, with vast nullas in front. In the old days it should have been impregnable. Underneath are very large vaults, filled with rubbish. As our exploring party came up a pair of hawks left their eyrie, and circled round us, screaming their indignation. When the division first reached Al-Ajik, Thornhill said, a pair of Egyptian vultures (Pharaoh's Chickens) were nesting here. These had gone. They are rare birds in Mesopotamia, and I never saw them north of Sheikh Saad. Thornhill had seen Brahminy Duck in a nulla, so we searched till we found a tunnel. Bracken leading, we got in some hundred yards, stooping and striking matches, till we came on a heap of bones. Thornhill surmised a hyena, so we returned, as no one wished to fight even that, unarmed and in a diameter of less than five feet. There must be many tunnels leading into the heart of Al-Ajik fortress; and here, as everywhere on the plateau, were remains of the most complicated irrigation system the ancient world knew. The castle, as it stands, has been largely built out of the ruined portions on its northern face. Life was scant at Samarra, as poor as it had been abundant at Sannaiyat. The crested larks were of a new species. Owls nested in the old wells; and most units were presently owning their owlets or kestrels or speckled kingfishers, miserable-looking birds. Sandgrouse were few, but commoner towards the central plateau, where were water-holes. Gazelles were often seen by pickets, and used to break across the railway-line, to water at the river. One regiment took a Lewis-gun after them, and other folk chased them in motor-cars. The British army, as ever, busied itself, as opportunity came, in its self-appointed task of simplifying the country's fauna that the naturalist's work might be easier. Wherefore the gazelles left our precincts, but still haunted the channels of the Dujail, by Beled and Istabulat. For most of the year the water-holes sufficed them, the green, velvet dips, with zizyph-bushes fringing each hollow, which redeem the desert. Hedgehog quills and skins were common, as everywhere in Mesopotamia. A vast hedgehog led C Company of the Leicestershires nightly to their picket-stations. On its first appearance a man ran to bayonet it, but the officer did not see the necessity of this, and stopped him. So the urchin lived, and ever after paced gravely before its friends. Then we had the usual birds. Storks nested in the town; there were rollers and kingfishers, and a hawk or two. But the desert, with its starved crop of dwarf thorns, had no place for bird or animal. Men who saw Samarra after my time raved of its winter glory, its irises, its grass knee-high, its splendid anemones. But in summer the land lay desolate. Nothing abounded but scorpions, mantidae, and grasshoppers. And nothing happened but the heat. In July, in ghastly heat, men were expected to take Ramadie. They failed, most of their heavy casualties being from heat-stroke. But that was the Connaught Rangers and a Euphrates affair. At Samarra we experienced nothing more dangerous than Fritz's[20] visits. Once or twice he bombed the station. When the railway began running, there were two accidental derailments, in the second of which several men were killed and General Maude had a narrow escape. By Sumaikchah a British officer and his Indian escort were waylaid and murdered. The murderers were outlawed; but a year later the first on our list of the whole gang walked back into occupied territory and was taken and hanged, despite the wish of the Politicals to spare him. Of all these events, such as they were, we heard from Barron--'the bold, bad Barron,' who left the Leicestershires to take up 'important railway duties' pending the renewal of fighting. These matters are dull enough; but no recital can be so dull as the times were, and we had to live through them. At Samarra the division worked unmolested through the awful heats, digging the hard ground, cutting avenues for machine-gun fire, making strong points. Wilson had gone, but he had an adequate successor in Haigh. Thanks to him, the Leicestershires established the singular fact that Samarra is the healthiest spot in the world. One man died, in place of the dreadful sequence of deaths a year before at Sannaiyat. The division's daily sick-rate was .9 a thousand! The Leicestershires and the Indian battalions did even better. And yet we spent the summer in a place where fresh vegetables were unprocurable, except a most inadequate supply of melons and (rarely) beans. _Djinns_ scoured the plain, and at any hour of any day half a score of 'dust-devils' could be seen racing or sweeping majestically along--each _djinn_ seemed to make his own wind and choose his own pace--now towering to a height of several hundred feet, with vast, swirling base, and now trailing a tenuous mist across a nulla. Our few hens ran panting into the tents, ejected at one door, only to enter at another. And yet, as I have said, only one man died--with the battalion, that is--and ridiculously few went sick. But by Colonel Knatchbull's death in Baghdad the battalion lost its commander, and the division a very fine soldier. Wounded at Sheikh Saad in January, 1916, he had returned in time for the three railhead battles. He struggled on with sickness, refusing to contemplate a second leave to India, and died at midsummer. The worst of the heats I escaped. After a spell in Beit Na'ama, the delightful estuary-side officers' hospital, a tangle of citron and fig-groves, with vines making cool roofs, and with the Shat-el-Arab flowing by, I was discharged. Feeling more wretched than ever, I lingered on at Busra in the poisonous billets, filthy Arab houses, named by their present occupants 'Flea Villa,' 'Bug Cottage,' 'Muddy View' (this would be for winter; the world nowhere else holds such mud as Busra mud). Busra is hateful beyond words; any place up the line is preferable, except perhaps Twin Canals[21] and Beled. I was to be returned to duty 'in due course'; but the Transport authorities were never in a hurry. It was like being slowly baked in a brick oven. I had spent ten days so, with no prospect of being given a boat up-stream, when some one told General Fane, the O.C. 7th Division, that I had been very sick and was waiting to get back to duty. He said, 'Nonsense,' and sent a wire direct to G.H.Q., insisting that I be given a month's leave in India. I got it immediately. But for this action, leave could not have come my way. No division ever had a kinder O.C. than Fane. He knew every one, and was constantly doing thoughtful acts such as this. India, when it found time to give thought to Mesopotamia, chattered of the tremendous Turco-German offensive which was to sweep down from Mosul in the autumn. When I returned, at the end of August, all down the line I found excitement. Only at Samarra itself was quiet and ease of mind, where old comrades greeted me joyously and introduced new-comers. There was Fergusson, reputed to have half a century of ranching and horse-dealing in the Argentine; 'Forty-nine,' said Fowke, in a delighted whisper, assessing his age. (As a matter of fact, Fergusson's years were forty-one.) There was 'Ezra' ('Likewise Beetle,' interpolated Fowke), who had arrived the day I went sick. 'Ezra,' who signed his name as Mason, and was brother of Kenneth Mason, engineer and archaeologist, got his nickname from a supposed modelling of his bald dome upon Ezra's Tomb, by Q'urna. Keely, classical scholar and philosopher, was standing outside his tent, pondering, as I came up to rejoin the battalion. He called me up, and asked me earnestly what girl from Greek literature I should like to have known, even to have had as companion on the Thames at Richmond. 'Nausicaa,' I said. 'Every time,' agreed Keely, brightening up as if a heavy load had been lifted from his mind, and begged me to have a drink in her honour. Bale and Charles Copeman were away, by Al-Ajik; 'in the nearest E.P. tent to Constantinople,' G.A. said. Of our wounded, only G.A. was back. Warren came later; Westlake remained in India. Some surprise was expressed that I had returned at all. This was Thorpe's doing. To explain, I must go back a little. I knew Thorpe years before the war. We met again in Sannaiyat trenches. His messmates, who desired to know more of Thorpe's old life, asked me how we met first. 'I was chaplain of a jail at Peterborough,' I replied. The statement was received at once; the only head on which further light was sought was as to the number of years that were deducted from his sentence for service in Mesopotamia. (Convicts from India who came out in the Labour Corps to Mesopotamia were remitted ten years.) Now, during my Indian leave, an old friend found me out and took me to spend the last days of my Darjiling visit with him. He was, among other things, superintendent of the prison. I carelessly wrote to Thorpe on a sheet of paper with the printed heading 'Jail-house, Darjiling.' Thorpe spent July and August in taking this sheet round from mess to mess. He blackened my reputation, and opened up a field of speculation as to the reason of my incarceration. 'No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he hath escaped from the sea'--from Mesopotamia, say--'yet Justice hath not suffered to live.' He considered that he was level with me for my Peterborough jail-jape, and was much cheered. It took the best part of September to get up-stream and back to Samarra. When the boat reached Busra, scores of men were prostrate on the deck from heat-stroke and exhaustion. In the Gulf I had a funeral. I tried to skip to the finish of the service, with the page shimmering and jumping before me, but had to hand the book to the captain as I reeled down. He threw the body over, and every one flew up-deck. Later, on the up-stream trip, we realized the fact on which all Mesopotamia agreed, that for sheer horror the deck of a P-boat[22] is unrivalled. Possibly it is due to the glare from the water, but our daily temperatures of between 115° and 125° in the shade seemed a hundredfold higher than they were. Just below Kut we were held up for several days in a camp; not even Sheikh Saad in the old, bad days was more cursed with sandflies. I had for companion on board Kenneth Mason, engineer and archaeologist. We passed Sannaiyat and the winding reaches where every earth-scar and mound had a history. Here the Turk had blown up the ammunition barges, and for hundreds of yards inland the ground was still strewn with twisted scrap-iron; here he had set his 5.9's on the balloon, and the evening fishing had been interrupted; here used to be the advanced dressing-station in the times of trench warfare; here was Left Bank Group, where our guns had been, the tamarisk thickets and wheeling harriers, and the old shell-holes on the beach. Those crumbling sandbanks were Mason's Mounds, and those were Crofton's O. Pip.[23] Here were Abu Roman Mounds, and here the lines of Nakhailat or Suwada; here were the Beit Aiessa defences; here those of Abdul Hassan and E Mounds. It was on that angle that the _Julnar_ grounded in that despairing, impossible attempt to run the blockade and bring food to Townshend's men. It was in that scrub that the Turks and H.L.I.[24] crashed when both sides launched a simultaneous attack. We passed Kut. The river was low, and the people were growing lettuce, while they might, on the dried sandbanks. The town front against the palms showed its shell-holes and caverns, and we remembered how we used to see the city, from Dujaileh Redoubt, rising up like a green promontory. From Townshend's first battle there to the day when the 7th Division occupied the lines of Suwada, Kut cost us not less in battle casualties than sixty thousand men. One makes no computation of the dead in the old cholera camps by Abu Roman, or in a score of cemeteries from Sannaiyat and Es-Sinn to Bombay, who perished in that time when the shark-tracked ships went down To Bombay Town. Kut will be a place of pilgrimage, and deserves to be, even among the many shrines of this war. From Sheikh Saad to Shumran is one graveyard and battlefield, a stretch of thirty miles, where over twenty pitched battles took place, many being British defeats. At Kut itself Townshend's old trenches can be traced; and in the town are broken buildings, and, to eastward, the monument erected by the Turks. Across the river is the Shat-el-Hai and its complicated and costly battlefields, and the relics of the famous liquorice factory which Townshend held, and which we took, in 1917, almost last of all. At Shumran, above the town, is the place of the great crossing. And on the ribs of sand, when water is low, are liquorice-stacks and lettuce-beds. The mud-strips green with lettuce, red with stacks Of liquorice; shattered walls, and gaping caves: Beyond, the shifting sands; the jackal's tracks; The dirging wind; the wilderness of graves. The evening of September 13, the lofty Arch of Ctesiphon showed for hours as we toiled along the winding reaches; in the first gold and chill winds of dawn on the 14th we watched it recede. On the 18th I reached Beled, 'The Home of the Devil,' as the Arabs call it, where the Manchesters dragged out a panting existence, battling with dust-storms. In the station I was shocked to see what vandalism had been at work. The broken glass had been cleared away; in the tin shed where we had drunk tea amid the flying shrapnel on that Easter evening new panes had been put in; the water-tower had been replaced. With dusk I reached Samarra, and set Keely's mind at rest on the Greek girl question. Through October Fritz came daily, photographing. The sole rays in a dreary protraction of existence were afforded by the Intelligence Summaries, run by Captain Lang, a versatile and popular humorist. Deserters reported that at a certain place the enemy's staff consisted of only one lame Turk and one 'powerful Christian.' The 'powerful Christian' had to do all the work, and was preparing for a hegira to our lines. Then we had exchanged prisoners recently, sending back eight wounded men, one having but one leg. On reaching the Turco lines, when we offered to give these wounded a further lift of some miles, the offer was accepted with cringing gratitude. 'Intelligence' surmised that these wounded might have to walk to Mosul, another hundred and forty miles, and went into reverie on the situation's possibilities. 'If the one-legged man has any influential friends in Constantinople, we may expect to hear shortly of a Turkish Commission in Iraq.' That was the time when the Report of the Mesopotamian Commission came out. Though a revelation in England, it did not excite us, who knew its facts long before. Then letters from the enemy G.H.Q. to General Maude had had his name and address printed on the envelope. This, 'Intelligence' thought, was sheer, outstanding swank, to show us that the Turks had at least one lithograph. Late in September our second attempt on Ramadie met with complete success, when General Brooking captured the nucleus of a projected offensive against us. We by Tigris rejoiced, knowing, too, that our task, when it came, would be the easier. The 1st Guides joined the division in place of the 'Bo-Peeps.' The brigades went out on reconnaissance frequently. September 25 saw one of these shows, which included a sham fight. The day was very hot, and Haigh's stretcher-bearers complained of the inconsiderate conduct of the thirty-one 'casualties.' 'Unfortunately there were no dead among them.' However, as one S.B. added, 'fortunately a good many died of wounds.' The 'died of wounds' were formed into platoons, and marched off the field of action. The stretcher-bearer who made the remark about the 'died of wounds' was a particular friend of mine, who had a great gift of happy phrasing, illustrated in the words I have quoted. Once we had a long talk about the old battles, and, speaking of a common friend who had been killed, he observed, 'I do think it dreadful, his being killed like that--killed outright.' I never got at his notion of what made a cushy death; probably something Mexican or early mediaeval. Through October my diary notes little but services and a terrible lecture on Mesopotamian history, which, from first to last, I delivered over fifty times. Latterly envious tongues alleged that I had to ask units for a parade when I gave this lecture. But those who said this lied saucily and shamelessly. FOOTNOTES: [19] European privates'. [20] A new Fritz, of course. The old one was killed at Istabulat. [21] Below Kut, on the right bank of the Tigris. A pestilential haunt in 1916. [22] Paddle-boat. [23] Observation post. [24] Highland Light Infantry. VI HUWESLET; OR, 'THE BATTLE OF JUBER ISLAND' Night's blackness touched with red; A cock's shrill clarion ringing; Clamours for 'ruddy' buckets, Diamond's[25] bray; Grousing of Johnson[26] tumbled out of bed; And Fowke's falsetto, singing 'Is it nothing to you?' So the battalion wakes, to march away Heaven knows how far into the blue, Heaven knows how many weary miles to do, Till stars within some nulla watch us lie, Worshipping sleep, while the icy hours drag by. October 22 was the date when Johnny developed unheard-of cheek. His patrols appeared by the river, one fellow riding along our wire and slashing it with his sword. Then from 1 p.m. onwards he shelled both banks of the river, having pushed down from his advanced post at Daur, a dozen miles away, with a couple of hundred cavalry, several machine-guns, and light field-guns. The Guides and our cavalry were reported to have lost men and horses; and G.A., on picket, sent word that the Turks were digging themselves in. A and C Companies of the Leicestershires were out all day. On the 23rd shelling continued, and that evening the division moved out. At the officers' meeting we were told that a force, estimated at four thousand Turks and several guns, was digging in. We were to do twelve thousand two hundred yards north, and then seven thousand five hundred yards half-right, to get behind them. This was the 28th Brigade. The 8th and 19th Brigades, starting later, were to make a frontal attack at 4 a.m.; our brigade were to enfilade the Turk when bolted; and these united efforts were to drive him into the dead ground by the river, and there, as the scheme wittily put it, our artillery and machine-guns would 'deal with him.' Whoever drew up the plan was not only bloody-minded but oblivious of long experience, assuming thus that John was such a very simple person. We moved off just before dark, raising a white dust. Through all our wide detour there were strict injunctions against smoking, enforced among the Leicestershires, ignored among machine-gunners and Indian drivers. Never can night-march have been noisier. At every halt the mules sang down the whole length of the line; signallers and gunners clattered past. About midnight a stranger was seen talking to some _drabis_.[27] A Leicestershire sergeant, coming up, said, 'Hullo, it's a bloody Turk.' Hearing himself identified, Johnny turned round and saluted. He was led to the proper authorities, and proved to be a Turkish cadet. He was armed with a penknife and a pair of gloves. The night was bitterly cold. At 3.30 a.m. we 'rested.' We had reached what in Mesopotamia would be considered well-wooded country, an upland studded with bushes. Just on dawn we rose, with teeth chattering and limbs numbed with contact with the cold ground, and moved on. Our planes appeared, scouring the sky; and a few odd bursts of rifle-fire were heard about 7 a.m. We had now reached the edge of the dead ground against the river, and looked down to Tigris, as in later days I have looked down to the Jordan. The doctor and I were told to set up our aid-post in a deep nulla there, and wait on events. A report came from our air-folk that five thousand Turks were on Juber Island, opposite Huweslet. We moved steadily forward to the attack, steadily but unbelievingly. Unbelief rose to positive derision, for as we topped a slight brow we gave a target no artillery could have resisted, yet nothing happened. 'It's a trap,' said Fowke darkly; 'he's luring us on.' Why should John lie doggo in this fashion? Nevertheless the airmen insisted that the Turks were there. So we dug ourselves in, in a semicircle facing the island, preliminary to attacking it. It was noon, hot and maddening with flies. The Leicestershires sent scouts out, who pushed up to Juber Island, and found that there were indeed five thousand there--five thousand sheep and several Arab shepherds. On the opposite bank John had a machine-gun, with which he sniped those who approached the water. He killed mules, and wounded several _bhisties_[28] and a sweeper. There were also people sniping with rifles, and the Indian regiments had casualties. On our side, the cavalry brought in a prisoner. We had the young gentleman caught at night, and one other; the 19th Brigade took a fourth prisoner. So we abandoned the battle, had breakfast at 2.30 p.m., and returned. The day was wearying beyond conception, yet the men, British and Indian alike, were singing as they passed Al-Ajik. Samarra camp was a swirl of dust after the day's busyness; almost a faery place in the last sunlight. The next day was dedicated to sleep, and to humour at the expense of the Royal Flying Corps, to whose mess a sheep's head was voted. FOOTNOTES: [25] The regimental (four-footed) donkey. The Leicestershires' hatbadge is a black diamond. [26] Needless to say, we had no 'Johnson.' [27] Indian drivers. [28] Indian water-carriers. VII DAUR Johnny's leg-pull made him one up. This was recognized, and his action drew our attention to the undesirability of allowing him to remain at Daur. On October 31 the 28th Brigade went into the trenches at Al-Ajik. November 1 was Thursday. Haigh had the misfortune to go very sick on this day; he left us, and his successor arrived about 4 p.m. The new doctor fell into my hands, as the battalion was unknown to him, and he had never been in action. As we went forward bad news came in, so bad and unexpected that it seemed incredible, the news of the Italian reverses. This filled us with profound depression. Our tiny side-show seemed more insignificant than ever while the European battle was being lost. When word followed of Allenby's success at Beersheba we did not guess that here was the beginning of a tide of victory which would ultimately pull the whole war our way. There was one splinter of light, an absurd joke in _London Opinion_ which set the Leicestershires chuckling, 'Overheard at the Zoo.' It is the conversation of Cockney children before the ostrich cage: 'Sneagle!' 'Snotaneagle. Snork.' 'Snotanork. Snowl.' 'Snotanowl. Snostrich.' This lent itself to indefinite expansion: 'Snemeu,' 'Snalbatross,' 'Snoriole,' 'Snelephant.' Report came of the exploit of Marshall at Corps Head Quarters. He had gone out in a 'lamb'[29] on the other bank of Tigris, almost to Tekrit, and had shot down thirty horses and a dozen men as he flew past the enemy lines. On the evening of November 1 the Al-Ajik trenches were crowded. Fritz came over reconnoitring, and his surprise was amusing to see. He checked, wheeled, abandoned all thought of a visit to our camp, and beetled back, after very elaborate reconnaissance. Then our own planes flew over, sounding their klaxons and dropping messages, in rehearsal for the morrow. At 9.10 the force met at the place of assembly. The 21st Brigade were to move up the left bank; they are hardly in this picture. On the right bank the 28th Brigade went first, followed by the 19th and 8th Brigades. With the column were the 4th and 9th Brigades, R.F.A., two batteries of the 56th Brigade, and some 4.5 and 6-inch howitzers. Altogether, including those operating on the left bank, we had eighty guns. The night was even colder than the one before the Juber Island farce. Part of the night I marched with my friends of the 53rd Sikhs, with Newitt and with Heathcote. Every one anticipated a very hard fight. We were up against a position which was reputed to be as strong as Istabulat had been. Before dawn we found ourselves among ghostly-looking bushes, and lay down for one shivering hour. We had marched over seventeen miles, with the usual exhausting checks and halts attendant on night-marching, and we were dead-beat to the wide. Yet nothing could be finer than the way the men threw weariness away, like a garment, with the first shells, and went into battle. Sarcka, the excellent Yank who ran our Y.M.C.A., marched with us, carrying a camel-load of cigarettes. He was usually called 'Carnegie' by Dr. Haigh. That classical mind memorized Sarcka's name as meaning 'flesh'; then, since it moved with equal ease in Greek and Latin, unconsciously transliterated. As we went forward, and a red sun rose over Tigris, Sarcka remarked: 'The sensation I am about to go through is one which I wouldn't miss for worlds.' Mester Dobson looked surprised. I bided my time, knowing how unpleasant the first fifteen minutes under shell-fire are for even the bravest. Soon after 6 a.m. the enemy advanced pickets were driven in. We were advancing in artillery formation over undulating and broken country, sparsely set with jujube-bushes (zizyphus). A gazelle bounded away in front of us. At 6.15, says my diary, the first shells came. Our planes swept along, klaxons sounding, and the sky became torn with shrapnel. Johnny felt for us who formed the doctor's retinue, felt with an H.E. bracket, before and beyond us. The advance was extraordinarily rapid, a race; consequently the doctor's party got the benefit of most of this early shelling. Fortunately the enemy seemed to have got on to his old dumps, for his stuff, which came over plentifully enough, was detonating badly. A shell burst in Lyons's platoon, apparently under Lyons; yet he walked out of the dust unhurt. The 56th Rifles went first, advancing as if on parade; this day they rose high in the Leicestershires' admiration. The 'Tigers' came next; then the 51st and 53rd Sikhs. The enemy was fairly caught by surprise. Fritz, the previous day, had brought back the first hint that anything was doing; and, despite that knowledge, it was not expected that march and fight would come so swiftly and together. If the doctor stopped to bandage a man, we had to run to keep touch with the regiment. I was worried with visions of pockets of fifty or sixty wounded awaiting attention. Very early in the fight we found two men hit with shrapnel, and left them in the shell-hole. It was suggested to Sarcka that he stay with them, and guide the ambulances along our track whenever they came. 'No,' he said sturdily, 'I'm going on.' And go on he did, and was shortly afterwards distributing cigarettes under heavy fire. Public opinion had condemned his coming, for the soldier holds that no man should go under fire unless he has a definite job there. But when he justified his place by a score of deeds, from cigarette-distributing to bandaging the wounded, public opinion rejoiced and accepted him, known for a comrade and a brave man. Along the plain the enemy had a number of large thorn-stacks, with sand-bagged seats in their centres. Here had been snipers. These stacks we avoided; as we did, as a rule, all such things as battalion head quarters. The colonel of a regiment moves with a small army of orderlies; his majestic appearance over a brow rarely fails to draw a few salvoes. The doctor's meinie, therefore, took their way along the open, avoiding all prominences of landscape and people. I turned aside to what proved to be a 56th Rifles' aid-post, with a dead horse before it. Here had been the first Turkish lines. Our guns pushed on very rapidly, the gunners riding swiftly by and into a large, deep nulla. We overpassed them again; there was one smart minute or so when half a dozen 'pipsqueaks' burst in a narrow fault of the ground, scarcely a nulla, beside us, the steep sides killing the spread of the H.E. The enemy had been shrapnelling hard along the line occupied by the 56th Rifles and the Leicestershires. Nevertheless we picked up very few wounded. Johnny's shrapnel now began to get wilder still. We found Colonel Brock, the Leicestershires' colonel, where several wide, big nullas met. The battalion was digging in, he said. About thirty prisoners came over a hill behind us. We set up an aid-post, our first stationary one; Sarcka produced a tin of Maconochie, and we had tiffin. A few wounded Indians came, the first being a man from whose pocket-book we extracted a shrapnel bullet. He had no other hurt. The colonel was puzzled at our few casualties. There had been not only a good deal of shrapnel, but heavy rifle and machine-gun fire, yet hardly a man had been hit. The fight was nearly over, so I went back for ambulances. John was throwing a certain amount of explosive stuff about, uselessly and recklessly. On my way back I found Owen, of the 51st Sikhs, with a wounded arm. Owen, long ago, lost an eye in a bombing accident at Sannaiyat. He pluckily returned from India, and again took over the work of bombing instructor to his regiment. It was now getting hot, being well past nine o'clock. In the trenches by the 56th's aid-post there were two Turks, each with a leg smashed to pulp by H.E. But the most distressing sight was an enemy sniper on one of the O. Pips already mentioned. Round him were many used cartridges and bandoliers. He sat among the thorns, eight feet above ground, with the impassive mien of a Buddha. His face had been broken by our shrapnel, and his brains were running down it; the flies were busy on a clot of red brain by his temple. He was one mess of blood, and very heavy as well as high up. My efforts to lift him down simply stained my clothes. About 4 p.m. I was with a doctor, looking at a dead Turk who was a particularly gruesome sight, with blood still dripping from his nose. Suddenly appeared a merchant with a camera, who took this Turk's photo. Not satisfied with this, he proceeded to stage-manage the place. The ambulance was coming up to remove a wounded Turk. He ordered it back, then bade it run up smartly, while the man was to be lifted in, equally smartly. Then he bade the doctor and myself stand behind the dead Turk aforementioned. When he went, the doctor said, 'Thank God, he's gone.' I took the man, in my carelessness, for another doctor with a taste for horrible pictures, and it was not till some time after that I realized he was the official cinematograph operator, and was merely doing his job. So, somewhere or other, a film has been exhibited, 'Wounded being collected on Mesopotamian battlefields.' Going back to the Turkish sniper, who was still on his stack and had been overlooked by the cinematograph operator, I found that, in his agony, he had dug a hole in the thorns, and buried his head; I suppose, to escape the flies. His legs were waving feebly. It was right he should be left to the last, as he had no chance of life, and nothing could be done for him in any way. But never did I feel more the utter folly and silly cruelty of war than when I saw this brave man's misery. Next morning he was found to have crawled some hundreds of yards before dying. He had left his stack. FOOTNOTES: [29] Light-armoured motor-battery. VIII AUJEH Our line was where the plateau rose and then dropped steeply into deep, narrow fissures. The night was maddening with cold, and the rum ration came as a sheer necessity. All through this brief Tekrit campaign the British troops were without coats or blankets. The Indian troops had transport for theirs. The arrangement was correct in theory, since we came from a chill climate. None of these later Mesopotamian pushes could be much more than raids. The rivers in this latitude were too shallow and shifting for transport, so we had to be fed and watered by means of Ford cars. It taxed the whole of the army's resources in Fords for Tekrit, blankets and coats having to give way to rations. Whilst the 7th Division pushed, the other two fronts were practically immobilized. Maude could strike on only one at a time of our three rivers. Ramadie was fought in September; Tekrit in November; Kifri in December; and the same round, of Euphrates, Tigris, and Diyaleh, was followed in 1918. So we had ten days of what seemed arctic exposure. This night after Daur, Diggins shared a Burberry with me; natheless the night was one of insane wretchedness. We rejoiced, with more than Vedic joy, to greet the dawn, though the flies swiftly made us long for night again. On the 3rd we moved slightly forward. My brigade rested, while the 19th went on. The enemy's lines at Aujeh were taken easily. One wounded Turk was captured. He was set on a horse, and paraded restlessly back and forward, for some mystic reason, during the day. Fowke's solution was that the authorities hoped the troops would count him many times over, and been heartened by the thought that we had destroyed the Turks' last force in Mesopotamia. When the Aujeh lines had been taken, our cavalry, supported by the artillery, tried to rush Tekrit and burn the stores. This proved impracticable, so we shelled the dumps at long range. My brigade stood by, and watched from a high plateau the bursts and the great smoke-curtains which went up, as once from burning Sodom. The affair furnished Fowke with some excellent fooling. He would stand on a knoll and gnash his teeth, in Old Testament fashion declaiming, 'I will neither wash nor shave till Tekrit has fallen.' It is unnecessary to say that the vow was kept, and overkept; and not by Fowke alone. At other times he was plaintive and reproachful. We were shelling Tekrit--Tekrit, the Turkish base, where the Turkish hospitals were, and 'the pretty little Turkish nurses.' 'You chaps don't think about these things. You're selfish, and don't care. I do.' The desultory fighting of this day was not without casualties. The 19th Brigade lost fifty-six men up to 2 p.m.; later I heard the figures were fourteen killed and seventy-three wounded. These were not in the 'taking' of the single line of Aujeh trenches, but came from long-distance shell-fire. The cavalry, too, lost men. The enemy slipped out on our coming, but their guns had the line beautifully registered. In the evening the 28th Brigade covered the cavalry's return. We had our own work as well. Fourteen shell-ammunition dumps fell into our hands by the enemy's retreat from Daur. These we collected, and quantities of shell-cases and wood. The Turkish gunners had most elaborate and comfortably-made dugouts, finely timbered. These were dismantled and fired. We marched in, with the hills ablaze about us, and the darkness warm and bright. The 4th was Sunday. Fritz appeared about 6.30 a.m., and bombed us, coming very low indeed. Mesopotamia being a side-show for us, the enemy usually had at least one machine better than any of ours. This Sabbath Fritz spent in fetching bombs and distributing them. Twice he bombed the Leicestershires in the Turks' old trenches, but hit no one. So he paid no more attention to the infantry, but looked up the artillery, and the wagon-lines, and the transport. Here he did a deal of damage, and we soon had horses careering madly about the place. Reports came that the Turks were advancing. So, though no one dreamed that they would make a serious attack, we consolidated the last lines of the Daur position against them. My diary notes: 'Rum ration. Flies.' For such elemental things had existence become memorable. The day was cheered by news of the Gaza successes, as the previous day had been by that of Beersheba. Fritz occupied his afternoon and evening in the same disreputable fashion. At nightfall our authorities were debating whether to go on to Tekrit or fall back to Samarra. Diggins, the fire-eater, hoped earnestly for the former course, and laid confident bets that it would be. Our brigadier, when I ran across him, deplored that in April we had stopped at Samarra, though he had urged our going on to Tekrit (or anywhere else where there were Turks). Orders came. We were to fall back two miles, then sweep westward, and on to Tekrit. Fowke reiterated his engagement not to shave or wash till Tekrit had fallen; and we burned, with reluctant glee, the excellent wood that Johnny Turk had collected against our coming to Daur. Now in Mesopotamia wood is far, far more precious than rubies. But this wood had to be burned, since we were not coming back. So vast and glorious fires sprang up. And each hero, in his turn lifting a long beam, like a _phalarica_, hurled it at the blaze. The assembled Trojans cheered, with admiration or derision, according as each shot fell accurately or short. In this wise, then, did Sunday evening pass with the 17th Foot. IX TEKRIT We moved off, footsore. Mention of the cold must have become monotonous. But this night's cold touched a sharper nerve of agony than any before. Our 'rest' came, by a refinement of cruelty, not immediately before dawn, but between 2.30 and 4.30 a.m. We were then on bleak uplands, swept by arctic winds. In Baghdad winter is a time of frost; and we were far north of Baghdad. No men lay down; very few even stood still. The majority used the two hours of 'rest' in running to and fro, and it was with immense thankfulness that we took up our trudge once more. This time there was no question of surprise. Morning found us on a vast plain, set with yellow-berried jujube-bushes and low scrub. Shortly after 6 a.m. the enemy began shelling our transport, which accordingly moved out of range. My brigade fell slightly back, in conformity. Captain McIntyre, in a gloomy mood perhaps due to the freezing night just finished, prophesied that we should get the 'heavy stuff' and the 'overs' when once the enemy gunners got their nefarious game fairly going. Everything was bustle. Signallers set up their posts, Head Quarters were established, caterpillars crawled up with their heavy guns. Lieutenant-General Cobbe, the First Corps commander, was controlling operations. Fritz also seemed interested. He came over twice, very low and very hurriedly, but did no bombing. His second visit was followed by half a dozen crumps, from the 5.9's, for our 6-inch guns. This whole campaign had come very suddenly. Corps, I was told, were ignorant up to almost the day of our starting out from Samarra. Staff-captains and quartermasters received orders at the eleventh hour for transport arrangements. The campaign was a _tour de force_, everything being sacrificed to rations and water. A stream of Fords ran night and day between the troops and Samarra. My brigade had a day of inaction, being moved up from time to time, and momentarily expecting to be sent in. The 21st Brigade had moved up the left bank, meeting with no opposition. Their part was enfilade gunfire. Our old colleagues, the 8th Brigade (from the 3rd Lahore Division), and the 19th Brigade attacked. The battle was largely one of gunfire. For such an exhibition Guy Fawkes' Day had been fitly chosen. Tekrit was one of the Turk's best battles in the class of which he is such a master, the rearguard action. Our airmen reported that, from our arrival, his troops and transport were flowing away steadily. His lines were held by artillery and machine-guns, fearlessly worked to the last minute of safety. Our cavalry operated on the left. It was here the action broke down. At this point there was only one line of trenches against us, and many think the 28th Brigade should have been sent in. Had this been done, the enemy right would have been forced back, and his troops pinned to the river, with large captures of men and guns as result. But the 28th Brigade were kept out, because of a cavalry mistake. The latter's orders were to drop one brigade on the flank, and then push through to the river, behind the enemy. Then the 28th Brigade were to go in, and, when they had cleared the Turks out of their entrenchments, the cavalry were to collect the prisoners. But, instead, the cavalry, after dropping a brigade to watch the flank, waited, and finally did a very gallant but useless charge. The terrain was extremely difficult. Almost the first thing the assaulting forces had to do was to cross a nulla sixty feet deep and a quarter of a mile wide, commanded by machine-guns, and searched with shrapnel. Later, when my own brigade moved up in support, we crossed this nulla. The toilsome going over slipping shingle was like Satan's painful steps on the burning marl, not like those steps On Heaven's azure, and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. The story of this day belongs to the 8th and 19th Brigades. My own were spectators only; deeply interested, and our own fate might at any moment become involved, but harassed with heat and flies and the unspeakable boredom born of long warfare, which even a battle can disperse only in part. Stories filtered through of the heroic work of the Seaforths and Manchesters and of the 47th and 59th Sikhs. Report persisted that the Seaforths' head quarters had been knocked out by a direct hit, with twelve casualties, and that their regimental sergeant-major (Sutherland) was killed. This rumour was partly true, but a little exaggerated. Their colonel (Reginald Schomberg) was wounded, and their adjutant (McRae). This was the McRae who had fought the Turks with his naked fists at Sheikh Saad in January, 1916, and who rose from sergeant-major to Lieutenant-Colonel, with D.S.O. and Bar. Sutherland was not killed, but wounded. Lee, the Seaforths' padre, kept up the tradition set by Dr. Ewing, that 'unsubduable old Roman' whose white locks had waved through so many battles, till he was wounded at the forcing of Baghdad. Burn, the one Seaforths' officer killed, out of twelve hit, was struck close behind Lee. Milne and Baldry were killed among the Manchesters' officers. From 10.30 to 11 a.m. was a time of artillery preparation. Fritz drifted restlessly about; our own planes were busy; klaxons sounded; messages were dropped. According to information, opposite us the Turkish 51st and 52nd Divisions were unsupported. Both were old foes of Sannaiyat days. By 11.30 the enemy's first two lines were taken by direct assault. At 3 p.m. my own brigade moved two miles closer in, on the left. It was a costly business, pushing the enemy back by frontal attack just where he was strongest in every way. Long lines of our wounded passed us, with a few Turkish prisoners. The day was as intolerably hot as the night had been cold. By four o'clock the Turk had got most of his heavier guns back. We were shelling a small mosque, which he was using as an O.P. The 6-inches registered a hit, which sent up a white cloud of dust and powder. Every one was hopeful. The cavalry and 'lambs' were said to be right round the enemy's flank, and some thousands of prisoners were regarded as certain. Captain Henderson, the Diggins of the Manchesters, was rumoured to have taken three guns. At 4.30 the 21st Brigade launched an effective enfilade on the enemy's transport from across the river; the two attacking brigades went in again; the cavalry charged across the Turks' right trenches. We of the 28th could watch it all with the naked eye, the one confusion being sometimes as to whether it was Turks scurrying away or Seaforths going in. But we saw the Seaforths' magnificent charge. Unfortunately most of the crumps which we took to be among a Turkish counter-attack were among our own men, who at one time ran into their own barrage. Their line swept forward, irresistible as always. In later days, in Palestine, when a despatch praised various miscellaneous troops who had been in their first actions and done not too badly, some one was foolish enough to express surprise that the Seaforths were not mentioned by name. 'I should consider it an insult,' said their colonel, 'if any one thought it worth mentioning that my regiment had done what they were told to do. We take some things for granted.' At Tekrit Schomberg, though already wounded, led his men in person. He was scholar and Christian; 'the bravest of the brave,' yet a lover of all fair things. As the Turks ran from their trenches our machine-guns cut them up. Rumour now grew positive that we had the enemy hemmed against the river. Evening closed with a deal of desultory gunfire, which continued spasmodically all night. My brigade went to rest, in anticipation of a renewal of battle next dawn, when our turn would be due. The ambulances had worked nobly all day, cars sweeping up to well within shell-range; and all night long stretcher-bearer parties were busy. Their work was superintended by Captain Godson, whose M.C. was well earned. Tekrit cost us about two thousand casualties. Many of the wounded collected in the 19 C.C.S.[30] at Samarra had been wounded by aeroplane bombs. Next morning our orders of the previous night were confirmed. The enemy were supposed to be holding the 'kilns' (actually these were tombs) behind Tekrit. The 28th Brigade were to go through the 8th and 19th Brigades, and drive them out. We were very doubtful of their being there. However, we went forward in the usual artillery formation. Every house in Tekrit had a white flag. This was the place where Townshend's men were spat on as they limped through it, prisoners. Nevertheless there was the same surprising display of fairly clean linen to which the villages before Baghdad had treated us eight months previously, and the Arabs were most anxious for us to realize how extremely friendly their sentiments were. We went forward, but found the Turks had gone. There were crump-holes everywhere; the amount of our shrapnel lying about, wasted, would have broken a Chancellor of the Exchequer's heart. Parts of the spaces between the Turkish successive lines were just contiguous craters. But there had been disappointingly few direct hits on trenches. The cemetery, hard by, possessed one or two craters also. The enemy had left abundant live shells, shell-cases, cartridge-cases. But there were very few dead. I saw only two; and a few places where the parapet had been pulled in for a hasty burial. The old question was raised, Did the Turk dig graves beforehand, against an action, to hide his losses? If he did, one can imagine few more effective ways of putting heart into his troops than by detailing them for such a job. I heard that the Seaforths buried sixty Turks. But their losses were certainly far less than ours. We took a hundred and fifty-seven prisoners. Corps claimed that evidence collected after the battle showed that the enemy losses for the three actions of Daur, Aujeh, Tekrit, were at least fifteen hundred. The Infantry, who had not access to Corps' means of information, assessed them much lower. Myself, I think eight hundred would be nearer the mark. There were great heaps of cartridge-cases, at intervals of fifty yards, along the trenches, where machine-gunners had clearly been. The spaces between showed little sign of having been held. From the Turk's point of view, Tekrit was as satisfactory a battle almost as, from our point of view, it was unsatisfactory. His gunners and machine-gunners fought with very great skill and coolness, withdrawing late and rapidly; hence the great dumps of shell-ammunition which were our only booty. We should have got the whole force. But no sufficient barrage was kept up on the lines of retreat during the night; the cavalry's service, though gallant, was ineffective; the 28th Brigade were not used at the one point where they might have done the enemy much harm; and Head Quarters were too far back. The Turks got every gun and machine-gun away. We captured a hundred boxes of field-gun ammunition, four hundred rifles, five thousand wooden beams, gun-limbers, boats, bridging material, buoys, two aeroplanes (one utterly broken up by the enemy, the other repairable), and a box of propellers, all serviceable. The enemy blew up three ammunition dumps before retreating. Fowke had dragged through the campaign with a crocked knee. He now went into hospital. There J.Y., who always anxiously haunted all battle-purlieus, fearing for the regiment he loved so well, found him; and, since he was not ill, obtained permission to feed him with some of the battalion's Christmas pudding, just arrived. He refreshed him, too, with Kirin beer. Thus J.Y.'s last glimpse of him--for Fowke did not return to the battalion--was a happy one. These days were very wretched. Turkish camps are unbelievably filthy; and flies swarmed on the battlefield. We salvaged some miles up beyond Tekrit, with the results already stated. One of the two captured planes was a recovered one of our own, with the enemy black painted over our sign. We had a lot of very enjoyable destruction, including that of the musketry school and barracks, four miles away. Tekrit's chief fame is that Saladin was born just outside it. But it was also an early Christian centre; the town wall is said to be partly the old monastery wall. The town is built on cliffs, which tower very steeply above the Tigris. The inhabitants were keen on trade, taking anything 'not too hot or too heavy'; but were unpleasant and exorbitant beyond any Arabs, even of Mesopotamia. We now held both the Tigris and the Euphrates ends of the caravan route to Hit. G.A. opined that we should drive the enemy in from both ends, till both British forces were shelling each other. However, the Turk ran some seventy miles farther; and our planes did great bombing raids on their camp in the Jebel Hamrin, having the joy of using some of the enemy's own bombs. On the 8th I got a lift back to Samarra on a Ford, for the purpose of sending up food and comforts to the battalion. This kindly purpose was never fulfilled. I went sick, but had more sense than to go to hospital this time; and the troops returned from Tekrit. The Leicestershires on route put up a large hyena, but failed to run him down. My premature return became a famous taunt. 'He deserted,' Diggins would say when foiled in fair argument; 'deserted from Tekrit, deserted in face of the enemy.' The troops were back at Samarra by the 13th. 'Ah!' Busra surmised, 'they've had a bad knock. "Withdrawn on account of difficulty of communications." We know that story.' It was as after the April fighting, when the wildest distortions were believed down the line, and when I was asked in confidence by an officer formerly with the Leicestershires if it was true that his old regiment had lost eighteen of our own guns. Nearly every one was seedy for a while, with chills on the stomach and sore feet; and a great wave of depression passed over the division. We would have made any effort to hold Tekrit after our toil and losses. But the Fords were needed for another front. So Johnny, after a time, was able to creep cautiously back, to the extent of cavalry patrols at Daur and Tekrit. FOOTNOTES: [30] Casualty clearing-station. X DOWN TO BUSRA Events moved rapidly for the division. The brigades scattered down the line, and H.Q. went to Akab, near the supposed site of Opis. The 21st Brigade went across the river. Only the Leicestershires remained at Samarra, and even they sent one company to Istabulat. Our other three companies went to the station. The 3rd Division took over Istabulat and Samarra. The conviction took root that we were leaving the country. On the 19th General Maude's death was told. A pack of rumours came as to how he had come to die, and as to how many others had died. His funeral took place in Baghdad; Fritz attended and dropped a message of sympathy. Mistaking his purpose when he flew so low, the archies fired on him. Also, for once, they are said to have nearly hit him. Knowledge of the magnitude of the Italian reverses filtered in. Our Baghdad Anzac wireless heard 'one hundred thousand prisoners,' when the German wireless broke in, 'Hallo, hallo, hallo, Baghdad! We can tell you later news. It is three hundred thousand prisoners, two thousand five hundred guns.' The enemy wireless possessed the code-name of our own, and frequently broke in on our messages with information, asking us to acknowledge; but this was forbidden. In December's first week the Kifri push took place. This was not the 7th Division's affair. The Third Corps had it in charge. We rationed them, which meant thirty-five miles of communications, up the left bank of the Tigris, into the sub-hills of the Persian borderlands. The 20th Punjabis furnished dump-guards. These days I spent, exceedingly pleasantly, with the Guides in the Adhaim Valley. Here was a scene of exquisite loveliness. The Adhaim was dry; but, in its deep bed, green lines showed where the water ran. The winter floods were even then beginning to gather higher up, and had reached to within a dozen miles of the brook's junction with Tigris. The valley was thick jungle. There were no trees, but a most dense and luxuriant growth of tamarisk, _populus euphratica_, zizyphs and other thorns, forming a covert six to fourteen feet high. Liquorice grew freely. Wild pig abounded, hares, black partridge, and _sisi_. In my very brief stay I saw no pig; but their signs were everywhere, and their water-holes in the river-bed bore marks of constant resort. The Adhaim was crossed by Nebuchadnezzar's great Nahrwan Canal. This was now, in effect, a deep nulla, and had silted in, so that its bottom was above the Adhaim bank. Its cliffs were tenanted with blue rock-pigeon, with hedgehogs and porcupines. Shoals of mackerel-like fish used to swim up the Tigris, with fins skimming the surface. Erskine showed me how to shoot these; as, in later days, when we were in the Palestine line at Arsuf, I have seen Diggins stunning fish with rifle-shots in the old Roman harbour. In their Samarra digging the Guides had found a stone statue, which is what they asked me up to see. The head and arms had been broken off, obviously deliberately; but it was plainly the Goddess Ishtar, with breasts remaining. She was sitting before the mess-tent, like Demeter before the House of Triptolemus. This discovery was of interest beyond itself. The books place Opis near Akab, apparently because the Adhaim enters the Tigris opposite Akab. But, as I have said already, Kenneth Mason has accumulated good reasons for placing Opis near Samarra. With those reasons, this statue of Ishtar may take its place. The Samarra of history was not much more than a standing camp for caliphs in refuge from their true capital, Baghdad. But old Samarra covers nearly twenty square miles of ruins upon ruins. Opis was a great mart; and Samarra, in the relics of Eski Baghdad, to the north, reaches almost to the Tigris end of the Tekrit-Hit caravan road. The Kifri push resulted in another withdrawal of the fight-weary John. He set Kifri coal-mine on fire, and it burned for some days. We took a hundred and fifty prisoners and two field-guns. Though Russia was out of the war, a local force of Russians helped us. They were told they would find their rations in a certain place when they took it. They took it all right. I left the Guides, and went back to Beled, to my good friends of the 56th Brigade, R.F.A. On December 6 the 19th Infantry and the 56th Artillery Brigades received orders to move down-stream immediately. All came suddenly; I was awakened by the striking of tents. On the 8th the Leicestershires left Samarra. In less than six days they were in Baghdad. In those six days of marching they suffered terribly from cold, rain, and footsoreness. But they swung through Baghdad singing. The men of the Anzac wireless bought up oranges, and threw them to our fellows as they passed out of Baghdad to their camp at Hinaidi, two miles below. Baghdad streets were frozen every morning; a bucket of water, put out overnight, would be almost solid next day. Nevertheless there were enough flies to be an intolerable pest. When we passed the variously spelt station of Mushaidiyeh, Keely noted the script preferred by the railway, Mouchâhadie, and observed, 'Evidently it was connected in their mind with flies; no doubt with good reason.' Baghdad in winter is given up to immense flocks of crows and starlings and to the 'Baghdad canary.'[31] No wild flowers were out, except a white _alisma_. We purchased 'goodly Babylonish garments,' the _abbas_ for which the town is famous. Mine were sent home in an oil-sheet. The oil-sheet arrived, the postal-service satisfying themselves with looting the _abbas_. After all, men who have the monotony of service at the Base are entitled to indemnify themselves for the trouble to which men up the line put them. We got our last glimpse of Fritz on the 15th. He was over Baghdad, and was said to have dropped a message, 'Good-bye, 7th Division.' The countryside was stiff with troops moving up and down. Our destination was matter of constant speculation. When orders to leave Beled reached the 19th Brigade, there came a wire from Divisional Head Quarters, 'Tell the padre to preach from Matthew twenty, verse eighteen.' But the 28th Brigade knew nothing of this hint to Lee. Some thought we were going to Ahwaz, and thence up to Persia; others held this Persian theory with a modification, that we should arrive up-country from Bushire. The favourite notion was that we were going to do another Gallipoli landing, behind Alexandretta. Some one got hold of a map, and announced that there were mountains there nine thousand feet high. On the 18th we embarked, and began our slow drift down the flooded, racing stream. We passed the old landmarks, so known and so remembered. On the 20th we passed Kut, and knew that for most of us it was our farewell glimpse of the town that through so many dreadful months had seemed a place of faery, and inaccessible. Red Autumn on the banks, Where, through fields that bear no grain, A desolate Mother treads, By the brimming river, torn with rain! A chill wind moves in the faded ranks Of the rushes, rumpling their russet heads. And out of the mist, on the racing stream As I drift, I know that there gathers fast, Over the lands I shall see no more, Another mist, which with life shall last, Till all that I watched and my comrades bore Will be autumn mist, in an old man's dream. Here an Empire's might had agonized; and many of us had buried more hopes than we shall cherish again. It rained, and kept on raining. Knowing what wretchedness this meant on shore, we were glad of the crowded shelter of our P-boat, maugre its noises and discomforts. Marshall, the semi-mythical person at Corps, who had visited the Turks at Tekrit, scattering ruin from a 'lamb,' was everywhere said to be taking bets, ten to one, that the war would be ended by Christmas. If rumour spoke truth, Marshall must have lost a pile of money. On the 22nd we entrained at Amara, reaching Busra late on the 23rd. We spent Christmas encamped on a marsh. My mare developed unsuspected gifts as a humorist. Every time she saw a tree, even a date-palm, she shied, cavorted, and leapt, showing the utmost amazement and terror. This was witty at first, but she kept it up too long. Busra backwaters were lovelier than ever, with the willows in their winter dress, gold-streaked, and the brooding blue kingfishers above the waveless channels. _Bablas_[32] were in yellow button, scenting the ditches where huge tortoises crawled and clustered. On the 30th I got a glimpse of Shaiba, of the tall feathery tamarisks above the Norfolks' graves and trenches. On January 2 we embarked on the _Bandra_. With the cheering as we moved away, the words of a Mesopotamian 'gaff'[33] recurred to memory: And when we came to Ashar,[34] we only cheered once; And I don't suppose we shall cheer again, for months, and months, and months. We drifted down the beautiful waterway, past its forest of palms and its abundant willows and waving reeds. We reached Koweit Bay on the 4th and waited for rations and our new boats. On the 7th we were on our way to a new campaign. In nine months the Leicestershires were swinging through Beirut in the old, immemorial fashion, though foot-weary, and singing, whilst the people madly cheered and shouted. But it was not the old crowd. Fowke, Warren, Burrows--these three were gathered, two months after the battalion left Mesopotamia, at Kantara, when the German last offensive burst. They were sent at once to France. Fowke and Warren were badly wounded; a letter from Fowke informed me that he was hit 'while running away,' a jesting statement which one understands. Burrows, one of our keenest minds and a delightful man, a valued friend, did extraordinarily well--he was strangely fearless--but was killed as the French war was ending. From the 19th Brigade Haughton, Thornhill, General Peebles, had all gone long ago. Haughton was wounded in the Afghan War, and Thornhill died of illness. And now, as I write, G.A. is off to South America again, and J.Y. to Canada. I and my friends have seen our friends no more. FOOTNOTES: [31] The domestic ass. [32] Mimosa. [33] Concert party. [34] At Busra; the place of disembarkation. INDEX Adams, Captain, 80, 84 Adhaim, Shat-el, 54, 106, 146, 147 Ahwaz, 15 Akab, 145, 147 Al-Ajik, 80, 104, 108, 109, 124, 125 Ali Gharbi, 16 Amara, 15, 150 Anzac Wireless, 145, 148 Arabs, 26, 43 seq., 96, 100, 117, 122, 140, 143 Aujeh, 131 seq. Aujeh, (Palestine), 27 Babi, 22 Baghdad, 7, 9, 18 seq., 54, 107, 148 Baldry, Sec.-Lieut., 138 Bale, Sec.-Lieut., 114 Barrett, Major, 37, 91 Barron, Sec.-Lieut., 111 Batten, Sergeant, 46 Beit Aiessa, 17, 116 Beit Na'ama, 112 Beled, 21 seq., 48, 49, 112, 117, 147 Beirut, 151 Bhopals (9th), 64, 65, 118 Black Watch (2nd), 8, 9, 65, 70 Blewitt, Captain, 84 Bracken, Captain, 108 British Field Ambulance (7), 67 Brock, Lieut.-Col., 128 Brodie, Lieut., 60 Brooking, Maj.-Gen., 118 Buddus. _See_ ARABS Burn, Sec.-Lieut., 138 Burrows, Sec.-Lieut., 151 Busra, 112, 115, 143, 150 Cailley's Column, 54 Candler, Edmund, 7, 9 Carmel, 27 Casualty Clearing Station (19), 140 Cavalry, 18, 22, 30, 36, 39, 60, 61, 102, 132, 133, 137, 142 Clifton, Private, 93 Cobbe, Lieut.-Gen., 136 Connaught Rangers, 110 Copeman, Sec.-Lieut. Charles, 32, 44, 57, 58, 60, 80, 114 Copeman, Sec.-Lieut. J.Y., 60, 61, 63, 69, 101, 142, 151 Cotter, Colonel, 66 Creagh, Captain, 31, 87 Ctesiphon, 16, 117 Culverwell, Captain, 38 Daur, 120, 124 seq., 133, 144 Davies, Brig.-Gen., 22, 38, 107 Delamaine, Brig.-Gen., 15 Diggins, Captain, 10, 86 seq., 101, 131, 134, 139, 143, 146 Dobson, Private, 32 seq., 79, 84, 85, 92, 94, 96, 126 Dujail Canal, 44, 45, 51, 62, 70, 71, 110 Dujaileh, 16, 116 Erskine, Captain, 146 Ewing, Rev. Dr., 138 Ezra's Tomb, 113 Fane, Maj.-Gen., 113 Fao, 15 Farrell, Father, 97 Felahiyeh, 17 Fergusson, Sec.-Lieut., 113 Fisher, Sec.-Lieut., 44 Fowke, Sec.-Lieut., 31 seq., 42, 48, 52, 54 seq., 60 seq., 69, 74, 101, 102, 113, 120 seq., 132, 142, 151 Gurkhas (1/8th), 65, 69, 70, 90 Godson, Captain, 140 Graham, Captain, V.C., 84, 90 Grant-Anderson, Sec.-Lieut., 35, 54, 55, 69, 81 seq., 86, 114, 120, 143, 151 Grattan, Lieut.-Col., 84 Griffiths, Lieut.-Col., 103 Guides (1st), 65, 118, 146, 147 Haigh, Captain, 111, 124, 126 Hall, Sec.-Lieut., 44, 53, 54, 81, 83 Harbe, 28, 43, 48 seq. Harley, Major, 49 Hart, Sec.-Lieut., 66 Hasted, Captain, 10, 35, 36, 44, 71, 82, 85 seq., 102 Haughton, Captain, 97, 151 Hayes, Sergeant, 34 Heathcote, Captain, 125 Hebden, Sec.-Lieut., 53 Henderson, Captain, 139 Highland Light Infantry, 116 Hinaidi, 148 Hunter, Captain, 103 Huweslet, 120 seq. Intelligence Summaries, 117 seq. Irvine, Captain, 65 Ishtar, 147 Istabulat, 48, 54, 57 seq. Italian Reverses, 124, 145 Jebel Hamrin, 19, 21, 63, 143 Kazim Karabekir Bey, 62 Keely, Sec.-Lieut., 53, 113, 117, 148 Kifri, 131, 146, 147 Knatchbull, Lieut.-Col., 29, 33, 35, 66, 87, 112 Knott, Rev. A.E., 67 Koweit, 150 Kut-el-Amara, 15 seq., 54, 115 seq., 149 Lancers (32nd). _See_ CAVALRY Lang, Captain, 117 Lang, Sergeant, 98 Lawrence, Sergeant, 34 Lee, Rev. R.E., 138, 149 Leslie, Lieut.-Col., 49 Light Armoured Motor Batteries, 125, 139 Lone-Tree Village, 16 Lowther, Captain, 89, 97, 101 Lyons, Sec.-Lieut., 127 Machine-gunners, 22, 33, 65, 121 Mackenzie, Captain, 65 McInerney, Sec.-Lieut., 57 seq., 83, 87 seq. McIntyre, Captain, 135 McKay, Lieut., 84 McLeod, Major, 28, 38 seq., 95 McLeod, Sec-Lieut., 67 seq. McRae, Major, 138 Manchesters, 117, 137 seq. Marner, Lieut., 35, 38, 45 seq. Marshall's Column, 85 Marshall, Captain, 125, 150 Mason, Sec-Lieut., 113 Mason, Captain Kenneth, 10, 26, 105, 115, 147 Maude, General, 18, 46, 63, 111, 118, 145 Median Wall, 56, 59 seq. Median Wall, Second, 75 seq. Milne, Sec.-Lieut., 138 Mosul, 19, 113, 118 Mushaidiyeh, 19, 21, 27, 28, 148 Nagpur, Bishop of, 51, 108 Nahrwan Canal, 146 Nasiriyeh, 15 Newitt, Captain, 38, 125 Norfolks, 150 Opis, 105, 145, 147 Otter, Sec-Lieut., 35 Owen, Sec-Lieut., 128, 129 Peebles, Brig.-Gen., 51, 76, 97, 101, 107, 151 Punjabis, 90, 146 Q'urna, 15 Ramadie, 20, 110, 118, 131 Reid, Major, 61 Rifles (56th), 22, 31, 39, 79, 84 seq. Royal Field Artillery, 22, 30, 63, 77, 85, 128, 139, 147 Royal Flying Corps, 123 Russians, 16, 17, 22, 147 Samarra, 8, 9, 19, 22, 70 seq., 113, 117, 123, 143, 145, 147 Saladin, 143 Sanderson, Captain, 34 Sannaiyat, 17, 18, 28, 63, 64, 65, 109, 111, 114 seq., 138 Sarcka, 126 seq. Scarth, Lieut., 84, 94 Schomberg, Lieut.-Col., 138, 139 Seaforths (1st), 8, 61 seq., 90, 137 seq. Service, Lieut., 32, 33, 36, 83 Shaiba, 15, 150 Shefket Pasha, 62 Sheikh Saad, 16, 116, 138 Shumran, 18, 116 seq. Sikhs (51st and 53rd), 22, 31 seq., 71 seq., 125 seq. Sikhs (47th and 59th), 138 Sindiyeh, 22, 78 Singh, Subahdar Aryan, 89 Sinijah, 54 Sittake, 26 Sowter, Lieut., 53, 58, 97, 102 Stewart, Lieut., 66 Stones, Captain, 39 Suffolk, Major the Earl of, 65, 67 Sumaikchah, 22 seq., 37, 45, 57, 80, 111 Sutherland, Sergeant-Major, 138 Tekrit, 10, 20, 132 seq. Tennant, Major, 22 Thomson, Brig.-Gen., 93 Thornhill, Captain, 97, 107 seq., 151 Thorpe, Lieut., 66, 87 seq., 102, 107 seq., 114 Tivey, Sergeant, 89, 96 Townshend, Maj.-Gen., 15 seq., 140 Townshend's Regatta, 15 Twin Canals, 112 Umm-el-Hanna, 16 seq. Wadi, 16, 83 Waller, Lieut., 94 Warren, Sec-Lieut., 68, 81, 114, 151 Wauchope, Brig.-Gen., 8, 62 Weir, Captain, 99 seq., 107 Westlake, Sec-Lieut., 23, 30, 46, 48 seq., 53, 75, 80, 92, 97, 114 Whatsize, Sergeant-Major, 69, 88 Whitehead, Sergeant, 32, 84 Willcocks, Sir William, 50 Williamson, Corporal, 87 Wilson, Captain, 32 seq., 78 seq., 111 Xenophon, 26 seq., 59, 78 Printed by the Southampton Times Company, Ltd., 70 Above Bar. * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 60: argumeut replaced with argument | | Page 97: If ound replaced with I found | | Page 149: thorough replaced with through | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ 
29631	----	Transcriber's Notes: 1) Mousul/Mosul, piastre/piaster, Shiraz/Sheeraz, Itch-Meeazin/Ech-Miazin/Etchmiazin, each used on numerous occasions; 2) Arnaouts/Arnaoots, Dr. Beagrie/Dr. Beagry, Beirout/Bayrout/Beyraut(x2), Saltett/Sallett, Shanakirke/Shammakirke, Trebizond/Trebisand - once each. All left as in original text. 3) M^R = a superscripted "R". * * * * * JOURNAL OF A RESIDENCE AT BAGDAD, &c, &c. LONDON: DENNETT, PRINTER, LEATHER LANE. JOURNAL OF A RESIDENCE AT BAGDAD, DURING THE YEARS 1830 AND 1831, BY M^R. ANTHONY N. GROVES, MISSIONARY. LONDON: JAMES NISBET, BERNERS STREET. M DCCC XXXII. * * * * * INTRODUCTION. This little work needs nothing from us to recommend it to attention. In its incidents it presents more that is keenly interesting, both to the natural and to the spiritual feelings, than it would have been easy to combine in the boldest fiction. And then it is not fiction. The manner in which the story is told leaves realities unencumbered, to produce their own impression. It might gratify the imagination, and even aid in enlarging our practical views, to consider such scenes as possible, and to fancy in what spirit a Christian might meet them; but it extends our experience, and invigorates our faith, to know that, having actually taken place, it is thus that they have been met. The first missionaries were wont, at intervals, to return from their foreign labours, and relate to those churches whose prayers had sent them forth, "all things that God had done with them" during their absence. To the Christians at Antioch, there must have been important edification, as well as satisfaction to their affectionate concern about the individuals, and about the cause, in the narrative of Paul and Barnabas. Nor would the states of mind experienced, and the spirit manifested, by the narrators themselves be less instructive, than the various reception of their message by various hearers. In these pages, in like manner, Mr. Groves contributes to the good of the Church, an important fruit of his mission, were it to yield no other. He had cast himself upon the Lord. To Him he had left it to direct his path; to give him what things He knew he had need of, and whether outward prospects were bright or gloomy, to be the strength of his heart and his portion for ever. The publication of his former little Journal was the erection of his Eben Ezer. Hitherto, said he to us in England, the Lord hath helped me. And now, after a prolonged residence among a people with whom, in natural things, he can have no communion, and who, towards his glad tidings of salvation, are as apathetic as is compatible with the bitterest contempt; after having had, during many weeks, his individual share of the suffering, and his mind worn with the spectacle, of a city strangely visited at once with plague, and siege, and inundation, and internal tumult; widowed, and not without experience of "flesh and heart fainting and failing," he again "blesses God for all the way he has led him,"[1] tells us that "the Lord's great care over him in the abundant provision for all his necessities, enables him yet further to sing of his goodness;"[2] and while his situation makes him say, "what a place would this be to be alone in now" if without God, he adds, "but with Him, this is better than the garden of Eden."[3] "The Lord is my only stay, my only support; and He is a support indeed."[4] It is remarkable, that at a time when the fear of pestilence has agitated the people of this country, and when the tottering fabric of society threatens to hurl down upon us as dire a confusion as that which has surrounded our brother, in a country hitherto regarded so remote from all comparison with our own; at a time when the records of the seasons at which the terrible voice of God has sounded loudest in our capital, are republished as appropriate to the contemplation of Christians at the existing crisis;[5]--this volume should have been brought before the Public, by circumstances quite unconnected with this train of God's dealings and threatenings to our land. The Christians of Britain ought to consider, that there is a warning voice of Providence, not only in the tumults of the people, and in the terrors of the cholera around them, but even in the publication of this Journal. It is not for nothing that God has moved Mr. Groves, as it were, to an advanced post, where he might encounter the enemy before them. The alarm may have, in a measure, subsided,[6] but if the people of God are to be ever patiently waiting for the coming of their conquering King, this implies a patient preparedness for those signs of his coming, the clouds and darkness that are to go before him, in the very midst of which they must be able to lift up their heads because their redemption draweth nigh. To provide for the worst contingencies is a virtue, not a weakness, in the soldier. That Christian will not keep his garments who forgets, that in this life, he is a soldier always. No army is so orderly in peace, or so triumphant upon lesser assaults, as that which is ready always for the extremest exigencies of war. To those who are looking for the glorious appearing of our great God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, this volume will exhibit indications of the advancement of the world towards the state in which he shall find it at his coming. The diffusion in the east of European notions and practices; the desire on the part of the rulers to possess themselves of the advantages of western intellect and skill; and on the side of the governed, the conviction of the comparative security and comfort of English domination; the vastly increased intercourse between those nations and the west, and the proposals for still further accelerating and facilitating that intercourse: all these things mark the rapid tendency, of which we have so many other signs, towards the production of one common mind throughout the human race, to issue in that combination for a common resistance of God, which, as of old, when the people were one, and had all one language, and it seemed that nothing could be restrained from them which they had imagined to do,--shall cause the Lord to come down and confound their purpose. Already has this unity of views and aims, with marvellous rapidity, prevailed in the European and American world; the press, the steam-engine by land and water, the multiplication of societies and unions, portend an advancement in it, to which nothing can set limits but the intervention of God: and now it appears that the mountain-fixedness of Asiatic prejudice and institution shall suddenly be dissolved, and absorbed into the general vortex. And to those who may have suspected, that the prospect of the return of Jesus of Nazareth to our earth for vengeance and expurgation of evil first, and then for occupation of rule, _under_ the face of the whole heaven, is but a speculative subject for curious minds, this little book presents matter of reflection. By circumstances of such urgent personal concernment, as those in which Mr. Groves and his departed wife have been placed, the merely speculative part of religion is put to flight. But we shall find them in the midst of confusion, and bereavement, and horror, clinging to this one hope for themselves and for the world, that the Lord cometh to reign, wherefore the earth shall be glad; deriving from this hope a delight in God, in the midst of all that seems adverse to such a sentiment, which, if it be not a proof of practical power in a doctrine, what is practical? On some few points, Mr. Groves has given a somewhat detailed expression of his own sentiments. One of the most important of these is re-considered in the notes by the writer of this introduction. Another, on which the interest of many has already been strongly excited, is the recognition of those men as ministers of God, who do not utter the word of his truth, and who are admitted to speak without the Spirit of his truth. The question, encompassed as it has been with difficulties foreign to itself, is but a narrow one. The preaching of the Gospel _is_ an ordinance of God. The preaching of what is not the Gospel is _no_ ordinance of God; and affords me no opportunity of shewing my respect for divine ordinances by my attendance upon it. That men possessing the Holy Ghost should confer spiritual gifts by the laying on of hands on those who in faith receive it, _is_ an ordinance of God: that men, not having the Holy Ghost, should lay hands on others for spiritual gifts, is _no_ ordinance of God. If the outward fact of what is named ordination, determines me to regard as now made of God a teacher, a pastor, an evangelist, a bishop, him who, to all intelligent and spiritual perception, is what he was, in error, and ignorance, and carnality; this is not respect for divine ordinances at all, but a faith in the _opus operatum_, a faith in transubstantiation transferred to men, denying the truth of my own perception, and clinging to the conclusion of my superstition, just as in the mass the senses are denied, and bread and wine visibly unaltered, are called flesh and blood. The arguments by which this notion is supported, are too complicated, and too contemptuous of unity or consistency, to be meddled with in our limited space. That Christ bade men observe what the Scribes and Pharisees taught on the authority of the law of Moses, is made a reason for reverencing what is taught on _no_ divine authority: Scribes and Pharisees, who pretended to no divine ordination, but rested their claims on their knowledge, are made specimens of the respect due to ordination, in the case of such whose ignorance and unsound teaching are allowed. But were not the Scribes and Pharisees in many things ignorant and unsound? Yes, truly; but were these the things of which the Lord said expressly, these things observe and do? To tell us that we must observe and do what is according to Scripture, however bad the men who teach it, ordained or unordained alike; what has this to do with ordination? True, this is no excuse for those who prostitute the form and name of God's ordinance, and know that it is prostituted: who say, "receive ye the Holy Ghost," and would laugh as being supposed to confer the Holy Ghost: but there is no necessity for running from this crime, to the error of which we have spoken. Let us acknowledge our wretchedness, and misery, and poverty, and blindness, and nakedness. When the laws were transgressed, and the everlasting covenant broken; then the _ordinance_ was _changed_, as Isaiah foretold it should,[7] among the causes why the earth is defiled under the inhabitants thereof. The Apostolic Epistles contain little, if any thing, to establish the pastoral authority in a single person of each church or congregation: and the omission of all allusion to such an office is often very remarkable from the occasion seeming to assure us, that it would have been mentioned had it existed. The Epistles of the Lord to the seven churches are therefore resorted to for proof of the existence and nature of the place of a single pastor with peculiar and exclusive powers. But neither there nor elsewhere is the fact of ordination once referred to, in relation to the receiving or rejection of those who claimed to speak in the name of Christ. In these very Epistles there is a commendation for disregarding for the truth's sake the highest titles of ecclesiastical office. "Thou canst not bear them which are evil: thou hast _tried_ them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars."[8] I believe, "not to bear them which are evil" pastors, evangelists or apostles, is as commendable in England as in Ephesus in the eye of the Head of the Churches. Is there a syllable in the Bible to lead us to suppose that these liars were detected by any other means than those which Paul had already taught the Church? "Though _we_, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed." As for the ordinance, such passages as Titus i. 9, make _selection_ a part of that ordinance: the bishop is to be one "holding fast the word of truth as he hath been taught." Now, on what authority shall this part of the ordinance, viz. selection, be omitted, and no flaw follow: while the presence or omission of a manual act in certain hands is to constitute the reality or absence of Divine ordination? A. J. SCOTT. _Woolwich, Aug. 16th, 1832._ [1] Page 155. [2] Page 169. [3] Page 122. [4] Page 146. [5] See "Narratives of two Families exposed to the great Plague of London, 1665; with Conversations on a Religions Preparation for Pestilence," and "God's Terrible Voice in the City," by Vincent; both republished by Rev. J. Scott, of Hull. [6] And yet what security is afforded by a present abatement of the visitation? In Glasgow, cholera was regarded as departing, and all but departed. The number of cases has since risen, for some time, to above 300 at once, and the deaths not seldom to between one and two hundred a day, in a population small compared with that of London. [7] Chap. xxiv. ver. 5. [8] Rev. ii. 2. * * * * * JOURNAL OF A RESIDENCE AT BAGDAD. _Bagdad, April 2, 1830._ We begin to find that our school-room is not large enough to contain the children, and we have been obliged therefore to add to it another. We have now fifty-eight boys and nine girls, and might have many more girls had we the means for instructing them; but we have as yet no other help than the schoolmaster's wife, who knows very little of any thing, and therefore is very unfit to bring those into order who have been educated without any order. But I have no doubt of the Lord's sending us, in due time, sufficient help of all kinds. _April 3._--An Armenian merchant from Egypt and Syria, was with us to-day; a Roman Catholic by profession, but an infidel in fact. He said it was all one to him, whether men were Armenian, Syrian, Mohammedan, or Jew, so that they were good. He had left Beirout about two months, and said there were none of the missionaries there then; but that he knew there the Armenian Catholic bishop, and an Armenian priest, who had left the Roman Catholic church, and who were in Lebanon--he said they were friends of his, and very good men. We feel interested in receiving some missionary intelligence, to know whether or not Syria is still deserted. We have received from Shushee a parcel of our Lord's Sermon on the Mount, in the vulgar Armenian. We were very much rejoiced at this, as it enabled us to supersede, in some little degree, the old language; but in determining that every boy sufficiently advanced, should learn a verse a day, we met with some opposition from two or three of the elder boys, and I think two will leave the school in consequence; but the Lord will easily enable us to triumph over all; of this I have no doubt, at all events I see my way clear come what will. Captain Strong has taken a letter for me to Archdeacon Parr, to ask for some school materials, such as slates and slate pencils for the school. I feel daily more established in the conviction, that our Lord has led us to this place, and that he will make our way apparent, as we go on in faithful waiting upon him. I cannot sufficiently thank God for sending my dear brother Pfander with me, for had it not been for him, I could not have attempted any thing, so that all that has now been done, must rather be considered his than mine, as I have only been able to look on and approve. But if the Lord's work is advanced, I can praise him by whomsoever it may be promoted. _June 12._--The circumstances of our situation are now going on so regularly, that there is little to write about, more than that the Lord's mercies are new every morning. Since Captain Strong left us, there has arrived here a Mr. and Mrs. Mignan, and another gentleman, named Elliot, neither of whom seem to know, at present, whether they will remain here or go on. The capidji or officer, who came from Constantinople, bringing a firman to the Pasha, is desired to take back with him a drawing of one of the soldiers whom Major T. is organizing for the Pasha. Major T.'s son is just arrived from India, and he also is going to organize a body of horse; in fact, every thing is tending to the establishment of an European influence, and it may be the Lord's pleasure thus to prepare the way for his servants to publish the tidings which the sheep will hear. This tendency to adopt European manners and improvements, is not only manifested in the military department, but in others more important. The Pasha has a great desire to introduce steam navigation on these two beautiful rivers. A proposal has been made from an agent of the Bristol Steam Company, to the Pasha, through Major T., to have a steam vessel in the first place between Bussorah and this place; and secondly, if possible, to extend the navigation, either by the old canal or by a new one, into the Euphrates and up to Beer. This navigation will bring one within three days of the Mediterranean,[9] without the fatigue, danger, and loss of time to which travellers are exposed in the present journey. It will be a most important opening for missionaries; for should this mode of conveyance once get established, the route by Constantinople would almost cease, and some arrangement would soon be made for going from Scanderoon to the different important stations in the Mediterranean. [9] Impossible--within three days of Aleppo must be meant. There is a gentleman here on his return to England, a Mr. Bywater, whom Mr. Taylor wishes to undertake a survey of the Euphrates, from Beer to the canal, which connects it with this place. Till within about twenty years, heavy artillery came to this place by that river, so there can be but little doubt that a steam packet would be able to go; though it might not be of the same size as the one between this and Bussorah. The voyage between these places backwards and forwards, it is proposed to do in eight days, which now takes about six or seven weeks, and during the whole of the returning voyage, which is long, being against the current, you are at present exposed to the attacks of the Arabs every hour, whereas the steam packet would have nothing to fear from them. In fact, I feel the Lord is preparing great changes in the heart of this nation, or rather from one end of it to the other; and the events which have taken place in that part of the empire around Constantinople, have tended to the hastening on of these changes. Among the boys that come to me to learn English, I have one, the son of a rich Roman Catholic jeweller of this place. So important is the commercial relation between this place and India become, that the number who wish to learn English of me, is much greater than I can possibly take charge of, as this is not with me a primary object; but it is a most important field of labour, and one that might have, I think, very interesting results, for they will bear opposition to their own views more easily in another language than in their own: it does not come to them like a book written to oppose them, and thus truth may slide gently in. My Moolah, who is teaching me Arabic, and whose son I teach English, told me, that in two or three years he would send his son to England to complete his knowledge of English. Now to those who know nothing of the Turks, this may not appear remarkable, but to those who do, it will exhibit a striking breaking down of prejudice in this individual. There is a famous man here, a Mohammedan by profession, but in reality an infidel, who is the head of a pantheistic sect, who believe God to be every thing and every thing to be God, so that he readily admits, on this notion, the divinity of our blessed Lord. Infidelity is extending on every side in these countries. My Moolah said, that now a-days, if you asked a Christian whether he were a Christian, he would say, Yes; but if you asked him who Christ was, or why he was attached to him, he did not know. And in the same manner he said, if you asked a Mohammedan a similar question, he would also say, he did not know, but that he went as others went; but, he added, now all the _Sultans_ were sending out men to teach, the Sultan of England--the Sultan of Stamboul, &c. By this I imagine his impression is, that we are sent out by the king of England. Our school is, on the whole, going on very well. We have introduced classes, and a general table of good and bad behaviour, of lessons, of absence, and of attendance; and they all go on, learning a portion of Scripture every day in the vulgar dialect. This is something. I am beginning to feel my acquaintance with Arabic increase under the plan which I am now pursuing with the boys who learn English. They bring me Arabic phrases, and as far as my knowledge extends, I give them the meaning in English; and when that fails, I write it down for inquiry from the Moolah next day, and then by asking words in Arabic every day for the boys to give me the English, I at last get the expressions so impressed on my memory, that when I want them they arise almost without thought. Another advantage from the boys bringing phrases and words, is that they bring such as they use in the spoken Arabic, which is very different from the written. This is a plan I would recommend, whenever it can be adopted, to every missionary; for there is a stimulus to the memory in having the questions to ask every day, and having only the English written down, which nothing else gives. We have lately had a little proof of Turkish honesty. The man who sells us wood, charged us seven tagar, and brought us somewhat less than three. Our souls are much refreshed by the contemplation of our Lord's coming to complete the mystery of godliness. Oh, how long shall it be, ere he be admired in all them that believe. _June 26._--We have heard to-day from Mrs. G.'s brother J. from Alexander Casan Beg, mentioned in a preceding part of my journal, and from Mr. Glen. All our various accounts were welcome. Some of the information contained in them enables us to rejoice in those we love naturally, some in those we love spiritually. In the letters of Alexander C. Beg, and Mr. Glen, I have received the intelligence that the former would not now be able to join us, as he had previously received an offer from the Scottish Missionary Society, to become a missionary of theirs in India; for certain reasons, however, he does not at present seem able to accept it. Concerning this Mohammedan convert, it is impossible not to feel the deepest interest. We have just had some interesting conversation with a poor Jacobite, who is come from Merdin, with a letter from his matran or bishop, about two churches which the Roman Catholics have taken away from the Jacobites. His description of their state is striking. He says, the Pasha of Merdin cares neither for this Pasha, who is his immediate superior, nor for the Sultan; and that he encourages these disputes among the Christians, that he may get money from both parties, who bribe him by turns. He says, that the Yezidees, when they see a Syrian priest coming, will get off their horse and salute him, and kiss his hand, and that the Kourds are a much worse people than they, but that Roman Catholics are worse than either.--I was surprised to find that the Roman Catholic bishop has a school of fifty girls learning to read Arabic, and to work at their needle. We have heard to-day that the Mohammedans, inhabitants of the town, are much dissatisfied with the Sultan and with the Pasha, for introducing European customs. They say, they are already Christians, and one of them asked Mr. Swoboda, if it was true that the old missid or mosque near us, was to become again a Christian church, and whether the beating of the drums every evening after the European manner at the seroy or palace, did not mean that the Pasha was becoming a Christian. And they say, that the military uniforms now introducing, are haram or unlawful. Major T. has induced the Pasha to have a regiment dressed completely in the European fashion, and is now forming some horse regiments on the same plan. All these things will clearly tend to one of these two results--either to the overthrow of Mohammedanism by the introduction of European manners and intelligence, or to a tremendous crisis in endeavouring to throw off the burden which the great mass of the lower and bigoted Mohammedans abhor. But still the Lord knows, and has given his angels charge to seal his elect before these things come to pass. Our attention has again been directed to the subject of steam navigation between Bombay and England, by the arrival of Mr. James Taylor from Bombay. This gentleman has been engaged for some time in undertaking to effect steam communication by the Red Sea: with the view of making final arrangements on the subject he had just been to Bombay, and wished to have returned by the Red Sea, but difficulties arising, he determined to come by way of the Persian Gulf and this city, and to cross the desert. On his arrival here, he was made acquainted with the previous plans for steam navigation on these rivers; and he quickly perceived that if the river were navigable, and no other difficulties arose, the preference must be given to this route, as being at least ten days shorter to Bombay, and of the thirty or thirty-five days which remained, seven, or perhaps five, would be spent on two beautiful rivers, with opportunities of obtaining from its banks vegetables and fruits; and instead of the Red Sea, which is rocky, stormy, and little known, there would be the Persian Gulf, which has been surveyed in every part, and is peculiarly free from storms. From the mouth of the Persian Gulf, the boat would go direct to Bombay instead of going down to Columbo from the mouth of the Red Sea, and then up the western side of the Peninsula of India. In Egypt also they would have five days journey over the desert, whilst from Aleppo they would only have two to a place on the Euphrates, called Beer. Fuel also in abundance might be obtained here, either from wood or bitumen; in fact, Mr. Taylor feels that if it can be accomplished, it would save expense on the voyage. The only two difficulties that oppose themselves to this route are, first, the Arabs, and secondly, whether there be a sufficiency of water in the rivers. As to the Arabs, a steamer has nothing to fear, for by keeping mid-stream at the rate they go, no Arab would touch them or attempt to do it. The present vessels they have no power over in going down, but when they are dragged up by Arab trackers, then they are easily attacked. As to the second objection, the want of water, there appears no insurmountable difficulty here, as all the heavy ordnance from Constantinople were brought down the Euphrates from Beer, on rafts, or, as they are called, kelecks; these, independent of their width, being greater than that of a steamer, actually draw more water when heavily laden. There does not appear to be more than one place where there is a doubt, and that is at El Dar, the ancient Thapsacus, where we understand at one season, when the waters are at the lowest point, a camel can hardly go over; but still, perhaps, further information may be desirable. The Pasha has entered very heartily into this plan, and offered either to clear out an old canal, or to cut a new one between this river and the Euphrates. The mouth of the Euphrates is one extended marsh, which forms the best rice-grounds of the country. The distance between the two rivers at this place is about thirty miles. Mr. James Taylor thinks that travellers may reach England from this in twenty-three days, and Bombay in twelve: should this ever take place, steam boats will be passing twice a month up and down this river with passengers from India and England; the effects of such a change, both moral, spiritual, and political, none can tell, but that they must be great every one may see. I have been this morning talking with my Moolah about the two rivers, as to their capability of steam navigation. He decidedly gives the preference to the Euphrates, and says, that the average depth is the height of two men, or ten feet--even till considerably above Beer; but that the Tigris, above Mousul, is very shallow.[10] [10] We have since discovered, by a survey of the Tigris, that in its present state it will be only navigable to Mosul during seven months in the year, from ledges of rock that pass across the river. This possibility thus set before us of seeing those we love, and many of the Lord's dear servants here, is most comforting and encouraging: this place would become a frontier post of Christian labour, from which we might daily hope to send forth labourers to China, India, and elsewhere, and the work of publishing the testimony of Jesus be accomplished before the Lord come. However, we are in the Lord's hands, and he will bring to pass what concerns his own honour, and we will wait and see: a much greater opening has taken place since we came here than we could have hoped for, and much more will yet open upon us than we can now foresee. Things cannot remain as they are, whether they continue to advance as they are now doing, or whether bigotry be allowed to make a last vain effort to regain her ancient position; still some decided change must be the final result of the present state of things. From the Bible Society at Bombay, I have received accounts of their having sent me two English Bibles, fifty Testaments, twenty Arabic Bibles, fifty Syriac Gospels, fifty Syriac Testaments, fifty Armenian Bibles, one hundred Persian Psalters, seventy-five Persian Genesis, and six Hebrew Testaments. In this are omitted those which are most important to us, the Chaldean, the Persian, and the Arabic Testament; but perhaps when they receive a supply from the Parent Society, they will then forward these likewise. I have also received a letter from Severndroog, from the first tutor of my little boys, Mr. N., a true and dear person in the Lord, and he mentions that they had, since he last wrote, admitted to their church, four Hindoos and two Roman Catholics, and that one Hindoo still remains, whom they hope soon to admit. The following is the estimate of the time which the voyages, by the Red Sea, and by these rivers to India, would respectively occupy: BY RED SEA. Miles. Days. London to Gibraltar 1000 7 Gibraltar to Malta 1000 8 Malta to Diametta 900 5 Diametta to Suez 150 5 Suez to Mocha 1100 6 Mocha to Columbo 1920 10 Columbo to Bombay 1000 7 --- 48 BY EUPHRATES. Miles. Days. London to Gibraltar 1000 7 Gibraltar to Malta 1000 8 Malta to Aleppo 1000 6 Aleppo to Beles 60 2 Beles to Bagdad } 5 Bagdad to Bussorah } Bussorah to Bombay 9 --- 37 I have recently had some conversation with Mr. J. Taylor, who is waiting only to see the Pasha to make final arrangements. Another very important feature of the above plan for steam communication with India is, that those societies who have missionaries there, may send out their secretaries to encourage and counsel them, by which means they will be able not only to enter more fully into the feelings and circumstances of those they send, but will be able to make their own reports, which will be more agreeable to those engaged in the work--to tell about which must always be a difficult undertaking. I found yesterday that one of the gentlemen who came hither lately from India, was a Mr. Hull, the son of Mrs. Hull, of Marpool, near Exmouth, who, however, is not going across the desert, but round by Mosul and Merdin, to Stamboul. He hopes to be home in September. Mr. Pfander learnt from some Armenians yesterday, that they were much pleased with the children learning the Scriptures in the vulgar dialect; that they were so far able to understand the ancient language still read in their churches, and they expressed a wish that they might have a complete translation in the vulgar tongue. Those Bibles we now have from the Bible Society, are in the dialect of Constantinople, which is by no means generally or well understood here, where the Erivan dialect prevails, which they use in the Karabagh, in the north of Persia, and in all these countries. The missionaries at Shushee are going on with the New Testament: Mr. Dittrich has finished the translation of the four Gospels, and we hope it will be printed for the Bible Society this year, for we greatly need Armenian books in the vulgar dialect, by which we may, step by step, supersede the old altogether. We also greatly want Arabic school-books; but these we shall hope to get from Malta, through the labours of Mr. Jowett. We find the general feeling here, not only among Christians, but even among the Mohammedans, is a wish that the English power might prevail here, for although the Pasha does not directly tax them high, yet from a bunch of grapes to a barrel of gunpowder, he has the skimming of the cream, and leaves the milk to his subjects to do with as they can. Once a month at least the money is changed. When the Pasha has a great deal of a certain base money that he issues, he fixes the price higher by certain degrees, on pain of mutilation, and when he has paid it all away, or has any great sums to receive, he lowers the value by as many degrees as he has raised it before. And hearing, as they universally do now, of our government in India, that it is mild and equitable, most of them would gladly exchange their present condition, and be subject to the British government. This conduct on the part of the Pasha, begets an universal system of smuggling and fraud among all classes, so that the state of these people is indeed very, very bad. I never felt more powerfully than now, the joy of having nothing to do with these things; so that let men govern as they will, I feel my path is to live in subjection to the powers that be, and to exhort others to the same, even though it be such oppressive despotism as this. We have to shew them by this, that our kingdom is not of this world, and that these are not things about which we contend. But our life being hid where no storms can assail, "with Christ in God"--and our wealth being where no moth or rust doth corrupt, we leave those who are of this world to manage its concerns as they list, and we submit to them in every thing as far as a good conscience will admit. _July 12._--We have heard of two Jews, who have bought two Hebrew New Testaments, and a very respectable Jewish banker has been here to see Mr. Pfander, with the German Jew, whom I have mentioned before, and who is still desirous of leaving the broad road, without heart to trust in him who is in the heavenly path, the way, the truth, and the life. He is now here, endeavouring to obtain a livelihood by teaching a few boys Hebrew, and comes to read the book of Job in German with Mr. Pfander, without any of their explanations, one of which, as it regards Job, is as follows. They say that every individual of the human race actually existed in Adam, some in his nails, some in his toes, some in his eyes, mouth, &c. &c., and they think, in proportion to the proximity of the position of any person to the parts concerned in eating and digesting the forbidden fruit, will be their degree of guilt and measure of punishment here; so they consider that Job had his place near the mouth. Such are the follies which now occupy the minds of this interesting people, instead of the Lord of life and glory. Colonization appears to have entered into the contemplation of those engaged in steam-navigation, and the planting of indigo and sugar. To this end, the Pasha has granted them thirty miles of land on the banks of the river. Just before Mr. Taylor was to set off to go through the desert, news came that the Arab tribes on the road were at war among themselves, and that it would therefore not be safe for him to go that way, so he changed his route, and went on the 13th, by the way of Mousul and Merdin, nearly double the distance, and at the same time, Mr. Bywater and Mr. Elliot set off to Beer, from whence they intend going down the Euphrates and examining that river as far down as Babylon. The old Jew, who came with the German, heartily entered into some conversation about the coming of Christ. A school of Jewish children might, I think, easily be obtained here, if you would teach them English and the Old Testament only. Our Moolah has mentioned, that he has been reading the New Testament with another Moolah, who wishes to have a copy of Sabat's translation, thinking that that might stimulate them to answer it; but that the Propaganda edition is so vulgar, it offends them, for like the Greeks they seek after wisdom. Still, if they read, the testimony of God is delivered, and the plucking a few brands from the general conflagration, is the great work till the Lord come. They have a most proud and obstinate hatred against the name of Jesus, before whom all must bow. We have been interested by some inquiries made by our schoolmaster and his father, relative to our morning and evening prayers; he wanted to know what they were, and Mr. Pfander had the greatest difficulty in making him understand, that we prayed from a sense of our present wants. They said, they had heard from their books, that in the time of the apostles men were without form of prayer, and were enabled to pray from their hearts; but that it was not so now. They also asked some questions about the Lord's Supper, whether we used wine mixed with water or unmixed; bread leavened or unleavened. They seem anxious to know more, and may the Lord give an open door to them! We cannot help feeling, that the difficulties among the Mohammedans, and apostate Christian churches are great beyond any thing that can be imagined previous to experience. The difficulties of absolute falsehood are as nothing to those of perverted truth, as we see in the confounding infant baptism with the renewing of the Holy Ghost. In every thing it is the same, prayer, praise, love, all is perverted, and yet the name retained. The communications we received from Mr. G----l and others,[11] about the state of Christianity in these countries, is but too true, and what he states about the monks at Itch-Meeazin may be doubtless true; at least I suppose it is the seat of the Armenian Patriarch he means, for I know of no other Armenian church in these parts, where this service is kept up of reading the whole Book of Psalms every day. The office of a missionary in these countries is, to _live_ the Gospel before them in the power of the Holy Ghost, and to drop like the dew, line upon line, and precept upon precept, here a little and there a little, till God give the increase of his labours; but it must be by patient continuance in well doing against every discouraging circumstance, from the remembrance of what we ourselves once were. [11] See Record, Oct. 1, 1829. We have this day heard, that the cholera or the plague is at Tabreez, and that they are dying 4 or 5,000 a day; but this, I have no doubt, is a gross exaggeration. May the Lord watch over the seed that seems sowing there, and make the judgments that are in the earth warnings to men to return to God. We also have the cholera here; but I trust not severely. The last Tartar who took our letters with the head of the ex-Khiahya was plundered, so that our letters were lost which we sent by him. We have been to-day in hopes of obtaining another Moolah, for teaching the children in the school to read and write Arabic. For two months we have been trying, without success, to obtain one, so great is their prejudice against teaching Christians at all, but especially themselves to read the New Testament; but as our Lord does every thing for us, we doubt not he will do this also if it be best. I am much led to think on those of my dear missionary brethren, who look for the kingdom of Christ to come in by a gradual extension of the exertions now making. This view seems to me very discouraging; for surely after labouring for years, and so little having been done, we may all naturally be led to doubt if we are in our places; but to those who feel their place to be to preach Jesus, and publish the Testament in his blood, whether men will hear or whether they will forbear, they have nothing to discourage them, knowing they are a sweet savour of Christ. I daily feel more and more, that till the Lord come our service will be chiefly to gather out the few grapes that belong to the Lord's vine, and publish his testimony in all nations; there may be here and there a fruitful field on some pleasant hill, but as a whole, the cry will be, "Who hath believed our report, and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed." It is the constant practice here among the Jews, when they hear our blessed Lord's name mentioned, or mention it themselves, to curse him; so awful is their present state of opposition, Mohammedans will not hear, and Christians do not care for any of those things--such is the present state here; but if the Lord prosper our labour, we shall see what the end will be, when the Almighty word of God becomes understood. The poor German Jew still holds on; he has too much honesty to live by writing lying amulets, and too little faith to cast himself on the Lord; but his constant cry is, What shall I do to live? The insight he gives us into the state of the Jews here is most awful, but notwithstanding, there appears to me a most abundant field of labour among the 10,000 who are here. Yesterday he called me suddenly while at breakfast, to see a poor young Jewess who had been married but two months, and had fallen over the bridge with her little brother in her arms. The scene was awfully interesting. Not less perhaps than 300 Jews, with their wives, were in the house, but tumultuous as the waves of the sea, without hope and without God in the world. There was no hope of recovering her. She had been in the water an hour and a half, and had there been life, they were acting so as to extinguish every spark. She was lying in a close room crowded to suffocation, with the windows shut; and they were burning under her nose charcoal and wool. The Armenian boys, who are learning English, go on with great zeal, and may in the course of time become very interesting. We have at length received information, that all our things are arrived at Bussorah, and among the rest, the lithographic press, which we hope to find most useful to us in our present position; every thing happens rightly and well; they have been delayed for some time in coming up the river, in consequence of a quarrel between the Pasha and the Arab tribe, the Beni-Laam, in consequence of the plunder of Dr. Beaky's boat, but we expect it will be settled, as the Pasha has acceded to the terms the Sheikh offered, and has sent him down a dress of honour. I am sometimes led, in contemplating the gentlemanly and imposing aspect which our present missionary institutions bear, and contrasting them with the early days of the church, when apostolic fishermen and tent-makers published the testimony, to think that much will not be done till we go back again to primitive principles, and let the nameless poor, and their unrecorded and unsung labours be those on which our hopes, under God, are fixed. We have just heard an interesting case. The gardener of the Pasha is a Greek, who was lately sent to him at his request from Constantinople, and yesterday (August 6), he became a Mohammedan. He had two daughters of thirteen and fourteen, whom he also wished to become Mohammedans; but they would not consent, and ran away to the factory, where they might have remained under English protection; but they would not stay, unless their brother, and his wife, and their servants could remain with them; so they left, as Major T---- had not room for them all, having already the family of one of the servants of the Pasha, who is imprisoned for some delinquency in connection with the revenue accruing to the Pasha from the bazaar. There has been with Mr. Pfander to-day one of the writers of the Pasha, and he read some parts of the Turkish New Testament, which he very well understood, and expressed much pleasure in the reading of; but when, on his being about to leave, Mr. P. asked him to accept of a Turkish Testament, he very politely declined it. There is another person come from Merdin, with the view of settling the affair between the Syrians and the Roman Catholics at Merdin. He is a weaver of Diarbekr; and from him Mr. Pfander learns, that in the last census taken by the Pasha, the Syrians were 700 families, and the Armenians 6,700: this certainly opens a most interesting field for Christian inquiry: he also said, that the Syrians in the mountains were perfectly independent of the Mohammedans, and among themselves are divided into little clans under their respective Bishops. He also stated, that reading and writing were much more cultivated among the independent Syrians than those in the plains. He also said there would be no difficulty whatever in going among the Yezidees with a Syrian guide. The language which the independent Syrians speak is Syriac, which is near the ancient Syriac, and that they understand fully the Syrian Scriptures when read in their churches. We hope, therefore, should the Lord spare our lives, to have an opportunity of circulating some of the many copies of the Scriptures in Syriac, which Mr. Pfander has brought from Shushee, and some that I expect will come from Bombay for me. The Gerba tribe of Arabs are come almost close to Bagdad, to check whom the Pasha intends sending out the troops that have been under the discipline of the English. We have also heard from the Syrian, that from Mousul to Mardin the road by the mountains of Sinjar is safer than by the plains. Among the Yezidees and Syrians, no Mohammedan lives. It is impossible to consider such an immense Christian population as that in Diarbekr, without feeling a wish to pour in upon it the fountains of living waters, which we are so abundantly blessed with. Oh, that some one would come out, and settle down in such a place as Diarbekr--what an abundant field of labour! _August 14._--A young Jew was here to-day, and bought three Arabic Bibles of Mr. Pfander, at 25 piastres of this place each, _i.e._ about 5s. sterling. This is almost the beginning. Many might perhaps have been given away; but as we find that those of Mr. Wolff were generally burnt, we wish them to buy them, at least, at such a price that they would not burn them. He took away a Hebrew New Testament, but returned it again. I should feel deeply interested in some one coming to take charge of a Jewish school, in which the Old Testament, Hebrew, and Arabic, might be the basis of instruction. I make no doubt, that at once a most interesting school might be established here on a very large scale, for they have but one school of about 150 poor boys at their synagogue, or rather synagogues, for they have six, but all in one place, and forming one building; they have also three rabbies, and besides the boys which are taught at the above school, many others are educated at home by teachers. Now, nothing can be more distinct than their wish for a school, and their promise of supporting it on the basis of the Old Testament being taught as a school-book, which certainly, as a primary step, is a most important one to cause them, by the Lord's blessing, to see that the book which they now disfigure by monstrous interpretations, has yet in itself, by the illumination of God's Spirit, a clear, simple, and, in all essential points, an intelligible meaning, without the aid of man's exposition. But should they finally turn round and oppose the school, which as soon as the power of it is felt, they most assuredly would do, still some might remain, and if none should, there is still a most abundant field of labour in circulating the Scriptures, and in conversation among them in this city, and throughout Mesopotamia, where they abound in almost every town. We have heard from a Jew, that Sakies, the Armenian Agent of the East India Company, had given the Jews directions to treat Mr. Wolff when here with attention, and to invite him to their houses. The Jews here are closely connected with the English, at least many of them, who are under English protection. _August 15._ _Sunday._--The thermometer this day has been the highest hitherto for the year, 117 in the shade, and 155 in the sun.[12] This is the time when the dates ripen, and the most oppressive in the year; but by the Lord's great mercy, we are all in health and strength, though sometimes we feel a little disposed to think it is so hot, that we may be excused from doing any thing; but my English scholars keep me employed six hours a day, which prevents me from thinking much about the heat, though not from feeling it. I can truly say, it is far more tolerable than I expected, and yet there are few places on the face of the earth hotter. The temperature of India is not near so high; and I question, if there is any place, that for the year through would average so high. [12] It has _since_ been so high as 118 in the shade, and 158 in the sun. _August 17._--The Jew has been here, and bought another Arabic Bible. I showed him one of the Hebrew Psalters of the Jews' Society. He greatly desired to have it; but I could not spare that; but promised him that when mine came up from Bussorah, I would let him know. We have this day a new Moolah, the best we could get, but not altogether such as we could have desired. The Jews here cannot believe that Christians know any thing of Hebrew, and are therefore surprised to see Hebrew books with us. Oh, should the Lord allow us to be of any use to this holy people, terrible from their beginning hitherto alike in the favour and indignation of Jehovah, we should esteem it a very great blessing; yet surely they ought to have here one missionary, whose whole soul might be drawn out towards this especial work. From some communications with a native of Merdin, we find that the custom of avenging murder and requiring blood for blood, exists among the independent Chaldeans and Syrians, and keeps them in continual warfare, where one happens to be killed by the inhabitants of another village. The inhabitants of the village of the person killed, feel it a necessary point of honour to revenge it. He also mentioned, that the Yezidees were no longer so numerous as formerly, but were greatly diminished by the plague, which happened a few years ago, by which Diarbekr lost 10,000 of its inhabitants. We had a visit from an Armenian, who was formerly treasurer to Sir Gore Ouseley; while speaking about Christianity, he said, it was no use to speak to the Armenians about it, for they all say, "How can we know any thing about such matters, and that, except as a sect, they are too ignorant to know or care about Christianity." They are indeed full of the pride of heart that appertains to sectarians, and obstinately resist the Scriptures being translated into the modern languages, because, say they, the ancient language was spoken in Paradise, and will be the language of heaven, and that, therefore, translating the sacred book into that which is modern, is a desecration. How wonderfully does Satan blind men, and how by one contrivance or another does he endeavour to keep God's word from them, as a real intelligible book, which the Spirit of God makes plain, even to the most unlettered; but the more we discover him endeavouring to pervert God's word from becoming intelligible, the more we should strive to let every soul have the testimony of God concerning his life in Christ, in a language he understands. In this point of view I look to the schools with comfort. _August 19._--Things here seem most unsettled, and require us to live in very simple faith as to what a day may bring forth. It is stated, that between 20 and 30,000 Arabs are close to the gates of the city. The Pasha has an army about 24 miles from hence; but unable to move, except all together, and there is another regiment under an English officer about 12 miles distant. The deposition of this Pasha seems to be the principal object of these Arabs, in which it is not impossible that they may be fully supported by the Porte. What will be the result of all this we are not careful to know, for we are not to fear their face, nor to be afraid, but the Lord will be to us a hiding place from the storm, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against a wall. A caravan has just come across the desert from Aleppo, with a guard of 500 men, consisting of 300 camels. Letters brought by a Tartar from Constantinople have all been detained by the Pasha, except a few on mercantile concerns which have been delivered. So many packets sent by Constantinople have been in one way or another detained, that I have no other hope of letters than what my most gracious Lord's approved love gives me; all which he really desires me to have I shall receive, and more I would desire not to wish for. We have just heard, that Major T----'s brother, and the gentlemen who left Mousul were pursued by 500 Arabs; but all escaped except a horse of the Capidji,[13] an officer of the Sultan's, which was laden with money, collected by his master for the government at Constantinople; he could not go fast enough, so he fell into the hands of the Arabs. [13] A Capidji Bashi is a messenger of the Porte, to collect money, or bear especial messages of any sort. The Roman Catholic bishop has received accounts that Algiers is taken by the French, and also some forts in its neighbourhood. Aleppo is quiet, though the Arabs are in the neighbourhood. Our new Moolah has expressed his surprise at the contents of the New Testament, and wonders how Mohammedans can speak against it as they do. He intends coming to our Armenian schoolmaster on Sundays to read it with him; may the Lord most graciously send down his Spirit upon them, that the one who undertakes to teach what he does not know, may, by discovering his ignorance, be led to the fountain of all wisdom; and may the other learn to love him whose holy, heavenly, and divine name he has blasphemed. The cholera is much about, but the Lord preserves us all safe. The Pasha has made up his differences with the Arab tribe, and all the troops have returned, except those under Mr. Littlejohn, which still remain out for fear of an attack before all the harvest is thrashed and brought in. There are symptoms of great fear on the part of the Pasha, that a struggle is actually going on among those around him for superseding him in his Pashalic, in which they have apparently much probability of success, as the Porte has been greatly injured by his unwillingness to meet her necessities and afford her pecuniary help. Our security, however, is in this, that amidst all, the Lord knoweth them that are his, and will defend them amidst all turmoils and in the most troublous times--in this we find peace and quietness. The poor men who came to endeavour to obtain from the Pasha here the re-institution of the Syrian patriarch in those churches in Merdin, from which he had been ejected by the Roman Catholic bishop, are now returning without success, but carrying back with them two boxes of Arabic and Syrian New Testaments to the Patriarch. May the Lord water them by his most Holy Spirit, so that they may become the ground of living churches, instead of those of stone which they have lost. I have been much surprised to learn that all the Arab tribes on these rivers, except the Montefeiks, are Sheahs or followers of Ali, whom I had formerly thought followers of Omar. I have already mentioned, that on leaving Mousul, Mr. Taylor's party were attacked and obliged to return to Telaafer,[14] a village between Mousul and Merdin, whence, after having waited for a stronger escort, they proceeded towards Merdin, when the event related in the following letter took place; but the supposed death of the three gentlemen was unfounded. They were only made prisoners and carried to the mountains of Sinjar, among the Yezidees. These people are declared enemies of the Mohammedans, whom they hate; but, on the whole, except when their cupidity is excited, they are not unfriendly towards Christians. They seem, with the Sabeans and some others, such as the Druzes, to be descendants of the believers in the two principles who have blown their pestiferous breath at different times into every system of religion that has prevailed in these countries, corrupting all. However, these Yezidees, be they originally what they may, have now these three gentlemen in custody, and require 7,500 piastres of this place--about £75, for their liberation, and Major T. has sent a person from hence to treat about it. [14] All this was wrong; they were treacherously robbed and murdered, Mr. Jas. Taylor, Mr. Aspinal, a merchant of Bombay, and Mr. Bawater, formerly, I think, in the marines. "My dear Sir, "It is, I can assure you, with a sincere and melancholy regret at the dreadful, I may say horrible and awful event that I have so lately witnessed, that I sit down now to address a few lines to you. I feel quite unable to give you an entire relation of our misfortunes, and shall content myself with saying, that out of seven as happy people as could well exist on our departure from Mousul, three only have returned. To one so well able to look for consolation, where, I may say, in such an event consolation is alone to be found, fortitude and patience in suffering might well be found. I myself have not attained this, and I may say this event has plunged me in the deepest melancholy. For a relation of facts, I must refer you to Captain Cockrell's letter to Major Taylor: we were attacked and compelled to fly, and in the confusion, Mr. Taylor, his servant, Mr. Bywater, and our companion, Mr. Aspinal, were murdered. We, that is Captain Cockrell, Mr. Elliot, and myself escaped, though I was, I believe, especially fired at, as on descending the hill four or five whistled close past me. That we were betrayed, and moreover, our companions assassinated by our own party, no doubt exists in my mind. All that were killed out of 500 people that were with us were these four. They again, out of all, happened to be the only ones among us who carried money. We have done every thing in our power to recover their bodies but without effect: on our return to Telaafer, after having been twenty-six hours on horseback in the desert, we wrote a note, in the hope that they might be prisoners at Sinjar, and offered 4,000 piastres for them if they were brought in safe. The Kapidgi Bashi left for Merdin before we could hear of our messenger; he returned after three days, and said he had seen their clothes and pistols, and that they were all murdered. Mr. Taylor he mentioned as having been run through the body with a spear. This was one out of many reports of a similar nature, and we were fain to give them up for dead. (They could not possibly have been alive had they escaped, as there was no water within twenty-four hours.) All our things were pillaged. I lost all my papers, including your letters, and all that was left were a few pairs of white trowsers. This was most assuredly done by our own party; even our own baggage man, before my eyes, almost laid hold of my turban and pistol, which I had laid upon the ground, and on my laying hold on him, actually drew his dagger. I never witnessed such villany in my life. All our guards were laughing, as if nothing had occurred; and, although I may be wrong, yet I do venture it as my opinion, that there were no thieves at all, but that it was treachery altogether. You will be surprised to hear that Captain Cockrell and myself start to-morrow on the same road as before. I trust in God alone for protection, as we have no guards at all. If I ever reach Exeter I shall not fail to call on Miss Groves; but after what has happened who can say, "He shall do this." "We take no baggage of any description, being fully aware of the danger and impracticability of so doing; so that if we are again attacked, we shall be able to gallop for our lives. Now, adieu, my dear Sir. I will write from Constantinople if I reach it; in the mean time excuse this hurried scrawl, and believe me, ever "Yours very sincerely, "W. HULL." "_Mr. A. N. Groves._" In consequence of the receipt of this intelligence, Major T. sent off Aga Menas to Mousul, to treat about the liberation of the captives, and we are anxiously waiting the result. My dear brother Pfander and myself having come to the conclusion, that with so large a school, and so many objects of one kind and the other as there are here requiring attention, it would be impossible for me to leave this and go with him into the mountains; this led to the further determination on his part to return to Shushee next year, having first spent a few months at Ispahan, to complete his knowledge of Persian; and I of course was prepared to be left quite alone, but still my heart was fully sustained with the confident hope that the Lord would not only do what was right, but exceedingly abundant above all I could ask. On all sides nothing but silence prevailed:--three packets of letters had been lost between Constantinople and this, and one between Tabreez and this, and all the letters from India had been detained, by the Arabs on the river being at war with the Pasha for four or five months. Therefore I knew nothing of the movements of any of my dear friends, and all was left to conjecture; sometimes, when faith was in full exercise, I felt assured that the Lord was doing all well; at others, I hardly knew what to think. I had written to my very dear friends in Petersburgh, Dr. W. and Miss K. to come if possible and as soon as possible; but their having left Petersburgh doubtless prevented their receiving my letter. From my dear friends in England I heard little; from Ireland not a word. Things were in this state, when suddenly there came in three Tartars bringing us three packets, so full of Christian love, sympathy, and such good tidings, that it almost overcame our hearts, weak from long abstinence from similar entertainment, and even on this day, the third from their arrival, they fill my heart till it runs over. To hear and see that those one most loves, are indeed joying and rejoicing in their holy, most holy relation to God in Christ,--the relationship of sons and daughters, to see them anxious to walk blameless in all the ordinances their Lord has left them, while they glory in being free from the law of condemnation, and desire to know no freedom from the law of loving obedience: moreover, to see them becoming more and more sensible to the great truth that inestimable as knowledge is, it is what devils may share, but that the love of Jesus, and a tenderness of conscience as to his will, is infinitely higher than that, and that therefore his high command to the members of his church to love one another as he loves them, can never be slighted by them:--oh, to see this it does indeed rejoice my heart, and I pray among us all that it may abound more and more, particularly among us who have been so graciously and so kindly led into all the holy freedom of the Gospel. Let us see we use it not as a cloak of maliciousness, but as the servants of Christ, loving and serving one another, not returning evil for evil, or reviling for reviling, but contrariwise blessing. The path God's children have to take when they are determined in the name of the Lord not to give the name of God's truth to any thing merely human, knowing that it is a vain thing to teach for doctrines the commandments of men, is so naturally offensive, that our zeal for the truth should lead us to pray for such especial graces of the Spirit as may prevent any unloveliness in our walk, preventing the Lord's dear children from coming, and seeing, and drinking of that well-spring in Christ by which we have been so refreshed and invigorated. Whilst we profess, my very dear friends, absolute freedom from man's control in the things relating to God, we only acknowledge in a tenfold degree the absoluteness of our subjection to the whole mind and will of Christ in all things. As he is our _life_ hid with him in God, so let him be our _way_ and our _truth_, both in doctrine and conversation. How many, from neglect of this lovely union, have almost forgotten to care about adorning the doctrine of God their Saviour in all things. Let us, my dear brethren and sisters, pray that we may be united in all the will of Christ. This is a basis not for time only but for eternity, and for that glorious day especially, when the Lord shall come to be glorified in all his saints, and admired in all them that believe. But not only did my packets bring me joyful tidings of the Lord's doings among those whom I especially know and love, but they also brought me intelligence that he had prepared for me help from among those who had been known and approved, and whom I especially loved. How I felt reproved for every doubt; and indeed the Lord so fully has let his goodness pass before me, that I am overwhelmed, and feel I can only lay my hand upon my mouth, and whilst overwhelmed with my own vileness and unworthiness of the least of all my most gracious Lord's loving kindnesses to me, yet glory in that dispensation of grace which ministers to us, not according to our deserts, but the unbought, unbounded love of God. My letters tell me that my very dear brethren and friends, Mr. P., Mr. C., his sister, and mother, and little babe, and Mr. N., are coming to join us, with possibly a fourth. Now this does seem altogether wonderful, and whilst not at all more than I ought to have expected, yet more than I had faith to expect. Yet while I have nothing to say for myself, I desire to say all for God: it is like him, all whose ways are wonderful, and, towards his church, full of mercy, goodness, and truth. Oh, how happy shall we be to await the Lord's coming on the banks of these rivers, which have been the scene of all the sacred history of the old church of God, and destined still, I believe, to be the scene of doings of yet future and deeper interest at the coming of the Lord; and whilst I should not hesitate to go to the furthest corner of the habitable earth, were my dear Lord to send me, yet I feel much pleasure in having my post appointed here, though the most unsettled and insecure country beneath the sun perhaps. In every direction, without are lawless robbers, and within unprincipled extortioners; but it is in the midst of these, that the Almighty arm of our Father delights to display his preserving mercy, and while the flesh would shrink, the spirit desires to wing its way to the very foremost ranks of danger in the battles of the Lord. Oh that we may more and more press on this sluggish, timid, earthly constitution, that is always wanting its native ease among the delights of an earthly happiness. Oh, may my very loving, zealous brethren, stir up my timid, languid spirit to the mild yet life-renouncing love of my dear Lord, which, whilst it was silent, was as strong, yea, stronger than death. My dear friend and brother P---- and his wife have been baptized too; to see this conformity to Christ's mind, is very delightful; and how wonderful, too;--so strong a current of prejudice is there against this simple, intelligible, and blessed ordinance. I learn also, that he and my dear friend the A----[15] are preaching the everlasting Gospel themselves, and with some others of those we love, employing others to preach it. This also is good news. [15] They have 3,362 congregations, whereas the most numerous body besides has but 1,946. See _Miss. Register._ _September 10._--No accounts have been received from Sinjar regarding our travellers. I fear this is ominous, for if ransom is what the Yezidees want, would they not have contrived to forward some notice to Bagdad? however, a few days will most likely disclose the truth, as on the 8th Meenas reached Mousul. We have just heard that the Nabob of Lucknow's brother, on his return from a pilgrimage to Mished, was taken prisoner with the whole caravan by the Turcomans. This amiable Mohammedan came from India on a round of pilgrimages. He has visited Mecca and Kerbala, and was now returning again to this place on his way home to Lucknow, after which he purposed returning again, and going through Persia, Russia, Germany, &c. to England. He was robbed once before between this and Aleppo. The Pasha has just sent to the Factory to say, that the cholera has extended its ravages to Kerkook, and to ask for advice, and what is to be done should it reach this place with its epidemic violence. Mr. M---- is going therefore to write directions, and Major T---- will get them translated into Arabic, for the use of the people here. Blessed be the Lord's holy name, our charter runs, that in the pestilence, "though ten thousand fall at thy right hand, it shall not come nigh thee;" on this, therefore, we repose our hearts. The Pasha seems perplexed to know, in the event of its reaching Bagdad, where he shall go with his family for safety. It is certainly an awful thing to look at Tabreez, where they say, that 8,000 or 9,000 have died out of 60,000; and two years ago at Bussorah, 1,500 out of 6,000, so that the houses were left desolate, and the boats were floating up and down the creek without owners, and when persons died in a house, the rest went away, and left the bodies there locked up. But we have in our dwellings a light in these days that they know nothing of, who know not our God either in his power or his love, so that the heart is enabled to cast all, even the dearest to it, on the exceeding abundance of his mercy. _September 10._--I fear the intelligence we have just received of poor Mr. J. Taylor, Mr. Bywater, and Mr. Aspinal, and the Maltese servant, leaves us little room to hope but that they have all been treacherously murdered. Our Moolah tells us, he received a letter from a friend of his at Merdin, stating, that they were murdered--not by the Yezidees at all, but by the party of Arabs sent by the Pasha of Mousul to protect them, in conjunction with a party from Telaafer, an Arab village, where they spent a night. It appears, that when the attack was made, Mr. Elliot, Captain Cockrell, and Mr. Hull galloped off after being stripped; but Mr. Taylor, Mr. Aspinal, and Mr. Bywater got entangled among these robbers, and Mr. A. shot one of the Arabs with his pistol; and afterwards Mr. B. shot another. It then became with these lawless plunderers, no longer a matter of simple robbery, but of revenge and death. They killed these two young men, and then pulling Mr. Taylor from his horse, killed him. I confess, when I saw them mounting their horses, strongly covered with offensive weapons of warfare, I felt very little comfort about them, for, if they were attacked, it would only be with an overwhelming force, or they would be given up in treachery, in both which cases almost all the danger arises from resistance. Those wretched plunderers seek not life, but booty; this quietly yielded, you may go; but if you use the sword, you perish by the sword. If you carry money, or any thing valuable, you are exposed to be stripped, and if you go armed, to be killed. About three years ago, the French interpreter was going the very same route, and near Telaafer he was attacked, and stripped; but they let him go free. The fate of these gentlemen has greatly affected us all. A delay must now take place in the steamboat communication, for it is not probable that this route can ever be so disregarded, but that some effort, sooner or later, will be made. Let our impatient hearts hush their murmurings; it is the work of a loving Father, who declares to his children, that all things shall work together for their good; yea, the disappointment of present hopes shall, by heavenly patience, yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness to those who are exercised thereby. _September 14._--We have just heard, that an order has been given out in one of the mosques, that the Mohammedans shall receive no printed books. Whether this watchfulness is the result of Mr. Pfander having employed a man, a Jew, to sell Bibles, Testaments, and Psalters, or whether, at the suggestion from the R---- C---- B----, I know not. How near the principles are of the beast and the false prophet--how easily they harmonize and help each other! We have lately heard some interesting details of the numbers of the Jews in the places north-east of Persia. A Jew who has travelled in these countries states, that there are, _In._ _Language spoken._ _Families._ Samarcand Turkish 500 Bokhaura Turkish and Persian 5,000 Mished Turkish and Persian 10,000 Heerat Turkish and Persian 8,000 Caubul {Pashtoo, but Persian} 300 Bulkh-(Caubul) { generally understood} 300 There are also in the villages about some Jews, from 20 to 100 families. Their knowledge of the Hebrew is very confined; very few understand it at all; they have also very little knowledge of the Talmud. We hope from time to time to collect more particulars to correct, confirm, or cancel these, and all other accounts of a similar nature, for in these countries it is not one account that can stand, and when confronted by 50 more, it can still be only considered as an approximation to truth. _September 16._--Our long expected packet by Shushee and Tabreez has just arrived. The messenger, on reaching Kourdistan, found it in such a state of danger and confusion, that he was afraid to proceed, but went back again, and came by a longer but more quiet way. Another cause of delay seems to have been their going to India, and back again to Tabreez. The information contained in this packet is most interesting. From Petersburgh we heard from several friends, all encouraging, comforting, and rejoicing us. The Lord seems to give them courage still to persevere; and dear sister ---- intends, after recruiting a little in England, to return again to her work there. I feel satisfied it is a most interesting field, and that ere long in Russia some tremendous changes will take place. The poor are anxious for the word of God, and the nobility despising the hierarchy, and, therefore, that blind priestly domination under which it has groaned, will finally fall to pieces; infidelity will take openly its side, and the Lord's saints theirs. Dear Mr. K---- tells us, that some dear American brother, by name Lewis, has sent him money to procure for his family a house in the country during the few months of a Russian summer. How loving and bountiful a Lord ours is, supplying his most affectionate and waiting servant with all he needs; it makes every little bounty so sweet when it comes from a Father through one of his vessels of mercy. Oh, who would not live a life of faith in preference to one of daily, hourly satiety--I mean as to earthly things; how very many instances of happiness should we have been deprived of, had we not trusted to, and left it to his love to fill us with good things as he pleased, and to spread our table as he has done, year after year, and will do, even here in this wilderness. From Shushee we have also heard, that our dear brother Z---- and an Armenian had been travelling and selling Bibles and Testaments. They went first to Teflis; from thence to Erzeroum, Erivan, Ech-Miazin, and back again to Shushee. What success he had in selling Bibles and Testaments we do not know, but at Erzeroum, he was accused by the Mohammedans before the Russian authorities, but let go. He returned home in safety under the hand of the Lord. There is also in the letters of our brethren most pleasing accounts of a young Armenian, the son-in-law of the richest Armenian merchant in Baku, supposed to be worth half a million. This young man, at a visit of Z---- and P----, was much interested by their conversation about the New Testament, and they went away, leaving him an interesting inquirer. He, however, still pursued his way alone, and attained a perfect understanding of the Armenian Testament, which at first he was able to read but indifferently. He then felt himself unable to proceed in mercantile transactions as before; so that his father-in-law told him, that much as he regretted separating from him, if he became so pious, they must part. Well, he said, he could not give up his convictions, and he was sure his Lord would not allow him to want; so he left his father-in-law, and learnt the trade of a taylor. From the very first he began to teach his wife, and she takes part with him; and he is now selling Bibles and Testaments, and circulating tracts among the Russian soldiers. This is a sight indeed! for centuries perhaps they have not seen one of their own body rising up, and choosing to suffer affliction with the people of God, rather than enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; and the sight is as strange to Mohammedans as to Christians. May the Lord sustain, comfort, and bless him out of his heavenly treasures. From Tabreez our tidings are heavy, or rather would be, but that the Lord of love directs and orders all, and sees the end from the beginning, yet they have also good tidings too. I have already mentioned, that the cholera had been raging at Tabreez; but we learn, that not only this, but the plague is there also, to a most frightful extent. I will just copy here the account our dear sister Mrs. ---- has given us; and for whose safety we desire to bless the Lord; she says, "Before this reaches you, you may have heard of the sorrow and desolation that have befallen this city within these last two months. Thousands around us have been cut off by the cholera and the plague. The former raged so furiously for the first month, that 2 or 300 died daily. Symptoms of the plague first were discovered in the ark among the Russian soldiers, which manifested itself by breaking out over the body in large boils; the person attacked, feeling himself overcome by stupor; many died before it was thought what it was; precautions were taken, and they were sent out to camp at some distance from the town. The disorder has not raged among them so much as it has in the town. I cannot tell you how great the fear was that was struck into the minds of the people. Many were taken ill through fear, of which they died. Previous to the city being quite deserted, men, women, children, of all denominations, collected themselves together in large bodies, crying and beseeching God to turn away his judgments from them: this they did bareheaded and without shoes, humbling themselves, they said, because they knew they were great sinners. The air resounded with their cries day and night, particularly the latter, and often during the whole of it. Oh, did they but know the truth as it is in Jesus. At length all classes fled to the mountains, leaving the town quite deserted. Alexander told me, on his return one day from the city, that he had not met a person. All the shops in the bazaar were forsaken, so that from this you may derive some idea of the terror that has possessed this people." Mrs. ---- also tells us, that the establishment at Tabreez is going to be much reduced, and that therefore Mr. N---- is ordered back to India. This has tried them much, for they were just expecting two American missionaries, a Mr. Dwight and a Mr. Smith, with whom they were hoping to have acted happily for their common Lord. But the Lord's ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts, so these things happen otherwise than we expected. However, wherever they go, may they be blessed, and a blessing. They purpose coming here on their way, which affords us much pleasure at the prospect of seeing them again. However, we are greatly rejoiced to think, that brethren from America have designed Tabreez for their station. Now between Shushee, Tabreez, and this place we have a little frontier line. Oh, may there be daily new ambassadors of mercy publishing the testimony of Jesus in all the world. Oh, that the end may quickly come. Our Moolah is dreadfully depressed to-day, at the prospect of the cholera and plague coming here, and he said to me, he thought the end of the world must be near, because of these wars, pestilences, and plagues. We have also heard that we shall most likely be obliged to leave this house after the year has expired; for the Sheahs have been complaining to the Seyd,[16] the owner of it, for letting it to the infidels for such a purpose. But we are not careful about these things; it will be as the Lord wills. [16] Descendant of the Prophet. Nothing can show the stupid carelessness of these people more, than that, although they are frightened out of their reason almost at the prospect of the plague and cholera, yet they have actually allowed a whole caravan from Tabreez to come into the city without quarantine, or any kind of precaution. Oh, how joyful the promises in the Revelations are for "those written in the Lamb's book of life," for "those who have not the mark of the beast on them," for those who are to be sealed before the angels are allowed to hurt the earth. Yea, he will for his great name's sake hide us in the secret of his pavilion, so that he will put a song into our mouths; yea, he will encompass us with songs of deliverance. We feel that it now indeed especially becomes us neither to fear their fear nor be afraid. _Sept._--The weather is now become decidedly cooler. A fortnight since the average height of the thermometer in the shade, during the warmest part of the day, was 117; it is now lowered to 110. During the hottest time of the year, which is now just over, the quicksilver was rarely lower than 110, or higher than 118 in the shade, except in the morning, when the general range was from 87 to 93. The Seyd who has let us his house, and who we had heard intended to turn us out after the year was expired, has got into trouble with the Pasha, about some ground he rented, and for which he was to pay the Pasha a certain quantity of corn; but he says, what from the locusts, and the rain not coming at the usual time, and when it did come, coming in such unusual quantities, he lost his crop. He has now come begging us to take his case to Major T., to beg him to endeavour to settle it with the Musruff. Thus the Lord has brought him into difficulties, that if he were disposed to turn us out he would not be able this year. But he denies altogether having said any thing about turning us out, and it is not improbable that it is as he says; his family which is a large one, and once were opulent, feel it a great disgrace to let out the house of one of the descendants of the prophet to a Christian, and more especially as one of the rooms is over the street under which the Mohammedans have to walk, and this most especially offends them; but that we might not give them any unnecessary offence we have never occupied the room, though the most airy one we have. A Jew of Yezd has been with us, and told us that there are 300 families of Jews in that city, and the same number at Ispahan. _Sept. 24._--A caravan has just arrived from Constantinople, by way of Aleppo. We have also heard that one caravan from Damascus has been plundered, and another from Kerkook: and a messenger likewise who came from Captain Campbell, from Tabreez, was also stopped, but having nothing besides letters, was suffered to pass. I note these events down merely that they may afford a little criterion of the unsettled state of the whole of the interior of this immense continent. In fact, the Lord is, amidst these commotions, preparing a way for his testimony to spread. The cholera, by the Lord's blessing, is decreasing, but it is reported that at Kerkook the mortality went as high as 100 a day; it has now, however, ceased. _Sept. 27._--The intelligence has been confirmed of the death of Mr. Taylor, Mr. Aspinal, and Mr. Bywater, as well as of a Maltese servant, and that the principal perpetrators were the Sheikh of Telaafer, in conjunction with a Sheikh of the Yezidees, who were with the caravan at the time. The Nawaub mentioned before, has been delivered by the Prince of Teheran sending an army into Khorassan, and with him all the caravan. _Sept. 29._--Meenas has just been here, and the only particulars he has given of the unfortunate travellers, in addition to that which we knew before is, that Mr. Aspinal made his escape with the others, but hearing a cry from Mr. Taylor and Mr. Bywater, he returned, and finding them surrounded by about fifty men, he drew his pistol and shot one man through the arm. This made them retire for a moment, but they advanced again: he then drew another pistol, and shot the Sheikh of the Yezidees, by name Bella. His son then rushed on them with the rest, and killed them all, and with them six other Christians--two on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and the others on mercantile business. The booty they then divided, half to the people of Telaafer, who were the guards of the murdered party, and the other half the Yezidees kept. The Yezidees do not appear at all to have wished to kill them, knowing their relation to the Resident here, from whom they hoped to get a handsome ransom. Perhaps no two events could more powerfully manifest the weakness of the Ottoman empire internally than this event which has happened to Mr. Taylor, and the pillage of a caravan going to Mousul, which was stripped of every thing but two boxes of books, which Mr. Pfander had sent; these they left as being too heavy, and they are now safe at Mousul. This caravan was stripped by persons nominally the subjects of the Pasha within two days journey of Bagdad, and the property divided with the most perfect impunity without any attempt at recovery. These gentlemen were robbed and killed by persons of a village subject to the Pasha of Mousul; and he has not the least prospect of bringing them to punishment. When Meenas gave the Syrians in Mousul an account of our school here, they were so much interested, that all their principal persons have written a letter to invite us to come there and establish schools among them, and also to desire that we should send to them some Arabic Testaments and Psalms. All this is most encouraging, and I plainly see, that were there twenty servants of Christ, faithful men, who would be content to work for the Lord in every way, there might soon be found abundant work for them. Mousul seems especially open to Christian influence. Many of those immediately connected with the Pasha are Christians, and many even among the Mohammedans have still Christian recollections. The letter from Mousul, Meenas tells us, will come in about three days; if so, Mr. Pfander proposes sending back a present of Arabic Testaments and Psalms, with the expression of our hope that the Lord may strengthen our hands, as he has made willing our hearts, to extend our labours unto them. Major T. often asks me if I think any missionary mechanics may still come out. The Lord does so much and so wonderfully, that I can almost hope this, notwithstanding the host of prejudices to be first surmounted. Marteroos, the schoolmaster, who we hear is on his way from Sheeraz, will, I trust, be a great comfort to us, and a help to the school. He taught two years in the school at Calcutta, and though solicited, would receive no salary; and also at Bushire. This is a trait of character so utterly unlike these countries, that we cannot but hope he will enter into our plans with a heartiness that we can expect few others would. From his understanding English, we hope he may be able to take not only the higher Armenian classes, but also to have time to translate such books as we need for the use of the school, and also little tracts for circulation. The Musruff, (or treasurer) of the Pasha told Major T. that they had begun the canal between the Tigris and Euphrates. This shews the Pasha is still anxious about the steam communication. Our Mohammedan Moolah still continues to read the New Testament, with the Armenian schoolmaster, who seems very sanguine that he will become a Christian. At all events, I bless God that he sees the record of God with his own eyes, so that if he now rejects the testimony, it will be God's that he rejects, and not the solemn mockery of Christ's most simple and most holy truth, which they have before seen. We were much delighted to find that those of the little boys who had been exercised in translating their own language into the vulgar, had retained such a clear knowledge of it, that though they were called upon quite unexpectedly, they understood it; whereas the bigger boys, who come to me for English, and the Moolah for Arabic, and who are considered to have finished the Armenian education, were not able to translate one word, at which they were not a little ashamed, though the fault was not theirs, but the plan of education. We are greatly encouraged by this, and led to hope, with the Lord's blessing we shall see, instead of a system of education, which after immense labour, terminates in nothing but _sound_ without _sense_ or instruction, a system that will at least bring God's word before them in a form intelligible and clear; yea, the very truth that God's Spirit has promised to bless, and which He has declared shall not return unto him void. Our schoolmaster fully enters into these plans for improvement, and really desires to do whatever we wish. Our Arabic Moolah also enters much into our wishes, and the boys are making double the progress they did under the old system. This is all of the Lord; and in fact, when I think of the doubts expressed before we commenced of our being allowed to work at all, and consider the quietness and peace the Lord has allowed us to enjoy in the prosecution of our work, I desire more entirely to cast my whole soul, with all its purposes and plans on the Lord, not to move but as he guides. The two great objects of the church in the latter days seem to me to be, independent of growing herself up into the stature of fulness in Christ, the publication of the testimony of Jesus in all lands, and the calling out of the sheep of Christ that may be imprisoned in all the Babylonish systems that are in the world. In both these may the Lord of his infinite mercy grant success. Oh, how consoling it is, under an overwhelming sense of powerless inefficiency, to one's work, to know that God has chosen to put the most precious gift in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God and not of man, so that we may glory in our very weakness and ignorance, and natural insufficiency, knowing that the Lord's strength is made perfect in this very weakness. Dear and blessed Lord, make us every one willing to be nothing, that thou mayest in all things be glorified. _Oct. 2._--I have just seen a sight that interests me much; the Mohammedan Moolah sitting at one window of the school reading the Arabic New Testament, and the Armenian vartabiet (or schoolmaster) sitting at a table explaining to the son of the priest of this place the New Testament. This young man is just going to Ispahan to be ordained. This certainly is something gained, that the word of eternal truth is brought before them. In speaking yesterday to my Moolah about the fortress which the Sultan has ordered to be built between Damascus and Aleppo, to keep the road safe for caravans, and which is nearly finished, he told me that the Sultan had promised the European Sultans that he would govern and regulate his country like theirs; thus the minds of these people seem preparing step by step for changes. I have heard, that after we left Petersburgh, some of those, from whom we had experienced peculiar kindness, had become very active in visiting the poor in the neighbourhood of that city, and in circulating tracts and the Scriptures, till at last they attracted the notice of the governors of one of these villages, who arrested and examined them. Dr. W. was ordered to leave St. Petersburgh in twenty-four hours, and the Russian dominions in three weeks. Dear young Mr. ----, being an officer, was put into confinement, and ----, whose mother has often visited Africa, has since left her charge, and is returned to England for her health, but hopes with increased prospects of usefulness, to return to her former sphere of labour. They felt the cause of God had gained ground during their trials, and that their own souls had greatly rejoiced in the Lord. _Oct. 7._--We have just heard that a German watchmaker in this place has turned Mohammedan. This unprincipled man had a wife and children in Germany, yet wished to marry a Roman Catholic Armenian here; but knowing that the Bishop here would not marry them, he then went to the Musruff, (the chief officer of the Pasha,) and promised him that if he would get him this woman he would become a Mohammedan, and this he has now done, and he is using all his endeavours to compel the young woman he has married to follow his steps. This, at present, she resists, but she has little principle, as she knew before of his being married. The more I see of this people, the more I am struck with the necessity of our being made acquainted with the deep wickedness and corruption of the human heart, that we may never be hopeless as to these people, and think them some peculiarly iniquitous race; and on the other hand, we need a deep sense of the omnipotence of God's Holy Spirit, that we may never be discouraged; for the bones are indeed very, very dry. We hear this wretched man has been beating the woman, finding his entreaties failed. _Oct. 10._--The Lord has blessed us with a little girl, and every thing has been ordered by him most happily, so that we have wanted nothing that the luxury or wealth of England could supply. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name; for indeed he daily loadeth us with benefits. _Oct. 14._--The news of the state of things in France, and of the Revolution there, has led us to look up to our Lord to see what the end will be of these movements. That they will help on the coming kingdom of our Lord we know, but how we cannot yet see. We have also heard not only that France has taken possession of Algiers, but is marching towards Tunis. Thus, step by step, Turkey is being dismembered; and although by infidel principles and by infidel hands, yet perhaps preparing the way for the publication of the Lord's love to man. We have also understood that an English force of 4,000 men, in 200 ships, are assembled at Malta with the view of attacking Egypt; but this we do not believe, but regard it as French news, calculated to bring us, in the eyes of the Turks, as guilty alike with them in attacking the Turkish dominions. However, all these things render our situation here very profitable, for we know not what a day may bring forth, and are therefore obliged to look solely to our Lord. Not that this Pasha cares much, perhaps, about the taking of Egypt by the English, or the general reduction of the empire, for such is the state of this country, that the security of every little despot depends on the weakness of the supreme power. Yet notwithstanding this there may break out paroxysms of popular fury, that however short are terrible. But the Lord is our secure and sufficient refuge, and when he has a people to save--his chosen ones--he will put a fear into the hearts of their enemies. The Revolution in France seems to be the Infidel against the Jesuit, or ultra-Papistical party, which may lead to the removal of the Archbishop of Babylon from his consular authority, though his ecclesiastical influence would not, perhaps, be lessened by this. _Oct. 17._--The value of the English protection is beginning here to be so fully understood and felt, that the first merchant in Bagdad came to Major T. begging to be taken under it, and when Major T. declined, he requested that his son might; and the Seyd, our landlord, in explaining the reason of his wish for the Resident to take up his cause, stated, that it was not so much in order to obtain any present benefit, as that the government might see that he interested himself about him; as this, he said, would prevent him being subject to those oppressions he had been exposed to before. In fact, I do not believe, that during the late heavy exactions that have been made from all degrees and kinds of people, one individual under English protection has suffered, or that an attempt has been made to oppress one. I do not now, or on any other occasion, mention these events as pieces of political intelligence, but as necessary to give a view of the signs of the times. This consideration for the English does not arise from love, as the most intense hatred is manifested when it may with safety, as well as the most unconquerable and haughty contempt of Christianity and Christians; it seems with this people of God's curse, as with the mystical whore, they are consuming away in preparation for final destruction by the brightness of his coming. Mr. Pfander's Persian Moolah has altogether refused to translate Persian with him. He says he will read and converse with him, but not translate; so great is their contempt of Christians, that though it is only the Gulistan of Sadi, and therefore no religious book, they will not teach it. In fact, the difficulty of getting teachers here is very great. The Christians know nothing--the Mohammedans very little, and what they do know they will not communicate to a Christian. But all this is ceasing and must come down. _Oct. 18._--Our hearts have been deeply affected by a conversation which Mr. Pfander has had with the Mohammedan Moolah, who teaches our boys Arabic. He was telling Mr. P. that he was greatly struck by our Lord's precept, not when you make a feast, to invite the rich or those who can invite you again, but the poor who cannot; and that from these considerations he had been led to invite to an entertainment he had provided, all the poor persons he knew, to the surprise of his friends, to whom he explained his reasons. He also told Mr. Pfander he had often wished he were an animal rather than a man. There appears altogether a degree of uneasiness in his mind that may lead further. Thus God is making his holy and blessed word a testimony to the hearts of some; oh! may every success here be such as bears only the mark of God's workmanship by his word and his Spirit. That there are many souls here which will feel the power of God's omnipotent word, I can never doubt, when it comes fully and clearly before them. The German Jew, whom I have several times before mentioned, seems determined to become a professing Christian. His mind is convinced, but his heart I fear little, if at all, affected. He abhors the lying abominations of Judaism, which he finds among his brethren. He has certainly come thus far without being induced by any worldly motives, for had he continued, or would he now return to live by begging for Jerusalem and writing lying amulets, he might easily do it. He wishes to go to Bombay, and there become a Christian. We have just heard that one of the boys of the school and his mother, who took him away from us, have both become Roman Catholics. The inducement to these Armenians is, generally, the pecuniary relief they obtain from the bishop here, who has the administration of some funds entrusted to him for religious uses, which he exclusively gives to Roman Catholics, and with this he bribes those who can have no other attachment to their system beyond that which is hereditary, for in all other things, and in practice, it would be difficult to say whether of the two were most corrupt. But we trust, by the good hand of our God upon us, one day to have different systems of judgment than that of one corrupt system against another, even the holy, pure, unadulterated word of God against the corruptions of all men and all nominal churches. We have heard, to our great sorrow, that the plague has returned again to Tabreez, and that all have again left it; and also that the cholera has again returned to Kerkook, and committed dreadful ravages. Thus the Lord seems visiting the kingdoms of the false prophet with his sore judgments and plagues. _Oct. 21._--There has just been acting here a scene of duplicity, falsehood, and bloodshed, which appears strange to us, but is not uncommon in this land of misrule and cruelty. A Capidji (or Ambassador) from the Porte to the Pasha has been long expected, and with evident anxiety by him and those immediately about him, which was increased to the highest pitch, when by a messenger from Aleppo, the Pasha received the intelligence, that this man's intention was to supersede him, and of course to destroy him. It then became the object of the Pasha to endeavour to get him into his hands, which was the more difficult, as it is usual for the Capidji to read publicly his firman, and proclaim the successor at Mousul, or some place near, who, collecting the Arabs, marches to lay siege to this place, till the head of the Pasha is delivered to him. To prevent this, therefore, the Pasha made the Imrahor, or Master of the Horse, who has the whole arrangement of the military force, to write a letter to the Capidji, begging him to come here at once, and that he would, without a struggle, give the head of Daoud Pasha into his hand, whereas if he remained at Mousul, there must be an open contention about it. By this he was allured to approach the city, and the Pasha sent out 700 or 800 men under pretence of showing him honour, to meet him and secure him in case any accounts of the true state of the case should reach him, that he might have no possibility of flight. Thus he was brought into the city, and his quarters appointed in the house of the Musruff; when, after the Pasha had obtained from him the declaration of his object, a Divan was called, and it was determined to put him to death. This event has thrown the city into great consternation, and every one who can, is buying corn in expectation of what is to follow. For the tragedy will not end here, as a friend of the Capidji is left behind at Mousul, and another Capidji is at Diarbekr, waiting the result of this negociation. So it appears that the Sultan is determined to act at once and decidedly against this Pasha. We are now, therefore to expect a siege, and a state of anxiety and fear in this city for some months; but the Lord, who sitteth in the heavens, is ordering all for his own glory, and for our safety, and he will provide for us. _Oct. 22._--We have this day heard that the Syrian Patriarch of Merdin has recovered one of his churches from the Roman Catholics, and is, on the whole, making, in a certain sense, a more successful stand against them; but not in the spirit of Christ, I fear. He has two of his priests who had turned Roman Catholics in prison. This day our new Armenian teacher has arrived from Sheeraz. He seems an interesting man; but our final plans with him are not yet arranged. We have also heard that the school at Bushire, established by Mr. Wolff, is going on badly. He promised to send out a teacher and money, neither of which having arrived, the school has dwindled to seventeen, and these are neglected. It is the common conversation to-day in the Bazaar that the Capidji was put to death last night. This man was the Accountant General of the Porte, and formerly Kiahya. Our Arabic Moolah has been buying corn, in the expectation of the present state of things here terminating in an open contest, in which he thinks the Pasha, now having no hope, will throw himself into the hands of Abbas Meerza, and that thus Bagdad will again become subject to Persia. Amidst all these wars and rumours of wars, our path is to sit still and wait the Lord's pleasure, which he will assuredly manifest to our heart's content, for they that wait upon the Lord, shall not make haste, nor be confounded, world without end. Our schoolmaster has come to a full understanding of the principles on which we intend to conduct the school: to have nothing that is _contrary to God's word admitted_, and I think he very fully and heartily enters into this plan. But he informs us that the parents of many of the children are dissatisfied with our superseding the church prayers, called the Shanakirke, by the New Testament, and ask, "Who are these people? Are they wiser than our Bishops and ancient fathers, that we should reject what they introduced?" This is what we must expect. But we can, with a quiet heart, leave all to the Lord, to order as he will. That the schoolmaster is truly on our side I feel very thankful, and, I hope, the hearts of many of the children. _November 10._--After having waited now several weeks for an opportunity to send letters and a parcel, and not having found any, from the extreme vigilance there is here to prevent any communications going to Constantinople, I have determined to avail myself of the offer of an Austrian merchant here, to enclose them in a bale of goods going to Aleppo, and to have them forwarded thence to Constantinople. It is a great comfort to know that all the intelligence essential to our cause, as being God's, will reach, and all that is separate from that, though it may not be against it, is of little consequence. We have had two Armenian priests to converse with Mr. Pfander, one from Nisibin; and the other from Diarbekr. The one from Nisibin said they had no printed books among them, and that they were very anxious to go into the Russian provinces, but were afraid, since the death of the Russian Ambassador, to make any attempt to go. The Armenians seem going from all the Mohammedan states that they can to Russia. From Erzeroum, great numbers have gone to the Karabagh, and thus they may people the desolate provinces of Georgia. The other Armenian Priest, from Diarbekr, confirmed the information we had previously obtained, that the Armenian population of that city was 5,000 houses,[17] about 25,000 of all ages, and that they have two schools there, containing about 300 children, but no one cared about them. [17] This is the only mode in the East by which any estimate of the population can be attempted. They count the number of houses, and allow one with another, five souls to each house. Some contain many more, and few contain less, so that even thus, it can be but very imperfectly ascertained. It is now an understood fact, that the Capidji, or messenger of the Sultan, who was left behind at Diarbekr, when his companion came on to arrange the affairs of this Pashalic, is collecting troops around Diarbekr, to attack Bagdad. This, however, will most probably be now deferred till the spring. So we may then expect a siege, unless things are arranged before. The Capidji who has been put to death appears to have been a man of great distinction, and to have rendered great services to the Sultan, both during the war and subsequent to it. The priest of Diarbekr said, they were too far off to be helped either by the Russians or the English; but I cannot help thinking, for such a purpose as schools, or getting through their means a large body of persons acquainted with God's word, it would be a most important position. It presents, however, many difficulties, and at all events would require some time to be spent in some place preparatory to settling among them, to obtain a knowledge of the Turkish and Armenian languages, and for these preparatory studies, should there be no determining principle, perhaps Shushee would be the best position, as the brethren there all know English, and some Turkish, and some Armenian. We are now fast approaching the termination of our first year's residence in Bagdad, and the Lord's mercies towards us have been exceeding great. We have been surrounded by many things that would have been dangerous, had not the Lord checked them by bringing them to nothing, both from disease and enemies; but, as he promised, they have not come nigh us. We have borne the heat without any diminution of natural strength. We are altogether standing on a more advanced position, that on entering Bagdad we could have hoped. Things are in preparation for the knowledge of God's holy word being extended, and thus one great object of missionary labour is in the way of attainment. But still, while I feel assured of there being some choice fruit from here and there a fruitful bough, I at the same time feel no less assured, that the great harvest will be of wickedness, and that the pestilence of infidelity is the great spreading evil, not the spreading of Millennial blessedness. As it was in the days of Noah, so do I believe it will be at the coming of the Son of Man; and as it was in the days of Lot, the great mass of mankind will be taunting the Church with, "Where is the sign of his coming?" which shews plainly enough that this will be a doctrine of the Church in the latter days, or how should it be reviled; so that our Lord, in contemplating the general apostacy, said, "When the Son of Man cometh shall he find faith in the earth?" Oh, then, how happy is it to be among those who love his appearing, who long for the termination of that dispensation which witnessed the humiliation of the Church under the world, and the rise of that glorious kingdom which shall not be dissolved, and into which no sorrow or sighing can enter. I feel the languages to be a great barrier. Whether the Lord will pour down this among the other gifts of the latter days, I do not know, but at present it is a great exercise of a Missionary's patience, to ask even for the common necessaries of life; but to speak out the fulness of a full heart, so as to be understood and felt is very, very difficult. The difficulties in the way of a literary acquaintance with these languages are by no means so great, as the study may be pursued alone, but the colloquial language can only be learned by intercourse with men, and this is far more difficult to attain by an European, who may have a very good knowledge of the language of books, and still be little understood in speaking. But still the time spent in the learning of a language among a people, every thought, and purpose, and habit of whose lives are diverse from your own, has this advantage, that you become in some measure acquainted with their peculiarities before you are in a situation to offend against them. We have heard that the Emperor of Russia has conferred some honours on the family of this Pasha, who are Armenian Christians, in Teflis. Things are beginning to look unsettled in Persia. Contentions have already arisen between the Prince of Kermanshah and the Prince of Hamadan, which seems to be but the precursor of a general state of confusion on the death of the Shah; and doubtless amidst all these commotions the Lord will move on his way, and the day of his coming advance. Oh, may we all labouring abundantly in patience, wait for that day, that when it does come we may be found watching. We have some anxieties about our dear friends who are journeying towards us. Whether the intelligence of the state of the Pashalic may deter them, or whether they will come on, trusting in the Lord, it is our daily prayer for them, that he would guide and preserve them. Our communications with Tabreez seem almost closed. Since we received the letter from Mrs. ----, relative to their leaving Tabreez, and going by this to India, we have neither seen them, nor heard of them. Whether, therefore, they are gone by Shiraz, or whether they are detained, we cannot tell; but the roads will soon become impassable from snow in the lofty range of mountains over which they will have to come. I shall now conclude this portion of our little history, with assuring those we love, that the Lord has been better than all our fears and all our hopes. The more we have proved him, the more we have found him to be faithful and gracious, and that not one of the good things he has promised to faith has been wanting; but his love has abounded far beyond our faith, yea, and they will yet abound more and more. Let us then encourage one another to prove him more, that we may have deeper experience of his faithfulness. We find the prospect of the approaching coming of our Lord a corrective of the allurements of the world, and an encouragement to a simple surrender of all we have as his stewards, to him and his service, as their only legitimate and worthy object, who has redeemed us from death with his own precious blood, making us a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a peculiar people, that we might shew forth his praises. Oh! may the Holy Spirit dwell in us more powerfully, that we may be ever fulfilling his great and glorious purpose. Accounts have just come to us by letters from Tabreez, that the plague has been ravaging that devoted city till 23,000 of its inhabitants have fallen victims to it and the cholera, and that when this letter came off (Oct. 28), they were still dying eighteen of a day, and this is not confined to the city;--the villages of the surrounding country have equally suffered; half the inhabitants have been swept away, the corn has never been reaped, and the cattle were wandering about without owners. The missionaries from America had not arrived then; most probably they are deterred by the intelligence of the state of Tabreez. Our dear friends the N----'s had never enjoyed better health--thus preserved of the Lord in the midst of the general devastation: they are also for the present, at the request of the Prince, detained till an answer from the Indian government is again received respecting them. A famine seems the inevitable consequence of the plague and pestilence at Tabreez. Surely these are among the signs of the times; but the Lord's command to us is, Let not your hearts be troubled. We have received no intelligence from Shushee, but we heard from Tartars that the plague had been in the Karabagh, which makes us additionally anxious to hear from thence: but doubtless since the plague at Tabreez, all intercourse with Russia from that side has been interdicted. Mr. Zaremba mentioned, that he had to pass through seven quarantines between Erzeroum and Shushee. I may also just add, that we have finally arranged with our new schoolmaster from Shiraz. We had given particular directions to the person who proposed sending for him, that if money were any object to him, (which we heard it was not) he should write and let us know what he would require. He however came, and when he came, he wanted a sum equal to about £84. sterling a year. This I was both unable and unwilling to give, and therefore fixed £30. as the utmost, and the rest has been made up by the Armenians among themselves, excepting £18. which has been given by Major T. He speaks English imperfectly, but thoroughly understands Armenian, and will teach the elder boys grammar and translating. He will also superintend the girl's school for one or two hours in the morning, and teach Mrs. G. Armenian. We also hope, as soon as may be, to get some tracts and little school-books translated into vulgar Armenian, but all this must depend on the blessing of the Lord on our undertaking. This brother has joined the Church of England in Calcutta: but he is himself at present a strict Armenian, yet I hope, not a bigoted man. But all our past experience has led us to look to the Lord alone for all profitable help. Those whom we think promise every thing, often occasion nothing but anxiety, and those from whom we expect the least we have reason abundantly to bless God for having sent us:--so wisely, so graciously, and yet in so sovereign a way does the Lord bring to pass his purposes, and bless his servants, that every thought of confidence in any creature may be destroyed, and the soul, by a thousand disappointments, when it has reposed elsewhere, at last be compelled to learn only to repose on the bosom of its Father, where love and faithfulness eternally dwell, and convince the soul of its past expectations from any other source. _February 14, 1831._ An offer has been made to us by one of the richest Armenian merchants here, to send, at his own expense, two camel loads of books any where we wish, which has of course been thankfully accepted; and we think of sending at least one load to Diarbekr. He has also bought from our Armenian teacher, those Bibles he had procured from the Bible Society at Calcutta, who, with the many thus obtained, has determined to send more Bibles from Bushire, where he has already 200, to Julfa and Ispahan, and the villages round about, in which he says there are above twenty churches. I have this day settled all my accounts, and find, after every thing is paid, including the expenses of my baggage from Bushire, and of the house for ourselves, and school for another year, that our little stock will last us, with the Lord's blessing, two months longer, and then we know not whence we are to be supplied, but the Lord allows us not to be anxious; he has so wonderfully provided for us hitherto, that it would be most ungrateful to have an anxious thought. Even for my baggage, Major T. only allowed me to pay half the charge, and he has moreover told me, that should I at any time want money, only to let him know and he will lend it me. Now, really, to find here such kind and generous friends, is more than we could have hoped, but thus the Lord deals with us, and takes away our fears. That we may many times be in straits I have no doubt, but the time of our necessity will be the time for the manifestation of our Lord's providential love and munificence. There is one peculiar feature that runs through all education in the eastern churches, that it professes to be religious, which gives us an opportunity of introducing such books as may be useful, without its exciting any surprise or suspicion, or opposition. _Feb. 16._--The Pasha has sent Major T. word of the ravages the plague is making in Sulemania. The government and all who have it in their power have quitted it. This account has spread much consternation, in addition to which two men from Sulemania arrived here ill of the plague, one of whom has recovered. Major and Mrs. T., with their usual generous kindness to us, have offered us an asylum with them should the plague come here, where we should enjoy this great advantage, that as the house stands close to the river, a supply of water can be obtained without communication with the city. But at present we do not clearly see our way: should our school be broken up, I see not so much difficulty; it would be a most valuable opportunity for Mrs. G. making progress in the language; but we wait on the Lord and he will guide us. These do indeed seem awful times for these lands. We cannot be too thankful for the peace and joy the Lord allows us to feel in the assurance of his loving care. I was much struck by a remark of our Moolah yesterday, when speaking of the horror he felt at the prospect of the plague coming here. He said, the sword he did not fear, but the plague he did, for one was the work of man, the other of God. I replied to him, that feeling this God who directs the plague, to be my father, who loved me, I knew he would not suffer it to come nigh me unless he had no longer occasion for me, and then it would come as a summons from a scene of labour and many trials to one of endless joy. He said, Yes, it is very well for you not to fear death, who believe Christ to have atoned for you; but I fear to die. _Feb. 19._--To-day we have heard that the above report of the plague being at Sulemania is false; that it has been there, but has now left it; so we know not what to believe. _Feb. 21._--The expenses attendant on our packages from Bombay to this place, are as great as from England to Bombay. The boxes of books and medicine, and the press, with three boxes of books from the Bible Society, cost twenty-five pounds. Aleppo would certainly be the cheapest way to send them by, and by far the most speedy. It would be a great comfort to us, if this communication should ever be opened, for then we might freely communicate with, and hear from those we love. I sent a packet across the desert the other day, which we have every reason to think was intercepted. In fact, it is now very doubtful if any of the many letters we have sent, have gone safe, and none have reached us for these six months. Intelligence came to-day, that the Sultan has ordered the Pasha of Mosul, and another Pasha who is dependant on this Pasha, to discontinue all communication with him, as the enemy of the Sultan. A few weeks will, most probably, conclude this long-continued struggle, and, we hope, the insecurity and confusion attendant on it; yet, the Lord knows his purposes, and we have only to execute his will. _Feb. 24._--We have just heard, by a letter that came from Aleppo by way of Merdin and Mosul, that the caravan which left this place more than three months ago, entered Aleppo about thirty days ago. They remained in the desert till the Pasha of Aleppo had quitted that place on his expedition against the Pasha of Bagdad, from the fear, that if they entered the town he would seize their camels for the use of his army. Much alarm is entertained here by the inhabitants as to the result of this attack. From past experience they are led to expect great lawlessness, from both friends and foes. May the Lord keep our hearts in perfect peace, stayed on him. We now begin to feel that it is very doubtful when we shall see our dear friends: certainly no caravan will pass the desert till all these disturbances are settled. It may be also possible, that the journal and packet of letters I sent packed in a bale of goods belonging to a merchant here, may yet reach their destination. _Feb. 28._--This day brought us news of the arrival of our very dear and long expected friends and fellow-labourers safe at Aleppo, on the 11th of January, after many delays and many trials. We had never been allowed to doubt our Lord's most gracious dealings with us, but yet this overwhelmed us with joy and praise; and this welcome news reaches us just as our dear brother Pfander is on the point of leaving us alone. We received, at the same time, a packet of letters from most of our dearest friends in England, at the very moment when our little all was within a month of coming to a conclusion, telling us that the Lord had provided us with supplies for at least four months to come, which we might draw for. Surely the Lord has most graciously seen fit to dry up those sources from whence we anticipated supply, that we might know we depend on him alone, and see how he can supply even here; we were ashamed of every little anxious feeling we had ever had, and were much encouraged to trust him more and more. My soul is led to abhor, more and more, that love of independence which still clings to it, when I see how it would shut me out from these manifestations of my Father's loving care. Oh! how hard it is to persuade the rebellious will and proud heart, that to depend on your Father's love for your constant support, is more for the soul's health, than to be clothed in purple and fare sumptuously every day--or at least, as we would say, on bare independence; and yet how plain it is to spiritual vision. We met together in the evening to bless the Lord for the past, and supplicate his continued blessing for the future--that he would accomplish what he had begun, that our hearts may never cease to praise and bless him. My soul was much comforted, especially with a text to which one of our dear correspondents called my attention, Zeph. iii. 17. "The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy, he will rest in his love; he will joy over thee with singing." All the letters amounted to twenty-six, which, after so long an interruption of all intelligence, was an especial source of joy. And now we can think of our dear friends definitely as absolutely at Aleppo, only waiting for the termination of disturbances to join us. To-day, a Chaldean, from near Julimerk, came to see us, and we expect him again, with his brother, who, he says, can read, when I hope to obtain from him a fuller account of the state, numbers, and disposition, of his wild countrymen. A Mohammedan Effendi was with me to-day; a very amiable young man, who sees many things in the customs of his people bad, arising out of the Mohammedan laws. He came to borrow an Arabic bible for, he said, a poor schoolmaster, which I gladly lent him. Whether it be really for a schoolmaster, or for himself, I do not know. _March 4._--Read this morning, with peculiar pleasure, Hawker's Evening Portion: "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land:" heightened as it was by the localities of our situation; but above all, by the unity of our experience with the sentiments of the writer; for we have indeed found the love of our Father, the pastoral care of our Elder Brother, and the consolation and visits of our Comforter, that which has enabled us to sing the Lord's song in this strange land, even the song of the redeemed. _March 13._--The time is now fast approaching when we expect the struggle for the Pashalic to commence, at the conclusion of the Ramazan. Yet it may all pass over, for the government of Turkey is so utterly without principle, that by a well timed application of money, all difficulties may be surmounted with the Porte, and as the Pasha seems now disposed to meet this desire, it may, especially in the present difficulties of the Sultan with Russia, lead, after all, to an amicable termination of one year's anxiety and suspense. We are now especially anxious for the pacification of these countries, that our dear friends may be able to pass over the desert, as our dear and kind brother Pfander left us last evening for Ispahan. It was a great rending to us all, and has left a vacuum we cannot easily hope to have filled up in all its parts; and till our dear brothers and sisters come, we shall be very solitary, and very much pressed; but our strength will be as our day. Had he seen it right to remain I might have crossed the desert to our dear friends; but this not being the case, it is impossible for me to leave this, and perhaps in the present state of things here, from apprehensions of plague and war, it would have been impracticable even if he had remained. Caravans pass much more frequently between this place and Damascus than between this and Aleppo, and it appears to me the shorter and better way of communication to Bayrout and Damascus to Bagdad than by Aleppo. Three caravans have passed over the desert from hence to Damascus within these few months. With one of these an Armenian with his wife and children went, and with another several Mohammedan families; thereby hoping to avoid the troubles they expected here. So at least we may venture for our Lord what men venture for their own various interests. In fact, it does not appear that any further danger is incurred than that of being plundered, or perhaps only a heavy exaction from the Arab tribes through whom the caravan passes, whose interest it is not to press so hard upon caravans as that they shall be stopped coming, but to levy a tax upon them sufficiently considerable to help to support the tribe. An English merchant and a Consul are about settling, if not already settled, at Damascus, which will still further facilitate communications; and besides the road from Beyraut to Damascus is much better than that from Latakeea to Aleppo. This arrangement, as well as that at Trebisand, shows that these countries are becoming the objects of public, or rather mercantile, interest. A Jew came to borrow an Arabic bible from me which I have let him have. Another Jew was with me yesterday, who translated the Hebrew into Arabic very tolerably; but, generally, they only learn to read, without understanding what they read. An Armenian Priest has just come to ask for four or five Armenian Bibles, to send to some villages between Hamadan and Teheran. This is a plan we like better than sending many to one place, not only as spreading knowledge further, but also from the greater probability of their being read. We have just seen another of the Chaldeans, from the mountains. He says that they understand the Syrian Scriptures; so that at least I hope to send a letter to the Bishop, with a copy or two of the Syrian Bible I have with me, that when they return next year they may bring me an account whether they understand them or not; and also it will serve as a means of opening a personal communication with their chief; as, by that time it may be possible that one or two of us may be able to return with these men to the mountains. As far as their personal assurances go, they promise me a most welcome reception. One of these people told me, if I would come to his village, he would kill a sheep for me, and I should have plenty, and 200 walnuts for two-pence; they said every thing was very abundant there and very cheap. Their pride seems much gratified by their being the head and the Mohammedans the tail in the mountains; so that they cannot open their mouths, or raise their hands against them. _March 15._--A packet of letters has just arrived from Shushee, after more than six months interruption, three days after our dear brother had left us. However, we got the messenger to set off immediately to overtake him, and he having seen the caravan on the way, promised to return in five days. In this packet I also received one letter from our dear brother J. B. Dublin, a note from dear Mr. R. informing me of his having forwarded the books to the brethren at Shushee. Surely they are worthy for whom he has done this, and he will be happy in being thus a fellow-helper in the truth. Mr. Knill also mentions their arrival safe at Petersburgh, and his purpose of forwarding them to Shushee. It has been a year of great trial at Shushee for the mission, but of exactly what nature and to what extent we know not, nor how things now stand in the communications to our dear fellow-helper who has just left us, as they are in German; but should he not be able on the road to write us a full account, he doubtless will when he has reached Kermanshah or Hamadan. We hear that the prince royal is marching against his brother the Prince of Kerman, by way of Ispahan, the roads, therefore, are very unsettled in Persia, but the Lord will encamp round about our brother and bear him safely through. _March 16._--The letters we yesterday received from Tabreez assured us of the willingness of the Armenian Bishop to have a school as soon as a fit person could be found; and on reading one of the tracts from Shushee, he said he would read it in his church to his flock. Mrs. N. also mentions the willingness among the Mohammedans to receive the New Testament, and that in many instances, pleasing results have manifested themselves; but of what kind she does not mention. She mentions also one of the principal Mohammedan merchants asking for a Testament to read on his road to Mecca. May the Lord stop him by it before he gets there, at the gates of the heavenly Jerusalem. In fact, there is room in these parts for much preparatory work, when the time comes that the power of the Gospel shall have taken such root as to show by the power and individuality it gives to the Christian character that their craft is in danger. They will do as they have done in Shushee; but by the Lord's blessing it may then be too late. What appears to me to require the greatest patience and the most unwavering perseverance, is the language; for, while on the one hand there is every thing to encourage, if we only take the burthen of the day on the day, there is such a natural tendency in the mind of man to accumulate all the difficulties together, and make one great impassable mountain, that it becomes more difficult than many would imagine, to go on successfully and happily like a little child. That measure of knowledge of a language which so enables one to move about in the common transactions of life, does not seem difficult to attain; but to be able to state clearly the power of moral distinctions, to detect the fallacy of false systems, and put beside them the true light of life, is another and a very difficult thing, but yet the Lord doubtless sees in this reasons of immense weight, or he would again bestow upon us the gifts of the Spirit as before. God our Father has most marvellously eased our way, and so great has been the kindness of our ---- here, that he would do any thing he could for us. He even told me the other day, never to let our work stand still for want of funds, for should I ever want any he would gladly supply me, and lend me for my personal wants whatever I might need. Now when we consider there is but one English family now resident in Bagdad besides our own, how like the Lord's acting it is to make them willing to supply to us the necessary help: not only does the Lord supply us with means necessary for our expense, but does not allow us when our little fund gets low, to know the anxiety of expecting, or thinking what we should do. And, surrounded as we have been these many months, by the alarm of war and the fear of plague or cholera, even our dear native islands have not been without their anxieties; but I have been much struck of late with the peculiar dealings of God towards his chosen; as of old, the pillar that was all darkness to the enemy, was light to the church in the wilderness, so now all this dark cloud, the darkness of which may be felt, which is spreading from one end of the Christian and Mohammedan world to the other, has, towards the church in her pilgrimage, its full steady bright light surmounted by "Behold he cometh!" Blessed assurance! But a little day of toil, and then we shall come with him, or rise to join his assembled saints, dressed all anew, with our house from heaven, that spiritual clothing meet for the new creature in Christ Jesus. Oh, what glorious liberty we are heirs to, as children of God, one day to love our Eternal Father, Son, and Spirit, with unalloyed affections, when our whole nature shall be again on the side of God, and not a place left for the enemy to put his foot to harass the heir of glory. _March 17._--A Chaldean Roman Catholic priest has been here to-day, and read me the same passages of the Psalms in the Chaldean and Syrian languages, and there appears to be no other difference than in character, as far as he read. The Syrians, the Chaldeans, and the Jews, might become most valuable objects of missionary labour, not only as being in greater numbers here, but from the great similarity of their languages, so that the mastering of the one would be to the mastering of the three, with very little additional trouble. I endeavoured to find out from him the difference between the spoken and written languages, and as far as he produced illustrations, the difference was only in pronunciation; the words seemed substantially the same. But there is a very strong prejudice to contend with in all those among these people who know any thing of these languages, in the contempt in which they hold their vulgar, and the reverence and sanctity they attach to their old language, so that I think tracts, in the shape of paraphrases on particular parts of the Scriptures, would be exceedingly valuable among them, as well as tracts generally. I trust we shall be able to turn our attention to these when we are able, from our knowledge of the languages, to judge sufficiently of translations or compositions. _March 18._--This evening the messenger I sent after Mr. Pfander with the letters from Shushee, returned with a letter, which I shall here insert, as it supplies a good deal of information concerning the dear brethren in the Karabagh. "_In the Desert near the Village Bakoobah_, "_17th March, 1831._ "My dear Brother, "I am very much obliged to you, that you sent this man after me with the letters from Shushee. He reached us a day's journey and a half from Bagdad. We advance very slowly, only from five to ten English miles a day, on account of the spring season, when the Dschervedars[18] feed their horses on grass, and because they waited for other parties which had yet been behind. The weather is very fine; we had rain twice, but only slightly. The remaining time of the day I spend in reading, and conversation with the Persians in the caravan. The first day I felt very solitary, but the second, and since, the Lord afforded me plenty of opportunity to give testimony of him who is our Saviour and Lord, and to distribute several tracts and books among my fellow travellers, and this rejoiced my heart greatly. According to the manner of our present travelling we shall not be in Kermanshah till after twenty days. They speak in the caravan from fear of the Arabs after this; but it will be easy for the Lord to bring me safely through. The caravan is increased to about 500 horses and 180 persons. [18] Muleteers. "Now something out of dear Zaremba's letters; but I had only time to read them once over, so that I am not able to give you any regular extracts out of them. Should I forget any thing I will write it from Kermanshah or Hamadan. The letter was of December last. All had been attacked with sickness more or less, and dear Brother Sallett, stationed at Teflis, was called home: he died of the cholera. "The circumstance with the Armenians is this: The two deacons did go on in their spiritual life prosperously, and continued to give testimony of the truth. This excited so much the hatred of the Armenian clergy against them, that soon after Zaremba's arrival in Shushee from Erzeroum, the Armenian Archbishop of the Karabagh desired to have them sent as prisoners to Etchmiazin, the seat of the Armenian Catholicos,[19] near Erivan. This the Russian Governor of Shushee, after he was informed of it from Zaremba, did not allow. So it got a little quiet: but these young Armenians thought it impossible, at present, to remain longer in Georgia, and so they prepared for their departure to Germany. But during this time the Armenian clergy got an order from the Russian Governor of Teflis, that the two deacons should appear before a council in Etchmiazin. The Governor in Shushee did again so much for them, that they should go to Teflis, and be allowed to lay their case before the governor. Zaremba went with them, though he was not quite well. The one of these deacons, he who assisted Dittrich in translation, died there, happy in his Lord. The other went at last, but in a very good state of mind and heart, to Etchmiazin, putting his confidence in his Lord, for whom he was going to suffer. The brethren had not yet heard more of him than his arrival there. During the time Zaremba was at Teflis, the cholera took daily many away, and some days before his departure, our beloved Saltett, as mentioned before. Zaremba got worse too, but reached Shushee again. After his arrival, he and Hohenaker, and Dittrich had been attacked from the cholera, but recovered again. During this time the person from Etchmiazin arrived in Shushee, and preached and spoke against our brethren, and condemned all the persons who sent their children to them. So the school was broken up. But now the children are beginning to collect again, and the school is again opened. Dittrich was with his family, yet at Teflis, where Zaremba wrote the letter. Hohenaker was gone to the German village, where you stopped, and Haas was kept in Moscow, in quarantine, because of the cholera. Two Armenian tracts had been printed in Moscow, and the copies of the first were already in Shushee. In Shushee they are printing the Armenian Dictionary. [19] Patriarch. "With our not going to the mountains, they are quite contented; but they think I should rather go to Tabreez than to Ispahan, where I might go at any other time. I do not yet know what I shall do. I shall see how the Lord will lead me. But this is clear now, that a long stay at Ispahan I must give up. Zaremba writes further, that he has now little hope to be able to go any more on a journey, and therefore they rather wish that I should travel and do the Lord's work in the neighbourhood of Shushee, as long as the door is yet open. I cannot reject this, and so I must for the present give up my plans for travelling in Persia. If the way to Ispahan should be quite open, I would go thither, distribute books, and see that I might be in Shushee in July; if not, I shall go direct to Shushee. "The case with the mission in Shushee, is now laid before the Emperor, and so they are waiting what decision they may receive from thence; but they are sure that the Lord will direct and order every thing as it will be best, and therefore are not discouraged. The Russian government does not yet in the least hinder them in their work. "My letters all arrived safely at Shushee, and the cause of their not writing, was their own sickness and the plague all round about them. It does not seem that one of our letters was lost. Boxes with Armenian and Persian books are in Tabreez. They speak good of the Americans. For the news in your letter I thank you: we live certainly in a most eventful time, and we have therefore the more to work so long as it is yet day. May the Lord mightily bless you, your family, and work. In him, under every circumstance, we have every reason to be glad and to rejoice that we have him on our side. "Your affectionate brother, "C. G. PFANDER." "P.S. From Alexander Kasembeg[20] they received a letter which rejoiced them much. It seems to be good with him. [20] This affords us unfeigned joy, as we had heard from one who was with him in Cazan, an account that made us a little anxious about him. "The other Armenian in Baku[21] came to Shushee to be employed in distributing tracts and Bibles. He has already made a journey into Georgia, and preaches to Armenians and Turks." [21] This is the Armenian whose history I gave a little account of before, as the son-in-law of the richest merchant in Baku, who has given up all the prospects of his connection with his father-in-law, which are very considerable, to endure afflictions with the people of God. This young Armenian is another proof of the immense importance of having those to bear testimony to the power of the Spirit's work in regenerating the soul in the image of him that created it, from among themselves. The people can see in him the contrast between the past and the present man. They have also a knowledge of the peculiar modes of thinking and feeling among those with whom they have been educated, and been in the closest terms of intimacy with from their infancy, that they cannot have with foreigners. The two dear and most interesting deacons, of whom one is mentioned as having died in the faith in his way to suffer for the truth, and the other has gone to witness alone before his enemies and persecutors at Etchmiazin, were both in the school at Shushee, and in the study of and translating the word of God, had been led step by step, to see through the errors of the system by which they were bound. Another proof of the progress of the same spirit manifested itself in our infant beginnings. The two little Armenian boys who live with us, eat and live as we do; on being asked by the boys without, why they did not fast as their nation did for fifty days? without any knowledge or direction from me, they set about selecting from the New Testament, in conjunction with my own little boys, those passages which bear on the question, and which shew that if we eat not we are none the better, and if we do eat, none the worse. Remarks of a similar kind have many times occurred in the course of our translations from the Testament. At all events, there is a growing tendency in the minds of the children, to feel that God's word is the one rule on which they must justify all they impose, and thence the necessity of understanding it; and these principles upset at once the whole system of ignorant mummery which is now called or thought to be the religion of Jesus here. If it be the Lord's pleasure to spare our lives, and grant us the ability and opportunity to publish his truth, results will follow to rejoice our hearts, I have no doubt: God has declared it shall not return to him void, nor shall it. And to the Mohammedans also these converts from among the fallen churches become invaluable preachers, from their vernacular facility in the language, and from their being continually exposed to the question, why they do not do so and so; they are called upon by the very necessity of their position to defend with meekness and wisdom their new position; whereas, with us, they are satisfied with just simply making up their minds to this, that theirs is best for them, and yours best for you. _March 20._--The Moolah yesterday, in speaking of the contest between the Pasha and the Sultan, said, that if the English would guarantee both sides, both might be satisfied and make peace; but that if not, they would never believe one another, for says he, every Osmanli will lie. This opinion of their own low moral condition, is universal among Turks and Persians. This man has often said to me, No Osmanli cares for more than his own bread, and if that is safe, the whole empire may be destroyed. Two tribes of Arabs, whom the Pasha has brought up to help him in the approaching contest, in consequence of some feud between them, came to blows, and all last night and this morning were firing at one another in that quarter of the city which is on the other side of the river, where they are stationed.--It caused much alarm, and may be but a precursor to general confusion and greater trials; but the Lord Jehovah who sitteth on the everlasting hills, is our shield and defence. The firing has since ceased, and one of the tribes has been driven out of Bagdad. _March 21._--This day the packet of letters came by Bombay, which were sent off about four months after we left, and therefore have been about eighteen months on the road. The best way is to put all letters into the post-office, paying the postage, and they will then come generally in about eight months by Bombay, free of all expense but that paid in England; and it would afford us peculiar pleasure if our dear friends would write regularly by this route, for the opportunities by Constantinople are either rare or expensive. How strikingly do these letters prove the truth of our Lord's declaration, that those who leave father or mother, &c. for his sake and the gospel's, shall find a hundred fold, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, houses, lands, with persecutions. Surely we are rich indeed, in the love of the saints of our Lord, and in their prayers for us. These letters prove that our weak childish faith has not been without the Lord's blessing on his own work. Oh! then, what might be expected if we had been strong in the Lord and in the power of his might? Perhaps, however, he who has led us hitherto, insignificant as we are, may lead us onward still to magnify his grace in our weakness. Surely no missionaries, with so few pretensions to the love and confidence of the church of God, ever received more solid proofs of deep and hearty interest than we have during these ten months; this is no small point gained, and I think we may go further, and add, that many have been led by this weak effort of faith in us, to take steps they might not otherwise have ventured upon. I do not desire, for one moment, to set myself in opposition to those blessed institutions whose labours roused us from our lethargy: but only this I must say, that I do not think their plan is the best, or the only good one. Notwithstanding, I desire to bless God for them, and to co-operate with them, whenever I can. I do rejoice, with most unfeigned joy, at any honour God bestows upon them, and I should rejoice to see them multiplied a hundred fold; for whosoever brings a stone to the temple of our Lord and king, by whatever different means they may have laboured with from ourselves, shall be our father, mother, sister, brother. The only end we know of existence is the manifestation of that temple, and may the king's blessing and favour rest on the head of every one who labours for it, at home or abroad, under established institutions, or in any other way. By all, Christ is preached, and God the Father glorified, and the power of the Holy Ghost manifested. Unprofitable servants as we are, weak in faith, and infirm in purpose, except as the Lord day by day lifted us up, as it were, with one hand, and covered us with the other, and enabled us to stagger on our way; still, we cannot but feel that the Lord's goodness and care, which our weakness has elicited, may have moved in some small degree the hearts of the little band of six, who are coming to join us; and I hear that their simplicity and faith has yet further stirred up the spiritual affections of others to go and do likewise--but these are early days; if it be of the Lord, he will bless it; if not, we desire to be the first to lay our hands on our lips, and our faces in the dust, saying, We were deceived; the cause is the Lord's, not ours; with him we will leave its prosperity and defence. _March 28._--The plague has now absolutely, we believe, entered this unhappy city. Major T. and all those connected with the residency are preparing to leave for the mountains of Kourdistan; they have most kindly invited us to go with them and form part of their family; this is most truly kind, and there are many things to recommend it--the opportunities it would afford M. for learning Armenian, and me Arabic, and for observation on the country and people, besides our being delivered from all apparent danger either from the sword which threatens us from without, or the pestilence within. The absence of all these friends and so many of the principal Christian families who are going with them, leaves us exposed to the bigotry of the people in any tumults that may arise--all these things presented themselves to our minds. But there are considerations that outweigh these in our minds: in the first place, we feel that while we have the Lord's work in our hands we ought not to fly and leave it; again, if we go, it is likely that for many months we cannot return to our work, whereas the plague may cease in a month; opportunities of usefulness may arise in the plague that a more unembarrassed time may not present; and our dear friends from Aleppo may come and find no asylum. The Lord gives great peace and quietness of mind in resting under his most gracious and loving care, and as the great object of our lives is to illustrate his love to us, we believe that in the midst of these awful circumstances, he will fill our tongues with praise as he does fill our hearts with peace. I have just heard, that some Englishmen have been circulating tracts at Julfa, an Armenian town in the neighbourhood of Ispahan, and that the bishop has prohibited their circulation; this shews what we have to expect. I believe I have many times mentioned the deeprooted opposition which exists among the clergy and literary men in the East, to having any thing translated into the vulgar dialects: they are worse than the literati of Europe used to be with their Latin, many among whom, but lately came to see that it was no disgrace to communicate their ideas in a vernacular dress: as the common sense of mankind has triumphed over the literary pride of the learned, so we shall find that babes will one day overthrow the literary pride of these orientals. I obtained, the other day, a translation of one of Carus Wilson's little stories, into the vulgar Armenian of this place, for the little girls. The contrast between the effect produced by reading this in an intelligible language, and their usual lessons, was most striking: in the one there is of necessity a perfect indifference; but on reading the other, they begged and entreated they might have it to carry home, which is promised them for next week. Of this I had no doubt before; but the experiment has been most gratifying and encouraging. _March 29._--Yesterday Dr. Beagrie and Mr. Montefiore went and saw several patients they thought afflicted with the plague; but their minds were not perfectly made up. To-day, there is no longer any doubt. I accompanied Mr. Montefiore, in his visits, and now there are about twenty, and the number is increasing. Thus, then, this long expected scourge has visited this city, and our Father only knows when the awful visitation may cease. We can only cast ourselves on his holy and loving hands for safety or peace: into these hands we do cast ourselves, with all that is dearest to us in this world. We have proved our Jesus to be the Captain and Author of our hopes, and always found that in the power of his name we have obtained the victory. Nothing but the Lord's loving pity can prevent the most awful extension of the disease; not only are the people crowded together, two or three dying in one room, but the intercourse is perfectly unrestricted in all parts of the city, so that I fear what is now confined to one quarter, and might possibly, by a vigilant government be kept there, is spreading in all directions. We have, therefore, been forced to the most painful step of breaking up our school, for it would have been quite impossible to collect together eighty children from different parts of the city, without exposing all to danger. May the Lord enable us profitably to avail ourselves of our retirement, to cultivate a more extended communion with him who is our life. Dear M. is much staid on her God, and feels that as he has been, so he will be to us a hiding place in every storm. _April 1._--The plague is still increasing, but apparently not rapidly. We wait the Lord's pleasure in our own house. The only inconvenience is want of water, which cannot be had from without; and they say that when the plague becomes intense all the water carriers cease to ply; but the Lord hath said, in the time of famine ye shall be satisfied; on this promise we rest in peace. Two English gentlemen set off to-morrow across the desert with a single guide to Damascus, to examine the means of communication by water between the Mediterranean and Aleppo. From thence, should they be spared, they purpose going to Beer, and thence pass down the Euphrates with the view of ascertaining its fitness for steam navigation. Surveys have already been completed between this and Bussorah, of both the Tigris and Euphrates, by Mr. Ormsby, in part assisted by Mr. Elliot, and from Ana to Felugia by Captain Chesney of the Royal Artillery, and there remains between Beer and Ana to be examined. Through all that has yet been surveyed there is no obstruction, but it is expected there will be a little labour required in one or two points of what remains to be surveyed, before steam communications could proceed on the rivers. If these gentlemen thus labour for what perishes in the using, and run such risks, going as they are across the desert with a guide, whose language they do not understand, ought it to be called tempting God, in us going for such a work as ours is, to run similar risks and encounter similar dangers. The deaths at present from the plague are confined to the Mohammedans and the Jews. To avoid it, many of the Jews have gone to Bussorah, and the Kourds who brought it here have fled from the city; a large caravan of Christians are now thinking of returning to Mosul, who were driven from Mosul three or four years ago by plague and its attendant famine. The poor Jews have been robbed of every thing by the Arabs, and sent naked back, and there seems little better prospect for those who are going to Mosul: they have the Arabs on one side the road, and the Kourds on the other. It is striking how fully and simply the Mohammedans admit the expected coming of our Lord and the end of the world. The end of our Lord's coming they conceive to be to set his seal to Mohammed's mission, and that all Christians will become Mohammedans. Still these fundamental errors in their views do not prevent a clear and distinct expectation similar to that of the heathen at the time of our Lord's coming. Certainly no people can have a worse opinion of the state of the professors of their religion than the Mohammedans have; still, with the loss of zeal for their own, their heart seems full of a strong delusion to believe a lie, and hate the way of life, and above all, the Lord who is the true God and eternal life. How blessed the 91st Psalm feels at such moments as these, in looking round on one's little family, to know that every arrow that flies, winged with death, is no random shot, but that the Lord who is your life, and by whom your life is hid in God, directs them all. Call upon me, says the Lord, in the day of trouble, and I will deliver _thee_, and thou shalt _glorify me_. Blessed Lord, when thou hast (as thou most assuredly wilt do) delivered us, may we never forget to glorify and bless thee. Oh! what a blessed feeling it is to know that you are not under the general but especial and particular government of Jehovah--that he has redeemed you, and you are his--that he has engraven you on the palms of his hands; and that day and night he is watching to preserve you. _April 3._--An immense crowd of poor Jews left the city this morning, to escape the destruction of the plague. The Christians also are leaving in every direction they can find open. I fear these poor creatures in their flight can hardly fail to carry the plague with them. I have lately read several of Erskine's works, or little portions of his writings, and never did I see the pernicious effects of system displayed more legibly than in several of his most interesting, but as a whole, most delusive publications. In his view of Gospel freeness, and other places where similar views to those contained in that little work are promulgated, there seems, to my mind, a radical defect, that nothing in so good a man accounts for but the baneful effects of a system, and a secret insurmountable repugnance to the sovereignty of God's government, and the individuality of God's election in Christ Jesus, from before the foundation of the world. I do not mean that these doctrines are denounced; but they evidently are not entertained as the comfort and consolation of the soul, nor as they are represented by the Apostles, as the most overwhelming reasons for unlimited devotion to his service, who has thus chosen us with our bodies, souls, and spirits, which are his. He talks of spreading the beauty of the Lord Jesus, and the excellency of God's love, not only as the pasture of their souls, who are born again of the Spirit, of which they undoubtedly are the legitimate, the only food and means of their spiritual growth, but as the cause of spiritual life in the unregenerate by being believed. Now, this appears to me a radical and fundamental error. Food does not give life, though it sustains and expands it. What he says of the effects of love, in moulding the soul to the likeness of the object beloved, is most true; but in order to the existence of this love, not merely faith in God's love seems to be necessary, nor the reality of the things promised, but such a new creation in the soul, as shall see a desirableness in it and them. As we see in nature, when the heart is engaged by one object of affection, any demonstration of affection from another, which involves the relinquishment of it, not only does not give pleasure, but positive pain, though you know its reality, purity, and intensity; the fact is, the affections are occupied, and there is no place. So it is by nature with every man, and while he remains in this state, no knowledge of love, however real, intense, and devoted, when he sees its tendency to disconnect him from the only source of known enjoyment, by the substitution of that which he has no senses to appreciate, will ever be found available. It appears to me, that the spiritual immortal generation of the second Adam, the Lord from heaven, is in Scripture represented to be as real and absolute as the generation from our earthly head, and only invisible from being spiritual. It has its proper food, its proper growth. Without being thus begotten from above, though you could display all the beauties of him who is the chief among ten thousand, the altogether lovely, though you could display all the Father's love to the church from the day he commanded his gathering it, till this day, it would be as powerless as spreading the most sumptuous banquet before the dead. With respect to the general design of vindicating the government of God from the charge of partiality, which I feel to be at the bottom of Mr. Erskine's views, I do not see that the Lord has committed it to us, but, whenever in the Old Testament or in the New, he pleads with his children against their ingratitude, it is from the specialty of his love. He does not say to the Israelites, I have dealt with you after a common dealing with all; but, with what nation has the Lord dealt as with Israel. So, in the New, he says, "I have chosen you, not you me." In the prayer of our Lord, in John xvii. in the Epistles of Paul and Peter--in the Revelations, and so in all the called and chosen, and faithful, who are written in the Lamb's book of life, and have been from the foundation of the world, from the beginning to the end, I see a constant reference made, and the warmest and most enlarged attachment of the affections demanded, on the ground of peculiar, especial, and personal choice on the part of God. That all this is consistent with every perfection of God's character, and, therefore, with his equal justice and mercy, I have the fullest assurance, but that we are in possession of the means of shewing it, or that the Lord requires it at our hands, I feel fully assured of the contrary. And the danger Mr. E. seems to apprehend from stating the doctrines of election as they are usually stated, are more imaginary than real. For God, who by his Holy Spirit begets the soul again in the likeness of the divine nature, gives to that nature thus begotten the power of discriminating in its food between night-shade and sweet pasture.--When he has created in the soul of any human being the love of himself, he gives him, with this love, the privilege to rejoice that his name is written in heaven, and the minister of Christ is by no means embarrassed by all these apparent difficulties, for he has to display all the beauty of Christ, all the love of the Father, all the graces of the Spirit before the assembled world, knowing that all the sheep will hear, and feed, and grow, and that the goats will cavil and stamp down the pasture with their feet. But, ye believe not, because ye are not of my sheep, as I said unto you, My sheep hear my voice and I know them, and they follow me. Again, he that is of God hath God's words, ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God. How and why this is we are not able nor willing to try to answer: all we can say is, hath not the Lord right to do what he will with his own. Shall the thing formed say to Him that formed it, "What makest thou?" And "Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right." And many, many more like it. _April 4._--We were last night alarmed by the voices of apparently thousands of persons on the other side of the river; by degrees the discharges of guns were mingled with the cries, which gradually extended also to this side the river. We concluded it must be from a tribe of Arabs having broken into the city, the noise being exactly similar, only much more violent, to that of the two tribes of Arabs who were contending the other day. But after an hour's suspense, we heard it was a concourse of Arabs to supplicate from God the removal of the plague from them. The deaths from the plague do not seem to increase with any rapidity, these two or three days; 150 perhaps is the highest any day. On a preceding occasion, about 60 years ago, it amounted to near 2000 a day. There is with us the father of our schoolmaster, who had the plague at that time, and says you might have walked from one gate of the city to the other, and hardly have met a person or heard a sound. We trust it may be the Lord's gracious purpose to take off the heaviness of his judgment, and spare yet a little longer this sinful city. The news from Europe also--how strange--how anxious; surely the Lord seems sifting the nations, and shewing their rulers that without the Lord's blessing their confidences, plans, and speculations, can never stand. That they should have discovered also that the spiritual and temporal character of the Pope's government are incompatible--surely these are signs in the times that may make the most sceptical enquire. Oh! how joyful a thought it is that the Lord is at hand, and our pilgrimage near ending. _April 7._--We had thought the Lord had removed the sword from us, but we hear it is now near at hand; and the plague seems extending, or every one is running away. Sometimes, on looking round on our dear little circle, the old heavy faithless flesh would seek its quiet, sheltered retreat under the lofty elms, but the Lord never allows the spirit for one moment to desire otherwise than to wait and see the salvation of our God, who will for his name's sake do wonderfully for us, that our hearts may rejoice in him. We hear the enemy is within three days of the city, and the Pasha is going out with all his Haram, whether to contend or fly we do not know, but we think from his character, the latter; but where shall he fly? If he flies with gold, there are those who will plunder him: if he flies without, he cannot stir a step. In fact, the moment his affairs are actually sinking, all the miserable elements of his present comparative strength turn against him. _April 9._--Stillness still prevails over the city, like the calm which precedes a convulsion; our neighbours are preparing for defence, by getting armed men into their houses, but we sit down under the shadow of the Almighty's wings, fully assured that in his name we shall boast ourselves. The Pasha, however, has not gone out as he intended yesterday. We have just heard that the reports of the plague has stopped for a little the approach of the enemies of the Pasha, still every thing is exceedingly unsettled. He is going to shut himself up in the citadel till the answer comes from Constantinople to his overtures, but all those about him are against him, and wishing for the arrival of his enemies. About fifty went out the other day, and seized on Hillah,[22] but they were driven out. [22] Hillah is a small town on the river Euphrates, a little below the ruins of Babylon. It was built in the year 495 of the Hegira, or 1115 of the Christian era, in a district called by the natives El Aredh Babel; its population does not exceed between 6 and 7000, consisting of Arabs and Jews, there being no Christians, and only such Turks as are employed in the Government. The inhabitants bear a very bad character. The air is salubrious, and the soil extremely fertile, producing great quantities of rice, dates, and grain of different kinds, though it is not cultivated to above half the degree of which it is susceptible,--See Mr. Rich's Memoirs on the Ruins of Babylon.--_Editor._ _April 10._--The Lord has in many respects this day altered our position here. One of Major Taylor's seapoys has died of the plague, and now four of the servants are attacked. This has so alarmed Major T. and the family, that they are immediately going off to a country house, built by order of the Government of Bombay, for the Resident in the neighbourhood of Bussorah, and they may or may not return to this place. They have kindly offered us an asylum with them, and a passage in their boat. Having no immediate occupation here at present, I feel quite free to accept it, but there are considerations that prevent us.--Hitherto the Lord has kept us safe, and no symptom of plague has appeared in our dwelling--though it is all around us. We cannot move without coming in contact with numbers of people for many days, and being shut up in a small boat with the Arab sailors,[23] and even the very plague we may leave this city to avoid, may have reached Bussorah before we arrived there, as thousands have already set off from hence for that place; besides which, should it be the Lord's pleasure that the plague terminate soon, and we then wish to return, it may be many months before we may meet with an opportunity. The only advantage seems to be, that we should thus be apparently further removed from those troubles which seem likely to arise in the threatened attempt to depose this Pasha; yet, on the whole, we feel we may hold on with the Lord's blessing; but if we were once to leave our present post, it might be very difficult again to regain it. [23] The whole of those who took down the boats died. The accounts brought us of the numbers of those who have died of the plague, on this side of the river alone, in little more than one fortnight, all agree in making it about 7000. The poor inhabitants know not what to do: if they remain in the city, they die of the plague; if they leave it, they fall into the hands of the Arabs, who strip them, or they are exposed to the effects of an inundation of the river Tigris, which has now overflown the whole country around Bagdad, and destroyed, they say, 2000 houses on the other side of the river, but I think this must be exaggerated; the misery of this place, however, is now beyond expression, and may yet be expected to be much greater. Dreadful as the outward circumstances of this people are, their moral condition is infinitely worse; nor does there seem to be a ray of light amidst it all. The Mohammedans look on those who die of the plague as martyrs, and when they die there is no wailing made for them; so that amidst all these desolations there is a stillness, that when one knows the cause is very frightful. The Lord enables us to feel the blessedness of the 91st Psalm, at least of the portion of those to whom that Psalm pertains; and we have, amidst all these very trying circumstances, a peace that passeth understanding. We feel indeed that we owe it to our Lord's love to be careful for nothing, neither to run or make haste as others, but to stand still and see the salvation of our God. There was a curious conversation going on last night, among some Mohammedans, outside our window, relative to the plague, which they said was an especial judgment on them and the Jews, but from which Christ would deliver the Nazarenes, and in all these calamities, it is remarkable how doubly heavy, they fall on these two classes. Feelings like these, and others that we know exist, make us clear to stay where we are in the midst of these judgments, trying as they are to natural feeling. That which comes to the ungodly _as judgments_, comes to the child of God, like the chariot of fire to Elijah. From these visitations as judgments, we have an especial promise of protection, and we trust in the midst of them some good may spring up; at all events, we feel that we shall have quite met our dear Lord's mind in giving this people a last opportunity of hearing, ere their house is left unto them desolate. _April 12._--I have just taken leave of the kind T.'s. The accounts of the dead are truly terrific; they say the day before yesterday 1200 died, and yesterday Major T.'s man of business obtained a receipt to the amount of 1040 on this side of the river. If this statement can be relied on, the mortality, within and without the city, must be truly appalling, and should it not please the Lord soon to stay the destroying Angel's hand, the whole country must become one wide waste. Some very kind Armenians[24] have offered to provide what is necessary for our journey to Damascus, if we will go with them. The possibility of meeting our dear Brethren is a great temptation, but still we do not see clearly our permission to go, and the Lord has given us all such perfect peace in staying, and such perfect health, that we are even unwilling to go; we remain, therefore, and wait upon our Lord's love, which we feel assured will be manifested towards us amidst this scene of death; and afterwards we shall see why we remained, more clearly perhaps than now. [24] The caravan they went by suffered the most complicated misery both from the flood and the plague, and never succeeded in prosecuting the journey. _April 13._--The plague has just entered our neighbour's dwelling, where they have collected together nearly thirty persons, not simply their own family. It seems as if a spirit of infatuation had seized them, for instead of making their number as small as possible, they seem to congregate as many together as they can. Oh! what a blessed portion is ours, to have the God of Israel and his unchangeable promises for our sure and abiding place of rest--our little sanctuary unto which we may always resort. Yea, in the secret of his pavilion he will hide us. _April 14._--This is a day of awful visitation. The accounts of deaths yesterday vary from between 1000 and 1500; and to-day, they say, is worse than any, and the increase in the numbers of deaths is exclusive of the immense multitudes who are dying without the city. One of our schoolmasters[25] is gone to Damascus, and has taken with him his little nephew who was boarding with us, so we are indeed now quite alone. In fact, nothing prevents the entire desertion of the city, but the dangers of the way, and the poverty of the inhabitants. [25] He died afterwards--he was the one mentioned in my former Journal as having come from Shiraz. _April 15._--The accounts of the mortality yesterday still more alarming--1800 deaths in the city. There was great danger of the bodies being left in the houses, and the inhabitants flying and leaving them unburied, but by great exertions on the part of some young men in one quarter of the town to bury the dead there, others have been stimulated in other quarters to similar exertions, and last night all were buried. Our Moolah has just been here; he says he has bought winding sheets for himself, his brother, and his mother.[26] He says that yesterday he was in the Jew's quarter, and only met one person, and that was a woman, who, when she saw him, ran in and locked the door. Meat, for some days, or any thing else from without, we have been unable to get. Water alone we have obtained. But, to-day, even that we cannot get at any price; every waterman you stop, answers he is carrying it to wash the bodies of the dead. [26] Both he and his brother died. _April 16._--The accounts of yesterday are worse than any day, and an Armenian girl, who has been here this morning, said she saw, in a distance of about 600 yards, fifty dead bodies carrying to burial. The son of Gaspar Khan, our next neighbour, is dead. Two have been carried out from a little passage opposite our house to-day, where two more are ill. All you see passing have a little bunch of herbs, or a rose, or an onion to smell to, and yet as to real measures of precaution there has not been one step taken; not even contact avoided, and the most unrestrained intercourse goes on in every direction, so that nothing but the Lord's arm shortening it, can prevent the entire desolation of the whole province. The population of Bagdad cannot exceed 80,000, and of this number more than half have fled,[27] so that the mortality of 2000 a-day is going on among considerably less than 40,000 people. But the Lord tells us, when we hear or see these things, not to have our hearts troubled, for our redemption draweth nigh; and we believe it, and accept it as a sweet drop in the bitter cup that is now drinking to the very dregs by so many about us; and which, but for this expectation, would bow down the stoutest heart. [27] Most of them were driven back by the increase of the waters without. One of Major T.'s servants has just been here, who says the city is a perfect desert, only peopled by the dead, the bearers of the dead, and the water carriers. Our household are all in perfect health, thanks be to our loving Shepherd's care. _April 17._--To-day, as yesterday, we have heard nothing as to numbers. The accounts are very contradictory; some saying that there is very little plague, others, that it is heavier than any day; so that probably, in some parts of the city, it is very severe, and in others lighter. An Armenian told the schoolmaster that almost every one you meet is carrying cotton and things for the interment of the dead. We are left almost alone in our own neighbourhood, all having fled in one direction or another; we have been, however, all preserved in health, to the praise of the Keeper of Israel. Surely every principle of dissolution is operating in the midst of the Ottoman, and Persian empires. Plagues, earthquakes, and civil wars, all mark that the days of the Lord's coming are at hand, and this is our hope--on this our eyes and hearts rest as the time of repose, when all these trials shall cease, and the saints shall possess the kingdom. _April 18._--To-day the accounts are truly distressing. In the family of one of our little boys, consisting of six, four are laid down with the plague, father, mother, one son, and one daughter--only one son and a daughter remaining. Immense numbers of families will be altogether swept away, and many thousand of fatherless and motherless children left when this heavy judgment of God ceases. It is now become useless to attempt obtaining accurate accounts about numbers. _April 19._--Still heavy, heavy news. The Moolah has called to give us an account of the city. He says it now stands stationary at between 1,500 and 2,000 a-day, and has been so for a fortnight. What a mass of mortality! Among the Pasha's soldiers, he says they have lost, in some of the regiments, above 500 out of 700.--And in the towns and villages without, the report is, that it is as bad or worse than within the city. _April 20._--The plague much the same. Among the Armenians nine were buried yesterday, and seven to-day. There are not left in the city more than 400, and now there is the plague in every third or fourth house. The water also is increasing, so that a little more will inundate the whole city on this side the river, as it has on the other, to the inexpressible additional misery of the poor people. The caravan which left for Damascus can neither advance nor return on account of the water. Yesterday four dead were carried out from the little passage opposite our house, making in all 14 dead from eight houses, and there are others now lying ill. _April 21._--To-day the accounts of the plague are rather more favourable, though another has been carried out from the passage opposite us, and there are some ill in three houses adjoining ours. The river has burst into the cellars of the Residency, and is within a foot of inundating the whole city. _April 22._--Having had occasion to-day to go out to the Residency, to endeavour to save some things from the water, which has come into all the cellars, in every way I was overwhelmed with the awful state of the city, and at the difficulty of obtaining help of any kind at any price. The servant of Major T----, who is left in charge of the house, told me he had applied in every direction, but could get no one to help him; one had a wife dead or dying, another a mother, another was employed in carrying water for the dead, and on our way, we saw the Court of the Meshid or Mosque full of graves; and no longer finding room there, they were burying the dead in the public road. When in want of water, I think we shall be obliged to go to the river and fetch it for ourselves, as a water-carrier is hardly now to be seen, except when followed by a man forcing him to carry water to some house where there is death. Amidst all, the Lord lets not his destroying angels enter our dwelling; though tens of thousands are falling around us, we are all, by his grace and holy keeping, well. The business of death is now come to that height, that people seem to take their nearest relations, and bring them for interment with as much indifference as they would transact the most ordinary business. _April 23._--The plague not decreasing; two more were brought out to-day from the passage opposite to us, making seventeen from eight houses near us. The mother of the Seyd, who owns our house, has been buried in her house, as no one could be found to bury her. Another most affecting instance has just occurred. A little girl of about twelve years old was seen carrying an infant in her arms, and being asked whose it was, she said, she did not know, but had found it in the road, having heard that both its parents were dead. Water now is not to be had for money; yet even in these times Israel's pillar has its bright side to Israel. These things must come to pass; but when we see these signs, we must remember that our redemption draweth nigh; and the Lord will be a little sanctuary for us, let him send however sore judgments on the earth. _April 24._--The plague still raging with most destructive violence; the two servants in our next neighbour's house are both dead, and two horses left, I fear, to starve. A poor Armenian woman has just been here, to beg a little sugar for a little infant she picked up in the street this morning; and she says, another neighbour of her's picked up two more. They have just been digging graves beside our house. Almost all the cotton is consumed, so that persons are wandering all over the city to find some, for burying their dead. Water not to be had at any price, nor a water-carrier to be seen. Oh, what heart-rending scenes sin has introduced into the world! Oh, when will the Lord come to put an end to these scenes of disorder, physical as well as moral? In one short month, not less than 30,000 souls have passed from time to eternity in this city, and yet, even now, no diminution apparently of deaths. Surely the judgment of the Lord is on this land? One more taken from the little passage opposite, making nineteen from the eight houses. _April 25._--To-day, three more from the same passage, making twenty-one from these houses. Such a disease I never heard of or witnessed; certainly not more than one in twenty recovers; every one attacked seems to die. This has been a heart-rending day. The accounts from the Residency, and the falling of a wall, undermined by the water, obliged me to go out, and I found nothing but signs of death and desolation; hardly a soul in the streets, unless such as were carrying the dead, or themselves affected with plague, and at a number of doors, and in the lanes, bundles of clothes that had been taken from the dead, and put out. The Court of the Mosque was shut, having no place left for burying, and graves were digging in every direction in the roads, and in the unoccupied stables about the city. The water also has increased so much as to be within a few inches of inundating the city. Should this further calamity come on this side, as it has on the other, the height of human misery will be near its climax, for where they will then bury their dead I know not. There seems no diminution in the plague yet, that we can discern. Two of the men we had helping to take Major T----'s things from the water are attacked; one of them is the fourth from a house, consisting of six. The remaining servant of Mr. T---- had intelligence brought while I was there, that his aunt was dead, which, he says, is the eighth near relation he has lost. Some of the Mohammedans, our neighbours, were sitting under our windows last evening, and were observing, that while two or three had been taken from every house, we only had remained free. And this is of the Lord's marvellous love. We consist of thirteen, including the schoolmaster's family, and the Lord has given his destroying angel charge to pass over our door. The Pasha has sent to desire, that he might have Major T----'s yacht drawn up near the Seroy or Palace to go into, in case the water should increase; and when the man was sent for, who had the charge of the vessel, he with another had run away, three were dead, and only one remained. These are surely the days of visitation for the pride of Edom. The man who sold cotton for burying the dead, the price of which he raised from 45 to 95 piastres, and who lived only two doors from us, died yesterday. There is no more cotton left in the city, and they now bury the dead in their clothes. The price of soap is raised four times higher than usual. I have been enabled, by the Lord's goodness, to get all our water-jars filled, though at twenty times the usual price. The bodies of persons of considerable wealth are now just put on the back of a donkey, or a mule, and carried away to be buried, accompanied by one servant. We have also much anxiety about the people of the Damascus-caravan, of which we can hear no tidings, whether or not they have been swallowed up by the inundation. Whether they have been able to retreat to some eminence, or what is become of them we know not. The poor women who have taken charge of the two poor little infants have sent to us for food for them, as in these countries they have no idea of bringing up children by hand. It may be to be instrumental in saving some of these poor little infants, and in helping the orphans that remain, that the Lord has allowed us to stay here. They are all Mohammedan children. _April 26._--For many days we have been unable to obtain any account of the number of deaths; but the _Chaoush_ of Major T---- has been with the Pasha this morning, who is in the greatest possible state of alarm, wishing to go, but not knowing how. One of his officers, whose business it is to inquire about the number of deaths daily, reported that it had reached 5,000, but yesterday was 3,000, and to-day less. Enormous as the mortality has been, I cannot but think this beyond the truth; yet it must be remembered, that the inundation kept immense masses of poor thronged together in the city, who, but for this, would have all fled in one direction or another. The accounts are heart-rending of little children left in the streets; five were left yesterday, a poor woman told us, near the Residency, and others in different directions. If the wrath of God is pouring out on the mystical Babylon, as it is on this province of the literal Babylon; the two antichrists are beginning to draw near their end. But for the presence of the Lord in our dwelling, as its light and joy, what a place would this be to be alone in now; but with Him, even this is better than the garden of Eden. These are invaluable situations for the experience of God's loving distinguishing care, and here we realize our pilgrim state much better than in the quiet of England, with all its external apparent security. The utmost number of daily deaths I heard of at Tabreez were 400, and here it is said to be 4,000, and yet the population certainly is not double. In going out to speak with a servant of Major T----, I saw a very decently dressed female lying in a dying state of plague at our door quite senseless; it is almost more than the heart can bear. Yet, that the Lord will even from these scenes prepare ways for the establishment of his truth, I feel fully assured, and this supports us. A north wind has regularly blown for these four days past, so that we hope the water will not again increase. Oh, may our Father of his infinite mercy take away these heavy heavy judgments, and make their present measure instrumental to the advancement of his kingdom. The Soochee Bashee, an officer of police, has just been here, and tells us, that the Pasha proposes removing to near Coote, a village on the Tigris, half way between this and Bussorah. At any other time, this would tend to most fearful convulsions within the city; but in the present state of things, perhaps, all may remain quiet, without a governor. When the plague, that now desolates the city ceases, we know not what may happen; but this we do know, that the love of our Father, and his gracious providence, will be magnified by all events, and that we shall yet praise him more and more. It seems to me more than probable that the Pasha does not intend to return. By the plague he has lost half his soldiers, and a great number of his Georgian slaves, who are his personal attached friends; he may now remove without obstruction perhaps, from any one, or the possibility of any communication being made to his enemies to intercept him; but time only will show; however this may be, it is certain that should the plague cease to-morrow, the city is in such a state, that no resistance could be made for one moment to any enemy. How invaluable the past proofs of the Lord's loving kindness and tender mercies are at such times, the remembrance of him from the Hill Mizar of the Hermonites. In going along the streets to-day, I saw several poor sufferers labouring under the plague; and a number of places, where clothes had been brought out and burnt. Our anxieties have been greatly increased by the illness of our dear little baby; but our unerring Physician has restored her to us to-day, we trust in a measure which promises amendment. _April 27._--To-day all thoughts are turned from the plague to the inundation, which from the falling of a portion of the city wall on the north-west side last night, let the water in full stream into the city. The Jews' quarter is inundated, and 200 houses fell there last night: we are hourly expecting to hear, that every part of the city is overflowed. A part also of the wall of the citadel is fallen. And, in fact, such is the structure of the houses, that if the water remains near the foundations long, the city must become a mass of ruins. The mortar they use in building is very like plaister of Paris, which sets very hard, and does very well when all is dry; but as soon as ever water is applied, it all crumbles to powder; and in building walls of four or five feet thick, they have only an outside casing of brick work thus cemented, and within it is filled up with dust and rubbish, so that what seems strong enough in appearance to bear any thing, soon moulders away, and by its own weight accelerates its ruin. It must be many many years, if ever, before the city can recover. But it seems to me, that this seat of Mohammedan glory, and of its proudest recollections, has received its death-warrant from the hand of the Lord. This inundation has not only ruined an immense number of houses in the city, and been the cause of tens of thousands dying of the plague, but the whole harvest is destroyed. The barley, which was just ready to be reaped, is utterly gone, and every other kind of corn must likewise be ruined, so that for 30 miles all round Bagdad, not a grain of corn can be collected this year, and perhaps, if all was quiet this might be of no consequence, for from Mosul and Kourdistan it might easily come; but this will be prevented by the enemies of the Pasha who surround us. The poor are beginning to feel immense difficulty in the city, for all the shops are shut, and there is a great scarcity of wood for firing; and should the water now cause a general inundation of the whole city, the heart sickens at the contemplation of the scenes that must follow; for the houses of the poor are nothing but mud, scarcely one of which will be left standing. For ourselves personally, the Lord has allowed us great peace, and assured confidence in his loving care, and in the truth of his promise, that our bread and our water shall be sure; but certainly nothing but the service of such a Lord as he is would keep me in the scenes which these countries do exhibit, and I feel assured will, till the Lord has finished his judgments on them, for the contempt of the name, nature, and offices of the Son of God; yet I linger in the hope he has a remnant even among them, for whose return these convulsions are preparing the way. _April 28._--News more and more disastrous. The inundation has swept away 7,000 houses from one end of the city to the other, burying the sick, the dying, and the dead, with many of those in health, in one common grave.[28] Those who have escaped, have brought their goods and the relics of their families, to the houses the plague has desolated, or desertion left unoccupied, and houses are yet falling in every direction. [28] I have heard of eight thus buried in one house, or rather belonging to one family, the remains of which are come to reside next us in a house, where those who had the charge of it are dead. The Lord has stopped the water just at the top of our street by a little ledge of high ground, so that as yet we are dry; and all free from the sword of the destroying angel. Scarcity of provision is beginning to be sensibly felt, so that very respectable persons are coming to the door to beg a little bread, or a little butter, or some other simple necessary of life. To-day, the number dying in the road was much greater than I have before seen, and the number unburied in the streets daily and hourly increases. The Seroy of the Pasha is a heap of ruins, and though he is most anxious to go, he cannot collect forty men to man the yacht, for all fear of him is now past, and love for him they have none; his distress beggars all description, for not a single native vessel is left in Bagdad, every one having been employed in taking down the crowds to Bussorah at the commencement of this dreadful calamity. I have from day to day mentioned the dead taken from the eight houses opposite to ours; that number has to-day reached twenty-four; in one of these, out of nine, one only survives; and I mention twenty-four not as all, but as those which have been seen carried out by some of the schoolmaster's family, who were however very little in that room which overlooks this passage. Of another family near the Meidan, out of thirteen one only remains, and I have no doubt there are hundreds of families similarly swept away; yet amidst all these trials to the servants of God, my heart does not despair for the work of the Lord, for no ordinary judgments seem necessary to break the pride and hatred of this most proud and contemptuous people; but the Lord will bring Edom down, and make a way for the Kings of the East to his holy habitation. We have taken one poor little Mohammedan baby, about three or four years old, from the streets, and are supplying a poor Armenian woman with pap for another; but what is this among so many? We know not what to do. It makes passing the streets most painful and affecting, thus to see little children from a month or six weeks, to two or four years, crying for a home, hungry, and naked, and wretched, and knowing not what to do, nor where to go. Thank God however, to-day the water is a little abated, about a span lower. Oh, may the Lord's mercy spare yet a little longer this wretched, wretched city. Oh, how does the glory of the Chalifat lie in ashes; she seems within a step of falling like her elder sister Babylon, the glory of the Chaldean's excellency, and in how many things has her spirit towards the church of God been as bad, yea worse, than hers. Missionaries in these countries have need of a very simple faith, which can glory in God's will being done, though all their plans come to nothing. It was but the other day we were surrounded by as interesting a school of boys, and a commencing one of thirteen girls, as the heart could desire; and now if the plague and desolation were to terminate to-morrow, and our scattered numbers were assembled, perhaps not more than half would remain to us. Yet dark as all the labours of the Lord's servants in these countries appears, I feel assured, that prophecy points them out as specially connected with many of the great events of the latter days. Yet it requires great confidence in God's love, and much experience of it, for the soul to remain in peace, stayed on him, in a land of such changes, without even one of our own nation near us, without means of escape in any direction; surrounded with the most desolating plague and destructive flood, with scenes of misery forced upon the attention which harrow up the feelings, and to which you can administer no relief. Even in this scene however, the Lord has kept us of his infinite mercy, in personal quiet and peace, trusting under the shadow of his Almighty wing, and has enabled us daily to offer up to his holy name praise, for suffering us to assemble in undiminished numbers, when tens of thousands have been falling around us. Neither is this all, for he has made us know why we staid in this place, and why we were never allowed to feel it to be our path of duty to leave the post we were in. _April 29._--Our situation is becoming daily still more extraordinary, and in many respects more trying, except that our Lord is our hiding place, who will preserve us from trouble, and will compass us about with songs of deliverance. The Pasha has fled, accompanied by his master of the horse, and his immediate family. His palace is left open, without a soul to take care of any thing. His stud of beautiful Arab horses are running about the streets, and are caught by those who care to take the trouble, and offered for sale for from £10. to £100. each; his stores also of corn are left open, and every one takes what he wants, or what he can carry away, which is a great relief to the poor, for the quantities are enormous, in expectation of a siege. The plague is working its destructive way, apparently with no other mitigation than that arising from decreasing numbers in the city; the inundation however, has prevented this having its full weight, for it has thronged the remaining population into a compass unnaturally disproportionate. The house next us, which belongs to a Seyd, who left it at the beginning of the plague, in charge of two servants who are dead, is now filled by twenty persons from different directions. The unburied dead, and the dying, are fearfully accumulating in the streets. So difficult it is now to find persons to bury, that even the priest of the Armenian church here, who died two days since, remains yet unburied. The water, thank God, is a little lower, but there seems now every prospect that the moment the waters decrease, the surrounding Arabs will come in, and plunder the city; yet even this is in the Lord's hands--our wisdom has ever been to sit still, and see the salvation of our God, and until we see his cloudy pillar arise from off our tabernacle, where we feel it has hitherto rested, and move forward, we shall yet judge our safety to be to sit still. We have in several instances seen, that there was reason to bless God for remaining quiet. We once thought of removing to the Residency, as a change to the dear children, and as being nearer to the water; but still on the whole we felt it best to remain here; and had we gone, we should have been in the midst of the plague; or had we gone, when the T----s went to Bussorah, what a state should we now be in, without the possibility of removing, and in danger of our lives from the inundation and falling of the walls, if we stayed. We had again considered, whether it would be right to leave this with the caravan for Damascus and Aleppo, which seemed the only opening there might possibly be for us, so that if we let that pass by, we must stay whether we would or not; still the Lord made us feel it was our path to stay looking to him. And had we gone, what a state should we have been in? For nearly three weeks they have been surrounded with water, continually increasing around them, so that now we know not what their situation may be, whether they are swept away, or remain; but at all events we bless God for having inclined our minds to stay. Why we did not join our dear and kind friends the T----s, in going to Bussorah, we do not yet so clearly see the reason of, because we have received no accounts thence, but it would have cut up alike our connection with our work here, and with our dear friends at Aleppo, with whom we feel it daily of more and more importance to have as speedy a meeting as possible for advice and counsel. We have just heard of the caravan already mentioned, as going to Damascus and Aleppo. The plague has taken off eight of the Armenians, and four have been drowned. The head of the caravan is dead of the plague also, besides many others; they must therefore return to Bagdad, instead of advancing on their journey; so in this instance at least we see great reason to bless God for keeping us back. Yea, the Lord will instruct us and teach us the way in which we should go, and will guide us with his eye; this is our confidence and comfort; and in such a time as this of unheard of perplexity, what a source of abiding peace is this. We feel it well to know our God in such circumstances as ours. Among the Armenians, thirteen died to-day, the largest number yet in one day. _April 30._--The report of the flight of the Pasha, it appears was not true, and arose from the two circumstances I have mentioned, of his horses having been seen running about the streets, and his supplies being open to the people. He has been for several days endeavouring to get away, and had drawn up for that purpose some boats under the Seroy. All his stables were levelled to the ground, and the place flooded with water. When the distress of the people was mentioned to him, he ordered one of his corn stores to be opened to them. However, to-day, blessed be God's Holy Name, _the waters have sunk more than a yard_, so we trust the great danger is over. To-day, one more was brought out dead from the eight opposite houses, making twenty-five, and we know there are four more lying ill there. Our poor schoolmaster, who went in the caravan, is dead, and was buried in his tent. _May 1._--The Lord has brought us all in safety to the beginning of another month, through the most trying period of my life; yet the Lord has every day filled our mouth with praise, and enabled us to see his preserving hand. To-day, as I passed along the street, I saw numbers of dead bodies lying unburied, and the dogs eating with avidity the loathsome food. Oh! it made my very heart sink. The numbers of the dead can now be no longer ascertained, for most of the bodies are buried either in the houses or in the roads; yet amidst all this, the Lord suffers not the destroying angel to enter our dwelling; but we feel the Lord has commanded the man with the ink-horn to write us down to be spared, as this is one of the vials of God's wrath on his enemies. _May 2._--We have heard nothing to-day to vary the general scene of our calamities; the intensity of this most desolating disease surpasses all thought. Numbers of families are altogether swept away; in numerous others, out of ten or twelve, only one, two, or three remain; but I hear of none, save our own, where death has not entered. Yet, while I bless and praise the Holy Name of our Lord, under whose wing alone we came here, and under whose wing alone we have trusted, the things my eyes have seen, and my ears heard, press upon my heart, and make me at times very sad; neither can I chase them from my mind. I can only look forward for comfort to that day, when the Lord himself will come to put an end to this dispensation of desolation, and introduce his own peace. Yea, come Lord Jesus, come quickly. We have just heard melancholy tidings of another caravan, which endeavoured to escape into Persia from the plague, but has been forced back again by the Arabs, the floods, and the scarcity of provisions, and besides numbers among them have died daily of the plague, so still we can bless God we did not leave our present position by this last opportunity. Let us then again bless him for not allowing us to make haste. _May 3._--To-day we trust the Lord has a little alleviated the virulence of the plague; many attacked yesterday, and the day before, have been rapidly recovering, and fewer deaths have taken place to-day--a great deal so far as we can ascertain. May God's holy name be praised, who is a hiding place from every storm. We had our water jars filled again to-day, when many, even of the rich, who have connections in every direction, find the greatest difficulty. "Your water shall be sure." We who are alone, and without a friend within hundreds of miles in any direction, have been supplied by our Lord's gracious ordering; thus he puts a new song into our mouths, even a song of thanksgiving. To-day all are well, even our dear little baby is quite recovered. _May 4._--The weather has for these two or three days past been beautifully fine, and clear, and hot, by which our God seems to have mitigated the symptoms of the plague. All accounts to-day are encouraging; the number of new cases few, and the number of those recovering many. Our eyes have also been rejoiced by the sight of three or four water-carriers passing again, after an interval of ten days; many more people have also been passing and repassing than before; so we trust the Lord is now taking away this desolating judgment, which, in less than two months, has carried away more than half the population of this city; for, allowing that it had been silently making its deadly course three weeks before it was discovered, it does not exceed eight weeks, and by far the greatest portion of deaths have been within the last four weeks. _May 5._--In my journal yesterday, I mention more than half the population as having been swept away in the inconceivably short space of two months, but every account I have received, convinces me that this is within the number; certainly not less than two thirds have been swept away, and this seems to have arisen from a complication of causes. At the time when the great mass of the population would have fled, and thus have thinned the city, the waters rose so high, that they could move only with great difficulty; they waited in the hopes of the water subsiding, instead of which, it so increased, that those who had left the town and could get back, were compelled to return; those who could not, were driven to seek some high ground where they might remain safe from the water, but in all cases they were crowded together without the power of moving their position.--Again, in the city, when by the death of immense multitudes the population became greatly thinned, the inundation of the water laid more than half the town level with the ground, and drove the remaining people to congregate together wherever they could find a dry place or an open house, so that often twenty or thirty came to reside together in the same house, as was the case next door to us; thus again the deaths became awfully great. Inquire where you will, the answer is, The city is desolate: around the Pasha four Georgians alone remain alive out of more than one hundred. The son of our Moolah, who is dead, told me to-day, that in the quarter where he lives, not one human being is left--they are all dead. Out of about eighteen servants and seapoys that Major T. left, fourteen are dead, two have now the plague,[29] and two remain well. Among the Armenians, more than half are dead. An Armenian who was with us to-day, tells us, there are not more than twenty-seven men left in one hundred and thirty houses. I, however, think that this is exaggerated. [29] Those two died. At Hillah, the modern Babylon, (population 10,000), there is, Seyd Ibrahim told me to-day, scarce a soul left, and the dogs and the wild beasts alone are there feeding on the dead bodies. This Seyd Ibrahim is one of the surviving servants of Major T.; and is the only one of a family of fourteen who remains alive.--His four brothers, their wives, his own wife, their children, and his own, are all dead. If mystical Babylon is suffering, as the seat of this Archbishopric of the literal Babylon, the times are not far off when the river Euphrates shall be dried up for the kings of the east to pass over. For digging a grave they ask a sum that equals in England three pounds, in consequence of which numbers have remained unburied about the streets, so that the Pasha has been obliged to engage men, paying them at the same rate for each body they will throw into the river. In all the villages the desolation seems as complete as it is here. When day by day I rise and see our numbers complete, and all in health, my soul is indeed made to feel what cannot the Lord do? though ten thousand shall fall at thy right hand it shall not come nigh thee.--I do not yet see what effect all this is likely to have on our labours here--whether it will break down or build up barriers; yet we expect it will break down, for the Lord seems thus breaking to pieces the power if not the pride of this haughty people. I have been struck two or three times lately, in going out, with the intense hatred that lurks at the bottom of the hearts of this people against Christians; my dress manifested me to be one, and some Arabs I met, particularly the women, cursed me with the most savage ferocity as I passed, two or three calling out at me as though I were the cause of all their calamities; and the people who are come to live next door to us, are bitter against us, especially one man among them, who seems to have his heart quite corroded, because they are dying and we are preserved by our Lord's love; he sits and talks under our window, saying, "These Christians and Jews alone remain, but in the whole of Bagdad you will hardly find one hundred Mohammedans." This is altogether false, for though in proportion as many Christians may not have died as Mohammedans and Jews, yet the deaths among them have been enormous, as the preceding accounts will have shewn. Medicine I have found of no use. If you attack the fever, they die of prostration of strength; if you endeavour to support the constitution, they die of oppression on the brain. Those cases which first affected the head with delirium, have been the most fatal; next those with carbuncles, which did not appear, however, for a fortnight after the commencement of the disease. Among those who have recovered, almost the whole have had large glandular swellings, speedily separating and thus relieving the constitution. This night, the first time for three weeks, I have heard again the Muezzin's call to prayers, from the minarets of the Mosques. _May 6._--The water to-day is much decreased. I saw a man also with fresh meat in his hand. I likewise saw many recovering from the plague walking about, leaning on sticks, and sitting by the way-side. The number of deaths, among the Armenians, to-day, amounted to 11, which, considering that their whole remaining numbers cannot exceed 300 at present, is an enormous mortality, and has a little damped our hopes of a speedy conclusion to this awful visitation. _May 7._--Of the plague nothing satisfactory to-day. Thieves are multiplying in every direction; and news has come from Mosul that a new Pasha has arrived there, who only waited for the cessation of the plague to advance against Bagdad. Great part of his work of destruction is already done for him, as hardly a Georgian is left, and he will find money enough left without owners, to supply his own utmost rapacity, or the demands of the Sultan. The Lord is our only secure resting place, and we know that he who delivers us out of six troubles, can and will deliver us out of seven. The water is decreasing most rapidly, so that rice is beginning to be brought from the other side of the river; and as all those who monopolized the sale of wood, and not only asked enormous prices, but cheated in the weight, are all dead, every one now that needs wood takes it, so that the situation of the poor seems in this respect a little improved. There has not been among all the circumstances of this scene of complicated suffering, any one that has more painfully affected my own mind than the increasing number of infants and little children that have been left exposed in the streets, and the absolute impossibility of meeting such a state of things. We greatly desired to take one or two; but our own little baby was ill, so that by night Mary had hardly any rest, and at best, not being strong in such a climate, we came reluctantly to the decision that we were not able to undertake such an additional charge. This is an anxious evening. Dear Mary is taken ill--nothing that would at any other time alarm me, but now very little creates anxiety; yet her heart is reposing on her Lord with perfect peace, and waiting his will. A few hours, perhaps, may show us that it is but a little trial of our faith to draw us nearer the fountain of our life. To nature it seems fearful to think of the plague entering our dwelling; in our present situation, nothing but the Lord's especial love could sustain the soul in the contemplation of a young family, left in such a land, at such a time, and in such circumstances; but we feel we came out under the shadow of the Almighty's wing, and we know that his pavilion will be our sanctuary, let his gracious providence prescribe what it may. On his love, therefore, we cast ourselves with all our personal interests. _May 8._--The Lord has this day manifested that the attack of my dear dear wife, is the plague, and of a very dangerous and malignant kind, so that our hearts are prostrate in the Lord's hand. As I think the infection can have only come through me, I have little hope of escaping, unless by the Lord's special intervention. It is indeed an awful moment, the prospect of having a little family in such a country at such a time. Yet, my dearest wife's faith triumphs over these circumstances, and as she sweetly said to me to day, "The difference between a child of God and the worldling is not in death, but in the hope the one has in Jesus, while the other is without hope and without God in the world." She says, "I marvel at the Lord's dealings, but not more than at my own peace in such circumstances." She is now continually sleeping, and when roused feels it difficult to keep her dear mind fixed on any subject for a minute. These are indeed the floods of deep waters, but in the midst of them the Lord is working his mysterious way, yet that way, however bitter to nature, is for the everlasting consolation of his chosen ones. She said to me, a few minutes since, "What does the Lord say concerning me." I said, that you are a dear child of his. "Yes," she said, "of that I have no doubt." May the Lord of his infinite mercy sustain my poor weak soul amidst these heavy visitations, that at least we may magnify him, whether by life or by death; what a relief it is now to my mind to think that her's was so much set against moving, whenever I proposed it, and she often said in reply, "The Lord has given me no desire nor sense of the desirableness of moving, which I feel assured he would have done had he seen it best." _May 9._--My dearest, dearest wife still alive, and not apparently worse than yesterday. Oh! if it were the Lord's holy blessed will to spare her, it would indeed rejoice my poor foolish heart, but the Lord has enabled me to cast my wife, myself, and my dear dear children on his holy love, and to await the issue. Oh! what wrath there must be against these lands, if not only the inhabitants are swept away, but the Lord transplants also his own, who would teach them, to his own garden of peace. My soul has just been refreshed by these two verses of Psalm 116. "Return unto thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee. He has taken one of thy olive branches to glory, and is now perhaps about to take another, for precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints, for he only takes them from the evil to come." Oh, but for Jesus, the never setting star of our heavenly way, amidst the wilderness what would our situation now be. Jesus is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever, and our heavenly Father's love we have too often proved to doubt it now. But, poor nature is bowed very very low, when I look at my dear boys and little babe, and see only poor little Kitto to be left for their care for hundreds of miles around; it needs all those consolations of God's spirit to keep the soul from sinking also with the body; but the Lord has said, "Leave your fatherless children unto me," and to him we desire to leave them. We did feel assured that the Lord would spare our dear little united happy family; but his ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts. Dear little Kitto, I feel for his situation also from my heart. All the conversation of my dear dying wife, for these twelve months past, but especially as our difficulties and trials increased, was on the peace she enjoyed in the Lord. Often and often she has said to me, notwithstanding the disparity of every thing external, I never in England enjoyed that sweet sense of my Lord's loving care that I have enjoyed in Bagdad. And her assurance of her Lord's love never forsook her, even after she felt herself attacked by the plague. While contemplating the mysteriousness of the Providence, her mind was overwhelmed; but when she thought on her Lord's love, she was confident in his graciousness. From almost the first, her brain has been so oppressed, that with difficulty she opens her eyes, and though she can answer a question of two or three words, Yes, or No; yet, if it involves the slightest exercise of thought, she always replies, "I do not know what you say." When I consider all I and the dear children lose, should we survive her, it is almost more than my heart can contemplate. On any essential point, for some years, we have never had divided judgment on any material point; in every work of faith, or labour of love, her desire was to animate, not to hinder. Such simple truth of purpose, and unaffected love, and confidence in her Lord, as dwelt in her dear departing spirit, I have seldom seen, and those who knew her intimately will not think I say too much. She has been to me in the relation of Christian wife, and Missionary wife, just what I felt I so much, so very much needed. And yet the Lord sees fit to take her to himself, and add one more from my little family to the chosen, faithful, and true company that surrounds his throne. Lord, then, though it cuts nature to the quick, makes me feel its deepest suffering, and meets me under the most complicated forms of trial, yet if it be for thy glory, and her glory, do, dear Lord, thine Almighty will, and we know thou wilt to thy chosen, make light spring up out of darkness. _May 10._--Last evening my dearest wife was more herself than she had been, till within a few hours of her being taken ill, which was manifested by her asking to see dear little baby, the first thing she had voluntarily asked for, since her illness, without being spoken to. She again mentioned the subject of her confidence in her Lord, and acquiescence in his will. She asked me what I thought of her situation. I said I had committed her to the Lord, who, I knew, would deal graciously by her. She replied, "Yes, that he will." She continued in this state of improvement till to-day at about nine o'clock, when her mind again began to wander. When I quoted to her, that to the Lord's servants light should spring up in darkness, she said, "Yes, that it shall." She said, "I feel much better than yesterday--don't you see that I am." In fact, my hopes of her being really improving would have been complete, but from that peculiar look of the eyes, which authors who have written on this subject, all denote as most fatal; from this, therefore, my hopes never were very high, yet though I had yesterday been enabled, through the Lord's grace, to lie in his hands like a weaned child, to-day the disappointment of the dear hope, slight as it was, of having her restored to us, has brought my soul again into very deep waters. She also this morning expressed her anxiety about the dear children, and her fear, least in attending her, I should take the plague, and they be left orphans here. In every respect, certainly the Lord has been most gracious to her. She is about to be transplanted to her native soil, where tears and sorrows shall never enter, and in the way of her removal, since the Lord's time is come, nothing can be more compassionate to her peculiar weakness of heart than not allowing her anxiety to dwell on the dear children, and their probable situation here. To have been happy in quitting them, amidst such a scene as now surrounds us, and in such a country, perhaps no mortal faith could have been equal to; the Lord, therefore, suffered not her mind to possess its usual sensibilities; but took them from her, and left her only to return to his bosom in peace. I feel the Holy Ghost again sustaining my poor weak heart in the prospect of losing such a wife, and remaining solitary here with three dear motherless children; but I know the Lord in whom I have believed, and he will not fail his chosen in one of all those good things he has promised. Our trials are indeed very very great; but the Lord, the comforter, is greater even than they. My dearest wife now (two o'clock,) is quite delirious. Dear spirit! I have attended her night and day since the evening of the 7th, on which she was taken ill, and I allow no one else to approach her. The Lord is my only stay, my only support, and he is a support indeed. _May 11._--This night has been the most trying of my life. How hard for the soul to see the object of its longest and best grounded earthly affections suffering without the power of affording relief, knowing too that a heavenly Father who has sent it, can relieve it, and yet seems to turn a deaf ear to one's cries; at the same time, I felt, in the depths of my soul's affections, that notwithstanding all, he is a God of infinite love. Satan has sorely tried me, but the Lord has shewn me, in the 22d Psalm, a more wonderful cry _apparently_ unheeded, and the Holy Ghost has given me the victory, and enabled me to acquiesce in my Father's will, though I now see not the end of his holy and blessed ways. Dear, dear spirit! she will soon wing her way to where her heart has long been; and, if I am spared, I shall perhaps have reason to bless God for having removed her thus early. The plague has attacked two more of our household--the schoolmaster's wife and our maid-servant, and how far it will go now, no one knows but he who guides it by his sovereign will. My dearest Mary's sufferings for four or five hours last night were great; she was quite delirious, and her dear voice was so affected, that I could not make out two words connectedly. How mysterious are God's ways! Oh my soul, learn the lesson of patient submission to his holy will. I have cast myself upon him and he will guide me. Dear Mary, to-day has been quite insensible. It has indeed been a very painful day, but it is the condition of this world. Dear spirit! her heart has been so set on her Lord's coming of late, that it seemed quite to absorb her thoughts and heart. And now she will quickly join the holy assembly that are waiting to come with him. Surely such times as these, when the Lord is taking a ripe shock of corn from your field, are seasons to rejoice that your prayer for the quick accomplishment of the number of God's elect has been heard, and yet how hard it is for nature not to feel deep sorrow that a message has come for one of yours. Poor dear Kitto and the little boys are now become the sole nurses of the dear baby by night and by day. Oh, may the Lord watch over them and bless them. My last night's attendance on my dear wife, leaves me little hope of escaping the plague, unless it be our Father's special will to preserve me, for in her delirium she required so many times to be lifted from place to place, and to have all her clothes changed, that I can now only cry to the Lord to preserve me, if it may be a little while, for the dear children's sake. The Lord has most graciously provided us with a servant of Mrs. T's. to come and attend my dear Mary.[30] Oh may my soul bless him for this timely help, just when our own servant was taken ill. This woman has been in the midst of all the contagion, and has never taken it; so it may be the Lord's will to shew how he can work even in the midst of the darkest trials. She sits down beside the dear sufferer, keeps the flies from her face, and does every thing for her the fondest heart could desire. She came out with us from England, having gone there with Mrs. T.; is a native of these countries, knows all that is required in sickness, and how to perform the duties of a nurse, with the most unwearied patience, tenderness, and watchfulness. She also knows something of English, and having been with dear Mrs. T. in England, is acquainted with English customs. Surely the Lord heard my cry in the day of my deep distress, for such a person perhaps could not be got again within a thousand miles. That she should have been left too when all the rest went away. She has made dear Mary look so comfortable; she washes her and changes her, who though insensible, lies so quiet, and looks so composed. She said she knew the Lord would be very gracious, and he has been so indeed--he sees it right to take his sheep home to his fold; but he has so overwhelmed me by this proof of his loving kindness, this ray of light arising in the midst of my darkness, that it seems to have led my heart yet more and more to love him and to confide in him, that he may yet stay his rough wind in the day of his east wind. This kind friend, Mrs. T.'s servant, proposes to remain with us until all our family are either well or dead. [30] This servant was an old servant of Mrs. R.'s, and came out with us, and was much attached to dear Mary. _May 12._--Up to this day I am well, thank God, but seeing the ways of the Lord are so marvellous, I have arranged all my little concerns, and put them into the hands of dear Kitto, for the little boys and our dear little baby, till they arrive at some of those places where there may be some one to take care of them, and carry them to their guardians or my trustees. But as poor Kitto is so little able to provide even for himself, much less for the little boys, I shall now endeavour, the Lord enabling me, to arrange with this woman, Mariam by name, to undertake every thing for them till she can give them over to Major T., to whose family she is going, unless they return here. This woman was an old servant of dear Mrs. R. She has consented to undertake this charge, and is to remain with the dear, dear children. She knows enough of English to make herself understood by the dear children, and she thoroughly understands the language, manners, and habits of this people.--Whether it may ever be the Lord's will to call into exercise the arrangements of this plan or not, I trust I never shall forget the Lord's unspeakable mercy in shewing me, that when I saw no earthly protector for my poor children, his holy, loving, and fatherly hand could provide one if it were necessary. Oh, may my faith in him in the darkest day never fail, for it is a light that springeth up in darkness. Dearest Mary is gradually sinking into the bosom of the Lord, and to join in the society her soul has so long and so truly loved, of the lovers of the Lamb of God. Though the Lord has taken away the desire of my eyes, as it were with a stroke, and left me a few hours to cry unto him in the midst of my deep, deep waters; yet these visions of his love have so revived my soul, that my whole soul is brought to acquiesce in his holy and fatherly arrangements, with respect to her who was once the joy, the help, and companion of all in which I was engaged. I sit down now to wait, and see the salvation of my God, for doubtless he will reveal, in his own good time, the reason why he has acted so contrary, not only to mine, but especially my dear wife's strongest convictions, which were, that he would preserve us all safe through this calamity. When I now contemplate the spiritual state of dear Mary's mind for the last twelve months, I am not at all surprised that the Lord has taken her as a ripe shock of corn, but my expectation while watching her spiritual progress was so different. I saw her daily growing in the simple assurance of her Lord's love, and desiring under heaven neither to know nor serve any other than him. Her heart was panting for the Lord's coming, that the mystery of iniquity might be finished, and the mystery of godliness be fully established; but I thought not of all this being preparatory to her joining her Lord, but for the strengthening of my poor weak hands here. It never entered my heart that I was to be left alone, as far as earth is concerned, most alone. Those friends for whom this journal is alone designed, know how much she was to me, and how deservedly so: this, however, the Lord saw had its great, great dangers too, and may in his infinite mercy to us both have ripened her so rapidly for glory, and left me here to serve and praise; for I have felt it was very, very hard to be as the Apostle says, having a wife as though I had none. Now, when I go and look upon her having reached within one short step, the habitation of all her hopes; I have not a spiritual affection within my soul that would call her back; but poor nature bows reluctantly its head. The dear little baby also is but poorly. Her dear little cry of mamma, mamma, cuts my poor heart like a knife, to think, that from to-day or probably to-morrow, she must cease to know that endearing name, and such a mother too! However, the Lord tells his children to leave their fatherless, and doubtless motherless ones to him. Lord, I desire so to do; for he is a dear and kind father, though _nature_ cannot always see it, and indeed how could this be? for that which is _natural_ in us is, not only in its will opposed to God, but even in its best affections tainted from the fall. Were it not that the Lord whom we love and serve, is as infinite in his compassions, as he is mysterious in his ways, the days that must come when the excitement of present suffering will be past, and my soul begins to look round and see the extent of its desolations, in a country, too, where there is nothing to comfort or cheer me, would appear to me too dark to be borne, did I not know the Lord hath said, I will not leave you orphans, but I will come unto you; so if he does come and dwell more sensibly within me, even my poor dull and slow-growing spirit may soon be ripened and gathered into his kingdom, there to join my dear departing spirit in the realms of light. _May 13._--My dearest wife has reached the light of another day, still quietly sinking without a sigh and without a groan. This my prayer for her in the night of my darkness the Lord has mercifully heard. At present all the remaining ones of the family are well. I have separated the dear little boys and Kitto, and allow them to hold intercourse with none. The dear baby, and myself, and the maid, and the little boy of our sick servant, are also much separated, and this nurse, whom the Lord sent us, alone attends the sick; but yet so contagious is this fearful disease, that when it has once entered your dwelling, you can know no other safety than in your Lord's preserving care. These are indeed days of trial, but doubtless they will have their precious fruit in all God's children; for the eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry--for the Lord redeemeth the soul of his servants, therefore none of them that trust in him shall be desolate--no, not even I, poor and worthless as I am, I shall yet praise him who is the Lord of my life, and my God. The dear boys also keep up their spirits much better than the first two or three days after their dear mamma was taken ill. The magnitude of present danger to themselves, and to all, in some measure divides their thoughts, and prevents them from resting alone on that deeply affecting prospect before them, for they loved her most truly, and, Oh! how much reason had they to love her. I have just heard that the streets begin again to be crowded, shops here and there to be opened, and the gardeners are bringing things from without into the city. To think that so near the end we should have been thus visited, how mysterious! Yet my soul says, What thou seest not, thou shalt see. If it does but lead to my Lord's glory, I am sure it will lead to my dear sufferer's; then why should I repine? Water is also reduced to 1s. 3d. the skin, the price it was at before. For these proofs of mercy to the people, we will bless God in the midst of our own personal sorrows. _May 14._--This day dearest Mary's ransomed spirit took its seat among those dressed in white, and her body was consigned to the earth that gave it birth--a dark, heavy day to poor nature, but still the Lord was the light and stay of it. I cannot help exceedingly blessing my heavenly Father, however these calamities (for to nature they are such, though not to the heirs of glory) may end that he has allowed me to continue in health so long as to see every thing done I could have desired, and so infinitely more than I could have expected, for her whom I have so much reason to love. _May 15, 16._--I have heard to-day that the French Roman Catholic Archbishop of Babylon has been dead a long time, and two of his priests, and the remaining two fled. The poor schoolmaster's wife is dying, and our servant I trust, recovering: the rest of our household within and without, thank God, all continue in good health--even dear little baby, though rather cross from want of amusement, and from her teeth. They say new cases of plague have almost entirely disappeared; may the Lord grant its speedy disappearance altogether. We have had no intelligence from the Taylors since their departure, which makes us very anxious. As the waters are decreasing, the relics of those families which fled are returning; and, in numberless cases, out of eighteen in a family who left, only one or two return. The others died in the greatest misery and destitution of all things, distressed by the plague, the water, and scarcity, and the air in all the roads was tainted from the immense number of dead bodies lying by the way. I feel to-day many symptoms similar to those with which my dearest Mary's illness commenced--pains in the head and heaviness, pains in the back, and shooting pains through the glands and the arms. At another time I should think only of them as the result of a common cold; but now I know not how to discriminate, the beginnings are so similar. Should these be my last lines in this journal, I desire to ascribe all praise to the sovereign grace and unspeakable love of my heavenly Father, who, from before the foundation of the world, set his eye of redeeming love on me in the person of his dear and well-beloved Son. I bless God for all the way he has led me; and vile and wretched sinner as I feel I am, unworthily as I have in all my life served him, yet I feel he has translated the affections of my inmost soul from earth to heaven, from the creature to himself. As to the dear, dear helpless children, I have committed them to his love, with the full assurance that if he transplants me from hence to himself, to join the partner of my earthly history, he will provide them much, yea, very much better than I, or ten thousand fathers could do. To his love and promises, then, in Christ Jesus, I leave them; and strange and wonderful as his dealings appear, he has made my soul to acquiesce in them. To all the family of the redeemed of the Lord, especially those I know, I entreat you let your conversation be as it becometh the gospel of Christ; always abound in his most holy work, for you know your labour is not in vain in the Lord. Be as those who wait for their Lord with your lamp trimmed, for shortly he who shall come will come, and will not tarry. My soul embraces those I especially knew with all its powers, and desires for them that Christ may exceedingly be glorified in them, and by them, amen, and amen. _May 17._--To-day the fever has almost entirely left me, so that I feel a very little, except weakness, but never can I sufficiently praise God for the experience of yesterday. I certainly never expected again to have written in this journal, and few circumstances could have apparently presented themselves more trying to the heart, to have the prospect of soon leaving in a city like Bagdad, at this time, three helpless children, and the impossibility of making those provisions for them, which at another time might have been comparatively easy, seemed altogether more than the heart could support; yet so abundantly did the Lord allow his love to pass before me, so fully did he assure me of his loving care, that I felt no doubt for them--and, for myself, the prospect of soon joining him was specially exhilarating. He allowed me to see my free and full forgiveness and acceptance, and I never felt more the preciousness of such a salvation as the Gospel of Jesus provides for the sinner, than when I was as I thought, just entering eternity, to plead it as the ground of my hope before God. There seemed such simplicity in having only to believe you were redeemed by his love, and should be eternally preserved by the same, instead of having to do with weighing the sum of your beggarly services, all of which one hates now, and oh, how shall we hate them when we see him face to face. May our dear Lord make the promise he made to his disciples, good to my poor bereaved heart, and come himself and fill it with his fulness, that having him I may indeed feel I have all things. _May 18._--Our poor servant died last night, notwithstanding our hopes of her recovery, and has left one little orphan boy of seven years old with us. Oh that I could think of her transition from hence to eternity, and contemplate her, as the Lord to my unspeakable comfort allows me to contemplate my dear, dear wife, dwelling in the light of her Lord's countenance, where there is fulness of joy for evermore. The schoolmaster has just told me, that out of forty relations, he has now only four--the rest have all been swept away. The accounts we have of the misery, in which many of these died who endeavoured to fly, is truly heart-rending; with the water nearly half a yard high in their tents, without victuals or the means of seeking or buying any, they suffered every privation and misery that can be imagined, and one poor family which has returned, described the intense desire they had to return and die quietly in their houses. But return they could not, for the waters had so risen that there was no road, and no boats could be obtained, but at an immense price, which a few only could pay, and very few obtain even at any price. Oh! how many alleviations to the trials of parting with those we loved, the Lord allowed us in permitting us to see them surrounded by every comfort they could want, and with every attendance that could alleviate a moment's uneasiness. From the Taylors at Bussorah we have yet heard no accounts, and are therefore most anxious to know how the Lord has been moving among them. I have just heard that orders have come from Stamboul,[31] to the Pashas marching against this Pasha, to desire them to return, and that another messenger is on the way from Stamboul to bring his annual dress of investiture. Should it be really thus, our dear friends may soon be here from Aleppo; it would indeed be a great comfort; but the Lord regards, in this dispensation, our real advantage more than our sensible comfort, we therefore desire to leave all to his Holy, gracious ordering, who, though he orders all things after the counsel of his own free will, has no will towards us, but that we should be filled with the fulness of Christ, and be conformed to his image. [31] Constantinople. _May 19._--The water to-day has again fallen considerably in price, and as far as we can judge, God has mercifully nearly extinguished this desolating plague. I now feel quite satisfied the attack I had the other day was an attack of the plague, though very slight. The schoolmaster, yesterday, was attacked in the same way with a pain in his back and head, and a pain in his glands, one of which is decidedly enlarged, but still it is very slight, and I trust to-morrow, with the Lord's blessing, to see him, with the exception of weakness, well again. We are, thank God, all well; the only thing I now suffer from is weakness and pain in the glands and under the arm, but there is no enlargement, and I trust in a day or two it will go entirely away. I heard, to-day, the Pasha had been ill of the plague this week; it is now reported he is dead; but we know nothing certain. One of his sons is also dead. This has been a heavy day with my poor heart, so slow a scholar am I under my dear Master's teaching. Yet I feel he will fill me with his own most blessed presence, and then I shall be able to bear easily all other bereavements. How strange it is that feeling should rule with so much more power than principle, over the happiness of the soul, even when the spirit still imparts strength to direct the conduct aright. The feelings seize on the slightest recollection; and oh, what fuel have they when every thing in the minutest daily occurrences, every thing in the events passing around us, at once come directly on the heart and press upon it; and when there is not a soul near, not only not to supply all that is lost, but not even a portion of it, and yet notwithstanding all this, that now weighs on me, I feel the Lord himself will be yet more to me than all I have lost. I feel I have been skimming too much on the surface of Christianity instead of being clothed with Christ. Oh! what a child am I in the life of faith, but I feel the Lord has my poor soul in his training, and though the discipline may seem severe, it is only the severity of uncompromising love. _May 20._--This has been a day of mercies at the hand of the Most High. For a day or two past, I had observed a little dust falling through a creak in the wall, and although on any other occasion, it would have excited no anxiety; yet, knowing the cellars were full of water, I thought it better this morning early to take out all our things from this room; it was our own, mine and dear Mary's, and therefore contained all we had of clothing, &c.; the dear little boys and the servant were helping me, and we had not finished taking out the last things above ten minutes, when the whole arch on which the room was built gave way--our little stock of things and ourselves being all safe. Oh! my soul, bless the Lord who watcheth over the ways of his children. Oh! how easy it is to kiss our dear and loving Father's hand when he turns bright providences towards us. How easy, then, it is to praise! but I feel my dearest teacher is teaching me the hardest lesson to kiss the hand that wounds, to bless the hand that pours out sorrow, and to submit, with all my soul, though I see not a ray of light. Oh, thou holy and blessed Spirit, come and help thy poor wayward scholar, who indeed would not entertain a hard thought of his dear and loving Father. Through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom; therefore, blessed Lord, prepare me for thy service. I am a poor inexperienced soldier; clothe me with the whole armour of God, that my soul may praise in the darkest day. All but myself are quite well, and my indisposition seems only at present a little weakness, which perhaps the exertions of removing the things from our room to-day, and all the painful associations connected with it, has this evening a little increased: but the Lord is very pitiful, and says, Ask what you will of my Father, and he will give it you. Dear Lord, fill me with thyself, that there may be no more room for the grief of any creature. Thou, and thy Father, and the blessed Spirit, one eternal God alone, are eternally a satisfying portion. I am very anxious about the poor schoolmaster: should he die, he will be the last of our teachers; _three_ are already dead, and he alone remains.--Oh, my Lord, my soul desires to wait on thee for light, and to remember Mizar and Hermon--days when the sun shone upon our path; but the frost may be as necessary to bring the cover to full perfection as the genial sun and showers. Dear Husbandman, do thine own will, only make us bear much fruit, that thou mayest be glorified. _May 21._--Last night thieves endeavoured three times to force an outer door, but did not succeed--the whole city is swarming with them. To-day the Pasha of Mosul is come to Bagdad; what it portends we know not; but the Lord reigneth, therefore let the Saints rejoice; they can only accomplish his will who is our Father and our God. I have to-day sent off a messenger to Major T. to Bussorah, may he quickly return with good tidings of them all. To-day I have also heard of a caravan proposing to go to Aleppo. Every account we have of the plague confirms its almost entire disappearance. Our walking now is altogether by faith: we see not a ray of light for the future, but the Lord will let light spring out of darkness, so that his servants who wait upon him shall not always mourn. Oh how different a thing faith is in a cloudy and dark day, and when all things smile around. I had intentionally renounced the world, yet the Lord saw that I held more of it than I knew in the dear object he has removed. In England, where I had many dear Christian friends, she was my constant companion; but _here_ she was on earth all I had left--my sorrows, my hopes, my fears, she shared and bore them all. I feel Christ my Lord has in store for me in himself some great and special good in exchange for all this, but my poor weak faithless heart does not yet see the way of his going forth. Miriam is most kind to my sweet little helpless babe. _May 22._--Our dear Lord said to his sorrowing disciples, You have heard how I said unto you, I go away and come again unto you. _If ye loved me ye would rejoice because I said I go unto the Father_, that is, if you loved me above the enjoyment of my society and help, ye would rejoice; how hard this is: as it was true of the departing head, so it is true of every member, and yet I feel my selfish heart constantly forgetting that true love which under the crucifixion of all one's own feelings can truly rejoice at the happiness of an object beloved, even at this expense. This has again been an anxious day. Dear Henry complained this morning of a swelling under his ear, or rather under the angle of the jaw, where there was on feeling it, an evidently enlarged gland; however, to the praise of the Lord's great grace, it is evidently passing away without any general attack on the constitution. I really believe the Holy Ghost is making these events instrumental in working a deep sense on the minds of the dearest boys of the importance of their souls; there is a concern about religion, a willingness to talk about it I have not before observed. Oh, may the Lord's blessed spirit water these seeds till they become plants of renown, to the glory of our own Lord's great name. _May 23._--Oh my poor heart flutters like a bird when it contemplates the extent of its bereavement as a husband, a father, a missionary. Oh, what have I not lost! Dear Lord sustain my poor weak faith. Thy gracious visits sometimes comfort my soul; yet my days move heavily on; but the Lord who redeemeth the souls of his servants has declared, that none of those who trust in him shall be desolate. Lord I believe, help thou mine unbelief. I do indeed desire with my whole soul to cast myself into the ocean of thy love, and never to let Satan have one advantage over me, by instilling into my heart hard thoughts of thy ways. Surely we expect trials, and if so, and thou sendest one other than we expected, should it surprise us when we see but a point in the circle of thy providence, and thou seest the end from the beginning. _May 24._--To-day Kitto has been very unwell. _May 25._--To-day the dear baby is very unwell, but Kitto better. Thus the Lord interchanges his merciful trials and merciful reliefs. I feel one great want, "To be filled with all the fulness of Christ," that there may be no room for those fluctuations, which from short intervals of sweet peace, plunge me into depths of sorrow and astonishment: yet I know the Lord will heal, he will bind up what he has broken. O my soul, wait patiently on him to learn all, I know he would teach thee: let patience have her perfect work, for the trial of our faith is much more precious than of gold that perisheth. My eyes are daily, hourly looking unto the Lord for a little ray of light, but as yet I see none: yet we know that they that trust on the Lord shall not walk in darkness, but mercies shall encompass them about. _May 26._--To-day, thank God, all our household are tolerably well.--All accounts from without say the plague is ended. May the Lord grant it! _May 27._--My dear baby still very poorly. Dear Lord, I commit this tender delicate flower to thy loving gracious keeping. Oh my God, my soul has been much cast down within me; but thou hast enabled me to remember thee from the land of Jordan, and the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar. O Lord, only let thy love appear shining through the clouds that surround me, and my soul will rejoice; it is only when the adversary prevails so far as to say, He loves thee not, that my soul is overwhelmed within me; for if I have not the Lord, whom have I? for vile and worthless as all my manifestations of love have been, cold and dead as all my worship, low and doubting as all my confidence has been, yet Lord, all my desire is to love thee better and serve thee more singally, who art infinitely worthy of all love and all service. How strong our tower seems till the Lord blow upon its foundations, and then much that looked so fair, flies like the chaff of the summer threshing floor, and meet it is, if the immoveable parts of Christ's own building be found to connect the poor fluttering soul with the Rock of Ages. Oh may my soul drink daily more and more deeply into that spirit of adoption and love, and assurance of the Lord's favour, that gilded the last year of my dear, dear Mary's life.--Lord, I feel I am a very child; but Lord, lead thou me by thine own right hand. Oh my heart longs for Christian communion--some one to whom I can talk of Jesus and his ways, and with whom I may take counsel; yet it now seems as though many months must elapse before our dear friends can come from Aleppo, but the Lord knows what is best, and to him we leave all our cares, and the providing for all our necessities. I pray the Lord to pour down his Holy Spirit upon my poor heart, and strengthen it for trials. It was one of my dearest Mary's greatest comforts, as it has been mine, to know so many of those who were dear to the Lord, and had purposed wholly to follow him, were praying for our guidance and welfare;--this used to be in our evening walks, on the roof of our house, a theme of thanksgiving, and used daily to draw out our hearts to the Lord for the continual dew of his blessing upon them. Oh when they hear of all the Lord's dealing, may their spirits be stirred up within them to pray that I may be filled with him who filleth all in all. I long to love my Eternal God--Father, Son, and Spirit, more with all my undivided heart; the coldness of my love--the lowness of my desires is my abiding sorrow. _May 28._--To-day came letters from England, but Oh, how strangely altered; those very letters which would have animated anew all our endeavours, and led us to praise God together, had dearest Mary been here to share them, came winged with passages that wrung my heart. But still the love of the saints of God, of those we love, has much sweetness in it; and then again to hear of our dear sister's thoughtful love towards our tender little babe in providing her clothes, which, while they are doing, my heart heaves with the prospect of losing the sweet little flower--so tender--so needing more than a mother's care. But the Lord is most compassionately gracious, and what he does not reveal, he will hereafter. I have also had intelligence to-day that my dear brothers and sisters had been two months ago on the point of setting off for Aleppo; but whether they received news of the plague and returned, or are waiting at Anah, I know not, but I greatly need them--yet still the Lord knows best how much I need them, and when. When I think of my lowness in the attainments of the divine life, my little knowledge, and less love of my dear Lord, I wonder how he has so graciously allowed me a place in the hearts of his chosen, and that he should allow our weak, tottering, and faithless walk, to encourage the young and lusty eagles to take their higher flight is wonderful; but it is that the glory might be his. * * * In concluding this portion of my journal, I shall just take a little view of the last two years, as it is now within a few days of two years since I left my dear, dear friends and native shore. From the day my dearest Mary and myself deliberately prepared to set out on the work in which we finally embarked, the Lord never allowed us to doubt that it was _his_ work, and that the result on the church of God would be greater than our remaining quietly at home. All our subsequent intercourse with his dear children in England, and in our journey, had a confirmatory tendency, and all the communications from the dear circle to whom we were known, insignificant as we were, convinced us that the cause of the Lord had suffered no detriment--that many had been led to act with more decision, and some to pursue measures which possibly might not otherwise have been undertaken. Again, the Lord's great care over us in his abundant provision for all our necessities, although every one of those sources failed we had calculated upon naturally when we left England, enabled us yet further to sing of his goodness. Then, as to our work; when we left England, schools entered not into our plan; but when we arrived here, the Lord so completely put the school of the Armenians into our hands, that on consultation both my dearest Mary, myself, and Mr. Pfander thought that the Lord's children and saints must take the work the Lord gives, particularly as there appeared no immediate prospect of other work. We entered on it, and by dear Mr. Pfander's most efficient help, the children were soon brought to translate God's word with understanding, and the school increased from 35 to near 80. My dearest Mary had long desired to undertake the girl's school exclusively; but previous to her confinement she did not feel able; but as soon as she got about, she undertook it heartily, and the dear little children were so attached to their employments, that they used to come on their holidays. She had got so far on in Armenian, as to be able to prepare for them, in large characters, some little pieces of Carus Wilson's, which I got translated into the Armenian of this place, and the dear little children were so interested by them, that they exceedingly desired to take them home, and read them to their mothers, which in two or three days they were to have done. For our own instruction in Arabic and Armenian, and for the school, we had five most competent teachers. Thus things went on up to the end of March, when the appearance of the plague obliged us to break up the school. But now two months have passed, and Oh! how changed. Half the children, or more, are dead; many have left the place; the five teachers are dead, and my dear, dear Mary. When I think on this, my heart is overwhelmed within me, and I remain in absolute darkness as to the meaning of my Lord and Father; but shall I therefore doubt him now, after so many proofs of love, because he acts inscrutably to me? God forbid! That the Lord made the coming of my dearest wife, and her multiplied trials and blessings, the instruments of her soul's rapid preparation for his presence, I have no doubt. I never heard a soul breathe a more simple, firm, and unostentatious faith in God. She never had a doubt but that it was for the Lord she left all that was naturally dear to her to expose herself to dangers from which, with a constitutional timidity, she shrunk. Her soul was most especially drawn out towards her Lord's coming, and this spread a gilded halo round every trial. She constantly exclaimed, as we walked on the roof of our house[32] of an evening, "When will he come?" Often she would say to me, I never enjoyed such spiritual peace as since I have been in Bagdad--such an unvarying sense of nearness to Christ, and assurance of his love and care; we came out trusting only under his wing, and he will never forsake us. Her strongest assurance was certainly that the Lord would not allow the plague to enter our dwelling; but when she saw that the Lord mysteriously accepted not this confidence, but let it rest even on her, it never disturbed her peace, as I have mentioned before. She said to me, "I know not which is to me most mysterious, that the Lord should have laid his hand upon me, or, having laid it, that I should enjoy such peace as I do." And in this peace and confidence, every subsequent moment of sensibility was passed. Her constant exclamation was, "I know he will do most graciously by me." Yet notwithstanding all the happiness I have in contemplating her among the redeemed, thus clothed in white; and notwithstanding the triumphing conviction I have in spite of the temptations of Satan, and the darkness that envelopes my present position, that all is the offspring of infinite love; yet at times the overwhelming loss I have sustained, in every possible way that a husband, a father, a missionary, and even a man, can know, so affects me that but for my Lord's loving presence, I should be overwhelmed. [32] It is on account of the great heat in the summer that the houses in Bagdad are built with flat roofs, to which the inhabitants all move up at sunset, to dine and spend the night. I now wait till the arrival of my dear friends to consult with them as to our future plans. May the Lord, if it be his pleasure, quickly send them hither, and direct us in all our plans and purposes, so that we may be led to fulfil his will. _May 30._--A messenger has arrived from Bussorah, bringing intelligence of the kind Taylors; but the letters he brought were all taken from him, and he stripped to his shirt, a few miles from Bagdad. However, by word of mouth, he brings, on the whole, good accounts. All their immediate family are well; some have died, among those that accompanied them, and nearly all the Arab sailors, but as the letters are lost, we know not the particulars. _May 31._--I have had another proof of my heavenly Father's care. An Armenian merchant has sent his servant to me to say, he proposes sending him every day to buy for me what I want from the bazaar, and also to offer me any money I may want. The latter I had no occasion to accept, for when the Jew left the city who was to supply me, and the man died who was to obtain it for me, and I seemed left without remedy, an Armenian offered to supply whatever I might want, without any application on my part, and from him I have had what I needed. Whether or not the affairs of the Pasha are likely to be quietly settled, I know not; but I think there are some indications that the present Pasha will remain. So intensely ruined does the city appear, that the Pasha of Aleppo, who was to have come and dispossessed him, seems to have no desire for the exchange; and besides, the present Pasha has offered so large a sum of money, that there appears little doubt it will be accepted. Dispatches have arrived for him, the contents of which are not yet known; but the Pasha says, he has received the most satisfactory letters. He is, I believe, recovering daily his strength. Thus I finish this melancholy portion of my journal--one of those dark pages in the history of one's life, that whenever the thoughts stray towards it, chills to the very centre of one's being; and when we trace all its sources, and see they terminate in sin, Oh! how hateful must that thing be, which is fraught with such deadly consequences. Oh! what a blessedness it is, amidst all these lights and shades of life, to know that the Rock on which we rest is the same, and does not vary; and that whether he administers to us the bitter portion or the sweet, his banner over us is love. * * * _June 5._--Reports are again spreading that the Pasha of Aleppo is within a few days of this place. But we sit down and patiently wait the event. _June 7._--To-day a letter has reached me from Major Taylor, being the first I have received since he removed his family from this place to Bussorah, on the breaking out of the plague here. In every one of the boats going down the river deaths occurred, but especially in theirs, they losing seven of their party. The plague broke out among the Arab sailors, who secreted a corpse in the boat several days, and from them it spread among his African servants, and seized Mrs. Taylor's brother-in-law, so that I cannot see my early conclusions were wrong as to not moving at that time. And, moreover, the Pasha, or rather Motezellim of Bussorah, has been driven out by a party of Arabs, and he is now come against the town with another large body of Turks, to endeavour to recover it; so that even this evil of the sword we should not have escaped. The Lord, therefore, leaves me nothing to regret, unless it be that I ought perhaps to have kept myself quite apart from the rest of the family, after I had been obliged by a sense of duty to go out during the time the plague was raging. It is easy to be wise after the events are past. The more I contemplate the circumstances in which I have of late been placed, the more I see of the trials and anxieties of the missionary life, and of the mysteriousness of God's dealings; I feel the more overwhelmed with the importance of the soul having a deep sense of the love of God in Christ, before it ventures upon such an undertaking. Our dear Father very often, in love, explains to us his reasons; at other times, he gives no account of his matters; in the one case to excite love and confidence, in the other, to exercise faith. It does seem to me, that no doctrines but those of the sovereign grace of God, and his love entertained towards the soul, before the foundation of the world, and the revelation by the Holy Ghost of the love and fellowship with Christ, and through him with the Father, so that we have thereby our life hid with him where no evil can reach us, can happily sustain the soul. There is something so filthy, so worthless in all our services, when events render it probable to the soul that soon it will appear before God, that the new creature cannot endure the deformity and defilement, and turns away its distressed sight to the love of the Lord, and the garment he has provided without spot or wrinkle, or any such thing. The experience of my dear dear Mary on this head was most striking. She often said to me, "They often talked to me, and I often read of the happiness of religion--but I can truly say I never knew what misery was till I was concerned about religion, and endeavoured to frame my life according to its rules--the manifest powerless inadequacy of my efforts to attain my standard, left me always further removed from hope and peace than when I never knew or thought of the likeness of Christ, as a thing to be aimed after; and it was not till the Holy Ghost was pleased of his infinite mercy to reveal the love of my Heavenly Father in Christ, as existing in _himself_ before all ages, contemplating me with pity, and purposing to save me by his grace, and to conform me to the image of Him whom my soul loves, that I really had peace, or confidence, or strength. And if in any measure I have been able to walk on with joy in the ways of the Lord, it has been from the manifestation of _his_ love, and not from the abstract sense of what is right, nor from the fear of punishment." This was the theme of her daily praise--the love and graciousness of her Lord; and I can set my seal, though with a comparatively feeble impression, to the same truths, that the sense of the love of Christ is the high road to walk in according to the law of Christ. _June 9._--I have heard from a German merchant, Mr. Swoboda, that above 15,000 persons, many sick with the plague, and others, were buried under the ruins of the houses that fell in the night the water burst into the city. Nothing can give a more awful impression of the mass of misery then in the city, than that such an event, which at another time, would have called forth every exertion to remove the sufferers, and have been the universal conversation and lamentation of the city, passed by without any effort to relieve them, and almost without a word of remark, but from those immediately connected with the sufferers. I hear that those who have closed their houses intend opening them on the 18th inst. I bless God for the intelligence; and trust the plague has quite left us. Mr. Swoboda tells me he does not expect to open his khan again for 12 months;--this, however, does not arise simply from the plague, but because the rich merchants have all left the city, and the principal Jews, from the apprehension of the coming of Ali Pasha from Aleppo, and that in consequence trade is at a stand. _June 10._--Last evening the guns of the citadel fired as for some good news, and we find, on enquiring, that a messenger has come from the Sultan, confirming the Pasha in his Pashalic.[33] The Tartars, who are the bearers of this intelligence, are expected to enter to-morrow or next day. This arrangement, it is reported, has been brought about by our Ambassador at Constantinople.--Should it be the Lord's pleasure that we now have a little peace and quietness here, it will be a great mercy, and an inconceivable relief from the disquietude of the last 18 months; however, the Lord knows what is best for us. These difficulties have led my heart many times to him, when, perhaps, but for them, it would have rested on some lower object. This prospect of peace seems to bring nearer the possibility of our dear friends joining us from Aleppo, and this would indeed be a great comfort. [33] All these reports were mere fables, got up for the purpose of deceiving the people. _June 11._--This day has made manifest that more judgments are coming upon the city, and instead of a _Firman_ in favour Daoud Pasha, bringing peace, we can hear the sound of the cannon of the new Pasha. He will little regard the _Firman_ that has come from the Sultan, if it has really come, and which being here universally believed to have been procured through the instrumentality of our Ambassador, places the English in no very acceptable position; but the Lord is our tower, yea, our high tower, and into _him_ we run. The enemy is now about six miles off, and the whole city is in a state of commotion that cannot be described, every one armed with swords, pistols, and guns, preparing for the expected contest. O Lord, we commend ourselves to thy holy keeping, for thou neither slumberest nor sleepest. When all the difficulties of these countries follow upon one another as rapidly as they have of late done here, it seems very difficult to see how the word of life is to go forth as a testimony. Yet it will; for the Lord hath said it; therefore let not our hearts fail, or our hands hang down, for the Lord of all circumstances, who governs the most disastrous as well as the most prosperous, is our own Lord, the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. All the bazaars are closed, and we are taking in water again at an advanced price. Oh! Lord, when will thy holy and blessed kingdom of peace come, when the nations shall learn war no more, but love and light shall flourish in the Lord! Wherever the blasting influence of Mohammedanism extends, how iron bound all appears against the truth: yet even this the Lord will soften by his love, or break by his power. May my soul be daily more and more sensible of their misery and pride. Poor Mr. Goodell says, in a letter, that after all the labours the American missionaries have bestowed in Syria, they scarcely know an individual to whom their message has been peace, saving in the case of two or three Armenians of whom they hoped well. No one can imagine the disheartening feelings that often try the missionary's heart in the countries where Mohammedanism is professed and dominant, and where your mouth is sealed. Among heathens, and especially in India, you can publish your testimony, and this is a great comfort to the heart that knows what a testimony it is, and what promises are connected with its publication. Shortly after we ascended to the roof for our evening walk, we heard the cannon and small arms begin to fire, which informed us that the contest was begun within the city. About eight o'clock we heard multitudes crying out and shouting before the seroy, or palace, and the account was soon brought us that the inhabitants had broken in and seized the Pasha. After this all became quiet, except the firing of guns from the tops of the houses, to frighten off the thieves, and the cry of the watchmen, whom all, who can afford it in these trying occasions, keep to protect them. The Lord has hitherto extended his sheltering wing over us, though without sword, pistol, gun, or powder in the house; and the only men besides myself, are Kitto, who is deaf, and the schoolmaster's father, who is blind: but the Lord is our hope and our exceeding great reward. _June 12._ _Lord's day._--The wretched Pasha has just passed our house under a guard to the residence of Saleh Beg, almost the only male relation he suffered to live of the family he supplanted. The Lord is now visiting on him his cruelty and blood; so that what with the plague and now the sword, there will hardly be one of the apostate Georgians left. The day dawned quietly; but our house has just been attacked by a band of lawless depredators, asking for powder and offensive weapons. I told them I had none; but seeing a carpenter whom I knew, I told him I would let him and three others in, if they would promise me that no more should come in, which they did. So they entered, and were very civil, though they searched the house: I gave them some money, and they went away, promising that nothing more should be done to my house; but my only confidence is in the Lord. They wanted to go from the roof of my house to that of a rich neighbour's of mine, but I told them I could not allow that they should make my house a passage to his, and they were very civil and did not press it. A Frenchman who was teaching the Pasha's soldiers European discipline, has had his house stripped, and when they were on the point of killing him he turned Mohammedan. Before he was professedly a Roman Catholic, but really an infidel. Oh, my dear Mary, what a contrast to your kingdom of peace and love! Lord Jesus come quickly. For this I can now truly bless God that she is freed from this season of trouble and anxiety. The dear children bear it better than I could have hoped; but the Lord sustains and comforts us in the hope that as the new Pasha is near, this state of inquietude may not continue long. The Pasha of Mosul and an Arab chief have entered the city, and are now at the palace, so thank God, the state of anarchy is likely to be immediately put an end to. The crier has been publishing the determination of those now acting for the new Pasha, till he enters to punish all who commit any depredations, and desiring that the bazaars may be opened, and every one go about his own work. Should this be the end, we cannot but bless God that so great a storm has passed over so lightly. But the fact was, that the plague had destroyed all the powers of resistance. All Daoud Pasha's soldiers were dead--all his public servants were dead--and he, though recovering from the plague, unable to take any active part for himself. When he passed our house this morning, he was supported on his horse by six men. He is not yet killed, and on his expressing a wish to have his son brought to him, he was sent for immediately. Should they spare his life, it may augur that even the Turks are coming to a sense of their barbarism. It has been a great comfort to me to-day, to think on Noah's case, that God did not forget him amidst a condemned world. _June 14._--The people at the head of affairs have now begun to quarrel among themselves: some are for killing Daoud Pasha, some are for saving him, and the opposite parties are fighting in all directions; so when these troubles will terminate, or how, we have little knowledge. Our only resting place is in him who is the Shepherd of the fold of Israel. The Pasha of Mosul has been made prisoner, and part of the palace has been burnt and plundered: they have killed or put to flight the soldiers of the Pasha of Mosul, who came here as the agent of Ali Pasha, of Aleppo, the successor to Daoud Pasha, said to have been appointed by the Porte. The crier has again proclaimed Daoud as Pasha, and Saleh Beg his kaimacam or representative, till he recovers. Some say the Pasha of Aleppo is dead of the plague; some, that he is not coming, and that this entrance of the Pasha of Mosul and a famous Arab chief, was only a plot of theirs to get Bagdad into their own hands. What is true, what is false, it is now utterly impossible to tell, or what the result will be; but should Ali Pasha, if he is alive, be now sufficiently powerful to advance and attempt to dispossess this man, we may expect dreadful scenes. Last night the contest ended in plundering the poor Jews. Amidst this turmoil and interminable contention, a missionary with a family has much to try his faith, particularly in the early years of his missionary course, when he has no power in the language to take advantage of those opportunities which accidentally present themselves; for I am daily more and more convinced of the difficulty of speaking so as to be felt; at least in the first Eastern language one learns. The association of ideas, the images of illustration, are almost entirely different in many cases. The organs of pronunciation require a perfect new modelling, and perhaps not the least difficulty is to prevent one's heart from sinking at the little apparent progress made in understanding, and being understood, out of the common routine of daily life: the feeling will often arise, Surely I never shall learn. The difficulty is not, however, merely in words; you have to converse in the East generally with persons who have either no ideas on subjects of the deepest interest, or have attached some entirely different meaning to the terms you use to express those ideas; and which of the two occasions the most trouble, it is difficult to say. Notwithstanding, however, all difficulties, and all discouragements, and we seem now in the very centre of all, my soul was never more assured of the value of missionary labours among any people, it matters not whom, than now. There is, I am sure, what our blessed Lord declares, a _testimony_, in whatever measure we can proclaim his truth, or manifest his spirit, that is felt by those even who will not embrace it savingly. In reading Mrs. Judson's journal of the trials of the Burman mission, how deeply I now enter into them--how truly I can sympathize with them. It is wonderful how the Lord does sustain the heart when the time of trial comes. When I heard the struggle at the palace, last night, then saw it on fire, and heard the balls whizzing over our heads, and shortly after the screams of the poor Jews, whom they were plundering, a little way from the end of our street, my heart felt a repose in God that I cannot describe, and a peace that nothing but confidence in his loving care could give me, I feel assured. At times I feel so utterly useless, so devoid of every aptitude for the work in which I am engaged, that I wonder the Lord called me to it, yet the Lord may allow me to fill a place, though it be the lowest in missionary service. My greatest earthly treasure is the love of those who love the Lord, and in this I do feel rich, unworthy as I am of it. My heart longs for Christian communion; but such is the state of things here, that I feel almost as far from the prospect as when the first letter arrived from England, telling me so many were purposing to come. But what an inducement it is to patience to know, that all our trials and disappointments are the orderings of him who loved us, and gave himself for us. The day is passing quietly over, thank God; and they are removing the barricades from the streets. _June 15._--The account has just reached us, that the Pasha of Mosul was put to death last night. The reason assigned is, that he attacked Bagdad without any warrant, and had detained at Mosul the Tartars who were bringing the firman for Daoud Pasha. Oh! what a country, and what a government! Should the reinstatement of Daoud Pasha not be a truth, these circumstances will tend greatly to embitter the contest, and make the occupying of the city by the new Pasha a much more destructive and trying scene, than if these events had not occurred; but I feel that the Lord is disciplining, by these trials, the poor weak faith of his servant to lay hold on his strength, and not to rest on his own. I now give up all hope of seeing the dear brethren from Aleppo till the autumn. These scenes of anxiety and trouble strongly urge the heart forward to desire the day of the Lord to come, so wretched, so comfortless does all appear. I have quite given up the little we have to plunder, so that I feel quite at ease on that point, should it be the Lord's will to allow these scenes to continue, and us thus to be served. For the moment a season of lawlessness commences, you see the Mohammedan feeling relative to Christians. Now, for instance, that meat is scarce, if they see a butcher disposed to give a Christian some before them, they instantly put themselves into an attitude of hostility, and say, "What! will you give it to these infidels before us?" The other day, during the time of the disturbances in the city, the son of one of the most respectable Armenians here, went out, armed with pistol, sword, and gun to the coffee-house. They immediately began with saying, "What does this infidel with arms? Will he kill Moslems?" and they stripped him of all. The governing powers are beginning to recognize and feel the strength of those people called Christians; but this is never the thought of an Arab populace, who care for none of these things, and only think of present plunder. I have finished reading the account of the Burmese mission, and sympathize much more fully with the sufferers, than when I last read it, and I greatly admire and bless God for their steady and persevering devotedness to his holy service, amidst so many trials and so many discouragements. Such manifestations of the grace of Christ, tend much to encourage and strengthen the hands and hearts of those who are in any trials, whether similar or different. Whoever proves God to be among his dear children, becomes necessarily a light to the Church, for the Lord surely will be faithful to his promise and to his children's confidence; and the manifestation of this his faithfulness becomes the light of others. _June 16._ (_Friday._)--To-day all quiet within the city. _June 17._--For some weeks past hope and fear have alternated for my sweet little baby; but to-day hope finds not a place for her foot to rest on. I see the Lord has sent his message for her also; this comes very, very heavy; for from some days previous to dear Mary's death till now, I have been her constant nurse, and solicitude about her has in some measure served to distract my attention from the undivided dwelling on my heavier loss, till she has become so accustomed to my nursing, that as soon as ever she sees me, she stretches out her little supplicating hands for me to take her. All this has served to beguile my heart, and keep it in some degree occupied. But when the Lord takes from me this sweet little flower, I shall indeed be desolate. Why the Lord thus strips me, I do not now see; yet he does not allow me to doubt his love, amidst all my sorrows, and I know that light is sown for me, though it does not yet spring up. Oh! may my soul never cease to feel assured of my heavenly Father's unchangeable love; for with a doubt on this head _now_, what would my circumstances be? We know that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope, and hope maketh not ashamed. Oh! may such a result spring from all my suffering! _June 26._--For some days I have had nothing to write about from without. All has been, on the whole, quiet, and we now wait for communications from Constantinople to see how things are likely to end. It appears now that Daoud Pasha has retired in favour of Saleh Beg, whether willingly or from necessity, is not known. The treasury and every thing else is given up into his hand; and he knows as well how to spend it as his predecessor did to collect it; he is therefore popular, but not esteemed by those of more understanding as a man of abilities. He, however, goes to the old Pasha Daoud every day for instructions. How all these events will operate upon our future labours, I cannot at all conceive; whether they will close up the little opening we had, or make a wider one, the Lord, on whom we wait, alone knows. I have been reading much lately of missionary labours, and am surprised to find how uniformly trials, and difficulties, and threatened destruction have hung over them for years, yet many of them the Lord has since singally blessed. We are, however, in the Lord's hands. I have just read through a second time Mr. Wolff's journal, and Mr. Jowett's second volume, and I confess that if my little experience entitles me to give my opinion, I think Mr. Jowett's judgment much the soundest as to the nature of the operations to be carried on in these countries; that the missionary corps should be as unencumbered as possible, and ready to remove at a moment's notice. I mean those engaged in the simple evangelist's office, disconnected from all secular callings; but should there be a band of enlightened saints, willing to take the handicraft departments of life, as their means of support, and unobserved access to the people, they might remain and carry on their work, when other and more ostensible teachers were obliged to fly: and this is doubtless the way the primitive churches were nourished, when their professed teachers fled. As to those colleges and large establishments contemplated by Mr. Wolff, even could they be established on the comprehensive principle proposed by his zealous and ardent mind, I fear it would lead much more to the diffusion of universal scepticism than the eternal excellency of the truth of God; if, I say, it could be attained, but for many reasons I feel it cannot be attained. The liberality of the Christian public is not up to such undertakings, even though they saw the utility to be clear. One cannot help being struck with Mr. Wolff's judging of others from himself; because he felt he was willing to make sacrifices, he promised for others as freely as for himself: but what has been the result even of the two schools he did establish, and promise to support from the funds of his patron and others? The burthen has rested on those who were persuaded through him of the willingness of others to co-operate. One is given up, and the other has dwindled down to about nineteen pupils, and these are educated on the native plan, so that, as far as divine light is concerned, it is in _statu quo_. The two colleges that were to be established at Aleppo and Tabreez, and towards which a beginning was made in promises and plans--nothing now is heard of them; nor do I think it is to be regretted. The object was too mixed for much of spiritual prosperity. The difficulty is not in getting houses and firmans: it is when you begin to wish to sit down and attack the strong holds of the enemy. The same with the letters of patriarchs and bishops: when the thing is new and they see not its bearings on their system, they are all friendliness--as among the heads of the Armenians, the Catholics, and other Bishops. But when they have seen the life-giving power of the divine word in the souls of two or three of their followers, under the instruction of such clear brethren as at Shushee, or the American brethren, all is changed, and when dear Zaremba was at Ech-Miazin the other day, and endeavoured to get the consent of the Armenian patriarch to the translation of the Scriptures, by Dittrich, his reception was every thing but kind; and they have actually dragged away one of their deacons from the dear brethren at Shushee, to try him at Ech-Miazin for heresy. I have also heard that the bishop of Ispahan, who superintends all these countries, even as far as India, has prohibited the reception of any tracts by his people, and would not let them have a school till the Roman Catholics appeared there and established one, taking away some of his flock, when he granted it. In fact, wherever the hierarchical spirit exists, there a spirit of domination and pride--there a spirit of Antichrist exists--whether in the Brahmin, the Mufti, or the Patriarch, there is a body of men who will not go in themselves, nor let others go in; it must be so, as Mr. Jowett justly observes, wherever the distinction between laity and clergy is kept up in opposition to the right and duty of each man to judge for himself. Mr. Jowett's words are, I think, "The principal religious characteristic of Syria and the Holy Land, (and he might have added, of all the ancient churches, and too many of the modern,) that which is common to all its professors and sects, is that _system of distinction between priesthood and laity_, felt even when not avowed; according to which, it seems to be the interest of a few professed teachers to hold the rest of their fellow-creatures in darkness." Those men, therefore, who, in a hasty visit, welcome you, and if you are well introduced, flatter you, no sooner see or feel your real design, than they become your enemies, and the missionary who should begin with any other expectation from present prospects, must be disappointed. For instance, had we been where there was a powerful clergy, we should have met with the greatest opposition in our school, because of our casting out of it the book which they so highly prize, called the Shammakirke. Yet no Christian teacher could conscientiously allow it--it was full of prayers to the Virgin, the Cross, &c. &c.; we therefore here succeeded, under God's blessing, because the laity were strong and the priesthood weak, without any serious struggle; but their progress has been very different at Shushee. The morals of the monks at Ech-Miazin are such that no parent in the country thinks himself justified in sending his child there to be educated. From such men, what can you expect? With them what can you do? I have for a long time been persuaded that the path for a child of God to pursue, is to follow his Lord, and not to ask the Sanhedrim's leave to preach the truth; and never to take any notice of them till they take notice of us. Dark as the cloud seems to be now around these lands, and difficult as it seems even to live in them, much more to labour in them; yet I do not at all think, to one having patiently attained a thorough knowledge of the colloquial Arabic, and the other colloquial languages in use, that the door is barred to a travelling unsettled missionary, or even to one resident many months in a place: neither do I think he should be discouraged from attempting schools, for although they may not stand above a year or two, you may by the Lord's blessing be the instrument of stirring up their minds to think and examine for themselves, and without violence lead them to question the truth of some of their dogmas; and when you have once dislodged the principle of implicit faith, you have at last opened the door for truth. I think it is much to be regretted that Mr. Wolff's wishes about Bussorah and Bushire did not succeed. In the one there is a permanent British Resident, and in the other a permanent British influence, that would have much favoured a school, and even perhaps finally more extensive operations; and I do still hope he may yet find some of his friends, who are as able as willing to take the necessary charge of these places, for they are now more disheartened than when nothing had been promised them. At Tabreez also, I think a most interesting school might be established; but let it be as comprehensive as it can with a safe conscience be, without pretending to a principle that includes all. If, upon such terms Mohammedans come, your conscience is not entangled, and you can go on steadily with your work. If they go, they go; if they stay, they stay; but take care how you take any of the gentiles by solicitation; it will tie your hands, and hamper all your proceedings. It looks promising to see the names of Princes and great men connected with our work; but I am persuaded that it is utterly spiritual weakness. Better do ever so little work with the whole soul, than ever so much, trimming between the world and the Church, and all very comprehensive plans must involve this: besides, from the outset, the feeling of duplicity that always must result from inducing men to contribute to support institutions under certain partial representations, which they would not embrace if you stated your real design, and the full truth. Besides these difficulties of money and principle, the unsettled state of these countries is such that learned orientalists would never come, even if they were in abundance; but the fact is, that even Europe is very scantily supplied with men who could direct such an institution, and if they could be found, unless the love of Christ were the spring of their actions--were they mere literary orientalists, their influence as it regards the kingdom of Christ would be worse than nugatory. For though you might hope to correct this evil by having others connected with the institution who might have the more immediate spiritual direction of the students, this would soon lead to strifes and divisions between the heads of the institution. That the spread of literature in the East will sap and finally overthrow _Mohammedanism_, I have little doubt; but this is the work of the men of the world, and the result, as it regards Christianity, very doubtful; but the missionary's object is one and indivisible: if Christ be not glorified, he gains nothing; but if he be but exalted, he has his rich reward. _June 28._ _Thursday._--There seems just sufficient strength in this wretched country to destroy itself: it has long lost the power of attacking its enemies with success, it has also lost the power of resistance against their attacks, neither can it longer stand without external support: there seems just sufficient power left to commit suicide. In this pashalic, though the Sultan cannot without extreme difficulty remove the Pasha, yet he effectually destroys its prosperity;--he ruins the merchant, he encourages every species of robbery, so that frequently, as at present, not a shop dare be opened but for the simplest necessaries. Nor does it operate against the prosperity of this city only, but all the trade of which this was a sort of intermediate place of transit between India, Mosul, Merdin, Damascus, and Aleppo, as well as on the other side from Europe, is so far interrupted, for not a merchant will now venture his goods across the desert. All attachment too seems entirely destroyed between the head and the members of the empire. ---- was with me to-day, who, speaking on the state of the Pashalic said, If the Sultan will let us have Daoud Pasha well, we neither want the Sultan nor a stranger; but we would rather put ourselves under the English, and let them govern as they do in Hindoostan. This feeling is exceedingly general, and in looking forward to the downfall of the empire, they seem quite to consider this country as the portion which will fall to England, and speak of it openly as a thing they desire. This arises from their hearing so much of our government in India. _June 29._--My dear little baby has had an attack of purulent ophthalmia, which gives me much anxiety; for three or four days she had been recovering a little, when this trying attack seized her dear little eyes; she was quite unable to open either of them. My mind has been much exercised these two days by reflections on the ease with which the soul is taken off from living in Christ. In prosperity, we are occupied with plans; in adversity, with our sorrows; in missionary labour, in preparation for what we intend to do for the Lord, and even in our very times of danger we are constantly exposed to the temptation of looking for relief to circumstances, rather than to the Lord of circumstances--to the love of the Lord of life. May the Lord of his great goodness grant that my soul may reap a full harvest from these reflections, and determine not only in words to know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified, as the subject of preaching, but as the object on which my soul constantly dwells, so that growing up into his fulness in understanding and love, may be the business of my future life, and much, yea, very much more, the simple purpose of my heart than it has ever yet been. Nothing can be to me clearer than that the work of the Lord will really prosper in the hands of his servants, in proportion as these servants prosper in their nearness to him. May his love, his life, his words, his wishes be the abiding incentives in my soul to simply living to him and for him, and for his creatures through him. How easy it is for one person to make one class of sacrifices, and another, another; but how hard to slay the darling idol, and to tear away the cherished indulgence:--how easy it is to exercise those graces which accord with our natural constitutions, how difficult those which mortify and run counter to them. May it be the labour and delight of my future life to see each cherished idol one by one fall prostrate, slain before my Lord's love. _July 1._--There has just been a transaction passing which illustrates, in a striking manner, the very loose connections which bind the parts of this empire together. I have already mentioned the death of the Pashas of Mosul and Merdin. Ali Pasha, in support of whom they had professedly marched against Bagdad, sent his treasurer to Saleh Beg, to commend him for what he had done in thus preserving the city by killing these two Pashas, requiring at the same time for himself, the payment of his expenses, as well as a sum of money for the Sultan, and promising that if this were given him he would return to Aleppo. Thus, after nearly two years confusion, all parties will be worse off than they were before. My reason for thinking it probable this will be the case is, that the Khaznadar or treasurer of Daoud Pasha, has accompanied the Khaznadar of Ali Pasha to his camp, who evidently doubts the result of his attempt. Indeed, it seems very doubtful if in any case he can succeed; for if he obtains the Pashalic, I think it very probable from the history of former Pashas, who, as strangers to the Pashalic, have been forced into it, that he will not be allowed to retain it. The fact is, that almost all his opposing force consists of Arabs, who become in a moment the servants of the highest bidder. It was only two days ago the Pasha detached one tribe from them; and I have little doubt that if he does not spare money he may soon break up all the confederacy.[34] Yesterday the soldiers of the late Pasha of Mosul came to the gates of the town, but were driven back into their encampment with loss; and one hundred of their mercenary troops (Arnaoots) came over to this Pasha, changing a pay of forty-eight piasters a month to one hundred, or about a pound sterling a month. [34] We heard afterwards that the state of his health and the lawlessness of the city prevented his getting access to his treasure. Every kind of provision is becoming extremely dear, from double to ten times its usual price; and I confess I see no present prospect of improvement, for the inundation swept away the harvest, and the plague has extended so far, that there have been no hands to cut down even that grain which remained, and the things which they might have sown, and which might in some measure have supplied the place of grain they were prevented from sowing by the Arabs, who were at enmity with the Pasha, and therefore laid waste the country. In contemplating the perplexity and uncertainty of events, according to all human calculation, that surrounds us, the knowledge that our own Lord is ordering all things not only for his own glory but also for ours, comes home continually to my soul with inexpressible comfort; and notwithstanding the anxious thoughts that sometimes arise, I am generally enabled at last to roll my burdens on his holy head, and this I know will sustain them. The dead weight about a missionary's neck in the first years of his labour is the language. So difficult is it to hear so as to understand, or to speak so as to be understood; for not only is it necessary to use right words, but with right accents, or you may often convey the very reverse of what you mean. Certainly, if I were quite alone, the plan I should pursue, would be to go into some family or place where the language I wish to learn alone is spoken, as brother King did in Syria to learn Arabic:--this being attained, a missionary is certainly not without the most interesting opportunities of usefulness. _July 2._ _Saturday._--Dear baby has suffered so much from her eyes to-day, that it tried my heart to the very bottom. And in addition to all this, the state of things here is assuming an alarming aspect. Without the city walls, the numbers of those who wish to plunder the city are increasing; and within, the same tendency is manifested among those who are intended for its protection, so that my heart has been at times very much pressed down; yet the Lord has sustained me. In the evening, as I was looking out, I saw the man come into the court yard, who brings and collects letters for Aleppo, and in his hand a letter for me. With what eagerness did I seize it, and anticipate its contents. Yet though good tidings, because tidings of the Lord's blessing them, and being in the midst of them, it contained tidings peculiarly heavy for me to receive at this moment, as it not only led me to anticipate no present prospect of seeing my dear brethren from Aleppo, but that it seemed very doubtful if it would be their path to come at all; at least if they did, it would be purely to join me, and this surely would not be the path of duty. I, however, receive this last trying providence at my loving Father's hands, adoring his love whilst I know not the modes of his going forth. It has not weighed me down so much as I thought it would; and the Lord allows me to feel assured he will yet do something for me. They seem to wish me to join them, but I do not yet see my way clear to leave this place to which the Lord has brought me. I feel daily more and more that my place in the church is very low, and it matters very little where I am for any good that is in me: yet by remaining, I keep the way open for those who are more able, and whose establishment is more important. I know my Lord will not cut me off from personal improvement by all his darkly gracious dealing, and perhaps I am now learning another part of that hard lesson, neither to glory in or trust in man. But still I bless God he is giving my dear brethren a door of utterance and prospects of usefulness where they are, and may my joy ever be in proportion to the glory that is brought to his blessed name, and the prosperity of his kingdom. Until the Lord, therefore, raises his fiery cloudy pillar, and bids me forth, I shall pursue my plan of endeavouring to converse in Arabic till the Lord is pleased to open my mouth by degrees, or as he please, to publish his whole truth. Should he send me some dear brother to help and comfort me, may he give me grace to praise him; if not, to hope in him and find in himself all I need. To the dear boys it has been a great disappointment, for it was the constant theme of their conversation, and a cheering expectation to see friends from England. However, our dear Father will order all things well; and I bless him exceedingly for sending out to Aleppo, our dear brethren and sisters. The Lord may make this event, which now seems so awakening and trying, yet for the furthering of the gospel in these lands: in fact, I should be almost sorry for _all_ of the brethren to leave Aleppo. _July 5._ _Tuesday._--I have had some interesting conversation with three poor people from _Karakoosh_,[35] a town about five hours from Mosul, composed of Roman Catholic Syrians. Every information I receive from that quarter, convinces me that Erzeroum, Diarbekr, and Mosul, would be most interesting head quarters for a missionary. The man told me that the Nestorians of the mountains, (like the Scotch) go once a year to receive the sacrament, whether upon their erroneous principle, or that from living scattered among the mountains they cannot make it convenient to meet often, I know not. The Syrians of the villages near Mosul speak among themselves Syriac, but in asking them if they understood the old Syriac, which is read, they reply, imperfectly; so that I have no doubt, for any instructive purpose, it is perfectly unintelligible, what with the mode of reading, and the difference of language. These are deeply interesting countries to those who can be happy in bestowing all their strength in planting under the prospect that others will reap the fruits. The Lord will water their way with little streams of comfort, and manifestations of the prospect of the future; but the preparatory work in these countries must occupy at least many, many years of missionary life. I shall never feel a missionary till I can deliver my message clearly and intelligibly; till then, I endeavour to drop a word, as it may be offered, and to instil a principle as an occasion may occur, or by seeking an occasion. The difficulty of this first step I daily feel to be increasing--I mean only that my sense of the difficulty is increasing; but the Lord daily comforts me, amidst the delays and trials of faith, by the clearest conviction of the large sphere of usefulness there is when once this is attained. [35] _Karakoosh_ is a small town within twelve miles of Mosul, containing about nine hundred houses, inhabited entirely by Syrian or Jacobite Christians, many of whom are become Roman Catholics. They speak Syriac, but so corrupted, that it is with great difficulty they understand the Syriac of the Scriptures. There are seven churches, four of which belong to the Roman Catholics, and the remainder to the Jacobites. The road between Karakoosh and Mosul, passes through the striking remains of Nineveh. All things in the city continue in the most unsettled state. Some of the lawless depredators came again to our house the day before yesterday, and wanted arrack; but they went away quietly, and they only talked about cutting off my head; but all this in mere bravado. The Lord thus graciously takes care of us. They look on me as a sort of dervish, because I do not drink arrack, nor use weapons of war, nor take men to guard my house. _July 9._--The camp of those without the city is moving down to-day towards us; and we hear a continued firing of cannon. It is reported they are come within half an hour's march of the city. The issue is in the Lord's hand. Nothing can exceed the fear and want of confidence that prevails throughout the city, every man's heart failing him for fear of those things which may be coming on us. Oh! what a resting place is the Lord's experienced love, and the assurance that all shall work together for good to those that love him; yet living thus in the midst of constant alarm, makes my heart sometimes long for that sweet, quiet Christian communion which I left behind in England. _July 10._ _Sunday._--In conversation to-day on the subject of invoking the Virgin Mary, with some Armenians and a Jacobite, I was struck with the readiness with which they all submit to Scripture; and this seems universal among all those who are not ecclesiastics by profession, or Roman Catholics. The curse of obstinate blindness seems to be left to those who join this apostate church, for truly it may be said of them, they come not to the light, because their deeds are evil--not their deeds as members of society, but as professed members of the mystical body of Christ. Our Lord's days are solitary--none to tune Zion's harps. Oh! how it makes the soul long for the courts of the Lord, where we may go up with the crowds to keep holiday; how precious now would appear some of those seasons of Christian communion which we enjoyed in dear England and Ireland. When dear Mary was with me, we had an unceasing source of happiness in conversing on our common hopes in our common Lord. Our communion also with our dear friends was thus rendered vivid, aided as it was and encouraged by the help of correspondence and conversation; but now letters have almost ceased to come, and I have no one to commune with. In addition to all this we are besieged, and every necessary of life is nearly three times its usual price, very bad, and to be got with difficulty. All night we hear nothing but firing and drums beating, and men shouting--all this, too, at present, without any prospect of termination, for those who are come against the city, are not strong enough to enforce the change they design, and those within have little to fear, so long as they have money and provisions to give the soldiers, which they say they have for two years;[36] so those who suffer are the poor people, who cannot help themselves. The Pasha of Aleppo is about an hour's distance; it does not seem to be his wish to act offensively against the city, but only to get into his power those few whom he wishes to displace and behead. Yet how much have I to bless God for, in that he keeps the little boys so free from alarm. Blessed Lord! these are indeed scenes and times that lead the soul to desire thy peaceful happy reign. Sometimes the sense of my dear, dear Mary's peace, safety, and joys, makes me feel my burthens lighter than though she had been with me; for to have those you love in such scenes is trying in proportion to this very love, which so sweetens times of mere labour or peace. I am sure the Lord _has_ dealt lovingly, and _will_. [36] This report of the provisions of the city appeared, in the sequel, to be unfounded. _July 14._--Since the ninth we have had little occurring but firing of guns from the citadel, and the noise and confusion at night occasioned by the soldiers. A circumstance has occurred to-day which a little tries me. The Armenian Priests are both dead; and the Armenian servant of Mrs. T. has asked if she might receive the communion with us, the next time we received it. Now, while I feel in my own soul that she knows nothing of the power of the divine life, yet how far I have authority from God's word to set up this, my private feeling, in the absence of any thing palpable to fix on as an objection, I do not see. I feel so utterly unworthy to place myself in the situation of a judge in such a case. I feel so exceedingly low in the divine life--I experience so little of the power of that life which was in Christ, subduing all things to the obedience of the Father's will--that I feel she may object more to my being accepted than I could to her. Yet, notwithstanding all this, I am conscious there is a difference--though I am only on the lowest step of Jacob's ladder, yet I do desire to ascend higher into the unsearchable riches of Christ, and to descend lower in my own esteem, so to be able to say without the pollution of affected humility, I feel myself less than the least of all saints. The divine life appears to me daily more and more a deep internal personal work, without which all external exertions and exercises will come to nothing; however fair, it will be at best but a fruitless blossom, that withers as soon as blown. Oh! how difficult it is not to deceive oneself with the appearance of Christian graces instead of the substance; how difficult not to substitute the _act_ for the _spirit_; that monster pride, how hard it is to kill, how chameleon like it changes its colour and seems to live on air, yea, on very vanity. _July 18._ _Lord's Day._--The warlike sounds of the cannon and mortars have abated within these three days. Oh that the Lord would quickly terminate this hateful civil strife. Yet at present there seems no prospect. How hard I feel it to-day to rise above the loss of my dear, dear Mary--it seems like a new wound just opened. It is so hard to feel the great honour and great proof of love the Lord has manifested towards me, in removing her I loved from the trials and sorrows of this earth to the ease and joy of his own Paradise, to join our dear little Mary, and sing there together his praise who washed them in his own blood, prepared them as vessels of honour, and then took them to himself. Sometimes I think I ought not to have gone out of our house during the plague, about Major T.'s affairs, but that I should have left them to their own fate; yet, at other times, I think, after all the kindness I had received from him, I ought not to have declined the dangerous service. Then again, I think that when I did go, I should have taken more precautions, and not have joined my dear family immediately, but remained apart; yet at last my heart comes round to the full assurance, that my dear and loving Lord would not have visited undesigned neglect, which sprang mainly from confidence in his loving care, with such a privation, had he not designed by it her speedy glory and my final good: now I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me. The dear little boys are very anxious to leave Bagdad, yet they do not complain, nor appear on the whole otherwise than happy, which is indeed a great mercy. My poor dear little nursling, the object of ceaseless care, seems rather gaining than losing ground, yet is still so frail, that a blast of wind seems enough to extinguish the little fire that burns; but if the Lord will, even this little fire shall yet burn brighter and brighter, and defy in his name the rudest blasts. Sometimes when I think on the complete stop the Lord has in his infinite wisdom seen fit to put to my little work here, I am astonished. Among those who are dead, is one who was translating the New Testament into the vulgar Armenian of this place, and had gone as far as Luke; and another gentleman, who was educated in Bombay, who was writing for me an English and Armenian Dictionary, in which he had proceeded about half way (10,000 words). In this dictionary there were not only the ancient and modern parallel words, but an explanation in vulgar Armenian, with examples. The probability of my meeting with one similarly qualified, able and willing again, is very small indeed; but with this, as with all the rest, it is the Lord, let him do what seemeth to him good. I wait to see his future pleasure manifested, and though I am now under a cloud of sorrow and separation from his service, may he sanctify it, and advance his glory by whomsoever he pleases, only giving me a heart to rejoice in their labours, and to love my Lord fervently, and then I hope I shall not complain. I never felt fit for much, and I daily now feel fit for less than I once thought I was, yet the Lord will not deny me a place in the body, and oh, may he give me a heart willing to take the lowest--that of washing the disciples' feet. Oh, for the spirit of our dear humble Lord in that wonderful transaction so calculated to stain human pride with the name of madness, but especially the pride of those who call themselves his. The weather is now getting intensely hot, and our cellars, which were our retreating places last year, are not habitable, the water being in them at least three feet high, and this, with the overflowing of the river, brought such swarms of mosquitos, that for several weeks it was almost impossible to sleep, and although now they are far less numerous, they are still very troublesome, so that if not on your guard every moment, you get stung by them. _July 20._--The weather is intensely hot, and we now begin seriously to miss the Serdaubs;[37] but I feel it most for dear little baby, to whom the heat is very, very trying. I also feel it very difficult to do any thing that requires the least exertion, and for the next six weeks we have no hope, of any mitigation, but rather an increase. The prospect too of affairs around us, leaves no resting place but in the love and favour of our Lord. The city is full of prophecies of the sorrows and desolations that are to come on this land; from the Pasha downward, this people seem devoted to astrology, believing lies, while they refuse to hear the truth; yet all their visions are of sorrow, lamentation, and woe. [37] Cellars under ground, to which the inhabitants of Bagdad retire during the heat of the day, from the months of June to September. I feel sometimes very much tried with respect to my future pursuit of missionary labours; for I have not only lost the encouragement and comfort of a sweet society that made every place a home; but all these domestic cares, which she so willingly and so entirely bore, have fallen on me, and I hardly seem, at least during the weakness of my dear little baby, to have time for any thing but to attend to them. Had I been joined by our dear brothers and sisters from Aleppo, it would have been comparatively light; but now, I can take no step, and before I may be able, the Lord may graciously afford me new light; for this I will therefore, with his grace and help, patiently wait. _July 21._--In some conversation I have just had with the old father of our late schoolmaster, I have been encouraged to feel that it is almost impossible for a missionary, even of the humblest pretensions, and in the lowest degree qualified for his calling, which I can I think with unaffected truth say, I feel to be my own case--to live among these people, and not to lead them to some most important principles. This old man is not only theoretically persuaded of the sufficiency of the Scriptures, but in his understanding fully convinced. His acquaintance with Scripture is very extensive and accurate, and on my servant coming to ask him the explanation of words in the translation lately set forth by the Bible Society, it led to a conversation on the importance of having a translation that every woman and child can understand. He said, "Yes, and it is only the pride of the learned and of the bishops which prevents it: if books once became published in the dialects of the people, the old language would cease to be cultivated." This would doubtless be an infinite benefit, not only to the Armenians but to the Syrians and Chaldeans, and every Church of the East, among the people; a few learned men may, and most likely will, be found to extract what is valuable from the old language, if they have only enlightened judgment enough to leave the mass of rubbish behind. He mentioned the sermon on the Mount, which we received from Shushee, and said, that it opened the eyes of the children--yet even this dialect is very different from the one used here. I think this aged man understands and feels there is but one Church in the world; and he quoted that interesting passage, "Paul may plant and Apollos water, but God giveth the increase," to prove it. _July 22._--I have to-day received letters from London and Aleppo, and I have reason to bless God for all; yet they all come armed with sorrow; for they are full of her of whom the Lord has emptied me. In my strength I thought I could so entirely give her up to him, did he desire it, since he had made her so strong in himself, and filled her so full of his blessings; well, and even now, my soul doth magnify the Lord, though in so many ways, I still feel my great and trying loss. Perhaps the Lord has meant to teach me that the 91st Psalm, as dear brother Cronin writes, relates only to Christ's humanity, specially shewing how, from his cradle to his grave, his father watched over him, so that at last he laid down his life, but none took it from him; and he, in this great act, has made it over spiritually to us: he has left the natural plague because of sin, but destroyed the spiritual because of righteousness, even that righteousness which is by his own most precious blood. The Pasha of Aleppo, hearing of dear Edward Cronin, as an English physician, wishing to come to Bagdad, wished to engage him to come with him as his physician, and offered him 1500 piasters a month; but, anxious as they were to come, the circumstances of their party did not, on mature deliberation, allow them to separate, and Ali Pasha was unwilling to undertake the responsibility of the females with his camp. And, oh, how my soul blesses the Lord, now I think on it, that these obstacles were so graciously interposed; disease, delay, and trouble would have accompanied them, and, till now, they would have been detained in the desert, with little prospect of speedy admission into the city, which is firing against the camp, and the camp firing against the city, and they would have been exposed to the full power of a sun, which no one can tell how to estimate, but by actual exposure to it. I have also received a letter from Bussorah, stating that on the drying up of the inundations there, a fever has been spreading, and carrying off numbers. Major T.'s family had most of them been ill, but they were recovering. Mr. Bathie was very weak, and his wife dead. Dr. Beagry, the new surgeon of this station, also died, and immense numbers of those who had fled from the plague. Bussorah is still besieged, but expected soon to fall into the hands of the Motezellim. A letter has also reached me to-day by the same conveyance, from the Bible Society, dated 27th July last year, mentioning the sending of three cases of Arabic and Persian Scriptures to my dear brother Pfander. When I consider how God, in his infinite and unsearchable providence, has seen it fit to bring to nought all our plans by the disorganization of this at all times lawless land, I cannot but feel it a strong call to form very few plans for the future, and just to work by the day. Our hope was, when we came to Bagdad, to have been able to travel pretty extensively both in the mountains of Kourdistan and in Persia; but the state of the country, and other considerations, brought all these plans to nothing, so my dear friend and kind brother left me for Shushee, having been able to obtain much of the information he desired, without the journey. And I, instead of having a large present field of useful employment, and one prospectively increasing, am now without employment or prospect, and if it were not that I feel getting on a little in the colloquial language of the country, I should be almost without hope of remaining with advantage here; but while I feel this, my heart does not sink. The Lord will yet let his light shine out of the darkness, and will one day enable me to speak of his promises; for I daily feel more assured this is the great gift after which an evangelist is to press--it is the very instrument of his labour. And let such a missionary feel infinitely happier to hear it said he speaks very low Arabic, but that every body understands him; than very pure, but which is unintelligible, except to the Mollahs. If he speaks not in a very mixed dialect of Turkish, Persian, and Arabic, he will not be understood here; there is, however, still an immense preponderance of Arabic over the others. The British and Foreign School Society have also very kindly offered to afford what assistance their limited means will allow to the furtherance of Scripture instruction in the East. I shall endeavour to repay this free kindness by obtaining the best information I can, before I call on their aid, for nothing is so discouraging as failures from precipitate attempts; but so variable is the state of affairs in these countries, that previous to your judgment being matured by experience, you may be led, with the best intentions possible, to undertake, on a bright day, plans which, before they can be executed, prove as baseless as a vision, and which will leave nothing behind but the remembrance of useless expense and unproductive labour. _July 22._--I had with me to-day, for the last time as a patient, an officer of the Pasha's household who had the plague, and a large wound from a carbuncle, but is now quite well, and he was talking of the state of the city and country, and said, "Why do we wish to give our country into the hands of the Ghiaours,[38] and not to the Persians? It is because we know they will neither take our wives or daughters from us, nor rob us of our money, nor cut off our heads, but in Islam there is no mercy, no pity." He added, "Did you ever see me before I came about my leg?" I said, "No." "Yet," he said "you had mercy upon me, and cured me and my daughter (who also had had the plague), and why? It was from your heart--there was mercy there." I took this opportunity to explain the reason, as emanating from the command of Christ, and not the goodness of my heart, and how truly could I say it; for the Lord knows how, but for this, it would be a weariness unto me. Now this impatience of their own government is not the feeling of a few discontented men, but I am persuaded it is very general--how can such a kingdom stand? [38] This word Ghiaour, or infidel, is applied by Mohammedans to Christians without the least intention of personal offence; and what is still more extraordinary, the Christians commonly designate themselves by the same appellation. The government, if government it can be called, is now sending the soldiers round to every house to seek for wheat and rice. From some they take half, from others a third of their little store, while they have enough for two years in their own corn cellars, and this too when the necessaries of life are raised to between four and five times their usual price; and as for fruit and vegetables, which constitute in eastern countries, during summer, so large a portion of the food of all classes, not a particle is to be seen. Yesterday and to-day I have had two Roman Catholic merchants with me, and in quoting Scripture to them, I found them ready with the context; but the deadly evil is the separation of religion and its principles from the government and rule of every day and every moment. In these countries, where religious expressions are in every one's mouth, a missionary has most valuable employment, as he is able to bring their minds back to their own expressions, to their own import and power, as we are desired to do to those who heartlessly use that beautiful form of dedication in the communion service of the Church of England, "We here present unto thee our bodies, souls, and spirits to be a reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice unto thee." Oh! that all who use these blessed words felt their power, and lived under it. Christ's name would soon be magnified from land to land. _July 23._--The Pasha has just sent me a fish, with his compliments, and a request that I will dress it for him: this is the way he collects the daily provisions for his household; one person sends him a dish of rice, another a dish of kebaub, another bread; at other times all this takes place because of custom, but now from necessity, for he has no servants scarcely to attend to him. This is the first time I have been so honoured, and when the fish was cooked and sent, he desired the servant to come back, and bring him a few kustawee dates to eat with it; that, however, you may not think these any very extravagant luxury, I may add, their value is somewhat less than a penny a pound. I note this as a little trait of manners that one would hardly credit, had not the fact come under his own observation. _July 24._ _Lord's Day._--Nothing among the perverted use of scriptural terms has ever struck me as more remarkable than the use the Church now makes of the expression, tempting God. In God's word it is uniformly placed among the sins of unbelief; but the Church now, by universal consent, places it among the sins of presumption, to which it is the very antipodes. For instance, it is one of the great crimes of Israel, their tempting God in the desert, and limiting the Holy One of Israel. How? By presumptuous confidence? No--but by saying he hath given bread, but _can he give meat_ also? This is the only sense I know in scripture given to tempting God, and that famous passage from which the erroneous impression has mainly sprung, in the interview of Satan with our Lord, is quite kindred. The object of Satan was to get our Lord's mind into a condition of doubting God, by leading him to argue, God has certainly said so, but will he do it? for our blessed Lord was manifestly as much tempting God by attempting to walk upon the water, as to cast himself into the air. What proves this to be the meaning is our Lord's quotation, "It is written, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God." Now, where is this written? Why, in the Old Testament, where it uniformly implies doubt and distrust; in Exod. xvii. 2. "Therefore the people did chide with Moses, and said, Give us water that we may drink. And Moses said unto them, Why chide ye with me? Wherefore do ye tempt the Lord? And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the chiding of the children of Israel; and because they tempted the Lord, saying, _Is the Lord among us, or not?_" (verse 7.) And it is in reference to this very passage, that in Deut. vi. 16. it is said "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God, as ye tempted him in Massah." And that we may not have a doubt of the meaning, see the application of the word tempting, as applied to our dear and blessed Lord. Is it ever in the sense of presumptuous confidence? Never; but always of scepticism and doubt. I do not mean to say there is not such a sin as presumptuous confidence; I am sure there is; but that is never called tempting God. The Israelites were guilty of this sin, when they went up contrary to the command of God to fight their enemies, after he had pronounced upon them the forty years wandering in the wilderness. I think that rightly understanding this is a matter of no small moment; for many are affrighted, and made sad in the ways of the Lord by the erroneous application of this Scripture; for to whom does the Church and the world alike now apply this term? Why, if they hear of a man selling his property, and becoming poor, like Barnabas, according to the exhortation of the apostles, and the _example of our Lord_, he is considered as tempting God by all according to the degree in which they wish to keep all or part of their own property. Again, if he exposes himself to dangers he might avoid, troubles he might escape, for what he believes the Lord's service, far from receiving any comfort or encouragement, he is again accused of tempting God. But tempting God is the deadly sin of an unregenerate mind, and is never charged on any saint, either in the Old or New Testament, that I recollect. Certainly, Peter did not tempt Christ, when he said, "If thou be he, bid me come unto thee on the water;" for he did not doubt our Lord's power; yet there was a measure of false confidence in himself, as well as of unbelief; but these are compatible with the holiest affections as a state. Tempting God belongs to the family of the tempter, and is a part of no child of God at any time. After his conversion, Peter asked a miracle of Christ; but it was in faith, however weak. When the sceptical Sadducees and the Pharisees, sought a sign it was to try him, can he do it? Therefore he said, Why tempt ye me, ye hypocrites? shewing it was a sin to tempt him as well as it was a sin to tempt his Father. I feel now that I had been led to expect a greater measure of freedom from the troubles which fall on the people, in the midst of which I find myself, than the dispensation under which I live warranted; I do not mean from those which spring directly out of the Lord's service, but those natural and national evils which God sends as judgments on the ungodly. This error arose from considering the temporal promises of the 91st Psalm, and other similar ones in multitudes of places, as the legitimate objects of faith: whereas I have been now led to see that they, like the curses, are but typical representations of that kingdom in which the saints of the Lord shall rejoice and be safe when his enemies are swept away as the chaff of the summer threshing floor. Yet even now, spiritually they are all ours. Not a hair of our head shall fall to the ground without our heavenly Father's permission. Therefore I feel these thoughts ought neither to trouble us, nor any more prevent our hand undertaking for Christ any service, than if a greater exemption was promised; for we know that whatever is allowed to befall us, whether natural or spiritual, if Christ is ours and we are his, they shall only so operate as to work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; for these sufferings and trials must be among all the things that work together for good to those who love Christ. _July 28._ _Thursday._--Up to this time the shells and balls of the besiegers have done us no harm. Two shells have passed just over us. The one fell on the roof of the house of an Arab family at a little distance from us, who were all asleep, and on bursting killed three: one cannon ball has just passed over us, besides musket balls innumerable, only two of which, however, I have felt so near as to endanger us. The one just passed by me and struck the wall, the other, by bending my head, passed just over me: yet dangerous as it seems in such circumstances to sleep on the roof, the suffocating heat of the rooms is insupportable. I recollect Mr. Wolff, when here, mentions it as so hot that he could not write his journal, and indeed such is the heat, that one unaccustomed to it feels almost perfectly unfitted for any laborious service either of mind or body, but particularly the former, for at least my own experience is, that the body is much less affected by it than the mind. Famine is making its destructive way here among the poor. All the necessaries of life are raised from four to six times their usual price, and often are not to be obtained at all, and in addition there is no labour going on in the city: every shop is closed, and every one's concern is to take care of his life or property. They are constantly killing persons in the streets, without the least inquiry being made after the perpetrators; nay, they are publicly and notoriously known, and no one regards it. Nothing can exceed the misery and fear that pervades the city. Yet amidst all these perplexities and troubles, the Lord reigns, and without him they can do nothing. _July 31._ _Lord's day._--A day that always dawns with sweet peace on my soul: I seem more especially to bring before my mind those with whom I think I took sweet counsel, and went to the house of God in company; and though now deprived of all that the heart can desire from holy fellowship on earth, there is something that brings me near those I love, when I think on their places of assembly, and their times of prayer. Though my dear Lord has broken my heart in pieces, and his hand is still resting on me in the person of my dear little dying baby, whose love and preference for the little care I know how to show, renders it one of those exquisitely painful trials, that the feelings know not how to obey the Lord in, when the spiritual judgment is brought quite down. Yet I can never help feeling it to be a mercy eternally to be thankful for, that the sense of my Father's love and Saviour's sympathy has never been taken from me amidst all my trials; nay, I do feel that the Lord is fitting me, by suffering and separation, for the work to which he has called me; he leaves me without a home, or the desire of one, and in that way prepares me for situations, which, during the life-time of my dearest Mary, would have been deeply trying. I bless God for the fourteen years uninterrupted domestic happiness we enjoyed together, above all, for the seven years spiritual communion in a common gracious Lord, who led us in unity of faith and spirit to that work from which he has taken her so early to himself, and from which, when the Lord dismisses me, I trust to ascend and sing the song of Moses and the Lamb with her for ever and ever. My great want is, more of Christ, more of his whole character; this I purpose, by the Spirit's help, more to meditate on, that all that hateful concern about self, that pollutes all I do, may be absorbed in one only thought of how he may be glorified. What I feel I want, is more holiness of spirit. I know the Lord is fitting me for his holy presence, and that he is the chief desire of my soul; yet, oh! the weakness of faith, the coldness of communion, the reserves of dedication. Oh, Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief! A Mohammedan has been with me to-day, who is much alarmed at the state of the city, and wants to fly, but sees not now any opening. He told me, it was not this or that Pasha he cared about; but his property, his life, and the females of his family. Oh, what a relief to know, that my dear Mary is with her Lord; how light this makes my present trials. Yesterday they were fighting from before sun-rise till the afternoon, but could not effect an entrance into the city. The Lord preserves us all in simple dependence on himself. _August 2._ _Wednesday._--Accounts have arrived from the Hajjaj (Mecca and Medina, &c.) stating the mortality from plague and cholera to be most tremendous; many families that left this place on pilgrimage to escape the troubles, in the midst of which we have so long been, have, as we hear, suffered dreadfully. Thus God seems in wrath, making bare his holy arm against this wretched nation in all its length and breadth. My heart sometimes trembles for the dear brethren at Aleppo, lest at the conclusion of the hot season it should break out there. My only resource is God. The poor people here are beginning to sell their little all to buy bread, and in consequence of the badness and scarcity of provisions, dysentery is spreading its ravages in every direction, as well as fever. I have had with me to-day the translator to the late French Bishop, and two or three Roman Catholic merchants, all overwhelmed with fear. They say, the Sultan, on hearing of the death of the Pasha of Mosul, and the Vaivode of Merdin, has written to the Pasha of Aleppo, to spare neither man, woman, nor child in the city; but to let the very name of Bagdad be swept from his dominions. Though this is not altogether unlike the Sultan, I rather think it the report of those within the city, to make the inhabitants dread delivering it up into the hands of those without. How blessed a portion is ours, in the midst of all these perplexities, to stay ourselves on our God, and to confide in the sympathizing love of our Lord, who, worthless and vile as we are, will not overlook us; but for his name's sake, will take care of the very hairs of our heads, either in life or death. Amidst it all, what chiefly troubles me is, that I love my Father and my Lord so little, and that although there is not an object in the world, but his service and glory, for which I would desire to live; yet that, notwithstanding this I live so little for it. Three months have now passed since my dearest Mary has entered into her rest, which I have spent mostly in the sorrowful nursing of my poor dear sinking babe, and though her love and preference repays a hundred-fold all the trial, yet it pierces, while it pleases the heart, to see that connection so soon must cease. I often wonder at my strange indifference to my situation, which, but for my dear children, I think would be greater. I am afraid to think it is the fruit of faith I feel, in every other respect so weak; it seems more like the physical insensibility of one who is without a stake in what is passing. Oh, may my dear Lord, in every earthly tie he breaks, bind my poor soul doubly strong to himself for eternity, and to his service while here. _Aug. 3._--Some of the principal Christian families sent to me to-day, to request me to subscribe for guards to our quarter of the city, so that every night we might have about 40 on guard. This I saw my way clear in declining, believing that for Christ's servants the sword is not a lawful defence; whatever it may be the Lord's holy will I suffer, let it not be in acting against my convictions of his holy and blessed will, for though I feel as a sheep in the midst of wolves, the Lord does not allow my heart to be disturbed with any sense of personal insecurity. How beautifully all our blessed Lord's precepts hang together, and fit the one the other; if your consent to follow him in his poverty as he has commanded, you have little to fear in following his other commands of non-resistance: if you accept not the first, you will not accept the second, except in such circumstances as expose you to perhaps little comparative danger. May the Lord make me willing, whatever it costs, to learn all his will, and give me grace to love it. I have heard such instances to-day of hateful and abominable oppression and wickedness against the poor Christians, by the followers of those who have the name of rulers within the city, that my heart aches, and my soul loathes the place. But what can we expect, when these very persons robbed last night the house of Saleh Beg, himself from whom they receive their pay. A little butter and some sheep have been brought into the city; but they ask so enormous a price, that they have not yet been bought. I was struck with the quickness with which the mind apprehends the simple truth of God when unprejudiced by interest. I have, without even speaking contemptuously to the Christians of their fasting, taken various opportunities of expressing the liberty of a Christian to fast in such a way, and at such times, as he believes most conducive to his soul's advantage; and have pointed out to them, that to lay the stress on it they do, was quite perverting the very end and design of fasting; for that they are manifestly less afraid of violating Christ's commands than their own regulations, which, as they used them, were purely human. To-day, a question arose between two of them in my presence, about their fasts; and the one stated as clearly as could be wished, the uselessness of burthening their consciences about eating a little butter instead of oil, or such like, instead of seeking to flee from their lies, and drunkenness, and robbery, and cheating. There seems to me such a glorious moral power in God's word, that my heart never doubts of its producing marked effects, where it can be clearly and fully delivered; but, oh, the language, what a mountainous barrier! Last night, whilst lying on my bed, on the roof of my house, five balls passed over my head in about as many seconds, so close, that I threw myself off in expectation that the next might hit it or me; at times I almost determined to go down, but the danger of being shot did not appear so dreadful as the suffocating heat down stairs. _August 4._ _Thursday._--We have received accounts to-day of another messenger from Bussorah, with letters for us, having been stripped. How trying these dispensations are--how necessary for our peace that our eye should only rest on God, ordering in love every event concerning us, even to the arrival of a letter, so that he will allow nothing to fail us that is for our good. I have to-day finished reading through again Martyn's Memoir, by Sargent. How my soul admires and loves his zeal, self-denial, and devotion; how brilliant, how transient his career; what spiritual and mental power amidst bodily weakness and disease. Oh, may I be encouraged by his example to press on to a higher mark. When I think of my own spiritual weakness, contrasted with his spiritual power, it brings a striking warning home to my heart to seek a fuller and more abiding union with Jesus, from whom alone flows the living waters that make the branches fruitful; I am not now troubled about that intellectual difference between us, which might seem to make it impossible for me to do what he did: the Lord has made me, blessed be His holy name, contented in this respect with any difference I may feel between myself and his more exalted members; but my sorrow is caused by my want of that likeness to him, who is my Lord and King, which is alike the common inheritance of all the members of his mystical body. May I, however, henceforth make the most of my talent, that I be not numbered among the slothful servants at my dear Lord's most glorious and blessed appearing. The mild seriousness that pervades dear H. M.'s soul has for my heart a great charm. There is not a trait of eccentricity--all is like his Lord in its measure--he was solemn and serious as became his work, yet full of zeal and affection, which shewed itself, however, rather in the steady power of a course of action than in expression. It is astonishing what the world will endure from a child of God, whose manner gives them excuse for calling him an interesting eccentric madman; because then all he says they feel at liberty to laugh at; whereas, if the very same truths were declared to them in the calm seriousness of our Lord's manner, it would make them gnash on him with their teeth. _August 7._ _Lord's day._--This has been a day of trials and tears. The visions of the night were filled with her I have lost, and the day has been spent in weeping over her, I am soon, very soon, to lose; but this is only nature, my soul rests happily in my Lord. I had given up a little for his dear service! but he knew where the heart's reserves were, and has put his hand on them; yet, blessed hope, that gilds these darkest days--the day of the Lord is at hand, when we shall meet to part no more. Oh, may my heart live with this blessed vision ever before it, and labour each day for the Lord, as though it were to be the waking vision of the morning's dawn. My heart is very sad to think how profitless a servant I have been; but I do purpose, the Lord enabling me, to be more diligent, more devoted in the future. My mind has been much exercised with the question of the desirableness of keeping a journal of the soul's inmost workings; but after reading and thanking God for those of others, I feel I never could write one without the fear of its publication, and this would keep my soul in a continual struggle, either by tempting me to say too much or too little, more or less than the truth; for, if any but my most gracious and loving Lord knew me as I am, I should hide myself for ever from the face of man. Yet I pray the Lord, that he will by his Spirit write a journal on my soul, that I may truly feel how very meek and lowly it becomes me to be when I think of all his forgiveness, notwithstanding my transgressions against him. I feel there was something peculiarly gracious in my Lord's not sending me away to my sufferings and trials, till he had given me a cordial, in the assurance of his unchanging love. Oh, but for this, what would my past trials have been, had I not felt assured my Lord's love did not fluctuate with my feelings, nor depend upon my worthiness. Oh, what a blessed passage is that in Rom. v. "If, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, _much more_ being reconciled we shall be saved by his life." Yet the more I feel of this assurance of such unmerited love, the more hateful sin appears in all its shapes, and the more my soul desires entire devotedness to the whole will of God, and conformity to my gracious Lord. _Aug. 9._--A contest has sprung up between the troops and the inhabitants of the city, in which, from the continued firing, I should fear there has been much slaughter. Our neighbours are also again making barricades across the street, near our door. I sometimes think I am too impatient under these trials, instead of being thankful for the mercies I enjoy, and waiting without anxiety upon the Lord to work as seemeth good to Him in his own time. I hope to strive more and more after this childlike confidence, which his experienced love so richly deserves. I did not expect my sweet little baby would have survived yesterday, yet she has this morning a little revived. In the hourly expectation of being plundered, I have put such things as I should be sorry to lose in a hole made in the wall, by the falling of a room. Yet I trust I am quite content the Lord should do as he sees best, even with respect to these. I sometimes sigh to join my dear Mary in the kingdom of peace and joy, and be ever with the Lord. Oh, may the Lord fully and quickly make me meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. _Aug. 13._ _Saturday._--The Arabs made an attack on the other side of the town to-day, but were repulsed. Another messenger from Bussorah is arrived, but stripped and plundered of our letters, and detained four days a prisoner by the Arabs. He has been near a month on his way. Bussorah, like Bagdad, is still besieged. _Aug. 14._ _Sunday._--My dear little baby and some others of my patients have occupied much of my time to-day; for though I give the people generally to understand, that unless in cases of necessity, I would rather see them on any other day; yet, there are many whom I have felt it to be my duty to see. The remainder of the day, however, was rendered profitless by extreme weariness, I having had to walk about with my poor little withering flower several hours through the night. I feel these trials all arise in what appears to me my present plain path of duty, so they do not greatly trouble me; though the progress in the language is almost altogether in abeyance; but, if I confine myself to my Lord's will, I feel he will manage all for me. I have had with me to-day an Armenian gunsmith, who has resided some years in Damascus; he says, the Christians there are treated very well, for though they will not allow them to ride on horseback in the city, yet, as inhabitants, they are well treated. He says, they are also very numerous, inhabiting not less than 15,000 houses; but, if from this we deduct 10,000, we shall probably be nearer the truth. The Jews are not so well treated. From Shaum (Damascus) to Beyraut, on the coast, is four days journey, to Acre four, to Tripoli six, to Aleppo ten, and the roads quite safe. From Damascus to Jerusalem is seven days journey, but through an unsafe country. On the journey from this place to Damascus, the only dangerous part of the road is between this and Hit, on the Euphrates, four days journey hence; after that a certain sum is paid to the Arab tribes, you may pass through. From Persian travellers, whom they hate, they extort, when they know them, a much greater sum, amounting sometimes to from £10. to £20. between this and Damascus. He says, you come to fresh water every second or third day. _Aug. 19._ _Friday._--Every thing seems darkening in this wretched city. Numbers of poor people are crying at the gates to be let out, that they may not be starved in the city; but they will not let them go. All the necessaries of life have risen to five times their usual price, and the pressure of this is increased tenfold by the time at which it has occurred. The bricklayers, carpenters, every trade has entirely ceased its occupations in the city since the commencement of the plague; so that all day-labourers, such as weavers and others, are thrown out of their employments, and without means of gaining their bread. In addition to this, the Arabs are breaking into every house where they expect to find a little corn or rice, so that it is a difficult choice either to be without provisions in danger of starving, or of being broken in upon by such ruffians, and stripped. We intend to bury a little box, containing some rice, and flour, and dates, under ground, that in the event of their breaking in, we may yet secure food for a few days, which may give us time to look about. The Lord, however, is very gracious, and will not try us above our strength, but will magnify his grace even in these scenes of trial and distress. The care of my dear little dying baby has taken my mind much off from dwelling on the distressing position in which we are, and, for aught I at present see, are likely to continue in, for those within the town feel it is their heads for which they are contending, and will therefore hold out to the very last. Yet in this whirlwind the Lord rides and reigns, and no part of the mystical body of Christ, however humble the member, will ever be forgotten: on this we rest and wait for light and deliverance. _Aug. 23._ _Tuesday._--Saturday last they made a sally from the city against a tribe of Arabs, friends of Ali Pasha, and after putting them to flight, and killing 100, they cut off the heads of 150 in cold blood afterwards. It appears that the obnoxious parties within the city are anxious to place the whole inhabitants of the city on such terms with the assailants that they shall fear the consequences of their entering the town as much as themselves. They have allowed about 5000 of the very poorest to leave the city, but the enemy without will allow no more to pass. A letter came yesterday to Mr. Swoboda from a Bohemian, who is physician to Ali Pasha, in which he desired to communicate to all the Franks, that Ali Pasha had given the strictest orders to his soldiers not to molest one of them. To a certain extent this manifests good intentions; but we have had too much experience of the powerlessness of governors at such times to restrain their soldiers, to have much confidence in man: our confidence is in Him who will and does watch over us for good. From the daily increase in the price of provisions, and the daily coining new lies to feed the people with hopes instead of bread, I think things cannot remain long in their present position; yet the Lord knows. It is certain Bagdad is altogether ruined; and if those who belong to the neighbouring villages, and those who would leave it, were there ever so small an opening, were gone, the city would be a desert. I had a patient with me to-day, who told me that, out of a family of sixteen, he alone remains from the plague. Persons he added, who before these troubles were not worth a para, are seen riding about on fine horses and trappings, covered with gold and pearls, &c.; and, on the other hand, many who before were in very good circumstances, are, by the robbery of those who should protect them, reduced to beggary. It appears that Ali Pasha is in want of nothing but money and ammunition; and those within the town want every thing but these. This wretched city has suffered to an almost unparalleled extent the judgments of God within the last six months: the plague swept away more than two-thirds of its inhabitants--the flood has thrown down nearly two-thirds of its houses; and property and provisions of corn, dates, sugar, &c. &c. beyond all calculation, have been destroyed, and we are now suffering under daily increasing famine, and we have yet hanging over our heads the revengeful sword of resisted authority, and the unprincipled plunder of a lawless soldiery to complete the devastation. This Pashalic was just about to fall an easy prey into the hands of the Persians, who long to possess it, from their famous place of pilgrimage, Kerbala, being in the neighbourhood, and perhaps also to make up for their losses on their Russian frontier. Thus the Lord seems preparing these two great Mohammedan powers for their final overthrow, partly by the hands of each other, and partly by the hands of the Christian power. In the province of Kourdistan, the Persians have encroached much on the territory of this Pashalic already. Oh! how delightful it is to turn from these scenes of present and prospective strife to that happy approaching day, when the Lord shall come with ten thousand of his saints to establish his kingdom of peace and glory. Oh! may our cry never cease to be, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly;" and when he does come, may he find us in his service among the faithful, chosen, and true. _Aug. 24._ _Thursday._--Three months and ten days have now passed since the Lord took from me her who was on earth the supreme consolation of my life; and now, this day, he has taken from me my sweet little baby without a sigh, without the expression of pain during the whole of her illness; for this my heart can, even at this moment, bless the Lord; but it has left a void that has more than ever made the world appear a waste. The incessantly returning wants made even these times appear to wing a rapid flight; but now all is still as death, except the weeping of the poor nurse, who truly loved her, and watched over her night and day with unremitting care. Oh! what a time would these three months have been for dear Mary, had she lived, and what a day would this have been; but the Lord took her from the evil to come, and has now taken the dear little object of her love to her, to join her little sainted sister and dear little brother; four of us are gone, and three are left. May the Lord quickly prepare us all, and hasten his coming kingdom, that we may meet to part no more. And, Oh! may he make and accept the remnant of the worthless life he grants me, as a living sacrifice to his service. Notwithstanding I acquiesce, I trust, in the Lord's will from the bottom of my heart, yet I feel a desolation and loneliness of heart, on this last dispensation, that surpasses all I have felt in my last six months of trial. My sweet little baby remained an object for those affections to seize upon, which will exist while life lasts, however disciplined, and however the power of grace may prevail; but in one so weak in faith, so earthly as I am, they have had much, too much power, and therefore the Lord, in mercy to my soul, has swept them all away, that I may have nothing in this world left but his service. If this be his holy purpose, may my whole soul second so gracious an intention; and I pray the spiritual family which the Lord, according to his promise, has given me, fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, that their love and patience towards me may abound, that my spirit may be refreshed thereby, and my weakness encouraged to proceed--though faint, yet pursuing. _Aug. 25._ _Friday._--This day has taught me, that if I would not be entirely miserable, I must give up my whole time, and soul, and thoughts to my Lord; for if I look off him, I feel bordering on a gulf, the depth of which I cannot fathom. Oh! may the Holy blessed Spirit give me such views of the graciousness and exceeding riches of my Lord, that I may really feel, that in having him, I have all things. He alone is the same, yesterday, to-day, and for ever. All created things, the nearest, the dearest, the most beloved in the moment of greatest need and greatest felicity, elude the grasp, and flee away; but he abides always. I desire, therefore, the Lord enabling me, to give myself altogether to the preparation for my future labours more diligently than I have ever yet done; that though desolate on earth, I may hold the freest and sweetest communion with heaven; for of all preparation I feel the greatest, the most needful to be, that of the heart; in order to the constant sensible entertainment of Christ, from whose nearness all the spiritual faculties derive the sap and the fruit bearing strength. _Aug. 28._--To-day I feel the Lord has given me a victory, by turning my thoughts off my miserable self and temporary circumstances, to the contemplation of the happiness of those who are gone before me, and by enabling me to feel set off on my journey to meet them, and drawing every day one day's journey nearer, while I endeavour to forget I had ever been happy in domestic life, or ever possessed those dear objects; but nature was often too strong for me, as I dwelt on their felicity, and my journeying towards them daily, whether the Lord brings them with him, or I go before he comes. This hope does comfort me, for it is a real abiding truth, whether I drink the sweets of the consolation from it or not. I therefore now purpose, the Lord enabling me, after nearly six months interruption, to return to the studies preparatory to my future duties as an itinerating missionary. To this service I ever thought the Lord had called me, and for this I now see all his trials have been fitting me, for I am without a home and without a tie in the world, but my dear Lord's service. These trials have made me ready for entering on my work to any extent; as my dear little boys will no longer confine me to one place, but will soon be of an age to move about with me; or should their choice render other arrangements necessary, the Lord will open a way for them likewise. For an itinerating missionary on this side the desert, three languages are essentially important; Arabic, Turkish, and Persian: and this I feel, unless the Lord very especially helps me, will be _to me_ no ordinary labour; but, as I am surrounded by men who every day learn them for purposes of gain, I trust the Lord will not allow me to faint, or be discouraged till, for his own service I have attained them. The internal state of the city is daily becoming more and more critical: all the necessaries of life are risen to ten times their common price, and are even then with difficulty obtained. The abominations that are now committed in the face of day, makes the city appear ripe for the judgment of the cities of the plain; and the poor Christians principally suffer in the persons of their children in these abominable acts of violence; but to seek a remedy now is utterly useless, for all the power in the city is in the hands of the lawless mob, who are the perpetrators of all the wickedness. It makes one's heart ache to hear them weeping and telling of their sufferings. _August 29._--Last night some of the depredators broke into our house, and have taken away to the amount of about ten pounds from Kitto and myself, while we were all asleep upon the roof of the house, so there was nothing to hinder them from clearing the house; yet the Lord some how or other disturbed them, for though they took my clothes out of a box, they dropped them in their way to the window through which they entered, and a box containing my money in my room they never opened--in fact, it altogether appears they went away without accomplishing the purpose for which they came, and it so happened that from the constant expectation of the general plunder of the city, we had put away every thing of any particular value. Should we be plundered by the soldiers of Ali Pasha, we may possibly, if our lives be spared, obtain, as Mr. Goodell did, remuneration; but about this I do not feel anxious: the Lord will provide. From daylight this morning till near noon there was a pretty sharp contest between those within the city and those without, in which the latter got the advantage. My feeling is, that we are very fast approaching to a crisis, and in that crisis our eyes are unto the everlasting hills--to him who says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee,' but who will be with us always even unto the end of the world. Oh! what a relief would a little time of peace and free communication with our dear friends be. The latest letters from England are dated nine months ago; and from many, nay all my dear friends at Exeter, the latest is nearly eleven months; so that all our trials come together. For five months the dear little boys have not set their foot without the door of our house, and I cannot but feel it is a great mercy of the Lord, that they are so happy and contented. I have never heard, during all this time, one word of complaint from them. _Aug. 30._--The inhabitants are building up gates in all the principal streets, both against the swarms of thieves who plunder by night, and in anticipation of the entrance of the opposing party, when a general pillage seems now fully expected by all. It often seems to me, on looking around and seeing all without God, and trusting to their puny efforts to avert impending evils, what a blessed portion we have who know him, believe in him, and love him, and know and feel, that without his permission, not one hair of our heads shall fall. Those within the city have also again been out and attacked another tribe of Arabs that were on Ali Pasha's side, pillaged and set fire to their camp, and brought the plunder into the city, among which was a great quantity of silk, which these Arabs had taken from a caravan coming to Bagdad from Persia in the time of the plague. _September 2._--I was sent for to-day to see the Pasha, who has, from the effects of a carbuncle on his toe lost one of the joints, and they have so treated it, that he will, I think, now certainly lose another. He was particularly kind and civil, and without any comparison, the most gentlemanly person I have met with in the East. There is an unaffected simplicity of manners, and a benevolence of countenance, which makes one wonder how all the accounts of his actions, which we may, I think, say we know to be true, could possibly be so. He made me a present of three small cucumbers, at this time the greatest rarity; and this may convey some idea to what extent the privations of the poor have gone, when the Pasha can hardly command a cucumber, which, with legumenous fruits of a similar kind, constitute a great portion of the food of the poor in ordinary times. As I returned from the Pasha a man levelled a gun at me, not with any intention to fire I believe, but just to show that independent boldness which fears no one, but dares to do what it chooses. _September 6._--There is nothing new; but the uninterrupted stream of misery is still swelling with its bitter waters: depredation and scarcity increasing and advancing with pretty equal steps. There seems to be signs of money beginning to fail from the treasury of the Pasha, as his kanjaar (a dagger), richly studded with diamonds, was offered for sale the other day. The palace of the Pasha, or rather its ruins, are filled with Arnaouts, a mercenary band of soldiers, who employ their time in making and drinking arrack, and knocking down the walls of the palace, wherever they yield a hollow sound, in search of the hidden treasures of the Pasha. In these countries it is a universal custom to bury or build up in the walls of houses their treasures, from the insecurity in which they always live. Mr. Swoboda has received a letter from a friend of his in the Pasha's camp, stating that there was a large pile of letters and parcels for Europeans within the city, in the possession of the Pasha. This is trying to us, but still it brings the hope that we may yet soon receive intelligence of our friends. It seems as if the angel of destruction was resting on this city as on Babylon, to sweep it from the earth. They are actually pulling down the roofs of the bazaars to sell and burn the wood, destroying buildings for fuel, that a hundred times the worth of the wood will not replace, and filling up the roads with rubbish so as to render them scarcely passable. The state of anarchy which prevails must be witnessed to be understood. If it were not that the soul feels it is the Lord's province to bring order out of confusion and good out of evil, it would utterly despair in such a scene, where every element at work seems wickedness; but amidst all, our eyes are unto him. _September 7._--Weak in body and mind, I could sometimes almost impatiently wish for a change. Yet the Lord is very gracious, and suffers us to have quite enough for our health and strength; and as for money, a Roman Catholic merchant was with me yesterday, begging that if I wanted any more, I would take it from him, for they seem all to have that kind of confidence even in our national character, that they will generally without hesitation, let you have money. For myself, I know not if my mind preys on my body, or my body on my mind, or whether they mutually act and re-act one on the other; yet I feel on the whole thus much, that if it appeared the Lord's most gracious pleasure to direct my steps away from this place for a season, I should be thankful. Nevertheless, I desire to say from my heart, not my will, O Lord, but thine be done. In Arabic, I think I make daily progress, and I feel fully assured, should the Lord spare my life for this blessed work, that I shall one day be able to preach the unsearchable riches of Christ intelligibly, perhaps even fluently. Yet from the natural badness of my memory, considerable time will be requisite, unless the Lord vouchsafe to me his especial help to this end, for which I daily pray, for I want not opportunity but language to preach Christ. _Sept. 9._ _Friday._--Every thing continues still increasing in price, and in an increased ratio the sufferings of the poor: if they leave the city they are stripped and driven back; if they remain they are starved; and even the dates are just come to an end, upon which for near three weeks, both the people and the cattle have been feeding. The Pasha has this day taken the jewels of his wives to sell, from which and some other signs, I am led to think his course is nearly run, and that ere long he will follow the fate of his predecessor. Ali Pasha told the Suffian-Effendi, who went out to him to endeavour to accommodate matters, that he had come for one head only, but that after the way in which he had been treated, he would not be satisfied with less than _ten_; and if, at that time, which was nearly a month ago, he had determined to take ten, I fear a hundred would not now satisfy him. A poor Roman Catholic priest was with me to-day, telling me of his distress, while one of his opulent flock was sitting by him. He said the Jews would not allow their poor to beg from others; by which I thought he meant to give a pretty intelligible hint that his flock ought to be ashamed. But his rich hearer only said, "The Lord is merciful, and he will provide." On this side the desert, the professing Christians are not certainly priest-ridden as they are in most Roman Catholic countries, or even on the other side of the desert, in consequence of there being no powerful and wealthy communities like the monasteries in Mount Lebanon, to bring down the heavy arm of the Turks upon them; for without the Turks they can do little, and these petty governments joyfully interfere in their strifes to extort money from both parties, though in this respect, Bagdad has been better off than most Pashalics for nearly sixty years past, since the time of Suliman Pasha, whose slave the present Pasha was, but liberated on his death. Since him there have been Ali Pasha, Suliman Pasha the younger, Abdallah Pasha, and Seyd Pasha, all of whom have been murdered after a longer or shorter period. Daoud Pasha has now been fourteen years in possession of the power he obtained by the murder of his predecessor, and seems now not far from sharing the same fate. _Sept. 10._ _Saturday._--The evening before last the thieves broke into the house of one of the sons of the Pasha, and killed three of the servants: if they serve the Pasha so what have others to expect? Instead of being surprised that things are so bad, my surprise is that they are not worse, seeing the city is entirely at the mercy of those who are capable of every abomination and cruelty; and there is no other restraint upon them than what God puts into their hearts by the undefined fear of possible retribution. The most valuable articles known to belong to the Pasha, from whom they had been stolen, were sold openly in the streets, without the least notice being taken, and thus also they shoot individuals when they please, in the open day and in the public thoroughfares, and no one stops to see who it is or why it is, but every one hastens off as fast as he can lest he should share the same fate. And the passengers in the streets are not only exposed to be shot at by those prompted by deliberate enmity, but this armed rabble is continually drunk, and, without the least provocation, fire at men or women. I seem to think, if it did please the Lord to put an end to these scenes of sorrow and trial, my heart would be very thankful; yet perhaps in this I deceive myself, and all my gratitude would be as a morning cloud. However, this I know, the Lord will not suffer me to be tried above what he will enable me to bear, and on this assurance, in the darkest day, may the blessed Spirit enable my heart to repose. This is my daily comfort. _Sept. 12._ _Monday._--The poor are again permitted to leave the city, and it is reported, that when Ali Pasha heard that those had been robbed who came out before, he threw some of the supposed plunderers into the river, and cut off the heads of others. However this may be, 5 or 600 now daily go out and suffer no molestation. This is a great mercy, for within the city every article of food has disappeared except buffaloes' and camels' flesh, and this at about twenty times its usual price. Should this state of things continue, it seems to me from present appearances, that a general plunder will be the consequence. To-day they have pillaged the houses of some Jews. Yesterday they broke open the house of Major Taylor's chaoush. They are very slow to interfere with those under English protection; but when their natural thievish propensities are stimulated by want and opportunity, from what may they be expected to withhold themselves? Things within the city are now come to that pass, that I heard from the Meidan to-day (the place where the principal Turks reside) that they have determined to wait five days more, and if Ajeel, the Sheikh of the Montefeik Arabs, or some other efficient aid, does not arrive, they will cut off the heads of Daoud Pasha and Saleh Beg, who is his Kaimacam, or Lieutenant Governor, and send them to Ali Pasha, for the city can bear no more. When I consider all the misery in the city, and the privations not only among the poor, but the rich, and consider how we have been provided for, it does seem to me most marvellous, strangers as we were, and without a friend. Before the plague, in our ignorance of the probable time of its continuance, and with the certain knowledge that in the midst of the greatest want, there was not a soul that could help us, we took in enough of wheat, rice, soap, and candles, to last till within a very few weeks. When dear Mr. Pfander left us, we made him some sausages, called in this country _pastourma_: he, however, took but a few, and the rest remained with us, and served us both during the plague, and now in the famine to vary our food a little, though somewhat dry and as hard as wood, and still of them one or two remains. The dear boys also had some pigeons: these also served us for many days. We then had two goats for my poor dear little baby, and to give us milk; but provisions became so dear that we were obliged to kill one; this we divided among the poor: the second at last we also killed, and potted in its fat. This by little and little we are consuming. We have also got four or five hens, which lay two or three eggs a-day. Thus the Lord has provided for us till now; and if we have not had abundance, we have never suffered from want. And now, when wheat and rice is not to be bought, and if possessed in quantities would expose the possessors to inevitable pillage, the Lord has so graciously supplied us, that we avoid both want and the danger of possessing provisions in the house, for before the kind Taylors left this, they gave me permission to take from the Residency whatever I might want, and this I now take by little and little as I need, and the house of the Resident is so far respected in public opinion, that openly disorganized as things are, I do not think they will commit any violence upon it. I am sure there are many who, in reading this, will bless God for his goodness to us, so utterly unworthy as we are; but, oh! if they could be witnesses of the misery that others suffer, and from which his mercies have freed us, they would indeed praise him. For, even when provisions were to be had, had we been obliged to purchase at the price things then were and are now, we must inevitably have run in debt; but as it is we have enough of money for more than a month to come. Therefore, bereaved and incapable as I yet feel of all enjoyment, I desire to bless the Lord for all his great goodness and care over us, of the least of whose mercies I feel infinitely unworthy. And though my faith does not enable me fully now to feel, in unison with my _soul's judgment_, on my heavenly Father's dealings toward me, when time has removed the bitter cup farther distant, it may not possess all its present intensity of bitterness, to which also so many circumstances have tended to add additional pungency--not a friend near, not a communication from any of those far away. I have ever felt one abiding source of comfort, in that I knew I enjoyed the prayers of many whose prayers I truly value, and through these I believe I shall yet stand complete in all the will of God, to remove or to remain, to live or to die. The Lord will quickly come, and then his power and great glory will be manifested to the joy of his chosen and the confusion of his enemies. _Sept. 14._ _Wednesday._--While I feel more convinced every day that a missionary in these countries, who really would cast himself upon his Lord, and share in its revolutions and national judgments, has more to prepare his mind for them previously to his entering upon it than he can well conceive: yet on the other hand, I feel more confirmed in the opinion, that amidst this disjointed disorganized state of society, there are more doors of irregular missionary service open than he can possibly occupy. For though he can perhaps find few opportunities of publicly preaching Christ; yet in conversation, and the preparation and circulation of tracts, I think there are immense opportunities afforded. Yet for conversation much time will be required in acquiring a facility in the language by most, till the Lord is pleased to pour down from on high, his gifts of the Spirit--and as to tracts, at present we have none. The Turkish Armenian tracts, printed at Malta, are not clearly understood here; neither do I think the Arabic or Turkish spoken on the other side of the desert would be so either, if I may judge from the translations into Turkish and Arabic. In fact, it would appear desirable if the object of a missionary be to labour in the east, that he should study on this side the desert if possible; though the difficulties of a family are great here amidst the constant succeeding commotion of this disturbed country. There is no retiring place within at least some hundred miles, at all times by a dangerous journey, but in such times as these almost impassable. And the elements of disorder do not arise only from the state of the Ottoman empire, but from the vicinity of Persia, daily encroaching on this side, as I have mentioned before, both from religious and political motives, and this spirit is encouraged by the constant weakening of the pashalic. About fifty or sixty years ago, commenced the government of Suliman Pasha the elder, who continued twenty-three years in his situation and died in his bed. This Pasha raised Bagdad from a place of little mercantile consideration to be one of the most important places of traffic in the east, and he allured merchants from all parts by the equity and firmness of his government. From that to the present time, this pre-eminence has been enjoyed by Bagdad, and it has been the central place of trade between the east and the west; and for these purposes, if improved, a more desirable situation could not be imagined under a firm and wise administration. This Suliman Pasha strengthened the Georgian interest in this pashalic prodigiously by the purchasing of an immense number of Georgian slaves whom he manumitted at his death. One of these, Ali Pasha, who married his daughter, succeeded him, and was murdered at prayers after about five years reign. Suliman Pasha who succeeded him, also married a daughter of the former Suliman, he governed about three years, and was then put to death. He was succeeded by Abdallah Pasha, who was the treasurer of Ali Pasha; he continued about three years, and was put to death. To him succeeded Seyd Pasha, son of Suliman Pasha the elder, who, at the end of about three years, was also put to death. To these last who had thus succeeded and murdered one another, succeeded Daoud, the present Pasha, who to avoid a like fate with his predecessors, cut off every man about him who could possibly afford him any umbrage; but while on the one hand he secured himself, on the other he so weakened the Georgian interest, that when his affairs became involved in difficulty, there was none to help but creatures who had ministered to his avarice which he had gratified at the expence of every loyal feeling (if such an expression can be used by a Turk.) But still, though previous to the plague, the Georgians had been thus diminishing in numbers, and more so in intellectual and moral character, still they were a strong body; but the plague swept them nearly all away. All this taking place at this peculiar juncture when there is no recruiting their strength from Georgia, which is now in the hands of the Russians, and when the heart of the Sultan is peculiarly set against the whole mameluke rule seems to indicate the period of their downfall to be near at hand. Should Ali Pasha now succeed in getting possession of the city, the Georgian government of these renegade slaves will be ended as that of their brethren in apostacy was in Egypt. But, however things may terminate, there are no elements of recovery, fall they must; for the curse of God is upon them from the hands of one tyrant after another, till some powerful nominal Christian government will accept the government of them, for which they are daily ripening, which they are daily expecting, and which will finally happen, unless they fully adopt a European policy and plan, and this by another road, will lead to the same end, the overthrow of Mohammedanism and the establishment of infidelity. I have just thus cursorily made these remarks, that no missionary may deceive himself by expecting any long period of peace and quietness. If it comes, he may bless God; but if it be withheld, he must calculate upon it. And I think those who are lightly armed for their work--who can run, and fly, and hide, and at all events have only their own lives to care about, will be happiest amidst all their privations and trials between Bagdad and China. But for those who have known the endearment of domestic life, or who are by nature peculiarly susceptible of its happiness it may truly be said, this is a living martyrdom. It is: but it is _for Christ_, who will soon come and wipe away all tears from our eyes. I desire daily to feel it is a world in which my gracious Lord was an outcast, and where it would be to my loss if I made me a home. May the Lord make me willing to serve him on these or any other terms he may manifest at his pleasure. This morning some persons who were employed for the purpose, set at liberty two of the principal Georgians who were imprisoned in the camp of Ali Pasha. The Armenian servant to whom I lent an Armenian Testament, with the translation into the modern Constantinople dialect, came to me to say how much better he understood it than he did before in the old language, and his countenance seemed quite to brighten up at the sense of his attainment. Among the Armenians I think there is an open door, especially among the young, their ears are open and thirsting for information on every subject. The father of the Armenian schoolmaster was to-day speaking with me on the difficulty of that passage, "Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated." He said he felt just in that state as though God had said to him, I will not receive you. I longed to preach to him fully so far as I am able, Him who saith, Whosoever cometh to me I will in no wise cast out; but I have many difficulties: he is very deaf, and Armenian and Turkish, not Arabic, are the languages he understands. The languages greatly try me, for though I feel by the Lord's mercy making daily progress, yet still I feel four or five years must pass before I am fully prepared even in this department of my labour, and happy shall I be if in that time it be accomplished. _Sept. 15._ _Thursday._--After a night of anxious suspense, the day has dawned in comparative peace; the cry that Ali Pasha's troops were entering the city, began soon after we had retired to rest, and continued till near morning. Now we hear that Daoud Pasha had fled from the house of Saleh Beg during the night and endeavoured to enter the citadel, but the soldiers would not admit him. He is now in the hands of the people of the Meidan. The Chaoush Kiahya of Ali Pasha has entered the city, and every one is in an awful state of suspense as to the future fate of the inhabitants, at least of the higher classes. I have just set up the English flag that they may know the inhabitant of the house is a stranger here, who has nothing to do with the strife of the city. If, after this, the Lord allows them to enter our habitation, may his holy and blessed will be done. I think the Lord has allowed my mind to be in perfect peace as to the result. The poor wives of the Pasha are kissing the hands of passers by, begging that they will give them an asylum. Poor sufferers! all are afraid to interfere so as to afford them that which they want. At present, words and appearances are peaceable. May the Lord of his mercy grant that they may continue so. To-day we killed two fowls to have a little fresh meat. Thus the Lord has kept us through all this time of trial, and we have enough remaining for five or six days, blessed be his holy name. This day has ended in perfect peace, not a disturbance or an individual molested. The principal thieves, who, at the head of various gangs, were robbing the city in every direction, are now doing all they can to escape, for they are perfectly known. Thus the gracious hand of the Lord has removed in one day the siege and famine, and fear and terror, from the lawless within, and the undefined terrors from those who are without, so that all seems joy and gladness to the poor inhabitants. In the conclusion of this affair Ali Pasha has conducted himself amidst numberless provocations with a moderation and prudence that does him the highest honour; bless the Lord for all his mercies. This will be the first night for months that we shall retire to rest without the hateful sounds of civil strife saluting our ears, or disturbing our rest. _Sept. 16._ _Friday._--Another peaceful day. Ali Pasha has collected all the principal Georgians together in his camp. When the late Pasha went out to his camp, he rose from his seat and embraced him, and told him not to fear; that the Sultan had ordered his life to be spared; to Saleh Beg also assurances of safety were given, and in fact up to this time not one individual has been put to death. It remains yet to be seen whether this be a cloak or real moderation. However, from the great body of the citizens all fear is removed, and both animals and inhabitants alike rejoice in returning abundance. The wheat that was sold on Wednesday, for 250 piasters, was sold on Thursday for 40, and other things in proportion, besides which, vegetables have re-appeared, which, for five months, were not to be procured, at any price. I sent out to-day the chaoush of Major Taylor to Ali Pasha, to enquire if there were any letters or packets for the Residency or for me; but I found there were none to my great disappointment. However, Ali Pasha was very civil; enquired after the Resident, hoped there would be perpetual and increasing affection between them, &c. &c. We have now to wait to see how these fair beginnings will end. I have just seen the Hakeem Bashee or chief Physician of Ali Pasha, who is an Italian, and to my great joy found he had locked up in his box for me many letters and newspapers, which he from time to time collected in the camp; whenever any messenger was brought in, and his packets examined, all that were for Europeans he took out, and put in his box; to-morrow he promises to let me have those that were addressed to me. He tells me that Ali Pasha has two interpreters, natives of Cyprus, who speak Turkish, Italian, and Romaic. It appears that a great change is contemplated in the government of this Pashalic. One of the two gentlemen whom Major Taylor sent to examine the Euphrates from Beles to Anah, has arrived at Aleppo on his way to Beles. From Anah to Bussorah there is no insurmountable impediment in the way of steam navigation. The part that now remains to be examined is from Beer to Anah. _Sept. 18._ _Lord's day._--To-day I have received a long missing letter from the dear Taylors, in which Major Taylor most kindly and generously offers, should any thing happen to me, to consider my dear boys as his own, till he has an opportunity of sending them safely to the hands of their friends in England. Thus the Lord provides, thus he orders for us. This kind offer of Major T. was quite unsolicited, for, though when I felt attacked by the plague, I had written a letter making this request, yet, on my recovery, I destroyed it. I also received a letter from Dr. Morrison, in China, in which he expresses his conviction of the importance of missionaries learning to earn their subsistence by some occupation, however humble, rather than be dependant as they now are, on societies. I confess my mind so far entirely agrees with him, that, if I had to prepare for a missionary course, I would not go to a college or an institution, but learn medicine, or go to a blacksmith's, watchmaker's, or carpenter's shop, and there pursue my preparatory studies. I do not mean to say, that this should be to the exclusion of preparatory studies in language, and the deepest preparatory Scripture studies, but, in conjunction with them, for I am satisfied it is a much greater blessing to missionaries to lead those down who either by birth or other circumstances may have been a little removed from the lower orders of society than to raise those of humble birth to the rank of gentlemen in the world, who neither by education, habits, nor intercourse are enabled happily or profitably to fill such a station--but it is that yoke of mere human ordination, the necessity of a _title from man to preach_ and _administer_ as it is called the sacraments, of which not so much as a hint is contained in the New Testament, it is that awful distinction between laity and clergy which are the things that tie up all hands, and put bodies of men into situations of trial, who, but for this delusion, would be without any comparative difficulties. Without these we should learn to judge of men's fitness for their work, not by their being ordained or unordained by this or that denomination of men, but according to the rule of the apostles, by their doctrine and walking as they had them for "ensamples;" if they came otherwise, though apostles or angels, let them, says the apostle, be accursed. Oh, if this principle of the apostles were set up in proving all things and holding fast that which is good, we should not hear so good a man, and one so much to be loved, as Mr. Bickersteth, misleading his readers by telling them to adhere to an unsound _authorised_[39] teacher, rather than go to a sound and unauthorised one; to one who is authorised by the head of the church, though not by the head of the state. So said not Paul, but, "if I or an angel come preaching any other doctrine, let him be accursed." In all the Apostle Paul's trials with the false teachers, and in all the directions given respecting them to the various churches, he never once alludes to their appointment by the apostles or any other human being, or bodies of human beings, as even a collateral ground of consideration and preference, but always to the truth, the truth, the truth; if they preach that, well; if they do not, it matters not who they are, nor whence they came, from heaven or earth, they are to be rejected. God grant the day may quickly come when the church of God may care as little about the opinions of bishops and presbyteries or any other association of men, _apart from their piety and truth_, as the Lord and his Apostles cared about the opinions of the Sanhedrim. So far as their estate or authority is temporal, let us obey them, but let us keep our souls free. [39] By whom authorised, of God or of man? It is said that all these provinces, from Bussorah to Bagdad, Sulemania, Mosul, Diarbekr, Merdin, Orfa, and Aleppo, are to be under the government of Ali Pasha; at all events there seems to be such a change contemplated, that at present I do not see it right to remove, especially as the Lord has provided an asylum in the event of any thing happening to me, in the bosom of Mr. Taylor's family, for my dear boys. Under Daoud Pasha the people were oppressed by monopolies in every article of consumption. Ali Pasha seems determined to put an end to the system. The cryer yesterday proclaimed that meat was to be sold for no more than two piasters an oke,[40] and that if any man took more he should be hanged on the spot to his own crooks. One of the butchers, near the Meidan, who was detected yesterday, selling meat for three piasters, was instantly hanged. After which, the butchers went to the officer who superintends their affairs, and offered him considerable sums of money as a bribe, but he would pay no attention to them. [40] About five-pence a pound. _Sept. 21._ _Wednesday._--Nothing can exceed the attention and respect that is paid to Daoud by Ali Pasha; for his life, he said, he had nothing to fear; the Sultan had pardoned him, and a firman had come to that effect, but that the Sultan wished him to go to Constantinople on the morrow or the day after. Therefore he leaves this, and his wives go with him, and his eldest son, Hassan Beg, who has had all his property made him a present of by Ali Pasha, and every thing they choose to select for the convenience of the journey, is to be provided for them. There is something in this treatment so utterly unlike any thing that has been ever witnessed before, that people know not what to make of it; the Turks cannot be brought to believe but that there must be some treachery under it; for my own part, I do believe that so far as Ali Pasha is concerned, this is not true. The Turks here are also much startled at seeing their long robes and turbans thrown away for an European military uniform, with epaulets and other decorations; and they say that Ali Pasha himself has quite adopted the European dress, so what changes we may expect I know not, but certainly great ones are contemplated; any change approximating to this has not been introduced from the days of the Patriarchs till now. Drinking is no longer a covert offence that they practice in secret; but wine and spirits are brought in their trays as regular articles of consumption. The fact is, that Mohammedanism and Popery have received, and are receiving, such hard knocks that their power will certainly sink, even though the name may remain, and I do expect that this state of powerlessness in these two bodies will open ways for God's elect among them to come out. I had yesterday a long and most interesting conversation with a very respectable Armenian Roman Catholic merchant of this place, most timidly fearful of having his faith touched; yet the Lord opened the way to the introduction of the conversation on some very interesting topics--on the duty of reading God's word for ourselves, and on the worship of the Virgin, on all of which, little by little, he conversed freely.--He seemed well acquainted with the Scriptures I quoted, but had never thought about the questions, and this is the great preparatory work in this country, to get men to think on the things of the soul's everlasting interests, and to feel that these things have to do with the various relations of life. In all countries custom has much power; but in the East it is despotic. I have been much struck in reading some letters in the Record, on the Church and Dissent, which has made me feel the necessity and value of that word of our blessed Lord.--"If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light." Surely if the Scripture be sufficient to decide any question, it is sufficient to decide the question of what a child of God ought to do when a man, calling himself a minister of Christ, propagates errors among any section of Christ's church. Does not Paul say, Who is Paul or Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believe? What, then, is the Church of England, or Scotland, or the Dissenters, but various ministries, by which we believe? And the same apostle--the exalter of the Lord of life, and the abaser of every high thought of man, says, "If I or an angel from heaven preach any other gospel than that you have received, let him be accursed." Does Paul set up the principle that men are to be received not according to the truth or error of their doctrine, but according to the sect to which they belong, or the mode or circumstance of ordination? Never: but the very reverse. With the apostle it is always the truth--the truth--the truth; let those judge who wish to see. Now, I will just state a strong case, but a fact. I was one day travelling in the mail, and a certain person in one corner began a most obscene conversation, with a gentleman who came to see him at the door of the mail, while it was changing horses. Opposite him, in the other corner, was his own son. When the mail arrived at the place to which we were going, on getting out, I asked the people at the coach office, who that person was. I had previously considered him as an officer in the army, but, to my amazement, was told he was the Rev. ----. This individual has since been made a dignitary of the Church of England, and has had other preferment bestowed upon him; and this is but part of what might be said. You will say this is an extreme case. But it is a matter of fact. Am I to remain under the ministry of such a teacher? It not only shocks the affections of a child of God, but the very common sense of the world, and, if our eyes were single, it would, in proportion strike us till we should come down to the apostle's rule, about receiving teachers--those who preach the truth, and walk as ye have us for an ensample. As to example on which so much stress is laid, what example does a man give to his children or neighbourhood, when he continues to sit under the ministry of one whom he believes to be not a preacher but a perverter of the truth? Why, that the Church of England and its forms, even in the midst of our unfaithful ministry, is dearer to him than Christ's Church and his truth, under less agreeable external circumstances. On the other hand, what example does he give if he quit this, which may be granted on all hands to be an unsound ministry, for a sound one? Why, that he loves Christ's Church and truth so much better than any circumstances, that though it may cost him pain and sorrow he leaves the one for the other. There seems an idea prevalent, and kept up in all these letters, which is in fact most untrue--that a man, by leaving the church[41] becomes a dissenter in principle. Whereas I think many who have merely followed the line which the apostle recommends, of turning away from false teachers, are not at all thereby rendered in love with dissent as one system set up against another system. It appears to me, that a sectarian Church of England-man, and a sectarian Dissenter, whose only desire is to see augmented the respective members of those who follow them, are equally removed from the mind of Christ. The thing devoutly to be prayed for, for them all is, that when they respectively approach the nearest to the meaning of the divine word and the mind of Christ, they might be respectively strengthened and made willing in those things to borrow from each other, and all sides to remember that that love which covereth many faults is more valuable a thousand times than that sectarian zeal that magnifies every weakness and infirmity into a mortal sin, and which delights in evil surmisings and evil speakings. [41] I use this term, though in its sense of national churches, I think it absolutely unscriptural. The term which passes current with so many who are attached to the Church of England exclusively of "our apostolic church," it may not be amiss for a moment to dwell on. Where then does this apostolic similarity dwell, and in what does it consist? Is it in the mode of appointment of Bishops? _Formerly_ it was the work of the church, with which the state had nothing to do. _Now_, it may be the work of an infidel ministry, for infidel purposes. Is it the state and pomp of the episcopacy, the titles--"Your Grace," "Your Lordship," your palaces, your carriages, and fame, and hosts of idle livery servants? Is it in the mode of appointment to the cure of souls? _Then_ it was in the choice of the church; or, if of new churches, the appointment of those who had gathered them. _Now_, this cure is publicly sold like cattle in the market to the highest bidder, and a large proportion of the remainder may be in the hands of an infidel Lord Chancellor, to give as he pleases. Is it the Liturgy? However valuable it may be, no one will pretend to say the apostles used one. And even in the places of public worship, their grandeur, or their neatness, or their convenience are equally unlike the places of meeting of the apostles, who were happy to assemble in an upper loft. Instead, therefore, of saying the Church of England is _Apostolic_, it is infinitely more true to say she is _Romish_, in all those things on the distinction of which she prides herself and becomes distinguished. And the broad line of distinction between her and the apostate mother of harlots, commences when she comes to those points, whereon all the churches of Christ agree--the doctrines she professes, and which are to a very great extent scriptural and pure; and may the Lord water her truth while he sweeps away her dross and tin. Believing, as I do, her connection with the state to be an unmitigated evil as it relates to her spiritual power, I cannot but rejoice that this false ground of confidence and support which has made toryism stand too often in the place of truth and piety, as a recommendation to her highest places of trust, is crumbling underneath her, only her bonds will be burnt in the fire. May she have the holy wisdom to strengthen what remains, that when the times of her dominion shall pass by, the time of her spiritual splendour may return. In short, though there be much that is intolerable in the Church of England, much may be modified, and may yet, possibly, remain; but this is clear, that that swelling of the bosom which distinguishes a true son of the Church of England, considered as a sectarian, when he enunciates the term of "Our Apostolic Church," if it refers to discipline as well as doctrine, and external circumstances as well as internal principles, is the merest delusion that ever was published, and the most unsubstantial vision that ever formed the basis of pride, and one that will now remain unmasked no longer. May the Lord grant her grace in her day of trial, to run into her real ark of strength--the truth of God. What is contrary to God's will in her, may he make her ready, nay, anxious to throw off, as an incubus that oppresses her. What is not contrary, yet not essential, may she hold with that degree of tenacity only which such things deserve, and remain alone valiant for the truth on the earth. Many will say this is written by the hand of an enemy. But I protest before Him whom I love and serve, however unworthily, that I love the Church of Christ in the midst of her, fervently desiring their spiritual pre-eminence, and praying for her prosperity. The detestable association between the Dissenters, considered as a body, and the calumniators and degraders of the Lord of life, for the beggarly purposes of this world's power, sufficiently prove to my mind, that a spirit, which is not of God's children, rests among them too extensively somewhere, as I have before mentioned; and even the true children among them, who have been drawn into such an ungodly coalition, show great spiritual weakness. In the word of God I see Christ exalted and his truth; and not churches, apostles, or prophets; all things are to be proved, and that which is good to be kept. Apostles are to be tried, and if found _liars_, to be rejected. Think you, when the church of Ephesus, in the Apocalypse is commended by our Lord, for trying those who said they were apostles and were not, and when she had found them liars, that her members for example, still sat under their ministry. What a strange perversity of judgment prejudice casts over the mind. I cannot imagine any holier more acceptable service to our dear and blessed Lord and master, than that of endeavouring to unite in true and holy union, all the real members of his now (as to external circumstances) painfully divided body, for the Lord enables me to feel and to know, that amidst all the divisions and hard names that prevail among the members, there does really exist a body bound together for eternity, in all the essentials of Divine truth. _Sept. 24._--Nothing of any striking moment relative to our situation has occurred since the last date: all is quiet. Yet circumstances have taken place of the deepest interest, which makes my soul rejoice in God. In a packet of letters, I received the other day from India and Bussorah, was one from a person whom I met here, a gay thoughtless officer in the army, who seems now really seeking for light and life. Of this I am sure, that with that soul, it never can be again as in times past; the name of Christ will either be a savour of life unto life, or of death unto death. Oh! how strange a thing here does a consciousness of divine life in the soul appear, and how affecting is it to receive that news fresh from the heart of one who has seen, in spiritual things, men as trees walking. May the Lord complete what he has begun, and make his recovered child a burning and a shining light in that land of darkness, where he sojourns. This intelligence comes too at a very acceptable time, for I have had a slight attack of fever for these last ten days, which, though it is not worth mentioning, has, like all fevers, left me weak, and with a tendency to depression. Nor is this all the good the Lord has done me. The Roman Catholic merchant whom I mentioned before, has been again with me. He told me, that when I came from England I brought a letter for him, which is true, from a very dear friend, in which he was requested to come every day to see me, and talk with me, for I was neither a Roman Catholic, a Greek, an Armenian, nor belonging to any other denomination, but a Christian. He, however, never came. Shortly after my arrival I met him at the house of another merchant, and as I could not talk with him, my dear brother Pfander did; but nothing could exceed the timid reserve and coldness with which he answered all questions respecting religion. But yesterday he told me, "Now I do not fear to converse with you." Surely here is something gained. May the Lord grant me grace to pour in the sincere milk of the word. At present I see nothing more than a willingness to hear and consider; but this is almost like finding a spring in the desert, when you are parched with thirst. I have also received from Mr. Brandram, the Secretary of the Bible Society, a kind and generous letter from that noble institution, which enables me to enter on their work with all my heart, leaving the question of money free, and only seeking the soul's profit of those on whom their benefits are bestowed: if I obtain money, well--if not, I am only to seek a fair guarantee that the people will read and take care of the books I have without money full liberty to give. These books are arrived at Bussorah, so that when they reach me, what with those I already have, and those coming from Constantinople or Smyrna, I shall have quite a depository. All these circumstances at present make me determine to stay here, the Lord enabling me, though we again hear that the Persians are at Sulemania. I was lately informed that Capt. Chesney, with a gentleman from Bombay, and his wife, had endeavoured to pass on to Shiraz from Bushire; but that they were not allowed to enter that place. They next tried by Shuster, but from hence likewise they were obliged to turn back. They appear to have made a third trial with more success; but an Armenian, who was with me the other day, said he saw them at Ispahan stripped of every thing they had, and obliged to borrow money for their journey, which, as I have before observed, the English always obtain without the least difficulty. _October 9._ _Lord's Day._--It is just one fortnight since the Lord has laid me on the bed of sickness and suffering; for nearly a fortnight previous an attack of typhus fever had been making its steady advances. I had lost all appetite, strength, and ability to sleep, accompanied by that strange overwhelming depression of mind that inclines one to weep one knows not why. But this day fortnight I was completely laid by, and this is the first day I have had my clothes on since. _Oct. 11._--The Lord still allows me to feel convalescent, and I cannot but think of his mercies to me in my solitary and lonely situation, with all these tendencies to depression, which are concomitants of the disease. He sent me from time to time such cheering intelligence, as enabled me to hope his cause would prosper, and that all these turmoils were only the more speedily preparing the way for it. I certainly now close this journal with more of hope than I have been led to entertain for many months, yet not without some fears. The few Georgians that remained from the plague have been nearly all put to death, so that the Georgian government of Bagdad is, as I anticipated, now extinguished. The elements of disorder and weakness are so interwoven in this wretched government, that it will require a measure of energy and wisdom not often found united, to establish a better order of things; but I desire to leave all in the Lord's hands. I shall here then conclude my journal for the present, and most humbly and heartily pray, that all the trials, public and private, recorded in it, may redound to the glory of him who is the Lord of lords, and King of kings; and that my soul may not lose its portion of profit. * * * I had thought of finishing my journal for the present, but as it has been delayed going for want of an opportunity, I add the following. _Oct. 14._--All in the city is quiet yet. There is no apparent confidence: men seem waiting to see how things will turn out. Every thing is very dear, as it must necessarily be for some time. The greatest part of the inhabitants are dead, and many of the survivors have become rich, either by the death of relations or by robbery, and no one will do any thing without an exorbitant remuneration. I have just had a quantity of rice cleaned, for doing which, previously to the plague I gave a piastre and a half, and now I have given six piastres. We have an Armenian bishop coming here in the room of the priests who are dead. I know not what his plan of operation will be; but the Lord is on our side. I had a visit yesterday from the Abbé Troche, who has the superintendence of the Catholic mission here; he was very pleasant; but nothing particular passed, as many others were present. My conversations with the Roman Catholic merchant I have before mentioned, are still very open and free. Oh! may the Lord water and bless them. _Oct. 17._--Several of the elder boys, who had fled from the plague with their parents, have been with me since their return. My heart feels deeply interested about them; yet I see not plainly my way. I certainly never felt teaching in a school to be my proper work, and now much less than ever; yet they need instruction and desire it, and I think they are attached to me. May the Lord give me a wise and understanding heart, that I may rightly see the service he requires of me. I much wish for the counsel of my dear brethren at Aleppo; and perhaps the Lord may soon send some of them to me. _Oct. 18._--I have heard to-day we are to have no other Roman Catholic bishop in the room of him who is dead; nor any French Consul, but only an agent; this may take off many restraints; for the late bishop had given out we were worse than either the Mohammedans or Jews, and this had made a great impression on his flock; for he was a very liberal man, and therefore influential among them. However, I very much question if things will now be kept under the same restraint; so that should the Lord lead me to open the school again, I should not be surprised if many Roman Catholics came; for they all acknowledge that our boys learned more in three months than theirs in two years. The new Pasha is likewise exceedingly desirous of cultivating the closest friendship with our Resident, who has most kindly offered me any aid he can possibly lend me; and besides all this, the letters I have this day received from England and Ireland, shew me that my very dear friends have been making provision for my school; so that altogether, it seems to me the Lord's will I should try again; and in due time, when I am fit for other service, he may raise up help that will take this out of my hands. I desire to be ready to do any work, however humble and contrary to my nature, that I think the Lord appoints for me. I hear also, that at Aleppo, the French intend only having an Agent instead of a Consul; whereas, our government has just sent a Consul out to Damascus with an English merchant, and one to Aleppo, and last year we had a Consul established at Trebizond. I think Ali Pasha will do all in his power to promote the steam navigation of these rivers; and he is evidently a man of a very different character from the Georgians who preceded him. They cherished most of all the pride and pomp of Turkish power, with all its inveterate prejudices, ignorance, and narrowness of mind, so that if you had any business of the least difficulty, you could never get them to attend five minutes to it. But not so Ali Pasha: he apprehends with facility; and you at least have the satisfaction of knowing you are understood. He has been at Trieste, and in Hungary, and seems acquainted, to a limited extent, with several of the public journals of Europe. He dresses nearly as an European, and his brother-in-law quite so, with the exception of the hat; which is as yet very trying to the genuine Asiatics, who look on their own dress as that which it would be a sin to change. The Pasha also seems perfectly indifferent to hoarding money. Things in the city are still very dear, arising from the harvest of last year not having been reaped, and various other causes. We have to pay three times the usual price for most things; but after such tremendous visitations as we have suffered, we cannot expect that things can return to their usual course in a day. _Oct. 22._--I have had with me to-day a gentleman who was formerly attached to Mr. Morier's mission in Persia. He fled from the plague at Tabreez, and arrived at Kermanshah four days after dear brother Pfander left it, who, by his conversations in the caravan, had left so distinct an impression, that he thought Mohammed a liar, that when he reached Kermanshah, he found his situation very difficult, nay dangerous, and he was obliged hastily to quit it. He went to Hamadan, and remained there three days in the house of a priest, from whence he proceeded to Ispahan. All the villages between Hamadan and Ispahan are Armenian. The journey takes about ten days. When he arrived at Ispahan, Abbas Meerza being at Yezd, he went there, was treated with great honour and respect, and a firman given him to go where he liked: he returned to Ispahan, and from thence went to Tabreez, which place he reached before the plague broke out the second time. This account makes me long to hear from his own pen the course of the Lord's dealings with him. The same gentleman told me that the plague in Tabreez was much worse the second than the first time. Kermanshah is absolutely destroyed, and the governor, a grandson of the king, is reported to have collected from the property of the dead five lacs of piasters. In Kourdistan, also, they say it has been dreadful. In Saggas, Banah, and Sulemania, he says the desolation is shocking. How wonderful God's visitations on these nations are; it makes the soul that the Lord has appointed to be in the midst of them often say, Lord, let thy kingdom come; yea, speedily, that thy people may know peace and safety. I have sent to see the number of the poor little boys of my school that remain, and I find that they amount to 25 out of 80, and that I may expect near 30, should I get a master for them. I shall, therefore, endeavour to accomplish this, the Lord enabling me, and when I feel strong enough to begin again. I am very anxious about the dear N----'s at Tabreez, from whom I have not received a line. Abbas Meerza ordered large pits to be dug for those who died of the plague, and when they were full to have them covered in. The Ambassador, and the English, Russian, and other public functionaries, had fled, and from a packet that came from Capt. Campbell, who has now the charge of the mission since the death of Sir John Macdonald, we know that he was safe up to a late date. _Oct. 26._--I was much struck with an account which Mr. Swoboda, an Austrian merchant, gave me to-day, of a conversation he had with the brother-in-law of Ali Pasha. He said that now, in Stamboul, the Christians went to the mosque, and the Mohammedans to the Church; there was no difference. How strikingly this shows the rapid progress of that infidel spirit in these countries, which is spreading in Europe; surely these then are such signs as should keep us on the watch for our Lord. Accounts have just come that the struggle has commenced at Damascus, that supreme seat of bigotry, between the new and the old regime, and it remains to be seen how it will terminate. I already hear of one or two Roman Catholic boys, who will now come to the school, who before, during the life of the bishop, were afraid. My health I also feel daily establishing; and that I shall soon be able to enter on real labour again, with the Lord's blessing, I sincerely trust. _Oct. 27._--The affairs of the city appear daily more and more settling again; provisions are coming in in abundance, and the price gradually lowering. The roads also are becoming more open and safe: for all these signs of tranquility we bless the Lord and take courage, and trust we may yet serve him in this land of our pilgrimage. Also across the desert we hear the road is tranquil. _Oct. 28._--To-day the Jew called whom I mentioned in my journal of last year, as having come to Mr. Pfander: he is a Jewish Rabbi, who disbelieving Judaism, and possibly preferring Christianity, seems to be in both without heart or principle. He brought with him a Polish Jew, who is the tailor of Ali Pasha. He saw Mr. Wolff at Jerusalem, and speaks of him with high admiration. The Rabbi told me he was reading with him the German New Testament. May the Lord send his holy fire on the altar of their hearts, that they may really, heartily, and zealously enter into his truth. If there is any gift my soul longs for, it is to be able to speak to every one in his own tongue wherein he was born, the wonderful works of God; for want of this, in countries like this, where you are surrounded by many different languages, the heart gets overwhelmed with the difficulties that seem to spread on every side; as, for instance, with these Jews, they know little Arabic, and I do not know German, and thus we stand incapable of any such conversation as is likely to search the heart. _Nov. 1._--I have been reading with considerable attention the remarks, or rather reflections, of Jonathan Edwards, on the Life of Brainerd, wherein he endeavours to recommend to the Church of God, the _disinterested_ and _unmercenary_ love of God, by which he means the love of him for his abstract perfections apart from the consideration of any personal interest or happiness arising out of his especial love to his chosen. This is all very fine and very philosophical, but in my humble apprehension, most unscriptural. Does God any where in Scripture, when appealing to his chosen, or expostulating with them, argue on the ground of his abstract perfections, or of his especial love and distinguishing grace towards them? Throughout the Old Testament this is the controversy, not that they slighted his abstract perfections, but disregarded his especial favour. All the invitations to return, appeal to what Edwards would call the selfish and mercenary feelings. What! had not Moses respect unto the recompense of reward; and in all the 11th of the Hebrews, where is this abstraction held up? When our dear and blessed Lord exhorts to faithfulness, watchfulness, devotion, does he represent an abstraction as a motive, or without our own everlasting participation with him with whom there is fulness of joy for evermore. Paul thought it not mercenary to think on his crown, or to encourage his converts by the consideration, that present sorrow for the Lord, works for them a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Again, eye hath not seen nor ear heard the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. Our blessed Lord makes promises to whoever leaves father or mother for his sake,[42] and John encourages his disciples, by telling them that they were made sons of God, and that they were to be made like their Lord; he saw nothing debasing in this contemplation, but instantly adds, "he that hath this hope purifieth himself even as he is pure." This is the promise he hath promised even eternal life. In fact, the doctrine of rewards, as an incentive to the saints, prevails from one end to the other of the sacred volume. The notion that a love which springs from a sense of being beloved, must be selfish and mercenary, is the greatest delusion imaginable. It may be, and in proportion as its power is really known and felt, is the most holy, self-denying, pure, and devoted of all affections, an affection that seeketh not her own, but the glory of the object beloved. If Edwards would set up dear D. Brainerd and his Indians in favour of the abstract system, we may set up the Moravians and their Esquimaux in favour of the other. But why set up one set of worms and their conduct against another set of worms and theirs, when we have the record of God in our hands? Let us see how our Heavenly Father proposes himself to our love, confidence, and affections, and what incentives he proposes as inducements to the sinner to return, and the saint to persevere to the end, and not attempt to be wise above that which is written. That God is infinitely adorable in his abstract perfections I am sure, though I cannot fathom these abstract perfections, nor conceive of him but as revealed in his blessed word in connection with his chosen, and as personally exhibited by him who was the brightness of his Father's glory, and the express image of his person, and this is not in abstractions or apart from our happiness. [42] Matt. xix. 28, 29; Luke xviii. 29, 30. Again, when Edwards endeavours to prove it is enthusiasm in an individual to imagine that Christ, in an especial manner died for him, I think he destroys the peculiar stimulus to devotedness, which the doctrines of election in their widest latitude, contain above the doctrines of Armenianism, and he throws a coldness over all the doctrines of grace. In Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, David, Daniel, and others, with the Apostles of our Lord and Paul, it was both personal and open, but because not equally open to the rest of God's children, I do not believe the holy and blessed Spirit allows it to be less individual and personal. If, however, his opponents were practically such men as he describes, we cannot too deeply deplore it; but he writes so much more like the advocate of a sect, than an impartial enquirer after truth, that, without a particular knowledge of the case, one cannot help suspecting his picture of those he is writing against, to be very highly coloured. In fact, on the truth of God, it seems philosophical declamation, without scriptural proof: on the subject of his opponent, it is assertion in the lump, concerning masses of individuals, without proof or discrimination. _Nov. 4._--We have here now at the head of affairs, under the Pasha, one of those extraordinary men who are capable of any thing good or bad. Under Daoud Pasha he, for a long time, cruelly oppressed the people, but more especially the Jews, till at last a conspiracy was formed against him, and by the influence of the father of the Serof Bashee of the Pasha, who is one of the serofs, or bankers,[43] of the Sultan at Constantinople, an order was procured for his being put to death. Daoud Pasha did not execute this order, but imprisoned him, and as he had been the instrument of extorting money for him, he concluded he had not failed at the same time to enrich himself. In their endeavours to extort his money from him they drew the bow-string so tight that they nearly strangled him: however he recovered: he told them he had a certain sum of money, and where it was, which Daoud Pasha had previously agreed he should collect for himself. This his rapacious miserable master had the meanness to take from him. He had some friends who exerted themselves to save his life; which was spared. However, only a few days before the entrance of Ali Pasha, orders were again issued to put him to death, as he was detected holding communication with those without the city; but again intercession was made for him, and he was again spared. He was instantly taken into favour by Ali Pasha, on his entrance into the town, who has made him his treasurer and accountant-general (Musruff and Deftardar); and in fact, the whole business of the Pashalic is in his hands. He is at work night and day: till after midnight he is engaged in business, and long before dawn he is to be seen on horseback. He never sleeps at home, but each night at a different friend's house, though the Pasha gave him the best house (taken with all its accompaniments) in Bagdad. When the Pasha heard that Major Taylor's house, which is on the river, had suffered by the flood, he instantly gave it to him, and he now intends occupying it. This man is not only acquainted with all the internal affairs of the city, but he is connected with all the tribes of Arabs from Bussorah to Merdin; knows all their relations, enmities, friendships, and divisions, external as well as internal, and has ability and tact to take advantage of them. He is also acquainted with the agriculture of the country between the two rivers, and greatly desires to advance and improve it. What two such men as Ali Pasha and he may effect, should the Lord allow them to remain, it is impossible to conceive; but certainly great changes. He has now his old enemy, the Serof Bashee, in prison, and is bastinadoing him to get money out of him. But his general carriage to the inhabitants is much changed, though he has now twice the authority, which clearly, I think, manifests the altered temper of the government. To the English, he is a most devoted friend, and especially to the Resident, to whom he feels he owes his life, for he is at once a firm friend, and, I fear, an implacable enemy: one of those men from whom if you can once extort the assurance that you are safe, you may be at ease; whereas, in general, from the Pasha downwards, the more they assured you of your safety, the more reason you felt you had to fear. [43] The bankers in Turkey are generally Jews, and possessed of great wealth. _Nov. 7._--I have been to-day calling on several of the most respectable Roman Catholic merchants of this place, who have, some of them, repeatedly called on me; but, partly from want of health, and partly from want of spirits, I have not hitherto returned their visits. They received me with the greatest kindness, and the opportunities these visits afforded of bringing in God's word as the only standard of truth, I feel to be very valuable. It seems perfectly new to them to have the sentiments or conduct of themselves or others measured by this holy and blessed book; such a use they never in their lives saw made of it, so that it strikes them exceedingly; and the Lord's spirit may make something here or there rest on their hearts. I feel that the door for my particular line of usefulness is opening, and as I advance in the practical use of the language, I have confidence the Lord will yet shew me greater things than these. There is a new Roman Catholic priest here, formerly an Armenian. He has been trying to see if he can get my school boys to come to him if he opens a school: they have all refused; and this strengthens me in my purpose of not delaying the re-opening of mine longer than I am obliged. Should I not be able to get a master from Bussorah, for whom I have written, there has been an Armenian with me, who offers to come, a most respectable man; him, therefore, I may consider, as ready, should the other fail. Thus, the Lord provides. With my English class, I purpose, the Lord willing, to begin after another fortnight. My greatest difficulty will be I fear, to obtain an Arabic teacher; the mortality among the Mollahs has been enormous. Here then I shall end for the present, I fear this too long, and, in many respects, tedious, journal of the last five months, as the messenger goes to-morrow or the day after. * * * * * NOTES. Mr. Groves having so strongly expressed his condemnation of Mr. Erskine's view of Divine Truth, in pages 102, 103, and 104 of his Journal, the Editor, who believes Mr. Groves to be in error regarding the extent of the Atonement, has felt it to be a duty not to allow his statements to pass unaccompanied with a plain declaration of the truth. The following Notes on some of the principal points touched upon by Mr. Groves, have been contributed by a brother who bears him much love, the Rev. A. J. Scott, of Woolwich, not so much with any view of detailed discussions of Mr. Groves's positions, as simply to exhibit truth, as the best antidote to error. NOTE A, page 102. Mr. Groves has referred to the effects of system. One of the most important of these is, that opposite systems lead men to take such opposite views of the evidence itself by which the truth of the conflicting opinions must be tried. Of this he here furnishes an instance, in saying so strongly that the "sovereignty of God's government, and the individuality of God's election," are "represented by the Apostles as the most overwhelming reasons for unlimited devotion to his service, who has thus chosen us." Many of the very passages, doubtless, to which he would turn for the establishment of this assertion, would be enjoyed by others, as proofs how available is the general "kindness of God our Saviour towards _man_," as an argument for loving and serving him. When Paul persuades the Ephesians to "walk in love as Christ also hath loved _us_, and hath given himself for _us_;"[44] when Peter recommends to his brethren patient meekness in suffering, by the consideration that "Christ also suffered for _us_, the just for the unjust,"[45] the power of this over the mind of one man depends on his understanding by "_us_" the fallen world; and of another, on its reminding him only of distinguishing personal obligations to sovereign election. Now, suasives to holiness, or what are felt as such, as they continually recur in Scripture, produce on a devout mind a much deeper conviction of the truth of the doctrines from which they are derived, than a formal assertion can. When, by the same expressions, one man is habitually carried to this, another to that, view of the Divine character, and each experiences, that in what he sees, there is a practical tendency towards the state of the heart and form of life at which he aims as good: this becomes to each, as instances accumulate, a far stronger reason than bare propositions, could be for growing in confidence, that the belief which thus impresses him is indeed the truth of God. [44] Eph. v. 2. [45] 1 Pet. ii. 21. And one accustomed to observe the effects of system will not wonder that expressions like those above cited, still less that those in which Christ is spoken of as having "loved _the church_ and given himself for _it_," should thus come to be regarded as containing an argument for a selective atonement. It is by such a doctrine being perceived in them, that they practically impress the feelings of many. And yet, in truth, how are they inconsistent with the universal love of God and propitiation of Christ? Of course, where a common benefit is received, its efficacy, as a motive to grateful returns, is limited to those who recognize and value it. A patriot has delivered millions of ignorant, suspicious, ungrateful countrymen. His services are to be used as an argument for joining in some effort for his honour; and those who acknowledge and bless his exertions are especially addressed, and reminded that "he loved _you_, laboured for _you_, achieved happiness for _you_." Would this contain even an insinuation, that they were the exclusive objects of his disinterested ardour? In such an address not only would the common benefit be mentioned peculiarly as a good bestowed on themselves; but their acknowledgment of it, and their distinguishing susceptibility to the feeling of its worth, would be referred and appealed to, as reasons why that was looked for and demanded of them, which from others might be as justly asked, but not so naturally expected. Such appeals are the apostolic epistles to the churches, as contrasted with their proclamation of Christ to the world. NOTE B, page 103. The moral condition of man, his seeing no desirableness in the object presented to him by the Gospel, Mr. Erskine shews, at great length, to be the grand obstacle to his enjoying it. The capacity to know and believe, he indeed conceives to bring with it the capacity to enjoy. But if a change in the moral state is necessary in receiving the truth, this surely obviates the objection that such truth would be unpalatable and uninfluential to those whose moral state is _unchanged_. Our business, however, is not with Mr. E. but with the truth of the matter. Mr. Groves' remarks refer to the _nature_ of regeneration, and to the _necessity_ of a change in the affections, in order to man's appreciating the object presented to him in the Gospel: these he considers as objections to the doctrine that the simple knowledge and belief of that object are "the cause of spiritual life in the unregenerate;" and he uses the analogy of food, which he says, is not the cause of life, although it be the support of it. Certainly the contemplation of Jesus is not the cause, but it is the commencement and exercise of spiritual life, which needs no commencement of a distinct kind from its subsequent functions. As to the analogy of food, it will be seen whether the language of Scripture bears us out in making the same distinction between the source and the sustenance of spiritual, as of natural life. What, indeed, is meant to be asserted? Is it, that men have life in them _first_, to capacitate them to eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of Man? This seems to be said: but Himself hath said, "Except ye eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of Man, ye have _no_ life in you." Not life then without the food, or before the food, but _by_ the food. This banquet _is_ to be spread before the dead. Thus only shall any live. Is spirit and life in men first from another source, and then do they take and profit by his words? But "the entrance of his words _giveth_ light," and that light is life. "The words that I speak unto you," says the Lord, "_they_ are spirit, and they are life": and that spirit, the spirit of his words, he tells us it is that "quickeneth" or produceth life. Is there, then, no need for regeneration? Surely there is: but it does not follow that the principle of regeneration is one, and that of faith another to be superadded to it. "We are born," says Peter, "not of corruptible seed, but of the word of God, which liveth and abideth for ever;" adding, in very remarkable language, "This is the word which by the Gospel is preached unto you." An explanation which removes all doubt as to the meaning of James, when he says, "Of his own will begat he us with the word of truth," that is, according to Peter, with the Gospel preached. John, in like manner, tells us, that "whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world," and if we ask, what is born of God? Is it a principle antecedent and necessary to faith? He answers, It is faith itself. "This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." NOTE C, page 104. The question is not whether the scheme of salvation is merely reconcilable with divine love and justice, but how it constitutes the grand proof and manifestation of these attributes, and in general, of the perfections of God. In it he undertakes to shew himself worthy of love, and thus to win our love to himself. Any other means to that end than such as should prove his own worthiness, He could not use. One may confer a benefit on an individual from a thousand various motives, of which one only may be morally right. In event of any of the others having prompted the action, the benefactor may be regarded with gratitude, but then it is either because the motive is mistaken for the nobler one, or the gratitude is a mere reflected selfishness. As an example of the latter sort, the Jews, in the days of the Son of Man upon earth, had a love to God, a zeal for God, founded on their conviction of his partiality for their people. They regarded him as the God of the Jews only, and not also of the Gentiles. Its fruits were, their carrying the Lord to the brow of the hill to destroy him, because he reminded them of Naaman and the widow of Sarepta, as preferred to objects of bounty among their own people; and their endeavouring to tear Paul in pieces when he spake of a commission given him by Jesus to the Gentiles. They were indeed zealous, the apostle bears them witness in the Holy Ghost, and fully believed in God's sovereign election of their nation. There is yet a zeal like their's--let us beware of it. It will not do to represent the Gospel scheme of salvation as not only _leaving_, but involving, the moral character of God in difficulty; and then to say we can still believe him holy, just, and good notwithstanding. The atonement was designed to prove and establish these attributes: to be the ground of our confidence in them, and of our love to God because of them. We are not to believe in them in spite of the plan of redemption; but, because of the plan of redemption. The words of John, "we love him because he first loved us," and "herein is the love of God manifested towards us, because he sent his Son into the world that we might live through him," imply that the believer's delight in the essential excellence of God (which delight alone is divine love) springs out of the display of that excellence in the cross of Christ. An atonement for all, arising out of love to all, proves that it is indeed justice that inflicts vengeance on the impenitent; not partial, personal hatred, not indifference, not cruelty. A limited atonement, just because it gives no proof that they are beloved--gives no proof that nothing else than justice could have punished them. It gives, on the other hand, no proof that forgiving love has been that which saved the elect, as it is to an arbitrary distinction it teaches them to look as the ultimate cause of their hope. I care not to be told that they acknowledge love in their salvation notwithstanding. I repeat, the redemption is to _prove_ the divine character, not merely to leave us the possibility of believing it. Finally, This scheme obliges to believe that Jesus has broken the law, and transgression of the law is sin. This he assuredly did, if he loved not all mankind as himself. It is an ignorant answer to say, that for him to break the law was not sin. To break the moral law, and to be a sinner, are not things arbitrarily put together; they are two names for the same thing. It is worse to say he need not keep the law because he was God. The law is the transcript of the character of God: opposition to it is opposition to that character. Made of woman, besides, he was made under the law. All praises of his goodness and moral perfection are so many varied expressions for the completeness with which he kept the law. And oh! indeed, what part of it so peculiarly his own, as to love his neighbour as himself? I say, therefore, again, to limit the divine love, to limit the atonement, the grand expression of that love, is to limit the love of Christ, and thus to make Christ a sinner. He that hath seen him hath seen the Father. No moral difference surely is so great as that between a breaker and a keeper of the law of love. What a moral difference, then, between the character of a God manifested in the one form and in the other. APPENDIX. The following letters are added, because they contain some interesting details of the Lord's dealings with this our dear brother, which are not contained in the Journal. And the reader will observe, that the last letter is of a later date than the conclusion of the Journal. BAGDAD, _Oct. 15th, 1831._ The Lord has just raised me up from a typhus fever, which, for the last month, has been pressing a little hard on my strength, but more on my spirits. The loss of my dearest Mary was so deeply felt by my poor desolate heart, that, at times, I bore up with difficulty; but the Lord shewed me that my sorrow was so selfish, so earthly, so unworthy of his love, and poured in besides such hopes and prospects as to my future work, that sustained and comforted me. I send with this a Journal of four months, from which you will see what has been passing amongst us. I have lately received many letters from my dear brethren at Aleppo, and I think either Mr. Cronin or Mr. and Mrs. Parnell will come to me the first opportunity, which will be an unspeakable relief to my mind; for I long for some one to whom I may unburthen my soul; for although my Lord is always near, yet, as I see in Paul, so I find in myself, that the society of Christian brethren and sisters, so long as we are in the flesh, will always afford a sweet consolation. I feel that Jesus meant his Church to be a body, not isolated members. We have each a little ministry essential to the happiness and building up of the mystical body--that there should be no schism, but that all the members might love and care one for the other. This place has been governed by Georgians, Apostate Christians, just as the Memelukes, another race of Apostate Christians, formerly governed Egypt. The Sultan has extirpated the first, and now the second, and the Janissaries who had a somewhat similar origin, have, at Stamboul, experienced a similar fate. Those of the Georgians who have had their lives spared will be sent to Stamboul. It is certainly the design of Ali Pasha and the Sultan, to make many changes here, and I wait to see the Lord's goings. It appears to me probable that most important openings may be afforded by these changes to our operations in these quarters: but I have seen such things these last twelve months, that my soul rests only upon God, to see how he will move. His ways are so deep, so out of sight, that what we think likely, He, in a month, brings to nothing, and yet in his own good time, will bring the most wonderful and unexpected things to pass. I have never ceased to bless God for the sweet assurance of his unchanging love, for the sake of Him who is our life, our dear and blessed Jesus. He has supplied me, I know not how, in the midst of famine, pestilence, and war; and though I have heard from none in England for more than a year, especially from those that supply my wants, the Lord has not suffered me to want, or to be in debt, and though the necessaries of life have amounted to almost twenty times their value during our late trials, he has not suffered me personally to be much affected by it. His loving-kindness and care have been wonderful. Of all the political and religious agitations of England, I have heard only whispers; but I am very anxious to receive a full account. For many months all communication has been entirely cut off; not a message has come though the road has now been open a month. The Lord has graciously allowed me to see the signs of spiritual life in three souls of late, through my instrumentality; and as the Lord gives me utterance, I trust I shall be able to speak to many others. The difficulties of the language are fading away one by one. I had occasion to translate a public document from the new Pasha to the Resident at Bussorah, concerning business of the utmost importance and secrecy, in which the Resident, who is a most competent judge, tells me I succeeded fully. I often think my dear friends in England will be sadly discouraged at the Lord's dealings with our mission: so difficult is it to act faith in dark seasons. However, should their faith and hope fail, the Lord will either raise up others or find me some little occupation by which I may live. His goodness in the way of provision has been so wonderfully manifested, that my heart feels quite easy that He will find a way for the support of his servant. _Oct. 24._--Since writing the above, I have received your letter of March last, by Bombay. Oh! how welcome it came! Oh! how it refreshed me! Surely there exists not in the world a more loving little Church than these dear believers amongst whom the Lord has brought us into one fellowship. I assure you, widely as I am separated from this beloved family in body, I am truly one with them in spirit, and am greatly refreshed by the springs of the Lord's grace, that run amongst them. I received several letters with yours, from England and Ireland; and the zeal of those dear friends who had provided for my school, made me finally determine, the Lord willing, and supplying me masters, to try again. I have sent one of the bigger boys round, and I trust, with new boys, I shall begin with thirty. The Bible Society have sent me a number of Books with a generous letter, nobly generous as to the principles of distribution. And there appears a prospect of great changes which may open a much wider door of usefulness here than I now have: I had thoughts of leaving this place, but the Resident entreats me not to go, and promises, should any thing happen to me, that he will be a father to my dear boys, till he can send them by an unexceptionable opportunity to England. All these things make me feel that the Lord still means me to stay here, and see his salvation.--Infidelity is making open and manifest strides amongst the Mohammedans on the other side of the desert, and in Persia, and we shall soon see the same spirit that is working in Europe working here: amidst these tempests, I sometimes think 'tis hard to live. Yet, my dear friend, it is sweet to live hardly for Jesus. After all my sufferings and all my sorrows, my heart is not discouraged. We have first the clods of the language to break up, then to prepare the ground, then to sow the seed, and through all to look for the precious showers from on high, and lastly for the fruit. Let us, then, like the husbandman patiently wait. The evil of the pressure of the world on the soul I feel as fully as you can do; not the luxurious worldliness of Europe, yet the pursuit of the language, and the absolute uncongeniality of all around, disorders the soul greatly. During Mary's life, or rather pilgrimage, I never wanted spiritual refreshment; I sometimes used to fear it stole away those hours that the language and other calls demanded; but now whilst I am sensibly proceeding in the language, my soul knows not that animated joy of heavenly communion with the saints on earth which I once enjoyed. Jesus still is near, still comforts and supports; but yet I feel he meant his Church to be a body. The miserable substitute of man's ordination for the Holy Ghost's, has destroyed the true unison and order of the Church of Christ, by substituting that which is artificial for that which is of God; by appointing man to be the artificer of a work God alone can accomplish. Now the Church presents a monstrous aspect, a great mis-shapen head called the clergy, and as mis-shapen a body called the laity. All the members being crowded into the head, and leaving the body without office or service, this did not the Spirit. How blessed it is among all these disorders to know that the Lord cares for his own, and will keep them as the apple of his eye, watching day and night lest any hurt them. Thus, were we preserved when we little thought it, by our Shepherd's care. There is something, I think, in this view of the body being thus composed of members of various orders, various services, from the most minute to the most important, all tending to the one great end, the glory of the only Head and the Church's glory in him, that greatly comforts the weak. When the Lord first led me to feel interested in the service of his cause abroad, I framed to myself some _beau-ideal_ of a missionary that if I now entertained would destroy all happiness. Since the Lord has led me to see how truly low my place is in his holy blessed body, amidst all this humiliation he makes me feel happy in the thought I am a member, though embracing little that pride would lead to aim at. If I am but allowed to minister to my dear and holy brethren on the other side of the desert I shall feel happy and thankful. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with the condescension that he should allow me to feel part of his mystical body, though so weak so useless. On the subject of baptism all the dear brethren at Aleppo have finally agreed and been baptized; thus the last little difference that I know between us is closed. How gracious the Lord is! The Lord has laid his hand heavily on them. Dear Newman is but just raised from a bed of sickness. The schoolmaster whom they brought is so unwell, that dear John Parnell and his wife have taken him for the change of air to the water's side; they too have both been very ill. Mrs. Cronan is daily getting weaker and weaker, so they are prevented joining me now from ill health, as before from the disturbances, and in a short time Mrs. Parnell expects to be confined, which will still delay them, as well as the expectation of a friend or two from England and Ireland. Should the Lord not remove these difficulties to their coming before the spring, and my Bibles and Testaments arrive from Bussorah, I purpose, the Lord willing, perhaps even in about two months, going by the way of Mosul, Merdin, Diarbekr, Orsa, and Beer to Aleppo, there to consult and to be refreshed, should the Lord graciously smile upon us, and in my way to distribute his word and see the state of the places above mentioned. When Mr. Newman was at the worst, and they had given up all hopes of him, they anointed him with oil according to the 14th of the 5th of James, and prayed over him, and the Lord had mercy on them, yea, and on me also, and restored him. It seems to me truly scriptural, and if the Church of Rome has perverted it to superstitious ends, ought we therefore to cast aside so plain a precept? By many it would be called plain popery, but this we must bear. I can feel a happiness in submitting to these directions of the Lord by the Spirit; they seem to us little, but surely whatsoever is of sufficient importance for the Spirit to command or direct, is sufficiently important for us worms to obey. With regard to miracles my mind is not at present prepared to embrace them fully: but this I do feel that the Apostle Paul, in Corinthians 12 and 14, when speaking of supernatural gifts for the edifying the Church and doing the work of God, points them out as things to be desired and prayed for then, and if they were desired to be prayed for then, why not now? I look on the argument from experience in the churches as of no weight, for unless it can be proved the churches have received faith on these powers, their not possessing the power is according to the whole analogy of faith. That distinguishing between apostolic times and present times is to my mind so dangerous a principle, and puts into the hands of any one so disposed, a sword that seems to me to reach the very vitals of the Gospel. I would have you pray for me, especially that Christ may be in me daily, my glorious loving Lord and satisfying portion, whose presence can make even this waste howling wilderness like the garden of Eden. Little did I think how poor I was in the anointed Lamb of God till he stripped me bare, and left me here to stand months alone with himself, and then I saw how much of that apparent love and zeal I felt flowed from human fountains. I bless his name, he left me yet a little while untainted to cheer, support, and comfort me, but my stature, my dear friend, I pray I may not again, mistake nor think I am approaching towards manhood when a very child in spiritual growth. When surrounded by all the love and kindness I experienced amongst you, encouraged by your sympathy and prayers, those thousand weaknesses I since have felt I hardly know the smart of. Amidst dangers, sorrows, and death I have walked for many months; and these scenes have tried the very foundation, yet it was most gracious of the Lord, when he let the plague reach me and laid me on my couch to give me the sweetest comfort from a full assurance of his favour and forgiveness, when there was as I thought but a step between me and death. Yet whilst he has never left me without the sense of being his, He has shewn me how much I have to aim at, how earnestly to desire to be filled with all his fulness. BAGDAD, _Dec. 25th, 1831_. Your most kind and welcome letter arrived this day, together with several others from my beloved friends in England, all by Bombay. It does, indeed, truly refresh my heart, to hear of the Lord's love to you all. Do you not praise God for these dear brothers and sisters he has given us? How rich we are in our sweet little church; a more loving, holy, and blessed little family cannot surely be found upon earth. Unworthy as I am to be one of you, yet I bless God that I am one. My heart is running over with thankfulness at the Lord's goodness to you all, and to me through you, and be not discouraged because I am blasted, and my bough no longer green, as it once was, the Lord has yet dealt most bountifully with me. In all but my dear Mary's place my path is opening again. I have hired one schoolmaster, and expect another. My English boys are most zealous and attached: my prospects of Bible circulation in Persia much opening. To the Jews here I have sold all my Hebrew Bibles, at about 3s. 6d. each: this is more to them than 12s. would be in England, and though it seems little, it answers an end of getting God's word amongst them. I had an Armenian bishop with me the other day, asking for Persian Testaments to send to Ispahan; and a Roman Catholic merchant has promised to take a parcel for me to Teheran, and to distribute them there. Besides these there are others whom I hope to find subservient to this end. For some days I had been making preparations to cross the desert, in order to consult with my dear brethren there about our future measures; but when I came to put together all the items of expense, I found I had not money enough, so I gave up the plan of going with my dear boys, and proposed waiting till Major Taylor came, and leaving them in the Residency, under his and dear Mrs. Taylor's kind care, to go alone. Your letter, however, has relieved all my pecuniary difficulties, and we shall now go altogether or remain together. The love of you all in thinking of and caring for me quite overwhelms me, as I see it to be the Lord's love in and through you all. He not only feeds us in this wilderness, but also provides for the school, so as to overwhelm me with a sense of his care over the most unworthy of his servants. My wonder is, how it is possible for me to love him so little. Since I left England, this is the first purpose I really thought desirable, that the want of sufficient money has put a stop to; and this you see but for a moment; not but that I can get money at any time, but I am determined not to borrow money till my affairs come to the utmost straits, and then only for the simplest necessaries. I have received a letter from England, which gives me a painful impression of the state of most of the religious societies. Indeed, I fear they cannot stand on their present basis. May the Lord gently lead them right. The spirit of compromise to gain the world has ruined all; yet are there some sweet spirits amongst them. I would rather have the love that could love amidst a thousand faults, than the zeal that will endure but one. Some, I know, would call this a sickly sort of feeling, but the more I see of their fiery condemnation and sarcastic scorn, the more I am sure it is not of Christ. It is only turning the truth of God into a sort of chimney for the escape of nature's pride and passion. My second plan for going to Aleppo has been defeated by my having heard a very bad account of the Arab Sheikh of the Caravan. The Lord graciously gave me an opportunity of seeing his true character before I was alone involved with him in the desert, where, indeed, you are fearfully at their mercy, and where they have so many means of oppressing you. _Dec. 29._--How gracious it was of the Lord to send me your letter, just before expense became inevitable, for either for the journey, or for shutting up; you must expend money, as during the time of the plague raging, you can obtain nothing, not even bread, and, if you could, you would be afraid to use it. What unspeakable peace it brings to the soul to have Jesus to look to, and to know that his eye is not averted, though all seems dark. Blessed doctrines of grace! how they comfort when the soul would sink under sin: to know that for Christ's sake we are pardoned. Yea, though we have played the harlot with many lovers, the Lord has restored us, and decked us for his bride against the day of his espousals. Oh what a day, the day of the marriage supper of the Lamb will be, may our hearts be waiting for it, with holy expectation. Pray for me that my faith fail not, nor my Lord's love even appear little in my eyes; but that I may always be enabled to say, "Though he slay me yet will I trust in him." If it be, that all my hopes finish, may his holy blessed will be done. I often wonder how he keeps up my hope as he does; but still I do hope even against hope: and I would call upon you, and all my dear friends, brethren, and sisters in Christ, to rejoice with me at the prospect of that blessed day which is dawning upon us, when we shall see our beloved as he is, and dwell with him for ever, when our vile bodies will be changed and made like unto his glorious body, when the whole number of his elect family will be completed, and we shall reign with him in glory. _Jan. 16, 1832._--My dear little boy, Frank, is just laid down in a fever, so I cannot now go to Aleppo. Thus the Lord frustrates all our plans and purposes. THE END. 
38714	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: A DASH FOR LIBERTY] CARRY ON! _A STORY OF THE FIGHT FOR BAGDAD_ BY HERBERT STRANG ILLUSTRATED BY H. K. ELCOCK AND H. EVISON HUMPHREY MILFORD OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPE TOWN, BOMBAY PRINTED 1917 IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD. BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. CONTENTS CHAP. I A TELL NEAR BABYLON II THE GAPING JAWS III THE BARBER'S APPRENTICE IV THE SHAVING OF BURCKHARDT V SECRET SERVICE VI THE DERVISH HEZAR VII A MAD RACE VIII ACROSS THE EUPHRATES IX FRIENDS OR FOES? X THE TRYST XI THE TRAP XII A REARGUARD ACTION XIII IN THE BRITISH LINES XIV THE ENEMY'S GUNS XV A RAID XVI CLOSING IN XVII RAISING THE SIEGE XVIII THE TIMELY BOMB LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS COLOUR FRONTISPIECE BY H. K. ELCOCK. A DASH FOR LIBERTY (see p. 102), DRAWINGS IN LINE BY H. EVISON. THE STRUGGLE ON THE TELL A MOUTHFUL OF SOAP THE PRISONER THE LAST SHOT A CAPTIVE IN BONDS STRANDED MAJOR BURCKHARDT IS DISTURBED THE DASH FOR THE MACHINE-GUN THE BARBER IS MOBBED CHAPTER I A TELL NEAR BABYLON Mesopotamia, "the land between the rivers," has been brought by Time's revolution once more into the foreground of the history of the world. The plains where Abraham, Isaac and Jacob tended their flocks and herds; where the hosts of Sennacherib, Shalmaneser and Alexander contended for "world-power" in their day; where the Arabs, heirs of ancient civilisations, reared a civilisation of their own until it fell under the blight of Turkish dominion: have become once more the battle-ground of opposing armies, the representatives of conflicting spirits and ideals. This fertile land, whose history dates back many thousands of years, has long lain desolate. Swamps and marshes and the floods of the Tigris and the Euphrates cover immense tracts that were once the granary of the middle East. The old canals and irrigation works constructed by Babylonians and Assyrians are now obliterated by sand. Where once large populations throve and cultivated literature and the arts, now roam only a few tribes of Arabs, degenerate descendants of the race that at one time led the world in the things of the mind. Mesopotamia is the "abomination of desolation." Here and there a mound--known to archæologists as a _tell_--marks the site of a buried city, and excavation has brought to light the remains of palaces and monumental tombs, and temples where "pale-eyed priests" chanted incantations to Assur and Ishtar and Merodach--the Baalim and Ashtoreth of the Bible. It was at one such _tell_ that the story to be unfolded in the following pages had its beginning. Early one morning in the autumn of 1916, any one who had chanced to be standing on this _tell_ would have noticed, far in the eastern sky, a moving speck. It might have been a gigantic bird, but that, as it approached, its flight was swifter, more direct, more noisy. As it came nearer, it swept round in an immense circle, then descended in a spiral course, skimmed the surface of the _tell_, and finally alighted on a clear and level stretch of ground on the western side. Through all its ages of solitude the _tell_ had never known so strange a visitant. The shades of ancient priests and soothsayers might be imagined to shrink away from this intruder upon their haunts. What had remotest antiquity to do with this symbol of modernity, the last word in scientific invention in a world of scientific marvels? Some such thoughts as these seemed to grip one of the two young men who disengaged themselves from the aeroplane. "So this is your _tell_!" cried the elder of the two, in the loud tones that bespeak a cheerful soul. He looked with an air of mockery at the rugged contours of the mound. "Hush, Ellingford!" said the other, in a stage whisper. "We are trespassers--on a spot where Assyrians worshipped when Rome was still a village." "Well, _they_ can't hear us. What's more to the point, the Arabs can, if they're about; so hurry up." "Hopelessly matter-of-fact; everlastingly practical! Here are we, in the very nursery and cradle of mankind; yet you can't spare half a thought for the past! You live altogether in the present----" "Look here, Burnet," said the other, cutting him short; "if you don't stop gassing we shall neither of us live in the future. Before you can say Jack Robinson--or Beelzebub, if you prefer it--we may have a swarm of Arabs round us with Mauser rifles and explosive bullets. I'm responsible for this machine. So buck up. You can commune with the spirits of the past when I am gone." Captain Ellingford spoke good-humouredly, but with an undertone of seriousness. Roger Burnet laughed. "Righto," he said. "I'll not keep you." He glanced keenly around, as if looking for some landmark; then, having found what he sought, set off with quick step towards a group of ruins near the centre of the _tell_, about a hundred and fifty yards from where the aeroplane had landed. Captain Ellingford, first looking in all directions to assure himself that no one was near, followed his companion, ever and anon throwing a glance backward: he was loth to leave his machine. The surface of the _tell_ was irregular. At one part you would find a smooth expanse of sand; at another, drifted heaps, fragments of rubble, brick and stone; at a third, larger blocks of stone, broken columns, chips of cornice and frieze. Only at one spot was there any substantial relic of the ancient buildings. The lower portion of what had once been a magnificent gateway or porch, together with the remains of the adjacent walls, rose above the surrounding litter. Each side of the portal was formed of what appeared to be a massive solid block, carved to the image of some strange colossal animal, its mouth gaping in a hideous grimace, like the gargoyles on a medieval church. Through this gateway Burnet passed; then he turned to the right, stooped, and with a piece of broken sherd began to scrape away the sand from an area several feet square. Presently there was revealed a flat slab of stone, which, when he had cleared its edges of sand, he lifted, revealing a shallow flight of steps. "Here we are," he said, turning to his companion. "We discovered it when we were digging here a few years ago, my poor old father and I, and covered it up, meaning to return. There was a German grubbing about in the neighbourhood, and my father didn't want any poaching on what he considered his preserves. But he never had a chance to come back. Come down and have a look." He led the way down into a small subterranean room or cellar, and flashing his electric torch, pointed out strange markings on the walls. "Queer hobby," remarked Ellingford. "Well, I must get back to the bus. Don't like leaving it so long." They returned to the aeroplane. Burnet took a bundle from it. Ellingford got into his seat, saying: "A month from now, then. I'll be here unless I'm pipped. Take care of yourself. Good luck!" He started the engine. Burnet helped him to shove off; the machine jolted over the rough ground, rose into the air, and in five minutes was out of sight. CHAPTER II THE GAPING JAWS Burnet ascended to the highest point of the _tell_, and, unstrapping a pair of field glasses, made a careful survey of his surroundings. The country between himself and the river consisted mainly of swamp and marsh, dotted with islands of various sizes. There were no dwellings within view, but Burnet knew that the region was inhabited, though sparsely, and the flight of the aeroplane, its descent near the _tell_, its subsequent departure, must have been noticed by a certain number of Arabs. Curiosity, if no other motive, would impel any who were near to hasten to the spot; but he saw no movement on all the wide expanse around except among the birds of the marsh; and reflecting that those Arabs who had witnessed the return flight of the aeroplane would not guess that it had left a passenger behind, he restored the glasses to their case, and prepared to complete the errand that had brought him to the spot. Descending to the foot of the _tell_, he made his way to a wady that bordered it on one side. A sluggish current of muddy water flowed through the channel, whose banks were thickly overgrown with reeds. A number of these he cut with his pocket-knife, binding the stalks with tendrils of a trailing plant. With this faggot of reeds in one hand and the bundle he had taken from the aeroplane in the other, he returned to the ruins on the tell. There he stuck the former in the grinning mouth of one of the grotesque animals at the porch; then he passed inside, and once more descended into the underground room, this time, however, letting the stone slab drop into its place above. A few seconds later the bundle of reeds hanging out of the monster's mouth disappeared. The animal, so far from being a solid block, as it appeared, was hollow, and Burnet had climbed into it by means of notches in the wall at one corner of the cellar. He withdrew the reeds: next moment they reappeared at a similar orifice on the other side of the figure, which, like Janus, was double-faced, and with this roughly extemporised broom he swept a quantity of sand over the slab, until it was hidden sufficiently to pass unnoticed except by a careful observer acquainted with its position. This done, he drew the broom back and took it down with him to the dark and airless chamber below. If any watching Arab had seen the young British officer disappear into the earth, he would have been somewhat startled, some twenty minutes later, when the slab was lifted again and an Arab lad cautiously emerged. His head was swathed in a strip of parti-coloured cloth held in position by two thick rings of camel's hair; a dirty, shapeless, yellowish robe descended to his knees; his legs, remarkably brown, were bare; his feet were encased in leather-thonged sandals. He carried a small bundle; across his shoulder was slung a British regulation water-bottle--the only article by which he could have been distinguished from the boatmen who might be seen any day on the Tigris. He lowered the slab, swept sand over it, obliterated the footprints around, and having thrust his reed-broom into the mouth of the stone animal, picked his way through the ruins to the north-west corner of the _tell_, where an uninterrupted view of the country could be obtained. He was just turning the corner of a rugged wall when, beneath him at a distance of barely twenty yards, he saw a young Arab rushing up the slope, stumbling, recovering himself, his eyes directed always to his feet. Burnet edged backwards round the corner, and was out of sight when the Arab gained the top. But there was now only a few yards between them; in a second or two the Arab would himself turn the corner, and Burnet saw that if he made a dash for the nearest cover in his rear he must inevitably be observed by the stranger before he could reach it. Whipping out a pistol as a precaution--for he knew not whether the Arab was friend or foe--he stood back. The Arab darted round the corner at racing speed, saw the pistol pointed at him, and swerving slightly grabbed at Burnet's wrist. The sudden wrench jerked the pistol out of his hands and at the same time caused both men to lose their balance. Burnet, the first to recover himself, freed his arm with a dexterous twist, and the two men closed, stumbling and swaying over the broken surface of the _tell_. [Illustration: THE STRUGGLE ON THE TELL] As soon, however, as Burnet got a firm hold the issue was not long in doubt. The Arab wriggled like an eel, but he was no match for the Englishman either in physical strength or in athletic skill. Moreover he was already winded by his impetuous rush over the heavy ground. Burnet freed himself without much difficulty from his opponent's grip: then, getting his hand behind the Arab's neck in the position known to the wrestler as the "half-nelson," he forced him downwards and finally threw him helpless into a pocket of sand. In a few seconds he had secured the man's weapons--a clumsy pistol and a crooked dagger called _shabriyeh_--and regained his own pistol. Then he stood above the Arab, who now lay on his back, staring up at the supposed fellow-Arab who had thrown him so easily and in a manner so unfamiliar. The stranger was no older than Burnet himself. He was an Arab of the best type, with handsome features and intelligent and fearless eyes. "Rise, I pray you, brother," said Burnet in Arabic. "We have somewhat to say one to the other." The Arab got up quickly. Puzzled as he had been by the wrestling trick, he was still more puzzled by the friendly manner of the man who had vanquished him, and especially by the slight smile that accompanied his words. He fixed his keen eyes on Burnet's face, but said nothing. "I am alone here, as you see," Burnet went on, "and in these times, when it is hard to know friends from foes, a man must needs take care. We are strangers, yet it may be that we are also friends." The Arab assented merely with a word, but did not relax his attitude of watchfulness. This man who spoke to him used good Arabic, but was more direct and less given to expletives than the average Arab. "You are my captive," Burnet continued. "Tell me who you are, whence you come, and why you ran hither in such headlong haste." "My lips are dry; give me drink," said the Arab. "By the grace of Allah I have fresh water--not like the foul water of the swamp," said Burnet, unscrewing the stopper of his water-bottle. "Drink, brother." The young man took a deep draught, returned the bottle with a word of thanks, and said: "My tongue will speak true things, and Allah judge between us." Burnet threw a keen glance around the horizon, then sat down on a broken block of stone, inviting the Arab to sit opposite him. And then the young man began his story. His name was Rejeb, and he was the chief of a clan of the Anazeh whose territory lay on the far side of the Euphrates. His father, now some years dead, had been a lifelong rebel against the Turkish rule, and in his last year had suffered a disastrous defeat through the defection and treachery of another chief who had been his ally. In this final battle he had lost his life; his people had escaped extermination only by fleeing into the desert. Since the outbreak of the Great War they had gradually reoccupied their old districts, the Turks having enough to do without taking measures to suppress so unimportant an enemy. It was otherwise, however, with the treacherous tribe which had been his father's ruin. For some time its chief, Halil, had made no sign: his fighting strength was greatly reduced through the fact that many of his men were with the Turks. But after the British failure to relieve Kut he had collected a considerable force, and taking advantage of Rejeb's absence at Kerbela he had first cut off the young man's tribe and then attacked it. The tribe, after a stout resistance, had made good its retreat across the Euphrates, to a fastness in the swamps. Rejeb, on his way back from Kerbela, had been met by a messenger with news of the reverse, and, changing his route in order to rejoin his people, had been chased by a party of Halil's horsemen. In eluding them he had lost touch with the messenger who had hitherto accompanied him; his horse had foundered, and the only course then open to him was to swim the Euphrates on a skin. This he had done, and thought himself safe, when the reappearance of his pursuers revived his anxieties. Fortunately their horses were useless in the swamps, and on foot he had reasonable hope of escaping them. An hour or so, however, before his arrival at the _tell_, he had only just succeeded in giving their main party the slip. The direction of his flight had been seen by three or four of their number who had separated from the rest, and he did not doubt that these three or four, if not the whole body, had tracked him and before long would reach the _tell_. Rejeb's story was told rapidly, and with an air of sincerity that would have disarmed suspicion even in one far more sceptical by nature than Roger Burnet. The news that men of a hostile tribe in Turkish pay were hastening to this spot was very disturbing. Burnet knew that he was in fully as much danger from his captive's pursuers as the captive himself. His disguise might pass muster; the story he had invented to account for the presence of a solitary boatman so far from the river, if he were challenged, was sufficiently plausible; but if he was found in the company of the young chief whom Halil's men were hounding down he would certainly be seized and carried to Halil for examination at least. He had very little time in which to secure himself. The obvious course was to release Rejeb, who would no doubt continue in the direction he had been going, and as soon as he was out of sight, to take refuge in the subterranean room until the chase was past. But the young chief was jaded, worn out by his hurried flight and the subsequent struggle on the tell. It was almost certain that he would be run down. Burnet had taken an instinctive liking to him; he could not give him up to his enemies, who were at the same time enemies of the British. After a few moments' reflection he turned suddenly to the Arab and said: "If I save you from the hands of Halil, will you swear by the beard of the Prophet not to play me false?" Rejeb was apparently staggered by this strange offer from a man with whom, a few minutes before, he had been locked in fierce struggle--a man, moreover, who had given no account of himself and about whom there was something mysterious. He flashed a keen questioning glance at Burnet, as if fearful of a trap. "You are no boatman?" he said slowly. "And if I am not? What is that to you if I am a friend?" The Arab hesitated for a brief moment. Then perhaps it occurred to him that his situation could scarcely be worse than it was; perhaps he was mutually attracted to this young man of his own age. At any rate, after the slightest pause, he said, raising his hand: "By the beard of the Prophet I swear it." During this conversation the two men had remained behind the wall, Burnet every now and then peering through a gap in the masonry in the direction from which the Arab had come. He now suggested that Rejeb should go to the corner and keep watch for the pursuers. Having left his field glasses with the rest of his equipment in the underground room, he was less able than the keener-sighted Arab to view the distant country. Rejeb went to the corner and flattened himself against the wall with the instinct for cover natural to a dweller in the wilds. In a few moments he beckoned to Burnet with one hand, the rest of his body remaining motionless. When Burnet joined him, he asked him to look at a large bed of rushes some distance to the north-west. Shading his eyes with his hand, and careful not to expose himself, Burnet gazed towards the spot indicated, and was soon able to make out five or six figures moving among the reeds and advancing straight towards the tell. Burnet led the Arab to the central ruins and through the porch to the entrance of the underground room. Raising the slab they descended; then Burnet mounted into the interior of the colossal animal in which he had left his broom, and swept sand over the slab and the nearest footprints as before. He had hardly withdrawn the broom when he heard shuffling footsteps on the rough ground beyond the wall, and looked out through the wide mouth of the image. It was almost completely dark within, and in the unlikely event of any enquirer thinking to peer into the jaws of the colossus he could escape discovery by stooping. In a few minutes a tall Arab appeared round the corner of the wall. He was followed at short intervals by four others. All were stalwart sinewy warriors of the desert, bristling with arms. They hunted through the ruins like a pack of dogs that have lost the scent. Here one would point to the impressions of sandals, and the rest followed him as he traced them along the wall and up to the portico. Burnet watched them without much anxiety, for he had taken care that no tell-tale footmarks remained around the slab; and knowing that the tracks that were visible led both towards and away from the ruins, he guessed that the Arabs would suppose that their quarry had come and returned. Their actions justified him. They traced the marks back to the wall, then back again to the portico, beneath which they stood to consult together. From the few words that Burnet caught it was clear that they had seen Rejeb mount the tell, and they supposed that he had crossed it and pursued his journey on the other side. Presently one of them climbed a pile of rubbish from which he could scan the surrounding country. The fugitive could not have gone any great distance, and he must become visible on one or other of the open spaces between the beds of rushes. The scout's four companions meanwhile threw themselves down in the shade of the portico to rest. Secure in his hiding-place, Burnet felt some amusement at the situation. He went down to the chamber beneath, and, warning Rejeb against making any sound, took him up to his peep-hole and showed him the figure of his enemy looking for him. It was some time before the Arab gave up his vain task and returned to his companions. They came to the conclusion that the fugitive must be lying hidden among the rushes near the _tell_, and separating, started to scour the vicinity thoroughly. They went methodically through clump after clump until Burnet grew tired of watching them. Not until it was getting late in the afternoon did their perseverance give out. Baffled, weary, and angry at their failure, they rested awhile on the _tell_ and ate some of the food they had brought with them; then they set off to return the way they had come. Burnet was glad enough to win release at last from his stuffy quarters. Emerging with Rejeb, he made all secure, and prepared to resume the mission which the day's events had interrupted. In the underground chamber he had already returned the young Arab's arms, and discussed with him his subsequent movements. Rejeb would continue his journey to his people, who were a march away to the south-east. He was full of gratitude to his rescuer, and begged to know how he might serve him. "Surely it is right that I should serve the saviour of my life," he said; "and my people also: they shall know that in serving him they serve me." "We will not talk of service now," replied Burnet. "Who can tell the future?" "At least let me know the name of my preserver: how else can I speak of him rightly to my people, and bid them watch for opportunities of serving him?" "Call me Yusuf the boatman," said Burnet, after a slight hesitation. "By that name I am known to some in Bagdad and elsewhere. It may be that some day we shall meet again." As soon as darkness made it safe to leave the _tell_ they parted. Rejeb took his way to the south-east; Burnet set off north-west through the swamps, in the direction followed by Rejeb's pursuers. CHAPTER III THE BARBER'S APPRENTICE Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, had just opened his shop near the south gate. There were many other barbers in the city, but none of them was so popular as Firouz Ali. Arabs, Turks, Greeks, Persians, Germans, and the hundred and one nondescripts of the population resorted to the well-known shop, not merely because Firouz Ali was dexterous in his craft, but because he was a chatty agreeable fellow and a fathomless well of information. Every customer of his who went to be shaved, or shampooed, or to have his nails trimmed or his ears cleaned (a very necessary toilet operation in a land of dust), came away feeling that he had spent a very pleasant quarter of an hour and gained knowledge at a trifling cost. He was not often aware that he had given more than he had received. The barber had just opened his shop, and, early as it was--the sun had risen no more than half an hour before--a customer had already presented himself in the person of a Turkish non-commissioned officer, come for a shampoo to brace him for the work of the day. Firouz Ali had spread his towels, and was shaking up his mixture. "A most elegant preparation, by the Beard," he said, holding the bottle to his customer's nose. "You smell the oil of lavender? When you leave me your hair will diffuse a sweet savour, and perfume the street." "Wallahi! I hope it will not attract the insects," said the Turk. "Make your mind easy about that. There is here an essence that is bitter as death; insects shun it as you would the plague. You keep your hair well, O noble warrior; the wear and tear of war has not diminished your locks, Allah be praised! My own head, man of peace though I am, has a bald spot that is only prevented from spreading by the daily use of my own famous lotion. It is marvellous to me that you men of war, considering the strain upon your intelligence and the hardships you undergo, can preserve such bountiful locks without the aid of my unguents." "Hardships! You speak truth, barber," grunted the soldier. "You men of peace know nothing about it. Bad food, hard work, pay always in arrears----" "A dog's life, indeed," said the barber sympathetically. "And, if I am not deceived, the hard work is done by such as you, while the credit goes to the officers." "You are not deceived, barber. If all goes well, how accomplished are the officers! If things go ill, where is the misbegotten dog of a non-commissioned officer who is to blame?" "Wallahi! That is the very echo of my own thought. What labours are laid upon you! What responsibility is yours! Well for me that my years forbid my bearing arms, for without doubt the strain would wear me to a shadow and I should sink into my grave. Now bend your head, and let your nostrils inhale the delicate odour of this matchless preparation." He was in the act of pouring lotion on the man's head when a young Arab in the dress of a boatman entered. Firouz Ali threw him a quick glance; an observer might have detected a mutual look of recognition between them; but the Turk's eyes were fixed on the basin. "Enter, O kelakji, and wait your turn," said the barber. "A month ago, before my worthless dog of an apprentice left me, you might have been attended to by the boy while I myself was occupied with customers of importance; but now you must have patience until the demands of the officer of the Padishah are satisfied." The newcomer sat himself down on a stool, and the barber went on: "Said I not truly? Is not the aroma fragrant as the gardens of the Prophet? And the lather is white as the bloom of the tobacco plant. Wallahi! we were speaking of your toils and sorrows, noble warrior, when this young boatman entered. Truly your life is no bed of roses." "Truth is on your tongue, O barber," said the Turk. "This week I have been able to snatch scarce an hour's sleep at a time. From morning till night, from night till morning, stores to be checked, a never-ending task. What with the railway and the river there is no rest. If it is not a barge-load of grain, it is a train-load of ammunition." "And it falls upon you to count all these things? Surely it is like counting the ripples on a stream." "A labour beyond any man. The ammunition comes in boxes--we number the boxes. I passed in 100,000 rounds yesterday, as many the day before; and to-day there are machine-guns." "No wonder you come to be refreshed with a shampoo! You have charge of the guns too! A heavy charge--all those thousands." "Ahi! I said not thousands--would there were! But in truth we have not so many machine-guns as could be wished. The Alemans have not sent us so many of late. But now they are beginning to come in again. There are twenty, so word came to me, now waiting to be unpacked." "Verily it passes my understanding how you find room for all these engines of war, even in so great a city as Bagdad. Moreover, is there not great danger in the handling of them? I speak as a man of peace." "We are in truth sometimes hard put to it for store room, and when the godowns are full, we have to keep our stores in the barges upon the river hard by. But they do not remain there long, so great is the demand for them from our brothers down the river. And as to danger----" At this point the Turk found himself under the necessity of keeping his mouth shut. He was in the middle stage of the shampoo. To take part in the conversation was impossible when the barber was pouring floods of water over his head, or even later, when his head was smothered in a towel, and the barber was kneading it with his hands. Firouz Ali himself said, little during the final perfuming of his customer's hair, and the sound of a bugle reminded the Turk that he must hasten back to his duties. When he was gone, the barber turned to the young Arab. "Your father's son must always be welcome," he said, "but what of prudence? Is it not a necessary virtue? The Turk is stupid, Allah knows: witness the ass-head I have just anointed; but a watch is set upon all the approaches to the city, and you may tempt fortune too far. The house of Ionides was but lately occupied by a picket----" The young Arab started. "How did you know?" he asked. "Peace, peace!" replied the barber, with a significant gesture. "The walls have ears; the dust carries tidings. Is it not my business to know?" It was barely two hours since Burnet, slipping through the garden of a deserted house on the bank of the Tigris south of the city, found refuge in the building itself and watched for an opportunity, when, as he thought, no observer was near, to make an unobtrusive entrance into the streets. He knew of old how perfect was the barber's knowledge of what went on in Bagdad, and indeed throughout Mesopotamia; but this new illustration, this proof that his temporary shelter in the deserted house of the Greek merchant Ionides was already known to Firouz Ali, came upon him with something of a shock. Roger Burnet, as some may remember, was the son of a Cambridge scholar who had devoted the latter years of his life to archæological research in Mesopotamia. There Roger had spent the greater part of his boyhood, learning to speak Arabic almost as well as a native. Just before the outbreak of war he had been recalled from school in England by a peremptory telegram from his father, whom he found very ill. Mr. Burnet lingered for more than eighteen months in the hill village of an Arab chief, and it was not until June 1916 that Roger, after his father's death, was able to set off with the intention of joining the British army. Disguised as an Arab, he had travelled to Bagdad with a party of the chief's men, and taken counsel with Firouz Ali, an old friend of his father, a man of quick wit, and an important member of an organisation that was working for the release of the Arabs from the Turkish yoke. At that time the British attempt to relieve General Townshend in Kut had disastrously failed, and the cause of freedom lay under a heavy cloud. Burnet learnt that the Turks were organising an expedition to punish the chief whose hospitality he had enjoyed, for his refusal to furnish levies to the Sultan's army. It subsequently came to light that the expedition had been instigated by the Germans, its real object being the capture of a stronghold that commanded an important road of communication. Burnet decided to throw in his lot with the chief, escaped from Bagdad by the aid of Firouz Ali and of a mysterious dervish who turned out to be a British secret service agent, after many adventures assisted in the defence of the stronghold against a large force of German-led Turks, and ultimately reached the British lines below Kut. He wished to return to England by way of Bombay for the purpose of training for a commission; but a man with his knowledge of the native dialects was too valuable to be spared. The commander-in-chief made direct application to the War Office on his behalf, and he had in fact been gazetted a second lieutenant on the General List a few weeks before he set off with Captain Ellingford on his present mission to Bagdad. Firouz Ali was too polite to make any direct enquiries of Burnet as to the object of his visit. The latter explained. "You spoke of prudence, my friend," he said. "Well, I grant there are risks, but I have run risks before--for good cause. Of late we have had no news either from you or from the dervish Hezar." "That is true, Aga," replied the barber, "and therefore is my heart heavy. But who can strive against Fate? Twice within the past month have I sent messengers. The first came back with a shattered arm: the Turkish dogs shot him as he tried to pass through their lines, and he was hard put to it to escape with his life. The second was drowned swimming the river to avoid them. And as for the dervish Hezar, did he not quit the city secretly some ten days ago, having reason to believe that some were looking upon him with suspicion?" "I guessed there was a simple explanation: that there were difficulties. That is why I am here. We _must_ know what the Turks are doing--whether they are receiving reinforcements and supplies, and where these are stored." "By the Beard, you heard something from that addle-pate who has but now left us. But that is little. I can tell you more. There is at this time in the city a German, a very cunning fellow, who has gathered about him spies in number as the ants in an ant-hill. Ahi! but there is no buckle to his shoe; by which parable understand that he speaks not the tongue of those that he employs, and needs an interpreter. With him there is an Arab who has sold himself to the Turks, and moreover a German who speaks my tongue readily, though with a gurgling throat--a man who has lived many years in this land, digging for the treasures of old time. Is not his name Bukkad Bey?" "Burckhardt! I know him. I met him with my father years ago." He smiled at some recollection. "So he's here, organising secret police! Well now, my friend----" Firouz Ali interrupted him by a gesture. The barber's eyes were fixed on a water-seller who was passing the shop, going down the street. Burnet saw no glance exchanged, heard no word; but the man had no sooner gone by than Firouz Ali said in a hurried undertone-- "One of the German's spies approaches. It is not wise that you remain here. Leave me now: go up the street, and after the sun is gone down seek the caravanserai of our friend Yakoub: there will I meet you." Burnet had barely risen from his stool when a carpet-mender passed, in the opposite direction to the water-seller. "Wallahi!" muttered the barber, who had gazed at him with the same fixity. "Another spy approaches, from the other end. If you go now, verily you must meet one or the other. They would mark you as a stranger. Is it a time for questions? Haste now: that former day you became for a while my apprentice, and beguiled the Turkish dogs. So it shall be again." He was already stripping off Burnet's travel-stained outer clothes and clumsy shoes. These he cast under his bench, and then with amazing quickness replaced them with a long white djellab and light sandals. "Mark you, Aga," he said, "you are my nephew and new apprentice, in place of that misshapen Mahmoud who has left me. You have even now arrived from Bebejak." He named a village near the Persian frontier northward which was not likely to be well known to these agents of the secret service. Burnet had just taken up a razor and was feeling its edge when a man in the dress of a city merchant passed the open shop, throwing a glance into the interior. Half a minute afterwards a second man appeared from the opposite direction. He stopped, mounted the two steps that led to the shop, and greeting the barber sat down on the chair. "Comb my beard, barber," he said. "In truth it needs the comb, effendi," said Firouz Ali. "A fine beard, of the fineness of silk, though its beauty is hidden by the thrice-accursed dust that defiles it. Yusuf, lay my whitest napkin about the effendi's throat." "A new apprentice, barber?" said the customer, eyeing Burnet. "More agreeable to look at than that hunchback of yours." "He has a straight back, Allah be praised," said the barber, "but what is that? A fair form may go with a foolish mind. Ahi! The ingratitude of man! Behold, Mahmoud left me without a moment's warning, enticed away by some flattering tongue. And here am I in a pitiful plight, for all likely youths are snapped up for the army, and I have had to summon my nephew from his mean village in the north, a mere country lout----" "A lout, say you? Methinks his frame deserves a fairer word." "A lout, I say again: clumsy as an untamed colt. Did he not break my best basin into a thousand and one fragments?" "And why is he too not in the army?" "In the army! By the tomb of my father, what should he do in the army? Where are his wits? Bid him go to the right, straightway he goes to the left. Ahi! it broke my poor brother's heart to find a witless mind in a body that, as you truly say, has some elements of graciousness. Will he repay me for all my pains in training him to my honourable craft? Who can tell? He has but just arrived; and I have yet to learn----" Here the barber was interrupted by the hurried entrance of a young man in military uniform. "Salaam, barber," he cried. "The barber of Bukkad Bey has fallen sick, and the Bey requires a cunning hand to smooth his cheeks. Whose hand is more cunning than Firouz Ali's? Haste, then, for time presses." Firouz Ali briefly acknowledged the command, and apologised to his customer for spending less time on his silky beard than its beauty deserved. The secret service man, apparently satisfied with the barber's explanations about his new apprentice, left the shop. "Woe is me!" exclaimed the barber. "What is to become of you, Aga? I dare not leave you here, and I fear some harm will befall you if you go alone through the streets." "Take me with you, of course! I can carry your things." "Mashallah! But Bukkad Bey may know you again." "Not he! I was hardly more than a child when he saw me, just that once; and he was too busy with my father to notice me." "Truly you are bold with an exceeding great boldness. But so it shall be. Gather up the basin, and soap, and the brush, and two razors, and the strop. I will bid my neighbour have an eye to the shop, and we will go together." CHAPTER IV THE SHAVING OF BURCKHARDT Major Cornelius Burckhardt was quartered in an old house not far from Firouz Ali's shop. He occupied two rooms on the ground floor, the bedroom opening from the sitting-room. It was into the latter that the barber and Yusuf his apprentice, having been admitted to the outer courtyard by the doorkeeper, were ushered by the major's servant, who bade them wait there, and disappeared into the room beyond. Burnet looked around with curiosity and amusement. The appointments of the room bespoke a blend of archæologist and military officer. In the centre stood a roll-top desk, open, and strewn with maps and papers: Major Burckhardt, although unshaved, had already been at work. Military accoutrements, hanging from pegs on the wall, dangled above a table strewn with potsherds, fragments of tiles, tablets, and other objects unearthed from Babylonian ruins. Images, large and small, all very much damaged, were ranged on the floor around the walls. Across one corner was a stone screen nearly six feet high, strangely carved, and chipped at the edges. The servant having left the bedroom door half open, his announcement of the barber's arrival was clearly heard in the outer room. A husky voice, speaking Arabic with a strong guttural accent, bade him show the man in. Firouz Ali, closely followed by Burnet carrying his utensils, entered, bowing low, and giving the customary salutation, "Salaam aleikam!" to which the German suitably responded. "My barber is sick," he went on. "I sent for you, knowing you to be skilful with the razor." "May your excellency----" began Firouz Ali. "Yes, yes; but no man lives for ever," said the German, cutting short the formula. "I was about to say that I cannot shave myself. I have worn a beard for twenty years, but naturally I had to discard it on resuming my career in our German army. I explain this, because it is foreign to my nature to be dependent. I prefer to do everything myself. Also my beard grows strong: therefore is it necessary that your razor should be particularly keen. And now proceed." Burnet had some difficulty in repressing a smile. Major Burckhardt was a tubby little man, with an immense dome-like head, rather bald, and spectacled. His brown moustache was brushed up at the ends. He wore a long camel's-hair dressing-gown that accentuated his rotundity. Burnet vividly remembered his last sight of the little man, then heavily bearded. He was being rushed down the slope of a _tell_ by Burnet's father, who had seized him by the scruff of the neck, the German frantically calling upon his Arab followers to assist him against the English interloper. Prudently, the Arabs had stood by, gravely watching the scene. "Yusuf, spread the napkin," said the barber. "Your excellency will have no cause to regret the misfortune that has befallen your barber. In all Bagdad, nay, in all the realm of the Padishah there is no razor equal to this, whether for keenness or for the velvet softness of its touch. Your excellency will be soothed and----" "Yes, yes," the major interrupted; "get to work. I want my breakfast, and I am already later than my usual hour." Firouz Ali, like all loquacious people--even though his loquacity was designed--disliked the spoiling of his sentences. He pressed his lips together, and vigorously stropped his razor, signing to Burnet to lather the officer. While Burnet was preparing the lather, Major Burckhardt, his thick neck swathed with a snowy napkin, looked up at the ceiling, and discoursed of many things. "There are great days coming for this city of yours, barber. When our Kaiser establishes a protectorate over the country, Bagdad will regain something of its old renown--nay, it will become even more illustrious than it was in its palmiest days. And we have not long to wait." Here Burnet began to lather; but the major, having started on the pleasant pastime of hearing himself speak, continued, in spite of the brush that was travelling over his cheeks and chin. "The English are beating their heads vainly against the impregnable fortresses down the river, erected by German genius. Soon they will be swept away into the sea they claim as their own; that race of boastful braggarts, robbers, hypocrites, scoundrels, scum----" How far the major's vocabulary of abuse would have extended will not be known, for at this moment Burnet dabbed the shaving-brush, thick with the whitest and creamiest of lathers, into the German's half-open mouth. The little man jumped up, spluttering with froth and fury. Firouz Ali instantly feigned an explosion of rage. Seizing the brush, he flung Burnet aside and shouted: "Away with you, you clumsy fool, last of a generation of apes! Woe is me that I should call you kin! Would you shame me before the very face of his excellency? Would you take away my good name, and cause it to be spread abroad throughout the world that Firouz Ali is the uncle of an ass? I pray your excellency to pardon me, the least of his servants, and not to turn away the light of his countenance from me because of the iniquities of this poor fool, who is but lately come from a mean village that I may sharpen his wits and better his manners. Stand here, poor witless lout, and hold me the basin: 'tis all you are fit for." [Illustration: A MOUTHFUL OF SOAP] The German allowed himself to be appeased; he wanted his breakfast. Firouz Ali, alternately abusing his apprentice and flattering the officer, finished his task, and coaxed out an admission that, barring the awkwardness of the young man, it had been a very comfortable shave. The major then dismissed him, telling him to wait in the next room and the servant would bring his fee. The barber bowed himself out, and harshly bade Burnet follow him, and close the door. They heard the major ring for his servant, who gained the bedroom by another entrance. There was some delay, and Burnet catching sight of a marked map spread out on the desk, and remembering his mission, moved across the room to examine it. Before he had taken more than a cursory glance, however, there was a sound of persons approaching the outer door. Instinctively he slipped behind the stone screen at his elbow, next moment feeling annoyed with himself, for there might have been time to rejoin Firouz Ali. The door opened, and there entered a tall man in the uniform of a German general, with a Turkish aide-de-camp at his heels, Major Burckhardt's servant following. The latter crossed at once to the door of the bedroom, half opened it, and announced that General Eisenstein had called on important business. Major Burckhardt, still in his dressing-gown, came out hurriedly, with proper apologies for his appearance. He signed to Firouz Ali to go, and the barber was followed out by the servant, who handed him his fee, receiving a portion of it as commission, in accordance with oriental custom. "Where is your apprentice?" he asked. "Where is that ass-head, that worker of iniquity!" cried the barber. "By the Beard, it were fitting he should drown himself. Did you not see him pass out, rubbing his pumpkin pate?" "He did not pass me." "Then peradventure he slunk out at the back while you were admitting your master's high-born visitor. Truly he would shrink from showing his foolish face even to you, friend." He spoke in a very loud tone of voice, in order to be heard both by the doorkeeper across the courtyard, and by Burnet within the house. When the servant had closed the door, Firouz Ali stood for a moment or two debating with himself what he had better do. He was seriously perturbed. For years past he had lived on the edge of circumstance, a secret revolutionary, owing his safety solely to his quickness, resource, and address. He had never felt so helpless as in the present predicament, due to Burnet's impulsive action. Deciding that to loiter in the neighbourhood could do no good, and might do harm, he returned to his shop, convinced that he would see his benefactor's son no more. Meanwhile Burnet, crouching back in the corner behind the screen, and feeling that he deserved all the abuse lately showered upon him by his friend, had perforce listened to the conversation between the German officers. The opening sentences, spoken in German, he did not understand. General Eisenstein had in fact begun by apologising for disturbing Major Burckhardt at what was clearly an unseasonable hour. "As you know," he remarked, "I am myself up and about before dawn." Burckhardt caught the implied reproach, and answered in something of a fluster. "I have already been at work, Herr General," he said, "but my barber fell sick, and----" "Quite so, but speak in Arabic, if you please. Major Rustum Bey does not understand German. I have come to you for information about a part of the country with which I understand you are familiar. Major Rustum Bey has had some difficulty in getting exact particulars." Burnet pricked up his cars. From this point on the conversation was conducted in Arabic. "The chief Halil," General Eisenstein went on, "who has hitherto shown himself friendly and proved to be of some use (although one can trust these Arabs no farther than one can see them), has come in to ask for assistance. It appears that a certain tribe with which he has been long at war (they call it war!) has crossed the Euphrates and established itself in a fastness among the swamps. The tribe is known to be disaffected towards his Ottoman Majesty: if it is not rooted out it will become a nucleus of hostile activity, attracting other rebel Arabs, and may seriously threaten our communications on the river. The situation of the fastness is described as a long march south of the _tell_ of--what is the name, major?" "The _tell_ of Tukulti-Ninip, Excellenz," said the Turkish officer. "Now, Major Burckhardt, in the first place do you know this _tell_ of--ach!----" "Tukulti-Ninip," said Burckhardt. "Certainly: I know it well. Only a few years ago it was the scene of a brisk little action between myself and a brutal Englishman who was poaching on my ground. The Englishman had cause to repent his insolence." "Good, Major Burckhardt. You will soon have further opportunities, no doubt, of action of a still more stirring character. Now, as to this fastness--you have a map? Yes, I see you have. Point out to me the locality of this _tell_ of----" "Tukulti-Ninip. Here it is, Herr General." He laid a fat forefinger on the spot. "It is covered with the ruins of a temple erected by Samsi-Addu to the god Anu, and was----" "We are discussing military matters, not antiquities, my dear major. Let us proceed. The fastness in question is described as an island in the marshes, and has ruins of some kind, giving good cover. It is approached by a causeway nearly a thousand metres long. Do you know such a place?" "That, too, Herr General, I know as well as I know my own native village of Obervogelgesang: better, indeed, for I once spent six months digging in the ruins you mention, and the museums of Dresden and Munich count my finds among their choicest treasures. I had the good fortune to discover a tablet commemorating the expedition of Tukulti-Ninip to the Sebbeneh-Su----" "My good major, confine yourself to our present business, if you please. You know the place well. Then we shall not be dependent on the Arabs for our information. Where would you locate it on the map?" Burckhardt took a pencil, and after some consideration marked the spot, saying: "It is here, as nearly as possible. The wady, once a canal (dating from the time of Assur-Uballit) that irrigated the whole surrounding country, is now the cause of the marshes. It carries the flood water of the Euphrates over a hundred square kilometres, and is now a scourge where it was once a source of prosperity. I discovered in my researches that Pudi-ilu----" "Enough!" cried the general, his patience giving out. He turned to the Turk. "A company of infantry with a machine-gun, assisted by Halil's horde, will no doubt suffice?" Though in form a question, there was so little real enquiry in the remark that Major Rustum Bey hastily agreed. "Certainly, Excellenz. It will be quite sufficient." "Then I will arrange that you undertake the little expedition, associated with Major Burckhardt, whose peculiar local knowledge should be of much value. Shall we say a month from to-day? Halil will have to return to his tribe and make his arrangements, and procrastination is such a vice with the Arabs that we must give him plenty of time. Tell him to be ready in a fortnight, and we may be reasonably certain that he will be ready in a month. That is all, then, Major Burckhardt. Ah! it occurs to me to remind you that this is a military expedition, not a hunt for old stones." The visitors took their leave, Burckhardt accompanying them to the door. CHAPTER V SECRET SERVICE Behind the screen, Burnet had listened to the three officers' conversation with mixed feelings. On the one hand he had gained a piece of information which might be of importance and well worth his risky visit to Bagdad. On the other, he had placed himself in a position which made it very doubtful whether he would be able to use the information, or even to escape with his life. There was short shrift for any spy. What could he do? Burckhardt, on the departure of his visitors, rang for his servant, ordered him to prepare breakfast, and retired into his bedroom to finish his interrupted toilet. The servant set the table. In a few minutes the German would be engaged with his meal, after which he would no doubt resume work at his desk. Burnet felt that if he did not escape at once he would probably have no opportunity later. The only possible chance seemed to be to follow the servant as quietly as possible when he should leave the room to fetch his master's food. What course would then be open to him he could not guess. He was ignorant of the plan of the house. All that he knew of it was that small portion which he had passed through with Firouz Ali. The front door opened into a small courtyard about which the house was built, with a verandah along the front of the house. Near the outer door, on a small square of carpet within the shade of the verandah, sat the doorkeeper, cross-legged. To gain freedom Burnet would have to reach the front undetected, cross or skirt the courtyard, and pass the doorkeeper. It was so far fortunate that Burckhardt had followed the oriental custom in employing a native porter, instead of being guarded by a sentry as might have been expected. There was, it was clear, a back door, giving access no doubt to one of the narrow evil-smelling lanes which Bagdad, like every oriental city, has in plenty; but to go exploring in search of that was out of the question. The doorkeeper was the difficulty. Burnet wished that Firouz Ali had not been so ready with his explanation of his being unaccompanied by the apprentice. The man would almost certainly be suspicious if the apprentice who, he supposed, had already left the house should come out of the front door so long after his master. Even if not suspicious, he might detain Burnet for a chat on things in general, or to enquire the reason of the barber's anger, and during their talk the servant might come into the courtyard and see him. Burnet was taxing his wits for some means of eluding the doorkeeper when the servant, having set the table, went off to fetch the meal. For the moment there was but one thing to be done: to escape from the room before either the man or the master re-entered it. No sooner had the servant gone out, leaving the door open, than Burnet slipped from his hiding-place and followed him on tiptoe into the passage. The servant had turned to the right, no doubt towards the kitchen. Burnet, waiting at the doorway until he had disappeared, hurried to the left towards the front door, paused until he had made sure that the doorkeeper on the far side of the courtyard had not seen him, then slipped under the shade of the verandah behind a tall plant growing in a pot. He had noticed, under the verandah on the opposite side, not far from the doorkeeper, a pile of packing-cases, in which he guessed that Burckhardt's antiquities had been transported. This pile would form a securer shelter than the plant, which was in full view of any one who might enter the courtyard from the street. Stealing round the verandah close to the wall, he got behind the cases; and breathing a little more freely, waited to consider his next move. He looked across the courtyard, and through the window of Burckhardt's room saw that officer, now in his military uniform, come from his bedroom and seat himself at the table. The servant brought in a tray, poured out his master's coffee, then disappeared. Burckhardt propped a book against the water-jug, and divided his attention between that and his breakfast. There was little to be feared from him. The doorkeeper remained on his mat. He was not even drowsy. Burnet tried to think of something that would account for his presence, but found nothing that would not involve such lengthy explanations as he was anxious to avoid. If only something would take the doorkeeper away for a minute or so!--the wish had no sooner formed itself than an idea occurred to him. The cases and crates among which he was sheltering were very insecurely stacked. A slight push would displace one of the topmost. Its fall would probably bring the doorkeeper to the spot, not to replace it--that would not be his job, and an oriental servant is the last man in the world to do more than he must--but to satisfy his curiosity and find a subject for conversation. Burnet might then dodge behind the other cases towards the doorway, and with luck slip out. The plan was no sooner formed than acted on. A heavy crate, which a European would have put at the base of the pile instead of at the summit, toppled over on to the paving-stones with a crash and flying splinters. But the stolid doorkeeper only turned his head for an instant. A crate had fallen: what was that to him? The noise, however, had an effect which Burnet had not reckoned on. Burckhardt, with his napkin round his neck and the coffee-pot in his hand, came to the window. His servant appeared at the door. "What is that?" the latter called. "Have you no eyes, foolish one?" answered the doorkeeper without rising. "The crate lies where it fell." Here Burckhardt threw open the window and roared, with his mouth half full: "Get up, you son of idleness, and set the crate back in its place, and take care that it is secure. Shall I speak twice?" Burnet, keeping out of view, saw the doorkeeper rise slowly and move towards the crate. The servant returned into the house, no doubt fearing that he might be called upon to lend a hand. But Burckhardt remained at the window to see that his command was carried out. Burnet was in despair. He could dodge the doorkeeper, but it was impossible to reach the door unnoticed while Burckhardt stood looking on. But the German, seeing that the man was stirring, went back, presumably to fill his cup, or to replace the coffee-pot on the table. Burnet seized the lucky moment. He slipped along behind the pile, threw a hasty glance towards the house, and knowing that the doorkeeper's back was now turned to him, darted through the open doorway into the street. Firouz Ali uttered a fervent "Mashallah!" when Burnet, a few minutes later, walked into his shop, then empty. "Verily a leaden weight is lifted from my heart, Aga," he said. "It was bowed down with the fear that you were in the hands of the enemy. Tell me by what device you escaped out of the net." Burnet explained. "It was well done," said the barber, "and surely good fortune attends you. But give heed to the words of one who has learnt wisdom. Let two thoughts go before one action. What need to hide in the very chamber of the foe? Am I a child? Could you not trust me to bring us both safely away? Such foolishness leads you into dangers that might be avoided: moreover, it might have brought my own head into peril, for has not a sword hung over it by a hair these many years? Nay, more: my life must end some day: such is the fate of all; but I would not that it should end before my eyes have seen the glory for which I have striven since I was a beardless youth." "What you say is quite right, my old friend," said Burnet. "I was rash, and I am sorry for it. But after all, if I had not hidden I should not have learned what I did." "What was that?" asked the barber eagerly. "The Germans are joining hands with that rogue Halil to attack Rejeb son of Hussein. I have not told you yet--I have not had time--that I met Rejeb on my way here, and was able to do him a trifling service. Halil's men were even then hunting him." "Mashallah! What you did for him was well done, for Rejeb is as a pillar in the temple of our freedom. If any harm befalls him, not only will a heavy blow be dealt against the faithful who would throw off the Turkish yoke, but the safety of your own countrymen between the rivers yonder will be put in jeopardy. There are tribes in the desert, now friendly to you, or at least wavering, which would turn to the enemy from very fear if Rejeb fell; and then your people would be harassed by constant raids, and their task, heavy enough, would be doubly hard. And I may tell you now that the dervish Hezar, when he left the city of late, set forth to learn how stand the minds of the tribes bordering the Euphrates towards you. Of him I have heard nothing: he is in the hands of Allah!" The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of a customer; indeed, it was not resumed until the time of the midday siesta checked the stream of customers who came to Firouz Ali for his professional attentions and almost as much for the flow of chat which he poured out. Burnet admired the unfailing tact with which the barber suited his talk to the tastes and interests of his various patrons. He remarked, too, how cleverly his friend, knowing that his stay in Bagdad must be brief, prepared his customers for another change of assistants. "Wallahi! Mahmoud was a hunchback," he said to one, "but he was learning his craft: whereas this poor thing, my nephew, fresh from his benighted village, will never make a barber, even though he live to the age of the patriarchs. His tongue is slow, an ill thing in barbers; moreover, he is clumsy as a camel: did he not this very morning fill the mouth of a German effendi with soap, to my everlasting shame? No, he must find other work for his unruly hands." Burnet listened to all this with secret amusement, and laughed heartily when, in a leisure moment, Firouz Ali apologised for his uncomplimentary remarks. "My friend, I enjoyed them," he said. "Besides, you are quite right. I am conscious that I never should make a satisfactory barber." It was not until the end of the day that they were thoroughly at leisure to discuss the course of action which Burnet ought to follow as the result of what he had learnt. Firouz Ali decided to send a messenger to warn Rejeb of his impending danger: the same man would also try to penetrate to the British lines with a message from Burnet giving the same information. Meanwhile Burnet himself, in pursuance of the object that had brought him to Bagdad, would remain at any rate for a few days to pick up any information he could regarding the enemy's movements and plans. With this purpose it would be necessary to find opportunities of visiting different parts of the city. The barber pointed out that it was no longer easy, as in the past, to perambulate the city without exciting suspicion. The old laxity had disappeared when the Germans assumed control. Discipline was now rigorous in the army, and the civil administration had been militarised. Burnet was not likely to learn more about the Turkish arrangements than Firouz Ali could tell him. His reply to this was that he wanted not only to know the numbers and constitution of the military forces, the extent of their supplies and so on; in addition, for the purpose he had in view, he must learn by personal observation exactly where the storehouses were situated. During the next few days the two men spent a good many hours in going about the city and its neighbourhood. For these excursions they chose the middle part of the day, when people in authority were resting, and the shop could be left most safely. They were always prepared with a story. While talking matters over with Firouz Ali, and combating the objections he raised on the score of prudence, Burnet had a happy thought. Why should not the barber make capital of his summons to Burckhardt? Let him announce through his agents that during the middle part of the day, when people of consideration were resting, and few or no customers came to the shop, the barber who had had the honour of attending upon Bukkad Bey would visit at their own lodgings any who were at leisure to be refreshed with a shampoo, to have their nails trimmed, or their hair improved by the application of his famous lotion. "But what will it profit?" asked Firouz Ali, not seeing the drift of the suggestion. "If I am thus employed, how can I accompany you in your goings to and fro, and accompany you I must, for your own safety?" "My friend, we may thus account for our presence in any part of the city at unusual hours, armed with our brushes and bottles. And as for those who would avail themselves of your services, what easier than to explain to a man in one quarter that when he wanted you, you were busy in another?" The plan, as further explained, was one after Firouz Ali's own heart, and next morning it was put in operation. It succeeded admirably. For a day or two the barber, always accompanied by his apprentice, spent the early afternoon in practising his craft here and there in the city; then, having taken care that his new activities should be talked about, he dropped them, and led Burnet to the quarters he was anxious to see. He was sometimes stopped and questioned, but his explanation was always ready, with his apparatus for credentials. After each excursion Burnet, on his return to the barber's house, took from its place of concealment between the soles of one of his shoes a plan of Bagdad, placed over it a sheet of semi-transparent paper such as is commonly used in the country, and marked upon it a small dot over the spot at which some military establishment was situated. In the course of a few days this paper, which would have appeared to the uninitiated merely a blank sheet with a number of scattered and apparently meaningless dots, was in reality a compendium of important discoveries. One day, when they were out on their usual errand, Burnet's wish to discover the exact position of certain ammunition barges that lay in the river led them to venture farther than was prudent. They were stopped and questioned by a sentry more than usually alert. Firouz Ali's glib explanations for once did not satisfy the man, perhaps eager for promotion, and they were marched to the guard-room. At the moment none but private soldiers were there, one or two of whom knew the barber, and were quick to inform their comrade that he had made a mistake. While they were discussing the point, there entered the non-commissioned officer whom Firouz Ali had been shampooing at the time of Burnet's arrival at the shop some days before. "Ahi! What is this?" he cried, in surprise. "Mashallah! Here is one who knows the truth of things," exclaimed the barber, before the sentry could begin. "This excellent servant of the Padishah did but his duty, beyond doubt, but you, being a man in authority, will be able to content him. Who can bear witness better than you that I am Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, the maker of sweet scents and famous lotions? Is it not known far and wide that the illustrious Bukkad Bey has entrusted to me his noble chin? And was I not honoured in bedewing your own matchless locks with my sweet-savoured essences? And lo, chancing to pass this way, and remembering your witty sayings and all that you told me, I did but think to pay my respects, and perchance to behold with my own eyes your manifold labours in the service of our father the Padishah. And now, wallahi! we are taken, myself and my poor nephew--we are taken, I say, as common malefactors. Woe is me! Shall it be said that Firouz Ali, a man of no little renown----" "Stay," interrupted the sergeant, clearly flattered at being coupled with Bukkad Bey; "this is very true. That you are Firouz Ali the barber I know, and that you have shaved Bukkad Bey and shampooed me; but who is this? Surely it is the kelakji who came into your shop that morning. Wherefore then is he in your company, his raiment changed?" "Wallahi! Do not I ask myself that question twenty times a day? This youth, effendi, that came to me that unlucky day--woe is me that I should call him nephew! Behold him, the poor witless loon who ran away from his village and sought fortune vainly in many crafts, and having failed in them all for want of wit, he came to me for help, and I could not believe he was my own brother's son, so much had he grown. Ahi! As his stature increases, so does his mind decrease; he will never be a barber, for all my instruction; and he is fit for nothing better than to carry my pots and perchance to stir a lather. Wallahi! My poor brother!" "By the Beard, it is a sore affliction for your family," said the sergeant, looking pityingly at Burnet, who stood with half-open mouth and as silly an expression as he could assume. Quite unsuspicious, he rated the sentry for his stupidity in arresting a citizen so well-reputed as Firouz Ali, and ordered the prisoners to be released, at the same time warning the barber against indiscretions in the future. "Verily it is a lesson," said Firouz Ali, after profusely thanking the man. "I will offend no more. And here, effendi, is a bottle of my famous lotion--a small token of my gratitude, but in truth what can a man give better than his best?" When they had been escorted beyond the military quarters Firouz Ali uttered a heart-felt invocation of the Prophet. "It is time for you to go, Aga," he added earnestly. "That sentry has more wits than the ass-head who commands him. Did you not perceive his sulkiness, and the sparkle of some thought in his eye? Of a truth he was not satisfied, and he may even yet bring harm upon you." "I am inclined to agree with you, my friend," said Burnet, "and the more readily because I doubt whether it is worth while my staying any longer. And I must keep my appointment with my countryman at the _tell_; there may be delays; I had better start at once." "We will talk of it this night when the shop is closed. You must not go as you came: ahi! it needs that I work my wits once more for your behoof. What would I not do for the son of my protector and friend!" CHAPTER VI THE DERVISH HEZAR Before Burnet laid himself down that night on his humble couch in Firouz Ali's house the plan for his departure had been thoroughly discussed. Among the barber's friends and agents was one Ibrahim, once a prosperous owner of camels, which he hired out to merchants or pilgrims. Since the war, however, all his camels but two had been commandeered by the Turks; his business was ruined; and he now employed himself in picking up camels from the remoter tribes in the Arabian desert, and selling them to the army authorities at a miserable profit. He had adopted this occupation to cover his real business, which was to keep in touch with the revolted chiefs at Mecca and Medina and to act as a travelling link between them and Firouz Ali, the centre of the secret revolutionary movement in Bagdad. Firouz Ali arranged that Burnet should become Ibrahim's temporary assistant. Having lost no opportunity of belittling the intelligence of his new apprentice, the barber would find it easy to explain to any one who was curious enough to enquire, that the lad had shown himself hopelessly inefficient, and gone to try his luck as a camel-driver. Burnet would accompany Ibrahim to Kerbela and Meshed Ali, and thence make the best of his way to the _tell_ of Tukulti-Ninip, in good time, he hoped, for his appointment with Captain Ellingford. Next day he did not leave the barber's house, but employed himself in writing a letter. Curiously enough, it was addressed to himself, and in Arabic; and though of no great length, its composition occupied several hours. The paper on which it was written was that thin sheet which he had several times laid over his map of Bagdad and the neighbourhood and marked with small dots, which formed a haphazard pattern like the stars in the firmament. Written Arabic, as every one knows, is a series of strokes and curves and dots, like a compacter sort of shorthand; and the reason why this simple letter was a work of long labour was that the dots already marked on the paper had to be incorporated, in the most natural way possible, with the invented message. When the letter was finished, only a very observant eye would have noticed that some of the dots were slightly heavier than the rest. No one would have suspected that only these dots were of the least importance: the letter existed for them. It read somewhat as follows: "To my dear son Yusuf, greeting. My heart is sore, yearning for you, my sweet son, for a sight of your face, round as the moon, and your eyes, like raisins in a cake. I hope that you have not shed your bright blood by careless handling of your uncle's razors, and I pray that you may become rich enough to give your sister a good dower, and that you will attain as high a renown as my famous brother himself. Blessing and peace be with you. Written by the hand of the mullah for your father and mother." "That'll do, if I'm collared," thought Burnet, as he tucked the letter into his girdle. He then tore up the map which gave the key to this letter: there were plenty more at headquarters. In the evening, when the shop was shut, Ibrahim the camel-driver came to the house and was introduced by Firouz Ali to his new assistant. Ibrahim had brought with him a few essential articles of clothing, and it was settled that Burnet should join him next morning at dawn. Soon after daylight the two camel-drivers, each mounted on a rather poor specimen of the kind, rode southwards out of the city. Ibrahim had a pass, which franked them through the sentries, to whom, indeed, he was pretty well known through previous journeys in and out. Like all travellers in those desert lands he carried a rifle: Burnet, apparently unarmed, had his revolver securely tucked away. Burnet had lived long enough in Mesopotamia to have more than a passing acquaintance with the camel, its moods and vagaries; but during the next few days he learnt more about that useful "ship of the desert" than he had known in all his previous experience. His steed tramped on hour after hour at the same steady pace, with a jolting movement that he found unpleasant and tedious. He longed for the lithe, springy, varied gait of a horse, and once ventured to express his preference to his companion. Ibrahim was up in arms at once, and lectured him so roundly that he wished he had held his tongue. "You speak out of your little knowledge, effendi," said this champion of the camel. "The horse, indeed, starts with his heels in the air, and will curvet and gallop and perform as many tricks as a tumbler. But how is it at the end of the day? The beast shambles and stumbles, and, ill-tempered from hunger, he will bite and fight, scatter his corn like a prodigal, and even paw it with his hoofs into the mire. But the camel--behold how patiently he marches, as well at sunset as at dawn; how gently he kneels down at his journey's end, and thankfully receives his beans, and chews the cud peacefully until the morning. He has more wits than a horse, and if he roars, it is but to say that his saddle galls him, and to plead that it may be restuffed. Better one camel than twenty horses." There was something to be said on the other side, but Burnet had tact, an excellent thing in a travelling companion. The sixty-mile journey to Kerbela was almost uneventful. As Burnet knew, the place was seething with disaffection towards the Turks, and he was not surprised when, a few miles from the town, a small party of rebels suddenly sprang out from behind a palm grove and commanded the travellers to dismount. The sequel caused him to realise that the movement controlled by Firouz Ali was very widespread. At a few words from Ibrahim, and the display of a small token that he carried in the folds of his turban, the hostile attitude of the rebels changed as by magic to the frankest friendliness. They readily answered Ibrahim's questions as to affairs in the town, and took a cordial farewell. The travellers stayed in Kerbela only long enough to rest their camels, then pushed on towards their destination, Meshed Ali, fifty miles to the south. Leaving the palm gardens behind them at early morning, they were soon in the barren desert. Towards sunset, when they had almost reached Birs Nimrud, half-way to their goal, they came upon a camping party of five men, squatting on mats and eating dates, in the shade of a small pile of ruins. Four horses were tethered close by, and Burnet saw that one of the men, a wild, dirty, long-bearded figure clad in the deerskin of a dervish, had his hands tied together with a piece of rope. "What did I say, Aga?" remarked Ibrahim, as they came abreast of the party. "The horses are far spent; they can go no further; otherwise those men would not have paused here to rest when the town lies but a few miles beyond." The men, each of whom had a rifle laid across his knees, looked up somewhat suspiciously at the two travellers. Ibrahim pulled up and gave them a greeting. "I perceive you have a prisoner," he added. "Verily he has the look of a vile creature and a worker of iniquity. What is his offence, I pray you?" "Wallahi! He is indeed an evil-doer," answered the leader; "a runaway thief, and we have ridden hard to catch him." "He shall be beaten with stripes, and repent with mourning," said Ibrahim. "Upon you be blessing and peace." [Illustration: THE PRISONER] The camels jogged on again. As they passed, the prisoner looked up and flashed one quick glance at Burnet, instantly lowering his eyes. Burnet involuntarily started, but recollected himself in a moment, and refrained from turning his head. Those keen grey eyes, however, were unmistakeable. The prisoner was the man who passed among the natives as the Dervish Hezar, but was known to the British headquarters staff as Alfred Sanderson, the most daring and skilful of secret service agents. When they were out of earshot, Burnet said to his companion: "The prisoner, no thief, is a friend of Firouz Ali's. We must rescue him." "Say you so? Firouz Ali's friends are mine, and if that man be the Dervish Hezar----" "He is." "Ahi! But what can we do? They are four, well armed: we are but two." "Yet it must be done, and though they are more than we, peradventure with two there will be more wisdom and cunning than with four." This implied compliment to his intelligence pleased Ibrahim, and as soon as they had ridden out of sight he turned aside from the beaten track, rounded a slight eminence, and causing the camels to kneel down, asked Burnet to dismount with him and talk over the problem. "Those poor beasts," he remarked, "are jaded; they will not be fit to travel for some hours to come; therefore the men will remain where they are until the morning. Perchance in the darkness we could steal up to their camp and bring the dervish away." "We had better return to it while there is still light in the sky," said Burnet. "It will be dark in half an hour, and we might then find it difficult to discover them. The ruins will cover us from them if we approach from the east." "It is well said, Aga. I will give the camels a handful of beans which they will chew peacefully, and so refrain from disturbing the night with their roaring; then we will make a circuit and come to the ruins even as the sun sets." Less than half an hour later the two men, having made their way back to the ruins, crept stealthily to the southern corner, where they could see the spot on which the five men had camped. It was growing dark, but in the slight glow from the western sky they perceived at once that the men were no longer there. There was no sign of them in what was visible of the open desert to the west; it was indeed scarcely likely that they had decided to pursue their journey on horses so patently fatigued. Ibrahim suggested in a whisper that they had withdrawn farther into the ruins to avoid observation by passengers along the direct route from Kerbela to Meshed Ali. This was disappointing. The ruins were extensive; to explore them in the dark would be as hazardous as difficult. Their footsteps would be inaudible in the sand; but they might stumble against one of the innumerable fragments of masonry that lay scattered all about, and the Arab's ears are so quick that the slightest sound might utterly defeat their purpose. The night would be moonless; even if it had been otherwise, moonlight would have been little less dangerous than darkness, for though they could have seen their way, a flickering shadow might have betrayed them. In whispers they discussed their safest course. Burnet agreed to remain on the outskirts of the ruins while Ibrahim searched. When the Arab started on his quest darkness had descended, and there was only a slight glimmer from the stars. It seemed hours before he returned. He explained that he had almost despaired of finding the men, and concluded that they had after all ridden away to the north, when he suddenly heard voices, and creeping towards the sound had almost stumbled upon the party, encamped in the midst of a group of broken columns hidden by a slight fold in the ground. Their horses were tethered some little distance away, and from the appearance of things it seemed clear that the men had no intention of leaving the spot until daybreak. During Ibrahim's absence Burnet had turned over in his mind, not merely the problem of getting the dervish away, but the further problem of successfully eluding pursuit. Tired as the horses were, they had probably had rest enough to make them more than equal to the camels in pace. Should he stampede them? It would be easy enough, but the attempt might lead to disaster, for they would almost certainly scent a stranger long before he reached them, and a startled whinny would bring the Arabs in haste upon the scene. The safer plan would be to depend on releasing the prisoner while his captors were asleep, and then on following a roundabout course through the desert. The two men consulted in whispers and soon came to a determination. Burnet, as the more active of the two, and also as being well known to the prisoner, undertook the task of releasing him. Ibrahim meanwhile would ensconce himself at a convenient spot near at hand, and remain on the watch, ready to defend the others with his rifle if need arose. The Arab has an almost unerring sense of locality and direction, and in spite of the darkness Ibrahim was able to lead Burnet without fault through the maze of ruins to the slight hollow where the men were encamped. Looking down upon it from his higher point a few yards away, Burnet was just able to discern, by the glimmer of the stars, five figures on the ground. Four of them were squatting; every now and then a word was spoken; the fifth lay at full stretch, a little apart from the others. Burnet watched and listened impatiently. Surely the men would not remain thus the whole night through. What if they slept in turn, leaving one always on guard? After a while the conversation became still more spasmodic and drowsy: presently it ceased altogether, and all four men sank into a recumbent posture. Secure in their retreat far within the ruins, they had seen no need of keeping guard. All was now silent. Not even a snore broke the stillness. Only a slight clink came occasionally from the spot where the horses were tethered. Burnet still waited, though he knew that the Arab, like all creatures of the wild, falls asleep instantly. But he knew also that the sleep was light. The least unusual sound, inaudible to a European ear, would cause these men to spring up, as wide awake and alert as a house-dog. At last he moved, stealing along a few feet away from the rim of the hollow until he came opposite the spot where the fifth man lay. Then, after a momentary pause, he wriggled down the slope as noiselessly as a slug, breathing fast, drawing nearer only inch by inch to his friend. He touched him lightly; the prisoner started, but relapsed immediately into immobility. Feeling along the inert body, Burnet discovered that now both hands and feet were bound. With silent cuts of his knife he severed the cords, lay for a moment listening, then crawled backwards up the slope. Why was not the prisoner following him? He had gained the top before the dervish gave any sign of movement. Then, however, he began slowly to follow, and Burnet guessed that his limbs were stiff from his bonds. Watching with eager impatience, he saw the greyish figure, scarcely distinguishable from the earth, draw nearer to the top. The Arabs slept on undisturbed. And at last the dervish rose to his feet, clasped Burnet's hand, and followed him silently to the spot where Ibrahim was awaiting them. Without a word spoken they hastened with all speed to the camels. The dervish mounted behind Burnet, and within twenty minutes of his rescue all three were heading southwards. At the moment of starting they had a slight alarm. Ibrahim's camel, annoyed, no doubt, at the early disturbance of his rest, uttered a hoarse grunt. His master instantly pressed a couple of dates into his mouth, and the beast was appeased. Safety lay in their making the best speed they could. Should any of the Arabs wake, he would almost certainly discover the absence of the prisoner, but it would be impossible to track him in the dark. With the dawn, however, the tracks would be easily picked up, and then their horses, refreshed, would regain the start if the pursuit was carried far enough. The dervish suggested that pursuit was unlikely. His captors belonged to a tribe that was in Turkish pay, and the neighbourhood of Meshed Ali, where the revolutionaries were strong, was by no means safe for supporters of the Padishah. But Ibrahim, unwilling to run risks, struck off from the highway into a stony district with which he had become familiar in the course of his business journeys. Here, even if they were pursued, it would be difficult to track them. "I owe you my life," said the dervish to Burnet as they rode on, "and I thank you." "I am only too glad. You helped me out of a hobble not so long ago; I never imagined I should have a chance of doing anything in return. But surely your life was not in danger?" "There can't be much doubt of it. I heard that that old ruffian the chief Halil had gone to Bagdad, and knowing that there was some difference of opinion among his tribesmen as to his wisdom in siding with the Turks, I took advantage of his absence to visit them, in order to learn the strength of the opposition party and to do what I could to increase it--to foment treason, in fact. Some of Halil's people suspected me: they were quite right: and they only waited the return of their chief to denounce me. He came back unexpectedly. I had warning only just in time, and decamped. I had begun to think myself safe when those four fellows rode me down. No doubt there are scores more of the tribesmen hunting me in all directions. Halil has an old grudge against me: I crossed him once before." "Then I am doubly lucky. Halil's business in Bagdad was to arrange an attack on Rejeb's people. He is back sooner than I thought possible, and I am glad to know it, as I should not have done but for meeting you. It is one more item in my budget of news for headquarters." The conversation was conducted in Arabic. The identity of the dervish was known only to the headquarters staff and to Firouz Ali, and he always took particular care not to let fall the slightest hint that he was other than an Arab, even to fellow-workers in the same cause. Ibrahim allowed his animals to finish their interrupted rest during the small hours, and the travellers started again at dawn. When they were still a mile or two distant from Meshed Ali, within sight of the glittering dome of its mosque towering high above the walls, the dervish dismounted. "It will be better for us all if I enter the city alone," he said. "I shall not be long after you. But if we meet within the walls, let it be as strangers." "You are a wise man, O dervish," said Ibrahim, "and I perceive that the spirit of Firouz Ali is in you. Allah will bring us all together openly in his good time." Burnet and Ibrahim reached the city about an hour before noon, and passing through the one gate in its high brick walls, and along the crowded bazar, came to the khan or inn where Ibrahim had decided that they should part. After the Arab had attended to his beasts, he returned to the chief room, where traders, camel-drivers and others were squatting around the walls, ordered a meal, and then carried out the instructions of Firouz Ali. "By the Beard, you are a lazy good-for-nothing," he cried in a loud tone, addressing Burnet. "What evil destiny brought you before my eyes? Why in the softness of my heart did I have pity on you, poor fool, and hire you to be my helper? Truly my heart got the better of my head, for you know no more of camels than a week-old babe. I take you all to witness," he went on, looking round the room, "that I pay this worthless loon the hire agreed on, and I bid him go back to his paltry village and feed goats, for he is fit for nothing better. Begone, I say, and let me see your face no more." Burnet took the few coins offered him, and assumed the shamefaced air of a servant dismissed in disgrace. The little scene had been arranged between him and Firouz Ali in order to protect Ibrahim in case he should ever have to defend himself against the charge of consorting with a spy. The public dismissal would provide the camel-driver with witnesses. As Burnet slunk out of the room, he saw the dervish leaning against the post: he had entered while the scene was in progress. There was a twinkle in the Englishman's eyes as Burnet passed him; but neither gave the other any sign of recognition, and Burnet went his way to the gate, as a discarded servant about to return to his hill village on the Persian frontier. He spent his money in the purchase of a waterskin and a quantity of dates sufficient for a few days' supply. Captain Ellingford was due at the _tell_ in three days. Barring accidents, Burnet should have plenty of time to keep his appointment. CHAPTER VII A MAD RACE Burnet was too well experienced in eastern travel to commence his journey in the heat of the day. He found a fairly quiet khan where he rested until the late afternoon, not forgetting to complain bitterly of his summary dismissal by a camel-driver whom it was impossible to please. When at last he started, he struck across a line of low hills to the north-east, towards a wide bend in the Euphrates just below the latitude of Kut el Amara. Between the hills and the river the country was marshy and desolate, and he felt pretty secure against encounters with inquisitive wanderers. His idea was to swim the Euphrates at the northern extremity of the bend, from which the _tell_ of Tukulti-Ninip was about a march distant. Night overtook him before he reached the river, and since he did not know this part of the country well enough to proceed in darkness, he found himself obliged to seek a resting-place, and passed the night hours somewhat uneasily in a sandy hollow. At dawn he was up again, and had arrived at the edge of the marshy district when the midday heat again compelled a halt. Hitherto he had met no one; in the distance he had seen one or two bird catchers moving upon the marsh. He slept through the afternoon, and had just started again when a squadron of Turkish irregular cavalry emerged from behind a mound sparsely covered with ruins, where the troopers had probably off-saddled during the heat of the day. Of all men these were such as he least desired to meet. The Turks were so eager to snap up recruits that no explanations or excuses, no feigning of half-wittedness, were likely to avail him if he were caught. Unluckily the country was devoid of cover until he could gain the marsh reeds nearly half a mile away; the cavalry were, when he caught sight of them, a little farther distant in the opposite direction. If he could once plunge among the reeds he had a reasonable chance of escaping, for the horses would be at a disadvantage on the boggy ground. But at a second glance he abandoned hope; the men must have seen him; they would reach the reeds first, and it was so small a patch that they could encircle it and soon beat him out. Flight was evidently useless; he must put the best face on it and trust to mother wit. Even as he made up his mind to this, three men detached themselves from the squadron, which appeared to be about a hundred strong, and galloped towards him. Their comrades pursued their course upstream at a walk. When the men rode up to him, one of them ordered him to follow them: he must come before their officer. He assumed as silly a look as he could, and without replying, walked on at the same sauntering gait that he had adopted as soon as he saw the soldiers. "Now, ass-head, bestir yourself," cried the man who had addressed him. "The captain is a hasty man." "Ahi! Ass-head I am, but my legs--are not they the legs of a man? How should they keep pace with the legs of these mules?" "Mules! What a foolish fellow is this! Take hold of my stirrup, and run." Burnet clutched at the horse's tail, then shrank back. "Woe is me! Shall I have more dealings with a shaving-brush?" "By the Beard, he has not the wits of a calf," said another of the men. "Take him up behind you, Hassan." The trooper, a brawny Kurd, stooped, took Burnet by the middle, and hoisted him with apparent ease to the horse's crupper. "Put your arms round me," he said, and galloped off. On their catching up with the squadron the captain gave the order to halt, the trooper let Burnet down, and led him to his officer, explaining that he seemed to be an idiot, not knowing a horse from a mule nor a tail from a stirrup iron. "Your name?" demanded the captain. "Yusuf, may you live for ever," replied Burnet. "What are you? Why are you wandering here alone?" "Ahi! I am an ass-head; that giant there says so, and so did my master, Firouz Ali." "The barber of Bagdad!" "Truly he is a barber, and of Bagdad; and he has brushes and sharp knives and soap, and he pours water on the soap----" "This must be that witless apprentice of the barber's," the captain interrupted, "of whom they tell that he filled the mouth of Bukkad Bey with soap." "Mashallah! was it not well done?" cried Burnet, with a foolish smile. "It was like cream in a cup of raspberries." "The boy is a fool," said the captain. "You left Firouz Ali: what are you doing here?" "Truly I am gazing at the sun, noble effendi," said Burnet innocently, fixing his eyes on the officer's round fat face. "My father says my face is the moon, and he wants to see it." He took out the Arabic note, unfolded it, and offered it to the captain, who however pushed it away impatiently. "Answer my question: what have you done since you left the barber?" "Eaten and drunk and slept, and suffered many stripes at the hands of one Ibrahim, a driver of camels. It is true I am an ass-head, for he too called me so, and having brought me to the town yonder, he sent me away; and I am even now going to my home in the Beni Lam country to feed the goats. It is all I am fit for." The captain looked him up and down. "He is a fool, but his limbs are sound," he said. "He is good enough for the infantry. Take him up behind you again, Hassan. We will see what they make of him in Bagdad." The squadron moved off at an easy trot. Burnet was alarmed at the turn things had taken. He had little doubt that Firouz Ali would find some means of preventing his enlistment in the army; but the delay would prevent his meeting with Captain Ellingford at the _tell_ and render it impossible for him to convey his information to headquarters, at any rate for some time to come. Meanwhile the young chief Rejeb's tribe was in danger of annihilation. However, there was no help for it. Bagdad was a long way off, and before they got there he might find a means of escaping. As they rode along, Burnet listened to the troopers' conversation. They appeared to be a mixed lot, and spoke in a variety of dialects which he found very puzzling. But from words he made out here and there he gathered that the squadron had been on a reconnaissance down the right bank of the Euphrates. The mention of Halil's name now and again seemed to indicate that the expedition had been in some way connected with the impending attack on Rejeb. Whether it had been made in anticipation of that attack, to collect information, or whether the squadron was a part of the force detailed for the actual operations, Burnet was unable to determine. If the raid on Rejeb's people had actually occurred, his chances of finding an open route, should he succeed in crossing the Euphrates, were small indeed. The enemy would almost certainly hold the country through which he must travel, and probably in some strength. But from what he knew of the Turk it seemed unlikely that the expedition had even started yet. General Eisenstein had mentioned a month; there were still some days to spare, and not even the driving force of the German would have the effect of keeping either Turks or Arabs up to time. The month would probably extend to five or six weeks before the organisation of the expedition was sufficiently complete to satisfy Eisenstein, who, like all the German high command, would not move until he felt assured that every possible contingency had been foreseen and provided for. Burnet cast many a longing glance at the fine Arab ridden by the captain. It trod the sand with the high step and graceful movement of the thoroughbred, and a gallop on its back would have been a sheer joy. The squadron continued their march for some time after sunset, intending to bivouac at a spot which they had used for the purpose on the way down. It was a mound rising slightly above the marsh which had extended along their right flank the whole of the day. When they halted, the captain gave orders that Burnet should be tied up during the night. He was allowed first to eat a meal of his own dates, washed down with tepid, musty water from the skin he carried. It was an unpleasant night. His feet were hobbled, and his hands being bound, he suffered a good deal from the depredations of mosquitoes which he was unable to brush away. The birds and animals of the marsh kept up a strident chorus. Occasionally a wild boar with his family could be heard crashing through the reeds. It was impossible to sleep except in fitful snatches, and Burnet beguiled the wearisome hours by trying to form some plan of escape. He made several attempts to release his hands, but the trooper who had tied the cords had done his work thoroughly. Until his hands were free the most ingenious scheme for eluding his captors was a mere beating of the air; and he had to confess to himself that even then the chances of getting away from so many well-mounted men were not worth reckoning. Overcome by weariness, Burnet was at last in a deep sleep when, at the first sign of dawn, the camp was astir. He was wakened, his bonds were loosed, and he was permitted to make a frugal meal again while the troopers saddled up in preparation for starting. Burnet noticed that the squadron had diminished in numbers, and learnt by and by that two or three parties of half a dozen men each had ridden off very early to scout in various directions. Looking around him, he observed a wide glittering expanse some three miles or more to the east--no doubt the Euphrates shining in the morning sunlight. Rush-grown pools in the middle distance suggested that the intervening country was marshy. Burnet's limbs were a good deal cramped by the uneasy postures he had had to adopt during the night, and he thought it well to assume a greater degree of stiffness than he actually felt. Uttering many doleful lamentations on his unhappy lot, he sat down and rocked himself to and fro until one of the troopers told him (with a scornful gibe on his lack of wit) to walk about if he wished to ease his aching. The majority of the men were squatting or lying on the ground beside their horses. The captain, in the centre of the mound some twenty yards away from Burnet, was examining the surrounding country through his field glasses. His horse was being walked up and down by his orderly, who eyed the benumbed prisoner with a certain amusement as he passed him. Burnet ignored the man and looked only at the horse, admiring the graceful high-mettled creature. Suddenly a wild idea set his blood leaping. He rose, as if in response to the trooper's suggestion, and began to walk up and down, slowly and stiffly. Every moment he drew nearer to the short stretch on which the orderly was giving his master's horse gentle exercise. He allowed the man to pass him once, but as he returned from the end of his beat, Burnet gathered himself together, threw himself upon the Turk, and with a straight right-hander, shot out with all his strength, sent him staggering back. Half dazed as he was, the man still clutched the bridle. There was no time to loosen his grip. The plunging of the horse had already attracted the officer's attention, and Burnet was partly hidden from him by the animal's body. While the orderly was still staggering, Burnet vaulted into the saddle, and the scared animal wrenched himself from the man's relaxed grip and dashed across the mound towards the open country. The officer had rushed forward, and with a furious imprecation sent three bullets in quick succession after the runaway. Burnet instinctively ducked; he discovered afterwards that one of the shots had perforated his water skin. The camp was in uproar. The troopers had sprung up, and in obedience to their captain's frenzied commands leapt into their saddles. Then began the maddest gallop that the plains of Babylonia had ever seen. Burnet felt that at every stride his mount must come to grief. At the start he had clung to the horse's mane, at the same time pressing his knees into its flanks with a muscular energy of which he felt the resulting strain for several days. The reins hung loose, the stirrups danced, and it was only by sheer horsemanship that Burnet was able to retain his seat until he recovered the former, which he had feared might trip the horse up. To slip his feet into the stirrups was impossible while the mad pace was maintained. It was some moments before he realised that his steed was carrying him towards the south-west, away from his goal. With a firm grip now on the reins he managed to edge the horse gradually to the left, and, still at the same furious gallop, made straight towards the river. Lying low on the horse's neck, he glanced round, and saw, as he had expected, that the troopers were strung out in an irregular line behind him. Some, divining his intentions, were already heading to cut him off. And now his familiarity with the Arab horse served him well. By degrees he brought the frightened animal under control, and checked its pace, realising that its panic would soon exhaust its strength. He had little fear that the trooper's heavier horses would overtake him; but there was a risk of meeting one of the scouting parties which had ridden off an hour or two before, and he might need all his mount's reserve of speed to avoid being cut off. Having mastered the horse, he was able to give his mind to a rapid calculation of his course of action. It was of the first importance that he should keep off the marsh, for if the animal were mired, within a few minutes he would find himself the target for fifty odd rifles. Even a convenient bed of reeds would hardly save him, for as one against fifty he would stand no chance. Before he attempted to cross the river his object must be to ride the pursuers out of sight, a difficult matter on the flat plain, which was almost devoid of cover. It was a case of trusting to the horse's stamina. Keeping therefore within touch of the edge of the marsh, he settled to a fast steady trot, every now and then looking over his shoulder for a sight of his pursuers. For some time Burnet's resolution to spare his horse prevented him from increasing his lead appreciably. Indeed, the pursuers began to gain upon him. But he was so confident in his mount's superiority that this fact did not disturb him. Barring accidents, he could outstrip the more heavily mounted troopers at his pleasure. Now that this plan of action was clearly outlined, he began to feel the exhilaration of the race. The horse had lost his fright, and already seemed to have entered into that mutual understanding which is established between a thoroughbred animal and a skilled rider. The air of early morning was crisp and still; there was no wind to sweep dust into his eyes, and the sand that flew up under the horse's hoofs hung in a cloud behind him. His only anxiety was concerned with the scouting parties, and he looked more frequently ahead, and to his right, than towards the pursuers behind. There was little or no danger to be feared from the marsh on his left, but at any moment one of the detachments might appear on the plain to the south or west. This apprehension proved to be well-founded. He presently caught sight of what appeared to be a low cloud far away to the south-west, and a few minutes later he was able to distinguish a number of specks in the midst of it. These grew rapidly larger as they approached, and he at length counted seven horsemen riding close together, and almost certainly troopers of the squadron. He had just time, perhaps, to avoid them; but whether he struck off to the right or left he would arouse their suspicion, especially as they must already have seen the string of pursuers in his rear. They could hardly fail also to recognise their captain's horse, and would probably guess that a horse-stealer had been at work and ride to cut him off, or, what would be worse, dismount and fire. It seemed best to take the bold course: to ride straight towards them, leaving them in doubt as to the meaning of the chase until he was close upon them. Bending low upon the horse's neck to avoid recognition as long as possible, he groped for his revolver and held on his way. As he approached the party, their actions showed that they were puzzled. They halted, gesticulated, gathered in a group to debate the matter. No doubt they thought that a fugitive would hardly ride straight into their midst. But before Burnet had ridden another hundred yards he saw that the critical moment was at hand. The men suddenly broke apart; it appeared that they had at last recognised him, for they unslung their rifles. And now for the first time Burnet made the supreme call upon his horse. The gallant beast shot forward instantly, closing in upon the group with amazing speed. With the instinct of leaderless men, the Turks, evidently disconcerted, bunched themselves together again, and lost a few precious moments in fumbling with their rifles. Before they had aligned themselves and got their weapons ready Burnet was upon them. When some twenty yards distant, a touch on the rein caused his horse to swerve slightly to the left, and the nearest Turk, dropping his rifle, drew his tulwar and aimed a sweeping cut at Burnet as he flashed by. Burnet felt the air of the stroke as it missed him by inches. Turning on his saddle, he fired his revolver, rather with the object of inspiring caution and respect than with the expectation of hitting any of the enemy. At such a headlong speed to take aim was impossible. His shot, in truth, missed. He heard four scattered cracks: the rifle bullets whistled past; but he was already many yards beyond the stationary group, and when the thunder of pursuit reached his ears, he was confident that, with a clear course now before him, he could shake off the new pursuers if his horse could stand the pace. When next he glanced back, one man was hard on his heels, but the rest were strung out at various intervals behind him, and the original pursuers were rapidly losing ground. There was nothing to fear except from the one man who was evidently better mounted than his comrades. He carried his rifle still unslung, and though an Arab of the desert might have found it a useful weapon even at the breakneck speed at which they were riding, it was not likely that a Turkish trooper would possess the dexterity of his wilder brother. But it was clearly necessary to dispose of this man. Burnet slightly checked his horse, and trusting it with its own course he looked back continually over his shoulder and watched the Turk foot by foot reducing the gap between them. From forty yards it became thirty--twenty--and then Burnet turned suddenly in the saddle and took a snap shot at the pursuer. It went wide. The Turk gave a shout of triumph, flourished his tulwar, and came galloping on. At fifteen yards Burnet tried another shot, and before he could see the effect of it, had to turn hastily to control the horse, whom the repeated shots had apparently disturbed. But he was conscious that the sounds of pursuit had died away, and glancing round a few moments later he saw that the Turk had reined up and was dismounting. That he was not seriously hurt was soon proved. Burnet had only just faced forward again when a bullet sang past his ear. "A good shot," he thought, and bent low to avoid a second. But no other came, and glancing back, he saw that the man's comrades had galloped past him, and were now between him and the quarry. There was no fear of further rifle practice. [Illustration: THE LAST SHOT] Burnet was surprised that the troopers had not by this time relinquished the chase, for they were hopelessly outpaced, and must be losing a yard in every twenty. Probably they had unpleasant anticipations of their captain's wrath if they returned unsuccessful, and were hoping against hope that accident would give the fugitive into their hands. It was only after they had continued the pursuit for another mile or so that they at last recognised its futility. Dismounting, they tried to snipe Burnet's fast-lessening figure. In another five minutes he was beyond effective range, and with a sigh of contentment drew rein. "Well done, old fellow," he said, patting the steaming neck of the quivering horse. "You have earned a rest." CHAPTER VIII ACROSS THE EUPHRATES The chase had extended over several miles, and it appeared to Burnet that he was not far from the spot where he had been captured on the previous day, when he was considering how best to cross the Euphrates. He had lost a day; it was now doubtful whether he could reach the _tell_ by the appointed time, even with the aid of the horse. Captain Ellingford could not be expected to wait long for him at such a remote and desolate place, and since it would be a long and hazardous undertaking to cross the Turkish lines except in an aeroplane the prospect was not at all cheering. The first necessity was to give his horse rest after the long gallop. He reined up at a shallow pool, and while the animal drank he carefully scanned the surrounding country. It was a flat and almost bare plain, a few straggling bushes here and there making a struggle for existence. The river was not in sight, and he knew that between it and him stretched miles of swamp, through which it would be difficult for one unfamiliar with the locality to find a way. It seemed that his best course would be to ride on, as soon as the horse was sufficiently rested, until he came to one of the mounds that rose slightly above the general level: this would give him a wider outlook. As he waited he reflected on the almost entire absence of signs of war. In Meshed Ali he had heard scarcely any mention of the great conflict in which more than half the world was engaged; yet on the other side of the Euphrates, comparatively few miles away, a great Turkish army under German taskmasters was holding far-flung entrenchments which not all the valour of seasoned British troops and their gallant Indian comrades had availed to pierce after months of effort. The chances that Bagdad would fall to British arms appeared small indeed. After half an hour's rest he put his horse to a smart trot, riding southward with a slight eastward trend in order to make gradual approach to the swampy region. In some twenty minutes he espied, some distance away to the left, a mound that would give him the look-out he desired. Riding towards it, and beyond, he dismounted, retraced his steps, and leading the horse, left it at the foot of the mound, screened from the north, and cautiously made his way on foot to the summit, where he found good cover behind a pile of ruins. And then he had a shock. To the north, probably two miles away, a small party of horsemen in extended order was riding towards him. They were too far away for him to distinguish their costume, but he had no doubt that they were some of the men who had pursued him from the bivouac. He had hoped and believed that the Turks, finding that he had the heels of them, had abandoned the idea of chasing him farther; but he was now forced to conclude that a few of the better-mounted men had been sent to follow him up, trusting perhaps to accident to deliver him into their hands. The order in which they rode seemed to show that they were following his trail on the sandy soil, with precautions against its possible disappearance in stony patches. Burnet had no fear of their catching him if it came to another race over the plain, but he had already come so far out of his true direction that the prospect of further loss of time was annoying. He threw a hasty glance eastwards. Far off he descried the irregular line of reeds that marked the course of the Euphrates. The middle distance was almost unbroken swamp, except in one quarter, the north-east, towards that bend to which he had been proceeding when he was captured. A rapid calculation determined him to make a dash in that direction. It would mean doubling on his tracks, and if the enemy caught sight of him as he rode off at an acute angle with their own course they would certainly strike off to their left and try to intercept him before he reached the river. But he could not afford further delay. He had no fodder for the horse; for himself he had only a few dates left, and no water, for his waterskin was leaky and useless; and the farther south he went, the worse would be his chances of making a safe passage of the river. Some distance to the south-east of the mound was an extensive area of marsh grass. Remounting, and keeping the mound between himself and the pursuers, he started in this direction, gained the shelter of the grass, which rose nearly to the horse's shoulders, and rode through it as rapidly as he could on the soft ground due eastward. He guessed that the pursuers would use the mound as he had done, as a post of observation, and when he judged that they must be approaching it, he plunged into the tallest patch of grass he could find, and dismounted. Through the grass he could still see the top of the mound, but he felt confident that neither himself nor the horse would be visible to the enemy when they arrived there. His hope was that, failing to discover him, they would continue their ride southward, leaving him to make off in the opposite direction without further danger. Time passed. There was no sign of the Turks, and Burnet was beginning to surmise that they had either given up the chase or passed the mound when he saw figures appear above the summit. Four horsemen halted there. Where were the others? Surely he had counted six before? The absence of two made him uneasy. Had he been seen in spite of all his caution? The four men remained motionless on the mound for several minutes. Then there was a faint shout in the distance. Instantly the four Turks dashed down the side of the mound, and galloped towards the patch of grass in which Burnet was concealed. It was only too clear that the missing men, whose movements he had been unable to see, had sought and found his trail at the base of the mound: the hunt was up. It was no time for further finessing. He vaulted into the saddle, and rode off at full speed, as nearly as he could judge towards the narrow stretch of dry land through the swamp which he had previously marked. He was no longer in danger of being cut off, for he was between his pursuers and the river. Would they be able to ride him down? Disappointment awaited him. The irregular space of open ground that had seemed to him, on his distant view from the mound, dry and firm, turned out to have many soft patches which it was impossible to avoid. There was no time to pick his way: he could only plunge into the swampy places as they occurred, chancing his luck. He soon found, however, that his horse had extraordinary judgment, bred, no doubt, of former experience in the marshes. It seemed to distinguish by instinct the firm ground from the soft, and being given its head, sprang from one hard patch to another unerringly. As Burnet drew nearer to the river, the grasses and reed-like plants of the marsh grew taller and thicker. Immense white lilies and other flowering plants showed their blossoms here and there; water-birds of all kinds, disturbed by the passage of the horse, flew out in all directions, among them a stately pelican or two, indignant at being molested in their solitary retreats. Encompassed by these dense masses of vegetation, Burnet was effectually hidden from his pursuers, who could only follow his trail; and he felt a joyous confidence that their horses were not likely to be so clever as his own. At last, the river came suddenly into view--or rather, the remains of an ancient embankment a few feet above the surface of the marsh, covered thick with creeping plants. A touch on the horse's flank sent the animal bounding up the embankment, and then Burnet reined up and looked back over the waving sea of grass and reeds. He was just able to descry the heads of the pursuers, at least a mile away. Burnet looked to right and left, seeking a convenient place for crossing the river, here about two hundred yards wide. There was the risk that if he descended the embankment too hastily, he might find himself embogged in the thick mud that bordered the stream. Riding along southward, he came at length to a deep wady or channel running into the marsh, where the descent seemed fairly easy. He gave the horse a minute or two to recover breath, then rode into the river at the spot where the wady left it. The animal took the water readily enough, but showed a disinclination to go beyond its depth, until Burnet slipped from the saddle and swam along with his hand on the bridle. He struck out obliquely, hoping to gain the spot on the opposite bank which he had marked as offering an easy landing. Progress was slow, but he was three-fourths of the way across when shouts behind apprised him that the pursuers had reached the embankment. By this time the current had carried him fully two hundred yards below the place where he had entered the water, and some little distance below his chosen landing-place. The pursuers rode along the embankment in the same direction, with the idea, no doubt, of gaining on him by shortening their swim. But the wady brought them to an unexpected check. His horse's tracks showed that it was there he had entered the river; they must either enter it at the same spot, or lose time by crossing the wady first. Two of them chose the former course, and dashed down the bank into the water. The rest dismounted and opened fire on their quarry, now within a few yards of the further bank. The range was five or six hundred yards; the Turks were weary, Turkish irregular cavalry are at no time very good shots, and only the heads of man and horse were above water. Burnet heard the bullets singing past him on either side. The landing-place he had chosen was far to his left. There was no time to seek another convenient spot. With encouraging words to his gallant horse, he led it straight towards the bank, which looked like an impenetrable green wall. The horse found his feet, but at first refused to drive his head at the apparently solid vegetation. Burnet, still holding the bridle, scrambled first into the midst of the plants, and drew the animal slowly up after him. In another half minute both he and the horse had disappeared from the sight of the Turks on the opposite bank. Burnet hitched the bridle to a bamboo-like stalk, and returned to the edge of the bank, where he could watch the pursuers through the dense mass of reeds. The two swimmers had already turned their horses' heads; the men on the bank were evidently debating the question of their next move. They were presently rejoined by their comrades; the discussion was continued for a little; then they all turned their backs upon the river and disappeared behind the embankment. CHAPTER IX FRIENDS OR FOES? Feeling that he was now reasonably safe, Burnet led the horse through the stretch of marsh land that bordered the river until he reached a dry spot, screened by tall grasses, where he could rest and think out his course. To begin with, he had lost a whole day. With the utmost expedition, and no accidents, he could hardly reach the _tell_ at the time appointed with Captain Ellingford. Moreover, the horse, to which he owed his escape, was now an encumbrance and an embarrassment. The remainder of his journey lay over a parched and barren plain, that provided sustenance for neither man nor beast. The small stock of dates which he had purchased in Meshed Ali would suffice for himself, but not for the horse as well. True, the Arab horse was accustomed to go long distances with little or no food, but it would be two days at the best before he reached the _tell_, and two days' fast was beyond even the Arab's endurance. Further if by good luck he should meet Captain Ellingford--and that was now doubtful--what could he do with the horse then? He could not return to the British lines except by aeroplane: yet it went much against the grain to abandon the noble animal that had served him so well. If turned adrift and left to forage for himself, the horse would probably pick up a subsistence until he found a new master. A new master! In these regions that could hardly be any one than an enemy. Turkish troops were constantly on the move in the plains between the Euphrates and the Tigris. Burnet was loth to let his prize fall again into Turkish hands. The problem how to save the horse and yet not fail in his appointment with Captain Ellingford was a very hard nut to crack. When Burnet had pondered the question for some time, a light suddenly dawned upon him. The stronghold of the young chief Rejeb, which he had heard described in the course of the interview between General Eisenstein and Major Burckhardt, was about one march distant from the _tell_, in a south-easterly direction. As nearly as he could judge, the spot where he had crossed the river was almost due south of the _tell_. In all probability, then, the stronghold was not less than fifteen nor more than twenty-five miles to the east. Could he discover the stronghold, leave the horse in Rejeb's care, and yet keep his appointment with Captain Ellingford? There were several circumstances to take into consideration. In the first place, it was clear from what the Germans had said that the stronghold was not easy to discover. Its locality was not well known to the authorities in Bagdad; they had had recourse to Major Burckhardt; it was certain that Rejeb had chosen a place far from the tracks of the desert travellers, and by its very nature hard of access. Then, too, the expedition organised against it might already be on foot; the stronghold might, indeed, have already fallen. To approach it might be to jump into the lion's jaws. On the other hand, General Eisenstein had anticipated delay. The month he had allowed for the organisation of the expedition was barely up, and there might be time to gain the stronghold before operations began, and, indeed, to give Rejeb warning of what was to come. On the whole Burnet decided that it was worth attempting. If he failed to find the stronghold, he could make up for lost time by riding instead of walking to the _tell_, and the horse must then, after all, be turned adrift. Having made up his mind, he shared a few dates with the horse, ventured to drink a little water from a pool, then mounted and set off eastward. He had expected that in proportion as he increased his distance from the river the country would grow less swampy; on the contrary, the farther he went, the worse it became. Again he found it necessary to trust largely to his horse. The necessity of making detours was annoying, because they involved loss of time. But as the animal picked its way unerringly through the marshy patches, Burnet began to realise the defensive possibilities of this water-logged region. If this was the country chosen by Rejeb's tribe as their refuge, the stronghold should give its assailants a vast amount of trouble. Unhealthy it might be; it was certainly secure. As the day wore on, Burnet wondered whether he had decided rightly. Progress was terribly slow. The zigzag course necessitated by the nature of the ground, made it difficult even to maintain his general direction. Without a compass, without definite knowledge of the position of the stronghold, it seemed that he might wander for days in this desolate region without gaining a single clue. At nightfall he was almost in despair. Fatigue, the reaction from the strain of the escape and the pursuit, told heavily upon his spirits, and when he sought a secluded spot where he might rest during the night, he was a prey to that heart-sickness and despondency which assails at times even the bravest. He found a clear and fairly dry space, with a background of shrubs, which seemed to promise security for the night. Tethering his horse to a stout bush, he fastened his revolver to his wrist, and lay down, with his back to the wall of vegetation, his face to the open. Weary though he was, he intended to keep awake, but he dozed more than once, shook himself, got up and walked about, lay down again when he thought himself fully roused, only to fall at once into a profound sleep. In the dead of night he was suddenly startled into consciousness by a shrill whinny from his horse. He was in the act of springing to his feet when a number of forms closed in upon him silently out of the darkness. Before he could use his revolver he was seized, thrown violently back upon the ground, and in spite of his struggles securely held. It was so dark that he could not count his captors; but while he lay in their grasp there was the sound of others approaching; he heard no voices; the men who held him had said nothing, and one had pressed a hand upon his mouth. Presently a light was struck: Burnet remembered as an incongruous detail in such a spot that it was a safety match; and a small lantern was lit. By its feeble light he saw himself surrounded by a score of well-armed Arabs. He tried to speak, but the pressure upon his mouth did not relax. Two of the men swiftly tied his hands; another gagged him with a strip of dirty cloth cut from his garment; then he was lifted up, his horse was released, and the whole party, preceded by the man carrying the lantern, quitted the open space and started to march through the tall grasses below. [Illustration: A CAPTIVE IN BONDS] The silence of his captors, their rapid yet stealthy movements, suggested the caution of men travelling in an enemy's country, or at any rate in the neighbourhood of a hostile force. They followed their leader, who held the lantern, in single file, each keeping closely in touch with the man before him. Burnet had been placed about half-way down the line, and immediately behind him came the man leading his horse. Glancing at the sky, he knew by the position of the stars that the general direction of their march was eastward, and he wondered with a certain hopefulness whether their destination was the stronghold which he had set out to find. Their muteness had prevented him from picking up clues from conversation, and they might, for all he could tell, be a part of the force of Rejeb's enemy the chief Halil. But it seemed much more probable that they were Rejeb's men, and Burnet was vexed that their over-caution in gagging him prevented him from explaining that he was a friend of their chief. The march continued without pause through the rest of the night. The leader made so many turns in seeking practicable paths through the swamp that the distance covered must have been three times the distance as the crow flies. Burnet, tired when he started, was ready to drop with fatigue; but he was resolved to "stick it out," and to show no sign of his condition. It was not until the darkness began to break that the embargo of silence was lifted. The leader appeared to consult with some of the men at the head of the line. Their tones were so low that Burnet could not hear what was said, and after a few minutes they again fell silent. When, however, it was quite light they halted. Two or three of the men went ahead in different directions, evidently to scout, and when they returned after a brief interval, the leader gave a grunt of satisfaction, and the whole party, at his signal, opened their wallets and prepared to take a meal. At another signal the man who had marched behind Burnet removed the gag, and placed him before the leader. This man, a swarthy hook-nosed Arab of about thirty-five years, looked keenly at his prisoner. "That is a fine horse," were his first words. "Where did you steal it?" Burnet could not help smiling. The man had shrewdly hit the mark. What should he reply? He thought it best for the present to temporise. "Truly he that borrows meaning not to pay back is a thief," he said: "yet it is not theft if it is done openly." "Wallah!" grunted the man. "What is your name, whence do you come, and on what errand?" These questions came after a slight pause, during which Burnet had thought rapidly. His captors must have recognised the military trappings of the horse; they must know that it had belonged to some one in the Turkish service, and their suspicion that he had stolen it, together with the absence of any note of indignation in the leader's question, seemed to argue that they were at any rate no great friends of the Turk, and to confirm his surmise that they were Rejeb's men. He resolved on a bold stroke. "Is it for servants to know their master's business?" he said. "My errand shall be told to your chief. Send word to Rejeb your master that Yusuf the boatman would have speech with him." He had spoken in loud tones so that all might hear, and the start of surprise which he noticed in a rapid glance around the company at the name Rejeb convinced him that he was right. "We have heard of Yusuf the boatman," said the leader, with a marked change of tone. "Are you indeed the man who saved Rejeb out of the hand of Halil's creatures?--the man whom our chief bade us hold in honour?" "I am he. And that there be no delay, send a man upon this horse to your chief, telling him that Yusuf the boatman is here." The leader ordered one of his men to ride off with the message, and the rest to resume their march. "May not my hands now be unbound?" Burnet asked, as he set off with the rest. "Nay, that is for our chief to order," replied the man. "What if you are some paltry horse-thief that has taken the name of Yusuf the boatman with some evil design? Your dress is rather that of a camel-driver than of a boatman." "Truly your chief has faithful servants. So be it, then, until his eyes fall upon me." Something less than an hour later, a small party of horsemen was seen in the distance, approaching at speed. One of them had a led horse. In a few minutes Rejeb rode up at the head of his men. "Peace be with you!" he cried, springing from his horse, and coming towards Burnet with an eager light in his eyes. "This is a day of rejoicing. But what is this? Your hands are bound!" "Your servant here kept me faithfully bound until assured that I am what I said I was." "Mashallah! Loose him at once," he cried to the man. "Know that this is the brother of whom I told you, saying that he had saved my life, and that I and my people are bounden to him for ever. And now, my brother, mount this horse that I have brought for you: that horse the messenger rode was weary and famished and is being well cared for." He put no questions to Burnet, treating him as a guest who had been expected. The horsemen rode off, Rejeb commanding the unmounted party to follow as rapidly as they could. During the ride there was little conversation between Rejeb and Burnet, though the latter guessed from the young chief's manner that he either had important news to give, or expected to hear something of importance. After about half an hour's easy trot they came in sight of extensive ruins on a mound surrounded by swamp, and as they drew nearer to them, Burnet wondered how the stronghold, if this it was, could be approached, for it appeared to be completely encircled by wide expanses of water, broken here and there by areas of mud or reeds. Presently, however, they came to a broad wady that must in ancient times have been one of the major irrigation works of the district. Here the party fell into single file, and Rejeb, apologising for riding in front of his guest, led the way along the narrow embankment of the channel. At intervals the embankment was intersected by smaller wadys: these the horsemen waded through. When they at length arrived opposite the mound, Rejeb turned abruptly to the right and pushed through a clump of reeds on to a narrow stone causeway, fringed on both sides with tall rushes which completely hid it from view. It led directly to the mound, almost half a mile ahead in a straight line. Burnet learnt, later on, that the causeway was believed to date from the Babylonian age; it was supposed to have been built, not for the passage of the swamp--for in those days the surrounding country was probably dry land, carefully irrigated from the wadys--but as a means of access to the temple which then crowned the mound, in times of flood due to abnormal rainfall. Centuries of neglect had turned the land once well drained into permanent swamp, but the solid masonry of the causeway had withstood the ravages of time, though when Rejeb's people first discovered it it had been much overgrown with rampant vegetation. They had at once perceived the advantages of the mound as a natural fortress and of the causeway as the only means of access. They cleared away the overgrowth except at the edges, where the vegetation that was allowed to remain made the causeway a sort of secret lane. On riding up the mound, Burnet saw that the ruins were even more extensive than they had appeared at a distance. They covered a space nearly half a mile long and a third of a mile wide. He conjectured that the place had been the site of a temple and the dwellings of a community of priests. The lower part of what had once been a large tower was in a fair state of preservation, and dominated the rest of the ruins. It was here that Rejeb and his family were lodged; for, young as he was, he had already a wife and children. No other buildings had been habitable when the mound was chosen as a harbour of refuge; but the young men of the tribe had made for themselves fairly serviceable shelters out of the fragments of masonry with which the site abounded. These details were explained by Rejeb as he led the way to his tower. He explained also that only part of his tribe had found refuge here. The rest were dispersed. Many of them, especially the old men, women, and children, had been received by friendly tribes in the southern desert. With the exception of Rejeb's own family, the occupants of the _tell_ were nearly all fighting men. They had with them all their most valuable horses, and were armed with rifles of various patterns. Their great difficulty was the supply of food and fodder. They had brought with them a considerable stock of dates, meal, and dried goat's flesh, which they kept in underground cellars excavated for the purpose; and this they supplemented by periodical forays upon the plantations and flocks of the weaker tribes of the marshes. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the supply, especially of fodder for the horses. A great part of the surplus produce of the neighbouring tribes was sold to the Turkish army, and the sympathies of these people was naturally on the side of their customers. They would just as readily sell food to the British, but the British were still barred by the entrenchments at Kut el Amara. The smaller communities of Arabs, moreover, were dominated by the large and powerful tribe of Halil; and Rejeb's people, obliged to retreat into their fastness, were not in a position to exchange and barter commodities. Their only means of supplying themselves was to swoop suddenly, most often by night, upon the settlements of their less warlike neighbours, and of late they had only too often returned from these forays unsuccessful. It was not until Rejeb had conducted Burnet to his tower that the important matters each had at heart were entered upon. In a bare stone room, as comfortless as a hermit's cell, the two young men, seated on blocks of stone, exchanged confidences. "You know me as Yusuf the boatman," Burnet began. "I owe it to you to tell you that I am really an Englishman--the son of Burnet Aga of whom you may have heard." The Arab gave no sign of surprise. "Did not my heart tell me you were not as you seemed?" he said. "I would tell you all my adventures but that I have little time to spare," Burnet went on. "I promised to join a British officer to-day at the _tell_ where you and I met. Let it suffice that I have been to Bagdad on a secret errand, that I fell into the hands of Turks as I came to seek you, and escaped on the horse of their officer. The rest of my story must be told at leisure on some future day. Now, my friend, Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, sent a messenger to inform you that the Turks have joined hands with Halil to root out you and your tribe. Did the man reach you?" "He came but a few days ago, and departed immediately to carry his tidings to your general below Kut, for it is a matter that concerns your army weightily. The talk of the country is that Kut is a locked door which your countrymen will never open. Yet there must be some among the Turks who fear that the lock will one day be burst: if it were not so, why should they help Halil to destroy a small tribe like mine? Is it not because they know that my people hate the Turks, and will lend assistance to all who are the Turk's enemies? When the barriers at Kut are burst, and your army pours through the open doorway to attack Bagdad, my people will help to protect them on the side of the Euphrates. This the Turks well know, and therefore it is that they go about to destroy me, as it were to pluck a thorn from a foot. I bade the messenger tell these things to your general, but I cannot hope that he will send me help, for he is a great way off, and moreover he will not move a part of his army so far from his main body. There is no help for me until Kut has fallen. Wallahi! I must guard my own skin. In my father's days his tribe withstood more than once the power of the pashas of Bagdad; they will do so again, though in truth the odds are heavy against them now, when the Germans have furnished the Turks with new and terrible engines of war such as my father never knew. But we will make a stout defence in this our stronghold, and Allah is merciful to those who fight in a good cause." Burnet admired the young chief's courage, though he doubted whether, even in a position so strong by nature, all the valour of the Arabs would prevail against the superior arms of the enemy. Rejeb informed him that the parties of scouts whom he sent out daily had as yet learnt nothing of the expedition, and his great hope was that the British would have broken through at Kut before the menace became pressing. It was necessary that Burnet should depart betimes if he was to reach his rendezvous with Captain Ellingford while daylight lasted. After consultation with Rejeb it was arranged that he should ride out under the escort of a few picked mounted men, who would conduct him by the shortest route to the _tell_. They would not actually approach the _tell_, lest the sight of Arabs near the spot should deter Captain Ellingford from alighting. Having brought Burnet within two or three miles of it, they would return, taking his horse with them, and leaving him to perform the remainder of the journey on foot. They would furnish him with food and water enough for two or three days. If by ill luck the captain should not keep the appointment, Burnet would return on foot to Rejeb's stronghold, and endeavour to reach the British lines by a long detour. Rejeb summoned six of his men, explained that they were to serve Burnet as they would serve himself, and gave them the orders that had been agreed upon. A little more than an hour after his arrival at the stronghold Burnet quitted it, riding the Turk's horse, and accompanied by the six Arabs, on mounts little inferior to his own. CHAPTER X THE TRYST It was nearly noon when Burnet and his escort reached the spot, between two and three miles from the _tell_, where they were to part company. Autumn was merging into winter, and the midday heat was not so great as to necessitate a long halt. Burnet took leave of the Arabs, confided his horse to their care, and went alone on foot across the plain. The route chosen for him by his guides was not direct, and the journey took him twice as long as it would have done had he followed his own judgment; but it was safe; he met no one; and he arrived at the _tell_ a little after two o'clock. There was no sign of Captain Ellingford. Burnet went down to the underground chamber, exchanged his Arab dress for his own uniform, then returned to his former look-out post on the mound, field-glasses in hand. It was a case for the cultivation of oriental patience. Two or three hours passed. He had frequently scanned the horizon, without catching a glimpse either of the expected aeroplane or of figures on the plain. At last, however, almost at the same moment, he noticed, away to the north-west, a dust cloud moving on the ground, which speedily resolved itself into a strong body of horsemen, and some distance to the east of them a speck in the sky which grew larger moment by moment and was undoubtedly an aeroplane, flying at a height of about two thousand feet. Burnet had just focussed it through his field-glasses when it dropped swiftly earthwards, and vanished from his sight. He had not had time to distinguish its make; but it was unlikely that an enemy machine was flying in this direction on the very day when Captain Ellingford had promised to return to the _tell_. On the other hand, if the machine was piloted by the captain, why had he alighted so far from his destination? Was he the victim suddenly of the airman's chief foe, engine trouble? Burnet turned his glasses towards the body of horsemen. They had changed their course, and were now galloping eastward, in the direction in which the aeroplane had come down. Smitten with misgiving, Burnet slipped the glasses back into their case, hurried down the slope, and set off at his best pace towards the spot where he feared his friend was in peril. It was hard going. When he had left the sandy neighbourhood of the _tell_, he had to skirt swamps, cross wadys, and sometimes to force his way through thick masses of reeds. To make matters worse, his view was circumscribed by the rushes and tall grass, so that he could only gauge his general direction by the sun. After half an hour's exhausting progress he began to wonder whether he had not overshot the mark. He had seen no sign of the horsemen, nor of the aeroplane, which must stand higher than they. In this trackless and desolate region he might wander as in a maze. But just when the difficulties of the situation were weighing his spirits down to the point of despair, he was suddenly startled by the rattle of a machine-gun not far ahead, the crackle of musketry, and loud cries. At this moment he was on the edge of a reedy swamp, like those which he had skirted more than once since he left the _tell_. He felt that it was no time for caution, and plunged into the yielding surface, sinking in first up to his ankles, and soon finding himself in deep water where it was necessary to swim. Wading toilsomely through the slime beyond, he scrambled ashore, coated with mud and green scum, and dashed through the reeds, guided always by the continuous sounds of conflict. A quarter-mile of stumbling, wading, dragging his mud-caked boots brought him to the edge of a belt of rushes that separated the morass from a broad clear space beyond, and as he plunged through the tall flags he dreaded what he might see on the other side. By this time the firing had ceased. When he parted the screen of rushes and peered through he saw the aeroplane not far from the centre of the open space. Near it Captain Ellingford lay on the ground, guarded by two Turkish troopers. Forty or fifty other Turks were intently examining the machine. A little beyond it were several prone forms, and farther away the horses of the troop were bunched together in the charge of half a dozen men. The Turks were too much occupied and interested to observe the face peering at them through the rushes. After a rapid glance that took in all the details of the scene Burnet stepped silently back under cover. There came to his ears the sounds of an animated conversation between the officer in command and his subordinates. He could not understand what they said, but guessed that they were discussing in perplexity the question what to do with their prize. Presently the officer gave a series of sharp orders, and parting the rushes to make for himself a peep-hole, Burnet saw the greater number of the men cross the space and mount their horses. A few of them then rode off in different directions, no doubt to act as vedettes and give warning if an enemy approached. The remainder lined up and awaited further orders. Meanwhile the officer resumed his conversation with the men he had retained. It was clear from their puzzled looks that they could come to no conclusion about the disposal of the aeroplane. Burnet guessed that they were unwilling to destroy a machine which would be useful to their own army; but the problem how to convey it to their lines, probably a good many miles away, over country that was one long succession of swamps, was evidently beyond them. After a time, however, it appeared that light had dawned. Burnet heard the word wady several times repeated, and though his ignorance of Turkish prevented him from understanding in what connection it was used, it gave him a clue to their next step. The officer sent one of the men to convey an order to the mounted group. A dozen of the troopers rode away westward, in the direction of the Euphrates. The rest dismounted again. While some of them brought picketing ropes and attached them to the aeroplane, others began to beat down the rushes that edged the northern boundary of the open space. Then two of the horses were yoked to the ropes, and dragged the machine slowly towards the track which the troopers were hastily making. Burnet came to the conclusion that they intended to draw the aeroplane to a wady somewhere to the north, float it there, perhaps on an extemporised raft, and so convey it to the river. As soon as the aeroplane began to move, the officer gave an order to the two men standing sentry over Captain Ellingford, and then Burnet saw for the first time that his friend was wounded. The Turks helped him to his feet, with a care that showed a certain chivalrousness, and supported between them he limped after his machine. Burnet felt utterly helpless. Alone against forty or fifty men, he could do nothing, either to rescue his friend or to save the aeroplane. True, night was approaching: the Turks could not complete their preparations for floating the machine that day; he might follow them up on the chance of finding an opportunity in the darkness of getting the captain away, if not of destroying the engine. But on second thoughts he recognised the almost certain futility of such a course. Ellingford was wounded, probably unable either to endure the fatigue of walking or to sit a horse. It was scarcely likely that circumstances would again favour such audacious but hazardous schemes as had already twice won success. Burnet felt that an attempt to make off with a couple of horses would be to strain good fortune too heavily. Yet it went utterly against the grain to allow a British officer to remain a prisoner with the Turks, or a British aeroplane to take place in a Turkish flight. One resource remained, but Burnet's heart sank as he thought of it. Rejeb might help him, but Rejeb was twenty odd miles away. Was it possible, tired as he was, to tramp all those weary miles back to the stronghold, with only an hour's daylight left, and after that no guide but the stars? How he wished that he had retained his mounted escort until he had actually met Captain Ellingford! But regrets were vain. The attempt must be made, and without loss of time, for he had to reckon with the chances of going astray, consequent delay, arriving at the stronghold too late for Rejeb to render any effective assistance, the possibility that troopers had already been despatched northward to acquaint the Turkish authorities with the capture of the aeroplane, and that by the morning the small body of cavalry would have been augmented. "Carry on!" Burnet said to himself. "There's nothing else for it. Carry on!" He scraped some of the mire from his clothes, wrung out the water, and set off while daylight lasted to find a way around the swamp: to swim again through that foul expanse was more than he could face. Keeping a wary look-out for the troopers who had been sent scouting, he worked his way back to the drier ground and regained the _tell_ as the sun was sinking below the horizon. There he stayed just long enough to swallow a little food; then he started on his lonely march. The next five hours, when he tried to remember them later, were almost a blank to him. It seemed to him that he had trodden as in a dream the plain over which he had ridden earlier in the day. He must have kept his course by the stars, though he had no recollection of calculating from their positions. Settling into a steady pace, he tramped on and on, over sand and swamp, scarcely conscious of his movements, but feeling vaguely that he was racing against time. If he had paused to think, he might well have yielded to despair, for he had travelled the route but once, and the odds were all against his keeping a straight course in the starlight, and discovering the causeway by which alone he could reach Rejeb's stronghold. A cold wind swept over the plain, but he gave no thought to its possible effect, striking through his damp clothes. He was deaf to the sounds of animals and birds in the marshes, heedless of possible pitfalls in the way; and thought only of Captain Ellingford a prisoner behind him, and of Rejeb somewhere ahead, on whom all his hopes rested. It is doubtful whether he would have reached his goal had not Fortune bestowed her favour upon the brave. He was several miles westward of the stronghold, on a course that would have brought him to the Euphrates, when, in crossing a stretch of open country, he saw a line of horsemen pass a little ahead of him, riding slowly from right to left. The sight roused him. Rejeb's men were accustomed to go forth on their forays by night: was this a foraging party from the stronghold, or a hostile band? Apparently the men had not seen him, for they neither interrupted their march nor broke their line. They were proceeding at a walking pace, as if heavily laden: he could follow them, and join them if he could assure himself that they were friends. Changing his course, he struck off to the left, keeping the horsemen in sight, and gradually drawing closer to them. He could now see that every horse had a large bundle on each side of its rider, and he had no longer any doubt that, in this neighbourhood and at this hour, the men were of Rejeb's tribe, returning home from a successful foray. Just as he had come to this conclusion, the horsemen quickened their pace, and fearful of losing them, he almost unconsciously uttered a cry. Instantly the men sprang from their saddles, formed up their horses in a crescent-shaped line, and took post behind them, resting their rifles on the animal's backs. Burnet called to them again, staggered towards them, and fell upon his face. Five minutes later he was perched on the saddle behind the leading man, clasping him tightly, though half asleep. And he awoke to full consciousness only when he was lifted down and carried into Rejeb's tower. "What harm has befallen you?" cried the young chief. "None has befallen me, but the British officer who was to meet me is in the hands of the Turks. His aeroplane fell; Turkish cavalry surrounded him; he fought and was wounded. The Turks are conveying him and the aeroplane to the Euphrates. I come to seek your help." "It is yours, even to the last of my people. And you have come alone, on foot, and in the night! Surely Allah must have directed your steps." "Time is precious," said Burnet. "What can you do?" "Tell me where this mischance befell your friend." "A little beyond the _tell_ The Turks spoke of a wady running into the river----" "Well I know it. How many are these Turks?" "Forty or fifty." "Mashallah! They are delivered into our hands. I will take fifty of my best men, and we will fall upon these Turks before they come to the river. Doubt not that we will save your friend and also his machine, though that we cannot carry away: we can but destroy it." "Will you not take a larger force?" "What need? Shall it be told that an Arab of Rejeb's tribe is not equal to a dog of a Turk? I will go now and choose my best warriors and most skilful riders. You are very weary. When you have eaten, a couch shall be laid for you, and before you awake from sleep we shall have accomplished our work and returned." "But I must go with you." "Ahi! were it not better to take repose and refresh yourself for what the morrow may bring forth?" "Believe me, I could not rest. I must join your party." "So be it. But there is yet time for rest. It is scarcely the middle of the night. The journey that has taken you since sunset on foot will take us but half the time. If we start in the third watch we shall still come upon the Turks some while before daylight. Sleep, then; I will awake you at the seasonable hour, and your horse, who has been well tended, will carry you nobly." Burnet needed no further persuasion. He was, in fact, dead beat, and fell asleep before the food which Rejeb ordered to be prepared for him was brought. Rejeb had him carried to his own couch, laid rugs over him with his own hands, and placed the food by his side, in readiness for his awakening. CHAPTER XI THE TRAP A little more than two hours later, when Burnet, refreshed by his brief sleep, but acknowledging inwardly that he was still very weary, issued from Rejeb's tower to the clear space outside, the light of a single shaded torch fell on a brave array. If Rejeb was like Saladin of old in his chivalrous determination to meet his foe on equal terms, he also had not a little of that famous warrior's practical good sense. The young chief was content to lead forth no more than fifty men, but he had taken care that those fifty were his best. All in the vigour of early manhood, lean, straight, stalwart, they had been selected by Rejeb himself, not without pangs of jealousy and disappointment among the rest of the tribesmen. Ranged in line, they sat immovable on magnificent horses, holding their rifles slantwise across their saddles. There was a glow of conscious pride on Rejeb's handsome face as he led Burnet towards the spot, a few feet in advance of the line, where their horses awaited them. They mounted. "I would have your counsel, brother," said Rejeb courteously, but in a tone that implied a sense of perfect equality. "The wady of which the Turks spoke bends north-westward to the river. At half a march's distance from the river the wady runs through ruins, neither so widespread nor so well preserved as those here around us." (At this Burnet felt slightly amused, for with the exception of the stump of tower the stronghold could not boast of four upright walls.) "These ruins the Turks must pass on their way; shall we not then ride directly thither, and there lie in wait?" "You flatter me by asking my counsel--you who know the country, whereas I am a stranger," said Burnet, adopting the chief's manner of formal courtesy. "What is good in your eyes is good also in mine." "What you say is the truth: I know the country. I know that the Turks have an outpost on the river northward of the place where the wady joins it; southward they have none, their forces being encamped here and there on the banks of the Tigris. If then we leave the _tell_ on our right, and ride straight as a bird flies to the ruins I spoke of, not only shall we avoid any meeting with the enemy, but we shall gain our post of ambush long before they arrive there, since it will be a work of no light labour to drag the aeroplane along the uneven embankment of the wady." "Might they not construct a raft on which to convey it on the stream itself?" "Where in the swamps would they find wood? There is no timber nearer than the outpost of which I spoke, where kelaks laden with palms sometimes lie in the river. It is true, they may have sent men to bring one of these kelaks to the wady, but the kelakjis are too fearful of shoals to come down the river by night, and we shall arrive at our ambush long before the dawn." "It shall be done as seems good to you," said Burnet. "Who am I that I should offer counsel?" He saw, in fact, that Rejeb had consulted him out of politeness merely, and felt great confidence in this plan that had evidently been well thought out. Thereupon Rejeb gave an order; the Arabs tightened their reins; and Rejeb rode towards the head of the causeway, with Burnet immediately behind, the rest following in single file. Keeping well to westward of the _tell_ the party rode at a steady trot over the plain. Long experiences in night forays enabled them to avoid the difficulties and dangers of the swamps, even though they had no light but the star-shine; and the man whom Rejeb sent to the front as guide when they had left the immediate neighbourhood of the stronghold could not have led them more confidently in broad daylight. Burnet thought privately that a British commander would have detailed an advance guard and flanking parties to give warning of possible enemies; but these precautions seemed unnecessary to Rejeb until three-fourths of the journey was accomplished. Even then he contented himself with sending two men ahead and two more to the right; from the left he anticipated no danger. The party, indeed, arrived at the ruins, of which Rejeb had spoken, without incident. Burnet's wrist watch had stopped, no doubt through immersion in the swamp; but Rejeb without hesitation, after a glance at the sky, declared that there were still two hours till dawn, and ordered his men to off saddle, to hobble the horses among the rampant vegetation bordering the ruins, and to post themselves as best they could on the broken ground until daybreak. Burnet, however, was not content to wait thus in complete ignorance of the enemy's position and movements. During the ten hours which had passed since he had last seen them, anything might have happened. Some of the troopers who had ridden away from the spot where the aeroplane lay might have been despatched to the Turkish outpost twenty or thirty miles up the Euphrates, and an enterprising officer there might have taken instant measures to retrieve so valuable a capture as an aeroplane. He put this point to Rejeb, who had so low an opinion of the Turk's initiative and intelligence that he scouted the suggestion. It was only when Burnet hinted that there might possibly be a German at the outpost that the chief wavered, and ultimately agreed that Burnet with two men should ride round the swamp southward of the wady to the spot where the aeroplane had come down, in order to follow its track at the first glimmer of dawn, and ascertain beyond doubt what progress the enemy had made, what their present position was, and what were their probable intentions. The two Arabs, having had the locality described to them, were able to lead Burnet by a much easier route than that which he had followed with so much toil and discomfort on the previous day. Approaching the open space with great caution in the dawning light they found it vacant: only the wheel tracks of the aeroplane and footprints in the soft earth remained as evidence of yesterday's events. It was easy to follow the course of the aeroplane, and the three men rode cautiously forward, Burnet in the centre, an Arab at a little distance on either side. They had ridden for nearly an hour at a slow walking pace before they had any sign of the enemy. Then one of the Arabs halted, snuffed the air for a moment, and riding up to Burnet, said: "There is fire, Aga." Dismounting, they left their horses concealed among the tall grass, and stole forward on foot a few yards south of the wheel tracks, taking advantage of the cover provided by the rank vegetation. Burnet soon detected the acrid smell of smoke, and in about ten minutes caught sight of the heads of horses just projecting above the swaying top of a belt of reeds. He heard also the dull murmur of voices. "It is well that I go alone and spy out the land, Aga," said the man who had first smelt the smoke. "I will go and come to you here again." He disappeared through the reeds in a southerly direction. It was nearly half an hour before he returned, with the news that the enemy had bivouacked on dry ground near the bank of a small stream--not the wady, but probably a tributary of it. They had just finished their morning meal: he had seen them stamp out the embers of their camp fire, yoke two horses to the aeroplane, drag it across the shallow channel, and set off northwards. They were riding in loose formation, having evidently no apprehension of meeting an enemy in this region, remote from the military operations on the Tigris some fifty miles to the east, and destitute of settled inhabitants. There was no doubt that their intention was to convey the aeroplane to the wady, which had an embankment wide enough to allow the passage of the machine. Burnet could only conclude that in default of any means of transport they would follow the course of the wady until they reached the river. Their progress must necessarily be slow, and there was plenty of time to ride back to Rejeb by a circuitous route and lay plans for a successful ambuscade. The chief's eyes gleamed when Burnet, rejoining him an hour or two later, told him the result of the reconnaissance. It seemed that the enemy must fall an easy prey. The position was admirably suited to an ambush. The ruins extended some hundreds of yards on each bank of the wady. They were fringed on the south by a dense encircling belt of reeds. In this belt, at its south-western corner, Rejeb posted the greater part of his force, mounted, the reeds being tall enough to conceal them. The remainder he ordered to dismount and place themselves under cover at the northern extremity of the ruins, at intervals of a few yards, so that they could command the southern bank of the wady with their fire. His plan was to throw the enemy into disorder by rifle fire from the north, then to hurl himself upon them with the mounted men from the south and complete their rout. These dispositions had only just been made when a new element entered into the problem. Rejeb, sitting his horse beside Burnet in the belt of reeds, suddenly turned his head sharply to the left. "What is that sound, brother?" he said. Burnet listened intently, but it was the space of a minute before his ears caught a faint throbbing murmur in the direction towards which Rejeb had turned. He recognised it instantly as the purring of a petrol-driven engine, and scanned the sky, half expecting to see a British aeroplane: perhaps a pilot had come to look for Ellingford, whose return had been expected in the lines below Kut on the previous evening. But the sky was one speckless blue, and though the sound of the engine grew louder moment by moment, there was nothing to be seen. Presently Rejeb exclaimed: "I hear horses!" A few moments later Burnet also detected another sound mingling with the drone--the unmistakable thud of hoofs. The explanation flashed upon him. The troopers who had ridden from the scene of the previous day's incident had been despatched to the Turkish outpost of which Rejeb had told him, and were now returning, accompanied by a motor launch on the wady, no doubt sent to transport the aeroplane by water. He imparted his conclusion to Rejeb. "Wallahi!" exclaimed the chief. "An evil spirit is striving against us." One thought had flashed upon the young men at the same moment. They might rout the Turks, but lose the aeroplane. The enemy would no doubt place on the deck of the launch not only the machine, but their prisoner, and the Arabs could not fire on the crew without the risk of hitting the Englishman. It was possible, of course, to hold up the launch and prevent it from passing up the wady, but the sound of rifle shots could not fail to be heard by the Turks conveying the aeroplane, and the alarm would ruin the chances of a successful ambuscade. While Rejeb and Burnet were discussing the matter in low tones, they peered out through the reeds in the direction of the rapidly approaching sounds. Soon they caught sight of six horsemen riding in couples along the bank of the wady, and as they drew abreast, the launch became visible beneath their horses' bellies. One of the horsemen was an officer, whom no doubt the news brought him at the outpost had induced to ride back with the messengers and see for himself the captured aeroplane. Launch and horsemen passed out of sight. During the few moments' pause in the conversation while the enemy went by, an idea had occurred to Burnet. It was probable that the aeroplane had barely arrived at the bank of the wady, and, judging by the direction of its captors' march, at a point at least five or six miles from the ruins. The launch was keeping pace with the horsemen on the bank; it might reach the aeroplane in something under an hour. Further time would be occupied in explanation; no doubt the officer from the outpost would be curious enough to examine the machine; then its safe bestowal on the deck of the launch would be a long job. Probably two or three hours would elapse before the return journey commenced, and Burnet had conceived a plan for utilising those hours. He mentioned it to Rejeb, who received it with a torrent of joyous ejaculations. There was no time to be lost. The chief told off a man to go on foot half a mile along the bank of the wady, to give warning of the enemy's approach. The course of the channel was almost perfectly straight, and horsemen riding along the embankment could be seen from a great distance. Then he selected twenty men, and placed them at Burnet's orders. Burnet took them down to the brink of the wady, chose a spot favourable to his design about half-way through the ruins, and instructed the men to build a dam with the material that lay close to their hands. The channel was shallow, and only about forty feet wide. The men formed two queues, and masses of brick and stone were passed from hand to hand and dumped in the middle. Working with interest and hearty good-will, within an hour the Arabs had raised that obstacle almost to the surface, and in the muddy water it was scarcely visible, even from the bank. Much less was it likely to be seen from the deck of the moving launch, the crew of which would not suspect that the channel they had already navigated safely could hold any danger for them. Having completed the dam, the men returned to their former posts. No change in the general plan was necessitated: indeed, the sudden stoppage of the launch would tend to further it, for it would add one more element to the confusion. It was now only a question of waiting. The Arabs sat their horses in stolid patience, scarcely moving or speaking. Burnet was more restless. He would have liked to steal along the bank of the wady, and watch the stages in the enemy's progress; but he contained himself, and tried to emulate the stillness of his friend the chief. Three hours passed: it was almost midday when the Arab scout came running back with the news that the enemy were in sight. Soon afterwards the sound of the propeller was heard, and then, peeping through the reeds, the watchers saw the horsemen riding two by two at a walking pace along the embankment, and the aeroplane, its wings extending over the banks on either side, as it were floating on the stream. There was now some order in the troopers' march. Three couples rode ahead as an advance guard: after an interval came the two officers riding abreast, and behind them the remainder of the party. Burnet suggested that the advance guard should be allowed to pass, fire being reserved until the main body was half-way through the ruins and unable to escape without fighting. It was impossible now to send a messenger with orders to the men on the north bank, but this gave Rejeb no concern: "My warriors will know what to do," he said, with a firm air of confidence. The advance guard was some distance ahead of the launch, which had to go slowly because of the unwieldiness of its burden, and the risk of striking the overlapping wings of the aeroplane against some irregularity in the surface of the bank. There was thus no reason to fear that the conflict would start prematurely through the obstruction of the launch before the horsemen had arrived. The men were riding easily; the two officers were engaged in animated conversation; in this wide no man's land between the rivers they had no cause for apprehension. Burnet, holding his revolver, tingled as the enemy drew slowly nearer. It was not his first action, but a youth of twenty cannot know the coolness and indifference of the veteran. His one anxiety was for the safety of Captain Ellingford. Knowing that he was on board, the Arabs would not fire at the launch; but in the confusion and hurly-burly of the coming fight he might be struck by a chance shot; perhaps, indeed, he might be deliberately murdered by the Turks in charge of him. "Thank Heaven they are not Germans," Burnet thought. The advance guard came to the edge of the ruins, riding along the embankment, which was only a foot or two above the general level, with a gentle slope on the southern side. The troopers glanced to right and left without particular care; and indeed it would have needed keener eyes than theirs to discover the men ambushed in snug positions a few hundred yards on the north side of the stream, or the horsemen securely hidden in the tall rushes at a rather greater distance to the south. They passed by without suspicion. About a hundred yards behind them the two officers came within the circle of the ruins, still chatting together. Their orderlies were a few paces in the rear; and the head of the short column of troopers, in line with the launch, rode at an equal interval behind them. To Burnet, at least, their progress seemed painfully slow. The advance guard had reached the western extremity of the ruins before the officers came level with the dam. Burnet was just wondering whether the dam would escape their notice when there was a sudden crackle of musketry from the northern side. The officer nearest the wady fell from his horse; several saddles in the column behind were emptied; and there ensued a scene of wild confusion. The horses curvetted, and drove against one another; the men shouted and gazed about them irresolutely, seeking the unseen enemy and trying to control their steeds. Another volley struck down several more horses and men; then, just as the launch, coming stern foremost, crashed into the obstacle, Rejeb and Burnet, at the head of a compact body of horsemen with swords held aloft, dashed from the shelter of the reeds and rode at a hot gallop straight for the centre of the column. By this time some of the Turks had flung themselves from their saddles, and, bridle in hand, were running down the slope of the embankment to gain shelter from the rifle fire. The sight of the horsemen bearing down upon them like a desert whirlwind from the opposite quarter caused them to mount again in haste. Some rallied about their officer, and prepared to meet the shock, others spurred their horses forward with the idea of avoiding it, only to find themselves checked by their more stedfast comrades. Others again swung their horses round, and galloped madly in the direction from which they had come. The officer's desperate efforts to dress his ranks at the foot of the slope were rendered abortive by the confusion into which his more resolute men had been thrown by their comrades' attempt to escape. Rifle fire had ceased, and with a gallantry that won Burnet's admiration the Turk, supported by less than a dozen troopers, rode straight at the charging mass. Burnet, whose matchless horse had carried him slightly in advance of Rejeb, made a sudden swerve to avoid a sweeping stroke of the officer's sword, and as he passed, fired his revolver point blank at his opponent. The trooper behind made a cut at his head, and he discovered later that the peak of his helmet had been sliced off. Having no more of the enemy in front of him, he wheeled round and rode back into the fray. Several men and horses had fallen, and the survivors, hopelessly outnumbered, almost surrounded by the Arabs, were crying for quarter. Meanwhile the advance guard, brought to a halt by the sudden outburst of fire behind them, had stayed only long enough to see that their comrades had no chance against such odds, and had then galloped off in headlong flight towards the Euphrates. It was a matter of the most urgent importance that none of them should escape to carry news of the ambush to their outpost on the river, and Rejeb himself, with ten of his Arabs, rode along the embankment at breakneck pace to overtake them. It was equally important that the fugitives who had ridden in the other direction should not be allowed to work their way round to the north, and Rejeb's lieutenant, with the rest of the mounted men, set off to ride them down. Some of the Arabs swam the wady on their horses in order to cut off their escape northward; the lieutenant himself with another body galloped straight along the embankment; a third section struck off into the swampy ground to the south. The moment the fight was over, Burnet turned to see what had happened to the launch. When its course was checked by the dam, it appeared that the crew had endeavoured to escape by driving it back along the wady, for Burnet saw that it was now a hundred yards or so to the east. But in their haste they had neglected the precautions necessitated by the breadth of the aeroplane. Attempting to run at too high a speed in the narrow channel, they had failed to keep a course exactly in the middle, with the result that one of the wings had jammed in a tangle of vegetation, and the launch was unable to move. Meanwhile the Arabs posted in the ruins had left their stations and run down to the bank, where they stood sentry over the vessel, rifle in hand. [Illustration: STRANDED] CHAPTER XII A REARGUARD ACTION Captain Ellington, lying on the deck of the launch, called a breezy salutation to Burnet. The two Turkish troopers who formed his guard were smoking cigarettes; the crew of four were gathered aft, taking the disaster that had befallen them with stolid unconcern. The launch was held fast in position, a few yards from the bank, by the wing of the aeroplane which had become entangled, and Burnet, eager to learn the nature of his friend's wound, and the causes of his plight, scrambled along the wing and dropped to the deck. "Congratulations, old man," said Ellingford, grasping his hand. "It was quite a brilliant little action. Where did your Arab friends spring from?" "It's rather a long story; I'll tell you all as we go along. I was waiting for you on the _tell_ when I saw you come down, and finding you in the enemy's hands, I managed to get a friendly tribe to come to the rescue. Are you badly hurt?" "Not a bit; I got one through the shoulder and another through an unsuspected roll of fat just above my thigh. The Turks patched me up with their own field dressings; they seem quite decent chaps; and I'll do very well till we get back to our own M.O. I can manage to fly right enough." "The machine's all right?" "I think so--or will be with a little attention. The engine wasn't behaving very well; still, I hoped to get to the _tell_ and overhaul it there; but it began to misfire badly, and I thought it safer to come down at once, though I'd seen this mounted patrol. Unluckily they rushed me before I had well got to work. I held them off in front, but they attacked in the rear and pipped me." "Jolly lucky it's no worse. I'll get the men to clear the wing; then we'll haul ashore, and start for home. You might have a look at the engine at once: it'll save time." He returned to the bank and set some of the Arabs to cut away the vegetation. Meanwhile Ellingford opened up his engine. "I say," he called in a minute or two, "this is bad luck. The petrol tank is riddled. I can't repair it here." "You can't fly, then?" "Absolutely impossible." "That's a blow. We shall have to haul it, then, as the Turks did." "But where to? We can't possibly get through the Turkish lines." "How long would it take you to patch up sufficiently to get us back?" "I doubt whether I can do it at all. It's a job for our mechanics, and a rather long one at best." "Well, there's no hope for it, then. There's a place something over twenty miles from here--the settlement of these Arabs--where we can find refuge. I shall have to leave you there and get round to our lines on foot somehow." "But twenty miles! It'll take us a whole day or more to haul the bus there. And there isn't time. These Turks are a reconnoitring patrol of a larger force----" "What?" "I saw them when I was about 3000 feet up--a cavalry force marching along the left bank of the Euphrates a good many miles to the north. There were a number of boats keeping pace with them on the river. Some of these beggars are sure to have escaped. They'll make their way back, and we shall have cavalry on our heels before we've covered half your twenty miles." "There's no time to be lost, then. We must save the machine if we can: if we can't, you have a choice of mounts among the Turks' horses, and you'll have to ride as well as you can. The chief of the tribe has gone off in pursuit of fugitives; I'll leave word for him, and he'll follow us up." When he explained the situation to the Arabs, one of them suggested that they should convey the aeroplane by launch for some distance up the wady, which would not only save a few miles, but bring them to much harder ground, where it would be easier to drag the machine. Burnet adopted the suggestion at once. He left the Arabs to clear up the scene of the fight and to await the return of Rejeb, who would no doubt then ride straight back to his stronghold with his prisoners and the captured horses. Two of the Arabs he selected to accompany the launch with led horses, these for hauling the aeroplane and to serve as mounts for himself and Ellingford in case the machine had to be abandoned. A few minutes later the launch started, and Burnet had leisure to give Ellingford an outline of all that had happened since their parting at the _tell_ a month before. "I'm very much afraid that cavalry force you spoke of is the advance guard of the expedition against my friend Rejeb," he said in conclusion. "The Turks and Arabs have for once succeeded in working to a date, which implies a good deal of chevying on the part of the Germans. They evidently want to carry things through quickly." "I don't wonder. They're getting funky. The loss of Bagdad will be a tremendous blow to them. Apart from its being a complete smash-up of their railway schemes, it will immensely heighten our prestige all through this country; in fact, through the whole Mohammedan world: it will be the handwriting on the wall for them." "We'll do it, then?" "Of course we'll do it--this time. You know what had been done when we came away a month ago. Well, during the past month the progress of our organisation has been amazing. We've no end of new boats; the light railway through Amara has almost reached our advanced base; so that our transport is as nearly perfect as it can be; and what with new guns, aeroplanes, pontoons, Red Cross units and the rest, we're in a position to give the Turk a very nasty jar. In fact, I wouldn't mind giving long odds that we're through Kut by the end of the year, and in Bagdad before Easter. What sort of reception shall we get there?" "Oh, the people will lick our boots--just as they'd lick the boots of the Germans if they entered in triumph. With them, nothing succeeds like success. They don't love the Turk, but they don't love any one but themselves. The decent Arabs, especially Firouz Ali and his little band of patriots--who've got a stronger following outside Bagdad than within--will welcome us as deliverers; but it's a very mixed population, and the most of them don't draw fine distinctions between Europeans: they're all sheep to be fleeced. Of course they don't realise what a bad time they'd have if the city became Germanised--morally, I mean, for there's no doubt that German administration would effect great material improvements. At present they're slaves to a corrupt tyranny; German tyranny is rather brutal than corrupt. They'll find that we are neither corrupt nor brutal--and take advantage of us. I'm talking as if we were already there. In the meantime you and I will be lucky if we save our skins." During the voyage Burnet inspected the launch, and found that it contained a cargo of provisions and cases of rifles and ammunition. He concluded that it had been one of the fleet which Ellingford had seen up the river, and it could hardly be doubted that the stores were intended for the expedition against Rejeb. When the launch had run some ten miles along the wady eastward, one of the mounted Arabs on the bank announced that they had reached the spot where it was necessary to land. At a short distance from the wady the ground was firmer than it had been farther west, and more suitable for the haulage of the aeroplane. The launch was run close into the southern bank and set on fire; the aeroplane was lugged ashore; then Burnet set the crew to unload the stores, while the Arabs yoked the two led horses to the machine. When this was done, he mounted one, Ellingford the other. Burnet marshalled the prisoners three on each side, and ordered one of the Arabs to ride back rapidly to Rejeb, and ask him to send or bring up enough horses to convey the stores to his stronghold. Then, under the guidance of the second Arab, the southward march began. Progress was very slow, though more rapid than it had been when the aeroplane was hauled over the swampy ground by the Turks. After they had marched for about two hours, Rejeb with a small party of his men came galloping up behind. He related that five of the six Turks whom he had chased had been killed or captured, the sixth had escaped. The prisoners, among whom was the officer whom Burnet had shot, were now being conveyed by the direct route to the stronghold. At the bank of the wady he had left some of his men loading the stores on to the horses captured from the Turks, and Rejeb intended to ride back to them, and himself head the convoy to his stronghold. By nightfall Burnet's party had accomplished about half the distance to the causeway. It was impossible to proceed in the dark with the aeroplane, and they bivouacked in a convenient hollow. Soon afterwards Rejeb arrived, in advance of his men. He explained that the convoy of stores would march through the night; the rifles and ammunition were a valuable prize which he wished to place securely in the stronghold as soon as possible. Further, he was anxious that, in case of pursuit and attack, his fighting men should not be hampered by having to guard their booty. But he had left a number of his men a few miles to the rear, to give warning of an enemy's approach. Then he galloped away to the south-east to meet the track along which the other Arabs were escorting their prisoners. Before dawn Burnet made preparations for starting, and the party moved off as soon as it was light enough to see. In about three hours they converged upon the main route which Rejeb had followed overnight, and had gone but little farther when they were met by Rejeb himself with some two score men. The young chief showed few signs of fatigue, though he had been up all night. He reported that the convoys of stores and prisoners had safely reached the stronghold, and pointed with glee to the new rifles with which he had armed his men. Turning his horse, he rode on beside Burnet, his men coming at a short interval behind the aeroplane. They were within two or three miles of the causeway when the scouts he had left in the rear galloped up with the news that a large body of cavalry was following up the trail of the parties which had passed along the main route, and must overtake them before they reached the causeway. Rejeb held a rapid consultation with the two officers. It was evident that he wished the aeroplane to be abandoned, but when Captain Ellingford, through Burnet, said that he would burn the machine rather than let it fall into the enemy's hands, he instantly declared that he would leave nothing undone to save it. "My friend looks upon his aeroplane as you look upon your horse," Burnet had explained, and the comparison appealed to the Arab. It was clear that the machine could be saved only by making a stand where they were. The enemy must be prevented from coming within range of the causeway until it was safely across; otherwise they might hopelessly cripple it, and also shoot down the men and horses who were hauling it. Rejeb ordered these men to push on with all haste; the rest to dismount, send most of their horses forward to the cover of the vegetation that concealed the causeway, and take up their positions on a wide front covering the retreat. He dispatched also a swift rider to the stronghold, to send out fifty men to take over charge of the aeroplane and the six prisoners. Burnet had pressed Ellingford to accompany the aeroplane, but this he flatly refused to do. "If you think I'm going to leave you with a scrap on hand you've mistaken your man," he said. "I can still use my revolver." The country around was flat and fairly dry, but broken up here and there with patches of scrub and of marshland fringed with reeds and rushes. "I almost wish I had burnt the machine after all," said Captain Ellingford, when Rejeb was placing his men. "Your chief is very keen, and a good chap; but he can't hold up a force of Turkish cavalry with his few men, and I shall be sorry if things turn out badly." "Don't worry, old man," said Burnet. "He knows what he's about. It's ideal country for a small force fighting on the defensive, and we're not likely to have artillery against us. There's plenty of cover all the way from here to the stronghold; we can fall back from one clump to another if we are hard pressed. On the other hand, it's bad country for cavalry, especially if they don't know the ground. They may find themselves bogged; and anyway they'll offer a good target; we can see them above the rushes. Besides, Rejeb has more men in the stronghold, and he'll send for them if necessary, though it'll be a point of pride with him to lick the enemy with inferior forces if he can." Rejeb had by this time posted his little force on a long arc extending for some distance on both sides of the track. The men were all perfectly concealed by bushes, clumps of reeds, or tall grass, and had been given definite instructions about the new positions to which they were to fall back under the enemy's pressure. The wings of the aeroplane could still be seen projecting above the scrub about a mile away when the advance guard of the enemy emerged into view on the north. They evidently caught sight of the aeroplane, for one of the troopers galloped back, the rest halting. In a few minutes the head of the main column appeared. The officer in command looked ahead through his field-glasses, then swept the country on each side of the track, and apparently satisfied that the course was clear, gave an order. Riding in couples, the cavalry galloped forward, the intention no doubt being to capture the aeroplane and its escort at a rush. Then, from the Arabs concealed a few hundred yards in their front, there broke a sudden volley which emptied many saddles and took the Turks aback. The officer shouted an order, the men wheeled round, suffering losses from a second volley, and dashed back to the shelter of the belt of vegetation from which they had emerged, causing some confusion in the rear part of the column. Burnet estimated that the number of those who had come in sight was about two hundred; how many more there were it was impossible to guess. But Rejeb perceived that his little force was not strong enough to hold the position long when the Turks should have taken its measure, and he instantly sent a rider to the stronghold to bring back another hundred men on foot, and to order a hundred and fifty horsemen to post themselves near the outer end of the causeway. Before the reinforcements arrived the enemy started a dropping fire from their sheltered position, with the intention, no doubt, of drawing the Arabs' fire and causing them to disclose their strength. This proving ineffectual, they made another attempt to carry the position with a rush, losing even more heavily than before. Again they fell back, and for a while there was no further move. Rejeb sent a scout out on each flank to worm his way towards the enemy and discover what he was about. They returned with the not unexpected news that the Turks, now dismounted, were deploying; it could only be with the object of outflanking the defenders. They reported also that behind the Turks there was a large force of mounted Arabs. Burnet's suspicion that this was the expedition organised by the Turks and Halil's tribe jointly was confirmed; he wondered where Major Burckhardt was. By this time the reinforcements had come up stealthily from the rear. Rejeb threw them out on the wings, so that the defending force, its main strength in the centre, covered a rough semi-circle nearly half a mile in extent. Within a very few minutes the enemy's intentions were disclosed. Advancing on a wide front, taking cover wherever it was possible, they came on in short rushes. It was seen now that the majority of them were Arabs, and the total force could hardly have been less than a thousand men. Rejeb ordered his men to fall back slowly, holding on as long as they could without the risk of being cut off, and inflicting as much loss as possible on the enemy whenever they crossed stretches of open ground. It was clear to the chief, as to Burnet and Ellingford, that Major Burckhardt's profession of knowledge of the stronghold's position had not been vain. Clearly they had to look forward to a siege. They were not strong enough to defeat the enemy in the open, and as soon as the safety of the aeroplane was assured, they must retreat along the causeway and make the best use of their natural advantages. For nearly two hours Rejeb's Arabs fell back steadily. More than once the enemy sought a decision by attempting to rush the defenders, now in the centre, now at one or other of the wings. At one moment it seemed that the left wing was in danger of being crushed, but Rejeb, who throughout the day showed many of the best qualities of generalship, sent a runner to the rear to bring up a portion of his mounted reserve, now less than half a mile away. In a few minutes a hundred superbly mounted warriors galloped to the threatened point, swept like a whirlwind upon the dismounted enemy, rode through them again and again, heedless of losses, and not only defeated the flanking movement, but caused a check in the whole line. Then came word that the aeroplane had been conveyed across the causeway to the centre of the stronghold. From this moment the retreat became more rapid, though still as methodical as before. Late in the afternoon the Turks, who formed the right and right centre of the attacking force, and had fought more steadily and doggedly than their Arab allies, gained a position from which, though at extreme range, they began to command the end of the causeway. Rejeb drew nearly all his men together, posted them under cover, and concentrated his fire on the assailants on his left, in the hope of holding them off until darkness rendered it possible to slip away. At sunset, before the enemy knew what was happening, the chief withdrew his little force swiftly across the causeway. The day's work had cost him barely a score of casualties, while the enemy's losses were probably five or six times as great. "That was a top-hole rearguard action," said Ellingford to Burnet as they went together to Rejeb's tower. "I'd no idea that Arabs could ever behave so steadily." "It's due to their chief," replied Burnet. "He's got stuff in him, and he's going to be very useful. By George! I'm dead tired." CHAPTER XIII IN THE BRITISH LINES It was a week later. In one of the tents of the Headquarters staff behind the British lines Burnet, once more in Arab dress, was conversing with Captain Mitchell, an officer high in the Intelligence branch. He had just come to the end of a rather long narrative--the story of his adventures from the day when he had said good-bye to Captain Mitchell more than a month before, down to the time of the attack on Rejeb's stronghold. "And how did you get out?" asked the captain. "I slipped away to the south through the marshes, swimming the deep places on a waterskin, and wading the rest. When I was clear I steered south-east till I struck the Tigris and got aboard a country boat that was bringing up fodder." "It sounds simple, though I daresay it wasn't all what the rags at home call a joy-ride." Burnet smiled: it was not necessary to tell all that had happened during that week. "I will place the situation before the Chief," the captain went on. "You will hear from him." "He will understand that Rejeb is waiting to hear whether he may expect help? He is greatly outnumbered." "Quite so. The Chief will realise what is at stake, and I think you may depend on prompt instructions." The interview was at an end. Burnet went off to visit his particular friends, including Scuddy Smith, captain in the Bengal Lancers. "What ho!" cried Smith. "Back again, then. We were getting anxious about you. Where's Ellingford?" "In an Arab camp, Scud." "A prisoner?" "No, an honoured guest. Also an invalid: he was unlucky enough to get hit--not seriously. I say, I haven't had a decent meal for I don't know how long. Come and see me feed, and I'll tell you between the mouthfuls as much as is good for you." Smith and other friends heard Burnet's story rather enviously. They would willingly have shared his dangers for the sake of the variety and movement, so different from their own stagnant existence. But their spirits were rising in proportion as the time drew nearer for the opening of the great offensive. They had much to tell Burnet of the progress made during his absence. Every one was confident that when the moment came the Turkish fortifications at Kut would be pierced and the misfortune of General Townshend repaired. And then for Bagdad! Next day Burnet was summoned to another interview with Captain Mitchell. "The Chief is greatly pleased with your work," said the captain. "Your particulars of the state of Bagdad and your map showing the military establishments are especially valuable. For certain reasons he thinks it best not to see you himself just yet, but he will thank you in person at the proper time. He made a note of your application to be employed as observer on an aeroplane when we attack Bagdad from the air. Meanwhile he thoroughly agrees that it is of the first importance that your chief's stronghold should be held. It will protect our left flank and render unnecessary the employment of a large cavalry force to cover our advance on that side. As a matter of fact, preparations are being made for a movement in that region. It won't be started until we are ready for the main attack, and the forces employed will be smaller than were contemplated, provided the stronghold can be held. Can your Arab friend stick it for a week or two without help?" "It's largely a matter of food. The stuff we captured in the Turks' launch will help, but Rejeb's usual forays are of course out of the question now, and I'm afraid he hasn't much food in reserve. His horses are the great difficulty. I know he has next to no fodder, and if the place is to be held, the horses must be evacuated. To the Arabs that'll be worse than drawing their teeth. Their horses are their chief wealth, and they won't easily part with them." "What about non-combatants?" "There are very few: the chief's family and a score of others." "They must leave, of course, and you'll have to exercise your persuasive powers with regard to the horses. No doubt they can be got away by the route you followed?" "I think so; the Turks aren't numerous enough to surround the place." "Well then, we'll arrange to receive them in our lines, and give a bond for their delivery to the Arabs in due course. Now, what about ammunition?" "So far as rifle ammunition is concerned I think they are all right: they had a good deal of their own and collared a lot more on the launch. But when I left the Turks had a couple of machine-guns in action. They had formed a sort of bridgehead at their end of the causeway, and the Arabs had cut the causeway in the middle to prevent their getting across. Ellingford's machine-gun is available, but we've only two or three hundred rounds for that, and when I left we had decided to keep that for emergencies. If we had more ammunition, and perhaps another machine-gun or two, I think we could carry on--unless the Turks bring up field guns, which isn't likely, perhaps, in such swampy country." "Well, we can send you ammunition and perhaps a couple of machine-guns and gunners if you think they can be got to the place. That would save dismantling Ellingford's gun." "It's worth trying. And while we're about it we might take a little petrol. Ellingford's tank can be patched up, and he might get away." "That's important. We need every aeroplane we can muster. Is Ellingford well enough to fly?" "He was doing well, and by this time I daresay he could manage a short flight. But he won't want to leave us." "He'll obey orders, of course. Well, there's no time to be lost. I'll see about things at once. Be ready to start back early to-morrow." At dawn next day Burnet with a party of eight embarked on a boat bound downstream. There were two men of the machine-gun corps with their weapons and ammunition, three native boatmen, and three men of the Indian transport service in charge of three mules. They disembarked near the place where Burnet had boarded the country boat three days before; the mules were loaded with the machine-guns, ammunition, petrol and other stores, and the march across country was begun. By noon on the following day they came to the edge of an extensive marsh. Here the mules were unloaded, and sent back. Among the stores there were materials for putting together a small kelak--a raft supported by inflated skins. This was quickly rigged up by the native boatmen, and launched on a winding channel through the marsh. The trimming of the kelak took some time, and only two hours of daylight were left when the party started on their journey to the stronghold. The two machine-gunners found matter for jokes, as British soldiers will, always and everywhere. "Look out for submarines, Bill," said one of them, to his comrade on the other side of the craft. "Mermaids is more my line," replied the man. "I say, Tom, what if these balloons underneath us was to go pop!" "And no parachutes neither! Not even bathing drawers. D'you know what this here thing reminds me of?" "What?" "The bathing raft at Brighton. Wish you was at Brighton, Bill?" "Don't talk about it." "Tea and shrimps, and Mary Angelina in the tea-shop, and the little gal with the curls as played the fiddle so sweet. Bill, you ought to change your name." "What for?" "'Cos 'twas Big Bill as sent us to this here Messypotamia. If it hadn't 'a been for him we might have been in Brighton now." "No we shouldn't. We'd 'a been in the mines blasting coal. Never would have heard of Brighton. But I tell you what: when old Bill's done in----" "He won't be done in." "What I mean is, when old Haig catches him as he's bolting out of Berlin. What I say, send him to Messypotamia, and without a sun helmet: lumme, he wants a place in the sun." The boatmen paddled the kelak slowly through the marsh until sunset compelled a halt. They slept on board, and started again at dawn. Soon they came into shallow water where it was necessary to jump overboard and wade, pushing the kelak. Sometimes they swam; more than once they had to make a portage over comparatively dry land, dismantling the kelak and carrying the stores. It was afternoon before they came to the neighbourhood of the island stronghold. Burnet left his party securely hidden in the reeds, and made his way alone, wading and swimming until he reached the rising ground south of the mound. "Is it good news, my brother?" said Rejeb, meeting him. "There are guns and stores in the marsh yonder," replied Burnet. "Will you send out men to bring them in?" While a party of Arabs went on this mission, Burnet enquired what had happened during his absence. He learnt that the situation was much more serious than it had been on his departure. Under cover of machine-gun fire the Turks had advanced along the causeway and erected a breastwork of stones at the northern edge of the gap which the Arabs had cut. Then they had set to work to fill up the gap, and had already made great progress. They had several times attempted to gain access to the island from other directions, but the waterlogged condition of the country had rendered their efforts fruitless against the fire of the vigilant defenders. When the causeway should be restored, Rejeb despaired of holding his ground against a force so largely outnumbering his own. To make matters worse, a slight wound which he had received had grown serious through lack of attention, and he felt incapable of the energy necessary to the conduct of a strenuous defensive campaign. His depression of spirit was somewhat lifted by Burnet's report that measures would be undertaken for his relief. He called a council of some of his principal men to consider the propositions which Burnet conveyed to him from headquarters. There was no opposition to the sending away of the non-combatants. The Arabs, accustomed to a nomad existence, saw little hardship in the people having to wander for safety to other regions. But the suggestion to part with their horses was at first strongly opposed. An Arab without a horse is like a shipwrecked mariner. Burnet found all his persuasiveness unavailing until a diversion was caused by the appearance of the two gunners bringing up their machine-guns, followed by the boatmen and the Arabs loaded with stores. The explanation that these were only an advance party of a force that was by and by coming to their assistance, and that this force would in all probability bring back their horses, turned the tide. Encouraged by the assurance of help, the men agreed to the temporary sacrifice demanded of them; and the council broke up with a yell of defiance which caused the enemy, expecting an attack, to open fire. CHAPTER XIV THE ENEMY'S GUNS Before he sought his couch Burnet had a talk with Ellingford. "I'm jolly glad you are back," said the latter. "Not one of these Arabs knows a word of English, and to be over a week without any means of communication but dumb show has been a horrid nuisance. I managed to make them understand that they had better rig up some sort of a fortification at this end of the causeway as a defence against machine-gun fire, and I was thinking of placing my gun there, for things are getting warmer every day. There's no need for that now, perhaps: the two guns you've brought are enough on such a narrow front: but we've all our work cut out to hold the enemy off until relief comes." "By the way, I've orders for you to return if you're fit," said Burnet. "The Tommies I've brought will patch up your tank." "That's rough luck. I wanted to stay here and see it through. I'm fit enough, for a short flight at any rate, but I don't like running away." "You can do a little useful scouting for us before you return to the lines. We'll talk about that later. To-morrow you had better get your tank repaired. The men are handy fellows, and they'll do what's required under your instruction. We're evacuating the non-combatants and the horses, and I hope our food will last out until we're relieved. That's the only risk--unless the enemy bring up artillery and shell us. Even then we may still have a chance, because there are underground chambers here and there under the ruins--places excavated long ago for shelter from the heat; and they ought to prove effective dug-outs. The greatest danger is that the Turks will repair or bridge the causeway and overwhelm us with numbers. I shall have a look round to-morrow and see what can be done to prevent them." Next day Burnet resumed his own uniform and went round the position with Rejeb. It appeared that when the non-combatants were gone, under escort of a sufficient number of armed men, the effective strength of the garrison would slightly exceed four hundred. The enemy, at a rough estimate, outnumbered them by three to one, and were on the whole better armed; the rifles and ammunition captured on the launch were sufficient to arm about a third of Rejeb's force. The food supplies might with care last for a week or two. Plenty of drinking water was to be got from an old well which the Arabs had cleared out at their first occupation of the island. The weakness of the defence was that a wide front--for it was not merely a question of holding the end of the causeway--had to be held by relatively small numbers. The channel between the island and the Turkish position was too deep to wade; but it was obvious that an enterprising enemy with a large preponderance of numbers would not find it an insuperable obstacle, and with half the causeway in their possession they could harass the defenders until an attack in overwhelming force was possible. Burnet saw that his first concern must be to prevent the enemy from pushing farther along the causeway. That should be practicable. It was more doubtful whether he would be able to dislodge them from the position they had already gained. The sudden outburst of fire from the Turks on the previous evening had soon died down when they found that the Arabs made no attack, and so far the morning had been quiet. Taking advantage of their inactivity, Burnet went cautiously to the end of the causeway, examined the breastwork which the Arabs had constructed with material from the ruins, and cast about for an emplacement for one of his machine-guns. His first idea was to instal it in a sort of blockhouse in the middle of the breastwork, from which it could sweep the causeway from end to end. But there was always a chance that the Turks would ultimately bring up field artillery; the blockhouse would then be their first objective, and the gun would very likely be put out of action. The second gun, which he intended to keep in reserve, might suffer the same fate. What then could be done? The breastwork hastily erected by the Arabs across the end of the causeway was neither long enough nor strong enough. But along the shore of the island ran a low artificial embankment against floods. Just behind it was an old, much dilapidated wall. About a hundred and fifty yards on the right of the causeway the embankment had broken away. It was only necessary to break an opening in the wall just behind this gap, to form a sort of embrasure for the gun. The position was well screened from the enemy, for the surface of the island rose slightly in the rear, and the horizon, from the Turks' point of view, was cut by the chief's tower with the dwarf trees that flanked it. Placed in this embrasure, the machine-gun would command the whole of the causeway except the fifty yards nearest the island. It was a question whether the necessary pioneer work could be done during the hours of daylight, for much of it must be carried out in full view of the enemy. But at present none of the Turks was to be seen. They were not at work on the causeway, and a careful scanning of their farther position through field-glasses failed to detect any sign of movement or of preparations. Taking advantage of this rather surprising inactivity, which suggested that they were either awaiting reinforcements or planning some dangerous stroke, Burnet set a large number of the Arabs to the task of carrying out his scheme. While some cut the embrasure for the machine-gun, others dug a communication trench from the blockhouse to a group of ruins about two hundred yards in the rear. Others again strengthened these ruins by piling up blocks of masonry collected from the whole area, so as to form a shelter, effectual against all but gun fire, for the larger part of the garrison. The underground chambers beneath the ruins were partially cleared of accumulations of rubbish, and should serve as safe quarters when the men were not in action. While Burnet was setting all these operations in train, Rejeb had superintended the departure of the non-combatants. They were transported in relays across the southern marshes on the kelak. The horses, too, under the charge of a score of well-armed men, left the island by wading or swimming, Rejeb keeping half a dozen in a safe place at the south of the island, in case he might find them useful for scouting. Among them were his own horse, and the one that Burnet had captured. It was the third day after his arrival before the defensive works were completed. Except for occasional sniping the enemy had not attempted to molest them. To Burnet this quiescence seemed ominous, for it suggested that the Turkish commander--no doubt that Major Djaved Bey who had visited Burckhardt with General Eisenstein--thought the Arabs' operations of no importance, and that must mean that he was confident of the success of whatever coup he might be planning. Burnet felt the necessity of learning what preparations the enemy was making, what stroke he had to guard against, and the approaching departure of Ellingford gave him an opportunity. The two gunners, Bill Jackson and Tom Sturge, had repaired the petrol tank. Ellingford himself had regained the use of his limbs, and, though not perfectly recovered, was clearly strong enough to pilot his machine the thirty or forty miles between the island and the British lines. "I don't want you to run any unnecessary risks," said Burnet, "but if you could do a little scouting----" "My dear fellow, with all the pleasure in life. A few extra miles are neither here nor there. And there are no Archies to worry me." "Then will you fly a few miles northward, say as far as the _tell_, and see what the beggars are up to? Don't waste time by coming down again, but drop me a message. If I don't get anything from you, I shall know that there's nothing to worry about." "Right. And the sooner I go, the better. It's a perfect day. Everything's as clear and sharp as you could wish, and I shall hardly even need to use my glasses." "But don't fly too low. A bullet might drill another hole in your tank." "Never fear. I shall be safe enough at two or three thousand feet. Any messages for headquarters?" "You might tell them what we're doing, and say that with luck we can hold out ten days or a fortnight. There's nothing else, I think." The aeroplane had been placed at the extreme south of the island, where the dipping of the ground kept it below the Turks' line of sight. A space was rapidly cleared in order to give room for rising, and after a careful preliminary test of the engine the captain ran off and rose smoothly into the air. At first he headed south-east; then, when he had gained an altitude of something over two thousand feet, he wheeled round, recrossed the island, and, still rising, for some minutes circled over the Turkish position, amid a fusillade of rifle fire. At one moment Burnet was alarmed, fearing from a sudden downward swerve that the machine had been injured; but it was evidently an intentional movement on Ellingford's part, for he at once skimmed away to the north-west, and the shooting ceased. An hour later Burnet heard the hum of the returning engine. "He's flying perilously low," he thought, as the machine came into view on the west. Pursued again by rifle fire, it flew straight across the island from west to east. Burnet had informed the gunners and Rejeb what to expect, and the eyes of all the garrison looked up for the sight of an object falling from the aeroplane. It was so small and fell so swiftly that no one saw it until a fraction of a second before it reached the ground. One of the Arabs picked it up and ran with it eagerly to Burnet. It was a stone wrapped in a sheet of paper. Burnet read the message: "Nothing doing opposite you: 2 f.g. bogged 10 m. N. of _tell_." The aeroplane had circled round: Ellingford evidently wanted to know whether the message had been received. Burnet signalled in Morse with his arms; the machine turned again, and heading south-east in a few minutes was out of sight. The inactivity of the enemy was explained, and the explanation was of serious import for the garrison. They were awaiting the arrival of field-guns before resuming the attack. The transport of the guns over the marshes had naturally been difficult, and the fact that they were actually now stuck in the swamp was welcome news. But the respite would only be temporary, and Burnet realised that he would soon have to deal with the only situation that gave him real anxiety. Would the Arabs' resolution stand the test of gun fire? At the best, the period of possible resistance was shortened, for the Arabs, unaccustomed to shelling, would probably be so much demoralised by it as to be incapable of standing up against a sustained attack. On reading the message Burnet had not allowed any sign of his anxiety to escape him. He could not conceal its purport from Rejeb: it would not be fair to keep him in the dark; but he laid more stress on the bogging than on the guns. Later on, however, he went away by himself to a quiet spot on the south of the island, to think things over. So, one of Britain's heroes, Robert Clive, had gone apart to decide in solitude the momentous question to which the battle of Plassey was the answer. "Why wait for the guns?" That was the question that filled Burnet's thoughts. The enemy no doubt thought they had the garrison well boxed up: they had only to bring up their guns to compel surrender. The escort of the guns must have seen the aeroplane, and guessed that its occupant would have carried news of them to his own lines. But the British were far away, much too far to send a force to capture two field-guns. Nor would they think it worth while to send airmen to bomb guns so remote from their own position, and of no danger to themselves. The Turks, then, would not dream that they had any difficulties to contend with except those due to the swampy nature of the country. Such a feeling of security gave the best possible promise that an attack would be successful. But how could an attack be made? Not in force, nor openly. The escort of the guns, though probably not a large body, would be strong enough to withstand any assault by a small number of Arabs, and Burnet would not feel justified in reducing the garrison of the stronghold by more than a few men. And between him and them was the Turkish main body; his retreat would be cut off. He felt that he could not ask the Arabs to undertake so hazardous an expedition until he had himself reconnoitred the ground, and discovered for himself what were the chances of a surprise. He returned to Rejeb's tower, and told the chief what he had in mind. "It must not be," said Rejeb. "I am weak, and my faintness increases. Who is to lead my people if the Turkish dogs attack?" "But it is for these guns they are waiting. Until they come there will be no serious attack, and when they come your position here will be much worse. Is it not wise to seize any chance of keeping them at a distance?" "Who knows whether there will be such a chance?" "True; that is what I want to find out. And if I discover that we can do nothing, I will return at once. My absence will be but for a night and a day." "You will not go alone?" "No: I want you to lend me five of your most trusty and stout-hearted men. This is work for a few." "It shall be done, and may Allah preserve you!" While Rejeb was selecting the men, Burnet informed the machine-gunners of his intentions, and ordered them, in case the Turks attacked, to use the gun which had already been placed. Late in the afternoon, he slipped away from the south of the island with the five Arabs, leading their horses through the swamp. Then they swept round to the west, outside the probable range of the enemy's scouts, and rode rapidly in the direction of the _tell_. When they came in sight of the ruins, lit up by the glow from the setting sun, Burnet confided the horses to the care of two of his men, and with the other three went forward on foot, taking advantage of what cover the barren country afforded. He hoped, before darkness closed upon the scene, to be able to discover, from the summit of the mound, whether the guns had been extricated from the bog; if there was no sign of them, it would be necessary to go farther north. CHAPTER XV A RAID Burnet had only just reached his former observation post on the _tell_ when, looking to the north, he saw two mounted men in khaki about two miles away riding slowly in his direction. A few minutes later there came into view the horses of the gun teams and the muzzles of the guns. Through the haze of dust cast up by the heavy vehicles it was impossible to see the escort, which was no doubt following. It was clear that he had arrived only just in time. Half an hour later he would certainly have found the _tell_ occupied. The day was already so far advanced that the Turks would probably camp on the _tell_ for the night. He instantly decided on his course of action. The underground chamber was unknown to Burckhardt, the only man among the enemy who had previously visited the _tell_. Burnet resolved to take refuge there with his three Arabs, trusting to the chapter of accidents to give him later the opportunity he was seeking. The Arabs were surprised when he lifted the slab and disclosed the cellar below, and their excitement was almost boyish as he climbed up into the colossal figure with his brush of reeds. Watching him smooth the sand over the slab they yielded to a burst of amusement: Burnet had never seen the customary gravity of the Arab so much impaired. From his spy hole at the mouth of the animal Burnet kept watch for the coming of the enemy. Within ten minutes the two troopers came into sight. Immediately behind them now were two officers, in one of whom he recognised Major Burckhardt. And he could now see, not far in the rear of the two guns, a half squadron of cavalry, together with a number of men on foot, driving mules laden with boxes and large bundles, which contained no doubt ammunition and the impedimenta of a camp. Burnet watched the approach of this force with some anxiety. Would they halt at the _tell_, or, late as the hour was, continue their march to Rejeb's stronghold? He had only a limited range of vision from inside the colossus, and as the head of the column passed out of sight he feared that there was no intention of bivouacking, and his only chance of interfering with the guns would be lost. Presently, however, he heard voices very near, and round the angle of the wall came Major Burckhardt, toddling along on foot, accompanied by a Turkish officer whom Burnet surmised to be the commander of the gunners. They came to a stand on the open space in front of the colossus, and Burckhardt, lifting his hand with the gesture of a showman, said: "It was here that I had the adventure with the Englishman that I described to you as we came along. An ignorant fellow from Cambridge, whose books are the laughing-stock of every good German scholar. When I arrived I found him----" "But you said, I think, that you were here first." "First in the neighbourhood. The Englishman was constantly dogging me. As I told you, I had made the world-shaking discovery that here Tukulti-Ninip----" "Yes, major, I remember; but it is getting late, and we have much to do before dark. I will have our tents pitched here. The guns had better remain at the foot of the _tell_, and the men must shift for themselves in the ruins." "At a reasonable distance from our tents." "Certainly." "And the wind is south. We must not be disturbed by smoke from camp-fires." "Nothing shall disturb you, major. General Eisenstein gave me particular orders to pay you every consideration." The Turkish colonel went away to give orders, and Burckhardt, exchanging the spectacles he wore for another pair, entered between the two figures and began to stroll about the ruins. From below the mound came words of command, the rattle of accoutrements, the clanging of chains, and other sounds indicating the bustle of pitching camp. Presently one of the mules climbed the slope and was led through the porch. From its back a group of Turkish soldiers lifted the light shelter tents intended for their colonel and Major Burckhardt, and proceeded to pitch them. Watching these operations from the rear mouth of the colossus, Burnet had a momentary alarm when it seemed that Burckhardt's tent was to be placed exactly over the slab that covered the underground chamber; but the major himself came up as the men were spreading out the canvas, and ordered them to carry it a little higher up the _tell_, where the air was fresher and he could get a good view of the rising sun. The tent pitching was completed. Orderlies came up with the officers' baggage. As the sky darkened, the glow of camp-fires rose from the lower ground on the northern side of the _tell_. The colonel returned; he was shortly followed by men carrying his evening meal, and he invited Burckhardt to share it with him in his tent. Burnet could see them in the interior, illuminated by a couple of candles, sitting on camp-stools at a small folding table, eating and drinking with the heartiness of men who have had a long day in the open. They lit cigars, smoked them through in drowsy silence; then Burckhardt yawned, stretched himself, and declaring that he was very sleepy, entered his own tent a few yards away, and let down the flap. Through the canvas Burnet saw the kindling of a candle and the German's bulky figure undressing. Then the candle was extinguished: the colonel's tent was already dark. A sentry began to pace up and down between the two tents. It had been a tedious period of waiting, especially for the Arabs in the stuffy underground chamber. Nothing could be attempted until the camp had settled down. Sounds still came from below the _tell_. Even when all should be silent, there was much risk to be run. The surface of the _tell_ was very dark; but the moon would rise in two or three hours. What was to be done must be done before then. The sentry was only about thirty yards from the slab; it must be removed in absolute silence. Other sentries, no doubt, were patrolling the camp. Would it be possible to elude them? At last all was quiet, except for the slight sounds made by the horses. Burnet had arranged his plan. He would take one of the Arabs with him, leaving the other two in hiding. If he failed to return and release them, they were to wait until the camp was broken up and then to make the best of their way back to the island. It was a nerve-trying moment when the slab was gently raised from below, and Burnet, with his head just above the hole, looked towards the officers' tents. He could barely see the figure of the sentry pacing slowly to and fro. With the silence of moles Burnet and his Arab companion crept out of the hole, and, crawling on all fours, stole along a few yards to the shelter of the ruined wall. Burnet had his revolver, the Arab only a knife. They peered over the wall. Three campfires burned dully below the mound, some distance apart. Their light was insufficient to reveal the disposition of the bivouac. Moving stealthily round the corner of the wall, and sinking to the ground again, they crawled a few yards down the slope. A little to the right, at the foot of the mound, was a pile of objects which had certainly not been there before. Burnet guessed that it consisted of the stores which had been removed from the mules' backs. The two men threaded their way between boxes and bales, and continuing in the same direction, towards one of the camp-fires, discovered the guns close under the mound on the north-east side. Just above them, shadowing them from the little light that flickered from the stars, was another stack of boxes. Burnet had expected to find a special guard set over the guns. The camp, however, was so small--the total number of men seemed to be about a hundred and fifty--that the two sentries whose figures could be dimly descried moving up and down along the outer border of the bivouac had been deemed sufficient. There was a tent, however, near one of the camp-fires about a hundred yards away: it was clear that this was being used as a guard-house, for while Burnet, lying flat, was peering into the darkness four men came from the tent and marched northward. The sentries were being relieved. In a few minutes four men returned, and marched up the slope within twenty yards of the two figures lying there like logs. The officers' sentry was relieved; the sergeant came back with the three men released from duty, and re-entered the tent. Near another camp-fire, farther away, was a larger tent, presumably devoted to the subaltern officers. The men lay here and there on the open ground. From the sounds that reached his ears Burnet guessed that the horses and mules were hobbled near a patch of swamp still farther to his right. Burnet congratulated himself on his luck in having no special guard over the guns to deal with. He had the average Briton's dislike of attacking a man in the dark and at a disadvantage, and the possible necessity of disposing of an unsuspicious sentry had been disagreeable to contemplate. In the absence of such a guard, everything depended on whether he could move about without attracting the attention of the men in the guard-tent, of the distant sentries, or of any of the soldiers who might chance to be wakeful. Bidding the Arab remain where he was, Burnet crawled to the foot of the slope, and in the deep shadow there stole along to the guns. He discovered just beyond them, and also beneath the limbers, various packages which from their shape evidently did not contain ammunition. This was disappointing. But going on a little farther, he found the ammunition boxes stacked close under the tell, about thirty yards from the guns. His aim was to destroy the guns, or at least render them useless. How was he to achieve it? The shells were not of much use for the purpose by themselves: he needed combustibles. No doubt there was plenty of combustible material among the stores; but it would not be easy to find it in the darkness, while the removal of it, necessitating movement to and fro, would increase the danger of detection. The only course possible was to make a rapid tour of all the stacks of stores, and finally to choose such material as seemed most suitable and most easily carried to the spot where it was needed. He crept first to the stores placed above the guns: these latter would screen him from observation from the camp. A few moments' investigation showed that there was nothing to hope for here: the boxes evidently held nothing but food-stuffs. From this point he skirted the slope, passing his Arab companion on the way, until he reached a widely spread pile which had escaped his notice before, owing to the fact that it rose only a foot or two from the ground and was covered with a tarpaulin. Lying flat, and raising a corner of the cover, he was instantly aware of a smell of petrol, and his groping hand touched a can. For what purpose did the Turks require petrol? He groped still farther, and felt a long curved sheet of metal, in which there were holes at equal intervals apart. Further search discovered more metal sheets, a number of bolts, planks of wood, other objects whose nature he could not determine, and finally a small engine. The explanation flashed upon him: the Turks had brought up the sections of a motor-boat, no doubt intended for patrol work on the marshes about the island. This discovery gave him a thrill of delight. No better combustibles could be required: here he had all he needed--if the enemy gave him time to use it. Taking two of the cans of petrol, he crept back to his companion under the shadow of the _tell_. A whispered instruction sent the Arab to the pile to bring two more cans. They conveyed these with the same stealth to the guns. While the Arab returned for more petrol, Burnet went on to the piles of ammunition, and brought back a shell in its case. By the time he had completed three such journeys the Arab, who moved more quickly, had increased the number of petrol cans placed beneath the guns to ten. Returning to the tarpaulin-covered pile for wood, they were alarmed by sounds of talking somewhere in the camp. They flung themselves flat and lay breathless, fearing that any further movement would be detected. The talking continued for some time, and Burnet grew more and more anxious. He could not tell how long the task had occupied him hitherto; if it were not finished before the rising of the moon all was over. After a trying period of suspense, however, the voices ceased. He stole on again with the Arab, removed some of the wooden sections of the motor-boat, and carried them back to the guns without further disturbance. While the Arab laid the wood over and around the three shells under the guns and in the space between them, Burnet set about opening one of the petrol cans. It was stopped with a waxed cork, and the necessity of working quietly required that he should cut the cork out bit by bit with his knife. This being done at last, he emptied the contents of the can upon the heap, and laid the other cans on the top. At this spot all was now ready. Determined to do as much damage as possible, he resolved to wreck the motor-boat also beyond repair, and sent the Arab to open another can beneath the tarpaulin, giving him a few matches out of the single box he had with him. The Arab was to kindle a fire as soon as he saw the glow of Burnet's match. Then they would both hurry along the base of the mound and conceal themselves among the ruins until the officers had left their tents, as they would no doubt do when the explosion was heard. During their absence there would be time to release the two Arabs from the underground chamber and escape to the south. There was a risk of being seen in the light of the conflagration before they gained the shelter of the ruins, but Burnet trusted that in the excitement and confusion they would not be noticed. Tense with anticipation, Burnet waited for the Arab's signal that he was ready. It came at last: so perfect an imitation of a horse's whinny that the Turks, if they heard it, would think it came from one of their own beasts. Burnet struck a match, flung it into the petrol-soaked heap, and dashed away as he had arranged. Seeing no answering fire at the spot where the Arab was, he was about to risk everything and swerve in that direction when a flame sprang up, and he saw the Arab running half bent towards him. He learnt afterwards that the man's first match had gone out. Together they sprinted up the slope towards the shelter of the ruined wall. The camp was already roused. Wild cries were heard: in the brilliant glare men were seen streaming from all parts towards the two fires. If any of them noticed the two figures rising up the mound they were too much startled, bemused with sleep as they were, to draw any inferences. Burnet and the Arab had just reached the wall when the air shook and the earth trembled with a tremendous explosion. A few moments later the Turkish officer, bare-headed and without his tunic, came rushing from his tent, and ran down the slope, closely followed by the sentry. They passed the two lurking figures within a few feet. Burckhardt had not yet appeared, and a sudden idea flashed into Burnet's mind. There was no need of further hiding. He went quickly forward, passed between the two colossal figures, and in the lurid glare saw the burly major hurrying down from his tent beyond. He was without his spectacles, and Burnet's figure, dark against the glowing sky, might well have been mistaken for that of a Turkish officer. [Illustration: MAJOR BURCKHARDT IS DISTURBED] "What--what is happening?" panted the major, in Arabic. Burnet felt that the enemy was delivered into his hands. "You are my prisoner, Major Burckhardt," said Burnet in English. Utterly bewildered, the German dropped his hands to his sides, and stood speechless, staring with his short-sighted eyes at the young officer before him. He was incapable of resistance; started a little when Burnet addressed his companion in Arabic, but accompanied the Arab meekly when the man bade him march. Burnet lifted the slab, called the two Arabs from below, and with them in a few minutes overtook the prisoner and his escort. Hurrying Burckhardt along, they crossed the _tell_, descended the slope on the south-west side, and almost ran into a picket of Turks who were dashing towards the conflagration. The whole countryside was now lit up, and the non-commissioned officer in the rear of the group, catching sight of Burnet's uniform, shouted to his men. They paid no heed to his cry, and seeing himself deserted, the sergeant redoubled his pace and followed them up. Burnet had no doubt that, as soon as the man made himself understood in the confusion, a party of the enemy would be dispatched in pursuit, but he trusted that the Turks would be for a time too busily occupied to heed the incredible report. Still, there was need for haste. The rim of the moon was just thrusting itself above the horizon. If the horses were not reached before the pursuit began there was great danger of being run down. Burckhardt had now recovered the use of his tongue, and was complaining bitterly at being compelled to trot across damp ground in his slippers and pyjamas. "It is contrary to the usages of war," he declared. "There shall be an indemnity." "All in good time, major," said Burnet consolingly. "You shall be fitted out in Arab dress before long: that will be no novelty to you." "What? You know me, and my work, and you treat me with such indignity!" "Well, you know, you once bundled my father, according to your own account, ignominiously from the _tell_ of Tukulti-Ninip. This is only a mild reprisal." "Who then are you?" "I am the son of Mr. Burnet." The German was silent. The pace caused him to breathe heavily; but it was his secret thoughts that provoked the sigh which presently escaped him. It was only about a quarter of an hour after they had left the _tell_ that they heard the thudding of galloping horses behind them. Burnet plunged into the nearest clump of reeds, and held his pistol to Burckhardt's head until the pursuers had ridden past. Then, winding their way under the guidance of one of the Arabs through the swamp, they continued their march until they arrived at the spot where they had left the horses. Mounting Burckhardt behind him, Burnet ordered his Arab guide to lead straight for home. They rode on in the growing moonlight, following the route by which they had come; and as dawn was breaking, regained the island, tired out, but well satisfied with their night's work. CHAPTER XVI CLOSING IN The story of that night's achievement, told with the usual oriental exaggeration by the Arabs who had accompanied Burnet, evoked an extraordinary burst of enthusiasm among Rejeb's people. The capture of one of the terrible Germans filled them with a childish pleasure and satisfaction. Major Burckhardt, it is true, did not look very terrible. Without his uniform he was just a fat little man; without his spectacles he looked out dreamily upon a disappointing world. Clothed in Arab dress, his appearance drew many a smile from Jackson and Sturge, the machine-gunners, who, however, with the Tommy's accustomed kindliness, did what they could for his comfort. They gave him half the small supply of tobacco they had with them, and one of their pipes, smoking the other in turn. For three or four days the Turks left the garrison in peace, except for occasional sniping. The non-appearance of guns seemed pretty conclusive proof that Burnet's work had been effectual. He wondered whether they would send for others before resuming their attack. That would give probably more than a week's respite. Would the British relief force arrive during that time? If not, he foresaw a very critical situation. The defences could not long withstand a bombardment; moreover, the food question was always an anxiety. Still, he must hope for the best, and employ the quiet period in doing what he could to strengthen the defences. In this task the machine-gunners did yeoman service. Acting for the time as foremen of the works, so to speak, they assisted him in directing the building of small redoubts along the edge of the embankment from which he could command the stretch of water between the island and the firm land beyond. That an attack by water, or at any rate supported from the water, had been contemplated was clear from the inclusion of a motor-boat among the enemy's impedimenta. The destruction of the boat had rendered that for the moment impossible, and it was unlikely, perhaps, that the Turks would have another boat to spare. In addition to the redoubts, he erected a long, slightly curved breastwork behind the embankment, at such a distance from the latter that it was concealed from the view of the enemy. Without experience in this sort of work himself, he relied on Sturge and Jackson, who were learned in all that pertained to parados, traverses, and so on, and took a great pride in the fortification which the Arabs constructed to their plans, and still more in the fact that, though they had picked up only a word or two of Arabic, they were able to dispense with Burnet's assistance as interpreter after the first day. The Turks, meanwhile, though they refrained from attacking, were not idle. They strengthened their bridgehead half-way along the causeway, fencing the latter on both sides with a mud wall just high enough to cover their movements up and down. The wall was no doubt easily penetrable by rifle or machine-gun bullets, but, as the Turks must have guessed, the garrison's supply of ammunition was not sufficient to allow them to pepper the wall at random on the chance of hitting the men behind it. Burnet hindered their work as much as possible by employing some of the best marksmen among the Arabs as snipers; the vegetation, however, that fringed the causeway formed in itself a very effective screen to the enemy, and he feared that a good proportion of the snipers' bullets were wasted. Remembering the old adage that it is lawful to learn from the enemy, Burnet was inclined to raise similar walls on his own side of the central gap. But he saw on reflection that if the Turks succeeded in bridging the gap--and that was always to be reckoned with--such walls would give them invaluable cover right up to the shore of the island. He therefore abandoned the idea. It was Sturge who suggested the employment of listening patrols by night, to discover any new movement on the part of the enemy. His crude idea was merely to send a few picked men along the causeway as far as the gap. Burnet improved on this. With Rejeb's consent he sent, nightly, a swimmer on an inflated skin from the kelak to worm his way under cover of the reeds as near to the enemy's walls as possible. For three nights the scout's report was of no great value, but on the fourth, just before dawn, he came back with the news that there was considerable movement at the bridgehead and along the causeway, and a good deal of bustle on shore. Not a little surprised that the enemy, after waiting so long for guns, had apparently decided to attack without them, Burnet at once reinforced the small body of picked men on duty at the outwork at his end of the gap, and sent word to the garrisons of the redoubts to be on the alert. The two English gunners were eager to take a part at once, but Burnet, with wise forethought, declined to let them use their guns or even enter the firing-line. The enemy's intentions were not yet disclosed. It turned out that the warning had reached him only just in time. When he joined the Arabs at the outwork he saw, in the grey light of dawn, several dim shapes on the water on both sides of the causeway, slowly approaching the island. In a minute or two he made them out to be small kelaks crowded with men. Some of them were converging on the gap, the others were keeping a straight course for the island. Before he had time even to conjecture what the enemy's aims might be, a hot fusillade, no doubt intended to cover the approach of the kelaks, broke out from behind the breastwork on the further side of the gap. One or two of the Arabs were hit before they had obeyed his order to lie low and hold their fire until he gave the word. At the same moment he sent a man back to the shore with instructions to their comrades there not to fire until they could be sure of hitting. As soon as the individual forms of the men on the kelaks could be distinguished Burnet gave the order to open fire. The range where he stood was almost point blank, and the first volley all but cleared two or three of the kelaks of their crews, the vessels drifting idly for a few moments and getting in the way of the rest. But the others crowded on, and in spite of their losses under the continuous fire of the Arabs they pushed into the gap, where they were partly protected by the broken edge of the causeway. Now Burnet seized their intention. The kelaks jostling each other in the gap formed a sort of pontoon, not so much below the surface of the causeway but that the enemy could easily reach it. The enemy's fire suddenly ceased; then a stream of men passed from the outwork at their side of the gap, leapt from kelak to kelak, and tried to spring over the parapet on the nearer side. Many of them fell before they reached it, but their places were instantly filled, and the fight became a hand-to-hand grapple. Dawn had increased to almost full daylight with the rapidity characteristic of this latitude. Meanwhile the Arabs on shore had already been directing a hot fire upon the crews of the kelaks approaching them. And now, from behind the enemy's outwork, through embrasures suddenly opened in the mud walls, two machine-guns, one on each side, began to play upon the shore. The Arabs' position there being considerably higher than the level of the water, the Turks were able to shoot without danger of hitting their own men. The fire from the machine-guns and a hurricane fusillade from the opposite shore of the channel kept down the Arabs' fire, and the kelaks drew slowly nearer to their goal. When the fighting at the gap became close, Burnet seized the rifle of a fallen Arab and did strenuous work in holding the enemy at bay. Such of them as succeeded in clambering upon the parapet were hurled back upon their comrades in the kelaks beneath. But the assailants were all sturdy Turks and stern fighters. Fresh men were continually pouring across the gap, and the Arabs, fight as gallantly as they might, would sooner or later yield to the enemy from sheer weariness. The breastwork could not be held much longer. Indeed, the inevitable moment came earlier than Burnet expected, for two kelaks, propelled by stout polemen, pushed beyond the gap, and ran close in on the side of the causeway, the Turks upon them opening fire upon the defenders from the flank and rear. Burnet's little band was thrown into momentary confusion by this unexpected attack, and several Turks gained a footing on the breastwork. A final effort was necessary before the position could be safely abandoned. Telling off a number of the men to return the fire from the kelaks, Burnet called on the rest to support him. With a shrill cry they rallied, and threw themselves upon the enemy with an impetuosity that nothing could withstand. The Turks were forced back, some falling upon the kelaks in the gap, others into the water. Once more the breastwork was clear. Then Burnet gave the order for retirement. The flank attack had been beaten off; the causeway was open. One by one at intervals of a few yards the Arabs dashed back towards the shore. Burnet kept a few men with him to act as rearguard, and waited until the wounded had almost reached the end of the causeway before he followed them up. It seemed that the enemy was hardly aware of what was happening, for the retirement was not harassed until the last few men had almost reached the bridgehead. Then, however, the fusillade broke out again, answered by the Arabs on shore, and one or two men, including Burnet himself, were hit before they had gained shelter. Burnet had already seen that the kelaks which had headed for the shore had been driven back, in spite of the support of the machine-guns. The Arabs at the bridgehead and in the redoubts had suffered very little loss, and he felt that the honours of this first encounter were with the defence. The Turks, seeing that their opponents had made good their retreat, ceased fire. They had captured the gap, but it was clear that they had to master a further line of defences before they gained access to the island. What would be their next move? Their success at the gap might give them sufficient encouragement to push on after a breathing space and finish the job while their blood was up and the tide seemed to have turned in their favour. It might prove a somewhat desperate undertaking unless they had more artillery at their disposal than the two machine-guns which had already been in action; but they in their turn would not suspect that they had to face machine-guns, and they would probably conclude that the Arabs' retirement after a short action was an earnest of further retreat as soon as they were hard pressed. It seemed to Burnet that a serious attack in force along the causeway was to be expected and provided against. Like many another subaltern in the heroic annals of British warfare, he found himself alone, at the head of an alien force, badly provided, and, what was worse, totally inexperienced. But it is in such circumstances as these that British valour has shone forth most brightly, and British ingenuity most thoroughly proved itself, and Burnet was to show forth those sterling qualities which hundreds before him had evinced. If the defence was to have the least chance of success, the rough and hastily contrived fort at the bridgehead must be held to the last moment. In spite of the limited quantity of ammunition, the time had clearly come to bring the machine-guns into action. Burnet sent for the two gunners, who had been itching to take their part, and told them frankly what he expected, and how he proposed to meet the attack. "We'll give 'em what for, sir," exclaimed Sturge, rubbing his hands. "With Bill on one side and me on the other we'll keep that Margate pier clear of Turks for a hundred years." "Well, you know how many rounds you have," said Burnet. "But I don't want both guns in action at first. Both might be knocked out. We'll keep one in reserve, in case anything happens. The one we have in the fort is certainly pretty well protected against anything less than a 9-pounder, but we must provide against accidents. You can help each other in working it. Open fire only if the enemy make a rush along the causeway." Something more than two hours passed. The enemy were seen to be framing a practicable floating bridge from the kelaks, and Burnet ordered some of his best marksmen to snipe them. But they were to some extent covered by the captured outwork, and completed their task with very little loss. A few minutes afterwards, the kelaks which had not been required for the bridge emerged from both sides of the gap and approached the island, keeping close to the walls of the causeway. At the same time a column of Turks streamed across the bridge, sprang over the abandoned outwork, and rushed without making any attempt at regular formation straight for the bridgehead. From the shelter of their walls on the causeway itself, as well as from their main position at the further end, the enemy opened a heavy covering fire, to which the Arabs replied thinly, and chiefly for form's sake, Burnet desiring to mislead the Turks while husbanding his ammunition. The head of the enemy column had advanced a hundred yards along the causeway before any attempt was made to check them. Then, however, while they were in full career, the machine-gun suddenly rapped out its deadly message. The effect was like that of a huge scythe sweeping along the causeway. Within less than a minute there was scarcely a man left erect between the bridgehead and the gap. The few who had escaped the hail of bullets flung themselves frantically into the water, and swam for safety, some of them falling victims to rifle fire from the flanks of the Arabs strung out behind their breastwork near the shore. As soon as the causeway was clear, the machine-gun ceased fire. It was evident that the enemy was disconcerted by the check. Their plan of operations had taken no account of the possession of a machine-gun by the defenders. Some time elapsed before they made any further movement. Then with their own machine-guns they directed a rain of bullets upon the Arabs, raking their position from end to end. At the first sound of the guns Burnet ordered his men to throw themselves down, and all the effect produced by the enemy was the carving of innumerable dents in the stonework, and the infliction of slight wounds on a few men. Trusting probably rather in the moral than in the material effect of this miniature bombardment, the Turks launched a second attack. Their machine-guns were now silent, for they could not fire on the Arabs defending the bridgehead without hitting their own men. Again a column of brave and gallant men surged along the causeway, springing over the bodies of their fallen comrades, and encouraging one another with strident shouts. But in face of the terrible machine of man's invention the highest human valour availed nothing. Confined to the narrow causeway, the Turks had no means of escape. Once more they were mown down, and the frenzied survivors took to the water. Burnet contrived to signal to the enemy that they might remove the wounded without molestation, and for a time men were engaged in the grim work of clearing away the traces of their defeat. While a fight is in progress, a man has no time to think of anything but the deadly work in hand. It is afterwards, in quiet moments, that he cannot but reflect on the causes of warfare, the root ideas that develop into so terrible a harvest of pain and misery. Burnet, with less than a year's soldiering behind him, had not become hardened. He was not content with knowing that killing was his duty: he felt bound to go a step farther back, and ask himself, was his duty right? Amid much that was puzzling his thoughts all converged to the same conclusion: force could only be overcome by force. The Germans had elected for military force as the efficient agent of civilisation. All that they had done since the war began showed that German civilisation was rotten to the core. It was a system in which lying, low cunning, treachery and brutality were, not tolerated, but applauded. The nations that cherished different ideals, or, to put it on the lowest ground, desired to live their own lives unmolested, had either to submit to material loss, moral degradation, the cowed and hopeless existence of slaves, or to stand up defiantly against this monstrous tyranny and fight it with its own weapons. Only thus could they save their souls. CHAPTER XVII RAISING THE SIEGE Burnet felt that the checks they had suffered were not likely to cause such tenacious fighters as the Turks to abandon their object. The fact that the attacks had been made by Turks and not by Halil's Arabs was clear proof that the enemy's high command attached importance to the capture of the island. With ample resources in their rear it could not be doubted that artillery would be brought up, and then the inevitable end was a matter of a day or two, perhaps only of hours, unless help came. Such help had been promised, but Burnet knew well enough that the strategic plans of the coming campaign could not be disarranged for his benefit, and though the possession of the island was of some importance to the security of the British left flank, it might well be that other considerations would prevent the dispatch of a relief force. In any case relief might not arrive in time. Whether Rejeb would allow his men to prolong their resistance when the odds against them became overwhelming was a question that gave Burnet some concern. He thought it fair to put the situation frankly before the young chief, who was mending but slowly, and was in no condition to take an active part in the defence. Rejeb replied with equal frankness. "The burden is truly heavy upon us, my brother," he said, "but we will not cast it from our backs until there is no more hope. What if we should steal away by night? Without our horses we should fall a prey to Halil's mounted legion. Moreover, even if I escaped alive, my name would be evermore a reproach. Surely it is better to fight and die than to run and live dishonoured." "That is well said. With your consent, then, we will resist the enemy to the death." He thought of sending a messenger into the British lines with a note relating what had happened and explaining that he could scarcely hope to carry on more than a few days longer. But reflecting that it would take the man several days to reach his destination, even with the best of luck, and that unless the relieving force had already started by then it could hardly arrive in time, he gave up the idea. If he had been able to overhear the counsels of the Turkish officers he would have found his worst fears realised. The destruction of the guns and the capture of Major Burckhardt had infuriated General Eisenstein, who had dispatched a German officer from his staff to conduct the operations, with more field-guns. For some days the enemy's activity was limited to sniping, and to pushing forward the walls along the island section of the causeway. The Arabs could do little to impede them. The work was done at night, with the assistance of kelaks, and always under cover of as many troops as could be concentrated on the causeway and the kelaks on either side. An attempt to attack the wall-builders must inevitably be outflanked. Nor could another gap, nearer the island, be made in the causeway. The enemy was always on the alert, and working parties of Arabs would only have been destroyed. Day by day Burnet saw the walls approaching the bridgehead. Provisions, in spite of the most careful rationing, were running low; and another action like the last would exhaust his stock of ammunition. The walls had been pushed to within fifty yards of the bridgehead when, early one morning, the garrison was startled by the sound of an exploding shell. It had burst on the embankment a few yards below the emplacement from which the machine-gun had repelled the last attack: the enemy was clearly ranging on that spot. The Arabs showed signs of nervousness, but were reassured by the broad smiles upon the faces of the two machine-gunners. Burnet's first precaution after the late action had been to change the position of the gun. Two new emplacements, well masked, had been prepared within a short distance of each other and connected by a shallow trench. Before a second shell fell, Sturge and Jackson, assisted by a party of Arabs, had removed the gun from the threatened position to another about twenty yards away. But Burnet realised that bombardment was the beginning of the end. To avoid useless loss of men, he withdrew the garrison from the bridgehead. The defences, consisting only of piles of loose stones and rubble, while effective against bullets, must soon be knocked to pieces by shells, even from field-guns, and would prove only a death-trap to men congregated behind them. He had reason to be thankful for the precautions he had taken when the enemy, after sending shell after shell into the vacant emplacement until it was thoroughly demolished, got to work on the bridgehead. Some twenty rounds reduced this, the first line of defence, to a mere rubbish heap. Fortunately the enemy did not suspect the existence of the main trench which had been dug in the rear, and was masked by the embankment on the shore of the island. Having destroyed the bridgehead, the Turkish gunners began to search the embankment methodically, dropping shells at every few yards along the front. The embankment, consisting of deep and closely packed mud, could not be broken down by the light shells from field-guns; but the bombardment would have played havoc with the defenders if, as the Turks no doubt supposed, they were extended behind it. As soon as their intentions became clear, Burnet withdrew the machine-gun from the second emplacement to the third, which was well retired from the shore and beyond the enemy's immediate objective. This precaution turned out to be unnecessary, or at least premature, for the bombardment was limited to about two hundred yards on each side of the bridgehead. Seeing that the second emplacement was outside the enemy's present zone of fire, Burnet had the machine-gun quickly restored to its former position. Hitherto the Arabs had not fired a single shot in answer to the bombardment. Not a man of the enemy was in sight, and the guns were far away on the mainland, completely hidden. The Arabs, at first alarmed by the deafening explosions and the devastating effects of the shells, had begun to recover tone when they saw that the damage was mainly material. A few of them had been hit by flying splinters of stone, but their injuries were light, and none had been killed. At last the bombardment of the embankment ceased. A few moments later shells began to fall on the ruined buildings in the centre of the island. Anticipating this, Burnet had told the small body of Arabs whom he was holding there in reserve what to do, and they, with Rejeb, had already taken refuge in the deep underground chambers. Immediately after the enemy's fire was lifted, a strong force of Turks rushed along the causeway, being protected by the walls until they came to the open stretch of some fifty yards. A few succeeded in reaching the demolished bridgehead; the rest were caught by the fire of the machine-gun from its new emplacement. The attack was too costly to be maintained; the survivors were recalled; and during the confusion and disorganisation due to this unexpected check a party of Arabs crept down to the ruins of the bridgehead, and after a short, sharp fight killed or captured the handful of Turks who had penetrated so far. Two Arabs escorted the prisoners to the rear; the others, at Burnet's orders, took cover behind the remains of the defences, to hold them if possible against infantry attack, but to retreat if they were again shelled. As Burnet expected, the Turkish gunners again changed their objective, directing their fire upon the neighbourhood of the second machine-gun emplacement. The British soldiers, however, had already withdrawn the gun to its third position. Burnet saw clearly enough that in this game of hide-and-seek the opponent must ultimately win; but meantime it seemed to him the most effectual means of holding up or disconcerting the attack and playing for time. Sturge assured him that the enemy had no more than two field-guns in action, as he had judged by timing their shots; and the area of the island was large enough to give them plenty of work before they could be assured that they had searched every likely place for the elusive machine-gun. This cheerful forecast was rudely belied only a few minutes afterwards. In altering their range, the Turkish gunners dropped several shells on the open ground between the central ruins and the embankment. One of these burst within a few yards of the machine-gun, which was blown off its stand and irreparably damaged. Sturge himself was hit by flying splinters and thrown to the ground. It was seen that he was unable to rise, and since he could not be carried to the rear without being exposed to the view of the enemy, all that could be done was to place him in the trench until darkness gave an opportunity of removing him. Rejoicing that he had kept the second machine-gun in reserve, Burnet sent Jackson to fetch it from its shelter behind a pile of stones at the extreme left of the position. The shell that had ruined the first had found it by accident; another had exploded in the trench and killed or wounded several of the Arabs; but the Turks had now shortened their range and were dropping their shells many yards nearer the shore. The incident, however, was very disquieting. Luck might favour the enemy again, or the position of the second machine-gun might be more quickly discovered when it came into action, and it was the last reserve. Moreover, the casualties suffered in the trench, more serious than any that the Arabs had hitherto experienced, had had a manifestly depressing effect on the rest of the garrison. Burnet felt a racking anxiety as to their steadiness when the next attack should come. He was standing beside Jackson, who had just set up the machine-gun, when the man suddenly swung round, exclaiming: "Hear that hum, sir?" The bursting of a shell drowned all other sounds, but when the rumbling echoes had ceased, Burnet caught a faint drone far away. He scanned the sky all around; for about a minute nothing was to be seen; but between the shots the humming was clearly audible, growing louder continually. An aeroplane was approaching: was it friend or foe? At last a speck appeared in the eastern sky, growing rapidly larger. It had evidently been seen by the Turks, for the bombardment suddenly ceased: they too, no doubt, were asking themselves the same question. As it drew nearer to the island, the aeroplane rose higher, and presently the prolonged crackle of rifle fire from the Turkish position proclaimed that they had recognised it as a British machine. Hope surged in Burnet's breast. The eyes of all the garrison were fixed on the aeroplane. It flew high over the island, wheeled round, passed directly over the trench, the disdainful target of innumerable Turkish bullets, then soared away northward. A few moments later two deafening explosions in quick succession shook the air, and two columns of smoke rose in the neighbourhood of the northern end of the causeway. The machine again turned, swept away to the east, and was soon out of sight. Before it disappeared, an Arab ran up to Burnet, and handed him an object which he declared had fallen from the sky as the aeroplane passed over, and struck the ground near him. Tearing off the canvas cover of the missile, Burnet found a small shell case, within which was a slip of paper. With leaping heart he read the message. "A flying column of horse is advancing up the Euphrates, and should make contact with you to-morrow morning. We are opening the ball. Carry on." Burnet tingled from head to foot. Without a word he handed the paper to Jackson, who, less restrained, let out a wild cheer. Burnet told the Arab to convey the good news to his comrades, and the air was soon filled with a chorus of discordant shouts. Gloominess of spirit vanished; help was at hand; every man glowed with new courage. It was now past midday. Burnet was under no illusion. News of the British advance must have reached the Turks opposing him: it probably explained their eagerness to rush the island before the walls on the causeway had been completed. It could hardly be doubted that they would now make a supreme effort to storm the position: the garrison's sternest ordeal was yet to come. To Burnet's surprise, though the bombardment was kept up intermittently by the field-guns during the rest of the day, there was no infantry assault. He jumped to the conclusion that they intended to attack during the night; perhaps to make a feint along the causeway, and try to gain the shore of the island in their kelaks. At nightfall one part, at any rate, of their plan was disclosed. From the causeway came the sounds of many men hard at work: it was clear that the enemy were toiling with fierce energy to finish the walls that would cover the last fifty yards of their approach. The task could easily be completed before the dawn, for it could not be effectually hindered; the machine-gun was now so placed that it could not fire directly along the causeway, but only at an angle across it, and the builders, being protected by the walls already raised, were not likely to suffer much loss in pushing the additions forward. The enemy's full purpose was patent. Covered by the walls, they would rush the ruins of the bridgehead, debouch behind the embankment, and trust to their superior numbers to carry the inner defences by one overwhelming assault. Hampered by the darkness, the garrison would be at a great disadvantage. Neither rifles nor machine-guns could command the whole front of attack. If the enemy were contained in the centre, they had sufficient men to sweep round on both flanks and take the defenders in the rear. Burnet saw that there was only one means of saving the situation--of gaining time until, with the morning, relief came. The enemy must be forestalled. It was important to choose the right moment for the counter-move. If made too early, and defeated, it might precipitate disaster. If too long deferred, it might be just too late. Leaving judgment or chance to decide the point, he quickly made preparations. He sent for the small reserve which had hitherto occupied the underground chambers in the centre of the island, posted them just behind the advanced breastwork, and dividing the rest of the garrison, some three hundred in all, into two parties, he ordered them to steal quietly down to the embankment, and be ready to scale it at the word of command. In the early hours of the morning the lessening of sounds from the causeway seemed to indicate that the work on the walls was nearly completed. It was pitch dark; not even a reflection of starlight could be seen in the water. Burnet gave the word; the men slipped noiselessly across the embankment, half of them on each side of the causeway; then, no longer preserving silence, dashed into the shallows, which extended some fifteen or twenty paces from the shore, and began to wade towards the working party. The Turks had only a few moments' warning; but they made fierce resistance with clubbed rifles and pioneer tools to the Arabs who swarmed up on each side of the causeway. There were some minutes of bitter hand-to-hand fighting; but the enemy were for the nonce outnumbered; they received no support from the rear; and presently they fled helter-skelter, suffering heavy losses in their flight from the rifle fire of their assailants. Burnet carried the pursuit along the causeway until progress was blocked by a traverse. The enemy were apparently not in sufficient strength to attempt a counter-attack until reinforced. Taking advantage of their inaction, which he knew could not last long, he ordered some of his men to demolish the newly constructed mud walls, while the remainder kept up a dropping fire. When the walls lining the last thirty yards of the causeway had been destroyed, he led the men back to their entrenchments, leaving a small detachment at the ruins of the bridgehead. The night work of the enemy had been frustrated, but Burnet did not flatter himself that the danger was over. Without doubt they were determined to capture the island before the arrival of the relieving force, of whose approach they must by this time be well aware. How would the Arabs, wearied by exertions unfamiliar to them, suffering from scarcity of food, endure the shock and strain of the crisis? With the first lifting of the sky at dawn the field-guns began a systematic shelling of the embankment and of the area immediately behind it, where it was now clear to them from previous events that the garrison were entrenched. The Arabs, lying close under their breastwork, suffered few serious casualties, though many of them were bruised and grazed by fragments of stone and shell, and some were overcome by the nauseating fumes. Presently the guns were turned on the ruins of the bridgehead, and Burnet at once withdrew the detachment from its precarious shelter there. He had scarcely done so when the storm broke. A dense column of Turks came rushing along the causeway. Kelaks, one of large size, carrying a machine-gun protected with sand-bags, swept out from the gap. From loopholes in the walls on the causeway the enemy poured a hot fire upon the flanks of the defenders' position. Numbers of Halil's Arabs swam in the wake of the kelaks, which were approaching the island on the side of the causeway remote from Jackson's machine-gun. Jackson directed his fire across the causeway, and took a heavy toll of the horde of Turks, but failed to check the determined rush. Finding that the machine-gun had not been disposed of, the Turkish gunners again searched the right flank of Burnet's position, and though they did not succeed in hitting the exact spot where Jackson, unperturbed, was emptying his belts of ammunition one after another, he was struck more than once by chips and slivers of metal and stone. As soon as the field-guns changed the direction of their fire, Burnet called on some of the Arabs to follow him to the embankment, from which they poured a hail of bullets upon the enemy. In spite of losses, the Turks and their Arab allies pressed on and penetrated to the bridgehead. Meanwhile some of the kelaks had reached the shore opposite Burnet's left, and parties of the enemy swarmed up to the further side of the embankment and established themselves there. The enemy found it impossible to maintain their position at the bridgehead in the centre beneath the withering fire of the Arabs under Burnet's immediate command. Baffled but not beaten, they too sought shelter under the embankment on either side, and some of them, at the extreme horn of the arc, so placed themselves that they could enfilade the defenders. Burnet was compelled to withdraw his men hastily behind their breastwork. If that was carried the whole island was at the enemy's mercy. There was a brief lull. Some hundreds of Turks and Arabs had now gained a footing on the island, and were no doubt collecting their energies for a final overwhelming rush. Burnet employed the interval in doing what was possible for his wounded, and in going from end to end of the defences, speaking words of encouragement to the men. It was nearly two hours before the rush came. Across the gap at the end of the causeway, or wading through the shallows, or on the kelaks, which had returned for reinforcements, the enemy swarmed to the assault with exultant cries. They were now protected by the embankment except where the machine-gun still enfiladed them, but Jackson's ammunition was running short, and fired less rapidly than before. They had landed their own machine-gun on the extreme left, and were seen hastily cutting an embrasure in the embankment. If they were unmolested, the defences would soon be swept from end to end, and all would be over. Burnet hurriedly collected fifty men, and led them straight for the gun. A few fell to rifle fire; Burnet himself had his rifle struck from his hand; but they flung themselves upon the machine-gun team with the swiftness of a tornado. A crowded minute of fierce hand-to-hand fighting gave them possession of the gun, and they dashed back with it, the retreat involving more losses but not one-tenth of those that the gun would have inflicted in a few seconds Burnet's only regret was that he could not employ the gun against the enemy. [Illustration: THE DASH FOR THE MACHINE-GUN] By this time they had scrambled over the embankment and were swarming towards breastwork. Burnet rushed to the centre, and succeeded in maintaining a certain fire discipline among the Arabs within sound of his voice. Again and again the enemy recoiled before the defenders' fire, at point-blank range. But reinforcements were continually streaming up; one of the field-guns was now concentrating its fire on the centre of the position; and the sight of comrades falling around them severely strained the resolution of the Arabs. Their valour, proof against infantry attack, could scarcely be expected to endure shelling to which no reply could be made. If the risk of hitting their own men had not constrained the Turkish gunners to plant their shells well beyond them, Burnet felt that his force might soon have become utterly demoralised. Hurrying from point to point, now to give a heartening word to the survivors of a shell-burst, now to direct the rifle fire where especial danger threatened, he lost count of time and all sense of personal risk. His sole thought was to hold on as long as possible. Now and again he found himself asking, "Why don't they come?" and listening for the shots that would announce the proximity of the relieving force. It was nearly midday. Burnet, on the left, was suddenly conscious that the machine-gun had ceased firing, and saw Jackson hurrying towards him with a rifle. "Played out, sir," said the man. "Fired my last round." He had scarcely finished speaking when a bomb exploded near the angle of the breastwork. Immediately afterwards a strong party of Turks swept round, dashed through the smoke, and began to bomb their way along the trench. The Arabs crowded back in panic. Some swarmed out of the trench and rushed frantically towards the centre of the island. Burnet and Jackson, together with a few of the more stout-hearted Arabs, fired into the advancing mass of Turks; but there was no adequate defence against bombs, no possibility of stemming the rout. Step by step they fell back, towards the men who, as yet unaware of the new weapon in use against their left, were still holding the defences with grim valour. The Turkish bombers advanced slowly, respecting the rifles which so steadily sped their bullets through the increasing volume of smoke. And now Burnet saw that another party of the enemy, passing the end of the breastwork, was striking up across the island. At this moment a shell burst a few yards away; he was struck below the knee, and sank to the ground. Jackson, smothered with earth, rushed to his side. "Carry on!" gasped Burnet. "We won't give in till the last gasp." Jackson turned about, and fired again into the advancing bombers. The field-guns ceased to play; only rifle fire and bomb explosions could be heard. Then, after a minute or two, came reports of guns again, but no shells fell. The blare of bugles was heard, and a few seconds afterwards Jackson, still facing the enemy, shouted: "By Jupiter, they're bolting, sir." It was true. The men who had penetrated the island were running back. At the breastwork the Turks had suddenly dropped away, and were now streaming along the causeway, scrambling on board the kelaks, plunging into the water, in desperate anxiety to save themselves from the new danger that threatened them. The ever-increasing boom of guns away to the west told them clearly enough what that danger was; and Jackson, running a little way up the rising ground behind the scene of the long struggle, soon declared that he saw the glint of sunlight on lances above the patches of vegetation. Rejeb's Arabs, weary though they were, sprang over the breastwork and the embankment and dashed along the causeway in pursuit of their retreating foe. Many of them suffered from their own temerity, for the Turk in defeat is still a dangerous man, and some of the fugitives halted and turned upon their pursuers with grim ferocity. Some hours later, Burnet, lying on a couch in Rejeb's tower, was embarrassed by the congratulations of the colonel commanding the relieving force. "Thanks to you," said that officer, "we've made a bag of some five or six hundred Turks who are now on their way to enjoy the luxuries of imprisonment, for by all accounts they'll fare better with us than they've been doing with their own people lately." "Did they put up a fight, sir?" asked Burnet. "They made a little noise until our main body came up. Unluckily that old rascal Halil's men got away on their horses, most of them: after our long march our horses were too fagged to round them up. But Halil won't give any more trouble in these parts." "And what of our big push, sir?" "We've started, and one may say that Bagdad will be our next stop. You'll be out of it, I'm afraid, young man; you'll be under treatment for synovitis or something of the sort when we march in." "I hope to goodness not, sir," said Burnet, pulling a long face. The colonel smiled. "That's the right spirit," he said. "Well, I'll take care that the Chief knows all about your doings here. If the enemy had got this position they might have worried us a good deal on our left flank. But I'm not sure that your friend the chief here doesn't owe you more than we do, for it seems to me that he stood an uncommonly good chance of being wiped out." And later, when Rejeb and Burnet were alone together, the Arab thanked the Englishman with all the fervour of a generous nature. "I kiss your eyes, my brother," he said in conclusion, and Burnet knew that no Eastern phrase more expressive of gratitude could have been used. CHAPTER XVIII THE TIMELY BOMB This is not the place, even if it were now possible, to describe in detail the brilliant campaign in which General Maude retrieved previous errors and disasters, and struck a blow at German aggression in the east from which, it is to be hoped, it will never recover. A bare outline will suffice to bridge the gap between Burnet's last day on the island, and the day, three months later, when, fully recovered from his wound, he made another solitary entry into Bagdad. On the night of December 13 the great advance, the climax of months of the most careful preparation, began. General Maude, by a surprise attack, seized a point on the Hai stream some seven miles south of Kut, and threw his mixed force of cavalry and infantry northward towards the enemy's formidable entrenched position round that town. About a week later, his airmen, who had done invaluable work in scouting and in raiding the enemy's camps, heavily bombed his ammunition dumps higher up the river. While one of his corps, under General Cobbe, was making deceptive demonstrations against the fortifications at Sanna-i-Yat, on the north bank of the Tigris, another, under General Marshall, steadily pressed the Turks back towards the south bank; and parties of cavalry harassed their communications between the Tigris and the Euphrates. For three weeks more the enemy maintained an obstinate resistance to General Marshall's pressure; then they were compelled to abandon all their positions south of the river, and fell back beyond Kut. It was not until February 22 that General Cobbe's force captured the first two lines of trenches at Sanna-i-Yat. On that night also British and Indian troops, after heroic efforts, forced the passage of the river at Shumran, some ten miles upstream, and next day the fortifications which had defied all the attacks of the troops who attempted to relieve General Townshend were in British hands. The immediate result was the fall of the town which had been the scene of almost the greatest surrender in British history. There was no relaxation in the forward movement. While cavalry and airmen chased the fleeing enemy on and over the land, gunboats harried them from the river. Here and there they made attempts to stand, but lost so heavily, especially in guns and prisoners, that their flight degenerated into a stampede. Within less than a week they had been hunted half-way to Bagdad. Then the rapidity of the pursuit necessitated a halt, in order that supplies might be brought up and the extended lines of communication secured. This inevitable halt prevented General Maude from destroying the Turks as a military force, and enabled them to restore some semblance of order. The advance was resumed on March 5, after only a week's delay. The Turks had had time to throw up entrenchments in more than one well-selected position, and here they contested the ground with the stubbornness for which they are famed. At the Diala river, twenty miles below Bagdad, they were massed in great strength, and fought with courage and tenacity to prevent the British troops from crossing. The story of the forcing of the passage, after repeated failures and terrible losses, by the Lancashire and Wiltshire regiments, is one of the most heroic in our annals. When the river was crossed, the enemy lost heart, and withdrew towards Bagdad. On March 11 General Cobbe occupied the railway station on the right bank of the Tigris, and General Marshall flung his advanced troops into the outskirts on the left bank. Without parade or the insolence of victors the British troops marched into the city, between crowds of inhabitants, a mixed population with elements from almost every race known in the East, shouting, dancing and clapping their hands. For the first time in history the city of Haroun al Raschid welcomed a Western conqueror. A few hours before this historic event, Firouz Ali, the barber of Bagdad, came within an ace of losing his life. When it became clear that the city must soon fall to the victorious British forces, the Turkish soldiery, with a licence which their German masters could hardly have exceeded, had begun to plunder the inhabitants, among whom they were always foreigners and the agents of a corrupt despotism. They stripped the houses of everything valuable that they could carry away, and with threats, blows and actual murder extorted huge sums of money from the wealthier citizens. Having thus provided themselves, they crowded into the last outward-bound trains, and left the city to its fate. Their departure was the signal for all the ruffians of the place to sally out of their haunts and loot the defenceless citizens. Checked by no authority, restrained by no scruples, they pillaged from midnight till dawn, gutting houses and shops, sparing none who resisted them, and even wrenching away the beds of the wounded in the Turkish hospital from under them. Among those who suffered in this orgy of plundering was Firouz Ali. He had barricaded his house and shop, but in the early morning an excited mob forced an entrance, and in a few minutes stripped the place of everything, sweeping even such trifles as shaving brushes along with every portable article of value that the old man possessed. Vigorously protesting, he followed the looters into the street, crowded with the dregs of the population mingled with a few Turkish soldiers who had not succeeded in escaping, or had perhaps remained to increase their spoils. Almost at once the cry of "Spy!" was raised. One of the soldiers--the sentry who had arrested Firouz Ali and his supposed apprentice--had recognised the barber. Resenting the reprimand he had suffered on account of the two men, he found himself in a position to wreak vengeance. His cry was sufficient, in their present temper, to bring up every soldier within hearing, and there were not a few among the civilian rabble willing enough to spare a minute from looting to enjoy the sport of baiting and torturing a personal victim. Firouz Ali was seized by the sentry, and dragged from the platform of his shop to the road. A dozen swords and knives, straight and curved, of many different patterns, were whipped out, and the old man, forced to his knees, a silent dignified figure among that wild throng, awaited a cruel fate. [Illustration: THE BARBER IS MOBBED] Suddenly there was an explosion close by, that flung innumerable fragments of masonry like falling leaves into the street, and made the very earth tremble. The startled mob broke apart, the group surrounding the barber loosed their hold on him; the soldiers, who knew what the noise meant, gazed up into the sky. Then, with shouts and curses, they rushed blindly this way and that, seeking doorways, alleys, dens where they could find shelter from the dreaded bombs. Firouz All, left alone, got up slowly and went back into his dismantled shop. Late that evening, after the entry of the British troops, and when order had been restored in the town, Roger Burnet came to the house. "Peace be with you!" said the old man, greeting him warmly. "Surely this is a day of deliverance, and a blessed answer to my prayers." "You have been plundered, I see," said Burnet after returning his greeting. "I hoped you had escaped." "Barely I escaped with my life. The sword was at my throat when a bomb fell on that very arsenal which you and I noted when we walked the city together. The villains were afraid, and left me, or I should not be alive now to welcome the son of my benefactor and my friend." Burnet felt a strange thrill. "Those walks of ours, that plan I made over the map, were useful to us both, my old friend," he said. "It was I who dropped the bomb on that arsenal, which I saw a rabble of Kurds looting. I can never be too thankful that I was able to do a service unawares to one to whom I owe so much." "Mashallah! Surely it was the hand of God. And I rejoice that I have lived to see the day for which I have yearned for many years, and to know that the son of Burnet Aga has had a part in the triumph of the cause his father had at heart. And now let us sit down, even among these ruins, which are but a small price to pay for my soul's contentment, and you shall tell me all that has happened since last I bid you go in peace." THE END A FEW STIRRING ROMANCES BY HERBERT STRANG The Air Patrol A Story of the North-West Frontier. Illustrated in colour by CYRUS CUNEO. In this book Mr. Strang looks ahead--and other books have already proved him a prophet of surprising skill--to a time when there is a great Mongolian Empire whose army sweeps down on the North-West Frontier of India. His two heroes luckily have an aeroplane, and with the help of a few Pathan miners they hold a pass in the Hindu Kush against a swarm of Mongols, long enough to prevent the cutting of the communications of the Indian army operating in Afghanistan. The qualities which marked Mr. Strang's story, "The Air Scout," and won extraordinarily high commendation from Lord Roberts, Lord Curzon, and others, as well as from the _Spectator_ and other great journals, are again strikingly displayed; and the combination of thrilling adventure with an Imperial problem and excellent writing, adds one more to this author's long list of successes. "An exceptionally good book, written moreover in excellent style."--_Times_. "'The Air Patrol' is really a masterpiece."--_Morning Post_. The Air Scout A Story of National Defence. Illustrated in Colour by W. R. S. STOTT. The problems of National Defence are being discussed with more and more care and attention, not only in Great Britain, but also in all parts of the Empire. In this story Mr. Strang imagines a Chinese descent upon Australia, and carries his hero through a series of exciting adventures, in which the value of national spirit, organisation, and discipline is exemplified. The important part which the aeroplane will play in warfare is recognised, and the thousands of readers who have delighted in the author's previous stories of aviation will find this new book after their own heart. LORD ROBERTS wrote:--"It is capital reading, and should interest more than boys. Your forecast is so good that I can only hope the future may not bring to Australia such a struggle as the one you so graphically describe." LORD CURZON writes:--"I have read with great pleasure your book, 'The Air Scout.' It seems to me to be a capital story, full of life and movement: and further, it preaches the best of all secular gospels, patriotism and co-operation." "We congratulate Mr. Strang on this fine book--one of the best fighting stories we have read."--_Morning Post_. Palm Tree Island. Illustrated in Colour by ARCHIBALD WEBB. In this story two boys are left on a volcanic island in the South Seas, destitute of everything but their clothes. The story relates how they provided themselves with food and shelter, with tools and weapons; how they fought with wild dogs and sea monsters; and how, when they have settled down to a comfortable life under the shadow of the volcano, their peace is disturbed by the advent of savages and a crew of mutinous Englishmen. The savages are driven away; the mutineers are subdued through the boys' ingenuity; and they ultimately sail away in a vessel of their own construction. In no other book has the author more admirably blended amusement with instruction. "Written so well that there is not a dull page in the book."--_The World_. Rob the Ranger: A Story of the Fight for Canada. With Illustrations in Colour and Maps. Rob Somers, son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with Lone Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which has destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother. He is captured and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother in strange circumstances, and escapes with him in the dead of the winter, in company with a little band of stout-hearted New Englanders. General Baden-Powell, In recommending books to the Boy Scouts, places "Rob the Ranger" first among the great scouting stories. One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India. With Illustrations in Colour and Maps. Desmond Burke goes out to India to seek his fortune, and is sold by a false friend of his, one Marmaduke Diggle, to the famous Pirate of Gheria. But he escapes, runs away with one of the Pirate's own vessels, and meets Colonel Clive, whom he assists to capture the Pirate's stronghold. His subsequent adventures on the other side of India--how he saves a valuable cargo for his friend Mr. Merriman, and assists Clive in his fights against Sirajuddaula--are told with great spirit and humour. "An absorbing story.... The narrative not only thrills, but also weaves skilfully out of fact and fiction a clear impression of our fierce struggle for India."--_Athenaeum_. 
38319	----	BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME._ THE GREAT BOER WAR. _Arthur Conan Doyle._ COLLECTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS. _G. W. E. Russell._ REMINISCENCES. _Sir Henry Hawkins._ LIFE OF LORD RUSSELL OF KILLOWEN. _R. Barry O'Brien._ FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO. _E. S. Grogan._ A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN. _Dean Hole._ LIFE OF FRANK BUCKLAND. _George C. Bompas._ A MODERN UTOPIA. _H. G. Wells._ WITH KITCHENER TO KHARTUM. _G. W. Steevens._ THE UNVEILING OF LHASA. _Edmund Candler._ LIFE OF LORD DUFFERIN. _Sir A. Lyall._ ROUND THE WORLD ON A WHEEL. _John Foster Fraser._ LITERATURE AND DOGMA. _Matthew Arnold._ SPURGEON'S SERMONS. _Sir W. Robertson Nicoll, LL.D._ MY CONFIDENCES. _Frederick Locker-Lampson._ SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD. _Augustine Birrell, K.C., M.P._ THE MAKING OF A FRONTIER. _Colonel Durand._ LIFE OF GENERAL GORDON. _Demetrius C. Boulger._ POT-POURRI FROM A SURREY GARDEN. _Mrs. Earle._ THE RING AND THE BOOK. _Robert Browning._ THE ALPS FROM END TO END. _Sir W. Martin Conway._ THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION. _Walter Bagehot._ LIFE OF RICHARD COBDEN. _Lord Morley._ LIFE OF PARNELL. _R. Barry O'Brien._ HAVELOCK'S MARCH. _J. W. Sherer._ UP FROM SLAVERY. _Booker Washington._ WHERE BLACK RULES WHITE. _H. Hesketh Prichard._ HISTORICAL MYSTERIES. _Andrew Lang._ THE STRENUOUS LIFE. _Theodore Roosevelt._ MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY. _Dr. John Kerr._ LIFE OF DANTON. _Hilaire Belloc._ A POCKETFUL OF SIXPENCES. _G. W. E. Russell._ THE ROMANCE OF A PRO-CONSUL. _James Milne._ A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. _S. Reynolds Hole._ RANDOM REMINISCENCES. _Charles Brookfield._ THE LONDON POLICE COURTS. _Thomas Holmes._ THE AMATEUR POACHER. _Richard Jefferies._ THE BANCROFTS. _Sir Squire Bancroft._ AT THE WORKS. _Lady Bell._ MEXICO AS I SAW IT. _Mrs. Alec Tweedie._ EIGHTEENTH CENTURY VIGNETTES. _Austin Dobson._ GREAT ANDES OF THE EQUATOR. _Edward Whymper._ THE EARLY HISTORY OF C. J. FOX. _Sir G. O. Trevelyan._ THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA. _H. Hesketh Prichard._ BROWNING AS A PHILOSOPHICAL AND RELIGIOUS TEACHER. _Professor Henry Jones._ LIFE OF TOLSTOY. _Charles Sarolea._ PARIS TO NEW YORK BY LAND. _Harry de Windt._ LIFE OF LEWIS CARROLL. _Stuart Dodgson Collingwood._ A NATURALIST IN THE GUIANAS. _Eugène André._ THE MANTLE OF THE EAST. _Edmund Candler._ LETTERS OF DR. JOHN BROWN. JUBILEE BOOK OF CRICKET. _Prince Ranjitsinhji._ _Etc., etc._ _Others to follow._ [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF AUTHOR'S ROUTE] BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD BY LOUISA JEBB (MRS. ROLAND WILKINS) THOMAS NELSON & SONS LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN AND NEW YORK "Oft have I said, I say it once more, I, a wanderer, do not stray from myself; I am a kind of parrot; the mirror is holden to me; What the Eternal says, I, stammering, say again." CONTENTS PAGE PART I BRUSA TO DIARBEKR PROLOGUE 13 I. DISENTANGLEMENT 23 II. BRIGANDAGE 34 III. SOCIAL INTERCOURSE 46 IV. THE DAWN OF THE BAGHDAD RAILWAY 55 V. IN THE TAURUS 88 VI. ROYAL PROGRESS 112 VII. HARRAN: A DIGRESSION INTO THE LAND OF ABRAHAM 132 VIII. THAT UNBLESSED LAND, MESOPOTAMIA 146 PART II DOWN THE TIGRIS ON GOATSKINS IX. AFLOAT 167 X. HELD UP 175 XI. A RECEPTION AND A DANCE 194 XII. AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN ENGLISHMAN 204 XIII. THE CREED OF THE KORAN 215 XIV. THE EVIL ONE 227 XV. ARAB HOSPITALITY 241 XVI. A STORM AND A LULL 254 XVII. AN ENCOUNTER WITH FANATICS 267 XVIII. THE END OF THE RAFT 277 PART III BAGHDAD TO DAMASCUS XIX. BABYLON 287 XX. THE SOUND OF THE DESERT 302 XXI. PALMYRA 316 XXII. AN ARMENIAN AND A TURK 325 XXIII. RETROSPECTIVE 354 APPENDIX 367 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE MAP _Frontispiece_ A WELL IN THE KONIA PLAINS 64 HITTITE BAS-RELIEF AND INSCRIPTION. IVRIZ 129 JACOB'S WELL. HARRAN 160 "DRAWING SKINS OF WATER" 225 PALMYRA. TRIUMPHAL ARCH 256 HASSAN 321 ERECH. SYRIAN DESERT 352 PROLOGUE It was a hot midsummer's day; X and I sat on the long grass under an apple-tree: she had a map of Asia and I had a Murray's Handbook. We were about to travel together in the East. X was going primarily in search of health; but she had studied comparative religions and was prepared to be incidentally intelligent about it--visit mosques and tombs, identify classical spots, and take rubbings of inscriptions. I was merely going with X. She had unearthed me from a remote agricultural district in the West of England with the idea that contact with the agricultural labourer would have fitted me for dealing with the male attendants who were incident to our proposed form of travel. We were fully agreed on one fundamental point--that we should choose a country which could be reached otherwise than by sea; and that, having reached it, its nature should be such that we could travel indefinitely in it without reaching the sea. Now of all the continents Asia Minor is the one best adapted for this purpose; for if you were a giant you could easily step across the bit of inland sea which separates Europe from Asia in the neighbourhood of Constantinople; and once landed on the other side your field of operations is practically unlimited, extending even into the adjoining continent of Africa; for any one who could step across the Bosphorus could also step across the Suez Canal. But having once settled on the particular continent, our ideas were somewhat vague. How indeed can they be otherwise if you propose travelling in a country which has not yet been ticketed and docketed for the tourist? This product of a modern age can, thanks to Messrs. Cook and Lunn, already tell, in the corner of his own fireside, the exact hour at which he will be gazing at the dome of St. Sophia on any particular day, or at which he will be eating his dinner, with the number of courses specified, in the hotel the outside appearance of which is already depicted on the itinerary. But it was not to be so with us. What we should eat and what we should gaze upon was still wrapt in the mystery of the great unknown. X took a pencil and marked a straight line from Constantinople across the Anatolian Plateau and the Taurus Mountains to Tarsus. "That looks a good point to make for," she said, "Alexander led an army over the Taurus." Then, having stopped within measurable distance of the sea, she drew her pencil eastwards across the Euphrates to a point on the Tigris high up in the Kurdistan mountains; from here she drew another line following the Tigris to Baghdad. At this point we were coming dangerously near the sea, so turning back she marked a line in the contrary direction across the Syrian desert to Damascus. "That will do for a start," she said; "we can fill in the details when we get there." Now this method of undertaking a journey might have its disadvantages in what is known as a civilised country; for here we are all such servers of time that unless we arrange everything beforehand, as everybody else does, we are apt to get pushed aside; you must, therefore, take your place in the general hustle and secure your bed and your dinner and your right to look at sights by ticket long before you are in need of them. In short, you must make a plan. But in the untravelled parts of the East you reign supreme; there is no need to go about securely chained to a gold watch which metes out with inexorable exactitude the dictates of railway time-tables, steamers, diligences, and _table d'hôte_ summonses. Ignore Time, and he is at once your servant; treat him with respect, and he at once becomes your master. In those countries where Time has become master he develops a system of locomotion to which you must conform or lose its benefits; it will not accommodate itself to you. But in the East, do you but recognise the principle of making Time your own and at once plans become unnecessary. Systems of locomotion, for instance, spring up in answer to a preliminary wish in your brain; and their existence being solely due to you, it is possible to use them when and where you will. You want to get from one point to another: your wish is passed on, and a mule or an araba appears at your door; and whether it be punctual, or whether, as is more usual in the East, it be late, it is of no consequence, for Time is waiting for you and will wait for ever. Once you are started, moreover, the stopping-places are not arbitrary; you have merely to wish, and at once the mule or the araba stops. In the same way when you wish to sleep your bed is where you make it; and when you wish to eat you need wait for no summons. And should it so happen that you have been misguided enough to make a plan, it is of no consequence should you think fit to change it. One only asks, "Why have made the plan?" Thus it was that, without any more preparation than this preliminary idea of our route, X and I were able to carry it out in detail exactly as we had sketched it in the rough. The drawbacks of course were there. Sometimes we had nothing to eat through not having arranged for food; and sometimes we slept out in the wet. But does this never happen to those who have made elaborate plans against all possible contingencies? And have they not had the worst of it after all, for they have had the planning with no result, and have suffered the annoyance of having their best laid plans mislaid. Is it possible, moreover, to judge this method of travel by our standard of ideas in the West? In a civilised country where beds abound and it is merely a matter of arrangement to acquire one, there is no delight in passing the night under a damp hedge with drips down your back; there is shelter round the corner, and you merely curse yourself for your own stupidity, or pretend you like it, and take care not to do it again. But when you lie on your back on a sandy desert with nothing within measurable distance of you, and the rain beats mercilessly down or the wind howls through the crevices of your garments, you are conscious of battling against great primeval forces akin to the unknown elements of your own being; you cannot escape from them, for there is no shelter round the corner: you are brought up face to face with something fundamental; all the little accessories with which we have learnt to shield ourselves fall away, and you are just there, stripped yourself, and in the middle of naked realities. And if only you have been wet enough, or cold enough, or hungry enough, it has been worth while, for you never forget it; and the remembrance of it will come to you ever and anon when you are once more tied up in the bonds of convention and are struggling to keep a true idea of what is a reality and what is not. So it is, perhaps, that in setting out to write any account of such a journey, one is dominated by the remembrance chiefly of facts which in this country seem trivial. All the little details of life take on an exaggerated form; for what in civilisation we are apt to ignore and take as a matter of course, occurring almost unnoticed in the ordinary routine of daily life, becomes out there of enormous importance. A good meal, for instance, seems of far greater moment than an attack by brigands, because of its rarer and more unexpected occurrence. If you are travelling for no particular purpose, with people whose language you do not understand, and in a country where the manners and customs are not familiar to you and you are merely moving on slowly from day to day--all you can get is a passing impression of outside things. If you are not a scientist or an archæologist or a politician striving to catalogue each new acquisition on your particular subject; if, in fact, you have no particular knowledge of any sort, but your pores are wide open to receive passing impressions, what you get is a vivid idea of the appearance of things. This is all that you can hope to pass on. In the following pages I do not propose to give a connected account of the various places we visited or of the many adventures which befell us; this is not a travel book. I shall have no intelligent remarks to make on the historic spots we passed, journeying slowly through this country so rich with still undiscovered monuments of ancient times; a country which is also destined to become, as civilisation advances with the Baghdad Railway, the centre of future political interest. What justification is there then for writing a book at all? The Danes have given us a definition of their idea of education: "It is," they say, "what is left after everything that has been learnt is forgotten." So it is with any form of travel; the value of it to the traveller himself is what is left after lapse of time has effaced all recollection of minor incidents and softened the vividness of strong impressions. In very slow travelling through desert countries, where day after day the same trivial events occur in similar yet different settings, the essential facts of that country sink into you imperceptibly, until at the end they are so woven into the fibres of your nature that, even when removed from their influence, you will never quite lose them. There are certain notes in the East which form part of a tune sung all the world over, but which give a clearer and more definite sound in the land which first gave them birth. The sketches given in the following pages are framed on them; they are what I have left, and what I would fain pass on to the reader. If I have succeeded in striking these notes true, there is no need of an apology to those who have already heard them in the country whence they spring; for any one who has ever travelled in the East welcomes anything that will once more touch that particular chord, at whatever time or place. And if I have succeeded in striking them so that here and there amongst those to whom the East is still but a name, there are some who may hear a faint echo of the real thing, I shall feel that there has been some justification for this contribution to the literature of the desert. PART I BRUSA TO DIARBEKR "It avails not, time nor place--distance avails not, I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence. Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt; Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd; Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh'd; Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried."... BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD CHAPTER I DISENTANGLEMENT It was our first night in camp; little mysterious hillocks shut us into a world of our own; we had it all to ourselves and only the stars overhead knew, and they seemed to be congratulating us on our escape; they twinkled and winked and beckoned. Constantin had lit a fire, and this at once became the centre of our world; the door of our tent looked out on it, the muleteers, the Zaptiehs, and our men sat round it, our supper was cooking on it, and we all thought about that; the horses and mules, tethered in a semicircle, turned that way and blinked at it; far away a jackal saw it and barked. It drew us all together, and its smoke went quietly up towards the beckoning stars. They would be eating their dinner now in the hotel at Brusa just the same as last night; the thin young man who had asked us what we should do if it rained, the old lady who wanted to know if we were doing it for pleasure, and the middle-aged spinster who thought we had no business to expose ourselves to such dangers unless it were for missionary work. The waiters would be bustling about; good Madame Brot would be carving diligently at the side table with an anxious look; bells would be ringing; men and women would be coming and going and talking and laughing and scolding; down below in the hot kitchen the men wash one pile of dirty plates after another.... Yes, it is very quiet out here; the men speak in undertones and the fire crackles in the cool, still air. Constantin lifted the pot off the fire. "Mangez," he said. He was Greek but could speak a word or two of French. He ladled the onions and rice on to two plates and picked out the bits of mutton; then after handing us the plates, he began to beat up eggs for an omelette. We had been stretched out on the ground; we drew ourselves up, and sitting cross-legged balanced the plates on our knees. The food tasted excellent although it had been cooked in one pot. Constantin had wanted to bring three pots; he had been camp cook to the best people on hunting expeditions--three courses for dinner, with clean plates and knives for each course. He looked the part: his clothes were European, except for the fez. He remained on the border-line of civilisation and reminded us of what we had left. We had had a scene with him before leaving Constantinople; he had accumulated a large assortment of saucepans and kettles, of pans for frying and pans for stewing, of pots for boiling and pots for washing; we had gone through them critically and disregarded everything but a stew-pan, a frying-pan, and one pot for boiling water. Constantin was in despair. "Pas possible, mademoiselle," he kept on ejaculating, "pas possible, comment faire cuisine?" But we were adamant; we wished to travel light and live largely on native food. As it was we had a whole araba[1] loaded up with our belongings; there were the two tents for ourselves and the men, our camp-beds and sacks of clothes, and the cooking utensils. It all seemed a great deal now, and yet we were only taking necessaries. But then it had been so very hard to know what necessaries were; it is very hard to get disentangled from the forces of tradition. We had escaped now and would know better. Life was becoming extraordinarily easy, for we had left behind most things and forgotten all the injunctions and warnings of our friends. [1] A native cart. * * * * * But there was still Constantin in his European clothes and his aristocratic ideas and his broken French. * * * * * However, he does make delicious omelettes; we will forgive him for smuggling in that omelette-pan in defiance of our orders. * * * * * It is getting very dark; we could no longer see the hillocks, but we knew that they were there. We could hardly see the horses tethered beyond the fire, but we could hear them munching and stamping, and now and then one would neigh suddenly. Constantin lit a lantern and hung it on a stick; then he washed up the dishes. The other men sat on by the fire and we looked through the smoke at them. There was Calphopolos. Now Calphopolos was a Greek, and he was a mistake. We have said that Constantin was on the border-line of civilisation and reminded us of what we had left. But Calphopolos was right in it without really being of it--so that when he was about one forgot that there was anything to be said for civilisation and only remembered its drawbacks. His unbrushed black clothes contrasted painfully with the native dress, especially when seen through the smoke of a camp-fire. He always carried about a little black handbag, out of which his tooth-brush was constantly falling. But his worst offence was that he spoke a language which we understood, and jabbered French at us from morning to night. He was in the employment of well-meaning friends whom he accompanied when they made business excursions into the interior. They had sent him to start us comfortably on the way; his knowledge of the amenities of life was to pave the road leading away from civilised methods of living. Then there was Ibrahim, a long, lean Turk with a smiling face. He put up the tents and rode in attendance upon us, and haggled with the villagers over milk and eggs. They had told me earlier in the day that Ibrahim was troubled in his mind; "never before had a woman looked him straight in the face and shown him a watch." Two Eastern precepts had been violated, and I had been the unwitting offender. It was at Brusa, which we had left with such difficulty that morning. We had arranged the night before to start at 8 o'clock. But 8 came, and 8.30 came, and 9 came, and then the Zaptichs came who were to have come at 8 to escort us on the way; but there was no sign of our own retinue, of Constantin, of Ibrahim, of our own hired horses, of the arabas and muleteers with the baggage. The news of our departure had got about and the people of the hotel gradually collected at the door. "Where is your dragoman?" they said; "why do you not send for him?" We confessed to having engaged no dragoman. "No dragoman! that was very rash. We could speak the language, then?" No, we had only a Turkish dictionary. They gave us up then as hopeless. Another individual pushed his way up to us. "You will never get your men to start or do anything else," he said; "you do not realise what these Turks are." I recognised him as a professional dragoman offered to us by Cook the week before. But he was only telling us what everybody else out of the trade had been dinning into our ears ever since we planned the journey. I repaired to the inn where the men and horses had been collected the night before. In the open yard stood the araba, unpacked and horseless. Constantin sat on a roll of baggage near by, with a resigned expression and a settled look, as if he had been sitting there for hours. "Pas possible, mademoiselle," he said. Ibrahim stood in the stable door, smoking complacently, and our muleteers were squabbling violently over the roping of a box. It was at this moment that I stepped up to Ibrahim and showed him my watch. He looked at me with a startled expression, his jaw dropped, and he turned hastily on the muleteers. But it was not till later that I learnt how his inmost susceptibilities had been roused. One is at a decided disadvantage with no knowledge of a suitable language, but by dint of gesticulating with my riding-whip and pointing at everybody in turn, I managed, at the end of another half-hour, to get the araba and the men under way, and mounting my own horse rode behind them to the hotel. In another five minutes we had sallied out on our road. X and I rode ahead with Ibrahim and Calphopolos and the two Zaptiehs, then came the araba with our baggage and the muleteers, then Constantin with bulging saddle-bags suggesting the intrusion of various forbidden cooking utensils. Our road ran unshaded and dusty through the outskirts of Brusa, with Mount Olympus towering above us. Bit by bit we left behind the staring tourists, the staring native children, the unconcerned stall-keepers displaying their wares of Brusa silk and printed cottons from England; then we passed the country people riding in on mules with their vegetables and chickens; we passed the little cultivated patches and got amongst the larger fields, stretching away on each side of the road. "Tutun," said Ibrahim, pointing at them with his riding-whip. I looked at him inquiringly. He tapped his cigarette and pointed again at the field. "Tutun," he repeated. "Tobacco, you understand, mademoiselle, tobacco--such as he is now smoking." Calphopolos always would insist on explaining the obvious. The day got hotter and the road got dustier. At midday we skirted a willow plantation, and a stream gurgled through the damp green patch, inviting us to come in and rest. We crawled out of the sun under the low willow bushes, and the men tied the horses to the stronger branches. This first lunching place will always remain indelibly printed on my memory: the slices of brown bread thickly spread with solid cream; the watermelons and the grapes; the men grouped about amongst the willows, eating great hunches of bread and cheese; the horses breaking loose and straying about, browsing the finer herbage which sprang up through the dried and yellow tufts of older grass; the joy of being out of the sun and the dust; the cool sound of the water in the brook; the sense of rest and freedom, the sense of having really escaped at last.... On recalling this lunch with X, after many adventures had made it seem very remote, I found that she retained equally vivid recollections of it. I heard her murmur reflectively to herself, "And we thought it was always going to be like that!" Then we had reluctantly left it all, the unwilling horses were pulled and dragged away, snatching at last bites, and we rode off on the dusty road again, until we reached the village near which we had arranged to camp. We had ridden round and chosen this site in the middle of the mysterious hillocks, which shut us out so effectually from everything except the stars. We were destined to spend many more such nights in camp; but perhaps none can give you exactly the same thrill as the one on which for the first time you sleep out in the open. It is full of surprises; you expect it to be quiet, and you find the darkness and stillness is full of noise. Nothing escapes you: the breathing of men and animals, the crackling of the fire, the rustling of leaves and grass: there seems to be a continuous movement very close to you. You sit up many times expecting to see something in your tent; it all makes you very wakeful. You drop off into a disturbed sleep very late, and are awakened before sunrise by the stir in the camp. You are positive you have not slept all night and that strange people have been prowling round you in the dark. Yet as one lay in this semi-wakeful state of excitement and mystery, one's strongest impression was that of wanting protection merely against a few primitive forces; with the wild beasts we shared the dangers of cold and hunger and attacks from man. Slowly and painfully you have crawled out of the net in which you have all this time been unconsciously enveloped, and emerging stripped and bewildered grope about for what is actually going to serve and protect you in this primeval state of battling against the primitive forces of nature; a state, moreover, where protection against the dictates of an organised society is no longer needed. To those who are confronted with this problem for the first time, it is almost impossible to walk straight out of the net and have an impartial look round. Tradition still clings to us in little bits, and we grope hopelessly about, wondering what will be an essential and what will not. Looking back now on these first few days of preparation for our journey in the wilderness, I realise that by far the hardest part of the journey was this initial disentanglement from the forces of tradition. If you are about to alter fundamentally your method of living, you must take care that you are discarding all those accessories which are due to tradition; you must either adopt those evolved by the tradition of the races among which you are about to travel, or you must bring abstract science to bear on the question of how to provide for your immediate wants under the changed conditions. A bare tent in a country where weather is still an interesting topic is a safe place for such reflections; the realities of the situation make one strictly practical. On getting out of bed our clothes were damp with dew and the grass was cold to our bare feet; at the next town we bought the strip of carpet, the idea of which we had rejected at Constantinople. CHAPTER II BRIGANDAGE Brigandage. The capture of Miss Stone, ancient history as it now is, has served to give a vivid meaning to this word in the public mind. We were being continually asked if we wished to emulate Miss Stone. Travelling second-class through Bulgaria on our way to Constantinople our fellow-passengers, rough, good-natured farmers, joked about it; but they always added, "No, it will not happen to you." Then they would look at one another and laugh. The capture of Miss Stone did not seem to be looked upon seriously out there. Then there was the Embassy at Constantinople. They were horribly nervous about international complications. As a matter of fact capture for ransom is a decided danger in the neighbourhood of larger towns in Asiatic Turkey. Not that there are any professional brigands prowling about, but there is a certain class of native ready to become a brigand on the spur of the moment, should they get wind of suitable prey. They are not Turks--no Turk would be bothered; they are, as a rule, Greeks, and always Christians. It is as well, therefore, on any expedition, not to make very great preparations and talk too much of your line of route; but as quietly and expeditiously as possible to get hold of your horses and men and start off before news of your movements has been noised abroad. It was not at all in our favour that X bore a name well known to fortune hunters; one of her uncles was in the habit of big-game shooting in this district, and his means were fabulously exaggerated. Calphopolos had been sent with us partly because he could be so thoroughly trusted to take all precautions. He certainly earned his reputation; he seemed to have been born with the fear of brigands in his soul; mere conversation about them caused him to break out into a profuse perspiration. He had talked to us very seriously on leaving Constantinople, as we sat on the deck of the steamer which took us across the Sea of Marmora on our way to Brusa. "Pour l'amour de Dieu, mesdemoiselles, soyez secrètes; la secrécé, c'est tout." "La secrécé" became his by-word. If there was one thing he was more afraid of than anything else on earth it was X's surname. He implored her not to use it, but to call herself Miss Victoria. He had all our luggage labelled Miss Victoria; and if in casual conversation the dreaded name leaked out, beads of perspiration rolled down his face and he would glance nervously round to see who was within earshot. X was rather a reprobate on the subject. On our arrival at Madame Brot's well-known hotel at Brusa, from where we were making our final departure the next day, she marched up to Madame Brot and said, "I think you know my uncle"--mentioning him by name. Calphopolos, who was just behind, explaining that our name was Victoria pure and simple, turned green with horror. With bent back and staring eyes, shaking the same finger in warning which his subconscious self was trying to put on his lips, he endeavoured to attract X's attention from behind Madame Brot's broad back. But X went glibly on, quite oblivious of the panic she was creating. Calphopolos turned to me with the resigned expression of a man on whom death-sentence has been passed. "It is all over now," he said, "everybody in Brusa will know about us in half an hour. Mesdemoiselles, did I not implore you for the love of God to respect the secrecy? Ah, mon Dieu, mon Dieu, quelles demoiselles!" And then poor old Calphopolos, who was not without his sense of fun, laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. "The only thing left to do," he went on, when he had sufficiently recovered to speak again, "is to pretend we are going to Angora and put them off the scent. Mesdemoiselles, for the love of God please try and remember that it is Angora you are going to. Tell everybody you are going to Angora. The secrecy it is everything." It must be confessed it was very difficult at that time to feel seriously alarmed about brigandage, for we seemed to be moving in ordinary respectable society, and Calphopolos's treatment of the subject merely caused us to think of it as a joke. Still, we fully realised that it was a real risk, against which it would not do to neglect taking ordinary precautions; and this sense was heightened by the extreme alarm of the Vice-Consul at Brusa to whom we applied for the escort of Zaptiehs, without whom one is not permitted to travel in Turkey with any guarantee of safety. He could not understand why we would not drive through to Nicæa in a landau in one day, like the ordinary tourist; this, with a suitable escort, made the journey quite safe, and it is a common thing for travellers to do. But to ride there in three days with our camp, sleeping on the way, was another matter. Every extra hour spent loitering in any one district heightened the risk of being attacked by brigands. X tried to explain that it was for the sake of her health, which only made him more bewildered; surely a landau was more suitable for invalids! Finding us, however, unmoved by his arguments, he promised to send us two men the next morning and implored us never to leave their sides for a moment. He must have rubbed the same instructions well into the Zaptiehs, for during the seven days which they accompanied us as far as Mekidje on the Anatolian Railway, they never were more than a couple of yards away from us, day and night. This certainly detracted from the sense of freedom we were otherwise experiencing. It seemed at first as if we had only escaped from one form of bondage to fall into another. But the fact that the men were unable to speak any language we understood prevented it from becoming irksome, and one was soon able to become nearly oblivious of the clanking sword at one's elbow. Calphopolos, however, was not so easily ignored. He had a sort of feeling that we were always running away from him, and tried to check this pernicious tendency on our part by engaging us in constant conversation in his broken French. The more we edged our horses away from his side and tried to put a silent Zaptieh between him and ourselves, the more persistently would he pursue us, propounding some new problem which required an answer. Our behaviour on breaking camp that morning had probably given rise to his state of mind. We had ordained that the start should be made at eight o'clock; but the usual procrastinations had ensued and the men seemed totally unable to get off. Calphopolos kept packing and unpacking his little bag in search of the missing tooth-brush, and tried to keep us calm. "It is thus in this country, mademoiselle; have no anxiety--we shall go, we shall go." X and I agreed that there was only one way to go. We had our horses saddled and rode away, in spite of Calphopolos's prayers and entreaties to wait till the whole camp was packed. The Zaptiehs, after the orders they had received, were obliged to ride after us. This left Calphopolos and the muleteers without Government protection, which so filled them with terror that in a very few minutes they also were on the way. Calphopolos came tearing down the road after us, the tails of his long black coat flying out behind, the tooth-brush sticking out of his pocket, and the perspiration rolling down his cheeks. "Pour l'amour de Dieu!" he gasped as he caught us up, "pour l'amour de Dieu!" and then he had so much to say that he couldn't say it and relapsed into laughter and ejaculations of "Mais quelles demoiselles, mon Dieu, quelles demoiselles!" The second day our road lay across the great Jenishehr plain. Herds of buffaloes strayed about on the wilder parts, and here and there fields of corn and tobacco, suddenly springing up beside the stretches of rough grass, signalled the approach to an occasional village. Here also it was very difficult to think of brigands; the harmless look of peaceful cultivators did not suggest them. Besides which the country was so open that you could not be suddenly pounced upon; you would have ample opportunity of considering evil-doers as they approached you across the wide plain. We encamped that evening near the small village of Jenishehr. The excitement of the novelty had worn off and we had had a long day in the open air. In consequence of this I had fallen into a profound sleep at once on going to bed. Suddenly I was awakened by a noise in the tent, and looking up distinctly saw the figure of a man coming cautiously through the tent door. In one moment I had hold of my revolver, kept loaded at the head of my bed, and had it levelled at him, wondering when the psychological moment for pulling the trigger would occur and whether I should manage to live up to its requirements. "Pour l'amour de Dieu, mademoiselle! pour l'amour de Dieu!" came in a terror-stricken voice. I put down the weapon rather crossly. "What do you want?" I said. "Quels sont vos noms," stuttered out Calphopolos in great agitation. "What on earth do you mean?" I said; "you know our names well enough." "Pour l'amour de Dieu, quels sont vos noms," he repeated. "X," I called out, "wake up and tell me what is the matter with Calphopolos--I think his head has been turned by this fright about your name; he is going about jibbering over it." X had a soothing influence on Calphopolos, and gradually extracted from him that the local Zaptieh had come up for our _tezkerehs_ and wanted to know our names. His agitation over the revolver had been so great that he had been unable to explain articulately that it was our _tezkerehs_ that he had come for. The next day the whole character of the country changed. The plain gradually oozed away into a more tumbled country and cultivation disappeared. We were about to cross the range of hills which shut out our view to the north. The Zaptiehs were very much on the alert here; they unslung their rifles from behind and rode with them across their knees. We were told to keep close together and ride quietly without talking. The mountains closed in on either side; they were bare, rounded hills for the most part, with stunted shrubs on the lower slopes, which one soon learnt to regard purely as cover for a possible enemy. There was no difficulty about realising possible dangers here; the broad road slowly narrowed, and at every turn in the winding path one almost expected to be confronted by a villain. At the snap of a twig or the rustle of a leaf our Zaptiehs grasped their rifles tighter, and without turning their heads moved their eyes in that direction. Once, on the wider road we had left, a cloud of dust had arisen in the distance, and a long line of camels laden with wood filed slowly past us in twos and threes. Our men exchanged a few monosyllabic words with the drivers, and in another minute or two the tinkling of the bells and the tramp of feet had subsided, the dust settled once more, and we were alone again with the silent hills and the crackling twigs, and wound our way in and out in single file across the rounded hillocks. Here and there the sight of a herd of sheep or goats, tended by peaceful looking natives, relieved the tension caused by our escort's precautions, for it is always difficult to associate danger with such rural scenes. At last there was a break in front; we were through the pass and began to descend. Calphopolos had been silent all this time; his conversational powers seem to have suffered a severe check. Now he brightened up, mopped his forehead, and murmured, "Grâce à Dieu nous voilà." Half way down the hillside, perched on a projecting ledge just off the road, stood a lonely coffee-house. The Zaptiehs, pointing at it with their whips, hailed it with delight. They slid off their horses, and holding ours, helped us to dismount. We sat in the porch and sipped thick, hot Turkish coffee; below us the lake Ascanius lay like a blue sheet between the purple hills, its eastern end fringed round with a band of green, in which the minarets and domes of Isnik itself were just visible. All around us the stunted shrubs still formed harbour for the suspected brigands. Our Zaptiehs lay stretched on the ground in front, apparently asleep; but their rifles were never laid aside, and the least stir in the bushes made us realise their state of alert watchfulness. But not a living creature showed itself, and we rode on down and down the curving incline until we reached the green band of vegetation and our horses trod softly through grassy slopes of olive plantations, whose grey leaves shone like silver as the sun's low rays beat through them. Past the olive plantations lay a stretch of low-lying reedy marsh. "You shall have a good supper to-night," said Ibrahim; and throwing his reins to a Zaptieh he plunged in on foot. He shot two snipe, and joined us again as we reached the outskirts of the town. The old city of Nicæa is now represented by a collection of a few hundred miserable houses forming the village of Isnik. But, as everywhere in the ancient towns of Asiatic Turkey, one is confronted at every point with tokens of former splendour. Four great gates in the old Roman walls give access to the town. Courses of brickwork are built in between the large stones of which the bulk of the walls consists; here and there semicircular towers rise up, their ruins still surmounting the ruins of the wall. One, more perfect than the rest, is said to mark the site of the church in which the Nicene Creed was framed. We fixed on a spot for the camp just inside the walls and outside the present town, where a green field, which merged into a cemetery, lay in the curve of a shallow brook. The pots and pans were speedily tumbled out of Constantin's saddle-bags and Ibrahim had our tents up with European alacrity; but it was dark before the smell of roasted snipe pervaded the night air. We ate our supper by the light of a lantern hung on a forked stick. The fear of brigands departed and the sleep of the just fell upon the camp. Owls hooted in the green-covered walls of ruined Nicæa, and away in the distance the still mountains kept guard over the dark waters of the lake as they lapped mournfully on the ruins of Roman baths on its stony shore. The Zaptieh on guard poked fresh sticks into the dying fire and sighed heavily between the snores of his companions. In and out amongst the upright white stones of the cemetery a jackal prowled stealthily and sniffed the smell of snipe bones. CHAPTER III SOCIAL INTERCOURSE One tree stood out in the middle of the field in which we were encamped. We spread our carpet under it and laid ourselves out for a lazy day. There were letters to write home and plans to make about the journey ahead. It was impossible to do such things comfortably after a day's ride and with the feeling of transitoriness engendered by a short night in camp. So we had decided to spend this Sunday at Isnik. Constantin got out all his pots and pans to give them an extra cleaning, and promised us a vast meal. He complained that he had never had time to show us what he could do. Animals and men alike were pervaded with that sense of rest which is in the air on a hot Sunday morning. The horses, after rolling on their backs, stretched themselves out motionless on their sides; the arabajis dozed in the araba. Calphopolos retired inside the men's tent, prepared to make up for the loss of sleep occasioned by anxious nights. We got out our books and papers and thought about all we should get through that day. We were encamped within the old walls of Nicæa, and from where we sat were in full view of the outskirts of the present town. By and by some native women sallied out in our direction and, skirting the camp, peeped cautiously round our tents; then getting bolder they sidled towards us, smiling propitiatingly. We felt peacefully disposed towards the whole world and smiled back at them. Thus encouraged they advanced nearer and felt the substance of our clothes and examined our hats. Finally, not finding themselves repulsed, they fingered our hair and stroked our hands. X hunted in her vocabulary for suitable remarks and delivered them at intervals. Meanwhile other women straggled out from the town, and, finding their sisters already so much at home, they also satisfied themselves as to the consistency of our clothes and skin. The earlier arrivals now established themselves on the ground around us, jabbering away amongst themselves and occasionally addressing a single word to us, which they repeated again and again, pointing at each of us in turn. X looked it up, and came to the conclusion that it meant "sister." So we shook our heads and looked up the word for "friend." The effect was magical; we had established social intercourse. More and more women arrived and joined the throng settled round us, all new-comers being initiated into the already acquired knowledge concerning us. Soon everybody had a word they wanted looked out in the dictionary, until X became fairly exhausted. We tried "goodbye" and "no more" with disappointing effect, and finally let them sit there gazing at us while we went on with our writing, keeping a sharp look-out on our hats, which every one was anxious to try on. It seemed to please them just as much to look at us as to talk to us, and they sat on in placid content. By and by Ibrahim hurried up and spoke to the women; they all darted to their feet and fled. We looked at Ibrahim inquiringly. He pointed in the direction of the town, and we saw two men arriving at a slow and dignified pace. Constantin appeared on the scene. "Gouverneur," he said, "faire visite." X and I hastily donned our hats and sent for a seat for the "gouverneur." But Ibrahim could only find a saddle-bag. X turned over the leaves of the vocabulary in the hopes of finding suitable greetings. We bowed and scraped mutually, and X delivered herself of the first greeting. "We are very pleased." The "gouverneur" bowed and made, no doubt, what was a suitable response; but as we could only attack single words we were no wiser. There was a pause while X collected the words for another. "Beautiful country," she attempted. The "gouverneur" bowed very gravely. "I hope I have said that," said X nervously, "he looks rather shocked." At that moment Constantin appeared with coffee and cigarettes, which gave us time to recover. "I should not bother to talk to him," I said. "That is the best of these people--they understand how to sit happily in silence, just looking at you." But X determined to make another try; it was good practice. "Health good?" she said. The "gouverneur" turned to his companion and said a few words in Turkish. The young man looked rather terrified, and began to speak to us in what sounded like gibberish. Constantin came to take the cups away. "Parle français," he said, pointing to the young man. We strained our ears to try and catch an intelligible word, but could only shake our heads. So we all took refuge in silence and looked at one another. There was no sense of _gêne_. The Turk and his companion seemed as content to sit and look at us as the women had been. When he had finished his cigarette he rose, and, bowing once more in Turkish fashion, took his leave. * * * * * We picked up our papers once more, then Constantin came and said lunch was ready. We sat on saddle-bags outside the tent and ate chunks of mutton and onions out of the tin bowl keeping hot on the charcoal brazier at our side. Ibrahim filled our cups with water from the brook, and the grass tickled our hands each time we lifted them from the ground. The pots and pans lay about all around, and Constantin, squatting in the middle of them, brought the coffee to the boil three times in the little Turkish pot. "Sheker, effendi?" he called out, "un, deux?" as he ladled in the sugar. Constantin's language was always of a hybrid nature, consisting of alternate words of French and Turkish. Then we had returned to the carpet under the tree and sipped the thick, hot coffee out of the little Turkish cups, and sent thoughtful rings of smoke up into the branches of the tree above. And with the rings of smoke went up thoughts of the coffee they were drinking now in the drawing-rooms; the little cups there would have handles, and each one would help himself to sugar off a little tray. * * * * * "I guess you find it slow here!" An American tourist couple from Brusa stood over us. They had seen us off at Madame Brot's hotel, and had then announced their intention of driving to Nicæa in a landau. "We thought we would just look you up and see if you had got here all right, but we cannot stop a minute; we've only had an hour to see the walls, they were so long getting lunch." "You ought to see the tower on the site of the church where they discussed the Nicene Creed," said X. "The Nicene Creed--eh, what?" said the American, as he consulted his guide-book. "Say, we just ought to have a look at that," he said to his wife. "We shall miss the _Augusta Victoria_ if you do," said the lady. Then she turned to us. "We go on to Smyrna in it to-morrow morning," she explained, "so we must get back to-night." The landau appeared at that moment; time was up. Smyrna, Beyrout, Damascus, Jerusalem, Cairo, and Luxor had to be got in during the allotted time, and there had been no provision made for the Nicene Creed. So in they got and dashed away over the plain. They had come as a whirlwind over from the West, sweeping the surface of this Eastern land and catching up the loose fragments on it; but its traditions were too deeply rooted to be caught in the blast; these had merely bent their heads and let the blast pass by. Strong as it is, it cannot unloose the sway of ancient customs. Even for Americans the East will not move. The natives gazed at the landau, hardly wondering at it; then they forgot it. But we did not forget it so easily. For us an odour of the West was left hanging over the plain--and above all, our sense of time had been offended. A French engineer with his wife and family were the next to appear on the scene. They were the only Europeans living in the place, and rejoiced over the sound of their mother-tongue. The man poured out volumes of it, and was interesting about his work up to the point when we became fatigued. "Ah! mademoiselle, what it is to be in civilised company again! We live here from day to day and year after year, and have no one to speak with, no one with whom to exchange ideas. C'est comme la mort." "Do you not see anything of the natives?" we inquired. "They seem very friendly, and you can speak Turkish." "Ah! mademoiselle, what can one do with such people? how can one associate with them? They are canaille, mere canaille." "We were talking to some of them," we said, "and thought them very intelligent." He held up his hands in horror. "But, mademoiselle, do you not understand? Certainly there are the Christian races, but for the most part, ce sont des Turques, des infidèles, des chiens. There is Marie there, pauvre Marie! it is bad enough for me, but then I have my work; but Marie, the pauvre Marie, she dies of ennui, she can speak to no one but me and the children." The pauvre Marie seemed indeed to have lost the power of speech; she sat silently as her husband poured out his contempt of the canaille. We had found the Greek women very entertaining in the morning, and they too had sat and looked at us in silence. But they had not been ashamed of their silence; Marie was, and felt awkward; so we all felt uncomfortable, and tried to talk to her. One felt then how little actual language had to do with social intercourse. We could not get into touch with Marie, whose language we understood, in the same way that we had got into touch with the native women, whose language we did not understand. They sat on and on; it was not until the sun began to send out long warning shoots of colour, heralding its disappearance behind the purple mountains, that they rose to go. And we, worn out with this final effort in sociability, gave ourselves up to the quiet of the deserted camp, and watched the shades of night creep once more over the ruined walls and the distant hills, over the houses of the French engineer and the canaille. CHAPTER IV THE DAWN OF THE BAGHDAD RAILWAY I There is something very weird and uncanny in the terminus of a railway in the middle of a wild and desolate country such as this. The Monster runs his iron fangs into the heart of its desolation and shoots you into it like a ball out of a cannon's mouth. Roaring and hissing and sending out jets of flame, he comes racing through the darkness to a certain definite spot; here he discharges you in the blackness of night and subsides. Next morning when you awake he is gone, and you are left to shift for yourself as best you can. But there is a certain human friendliness about this Monster while you are travelling with him. He seems to draw all the signs of life out of an apparently dead country and collect them at the stations for you to see. Great warehouses filled with sacks of corn testify to the productiveness of a country which, judging it from the train window after harvest time, one would dismiss as mere barren soil; an occasional MacCormick's "Daisy" reaper awaiting delivery on a side platform, native carts hanging about, and truck-loads of empty sacks tell the same tale. Groups of peasants, idly gossiping, gathered together by the whistle which heralds the Monster's approach, belie the impression of an uninhabited land; for Turkish villages are carefully designed so as not to attract attention. When one's eye gets more familiar with the seemingly uniform colour of the landscape, varied only by light and shade, one becomes aware of the low, flat-topped, mud-brick houses, which, even at close quarters, often seem but part of the natural rock. Even the unchanging East is powerless once the Monster's fangs have taken hold; he alone of all influences comes to stay and leave his mark. Slowly, perhaps, but very surely, he undermines with irresistible persistence the customs and habits which from time immemorial have held their own against the religious, educational, or military forces of stronger nations. This particular spot has long been the battlefield of the East and the West; now one, now the other, has had temporary ascendance; in the long run the East has always conquered. But already we can see what a power the East has to reckon with in the railway. For one thing it attacks the Eastern in one of his vital points--his conception of Time. Time waited for him when he had but camels to load; but the railway will not wait for him; the Monster screeches and is off. Sunrise or two hours after sunrise is not one and the same thing to him. Relentless as day and night he comes and goes, and there is no cheating him as the Eastern cheats Time. But the railway is cheating the East out of its time-worn customs and ideas, and there is a certain sadness in the evidences of transition. All down the line picturesque native costumes are being replaced by ugly European clothes. The men wear terrible fancy trouserings from Manchester; the women spend more money on dress--and unfortunately it is European dress--and less on the old-fashioned wedding feasts. The turnover of the shops in the larger towns has increased fourfold in the last ten years. The bazaars are now a medley of stalls exhibiting native manufactures side by side with cheap trinkets from England and loud flannelettes from Italy. The price of wheat has doubled; and with that of wheat the prices of other exports have also risen. Opium, wool, mohair, hides, and salt are amongst the products of these great plains. Two short days' ride from Nicæa had brought us to Mekidje, a station on the Anatolian Railway half-way between Haida Pasha and Eskishehr. The single line went as far as Konia, and one train ran each way every day. It stopped for the right at Eskishehr, continuing the journey next morning. We arrived at the station some hours before the train was due, and sat in the stationmaster's strip of garden, for there did not seem anything else to do. We said goodbye to the Zaptiehs and to the muleteers who were returning to Brusa, and watched them slowly disappear down the road we had come. Then we heard the low, familiar tinkle of camel bells and a score or more of laden animals paced slowly into the open ground round the station. They have a more discreet and tuneful way of announcing their arrival than the Monster, and when they appear on the scene they do so in a more dignified, calmer manner. Having arrived also, they do not look as if they were off again the next minute; they look as if they had come to stay for ever, and they give you time to think. One by one, in answer to a word of command, they knelt down in the dust, and the great baskets holding the goods were unfastened and rolled about on the ground. Their owners seemed too slack to do any more. They let them lie there while they looked at the sun. The Monster is slowly replacing these carriers of the East; but their day is not yet done by a long way, for they must feed him from the interior. His life is still dependent on the life of those he is working to destroy. * * * * * At last we heard his distant shriek. Down upon us he came, dashing up all in a minute, in such a splutter and such a hurry, waking us all up. Officials rushed up and down the platform, and swore at the natives who were loading our baggage. Everybody talked at once to everybody else, and the Monster hissed impatiently, noisy even when he was standing still. There were not many passengers; in a first-class carriage a Pasha travelled in solitary state; all his harem were delegated to a second-class carriage, where the blinds were pulled down. In the third-class were a few natives, who leaned out of the windows and gossiped with the camel owners, idle witnesses of the busy scene. But the Monster is getting impatient; he hisses furiously and finally gives a warning shriek. Then off he goes, and we take a last look at the kneeling camels, munching away as unconcernedly as if their destroyer had never invaded their peaceful country. Mekidje is practically at sea-level; Eskishehr is a tableland two thousand feet high; we had therefore a steady rise on the whole journey up the valley formed by the Kara Su, a river which has its source in the neighbourhood of Eskishehr. On each side rounded hills shut out the horizon, save where here and there a tributary valley would reveal, through steep-sided gorges, a distant view of purple ridges with snow-clad tops. It was night when we arrived at Eskishehr, and we groped our way to the Grand Hôtel d'Anatolie, kept by Greeks. It was at this hotel that we first met Hassan, who was destined to play such a large part in our future travels. He was an Albanian Turk, and had been introduced to us by our friends in Constantinople, whom he accompanied on their shooting expeditions in this district. They had written to ask him to look after us during our brief stay at Eskishehr. Ibrahim brought him into our room, and there he stood silently, after salaaming us in the usual way. Ibrahim was a tall man, but Hassan towered above him. He wore a huge sheepskin coat, which added to his massive, impressive look. X looked up words in her Turkish book. "They told us you would look after us here?" she said. "As my eyes," he answered very quietly and simply. And thus began one of those friendships on which neither time nor distance can leave its mark. Two days later X asked him whether he would accompany us on the next stage of our journey, across the Anatolian Plateau and the Taurus Mountains to Mersina. "Will you come with us and guard us well?" she said. He dropped on one knee and kissed her hand. "On my head be it," he said. * * * * * Eskishehr, before the days of the railway, was a purely Turkish town; it displayed the usual chaos of mud-brick and wooden houses, with their lower windows carefully latticed over for the concealment of the women; of narrow, winding bazaars, here a display of brightly coloured clothes and rugs, there a noisy street of smithies and carpenters' shops; and rising above it all the minarets of half a dozen mosques. But the railway's mark is on it to-day. The population has been increased by some five thousand Tartars and Armenians, whose houses, planted together near the line, have a neat, modern, shoddy look, contrasting with the picturesque squalor of the ancient Turkish town. The railway is slowly attacking the stronghold of the Turkish peasant, extending his operations on the wasted stretches of cultivable land, and slowly opening out dim vistas of prosperity athwart his present apathy. In the same way the railway is slowly affecting the town merchant. But one shudders here at the effect of prosperity unaccompanied by civilising influences. For in the rich merchant of the town you have the Turk at his worst. The simple, hospitable Turkish peasant is made of good stuff; the Turkish soldier of rank and file, if his fanatical tendencies are not encouraged, is equally good; the official Turk is corrupt, but only because the particular method of administering his country's laws obliges him to be so; the educated Turk of Constantinople is rapidly becoming a civilised being. But the rich middle-class Turk of towns has nothing to be said for him. The Christians have taught him to drink, and he is rich enough to keep a large harem. We had an introduction to one such person in Eskishehr. The polished Turkish phraseology of welcome could not conceal the coarseness and vulgarity of his mind, and we were glad to escape to the sacred inner chambers, where a very young and pretty woman sat in lonely state, the latest addition to his harem. There she sat, draped in the softest silks of gorgeous colourings, surrounded with all the evidences of luxury and comfort, as sulky as a little bear. We were accompanied by a Greek lady, who talked French and Turkish and acted as our interpreter; but never a smile or more than a word could be drawn out of the cross little thing. She simply stared in front of her with an expression of acute boredom in her beautiful eyes. A good-natured, elderly serving-woman, who stood at the door, explained matters. She had been very much pampered at home, and she had had a good time; she saw all her young friends at the baths, the social resort for Turkish ladies. The rich merchant had been considered a great _parti_; but already she had had enough of it. She never went out except for an occasional drive in a closed carriage. She was tired of embroidery work, she was tired of eating sweets, she was tired of smoking, she was tired of her fine dresses. _"Aman_, but it would come all right--and the serving-woman winked and nodded, and stroked her mistress's listless hand. "Is it always like this?" we asked the Greek lady. "Ah, mon Dieu! not at all! This man is very jealous, and she may not see her friends. He heaps on her what money can buy and thinks that is enough. But with the poor it is different. You will see. There is a wedding to-day in a poor family. I will arrange for you to go. Mon Dieu! no, it is not always thus. La pauvre petite." The room in which we sat was draped in the usual Turkish manner with magnificent curtains in rich Eastern colourings. Round three walls ran low divans covered in the same way. There was not such a room in Eskishehr we were told. Had the decorations stopped there, and we had been able to forget the unfortunate prisoner, the general effect would have been decidedly pleasing. But as we sat there our eyes were kept glued, by some horrible attraction, on the glitter of a cheap gilt frame of the gaudiest description, containing a crude coloured print of the German Emperor; below this stood a gimcracky little table covered with a cheap tinselled cloth, on which was placed a glass and silver cake-basket in the vilest of European taste. It hit one terribly in the eye. It was a jarring note in the Monster's work. * * * * * We took leave of the sulky little lady, and left her once more to her sweets and her embroideries in the long, weary hours of lonely splendour. We had only seen the second act of this bit of Turkish drama; when the curtain went down for us we had had enough of it. But we were about to see Act I. in different surroundings. The Greek lady kept her word, and in due course we found ourselves ushered into the house of the bridegroom. The preliminary ceremonies had already begun--in fact they had been going on all day. There sat the bride at the end of a room which had been cleared of everything except the low stool which she occupied alone. She was a lumpy looking girl of seventeen or so, and sat there motionless with downcast eyes. On the floor sat dozens of women, packed as tight as the room could hold. The bride might neither look up nor speak, which seemed hard, for every woman in the room was both looking at her and speaking about her; the hubbub was terrible. She rose as we entered and kissed our hands; this much is apparently allowed on the arrival of strangers. The Greek lady explained that she was obliged to stand until we asked her to sit down again, and that she might not look at us. This was a good deal to ask on such an occasion; European ladies are not, as a rule, guests at the wedding of the Turkish poor, and we caught one or two surreptitious peeps from under her long eyelashes. We joined the throng on the floor and continued to gaze at her as every one else did. Marriage customs in general, and her own affairs in particular, were discussed for our benefit, the Greek lady interpreting in torrents of voluble French. "She may not speak to her husband for forty-eight hours. When he comes in he will lift the veil and see his bride for the first time. Then he puts a girdle round her waist and it is finished. His mother chose her for him. If he does not like her, no matter, he can choose another, for he is getting good wages, and can afford to keep two." By and by a large tray was brought in, piled up with rounds of native bread and plates of chicken. It was placed on a low stool in the centre of us all, and, following everybody's example, we grabbed alternate bits of chicken and bread. Then followed hunches of cake made of nuts and honey. We were still eating when we heard a noise of singing and musical instruments outside; it became louder and louder, and finally stopped by the house. "They are singing 'Behold the bridegroom cometh,'" said the Greek lady; "the man is being brought in a procession of all his friends." The food was hastily removed, and all the guests were marshalled into an adjoining room, which already seemed as full as it could hold of babies and children and old hags, who presumably had been left to look after the younger ones. We were allowed to remain while the finishing touches were put on the bride. Her face was first plastered all over with little ornaments cut out of silver paper and stuck on with white of egg; then she was covered over entirely with a large violet veil. And so we left her sitting there, sheepish and placid in the extreme, in strange contrast to the voluble Greek lady and the excited friends. We met the bridegroom in the passage. He kissed his father, and stood first on one foot and then on the other. His mother took him by the shoulders, opened the door of the room we had just left, and shoved him in. Let us hope that the silver ornaments did their work and made his bride pleasing in his sight when he lifted the violet veil. What she thought of him need not concern us any more than it did her or her friends, for such thoughts may not enter the minds of Turkish brides. The show was over. The curtain of the first act had gone down for us. It gave promise of a more successful drama than the one we had previously witnessed. * * * * * It is 267 miles or thereabouts from Eskishehr to Konia. It took us a good fifteen hours by rail. We were now on the summit of the tableland; the bounded river valley gradually gave way to long stretches where signs of cultivation were more apparent. We were getting into the great wheat-growing district, which the railway is causing to extend year by year. At Karahissar, a town of 33,000 inhabitants, a gigantic rock with straight sides and castellated top rises abruptly out of the plain, and from here another corn-growing valley merges into the great plain stretching away to the north. Mount Olympus, whose base we had skirted on leaving Brusa, could be very dimly discerned on the sky-line. Then darkness set in, and the Monster ran steadily on with us into the unknown. Towards eight o'clock there was a sudden stop; it had come to the end of its tether. We had left Calphopolos and Ibrahim at Eskishehr, and now only Constantin remained as a link with civilisation. Hassan had appeared at the station at Eskishehr, prepared to accompany us round the world if need be. He wore a brown suit of Turkish trousers and zouave under his sheepskin cloak. His pockets bulged rather, so did the wide leather belt which he used as a pocket, otherwise his worldly goods were contained tied up in a white pocket-handkerchief. And so we arrived at Konia. Behind us was the railway, leading back to the things we knew, to the things we should hope to see again; before us was the plain, leading us to strange new things, things we should, perhaps, just see once and leave behind for ever. The iron Monster had dumped us down and was no further concerned with us; if we would go further it must be by taking thought for ourselves. There were horses and arabas to hire, there were provisions to lay in, there was the escort of Zaptiehs to be procured and the goodwill of the authorities to be obtained. We had letters of introduction to Ferid Pasha, then Vali of the Konia vilayet and since Grand Vizier of Constantinople. He was not as other Valis; he was called the great and the good, and had established law and order in his province. There need be no fear of brigandage while we were within the boundaries of his jurisdiction. The Government building, the Konak, occupied one side of the square in which stood our hotel, and we sent Hassan across to pay our respects. But Ferid Pasha was away, which caused us great disappointment; we could only see his Vekil, the acting Governor. Taking Hassan and Constantin with us, we went up the long flight of steps and down a corridor leading to the Vali's room. Peasants and ragged soldiers hung about the passage, and black-coated Jewish-looking men hurried in and out. A soldier showed us the way, holding back the curtains which concealed the entrance to various rooms, and from behind which the mysterious looking Jews were continually creeping. The Vekil sat at a table covered over with official documents; a divan, higher and harder than those we had seen in private houses, ran round two walls, on which squatted several secretaries, holding the paper on which they wrote on the palms of their left hands. Beside the Vekil sat an old Dervish priest, and next him the Muavin, the Christian official appointed after the massacres to inform Valis of the wishes of Christians, and better known amongst those who know him as "Evet Effendi" (Yes, Effendi). * * * * * X was getting fluent in matters of Turkish greeting; she now reeled off a suitable string in reply to theirs. Hassan stood beside us, grave and dignified, and we noticed that all the men greeted him very courteously. X then endeavoured to explain our desire to travel to Mersina and requested the services of a suitable escort. Owing to limitations in her knowledge of the Turkish vocabulary, the nearest she could get to it was that the Consul at Mersina loved us dearly and wished us to come to him. Matters were getting to a deadlock; the officials appeared to be asking us what was the object of our journey, and we could only insist on the intense love of our English Consul. Suddenly another visitor was ushered in, and for the first time since leaving Nicæa the strange sound of the English tongue fell upon our ears. The newcomer was Dr. Nakashian, an Armenian doctor living in Konia. He at once acted as interpreter. Officialdom for once put no obstacles in the way, and an escort was promised us for the journey. The Vekil inquired whether we should like to see the sights of Konia; and on our replying in the affirmative, he arranged that we should be taken round that afternoon; Dr. Nakashian also promised to accompany us. Accordingly we sallied out later on horseback with Hassan. Dr. Nakashian was mounted on a splendid Arab mare. The Government Protection, in the shape of two Zaptiehs and a captain, followed in a close carriage. We started off very decorously, but the Arab mare became excited and plunged and galloped down the street; our horses caught the infection, and we followed hard; the Government Protection put its head out of each window and shouted; the driver lashed his jaded horse, and the rickety carriage lurched after us in a cloud of dust. The natives lining the streets shouted encouragingly; finally we landed at the Dervish mosque. Dervishes are strong in Konia. Their founder is buried here, and his tomb is an object of pilgrimage. The chief feature of the mosque is its wonderful polished floor, where the dancing ceremonies take place. At Konia, perhaps more than at Eskishehr, one is struck with the railway's influence in the passing order of things. There are many fine buildings in the last stages of decay in this ancient city of the Seljuk Turks; the palace, with its one remaining tower, the fragments of the old Seljuk walls found here and there in the middle of the modern town, the mosques lined with faïence, beautiful even in its fragments. Contrast with this the squalor and the dirt of the present Turkish streets, the earth and wood houses, enclosed in walls of earth, the apathetic natives, and the general feeling of stagnation and decay. [Illustration: A WELL IN THE KONIA PLAINS.] Then, outside the town, the railway appears; modern European houses spring up round it--offices for the Company and an hotel. A whiff of stir and bustle brought in along with the iron fangs of the Monster brings a sense of fresh life to these people, whose existence seemed one long decay of better things, like that of the ruins amongst which they spend their days. And everywhere there was a whisper of yet closer touch with civilisation. The Anatolian Railway stops at Konia, but its continuation under the name of the Baghdad Railway was everywhere in the air.[2] No one spoke openly about it; its coming seemed enveloped in such a shroud of mystery that one felt there was a sort of halo around its birth. At first one mentioned it baldly by name; and at once the official would put on his most discreet and impressive manner and refer to the will of Allah; the merchant would nod mysteriously and then wink with evident satisfaction. "It comes! oh yes, it comes! but it is better not to talk of it yet." And the Zaptieh would sigh heavily, thinking of his unpaid wages, and say, "Please God, it comes," and then look hastily round to see who had overheard him. [2] The Baghdad Railway is now running as far as Bulgurlu, a point some seven miles beyond Eregli. And so at last we also learnt to speak of the Coming of the Monster with bated breath and lowered tones, and were duly infected with the impressiveness of his arrival--the arrival of the Being whose touch was to bring new life into this dead land. II It was on the morning of the third day after our arrival at Konia that we made the plunge into the great plain from the spot where the Monster had left us. We collected in the square in front of the Konak. There were two covered arabas to convey the baggage, and in one of these Constantin and Hassan also rode; X and I rode horses, and had saddle-bags slung under our saddles. Our escort consisted of three Zaptiehs, a Lieutenant, Rejeb, and an ancient Sergeant, Mustapha. The head of the police accompanied us a few miles out of the town. Slowly, riding at a foot's pace, we left it all behind, the squalid streets, the modern houses, the scraggy little trees; the lumpy road became a deeply rutted track bordering stubble fields; lumbering carts passed us, squeaking terribly as the wheels lurched out of the ruts to make way for us. The track became an ill-defined path, along which heavily laden pack-animals slowly toiled, raising clouds of dust. Turning in our saddles, all we could see of Konia was the minarets of its mosques standing above a confused blur on the horizon line. There is a strange fascination in watching the slow disappearance of any object on the horizon, when that horizon is visible at every point round you. The exact moment never comes when you can state the actual disappearance of the object. You think it is still there, and then you slowly realise that it is not. And when you have realised this, you turn round again in the saddle once for all, and set your face steadily towards the horizon in front of you, which for so many hours on end has nothing to show and nothing to tell you, and yet whose very emptiness is so full of secret possibilities and hidden wonder. * * * * * We had got beyond the point where one met others on the road; we had now become our own world, a self-contained planet travelling with the sun through space. When he disappeared over the horizon line we pitched our camp and waited for his reappearance on the opposite side. At the first glimmer announcing his arrival the tents were hauled down, the arabas loaded up, and by the time his face peeped over the line we were in our saddles, ready once more to follow him to his journey's end. It is a great half-desert plain, this part of Anatolia; desert only where it is waterless, and very fertile where irrigation is possible. In places it seemed to form one huge grazing ground; now it would be herds of black cattle munching its coarse, dried-up herbage; now flocks of mohair goats, now sheep, herded by boys in white sheepskin coats, tended by yellow dogs. Then we knew that a village would be somewhere about, although we did not always see it; for here too the villages are the colour of the surrounding country and perhaps only visible in very clear sunlight. Or it might be that we would ride slowly through a cluster of mud huts, and the yellow dogs would rush out and bark furiously at us, while the men and children stared silently, too listless even to wonder. At times we would stop in a village for our midday meal, sitting in the shade of its yellow mud walls. The Zaptiehs would stand round us and keep off the dogs until some of the village men would appear and call them away with a half-scared look--for the Zaptieh is the tax-collector, and they suffer from extortion at his hands. We visited the women in their houses, and found them always interested and friendly. Turkish was becoming more intelligible to us, and the conversation usually took the same form:-- "Who is your father?" "He is a Pasha in a far country." "Where are your husbands?" "We have no husbands." "How is that?" "In our country the women are better than the men, and the men are afraid of us." Then our clothes are fingered all over and the cost of everything on us is asked. We rise to go, and they hang on to us and implore us to come again. But the sun has already begun to dip on his downward course, and we must hurry after him. Then would follow hours when no attempt at cultivation, or sign of herds and flocks, would be visible, and the desert country was only relieved by wonderful effects of mirage, in which we would chase elusive pictures of mountains and lakes and streams. One had time to take it all in: the wonderful exhilarating air, the silent stretches, the long, monotonous days of the shepherd boys, marked only by the gathering in of their flocks at night. How will it be when the Monster comes, roaring and snorting through these silent plains, polluting this clear air with his dust and smoke? At first these haughty, resentful shepherds will stand aloof from the invasion, the yellow dogs will bark in vain at the intrusion. Then slowly its daily appearance will come to them as the sun comes in the morning and the stars at night. Unconsciously it also will become a part of the routine of their lives. They will not cease to look at it with wonder, for they have never wondered. They will accept it, as they accept everything else. But use it? That is a different tale. It will be a long fight; but the Monster has always conquered in the end. * * * * * On the third day we rode into Karaman. A medieval castle crowns the town, and is visible at some little distance across the plain. The old sergeant, Mustapha, startled us by suddenly greeting it from afar:-- "Ah, Karaman, you beautiful Karaman, city of peace and plenty. Ah, Karaman, beloved Karaman!" And the Zaptiehs, taking up the refrain, made the silent plains ring with "Karaman! beautiful Karaman!" * * * * * We pitched our tents on a grass plot in the centre of the town. Constantin began preparing the evening meal, and the natives hung round in groups staring at us, or bringing in supplies of fuel and milk and eggs. A seedy-looking European pushed his way up to our tent and began storming at us in French. "But it is impossible for you to camp here--it is not allowable; you must come at once to my house. There is nothing to say." X and I tried to rouse our bewildered minds out of the Eastern sense of repose into which they had sunk through all these days. We concluded that Karaman must possess an urban district council, and that we were breaking some law of the town. We pressed for further enlightenment. "But do you not see all these people looking at you? It is not for you to camp here. My house is ready for you. There are good beds and it is dry, but this ..." and he waved his hand at our preparations. "It is not possible; there is nothing to say." By this time Hassan and Rejeb, into whose hands we had been entrusted for protection, came up and stood over us, looking threateningly at our gesticulating, excited friend. "I do not understand," I said. "Who says that we may not camp here?" "But it is I that say it; it is not possible. My house is ready; there is nothing to say." "Who are you?" I said. "I am an Austrian," he answered. Then he lowered his voice, in that mysterious manner which we associated with the coming of the Monster. "I am here," he said, in an undertone, "as agent commercial du chemin de fer Ottoman." "Very good," I answered; "and now tell us why we cannot camp here." "But it is damp," he said; "look at the mud." "Oh, is that all?" I said. "We are much obliged to you for the offer of your house, but we always sleep out." "But I have good beds," he said, "and a dry room at your service. There is nothing to say." At this point Rejeb could contain himself no longer. He spoke sternly to the Austrian in Turkish. "What do you want?" he said. "These ladies are under my protection. What are you saying to them?" The man poured out volumes of Turkish; Rejeb and he had a violent altercation, which seemed to be ending in blows. "Come, come," I said to the man, "enough of this. We are much obliged to you for your offer of hospitality, but we prefer to remain outside." He seemed totally unable to understand that this could be the case. "If it is myself you do not care about," he said, in a crestfallen manner, "I can easily move from the house. The beds are clean and they are dry." We finally consented to spend the evening at his house, and accompanied him through the streets, Rejeb and Hassan following closely on our heels. He showed us into a stuffy little sitting-room. Every corner was crammed with gimcracks; the whole place reeked of musty wool chairbacks. Then we followed him upstairs; we must at any rate "look at the beds"--he evidently thought the sight of them would prove irresistible. On calmer reflection the beds were, doubtless, no worse than the ordinary type to be found in commercial country inns; but to us, coming out of the sweet and wholesome atmosphere of the yet untainted plain, they seemed to be the very embodiment of stuffiness and discomfort. The windows, which had evidently not been opened for some time, were heavily draped, so as to effectually exclude all light and air even when open. "There, now do you see? It is clean, it is dry. There is nothing humid here; but out there it is exposed, it is damp, it is not allowable." We waived the question for the moment, reserving our forces for a later attack, and returned to the sitting-room, where a native woman was preparing the evening meal. We questioned our host on the arrival of the railway. He admitted being there to tout for trade _in case_ it came; but who could tell, in a country like this, what would happen? Mon Dieu! it was a God-forsaken country, and all the inhabitants were canaille; there was no one he could associate with. He counted the days till his return. "When would that be?" "Ah," then he became mysterious once more and looked round at the door and window: "Ah, God knows; might it come soon!" The serving-woman appeared and said that our men wished to see us; they had been sitting on the doorstep ever since we entered the house and refused to go away. The Austrian went out to them; high words ensued, and we looked through the door. The Austrian, crimson with rage, was gesticulating violently and pouring out torrents of unintelligible Turkish. Rejeb stood in front of him, hitting his long riding-boot with his whip and answering with some heat. Above him towered Hassan, very calm and very quiet, slowly rolling up a cigarette and now and then putting in a single word in support of Rejeb. The Austrian turned to us. "Can you not send these men away, ladies? It is an impertinence. They refuse to leave you here unless they themselves sleep in the house. They say they have orders never to leave you, but surely they can see what I am!" We calmed him down as best we could, and insisted on our intention of returning to our tents. He could not understand it, and I should think never will. But we got away, Rejeb and Hassan one on each side of us. When we were out on the road in cover of darkness both men burst into loud roars of laughter. "Have we not done well, Effendi?" they said. "We have rescued you from the mad little man. The great doctor in London, has he not said, 'You shall sleep in the tent every night'?" And, gathering round our camp-fire in the damp and the mud, we rejoiced with Hassan and Rejeb over their gallant assault and our fortunate escape. * * * * * Two days' further ride brought us to Eregli. We approached it in the dusk, riding during the last hour through what appeared to be low copse wood. The place seemed low and damp; we rode past the door of the khan, and the men besought us to go there instead of camping outside. Constantin said he was ill, the arabajis said their horses would be ill. But Rejeb and Hassan took our side and we had the tents pitched on a spot which seemed dry in the darkness. Next morning we awoke to find ourselves encircled by a loop of the river and in a dense white mist. It was so cold that the milk froze as we poured it into the tea. We ate our breakfast with our gloves on, walking up and down to keep warm. Constantin said that he was still ill; the arabajis said their horses were now ill; but that was because the khan was comfortable. We decided, however, to give them a day's respite and ride out ourselves to Ivriz in search of the Hittite inscription at that place. [Illustration: HITTITE BAS-RELIEF AND INSCRIPTION. IVRIZ.] An hour's ride took us clear of the mists, and the sun came out hot and strong. Our road lay up a gorgeous richly wooded river valley. For the first time on our journey we realised what the absence of water and trees had meant. Our horses' feet crackled over brown and red autumn leaves; autumn smells, crisp and fresh, filled the air; brown trout darted from under dark rocks in the stream. Away through gaps in the low encircling hills we got sudden visions of two gigantic white-topped mountain peaks, the first suggestion of our approach to the Taurus barrier. Ivriz is a good three hours' ride from Eregli, and lies high on one of the lower hills. We left our horses in the village and climbed on foot to the spot where the river, rushing suddenly out of the bowels of the earth, has formed a cave in the limestone cliff. Below this the stream had cut its way through the rock, leaving steep sides of bare stone which tell a tale of untold geological age. At one point the ground shelved out on a level with the bed of the stream, and the waters here swept round a corner, so that the face of the rock overlooking them was almost hidden from any one on the same shore. It is on this face that the Hittite inscription is carved. A god, with a stalk of corn and a bunch of grapes in his hands, stands over a man who is in an attitude of adoration before him. There it stands, hidden from the casual observer, visited by no one but the native who comes to cure his sickness in the sacred waters of the cave above. Away in the desolate hills, off the track of man, the god has looked down on the waters of the river through all those æons since the days of the Hittites, which count as nothing in the time which it took this same river to carve its bed out of the eternal hills. How much longer will its solitude be left unviolated? The "agent commercial du chemin de fer Ottoman" is established at Eregli as elsewhere. When the iron Monster comes bellowing into Eregli his shriek will be heard in these silent hills, and following in his footsteps countless hordes of tourists will invade this sacred spot. With something akin to a feeling of shame I turned my Kodak on him; and a sorrowful thought of the many who would be following my example in the years to come shot across my mind. * * * * * It was the sixth day after leaving Konia, and we were in full view of the Taurus Mountains. We were crossing the same stretch of barren plain, with its occasional patches of cultivation, its hidden villages with the flocks and herds trooping in at sundown. But the bounded horizon changed our conception of it; it was no longer a limitless plain. The nearer ranges stood out in dark purples and blues; behind and above towered the snow-clad heights which, looking down on to the Mediterranean shores, knew of the life and bustle of its sea-girt towns. We had come out on the other side of the unknown plain and the aspect of things was changed. What drew us on now was not the mystery of unexplored space, but the feeling that here was a great barrier to cross. We were about to share with these heights the knowledge of what lay on the other side. But there was more than this--we were about to do what the Monster might possibly fail to do. As we drew near the barrier, the mysterious allusions to his approach all took the form of pointing at this barrier. "So far and no further he may come," they seemed to say. As I rode with Mustapha up a long, winding pass on the outskirts of the range he pointed at the valley below us. "The Turkish Railway," he said solemnly. A long line of laden camels wound slowly up the opposite side; for a full quarter of a mile they covered in single file the road winding up out of the valley. I pulled my horse up, and Mustapha stopped his alongside of mine. We both bent our heads forward and listened. The sound of their tinkling bells came faintly across the valley to us; the low, musical tones, the quiet, measured movement, all was in keeping with the towering mountains and the still, clear air. Hassan rode up with the other men and joined us. He put his hands up to his mouth and gave a shrill, prolonged whistle in exact imitation of the engine we had left at Konia. The men looked at one another and laughed. Then they shrugged their shoulders and pushed on up the path. CHAPTER V IN THE TAURUS The Taurus range bounds in a semicircle the base of the plateau we had crossed. We had always been over 3,000 feet above sea-level, and now the heights of the Boulghar Dagh, as this part of the Taurus is called, rose high above us. The pass we were making for measured nearly 6,000 feet, and it looked low in the level of the range. After leaving Eregli we had made a short day to Tchaym, some four hours' ride across a very barren stretch of country, with the snow mountains always in front of us. The next day was to be our last on the plains, for our destination was Ulu Kishla, well up on the hills. We had always great difficulty in deciding what the stages of our journey were to be. Maps and guidebooks were out of the question, the Zaptiehs had only very vague ideas as to distances, and local informants were hard to understand. Our destinations and the distances formed fruitful topics of conversation with the men, and generally ended in amicable wrangles. X having made out from the khanji[3] that it was ten hours' ride from Tchaym to Ulu Kishla, asked Rejeb's opinion on the matter. [3] Innkeeper. REJEB. Eleven hours. MUSTAPHA. No, no, twelve hours. Tchaym to Ulu Kishla twelve hours. X. No, no, ten hours. REJEB AND MUSTAPHA (_in chorus_). No, no, the Pasha Effendi goes like the post. X. It is ten hours; Rejeb and Mustapha go like camels. (_Roars of laughter._) REJEB. It is Mustapha and the little Pasha Effendi who go like camels, _javash, javash_ (slowly, slowly). * * * * * At Ulu Kishla we lunched in a huge khan, half in ruins, the size of which suggested the almost inconceivable size of the caravans which must have passed in better days. Here we decided to send the arabas on with half the escort, to await us at the next stage on the main road. Taking Hassan and Rejeb and one of the Zaptiehs with us, we branched off to visit Boulghar Maden, the highest village of the Taurus, noted for its silver mines. It was a rough ride up; now over chunks of rock, now along slippery grass slopes, then rock again and sliding bits of stone. The hills shut us in all round until we neared the summit of the pass; here we reached a level above that of the heights we had skirted on the previous day, and we could see the whole long line of peaks ranging westward to the sea. In front of us the chain of mountains on the opposite side of the valley, whose heights looked down on the Cilician Plain, obscured the view in that direction. We rode towards them in a southerly direction and began the descent into the valley below. Boulghar Maden lies perched on the hillside, and stretches into the valley, so that standing outside the higher houses you looked down on a sea of flat roofs below you. Tall, thin poplar-trees, rising above the houses in rows, mark it out like a chess-board. The great hillside which backs it to the south and keeps off the sun till midday is scarred and marked with the entrances to the mines. A small party of horsemen rode out of the town and came clambering up the hill towards us. Rejeb confessed to having sent a telegram from Ulu Kishla announcing our arrival to the Kaimakam, and suggested that this was a deputation sent out by him to receive us. Our spirits sank when we got near enough to distinguish European clothes on the leader of the party; we had been feeling ourselves tolerably safe from "agents commercials" at this altitude. Already from afar we were greeted in voluble French, which heightened our fears. The man was accompanied by a Turkish official and two Zaptiehs. The road was so steep that they dismounted and led their horses, both men and animals panting furiously. Our horses slid down the rough track, scattering the loose stones before them in all directions, and we joined the party below. "Salutations from Monsieur le Kaimakam, and he bids you welcome to Boulghar Maden." The man took off his fez and bowed. We saw that he was a cut above the enemy we had been fearing and we felt happier. He then explained that he was the representative in Boulghar Maden of our merchant friends in Constantinople, that he was an Armenian, that the Kaimakam was most perturbed lest we should not be received in proper manner, and had commissioned him, Onik Dervichian, at our service, to make all arrangements for our comfort. We were to be the guests of the Kaimakam, and he had caused rooms to be got ready for us in the house of a Greek family, where he would send down the feast he was preparing. But first he was expecting us at the Konak. We all scrambled down the hill together and rode through the village to the Government buildings. A line of Zaptiehs was drawn up at the entrance and fired a salute as we passed. Then we dismounted, and were led through the usual mysterious curtain-hung doors into the Kaimakam's presence. With our friend as interpreter, we felt sure the correct salutations would be delivered on our behalf. The health of the King of England and of our fathers, the great Pashas, was duly inquired after. Onik Dervichian then hustled us away to the Greek house. Here we found the women in a great state of perturbation and excitement. Our friend had sent down sheets for our beds, which were being constructed on the divans; would he show them where they were meant to go? Onik Dervichian threw off his coat and set to work on the beds himself, smoothing out the sheets with the fat Greek mother, who argued volubly with him the whole time. The two daughters of the house looked on and laughed; the little fat boy put his finger in his mouth and roared with laughter. Hassan stood in the doorway beaming with satisfaction. We were to sleep indoors, but was it not with Government sanction and under Government auspices? This was quite a different matter from the Karaman experience. Rejeb was having a good time recounting our adventures to his brother officers at the Konak, whither he had hastened back after seeing us safely landed at the house. A messenger arrived from the Kaimakam--were the ladies ready for the feast? The dishes had been prepared and the servants were awaiting commands. We invited Onik Dervichian to stay and help us through; for this was not the first time we had experienced Turkish hospitality and suspected that our powers would be taxed to the full. The little low table was brought in, and Onik showed the Greek mother how to lay it "à la Franka." The dishes began to arrive: curries and pilafs and roasted kid; dolmas and chickens and kebabs; and then the nameless sweet dishes which Turkish cooks only know how to prepare. At the fourth course I made an attempt to strike, but Onik Dervichian was shocked. "Ah, mademoiselle, pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam," and he piled up my plate. At the fifth course he anticipated me. "Now, mademoiselle, pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." At the sixth: "Now, mademoiselle." "No," I said; "Kaimakam or no Kaimakam, I can't." Onik Dervichian's face was a study. "Mais, mademoiselle, _seulement_ pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." "You will have to do it all yourself, then," I said; "he won't know which of us has eaten it." Onik rose manfully to the occasion and did his best. Only at the last dish did he lean back and, rubbing himself gently, murmur: "Ah, mon Dieu! et tout cela pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." * * * * * There were "written stones," they told us, in this neighbourhood too; accordingly next day we hired a native as guide and set off in search of them. A road roughly cut on the side of the mountain led out of Boulghar Maden down the valley to the east; below it, precipitous sides shot into the river's bed; above it, the range we had crossed the previous day towered overhead. About a mile outside the village we turned off the road and wound up the mountain-side. Our horses pushed their way through the thorns and brambles which grew in rank profusion in and out amongst the rocky projections, until we had scrambled up to the summit of an outlying hill-top. Here a rocky projection stood out higher than the surrounding ones and showed a flat face of wall to the midday sun. It was just possible to make out that there was an inscription on this face. We could see that the characters were cut in relief and not incised. The Hittites were metal workers, and this characteristic of their inscriptions no doubt arose from their habit of embossing metal. That they were particularly fond of silver is suggested by the fact that many of their treaties were inscribed on tablets of that metal. Inscriptions are also found on stones near the Gumush Dagh, where silver-mines have been worked. We may presumably infer that the working of these mines at Boulghar Maden dates from Hittite times. The view in front of us was one vast breaking sea of mountain tops; the snow-clad heights forming the crests gleamed, in sudden flashes of sunlight, like the surf on a rising wave. * * * * * We left Boulghar Maden the next morning. The Kaimakam insisted that we should drive in his carriage down to Chifte Khan, the point on the main route where we were to meet our arabas. The road had only been made a few years and they were very proud of it; it was an exquisite road, we were told. The Kaimakam, we were also told, was very proud of his carriage. When he went to visit the mines he had it out; but his horse was led behind, for apparently his pride in it was not so great as regard for his own comfort, not to say safety. But here was an occasion for him to vaunt his pride with none of the accompanying discomforts. It arrived: a springless box on wheels, a hard and narrow seat on each side, the top encased in a heavy roof, with rattling glass windows. The whole was painted a bright primrose yellow, and was drawn by two small Turkish horses. X and I got in somewhat ruefully. It was a glorious fresh, sunny day, and we were about to pass through some of the finest scenery of the Taurus district. Onik Dervichian, who came to start us on the way, and Hassan sat inside with us. The Kaimakam had sent his servants to ride our horses; they and the Zaptiehs followed in a long string behind. For the first mile or two the road was fairly smooth; the vehicle lumbered heavily along; when it struck a loose stone the glass rattled furiously. We peered longingly through the panes, trying to catch glimpses of the surroundings. Pine woods nodded in the light breeze, but the noise drowned their whispers. Valley and hills streaked with laughing shadows beckoned to us to come out and look at them. Every turn in the road displayed new vistas of pine-clad slopes, shooting long tongues of green into the brown-red rocks. As time went on the road became very rough; great masses of solid rock lay across it, and the carriage, lurching up over them, jumped us about on the hard seats and knocked us up against one another. Hassan took it calmly; he merely ejaculated "Aman" when an extra lurch sent him flying off the seat. Onik Dervichian, however, was sorely troubled. "Ah, mon Dieu!" he cried out at intervals, "et tout cela pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam." At times it was not only painful but positively dangerous. The side of the hill would rise up in perpendicular walls of rock, and a narrow ledge of road, cut at right angles to it, barely gave width enough for the wheels to pass; a jerk in the wrong direction would have precipitated us down the rocks into the valley beneath.[4] [4] We heard later that the official who had been mainly responsible for the construction of the road met his death in this manner shortly after our visit. At such moments Onik Dervichian, pink with terror and excitement, opening with difficulty the door at the back, would scramble out and follow on foot. The crisis over, his sense of humour would return and he would take his seat again, throw up his hands and ejaculate, "Et tout cela pour faire plaisir au Kaimakam!" Then the carriage came to a dead stop. In front of us the ledge of rock had broken away, and two great boulders, fallen from above, blocked the narrow way. X pointed down the steep precipice. "Look, Hassan, look," she said, pretending to shudder. Hassan looked. "You go over, I go too," was his reply. The driver got down and examined the obstruction. We all got out and examined it. The servants leading our horses behind, dismounted and examined it. The horses stood with their noses on it and stared stupidly. Then everybody took hold of the wheels and lifted and shoved the whole concern bodily over. With the wheels on one side falling well over the steep side, the driver carefully engineered horses and carriage round the corner. Bruised and exhausted, shaken in body and nerves, we were finally safely landed at Chifte Khan, where we found our men and arabas awaiting us. We flung ourselves down on the grass of a little orchard and thanked God for our delivery from the task of pleasing Kaimakams. Hassan stood over us and gazed thoughtfully at the yellow carriage standing by the roadside, while the driver devoured pilaf at the door of the khan. "It is well now," he said; "we have pleased the Kaimakam." The driver clambered up on the seat again, and turned his horses' heads up the road we had left. "Thank God," said Onik Dervichian, "that we are still alive to see it depart!" * * * * * From Chifte Khan we followed a good road, through the gorgeous vale of Bozanti, to Ak Kupru, where we pitched our camp for the night by the side of the river Chakut. The weather broke suddenly, and we reached the place in torrents of rain. The wind, tearing in gusts up the valley, shook the walls of the tent, and the ropes strained at the pegs. It drove the rain so hard against the white canvas that it forced the drops through almost against their will. It would have been so much easier for them just to run down the outside slope; but every force in nature seemed to be let loose to make the others worse. I moved my bed a little to try and get a clear course between two sets of drips. X surveyed my endeavours from where she sat, mechanically tilting a pool off her mackintosh rug when the accumulated drops showed signs of flowing in disastrous directions. "It's no use trying not to be wet," she said, "when there is no way of keeping dry." A new drip in the centre of the two original ones forced me to accept her philosophy, and we sat silently watching the scene outside. In front of us a bridge crossed the river and from it wound the road we should follow, zigzagging up until it disappeared round a corner. The Taurus Mountains rose like a black barrier in front of us, towering aloft in gigantic walls of rock; then layers of black forest and grassy slopes, then misty tops showing white snow where the clouds parted. At their feet on the other side lay the great Cilician Plain, covered with yellow crops and brown earth and clothed with mud-coloured villages. On the other side also was the Mediterranean, blue and calm; there was sun and warmth and quiet, and people quietly basking in the heat. But on this side there was turmoil and cold and wet; the earth's face was hard and bare, and over it angry waters dashed in heedless, headlong fury; angry clouds overhead vied with them, shooting down relentless torrents of rain. On the other side, the blue Cydnus wound gently in and out through the level plain, and made marshes of its low banks as its waters lazily crawled round in long, curving loops. On this side the Chakut Su, goaded on by the maddened waterfalls, rushed its black waters impatiently against obstructing rocks and turning white with fury foamed round them in angry swirls and dashed on through narrow gorges, lashing at their mocking, immovable walls. * * * * * We sought refuge in the khan for the evening meal, sharing the fire with our own men and the Zaptiehs. Onik Dervichian, always merry and full of resources even on such an evening, made the men sit round so as to leave an empty space in the centre of the room. Then he produced a walking-stick and laid it flat on the ground. "Stand up, oh stick!" he said, waving his hand and addressing it in Turkish. Not a sound could be heard in the room; all eyes were fixed on the stick, which slowly rose and stood up, apparently of itself. "Ha! ha!" went round the room in deep murmurs. "Lie down, oh stick!" said Onik. And the stick, after giving a hop or two, went slowly down on the floor again. For full half an hour did Onik Dervichian, by means of a fine thread invisible in the dim firelight, go through a series of tricks with the walking-stick. The men never moved or took their eyes off it for a moment, but showed no curiosity about it. They took it, like everything else, as a matter of course. Hassan and Rejeb, two silent men, talked together the whole night long just outside our tent. What with this and the wind and the rain, and the flapping of the tent and the drips, which, coursing down the canvas, found new points of entry at every moment, we got but little rest. Hassan greeted us with an anxious look next morning. "You were not frightened in the night, I hope?" he said. "No," I answered, "but we did not get much rest." "Rejeb and I," he went on, "were afraid you would be frightened by the noises, and we talked all night to show that we were close at hand." * * * * * The rain was still coming down in torrents. The khanji said it had come to stay, and he made a big fire, for he expected us to stay. But X was inexorable. If the bad weather had begun, she said, we must push on and get through the pass before we were snowed up; that would be worse than getting a wetting. We had all got into the habit of doing what X told us; so Hassan went out grimly and packed up the sodden tents. "Aman, aman," he murmured now and again, "it is the whim of a woman." The arabajis dejectedly fetched out the horses, who drooped their heads in the rain and blinked reproachfully. "It is the will of Allah," said the men, and they loaded up the tents. The Zaptiehs and Rejeb fetched their horses and mounted. "It is the will of Allah," said also the Zaptiehs; but their Lieutenant held his peace. The rain might be the will of Allah, but to ride through it was the whim of a woman. One by one we filed out over the bridge and up the winding road opposite. The arabas creaked; their sodden, wooden wheels squeaked as they lurched along after us; and the khanji stood in the doorway and wondered a little; then he went back to his fire. And we rode up and up silently. Thick rain mists shrouded the heights above us; gradually we reached the forest line, and the grassy slopes were level with us on the opposite side of the valley; and still we rode gently up and up. The rain lessened a little bit, and we raised our heads and told each other so. Onik Dervichian burst into song and made the hills echo with his ringing voice. Then the rain poured down again and we rode silently on into it. A string of camels laden with merchandise met us just as we were crossing a track, which was being temporarily turned into the bed of a stream for superfluous waters. Their great hoofs slipped on the greasy, muddy sides, and each one paused in its mechanical march as its turn came to slide down the slippery bank. "Y'allah, y'allah!" shouted the drivers, prodding them, and they resignedly put forward their great hoofs and floundered after their companions. * * * * * The arabas made slow progress up the hill. We were getting wet through and decided to push on ahead with Rejeb and two of the Zaptiehs. Onik Dervichian announced his intention of returning; he could reach Boulghar Maden that evening if he went no further, and he did not relish the idea of another night such as the one he had just spent. At midday we arrived at Gulek Boghaz, where we found a new detachment of Zaptiehs awaiting us, for we had crossed the borders of the Konia vilayet and were now under the Vali of Adana. The men took our horses and led them into the stable. Streams of water ran off horses and men alike and collected in pools about the uneven floor. We brushed past the horses' heels and went on into the living room leading out of the stable, where a roaring wood fire blazed at the far end. We lay on the rough divan in the corner and thawed and dried. The men came in from seeing to their horses, and the fire drew clouds of thick steam out of their soaking clothes. Rejeb sent out a Zaptieh to see if there was any sign of the arabas, but he returned with no news save that of increasing rain. We dozed round the hot fire; the Zaptiehs sat at the far end of the room and smoked; there was no sound but the beating of the rain outside and of the horses munching and stamping in the adjoining room. More than an hour passed and still no sign of the arabas. We roused ourselves and conjectured all the possibilities of mishap: a wheel had come off; they had stuck in the mud; they had lost their way; the roads were too heavy for the horses after the rain; they had been attacked by brigands. X, however, had her own suspicions. The arabajis had been very loth to leave Ak Kupru, and they knew of our intention of pushing on after the midday rest. They were dawdling on the road or sheltering somewhere out of the rain--we had passed an open shed--so as to ensure arriving too late for us to get on to the next stage. She cast round for a method of outwitting them, and at last hit on one. "You take two of the new Zaptiehs," she said, "and ride on with them to the next khan; I will wait here until the arabas turn up. We cannot leave you alone, and that will be an excuse to make the men come on." I always did as X told me, and rose obediently from the warm corner. As I drew on my dry overcoat, hot from the fire, and looked out at the drenching rain, I felt strongly drawn in sympathy towards the arabajis. My horse was saddled and dragged outside, as loth to leave its companions as I was. I mounted, and bid farewell to Rejeb and Mustapha, who were returning to Konia. It was a tearful parting, for they had been with us now for eleven days and we were fast friends. X stood in the doorway of the stable. "When you get to the khan," she called out after me, "say 'Atesh getir.'" "All right," I said obediently. What "atesh getir" meant I did not know; but X said I was to say it and that was enough. I was awfully afraid of forgetting it, and it was too wet to make a note, so I kept on repeating it at intervals. The Zaptiehs rode one behind and one before me, for the road was narrow. By and by we entered a defile not more than three or four yards across, where the rocks towered above us quite perpendicularly on one side and overhung us on the other; the road became almost coincident with the bed of the stream, and a large piece of fallen rock nearly blocked the way. The Zaptieh in front of me pointed with his whip at the rock just over our heads and also at the one fallen in the bed of the stream. The rain was pouring over the faces of both, and obscured them, but it was just possible to make out that these also were "written stones," and I concluded that we must be riding through the famous Cilician Gates, round which the historical interest of the Taurus centres. I repeated "Atesh getir" devoutly, and we hurried on. A two hours' ride brought us to a khan on the side of the road. One of the Zaptiehs galloped ahead to announce our arrival. The yard, ankle deep in mud, was full of dripping animals and men. The khanji helped me to dismount, and I said "Atesh getir." He nodded and smiled and talked away at me hard as he led me into a vast room, perfectly bare, without even the usual divan. There was a wood fire burning up a tumble-down chimney in the middle, and they fetched me a little three-legged stool to sit on. I thanked them and said "Atesh getir" once more. The Zaptiehs came and turned my hat and coat round and round in front of the fire to dry, as an excuse to dry their own. A boy appeared with more logs of wood, which he threw on the fire. Every now and then the khanji would come and jabber at me, and I smiled and nodded and said "Atesh getir." It seemed now to have become a sort of joke, for every time I said it the Zaptiehs and the other men laughed, and I caught the words repeatedly in their conversation amongst themselves. Every few minutes the boy came and threw more wood on the fire, then he would turn and ask me a question. I had nothing but "Atesh getir" to say. But I felt a little nervous about the size of the fire. It was exceeding the bounds of the hearth, and I was afraid would soon burn down the rotten old place, for the heat was terrific. So I would point at the fire and shake my head when he threw on the logs, but he only grinned and went off to return with some more. As I sat there waiting for X, I knew that I should always remember once for all that warmth is the one thing in the world which really matters. I was hungry, for we had not tasted much food that day. There was not much to sit upon, the stool had got very hard; the room was dirty and bare, and the smell of wet animals came up from the sheds below; but the fire made up for it all. One felt one had really got all one wanted, and I would not have exchanged that fire for the best of meals or the downiest of beds. I was quite content to sit by it and wait for X for ever if need be. She had shipped me off with two strange men to a strange place with two strange words whose meaning I did not know--but there was the fire. She arrived at last. The men all came tramping in with her and gathered round the blazing logs. Hassan fetched a bundle out of the araba, where the things had kept fairly dry, and made a seat for us. Constantin opened the last tin of sardines, and having demolished them we finished up with native bread and honey. Hassan went out to look for a place to pitch the tent, and came back to say there was nothing but mud and water outside: should he put it up under an open shed just below the room? The floor was sodden with the smell of generations of passing caravans, but there seemed no other choice, and the tent was the only means of privacy. Late at night a sudden thought struck me. I turned towards X and saw that she was awake. "X," I said, "what does 'atesh getir' mean?" "It means 'get a fire,'" said X sleepily. * * * * * We were awakened early by the departure, before sunrise, of the men and animals who, quartered in the yard of which our shed formed part, had not given us much peace during the night. We were not loth, on our part, to leave the tent, which had caught and retained the smell rising up from the sodden earth floor, until we were nearly choked with the fumes. It was still raining, and the peaks we had ridden under the day before were shrouded in mist. We kept on descending slowly, and by and by came out on a piece of open moor land. The sun began to appear again now. We were leaving it all behind, the cold and the wet and the storms of the hills. We were getting into the stillness of the plains again. The men took off their overcoats and rolled them up on their saddles behind. One by one we shed the wraps which had seemed so thin and inefficient under the snowy heights; they were getting unbearable here. We expected at every turn to get a view of the sea. In spite of this, its first appearance was so sudden as to come as a surprise. We rounded a corner, and there it lay, as we had pictured it on the other side, still and bright, with no suggestion of storm and turmoil. It was not till that moment that we had the distinct feeling of having crossed the barrier. Each step forward now unrolled bit by bit the stretch of plain at our feet. There was the Cydnus winding its easy course through fertile lands as if there were no trouble in its rising waters. There was Tarsus, its flat roofs so sunk in gardens and fruit-trees that minarets and domes alone proclaimed the presence of a large town; and there, too, still faint and dim, but unmistakable, was the thin, moving line of smoke which proclaimed that we were nearing the land of the Monster once more. Can it be that the day is not far distant when this one will join hands with its brother through the barrier we have crossed; and tearing through these silent plains and the rugged fastnesses of these great hills, destroy the mystery over which they have so long kept their sacred guard? CHAPTER VI ROYAL PROGRESS In the line of country stretching from Tarsus eastward to Urfa, there is a series of stations of the American Mission Board. Travelling as we did, in the direction of this line, we made these stations our stages, and hired horses and men afresh at each place. At Tarsus we camped in the playground of the mission school run by Dr. Christie. On the evening of our arrival out of the Taurus Mountains we were eating off spotless cloths with knives and forks, and were singing "Onward, Christian soldiers" with a hundred Armenian and Greek students. The plunge out of rough travelling into these oases of civilisation is very sudden, and the contrast gives a full meaning to the advantages and disadvantages of both forms of existence. The missionaries are the embodiment of hospitality. They know also what the discomforts of our journey have been, for they have gone through much the same experience themselves in order to arrive at their present homes; and so we find hot baths awaiting us and fresh supplies of hairpins; buttons are sewn on, and clothes sent to the wash. We are started off on the road again clean and tidy, and with a linen bag full of home-made white bread, which will see us through many days. We also carry with us thoughts of the splendid work which is being done by them, and of the hardship and danger many of them have gone through in carrying out this work of education among these Eastern Christians. Gathered round the fire at night we would listen to tales of bloodshed and massacre, of domestic tragedies and individual heroism, of anxiety and hope all told with that simplicity and quietness which bears the stamp of a personal experience which has come face to face with the real facts of life in a barbaric land. But, once we were on the road again, we were glad to be there, glad to hear only the sound of the Turkish tongue; glad to lie out once more under the stars and eat our meal round the camp-fire at night. Occasionally, too, we would get sudden reminders of the institutions we had left. A stray Armenian would accost us on the road with "Who are you? Where are you going? What is your name?" in the English tongue with a perceptible nasal twang. We would have a momentary unpleasant sense of impertinent familiarity. Then one would pull oneself together and remember the doctrine of universal brotherly love which was being instilled into the minds of mission students, and would try hard not to mind when the individual would proceed to tell us that we were his sisters, that he loved us very much, and would we give him a subscription towards a harmonium for his church. It was during this stage of our journey, also, that we were taken to be royalties and received at the larger towns with military honours. The idea seems to have emanated from Konia after our departure from there. We had left cards on the officials at the Konak. Now X's Christian name was Victoria, and her address printed on the card was Prince's Gate. To the Turkish mind this was conclusive evidence that she was a relation of the great queen, and instructions for our suitable reception were accordingly telegraphed on. At Adana we found ourselves indisputably "daughters of the King of Switzerland." It was of no use denying it: "naturally we wished to preserve an _incognito_." We were summoned to pay a state visit to the Vali of Adana and were accompanied by his secretary, who talked French. VALI. Welcome; you have come. X. Gladly we have found ourselves. VALI. By your features and bearing I can see you are of the high aristocracy. INTERPRETER. The ladies say that they also can see that you are a most high and noble prince. (_Turns to us._ You said that, didn't you?) VALI. And how do the noble ladies find Adana? INTERPRETER. The ladies find Adana the most charming and delightful spot in Turkey. X. Please thank his Excellency for sending the Zaptiehs to meet us; we were very pleased with them. VALI. The ladies are most welcome; if they should wish for fifty Zaptiehs they would be at their service. (_Mutual bows and salaams._) VALI. And where do the ladies intend to travel after this? X. We wish to go by Aintab and Diarbekr to Baghdad. Does his Excellency think the road is safe? VALI. Wherever the ladies go their safety is assured; they are the guests of the nation. There is not a governor in the land who has not received orders to look after them in every way. (_Further bows and expression of thanks._) VALI (_continues_). The ladies, however, will find it most uncomfortable travelling at this time of year. I would urge them to give up the idea of this journey. X. We are obliged to your Excellency for your advice, but we do not really mind the discomforts of travel. VALI (_turns to his Muavin, the_ "Evet Effendi" _already mentioned_). This gentleman has just returned from Baghdad; he will tell you how very disagreeable the journey will be. MUAVIN. Evet, Effendim; the road, of course, is safe as regards the tribes; but do not the ladies fear tigers and the many wild beasts which may be encountered? VALI. I assure you it is not safe for you. You hear what this gentleman says. If the ladies will wait till the spring I will arrange for them to accompany my brother, the Prince of Kurdistan, in his expedition to the mountains. Finding it impossible to dissuade us, the Vali then leads the way to the Council chamber, and makes X sit in the Presidential chair, where, he informs us, no one but the Vali has ever sat. He tells X she is now the Vali Pasha, this is her house, and he is at her commands. X promptly seizes the opportunity, and asks for favour to be extended to a friend we had met in the course of our travels, who had been banished from Adana owing to having incurred the Vali's displeasure. VALI. Because he was kind to you I will pardon him. He may come back if it will please the ladies. X. We are much obliged to your Excellency. VALI. Many people have spoken to me for him, but I would not listen; but to please the ladies I will now forgive him. VALI. Will it please the ladies to dine with me to-morrow? X. We thank your Excellency, it would give us much pleasure. But we must apologise for our clothes; we are travelling, and have no suitable dresses for dining with your Excellency. VALI (_waves his hand_). The ladies must not mention it. I can see by their appearance how noble they are, and their clothes are therefore of no significance. X. We will now say goodbye, and we thank your Excellency for all your kindness. VALI. It is I that am indebted for your presence. Will you send my love to his Excellency your father? for he also is a Pasha, and we are brothers. * * * * * From Adana our next stage was to Aintab. Our luggage had now all to be conveyed on pack-mules, for we were going over tracks where wheels could not pass. This made our party seem larger, for we needed three mules for the baggage, and they were accompanied by three muleteers, who also looked after our horses and the mules ridden by our men. Our escort here consisted of four Zaptiehs and a Captain. This was the lowest number to which we had been able to reduce the fifteen men the Vali had pressed upon us. Nominally, they received no pay from us, but the "baksheesh" which we were expected to give them no doubt compensated for the arrears of pay from which the Turkish soldier invariably suffers. * * * * * We had parted with Constantin at Adana. He was not very suitable for really rough camping work, and we had asked the missionaries at Adana to recommend us a less civilised person, who would be more competent in tight places. Through them we engaged an Armenian, Arten by name. He could only speak Turkish, so we were now entirely thrown on our own resources as to Turkish conversation. X, however, had acquired quite enough of the language to be intelligible to Hassan, who interpreted our wants to the others. We had hardly left Adana before incessant heavy rains came on, which turned the tracks into impassable mud swamps. We struggled on as far as Hamidieh, where we sought refuge in the house of an Austrian widow who ran a large cotton mill in the place. For three days the rain came down in torrents. I went to bed indoors with fever; X, however, still preferred to sleep out in the tent in pools of water, which the men vainly endeavoured to keep out by digging trenches all round. On the third day we sallied out again and pitched our camp in the middle of little green pasture fields in the bed of a lovely valley. Real milking cows strayed about in the little fields, and cocks and hens crowed and cackled familiarly close to us. This was a very different country from the one we had left. In spite of the fact that we had had to exchange wheels for pack-mules, it seemed far more civilised and cultivated. Trees and water everywhere gave one a feeling of life and growing things, unlike the stagnation of the waterless parts. The Zaptiehs here, in greeting the town or village we were approaching, would always include in their praises its power of providing milk and eggs. Our former Zaptiehs had handed on to them that we had an insatiable desire for these luxuries, and they would use this as an inducement for us to come on to any place where they particularly desired to camp, a desire which generally arose from the vicinity of some large khan where they could spend a sociable evening. "Oh, it is a lovely village; there are many eggs, there is much milk. The cows they are never dry, and the hens they never cease to lay. The chickens, too, they are not all legs, they are fat and juicy." But we were getting out of the Cilician Plain and the Taurus was with us again. The branch which runs southwards from the main chain to the coast at Alexandretta, the beautiful Amanus range, still cut us off from the fertile plains of Mesopotamia. For three days we rode on the outskirts, now climbing gentle, wooded slopes, now winding round a stony valley path; every evening we found ourselves at a higher altitude. We were getting into the Kurdish country. Their handsome women sat on the wide doorstep, which often formed the roof of a house beneath, grinding corn between two flat stones, or baking flat cakes of bread. They wore huge white headdresses, spotlessly clean, covered with silver ornaments, and short crimson zouave jackets. They were disposed to be very friendly, and used to come into our tent with offerings of oranges and eggs. At one small village we came in for a Kurdish wedding. We happened to arrive just as the bride was being torn, struggling and weeping, from her father's house by the bridegroom and his friends. At first we imagined ourselves witnesses of some domestic tragedy, but we were informed that the display of grief and resistance was part of the ceremony. The bride was plastered over with ornaments and her head was bedecked with a great crown of feathers. She was put, still sobbing, on a white horse, and led away to the bridegroom's village, to the sound of bagpipes and flutes and the shouts and laughter of a hundred brightly dressed natives. Then we had a precipitous ride up to Avjila, a wild, Kurdish village, 3,000 feet above sea-level. Hidden away amongst the rocks, a few score of shepherds tended their mountain flocks. From Avjila the road wound round grassy hills and through richly wooded slopes, where the crimson berries of the carob-tree hung over our path and the leaves of the golden plane dazzled our eyes in the sunlight. The woodman would be busy too, and we would hear the sound of his axe in the pine-trees, or brush past a mule loaded with long, scratching bundles of firewood. The Amanus range slopes very abruptly to the plain on the opposite side. It was not till the tenth day after leaving Adana, owing to our delay at Hamidieh, that we reached the gap in the trees at the summit of the pass which gives you one short glimpse of Aintab on the plain below. The muleteers stopped here to throw stones on a cairn beside the track and greeted the town with expressions of endearment and praise. "Give us a coin for luck, Pashas," they said, "and that no evil may befall us in the place." * * * * * We rode straight into the Mission compound at Aintab, and found ourselves at once in a very academic atmosphere. The mission has been established here over sixty years and has a brave show of buildings: a college with five professors, a hospital, an orphanage, a girls' and a boys' boarding school, and a church. The women missionaries are mostly graduates of some American University, and one feels rather behind the times in conversation. Their work fills one with respect: there is no proselytising about it; their idea is to civilise by education. From Aintab it is two short days' journey to the Euphrates. We were now in a country of rich red soils covered with olive groves and vineyards. Near the villages small sized black and yellow cattle, brought in from the pastures, munched maize straw in the rough enclosures of reed or straw round the houses. The road was lined with signs of primitive cultivation and luxurious crops, evident even in these winter months. But the peasants seemed miserably poor. They were partners mostly of city men, who provided the seed and the stock and took two-thirds of the produce in payment. The Euphrates is visible a long way ahead as it winds southwards. At first you see it as a streak of light across the plain; then slowly you differentiate the banks, the alluvial shores, the flow of the waters. Then Birejik appears on the opposite side. Its houses, built on a limestone cliff four hundred feet high, rise up above the river tier upon tier; then the black marks on the face of the rock below the houses take on the shape of rock tombs. We descend a long, gentle slope towards the ferry, and find a few buildings on this side also. We wait while great herds of oxen and sheep going to the market at Killis are ferried across in the great, clumsy, flat-bottomed, flat-sided boat, whose one end rises up in a high, curved keel. Then our turn comes, and one by one our horses plunge into thick mud and up the slippery end of the boat, which lets down to form a gangway. Surely they are not going to take us all at once? Our horses get jammed up tighter and tighter at the far end as each animal enters the boat; they begin kicking and biting at one another. We draw our feet out of the stirrups and hunch them up on our horses' necks to be out of harm's way. There is no room now for the horses to kick--they are wedged too tight--but they struggle hard. We are shoved off the mud with long paddles, the cranky old boat lurches and wobbles, and we seem horribly near the water. The stream catches us and we are wafted down to a lower point on the opposite shore. Hassan, his great legs stretched up high and dry on his mule's neck, fumbles in his pouch and brings out the little bit of paper on which he writes down our expenses. He slowly puts on his spectacles and proceeds to write, holding the paper on the top of his thumb, and apparently oblivious of the struggles of his steed to kick the horse who is biting his flank behind. Then the gangway is let down and a terrific pandemonium ensues as each animal strives to get its saddle disentangled from the pack saddle of its neighbour and jump ashore. The hindmost land on the first, who have stuck hopelessly in the mud, the muleteers hit and shout, and we climb slowly on to firmer ground and wind up the steep path to the street at the top. The next day we ride slowly out of red soils and cultivation. The road is dangerous here, we are told; two extra Zaptiehs and a Yuzbashi are sent with us. We are in a desert plain again. A fearful storm of wind gets up and howls weirdly round us; the sun is getting low, and we have somehow missed the village where we should camp. The small cluster of huts that we pass or see in the distance have no accommodation for the horses, and the muleteers will not let them stand out on such a wild night. The Yuzbashi, who is a mysterious Kizilbash with a long black beard, gets anxious and makes us push on hard. At last we reach another cluster of huts, where the shepherds are calling in the flocks. It is nearly dark and we can go no further that night. The muleteers are sulky about the shelter for their horses, so we take a house for the purpose and the family cram in somewhere else. The tents are pitched with difficulty in the teeth of the wind. All night long the Yuzbashi, apart from the other men, walks up and down and round and round our tent, muttering in his black beard. * * * * * The next day we ride over a bleak, stony country, exposed to fierce lashes of wind and rain. Smooth faces of rock lie across the scarcely perceptible path, less slippery for our flat-shod horses than the mud in which they are embedded. We can see nothing ahead but low, rounded hillocks covered with broken stone. Suddenly yellow dogs spring from under our very feet and tall figures emerge out of the bowels of the earth. We have stumbled into the middle of a Kurdish village. The huts are hollowed out of the earth and roofed over with the stones which cover the whole ground. The chief of the village welcomes us at the door of his hut, and we descend the dark passage, blinded by the smoke of the dried camel-dung fire. We sit on strips of felt, thankful to be out of the wind and the rain, and stretch our frozen hands and feet in the direction of the thickest fumes. The tears run down our cheeks from the smarting of our eyes, but we hardly notice it, for it is heaven to be out of the bluster outside. Slowly our eyes get more accustomed to the darkness and the fumes, and we find the hut is full of arms and legs and motionless bodies, and gleaming eyes fixed on our eyes. But they are friendly and curious, and we feel at home. Then we crawl out to where Arten has prepared hot Maggi soup in the tent. It has been impossible to pitch ours, but they have tied the men's little tent on to the big stones forming the wall of our house, and the roof of another; we can see smoke mysteriously crawling out of the crevices of the ground at our feet. A sudden furious gust shakes the whole tent, and a Zaptieh's rifle, leant against the side, tumbles across and upsets the steaming soup. We pick our belongings ruefully out of the little trickling streams of thick liquid, and make a meagre meal by soaking bits of native bread in what remains. Then we get to bed as best we can, and all night long the wind howls and the tent flaps, and dogs sniff stealthily on the other side of the canvas. * * * * * A hard, broad, high-road runs ostentatiously some miles out of Urfa on the side which we were approaching. From the town it looks as if it were going on like that for ever. We stumbled suddenly out of our stony track on to it--where it ends abruptly in the middle of nowhere. The native does not walk on it much; he prefers the soft places at the margin, where the caravans, also shunning it, still make wobbly tracks. At one place, where it passes through a deep gully, the bank has been made up to make a more level run; but even here, as we rode over it, we noticed an old man and a boy driving a couple of mules, slowly crawling up the narrow path down below, which marked the line of the original road. We could see Urfa some little way ahead of us, and wondered whether the missionaries would have heard of our arrival through their friends at Aintab. For the post travelled quicker than we did; it had passed us days ago, borne at a gallop by two mounted men. "If ever we wanted cleaning up," I said, "it is at this moment; what with the rain and the mud and Maggi soup and camel-dung fumes, we are almost unfit to be seen even by a missionary." The words were hardly out of my mouth when a party of some twenty mounted soldiers appeared in the distance. As they got nearer they fired off a volley into the air and ranged up in a line down the road. The Captain rode up and saluted us. There was no mistaking it. We were Royalties once more. The Captain explained that the Governor was sending his carriage for their Royal Highnesses to make their entry into the town, and that he was expecting to receive them at the Konak. The carriage appeared up the road, a smart landau with red cushions, drawn by two splendid Arab horses, and followed by outriders in uniform. In we got. It is very difficult under such circumstances to feel the least royal. We were only conscious of our dishevelled looks and dirty clothes. We made Hassan get in with us, for he always had the air of a prince. The driver cracked his whip and we went off at a great pace, headed by the Captain and Zaptiehs, including our own escort, and followed by the outriders. Borne along in the cavalcade came Arten on his mule, looking worse than any of us, in a seedy old black overcoat and a red scarf round his neck. The inhabitants of Urfa lined the streets and waved and cheered lustily. Flags and decorations were hung out. We bow hard--it is getting easier to forget our dirty clothes. I begin to wonder if indeed we are not Royalties. Why not? Hassan looks more princelike than ever, sitting opposite to us, very erect and very gravely gracious, acknowledging salutes. At the main entrance to the town a smiling Armenian on a mule obstructs the way, and frantically waves a letter. The cavalcade stops, and riding up to the carriage he shoves a well-thumbed envelope into our hands. It is from the lady missionary, they tell us. "The Government," she writes, "are making great preparations for your entertainment, but I hope that you will not despise such hospitality as my house affords, and that you will spend your time in Urfa with me." What are the Government going to do with us? Once more I became conscious of our outward appearance. We sent a verbal message to say we would call later, and then we are dashed on again; the smiling Armenian whacking his mule and trying to keep pace with the formal, solemn officers. Finally we draw up in front of the Government buildings. A red carpet is unrolled before us, over which we walk gingerly in our muddy boots between rows of salaaming Turks. Hassan stalks after us, grave and dignified, returning salaams. We are received by an official, corresponding to the Mayor of the town, and his secretary. X tried to deliver the sentences she had been concocting as we were driven through the streets, but the general bewilderment of the situation and uncertainty as to what we were expected to do was making intercourse more difficult than usual. We were almost at our wits' end when the Head of the Education Department appeared on the scene. He talked French fluently, and explained that rooms had been prepared for us in the building and that the Pasha Effendi expected us to be his guests. After giving us tea, and thereby showing familiarity with the customs of foreign Royal personages, they conducted us to the Vali. He was of a very different type from those we had previously seen. A young, pleasant-mannered, intelligent Turk, he received us in a reserved, Western way, with no flowery greetings. Hassan, in whose hands we felt safe as regards points of Turkish etiquette, had whispered to us that we had better camp outside as usual, for the Pasha's harem was absent at the moment and we could not therefore visit the ladies. For this reason we declined as best we could his offers of hospitality. The Head of the Education Department, instructed by his chief, said the Pasha Effendi was "_désolé_" at our decision. Would we not reconsider it? We were causing his Excellency intense disappointment. His Excellency indeed looked crestfallen, and we would also have enjoyed being royally entertained, but we knew Hassan's judgment was never at fault, and thought it best to be on the safe side. We were also conscious of the fact that in all probability this was but a polite form of espionage, for Urfa is the centre of the district where the worst Armenian massacres took place; European visitors, therefore, especially those who say they are "travelling solely for their health" in all the discomforts of winter, are suspected of being mere gleaners of damaging facts. So we only accepted his Excellency's invitation to dine and, taking leave of him for the moment, were escorted to the Mission-house by the officers and Zaptiehs who had formed our escort, led by the smiling Armenian on the mule. Thus ended our triumphal entry into Urfa, which some call the ancient city of Abraham--"Ur of the Chaldees." CHAPTER VII HARRAN: A DIGRESSION INTO THE LAND OF ABRAHAM "And Terah took Abram his son, and Lot the son of Haran his son's son, and Sarai his daughter-in-law, his son Abram's wife; and they went forth with them from Ur of the Chaldees, to go unto the land of Canaan; and they came unto Haran, and dwelt there." And it happened that we, sojourning in this land, bethought ourselves of this journey of Abraham; we also, therefore, arose one morning and took two horses of the horses of Ur, and three Zaptiehs also upon horses, and we set our servants upon mules, and departed across the plain to visit this Harran, the city of Nahor; and there came with us a lady of the American Mission and her servant Jacobhan and a young Armenian friend; and they also were upon mules. And we all rode together across the plain of Mesopotamia, of which it is written: "When corn comes from Harran, then there is plenty; when no corn comes, then there is hunger." And, even as we rode, the villagers were gathering in barley, the clean white straw with its well-filled heads; and from time to time we came also upon a couple of sleek-skinned oxen drawing the wooden plough through the soil, making the furrows for the next year's seed; and the soil, where it was turned, was of a rich red colour, beside the yellow stubble which was yet unbroken. The villages stood at the space of one hour's ride apart, and by the side of every village, by the side of their bell-shaped huts, we saw great mounds of such a size that they covered as much ground as the villages themselves; and each of these mounds was of a rounded shape. And, looking across the plain as we rode, as far as we could see we saw also many such mounds far distant upon the horizon. And we said to Hassan, "Wherefore these mounds?" And he answered and said, "Behold, Effendi, you see these villages at the space of one hour's ride apart, each with its cornfields and its unbroken stubble, its pasture and its flocks; so it was in the days when Abraham and Terah passed this way, even as you and I are now passing; but these villages that we see of the bell-shaped huts were not the villages that Terah and Abraham saw, for they are now buried under these same mounds." * * * * * Now Harran is eight hours across the plain from Ur; four hours we rode to Rasselhamur, a village by the side of a stream, where we ate and drank and rested awhile, and yet another four hours we rode from Rasselhamur to Harran. Now consider the journey of Terah and Abraham. There were his women and his children, his camels, his man-servants and his maid-servants, his he asses and his she asses, his oxen and flocks of sheep; and they would cause him to delay on the road, for they cannot be over-driven: yet, even as the Arab tribes journey to-day, the caravan of Terah and Abraham would reach this Harran on the second day from the day they left Ur of the Chaldees; and the land of Canaan, the land towards which they journeyed, would still be far distant. And we, marvelling, pondered on the words of the learned man who has said that the Harran of Terah and Abraham lies not here but at one day's journey from the city of Damascus. But why should our souls be vexed over the words of learned men? for, whether it be that Terah stayed at this Harran, even the Harran we are approaching, or whether he journeyed on day by day over the plains to the city of Damascus, for us, as our noiseless steeds trod the soft earth, these silent plains yet echoed with the tinkling of his camel bells, the bleating of his innumerable herds, and the cries of his men-servants and his maid-servants. * * * * * And the sun was yet high in the heavens when the walls of the city of Harran rose up before us; and as we rode through the fields without the city walls we looked, and behold there was a well in the field, and near it were gathered flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, for it was out of that well that they watered the flocks. And it was at the time of the evening, the time that the women go out to draw water; and we drew rein and watched them, even as Jacob watched Rachel. And these daughters of the men of the city were dark-eyed and blue-smocked, and they balanced their pitchers on their heads; and they went down into the well, down the slippery stones which were worn by the feet of the generations which begat Rachel and Rebekah. And on beholding the strangers some of them ran back, even as Rebekah on beholding the servant of Isaac, and told their mothers; and some of them, even as Rachel on beholding Jacob, emptied their pitchers into the troughs and bade us water our horses. And the herdsmen gathered themselves together and looked at us in silence; and their look was long and straight, like the look of those who have the habit of looking far, as far as where the sun sinks on the horizon; and we, wondering, held our peace. Of what availed it, that we should vex ourselves as to whether this indeed were the Harran where Terah stayed on his way to the Land of Canaan, here are we in the fertile regions, without the walls of a city, by the side of a well where the maidens come down to fetch water and where the flocks are gathered at the going down of the sun. And we bethought ourselves of those ancient days, and we said unto the herdsmen, even as Jacob said unto the herdsmen as they tended the cattle of Laban, "Whence are ye?" and they answered us saying, "Of Harran are we." [Illustration: JACOB'S WELL. HARRAN.] And looking about us we saw also the black tents, the good camel-hair tents such as the Arabs use, and they stretched out from the side of the watering-place; and on the ground in front of them the young children rolled amongst the bleating flocks and herds. And the shepherds, haughty and silent amongst men, walked to the right and to the left in and out amongst the bleating flocks and herds; and their cloaks were of sheepskin, long and squarely cut--they hung from their shoulders, reaching nearly to the ankles; and looking at them we thought of Abraham who had left this city for the Land of Promise, of Isaac who sent his servant to seek out Rebekah, and of Jacob, who beheld Rachel even on this spot, and who tended the flocks of sheep and herds of cattle for her father Laban on these same fertile plains. And as we tarried, marvelling on these things, there came out a messenger from the city, and he said, "Why standest thou without? we have prepared a house and room for thy horses"; and turning our horses' heads we followed him and rode into the city. Now the people of Harran number at this day over 4,000 souls of the Moslem faith; of men there are 1,900, and of the women 2,300. And some of them live in the city and some of them live without, in the villages. Now in the generations that have passed Harran was a great city of merchants; they went forth to Tyre, they were her traffickers in choice wares, in wrappings of blue and broidered work, and in chests of rich apparel bound with cords and made of cedar. Harran lay also on the highway from the north to the Land of Canaan, on the highway from the west, from Assyria and Babylonia to the shores of the Cilician Sea; hence also was Harran a great fortified city. And looking about us as we rode through the city, many and ancient were the ruins that we saw, showing that Harran had been great indeed in her time; and there stands to this day a four-sided tower, the walls of which are perfect even now; and at the summit of this tower the bricks are exceeding hard and of a bright yellow colour speckled with black spots withal. And still riding in and out amongst the bell-shaped huts we came at last to the ruins of a great castle; and still riding, our good horses picked their way amongst the columns which were fallen, of which there were many, and under the massive stone arches which were not yet fallen. And we came at last to an open space set right in the midst of the castle, and on this space the grass grew green all about in amongst the fallen stones. And, dismounting, we climbed yet a little way further until we came to a room in the walls, well covered in and newly built up with stones, so that neither wind nor rain could enter in. And at the door of this well-built room stood the Shaykh of the Beni-Zeid. And he welcomed us, bowing after the fashion of his country, and we also greeted him, bowing after the fashion of our country; and speaking to Jacobhan, for we knew not his language, neither did he know ours, he bade us welcome, and said that meat and drink would be laid before us, and provender should be found for our horses. And we rejoiced, for we were exceeding hungry. But the sheep was yet roasting on the great fire in a hut in the ruins of the castle below, and we said to Jacobhan, "Send these men away, for we are weary and would rest awhile." And, taking Hassan only with us, we climbed up to where the ruins of a great tower looked away over the plain, even the plain over which we had ridden and beyond also on the other side further than where we had ridden; and sitting down here we rested awhile; and down below the servants tended the horses, and Jacobhan and the lady from the American Mission unpacked the neatly folded bundles--and, further below, lay the ruins of the great city, and between them the little bell-shaped huts; but above us there was nothing but the sky. And looking away from the city, over the walls and over the plain even unto the far horizon where the sun was now setting, for the day was far spent, I said unto Hassan: "What think you, Hassan, can this indeed be the city whence Abraham departed, and think you that this is the plain over which Jacob fled with his women and children, his men-servants and his maid-servants, his asses and camels, his cattle and his sheep?" And Hassan knit his great brows and pondered awhile, and then he made answer: "What matters it, Effendi, whether this was the city of Abraham, and whether this was the plain over which Jacob fled before the wrath of Laban? Look down below and see these fallen ruins, which are all that is left of the great nations who conquered this city in the generations that have passed; and look down again, and you will see the miserable huts of the people who are left; what do they care for the great people who have lived and died within these walls where you and I are sitting? In a short time they also will be dead, and you and I will be dead, and therefore why should we care whether or not this was the city of Abraham? for, where Abraham is, there shall we soon be also." * * * * * As he was speaking we heard a shout from below, and looking down we saw Jacobhan beckoning to us, for the meat was now served. And we made haste to come down, and entered the room. Here on the earthen floor stood a well-filled bowl, all hot and smoking, for the meat was mixed with swelling rice well cooked in fat. Now Jacobhan fetched a little red carpet and spread it on the floor by the side of the bowl, and on this we sat, crossing our legs after the fashion of the country. On one side of us sat the lady from the American Mission, and on the other side sat Hassan. And they brought us flat cakes of bread, which we dipped into the bowl and scooping out the rice and meat, we ate it thus, for we had neither spoons nor forks. And round about us as we ate sat the dark-eyed Arabs in the white robes. When we had finished eating, one of them rose and fetched a pitcher of water and another brought a bowl, and they poured water over our hands until they were clean. Then, making way for those who had not yet eaten, we caused the carpet to be spread on the far side of the room, where, lying on it, we watched the men eating, gathered round the bowl. Now, when all had finished, one removed the empty bowl and another fetched a brush and swept the floor, for much rice had been spilt about. Then each man folded his cloak together, and sitting back against the wall gazed at us out of the dark corners. But Jacobhan the Armenian and his young friend, who was also of the same people, had no mind to sit thus quiet all the evening. For they were not as the Arabs are, content to smoke and make no sound. "Give us some song," he said to the assembled company, "that we may make merry, for the night is yet young." And they pushed forward, out of the far corner, a young man who seated himself at our feet. After looking at us awhile, there being no sound in the room, he began to sing softly, and these are the words that he sang, as they were told to us later by Jacobhan: "As the swallows from a far country winging their way from the north to the south, so you come to us for the day and on the morrow you are gone. You have the soft eyes of a dove, your hair is of silken threads, and your skin is as the soft skin of the pomegranate. Your little feet they are as the feet of swift gazelles--and they will bear you hence so that your going will be as swift and silent as your coming. Oh, may the snows come in the morning to stay your going away, for my heart will be sick when you are no longer here, and my eyes no longer behold your eyes. The land will mourn and be desolate; the herbs of the field will wither and the waters of the river will dry up in the wilderness." When the words of the song were finished, a silence fell upon us all; and the silence was so long in the quiet stillness of night that many of us fell half asleep sitting there in the dark room. And one by one the company glided out softly into the night until we were left only with our own men. There numbered thirteen of us in all, and wrapping ourselves each in his blanket we lay on the hard floor until morning. * * * * * Now on the morrow the son of the Shaykh came to us and said: "My father sends you word he will be absent until evening, for he rode away this morning two hours before the rising of the sun. To-night, however, he prepares a feast for you and will return, Inshallah, with glad tidings for his people. He bids me meanwhile ask of the ladies what their pleasure will be to-day; and I am at their commands." And we said to the son of the Shaykh: "Take now thy father's lance and these our horses, and we pray thee call out one of your companions and let us see how the men of your country fight their enemies." And the young chief, nothing loth, fetched the long spear which stood at the door of his father's house, and he mounted one of our horses; and he called another youth from amongst the many that would ride with him, and they rode out together into the field, without the city walls. And we climbed up upon the high walls of the castle which looked over the field that we should have the better view. And the two young men set their lances and rode their horses hard at one another, first to the one side and then to the other, now wheeling round, now holding the spear aloft, shouting with loud cries. And their cries were mingled with the cries of all the assembled company, and we also shouted with the others. For the space of an hour or more did they fight thus with one another until they and their horses were weary, but we were not weary with watching them. * * * * * Now as we were feasting that day at the time of the setting of the sun, the Shaykh entered the room where we sat, and greeted us. And we, speaking through Jacobhan, said to him, "Has your business been well?" And he said, "Very well; to-day is a great day for myself and for my people." And we said, "Tell us, we pray thee, how that is?" And he seated himself in our midst, and he told us how his tribe, the tribe of the Beni-Zeid, had offended the great Kurdish chief, Ibrahim Pasha, head of the Hamidieh, who lived not far distant at Viran-shahir. For some amongst them had stolen camels and mules belonging to his people. The wrath of Ibrahim Pasha was very great, and he caused his men to harass their men, and their beasts were no longer safe. Now the Shaykh knew not which among his people were the offenders, but after a year had gone by there came certain of the tribe to him and said, "Behold these camels and mules, are they not those which were stolen from Ibrahim Pasha? We pray thee restore them that we may no longer live in fear of having ours stolen." Thus it was, that on this same day the Shaykh had ridden out with his men, driving these animals, and had delivered them back to the Pasha at Viran-shahir. Inshallah, now they would no longer live under fear of his displeasure. For those who offended Ibrahim Pasha had no mercy at his hands; but those who pleased him had much kindness shown them. And we and the whole company rejoiced together over the good deed that had been done that day, and there was much feasting and singing that night. * * * * * On the morrow we mounted our horses once more and rode away through the bell-shaped huts and past the ancient ruins, over the rich plains, back again into the city of Ur, at the foot of the grey hills. CHAPTER VIII THAT UNBLESSED LAND, MESOPOTAMIA We were encamped in the khan, the native inn, at Severek, a dismal town in the dismal wilds of Mesopotamia; the weather and the depth of mud made it impossible for us to pitch our tent outside, and the dirty, windowless sheds round the courtyard, which afforded the only sleeping accommodation, were not inviting, so we had fixed our tent in a covered passage by tying the ropes to the pillars supporting the roof. The Zaptiehs deputed to guard us for the night hung about the door, plying Hassan and Arten with questions as to our sanity. Why should two foreign ladies choose the depth of winter to travel between Urfa and Diarbekr along the caravan route which had been long deserted owing to the raids of the Hamidieh Kurds? I had often asked myself the same question during the last few days, but had not yet thought of an answer. A pale, dishevelled young man in semi-European clothes slouched into the courtyard and joined the group. The Zaptiehs spoke roughly to him and he gave a cringing reply. He forced his way past them up to me. "Moi parle Français," he said, with an accent corresponding to his grammar. "So it seems," I answered, in the same language. "To-morrow I travel with you," he went on. "Indeed!" I answered, with more of interrogation than cordiality. "Yes, you and my mother and sisters will go in an araba, and I and my brother will ride your horses." I made a closer inspection of the individual, but could detect no signs of insanity to harmonise with his utterances. "Who are you?" I said. "I am an Armenian," he answered. "I have a travelling theatre. We want to get to Diarbekr, and have been waiting here for weeks for an opportunity to join a caravan; the road is so unsafe that no one dares pass this way now, and if we do not go with you we may be here for months yet. You will start at seven to-morrow morning, and we shall do thirteen hours to K----." "We shall start when it suits us," I replied, "and stop when we have a mind. We never travel more than eight hours, and shall not do the regular stages to Diarbekr. We shall be three days on the way." "You must go in two days," he persisted; "we cannot afford to be so long on the road." I began to get angry. "Go away, strange young man," I said, "and don't bother me any more." "I will have everything ready," he said. "You may make your own arrangements for yourself," I rejoined, "if you wish to follow us on the road. It is a public way, but understand that we have nothing to do with you. We start when we like, stop when we wish, ride our own animals, and call our souls our own." "My soul is Christian," he said anxiously, as I moved off; "are you not my sister?" "Young man," I said sternly, "we may be brothers and sisters in spirit, and we may be travelling along the same road to heaven; but please understand that we travel to Diarbekr on our own horses and not in our sisters' arabas." Next morning we left the khan at sunrise, and outside the town we found the whole of the Armenian theatre party ready to accompany us. A covered araba concealed the mother and daughters: we caught glimpses of tawdry garments and towzled heads. Another araba was piled with stage scenery and cooking-pots. Three or four men were riding mules and there were an equal number on foot. The men were dressed in flimsy cotton coats, showing bright green or red waistcoats underneath, and tight trousers in loud check patterns; they wore Italian bandit-looking hats, and their shirts seemed to end in a sort of frill round the neck, suggesting the paper which ornaments the end of a leg of mutton. The whole get-up seemed singularly inappropriate as they plunged ankle deep through the mud. Patches of snow lay in the hollows of the road; a furious gale was driving sleet at right angles into our faces; it was bitterly cold. We rode for hours through a dreary country of broken grey stones with no sign of vegetation or life of any kind. At last we arrived at a collection of tumble-down deserted huts, built of the stones lying round, and hardly distinguishable from the rest of the country until we were actually amongst them. We were cold and wet and had hardly come half-way to our destination, but as neither of us could stand long hours in the saddle without rest or food, we called a halt here to recruit. The Zaptiehs forming our escort begged us not to stop. They could not understand the strange ways of these mad foreigners, who not only travelled in such weather, but sat down to picnic in it instead of pushing on to the shelter of the khan at the journey's end. But we were inexorable, and they reluctantly fastened the horses on the sheltered side of the remaining walls, against which they stood with their backs tightly pressed, drawing their ragged coats closely round them. The village had been but lately ransacked and destroyed by Ibrahim Pasha, the redoubtable Kurdish chief; he was still abroad in the neighbourhood, and any detention on the road increased the chances of our falling in with him or some of his stray bands. The knowledge of this and the discomforts of the journey made the men fretful and anxious. We picked out the least dilapidated looking house and clambered over fallen stones and half-razed walls until we found a roofless room which boasted of three undestroyed angles. In one of these the cook tried to make a fire with the last remnants of charcoal; we huddled in another to avoid, if we could, the blast which rushed across the broken doorways and whistled through the chinks of the rough stone walls. The arabas, accompanied by their bedraggled followers, rumbled heavily past us; the noise gradually died away as they disappeared in the distance; desolation reigned on all sides; the howling blast moaned weird echoes of destruction round the ruined walls. We managed to boil enough water to make tea; and then, yielding to the men's protests, we mounted and rode on. Hour after hour passed; the driving wind hurled the hailstones like a battery of small shot right into our faces; the rain collected in small pools in the folds of my mackintosh, and I guided their descent outwards and downwards with the point of my riding-whip. The drop which fell intermittently from the overflowing brim of my hat had been the signal for a downward bob to empty the contents; but now the wet had soaked through and I let it run down my face unconcernedly. We were a silent and melancholy band. X rode in front with her chin buried in her coat collar; her face was screwed up in her endeavour to face the elements; the hump in her shoulders betokened resigned misery. The soldiers' heads were too enveloped to allow any study of their expressions, but the outward aspect of their bodies was a sufficient indication of their inward feelings; the very outline of their soaked and tattered garments bespoke discomfort and dejection. The pale-faced little officer, straight from the military school at Constantinople, urged his horse alongside mine. "Nazil?" he said. It was a laconic method, essentially Turkish, of saying "How?" _i.e._, "How are you?" "How's everything?" "Hasta" (Ill), I answered. "Aman," he groaned. "Kach Saat daha?" I asked (How many hours more?). "Jarem Saat, Inshallah. Bak, khan bourda" (Half an hour, Inshallah. Look, the khan is there). I raised my head to follow the direction of his pointed whip; the jerk sent a trickle of wet down the back of my neck and the rain blinded my eyes. I dropped my head again. It was not worth while battling with the elements even to look upon our approaching haven of rest. I was too familiar with the aspect of the country to be particularly interested in the scenery; it had not altered at all for many days. If you looked in front, you saw an endless tract of slightly undulating country, the surface of which was a mass of stones; there were stones to the right, there were stones to the left, there were stones behind; you rode over stones, slippery, broken, loose, sliding stones; and now stones, stones of hail, were hurled at you from the heavens above. The very bread we had eaten for our midday meal seemed to have partaken of the nature of the country. I had accidentally dropped my share, and had to hunt for it, indistinguishable among the other particles on the ground. We were rapidly turning into stones ourselves. One seemed to be riding on a huge, dry river-bed, the waters of which had been drawn up into the heavens and were now being let down again by degrees. The officer gave an order to a Zaptieh. The man tightened the folds of his cloak round him, wound the ends of his kafiyeh into his collar, and, digging his heels into the sides of his white mule, darted suddenly ahead. The crick in the back of my neck made it too painful for me to turn my head to look, but this must mean that we were near the khan and that he had gone on to announce our arrival. Visions of being otherwise seated than in a saddle faintly loomed in my brain; I hardly dared wander on to thoughts of a fire and something hot to drink. We turned at right angles off the track and plunged into a bed of mud, which led up to the door of a great, square, barrack-looking building with a low, flat roof and a general air of desolation. The Zaptieh stood grimly at the door. "Dollu" (Full), he said. Nevertheless we forced our way through the narrow entrance and found ourselves in the usual square courtyard lined with dilapidated sheds. The whole enclosure, inches deep in mud and indescribable dirt, was crowded with camels and mules and haggard, desperate-looking, shivering men, with bare legs and feet and dripping, ragged cloaks. The officer laid about him right and left with his riding-whip and ordered up the khanji (the innkeeper). "You must find room for us," he said; "I am travelling with great English Pashas." The khanji waved his hand over the seething, jostling mass of men and animals. "Effendi," he said, "it is impossible; I have already had to turn away one caravan. If we made way for the Pashas there would still be no room for their men and horses. But they are welcome to what shelter there is." We gazed with dismay at the reeking scene. "How far is it to the next stage?" asked X. "Two hours," was the answer. "We had better get on to it, then," she said, and turned her horse's head outwards. We followed in silent dejection. The wretched animals, who had been pricking their ears at the prospect of approaching food and rest, had literally to be thrashed out on the road again. We waded back through the mud and turned our faces once more to the biting blast and driving rain. The track we followed was apparent only to the native eye; to the uninitiated we seemed to be going at random amongst the loose stones. One had not even the solace of being carried by an intelligent and sure-footed beast who could be trusted to pick its own way. The hired Turkish horse has a mouth of stone and his brain resembles a rock. Left to himself he deliberately chooses the most impossible path, until it becomes so impossible that he stops and gazes in front of him in stupid despair, and you have to rouse yourself into action and take the reins in your own hands once more. His one display of originality is a desire not to follow his companions, but to veer sideways until you are in danger of losing sight of the rest of the party and become hopelessly lost off the track. I struggled to keep straight and in pace with the others. Weariness and disgust had made my stupid animal obstinate and more stupid, and I finally gave in and lagged behind, letting him go at his own pace. The officer pulled up and waited for me. "We must push on, Hanum" (lady), he said, "or we shall not get in by sunset." "My horse is tired," I answered, "and I am tired," and I showed him my broken whip. It was the third I had worn out over this obstinate brute's skin. He called back one of the Zaptiehs and muttered to him unintelligibly in Turkish. The man crossed to the other side of the road, and he and the officer, one on each side, urged my horse on with continual blows behind. I dropped the reins almost unconsciously, and, all necessity for action of mind or body being removed, sat between them numb, petrified, and hardly conscious of my surroundings. Pitter, patter came the rain on the saddles; click, clack went the horses' hoofs on the stones; clank went the captain's sword; whack came the men's whips behind; each noise was hardly uttered before it was rushed away in the driving wind. Expectation of something better had made the present seem unbearable in the earlier part of the day; now that one no longer held any hope of alleviation, the general misery had not the same poignant effect; or was it that weariness from long hours in the saddle, and the pains consequent on exposure to cold and wet, had numbed one's senses? Jog, jog; one was being jogged on somewhere, one did not care where and one did not care for how long. * * * * * The men were saying something; the sound fell vaguely on my ears, but the meaning did not travel on to my brain. Then we stopped suddenly and the jerk threw me forward on the horse's neck. I felt two strong arms round me and was lifted bodily off the horse. "Brigands at last," I thought vaguely; "well, they are welcome to all my goods as long as they leave me to die comfortably in a heap." "Geldik" (We have arrived). It was Hassan's voice; we were at the door of the caravanserai. He deposited me on the floor of a bare, black hole on one side of the courtyard and carefully arranged his wet cloak round me. I was conscious of a motionless heap in the dark corner opposite. "X?" I muttered interrogatively. "Hm," came from the corner. "Hm," I responded. The muleteers came and flung the dripping baggage bales promiscuously about the floor. We were soon hemmed in by sopping saddles, bridles, saddle-bags, wet cloaks, and muddy riding-boots. Hassan sat on a pile of miscellaneous goods, smoking reflectively and giving vent to great groans as he looked from one corner to the other, where each of his charges lay in a heap. The cook cleared a small space in the middle of the room and tried to make a fire with dried camel-dung, the only fuel to be had. The whole place was soon filled with suffocating smoke; there was no window, no hole in the roof to let out the fumes; we opened the door until the fire had burnt up, and a sudden gust of wind tearing round the room and out again drove the smarting fumes into our eyes, causing the tears to roll down mercilessly. Another caravan was arriving, and the animals passed through the narrow passage by our open door, on into the courtyard beyond. Mules bearing bales of cloth or sacks of corn; camels laden with hard, square boxes stamped with letters that suggested Manchester; donkeys carrying their owners' yourghans, quilts which form the native bed, damp and muddy in spite of the protection afforded by a piece of ragged carpet thrown over them, the whole secured by a piece of rope which also fastened on a cooking-pot and a live hen. The procession wound slowly through to the sound of tinkling bells, until the whole caravan had entered the enclosed yard, which now presented a chaotic scene of indescribable crush and dirt. Kneeling camels, waiting patiently for the removal of their loads, looked round beseechingly at their own burdened backs; mules munched the straw out of each other's bursting saddles; slouching yellow dogs sniffed about the fallen bundles. The theatre ladies, in gaudy plushes and silks covered with tinselled jewels, sat about on the piles of stage scenery flirting with the young men in the bright waistcoats; stern Mahomedans, wrapped in long, severe cloaks, gazed with contemptuous disgust at these unveiled specimens of the unworthier race, while the short-coated and less particular muleteers and menials stared at them with open-mouthed, grinning wonder. Our little captain sat unconcernedly in a sheltered corner, deftly rolling up, with his delicate, finely shaped fingers, endless piles of neat cigarettes; a Zaptieh, with his face to the wall, bowed and murmured over the evening prayer. Each pursued his reflections and employments with that disregard of his neighbour's presence which is so impressive in any crowd in the East. Apart from these by-scenes, the dominating human note was one of quarrel, in strange contrast with the silent waiting of the dumb animals, for whose shelter in the limited accommodation their respective owners were fighting with clenched fists and discordant, strident voices. Then the hush of mealtime falls on all; men and animals, side by side, are busy satisfying their bodily needs. It is a strange mingling of men and beasts, where the man, in his surroundings and mode of life, savours of the beast; and the beast, with his outward aspect of patient and beseeching pathos, is tinged with human elements. We had shut the door on the scene, finding smoke preferable to cold and publicity. It suddenly burst open, and a camel's hind-quarters backed into the room, upsetting the pot of water on the fire. We had been anxiously waiting for its boiling point with the open teapot ready to hand. The men threw themselves upon the animal; and pushed it back; they pushed and hit and swore; it was ejected; the fire hissed itself out and the smoke cleared. A dishevelled looking official in uniform peeped through the door: "The Governor's salaams, and do the Princesses require anything?" Hassan courteously returned his salute. He was now seated cross-legged by the dying fire, sorting nuts from tobacco which had been tied up together in a damp pocket-handkerchief. With the air of a king on his throne he graciously waved his hand towards a slimy saddle-bag: "Buyourun, Effendi, oturun" (Welcome; sit down). The man sat down, carefully drawing his ragged cloak round his patched knees. "The ladies' salaams to his Excellency; they are very pleased for his inquiry and send many thanks. They have all they require." The quiet dignity of Hassan's appearance and utterances seemed to dispel any sense of incongruity the visitor might have entertained as to the limitation of our wants and the methods of our Royal progress; he merely thought we were mad. He departed, no doubt to glean information from the more communicative members of our escort. The cook came in with a pleasing expression. "What will you have for supper?" he said. "What can we have?" we answered, with the caution arising from long experience of limited possibilities. "What you wish," he said, with as much assurance and affability as if he was presenting a huge bill of fare. I knew what one could expect in these places. "Get a fowl," I said. "There is not one left here," he answered. "Eggs, then," I suggested, with the humour of desperation. "No fowl, how eggs?" he answered with pitying superiority. "Well, we will have what there is," I said faintly. "There is nothing," he answered cheerfully. "Miserable man!" I said, "how dared you begin by holding out hopes of lobster salad and maraschino croûstades?" Was there nothing left of our stores? I rummaged in the box which held them. Everything was wet and slimy; a few bars of chocolate were soaked in Bovril emanating from a broken bottle; a sticky tin held the remains of pekmez, a native jam made with grape juice; two dirty linen bags contained respectively a little tea and rice; a disgusting looking pasty mess in what had once been a cardboard box aroused my curiosity. Could it be--yes, it had once been, protein flour, "eminently suitable for travellers and tourists, forming a delicious and sustaining meal when no other food is procurable." It had been the parting gift of our respective mothers, along with injunctions to air our clothes. I calmly thought the matter out. "X," I said, "will it be best to eat chocolate with the Bovril thrown in, or to drink Bovril with the chocolate thrown in?" "Don't talk about it," said X, "cook everything up together, and let us hope individual flavours will be merged beyond recognition." We put a tin of water on the fire and threw in the rice and protein. The chocolate and Bovril were added, after carefully picking out the bits of broken bottle. Hassan fumbled in the wide leathern belt which he wore round his middle; the space between himself and the belt served as a pocket where he carried all his goods. With an air of unspeakable pride he produced a small, round, grimy object, which he held aloft in triumph. "Soan?" (Onion) we all shouted simultaneously in excited, ungovernable greed. He nodded ecstatically, and pulling the long, dagger-like knife out of his belt, he proceeded with great deliberation to cut the treasure into slices, and let them fall one by one into the bubbling pot. The cook sat stirring it all together with a wooden spoon; he kept raising spoonfuls out of the pot, and as the thick liquid dribbled slowly back again he murmured complacently: "Pirinje war, chocolad war, Inghiliz suppe war, soan war, su war" (There is rice, there is chocolate, there is English soup, there is onion, there is water). When the moment of complete mergence seemed to have arrived he lifted the pot off the fire and placed it between us. "Choc ehe, choc" (Very good--very), he said encouragingly, and handed us each a spoon. X swallowed a few mouthfuls. "We must leave some for the men," she said, with a look of apology, as she put the spoon down. She picked up a piece of leathery native bread and started chewing it. "Try a cigarette," I said sympathetically. I could not find it in my heart to tell her the history of that identical piece of bread, which I had been following with some interest for several days. It was always turning up, and I recognised it by a black, burnt mark resembling a figure 8. It had first appeared on the scene early in the week; we had been enjoying a lavish spread of chicken legs and dried figs, and with wasteful squander I had rejected it as being less palatable than other bits. The men had tried it after me, pinching it with their grimy fingers, but being unsatisfied with the consistency they had thrown it, along with other scraps, into a bag containing miscellaneous cooking utensils. The next day it had appeared to swell the aspect of our diminishing supply and had been left on the ground. But as we rode away Hassan's economical spirit overcame him; he dismounted again and slipped it into his pocket, where it lay in close proximity to various articles not calculated to increase the savouriness of its flavour. I was determined to see its end, and when X laid down half--no doubt meaning it for my share--I threw it on the fire. "It's hardly the time to waste good food," said X. The cook picked it out, blew the ashes off, and rubbed it with his greasy sleeve. He offered it to me. "Eat it yourself," I said magnanimously, "I have had enough." But he wrapped it carefully in one of the dirty linen bags and put it on one side. "Jarin" (To-morrow), he said. And so we sit; a mass of wet clothes, saddles, cooking-pots, remains of food, ends of cigarettes, men; unable to move without treading on one or other of them; tears rolling down our cheeks from the fumes of the fire, thankful we cannot see what dirt we are sitting in or what dirt we have been eating. We roll our rugs round us and lie on the sodden earth floor. Hassan turns the men out and stretches himself across the doorway. Dogs moan, men snore; outside the storm rages unceasingly. In the middle of the night I wake with a start; something had hit me on the face and now lay in the angle of my neck. I knew what it was; a piece of plaster had fallen off the walls, and the plaster, like the fuel, is made of dried camel-dung. PART II DOWN THE TIGRIS ON GOATSKINS "The age and time of the world is as it were a flood and swift current, consisting of the things that are brought to pass in the world. For as soon as anything hath appeared and is passed away, another succeeds, and that also will presently be out of sight." CHAPTER IX AFLOAT We rode into Diarbekr on Christmas Day, arriving just in time to share the plum-pudding at the house of Major Anderson, the Vice-Consul. They say of Diarbekr that its houses are black, that its dogs are black, and that the hearts of its people are black--and they say so truly. The first moment that one catches sight of it in the distance one is impressed by the blackness of its walls, built of a black volcanic stone. When one gets inside, the people look dourly at one, and the Zaptiehs ride closer together. But this may be because they have no other choice, the streets being often only four feet across. It is quite easy to cross a street from on high by jumping from one roof to another; and it is certainly cleaner, for down below we are ankle deep in mud, in which great boulders are embedded--relics, presumably, of ancient pavement or fallen houses. If you want to take the air at Diarbekr you walk round and round the flat roof of your house and watch the life of your neighbours on adjoining roofs; or else, closely accompanied by armed cavasses, you ride out into the bleak, stony country, and follow up some mud stream in the hopes of getting a shot at wild duck and snipe. * * * * * A week later we sat on the banks of the Tigris by the Roman bridge which spans the river just below the black walls of Diarbekr. The raft on which we were about to embark was moored to the shore and the men were loading our belongings. A dancing-bear stumped about to the tune of a bagpipe made of the skin which answers so many purposes in the East. When inflated they can be used either for carrying water for people inside, or for carrying people on water outside. We were using 260 of them in this latter way. They were tied on to two layers of poplar poles put crossways, forming a raft about eighteen feet square. At one end were two small huts made of felt stretched across upright poles; the fore end was weighted down with bags of merchandise laid side by side across the poles to form a rough floor. The two kalekjis (raftsmen) waded in and out with a great seeming sense of hurry but without appearing to accomplish anything. "Can't you hurry the men up?" said X. "No," I answered, "we are in the East." "You might try," she said; "you always leave me all the talking to do." "They do not understand my Turkish," I said apologetically. "It would not take you long to learn enough for that," went on X. "I do know the swears," I answered humbly, and I stood up amongst the men and delivered myself of them. "Quick! quick! the Pasha is angry!" said the men. Our crew had assembled; there were our two personal attendants, Hassan and Arten. Hassan was now our interpreter, for, although he could only talk Turkish, he could interpret our signs to other Turks until we learnt the language. Arten, we found, was more Armenian than cook, and sang us Christian hymns in his native language when we felt low after meals. Then there were two kalekjis in charge of the raft; they were Kurds; we had yet to discover their qualifications. Two Zaptiehs forming our escort made up the number. We did not yet look upon them as individuals, but as part of an abstract régime in the country with which we now felt tolerably familiar; the outward aspect of it was a ragged uniform and an antiquated rifle, which served many useful purposes but had forgotten how to eject bullets. "Hazir dir, hazir" (Ready, ready), shouted the kalekjis. The owner of the dancing-bear hurriedly thrust his fez under our noses. "Don't give him anything," I said, "a bear has no business to be dancing in this country; he ought to be trying to eat us in a cave." "The demoralisation of the bear comes from the West," said X, who was studying the primitive habits of the natives, "we must pay for it." "Does this abuse of the hat emanate from the same source?" I inquired, as she dropped a coin into the fez. "That would be an interesting point to inquire into," said X, and she made an entry in her notebook. The worst of X was that you never knew whether she was laughing at you. It is a most uncomfortable position, which men as a rule resent. But I was another woman, and took it philosophically, especially as X accused me of the same failing, and we never see ourselves as others see us. We boarded the raft: the coil of rope which had fastened it to the shore was hauled in, and we drifted slowly out into the centre of the muddy stream. We were followed by another raft, laden up with bags of merchandise, which was coming with us to share the protection of our escort. We went into the sleeping-hut to ascertain the length of its possibilities. Boards had been nailed across the poles to form a floor, and on this was spread a thick native felt mat. Dwellers on land little know the feeling of luxury recalled to my mind in writing these words:--the luxury of being able to drop all the things addicted to dropping, especially when dressing, with the knowledge that they would not disappear for ever in the depths of the Tigris waters; the luxury of being able to walk in the ordinary biped method of placing one foot in front of the other. This was not the case in the open part of the raft, where the floor, formed of poles and sacks, exhibited a network of rounded interstices. The water gurgled and spluttered below them: one's foot invariably slipped into them when cautiously manipulating a journey across the raft by hopping from a slippery pole to a sliding sack; and unattached articles dropped through them on to the skins below, and were occasionally rescued in a dripping condition before they were washed away altogether. The water showed spiteful discrimination in its washing-away proclivities. I recall certain chinks in the more roughly boarded floor of the hut where we had our meals, through which the cook had a habit of brushing his cooking refuse, and where, if one was rash enough to look, there could be seen an accumulation of tea-leaves and bones and bits of decaying delicacies which one associated with meals of past ages. The felt walls of the hut were lined on the inside with white cotton tacked on the poles. There were two small glazed windows, one of which opened. The door was a single width of felt tied with tape. There was just room inside for our two camp-beds--with a space between, which would admit of one of us occupying it at a time. At the foot of each bed stood our two Eastern sacks, which contained all our worldly goods. I feel constrained, on mentioning this form of luggage, to say a word of warning concerning it. In one sense it is easy to pack, because you need not fold anything up, but can simply stuff it in and give the bag a shake; and it is easy to unpack, if you do it in a wholehearted manner--standing in the centre of a large room or a vast desert where you can turn it upside down and spill everything out on the ground. But under ordinary circumstances the bundle of hay with the needle in it is nothing to this sack with your clean handkerchief in it. X and I had a mutual understanding owing to which we never attacked a sack while the other was within hearing; but whenever she appeared in a half-fainting condition and asked the cook why on earth tea was so late, I knew what she had been doing. She had asked me, as a personal favour (the only one I've ever known her ask) not to attack my sack in the morning, because it was a pity to have the whole day spoilt, and if I did it in the evening to go to bed before she did. But to return from this digression. Having examined our quarters, I arranged a rug on the open part of the raft and sat down to take in the surroundings. Arten was unpacking cooking-pots in the second hut, and the other men sat about on the sacks smoking silently. The boatmen sat on a pile of sacks in the middle and manipulated the oars which served to steer the raft and keep it in the fast part of the current. The oars consisted of single young willow-trees, with short strips of split willow bound on one end with twigs, forming the blade; they were tied on to rough rowlocks made of twisted withies wound round heavily-weighted sacks. The Tigris at this point is singularly hideous. There was not a single blade of vegetation to be seen anywhere; the country was a stretch of mud hills and stony desert, and the mud banks of the river were only relieved by the hosts of water-birds that darted in and out or waded in the shallows. The high black escarpment, crowned by the massive black walls of Diarbekr, and fringed by a swampy tract of willow gardens, rose up sharply above the mud flats. As we were carried along the winding course of the sluggish river a higher mud bank shut it altogether from our view, and I felt we had severed that link with the world which one feels so strongly on arriving in any town of a distant uncivilised land, where a European mail occasionally arrives and a telegraph wire eliminates the isolation of its natural position. We were drifting into an unknown world at the mercy of these unknown Kurds. We were alone with the birds and the mud banks and the rippling waters. CHAPTER X 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. CHAPTER XI A RECEPTION AND A DANCE Hassan Kaif is the first place of any interest along the banks, and we arrived there early on the fourth day, having floated about eighty miles in that time. As we approached the village the banks of the river rose perpendicularly in a wall of rock which was simply riddled with tombs. Many of them seemed to be quite inaccessible; those which had any sort of approach from the land side appeared to be inhabited by Kurds. We passed between the ruined buttresses of a Roman bridge of four arches, and then had a view of the whole village on the right bank. The mountains curve away from the river at this point and leave a semicircular level space, which is occupied by the ruins of an ancient Christian town. At the back, extending right up the curving side of the hill to where the topmost peak, surmounted by a castle, crowns the river, is a vast necropolis. The natives live in the tombs and in caves cut out of the rocks. We landed here and slowly toiled up the stony paths on the face of the rock, which led over the roofs of one habitation to the next above it. Near the top we were met by a local Zaptieh, who guided us to the house of the Mudir.[5] We were not sorry to have this opportunity of examining the interior of the dwellings. The house consisted of a single room, into which we stumbled down a dark passage; the walls were roughly levelled off inside, the marks of the chisel everywhere apparent. A low divan ran down each side of the room. In one corner the rock had been hollowed out to form a cupboard, inside which, through the chinks of a rough wooden door, we caught glimpses of his Excellency's bedding--for the Oriental keeps his bed in a cupboard in the daytime and spreads it on the floor at night. With all the instincts of a wandering tribe, the Turk, however permanent his abode, conducts his household exactly as if it were in the nature of a tent. He lives in one room, sleeping, eating, and doing business. Should he wish to eat, his meal is carried in on a little low table, beside which he squats on the floor; the meal over, the table is carried out and the floor swept. Should he wish to write, he discards the rickety table occasionally found in an official dwelling, and writes upon his hand, balancing the ink-pot upon his knee as he sits cross-legged on the floor. When it is time to sleep, his bed is pulled out of the cupboard and laid upon the floor; his slumbers over, it is rolled up and put away again. [5] Local Governor. The Mudir received us with salaams, and taking X by the hand led her to the seat of honour at the top end of the divan; our men ranged themselves below in order of rank, and a few ragged soldiers hung about the door. A servant appeared with cups of coffee and we were offered cigarettes. Then water-melon and sweets were handed round. Conversation was limited by our small knowledge of Turkish; but X was by this time proficient in the formal modes of greeting. MUDIR. How do the ladies like Turkey? X. We think Turkey is a very fine country, and everybody has been very kind to us. MUDIR. How could they be otherwise? are the ladies not the honoured guests of the Sultan? Have the ladies a kalek[6] in London? [6] Raft. X. No, we never saw one until we came here. We find it very comfortable. We should like to take one back with us. MUDIR. The ladies are sisters, then? X. No, we are friends; we were educated at the same college. MUDIR. The lady's father, is he a great Pasha? HASSAN. He is a very great Pasha and a friend of the Queen of England. (_Mutual salaams._) MUDIR. Your father, the great Pasha, has he many sons? X. Yes, he has five sons. MUDIR. Mashallah! God has been good to your father. (_A pause, during which we were closely scrutinised._) MUDIR. Have the ladies no husbands, then? Why are they not married? HASSAN. In England the ladies do not care about husbands. In that country they rule the men. If anything were to happen to these ladies, the Queen of England would send her soldiers out here to revenge them. (_The whole room gives vent to murmurs of "Mashallah," and every eye is fixed on us._) MUDIR. The other lady (_nodding at me_), is she a servant that she does not speak? HASSAN. No, she too is a Pasha, but she cannot speak Turkish. MUDIR (_incredulously_). No Turkish? HASSAN (_scornfully_). Well, only such words as "hot water," "tea," and "be quick," and "is my horse ready?" The Mudir then inquired calmly "how many times" we had been held up by brigands in his district, a strange satire on Turkish methods of government. There was not a doubt in his mind that we had not been waylaid and robbed. He then took us to visit another house which boasted of three rooms, all leading out of each other. The first one appeared to be the general living- and sleeping-room, absolutely bare save for strips of felt ranged down the far end and a pile of native quilts in a corner; the second room, which could only be reached through the first, was dedicated to the animals; and the third, which was almost pitch dark, was a larder and store-house. We were received by several women, who held us fast by the hands while they displayed their abode with great signs of pride. One of them was a strikingly handsome dark girl, dressed in gorgeous coloured native silks and velvet, and literally plastered with ornaments from the face and hair downwards. On returning to the raft we were somewhat puzzled (one is never _surprised_ in Turkish dominions) by finding it taken possession of by two women, magnificently dressed and closely veiled, accompanied by a man and a woman servant. They were sitting in a row on our beds examining all our belongings complacently. "We are very pleased to have a visit from the ladies," said X to the local Zaptieh who had accompanied us back to the raft, "but they must go on land now, as we are starting at once." "But they will travel with you," said the Zaptieh. "That would be very pleasant," said X, who never forgot to be polite, "but the raft is so small, I am afraid there will be no room for us all and they will not be comfortable." "Oh, there is plenty of room," said the man reassuringly. "The ladies need not trouble themselves." X turned to one of our Zaptiehs. "Will you explain," she said, "that the raft is ours, and that we are very sorry but we are afraid we cannot take the ladies with us?" "It is an arrangement of the Mudir's," explained Ali; "he has been waiting for an opportunity to send the harem of a great Pasha to a neighbouring village, and he ordered them to travel with you. They will land before evening." As there seemed no choice in the matter we expressed our tremendous appreciation of the honour, and instructed Hassan to keep an eye on their pockets. Hassan, who had looked somewhat perturbed from the outset, had resolutely ensconced himself at the farthest corner of the raft with his back turned to everything. He refused to change his position, and explained to us that the ladies were such very great Pashas that it would be "shame" for him to look in their direction. Towards evening we reached a spot where two armed Kurds, with long black curls and magnificent striped coats, stood waiting with saddled horses. The servant woman carefully wrapped the great ladies up in their gaudy silk cloaks, and the man-servant helped them off the raft on to the backs of the horses. The little party rode away up a lonely looking mountain pass, and as we floated on we caught occasional glimpses of their bright colours in and out of the rocks until they disappeared entirely over the crest of a distant hill. That night we moored the raft at Sheveh, a village backed by high hills, the last spurs of a great range of snow mountains, at whose base we had been winding in and out. We arrived at sunset, just as the women were trooping down, with jars on their heads, to fetch water from the river. I went and sat on a rock above them, and one by one, having filled their jars, they filed up past me, and, stopping for an instant, fingered my garments and gently stroked my hair. Many and various questions they asked me, of which I could understand nothing beyond the note of interrogation, and they sailed on with that free and graceful carriage which is the gift of uncivilised races, balancing the jars at an angle on their white-veiled heads. We had finished supper and had stretched ourselves out on the raft under the stars, enjoying the quiet and beauty of the scene. The boatmen belonging to the two rafts had joined forces and pitched a tent on the shore close by. Most of the village had straggled down to the river and were flitting mysteriously about in waving white garments. All of a sudden a wild, savage noise of screaming and singing arose. "The men have bought a piece of meat," said Ali, "and are singing to it." It was a weird sight: a roaring fire blazed in the gloaming; in the centre hung a large black pot containing the meat which was the object of this adoration. The men had joined hands and were dancing round the fire in a circle, dark figures in long white flowing robes which waved about in the semi-darkness as their owners flung their feet up or swung suddenly round. All at once the men dropped on the ground with a prolonged dwindling yell, which finally died off into an expectant silence. The head boatman fished out the meat and began to tear it to pieces with his hands, distributing it amongst his companions. A deathly silence reigned while the carcass was being consumed. This gave place, as time went on, to a murmuring ripple of satisfaction, which developed a little later into bursts of contented song. Then they sprang to their feet and flung themselves once more into a dance. "Let's join in," said X. We each seized a Zaptieh by the hand and were included in the circle. We sprang and kicked and stamped; we turned and hopped and stamped. One man stood in the middle clapping the time with his hands as he led the song. It was a war-dance; the circle broke into two lines and we dashed against one another. Then the lines receded and the song became a low murmur as of gathering hordes, whilst our feet beat slow time. The murmur swelled and our feet quickened; louder and louder we shouted, quicker and quicker we moved, and finally with a great roar the two lines dashed against one another. We gave one great stamp all together and stopped dead; another great stamp and a roar, then a hush, and the lines receded. Thoroughly exhausted, I fell out of the line while this proceeding was repeated. By this time the moon shone out bright and strong. On one side a great desert stretched away into the starry night; on the other the waters of the Tigris swept darkly past us. The wild shrieks flew up into the clear, silent air. X danced furiously on between Hassan and Ali. Her face was strangely white, lit up by the moon, amongst the dark complexions of her companions. They sprang and hopped and stamped, they turned and hopped and stamped; a white robe here, a red cloak there, a naked foot and a soldier's boot, hopping and turning and stamping. "X," I said to myself, "you are mad, and I, poor sane fool, can only remember that I once did crotchet work in drawing-rooms." A feeling of wild rebellion took hold of me; I sprang into the circle. "Make me mad!" I cried out; "I want to be mad too!" The men seized me and on we went, on and on with the hopping and turning and stamping. And soon I too was a savage, a glorious, free savage under the white moon. CHAPTER XII AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN ENGLISHMAN Between Hassan Kaif and Jezireh, a distance of thirty-five miles, the scenery is very fine. The river winds through narrow gorges with steep walls of limestone rock riddled with rock tombs. Here and there in the black gorges the high turreted rocks would be skirted below with bands of vegetation; little spurts of glistening water shooting over the rocky tops, as they dashed down to join the river, shot between masses of ferns or trickled through beds of green moss. It was months since we had seen anything green, and we feasted our eyes and senses on the unaccustomed luxuriance. All the grim bareness and desolation of the stone and mud country through which we had passed seemed to serve a purpose now in heightening the intoxication of this scene. Reluctantly I had been compelled to admit, on more than one occasion, that Nature could be positively revolting in places where absence of life and colour were not relieved by any sense of stern ruggedness or the freedom of space; where day after day we had journeyed through a country of little meaningless hillocks strewn with grey stones, only getting round the corner of one to be confronted with another of the same appearance; where it seemed as if Nature had chosen a spot, far from the eye of man, to dump all the clinkers of life, all the stony refuse which even she could not turn to any profitable account--she, the great mother, of whom men say she knows no waste. We had discovered her ugly secret hidden away in this far corner; and now she was using her chief weapon, contrast, to make us feel the true extent of her power. She had wearied and revolted us, and now she seemed to make use of this very fact to give us an intenser appreciation of her best. "Pretty view, isn't it?" said a voice in the native tongue at my side. Startled from another world, I turned round. Arten was rubbing some spoons with a dirty cloth and waved his hands towards the banks. "Got anything like this in London?" he asked affably. I looked at him in silence. He dived into the hut with a scared look, and complained later on to X that the other Pasha had an uncertain temper. The spell of enchantment was broken; but sentiment was in the air with the smell of wet earth and the sound of drinking vegetation; oleander bushes with bright red blossoms stood out against the dark rock, water-birds darted in and out and vultures hovered overhead. I had a sudden desire, awakened by Arten's interruption, to share the emotions called up by the surrounding scene. I glanced at X. She looked fairly sentimental, I thought, lying motionless in her favourite place at the extreme end of the raft, with a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes. "X," I murmured softly, "what does this make you think about?" X was one of those rare people who always know what they are thinking about. She did not fail me on this occasion. "It reminds me of Scotland," she said without hesitation. "Why, what does it make you think about?" But I had stopped thinking about it, and agreed that I had seen places like it in Scotland. "Pasha," said Hassan, "the boatmen want you not to sit so near the edge of the raft." "Why," laughed X, "do they think I shall roll over?" "No," replied Hassan, pointing ahead, "but we are going to shoot a rapid and they say you will be frightened." "I would sooner be frightened than go through the awful exertion of moving on this raft," said X, and she gazed placidly at the line of foaming waters which we were rapidly nearing. There was only just room for the raft to rush between hard, sharp-edged boulders of rock, and it seemed as if we should inevitably be dashed to pieces or stranded at an acute angle on one of them. The Zaptiehs helped with the oars, they and the boatmen keeping up one prolonged yell of "Allah! Allah!" They exerted themselves strenuously, a strange thing for Easterns to do; the raft creaked and rocked and plunged; there was a very disturbing sense of fuss and unseemly exertion on board; the cook was saying his prayers inside; Hassan, with an air of total unconcern or even apparent perception of what was going on, was laboriously adding up his accounts; and X, with equal unconcern, was mending her gloves. On such occasions one thinks of one's past sins and the future; I thought of the future. I stood up and leaned my back against the wall of the hut to steady myself. "X," I roared above the din, "I wonder what there is for supper to-night." X looked at me with a bored expression. "The same, I should think," she said, "as we had last night and the night before and the night before that. Why this sudden interest in your food?" "Because," I said, "I have an idea I shall enjoy my supper to-night." "Yes," said X (she was always sympathetic), "this sort of weather does make one hungry." Further conversation was prevented by a sudden leap of water and raft right into the air, and with the leap went up a loud cry to Allah, as the men threw themselves, with one great determination, on the oars. We shot head downwards into the dark waters past the white froth of foam; there was a moment of turmoil, then everything became very still; the men rested exhausted on their oars, the roaring waters sounded faint in the distance. I looked round: Hassan was still at his accounts; X had finished her gloves, and was lying back with her eyes closed; the cook's prayers had ceased; we were through. The cook came out rubbing his hands jocosely. "Arten," I said, "your prayers have saved us from some inconvenience." Arten looked conscious. "What danger has there been?" he said; "was the Pasha afraid of the waters?" "No, indeed," I returned; "it was not the Pasha who was afraid of the waters, but she was afraid she might not get her supper to-night." "The Pasha is hungry," said X; "we must have onions as well as potatoes to-night." We arrived at Jezireh, without further adventure, at noon the next day. The River Jezeer runs into the Tigris at this point, so that the town can only be reached by wading through the water. We were making preparations to go on shore when we observed a little man being carried across the water on the back of a half-naked Arab. He had that incongruous look made up of the European overcoat with a fur collar, the black trousers, and the brown boots, all surmounted with a fez, which we had learnt to associate, curiously enough, both with the office of local Governor and with that of the native Christian Man. In this case our visitor was the Kaimakam. He was spilt off the Arab's shoulders on to the raft, and landed in rather an unofficial position. We went through the usual pantomime of salaams, and after inquiries after the health and rank of our relations he invited us to come on shore and visit the town. Jezireh is a stronghold of the Hamidieh Kurds; the ragged soldiers about the streets bore their distinguishing mark, a silver star on the forehead. Their chief Mustafa had been murdered but a year ago, after devastating and burning the whole country round; and under the rule of his weaker son there was a temporary lull in hostilities. But Mustafa's name was still only mentioned in whispered words of awe, and this not by plundered natives alone, but by Turkish regulars and Turkish officials alike. On returning to the raft we heard that an English Pasha had just ridden into the town and that he was coming to visit us. He had met Hassan, who had been buying supplies in the bazaars, and the following conversation had ensued, which Hassan now repeated for our benefit. ENGLISH PASHA. Who are you? HASSAN. I am a cavasse. ENGLISH PASHA. Who is your Pasha? HASSAN. Victoria Pasha. ENGLISH PASHA. Where is he? HASSAN. She is sitting on the raft. ENGLISH PASHA. What is she doing there? HASSAN. She is floating to Baghdad. ENGLISH PASHA. Where did she come from? HASSAN. She came out of England. ENGLISH PASHA. Is she alone? HASSAN. No, she has a friend, who is not her sister, neither is she her servant. ENGLISH PASHA. Give the ladies my salaams and say that I will call upon them. X and I looked at one another. The meeting of an Englishman under such circumstances is no doubt, in one sense, an excitement; so would it be to meet a tiger in an English country lane. In a jungle, now, one expects a tiger, and, being prepared for his attack, does not resent it. In the same way one is prepared to meet an Englishman on common ground in England, but, in an Asiatic wild, one is not prepared for the onslaught and one is therefore taken at a disadvantage. It was ten days since we had seen ourselves, as the Man would see us, in a glass (and then it was only a missionary's glass), and we had lost nearly all our hairpins in the crevices of the raft. "Is my face as red as yours?" said X. The question was evidently the outcome of the thoughts which assailed her mind during the few moments' silence in which we had gazed at each other, wondering whether we really looked like that too. "Your face is all right," I said, "it's only red in patches; but your hair is disgraceful. How's mine?" "It's all right," said X, critically, "it's only coming down in patches. But there is no time to do anything; here it is; we must brazen it out." A young Englishman was boarding the raft; he was very spick and span, shaved, brushed, a clean collar, and polished boots. "You must excuse me for calling upon you in this dishevelled manner," he said as we shook hands, "but travellers have to come as they are; I daresay you can sympathise," and he glanced round at our _ménage_. X laughed. "Oh, as far as that goes," she said, "we are all in the same boat." "Raft," I corrected in a nervous flutter. The Young Man looked at me and smiled. I realised that he thought I was trying to make a cheap joke, such as one might have been capable of in the country lane. "I must introduce myself," he went on. "I am Captain T---- of V----. I am on my way there now. It's strange you should just have arrived to-day as I was crossing the river...." I murmured something about tea and fled into the men's hut, where Arten was boiling the kettle. "Arten," I stammered out in broken Turkish, "the English Pasha will have tea with us. You must bring the cups clean. The English never have dirty cups." Arten smiled back very genially; he breathed into a cup and wiped it vigorously with one of his dirty cloths, by which I concluded that he understood what I had said to him. I had learnt up all the words about dirt and the desirability of washing. It was raining slightly and we had to ask the Young Man under cover. X and I sat down on one of the camp-beds and the Young Man sat on the opposite bed, sticking his long legs out through the door. "You speak Turkish, then?" he said to me as I returned. So he had heard my injunctions! I hastily denied any claim to a knowledge of the language. Arten came in with the tea, which he placed on the floor between the Young Man's top-boots. "The Pasha," he said, addressing X, "said you wanted something for tea which the English always have, only I did not understand what it was." "Oh," said X, turning to me, "what was it?" I kicked X. "Biscuits," I said. "No," said Arten, persistently, "it wasn't biscuits; it was something which you don't usually have." I gave Arten the look which he had learnt to associate with the advisability of his own retreat. The Young Man smiled again and looked the other way. "Yes," he said, "I don't know where we should be very often without biscuits in this country; they are so easy to carry." I knew then that he had heard. The Young Man stayed about half an hour and then rose to go. His camp had gone on, and it was a two hours' ride to the place where they would spend the night. When he had departed X and I thought it over. "You bet," I said fretfully, "he will have a five-course dinner to-night, on a table with clean plates and knives for each course, and probably a camp-chair to sit on." "Yes," said X, "and a looking-glass hung on the wall of his tent, and hot water and a clean towel." And that's what a man calls roughing it! CHAPTER XIII THE CREED OF THE KORAN We left Jezireh early next morning. The scenery was now much tamer; the banks of the river were low; stretches of conglomerate and red rocks were interspersed with grassy slopes. The river was no longer disturbed by rocks and rapids, and our two kalekjis had been replaced by a bright-faced youth who was going to take us single-handed as far as Mosul. "Am not I a good kalekji?" he kept on saying to us, "see how quick I make the raft go. When you get to Mosul you will remember what a good kalekji I was," and, standing up on the raft, grasping the two oars, he would throw himself right backwards, causing the raft to shoot on through the sluggish stream. Then when we had got into a faster bit of current he would lean on his oars and roll up a cigarette, talking all the time. "The ladies like me, do they not? They see I am a good kalekji. They surely like me better than their other kalekjis?" Six rafts laden with merchandise had followed us from Jezireh, and one with a hut similar to ours, and flying the Turkish crescent, was conveying a Turkish Yuzbashi with his harem to Mosul. The women were shut inside the hut the whole time, and occasionally, when the rafts drifted alongside, we caught glimpses of them peering shyly at us through the little glazed window. Did they envy us, sitting boldly outside, unveiled, open to the stares of all this crowd? Or, knowing no other lot, did they merely regard us with astonished curiosity, these so-called women from a strange land, who dressed like women but went about like men? The fat little officer in his smart uniform sat outside most of the day, smoking with Oriental listlessness or playing with his little fat boy, a miniature counterpart of himself, dressed in uniform with a toy sword. On some of the merchandise rafts the kalekjis were accompanied by their families. The sacks were piled up to form a rough shelter, under which the women and children crouched all day and cooked their masters' food. More rafts joined on to us further down, until we numbered thirteen. All day we floated in and out amongst each other, the rafts twisting and turning with the vagaries of the current. The kalekjis yelled and shouted at one another; they raced for the fast bits of current ahead where only one raft could pass at a time; they jostled one another or got entangled in shallow places, and the other rafts passed them with jeers. Our little kalekji put forth all his skill. "See, Pasha," he would say, excitedly, "see how we leave them behind! You have the best kalekji; do you see I always have the best of the river? Yah, yah, yah," and he roared derisive laughter at his pursuers. At night we all moored together and the kalekjis would land and sleep in the caves under overhanging rocks, or light a fire on the banks and stretch themselves out round it, taking turns at the night watch. No sooner was the raft drawn up along the banks than X and I would land to get as much exercise as possible in the remaining hour of daylight. The Zaptiehs, who were obliged to accompany us, wrung their hands over this display of energy. "Aman, aman. These English have strange habits. They land all in a minute, and before you know what they are doing one has rushed in one direction and one in another, and perhaps both are lost in the darkness, and we have orders from the Government never to lose sight of them. If the Government only knew what they were asking!" The first evening after leaving Jezireh, Ali and I climbed to the highest point near the river, from where I obtained a good view of the surrounding country. The top of the hill on which we stood was a mass of stones and bulbous plants with withered leaves and tufts of rough grass. The country stretched away all round in strong, firm undulations to a distant horizon. To the west was the full glory of an Eastern sunset, intensifying the reddish hue of the rolling hills until they merged into blackness in the shadows. To the east the terminating range was snow-clad, and the setting sun, casting a pink glow over the white peaks, gave a gradation of colour which caused them to melt imperceptibly into the sky and mingle with the pale reflection of the sun's setting rays on the opposite horizon. What villages, what life lay concealed in the hollows of these rolling hills I do not know. To the eye there was nothing visible but the hill-tops in their naked immensity and intense desolation; on one side the flaming colours of the setting sun, on the other its pale reflection on the snowy peaks, and over it all the vast, inscrutable sky. We were alone, Ali and I, with "that silence which some call God." I liked Ali's companionship on these evening walks; his nature, truly Eastern, was in keeping with the country. He had been chatting away merrily all the way up, trying to teach me Turkish words; and now we both lapsed of one accord into silence and his merry face took on something of the sternness of the surroundings. He laid his rifle on the ground, and moving away a little distance, went through the evening prayer. Now upright, now bending, now on his knees, a misty black form in the dazzling red light, he murmured inaudibly the prescribed words, words which at that same hour were being uttered alike by so many thousands in the fevered rush of busy towns, on the house-tops, and in the crowded chambers. A form, a ritual of empty words this prayer may be, but up here, in Nature's loneliness, the prayer and the man seemed strangely relevant. Was it not in such a place as this, alone with the great forces of Nature, that Mahomet formed his conception of God as an Irresistible Power? "Has there come to thee the story of the overwhelming?" he cries out at one time, and again: "Does there not come in man a portion of time when he is nothing worth mentioning?" The great need of man is for expression; in places such as these his own insignificance is forced upon him by the overwhelming might of primeval forces. Alone with the great silence which his voice cannot fill, with the great space in which he, as a physical being, is lost; with the great mountains against which to measure his strength, with the stars which he cannot reach, and the floods which he cannot stem, his own personality seems so trivial that he doubts its very existence, until a strong feeling of participation in the forces themselves, of his own share in them, gives a truer sense of his own proportion; and the reaction of feeling, from this realization of his own impotence to that of his own magnificence in being part of them, produces an overwhelming desire for utterance. Was it under such influences as these that Mahomet's longing, awe-struck soul first heard, "Cry, what shall I cry?" and subsequently gave forth that long blazonry of Nature's beauty in the Koran? There is something in the grand simplicity and childish acceptance of the unspoilt Eastern character at its best which seems to be a counterpart of the feeling inspired by Nature in this Eastern land itself. That it should be so seems natural when we remember how Mahomet was continually conjuring his followers to look at Nature and understand great things. "Look at the heaven how it is reared, and at the mountains how they are set up, and at the earth how it is spread out...." "Verily in the creation of the heavens and the earth are signs to you if you would understand...." "Lift up thine eyes to the heaven; dost thou see any flaw therein? Nay, lift up thine eyes again; thy sight returneth dim and dazed...." The murmuring words of Ali's prayer had stopped; the sun sank behind the distant line of hills; a breeze sprang up and stirred the tufts of withered grass, whispering in the "still of night." We retraced our steps to the edge of the hill and dropped into the hidden valley, where the Tigris rushed along unheeded and unseen from above. Arten's voice rose with the sound of the waters, singing the well-worn words of an Armenian Protestant hymn. The kalekjis had lit fires at the mouth of the caves, and crouched round the black pot which contained the evening meal. From the far corner of one cave came the wail of a new-born infant. Under "the splendour of the Night Star" we too retired to rest. * * * * * We were already afloat when I woke next morning. From my bed I could see the banks shooting past the little window of the hut. The reader must not imagine a continuous view, such as one would get through the window of a more civilized vehicle of locomotion. The banks at one moment would move straight past the window in the orthodox way; then they would be suddenly shooting past in the opposite direction, or we had a view of the river behind. It requires in many ways a certain amount of practice to live in a state of equilibrium on a raft. One is constantly being made aware of the truism that there are two sides to everything. First of all there are, as one would expect, two sides to the river; and owing to the particular method of our progression we were always being reminded, in a most irritating way, of this purely geological fact. No sooner had we become aware of the scenery on one side, and had decided that it was the right bank, than--swish--round went the raft, and the whole length of the right bank would be shot before our view like a circular panorama, and before you could take it in you were looking at the left bank; moreover, you would be looking at it moving past you upwards, though you were perfectly certain the raft could only be floating downwards. There was hardly time to reason this out when--swish--round you go the reverse way again, the left bank swings past you downwards and you are travelling up the right bank, although the raft, you are persuaded, is still pursuing its downward course. If you stood outside and fixed your eye with strenuous determination on some fixed and immutable spot of heaven or earth you might be able to keep your bearings with a strong mental effort. But when you observed the features of the landscape through the small window of your hut you gave it up--and simply gazed at the view as you would at a magic-lantern slide being slowly withdrawn through the porthole of an undulating steamer. It was equally difficult to look steadily ahead from a mental point of view. Travelling by yourself you might be able to arrange your own philosophy, but it is upsetting when the other person sees the side which at any particular moment you do not happen to be looking at. When, for instance, we were delayed later that morning repairing burst skins, X was perfectly happy dwelling on the romance of navigating this noble and ancient river in the same way as those heroes whose feats were recorded on the tablets of Nineveh, until I unwittingly disturbed the harmony of these thoughts by complaining that I was unpleasantly reminded of a punctured bicycle on a lonely road of civilisation. "How delightful this is," I said, in exuberant laziness, when we were floating on once more, "to be able to lose all conception of time and float on, as it were, to eternity." "Personally," said X, "I find myself counting the days with a most unpleasant conception of the lapse of time, for we have only food enough for one day, and owing to this delay there is no possibility of renewing our supply for two." I felt an injury had been inflicted on me by being reminded of absence of dinner when I had been inflated with great thoughts. But I had not long to wait for my revenge. "What a picturesque man the kalekji is," X exclaimed suddenly. "I take such a delight in watching him shaking out his flowing garments and folding himself up in such graceful attitudes." "Personally," I said, with some malice, "it gives me no pleasure since I became aware that he is only engaged in hunting for fleas." X made no answer; I felt we were quits. She would have to think of the presence of fleas while I thought of the absence of dinner. We floated on very quietly that day. The banks were flatter and the patches of grass became more frequent. At long intervals we passed villages of mud huts built on the sides of the river where the banks rose to a higher point. Towards evening we swung round under a rocky prominence, on the top of which stood the village of Hassoni. There was no possibility of mooring the raft anywhere near it for the night. The banks rose up in a straight wall of rock, of such a height that the inhabitants of the village, peering down at us from above, seemed like pigmies on the sky-line. We floated on until the hills curved and the banks sloped down to a muddy flat. The other rafts were already moored along the shore and we drifted alongside of them. Ali and I landed, and we set off to walk back to the village in the hope of getting some eggs and milk to eke out our supply of provisions. We had some difficulty in scrambling up the wet, grassy places between edges of rock where the water oozed out and trickled down to the river below; and on reaching the top we found ourselves on the edge of an extensive tableland which ended abruptly in the escarpment under which we had floated. Below us we could see the river winding ahead through a low-lying country to the east. We walked for half a mile across the flat table-top towards the village; a long procession of black and yellow cattle were sauntering along in front of us, lowing quietly in answer to the shrill calls of a boy who stood motionless on a little hillock, a weird figure in the straight, square-cut sheepskin cloak of the natives. From all sides flocks of goats and sheep were coming in and filled the narrow streets, sharing the homes of their masters as a protection against the raids of Hamidieh chiefs. It was a partly Kurdish, partly Arab village, and the inhabitants mingled their curiosity at my appearance with fright at that of Ali's. Long experience had taught them that a visit from a Turkish Zaptieh meant extortion of some sort. A child in our path screamed aloud, rooted to the spot with terror. Ali's bright, laughing face clouded over. "That is what the children are taught to think of us," he said, "and I have my own little ones at home." Our demands for milk were received with sullen grimness, until the sight of the unwonted coin caused the faces to clear, and a further present of tobacco established quite a friendly footing. I sat down inside an enclosure of maize stalks at the door of a larger hut, where the cows were being milked, and the natives, clustering round, plied Ali with questions. One of the villagers offered to walk back with us and carry the milk. It was dark before we reached the edge of the tableland again, and I shouted down in the hopes of getting an answer which would guide us to the encampment below. The village boy held up his hand with a scared look: the call was only answered by its own echo, and the stones, slipping under our feet, rattled noisily down the steep slope. "Hush!" said Ali, "who knows but what Ibrahim Pasha may hear you," and we slid silently down the slippery banks in the darkness, until the light of a camp-fire gleamed out a welcome signal. CHAPTER XIV THE EVIL ONE At noon on the tenth day after leaving Diarbekr and the fourth from Jezireh we caught sight of the minarets and cupolas of Mosul, and floated for a couple of miles under the chain of limestone cliffs on the end of which the town is built. We had hardly got within sight of the town itself when a fearful cannonading met our ears, accompanied by piercing screams and savage yells. It sounded as if the walls were being attacked by battering-rams, and all along the shore line at their base we could faintly distinguish a seething line of human beings brandishing some form of weapon. We were evidently going to be eye-witnesses of a tribal disturbance which would cause diplomatic unrest in Europe, and who knows but what our participation in it would not brand us with fame for the rest of time. I determined to make full use of the opportunity and prepared my camera and notebook. The Zaptiehs, however, seemed quite unconcerned, and we understood from them that there was no cause for alarm, and that this sort of thing was of weekly occurrence in Mosul. On floating up to the scene of action we realised that it was indeed only Mosul's washing-day. All along the shore, as far as we could see, under the walls of the town stretched a continuous line of women beating clothes with flat sticks on the stones at the water's edge; and the screams resolved themselves into the ordinary sounds usually emitted where women congregate in large numbers. Truly, the men of the East are wise in their generation. They had thus solved the problem of washing-day and all its horrors, and were left in peaceful and undisputed possession of their hearths and tempers. The women were there in their hundreds, and, as we approached the bridge of boats which crossed the river lower down, we floated past a small army of them on the opposite shore, where a flat stretch of mud was covered with gaudy rags laid out to dry. Mosul, I believe, derives its name from the manufacture of muslin carried on there, and the guide-book informs us that it is chiefly remarkable for the Assyrian mounds found near it. I am bound to confess, however, that it is indelibly impressed on my mind solely in its connection with the vulgar art of washing. We had to wait several days at Mosul while a new raft was being constructed, on to which our huts were bodily transferred. The skins on which we had floated so far were deflated and the kalekjis would return with them to Diarbekr by land on donkey back. We spent the time visiting the historic mounds of Koyunjik and Khorsabad, for detailed information on which I must refer the reader to the works of Layard and Botha and King. The site of Nineveh to the uninitiated eye is represented by the great mound of Koyunjik, which rises out of the flat country on the opposite side of the river to Mosul; it is surrounded by smaller tumuli representing parts of the ancient walls. Here and there are patches of cultivation, and at the time of our visit the bare brown earth was beginning to show promise of being covered by a scanty vegetation. Of winged bulls, of lettered slabs, of cylinders, of all the wondrous contents of the palaces of the ancient Assyrian kings, now ensconced in the museums of Western cities, the only indication we had on the spot were the subterranean tunnels, now choked with fallen débris, from which these evidences had been removed; and the broken bits of masonry and pottery which were strewn promiscuously about the surface. From the summit we obtained a comprehensive view of the country: of Mosul at our feet standing on its limestone cliffs at the farther side of the Tigris, and of the distant country through which the river wandered southwards; a great plain dotted with villages round which patches of cultivated land were already green with the rising corn. Long strings of mules laden with cabbage and other vegetables came in from the outlying villages and swelled the motley coloured crowd at the stalls established on this side of the river, or passed on over the rickety wooden bridge to the bazaars inside the town. The exertion of living on land for these few days had seemed so very great that we were not sorry when we found ourselves afloat once more on the new raft and with a new set of men. Achmet and Ali had bidden us a tearful farewell, and we now had one Zaptieh only as escort, an Arab also named Ali. He was a Chous,[7] and I will give him his full title to distinguish him from our late friend. A picturesque kalekji is almost an essential in such close quarters as a raft, and up till now we had rejoiced in the brightly-striped Kurdish coats and turbans of our first kalekjis, and the clean, flowing, white abba of our Jezireh friend. The two men who were to take us from Mosul to Baghdad presented a very different appearance. Unlike most Arabs, they were both huge, stout men, and were dressed in rough brown camel-hair cloaks over unwashed white under-garments. One of them we nicknamed at once the Evil One; he had the most excruciatingly wicked face imaginable--and the terror of it was considerably heightened when he tried to superinduce a conciliating smile on his hideous expression of wickedness. [7] Sergeant. The country below Mosul was decidedly tame; the dry brown plain was fringed by the already green banks of the river. The river itself was now much wider, and here and there its course would be divided by islands with low, swampy banks, round which the waters would lose themselves in marshy tracts, where herons waded in and out and innumerable black ducks dived and spluttered amongst the rushes. The jungle round was the haunt of the wild boar, jackal, and hyena. It was hard to believe that a few weeks later the first spring sun would call forth wild masses of gorgeous flowers and long, rank grasses, and that the whole country would be teeming with succulent vegetation. It was, indeed, a monotonous bit of country. The sun had not yet melted the snows of the distant Armenian hills, which later on would cause a rapid flood to the river, and we progressed very slowly in the low, sluggish waters. Our two kalekjis displayed no desire to hurry matters by their own exertions, and leant on their oars all day, disturbing the general harmony by constant quarrelling in harsh, grating voices. Now and then Ali Chous, who was fat and meek, would address himself to them in a soothing, almost pleading tone of voice. The purport of their remarks was lost to us, as their conversation was carried on in Arabic, and we found it hard to extract any information out of Ali, who could communicate with us in Turkish. "Tell them they must stop talking and row," I said; "we are hardly moving at all." And Ali Chous would answer: "They will row, Effendi, indeed they will row." And the kalekjis rested on their oars as before, and the Evil One would smile at me, distorting his evil countenance with a diabolical grin. Finally, Ali informed us, in his anxious, conciliating tone, that they had brought no food with them and that they were hungry. If the Pashas would give them bread they could row; now they were faint. This was a favourite Eastern dodge with which we were well acquainted by this time. The kalekjis were always engaged with the understanding that they fed themselves, and knowing the fatal results of giving in on such points we hardened our countenances. "Tell them we cannot help that; they knew they had to bring their own food, and if they starve it is not our fault." And the Evil One, on hearing this through Ali's no doubt modified interpretation, gave us another grin, even more diabolical than before. When we retired into the hut for our next meal I took the precaution of cutting a hole in the felt wall, and peeping through it, saw them comfortably ensconced at the furthest end of the raft, eating bread and scraps of meat out of a dirty linen bag, which they hastily sat on when we reappeared. Arten was terribly afraid of them, and I knew what that meant. "Arten," I said to him early in the day, "if you dare to give these men any food without my leave we will land you at the next village." Arten hastily disclaimed any intention of giving them food, but he evidently cherished the thought as quite a good idea; after all, he was more alarmed of them even than he was of me. Early on the second day we arrived at a small village, where it seemed as if we were expected. There was a crowd on the banks, and one of the men was waiting with a large sack. Ali explained to us that it contained the kalekjis' bread, and that we must land to take it on board. The Evil One waded on shore with the rope, which he made fast to a rock. A little further down the banks were several natives making a raft, and I strolled down to have a look at them. One man sat on the ground with a pile of skins beside him. The skins had been cut off above the hind legs, and the man was engaged in tying up this end, and the openings of the fore legs, with string. One end of the string was tied round his big toe, and he worked the other end up and down round the gathered end of the skin until the tied ends were quite air-tight. Then he threw the skin to another man, who blew into the open fore end until it was inflated, when he tied it up. A third man stood in the water, tying the inflated skins on to the poplar poles with the ends of the same strings that had served to tie up the openings. After watching them a little time I returned to our raft. By this time the whole village had turned out, and a great uproar was going on. "What's up?" I said to X, who had not left the raft. "I've been trying to find out," said X. "The Evil One has displeased them somehow and they will not let him go." We instructed Ali Chous to insist on our going on. The second kalekji, Jedan by name, seemed only too delighted; he kept winking at us and pointing derisively at the Evil One. He untied the rope and shoved off. A man on the shore promptly seized the rope and held us back. "Get a stick," said X, "and give him a smack on his head." X was of a peaceable disposition, and I daresay she was laughing at me. She enjoyed seeing me get angry. But it was in our contract that I should do all the manual labour connected with keeping order, so I obediently seized a long pole, and let it descend gently on the offender's shoulder. He turned round and stared, dropping the rope with an astonished grin. The crowd burst into joyous shouts and pointed at the Evil One, who still stood expostulating angrily in their midst. "Hit him!" they yelled, "he is the one to hit!" and quite believing them I transferred my attentions, along with the end of the pole, to his shoulder. "Come!" I shouted. It sounds tame, but it was the only Arabic word I knew. The raft slowly drifted down-stream and the Evil One, dashing in up to his waist, clambered on board. Ali explained to us that he refused to pay enough for his bread, and that the crowd would not let him go until he had done so. The Evil One grinned, and, diving into the bag, offered me a dirty piece of native bread in his still dirtier fingers. He would share his food with us, though we refused to do so with him; a typical Eastern method of putting one in the wrong. The waters were still sluggish, and the men seemed determined to do no work. "I am beginning to think they are in league with some one on shore," said X. "It cannot be to their advantage to be so long on the way, as they are paid a lump sum to get us to Baghdad, and we are not feeding them. I quite expect we shall be held up and robbed before evening." Finding that orders and threats were of no use and learning from Ali that Jedan, the second kalekji, was afraid of the Evil One, who would not allow him to row, I sat down facing them and produced my revolver. "Tell the bad kalekji," I said to Ali Chous, "that if he does not row I will shoot him." The Evil One, greatly to my astonishment, appeared to believe in the possibility of bloodshed and set to work at the oars. All the rest of the day I sat with my revolver at his head. It was a most fatiguing, if effectual, process. "Supposing he does stop rowing," said X, "will you shoot him?" "I cannot think what I shall do," I said; "the only way will be to fire over his head and pretend I've missed him." "Mind you do miss him," said X languidly. "Sure to," I answered hopefully. Some hours before sunset we were held up in a manner which admitted of no blame being attached to the Evil One. A strong head-wind arose, before which the raft refused to make headway, and we were forced to take refuge on a dreary mud bank which sloped down to the water's edge under a low line of shaley rocks. The men sat about cross and disconsolate. It was very unsafe, they said, to spend the night so far from a village. We should certainly be attacked; the Evil One had arranged this--wind and all. We might be there for days, and what should we do for food? Tired of looking at all their sulky faces, I clambered up the cliff above to see what I could see. The top of the hill was as level as if it had been flattened out by a giant with a hot iron. A low line of hills with equally flattened tops at a little distance hid the further view. I walked to the top of them, led on by the sort of fascination which makes one wish to see what is hidden between one and the horizon. Having reached the top there was nothing to be seen but repeated lines of naked, flat-topped hills. The dreary loneliness of the place, its utter nakedness, in which one seemed shut off from all the real things of life, colour, sound, space, and growth, descended like a physical weight on one's senses. It was all like one great senseless punishment, which from its sheer callousness held one, with mingled fascination and terror, rooted to the spot. With an effort I turned to retrace my steps, when my eye caught sight of a dark object on the same line of hills on which I stood, which made my blood turn cold. A wild-looking, half-naked Arab, who seemed to have dropped suddenly from the sky, was standing motionless gazing at me from a little distance. For one moment I stood transfixed with nameless dread; the whole feeling of terror which had been established by the mere aspect of the country seemed now to be concentrated and personified in this sudden apparition. What hordes of like beings might not be concealed behind these mysterious hillocks? He moved one step towards me and I turned and fled, down the slope and across the level plain to the edge of the cliff under which the raft was moored. The apparition pursued me silently. On reaching the edge of the cliff I peered over and could see the crew of the raft still occupying the disconsolate positions in which I had left them. My senses now slowly returned, and I sat down to await the arrival of the apparition out of consideration to my own self-respect. He was still some distance from me, and, on seeing me sit down, he also sat down and we gazed at one another. The comic element in the scene asserted itself. A savage and I holding each other at bay like two dogs preparing for a fight on the top of the cliff, and down below X sitting unconcernedly on the raft reading the "Meditations of Marcus Aurelius." I laughed out loud; the savage sprang to his feet with a yell, brandished his arms in the air, and darting up a neighbouring slope disappeared behind it as suddenly as he had appeared. I slid down the cliff and joined X. "Where have you been?" she said. "I was just going to send Ali to look for you; he says it is not safe to go out of sight of the raft." "I was only on the top," I answered, too ashamed to enter into further details. We discussed our general situation in bed that night. "X," I said, "if you met a savage all alone in a wild piece of country what would you do?" "Why, go up and speak to him, of course," said X; "it would be awfully interesting. What would you do?" "I don't know," I answered; "I want to go to sleep now." The wind dropped in the night, and at the first break of day we were off once more. CHAPTER XV ARAB HOSPITALITY Fifty-three pairs of dark eyes were fixed upon us in unwavering scrutiny; it was dark and there was silence. The eyes, as they gleamed out of the darkness, might have belonged to a herd of wild beasts watching their prey; but we were privileged guests of the Arab Shaykh in whose tent we were sitting, and the gaze was but that of friendly curiosity. We had been placed on the seat of honour--a rush mat at one side of the tent; opposite to us squatted our host, a venerable old man with a white beard which flowed over his bare, wrinkled chest; with one arm he supported a small boy, who played with the beads round the old chief's neck. Between us, in the centre of the hut, glowed a dying fire, and beside it, silently watching the pot on the ashes, sat the coffee-maker. Now and then he scraped the ashes together round the pot. A thin veil of smoke rose up slowly and dispersed itself under the low roof of the tent. The silence was almost religious; the darkness suggested witchcraft rather than night; a hobgoblin might have sprung out of the coffee-maker's pot and not been out of keeping with the natural sequence of events. All at once, at the back of the tent, a hand was raised and a bundle of fine brushwood came down on to the fire; in sudden blaze it momentarily lit up the fifty-three dark faces, flared an instant, flickered, then as rapidly died away, and we only felt the gaze we had seen before. We silently watched the coffee-maker and our host, who, being nearest to the fire, were dimly visible in its remaining light; the attention of the one was concentrated on his pot; that of the other, in common with his companions, was on us. There was no call for speech, for we spoke in tongues unintelligible to one another, and the only sound which fitfully broke the ghostly silence was that language understood by all nations alike, the wail of an infant in its mother's arms. "Salaam Aleikum," we had been received with as the Shaykh stood up to welcome us on our arrival, unexpected and uninvited, in the midst of his tribe. We had been guided to his tent by the long spear which stood upright at the door, and when he had offered us that token of Arab goodwill--the cup of coffee--we knew that we were amongst friends. He waved us to our seats, and then, seating himself, pulled the child towards him; he patted his own chest, and then pointed to the lad with pride. "His youngest child," interpreted Ali, who accompanied us, and who understood a few words of Arabic. We nodded back our looks of appreciation, and, these preliminary acts of courtesy having established the requisite good feeling, all need for further converse seemed at an end, and a comfortable silence fell upon us all. The whole village had followed us into their chief's tent as a matter of course, and those for whom there was no room inside herded together at the door. The Eastern standard of ideas, which allows respectful equality with one's superiors, was responsible for the total absence of ill-mannered jostling which would have characterised a civilised crowd under similar circumstances on the reception of strange foreigners. The coffee-maker reached out his hand without turning, and one amongst the crowd at his back handed him a massive iron spoon on to which was chained a copper ladle. The Shaykh's little son, obeying a nod from his father, pulled a bag out of a dark recess behind him; another bundle of brushwood was thrown upon the fire and by the light of its sudden, almost startling blaze, the lad untied the bag and carefully counted out the allotted number of coffee-berries. The coffee-maker dropped them into the spoon, for which he had raked out a hole in the ashes. The slight stir caused by these proceedings subsided, the blaze died away, and the attention of all was again riveted on us, save that only of the coffee-maker, who, sitting close up to the embers, now scraped the white ashes round the pot, now turned the roasting berries over with the ladle chained to the spoon. The Shaykh's hand stole on to the little boy's head, and the boy, looking up, stroked the old man's beard. On we sat in the dark silence, learning from these true masters of Time how neither to waste it nor to let it drag, but going step by step with it, to lay ourselves open to receive all that it had to give. The silence was so prolonged and so intense that, silently as time flies, we could almost hear its moments ticking away. It has been said that we take no note of time except when we count its loss. It might be said of all Easterns that they are unconscious of the time they lose, because they take no note of it; they live unconsciously up to the fact that, the past being beyond recall and the future unfathomable, the present only is in our power. And the Eastern is master of Time because he spends it absorbing the present. Meanwhile the berries had blackened, and the man emptied them into a copper mortar. As he pounded them he caused the pestle to ring in tune against the sides of the bowl. The child laughed gleefully and pointed at him; the stern old man smiled and shot a proud glance over at us. "Fiddle away, old Time," rang out the tones of the metal pestle. It seemed to give voice to our joyful derision of Time; here was Time trying to weary us with himself, and we only laughed at him. "Fiddle away, old Time-- Fiddle away, old Fellow! Airs for infancy, youth, and prime, Times both shrill and mellow. Fiddle away, Or grave or gay, For faces pink or yellow-- Scrape your song a lifetime long, Fiddle away, old Fellow!" Not a soul moved. Outside in the dusk a stunted black cow thoughtfully chewed the maize stalks of which the enclosure round the tent was built, and a kid rubbed his head up and down against a child's bare leg. Beyond this the darkness had nothing to conceal. We were in the middle of a bare, largely uninhabited, desert land known only to a few wandering Arab tribes. Outside, the mysterious open vault of the dark sky with its many hundred points of light; inside, the mysterious recess of the dark tent with the fifty-three pairs of gleaming eyes, every one fixed upon ourselves. Now and then, as a flash of lightning in the sky at night will expose the immediate surroundings to view, so a sudden spark from the fire revealed the setting of the eyes--the solemn, dusky, Arab faces. A splutter on the fire as the pot boiled over put an end alike to the tune and to the meditations called up by it. The man transferred the ground berries to a copper jug and, pouring the boiling water on to them, placed this second pot on the hot ashes. We had been sitting there for an hour watching these preparations, and it seemed as if we might now reasonably entertain hopes of tasting the results. Our expectations in this direction were also enhanced by the appearance of three tiny cups which had been unearthed from a dark corner, and handed to one of the men nearest the fire. He proceeded to rinse them out one by one with hot water, displaying a care and absorption in the process which contrasted strangely with the simplicity of his task. The coffee on the fire came to the boil, the coffee-maker poured it back into the original pot, which he again set on the ashes. He then handed the empty jug to the cup-washer, who rinsed each cup out carefully with a few drops of the coffee left for this purpose. Very quietly, very precisely, he placed each cup on the ground within reach of the coffee-maker, and retreated into the background. The coffee on the fire boiled up; we straightened ourselves in expectation as the coffee-maker reached out his hand. But he emptied the boiling liquid back again into the original pot and replaced it on the ashes. The fire now burned very dimly. Even the man's form bending over the glowing ashes was discernible only as a black shadow. The stillness for a few moments was so great, and the concentration of all so centred on the bubbling coffee-pot, that one felt as if all the meaning of life, the past, the present, and the future, was being distilled in the black liquid, and that an incantation was only necessary for the future to take shape and, rising out of the pot, become visible to us all in this mysterious darkness. Again the coffee boiled up. Again the man emptied the boiling liquid back into the other pot and replaced it on the fire. The stillness and the concentration became more intense. Outside, a lamb's sudden cry and the mother's answering bleat rang out sharply in the black night, a distant reminder of a far-off world; it died away, and the broken silence was all the more intense. The coffee boiled up. By this time one had ceased to associate the drinking of coffee with the end of these mysterious rites. The coffee of Cook's hotels, the coffee of crowded railway stations, whole coffee, ground coffee, French coffee, coffee at 1s. 8d. a pound; the clatter of black saucepans, the hot and anxious cook, the bustling waiter, the impatient people of the world with only a minute to wait--calling for instantaneous coffee; what had coffee and all these associations to do with this? And so it was with a certain shock that we looked at this magician pouring the result of his black art into the cups, a few carefully measured drops only. Two are handed to us and one to the Shaykh. We sipped the oily black drink slowly and thoughtfully. A liquid which had been prepared with so much deliberation could not be quaffed down with the reckless indifference ordinarily displayed in the process. It was thick and bitter. We drained the last drop and returned the cups. Another spoonful was poured in and they were passed back to us. Etiquette required that we should not refuse till the third time of offering; then the remainder of the coffee was handed round to the rest of the company in order of rank. There was a stir amongst the crowd round the door, and a woman forced her way through with a baby in her arms. She squatted in front of us, and held the child down for our closer inspection by the firelight. "Khasta" (Ill), said Ali Chous; "she wants medicine." The mother pointed to the sores on the child's face and body, the pleading eloquence in her dark eyes rendering unnecessary any explanations on the part of our interpreter. It was a pathetic instance of the suffering induced by man, even when living so akin to Nature, when he tries to superimpose his own crude ideas of beauty and expediency on to the human frame. The baby, though only a few months old, had been pierced in the nose and ears for the reception of the ornaments which were to enhance its charms in after-life, and of the blue bead which would ensure its safety from the one recognised enemy--the Evil Eye. The wounds were healing badly, and the irritation set up had caused fever. "Tell her we can give her medicine," we said to Ali, "but it is not medicine to drink, it is to wash the wounds with. If the baby drinks it, it will die." The message was interpreted. "Aha, aha, Mashallah," was murmured all through the crowd. The baby became an object of intense interest. Ali threw back his head and pretended to swallow, then he pointed significantly to heaven and to the unconscious victim at his feet. "Ha! ha!" murmured the crowd. Hassan meanwhile had begun to fidget uneasily. "There are fleas here," he said, "you must not stop any longer." We rose, and silently salaaming our host, passed out of the tent. It was lighter outside; the moon had risen, casting mysterious black shadows round the huts, where weird black and white forms flitted stealthily in and out. Owing to the shallowness of the water on the low shelving mud banks we had been unable to bring the raft right up to the shore, and it had been moored at a little distance out in the water. The kalekjis had carried us across on their backs and had returned to cook their evening meal on board. We now shouted across the water to them to come and carry us back. As we stood waiting, a woman came up to us dragging a child by the arm, who hid his head in his mother's dress and refused to allow himself to be examined. "He is ill too," said Ali, "like the other child." "We will give them some medicine when we get on the raft," we said; "tell them each to send a cup." "And this one says he is ill," the man went on, as a tall, sheepish-looking youth touched me on the arm; "they will all say they are ill now that they know you have medicine." "We can only give to those who are really ill," we answered; "what is the matter with this one?" "He has fever, he cannot eat, and his head hurts." I had some quinine pills in my pocket, and I gave three to the boy. "Tell him to take two now, and not to keep them in his mouth," I explained, "but drink some water and swallow them down; then, when the sun has risen one hour to-morrow, let him take the other one." A dozen interested spectators at once went through the whole process in pantomime; a pill was swallowed, and its downward course indicated by stroking the chest. "Ha!" was ejaculated all round. Then the second pill was swallowed with equally suggestive signs. The rising point of the sun was indicated, and one finger held up, and the third pill swallowed. "Mashallah!" went up through the crowd, staring with bated breath. We boarded the raft, and had scarcely established ourselves in our sleeping-hut when Hassan staggered to the door with a huge clay pitcher capable of holding several gallons; he deposited it at our feet. "For the medicine," he said gravely. "We said that the woman was to send a cup," we said; "the few drops of lotion will be lost in that." "For the medicine," he answered, imperturbably. "We had better send it in one of our cups," I said, and I measured out some lotion. Hassan took it; a few minutes later he returned laden with cups, jars, pitchers, and bowls of every size and description. "For the medicine," he said, as he deposited them beside us. We looked at one another aghast. "Say that we have no more," we said. "I have told them," he said, "but they will not go away." We went outside, where a tremendous hubbub had arisen. Our men were standing round the edge of the raft resolutely pushing would-be intruders back into the river. Up to their waists in water, hanging on to the raft at every point, shouting out their ailments, pointing to their throats, their eyes, their heads, were the whole male population of the place. In vain our men strove to keep them off; the raft was besieged at every point. In desperation we unmoored and floated out into the middle of the river; the most determined swam out after us, and holding on to the raft with one hand stroked their chests and pointed to the absent sun with the other. Finally, as we drifted down-stream, they gave up, and the last sight we had was that of a row of disconsolate invalids, suddenly endowed with great evidences of health and strength, careering wildly on the mud flats in the starlight round a discarded heap of empty bowls and pitchers. CHAPTER XVI A STORM AND A LULL The men were still very quarrelsome; the whole day their grating voices never stopped. They seemed, however, quite anxious to row now, and proposed at sunset that we should not moor to the shore as usual but, as the night was not very dark, keep on and make up for lost time. We had been in bed a little while and were dropping off to sleep in spite of the ceaseless quarrelsome voices, when a worse out-break than usual thoroughly awakened me. "They are having a fight on board," said X, sleepily; "I suppose we must leave them at it." I peered through the chinks of the door. Jedan had taken off all his clothes and was trying to jump off the raft into the middle of the river. Hassan and Ali were holding on to him for dear life, and the Evil One sat at the oars screaming with rage. Arten was offering him the remains of our dinner. Jedan seemed finally to yield to the other men's entreaties and sat down on the raft, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Ali sat beside him, holding his hand and murmuring soothing words. The Evil One occupied himself with devouring the dinner. General peace seemed, in fact, restored, and our slumbers were not again disturbed. Next morning we threatened them both with dismissal at Tekreet, where we hoped to arrive that day, and which we knew was the seat of a Mudir, to whom we could make a show of appealing if the worst came to the worst. The cause of the disturbance was put down to Jedan, whose native village was close by, and who had threatened to leave the raft altogether if the Evil One bullied him any longer. Jedan begged to be allowed to visit his home, and it so happened that the wind rose again to such a pitch just opposite the place itself that we were compelled to put to shore. It was another Arab encampment, a collection of black tents with maize enclosures. Jedan at once disappeared amongst them, and, later on, as we strolled round the village, we came across him seated just inside a tent with two small children on his knees. He invited us to come in and sit down. The tent was full of his kindred. In the far corner a child shared with a bleating kid the quilted covering which constituted the bed of the establishment. A woman beside him was spinning wool and another one at the door was grinding dari for bread. A grown-up son sat opposite, industriously working the wool from his mother's wheel on to a leather sole for sandals. Jedan appeared in quite a new light in the centre of his family circle; he suddenly seemed endowed with a dignity becoming his present position as monarch of all he surveyed. The children on his knee clung to him and stroked his head, and he softly patted their heads. All the gruff surliness and cringing hatred of the expression with which he regarded the Evil One on the raft had disappeared, and he smiled with benign content on his domestic surroundings. He sent the boy out into the village with orders to get some delicacy in our honour. In a few minutes the lad returned with a raw turnip, which was cut into chunks and offered to us with much ceremony. Then a bowl of youart was produced, and we felt compelled to drink out of the common stock. At midday the wind had subsided and we insisted on starting off at once, with the hope of reaching Tekreet before evening. It was five days since we had left Mosul, and we had scarcely covered one hundred miles. As we had counted on reaching Baghdad in that time, our supply of provisions had got very low. The river was now deep and broad, and the strong current carried us along at a good pace. Jedan's visit to his family had put him in a very good humour, and even the Evil One, who had participated in the feast of raw turnip, worked quietly at the oars. Every moment took us further from the snow mountains and the bleak country of the north and nearer the sunny south. Already the sun's hot rays poured down soothingly, and everybody was in that state of quiet contentment known as "kief" in the East. Hassan, seated cross-legged with his back against the hut, dozed at intervals. Ali was rolling up long, fat cigarettes by the door, and Arten, stretched full length inside, was making up for his disturbed slumbers of the past night. X lay on a rug at the edge of the raft and I sat beside her, reading aloud the Prophetic utterances on Nineveh. The Bible is one of the few books that one can read in this sort of wandering life. This is, perhaps, because we are in the land where people live in rock houses, and hew their tombs in rocks, and wear girdles, and say "Aha," eat honey a lot, and go out to desolate lands, and say their prayers on the housetop. We were living with the shepherds who divided the sheep and goats at nightfall and watered their flocks at sundown; with the women who came down with their pitchers to the wells, and with the elders sitting at the gates. One felt that any other book made too great a demand on one's mental powers. Even now the sound of one's own voice was disturbing, and for some time we sat listening to the silence and imbibing the sun. A sudden chill crept into the atmosphere and a blackness covered the face of the waters. I looked up at the sky. A line of angry, black clouds had overtaken the sun, gathering up the scattered white fleeces in its path, and was advancing rapidly over our heads. An ominous sound of rising winds seemed to herald its approach. In less than three minutes we were swept up in the arms of a howling gale; sudden gusts caught the walls of the hut and swirled us round, the playthings of a merciless, raging force, at one moment tearing us into the middle of the stream, and the next dashing us with redoubled vigour against its rocky sides. The rain came down in blinding torrents, and the waves, breaking over the surface of the raft, made it seem as if we were being submerged altogether under the water. Then we rose on the crest of a wave once more, which dashed us against a wall of rock rising precipitously at the side, with a force which seemed as if it must shatter asunder all the bending, creaking poles of the raft. Ali and Hassan stood on the edge, trying to break the force of the blows with the butt end of their rifles, while the kalekjis struggled fruitlessly at the oars. The lowering black sky, the raging black waters, the unyielding black walls of rock gave a grim setting of darkness to this struggle, which proved to be no less than a fight with death itself. Our companions, the birds, clung huddled up with fright to sheltering walls of rock, or crept into niches, where they cowered together, hiding their heads under their wings. Even the noise of the wind and waters could not drown the wild, terrified shriek of startled crows when we were dashed against their hiding places, and they flew close past our heads to seek a fresh shelter. This, then, was to be the end of our interlude of peace. It seemed as if the jealous gods, conscious of our forgetfulness of their authority, were proclaiming our powerlessness against their decrees. They tossed us ruthlessly about until we were reduced to a state of subordination, and then, as if repenting of their anger, they caused the wind to lull and shot out a gleam of sunshine through the dark clouds. We passed out beyond the walls of rock, on which the wet drops now gleamed like bits of silver, and drifted in a broad, slow stream with low, shelving banks. On the last ledge, with downcast heads, sat three great vultures, disappointed of their prey. Hassan thoughtfully rolled some cigarettes; he lit one and handed it to me; then he lit another and handed it to X. She shook her head. "Smoke," he said sternly. X took the cigarette and, all need for action being over, we resumed our attitudes of contemplation. But the atmosphere of lazy indifference seemed to be dispelled. Where were we drifting to? Were we at any moment likely to be snatched from this state of peaceful acquiescence in our surroundings, and be hurled to destruction with no word of warning or choice in the matter? "Ah, well, kim bilior?" (Who knows?) I said out loud. "Who know what?" said Hassan. "What is going to happen to us?" I said. "Kim bilior?" repeated Hassan. "Allah bilior" (God knows), and then, after a minute's silence, he repeated: "Kim bilior? Allah bilior!" I looked up at him. "It is so," he said, nodding his head solemnly; "Kim bilior? Allah bilior!" The influence of the Eastern mind asserted itself; the future had no interest for them. Allah had arranged their destiny; it had nothing to do with them, and no thought or effort on their part would make any difference. Nor had the past any interest for them. They lived in the present, enjoying the pleasant places and accepting the unpleasant ones with no fear or resentment. The storm was over, and they set about drying their clothes and making preparations for the evening meal. Jedan slowly unwound his keffiyeh and wiped his head all over, then he spread the coloured rag out to dry. Ali and Hassan rubbed their rifles carefully and hung them up inside the hut. Then Ali spread out his cloak on the far corner of the raft and went through the midday prayer; this over, he borrowed a needle and thread from me and began darning a tear in his ragged uniform. The sun shone brightly and our clothes were soon dry. Birds appeared on the bank shaking their feathers and stretching out one limb after another. The lull that follows a great storm reigned over everything; all nature seemed resting after her exertions. Ali Chous finished his darn and began to sing; the kalekjis joined in the chorus, clapping their hands. An element of cheerful carelessness established itself on board. I went inside and began to invent a pudding for dinner. Arten was not enlightened in his profession as cook, and I was trying to supplement his deficiencies by the light of nature, for Arten did not seem to have that sort of light. I tied the mixture up in a handkerchief and set it to boil in a pot on the brazier. One by one the men came in and sat round the fire, gazing silently at the pot as they smoked away. After a time I took the lid off and examined its contents. "Is it really going to be a pudding?" said X, with an agonized expression. I tried to recall what puddings looked like in England, and then remembered that I had never seen one at this stage. "I cannot say till it is finished," I said. The pudding still clung ominously to the handkerchief; I had greased it well and have since heard that you only grease pans. I gave it a few minutes longer, then, as we were all hungry, I fished it out of the pot and untied the handkerchief. "Bak!" (Look) said Arten. "Bak!" said Hassan. "Bak!" said Ali. "Bak!" said the kalekjis. It was a moment of extreme tension. I slipped it on to a plate. "Now look," said Arten. "See now what a cook she is!" said Hassan, "a wonderful cook." "Mashallah," said Ali. "Mashallah," said the kalekjis. "It _is_ a pudding," said X, "a real pudding." We all gazed at it for several moments in ecstatic excitement. I handed X a spoon and we each took a mouthful; then we looked at one another. "It is a pudding," said X again. It almost seemed as if she were trying to persuade herself of the fact against the dictates of reason. When we had finished, the men shared our spoons in turn; each one cautiously raised a spoonful and smelt it, then they swallowed it, very much as one remembers swallowing jam in the nursery when one knew there was a powder inside. "Ehe" (Good), they said very deliberately, nodding their heads, and then, as they handed the spoon to their neighbour, "Inghiliz" they added. One felt that the first word was Turkish politeness; the second was a veiled warning to their brethren. But on the whole it seemed a success; we had a sense of repletion; how often had we not swallowed bowls of rice and been only conscious of a great internal void. The men carried our rugs outside and we stretched ourselves lazily out on the open end of the raft. I began to reflect upon Time and Destiny. No shadow of a cloud appeared to disturb the horizon, no obstruction in the river affected our steady onward course down the slow, wide stream; we took the current where it served, and so were not delayed in the shallows where the waters dallied about the banks; they in due course would arrive at their destination and pour themselves, unquestioning and unquestioned, into the oblivious sea. But what would Time, that unremitting, relentless current, do with us? Was it going to hurl us too into oblivion? Whatever it had to give was ours, and yet, because we could not stop it, we were not master of it. We could moor to the shore and let the river go on without us; the current did not wait for us, but we could pick it up again when we were ready for it and go on without loss; but in the current of Time, when we stay on one side and let the moments go past us, we have lost for ever what those moments had to give, and our arrival at our destination has not been delayed; it is so much the nearer. "X," I said, "where do you think we are floating to?" "Baghdad," said X. "I wasn't thinking geographically," I answered, "I was thinking whether it was Eternity or Oblivion. Being hurried along by this current gives me an uncomfortable feeling of not being allowed any choice as regards time, which I resent. Do you mind it at all?" "No," said X, "I feel that I have lost all conception of time, and that we are floating on, as it were, to Eternity." "Do you?" I said dubiously; "I feel it's Oblivion we are getting to." "But we are only three days off Baghdad," insisted X. "Well," I answered, "I devoutly pray that we may get there first." We arrived at Tekreet just before sunset, and at once sent Ali up to the Mudir with the request that he would help us in the dismissal of the Evil One. "Tell the Mudir," we said, "that we cannot sleep for the noise he makes at night, and our heads ache from the noise he makes in the daytime, and that he has guided the raft so badly that we have spent five days getting here from Mosul." Ali obediently disappeared. He first communicated the substance of our remarks to the kalekjis, who, after putting their heads together, landed and strolled down a rambling street of Arab huts. We also went on shore with Hassan, and wandered about along the rocky paths amongst labyrinths of tombs which ran down to the water's edge. Tekreet boasts of one palm tree, the first we had seen on the river, and an old castle, the ruins of which stand on a rock above. The town is a tumble-down sort of place, inhabited chiefly by Arabs, who ply rafts with merchandise between Mosul and Baghdad. Ali returned with the news that the Mudir had given orders for new kalekjis to be ready in the morning. He apologised in the name of the Sultan for the discomfort we had experienced in his Highness's domains. We asked what had become of the others, and were informed that they were frightened of being punished and had run away. "That's curious," I said, "I should have thought that no Eastern would put fright before baksheesh, or mind what a Mudir said in this district." Later on an emissary arrived from the Mudir with a piece of sheep and a message that he would travel with us the next day as far as Samarah. Accordingly we sent back word that we were starting at sunrise. We went to bed that night with a greater sense of security then we had felt since leaving Mosul. We came, moreover, to the conclusion that there was, perhaps, a slight advantage in being under Government patronage, when we really had to apply for that protection which his Highness the Sultan so anxiously proffers to all travellers in his well-regulated country. CHAPTER XVII AN ENCOUNTER WITH FANATICS It was long after sunrise when we awoke next morning; the raft was still tied up and the men showed no signs of moving. "Hi!" shouted X to Hassan through the felt wall, "why haven't we started?" "The Mudir has not arrived yet, Effendi." We waited another ten minutes. "Hi! Hassan, has the Mudir come?" "No, Effendi, he will come soon." We turned over and had another doze. "Hi! Hassan, if the Mudir has not come we shall go without him. Send Ali to say we must start now." "Yes, Effendi, he will go." Turkish acquiescence, especially when very polite, is suspicious. I got out of bed and peeped through the door. Ali was sitting on the bank chatting with a local Zaptieh. "Hi! Hassan, send Ali at once." "Yes, yes, Effendi, this minute he goes." From my point of observation I reported that neither Hassan nor Ali were making any move in the matter, so we decided to dress and become strenuous about it. I relieved my feelings at intervals by trying to express in my best Turkish to Hassan, through the wall, what I thought of the Mudir who dared to keep great English Pashas waiting beyond the accustomed two hours which one concedes to Eastern ideas of punctuality. Before we had finished dressing a sudden rocking of the raft and general bustle outside announced our departure. Through the window I took a last look at Tekreet and thanked my lucky stars that departure from it meant also deliverance from the Evil One. "Do you think the Mudir will be angry with us for leaving him behind?" I said. "Let us hope not," said X, as we emerged from the hut for breakfast; "we owe him something for ridding us of the Evil One." The words were hardly out of my mouth before we became aware of the Evil One himself, sitting between the oars in his usual place. He greeted us with a bland smile. Beside him, instead of Jedan, sat a grinning boy. We turned on Ali for an explanation. "Ach, Effendi, he is good now; he will not speak: he will not say a word; he is changed: he is now a good kalekji. The ladies can now sleep at night." The Evil One nodded affably at us and put his finger on his sealed lips. The grinning boy understood Turkish. "I am a good kalekji, Effendi; I do not talk, I never say a word." We had become sufficiently Oriental to reconcile ourselves to the dictates of Destiny; there was no getting rid of him now, so we had to be content with threats of no baksheesh if a word was uttered on the way to Baghdad. We caught sight of a stranger in the men's hut. "Who is that?" I said. "The Mudir, Effendi." "How long has he been there?" "Since sunrise, Effendi." "Why did you say he had not come?" "Ach, Effendi, the kalekjis' bread was not ready; they could not go without bread." So all this time the local magnate had been sitting listening to our abuse of his person. There is only one way to live in the East, and that is to accept it. Its ways are stronger than your ways, especially when you come out freshly armed with the ardour of the West. Your best reasoning is worsted by gracious irrelevancy; your protesting attacks are turned by acquiescing politeness; and the East moves on its smiling, unalterable way. The country below Tekreet began to have a more civilised look; there were plantations of cucumbers and melons on the banks and roughly constructed windlasses for raising the water in skins into irrigating channels. We passed several ruined villages, and caught sight in the distance of the remains of an old castle. At noon, after floating about three or four miles, we arrived within sight of Samarah, a town which was made conspicuous by the huge blue dome of its mosque and which, we learnt later on, was a place of pilgrimage for Mahomedans of the Shieah sect. We drew up opposite it to land the Mudir, and Hassan announced his intention of landing also to replenish the store of charcoal. "Then I'll get off too," said X, "I want to see inside that mosque." X had a mania for looking at mosques; we had seen inside hundreds and she never seemed to get tired of them. I connected the process chiefly with having to unlace your boots, a proceeding I detest, and dawdle over cold floors in your stocking feet. Then you had to remember to cross your hands in front; if you put them behind your back or in your pockets you were a marked infidel. The raft was run along the shore and we walked up to the town. It was enclosed by a high mud wall which was defended by towers and bastions. We entered through a large gateway and found ourselves amongst a collection of falling mud houses lining the usual dirty, narrow streets. Hassan went in search of charcoal, and we, accompanied by Ali Chous, strolled on to the mosque. We were followed by the usual crowd of curious-minded inhabitants, but being by this time quite used to these attentions, we did not notice them particularly. X was in front, and advanced towards the low line of chains which barred the entrance to the building; she was in the act of stepping over the chains when an excited-looking fanatic rushed at her and hurled her across the street with what appeared to be effusive execrations. In one moment we were hemmed in by an angry, buzzing mob; there was no mistaking the glaring menaces of their expressions and the significant handling of the long knives worn by all natives in their belts. We realised in a flash that we had unwittingly aroused the dangerous side of Eastern fanaticism. Resistance was out of the question; a sign of fear would have been fatal. All day-dreams were at an end: I recalled the vague forebodings the storm had first aroused in me. Was it only the day before that X had said she felt like floating to Eternity and I had maintained that we should be hurled into Oblivion? Were we only joking then? Now we were face to face with grim reality. Hassan's words rang in my ears, "Kim bilior? Allah bilior!" (Who knows? God knows!) We stopped and looked over the crowd. Ali Chous, our only protector, stood beside us white and trembling, appealing to some of the leading men, who hesitated and glared at us in wavering suspicion. Hassan was nowhere in sight. "Let's stroll on as far as the end of the street," said X. "Yes," I answered, "that seems a good idea." "Don't let's hurry," she said. "No," I replied, "we have plenty of time." The crowd made way for us as we turned from the mosque, and we walked on beyond it up through the bazaars. The men had begun to fight and wrangle amongst themselves, the narrow street was tightly packed, and the crowd surged up behind us as we walked on. We were in the covered part of the bazaars; the usual bright-coloured keffiyehs hung outside; gaudy cotton coats of Eastern make lay on the top of bales of Manchester prints and flannelettes; there was the leather stall, with gorgeous beaded bridles and handsomely embroidered native saddles; and next it was the boot bazaar, with none of our blackness about it, but a mass of red and yellow sandals. We had seen it all, just the same, in a score of similar villages, but I took it all in this time as I had never taken it in before. "What a funny baby's garment that is," said X. The crowd behind were beginning to push. "Yes," I said, "I wonder how it gets outside the baby." An angry buzz arose just behind us; were they going to stick us in the back? We both disdained to turn our heads to see. "I hope Hassan will think of getting some spinach," I said, "there was some in the vegetable bazaar." "He knows you like it," X answered, "he is sure to get it." We had come to the end of the row of stalls; we slowly turned and faced the mob. "This is the obvious moment for annihilation," I thought to myself, "I wonder why I'm not afraid." I was waiting in momentary expectation of death, but at the same time I could not realise that we were going to be killed. I did not seem to be able to take in what being killed was--I felt very indifferent, and noticed that I had lost a button off my coat. But the crowd made way for us and we sauntered back. Further down we met Hassan. "What is all this crowd about?" he said. X told him; he made no answer and we walked on together. We got outside the gates of the town but were still a few minutes' walk from the river. "I'm tired," said X; "let's rest here a minute," and she lay down on the ground. I looked round. There was still a noisy crowd at the gates of the town, and we were being followed out by some of the rowdier members. I had a vague idea that it would have been more comfortable to lie down on the raft, but there was no accounting for tastes, and it was all in the day's work. I sat down beside X. There was a white stone a few yards away, larger than the others which lay about; I picked up a handful of the smaller stones. "Best out of ten," I said to myself; "if I hit we get off, if I don't hit we are done for. There is no current about this, it's all chance," and I started lazily throwing at the large stone. Hassan stood by smoking. I missed the first, and the second, and the third. Ali Chous looked uneasily at the crowd beginning to straggle out towards us. The fourth hit, and the fifth; the sixth missed. Two more misses and we should be done for. Ali Chous begged us to come on. The seventh and the eighth hit, the ninth missed. The next throw would settle the question. Two men had come up and stood looking at us. "Let's come on now," said X, sitting up. "One minute," I said, and I carefully picked out a nice round pebble. It hit. "What a baby you are!" said X. We boarded the raft and pushed off. It was a lovely calm evening. The current was straight enough for us to glide quietly along with no assistance from the oars; the last traces of the setting sun slowly disappeared, and gradually the stars reflected twinkling points of silver in the black water, dancing brightly in the moving current. A silence as of death reigned over everything; the blackness of death peered out of the deep waters; the slow but surely moving current was drifting us on relentlessly towards an uncertainty suggesting death. And with it there was a tremendous sense of stillness and peace. I was sitting very near the edge looking into the dark waters. "I don't want to die yet," I said. "You are such a time taking things in," said X, "that you would not be aware that you were dead until so long after the event that it would hardly matter to you. You weren't afraid, were you?" "No," I answered. We were silent for a while, then Hassan spoke. "If you had crossed the chain," he said, "there would have been no more Pashas for me to travel with. Inside is the tomb of the last Imam of the race of Ali, and no Christian may look upon it and live." I looked again into the deep waters and began to take it all in--what I had seen in the men's faces, and how they would have done it. Hassan put a rug over me; I had shivered. I wasn't cold. It was all over, we were safe; but I was knowing what it was to be afraid. CHAPTER XVIII THE END OF THE RAFT We were now only sixty-five miles from Baghdad, and with luck we should reach it next day. We travelled on all night, and on waking up next morning found ourselves floating past cultivated banks and creaking waterwheels, and sighted in the distance dark patches of palm-groves. But, in spite of Ali's prayers to the "God of the favouring breeze," our enemy the wind rose up once more and compelled us to put to shore. From this point it was only a few hours by land to Baghdad. We could faintly see the town itself on the distant horizon line to the east, separated from us by a great expanse of sandy desert. We were told, however, that the river wound in and out so much that it was still a day's journey off by water. We kicked our heels disconsolately on shore--a sandy shore this time; little sandy hillocks alternated with patches of struggling tufts of grass. We sat there all day. The sand blew into our faces, and the river rolled on past us--and just behind me a rat put its head occasionally out of a hole to see if we were still there. Arten also at intervals put his head out of the hut and held up his hand in the hurricane to feel if the wind was blowing. "There is still much wind," he would say, and as no one paid any attention to his original remark he retired again into the hut, and the rat looked out of his hole. I always mixed up Arten with rats after that day. By and by a goufa appeared on the scene. A goufa is a native boat made of pomegranate branches laced together with ropes and covered inside and out with bitumen. It is like a circular coracle, eight to ten feet across and about four feet deep, and is propelled with a single paddle. The crew disembarked just above us. First came half a dozen Arabs, then a veiled woman, then a donkey, then a buffalo, then another woman, then three more men. One donkey still remained inside with two men. He refused to be jumped over the side like his predecessors. All the people on shore yelled at him and the men in the boat hit him. Hits and cries were of no avail; he sneered at the yellers and kicked at the hitters. The donkey on land gazed mournfully at his companion and brayed. Finally the offender put his two fore feet on the edge of the boat and the men behind seized his hind legs and heaved him overboard. He rolled over in the water, shook himself unconcernedly, and started to browse the withered grass. Then everybody disappeared behind sandy hillocks, the goufa floated past us, and we were once more left alone with the wind and the rat. Towards sunset we made a start again, and floated on most of the night. Small mud villages and plantations of palms and orange-trees were scattered thickly on each side of the river. We seemed to be quite close to Baghdad; gilded domes and minarets stood up on the sky-line above confused masses of flat-topped houses and groups of palm-trees. But all the morning we wound slowly round and round endless loops of the river and hardly seemed to get any nearer to our destination. The banks now teemed with life; goufas shot across past us from one bank to another with mixed consignments of men and animals; mules plodded up and down drawing skins of water over windlasses; groups of Arabs lay about on the sunny banks and shouted inquiries at the kalekjis as we passed. The houses, which had been mud hovels higher up the river, now looked more substantial, and were each surrounded by high walls enclosing shady orange gardens. Finally we hove in sight of the bridge of boats which guards the entrance to the town, and ran into the shore just above it. The bridge, we learnt, had to be broken down before the raft could pass through, and as this seemed likely to take some hours we landed and drove up to the Consulate. H.M. Vice-Consul was away, and so we proceeded to the Babylon Hotel. [Illustration: "DRAWING SKINS OF WATER."] Baghdad can be reached in a normal way up the Persian Gulf to Busra and from thence by the weekly mail steamer; it contains, therefore, certain concessions to the ideas of occasional European agents and commercial travellers. The Babylon Hotel is one of these concessions. There was a dining-room hung all round with the framed self-assertions of various wine and spirit merchants whose names, strangely familiar, mocked us from the wall as a first greeting from the borders of civilisation. Hassan stood in the middle of the room and gazed at them open-mouthed. These were to him English works of art, decorations of great English houses, in keeping with the gaudily covered chairs and meaningless glass ornaments. Each one had unmistakable pictorial aspects of the bottle. He pointed at first one and then another. "Ingilhiz," he said in a tone of congratulation. He was always pleased when we met with anything which would seem to remind us of our native land. We were irresponsive; he studied them further. "Raki?" (Whisky) he added, the note of inquiry tinged with apologetic scorn. The hotel was built, like all the better modern houses, along the banks of the river, with overhanging balconies. I escaped from the further evidences of Western vulgarity, and, leaning over the rail of the balcony, let the passing river wash them away from the disturbed crevices of my brain. Just beneath, on one side, the narrow street which led to the hotel was continued past it down to the shore; and here came an incessant stream of natives; women with waterskins to fill and men with mules carrying baskets of town refuse to empty; the same spot served admirably for both purposes. The Eastern has an overwhelming love for "taze su" (fresh water); he drinks it, he sings to it, he worships it, he makes an emblem of it, and yet--with his extraordinarily consistent inconsistency--he makes the town midden and the town watering-place one and the same spot. A nearly naked child sprawled about amongst the dirt and rubbish, unearthing hidden treasures in the form of bright tin lids. The mules strayed about at the water's muddy edge, putting in a drink on their own account whilst their masters, having emptied the loads, filled waterskins for the return journey. A big, lumbering sailing boat was being unloaded just below me; the men swung themselves to and fro together as they pitched heavy bales overboard. "Allah, Allah, Allah," they sang out as they swung. Round their heads circled and swooped white gulls talking of the sea. And now, through the distant broken bridge, clumsily floating down the current, came our raft, square and stubborn amongst the twirling, swiftly paddled goufas. Like a great, uncertain, bewildered animal, turning now this way and now that, guided by the unwieldy poplar poles, it lurched up the watering-place and stuck on the midden. From every corner of the narrow, winding street sprang out half-clothed, jabbering Arab forms; gesticulating, fighting, jostling, they proffered their services in the task of unloading. In a few moments all our belongings were removed; the cooking-pots, the rugs, the beds, all the personal requirements which had made it into our home for so many weeks. Stripped and deserted, looking almost ashamed of itself, it lay there in all its naked clumsiness. By to-morrow even this vestige of our journey will have disappeared for ever from the realms of historic evidence. The felt strips, the walls which have sheltered us through so many stormy nights, will be sold to the highest bidder; they will serve henceforth as carpets in some native hovel, on which the Mahomedan will kneel to say his prayers or squat to smoke his pipe. The poles and oars will go as firewood; and the skins, deflated, will return to the country we have left. Nothing will remain but the memory of it to a few human minds. We are glad that it is to be so; as it has been exclusively ours in the past, so will it remain ours only in the future. We made it what it was, and without us it will cease to be. The waters gave it a farewell lap as they passed on. We had stopped; but they went hurrying on, taking with them all those mixed memories of peace and danger, of contemplation and exertion, of idleness and hurry which they, and they only, had shared with us. They had borne us from the wilds and fastnesses of the unconquered East to the gateway of the Western invasion; through the dreariness and desolation of desert lands, through the magnificent isolation of gorgeous mountain scenery, past the ruined evidences of ancient Western civilisations still mocked by the persistence of squalid tribal huts; and now, having deposited us to draw our own conclusions in this decayed city of the Khalifs, they hurried on, lapping scornfully in their course at the rocking pleasure-boat of Messrs. Sassoon's representatives and the white steam launch of H.M. British Vice-Consulate. Impartially, as they had borne us up, so down here they bore up alike the brass trinkets shipped in their thousands from Manchester, the emissary of the British and Foreign Bible Society, the golf clubs and society papers for the English Club; and with an indescribable roar, as of grim laughter, rushed headlong into the salt blue waters of the Persian Gulf, where, surrendering irretrievably their own bounded individuality, they merged themselves in the larger life of the untrammelled Eastern seas. PART III BAGHDAD TO DAMASCUS "I read on a porch of a palace bold, In a purple tablet letters cast-- 'A house though a million years old, A house of earth comes down at last; Then quarry thy stones from the crystal All, And build the dome that shall not fall.'" CHAPTER XIX BABYLON The eastern gate of heaven was unbarred; Shamash, the Sun-god of Babylonia, flamed forth and stepped upon the Mount of Sunrise at the edge of the world. As he had poured the light of heaven upon the luxuriant gardens and fertile corn-lands of the Babylonians, so was he pouring it upon the same spot, now an arid and deserted wilderness. We were crossing it on our way to visit Babylon. It was pitch dark when we had left Baghdad in the procession of covered arabas which conveyed pilgrims to Kerbela and merchants to Hillah. We had been roused at 2 a.m., and had threaded our way silently through the sleeping streets by the light of a dim lantern. Huddled human forms lay about in angles and on doorsteps, and at every moment we stumbled over the outstretched limbs of a yellow dog. We crossed the Tigris in one of the round native boats, and landed within a few minutes' walk of the khan from where the arabas started. We had an araba to ourselves: an oblong wooden box on four wheels, with a light canvas top and canvas sides that could be rolled up or let down at pleasure; a narrow wooden plank, with a singularly sharp edge and an uncomfortably hard face, ran down each side, and was called a seat. We were going to sit on it for twelve hours. We were drawn by four mules harnessed abreast. Our driver had knotted the reins and hooked them on to his seat; his hands were rolled inside his cloak, and he sat huddled up on the box in the freezing air of sunrise. The mules galloped ahead at their own discretion; the araba lurched over ruts; sudden jerks shot us against one another, or threw us in the air, from whence we descended with some emphasis in the vacuum between the two sharp edges. Now the horizon on the left blazed orange and red, and the desert sands were pink. Stunted tufts of grey-green grass tried to assert themselves in the barren soil; mounds, marking the site of ancient villages, occurred at random; walls of sand, indicating the course of old irrigating canals, broke the level plain; they could almost be taken for the work of Nature, for the hand of Time had obliterated the marks of man. Every twenty minutes the arabas came to a sudden stop to give the mules breathing time; there is a general dismounting of the passengers; the plain is suddenly dotted with bending, praying forms, groups of excited talking Arabs, isolated, contemplative, smoking individuals, fussy superior Turkish officers flicking the specks of travel off their smart uniforms; veiled women peep from behind the curtain of a closely packed conveyance; a small Arab child plants himself with outstretched legs in front of us, and sucks his thumb in complete absorption as he gazes upon us like a little wild animal. Then the whole scene dissolves itself into a sudden rush for the carriages, as of so many rabbits bolting into a warren at the sound of an alarm, and off goes the whole train at a gallop; belated loiterers hang perilously on the step of any conveyance they can catch, and try to snatch the lash of the whip with which the driver good-humouredly flicks them. Finally, we approach a collection of mud huts; we dash through them, scattering hens and children, and draw up in a long line opposite a large khan in the centre of the village. This is one of the regular halting places for caravans, and we have a short wait while the mules are being changed. A stall close by is already closely besieged by our fellow-travellers clamouring for tea, which is sold in small glasses after the Persian custom. We buy a little blue dish of thick cream from an Arab girl in a blue smock, and make a sumptuous breakfast off it and dates. With a fresh set of mules we start off again; the party is more lively. We dash up the sides of an embankment, catch a glimpse of a silted-up canal as we waver for a moment on the top; then a fearful double lurch throws us about as the two front wheels go downwards whilst the two back ones are still going upwards. A short, sharp descent follows, then comes a level stretch; the driver boys shout and race one another, we overtake and are overtaken, we jeer and are jeered at. And the Sun-god pursues his journey in silence and unconcern across the dome of heaven. We pass bands of Persian pilgrims on their way to the sacred Tomb of Hosein, son of Ali and grandson of the Prophet. Many of them trudge along on foot, grasping only the stout staff which one's mind associates with pilgrims; these give a true feeling of sackcloth and ashes. Some ride mules and carry a few worldly goods in saddle-bags. There is a Pasha mounted on a fine Arab horse and followed by servants; large pack trunks on mules in his train make one doubt the existence of his hair shirts. The women sit in covered wicker cradles suspended on each side of mules; donkeys bear rude coffins strapped crossways over their backs, for the ambition of the true believer is not only to make the pilgrimage during life, but that after death his bones may rest in peace in the holy ground of Hosein's martyrdom. At Mushayhib we halt again to get a fresh relay of mules. Here the roads branch and we part company with the rest of the party, who are going to Kerbela. We jerk along over the ridged and rutty ground. I find myself wondering whether cushions in the chariots were amongst the luxuries of wicked Babylon; and if so, whether it was part of the punishment of the fourth generation that we should be deprived of them. We come to a marshy tract with water standing in pools; the driver thrashes the mules vigorously and shouts, the animals plunge forward, and the boy bends his body to and fro with them as they plunge. We go headlong into the marsh and stick; the boy uses his whip unsparingly; the light, energetic members of our party dismount, the fat and heavy ones remain seated; we all shout in anger or encouragement, and by means of these strenuous endeavours are landed on the other side. On the horizon in front we see a black line; it is formed, we are told, by the rows of palm-trees which border the Euphrates. We are now soberly trotting towards a great mound which, rising abruptly out of the level plain, appears in the distance like a sudden thought of Nature's, tired of the monotony of her own handiwork. But as we approach, its symmetrical sides and flat table-top proclaim it to be the work of man. Our native escort tell us, in subdued tones of awe, how Marut and Harut, the fallen angels, are suspended by their heels in the centre awaiting the Day of Judgment. We leave it at some distance to the right. In front of us stretches a tract of land more desolate and naked even than that through which we have been driving; small heaps are scattered amongst a few larger mounds, and all are enveloped in a network of high-banked canals, now mostly silted up. There are marshy pools here and there, and rough tussocks of coarse grass catch the blown sand. "And Babylon shall become heaps," said Jeremiah. It was the heaps of Babylon we were looking upon. Babylon, the "glory of nations," was laid out in front of us. The Sun-god had reached the pinnacle of his height, and covered the spot with the brightness of heaven. We made a detour round the edge to avoid the embankments and marshy places, and then struck to the right across the uneven ground, at a jolting foot's pace, towards a clump of palms on the banks of the river. The trees partially concealed the one stone house of the district, the home of three German professors who are superintending the work of excavation now going on. A mud wall separated it from a collection of mud huts; here live the natives employed in removing the sand which buries the architectural monuments of ancient times. We were at the foot of one of the larger mounds; it is called the Kasr by travellers and Mujelibe (the overturned) by the Arabs, and represents the only part of Babylon which is not altogether buried. We climbed up the great square mass composed entirely of the débris of former habitations; the surface was strewn with broken bricks and tiles; in the centre stood the remains of solid blocks of masonry. Looking down into a large ravine at the further end we saw--half-blocked with rubbish--walls, courtyards, doorways, pilasters, and buttresses built of pale yellow-coloured bricks, each bearing the name of Nebuchadnezzar. Here and there architectural ornaments were built in with the walls; bits of bright-coloured enamel and pieces of broken pottery lay about. We wandered amongst the huge ruin, balancing ourselves on the edges of low remaining walls and clambering from one courtyard to another. A jackal darted from under our feet with a shrill bark; he was answered from behind distant walls by innumerable hidden companions. An owl flew out of a dark corner and perched, blinking, a little way off; a great black crow hovered uneasily overhead. The broad walls of Babylon were indeed utterly broken, and her houses were indeed full of doleful creatures. We sat down and listened to the wild beasts crying in her desolate houses; it was indeed "a dwelling-place for dragons, an astonishment, and an hissing without an inhabitant." Shamash, the Sun-god, was nearing the western gate of heaven. The gate-bolts of the bright heavens were giving him greeting. The Euphrates and its wooded banks lay between us and the horizon; above the river-line we saw a row of jet black palms in an orange setting, and below it a row of jet black palms standing on their heads in the rippled golden water. Shamash has reached the summit of the Mount of Sunset; he slowly descends; the orange changes to red, the general conflagration becomes streaked and barred; the waters of the river grow black, almost as black as the reflected palms, the streaks slowly die away. Shamash has entered into the Kirib Shame, the "innermost part of heaven, that mysterious realm beyond the heavenly ocean, where the great gods dwell apart from mankind." "O Shamash, thou art the judge of the world, Thou directest the decisions thereof...." Thus prayed the dwellers of the city four thousand years ago. And with the same light with which you lit the pomp and splendour of the works of their time, you light the decay and ruin and hideous desolation of the present. "Verily there is a God which judgeth the earth," say we, four thousand years later. And as you smiled on those who worshipped you as the supreme God and Creator of all things, so you smile on us who look upon you, bound and fixed, with no will of your own, following the inevitable laws of Nature. Will you, four thousand years hence, light with the same light sojourners in this land, and will they wonder at our conception of your nature and function, as we wonder at the faith that your ancient worshippers had in you? Or will you, before them, have run your allotted course and consumed the whole world, whether in the fiery furnace of your wrath or in the uncontrolled madness of your broken bonds? The next morning we visited Babel, the mound we had passed the day before. We walked for more than a mile through the palm-groves by the river. Under the shade of the trees were numerous huts made of mud, covered and enclosed with piles of fine brushwood. There were various signs of human occupations. Two cows were toiling peacefully up and down an entrenchment, drawing water in skins over a rough windlass; the skins emptied themselves into a channel, and the water wandered about in vaguely directed irrigation. On the bank beside them lolled an Arab with a long pole, who prodded the sleepy beasts in the moments when he was more awake than they were. A large mass of brushwood was moving in front of us; it looked like one of the huts endowed with a pair of very thin brown legs. As we overtook it the mass half-turned towards us, and a woman's form, doubled in two, looked small in the middle of it. At the doors of the enclosures naked children sprawled about, all with gleaming white teeth and closely shaven heads, save for the one lock of hair, with which they are to be pulled up to heaven; women with tattooed faces and dangling ornaments pounded barley in primitive stone mortars, and baked thin cakes of bread on flat stones. Leaving the river-side we struck out to the right for half a mile across the bare, parched ground, where tufts of rough grass were trying to get a footing in the white, barren soil. We climbed up the mound, passing bands of workmen tunnelling in the sides and removing the bricks which lay about in tumbled heaps or in bits of standing walls. From the top of Babel we could look right over the tract of land once enclosed by the walls of Babylon. The descriptions of Herodotus enable the traveller to call up some sort of idea of the scene in his time. We learn from him that the city was built in the form of a square, surrounded by walls of enormous strength; each side of the square was fourteen miles long, each side had twenty-five gates of solid brass and was defended by square towers built above the wall; twenty-five streets went straight across the city each way from gate to gate. The city was thus cut into squares. The houses, three or four stories high, faced the street and were built at a little distance apart from each other; between them were gardens and plantations. A branch of the river ran through the city; its banks were one long quay. The larger buildings stood in the centre of a square, each apparently fortified and surrounded by walls of its own. It is of these smaller walls only that any trace can be detected. From the foot of Babel, where we stood, remains of earthen ramparts could be traced for two or three miles southwards; they then turned at right angles towards the river and extended as far as its eastern bank. The mounds they enclosed were presumably the site of the more important buildings. Babel itself is supposed to represent the temple of Belus. The Mujelibe, or Kasr, lying to the south of us, is identified with the Palace of Nebuchadnezzar and the hanging gardens; further south still was a lesser mound, Amram. We knew that Birs Nimroud, the great ruin which is looked upon as the Tower of Babel, lay beyond this again, although we could not see it from where we stood. The whole gleamed white in the strong sunshine. On our right the Euphrates rolled along, as unconcerned in his course as the Sun-god overhead. We could trace the direction of the river southwards to the horizon, marked by the palms along its banks. They made a thin, dark line across a wide, light plain--an alluvial tract which is only waiting to yield its hidden gifts on the day when Man joins hands with Nature and distributes the waters of the river. But not so the actual soil of Babylon; that soil, consisting as it does of building dust and débris, is of a nature which destroys vegetation. "The Lord of Hosts hath swept it with the besom of destruction," and it is doomed perpetually to be a "dry land, a wilderness, a land wherein no man dwelleth." As we looked upon the great plain which stretched away all round until it carried the eye on into the sky above, we could almost believe with the ancients that the edge of the earth joined the dome of heaven and that both were supported by the waters of Apsn--the deep. A great wave of silence rolled out of the desert and broke over us. It seemed natural to be immersed in silence; could anything else be expected from a land which had never been alive with the stir of humanity even in far-off ages, of which one might now feel the hush while listening for the echo? The desert had always been silent and would be silent for ever more--a dead, unconscious silence, with no significance save of absence of life. But when we looked at the site of Babylon stretched just beneath us, we became vividly conscious of a real, living silence; we were listening to the "hum of mighty workings"; voices of souls long since dead, the dust of whose bodies lay at our feet, were "wakening the slumbering ages." Had not Nebuchadnezzar entered into the House of the Dead in the great cavern Araltu, the Land of No Return? The dead had been stirred up, even the chief ones of earth, to greet him as he entered hell: "Art thou also become weak as we? Art thou become like unto us? Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee, ..." and they looked at him narrowly, saying, "Is this the man that made the earth to tremble?" And yet still for us "the wind uttered" and "the spirit heard" his vainglorious cry: "Is not this the great Babylon that I have built for the house of the kingdom by the might of my power and for the honour of my majesty?" The silent answer to it lay at our feet. And, listening, we heard the solemn warnings of Daniel, the sorrowful forebodings of Jeremiah, and, above all, the ironical voice of Isaiah:-- "Let them stand up and save thee, Mappers of heavens, Planet observers, Tellers of new moons, From what must befall thee." As we listened again we heard the noise "like as of a great people; a tumultuous noise of the kingdoms of nations gathered together.... "A sound of battle is in the land and of great destruction.... "A sound of a cry cometh from Babylon and great destruction from the land of the Chaldeans.... "One post ran to meet another post, and one messenger to meet another to shew the king of Babylon that his city is taken." Then we heard a sound of much feasting and revelling; we heard a solemn hush when there came forth fingers of a man's hand and wrote upon the wall. Even as we listened to the hush it seemed to grow into the great hush of ages, and we remembered that we stood alone in the living silence of these great dead, surrounded by the dead silence of an uninhabited land. Overhead the Sun-god silently vaunted his eternal existence; at our feet the Euphrates rolled fresh waters of oblivion from an eternal source to an eternal sea. CHAPTER XX THE SOUND OF THE DESERT The Syrian desert between Baghdad and Damascus; two white tents, a prowling jackal, and a starry sky. * * * * * There was a sense of stir in camp; a rattle of tins and a neighing of animals; a faint odour of lighted charcoal was wafted in at the tent door. I opened one eye; X still slumbered peacefully at the opposite side of the tent. Arten appeared at the door with a jug of water and a light. "One o'clock," he said laconically as he placed them on the ground and retired. The stars were still shining, my bed was very warm. True, it was one o'clock in Turkish time only, but no Christian ought to be roused at that hour. X fell out of bed with a determined thump. "It's late," she said. I made no response, but, knowing from experience that X was always right, tried to reconstruct my ideas about time and reconcile the fact that it was late with its being one o'clock in the morning. Besides, if X ordained that it was late, in another half-hour the tent ropes would be loosened regardless of the stage our toilet had reached, and a falling tent, when one has just got one's back hair into shape, is exasperating if not damaging. I got up, and just managed to hurl myself through the door, mostly clothed, as the tent collapsed on the ground. X was already seated cross-legged on a rug outside, holding one blue hand over a few charcoal embers while she munched a piece of dry bread held in the other. "You need not think I have eaten all the butter," she said, "because there wasn't any." Satisfied with the explanation, I munched my bread in silence and swallowed a cup of thick tea; we had been carrying water for three days and it was getting opaque. The stillness of the night which reigned outside was being invaded by the cries and movements of men; dark forms flitted about as they watered the animals and adjusted the nose-bags for the morning's feed. A horse, impatient of his tether, had broken loose and was galloping defiantly round the camp, inspired to further mischief by the methods of his pursuers, whose idea of reassuming their authority over him was to rush in his direction flourishing whips and uttering piercing cries. He was finally brought to bay entangled in some tent ropes, and a sudden lull fell on the disturbed atmosphere. The Oriental can work himself into a pitch of excitement which would keep a European in hysterics for several hours, and then suddenly drop the matter and become instantly silent and unconcerned. There seems no half-way stage between excessive noise and an indifferent silence. Somewhat awakened by this incident, the men set to work to pack up the camp; the mules were unloosed and stood about with looks of resignation as the loads were adjusted on the creaking pack-saddles and secured with ropes. There was a subdued din and confusion without any sense of hurry. "Allah! Allah!" the native cries when he exerts himself in any way. "Aha, aha!" he cries with equal ardour, mingled with satisfaction, when his task is accomplished. And now the last knot has been tied, the last cloak laid across the saddle; the last ember of the dying charcoal fire has been carefully raked out to light the cigarette, and we straggle slowly out into the gloom, leaving one charred spot and a sardine tin in the sandy waste. There had been a suggestion of redness in the gathering light for the last few moments; streaks of silver and bars of gold lined the dusky sky. It is disconcerting to be travelling westwards when one wishes to be aware of a rising sun. I twisted myself round in the saddle and, leaving my horse to pick his way, advanced backwards. The whole scene was soon a vast glow of colour, the yellow sand of the desert holding and reflecting the brilliant reds and yellows; and now the sun appeared on the horizon line and slowly rose, until the whole disc of fire stood out in glowing magnificence and then gradually grew paler as he shared his substance with the surrounding sky. The long straggling line of our caravan, which had looked like a black serpent twisting through a sea of fire, became less black in the growing light, and men and animals assumed individual shapes. In another half-hour the broad light of day showed the surroundings in their common aspect. I twisted round again in the saddle, and, having turned my back on poetry and romance, became only conscious of the temperature of my extremities. The cold was intense; X and the soldiers were far ahead; the caravan lagged behind; I was alone with cold hands and feet. Poets and philosophers have talked of being alone with the sun and the earth: if ever conditions were favourable for enjoying the sole companionship of these two elements, it might seem to be under the present circumstances. But in the desert one can be more alone even than this, for in some frames of mind the sky and the earth give one no sense of companionship. Cold and implacable the grim silent desert stretched away in front beyond the realms of space; the hard blue sky overhead stared into the abyss of Time, offering no link between Nature and Man. There was nothing one could take hold of; no cloud in the sky of which to ask the question "Whither?"; no shadow on the earth to which one could say "Whence?" You were thrown back on yourself, were only conscious of your beating heart and a void. The words of a great lover of nature rose up in my mind: "There is nothing human in nature. The earth, though loved so dearly, would let you perish on the ground and neither bring forth food nor water. Burning in the sky the great sun, of whose company I have been so fond, would merely burn on and make no motion to assist me." You felt keenly alive in the middle of this cold dead space, and you knew there was something alive in you which demanded something of it: had you no place in the economy of this great silent Universe? was there no way of making yourself heard or felt? Is it that the soul of man must be there to make things alive, and you were now crossing earth where no soul of man had crossed before, and all things were dead? From sheer agony I cried out; no answering echo followed; the sound fell flat and dead. The cold heavens stared placidly on, the surface of the earth was unruffled. I drew rein and listened intently: I heard the roar of London streets; the cry of the newsboy, the milkman's call, the tramp of a million hurrying feet; I heard the rush of trains and the screech of engines; I heard a thousand discordant voices in divers tongues where men were struggling and rushing after material ends. And dominating all this, infinitely louder and more distinct, making itself heard supreme and all powerful, filling the great space in which one had seemed eternally lost, I heard--the Silence of the desert. Why wish to make one's self heard?--better be still and listen to the voice of silence; let its words sink into you and become part of you, and so take some of its quiet and peace back with you into those crowded cities of men. If there is a link between anything in you and this grim stretch of barren sand and impassive depth of distant sky, it is the response of its silence to the silence in you. It is the material aspect of silence in its crudest form appealing to and recognising in you the unspeakable realms of silence which exist in the region you are dimly conscious of beyond your senses. As we pray to the sea for its depth and calm, to the wind for its freedom, to the sun for its light, so we pray to the desert for its silence. Let your nature expand to the width of this horizon, to the height and depth of this sky, and fill it all with the eternity of this silence. Ask of the sun why it shines, and if there is light in you it will answer; ask of the wind why it blows, and to fettered and free alike it gives its answer; ask of the desert why it is silent, and if there is silence in you you need no answer. Is there any calm for you in the sea until you put it there? Do you feel any freedom in the wind until you have created it? But can you, in any mood or under any circumstance, evade the silence of the desert? Its influence extends alike to those who receive it and those who resent it. The men who have no region of silence in themselves are under the power of its physical aspect; to them it is oppressive, wearying, and deadening; there is an absence of life, a presence of monotony from which there is no escape. But once we recognise its silence as being of the nature of what we possess in ourselves, the shadow of monotony and oppressiveness is lifted. Can its effect be better described than it is in that fundamental doctrine of Islam, where it almost coincides with the teachings of Christianity in its endeavour to give expression to the truth? "Islam," that is the resignation of our own will to that of one great power, the effacement of self, the futility of putting our own will or mind against that of the great, silent, all powerful, inevitable laws of Nature--the Moslem idea of Fate and Power--the Christian's blending of his own will with the Divine will--the scientist's recognition of Law--you may put it how you will; are they not but different interpretations of the unseen power, which, silent in itself and only understood in silence, holds supreme sway in moments of silence, and, when expressed in its physical aspect in these barren regions of the earth, appeals through our eyes and ears to the regions in us, beyond these senses, where it exists in its essential condition? I rode on; the sun had warmed my left side through and the right was beginning to thaw. My shadow, which had been keeping pace with the horse on the right, now began to creep in front as the sun rose higher. By the time its burning rays poured straight down overhead the foreshortened shadow seemed to be leading the way along the desert track. In time the heat became almost unbearable, and, suddenly awakening to the stern realities of physical discomfort, I brought my whip down on the horse's flank; he leaped, startled, in the air, and then flew after his shadow in a settled gallop. Air, of which one had become unconscious, rushed past one's face, and the muffled thud of his hoofs on the sand seemed to measure time and space. I dashed up to X and stopped dead beside her. She looked round inquiringly. "Let's eat," I said. She looked at her watch. "We have been riding four hours," she said; "we might stop at the next good place." I looked ahead significantly. "One place looks much the same as another," I said. "I think there is a dip in the ground further on," she answered, "where we might get a little shelter." There did seem to be a slight wave in the flat expanse and we rode on to it, but, like all dips in this country, when we arrived at it, it did not seem to be there. We had had so much experience in riding after delusive dips that we decided to stop here, and slid off our horses. The cook unpacked the lunch from his saddle-bags and placed hard-boiled eggs, biscuits, and dates beside us. He carefully filled a cup with a thick, brown liquid from the bottom of his waterskin. "Bitdi," he said, by which expression he conveyed that the fresh water was now finished. Then he and the men retired a few yards and ate their lunch. Nothing was heard but the steady munch of human jaws. Then they stretched themselves on the sand and absolute silence reigned, broken by occasional snores. We too lay back, each concealed from the other under two huge umbrellas, which seemed rather to focus the sun's rays than shade them from us. When one was alone the desert had seemed full of unqualified silence; in company with others the silence seemed even greater, for the slight sounds which there were made one more conscious of the sound which was not. The clank of the horses' bits, the quiet breathing of one's companions, the stir of a foot, made one realise the intensity of the silence of the whole vast expanse. The far-off tinkling of the mule bells in the approaching caravan gave one a sense of distance in a way one would hardly experience by simply gazing at an unapproachable horizon. The heat and the slight fatigue added a feeling of drowsiness which would make even the solid things around one seem shadowy and distant. It was a waking sleep; one's senses were numb because of the absence of anything to call them into play, though one might "see, hear, feel, outside the senses." In the same way that one is alone in a London street one can live in a whirl in the desert; the throb of humanity---- X's umbrella shut with a bang. "Wake up, the caravan is coming." A cloud of dust, a stamping of animals, a shouting of men, and we were off once more. It was our habit to keep pace with the camp in the latter half of the day, and for the next three hours we dawdled along at caravan pace. It was a motley crew. The muleteers trudge along behind the laden animals, taking turns on the back of a patient, sorrowful donkey, on which they ride sideways with dangling legs, pricking its side with a long needle, the secondary object of which is the repairing of broken straps. The pack-mules go doggedly on in front, jostling one another with their unwieldy loads. Occasionally one gets off the track and wanders aside, only to be urged back into line with yells and blows. Another stops dead, feeling its load slip round sideways. The men rush at it with shouts of "Allah! Allah!" the load is shoved up and the ropes tightened. There is a general din of shouting and swearing and jangling of bells; and above it all the disdainful camel moves deliberately on with measured step and arched neck, unmindful of the petty skirmishes so far below it; its owner, infected by its spirit, rocking on the top, surveys the whole scene with a dejected, uninterested air. Bringing up the rear, motionless and erect on small donkeys, ride one or two older Arabs, wrapped in long sheepskin cloaks, their faces entirely concealed in the folds of a keffiyeh, save where two stern and solemn eyes gaze unceasingly at you with expressionless imperturbability. Wild sons of the desert, product of this eternal silence, are you so much a part of it that you are unconscious of its power? The only gay and careless element is introduced by the Turkish soldiers. Mounted on splendid Arab mares they ride in front, sometimes dashing ahead at a wild gallop, holding out their rifles at arm's length, wheeling suddenly round and coming to a dead stop in front of an imaginary enemy, upright in their stirrups; in their more subdued moments breaking into song with the mournful Eastern refrains. And so, forming one small world of our own, we "follow and follow the journeying sun," and as it sinks lower on the horizon and its fierce rays cease to beat pitilessly down on the parched ground and thirsty animals, a silence falls on the moving band. The spirit of the desert again holds sway. The men cease quarrelling, the animals' heads sink lower, the donkey looks more resigned, the mule more dogged, the camel more superior, the silent Arab more stern and forbidding; the soldier hums where he sang before. Then at last the walls of a solitary guard-house heave in sight. The men hail it with joyful cries, the soldiers dash ahead, the pack-animals prick their ears and quicken their steps to an amble. There is a general rush and tumble, culminating in a dead halt on the ground which has formed the place for caravans since caravans crossed the desert. All is noise and confusion. The loads are unloosed and fall in promiscuous heaps amongst the medley of animals, who, released of their burdens, roll over on their backs kicking up the dust. A line of men draw water from the well, pulling at a squeaky chain and invoking the aid of Allah in chorus as they pull. A fight is going on in one corner; men are knocking one another down, encouraged by a circle of yelling spectators. The din of excited quarrelling voices, the hammering of tent pegs, dominates everything, broken at times by the sudden neigh of a horse bitten by its neighbour or the harsh, imperious cry of the camel for its supper. And in the middle of it all the Turkish soldier spreads his cloak upon the ground, turns his face to Mecca, and offers up his murmured prayer to Allah, the one restful form in this scene of chaos. "Allah Akbar" (God is great), prays this son of Islam, and with his hands upon his knees, he bows his head; "Subhana 'llah" (I praise God), and he falls upon his knees; "Allah Akbar" (God is great), and he bows his head to touch the earth; "Subhana 'llah, subhana 'llah, subhana 'llah," and he sits upon his heels; "Allah Akbar," and he again prostrates himself; "Allah Akbar, subhana 'llah." And on this scene the sun casts his final rays of gold and red. As the shades of night draw in, quiet reigns once more; the men collect round the blazing camp-fire, and in its light we see the outline of their dark forms seated cross-legged, as they eat out of the common bowl or take turns at the bubbling narghile; to one side the mules are tethered in two lines forming a half square; a muleteer is grooming them, and one hears the rattle of his scraper and the ever tinkling bell. The cook is stirring our evening meal in a pot on the fire outside our tent. Hassan fetches our rugs and spreads them on the ground; we lie down and he covers us over with his sheepskin cloak. "Rahat" (Rest), he says, and lifts his hands over us as if pronouncing a blessing. Then he sits down beside us and lights a cigarette. "Bourda ehe," he goes on, describing the universe with a sweep of his hand. "Kimse yok" (It is well here--there is no one). "Is Allah here?" asks X. "Allah is here," he answers with simple reverence, "Allah is everywhere"; and we all lie motionless under the stars, unwilling to probe the silence by the sound of uttered thoughts. The murmur of the men's voices gradually dies away as, one by one, they doze off; a jackal cries in the distance; a star falls down to earth. The day is over, and in this land of the Oriental there is no thought of the morrow. The passive silence of sleep; the active silence of communing souls; the silence of night--all fitful expressions of the one great Silence brooding over all, be one asleep or awake, by night and by day, in desert places and in busy haunts of men. CHAPTER XXI PALMYRA It burst upon us all at once, Palmyra, in the desert--a chaos of golden pillars in the glow of the setting sun. We had been riding all day towards an indefinite shape on the horizon; slowly it had resolved itself into a barrier of yellow rock with dark lines becoming distinguishable against it. We had passed through the patches of rising corn, making green holes in the brown desert; we had wound through the gardens of pomegranate and plantations of palm trees and turned the corner of the ugly konak which barred the ruins from our view; and there it lay, the desert-girt city, in the unutterable lonely magnificence of its reckless confusion. We drew rein under the Triumphal Arch; from here the eye is led on down the great colonnade from column to column, now upright, now fallen, to where a mile away a castle crowns a peak of the range under which Palmyra crouches--an old time harbour for the sand sea beyond. [Illustration: PALMYRA. TRIUMPHAL ARCH.] Behind us the present village of Tadmor was concealed inside the walls of the great Temple of the Sun; its mud hovels lie rotting behind the gigantic columns of the inner court in the dirt which chokes the massive archways. Here it is that the present life of Palmyra, such as it is, is slowly obliterating the remaining evidences of her past; while on the opposite side of the ruins, where the hills cleave to form a lonely valley, the dead of Palmyra, buried in a line of square tomb-towers, still keep alive the memory of her ancient greatness. * * * * * Was it the sun only, with its light on the yellow columns, that made one think of Palmyra purely as a city of gold? Or were one's thoughts unconsciously influenced by the fact that its traditions all rest on the getting of gold; its power was built up on trade; its great men were the successful traffickers of the desert; its statues and columns were raised to the memory of those who brought the caravans of goods from India and Persia unharmed through the dangers of the desert; its temples were dedicated to the Sun-god by those whose lives were spared in their getting of great wealth, or to the memory of those who perished in the attempt. Those were the days when it was a man's boast that the blood of a merchant ran in his veins--when a youth could aspire to no higher goal than that of being a merchant prince of his proud city. Her prosperity had been her ruin; the gold had led to her undoing; and now the Sun, to whom the temples had been raised at the time of her pride, mocked her ruins by giving them the semblance of scattered gold. * * * * * This is the best way to realise Palmyra--to make it the culmination of a long and tedious journey through the desert. The first sight of it under any conditions must indeed be wonderful, but coming in from Damascus, which is the natural approach for visitors to the ruins, one could never feel about it in quite the same way. Civilisation is only five days behind you; the country you pass through, moreover, although desert enough in a way, does not give you the same sense of being utterly cut off from everything in limitless space; there are chains of mountains to be seen in the distance, and cultivated patches stretching round villages are more frequent. Then when you arrive at Palmyra you ride first through the valley of tombs--it is the dead that give you the first greeting; you get glimpses through the opening ahead of the highest columns, and are slowly prepared for what is coming, until, emerging finally through the gap, the whole scene is laid out before you, with the gleaming desert beyond. * * * * * But approach it from the desert side, and all the meaning and force of its one time existence is borne in upon you with an overwhelming realisation. For three weeks you have been following the old trade route from the Persian Gulf. You have made one of a caravan amongst the doggedly jogging mules and the slow stepping camels, both heavily laden with the clumsy pack-saddles holding bales of merchandise; the sound of their jangling bells is the only sound you hear through the long, monotonous ride under the blazing sun; you have spent night after night in the circle round the camp-fire, with the men crouched under the bales of goods piled up on the ground to form a rude shelter; the places where you stop have been the regular halting places for caravans for all time--now they are oases big enough to support a village, now it is merely a well and a guard-house. As you ride through the immeasurable expanse every dark object on the horizon line forms a subject for speculation. Its appearance is a signal for the hasty consolidation of the straggling line of men and animals, arms are looked to, you all close up and ride on, apparently unconcerned, but equally prepared for a sudden onslaught or a friendly greeting. For it is not only the difficulties and dangers due to Nature's barrenness that have to be guarded against. What must it have been in the days when the countless hordes of wealth of a huge caravan were at stake, and when the whole desert was beset with marauding tribes specially on the look-out for such prey? What must have been the feelings of those responsible for its safe conduct when they once more saw the first dim outline of the Palmyra hills in the distance? The goal would be reached that day; the troubles, the anxieties, the sleeplessness of the watching nights would be over; proud and triumphant they would ride down the long colonnade, the pack animals jostling one another in the unaccustomed crush of the bounded way, and the noise of shouting drivers and jangling bells sounding strangely loud and near in the confining space. Down on them from the columns above would look the statues put up to honour those who had achieved the same feat which they themselves had just accomplished. Their names too would now be written up and handed down from generation to generation in remembrance of the service they had rendered their State. For such deeds as these had built up the great city, and their fellow-citizens honoured them in this way. [Illustration: HASSAN.] At first it would seem that Tadmor was merely an Arab encampment, a stopping place amongst others for the passing caravans. The abundance of its water and its position on the meeting point of two great trade routes would gradually cause it to become an important centre. Dues were levied on all goods passing in and out, and even the privilege of using the wells was heavily taxed. Slowly it became the market-place of the East and the West; its inhabitants were the carriers between the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea. As the foundations of the city were built up on trade, so commerce was a pursuit for its aristocracy, involved as it was with all the elements of warfare and danger. Its merchants would be pure Arabs of good blood, welcomed as equals by the shaykhs of the desert tribes through whose territory their goods had to pass. Palmyra had thus gradually built up her own existence as an independent State. Political events then added to her power. The wars of Rome with Persia made her an important military post; recognised by Rome more as a partner State than a dependency, she was able to pursue her own policy with such effect that she tried to assert her entire independence and cut herself adrift from the Western power. Taking advantage of the temporary ascendance of Persia over the Roman arms, the desert Queen, Zenobia, fulfilled her ambition as sole Queen of the East. After her defeat by Aurelian the town was partially destroyed; a change in the political factors which had contributed to her importance now hastened her downfall by lessening the significance of her geographical position; safer trade routes further south led to the decay of her commercial prosperity. Bit by bit she loses her place in historical records, and at the present day Palmyra stands a lonely ruin on a deserted trade route, inhabited by a score of Arab families. In one sense Time has dealt gently with her; there is no decay from the growth of vegetation in this dry climate. Neither moss nor ivy has softened the aspect of destruction; the overturned columns show as true and sharp a face now as the day they were set up, and the ornate carving stands out in the same relief. One thinks of the place as built entirely of columns; they lie in rank profusion everywhere, like a great forest of trunks overturned by a gale. The great central avenue runs from the Temple of the Sun in a north-westerly direction to the castle on the range of hills which bounds the city to the north. It has been calculated that it alone contains 1,500 columns. Much of this still remains standing, but the gaps become more frequent, until at the castle end the whole thing has collapsed, forming a perfect sea of broken columns and fragments of carved pilasters. It is evident that the minor streets also were lined with pillars in the same way; short rows of them stand up here and there in various directions. Groups of twos and threes suggest also their attachment to some public building or temple. The statues were placed on brackets projecting from the upper part of the pillars, and the inscriptions below, which have escaped destruction, give the names and dates of those whom they were intended to honour. * * * * * As we had entered Palmyra with a vivid conception of its life, so we left it with an equally vivid conception of its death. Standing guard like a row of sentinels at the base of the hills are the square tomb-towers in which Palmyra buried its dead. The proud merchants seem to have been imbued with two main ideas: the erection of columns in their lifetime and of resting places for their families in death. Many of the towers are over a hundred feet high and consist of five and six stories. The bodies were arranged in tiers in the recesses on either side of a central chamber. Some of these buildings are still nearly perfect, others are practically heaps of ruins. The bones of the proud merchants are mingled with the bones of the wild beasts who have sought refuge there through the long ages. We turn our backs on the city and ride away through the gap in the hills. The city is hidden from view, but the tomb-towers still stand in silent rows down the valley on either side. We forget the golden pillars and all the ruined magnificence; we can think of nothing but these ghostly towers seeing us out, as it were, from this city of the dead. High up on the hill above, in the still morning air, a shepherd boy pipes merrily at them, and flocks of goats and sheep browse unconcernedly at their feet. CHAPTER XXII AN ARMENIAN AND A TURK I. ARTEN. Arten was an Armenian; he was quick, thin, methodical, dirty, intelligent, and untruthful; he was also the cook. I say _the_ cook advisedly, for _a_ cook he was not. No doubt he would have made an excellent cook if he had known anything about the art; but it was not till after we had engaged him in this capacity that we discovered that he had not thought this qualification necessary. At any rate, he knew, being a hungry man himself, that we were in need of food of some sort at stated intervals. In this he was a decided improvement on the Greek cook we had just dismissed; this man had a habit of coming to us, after we had been waiting hours in momentary expectation of a meal, and saying with a languid air, "Do you wish to eat?" He was a good cook, but always seemed overcome with astonishment when we expected him to cook. Arten was a dirty man, and he looked dirtier than he was owing to his dark complexion and hairy hands; besides this, his unbrushed and greasy black European clothes showed off to disadvantage amongst the simpler Eastern garments of his companions. "Arten is not a clean cook," Hassan would say, and Arten would smile sadly. He must have been slightly conscious of this defect, for he never handed me a plate or a spoon without saying "Temiz" (clean) as a forestalling measure before I had even looked at it. He spent a good deal of time rubbing smeary plates with a blackish cloth, murmuring "Temiz, temiz." He had a sincere desire to please us; but he always imagined this object was attained by the vigorous assertion of any fact that seemed necessary for our pleasure. "Taze" (fresh) he would say every time he handed me an egg; and, when I cut off the top and an explosion followed, "Taze" he would say again. "Eat it yourself then," I would suggest, handing it back to him; after putting his great nose right into it, "Taze," he would say. But he never ate it; he kept it for omelettes. His nose was his chief feature. One saw the nose first and then the man behind it. On cold days, when we all wrapped our heads and faces entirely in keffiyehs, Arten would be always distinguishable from the others by this protrusion. He had a jet black drooping moustache which he was always wiping furtively with a jet black pocket-handkerchief, for Arten was a greedy man and the only person who loved the taste of his own cookery. "I like to see him getting fat," X would say; "he looked half starved when he came to us." But Hassan and I were not so charitable. "Look," Hassan would say, "the door of the tent is shut; that pig Arten is stealing the food," and he would go and kick at the tent until Arten looked out, guiltily wiping his moustache. "You are cold, I suppose," says Hassan with lofty sarcasm. Arten mops his perspiring brow--he was always perspiring. "How cold?" he answers with well feigned surprise. "Because you shut the tent door," answers Hassan. "Aman," rejoins Arten, "what am I to do? if the muleteers see me cooking they come and ask for food; they are such greedy men, the muleteers." Hassan returns to us snorting. "Arten says the muleteers are greedy men. Mashallah! greedy men! We know who is the greedy man!" And he slaps his thigh vehemently. Arten's notions of cookery were, as I have said, limited. His staple dish was a mixture of mutton, potatoes, onions, and rice, which were all cooked up together in the same pot, each ingredient being thrown in according to the length of time it took to cook. It certainly tasted very good, and I would suggest the method to those in England who dislike washing many saucepans. His other idea of cooking mutton was less satisfactory in results, though simpler in method, and I have no hesitation in not recommending it to English housewives, though I append the recipe as a matter of interest from its originality. Take a piece of sheep, and with an axe cut it into chunks, regardless of bones or gristle; take a chunk and throw it on to red-hot charcoal in a brazier; when there is a distinct smell of burning and the hissing has nearly ceased, turn it over on the other side. When it resembles a piece of burnt charcoal, remove it and serve at once; swallow whole, as if you try to bite it your teeth will remind you of it for a considerable time, and in any case you will be conscious of its resting-place for the remainder of the day. When staying at a consulate in the middle of our tour, the consul's wife, horrified at our fare, offered to let her cook teach Arten a few simple dishes which would considerably add to our comfort. Arten acquiesced with very good grace, and was inducted, amongst other things, in the art of making cutlets. On our departure our kind hostess, moreover, provided us with a piece of meat suitable for cutlets. The first evening there was an undercurrent of excitement in the air; there were to be cutlets for dinner. Arten had an important, self-conscious bustle about him and looked mysterious; the Zaptiehs seemed awed and asked questions under their breath; the greedy muleteers were distinctly interested; we pretended to be unmoved. Finally, with a modest air, through which bumptiousness glared furiously, Arten announced that supper was ready. There was a covered dish keeping warm under the brazier; Arten very deliberately placed it before us and with a dramatic flourish removed the cover. We were only conscious of a yellow-looking crumby paste. "Where are the cutlets?" we asked, keeping up our courage nobly. "That is cutlets, Pasha." We tasted it; it appeared to consist of fried eggs and breadcrumbs. We felt justified in contradicting him, but he still persisted that it was cutlets. "But we want the cutlets, like those the Effendi's cook showed you how to make." "Yes, that is it, Pasha; that is what the Effendi's cook showed me." "But cutlets are meat," we persisted. "Yes, Pasha; but that is cutlets without the meat." This reasoning was incontrovertible. We tried to fill up with dates and rice and went to bed crestfallen and hungry. The next day we returned to the charge. I undertook to show Arten how to cook cutlets, though I had not the smallest idea myself how it ought to be done. I had an inkling, however, that egg and breadcrumbs were in it somehow. "Arten," I said, "cut the meat as the Effendi's cook did for cutlets." Arten obeyed. "Make egg and breadcrumb," I said. He did this also. "Now do with it what the Effendi's cook did," I said. Arten smeared the meat with it. I began to see light and breathed more freely, but I had still one venture to make. "Now cook the meat as the Effendi's cook did," I said. I held my breath; for all I knew they might now have to be boiled in a saucepan or toasted on a fork. But Arten appeared to know what he was doing. He took a frying-pan and fried them in fat. A glow of satisfaction crept all over me as I watched them beginning to resemble the finished appearance I was acquainted with. When they were actually on a dish, I said loftily:-- "Please remember for the future that when we say we want cutlets, this is what we mean." "As you please," he answered affably; "I call them frisolen. I knew how to cook them before the Effendi's cook showed me," he went on. "Why did you never let us have them, then?" I said severely. "How could I know you would like them?" he answered with injured innocence. "How did you know we liked tough chunks burnt on a brazier?" was my icy retort. Arten shrugged his shoulders; there never has been any accounting for the whims of women. Small differences of opinion such as these were continually cropping up between us; and I would tell him in calm and measured tones, though in forcible English, what I thought of him. As the language was unintelligible to him, this method had the advantage of relieving my feelings without hurting his. But there were secret bonds of sympathy between us. We both suffered intensely from the cold, and Arten would carefully wrap things round me so that the apertures and crevices were not on the windward side. There is a good deal of art in this, and he did it very scientifically. "Little things feel the cold," he would say compassionately, and in such a kindly spirit that, for the moment, I forgave him his greed and forgot to feel undignified. We were also on common ground when I tried to cook dishes which I did not know how to cook. Currents of great sympathy ran between us when things did not seem to be turning out right and Arten would tentatively suggest various ways and means. But he never did what a foolish or disagreeable person would have done: he never expressed in his looks that I was no better than himself, which obviously would not have been true, since I did not pretend to be a cook, while Arten did. And then when the critical moments of our existence arrived and we placed the dish before X, we both watched with the same intensity for the expression of her face after the first mouthful. X was singularly appreciative, and, when she kept assuring us how excellent it was, Arten would glance at me encouragingly and appear to share the delight I experienced at my own prowess. X thought Arten's cookery good, too, but then she never knew what she was eating, and, if you do not know the name of the dish, how can you judge whether or not it is cooked as it ought to be? "What is this?" X would ask one day. "Mutton," Arten would answer. "What is this?" she would say the next day, when the identical substance was handed to her. "Chicken," Arten would answer. And X was perfectly satisfied. The next day it would be "tinned meat," and it was all the same to her--and to me; but then I knew what a liar Arten was. His kindness of heart and his desire to please us made it all the more difficult not to be irritated with him when circumstances did not draw out the better side of his nature. It is uncomfortable to despise people in a qualified manner, and I found it impossible to despise Arten unreservedly and therefore happily. There was no doubt that he was a horrible coward. If he had said, "I am a coward--I am afraid," he would have enlisted my sympathy for what it was worth, because I was a coward myself and admired sincerity. If he had even preserved a decent silence on the subject I should have been unable altogether to despise him, for that was the course I pursued myself. But when any real or imaginary danger was past he would come out with assumed and aggressive hilarity, and make tales about it and his prowess, which latter he had already made conspicuous enough by its absence. Yet his position was no doubt complicated: he knew that the Turks in our train despised not only him but his race; there was no one to suggest his courage if he did not do it himself, and, as he was unable to exhibit it in deeds, I have no doubt he saw no other course to pursue but that of publishing it by word of mouth. Moreover, he had suffered personally from bad treatment; the tale was a piteous one. Near his native town of Adana he had a small mill where he ground corn through the season. On one occasion he had done well and was on his way back to his wife and children in the town, carrying his earnings, which were to keep them through the winter. Half way home he was attacked by a band of robbers, who relieved him not only of his gold but of all his clothes. He had to remain in hiding by the roadside until some one passed from whom he could borrow a garment in which to return starved and penniless to his expectant family. Small wonder that the poor man shuddered at the word "Khursus" (brigand) which we laughingly joked about. "What is it to you?" he said one day; "you have rich relations, kind friends, and a just Government. If you are robbed, justice is done to you. But what can I expect but more abuse and ill-treatment?--and I have a wife and small children into the bargain!" When he was not posing as a hero, he was posing as a feature in the landscape. This was particularly exasperating, for no amount of pity for his condition would turn him into a picturesque martyr, even in the foreground of ancient ruins. No sooner was my camera produced than Arten produced himself. The only occasion on which I knew him keep out of sight was when I was trying to get a snap-shot of the band of Kurds who held us up on the Tigris. He seemed to have no desire to show himself, although I was considerate enough to invite him to occupy a prominent position for once. His appearance was not calculated to enhance the effect of any picture. He was like a starved black scarecrow dressed up in tight and clerical garments, with a fez on the top--and then there was the nose. He would have made any warm desert scene look cold, as it would not be obvious that he was perspiring, and in any group of picturesque natives he would look ludicrous. I recall, as I write, isolated moments of exasperation--when, for instance, he sat, singing a hymn, kicking up the dust with his heels, when we were trying to inflate ourselves with worthy feelings on the contemplation of Babylon, awed by the silence and desolation of the scene around us. Or again, how in a fit of nervousness he hurled the whole of our dinner in agitation on the floor, while we, after an unusually long fast, could have cried for food. But reviewing him calmly at a distance, one remembers a man that one alternately laughed at and pitied; who annoyed one by his transparent faults, but who commanded one's sympathy by his tragic condition, and one's admiration by his cheerful willingness in trying circumstances. A man who was meant by nature to be light-hearted and happy, kind to his fellows, energetic and interested in his work, ambitious for his children; but who fate dictated was to have his spirit quenched, his nature hardened, and mean and cowardly qualities developed owing to the fear, injustice, and poverty in which, like the rest of his countrymen, he was condemned to live. II. HASSAN. Hassan was an Albanian Turk; he belonged to one of the old Turkish families and looked every inch the gentleman that he was. Introduced to us by a common friend, he accompanied us during our seven months' wandering through Asiatic Turkey in a semi-professional capacity, but what that capacity was it would be difficult to define by any particular name. A dragoman he was not, though he called himself our "tergeman." "Tergeman," literally translated, being "interpreter," he could claim nothing entitling him to this function, for he spoke no European language, and it was not till we learnt Turkish that we could hold any spoken communication with him. Briefly, he acted as a sort of amateur dragoman without any of the qualifications usually expected of these gentlemen--and possessing a great many of the virtues in which, as a rule, they are sadly lacking. Essentially he was our Figure-head, and a splendid one he made, six foot six in stature and broad in proportion, as straight as a die and as supple as a willow, with a handsome head set well back on strong shoulders, and keen, kindly eyes which looked out very straight from under shaggy eyebrows. When he walked he put into his great stride a grace and dignity which soon earned for him the nickname of "the Prince." His chief characteristics were that gentleness which comes of great strength under perfect command; the courtesy which arises from a sense of other people's worth measured by a sense of his own; and an imperturbability which could be as irritating as it was admirable. "Ne faidet?" (what is the use?), was a favourite expression of his, and "ne faidet," he looked all over. In scenes of human quarrel, excitement, or danger, one was chiefly conscious of his calm indifference of mind and manner as he silently surveyed his companions in fear of brigands or in joy over a piece of meat. Yet he was a man full of the passions of his race, capable of an iron self-control when he thought fit to make use of it, but occasionally roused into a state of temper bordering on madness. On these occasions he would afterwards say his "jan" had had him by the throat, and he did not know what he was doing. A great man with a great imprisoned soul, as free and light-hearted as a careless boy when roaming in the great forests or on the bare mountain-side of his native home, fettered and fretful when the bonds of artificial civilisation held him. "What a Kallabalak! what is the use of this Kallabalak?" he would say with a wave of disgust when he got into the middle of a noisy crowd. "This is good, this is keyf," was his comment, with great gasps of enjoyment, when we three sat on the ground together in some lonely spot of a lonely desert. One felt he was breathing freely again. A silent man by nature, he could not bear loquacious people. "Burra, burra, burra," he would say, pointing his thumb at them; "burra, burra, burra, what is the use of all this talking?" If the remarks were addressed to him, they were always answered with stern courtesy. A talkative young Armenian rode with us one day and tried to draw him into conversation. "Is not that mirage in front of us? What a wonderful sight--trees and water and mountains! Do you not think it must be mirage, Effendi?" "With the eyes that Allah has given me, it does seem to be so, young man," was Hassan's grim answer, and he rode on without turning his head to right or left. Yet on occasion he enjoyed a refined "Kallabalak." One night in Cairo, when we had done for the time with camping and were seated in cleanliness and finery in the hotel garden, a confetti feast was going on. Serious young men and maidens, larky old men and festive matrons, were diverting themselves in the essentially hilarious proceeding of scattering confetti on one another. The garden was hung with Chinese lanterns; fireworks hissed and spluttered, shooting flames of colour. Hassan sat in convulsed enjoyment of the gay scene. It was a revelation to him of the lighter side of life. And when a charming young lady, bolder than the many who cast coy and curious glances at the handsome Turk, came and administered a dose of confetti down the back of his neck, he was overcome with glee and merriment. Afterwards, on subsequent wanderings in wilds and deserts, he would turn to us after hours of silence, and, bursting into a deep roar of laughter, would say, "Do you remember the paper and the foolish men and women?" His function, as I have said, was first and foremost that of Figure-head; he escorted us on our visits to Turkish officials and dignitaries, and, with grave dignity and courtly manner, unembarrassed by his own unshaven chin or the stains and dust of travel on our weather-worn and unwashed garments, he would make the most of anything entitling us to belong to "the great ones of England." He cast a general air of respectability over us, and we always felt it was largely due to him that we were shown so much consideration in a land where all travellers are treated with suspicion, and where women are not regarded in a particularly chivalrous light. But beside this, he was general caretaker of our personal comforts: he put up our camp-beds and arranged our tent; he always sat beside us at meals, which we took seated cross-legged on the ground, either outside by the camp-fire, or in bad weather on the floor of the tent. His first self-constituted duty was to peel the oranges with which we generally finished a meal; he removed the peel to form two cups, in which he neatly piled the sections and placed them beside us, carefully counting the pieces to make sure that he had treated us alike. "Shimdi" (now) he would say when we had finished the first course and we would ask for dates. "Shimdi" he would say again when the last of these were demolished. "Shimdi Kahiveh," and coffee would come in its turn. "Shimdi." "Nothing more." "Nothing," he would exclaim; "nothing?" "We will smoke now." "Tütün (tobacco), aha, Shimdi tütün," and he would light us each a cigarette. Then, when this too was finished, "Shimdi"--"Shimdi Rahat" (now rest), we answer--and he makes pillows for us with our saddle-bags and covers us over with rugs. This process was repeated every day until it became a stock joke. His jokes were all of this kind; there were certain standing ones which had to be gone through periodically. My Turkish was limited to about fifty words, so that conversation between us did not flow, but X, who had learned to speak more fluently, would ride with him for hours together, holding endless conversations on Turkish religion, habits, and ideas. When X and he fell out he would come and joke with me: one day I teazed him about being a better friend to her than to me. "How can that be?" he said gravely. "Because," I answered, "you quarrel with the Vali Pasha" (X was the Vali Pasha and I was the Padishah), "and then you make it up and are great friends again. But you are never cross with me. If I were your friend you would quarrel with me, too. But I am glad I am not your friend, or you would get angry with me." This idea seemed to tickle him immensely, and every day after this conversation there would be a moment when he would ride alongside of me, and, feigning an air of great disgust, would shrug his shoulders and say, "Istemen, istemen" (I do not want you). It was his singularly primitive way of acting a quarrel with me, and thereby showing that he and I were also friends. X would also attack him on the subject. "Why don't you go and scold the Padishah?" she said on one occasion; "she thinks the same as I do about these things, only she cannot talk Turkish, so she does not say them." "The Padishah is but a child," he answered; "it would hurt her. It would be a shame to hurt a child." As a matter of fact I was older than X in months, but her bodily proportions were larger than mine, and everything goes by size in the East. As time went on, however, we too had our little rubs, and his methods of making friends again were what one would expect from his schoolboy nature. If I was in the tent, he would throw stones at it until I looked out smiling; this was taken as a sign that the quarrel was over; he would roll up an extra large cigarette for me, and we would sit on the ground and have a smoke of peace together. Our friendship was of a silent nature. I made my fifty words express everything I had to say, and to simplify matters only used the verbs in the infinitive and nouns in the nominative. Long custom had established a certain meaning to various sentences between us which would have been unintelligible to any other Turk. "What Turkish, aman, what Turkish she speaks!" he used to say to X, holding up his hands in amused dismay. We taught him a few English sentences, of which he was very proud. "Pull it up," he invariably said when he held out his hand to help us off the ground. "Pull it down," was his formula when he arranged our habit skirts after mounting us. "Pull it off," when he helped us off with our oats. When he was in a temper I made him say, "I am a silly man," which he pronounced: "I am---- "A Silliman." Although he did not know the meaning of the words, he connected them with his own misdemeanours. "Silliman yok (not), silliman yok," he used to say fiercely when he was beginning to repent and get ashamed of himself. He always said "Good-bight" for "Goodbye," confusing it with "Good-night." Great was his pleasure whenever in the course of our travels we came across a European, or any one who could speak a language which I understood. "See now," he would exclaim at the unwonted sight of me talking with any one, "she has found a friend!" And then, when we parted and I relapsed into silence: "See now, how sad she looks! She is thinking of her friend." And he would ride up to me compassionately. "Where is your friend now, Padishah?" "Where, indeed?" I answer. "I have no friend; you must buy me one in the bazaars next time we get to a town." "And how much money must I give for him, Padishah?" "You must not give much, because I am poor, but you must get a very good one." "Aman, ama, see now what she says: I must get a good one, and yet not give much money. Do you hear, Vali Pasha?" And when he came back from the bazaars: "I have bought the friend, Padishah." "Where is he? I don't see him." "He is here, in my bag." "How much did you give for him?" "Ten piastres." "He cannot be a good one if he is as cheap as that, and so small that he will go in your bag." "Oh yes, he is a good friend," and he produces a roll of tobacco; "a good friend and little money. That was what you said, wasn't it, Padishah?" And I reflect that there is many a true word spoken in jest. "Has she no friend in England," he asked X one day, "or does she never speak in England either?" "Yes," said X, "she has a friend in England, and she does not speak because she is thinking of him." "And you, Vali Pasha, have you also a friend in England?" "Yes," I answered for X; "she has twenty-nine friends in England, and you are only the thirtieth." And Hassan would ride on in silence, pondering over the strange ways of English ladies. Amongst his other duties he had to purchase the food, pay the muleteers and soldiers, and give tips; and it fell to my lot to do up the accounts with him periodically. The unusual mental exertion required by this he found very trying. His imperturbability would forsake him completely. On the first occasion he broke down altogether. "What can I do with figures?" he said, the tears rolling down his cheeks; "let me go back to my hills and forests; I am only a poor hunter. She brings out her little book and I shall not know how the piastres have gone, and she will think I have taken her piastres," and he laid his head on his knees and groaned aloud. When we became better acquainted, however, "hisab" (accounts) became a joke, though they always caused him to perspire profusely. At first my entire ignorance of the language made our intercourse over the account-book somewhat difficult. We would sit on the ground opposite one another, and Hassan would fumble in the folds of his belt until he had found his spectacles and his account-book. "Are you ready?" "Yes." "Peki (very good), Effendim; yimurta (eggs), 2 piastres." I would write it down. "Yasdin me?" "Ne yasdin me?" (what is "yasdin me?"). "Yasdin me? yasdin me? yasdin me?" I have not the smallest idea what "yasdin me" means, but I pretend to write it down and then say: "How many piastres was it?" Hassan makes a gesture of despair. "Yasdin me? yasdin me? yasdin me?" he repeats again. "X," I shout across the tent, "what does 'yasdin me' mean? I suppose it's some sort of food, only he won't tell me how many piastres it costs." "It means 'Have you written it?'" said X calmly. "Yasdin me?" repeats Hassan again. "Yes," I answer meekly. "Aha, now she know," says Hassan, and he mops his forehead vigorously. "I say 'Yasdin me' and she says, 'How many piastres?' Aman, aman!" "Peki, Effendim" (very good), he goes on. "Etmek (bread), 3 piastres. Have you written it?" "Yes." "Peki, Effendim. Et (meat), 12 piastres. Have you written it?" "Yes." "Peki, Effendim. Pilij (chicken), 3 piastres." "Ne Pilij?" (what is pilij?). "Pilij, _pilij_, PILIJ." "Yes, but what is it?" "Pilij, pilij--she doesn't know pilij, and she learns it every day." He begins to crow like a cock. "Oh yes, I know." "Ah, ah, now she knows! Peki; pilij 3 piastres. Have you written it?" "Yes." "Peki, Effendim." And so we go on through all the items, and finally add up the total in our respective languages. By means of holding up our ten fingers a large number of times, we ascertain whether the results tally, for in those early days I could only count in Turkish up to twenty-nine, and knew the words for a hundred and a thousand. Then Hassan would give a great sigh, close his book, fold his spectacles, take off his fez, and wipe his head all over, and finally forget his troubles under the soothing influence of tobacco. [Illustration: ERECH. SYRIAN DESERT.] And so the days slipped away. At the end of six months we landed out of the Syrian desert into Damascus. An immense change came over Hassan when he was released from the anxieties of piloting us through impossible places and rumoured dangers. He became more boyish and cheerful and amused at everything. His first care on arriving at the end of our journey was, after spending several hours in a public bath, to go a clean and happy man to the Mosque, to return thanks to Allah for having brought us safely through. We had been to call at the consulate, and, as we drove up to the hotel on our return, I caught sight of Hassan in the street with a crowd round him; he was strutting up and down in his shirt-sleeves, with his head even more thrown back than usual and a wild look in his eye. "Good heavens," I said to X, "the Prince must have got into one of his tempers and killed a few people in the street," and I anxiously looked round for signs of gore. The Prince took no notice of us, but stalked up and down, the crowd making way before him with looks of awe. "What are we to do?" I said; "he looks as if he had gone off his head and would knock down any one who comes near him." "He does look like a prize-fighter," said X; "I have never seen him look like that before." Our cook was standing on the steps. "What is the matter with Hassan?" I said to him. The man stared. "Nothing," he said, "it's only his new shirt." We went inside, telling him to fetch Hassan to us. The Prince stalked into the room with the same air with which he had been stalking the streets, and stood in front of us with an excited and expectant expression. "The cook is right," said X; "it is his new shirt. He is overcome with pride and conceit; he is on parade, that's all." He certainly had something to be conceited about. The shirt was of fine silk in gorgeous yellow and red stripes; round his waist was a wide, bright-coloured kammerband, round his head a new keffiyeh flashed all the colours of the rainbow. Clean and shaven, his tight-fitting shirt showing up the strong outline of his muscular frame, he exhibited, to say the least of it, a striking spectacle. We were evidently expected to be overcome at the magnificence of his appearance, and certainly we did not disappoint him in this respect. "You are grand," said X to him in his own language; "you quite surprise us." Hassan put his hands into his trouser pockets and strutted up and down the room, speechless with delight. "Who would have thought you could be such a turkey-cock, you old gander!" I said in English. "What is she saying?" said Hassan to X. "She says you are just like a very magnificent bird we have in England," answered X. Hassan beamed triumphantly. "You have fine clothes," he said; "I must not disgrace you." "Is he always going about in his shirt-sleeves, I wonder?" I inquired. X asked him. "It is quite usual in my country not to wear a coat in hot weather," he said; "my coat is old and dirty, and my shirt is new and clean: why should I wear my coat?" And he rarely put it on again. He loved to see us in nice clothes, and took great delight in wandering about the bazaars with us buying presents for the "twenty-nine friends" in England. But we used to sigh over the good old camping days. "Hebsi bitdi" (all is over), he would say dolefully, when anything particularly brought them back to our thoughts. We rode down Palestine and took him over to Egypt with us. Evading with difficulty the importunities of Cook, and the rush of tourists on the beaten track, we tried to steal days which brought back a sense of our old free-and-easy times. But there came a day when there was an end to it all, an end to the long silent rides, an end to the quiet smokes in desert places, an end to the little daily jokes, an end to the serious talks and the foolish quarrels, an end to the Kallabalaks and the Keyfs. We stood on the steamer which was to take Hassan back to his old life in the forests of the Turkmendagh. "You will soon be going a long journey with some one else," said X cheeringly. Hassan shook his head. "No, indeed," he said; "I should take care not to go with two ladies again, and I shall not go with a man, for no man would be so much of a fool as to wish to go such a mad journey." The steamer gave vent to its first hideous whistle. We put our fingers to our ears. "Good-bight, little Padishah," he said, as we clasped hands for the last time; "good-bight. Go home to your friend in England; he will be glad to see you looking so fat." "Silly man," I said with a lump in my throat. "Silliman yok," he answered. The whistle blew again, we turned and went our different ways. If there had been a stone he would have thrown it after me; as it was, when I turned he made a face and shouted, "Istemen, istemen!" And now, looking back on those days, there rises invariably before us the memory of this companion in our many adventures--the memory of a simple-minded, honourable man, a trusted friend, a pleasant companion, and a devoted servant, who, whether he was sharing the discomforts and dangers of winter travel in a wild and lawless country, or experiencing the joyous freedom of the roaming desert life we loved so well, or enduring the terrors of critical and carping civilisation, invariably put us in the foremost place, and, without swerving an inch from the traditions of his race, never offended the susceptibilities of ours. CHAPTER XXIII RETROSPECTIVE Last night we were dirty, isolated, and free; to-night we are clean, sociable, and trammelled. Last night the setting sun's final message written in flaming signs of gold was burnt into us, and the starry heights carried our thoughts heavenward and made them free as themselves. To-night the sunset passed all unheeded and we gaze, as we retire from the busy rush of the trivial day, at a never-ending, twisting, twirling pattern on the four walls that imprison us, oppressed by the confining ceiling of our room in the Damascus Palace Hotel. We are no longer princesses whose hands and feet are kissed, whose word is law, sharing the simple hospitality of proud and dignified wayfarers in desert kingdoms. Our word is law according to the depth of our purses, our hands and feet are kissed according to the height of our floor in the hotel. We are no longer in a land where men and women are judged by their capacities for being men and women: the cost of our raiment apportions our rank. We are now no longer amongst people to whom we say what we mean and are silent when we have nothing to say. We are in surroundings where to say what you mean is an offence, where silence is not understood and looked upon askance as an uncanny visitor. The less we have to say, the more we make an effort to say it; and the more we have to say, the greater the effort to suppress it. Everything seems unreal or unnecessary, everything is dressed up. All these people moving about, sitting still, in a hurry, catching trains, eating long dinners, dressing themselves, looking at each other dressed--what does it all mean? Was all this going on when we were in that other world which we have just left, that great silent world where everything was itself and big, and not confused by accessories? Was all this din and bustle going on? It is strange that we should have had no inkling of it, for it seems of so much importance to all these people, idle with a great restlessness; it seems essential to them. It is hard, too, to realise that that other world still exists out there in the distance, and that it would be quite possible to reach it by merely riding out on a camel. Can it indeed be true that the same sun which lights all these moving streets, these buyers and sellers, these catchers of trains, is lighting the desert out there as imperturbably as it lit us, journeying on after it day after day in the silent places; did it see all these people from its inaccessible height, and, sharing its gifts equally with them and with us, give us no hint of what it was looking down upon? It showed then no more favour to us than to these dwellers in towns, and yet was it not more to us? Were we not more conscious of its innumerable gifts; and did we not receive more from it as a result of our greater appreciation? No bars of windows, no roofy outlines, no sleepy oblivion hid the glory of its first appearance for us. As far as its rays could range, so far, and further, could we see. Not a pale silver thread or wiry line of gold, or faint reflection of its glowing colours on the opposite horizon, was lost to our vision; and, as we rode through the chilly morning air, were we not conscious of every separate ray of warmth as it grew and grew until we were bathed in its delicious heat, and all day it served as our sole guide, indicating direction in boundless space and hour in limitless time. No finger-posts, no winding up of clocks; only this sun with its fixed and unalterable decrees. The sun, then, we share, although apparently in divers degrees. But was not the moon more for us alone? For they can shut it out from their lives altogether. It, too, looked down upon this city, but not on the noise and chaos of it. As far as it was concerned all the bustlers were dead, buried away in their roofed houses behind their shuttered windows. The silence of night is the moon's heritage, and it exercises its autocratic sway to the full; it admits no disturbing rush or unseemly hurry beneath its gaze. What do they know of you who pull down blinds and light up the gas and dwell in curtained rooms? Accident may cause a benighted traveller to look at you with a passing sense of rest, a casual tossing sleeper may be half conscious of your charm, the weary toiler at the end of a long day may momentarily bless your soothing light, and in so far as they take hold of you they make themselves akin with us out there. But you are not a part of them, as you are a part of us; you do not enter into the very heart of their existence and carry their minds up, night after night, to the realms where you live serene and calm, making us forget the saddle rubs, the parching thirst, the driven sand, the fire that would not light, the kettle that would not boil--all the little near things, the things which matter so much in the day, and which you remind us do not matter at night. But here they matter so much more at night, all shut up with us inside these confining walls--inside these muslin curtains. The darkness and the enclosed space make them assume exaggerated dimensions; all the little trivialities in the room accentuate their importance. We see them cropping up again and again in that blue flower on the wall paper, or running round and round the red coils on the dado. We raise our eyes to heaven and encounter the fixed, inane smile of a painted lady with a wand, seated in a wreath of flowers. We shut our eyes, determined to forget her, but a terrible fascination makes us peep again and again, and always that same inane smile; and when at last the kindly shades of night hide it altogether in darkness, we are still conscious of her only, smiling away there, looking at us while we cannot see her. And all the time outside the steadfast moon and the stars eternally twinkling are telling the same tale that they told out in that other world, but we have shut them out and will not listen to their silent teaching. In vain the Prophet of the Desert has said: "And we have adorned the lower heaven with lamps and set them to pelt the devils with ... we touched the heavens, and found them filled with a mighty guard and shooting stars, and we did sit in certain seats thereof to listen; but whoso of us listens now finds a shooting star for him on guard." Emblems of all the great abiding truths have been set up on high, where, one would have thought, every poor, striving mortal could not fail to see them; vastness and distance is displayed as a rest to those wearied with the smallness and nearness of things; solidity and eternity are there to comfort the grievers over passing men and disappointed hopes; the kindly darkness which hides us intermittently from our fellows is pierced with points of guiding light. And yet we do not habitually, and as a matter of course, accept these gifts for which no price is asked; we go blundering on, intensifying the grim blackness of night by shutting ourselves up with it, surrounded with all the small things of earth, and this when we might forget them by reason of their very smallness in the vast distances of the vaulted heavens. It almost seems as though we would deliberately wish to hide from ourselves and each other the few simple sufficient laws of existence, for in this as in other things we not only avoid the truth but appear ashamed of it, and dress it up in every possible accessory of human invention. We dress everything up--our bodies, our minds, our food. I look down this long _table d'hôte_, and what do I see? I see a crowd of people dressed up, exchanging dressed-up commonplaces, eating dressed-up food. I feel that nothing is real. But this unreality is so real that I ask: "Have, then, the unrealities, the non-essentials of existence become the realities, and have we, emerging from a world where only the essentials of existence concerned us, given them an undue importance? Coming out of a state of primitive civilisation, are we unable to appreciate the true meaning of our surroundings? These people wear the burdens of fashion so lightly, they talk these complicated nothings so simply, they toil so contentedly discontented through these endless disguised dishes: what is it behind it all that our minds cannot grasp?" I look again: I talk to them and they answer me; I eat another dressed-up dish. Here I feel a weary heart, there I touch a bored mind; now one gets a flash of intellect, now a gleam of soul, all alike so carefully wrapped up, and yet with a longing to be out. Why this unnatural dread of truth and simplicity? I am getting positively affected by it. I sit here amongst these smart people in my travelling clothes, and I confess to a new strange sense of discomfort in consequence. I feel ashamed of my old clothes. Opposite to me is a lady with a kindly face and a comfortable look about her; her mauve dress gives a pleasing sense of colour, but as she moves two beaded flaps keep jumping about, which detracts from the sense of repose suggested by her comfortable look; when she leans back an array of stitched beads catches on the carved projection of the chair, and she has to be disengaged by the waiter. Her sleeves drooping gracefully from the elbow require elaborate gymnastics to prevent them dipping into her plate as she eats, and twice they caught in the pepper-pot and overturned its contents on the floor. But she bore it all with a pleasant apologetic smile which called out my admiration for such a display of schooled temper under these trying circumstances. Then, with an unconscious transition of thought, I found myself comparing her to the Arab woman who brought the bowl of youart off which we supped last night. I recalled how I envied her the dignified carriage of her free unfettered form, the natural grace of her untrammelled manners. I recalled the simple graceful folds of her clinging single garment, so much a part of herself that she was quite unconscious of it, and I compare this lady trying to adapt herself to the elaborate creation in which she is enthralled. Long custom prevents her from realising how her form and movements are rendered artificial and ungraceful. As the Chinese lady, unconscious of her deformity in feet, would resent or wonder at our pity for her enslaved by the idea of a barbarous custom, so would my neighbour resent or wonder should I feel pity for her at this moment, equally a slave to a Western idea. * * * * * I glanced at my battered old coat and was pervaded with a sense of remorse at having been ashamed of it. Here, in the middle of this bewildering appearance of unreality, it was telling me of so many solid facts. How often had it not covered the aching pangs of hunger, and the satisfied sense of that hunger appeased; it had felt the thumping of my heart stirred by danger, or hastened by exhilarating motion; it had known the long-drawn breaths of quiet enjoyment at a peaceful scene. That tear was made on the rocks the day we climbed to the "written stone" at the top of the Boulghar Mountains, and I mended it one long quiet evening by the Euphrates. I lost this button the night we scrambled up to the castle at Palmyra, my little friend Maydi pulled me up a rock by it and it broke. That burnt mark was made by Mahmet, who dropped the live charcoal with which I was lighting my cigarette in the shaykh's hut at Harran. All this and more is what my coat says to me.... I am no longer ashamed of it. I feel sure if the kind lady opposite realised all this she would not regard me as an outcast, for there is something very honest about the coat. But I had got no further away from the feeling of unreality. I tried to recall what it had felt like to live in civilisation, but all I could remember was how difficult it had been to disentangle ourselves from it. While we were still in it, we had not known what we should want outside it. But, once outside, all these difficulties had disappeared: everything at once seemed to happen naturally; we missed nothing of the things we had left behind. And as it had been difficult while we were still in it to get disentangled from it, so now we experienced a difficulty in entering it again--a difficulty in once more taking up and using the things we had discarded for a time. It was as if we had never used them, so strange did they seem, and so little did we understand their meaning. Entering it differed, moreover, in this way from our entrance into the new life outside it; once in it nothing seemed to happen naturally. This was the more disconcerting since civilisation was not altogether a new world to us, in the sense that the other had been. We had spent many long years in it, and yet on returning we found it all strange and incomprehensible. * * * * * We rose and left the table. Hassan joined us at the door, and we all sat down on a red plush settee. Waiters hurried past us with trays of coffee and stronger drinks; ladies in bright colours rustled about the passage; and in the corners men in evening dress lounged and smoked. Hassan stroked the settee gingerly. "It is very soft," he said, "but the sand was better." Then he looked round and paused. "What are all these people doing?" he asked irritably; "why can't they sit down and be quiet. There is no quiet here; the sand was better." Earlier in the day he had been pleased with the bright colours and the sense of movement, but now they seemed to vex him. "Why do they keep on looking at us?" he went on; "is it because you are great Pashas?" "No," I answered, "they have no idea that we are great Pashas." "My countrymen in the desert looked at you because you were strangers from another country and they had not seen women like you before; but these are your own countrymen: why do they stare at you?" "It is because we are not dressed like them," I said; "we have not got our beautiful clothes yet; when these come they will no longer look at us." "But can they not see that you are travelling?" he said. "The people of my country, the Valis and the Kaimakams who prepared feasts for us, knew that you also had beautiful clothes in your own country." "Yes, but our travelling clothes are not quite the same as those worn by our countrymen here," I explained, "so they do not understand us." "But why," persisted Hassan, "should that cause them not to understand you?" "We all do alike in our country," I explained; "if one person wears no pockets and big sleeves, then we all do the same." "Who is this person then?" said Hassan; "he must be a very great Pasha." "We none of us know who he is," I said; "in fact, he is not any one particular person; it is more like a sort of jinn who spreads about an unwritten law." Hassan looked perplexed. "And are there no written words," he said, "to tell you the meaning of this law?" "Yes," I said; "the people in our land who have the most money write out the meaning of the law." "And if you do not follow the law, what then?" "Your fellow-creatures are rather afraid of you; they do not ask you to their feasts, neither do they give you places of command, however capable you may be." "Is it this jinn that makes your men wear the hard black hats and the tight black clothes?" I nodded assent. "And it is not only our clothes," I added; "the jinn says we may not think differently from other people, or if we do, we must hide it." "Is it a sin that your country has committed that it is thus condemned," he went on, "or is the jinn an evil spirit under whose curse it lies?" "We do not know," I said. "There are some of the younger men who are trying to discover; they do not do as the jinn says, and so they do not live happily amongst others; many of them live apart, and we call them cranks and are afraid of them." "Are they wicked men, then?" "No, they are good men as a rule, but in our country we do not understand the people who do not do what others do." "But if you all do the same," said Hassan, "how can you progress? We in the East have not changed our customs, so we do not progress. Do you never change then either, you in the West?" "We change very slowly," I answered, "because we tend to the thought that if a thing has always been, then it is good." "Aman, aman," said Hassan. APPENDIX ITINERARY OF JOURNEY KONIA TO TARSUS. Chumra. Kisilkeui. Karaman. Adeteppe. Buadjik. Eregli. Tchaym. Ulu Kishla. Boulghar Maden. Chiftekhan. Ak Kupru. Gulek Boghaz. A Khan. Tarsus. (These stages are from 5 to 8 hours.) ADANA TO DIARBEKR. (18 stages.) Hours. Missis 4 Small village with khan. Hamidieh 4-1/2 Cotton-mills and town. Kalakeui 5 Small Kurdish village. Osmanieh 1-1/2 Town. Bagtsche 6 Village. Shekasskeui 5 Village with khan. Avjilar 5 Small Kurdish village. No khan. Aintab 5 Town. Urral 5 Village with khan. Birejik 5 Town. Ferry across Euphrates. Abermor 6 Kurdish huts. Karekeui 6 Kurdish huts. Urfa 3-1/2 Town. Sheksheligher 7 Khan. Mismischen 7 Large khan. Severek 6 Town. Kaimach 7 Large khan. Gergeli 6 Small Kurdish village. Diarbekr 3-1/2 BAGHDAD TO DAMASCUS. (27 stages.) Hours. Menasseyeh No village. Fellujah 6 Village on Euphrates. Rumadeyeh 6 Village on Euphrates. _Hit_ 10 Town on Euphrates. Bagdadi 8 Ruined water-mill on Euphrates. Hadittah 8 Village on Euphrates. Fukaymeh 6-1/2 Large khan on Euphrates. _Ana_ 7 Town on Euphrates. Niteyah 8 Guard-house on Euphrates. Gayyim 9-1/2 Guard-house on Euphrates. Abu Kamal 5 Village on Euphrates. Salihiyyeh 7 Khan with a few Arab huts. Micardin 9-1/2 Village. Deir-el-Zor 7 Town. Pools of brackish water 2-1/2 Guard-house 8 Well of bad water. Bir Jeddid 8 Well of bad water. Suknak 9 Village with hot sulphur springs. Erek 8-1/2 Village. Tadmor 6 Palmyra. Baytha 6 Khan with bad water. Gusayr 16 (Camping-place half-way, where water is found early in the year). Karietein 7 Village. Nasariyeh 12 Village. Kutayfah 5 Village. Guard-house 2 Damascus 4 THE END. 
35615	----	THE TREASURE OF THE TIGRIS A TALE OF MESOPOTAMIA BY LIEUT.-COLONEL A. F. MOCKLER-FERRYMAN AUTHOR OF "LIFE STORY OF A TIGER" "HEMMED IN" ETC. WITH EIGHT FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY ALLAN STEWART A. & C. BLACK LTD. 4, 5 & 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN _First published in 1908_ [Illustration: "I BALANCED IT EXACTLY, AND SLOWLY AND STEADILY DREW IT UP"] CONTENTS I. INSTRUCTIONS II. ACROSS MESOPOTAMIA III. INTO THE DESERT IV. GUESTS OF THE AENIZA V. RAIDERS VI. THE SHEIK'S STORY VII. THE FIRE OF THE GODS VIII. RASPUL, THE SEER IX. IN THE TEMPLE OF SOPHANA X. A DASH FOR FREEDOM XI. ONLY HALF A CAPTURE XII. RIVAL DOCTORS XIII. WAR'S ALARM XIV. THE BURST OF THE STORM XV. FATE XVI. RESCUE XVII. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT XVIII. TRUE FRIENDSHIP XIX. IN CLOVER XX. RE-UNION XXI. A DESPERATE PLUNGE XXII. BROTHERS AND CONSPIRATORS XXIII. DAUD'S ADVENTURES XXIV. THE DEVIL'S WELL XXV. FOR DEAR LIFE XXVI. A HAVEN OF REST XXVII. VISITORS XXVIII. MYSTERIES, SOLVED AND UNSOLVED XXIX. A PROPHECY FULFILLED LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY ALLAN STEWART "I BALANCED IT EXACTLY, AND SLOWLY AND STEADILY DREW IT UP!" "THAT THIS WAS THE SHEIK HIMSELF WE INSTANTLY REALISED" "HE PROSTRATED HIMSELF BEFORE THE GODDESS, AND BESOUGHT HER TO GIVE HEAT TO THE FIRE" "'BY THE WILL OF ALLAH,' HE SAID, 'THE CHILD IS SICK'" "WHEN NEXT I AWOKE, EDWARDS WAS SITTING BY MY SIDE" "DAYLIGHT SHOWED US, IN THE FAR DISTANCE, THE MOUND OF THE BIRS NIMROUD" "WE COULD SEE BELOW US ... THE FIGURE OF A MAN LYING ACROSS THE GUNWALE" "THE TWO OF THEM AS PROUD AS PEACOCKS" THE TREASURE OF THE TIGRIS CHAPTER I. INSTRUCTIONS. First of all, I must explain how it happened that I, Walter Henderson, whom, I have every reason to believe, my masters regarded as a very ordinary kind of boy, should have blossomed within a couple of years of leaving school into a person of some importance. I say this with all modesty, though my enemies will doubtless cast it in my teeth that no modest man would write a book about himself. On events which prevented my getting a commission in the Army, after nearly having completed my course at Sandhurst, I do not propose to dwell. At the time I considered the whole affair to be an error of judgment, though my father ascribed it to lack of brains and too much cricket. Be all that as it may, the fact remains that before I was twenty, all my military ambition had been nipped in the bud, and I was incarcerated in the back premises of that imposing but dreary-looking old building, the British Museum. My uncle, Professor Ambrose Wentworth, had taken compassion on me, and had appointed me his private secretary, at a nominal salary. It was not at all the sort of life that I had mapped out for myself, as I had fully made up my mind to be a soldier, as most of my ancestors had been; and, as a matter of fact, had it not been for my mother's entreaties, I should have enlisted directly I left Sandhurst. My uncle's particular line was Babylonian history, and probably no living man knew more about history tablets, cylinder seals, and such like things, than did he. As was, perhaps, only natural in a man whose whole existence was wrapped up in deciphering cuneiform inscriptions and hieroglyphics, he wrote an almost illegible hand, and it was my duty to make fair copies of all his letters and documents--a task which I found not only most uncongenial but also decidedly difficult. However, I did my best, and my uncle was always kind and considerate; but I could see that he was disappointed that he had been unable, at the end of a year, to make me enthusiastic in the matter of his hobby. At last came the day when I really thought that I could stand the life no longer. It was towards the end of November; we had had a fortnight of dreary fogs and drizzling rain, during which time I had worked by artificial light continuously, and as I took my seat at my desk I made up my mind that this day should be my last at the British Museum. Whether my uncle observed my dejection, or whether his archæological researches had produced in him the faculty of seeing through a brick wall, I cannot say, but when he entered the room in which I was at work, he came up to me and laid his hand gently on my shoulder. "Walter, my boy," he said, "you don't like this sedentary life, I can see." "It is the weather, uncle," said I. "I think it has got on my nerves." "Well," said my uncle, "I have been meaning to speak to you for some time. You have stuck to your uninteresting work for months without a murmur, and you have proved to me that you have plenty of grit. I can now offer you a change. Mr Jenkins and I have been talking matters over, and we want someone to go to Babylon for us. We have come to the end of our arm-chair researches, and we can do nothing more without a man on the spot. If you like to undertake to study hard for six months, we will send you out on a voyage of discovery for us. You will have to make up your mind to real hard work, but I promise you that you will have a thoroughly interesting trip, and will see a good deal of the world. I will tell you plainly what you will have to do. In the first place, you must be able to read cuneiform inscriptions and translate them readily; secondly, you will have to learn a certain amount of Arabic, so as to be able to converse with the natives; and lastly, you will be required to go on an expedition to Babylon by yourself, and follow up the work that Layard and others commenced. You can think it over for twenty-four hours, and let me know whether you will undertake it, or whether we shall have to look out for someone else." I need, perhaps, hardly say that, as I was only too keen to travel, I accepted the offer, and I began my six months' course of instruction forthwith. It was hard work, as my uncle had foretold, and nearly nine months passed before I was considered fit to start on my voyage of discovery. But, at the end of that time, my study had resulted in making quite an enthusiast of me, and I was most eager to get away to the land which had already given to the world so many historical treasures. Then arrived the eventful evening when I was to receive my final instructions, and I was closeted with my uncle and Mr Jenkins for several hours, listening to the great scheme that I was intended to attempt to carry through. Up till then I had had no inkling that my trip was to be anything more than an ordinary digging undertaking, in the hope of finding something new; but when I entered my uncle's sanctum, I soon saw that he and his assistant had something important to discuss with me. "Well, Walter," my uncle began, "the time has come at last; you are off to-morrow, and now we are going to tell you the great secret that is known only to Mr Jenkins and myself. If either of us were young enough to undertake the work, you may be sure that we should not have let you do it. But it wants a young and an energetic man to carry it through, and that is why we have gone to the trouble of training you. What we are going to disclose to you is absolutely in confidence; you must reveal it to no one; for, as you will see, on the keeping of the secret depends the whole success of your expedition." My uncle now unlocked a safe, from which he took a tin despatch-box. Then, unfastening a bundle of papers, he began:-- "THE GIRDLE OF SOPHANA, THE GREAT QUEEN. That is what we want you to find. It exists, or it did a few years ago, beyond a doubt. If you can discover it and bring it to England, you will be a made man. If you fail, we shall not blame you. But I will tell you what we know about it. Mr Jenkins and I have devoted years to the matter, and, from what we have been able to gather from scraps of information, collected from history tablets and other sources, we know that Queen Sophana was possessed of a girdle of solid gold. Exactly what it was like we do not know, though several life-like snakes are said to have been embossed upon it, and it was supposed to have been possessed of certain magic properties. We have not much to go upon, but we will not keep anything from you, and you shall hear how we have put two and two together. In the first place, the ancient representations, on cylinder seals and such like things, of the queen, always show the girdle or belt round her waist; secondly, the old writers, in describing the queen, frequently refer to the magic belt; thirdly, on a fragment of a history tablet we have found clear evidence that, on the death of the queen, her favourite handmaiden dressed her mistress in pure white clothes and carefully fastened on the girdle before the corpse was laid in the coffin of baked clay. "Then there are several other tablets on which mention is made of the girdle; and we have copies of all these things ready for you to take with you. But we should never have thought of trying to unearth this treasure, had it not been for information of a much more recent date that has come to us. Barely sixty years ago, some members of an Arab tribe ransacking the ruins of Babylon, found, bricked up in a solid wall many feet underground, a substantial tomb; inside the tomb were several coffins, and within one of these, encircling a shrivelled corpse, lay a belt of golden snakes--massive and of great weight. Now comes the difficulty; for, according to the story which the Arabs relate, the finders of the treasure, from the moment that they took possession of it, suffered every species of calamity. But of all this you must read in the manuscripts which we are handing over to you; it is too long a story to go into now, and I need only tell you the end. The golden girdle was eventually buried in the place where it had been found, by the sole survivor of a family of the Shammar tribe, in whose possession it had been for some years; and, in order that no one should notice that the ground had recently been turned over, the man obliterated all trace of his work by setting fire to the scrub jungle far and wide. Lastly, we have the climax; the Arab committed suicide on the bank of the Euphrates, by falling on the point of his broken spear. "What you have to do is to endeavour to find out the spot where the man buried the girdle; dig it up, and bring it home. Mr Jenkins and I have written down our views as to how we think this can best be done; but you must consider what we have written as mere suggestions, and you must be guided by circumstances. We do not pretend to be anything more than students and theorists; and, unhappily, such men as Layard and Rawlinson, who could have helped us, have long since passed away. In reading through your papers, you will, of course, come across a deal of Eastern superstition; but I think that you are matter-of-fact enough to pay no attention to the supposed magical properties of the girdle, or any nonsense of that kind." The remainder of the conversation it is unnecessary to give. I received lengthy instructions as to the voyage, as to secrecy, and as to more commonplace matters of business--how I was to draw money for my expenses, and so forth. No detail had been forgotten by my uncle and his assistant, who, I discovered, were staking their reputations on the success of my quest. I was handed a despatch-box containing, as I was told, all papers bearing on the object of my journey; and then, like many another, I, Walter Henderson, buoyed up with hope and puffed up with pride, left the Museum under the impression that I was fairly on the road to fame. CHAPTER II. ACROSS MESOPOTAMIA. About my voyage out I shall say little--for it was much like any ordinary voyage to the East--and of the passengers one only need be mentioned. That one joined the steamer at Marseilles, and became my cabin companion. He was a German, named Kellner, an amusing and pleasant individual, who talked English perfectly, and who, in spite of the fact that he seldom lined up for his morning bath, was tolerably clean. For some considerable time I could not make out what his business was, but at last I discovered that he was a "traveller in glass and china," and was going to Karachi. He interested me a good deal, as he appeared to be thoroughly well educated, and able to discuss almost any topic. At Karachi I had to remain two days, waiting for the Persian Gulf steamer, and when I embarked again I found, to my astonishment and no little joy, that the only other passenger on board was my friend Kellner. He explained his unexpected reappearance by saying that he had had a telegram from his firm, telling him to go on up the Gulf, as there was a good opening for trade at Bushire and Baghdad. I was delighted at having his companionship, and during the next week our friendship increased considerably, so much so, that when we put in at Bushire, I persuaded him to come on with me to Baghdad, and first do his business there, taking Bushire on his way back. As was only natural, I had talked over my plans with him freely, though I had never divulged the secret of the Girdle, merely telling him that I was going to excavate at Babylon for the British Museum. He was politely interested in all I had to say, but he was not enthusiastic, giving it as his opinion that it would be much more practical to induce the people to take to European goods and forget all about their past history. At last we got up to Bussorah, went on board the river steamer, and after four or five days on the Tigris, came alongside the wharf at Baghdad. I was duly accredited to the British consul-general, and was met by a kawas, who removed me, bag and baggage, to the Residency at once. Kellner went off with an Armenian gentleman, who, he told me, was agent for the firm for which he was travelling, and we parted with many expressions of regret that our long voyage was at an end. The Consul-General had, I found, received a despatch from the Foreign Office about me, instructing him to assist me in every possible way, and he was kindness itself. I soon decided that there could be no possible harm in my telling him the object of my journey; in fact, I came to the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary. He said that I would have a most exciting hunt, and that he himself would have liked to have accompanied me, but unfortunately he could not leave Baghdad for some time. The Residency surgeon, who had only been in the country about eighteen months, wanted to visit Babylon, and it was soon settled that he should go with me--an arrangement that pleased me immensely, as George Edwards was a man of the world, with a delightful personality. It took a few days to get things in order: the _firman_ from the Turkish Government examined and signed by the governor; servants and horses engaged, and an escort of mounted zaptiehs provided. At length everything was ready, and, the evening before our departure, I overhauled all the papers in my despatch-box, in order to refresh my memory. I had studied them thoroughly on the voyage out, and knew their contents almost by heart. I had even gone to the length of making a _précis_ of everything in a note-book. I thought it advisable, however, to have a final look through the papers, as I did not wish to encumber myself with the heavy despatch-box, which I had arranged to leave with the Consul-General. On opening the box I found, to my surprise, all the papers in a state of confusion--confusion which could not have arisen from the box having been turned upside down, because I always kept the papers, which were docketed and tied up in order, in their proper places, by filling up the box with two thick books. The books I now found nearly at the bottom of the box, and the bundles of papers were all untied and thoroughly mixed up. Someone had tampered with the box; there was not a doubt of it. I hastily checked off the papers with the inventory in my note-book, and, to my dismay, discovered that one was missing. I went over everything again--the missing document contained a carefully-drawn plan of the ruins of Babylon, with instructions as to the best method of attempting to locate the burial-place of the Girdle. It was, to my mind, the most important paper in the box; but its loss was not irreparable, as I had fortunately made copious notes from it, and possessed a duplicate plan. Nevertheless, it was most annoying to find that someone had been turning over my papers, and I mentioned the matter to my host at dinner that night. "What sort of lock have you got on the box?" he asked. "A Brahma," I replied, "and the key is on my watch-chain." "Have you ever left your watch lying about?" "Never; I have always been most particular about it." Then I remembered that the day I went on shore at Muskat, I had left my watch in my cabin. I remembered the fact, because when I visited Jelali Fort, the governor showed me his watch, and I put my hand in my pocket to take out mine, wishing to explain the advantages of a repeater, but discovered that I had left it behind. "Haven't you opened the box since then?" inquired the Consul-General. "No, I don't think I have looked at it since I left Karachi." "Well, probably the inquisitive steward went through your belongings while you were on shore at Muskat, in hopes of finding a stray bank-note, and I expect in his hurry he omitted to put all the papers back." So we forgot all about the incident, and the following morning Edwards and I, with our cavalcade of pack-horses, and our soldierly-looking escort, left the Residency, and riding down the dirty, narrow lane to the bazaar, crossed the quaint old bridge of boats and got away into the desert beyond. As we looked back we saw the Consul-General in a _kufa_ in mid-stream waving a last farewell to us, and then we put our little Arab horses into a canter, and soon settled down for the ride to the khan (or caravanserai) of Mahmoudieh. It was late when we reached the solid gate of the khan, and it was closed for the night, but we managed to find accommodation in the little coffee shanty just outside. A couple of Bedouin chiefs were in possession of the only room, so the verandah was handed over to us, and, the night being warm, it was far pleasanter than being inside, though the corporal of our escort did not at all like the arrangement, and tried to persuade us that it was most unsafe to sleep as it were in the open, in a country which was known to be swarming with robbers and cutthroats. Being Englishmen, we laughed at the corporal's fears, and after supper and a smoke we turned in on the frail wicker-work, crate-like beds that had been provided for us, taking the precaution, however, to have our revolvers handy, and to put everything of value either under the beds or under our bodies. How long we had slept I cannot say; I had been dreaming hard, and I had dreamt that I had found the Golden Girdle--I held it in my hand and gazed at it in wonder--I found the clasp--with great difficulty I unfastened it--I put it round my waist--I felt for the clasp to fasten it--nothing would induce it to close. I pulled with all my might--the Girdle was too small for my waist. I seized both ends in my hands, held my breath, and pulled again. My waist was growing smaller and smaller--my body seemed to be breaking in half. I gave a wild yell, and the clasp snapped with a report like that of a pistol shot. And it was indeed a pistol shot. As I awoke with a start, I found that the whole place was in a wild state of commotion; the zaptiehs were all around us with lanterns, and Edwards was standing by the side of his bed, with revolver in hand. "What on earth is the matter?" I asked. "Had a shot at a blackguard trying to loot our kit, but failed to score, I am afraid," was the reply. Then Edwards told us all about it; how he had been aroused by my restlessness, how he saw, in the moonlight, two men kneeling close to my bed, and how he quietly took his revolver from under his pillow, and sprang up, only, however, in time to get a flying shot at the men as they made off. Their horses were just outside the verandah, and the thieves were on them and away before he could get another shot in. Our troopers wanted to go in pursuit, but it would have been perfectly useless their going out into the desert, as they had not the remotest idea which road to follow; so we contented ourselves with the examination of our belongings, to see what we had lost. My heart absolutely stopped beating when I discovered that my money-belt had gone from my waist. It was a chamois-leather belt that I had had specially made in England, with neat little pockets all round it, in which I carried the whole of my money--about £50 in sovereigns, and a certain number of silver kerans and rupees. We were not long in finding out who the thieves were, as the owner of the house came running out to tell us that the two Bedouin chiefs had disappeared without paying for their supper or lodgings. Then I remembered that one of them had passed through the verandah to the inner room while I was fastening the belt over my sleeping-suit, and he must have noticed what I was doing, and guessed that the belt was worth having. My dream all came back to me, and of course my long struggle with the Golden Girdle was probably caused by the Bedouins taking off my belt; but I cannot imagine how they got it off without awakening me. It was gone; there was no doubt about that; and, turning to the coffee-house man, I demanded what he knew of his two runaway guests. "Lord!" he replied, "I never set eyes on them before this night. They arrived after the gates of the khan were shut, and, saying that they had ridden from the Euphrates, they begged a night's lodging before going on to Baghdad. What manner of men they were I knew not. I swear it." I believed him, for he was a Jew, and therefore not likely to give board and lodging to two strangers unless he thought that they were respectable and likely to pay their bill. Still, I was not quite certain that the old gentleman was not a confederate of the Bedouins, so I called the corporal and told him that I thought he had better take the owner of the place into Baghdad as a prisoner, and report what had happened. The consternation of the Jew when he heard the order is indescribable. He grovelled on the ground at my feet; flung the dust over his head, and swore to me that he was innocent of participating in any plot. To be sent in to the Turkish governor of Baghdad would mean his ruin. He would not be heard. He was a Jew, and there was no justice for Jews. He begged and implored me to have mercy and to believe his word. As a matter of fact, I had not the slightest intention of losing the services of our escort by sending them back to Baghdad, and I was quite confident that the Jew knew nothing of the robbery. The loss of the money, however, was rather a serious thing, though, fortunately, Edwards was carrying enough to supply our probable wants for some time; and before making a start I sent a letter to the Consul-General, telling him what had occurred, and asking him to send me some more money to Babylon. As can be imagined, we were not too well pleased with the result of our first night in Mesopotamia, and for the next night or two we took the precaution to keep a sentry on duty while we slept. Getting away as early as possible in the morning, we rode hard all day, and, after passing Khan Haswa and Khan Mahawill, at sunset we crossed the remains of the ancient Parthian earthworks, and entered the ruins of the Great City, taking up our quarters at dusk on a roof-top of the little modern village of Babil, lying close by the Euphrates. Every house in the village was built of bricks dug out of the ruins of famous Babylon; on every brick was the superscription of Nebuchadnezzar; and it was with almost sacrilegious feelings that we lay down to rest among such romantic and old-world surroundings. CHAPTER III. INTO THE DESERT. Riding over the ruins on the following day, I realised for the first time the immense task that I had undertaken. In all directions there stretched miles and miles of barren land, with here and there low mounds, ditches, and heaps of rubbish, overgrown with scrub and coarse grass. Actual ruins, such as walls and the remains of buildings above ground, there were none, though an occasional long deep trench, dug by modern excavators, disclosed the presence of a wall at a considerable depth below the surface. For centuries the place had been ransacked for bricks to build the towns and villages in the neighbourhood, and even now I found natives with donkeys loading up the panniers with masses of broken brickwork. With the scanty information that I possessed, to attempt to commence digging for the Golden Girdle was, of course, hopeless--far more hopeless than looking for a needle in fifty bundles of hay. I, however, made a thorough exploration of the ruins, and corrected and added to my maps, deciding that the next step to be taken was to get away among the Bedouin tribes, and to try to discover some sort of clue as to the burial-place of the Girdle. Why I thought of the Bedouins as likely to be of assistance was this; I had among my papers a full-sized drawing of an Arab horse-shoe, and my uncle had shown me the actual shoe, the peculiar shape of which at the time interested me a good deal, though I now found that similar ones were worn by all the Arab horses. It was a thin disc of metal with a hole in the centre, but it differed from most shoes in that it had eight nail-holes instead of the usual six. With the drawing was the translation of a document, and a note to the effect that the horse-shoe and its description were obtained from the Munshi Abdul Aziz of Kerbela, and brought to England in 1899 by a certain Captain Johnson, who was subsequently killed in South Africa. The document itself ran as follows:- "_In the name of God, the Merciful and Compassionate, and, Said Mohammed, Agent of the High God, and of the Companions of Mohammed. Praised be the Lord, the Omnipotent Creator._ "This is the Na'l Talisman of the Muntafik, which at one time adorned the hoof of the beautiful mare Shahzadi, by a Kuhailan Haifi sire, out of the dam Labadah. The famous mare, known to all the tribes, was captured by Feyzul, sheik of the Jelas Aeniza, from the Sheik Jedaan-ibn-Mirshid, who was killed in battle, when a portion of the Salama tribe of the Shammar was utterly defeated on the 17th of the month Saphar, A.H. 1281. Of the ill-omened Salama there escaped but one man, who was riding a brown horse, with four white feet and a white mark on the forehead, said by some to have been of the true breed of Saklawi, by others of Ubaiyan. The man bore away the serpent belt of pure gold, coveted by the desert tribes." On the back of the original paper was scribbled in pencil:- "The shoe and its history were given to me by my old friend, Munshi Abdul Aziz, on his deathbed, in return for some slight services which I had rendered him in connection with the annual payment of pilgrim money. He told me that it had been carried, for many years, as a talisman, on the neck of the mare ridden by a former sheik of the Muntafik. How it came into his possession he preferred not to disclose; but he said that it was well known that the mare Shahzadi was shod on the off hind foot with an eight nailed shoe (the near hind, of course, having no shoe). H. J., 8.4.98." I had already regarded this document as of very great importance, and I now decided that my first object should be to discover Feyzul, and learn what he had to say about the golden belt. It was true that Feyzul might not be alive, and his tribe, in its turn, might have been wiped off the face of the earth; but still it was the only clue, and it seemed to me to be worth while following up. So we left Babil and went off to the town of Hillah, where we imagined we might be able to get the desired information from the Turkish police officer, whose duty it was to keep an eye on the Bedouin tribes of the neighbourhood. The officer was most polite, and, after inspecting my passport and _firman_, sent for his sergeant, and asked him what was the latest information that he had of the Jelas sheik. The sergeant, with much pomp and ceremony, produced a note-book from his pocket, and rapidly turning over the leaves, at length came to the page he wanted, when he read out deliberately and in a low voice:-- "Faris-ibn-Feyzul, tribe of Jelas, otherwise Ruwalla, of the Aeniza; 742 men; 428 women; many children; valuable mares and stallions; also camels and sheep. Blood feud with the Salama of the Shammar; constantly fighting. The tribe was driven from the Ndjef marshes by the Turkish troops two months ago, and was reported to have moved about four days south." "Is that all?" "It is all that I know, captain, for, as you are aware, I have been out in the northern district for the past month." "What age do you suppose this Faris to be?" I asked. "Oh, anything over fifty-five, might be seventy, but rides and fights like a man of thirty." Then the officer suddenly appeared to become inquisitive, and asked me why I was so anxious to find this particular Arab chief, who had not the best of reputations. For the moment I was rather nonplussed, but I satisfied him by saying that I had been told that he and his tribe knew the ruins of Babylon better than most people, and that they would be sure to know what parts had been explored by previous excavators. In the end the sergeant was told to try and find out where the chief had his headquarters, and during the next few days I and my party were entertained by the police officer, who showed us all the sights of the neighborhood--including the so-called Tower of Babel, or Birs Nimroud. Before the end of the week Faris-ibn-Feyzul had been discovered, and the sergeant proudly related how one of his men had seen him in the bazaar at Kerbela, and had tracked him for three days and nights out into the desert, and had found his tribe encamped barely two days' ride from Hillah. So far so good. I knew that the Jelas tribe still existed, and though Sheik Feyzul was dead, his son Faris reigned in his stead. The next point was how to open up communications with him. "It would be perfectly useless my sending for him," said the Turkish officer, "for he would not come. They are most independent devils, all these Bedouins, and you cannot even bribe them. You might send a dozen messages to this Faris, and tell him that you would pay him a thousand kerans a day for his services, but that would not be an inducement to him. He would imagine that we had designs on him." "I must get hold of him somehow," I said; "what do you think I had better do?" "There is only one way that I can see," was the reply. "Leave your zaptiehs here, and ride off with your friend to Faris's camp without an escort. I will give you a guide to show you the way, but he must leave you as soon as you are within sight of the camp. It will be somewhat risky, as, of course, the Jelas people may take you for Turks and make short work of you, but if you pretend to be simple English travellers having lost the way, I daresay it will be all right. I shall, however, have to get you to give me a paper saying that you left Hillah against my wish, in case you come to grief, as otherwise I might get into trouble." Edwards and I agreed that we had better make the plunge into the desert, and leaving our belongings in charge of the zaptiehs, with strict injunction that if nothing was heard of us within a week, they were to follow us up, we gave the Turk his clearance certificate, and rode off with our guide at daybreak next morning. After a somewhat uninteresting ride of a long day, with always in front of us a mirage rising out of the sandy desert, and enticing us to put spurs to our horses and gallop to the shade of the palm-groves, which appeared to grow on the edge of a lake surrounding a great city and its thousand minarets; after halting for the night in a real date garden, we arrived late in the afternoon of the second day on a low ridge from which the country around was visible for many miles. Here the guide stopped, telling us that we would now have to proceed alone. He then pointed out the line which we were to take--roughly south-west--showing us, in the far distance, a tiny speck, which he pronounced to be the encampment of the Jelas sheik. Looking through our field-glasses, we could just discern the resemblance to an encampment, but the prospect of reaching it before dark seemed small. The guide, however, assured us that it was not as far off as we imagined; the country was deceptive; and we should probably reach our destination before sundown. With hearts none too light, we parted from the guide, and started in a bee-line for our goal. Before going any great distance, we got hung up by a morass, which had to be circumvented; then the horses showed signs of being fatigued, and we were obliged to get off and lead them. "A jolly wild goose chase this seems to be," said Edwards, somewhat sulkily. "Not very cheerful, is it?" I replied. Neither of us spoke again for about half an hour. The sun was gradually nearing the horizon. It would be pitch dark in less than an hour. Edwards stopped. "What are we going to do?" he asked. "We can't possibly reach the beastly place before dark, and we are not likely to find it when we can't see where we are going. I vote we chuck it, have some food, and bivouac here till the morning." "Don't you believe it," said I, "what sort of a person do you take me for? Do you suppose I have been looking at this compass of mine ever since we left the guide simply to amuse myself? I have got the bearing of old Faris's centre wigwam to a nicety. The compass is a luminous one. Look at it. Do you see the luminous paint? Well, as soon as it gets properly dark and the stars are nice and bright, I'll take you along quite gaily." Edwards was interested. He had never seen a luminous compass before, and confessed that he had no idea that anyone could wander about in a desert at night and discover where he was going. Now, as a matter of fact, I was not at all confident of my ability to use a compass at night; for, since leaving Sandhurst, I had never troubled about these matters. Still, I could see that my companion did not much like the look of the situation, so I thought it best to reassure him. The compass worked far better than I expected--indeed so accurately as to almost result in our coming to an untimely end. The darkness that had settled in very shortly after sunset was of the blackest, the stars standing out with remarkable brilliancy. Whether it was that my nerves were strained to the utmost, or that it was the first night that I had spent in the absolute solitude of the vast desert, I cannot say, but I can never remember in all my subsequent travels any night that approached this one for inky blackness. On we trudged over the hard, baked sand, still warm to the feet, and making the air warm as high as one's chest; above that, a cool invigorating breeze blew about our heads. Under other circumstances, we should have delighted in the night march; as it was, we were both too jumpy to appreciate it. Suddenly, at a little distance to our right, a dog barked, and almost instantaneously half a dozen shots were fired. Fortunately, they were evidently fired haphazard, for none of them came in our direction, but our reception was far too warm to be pleasant, so I shouted in the best Arabic that I could command:-- "Salaam Aleikum! We are two English travellers who have lost our way. We seek hospitality for the night, and to be put on our road in the morning." There was no reply, though we could hear voices quite close, and could now distinguish the form of the tents of the encampment. My compass had landed us within a hundred yards of the right spot, but I had no thought for the moment of congratulating myself on its accuracy, or on my skill in handling it. It was a question whether we should have a volley fired into us, or whether our account of ourselves would be accepted. All doubt, however, was soon swept away, when a stentorian voice came out of the darkness:-- "If you are, as you say, Ingleezee who have lost your way, let one man advance and the other remain a while behind." I immediately advanced, while Edwards stood his ground. At the doorway of a large tent I was received by a handsome young Arab, around whom clustered a number of wild-looking men and women. Oil wick lamps were raised to my face, and after a few searching questions, the men appeared to be satisfied, and told me that my companion could come in. As soon as Edwards appeared, the young Arab, who was evidently the chief of the party, looked intently into his face, then, flinging himself on the ground at his feet, became almost convulsed with emotion. "It is the great _Hakim_ (doctor)," he exclaimed, "_Alhamdu l'Illah_--Praise be to Allah--I have met him again. The blessed Hakim who saved my life when I was left for dead by the accursed Shammar. Oh, God is great to let me see him again, and befriend him in the desert." We were soon surrounded by as many of the tribe as were able to crowd into the tent, and the doorway was blocked with the remainder. Edwards was the centre of attraction, and his Arab friend regaled his fellow-tribesmen with countless personal experiences of the Hakim's skill. But, in the excitement, our wants were not forgotten; our horses were taken away and cared for; women brought in vessels of sour _leben_, and dishes of meat and unleavened bread, of which we ate with an appetite whetted by a hard day's march and by the keen, crisp air of the desert night. Neither was this all, for the floor of the tent was rapidly piled up with carpets and rugs, conveyed by numerous eager hands, and after taking the most affectionate farewell for the night, Sedjur, our host prepared to leave us to ourselves. "But, Sedjur," said Edwards, holding the young chief's hand, "you have not told me why you are here, six days' journey to the west of Baghdad; when in the hospital, you always said you came from the north, from near Mosul." "True, O Hakim," was the reply, "but we of the desert have no fixed home. We wander hither and thither. Yet I confess that I lied to you when I said that I came from the north. To have disclosed my identity would have imperilled the safety of my tribe for the son of Faris would have been a rare prize for the Turki Spahis (a curse on them!), and they would have tortured me until they had discovered the movements of my father and his people." "Are you, then, Faris's son?" inquired Edwards. "Even so." "Where then is the sheik, your father?" "He left, two days since, with ten picked men, to effect the capture of the horses of some Shammar robbers who were reported to be at Babil. He will return before sundown to-morrow, and he will then offer you the full hospitality of the tribe." "Well, peace be with you, Sedjur, at any rate for this night, and plenty of hard fighting before long. That is the greatest joy I can wish you, I know." Sedjur's face brightened, and his keen eyes glistened as he turned and left us. When we were alone, I asked my companion to explain how, in the middle of the night and in the middle of the desert, he had suddenly found fame. It was not a long story, because George Edwards was the sort of person who made a story about himself as short as possible. The Consul-General, it appeared, was riding out, with a small escort, near Zobeidé's Tomb, one evening about a year before, and came across a man lying in an exhausted condition under a bush. The man was unable to give an account of himself, but he was evidently in desperate straits, with several sword cuts on his body and one or two ugly spear gashes. The Englishman made his escort carry the wretched Arab into Baghdad and hand him over to the Residency surgeon, and, as Edwards concluded, "I looked after him, tinkered up his wounds, and was just going to discharge him from hospital, when he discharged himself--made a bolt of it one fine night." "Edwards," I said, when he had finished, "you are a marvel. There never was such a stroke of luck. If all accounts of these people be true, you have secured the everlasting friendship of Faris and all his tribe. We are made men--that is to say if Faris really knows anything of the Golden Girdle." Edwards's reply was a long, loud snore, and it was not many minutes before I myself sank into that blissful state of oblivion which is begotten of sheer exhaustion. CHAPTER IV. GUESTS OF THE AENIZA. How long we should have slept if left undisturbed I cannot imagine. The sun must have been up an hour or more before we were suddenly awakened by shouting in the camp almost amounting to an uproar. On jumping up and looking out, we found that the small black tents were being hastily struck, and the whole place was in confusion. We saw, at a little distance, Sedjur talking excitedly to a couple of dozen horsemen armed to the teeth. Presently he moved towards our tent, the mounted men following him. As they drew near we stepped outside to receive them, and were greeted by a shout from Sedjur, who was walking by the side of the horse ridden by a great gaunt Arab. That this was the sheik himself we instantly realised--so much alike were father and son--and any doubt that we had was soon dispelled by the introduction that followed. [Illustration: "THAT THIS WAS THE SHEIK HIMSELF WE INSTANTLY REALISED"] The sheik welcomed us cordially, and thanked Edwards for all the kindness that he had shown to his son in Baghdad. Unfortunately, he said, he could not now ask us to partake of his hospitality, as it was absolutely necessary that he and his people should get away at once, to avoid capture at the hands of the Turkish authorities. Sedjur then related to us what had occurred. His father had, the night before, had a brush with a strong party of Shammar, some of whom had been left either dead or wounded on the field, and the fight only ended when it did because of the sudden appearance of a Turkish patrol. "We must get away immediately," concluded Sedjur, "but my father and I hope that some day, when things are quieter, we shall be able to show you and your friend true desert hospitality. You will easily find your way back to Hillah, and so to Baghdad, by keeping straight for the high mound yonder, from which you will see the river and the roof-tops of Hillah at no great distance." "But," replied I, not at all wishing to lose Faris just as we had found him, "my friend the Hakim does not desire to return until he has seen more of the desert. Besides, we might ourselves be captured by the Turkish soldiers, and be forced to betray your whereabouts." "That would be difficult," laughed Sedjur, "for, look, our women and children are already out of sight, and safe; and, ere the sun has crept up another spear-head in the heavens, our horses will have carried us out of harm's way." I looked round. The camp had vanished, the tent in which we had slept included. Our horses, with their saddles on, stood hobbled close by. The sheik, standing by his horse, was shading his eyes with one hand, and scanning the horizon. Suddenly there arose a cry of "Tourki," and with one accord the sheik and his men swung into the saddle, and commenced to move off. Sedjur quickly mounted his mare, and calling to us that he regretted having to leave us thus discourteously, soon caught up the rest of the party, now settling down to a fast canter. "Well," exclaimed Edwards, turning to me, "they are in a desperate hurry to clear out. I cannot even see the soldiers, can you?" I looked for some time, and at last, when my eyes had become accustomed to the glare, I thought I could detect some small black objects, like flies, in the far, far distance. "I think I have spotted them," I answered. "There, miles away to the north-east. Look along my finger." "Oh, I see them," said Edwards. "Well," said I, "I suppose we had better wait here till they come up, tell them that it is useless for them to try and catch the wily Arabs, and ride back with them to Hillah, or wherever they come from." "Not a bit of it," said Edwards excitedly. "We must not meet them. I know the gentlemen; and if they find us here and their quarry gone, they are quite capable of shooting us off-hand as conspirators, and quietly putting us into a hole in the sand. Come on; there's plenty of time." "Where to?" I asked, as we ran to our horses and mounted. "After our Arab friends," was the reply. "They are not going any pace as yet." So we dug our spurs into the flanks of our little beasts, and made them gallop over the baked desert. But gallop as we would, we did not appear to be gaining on our friends, and it seemed to us, on glancing back, that the Turkish troopers were overhauling us. Then, as we looked ahead, we saw the Arab horsemen suddenly disappear. "Where on earth have they gone?" asked Edwards, turning to me. "Heaven only knows," I replied, "unless they have got into a watercourse. We shall probably see them come out again in a minute." We kept our eyes fixed ahead of us as we rode on, but no sign did we see of the reappearance of the party, and before long we discovered the cause. The track brought us to a deep dry watercourse, running almost at right angles to the route that we were following, and there, in the loose sand which formed the bed, we could see the footprints of the horses. We drew rein, and looked at each other, for the horsemen seemed to have gone both ways--up the watercourse and down it. "Which way?" I asked Edwards. "Haven't a ghost of an idea," said he. "Well, it cannot matter very much," said I; "whichever way we go, we shall find some of them. We must trust to luck to take our Turkish pursuers the other way." So we rode westward in the trough of the nullah, which in places was sunk almost twenty feet below the surrounding country, and which turned and twisted at every fifty yards. For half an hour or more we pressed on, ever looking behind, to see if we were being pursued, until at last we reached a point where a smaller nullah joined the main one, and here again the horsemen had divided, as many going one way as the other. "This is worse than a paper-chase," said Edwards, drily. "Suppose we give it up, wait for the Turks, and hail them as our friends and deliverers." As we stood at the junction of the watercourses, debating which one to follow, we suddenly became aware of the presence of a horseman, standing motionless at the bend of the smaller nullah. He beckoned to us, and, on riding up, we found, to our joy, that it was Sedjur himself. "You were fortunate, Hakim," said he smiling, "in taking the right way. We could not wait for you, for fear of the Turkis. We are all safe enough now, for they never follow the windings of the watercourse, knowing that at any turn they might be ambuscaded. Come along to our tents, and we will make you truly welcome." The mention of tents was a great relief to both of us, for I at any rate had had visions of travelling day and night for ever so long, and enduring endless privations. Still, the encampment was not as near as I at first imagined, for, although Sedjur described it, with a wave of his hand, as "yonder," it proved to be distant several hours' ride. For a mile or more we followed the bed of the nullah, until it grew too narrow to ride in, when our guide suddenly turned his horse's head up the steep bank. Thence we crossed a wide strip of desolate desert leading gradually up to a sandy ridge, from the summit of which Sedjur pointed out, several miles away, a green patch of vegetation, around which there appeared to be a goodly collection of tents. "What are all these tents?" I inquired of Sedjur, as we drew near the encampment. "This is our large camp," he replied, "with all our people and flocks. Where you spent last night was only a _ghazu_ camp, from which my father was making a foray." We were duly impressed by what we saw before us, and we began to understand that the sheik was a man of some importance. A considerable number of horses, camels, and sheep were grazing on the outskirts of the encampment, and quite two hundred tents lay scattered among the tamarisk and other bushes. On the extreme flank was pitched the somewhat imposing-looking tent of the sheik--large enough, as we afterwards found, to accommodate not only himself and his family, but also two of his mares. In front of the tent, fixed upright in the ground, was his long, gleaming spear, adorned with tufts of black ostrich plumes. As we approached, men came to take our horses, and we were ushered into the audience-room of Faris's tent, where we were received with much ceremony, being reintroduced by Sedjur, as if the sheik had never met us before. This procedure puzzled me at first, but later on I discovered that it was a matter of Bedouin etiquette, as at our previous meeting the sheik had had nothing to offer us. Now we were made welcome to all he possessed, and a special tent was handed over to us. The conversation was most formal; spiced coffee was handed round, and long pipes were brought in. Then, after a short while, Sedjur relieved our minds by suggesting that we might like to go to our tent and rest, after our long ride. We jumped at the idea, and being warned that we were expected to have supper with the sheik a little before sundown, we sought the seclusion of the goat's-hair dwelling that had been reserved for us. "Thank goodness," said Edwards, sitting on his saddle-bags, which had been brought into the tent, "that they have given us a place to ourselves. Now let us hold a mass meeting of two, and discuss the whole situation." "What situation?" I asked. "Why, yours and mine," said he. "Right you are," said I. "So far I think we have done pretty well. We have discovered old Faris, and have become his honoured guests. We have only got to persuade him to tell us about the Golden Girdle, and then we shall be as right as rain." "All very nice," said Edwards. "But suppose it does not come off, what is going to happen? We are miles and miles from anywhere." "Oh, we will get along. Don't you fret," I replied. "Besides, we are seeing desert life, living with real Bedouins, and all that sort of thing. Do be a bit romantic. But, to be serious, I will take on our host to-night, if we can make him at all communicative; and if we fail to get anything out of him, we will take an affectionate farewell in the morning, and ride back to Hillah. I daresay we are not more than fifty miles away." "How shall you start the subject?" asked my companion. "That is the difficulty," said I. "I expect the best way will be to mention Shahzadi and her shoe, and see how the old man takes it." So we continued to talk and puff at our pipes, until at last Sedjur came and told us that supper was ready. We found that one or two of the headmen of the tribe had been invited to meet us, and after going through the usual ceremonial introductions, we settled down to our meal, Edwards being placed on the right hand of the sheik, I on the left, and Sedjur on the other side of Edwards. It was our first Bedouin feast, and the novelty of everything interested us considerably. A huge copper bowl was brought in and placed in front of us, its steaming contents consisting of a kind of porridge in which lumps of meat and vegetables, some hard-boiled eggs, and dates were concealed. Into this each member of the party plunged his hand, and after the manner of dipping in a bran-pie, brought out a prize in the shape of something to eat. Hunger and the desire to appear _au fait_ in the customs of the desert enabled Edwards and myself to do fair justice to the meal, even without spoons, knives, or forks. Little conversation was indulged in while the eating was in progress, but at length the dish, replenished again and again, had satisfied everyone, and at a signal from Faris we rose, washed our hands, and went and sat outside, to smoke our pipes and chat in the cool evening air. While at supper I had made a study of our host, and although apparently a reserved and silent man, his quiet dignity and courteous manner made a great impression on me. In appearance he was tall--far above the average Arab height, spare in form, but with broad, square shoulders, which made his flowing robes hang loosely from his body. He was a fair man, and his brown beard as yet showed few white hairs, though his handsome face was weather-beaten, and bore more than one tell-tale scar. His eyes were remarkable, and their actual colour impossible to describe; at times they were the eyes of an eagle--almost golden red, wide open and piercing; then, while he was speaking, they would suddenly change to the soft liquid eyes of a deer, full of tenderness and compassion. As I learned later, the sheik's whole character was discoverable from a study of his eyes. Puffing at my pipe, I began to think that the time had come when I ought to give our host some idea of our future movements, for I knew that he himself would consider that he would be outraging all the laws of hospitality if he even displayed any curiosity as to our wanderings in the desert. How I was to turn the conversation round to the Golden Girdle I could not see, but I made a beginning by discussing the day's ride, and the relative merits of our horses and the sheik's horses, their paces and staying powers. To my delight I found that the great man gradually unbent, and in a few minutes became voluble. Thinking that I was deeply interested in the subject, he insisted on taking me into his tent to see his two favourite mares, one of whom he fondled, and addressed in the most loving terms. "She is your favourite, sheik," I said. "Yes," he replied, "even so. She has carried me in many a bloody fight with the accursed Shammar, and has borne many good colts. Moreover, her grand-dam was my father's much-prized mare, a true Kuhailan, so he always affirmed. He captured her from the Shammar--a fact which I cast in their teeth when I prevail over them by reason of the handiness and swiftness of the mare. She is indeed a bird without wings." I now had my opening, for of course I remembered what was written in the document wherein mention had been made of the Golden Girdle. "I have heard of the Kuhailan mare," I remarked quietly. "Of what mare?" inquired Faris, looking at me intently. "Shahzadi," I replied, "the daughter of a Kuhailan Haifi, out of the dam Labadah. Was it not so?" "That indeed was what my father always told me, and the Shammar themselves told him how the mare was bred. How do you, an Ingleezee, know of such matters as these? It may be that you have learned them from the Shammar." "Not so, Sheik of Sheiks," I replied. "What I know of the mare I have read in my own country." "Wonder of wonders!" exclaimed Faris. "They speak truly when they say that you Englishmen know everything. Tell me more of what you know." "I will tell you _all_ I know," I said, "and if you will allow me to go to my tent, I will fetch you a translation of what I believe to be a true document relating to the famous mare, which your father captured from the Shammar." "You astonish me beyond measure," said the sheik; "be pleased to go and bring the paper." At that moment the thud of horses' hoofs broke the stillness of the night air, and, thinking that it meant a night attack, I turned to the sheik, who stepped out in front of his tent, and shouted a few words in a deep voice. An answer came back out of the darkness, and then Faris explained to me that the horsemen were those of his party whose duty it had been to lay a false scent for the Turkish police to follow, and who had ridden into camp by a circuitous route. "For years," said he, "we have done the same thing. On reaching the nullah, some of us go one way and some another. The Turkis fear to follow either party, knowing that if once they enter the nullah, they are liable not only to be ambuscaded by one party but to be taken in rear by the other party. But they are simple folk these town-bred Turkis, and in driving us as far as the nullah, they consider that they have done their duty. So they return to their coffee-houses to drink their coffee and tell their companions how they encountered the Bedouins, and defeated them. Yet, to-morrow, if we wished, we could ride in and pillage half the villages on the outskirts of Hillah. However, the ways of these Turki dogs are of no interest to either you or me, for I know, from my many friends in Baghdad, what you Englishmen think of them. Let us talk again of our horses, and let me hear what you know of Kushki's ancestors." I went off to my tent, and returned with my note-book, when the sheik took me into his private apartment, and motioned me to a seat on a pile of soft cushions. I showed him the sketch of Shahzadi's shoe, and he at once commented on the eight nail holes. Then I turned to my copy of the document, which, re-translating into Arabic, I read out to my host. He was deeply moved, and drank in every word that I uttered, nodding his head as I concluded each sentence, and vouchsafing that what I said was true. When I came to the last line I hesitated for a second--from excitement, I suppose--but, recovering, I translated leisurely, "The man bore away the serpent belt of pure gold coveted by the desert tribes." "Quite true," said the sheik. "Everything that you have read is true. But now tell me, was it indeed an accident that brought you and your friend the Hakim to our tents?" The question came so suddenly, that I confess it quite staggered me. But I felt that the man with whom I was dealing was upright and honest, and I decided that I would meet him on his own ground, and risk the consequences. I stood up and met his gaze. "Faris-ibn-Feyzul, Sheik of the Jelas Aeniza," I said, "I am an Englishman, and, I trust, a man of honour. Believe me, that in accepting your hospitality, I had no intention of deceiving you. I waited only for an opportunity to speak to you, and that opportunity has now come. It was no accident that brought us to your tents." I then explained fully the nature of my mission, and how I hoped to be able to obtain from him some information about the Golden Girdle. He listened attentively, and without showing any sign of displeasure. At last he took my hand in his, and spoke solemnly and quietly. "Friend and honoured guest," he said, "you have spoken to me straightforwardly, and straightforwardly shall I always deal with you. Stay with us as long as you will, and you shall be welcome, but take my advice, and abandon all idea of possessing that accursed belt of gold. Did you but know the havoc that it wrought among the tribes ere it disappeared, you would let it lie for ever in its resting-place. If you would hear more of it, then to-morrow will I tell you what I know, and willingly. To-night we have already talked late." * * * * * "What a time you have been," grunted Edwards, as I entered the tent after saying good-night to the sheik. "You have lost all your beauty sleep. I have been in bed for hours." "Business, my boy," I replied. "I have been having a most interesting talk with Faris." Edwards sat up wide awake, while I related, as shortly as possible, what our host had told me. "Do you think I did right," I asked, when I had finished, "in making a clean breast of everything?" "You could not well have done anything else," he replied. "Both the father and the son are thorough gentlemen. Besides, one cannot humbug these Bedouins; they would see through you at once. I wonder if they really know where your golden treasure is buried. I did not say a word about it to Sedjur, as I was afraid of making a mess of things. By the way, he and his father are going off in the morning to an oasis somewhere or other miles away in the desert, where they have got some brood mares and camels, and he thought we might like the ride with them. So I accepted for both of us. Are you on for it?" "Of course I am," said I. "I don't let old Faris out of my sight until I have heard what he has to tell about that blessed belt." CHAPTER V. RAIDERS. Barely a streak of dawn had shown itself in the eastern sky, when Sedjur clamoured at our tent door, shouting to us that it was time that we were up and in the saddle. Silence reigned in the encampment, as we stepped out into the grey morning, to find the sheik and his son already mounted, and awaiting us. An Arab stood close at hand holding the two horses which we were to ride, and the sheik, giving us a friendly greeting, told me that the beasts which he had selected for us were both sons of his favourite Kushki, the fleetest that he possessed, and far better than our own. He and Sedjur we noticed were armed with spear and sword, and before starting they made certain that we carried our revolvers. "One can never tell," said Sedjur, "what the day may bring forth, and to go unarmed in the desert is to court death." So, with the cold invigorating air almost cutting our faces, we set out on our ride into the unknown, at first picking our way slowly among the low bushes, then, on reaching the great sandy wastes, quickening our pace to a gentle canter. How our companions knew the way puzzled us considerably, for no landmark could we distinguish in any direction. Everywhere was sand--hard, red, baked sand; a veritable ocean of sand, and, like the ocean, wind-swept into mighty billows. The sun gradually rose, and we soon discovered that no landmark was necessary, as our route evidently lay due west, and the sun at our backs gave us our course. For several hours the ride was monotonous in the extreme, then, at about noon, the sandy plains began to show signs of a change of country. Stones cropped up here and there, and in the far distance we could distinguish the filmy outlines of hills and mountains. The hills gradually drew nearer, and in a short time we found ourselves in a new land. Below us was a hollow filled with verdure, date trees, acacias, tamarisks, and luxuriant grassland, through which flowed trickling streams. This was the principal grazing ground of Faris's camels and mares, which we saw scattered in all directions, their herdsmen--all armed with spears and matchlocks--keeping a good look-out on the surrounding high ground. "Hide yourselves behind the rocks," said the sheik, quietly, "and we will soon see if the men are on the alert." Then stepping forward himself on to the sky-line, he stood quite motionless, while we peered from behind our shelters into the valley below. Far down in a date grove we heard the neigh of a horse, followed by the barking of a dog; then, as we looked, we could see each sentry turn instinctively towards the figure of the sheik. They had discovered the cause of the alarm, and Faris, satisfied, shouted a watchword which was evidently understood. The chief of the herdsmen rode up to greet us, and we descended with him to the shady spot where his tent was pitched, and where he soon regaled us with coffee and dates. "Well, Hussein, what is the news?" asked the sheik. "Nothing of great consequence, Lord Protector," answered the herdsmen, "but I am glad you have come. For three days now single Shammar horsemen have been observing us from different points, and we fear that they intend a raid on the beasts so soon as the moon gives sufficient light. We fully expected it last night, but no one came." "Ah, Hussein," said the sheik, "it is the old story which you always have to tell. Rest assured that no Shammar dares to touch the property of Faris-ibn-Feyzul. Bring some more coffee, and then we will smoke our pipes until it is time for us to start again for our tents." The sheik was in the best of spirits, and even talkative. Sedjur and he were evidently devoted to each other, and we could see that the father was as proud of his son as was the son of his father. They had ridden side by side in many a fight, though even now Sedjur was but twenty-four; and each had many tales to tell of the prowess of the other. "How many of the accursed robbers did you say you encountered at Babil the day before yesterday, father?" asked Sedjur. "Ten of the Shammar," was the reply, "and one other, of what tribe or nationality I know not. He was not of the desert, though wearing the dress. Perchance he came from Bokhara, or Yarkhand, or, God knows, from India. But whatever land gave him birth must be glad to be rid of him, for he showed not the courage of an Arab townsman. When we bore down on the band he incontinently rode off, and did not rein up and turn to see what was going on until at a safe distance. The dog valued his skin greatly." "And you put them all to flight?" "Surely did we," answered the sheik, vehemently, "and sent that black villain, Abbas, to Gehennum." "What, Abbas-ibn-Rashid?" "Even so, he who nearly killed you outside Baghdad, when our good friend, the Hakim, here, saved your life. It was an old score, my lad, and I wiped it out, praise be to Allah! We would have sent some more of his followers after the scoundrel, had not the soldiers come down on us, and I doubt not but that Abbas himself had previously warned them to be prepared." "I am almost sorry, father, that you slew Abbas," said Sedjur, softly. "Why?" asked the sheik, frowning at his son. "Have you turned woman? Do you wish to show mercy to your bitterest foe?" "Nay, father, but I had lived for the day when I should meet the man face to face, sword to sword, and spear-point to spear-point. I grieved that you had robbed me of my chance of revenge." "Well, well, Sedjur," laughed the sheik, "save his ghost, the desert will hear no more of Abbas." "You secured no booty, then?" inquired Sedjur. "His mare galloped off when her master fell," replied Faris, "and I brought away only his broken spear, and this." The sheik raised his cloak, and revealed to our astonished eyes _my chamois-leather money belt_. Edwards and I instantly recognised it, and involuntary uttered an exclamation of surprise, when Faris, not understanding the reason for our excitement, but thinking that we were admiring his prize, took it off and handed it to us to examine. "It is filled with money," said he, "and of much value. How Abbas gained possession of it I neither know nor care. It became the prize of war, and is now mine." "Sheik of Sheiks," I exclaimed, holding the belt in my hand, and looking into his flashing eyes, "I can tell you what money that belt contained a little while since; for it was stolen from my waist as I slept outside the khan at Mahmoudieh not half a moon ago." "Wonder of wonders!" ejaculated Faris and Sedjur simultaneously, the former appearing to be somewhat sceptical, though fearing to show any distrust of his guests. "Let us examine the pockets one by one," I said, wishing to prove my _bona fides_. "In each of the five small pockets on either side of the buckle there should be five English gold pieces, and in the larger pocket at the back some odd kerans and rupees. Come, let us count them out." I turned out the pockets one by one, and emptied their contents on to the sleeve of Sedjur's cloak. The thief had had no opportunity for spending the money, which was found to be exactly as I had stated. Faris's face wore an expression of utter bewilderment. "We knew," said he at last to Sedjur, "what manner of man was our guest the Hakim, but we knew not that his friend was a magician, who, when he lost his property, could recover it at his pleasure. Yet now that I bring it to mind, he did but last night read to me the true description of Shahzadi, the grand-dam of my beloved Kushki, and, moreover, he showed me, on a paper, the impression of her eight-nailed shoe, the old Talisman of the Muntafik of which we have heard. All this is magic." I felt that I had suddenly acquired a reputation by no means desirable, and I hastened to reassure my host, who, having replaced the money in the belt handed it to me, saying that, now that he knew that it was stolen property, he wished to restore it to its rightful owner. "Nay, nay, sheik," said I, "you obtained it in a fair fight. I lost it through my own carelessness, and I can no longer claim it by right. I never thought to see it again." "Then," answered Faris, "I see but one way out of the difficulty. If you refuse to take back your own, I offer the belt and all it contains to your friend the Hakim, as a present, in return for all the kindness which he showed to my son Sedjur. We of the desert have an unwritten law, by which no guest of the Aeniza can decline to accept a present from a sheik. Were this not so, then would I straightway ride to the Euphrates, and hurl the thing into its depths; for, knowing what I know, I can never now lay finger on it again. Come, Hakim, my honoured guest, buckle on the belt, and end the trouble; otherwise, who knows? it may prove to me as evil a possession as did that golden curse to many a Bedouin in the days gone by." So Edwards, at my suggestion, took the belt and fastened it round his waist, offering profuse thanks to his host, who was apparently greatly relieved. "Tell us, sheik," I said, seeing that he had recovered his equanimity, "something of the golden curse to which you alluded just now, and about which I spoke to you last night. We are all friends here; Sedjur has doubtless heard it all before, and the Hakim and I are one." Faris looked stealthily round, to make sure that there were no eaves-droppers, and then suddenly turning his eyes on me exclaimed:-- "Think no more of it; forget it; for it will bring you nothing but ruin. I called you 'magician.' Whether I did so rightly or wrongly I cannot say, but this I do know, that your magic, be it ever so strong, can avail nothing against that circlet of gold. As you are aware, it disappeared long years back--even before dear Kushki saw the light of day. No man could ever say what became of it, though there be necromancers (not reckoned by us as men) who have the reputation of knowing all things, and who have been heard to affirm that they could, were they so minded, unearth that hidden curse. Yet even they fear to be so rash. As soon would they let loose in the world Shaitan and all the Jins. Do you suppose your Western magic to be more powerful than that of the East? Do you imagine that you are capable of combating all the evil that fell on every man who ever touched the dreaded thing? No, I cannot believe that you have such conceit." "I am no magician, sheik," I said, interrupting him, "and I make no pretence to any power not possessed by yourself or any other man. We Englishmen consider all those who practise magic to be impostors. In all honesty, I told you last night that I had come to the desert in search of the Golden Girdle of the Great Queen; and I told you how my acquaintance with the story of the Muntafik talisman had led me to seek information from you." "I know," said Faris, sorrowfully, "I remember all you said, and if I ever doubted you, the doubt has left me. I believe all that you told me. I swear it. Gladly would I help you to carry out the task imposed upon you; yet, I, Faris-ibn-Feyzul, Sheik of the Jelas Aeniza, who have faced death on countless occasions, and who would face it again at a moment's notice, out of pure love of fighting, I confess to you that I fear to have a hand in resuscitating the golden circlet. Mere death I count as nothing. All must die--whether it be sooner or whether it be later; and so long as I die, as every true Bedouin should, fighting the foes of his forefathers, I care nothing for myself. But how should I feel if, when dying, I knew that I had been instrumental in reviving, and in leaving behind me as a legacy to posterity, a curse on the inhabitants of the world?" I began to think that the Golden Girdle had a most fearsome reputation, but I remembered that my uncle had specially warned me not to be influenced by the superstitious dread of the natives. I had always laughed at superstition, and though I had sufficient good sense not to laugh at the sheik, I inwardly considered his fears as ridiculous and childish. "So be it, sheik," I said. "Far be it from me to attempt to influence you to do anything against the guidance of your conscience. Let us forget that we ever spoke of the Golden Girdle. Let us forget that it ever existed. There are troubles enough in the world without adding to them. We will converse on other matters." "What thought you of the horse you have been riding?" inquired Faris proudly. "Perfection," I replied. "Never have I sat on the back of his equal." "I thought so," said Faris, beaming with delight "He is indeed a worthy son of my Kushki." "And to think that we foreigners," said I, "possess her grand-dam's shoe!" I had hardly finished speaking, when the sheik sprang to his feet, seized sword and spear, and rushed to his horse, shouting as he did so that the Shammar were upon us. Sedjur was in the saddle almost as soon as his father; and Edwards and I, not fully realising what was going on, followed suit in all haste. Then we saw what our host's keen eyes had seen a couple of seconds earlier. Over the ridge above us a long line of horsemen were sweeping down into the valley; the watchmen posted among the rocks fired their matchlocks as a signal of alarm, and ran for their horses, which were mostly tethered close to the spot where he had been resting. There was little time to think, but it was easy to understand the enemy's intentions. The mares and camels were all grazing down the valley, a quarter of a mile or so below us, while the herdsmen, in order that they might be able to obtain a wide view of the surrounding country, had been stationed on the higher ground above us and to our right and left. The raiders, evidently well aware of this somewhat faulty arrangement, had somehow crept up unnoticed to the vicinity of the ridge, and had then galloped in between the herdsmen and the herd, the foremost horsemen descending swiftly into the valley and rapidly working round and overlapping the grazing animals. This was an almost instantaneous evolution; in fact, when Faris first gave the alarm, the line had already shaped into a crescent, and before we had mounted, it had become a semicircle, separating the mares from the camels, and driving the former before it and away from us. The camels, being too refractory and slow to carry off, were left behind. "Quick, Sedjur lad," shouted the sheik without any sign of excitement, "rally the herdsmen, and get ready for pursuit, while I watch the direction they take." Then the lad, as his father called him, opened his lungs and sent up a war-howl, which rang through the whole valley, and came echoing back from every rock and every hollow. If it did not strike terror into the hearts of the raiders, at any rate it had a most inspiriting effect on the wretched herdsman, who showed the greatest keenness to get to their horses and form up for pursuit. How long it was before all the men had come in I do not remember; it could not have been many minutes, though it seemed like an hour. At last all were ready, and away we went at a hand-gallop, up the stony side of the valley, to the spot where the sheik awaited us. Sedjur--no longer the calm, imperturbable youth, but a fierce warrior, with long, gleaming spear raised aloft--led the party, Edwards and I abreast of him, on either side. "This is no work for you," said Sedjur, addressing me as we rode along. "You and the Hakim had best drop behind and await our return." "Have you such a poor opinion of us town-dwellers, then?" I replied. "We are your guests, and it is our duty to assist you. Besides, we want to see the fun." "Bravely said," exclaimed the sheik, who had overheard my reply as we approached him. "Come on and help us to deal death to the Shammar thieves. They have crossed the plain, and are away on the other side of the ridge yonder." How our little well-bred horses flew over that sandy strip! Their hoofs seemed barely to touch the ground. In front galloped the sheik; close behind him, we three; then the Bedouin herdsmen, some twenty in number, like a troop of cavalry in single rank. We topped the ridge, and without drawing rein drank in the scene before us. There lay another stretch of rolling desert, which in the far distance appeared to slope gradually up to a network of bold hills. Midway between us and the hills, we could see clearly enough the mares being driven off, and raising a vast moving column of dust, resembling a sand-storm. That our enemies were expert cattle-lifters was evident, for they kept the beasts all going at a swinging trot, in one compact body. Faris raised a wild shout as his quarry came in view, and pressed forward into the plain. "Take half to the left, Sedjur; quick lad, and work round, so as to head them off from the hills. I will take the rest to the right. If the devils reach the hills, we shall not recover a single mare." A strong breeze was blowing from one side, and carried the dust raised by the fugitives well away to leeward, enabling us to see and almost count the number of men with whom we would have to reckon. That they out-numbered our party was certain; though, as far as we could judge, not by very many. For the moment, however, actual numbers were of small account; speed was the sole thought; for the necessity of cutting in between the enemy and the hills was now very apparent. Though they were almost a mile away from us, and had little more than another mile to traverse before reaching the shelter of the hills, we certainly had the great advantage of being unhampered by loose beasts; while our opponents had to keep the mares together, so as to prevent them from breaking away. As our party divided, Edwards and I happened to be rather more to the left than to the right, so we naturally drifted off with Sedjur, who, waving his spear above his head, led his handful of men away to the flank. Rapidly we gained on the bulky column of dust; we were soon abreast of it, and it blew across our path and enveloped us, so that we were almost choked. As we emerged from the dense cloud, we saw that the sheik's party had out-distanced us by a little, and had already reached a point between the enemy and the hills, so Sedjur wheeled half right, and went straight for the stolen mares; while his father, observing the movement, instantly swung round and brought his men down pell-mell on the foremost of the enemy. Panic seized the raiders, and before we could reach them, they abandoned their booty, and fled in a disorganised mass away to the flank farthest from us. The mares were saved, though there was still the risk of their terror causing them to scatter over the desert. Sedjur and his party, however, understood their business, and rounding them up, soon pacified them. Meanwhile, the sheik had seen his opportunity, and at the very moment that the enemy took flight, he suddenly changed his direction, and went off in hot pursuit of the fugitives. "Come on, Henderson," said Edwards, "let's be in at the death." "Right you are," I shouted. And away we went. It was a stern chase and a long one; but when we had almost caught up our friends, we found that they had overhauled the tailmost of the band, and that a brisk fight was imminent. Then Edwards, who was a little ahead of me, suddenly reined up his horse, so that it nearly fell over backwards, and I instinctively did the same. "What is the matter?" I asked. "This is not _our_ game," replied Edwards, somewhat sternly. "The poor devils could not stand our revolvers. It would be sheer butchery to use them. _I_ don't want to shoot any of them, and I am sure _you_ don't. Besides, look, the sheik is drawing off his men, and I expect he considers that honour is satisfied." At first I felt that I had been rebuked; for, on joining in the pursuit, I certainly had had every intention of using my revolver freely. But I soon saw that my companion's argument was perfectly sound, and I was glad that the combat had suddenly come to a close without our being called upon to take part in it. The sheik and his party presently returned, the enemy having disappeared into the hills, and we now learned the reason of the rapid withdrawal. "They were leading us into an ambuscade," said Faris, as he rejoined us. "If it had not been for you, I, in my excitement, should have gone on, and doubtless we should all have been killed. I saw you pull up, and I instantly understood that you realised the stratagem I thank you both for giving me the signal." Now, although I believe that Edwards and I were as honest as most men, we did not think it at all necessary to enlighten the sheik as to our real motive in suddenly coming to a halt. As a matter of fact, we were so astonished at what he said that we did not reply, thus leaving him with a high opinion of our astuteness, which, as we never undeceived him, he probably retained to the end of his days. There was, however, little time to think about what had occurred, for the main object now was to return to the mares, and conduct them back to a place of security. Naturally, everyone was very jubilant at having recovered the stolen beasts, and Sedjur and his party had already set them in motion towards home. Then the great cloud of dust once again rose upwards, almost obscuring the fast sinking sun, and darkness had set in before the mares were once again at the grazing ground from which they had been carried off. CHAPTER VI. THE SHEIK'S STORY. That night we stayed at the grazing-ground, half expecting another attack, the sheik thinking it by no means unlikely that there was a large number of the Shammar tribe on the hills. But nothing occurred to disturb our rest, though we took it in turns to watch all night, Edwards keeping Sedjur company, whilst I sat with Faris. For half an hour or so after we came on duty the sheik remained silent, then he began to speak in a low tone. "Magician," he said. "Do not call me by that name," I said laughing. "I am nothing of the kind." "Well," he replied, "if the name does not please you, I will not call you by it. Still, the man who can tell one all about the breed of a mare directly he sees her, who can recover his own stolen property whensoever he chooses, and who has just now returned to me all my stolen mares--a man who can do such things, I say, must possess powers of no ordinary kind. Such a man we desert folk call by the name magician." "So be it, sheik," said I, not caring to argue further about the matter, "call me what you will. But what was it you were going to say when I interrupted you." "It was a small thing," said he. "I had been thinking of Shahzadi's shoe, the Muntafik talisman. Where did you say it was kept?" "In the biggest building in the biggest town in all England," I replied. "Why should your people wish to keep in such a place so unimportant a thing as the shoe of one of our mares? I cannot understand you Europeans. Men come and pay much money for bricks and pieces of stone picked out of the ground at Babil, and carry them away on the backs of asses. The Bedouins laugh at them. Do these also go to the big house where the horse-shoe is?" "Yes, the house is full of such things, and were it possible to obtain the Golden Belt of the Great Queen, that likewise would be placed there." "Better not," said Faris, "for the big house would totter and fall, and the whole town would be destroyed. Such things have happened in years gone by in this land--and, they say, because of that accursed belt. I do not know if what they say is true, but you have yourself seen what is left of such a great town as Babil, and I know of many another which has been levelled, and swallowed up by the sand. I say again, forget that belt of gold. Tell those who live in the big house that it is lost for ever. But Shahzadi's shoe is a different thing. Tell me, do the people who live in the big house keep all they possess for ever?" "You want to know," I said, "whether you could possibly obtain the horse-shoe. I will copy the drawing, and write out for you, in Arabic, a copy of the document which I read to you." "It would be of small value," said the sheik, with a sigh; "but, oh, if I could obtain the real shoe of the great Shahzadi, then would I be for ever happy." "Sheik," I replied, "it can never be--at least it would be very difficult. Perhaps if I were to find the Golden Girdle, and were able to lay it before the keepers of the big house, perhaps, I say, they might regard me with favour and ask what I would in return. If at that moment I could reply, 'One, Faris-ibn-Feyzul, a great Sheik of the Aeniza, and my devoted friend, even he whose assistance enabled me to be successful in my quest of the Golden Girdle, is the owner of the mare Kushki, whose grand-dam was the famous Shahzadi. He desires above all things to possess the shoe of his noble Kushki's grand-dam, and this shoe is in your keeping.' Then, perhaps, the great men would consult together, and might say to me, 'You have done well in recovering the Great Queen's belt, and Faris ibn-Feyzul must be a truly worthy man; it is well that he should receive a fitting reward for his valuable services; therefore we ordain that the shoe of the mare Shahzadi shall be handed to you for conveyance to the sheik.'" "That would indeed be a day of days for me, and for all the Aeniza," said the sheik. "But, alas, it can never be more than a dream. For, if I understand you rightly, the price of the shoe is that belt of gold." "Yes," I answered, "that is what I meant." "You cannot forget the wretched thing," said he, almost angrily. "Let the world go on its way. Do not seek to destroy all that is good in it. There are things which Allah has decreed shall be left alone; and if its history has been handed down to us truly, this golden circlet is one of them." "Sheik," I said, "you are a great man, and chief of an important branch of a great tribe. Your men regard you with reverence and respect, and your position has doubtless given you a vast knowledge of men and of the affairs of the world. Yet you believe in superhuman and supernatural occurrences; or you think that you believe in them. You think that I am a magician, because I have been connected with certain events which had results different from what you expected. You believe in the mysterious powers of this Golden Girdle, because you have always heard wild stories about it." As I concluded, I was astounded at my audacity in thus rating a Bedouin sheik in his own country, but my object was to draw him out, and to induce him to divulge what he knew of the Golden Girdle. I was aware that I could not persuade him that I was not a magician, and I now began to hope that he was superstitious enough to think that I could see through him and everything else. I firmly believe that he had the idea that there was something mysterious about me; otherwise I cannot account for the fact that this man, the terror of all the neighbouring tribes, should now, and on many other occasions, have allowed me to speak to him, and even dictate to him in a manner such as I often did. Faris remained silent for a long while. I was afraid that I had insulted him. I did not dare to break the silence, and in the black hours before dawn this silence became oppressive. At last I summoned up courage, and put the question-- "I trust, sheik," I said, "that I did not offend you by my open speech." "No, my son," he replied. And I knew that by thus addressing me, he bore me no malice. "You townsmen," he went on, "and especially you Europeans, do not understand the minds of the dwellers in the desert. Sedjur, after his return from the Hakim's house in Baghdad, told me many things about you and your curious ways. In the towns you may not have strange things influencing your destinies, as we in the desert have always with us. Perchance, you are protected from them by the soldiers and the watchmen. In this manner your eyes are blinded, and you do not see such things as we see." "Perhaps you are right, sheik," I replied, wishing to appease him. "But tell me some of the strange things that this golden belt has done?" "Of myself," he replied, "I know nothing about it. All that I know and believe was told to me by my father, who saw and was an actor in many of the events. Other tales, as numerous almost as the stars in the heavens, I have heard from time to time. Some of them may be true; others are undoubtedly false. Of the long, long ago, when the belt was worn by the living queen, I am ignorant. My knowledge is only of modern times, when my father was a young man. Before I had arrived at years of discretion the belt had been laid to rest again. I can just recollect my father's return to camp with his prize of war, the beautiful young mare Shahzadi, to whose daughter in later years was born my mare Kushki--and she was born full twenty summers ago." "You never saw the belt, then," I asked. "Never," said the sheik, "but my father and other men with whom I was acquainted had often handled it, and they were fond of describing its magnificent workmanship--so much so that I have often thought that I must have seen it myself." "What was it like?" I inquired, curious to know if his description would agree with that furnished to me by my papers. "It was of pure gold," said Faris enthusiastically, "and wonderfully fashioned. It represented on the outer side, as seen on the waist of anyone wearing it, twelve life-like serpents intertwined in various contortions. The flat head of each serpent was thick-set with rare gems, and the body of each beast was composed of a thousand or more small links, so that the belt was as flexible as a piece of cord. It was solid and of great weight, and the fastening consisted of the heads of four of the serpents, two on either side, with wide-opened jaws whose fangs interlocked. Thus much I remember of what was told to me; and I remember also that my father affirmed that no man fastened the belt round his body with impunity. So great was the power contained in it, that the wearer appeared instantly to become demented, to rave, and foam at the mouth, and in some instances even to die before the belt could be removed from his body. A party of the Khazail who first dug up the thing suffered considerably in this respect, and perhaps it was fortunate for them that when attacking a caravan of Persian pilgrims returning from Mecca they were worsted, and in the fight lost their treasured circlet. The Persians, shortly afterwards, perished to a man, when the winds of the desert swept up, and buried them and their camels in the hot sand. The belt was lost for a while, and forgotten. Then came the day when some merchants of Hayil, on a journey to Baghdad, chanced to come across the remains of the Persian caravan, and found the belt lying half buried in the sand. The finder's claim to its possession was disputed by his fellows, and in the altercation that followed, he, as well as three friends who espoused his cause, were killed. The others, deciding to sell the belt in Baghdad and divide the proceeds, went on their way. They travelled by night, hoping thus to avoid the bands of robbers by whom the road was infested, and they lost the direction, so that they found themselves at length far to the south of Baghdad near to the river Tigris. One night they slept in the great ruined hall of the Kosroes at Ctesiphon, and while they slept a vast portion of the walls gave way and fell, crushing all that remained of the party save two men who fled in terror, but not before they had secured the golden belt. They were almost immediately overtaken by robbers, who stripped them of their clothes, took all their possessions, and decamped with everything, including that girdle. All those things occurred when my father was quite a young man, and when my father's father was sheik. I have said enough to show you that there was a curse on the belt, and that all who touched it paid the penalty--usually a severe one." "But, sheik," I said, "tell me more of these weird tales, which interest me greatly. Had you been a servant of the great Harun-al-Rashid you could not have learned to tell stories better. Come, the Shammar have no intention of annoying us, so relate all that you know of the mysterious workings of the belt until it disappeared for ever. What became of the robbers who left the two merchants naked in the desert, and what became of the merchants?" "Well, story-telling passes the dark hours pleasantly, and though I would prefer to hear from you the doings of your own people in your native land, I am your host and therefore your servant, who needs must obey his master. What became of the merchants I cannot say, for no man ever knew. Perhaps they perished from exposure to the scorching sun; perhaps they died of hunger and thirst; or perhaps they fell an easy prey to the wild beasts. But in what manner they met their death Allah alone knows. Of the robbers I can tell you what was told to me. They were Khazail, and strange as it may appear, there were among them some men who had been of the party that dug up the belt and afterwards lost it to the Persians. Now these men had been witnesses of the evil that befell those of their tribesmen who had worn the belt--how some had died, and some had for a time become mad--and they cautioned their companions against having anything to do with it. After a long discussion, they decided that they would bury it on the bank of the river, send the chief of the party to Baghdad to interview a Jew dealer, and endeavour to sell it. The Jew eventually returned with the chief, examined the belt, and bought it for a thousand kerans, after which he rolled it up carefully in his cloak and conveyed it home. Next day, he repaired to the palace of the Governor-General and offered the belt for sale for five thousand kerans; but the Governor-General refused to buy it for so great a sum. That night the Jew's house was consumed by fire, the Jew himself being burned to death, and nothing remained of the contents of the house. "That the golden belt did not perish in the flames is certain, since it appeared again after some little time; and many years afterwards a slave-attendant of the palace harem stated that she had seen a mysterious snake-girdle hanging therein. It may be that its presence there accounted for the fact, which was well known at the time, that a grievous sickness attacked the ladies of the harem and their children. Many died, for there was nothing that would cure them. But of that little ever came to light. "In the course of time the Governor-General, returning to Turkey, took the road to Damascus, accompanied by a large following and a strong escort. The news that so large a party was leaving Baghdad to cross the desert soon got noised abroad among the tribes, but none were found daring enough to risk an attack on it. A band of Shammar, however, followed on the heels of the great caravan at a safe distance for some days, watching their opportunity to waylay stragglers, and eventually came up with two camels which had broken down and were being urged on by a few men. The Shammar made short work of the men, and looted the packages carried by the camels. They contained much valuable property, and sewn up carefully in several silk _kaffiyas_ was found the Golden Belt. Fearing to be followed, the robbers made off with their booty as rapidly as possible, and did not stop until they had put many miles between them and the caravan. Now it would seem, from what has been related, that the silk covering which enclosed the belt deprived it of its power of causing harm; for, it is on record that so long as it was wrapped up, no man suffered any evil effects from touching it, and it remained in the possession of the Shammar for some years. Those Khazail who had first dug it up, and later on sold it to the Jew in Baghdad, came to see it in the Shammar tents, and identified it as the same belt. They warned the Shammar of its hidden power, but were derided. Other tribes, hearing of the Shammar treasure, for which even a Baghdad Jew had paid a thousand kerans, made friends with its owners, so that they might inspect it. In this manner this offshoot of the Shammar made alliances with many tribes who had hitherto been hostile to them, and the Aeniza--too proud to approach their ancient enemies--were forsaken by many of their old friends. "About this time my father's father died, and my father became Sheik of the Jelas. When he addressed his people, he told them that their hereditary foes, the Shammar, had grown strong because of their ownership of the serpents of gold, and he urged upon them the necessity of breaking the power of the Shammar, by attacking the small Salama tribe who held the belt, and seizing their treasure. It was my father himself who told me of this, so I know it to be true. He picked thirty of his best fighting men, rode all night, and attacked the Salama's camp at dawn. They resisted bravely, and a fierce fight ensued, but so sudden had been the onslaught, that the victory was easy. In those days, the Jelas neither gave nor expected quarter, and though they lost several men, they utterly destroyed the whole family of the Shammar Salama occupying these tents, with the exception of the sheik, Jedaan-ibn-Mirshid, and his spear-bearer, who, leaping to their horses, fled away. The pursuit was immediately taken up. Jedaan's mare cast a shoe, which caused her to stumble and fall, and my father, riding up, slew his enemy with his own hand--capturing the priceless Shahzadi, who, as you know, was none other than the grand-dam of dear Kushki." "But how," I asked, "did Shahzadi's shoe become the talisman of the Muntafik?" "Ah, that," said the sheik, "is a story for another time." "And so," I said, "your people secured the Golden Girdle." "No," replied Faris. "Do you not remember what was written in the paper which you read to me? Jedaan's spear-bearer escaped in the confusion attending the combat between my father and the Salama sheik; and, as was discovered later on, he carried the belt with him. What happened to him and the belt was only learned many years afterwards. He fled for refuge to the abode of a seer with whom many of the Bedouin tribes were on friendly terms, and whom they were in the habit of consulting. This seer dwelt alone in an underground chamber amongst the ruins of a town named Katib, at no great distance from Meshed Ali, and he received the refugee kindly, hiding him in his chamber for several days. When he heard the tale that he had to tell, and saw that he had with him the Golden Belt, he was much troubled; for he was convinced that, since the Shammar had worn the belt round his waist, he would either die before long or become mad. The seer determined to do what he could to save his guest, and after going through various ceremonies, which we people do not understand, he affirmed that he had held converse with the spirit of the dead Queen, who had told him that if the man proceeded to the ruins of Babil and buried the belt in the spot from which it had been dug up, so that no man should ever be able to find it again, and if he afterwards went and bathed in the Euphrates river, then no further harm should come to him. The Shammar, now beginning to feel ill, said that he was willing to obey any command that the seer should give him, but that it was impossible for him to discover the spot where he should bury the belt. This his friend assured him would be simple, since the spirit of the Great Queen could be procured to lend assistance. The Shammar late that night was given a potent draught; and the seer, after lengthy incantations, declared that the spirit had entered into him, and that he could conduct his guest to the very spot. So the two, taking the belt, proceeded to the ruins of Babil, and there buried the thing. Then the seer said that the spirit of the Queen required that a great fire should be lighted over the burial-place, as a signal to the gods that the Golden Belt was once again at rest. The bushes grew dense all around; to fire them was a simple matter; and the wind blew the flames till the fire spread far and wide. This done, the seer commanded the Shammar to ride with all speed to the river, and there bathe. The serpents, however, had already eaten into the flesh of the man, and he was no longer sane. He reached the river bank at dawn, and there, after a few hours, his body was found impaled on his own spear. Such was the end of the Golden Belt, and of the last man who wore it. That it happened as I have told you I am certain, as I had it from the very lips of that self-same seer." "Then you knew him yourself," I exclaimed, in astonishment. "Certainly," replied the sheik. "How long ago did he die?" I asked. "He still lives," said the sheik. "He is an old man, but many believe that he will never die." The day was already dawning as Faris concluded his strange story, and the mares were being collected together to continue the journey to the sheik's headquarters, as it was not considered safe to leave them at this outlying grazing ground. I thanked my host for having taken the trouble to talk at such length for my entertainment, but he impressed on me that his main object had been to show me how useless it was for me to think of endeavouring to find the Golden Girdle. As a matter of fact, the end of his story had quite the opposite effect; for the knowledge that the seer was still in the land of the living gave me a ray of hope. CHAPTER VII. THE FIRE OF THE GODS. "Well," said Edwards, after I had given him the sheik's account of the mysterious girdle, "what is your programme now? We cannot with any respectability go on sponging off Faris much longer. Besides, I am not a free man like yourself; I only obtained a month's leave, and three weeks of it have already gone. In fact, I am beginning to be nervous about the prospects of my being able to reach Baghdad before my leave is up." "Never mind about your leave," I replied. "Forget the wretched fact that you are tied down to time. Think of the honour and the glory of running the Golden Girdle to earth. We are on the scent, man. It is breast high. With any luck, we shall kill in the open. So take a bit more leave, and risk it." Edwards laughed. "All right," he said, at last, "I suppose I cannot help myself. But I was beginning to have visions of being able to slip off with this money belt of yours, which I think is more likely to be useful than the other golden one that you are worrying about." He took off the belt and threw it across the tent to me; as I caught it, some money dropped out of the pockets; and in picking up the gold coins, I noticed that two of them were not English sovereigns, but 10-mark pieces. "That is curious," I remarked; "I wonder where these came from. I am perfectly certain my gold was all English. I suppose the thief had found a German wandering about the desert at some time or other." I then examined all the pockets carefully, and found all my own money where it had always been; but there were two pockets at the back which I had not used, and in these I discovered, to my astonishment, eight more 10-mark pieces, and a sheet of paper on which something was written in German. "Can you read German?" I asked. "Yes, a bit," said Edwards. "Then come along," said I, "and let us see what it is all about." Edwards took the scrap of paper, looked at it for a second, then gasped. "You have been properly done. Listen to this:" "To the merchant of Baghdad who shall be nameless. This to acquaint you of my success. The bearer will hand you the Serpent Belt of the Great Queen. On receipt of it, examine it thoroughly, and having assured yourself that it is genuine, pay the Arab 5000 kerans. Pack the belt carefully in a box of dates, and proceed with it immediately on the steamer to Bussorah. I send the Serpents to you, so that the sheik may be paid his money, and because I fear that I may be robbed of it if I keep the belt on my person. Your own reward as agreed upon you can deduct from my account. A thousand thanks for your assistance, from your devoted friend whose name you know." "Is that all?" I asked. "Every word," replied Edwards. "Isn't it enough?" "I should have liked a date," said I. "There isn't one," said Edwards; "but it has not been written long. You can see that by the pencil writing." I looked at the paper again. There was no doubt that someone else had found my treasure, and had thus anticipated me. Then it suddenly occurred to me that the man who was carrying this note had been killed; that the note had never been delivered, and that consequently the Golden Girdle had never been handed over to the nameless Baghdad merchant. Still, the fact remained that, to all appearances, the girdle had been dug up by a European--German, Swiss, Austrian, or some other--and was undoubtedly above ground. I had lost it, that was certain; for, if another European had become possessed of it, he had just as much right to it as I should have had if I had been fortunate enough to find it. I was bitterly disappointed; and Edwards, who hitherto had rather scoffed at my enthusiasm, was even more angry at the turn of events than I was. We held a long consultation as to what we should do, and we came to the conclusion that we were powerless to do anything. It was evident from the note that my rival knew the value of his find as well as I did, otherwise he would not be paying away large sums of money for it. Therefore it would be useless to try and find him and offer to buy it. I decided to take Sheik Faris into my confidence and ask his advice; so I went off to his tent, and told him about the note. At first he laughed at the whole thing, saying that it was absurd to believe that anyone had been able to find the girdle. "When I slew Abbas-ibn-Rashid the other day," he said calmly, "I took care to search his body carefully. He certainly was not in possession of the Golden Belt of Serpents, or it would now be with me." "Perhaps," I suggested, "some other member of the party had it, and rode away with it." "I cannot believe," said the sheik, "that anyone has found it. Still, now that I reflect, there was that stranger--Indian, Syrian, or whatsoever he was--who, as I told you, fled in such haste from the field. Can it be possible that he was escaping with the serpent belt? Can he be the writer of that note?" I saw it all. Undoubtedly the foreigner, aided by this party of Shammar, had succeeded in finding the girdle, and the dead man had been entrusted with it to convey to the Baghdad merchant. When Faris and his men appeared on the scene, the foreigner probably took the girdle and rode off out of harm's way. This seemed to me a very obvious solution of the problem, but when I put it before Faris, he shook his head. "If," he said, after a pause, "I could believe that that was really so, I would gather every Jelas horseman, and I would hunt down that Shammar family until I found the stranger and the girdle. I would destroy the whole gang, and would lay the girdle at your feet." "And thereby become entitled," I replied, with a laugh, "to the shoe once worn by the renowned Shahzadi." The sheik smiled and rubbed his hands together with delight. "No, sheik," said I, "I would never accept the girdle obtained in such a manner. If another man has found it, and has lawfully become its owner, I should honour him in that he had succeeded where I had failed. To take from him what was his own by right would be theft." At this my host was somewhat abashed, though he explained that in the desert might was right, and that what a man could not keep he must lose. "But," said he, "my curiosity is now as great as your own, and I will satisfy it. There is one who can tell me truly if the Great Queen's Girdle has returned to curse the world." "Who is he?" I asked excitedly. "That same seer," said the sheik, "who was the last to see the serpent belt. If anyone has disturbed its resting-place, the seer, by communicating with the spirit of the Queen, will be able to discover all that has occurred. You smile! You would mock at my belief in the powers of the seer! Such incredulity we desert folk ascribe to town-bred ignorance. We are aware that you of the towns--and especially you Ingleezee--know many things of which we have never so much as heard; yet, I tell you, there are things in the desert which no townsman can fathom. You are a strong man, and courageous, as I have seen with my own eyes. Therefore, I make this proposal to you; that you shall leave the Hakim here with Sedjur, and shall come with me to the abode of the seer, to hear from his lips if aught hath disturbed that accursed girdle. I warn you that the journey will be no easy one; two days and two nights in the saddle, carrying our own food and water; always liable to be attacked by roving Shammar, Muntafik, and Khazail; and only our two selves to resist attack, or to trust to the speed of our horses." "Enough, sheik," I replied, "I will accompany you whenever you are ready to make the journey." "It is well," said Faris. "I did not misjudge my man. We will have supper, and start with the moon an hour later. But you cannot go in those clothes of yours; the seer would be afraid of you. You shall wear garments which Sedjur and I will lend you." Poor Edwards! I can see his face now. How he argued with me about my madness in thinking of such a crack-brained expedition! But he argued in vain, and when he saw that I was too obstinate to listen to him, he changed his tone and did all he could to help me prepare for my ride, dressing me up in my borrowed clothes, packing my light saddle-bags, and insisting on stuffing my pockets with enough revolver ammunition to wipe out half the Bedouins of the desert. I handed him over my money belt, for safe keeping; gave him instructions about returning to Baghdad if I failed to put in an appearance within a certain time; then, after grasping his hand, I mounted my little horse, and rode off by the side of the sheik. We followed no visible track, but my companion never hesitated. Occasionally he looked up at the stars, but otherwise he sat motionless in the saddle, forging ahead at a fair pace hour after hour. I kept close on his heels, with my eyes intent on the blade of his spear, which was visible high above his head. I did not dare to break the silence, as I had been warned that at any moment we might run across Bedouins who would probably prove enemies. Throughout that whole night, I may say, I rode with my heart in my mouth, and with my hand on my revolver. When the moon had sunk, the darkness was intense, and Faris slackened his speed, and more than once dismounted, to place his ear to the ground and listen. At dawn we halted on a rise, from which we could see the whole country for many miles around, when the sheik told me to get an hour's sleep while he watched; and I required no second bidding. On being awakened, I found my companion preparing to continue the journey; and after eating some dried dates and small cakes, we set out again, just as the sun commenced to rise over the boundless plain. No incident occurred to break the weariness of that day's ride; no human being, no beast, no bird was visible at any time; but before us always lay the mirage of distant water and the reflections of many buildings. Sometimes we halted to rest the horses and to snatch a meal or a nap; but such halts were of short duration, as the sheik insisted on pushing with all haste through what he now explained was a waterless region. We had almost expended on our horses and ourselves the water that we carried in our water-skins, and it was, therefore, a relief, at sundown, to see before us a far extending lake and marsh, which my friend assured me was no deceitful mirage. Tired as I was, I fully appreciated the delightful change of scene, as we rode through the scrub and green grass bordering the swamp, flushing snipe and waterfowl at almost every step. "Are you sorry that you came?" asked the sheik, as we watered our gallant little beasts. "No," I replied, "this alone is well worth it all. But, tell me, how far have we yet to go? I confess to you that I feel that I am in very truth a townsman, and not made of the same stuff as your horses and yourselves." Faris smiled, and it was a pleasure to see his face relax, for throughout our ride he had worn a hard set expression, with eyes ever keen and restless. I knew, from the change, that he was no longer anxious, and he apologised profusely for having taxed my powers of endurance so highly. "The worst is over," he said. "Because of the water, it was advisable to hurry. By midnight we shall have accomplished our journey." It wanted yet an hour of midnight when, having ridden for some miles beyond the marsh, the moon showed us that we were entering extensive ruins. After picking our way through the débris of stone and brickwork for a considerable distance, the sheik stopped, and taking out some cords, thrust his spear into the ground and fastened our horses to it. "Now listen," said he. "Twice will I call the owl, and once the jackal. If the cry of the hyæna comes back in reply all is well, and we can proceed." Then, raising both hands to his mouth, he imitated both shriek-owl and jackal, the weird cries echoing again and again through the ruins. We listened intently, but there was no reply. Again the owl and the jackal called; and yet a third time. Then, after a short pause, there arose, within a few yards of us, the unmistakable cry of the hyæna. "Good," said the sheik, "he has heard. Do you remain here, while I go and interview him. It would not be wise to take you with me, for I must first warn the old man to expect a stranger." So Faris disappeared into the darkness, and I sat on a heap of brickwork anxiously awaiting his return. He may not have been absent long, though it seemed that he was away for hours. I was dead tired, and more than once I found myself dropping off to sleep, waking up suddenly each time with a start. Then I began to think that I saw beasts crawling about among the ruins; I slipped off my seat, and crouched as low as I was able, with my finger on the trigger of my revolver, which I had drawn ready for an emergency. Lions, I knew, were not uncommon in these parts, and each moment I expected to be set upon by some hungry beast. Gradually I worked myself up to the highest pitch of nervous excitement, prepared to empty my revolver into the first moving object that became visible. As I looked, I saw something crawling towards me; there was no doubt about it. I raised my revolver, fingering the trigger, and nerving myself for the shot, but the object had dropped behind a rock before I could fire. A moment later, I heard the sheik's voice calling to me in an almost inaudible whisper, and fearing that he would discover the state of nervousness at which I had arrived, I hastily put away my revolver, and answered him. "Quietly," he said, on creeping up to my side, "do not make a noise. There is trouble, and other people are about. The seer is expecting visitors, some of the ruffianly Shammar, of whom he is in great fear. It is within an hour of the appointed time, and I have promised to watch, and help him should he call on me to do so. Keep quiet now, and listen with both ears." Faris lay flat on the ground with his ear close to it, whilst I sat listening intently. The minutes passed, and no sound disturbed the deathly silence. Suddenly, the sheik whispered to me that he could hear their horses galloping towards us. Save the beating of my own heart, I could hear nothing. "They have left their horses," said the sheik, "and are walking up to the seer's abode. We will give them time to enter, and then we will follow." In a few minutes Faris arose, and, bidding me keep close behind him, led the way up a slight incline, and then down into what appeared to be a deep hollow. In the feeble light I could just distinguish some roughly cut steps, which with difficulty we descended. At the bottom, the sheik took me by the wrist and guided me rapidly along a paved path ending in a narrow gateway. Through this we passed, and entered a courtyard, at the far side of which we could see a light streaming through the wide cracks of a massive wooden door. On reaching the door, my companion gripped my arm, and motioned me to halt. Through the cracks we could see clearly all that went on in the chamber within. Several oil lamps burned in little niches in the walls, which were white-washed and bare; from the centre of the domed ceiling hung an iron lamp, containing half a dozen lighted wicks; and another lamp hung over a doorway leading to an inner chamber. Seated on a low couch against one of the walls was a tall thin old man, clothed in a camel's-hair cloak, the hood of which concealed the upper part of his face. Opposite to him sat three stern-faced Bedouins, each with a spear in his hand and daggers protruding from his waistband. High words were already in progress. "You agreed, Gat-tooth," said one of the Bedouins, "to sell it to us for 2000 kerans; my friends here are witnesses." "Yes," said another, "and you agreed to meet us at the grove outside Babil, four days since, and deliver it to us." "I was ill," said the old man, "and unable to do so." "Know you," said the first Arab, "that your illness cost us the life of our sheik, Abbas-ibn-Rashid, who was ever your friend?" "I know that he was killed," was the reply, "but he died as he would have wished, and you must all die at one time or another." "That is indeed true both for you and for us," said the first speaker, "but I would have you know that I am now sheik in my uncle's place, and I have neither his generosity nor his kindness. I have sworn to avenge his death, not only by slaying his murderer, Faris of the Jelas curs, but also by demanding that you shall render up forthwith that for which you would have received 2000 kerans had you kept to your agreement." "Fine words, Ahmed," replied the seer, quite unperturbed. "Yet pause before you act foolishly. You and your men have come here with naked spear points, which in itself is an insult to the goddess whom I serve. You come to this sacred spot prepared for robbery of the basest kind--robbery from an old man, unable to defend himself with weapons made by human hands. Now, look you, I take these eight beads from my rosary, and I shall let them fall one by one to the floor; when the fourth bead drops you will know that my appeal has reached the gods whom I serve; ere the sixth strikes the ground you must have gone out from this chamber; for, the seventh is the bead of ruin and destruction, and the eighth brings the avenging fire." What was about to happen I could not conjecture; the old seer, now standing, broke the string of his rosary, and slowly counted out eight beads. I held my breath as I watched him, and wondered if I were dreaming. Faris laid his hand on my arm and held it as in a vice. Then the seer, muttering a few words, stretched out his hand with a bead between the finger and thumb. It dropped to the ground and, rebounding from the bricks, rolled away. The three Bedouins looked at one another and smiled; and Ahmed, rising, addressed the seer. "Let fall your beads," said he, "and invoke your gods to the utmost. We know them not, and we curse them as vile impostors." The seer did not vouchsafe a reply, but holding out his hand, let fall a second bead. A slight pause ensued, then the third bead dropped. It seemed to me that the Bedouins now showed some signs of wavering; they no longer smiled; and they shifted in their seats uneasily. The fourth bead was already between finger and thumb, and, like the others, it fell to the ground. Then the Bedouins rose, and I momentarily expected to see them hurl themselves on the strange figure confronting them. But the fifth bead had dropped before they moved, and as it struck the brick floor, it broke in pieces, and, as I thought, gave out some sparks. Whatever occurred was better seen by the Bedouins than by myself, and I noticed that all three of them recoiled. As the sixth bead was raised by the seer, I thought that I saw Ahmed clutch at his spear, but he and his companions now seemed unable to move. The sparks this time were unmistakable; and their effect on the Bedouins was to cause them to step hurriedly back, as if in flight. It was, however, too late, for the seventh bead left the seer's fingers immediately after the sixth; and the eighth followed the seventh as rapidly. In place of dropping this last one like the others, he hurled it with all his force at the very feet of the Arabs. It struck the ground with a report like that of a bomb, and instantly that portion of the floor seemed to open, and give forth great tongues of flame, which leaped up to the roof, and filled the whole chamber. It was a dreadful sight, and I could not restrain myself from shrieking aloud at the horror of it all. "Fly," shouted Faris, clutching convulsively at my arm, "fly, before we also perish." Great flames licked up the door in front of us, sweeping it away, then, bursting into the air, shot up, and cast a lurid glare over the ruins. By the light thus given, we were able to dash up the steps and through the piles of broken masonry, out of the hollow, with all speed. At last, when at a safe distance, we stopped, and turned to look back. The flames still poured forth, but now spasmodically, and the smoke grew thicker and blacker. Neither of us spoke, and from what I could see of his face, my companion was as much puzzled at what had occurred as was I. Dawn was approaching, and, as if afraid of the daylight, the flames died down, though the black smoke continued to belch forth through the doorway. "Sheik," I said in a low voice, hardly daring to break the silence, "what was it?" "As I have told you many times," he replied, "things happen in the desert which no man can account for. Can you, with all your knowledge of magic, say why fire suddenly issued from the ground and destroyed the inmates of that chamber?" "I have no knowledge of magic," I said, "and the shock occasioned by what I saw has left me without power to think of a reason for it." "Then I will tell you," said Faris, impressively. "The seer called on his gods to bring fire and burn up his enemies, yet he as well as they must have perished in the flames; for no man could have remained alive in that chamber." I knew the uselessness of attempting to argue; neither at that moment was I at all sure that the sheik's solution was not the correct one. So I held my tongue, and sat and watched the smoke hurtling into the air, until, before long, my eyes grew heavy, my head dropped forward, and I sank into a deep sleep. CHAPTER VIII. RASPUL, THE SEER. I slept for hours, and should have continued to do so for many hours longer, had not the sheik roused me. "It is past mid-day," said he, "and we must be thinking of doing something. You have slept soundly, and should be refreshed. See, the fire is almost out." Then the horrors of the past night came back to me; it had been no dream after all. I looked towards the doorway in the hollow, and now only a thin wreath of smoke was issuing from it. "Shall we ride back to camp?" I asked. "Not yet," replied Faris. "I must go down to the chamber and look. Will you also come?" I hated the idea, but I felt that it would be cowardly to let the sheik go alone; so we walked down together, and finding that the smoke had now ceased, we peered through the doorway into the blackened chamber. A thick grimy soot caked the walls and the stone ceiling, and the air was laden with a foul smell, not unlike that of the boiling asphalt being prepared for a London street. Hesitating to enter, we stood on the threshold, not knowing that the flames might not burst out afresh; and the remembrance of those long tongues of fire curling through the doorway was sufficient to make us cautious. After a little, Faris took a step forward, and shading his eyes with his hand, looked into the gloom of the interior. I followed, but not without some misgivings. I looked first at the spot where the seer had been standing when I saw the last bead leave his hand. The couch from which he had risen had disappeared; nothing remained but a handful of ashes on the floor. I gazed across at the other side of the chamber, and when my eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, I was able to see a large hole in the floor exactly where I recollected to have seen the couch on which the three Bedouins had been seated. Faris saw it at the same instant, and uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Let us go carefully, and look at it," he said. We reached the edge, and found a great pit, how deep we were unable to see. Pungent fumes still issued from it, and we were forced to draw back. I turned to my companion for an explanation, and he dragged me out of the chamber, the atmosphere of which was oppressive. "It was a bitumen well," said he, "and the seer purposely set it on fire through the agency of his gods. I am as much astonished as yourself; for, I have sat on that couch scores of times, never thinking that such a thing was beneath me. Perhaps it was not always there. Perhaps it was brought by the gods only when the seer invoked their aid. But little did he think that in thus destroying his enemies, he would also bring his own death." The sheik had hardly finished speaking before we heard a low wailing chant coming from beyond the fatal chamber. Spellbound, we stood and listened. Now the sound grew louder; now died away. Again it came clear and strong. It was a strange unearthly crooning; and, had I been alone, I should have fled from it. That I trembled I have no doubt, and Faris saw my fear. "Courage, lad," he said, taking me by the arm. "It is someone in the temple beyond. Come, let us go and see. Death only comes once, and our fate has already been arranged for us. If we are to die to-day, then we shall die. We cannot alter our fate." I made no reply, but nerving myself with a great effort, walked with him through the chamber to the inner doorway. There was no door--whether it had been destroyed by the fire, or whether there never had been one, I cannot say. Beyond the doorway was a narrow bricked passage, with here and there long slanting slits admitting the daylight. A steep flight of steps led us to another stone doorway, on the lintel of which were carved queer figures of beasts. Here we stood and listened. The chanting still continued; and we moved on for a short distance along the tunnel-like passage. Presently we found ourselves in a circular vaulted room, with bare walls rising to a height of some fifteen feet before the dome of the roof began. In the centre of the dome was a hole, a foot or so in diameter, through which the sky was visible. Eight passages, similar to that by which we had entered, radiated from the chamber, so that its walls appeared like solid pillars supporting the roof. We listened again, but no sound could we now hear. "Sheik," I whispered, fearing to speak aloud, "do you know which way to take?" "No," he replied, "I know not this place. I have never before penetrated it." "Then let us return by the way we came," I urged. "Courage, lad," said the sheik; "we will go on." The rebuke, uttered a second time, stung me, although I knew that it was meant kindly. I had always thought that I possessed an ordinary amount of courage, but it seemed now to have deserted me. "Well, which way shall we go?" I asked in desperation. "We will try this one," said Faris, moving to the nearest entrance on his right. I followed him closely along the new passage, just able to see the way by the glimmer of daylight falling through the occasional narrow loopholes, which slanted upwards towards the heavens. That the walls were thick and solid we could see from the depth of the loopholes--four feet they must have been, at the least. For some thirty yards or so the tunnel was straight; then it took a sudden turn to the left; then, after a few yards, a sudden turn to the right; again to the left, and twice more in succession to the left; after which we turned at right angles to the right, and going for a short distance, found ourselves in another circular chamber, alike in all respects to the first one. There was again the hole in the vaulted roof, and there were the nine passages leading out of it. I sighed audibly, and the sheik looked at me and laughed. "You are a magician," he said, "come, try your magic. Divine for us which path we had better take." "I know no magic that could avail us in this accursed spot," I replied. "Let us take the way that we came, and retrace our steps out of these underground dungeons; or shall we cast lots as to the road we shall follow?" "We will do that," said Faris. I took nine revolver cartridges out of my pouch, and, shaking them in my hands, said that I would throw them on the floor; then we would enter that passage whose entrance lay nearest to a cartridge. The sheik seemed much impressed by this, imagining, no doubt, that I was working magic. So, hurling the cartridges into the middle of the chamber, I watched them roll away. One of them stopped quite close to an entrance, and the sheik forthwith led the way into the tunnel. Our wanderings were much the same as before, and had the same result, in that, after several turns and twists, we arrived at another circular chamber, from which nine passages radiated. The sheik was now beginning to lose his temper, and he cursed the man who had designed the building that was causing us all this trouble. Then he suddenly stepped forward, and stooping down, picked up something, which he handed to me. That something was one of my own revolver cartridges! "Do you understand?" asked the sheik. "I must have just dropped it," I replied. "No," said he, "it is one of those that you threw on the ground. We have returned to the chamber from which we set out. These tunnels have made fools of us. Shall we leave them, and abandon our search?" "Yes," I said eagerly, "it is the best thing we can do, for I see that you are right; we certainly have come back twice to the same place." But now arose a difficulty; there was no difference in appearance between the entrance to one tunnel and that to another. Nine of them confronted us. We knew which one we had just issued from, but we knew nothing else. We walked round the chamber and examined each passage, but found no clue. My heart sank, for I observed that the scanty light which came into the dungeon was rapidly growing less, and that the day, in the outside world, was evidently fast drawing to a close. Faris, though annoyed at being outwitted, was still cheerful--and his cheerfulness irritated me. "Come, magician, cast lots again," said he. "Maybe this time they will avail us better. The nearest cartridge to the tunnel which shall bring us freedom. Throw the nine." Again I threw the cartridges, and, as before, we wandered through a passage, now almost dark, expecting each moment to reach the flight of steps by which we had descended some hours before. We were, however, doomed to disappointment. The passage turned and twisted, and eventually brought us back to the prison chamber, with its high walls and its domed roof. It was now so dark that we could barely see the entrances to the various passages; there seemed to be nothing for it but to spend the night where we were and again attack the tunnels in the daylight. I, myself, was dejected, dead tired, hungry, and thirsty; perhaps, I thought, we should never get out of the place, but wander about until we died of hunger and thirst. Faris, however, was quite hopeful. "We will sleep here in comfort," he said, "like true townsmen, with a roof over our heads. There is no water, certainly, but I have some dried dates in my pocket, and they will sustain us. When daylight returns, we will try each passage in turn, until we find that one which leads to the steps." "Could not we break through the wall," I asked, "and so escape?" "The walls are thick and firmly cemented, as you must have noticed," he replied. "Save my knife, we have no instruments with which to pick out the bricks. Still, if, when the light comes, we fail to find the passage that we want, then will we attack the walls. Come, here are some dates, eat and be joyful; after which we will sleep and have pleasant dreams. Then to-morrow we will gallop our little horses across the desert. Poor beasts, they must be tired of waiting for us." All light soon left the chamber, and through the opening in the roof we could see the stars mocking at us. From each of the nine tunnels the chill air appeared to pour in upon us, so that, for warmth, we sat close together, with our backs against the portion of wall which separated one passage from the next. In this position, in absolute darkness, we ate our hard, dried dates, and tried to sleep. Whether or not the sheik and I actually slept I am not certain. I think that I, at any rate, must have done so, because I have no recollection of hearing or seeing anything until I felt the sheik's great horny hand gripping my thigh, and I became aware that something was happening. A light was streaming into the chamber, and, as I looked, I saw the wall between two tunnels exactly opposite to us gradually opening like a hinged door. The portion of wall was, in fact, an actual door, and when it had opened wide, I could see behind it a narrow passage, lighted with small lamps. In the doorway there stood what appeared to me to be an immensely tall naked figure, and so thin that it might have been the representation of a living skeleton. The head and face were streaked with paint, so that they resembled a fleshless skull, and the ribs and other bones of the body were also painted to look like the outline of a skeleton. For a second it hesitated on the threshold, with one arm stretched out towards us; then slowly stepping into the chamber, it closed the door, and thus left us again in darkness. Neither of us spoke. I, personally, imagined that what I had seen was merely in a dream; but I was wide awake, and could clearly hear my companion breathing. The spectre, or whatever it was, was shuffling about in front of us, and I expected each moment to feel the touch of ghostly hands. Then in a deep sepulchral voice came the words:-- "Strangers are here within the sacred precincts. Let them account for themselves, ere the fire comes to destroy them." "We are not willingly here," answered the sheik, fearlessly. "We are lost, and if you will guide us to the outside world, we will gladly follow." "Who are ye who speak thus lightly?" inquired the spectre. "Faris-ibn-Feyzul," replied the sheik, "and a friend." Then we heard a click, and the wall-door opened, showing the strange figure standing in the entrance to the lighted passage. The outstretched arm pointed down the passage, and presently the figure turned and motioned to us to follow. "Come," whispered Faris to me, "we will see what it means, even though it be Death that is enticing us on." So we started on our new and fearful journey, being led, as it seemed to me, to execution. The passage was not of great length, and it ended suddenly in a blank wall. There was again a clicking sound, and a portion of the wall swung back to allow us to pass through, and what a sight met our gaze! We entered an octagonal-shaped temple, evidently of a most ancient date, with walls of glazed bricks of various colours and arranged in strange patterns. All around was a species of colonnade, supported by carved pillars, standing on the heads of winged bulls, and in the alcoves of the colonnade were long stone benches. Numerous small lamps illuminated the interior, and in the centre was a black wooden altar, with, immediately above it, an opening in the roof. Even at such a moment as this I could not help thinking what my uncle would give to see this magnificent specimen of a Babylonian temple; and I wondered how it had happened that all the scientific excavators had failed to discover these extraordinary and interesting remains. Such thoughts as these, however, did not occupy my mind for long, for the stern reality of the present soon drove away all musings on the past. As soon as the door had shut to with the uncanny click, the sound of which was beginning to be familiar, the ghost-man turned and faced us. My hand involuntarily moved towards my revolver; for I had made up my mind that, whatever line the sheik might take, I would defend myself in the event of attack. The figure saw my intention. "Fear not," said he, in a soft voice, "you are my guests here, in the Temple, and are under the protection of the gods. Faris, it is I, Raspul the Seer, who welcome you. When I heard you in the outer chamber, I was offering a sacrifice to the gods who have recently befriended me. It is a great occasion, and before attending to your wants, I must finish the ceremony required of me." The sheik's face was a study of utter bewilderment. He looked at our strange host, but said nothing. Neither had he time to do so; for the seer abruptly left us, and began his devotions, while we sank on to a bench in the nearest alcove. The air of the temple and its surroundings was heavy with intoxicating perfumes, which appeared to mount to one's brain; and I noticed that Faris more than once put his hand to his forehead, as if feeling their effects. As to myself, I found it difficult to realise that I was not dreaming. But that things happened as I am about to relate I firmly believe; for I afterwards cross-questioned Faris carefully, and what he described that he saw agreed exactly with what I am convinced that I saw, and he could have had no object in deceiving me. Yet, I have often thought that both of us must have been under some extraordinary influence, which, for the time being, at any rate, warped our intellects, and caused us to see, or to imagine that we saw, things which in more sober moments we should have ridiculed. CHAPTER IX. IN THE TEMPLE OF SOPHANA. One by one the lamps that flickered in the temple were extinguished by the seer, who left burning only those two which hung on either side of the altar. Then Raspul stood before the altar, with arms upraised, and head thrown back so as to look through the roof-hole, apparently wrapped in meditation. His lips moved rapidly, and at times his whole body became convulsed. Finally, he bowed before the altar, and threw dust on his head. As we watched, we saw the weird figure rise up and walk slowly across the pavement to a small door, through which it passed, and disappeared for a while. When the seer entered the temple again, he was a changed man. He was no longer disguised in paint, but was clothed in a long yellow silken robe. I now for the first time saw his face clearly. It was thin and wan, with a parchment-like skin almost of the same colour as his robe, and clean shaven--as was also the whole of his head. Such a face I had never seen before, and I gazed on it in wonder. "Is this really the seer of whom you told me," I whispered to Faris, "and the same that we thought had perished in the fire?" "Yes," he replied, "but do not speak, for fear of breaking the spell which is upon him." So I remained silent, and watched intently the movements of the seer, who was now busying himself around the massive wooden altar. From the doorway he brought faggots, and piling them up, poured oil over them; then he took a lighted wick from the hanging lamp, and set fire to the pile on all sides. The burning sticks crackled, and the flames shot up towards the hole in the roof, and we could see that the altar itself was ablaze. Why should the man--or priest, as he evidently was--destroy his own altar, I wondered. Could it be that the seer had become mad? Yet he appeared to be perfectly calm, as, standing back from the heat of the fire, he gazed on his handiwork. He was now praying earnestly, and at times stretched out his hands towards the altar in supplication. At first only his lips moved, and no sound came from them; but, presently, in his fervour, he began to speak aloud, and then slowly but clearly came the words. "O Queen! Great Goddess-Queen! Think not that Raspul, thy slave, thy worshipper, hath done aught to merit thy displeasure. Never had he any intention of betraying his trust, and had not the fire come to help him, he would have willingly died in the defence of the secret. He lied to the tribesmen who sought the treasure, and he made false promises. For such things, I, Raspul, humble myself before my Queen and the gods, and seek their pardon. Manifest thyself, Immortal Sophana, and thus let thy slave know that his deeds have not been misunderstood." As he spoke, the seer continuously flung handfuls of incense on to the fire, and the flames streaked upwards in varied colours, while the temple was filled with penetrating odours. The glare, the heat, and the heavily-perfumed air made my head throb until I thought it would burst, and the sheik, I noticed, was equally overcome. The altar was rapidly being consumed; the flames had died down; curls of smoke ascended; while the massive timbers, glowing red, began to crumble away and fall to the ground. Then, suddenly the whole structure tottered and fell with a crash, an immense volume of smoke leaping towards the roof-hole, and filling every corner of the temple. Nearly blinded and half-suffocated, I began to fear that the seer was attempting to destroy us in the same way that we had seen him destroy his three Bedouin foes. "Let us escape," I said to Faris, as I jumped to my feet; "quick, before we are smothered." "Lie down flat on the floor," he replied, "and keep quiet. The smoke will, in the course of time, all pass through the hole." "Look!" he said presently, touching me on the arm. I raised myself from the floor, and turned my eyes towards the spot where the altar had been. The smoke was clearing off; and, as it cleared, I saw, by the dim light of the single lamp, two figures among the pieces of charred wood. One was kneeling, and I recognised in it the form of the seer. The other was standing, and it was the figure of a woman. "O Goddess-Queen!" muttered the seer in a low tone, "I thank thee for once again coming to me in my old age. It shall be as thou commandest. It were better to destroy it for ever, than to permit it to be the cause of further bloodshed. Maybe, its spirit shall be wafted to the palace wherein thou now dwellest; and, Great Goddess, if it be thy pleasure, permit the spirit of Raspul, thy slave, to pass, at the same time, into thy service in the other world." The smoke had by this time completely cleared away, and the sheik and I, eager to see the better, quietly rose from the ground, and stood behind one of the pillars. I was now able to see the figure of the goddess distinctly. I looked intently, and it seemed to me that what I saw was a corpse, tightly swathed in grave-clothes. It stood motionless, and as the face was turned away from us, we were unable to distinguish its features. Once or twice I thought that I detected a slight quiver in the body; but I was in a state of intense nervous excitement, and was capable of imagining almost anything. Thus, behind the shelter of the pillar, we stood looking at the strange pair, and anxiously awaiting developments. There was now no sound; Raspul still knelt before the goddess, who neither spoke nor moved; and the moments that passed seemed to us to be endless. At length, the seer rose slowly from his knees, and stood erect, his head bent forward, and his arms hanging by his side. Then, turning in our direction, as if suddenly remembering our presence, he spoke in a solemn, impressive voice which resounded through the whole temple. "Faris-ibn-Feyzul and that other man," he said, "listen to the command of the Great Goddess Sophana. When you leave this her temple, if you ever leave it alive, you must banish from your minds aught that you have witnessed herein. You will not move from the spot whereon you are now standing until the goddess grants you permission to do so. Should you disobey, then will the curse of the gods be upon you, and by their fires shall you perish. These are the words of the Beloved of the Gods, that Immortal Sophana, who during her sojourn in this world was Queen of the Assyrians. I, Raspul, her slave, have said it." Having delivered himself of this warning, to which neither of us replied, the seer turned again towards the goddess, and raising his robe took from his waist a roll of silk. Sweeping clean a small space on the floor, he laid the roll upon it, and then began to unwind fold after fold of silk wrappings, and it was soon apparent that a belt was hidden within. Have I lived another life, in another world? I kept saying to myself, as I watched what was taking place. I had, perhaps, dreamed of it; but certainly I had somewhere before seen it all clearly enough. I knew exactly what was going to happen, and that which I expected did actually happen. The last fold of silk was unwound, and there lay in Raspul's hands the GOLDEN GIRDLE. I was not astonished, but the sight of it made me shiver with excitement, until my teeth chattered, and so close was I standing to the sheik that I could feel that he was in much the same state as myself. Even he, the immovable Bedouin, was showing emotion. "The Serpent Belt," he gasped out in an undertone. "Yes," I whispered in reply, "it is good to have lived even to have seen it. But what will he do with it?" "Hush," said the sheik, "let us wait and see." We were not left long in suspense as to forthcoming events, for no sooner did the seer expose the belt to view than, kissing it reverently, he clasped it round the waist of his goddess. Then, kneeling once more before her, he prayed aloud. "To the Immortal Goddess," he said, "I, her servant, return that which in her worldly existence ever bore her to victory, and which, when she was taken to rule over the gods, remained behind to become the curse of the covetous inhabitants of the world. It was at thy command, Great Goddess-Queen, that I caused the last man who ever saw it to re-inter it in its abiding-place. It was at thy command that death afterwards came to him. It was at thy command that I, Raspul the seer, recovered it, and by none other than thyself, Sophana Great Goddess-Queen, was I appointed its guardian. The time has now, doubtless, come when it is meet that I should quit this world and pass into the service of the gods. For that reason I willingly obey the behest of my mistress, who ordereth that, through fire, the spirit of the Sacred Belt shall soar into the realms of the Great Unknown." Much more he said, but he spoke in an undertone and we could only catch a word here and there. I now feared the worst. He was evidently going to destroy the Golden Girdle; and the thought that all my hopes of obtaining it were about to be dashed to the ground made me forget fatigue, hardship, fear, and everything else. I quietly drew my revolver, hardly knowing what I intended to do, but Faris saw the movement, and seized my wrist. "Fool," said he, "would you murder a priest in the presence of his goddess, in her own temple? Tush! it were madness." I knew that it would be so; yet, was I to stand by and see the whole object of my journey, the one thing that I imagined that I lived for, destroyed before my very eyes? There was the Golden Girdle almost within my grasp--barely twenty paces from me. I could see each serpent that composed it clearly outlined on the white figure of the goddess. One shot from my revolver would secure the treasure. But the sheik's grip brought me to my senses and saved me from being a murderer. "Speak to him, then," I said, in a state of agitation. "Offer him a price for the Serpent Belt." "It would be useless," answered Faris. "He is possessed, and cannot control his actions. See, he is preparing the fire which is to consume it." The seer had already brought cakes of bitumen and charcoal, and had kindled a small but hot fire. With difficulty he placed a heavy iron vessel over it, and then, blowing on it through a hollow bamboo, watched the fuel ignite and grow red. Every now and then, he prostrated himself before the goddess, and besought her to give heat to the fire, which, it seemed to me, she must have done; for, before long the iron vessel began to glow, and was soon red hot. That the end was near I realised; and as Raspul, after examining the vessel carefully, moved towards the goddess, my hand again sought my revolver--but only again to be arrested by my companion. [Illustration: "HE PROSTRATED HIMSELF BEFORE THE GODDESS, AND BESOUGHT HER TO GIVE HEAT TO THE FIRE"] Then Raspul knelt, and began to unclasp the belt, while I held my breath. It was undone. The seer took it in his hands, turned it over, and fondled it. Great beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead as I saw the glitter of the golden serpents, which seemed to writhe and twist about as if alive. Faris grew impatient and, to my horror, stamped his foot on the ground. Whether Raspul and his goddess heard that stamp no man can say; but, as if in response to it, there occurred the most fearful noise that has ever fallen on my ears. With a terrific crash, huge portions of the roof surrounding the hole rained down on the head of the unfortunate seer, who must have been instantly killed. Enormous masses of masonry hurtled on to the goddess, who, however, stood unmoved. At first, I imagined that the wrath of the gods had overtaken Faris and myself for my companion's thoughtless stamp, but why the faithful Raspul should have suffered I could not understand. All this, and many other thoughts, passed through my mind in the space of a second; for, no sooner did we see the seer stricken down than we forgot all dread of the consequences and rushed to his assistance. Yet, barely had we advanced a couple of steps into the actual temple, before another portion of the roof fell, and with it the lamp which provided the only light. Suddenly we heard a chorus of voices above us; and, looking up at the great gap in the roof, we could see that day was just dawning, and that a number of men were peering down into the temple. "Stand quiet," said the sheik, softly. "Get your revolver ready, and we will fall on them when they enter. By their speech I take them for some of the twice-accursed Shammar." Then, by the scanty light coming through the hole, we saw a rope lowered from above, and immediately a man descended to the ground. In another second he gave a shout, and before we realised what was taking place, he was swiftly hauled up again through the gaping roof. We waited for others to descend, but no others came. Presently, we heard a wild shout of exultation, and the sounds of many feet hurrying over the roof. Then all was quiet. "What is it that has happened?" I asked the sheik, when I could find my tongue. "Allah alone knows," said he. "It may be that the Shammar came to avenge their three friends whom the seer caused to perish by fire. They are satisfied, and have gone. But, come, there is light enough now, let us see if the unfortunate man is truly dead." Over the pile of fallen masonry, in the fast growing light, we clambered to the spot where Raspul lay. There we found his body, with the life crushed out of it by great heaps of stone and brickwork. Close by stood the goddess, beautifully sculptured in white stone, but broken and chipped by the avalanche that had recently descended on it. Faris looked at the figure with a certain amount of reverence, then sat on some stones in silence--a silence which I, for my part, felt no inclination to break. I had passed through enough in the last few hours to desire nothing but quiet, so, sinking on to the ground, I endeavoured to collect my thoughts. After a while, the sheik suddenly turned to me, and looked steadily into my face. "You are a great magician," he said, "to have caused all this to happen. I told you once that your magic could not prevail against that of Raspul. I spoke foolishly, for he lies dead before you." "Sheik," I replied, vehemently, "I have denied to you that I am a magician. I swear it before my God, before Allah, and before the gods of the heathen. I have had no hand in these terrible events. I possess no power to work good or ill; and I beseech you to believe my words." "Then I will believe you," he replied, holding out his hand and grasping mine; "for, under such circumstances as these, I doubt if any living man would dare to speak otherwise than truly. But what is done is done, and we cannot alter it. It was Raspul's fate to die thus, and from what we heard him say, he knew that he was to die soon. His spirit has doubtless gone whither he wished it to go, but he cannot have taken the Golden Serpents with him. That will be your reward for all that you have passed through." It seemed to me that there would be something of sacrilege in taking the belt from the hands of the dead seer, lying at the feet of the image of his goddess. I did not like the idea of it--in fact my heart failed me. I argued with myself on the folly of neglecting the opportunity now that it had come; but the longer I reflected the less inclined did I feel to have anything to do with the mysterious girdle. I brought to mind all that the sheik had told me of its strange history, and I remembered that so long as it remained wound round with silk it was harmless. Here with my own eyes I had seen a dire calamity follow the unwinding of the silk wrappings, and the exposure of the shining metal. Superstition had seized hold of me, and I dreaded to touch the thing. I confessed my misgivings to Faris, and I saw him smile. "You are a Christian," he said, "yet you fear the wrath of the gods of the heathen! I myself will take the serpent belt, and if evil befalls me then I shall count it my fate. I do not want the belt, nor the money that it is worth, but if I can but obtain the shoe of Shahzadi, as a reward for sending it to the big house of which you spoke, then shall I go down to my grave in happiness." He stepped across to the pile of rubbish under which Raspul was almost buried, and I felt impelled to follow. We looked on the ground among the débris, but could not see the object of our search. Removing the stones and bricks from the body of the seer, we placed it gently on a bench in one of the alcoves. The belt was not in his hand, as we imagined that it would have been; neither could we discover it anywhere near the spot where he had fallen. I became as excited as did the sheik, and together we removed the stones, and hunted everywhere for the lost treasure. At last we desisted, and looked at one another in bewilderment. The Golden Girdle had disappeared. CHAPTER X. A DASH FOR FREEDOM. "Possibly," I suggested, "the unfortunate seer flung the belt into the cauldron as he fell, and it was melted." "No," said the sheik, "that he did not do. I saw the serpents glittering in his hand when he was on the ground. Besides, look, there is no melted gold in the cauldron." That was certainly true; for, though the great iron vessel had been overturned, there was no sign of gold upon it, or anywhere on the ground about it. Suddenly leaping to his feet, Faris swore a fearful oath. "Fools that we have been!" he almost shrieked in his rage. "Fools, ten thousand times fools! That Shammar devil with the rope came to steal it, and he carried it off. I see it all now; and we let him escape! To think that I, Faris-ibn-Feyzul, should have been outwitted thus by my enemies! I swear by yonder corpse," he continued, solemnly extending his hands, "that I will avenge the death of Raspul; that, so long as my life continues, I will war against the Shammar scoundrels who have done this thing. I will pursue them to the uttermost ends of the earth, though it may cost me my own life, and though it may cost my tribe the lives of all the fighting men. I have sworn it, and may the curse of the Golden Serpents, which is the curse of Sophana, the Great Queen, again harry the Shammar, as it did of yore." The man's wrath was terrible to witness. I did my best to calm him; for, in reality, the disappearance of the girdle was rather a relief to me than otherwise; and, after a while, he became more reasonable, and suggested that I must be hungry. Under the circumstances it was a somewhat prosaic suggestion; but it was certainly a fortunate one, in that it recalled both of us to our senses. More dried dates furnished us with a meal; and, to our joy, we found, standing in a corner of the temple, some pots of water, of which we drank greedily. To sleep, or even rest, was out of the question, for neither of us wished to remain longer than necessary on the spot. How to get out of it was our next thought, and we simultaneously decided that our only possible way of escape would be by the hole in the roof. The idea of again attempting to enter the maze of tunnelled passages we never for a moment entertained; and we at once set about to discover a means by which we might reach the opening above us. The height of the centre of the dome was at least fifteen feet from the ground. We searched for a ladder, but could find none; we sought in vain for wood and cords out of which we might improvise one; and after each fruitless search I became more and more dejected. Things had been bad enough before; but now I saw before me a lengthy incarceration in this temple prison, if not even death by starvation. Yet, the sheik's courage never left him. He was impatient, certainly, at not being able to pursue his enemies forthwith; but he did not appear to think for a moment that there was any great difficulty in our way to freedom. "Well," I asked at last, "what do you propose that we shall do?" "Build a tower," replied Faris, laughing, "like that of the Birs Nimroud, until we reach the outer world. Then for our poor little horses; a long gallop home to our tents; and, before many days, with spear and sword against the Shammar." I caught the sheik's enthusiasm when I realised that his plan was feasible; and we both set to work with a will to collect and arrange carefully the blocks of stone and brickwork that lay scattered about. The goddess, we found, was firmly fixed in the ground, so around the figure we formed the foundation of our tower, and before long we had built up to the level of her head and had completely concealed her. Each of us in turn, like children, climbed to the top of the loose pile to see how high we were from the ground, and then continued to add stone after stone to the fast-growing heap. Occasionally we were delayed by a sudden collapse at the bottom; but we built up again rapidly, and at length came the time when, standing upright, I was able to place my fingers on the edge of the broken roof. It was a glorious moment, and I could almost sniff the desert air outside. The thought of being once more free sent a thrill through me, and I remembered a certain gymnastic feat at which I had excelled when at school. It occurred to me that I was confronted with the identical thing, the only difference being that in place of having to pull myself up over the edge of, and on to, a smooth wooden platform, I now had before me a rough, jagged edge of brickwork. It was worth the attempt, and I tried it. Firmly, with both hands, I gripped the edge, and slowly I let my weight hang on my hands, when, horror of horrors, an immense portion of roof broke off, and fell with a crash to the ground. At the same moment I lost my balance, and though, fortunately, I kept my feet, my descent was so unpremeditated that I brought down half our loosely-built structure on my heels. Faris, standing at a little distance, could not make up his mind whether to laugh or be angry. Of one thing, however, both of us now became aware: it was improbable that the roof of the dome would support our weight, so loosened had the materials composing it become by the rough treatment it had received at the hands of the Shammar. Still, there remained the fact that we had heard people walking about on it with impunity, and this gave us hope; moreover, I had brought down such a huge sheet of the roof, that it was now broken away in one part almost to the wall that supported it. We soon made up our minds, therefore, that our tower would have to be built over again, and closer in to the side wall, so that, by breaking down another piece of the dome, we should be able to climb out over the actual top of the wall. How we laboured at the new tower! Hours passed before it had attained the required height; but, at last we were able to again reach the edge of the roof, when, with the greatest care, we pulled down the foot or two that remained between it and the wall top. Then we added to the height of our pile, until the happy moment came when the sheik, climbing slowly upwards, was able to rest his elbows on the wall, and haul himself up. I quickly followed; and there we two lay panting, and looking down with joyous eyes on the surrounding ruins and the boundless desert in the distance. If I had had my way, I should have remained there for hours, and rested; but Faris was on his feet in a few minutes, and urged me to hurry after him, so that we might get to our horses, and start on our journey. When I come to think of it now, after a lapse of many months, I am astonished at the absurd confidence that we had, that we should find our horses where we had left them. I myself never gave the matter a thought; and if the sheik had any misgivings, he did not disclose them. As can be imagined, therefore, when we reached the spot where the hobbled horses had been left, and found that they had disappeared, our hearts sank. The sheik examined the ground in all directions, and soon broke it to me that the Shammar had carried off our horses; he was able to trace their footprints among those of the Shammar horses; and they had added insult to injury by breaking his spear in pieces and taking away the blade. "I ought to have known that it would have been so," he said, almost in despair. "The Shammar dogs have again made fools of us." "Never mind," I said, trying to treat the matter lightly; "we must walk." "Walk!" he replied, derisively. "How think you we shall walk through that waterless waste, when even to ride through it is courting death?" "Perhaps," I suggested, "Sedjur, finding us gone so long, will come to meet us." "He may do so," said the sheik hopefully "In any case, we may as well die in the desert, as among these infernal ruins. So, come, let us walk." I never in my life felt less inclined to start on a long tramp; and the knowledge that we had no water and nothing to carry it in, and no better food than a few dried dates, did not add to my spirits. However, I pulled myself together, and stepped out behind Faris, whose swinging pace was terrific. Towards sundown we approached the marsh through which we had ridden two days before, and to our astonishment saw, on the far side, a thin curl of smoke rising upwards. "Sedjur to the rescue," I said. The sheik smiled, and bade me remain where I was, while he went to reconnoitre. On looking carefully, we could see that there were tents, camels, horses, and a goodly number of men, and the spot which they had selected for their encampment was close to the edge of the lake, a mile or so from us. To approach them was easy, as the rushes of the marsh grew almost up to the encampment. Divesting himself of his clothes, and cutting some of the rushes, Faris quickly knotted them together in large bunches, and tied them in wisps round his head and the upper part of his body. Then he waded into deep water towards the edge of the rushes, and concealing himself carefully, gradually worked his way round towards the tents. As he said, there was little chance of our being noticed, as no Bedouins would think of looking out for anyone on foot in such a desolate and remote part of the desert. I sat on a tuft of rush grass, and watched the waterfowl taking their evening flight, hopeful that relief was not far off, and expecting each moment to hear a wild shout of welcome from across the water. I thought of the delight of finding George Edwards, Sedjur, and others, waiting to receive us, with fresh horses, good food, and a comfortable tent in which to sleep in peace for hours. So I dreamed on, and nearly fell off to sleep, but no shout came. Then, in an hour or so, the sheik returned, and shattered all my hopes. He had crept up close to the tents, and had discovered that the party evidently consisted of some important personages, probably proceeding, from some interior town, on a pilgrimage to Meshed Ali, or returning home, with a strong escort of a tribe, the men of which he was unable to identify. "Suppose," I said, "we go boldly up to the encampment, tell the strangers that we have lost our horses, and seek their hospitality. They cannot refuse to befriend us." "It would be worse than folly," said the sheik. "For all I know, they may be my bitterest foes. Besides, they would never be taken in by your disguise, and would suspect us at once." "But," I argued, "I could tell them from the first that I was an English traveller." "No," said the sheik, "it would not do. The risk would be too great I have a better plan. I observed how their horses were fastened to pickets; and where their water-skins lay ready filled. When it is dark, and they have gone to rest, we will take two of the horses and some water-skins, and proceed on our journey." I did not like his plan, and I told him so. "If we are caught," I said, "they will give us what we deserve as horse-thieves." "Inshallah!" he replied; "what matter? As good a death as starvation, and, at any rate, a quicker one. But, if you will follow my instructions, we shall not be caught." "All right," I unwillingly acquiesced, "I will do whatever you wish." We waited for a couple of hours, and then moved through the rushes in the direction of the encampment. The moon was in the first quarter, and gave us a little light, thus enabling us, when we approached the tents, to see how things were situated. The sheik pointed out to me the position of the water-skins, and two outlying horses which he had decided that we should seize. We were now in the lake itself, standing almost up to our necks in water, and not more than ten yards from the bank. About a hundred yards to our right front were the tents; between us and them, lying on the edge of the lake, were the filled water-skins; while fifty yards or so to our left front stood the two horses. Faris now gave me my orders. I was to wade straight to the water-skins, secure two of them, and make my way as stealthily as possible to the horses; while he himself cut them loose, and waited for me. I at once started to carry out my instructions; reached the water-skins, but was appalled by their weight. I was afraid to stand up and carry them in the ordinary way; to crawl on the ground with a bulky skin in each hand was out of the question. Fortunately, however, I had always possessed a certain amount of ready resource, and I quickly took out my knife, ripped my saturated cloak into strips, with which I secured a skin loosely to either side of my waist. Then I began to crawl towards the horses, and a toilsome operation it was; but it was successfully accomplished, and in far less time than I had expected. Faris, too, had played his part, and not only had he freed the horses, but he had managed, moreover, to find saddles for them. "Quick," he said, seizing the two water-skins and flinging them across his saddle, "mount and away." I required no second bidding, and I followed my fellow-robber, as he forged ahead into the sandy desert skirting the lake. Hour after hour, through the night did we keep going, and when, soon after dawn, the sheik pulled up among some low sand-hills, and dismounted, we had put many miles between ourselves and the former owners of our horses. Faris was in better spirits than I had ever known him to be; he appeared to have forgotten all our strange adventures, and to be living only in the present--a free man in a free land; but even he, inured to endless hardships, I soon discovered, was suffering from exhaustion. I inwardly rejoiced when I observed it, for I myself was completely done up. All our garments were wet through, and most of them in a filthy condition of slimy mud; so we agreed unanimously that it would be quite safe to rest for a time; and, taking off our clothes, we spread them out in the sun to dry. We hobbled the horses, partook of a few hard dates and a mouthful of water, and, stark naked, lay down on the slope of a hummocky sand-billow to rest our wearied limbs. How delightful was the warmth of the sun to my damp body! But how miserably tired and sleepy I felt! "A little sleep, sheik," I said, "would be a good thing." He made no reply, and looking at him, I found that he had forestalled my suggestion, and was already breathing heavily. I roused myself to a sense of duty; both of us must not sleep at the same time; I would watch while he slept; and then my turn would come. I began to wonder how long it would be before he woke up. I wondered why people wanted to sleep, and I remember that I found it most difficult to find a solution for the problem--so many things kept crowding into the argument. I was annoyed with myself for not being able to work it out successfully; and then, somehow or another, all my good intentions must have faded away, and unwittingly I must have dropped off to sleep. CHAPTER XI. ONLY HALF A CAPTURE. I awoke suddenly with a start. People were talking. I rubbed my eyes and looked. Was I dreaming, I wondered; for, within a couple of yards of me, I saw Sedjur and George Edwards in Arab dress, sitting on their horses and talking to the sheik. I jumped up to greet them, but I grew dizzy and sank back again. Edwards dismounted and ran across to me. "What is the matter, old man?" he asked, taking my hand. "I am a bit done," I replied. "You are in for a bout of fever," he said, "and no wonder, from what I have just heard from the sheik. But we will soon put you to rights. You have been lying out in the sun here for some time, I expect, judging by the blisters on your body. You had better get into your clothes again, and have another snooze." I struggled into my dirty garments as best I could, and wished that I had something cleaner to put on, but I had hardly finished dressing before Faris and Sedjur rushed up to us in a state of excitement, telling us that they could see a party of horsemen galloping towards us from the direction of the lake. "They have followed our tracks," said the sheik to me, "and hope to recover their horses. We must get away at once." I looked over the sand-hill nearest to me and could just make out a small black mass some miles away. I got up and moved towards my horse, but I was too feeble to mount. "I cannot manage it, George," I said, "I shall stop here, wait till they arrive, and give myself up. You clear off with the others--I shall be all right." "Likely!" replied Edwards, indignantly. Faris, seeing that something serious was the matter, came back to us, and asked why we were not hurrying. "We are not coming," said Edwards; "he is too ill. You and Sedjur escape while you have time." "No," replied the sheik, "we will stand here and fight." But Edwards and I besought him to go, and at last he consented. "We should have no chance against them," he said; "they are ten to one. But Sedjur shall take their horse, and leave you his, when they will find that you two have your own horses, and are not the thieves that they are after." A hasty word of parting, and our two Bedouin friends were in the saddle and away. For some reason, they did not take the direct route by which Faris and I had ridden a few days before, and which Edwards and Sedjur had followed, but struck off, half right, towards a low ridge. The country was undulating, and, to our relief, in a few seconds we saw them disappear from view. Then Edwards looked over our sand-hill, and told me to prepare myself, as the band of horsemen were approaching; and in another minute we were surrounded by some forty wild-looking Arabs, armed with matchlocks and spears. I fully imagined that they would finish us off, without inquiry; but the chief of the party motioned to his men to stand back, and advanced towards us. Edwards stood up, and greeted him. "Where are our horses?" demanded the chief. "Horses," said Edwards, "you appear to have many." "I speak," said the Bedouin, frowning, "of the two that you stole from us in the night." "I have stolen no horses at any time from any man," replied Edwards, with considerable force. "I and my friend here, who is sick with fever, are Englishmen, travelling in the desert. We have only our own horses, as you can see." The chief and his followers looked perplexed, and not a little surprised at the sight of two foreigners. A long consultation then took place, after which the chief, regarding us with evident suspicion, addressed us again. "See, now, Ingleezee," he said, "last night two horses were stolen from our camp. We have followed their footprints up to this point; and here we find you, but with two other horses. We do not believe that even you are able to change a horse's skin and shape. Tell me, from which direction did you ride hither?" Edwards pointed out the direction. "I believe it," said the Arab, "for the hoof marks which brought us here are certainly not those of your horses. Answer me yet again, did you meet any Bedouins as you rode hither?" "Not a soul," replied Edwards, equivocating perhaps, but nevertheless speaking the truth. While this cross-examination was going on, some of the party were casting round and looking at the horses' footprints on the ground. I soon saw that they were on the right scent, and one of them shouted to the chief that he had found the marks of their two stolen horses. This caused tremendous excitement, and a dozen horsemen were sent off in pursuit, while the chief and the remainder looked after us. Then came another surprise, when someone discovered that, besides the hoof marks of our own two horses, there were also the marks of two other horses, though apparently two or three days older, but all coming from the same direction. "What abominably cunning brutes they are," I said to Edwards. "Yes," said he, "they will worm it all out of us before they have done. But they will have their work cut out if they mean to overtake the sheik and Sedjur, with the good half-hour's start that they had." We could see that this new discovery had upset their calculations considerably, and presently the chief informed us that, though he did not now suspect us of being implicated in the theft of the horses, we must accompany him to the camp, in order that we should be properly examined by his lord and master, the Governor of Adiba. Ill as I was, I was compelled to mount my horse and ride with the party. As we started, we found that two or three men had taken up the tracks left by the horses which Faris and I had ridden on our journey to the seer. They had not come across them on their way from the camp, as they lay a considerable distance to one side, since Faris had taken a straight line to the margin of the swamp, and the spot from which we had stolen the horses was a mile or more to the east of it. We appeared to have hoodwinked the party most successfully, and the chief discussed the situation with us quite affably. His views were fairly reasonable, and he was convinced that he had fathomed the mystery up to a certain point. He imagined that, two or three days before, two horsemen had passed through the gap in the sand-hills, and had proceeded to a point at the southern end of the lake. The footprints, he affirmed, were not those of our horses, and our horses had evidently never gone beyond the gap; neither had the other horses ever returned from the lake to the gap. The men who had stolen the horses might have been those whose horses' tracks were now being followed towards the lake; but what he could not understand was why they should have discarded their own horses and stolen the others. "Of course," he said, "there may be no connection whatever between the two horsemen and the thieves, and that matter is of no real consequence. We know where the scoundrels have gone, and our men will doubtless catch them. Who they are is immaterial--so long as they suffer the penalty of their crime." The only point of doubt seemed to be whether we were or were not in league with the robbers, and that, the Arab said, was for his master, the Governor, to decide. He himself felt certain of our innocence, and thought it probable that the thieves had passed through the gap and disappeared before we had reached it from the opposite direction. Eventually we came within sight of the encampment, and, from the excitement that prevailed, it was apparently thought that the thieves had been caught. Bitter was the disappointment when it was learned that the stolen horses had not been recovered; and the Governor, who stood waiting for us outside his large tent, vented his wrath on his unfortunate captain before the latter could offer an explanation. When, however, he had heard what the chief of the escort had to relate, the great man changed his tone and ordered us to be taken away to a tent and looked after, until such time as the two absent parties should return and give an account of themselves. As it proved, the ride had not done me much harm; I was wretchedly weak, but the fever had passed off, and I was able to eat heartily of the supper which our friend the chief provided for us. After my diet of dried dates, the steaming dish placed before us was a positive feast, and neither before nor since have I ever partaken of a meal with greater relish. How Edwards and I talked that night! I had to tell him all my adventures, and answer a thousand questions; but, all through, I had the feeling that he thought I was romancing, and he politely but firmly refused to believe that I had really seen the Golden Girdle. "I am afraid, my dear boy," he said, "that was hallucination, produced by your old friend's intoxicating perfumes." "All right," I replied, almost angrily, "you need not believe it unless you like; but if we ever meet old Faris again, we will get him to give his version." "I wonder," said Edwards, changing the conversation, "how we shall get out of this hole. It seems to me that ever since we left Baghdad, we have been in a perpetual state of jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. However," he concluded philosophically, "they say that everything has an end, and I trust that our end may be peace." At an early hour next morning, the captain of the escort paid us a visit, and brought us food. We discovered that he considered himself our host, and he chatted with us in a most friendly way. He told us that both parties of horsemen had returned; that those who had tracked the two horses to the lake had come in early in the night, with the information that the horses had passed through the swamp and had gone straight on, so they had given up the search as not likely to lead to any result. The other party, he said, after a fruitless pursuit of the missing horses, had just come back. They stated that they had seen the two thieves riding in the far distance, but all hope of overtaking them had gone, and, their horses being exhausted, they had been forced to abandon the chase. The Governor was very angry, because the stolen horses were his own property, and what attitude he would adopt towards ourselves was extremely doubtful. But this before long we would discover for ourselves, as he had given orders that we should be brought before him in an hour's time. "For my own part," added our friend, "I think he will order you to proceed with him to Adiba. If you cannot satisfy him as to your innocence, he will probably take your horses from you. But he will be afraid to keep you at Adiba for any length of time; doubtless he will give you asses and tell you to depart to Baghdad." Our interview passed off much more satisfactorily than we had anticipated. Ali Khan, the governor, asked us endless questions as to who we were, where we had been, and where we were going, and finally gave his opinion that we knew nothing about the theft of the horses. He upbraided us for our folly in wandering about the desert without an escort, and he told us that we should remain as his guests until he reached his home, when he would endeavour to send us with some caravan to a place from which we should be able to return to Baghdad in safety. We thanked him profusely, and, afraid of showing any disinclination to accompany him, we agreed to accept his offer. We were soon on very good terms with our new host, and, in the course of the conversation that followed, I told him that Edwards was a great doctor. "If that be so," said the Governor, turning to Edwards, "when we reach Adiba, you shall try your skill on my small son, whom none of my own doctors are able to cure." "That will I certainly," replied Edwards enthusiastically. "Good," said the Governor, "and should you want for anything, ask for it, and it shall be yours. We shall proceed on our journey in the morning, and, if it please Allah, in about two weeks from now shall be in the town." Edwards and I were overjoyed at our good fortune, for it seemed to us that we were going to make a most interesting expedition under the most favourable circumstances, and when we returned to our tent we solemnly shook hands and congratulated ourselves. "We shall be back in Baghdad in no time," said Edwards. "I have already overstayed my leave, but I daresay, when I turn up safe and sound, the Consul-General will understand, and will put matters right." "You do not mean to say," said I, "that you propose rushing back to Baghdad?" "As straight as a die," said he, "and jolly glad I shall be to get there." "But what about our old friends, the sheik and Sedjur?" I asked. "Oh," said he, "I can find out what happened to them when I get back to Baghdad. You surely do not suggest that we should continue to fool about in the desert any longer?" "My dear boy," I said, "you can think of nothing but that wretched leave of yours. Do, for goodness' sake, forget it. You are overdue now, and if you start from Adiba the day after you get there, you will be weeks late. In all probability, the authorities have killed us, buried us, and put up memorial tablets to us by now. Much better let them go on grieving a bit longer." Edwards looked at me and laughed. "You are the most extraordinary person that I have ever come across," said he. "Here you are, a perfect wreck, and looking as if you had seen a hundred ghosts in the last few days; yet you do not seem at all anxious to get back to an ordinary life of peace and comfort." "You do not understand," I argued. "You have not been inspired by the sight of the glittering serpents. Think, George, what it would be to get hold of it, and ride into Baghdad with it!" "It would be tolerably nice," he replied, "to ride into Baghdad even without it. Honestly, I do not much care which it is. I waive all claim to carrying the Golden Girdle." "What a scoffer you are," I said. "You do not really believe in its existence. For my part, I should not be a bit surprised if at this very moment it was in the Jelas camp. Faris is as keen about it as I am, and he would not waste any time in preparing for his raid on the Shammar. I agree that we must go to Adiba now, but as soon as we leave the place, we will make straight for our old quarters, see what the sheik has been about, and find out if he has heard anything of the girdle." "All right," said Edwards, "I will see you through the business. You shall have your way, and I will stick to you. But I beg of you not to let me in for adventures such as you and Faris have just been indulging in. My feeble brain would not stand that sort of thing." During the journey of the succeeding fortnight or more, we made friends with all the members of the caravan, and George Edwards covered himself with glory by looking after the ailments of the party. Fortunately, no one had attempted to rifle his saddle-bags, and, when starting with Sedjur on the ride to meet me, he had taken the precaution to bring with him his travelling medicine-case and instruments. It was an uneventful ride, through a barren and ugly country, and glad were we when, at last, we came in sight of the walls of Adiba, and saw a body of horsemen issuing out to greet their Governor. CHAPTER XII. RIVAL DOCTORS. Our entry into Adiba much resembled the procession in the Lord Mayor's Show. There were trumpeters and drummers, camelmen armed with matchlocks, horsemen with spears, and foot soldiers carrying bludgeons, knives, and a variety of weapons. Crowds of people lined the principal thoroughfare, leading from the gateway by which we had entered to the palace of the Governor--for it was dignified by the name of palace, though in reality it was by no means a sumptuous dwelling. Edwards and I rode on either side of the great man, and our presence created a considerable amount of interest, since the news had already spread that we were Englishmen, and that one of us was a famous doctor. Yet, I noticed that there were faces in the crowd that did not look on us with favour, which, as I said to myself, was only natural in a country hitherto practically forbidden to Europeans. A separate apartment in the palace was allotted to us, and we were made thoroughly comfortable, the floor being spread with rich Persian carpets and hung with silken draperies; but the most delightful part of our quarters was the flat roof, up to which a flight of steps led from the corner of the room. The palace itself abutted on the fortified wall of the town, and our room and roof-top formed a kind of bastion, surmounted by a low parapet with loopholes. It had the advantage of seclusion, since it was a little higher than the other buildings of the town; and on the roof, during our stay in Adiba, we slept at night and enjoyed the cool hours of the day. Hardly had we settled down than Edwards was summoned to visit the sick child, and as, during our march, I had always assisted him in his medical duties, I went with him. We were conducted, through several apartments, to the women's quarters, where we found Ali Khan and his chief wife, sitting by the side of a frail boy of about twelve years of age. The mother was weeping bitterly, and begged us to do what we could to save the life of her only son. Three grave-looking and aged native physicians were also present, and were evidently none too well-pleased at our interference, one of them even going so far as to remonstrate with the Governor for having called in a foreigner and an unbeliever, an act which he pronounced to be equivalent to lack of faith. "By the will of Allah," he said, "the child is sick; by the will of Allah, he will either live or die." [Illustration "'BY THE WILL OF ALLAH,' HE SAID, 'THE CHILD IS SICK'"] "You speak with wisdom, O Sea of Learning," said Edwards quietly, "but does the Prophet anywhere forbid the use of medicines for the relief of a sufferer? If so, how comes it that you yourself practise medicine?" "I and my brethren," replied the other, with an obvious sneer, "are of the True Faith, and though we may possess as great a knowledge of the art of healing as even yourself, we do not take to ourselves any credit for our cures. They are effected through Allah alone. The works of infidels----" "Enough," shouted the Governor, cutting him short; "this is no place or time for wrangling. These are my guests, and must be treated with due respect." Edwards's rival bit his lip with rage at the rebuke, and with a sullen gaze watched the "unbeliever" examining the little patient. This did not take long, and after offering some consoling words to the parents, Edwards said he would go and prepare some medicines for their child, adding that, if his instructions were properly carried out, he saw no reason why he should not eventually recover. The Governor and his wife were overjoyed at the news, but the old Arab doctor merely shrugged his shoulders, and remarked "if it be the will of Allah." "Well, what is the matter with the poor little chap?" I asked, as we walked back to our room. "He is pretty bad," said Edwards. "High fever. Been hideously neglected, I should say. I shall try antipyrine, and then pile in quinine for all I am worth." "Those old native impostors mean to be nasty," I said. "The chief villain would cut your throat as soon as look at you." "I believe he would," said Edwards, laughing, "and display very little surgical skill in the operation." The medicine was soon prepared, and sent off by a servant, with injunctions that he was to deliver it into the hands of the Governor or his wife, and that it was to be administered at once. A little later, we repaired to the Guest Hall, where a feast was to be given in our honour, and where we were introduced to all the notables of the town. It was a magnificent entertainment, and there was no lack of food, the principal dishes consisting of camel's flesh, and sheep roasted whole. The Arab physicians were there, and it seemed to me that they went out of their way to make themselves affable, so I imagined that they had got over their scruples concerning the infidel practitioner. Our old friend Haroun, the captain of the Governor's escort, was also present, and he told us that he was leaving Adiba in a few days, as he had to take his men off on another expedition. Until then, we had thought that he and his men were in the permanent service of Ali Khan, but now we gathered that he was more or less of a free lance, and that he hired out himself and his horsemen for the protection of caravans wishing to cross the desert. The supper passed off pleasantly enough, and the guests eventually dispersed, when, expressing many good wishes for the speedy recovery of his son, we took leave of our host, and, accompanied by Haroun, made our way to our room. At the door we found two of Haroun's men armed with naked swords; and, on inquiring why they were there, we were informed that the Governor had given orders for them to be posted, to prevent anyone entering our apartment. Haroun came in with us, and closing the door behind him, said that he wished to have a word with us in private. "Before long," he said, in a low voice, "you will desire to return to Baghdad. Indeed the Governor dare not detain you here for any length of time; for the news of your presence in the town will soon reach Majma and Hayil, when the Governor will receive peremptory orders to send you on your journey. The Amir of Hayil will not permit foreigners to sojourn in Nejd; but, since he finds it to his advantage to keep on good terms with the Turks, he will be afraid to lay violent hands on two Europeans. Otherwise, so far as he himself is concerned, he would not hesitate to have you put to death. Now, I myself make a living by safe-guarding travellers in the desert; moreover, it is my desire to visit Baghdad, where not only have I many friends, but also a brother who is a merchant in the bazaar. For the protection afforded by my horsemen I will charge but a small sum--only just sufficient for their maintenance. What say you?" "What can we say," I replied, "except that to journey with you would be a great joy to us. But you told us a little while ago that you were shortly leaving Adiba on other business." "True," said Haroun, smiling, "but when I spoke I was counting on being employed by yourselves. Shall we, then, fix a day for your departure?" "That is hardly possible," said Edwards, "for I have undertaken to treat the sick child of our good host, as a return for his kindness to us, and it may be many days before he recovers; it may, indeed, be many weeks." "And you would remain here for so long?" asked Haroun. "If the Governor wishes," said Edwards. "But he will not wish it," said Haroun; "for, before the child can be restored to health, Hayil will have ordered Majma to march against Adiba and destroy it, for harbouring foreigners. The fear of Hayil is great." "Well," said I, "if you will give us a day or two to see how events turn out, we shall be able to decide as to the future." "The future," said Haroun, with a sigh, "is known only to Allah. I shall, however, remain here, in Adiba, for a space, in the hope of journeying with you to Baghdad. But I would warn you that there are some who, even now, are desirous of your speedy departure from the town." The next few days were full of interest, as well as of a certain amount of excitement. Both Ali Khan and Haroun were keen sportsmen, and each morning we rode out with the former's hawks in search of gazelles, which gave us some glorious gallops. We had also a lion hunt--not in the programme, but forced upon us while hawking, and the memorable occasion gave us an insight into the characters of our two Arab friends, at whose dauntless courage Edwards and I were simply astounded. We were riding home after a successful morning, when we saw a shepherd running across the plain towards us and gesticulating wildly. He told us that a lion had for some time played havoc with his flocks, and that he had just marked him down into some thick bushes at a little distance. We all went off at once, and Ali Khan, stationing the matchlock-men who accompanied him round the beast's lair, ordered other men to throw stones into the bushes, with the intention of driving the lion out. To everyone's astonishment, this had the desired effect almost at once. There was a loud roar, and, without any further warning, out bounded the great brute, who knocked over one of the matchlock-men before a shot was fired. Edwards and I, sitting on our horses a little way off, instinctively pressed towards the lion, now standing defiantly over the fallen man; but, before we reached the spot, we saw both Haroun and Ali Khan simultaneously leap from their saddles and rush in. They were armed only with the daggers which they had drawn from their waists, yet they never hesitated until close up to the beast, when, to our surprise and no little amusement, they stopped and addressed it in the most flowing language. "O lion," said the one, "do not waste thy strength on so feeble a man as that." "O king," said the other, "thy victim is an unworthy meal for thy royal jaws. Try something of more noble blood." Then with one accord they attacked their enemy in the most reckless manner with their knives, and several men with spears coming up, the lion was soon dispatched, when it was found that the matchlock-man had received only a few scratches, though suffering from a severe shock to his nerves. Many were the tales which we subsequently heard of the daring of our two friends on similar occasions, and no one could say which of them had slain single-handed the greater number of lions. Such recreations as these, however, occupied only a fraction of our time, and the remainder was decidedly dull, or if not dull, then full of anxiety. Edwards soon discovered that his skill as a doctor was being put to the test, for the days passed, and his patient seemed to make no headway. "Do you suppose," I asked him at last, "that they have been giving him your medicine properly?" "That is just what I have been wondering," he replied. "I do not believe that they have. But I cannot imagine how Ali Khan and his wife, who are both devoted to the child, would fail to do what I told them. However, I will make certain about it, by going straight to the Governor and asking him." So Edwards went off, and, in the course of half an hour or so, returned, with a face almost livid with rage. He did not wait for me to ask him questions, but relieved his mind forthwith. "Could you possibly conceive," he blurted out, "that the world could contain such a pack of bigoted idiots? The poor wretched little beggar is weaker than ever, and had not been given any of the things that I prescribed. I only discovered it by the merest accident. When I got to the room, I found one of the waiting-women watching over the sick child, and she told me that his mother, worn out with grief, had gone to her chamber to rest, while Ali Khan was busy administering justice in his hall. I seized the opportunity, and tackled the woman about the medicine. At first she pretended that she had never heard that I had supplied any medicine; but after I had reassured her by swearing that I would respect her confidences, and worked on her fears by telling her that if the boy died she would undoubtedly be held responsible for his death, and would probably frizzle in Gehennum, the old lady found her tongue. Bit by bit I dragged from her the whole miserable story. It seems that when my first draught was delivered at the sick-room, those abominable old native doctors were all there, and they harangued the Governor for his folly in consulting an infidel, about whom he knew nothing, and whose medicines might be, and probably were, poisons. High words followed, but in the end Ali Khan agreed that he would abide by the decision of the mulla, who was immediately sent for. Perhaps you have never seen a mulla playing the oracle. It is quite simple: he shuts his eyes, opens the Koran, plumps his finger on to a line, and then reads it out. Well, in this case, of course, the mulla said that the Koran decreed that my medicine would be most harmful to the child, and it was accordingly thrown away. The same thing has been happening every day since, and the only medicine given to the poor little chap has been some water swilled round a cup inside which the mulla has scribbled a text. Is it not positively sickening?" "What are you going to do?" I asked. "I have done it," he replied, with a chuckle. "I saw that it was neck or nothing, and fortunately I had taken some antipyrine with me. I made the woman fetch the cup with the text inside, and I told her that I was a bigger mulla than any mulla she had ever seen, and that I possessed the Evil Eye, which I would cast on her and her relations for ever and ever, if she disclosed a word of what I had said, or even mentioned that I had been there. She was what they call 'all of a tremble,' and I gave the child as strong a dose as I dared--antipyrine, Koran text, and all." "Well done, old man," said I, slapping him on the back. "It may be all right," said Edwards, "but it may not be. I am not very sanguine, for I am half afraid it was too late. However, we shall know to-night." When we went down to the sick-room before going to bed that night, we found the Governor, his wife, and the Arab doctors in a state of ecstasy. The child was in what Edwards described as a "beautiful perspiration," and we were naturally overjoyed. Then the principal native doctor stepped forward and addressed Edwards. "We have to confess to you," he said, "that none of your remedies have been applied to the patient, as the mulla, whom the Governor consulted, decided that they would be harmful to him. By the will of Allah, I and my learned brethren have been able to ease the child's sufferings." I looked at my companion, whose face was ashy white, but who kept himself under perfect control. Addressing the Governor quietly, he told him that he thought it would be injurious to the health of his son if any further discussion took place in the sick-room, and he begged that he would permit us to adjourn to another apartment, as he wished to make a disclosure to him in the presence of the Arab physicians. The Governor agreed to the proposal, and, bidding the doctors and ourselves follow him, led the way to his private audience hall. "What is it, my friend," he asked, "that you wish to say?" "Great Lord of the Arabs and Protector of the Poor," said Edwards, standing forth boldly, "it is most unpleasant for me, who have received the greatest hospitality at your hands, to lay a complaint against the members of your household. But I would beg of you to bear in mind that I have only at heart the welfare of your sick child, and that anything I say is solely for his good. You yourself did me the honour to place confidence in me and seek my advice; yet, when I gave that advice, you pretended to be satisfied with it, but, unbeknown to me, you rejected it, because your mulla, who is in league with your court physicians, pretended that your sacred book forbade the application of my remedies." I trembled at Edwards's temerity, and the Arabs looked at Ali Khan as if they expected him to rise in his wrath and destroy us both, but our host merely bowed his head and told Edwards to proceed, which he did with increased warmth. "I am aware," he continued, "that I am not of your Faith, but I hold to as great a belief in the powers of Allah as do yourselves. I maintain, however, that although I am younger than the youngest of your physicians, I have had far greater experience in the treatment of diseases than he or any of his brethren. From the first I prescribed such medicines as I considered likely to benefit the patient. You yourself know that those medicines were thrown away. I knew it for certain some few hours ago, though I had suspected it earlier. I only discovered the truth on visiting the patient when he was alone this afternoon. Then I understood that he had never been given my medicines, and, in your absence, I took it upon myself to administer at once a strong dose, the result of which is now apparent." "Sire," broke in the chief physician excitedly, "believe not a word that he says. He is seeking to misappropriate to himself the good that your own physicians have accomplished. What proof is there that the child had any of his medicines?" "One person," said Edwards, "was present, and saw everything. It was the waiting-woman, Habisha, but I made her swear to reveal what she saw to no one." The Arab doctors, evidently still believing that they had treated the child successfully, openly derided Edwards's assertion, and Ali Khan, wavering between loyalty to his own men and politeness to his guest, thought to settle the matter by interviewing the waiting-woman. Edwards at once realised the difficulty, for it was improbable that the woman, with the foreigner's Evil Eye in her mind, would disclose anything; so he volunteered to accompany the Governor, in order that the woman might be assured that she could now speak. The quarter of an hour that the two were absent was an uncomfortable one for me, left alone with the physicians; but, to my relief, they ignored my presence, and conversed amongst themselves. The expression on Edwards's face, on his return, conveyed to me plainly that all had gone well; and a moment later Ali Khan told the Arabs that he had convinced himself that what his guest had said was true, that he had actually administered a dose to his son, but that fortunately it had been given in the cup which was inscribed with a text from the Koran. Ali Khan now assumed a judicial air, as if pronouncing judgment in his hall of justice, and he said that, after due consideration, he had come to the conclusion that, although the foreigner had acted wrongfully in secretly administering the medicine, nevertheless he had been requested to treat the child, and that having once given the child his medicines, it would be most dangerous to alter the course which had been commenced. He therefore decreed that the foreigner should continue to treat his son, and that his own wise and worthy physicians should refrain from visiting the sick-room, until such time as he should invite them. I could see that the decision was a terrible and an unexpected blow to the Arab gentlemen, but they bowed politely to their master, asked permission to retire, and pompously sailed from the room. No sooner were we alone than Ali Khan, throwing off all reserve, seized Edwards by the hand, thanked him fervently for what he had done, and apologised for his own weakness in allowing himself to be influenced by his doctors. Henceforward, he said, Edwards should have sole charge of the sick boy, and he begged him to forget the past and to do all that lay in his power to bring about his recovery. Edwards, of course, agreed to do his best, on the condition that he was not interfered with in any way, and he returned to his patient, with whom he now decided to spend the night. The next week was a most anxious one. Edwards almost lived in the sick-room, being unwilling to risk the chance of some busybody undoing all his work. The child had ups and downs, but by the end of the week he was pronounced to be out of danger, and after that he regained his strength so rapidly, that before many days Edwards was able to hand him over to his parents to be taken care of. Their gratitude is indescribable; there was nothing that they would not have done for us. Ali Khan offered us horses, permanent quarters in the palace, and many other things, all of which we politely declined, Edwards assuring him that he had done nothing more than that which was due from a guest to his host. All this while, we were surprised that the Arab doctors never put in an appearance, but we came to the conclusion that they were nettled by Edwards's success, and so kept out of the way. That they had lost their practice in the town soon became evident, as the gates of the palace were besieged each day by sick people, begging for the advice of the all-powerful foreign doctor. For some time Edwards did his best for them, but at last he grew weary of the increasing labours thus thrust upon him, and asked our host where his own physicians were. Ali Khan, with some hesitation, then confessed that they had left the town, and had gone off in high dudgeon, he knew not whither. "But," he added, "while you are my doctor, I care not how long the others remain away." That night, just as we were going to bed, we heard a knock at the door, and Haroun, who was still in Adiba, entered the room. We at once became aware, from the mysterious air that he assumed, that he was the bearer of news of no ordinary importance. CHAPTER XIII. WAR'S ALARM. "What is the matter, Haroun?" I asked, "you seem perturbed." "And small wonder," he replied. "The Governor's spies, whom he sent to discover the whereabouts of his physicians, have just returned, and have brought grave tidings. They tracked the men to Majma and then to Hayil, where they found that the ungrateful dogs had spread false reports about affairs at Adiba, denouncing the Governor as an infidel and a companion of infidels. The Amir, ever credulous, accepted their statements, and, moreover, gave all three of them appointments in his household. Majma was ordered to prepare for war against Adiba, and to assemble all its fighting men, three days since, at a certain ford on the road to Hayil. The spies remained in Hayil and watched the preparations, which the Amir declared were for the purpose of suppressing the tribes dwelling in the mountains to the south. But this they knew to be false, and they have ridden day and night in order to warn their chief of the coming storm." "What will the Governor do?" I asked. "He will fight his old enemy of Majma to the death," said Haroun. "On that point he is determined. Moreover, he has ever rebelled against the authority of the Amir, and he is prepared now to defy him." "Surely," said Edwards, "that will be the height of folly, when an explanation would probably prevent bloodshed. We two Europeans are, doubtless, the cause of all the trouble. Let the Governor publicly expel us from the town, and secure its safety." "That course," said Haroun, "he would never consent to take; but he has ordered me to inform you privately of the events that are likely to occur, and to request that you will save yourselves while there is yet time. He does not wish you to risk your lives by remaining here, and though he cannot spare my services at present, he will mount you on swift camels and give you a guide, who will conduct you to Baghdad, or at any rate as far as some place of safety in the neighbourhood of that city." Edwards and I discussed in English the situation as it presented itself to us, and we each thought that our presence in Adiba was accountable for all the unpleasantness; that if, therefore, we removed ourselves, Ali Khan would patch up peace; and that in all probability he wished to get rid of us, but was unwilling to appear inhospitable and ungrateful. "If," I said, addressing Haroun, "we accept the Governor's suggestion, will he then send an envoy and sue for peace?" "No," was the reply, "whether you go or whether you remain, he will defend the town, and he will perish in its defence rather than humble himself before the Amir. You yourselves know that he is a man who, his mind made up, cannot be talked over." "Well," said Edwards, "we cannot decide off-hand what we will do. Besides, we should like to discuss matters with the Governor himself. When do you expect that the town will be attacked?" "The army," replied Haroun, "must still be some seven days' march from us, but the horsemen will ride swiftly, so as to intercept any fugitives, and it is therefore advisable that you should get away as soon as possible." "Will you allow us the night to decide?" I asked. "If it be your wish," he acquiesced; "but you should leave the town by dusk to-morrow." As soon as we were alone, Edwards began to pace the room in silence, and continued to do so for some little time. "You seem to be excited, George," said I, at last. "You do not mind a bit," he replied. "In fact, as far as I can make out, you positively revel in this frying-pan-fire existence of ours. What are we going to do?" "Why, stick it out, of course," said I, "and see the old man through his fight. I expect the whole thing will be rather interesting, and when it is all over we will begin to think of moving off." "About time!" said Edwards. "I have had enough of this place, and should like to see another--Baghdad, for choice. It is not much fun spending all one's time prescribing for the rag-tag-and-bob-tail of Adiba, free, gratis, and for nothing. But we may as well turn in now, and interview the chief early in the morning. Perhaps the whole story of the impending attack is a deeply-laid scheme to get rid of us, though when Ali Khan told me to-day that I was his one and only physician, my heart positively sank. I thought he was under the impression that I was going to set up in Adiba, and remain with him for ever. I had intended disabusing his mind to-morrow, and I certainly shall do so, if I get the chance." "You will not chuck him over until after the fight, will you?" I asked. "No, I will play the game all right, though I cannot say that I am desperately keen about it," was his answer. Next morning, when we went to see our host, we found that he took a much more serious view of the state of affairs than we had anticipated. He evidently intended that it should be a fight _à outrance_. In vain did we try to dissuade him. We even offered to ride off and surrender ourselves to the Amir of Hayil, so as to stay the war; but he was adamant itself. He said that he and his people were growing rusty for want of a fight, and that our departure would make no difference. Whatever happened, he would not rest until he had dipped his spear in the blood of his old enemies. Seeing, therefore, that argument was useless, we told him that we intended to remain his guests until he was at peace once more with his neighbours, and that we were ready to assist him in the defence of his town. He was greatly touched at our desire to help him, though he expressed his unwillingness to allow us to run the risk of losing our lives in a quarrel which was no concern of ours. "The whole matter," said Edwards, "concerns us. Had we never come to Adiba, there would have been no quarrel." "And," replied Ali Khan, "my son would have surely died. That is enough. Praise be to Allah that he sent you to me." Our conversation was interrupted by Haroun, who came to consult about the preparations for the defence of the town, and we accompanied the two warriors on their inspection of the fortifications. Haroun, I soon saw, had little idea of a passive defence, and placed no confidence in the strength of the walls. He was a cavalry leader, pure and simple, and his sole notion was to employ all available horsemen in attacking the enemy as they advanced on the town. The Governor, on the other hand, was sublimely satisfied with his walls of sun-baked bricks, and proposed that when the enemy appeared, the gates should be barricaded and the walls manned by the matchlock-men; then, when the assailants had expended all their energies in attacking the walls, Haroun should issue with his horsemen, and smite them with vigour. This, he concluded, was the plan adopted by his father, half a century before, when Majma had attacked the town; and so successfully did it work that barely a handful of Majma's fighting men returned to their homes to tell the tale. The only thing that appeared to trouble him was the fact that he had been told that the Amir of Hayil possessed European weapons of war, presented to him by the Turks, and he had heard that the big guns had been known to knock down walls from distances beyond the range of his matchlocks. It did not take me long to realise that, although I knew practically nothing of war, Haroun and the Governor knew considerably less. Neither of them had ever seen a field-gun or a rifle, and consequently they were absolutely ignorant of the effect of such things. To enlighten them was no easy matter, and for some time I was afraid that it would be impossible to bring the situation home to them until the first shell landed in the town. However, after much explanation, Ali Khan confessed that he did not understand anything of the inhuman practices of which I had told him; he and Haroun understood the honest warfare of the desert, but to attempt to fathom the mean devices to which the Turks and their adherents stooped was quite beyond them. "Then," I said, "let us ride out unarmed to meet the Amir, and sue for peace." "Never," said Ali Khan, firmly, "never. I care nothing for their tricks and stratagems. Our fate is already written down. On my side I have right; Allah protects the righteous, and punishes the oppressors." I did not try to persuade him that might, in the shape of modern guns, was stronger than right; but I did all in my power to harrow his feelings by describing what it would be like when the shells began to burst in and over the town. I could see, however, that he did not believe half I told him, and when we returned to the palace, he bade us leave him to himself, to think out how it would be best to frustrate the evil designs of his enemies. Edwards and I went off with the intention of occupying ourselves in a similar manner. "Our friends," said Edwards, "seem to be a trifle sanguine." "Antediluvian asses I call them," said I. "But look here, George, if old Hayil is bringing modern guns against this mud-heap, we are in for a pretty warm time. If his people have learned how to serve the guns, the place will be knocked to smithereens before we know where we are. If they have rifles, then our ancient matchlock-men will never get a look in." "Surely something can be done to fortify the place," said Edwards. "They do not expect to be attacked for another six days or more." "Yes," said I, "if we can only get Haroun and Ali Khan to grasp the situation, we might certainly work out some scheme of defence. I wish I had not forgotten most of the things I learned at Sandhurst. I might have run the whole show for them. Suppose we send for Haroun and hold a council of war; he is more modern in his ideas than the Governor." Accordingly, we sent a servant with an urgent request to Haroun to come and see us, and then we began to talk. He was still absurdly obstinate about the use of his horsemen, and he quite thought that his seventy men, with the addition of some forty or fifty others which the town could muster, were capable of ambuscading the hostile army before they came near the town, and wiping it off the face of the earth. He had fixed on the very spot where he would lay in ambush, and he scoffed at the idea that it would be possible for his plan to fail. So convincing was he in his arguments, that both Edwards and I began to think that perhaps, after all, he was right, and that we were ignorant of the methods of Arab warfare. "Suppose," I said, "you do not succeed in all you propose. Suppose you are defeated, or your retreat cut off. Then where would Adiba be? She would have lost the services of a hundred trained fighting men, and who would be left to repel the eventual attack on the town?" "There are plenty of others for the purpose," said Haroun, "and the defence of the town walls is no concern of mine. As you are aware, I and my men have nothing to do with Adiba, and it is only my personal friendship for the Governor that has induced me to espouse his cause. To be honest, I am a child of the desert, and a friend of anyone who hires me. The rôle of my men is to smite in the open, and not to sit down behind the walls of a town--that is the duty of the town guard." "I am beginning to understand," I said. "Hitherto I was under the impression that the Governor regarded you as his sirdar." "He himself is sirdar," was the reply, "and he has already ordered every able-bodied man to be at his allotted post on the walls this afternoon, so that he may inspect them in fighting array." While we were talking, a messenger came to ask us to wait on the Governor, who had assembled the chiefs of the various quarters of the town in the Audience Hall. We went at once, and found rows of respectable-looking old Arabs seated on the ground in front of the Governor's daïs. With many of them we were already acquainted, and all greeted us most cordially. The Governor then opened the discussion by explaining that, as Europeans, his two guests were thoroughly acquainted with the barbarous methods of European warfare, of which they themselves were entirely ignorant. He had therefore decided to beg us to undertake the defence of Adiba, and show them how to defeat their enemies. The suggestion quite staggered me; for I knew what broken reeds the unfortunate people were being forced to lean on. George Edwards, civil surgeon, aged twenty-three, Walter Henderson, ex-Sandhurst cadet--and a failure at that--aged twenty-one, suddenly appointed to the joint command of all the forces of Adiba! But, knowing that it was a case of the superiority of one-eyed men over the blind, we accepted the responsibility without a blush, and we were soon bustled off to inspect the fortifications and their defenders. Had it not been that we considered the state of affairs as most serious, we should have laughed at the whole thing as a huge joke. There were some rusty old guns and mortars, which probably had remained loaded and undischarged for half a century, and behind each loophole on the parapet squatted a matchlock-man, in deadly earnest and intent on slaughter. But it was no time for jesting, and, having seen all that there was to see, Edwards and I had a long consultation with our host and Haroun. In the end we two promised to think out a plan for defending the town, and lay it before Ali Khan the next morning. We now went off with note-book and pencil, and walked leisurely round the whole extent of the walls, making notes and sketches at various points, and carefully examining the surrounding country. The town was of no great size, covering an area of barely half a square mile; and from outside had the appearance of a square fort, situated in a slight depression. The walls in most parts were some fifteen feet thick at the base, and stood about twenty feet above the general level of the plain, but were somewhat higher at the four angles, in one of which, as I have said, was situated that portion of the palace given over to us. There were four gateways, known as the Hayil, the Majma, the Bussorah, and the Baghdad, and placed each in the centre of one of the side walls, our quarters occupying the angle between the Hayil and the Baghdad gates. From attacks by ordinary Arabs, armed with no better weapons than matchlocks and spears, the place had nothing to fear, the walls being unscalable, and the gateways being so planned as to be capable of great resistance. Against modern arms of precision it would stand no chance whatever, unless strenuous efforts were made to provide some sort of cover for the defenders, as well as for the women and children. All that night we sat up, with pencils and paper, working out our scheme, which was simplicity itself. We decided that, as we might have to withstand a siege of some duration, and as it would be quite impossible to store sufficient fodder for horses and camels for more than a few days, we would send Haroun, in command of all the horsemen and camelmen, out of the place, with instructions to keep well away to the north, and to watch his opportunity for dealing a blow at the enemy. We thought it would be useless to tie him down to stringent orders, since he knew more about the country and the methods of desert warfare than we did. Moreover, we knew that he was an independent individual, and would take his own line. With regard to the actual defence of the town, there was no time to do more than provide shelters from the bombardment which we anticipated. These we arranged to place close under the walls which faced towards Hayil and Majma, and we went into all the details of each portion of work, so that we might be able to tell the Governor exactly how many men would be required for digging and such-like operations at every point, and how long they should take to complete the work. In order to have a good margin, we calculated to get the defences finished within three days, after which, any time that remained could be devoted to drilling the inhabitants to seek shelter rapidly. "There," said Edwards, standing up and stretching himself, "that is good enough for them. I am quite anxious to see the result." "So am I," said I. "Give me another cup of coffee, and then let us go up on to the roof and watch the day break." CHAPTER XIV. THE BURST OF THE STORM. Standing on the parapet of our bastion roof, Edwards and I gazed out into the blackness which preceded dawn. Across the town, we saw presently a pale glimmer in the eastern sky. Day was breaking. We watched the light gradually spreading upwards; then, turning, we looked westward, where the outline of a low range of hills, a little more than a mile away, bounded the view. Each portion of that outline remains engraven on my memory, although, since that day, I have never set eyes on it. The fitful light appeared to me to be continually altering the shapes of the rounded hill-tops. Want of sleep, I imagined, had upset my powers of vision; for the more I looked the more I became convinced that the outline kept changing. Edwards also had noticed the phenomenon. "It is an extraordinary thing," said he, "but those hills over there look as if they were moving." "Just what I was thinking," said I; "I did not like to mention it, because I thought you would say that I had got the jumps." "I tell you what it is," said Edwards, shading his eyes with both hands, "there are people walking about up there. Look. Do you see them?" Before I could reply, a bright flash shot out from the hill-side, followed by a volume of smoke and then a loud report; and simultaneously a weird shrieking noise rent the air. We saw the shell fall short of the town by a hundred yards or more, and, exploding on impact with the hard sand, send up a column of dust. Never did sleeping town receive a ruder awakening; and Edwards and I, rushing down to see what could be done, encountered Ali Khan hastening to meet us. "What is it that has happened?" he shouted. "They have surprised the town," I answered, "and are shooting with their foreign guns. We must prevent the people being seized with a panic. Send messengers in all directions to warn everyone to seek cover close beneath the western walls, or in their underground chambers, and wait till the fire slackens. Order the matchlock-men to be prepared to hasten to their posts as soon as the enemy advances to the attack; and despatch Haroun, with the horsemen and those who fight on camels, immediately, by the Bussorah gate, to ride round and attack any who come down from the hills." Ali Khan was calm and unruffled, issuing his orders rapidly, and disdaining to notice our suggestion that there was still time for him to hoist the white flag and submit. Then came a fearful moment, when a shell, bursting in the principal street of the town, produced the panic which we had hoped to allay. Wild shrieks and yells went up on all sides, and the women and children and the majority of the men rushed madly about in every direction. Edwards and I dashed into their midst, and literally drove them in herds beneath the shelter of the wall. It was then that we saw Haroun, marshalling his horsemen, ready to leave the town; and his men, as they passed us, cursed us freely for belonging to a people who had invented such diabolical instruments of warfare. Haroun, however, forced them to restrain their feelings, otherwise their spears would doubtless have made short work of us. Seeing the horsemen and camelmen leaving the town the inhabitants imagined that flight had been ordered, and soon long streams of fugitives were pressing on the heels of Haroun's horses, through the Bussorah gate, and out into the desert. But a small body of the enemy's horsemen had already swept round to that side of the town, and was menacing the fugitives, who, seeing their predicament, turned and fled back to the gate. Haroun by this time was out in the open, and was soon engaged with the hostile force. I had run across to the eastern wall to order the Bussorah gate to be closed, and I had an excellent view of the sharp little cavalry skirmish then in progress. I remember thinking at the time what a picturesque sight it was, and I could hardly believe that what I witnessed was real warfare. Now one side fled, and the other pursued, their spears glittering in the sun, and their loose cloaks flying in the wind. Now, opening out and circling widely, the pursued turned and swiftly bore down on their pursuers, who, as if following the rules of a game, allowed themselves to be chased. Again the positions of the combatants were reversed; and it was not until I had watched the evolutions for some little time that I became aware that each side was manoeuvring for a purpose. Then I understood that Haroun was striving to lure the enemy towards the spot where the men on the camels sat ready to discharge their matchlocks; while the enemy appeared to be endeavouring to draw our horsemen towards the hills, behind which the whole army was doubtless concealed. As far as I could judge, in these preliminaries neither party was particularly anxious to close with the other, but as both were equally well mounted, and to all appearance equally skilled in the art of manoeuvring, it may not have been possible for the one to overtake the other. At length I observed that Haroun allowed himself to be drawn farther and farther into the plain, until, after a while, the curious struggle was being carried on midway between the town and the enemy's guns. So far, the fire from the guns had done very little real damage. A second shell had landed in the town very soon after the first one, but the gunners husbanded their ammunition with care, only firing at long intervals, and generally ranging short. This was a great relief, and reassured the people, who had now got over their first alarm, and were busily employed in throwing up retrenchments within the town. Edwards had formed a hospital in the palace, and had the few people who had been wounded carried in and attended to; while Ali Khan and I superintended the work going on from positions on the parapets, whence we could also watch the progress of the fight outside. How many guns the enemy had in reserve we could not say, but so far he had only brought three into action, and these soon found their fire masked by the horsemen in their front. For some hours, therefore, the guns remained silent, and it was quite evident that Haroun had grasped the situation, and was holding his opponents to the ground which intervened between the guns and the town. Hour after hour passed in this way, but towards sundown we heard a mighty shout go up from the direction of the hills, and before it died away we saw Haroun's foes in full flight, with Haroun's men straining every nerve to outstrip them. Fondly we hoped that our gallant friend's opportunity had come, and I trembled with excitement as I watched the stern chase. Inch by inch our men gained on the enemy, until they were almost within striking distance, when suddenly, as we watched, we saw, to our horror, a fresh body of horsemen issue from a gap in the hills by the side of the guns, and descend with fury on Haroun's flank. At that very moment the long-silent guns belched forth a salvo at the town, two of the three shells falling among the houses, and causing hideous destruction, though fortunately no casualties among the people. Concerned with the havoc wrought by the shells, we lost sight of Haroun, and when we again looked out on the plain, no trace of any horsemen was to be seen. Satisfied with their work, the guns did not fire again that night; and when darkness had set in, a messenger came from the Amir of Hayil, offering terms to Adiba, but such terms as no self-respecting chief could accept. The town was to surrender unconditionally; the Governor's property to be confiscated and he himself deposed; his two European guests to be handed over forthwith to the Amir; and all the horses and camels to be given up. The Governor was to be allowed until daybreak to accept or reject the terms; and if he refused to accept them, then at sunrise all the Amir's guns would play on the town until it was levelled to the ground, and no quarter would be given either to the Governor or the inhabitants. The message concluded by stating that the Amir's force consisted of no less than ten cannon and eight thousand soldiers. The messenger did not wait for an answer, which was perhaps fortunate, as Ali Khan was so incensed by the Amir's high-handedness, that his reply probably would have been a most insulting one. As it was, he decided to send no reply, and to occupy the night in the further strengthening of the defences of the town. While we were debating how best to continue the work, who should arrive but Haroun, cool and collected, and even smiling, but dishevelled, begrimed, and bloodstained. His long day of manoeuvring had been entirely satisfactory, and in the end he had reaped a brilliant victory--far more brilliant than he had ever dreamed of. There was no time now, he said, to describe what had occurred, for he had come to warn the Governor that the situation was critical, and that something must be done at once; but he could tell us this much of his fight, that not one of the enemy's horsemen whom we had seen pursuing him at dusk was now alive. "The name of Haroun," said the Governor, with emotion, "will be for ever in the mouths of Adiba." "Alas," said Haroun, "it is already too late. I have come to tell you that your people are quitting the town. As I brought my men back, I encountered hundreds of the townsmen in the desert, and though I did all in my power to persuade them to return, they mocked at me, and continued their flight in the direction of Bussorah. When, having left my men at a little distance, I came to the Bussorah gate, I found it so densely thronged with people passing through, that I was forced to obtain entrance by the Baghdad gate." Ali Khan, with a look of intense anger on his face, sprang to his feet, and said that he would go and see for himself what was happening. We followed him as he strode rapidly out of the palace, and the deserted streets through which we passed soon confirmed what Haroun had told us. Reaching the Bussorah gate, we were just in time to see the last of the panic-stricken people crushing through. They were making no noise, and were evidently in a condition of abject fear, intent only on escape from the town. Ali Khan and Haroun, getting among the crowd, alternately cursed them as cowards and cajoled them to return, but their threats and their persuasions were of no avail. No mortal man could have stemmed the tide, so great had proved the moral effect of a few shells on a people ignorant of modern arms. Between grief and rage at the disloyalty of his subjects, the Governor was, for a time, completely overcome, and was only roused by a stern rebuke from Haroun, whose courage never seemed to forsake him, and who remained unmoved by what had occurred. "We will go round," said Ali Khan, hopefully, "and see if our captains and their men are not still at their posts. It may be that the fugitives consist only of the women and children, and such of the men who are too old to fight." "I fear it is not so," said Haroun, "for I met many of the matchlock-men on the road outside, and they told me that it was impossible for anyone to stand another day of the accursed thunderbolts." Ali Khan, however, was sanguine, and it was not until he had visited several parts of the town, and found the whole place deserted, that he abandoned all hope and returned to the palace. There the same thing met us; the panic had spread during our short absence, even to the servants of the household and the wounded in the hospital; so that there remained with the Governor's wife and child only one faithful man and two women. The others had joined in the flight. Seeing that our host was now in a state bordering on madness, in that he insisted that our small party should barricade the palace and defend it to the last, Edwards and I determined to take the law into our own hands, and not permit such folly, while there was yet time to get away. So we took Haroun aside, and informed him of the terms that had been offered by the Amir, telling him also that there were still many hours before an answer would be expected. No sooner did he hear what we had to say than he promptly made up his mind how to act, and without replying to us, he went across the room to Ali Khan. "Lord," said he, in a determined and clear voice, "you are my master, but you are also my friend and my brother. We have all seen you challenge the lion, on many occasions, to single combat, and we are aware of your personal bravery. The lion which you would now fight has claws which no human being can resist, and to engage him single-handed is certain death. Were there any hope of success, I should be the last man to counsel aught but resistance. As it is, I counsel you to accept the fate that has come, and to leave Adiba for a while, if not on your own account, then for the sake of your wife and child. Come, forget your own vanity, which would impel you to display your courage to the last, and remember that there are others to be thought of. All your camels and mares have already left their grazing ground, as before riding in here I despatched an escort to drive them away to the north, and they have been now some hours on the road. My own men, as well as the riding camels with their matchlock-men, are waiting for me at a little distance from the walls. I will go and bring them in, while you prepare your household for departure, and I will escort you to Meshed Ali, where you can remain until such time as Adiba is restored to you." Ali Khan made no reply, until Haroun, growing impatient, moved towards the door, and said he would fetch his men. Then our host, with a deep-drawn sigh, spoke slowly and sadly. "So be it, Haroun," he said. "I will go, but only that I may not see my child suffer before my eyes, and with the hope that he may live to wreak revenge on the tyrant of Hayil, and on those cowardly physicians who for years ate of my salt and then betrayed me." Haroun hurried off, and we remained to assist the Governor to get ready for the journey. That he had no intention of leaving many of his personal belongings for his enemies was evident, and he, his wife, the servants, and ourselves were kept busy carrying his possessions to the courtyard of the palace, until we heard the clatter of Haroun's horses outside. The camels were brought in, loaded up, and sent forward, half a dozen at a time, under small escorts. Most of the horsemen and camelmen were employed for the space of nearly an hour in securing everything of value in the Governor's stores, all being promised extra rewards if Meshed Ali were reached in safety. Then, when the last bale of silk had been hoisted on to a camel's back, we saw the women and the child placed on other camels, and leading our horses out of the stable in the courtyard, we rode through the dark and silent streets to the Baghdad gate. It was a most painful experience, and I pray that I may never assist at a similar one. No word was spoken; but, mingled with the noise of the horses' hoofs, I could hear, as I rode close behind Ali Khan, what were, only too plainly, his suppressed sobs. As far as I could estimate, it was about eleven o'clock when we left the empty town to its fate, and we had before us six or seven hours of darkness within which to escape. For, until daybreak, the Amir would take no measures against the town, and it was probable that he was already confident of the acceptance of his terms. That he would pursue, Haroun said, was most unlikely, as the capture of Adiba and the sacking of it would keep his army employed for many days. So it proved; and throughout our long journey we were never troubled by the thought of pursuit. CHAPTER XV. FATE. We travelled fast all night, and overtaking the laden camels, the milch camels, and the mares, at different points, left them to come on with their escorts, while we trotted ahead as rapidly as the riding camels could go, though Haroun's horses were somewhat knocked up after their hard day's work. No regular halt was made next day, as Haroun wished to put as great a distance as possible between ourselves and Adiba, and we must have covered quite sixty miles before it was decided that we might encamp in safety, and await the arrival of the parties still in rear. The route followed was that which we had taken in the reverse direction a month or more before, when we accompanied Ali Khan to his town; but how different were the circumstances--then it was the triumphal home-coming of a great man; now, the best that could be said for it was that it resembled an ignominious flight. Once only during that long day's ride did Ali Khan recover his spirits. It was when Haroun related the details of his fight of the day before--as bloody an encounter as perhaps the desert ever witnessed. It seems that when, towards sunset, the guns opened fire on the town, and the fresh body of horsemen issued from the enemy's position, to relieve those who had been engaged all day, Haroun welcomed their appearance on the scene. Throughout the day he had manoeuvred, as we had surmised, in such a position as to mask the fire of the guns; but his plan was twofold, and he had great hopes of being able to draw his opponents away to the trap which he had carefully prepared for them. About a mile and a half to the north-west of the town was a steep-sided watercourse, at this season devoid of water, and at a certain point the pilgrim track descended into it and out on the other side. In the bed of this watercourse Haroun, in the morning, had ordered the matchlock-men with the camels to ensconce themselves and await events. In vain he tried to break away towards the watercourse, but each time he found himself outmanoeuvred and headed back, and he began to think that his foes understood his design. When, however, in the evening, they fled from the field, and he followed in pursuit, he became hopeful of cutting them off and driving them in the required direction. But since they rode straight for the hills, he feared that if he followed he himself would be ambuscaded. His heart, therefore, gave a great leap when he saw the new arrivals riding down upon him, for he felt confident that horsemen, probably waiting for hours to be slipped from the leash, would not refuse to pursue him whithersoever he should lead them; and his judgment was not at fault. Before the wind flew Haroun's men, driving in their spurs, and urging their tired beasts to a final effort; behind followed the exultant pursuers, overhauling their quarry at every stride, and filling the air with their victorious war-howl. Barely fifty yards separated the one party from the other, as they galloped down the incline into the bed of the ravine. Haroun, glancing to the right and left, assured himself that his camelmen were prepared, and without checking his pace, crossed the watercourse, and led his men, now in a dense mass, up through the cutting in the bank on the far side. Then commenced the fusillade of the matchlock-men, and the sound of the first shot told Haroun that the moment for decisive action had come. He pressed forward until he saw that all his party had reached the level of the plain, when, with a mighty yell, he ordered them to wheel round and descend again into the watercourse. Half way down the slope they encountered the foremost of their pursuers, attempting to force their way through the cutting, and a fierce fight ensued. Then, seized with a panic, the unfortunate men of Hayil broke back into the watercourse, where they were met by the fire of the camelmen, who had now closed round their flanks and rear, and fired into them from a distance of only a few yards. Many of the eighty or ninety had already been killed, but the others fought gallantly, and made repeated charges on the camelmen, as well as on Haroun's horsemen, who, now frenzied by the sight of blood, made use of their spears with deadly effect. Haroun gloated over the affair as he related the tale, and Ali Khan was no less delighted at the Arab's exploits; as to myself,--and I fancy that Edwards had much the same feeling,--the wholesale butchery of brave men made me positively sick. That Haroun did not do things by halves was clear; for, not content with the slaughter in the ravine, he pursued the few of the enemy who succeeded in cutting their way out, and ruthlessly slew them. As a proof of his prowess, the chief drew attention to the spears of his men, and we could see that the blood that had been spilled still clotted the tufts of ostrich feathers on each man's bamboo. Disgusted at the whole thing, we two Englishmen could hardly speak for the rest of the day; but when we discussed it afterwards, we came to the conclusion that it was not fair to judge these men according to our accepted standard. Their business was to kill, by fair means or by foul; to them the bloodshed was of no more account than the shooting of pheasants to ourselves; moreover, they knew that their enemies would not have let slip a similar opportunity. We halted two days at our first camp, so that all the camels and horses might be assembled before we went any farther, and it was a comfort to everyone to learn from the last party that came in that there had been no sign of pursuit. Then we resumed our journey northwards, and, with all the horses and camels, made a goodly show. Day after day passed almost without incident; occasionally a small body of Bedouins was seen hovering about on our flanks, but they always made off as soon as a few of our escort rode out towards them; and at last we pitched our camp on the memorable spot, beside the lake, where, alas, Faris and I had stolen the horses--an act which I now grieved to think had been at the root of all the misfortune that had fallen on Adiba and its ruler. There we remained almost a week, as the beasts required rest and good grazing, and before we moved on again, I had grown to loathe the place. "I wish you would cheer up a bit," remarked Edwards one evening; "you have been in the blues ever since we got here, and it is not very lively for me, especially as it is all your show, and I only came to keep you company." "I simply cannot help it, old man," I said; "I am beastly sorry, but my conscience worries me dreadfully. If I could only go off to our poor old host, and tell him that I assisted in the stealing of his two wretched screws, I should feel ever so much better. Do you think I might?" "Rubbish!" said Edwards. "What earthly good would it do? You cannot undo what has been done. Besides, the knowledge that he had been humbugged would only add to his sorrow. Try to look at things as he does; ascribe it all to Fate, or, if you prefer it, to the Will of Allah. Think how ripping it will be to get back to Baghdad!" "I am not desperately keen about it," said I, "though I must confess that I would not mind a general clean up and a white man's dinner, before having another try for the Golden Girdle." "Haven't you forgotten that miserable bauble?" said my friend. "I hoped that it had quite gone out of your mind. As far as I am concerned, I have a return ticket for Baghdad, _viâ_ Meshed Ali. My circular tour is complete, and I do not propose to break the journey at Golden Girdle Junction." "All right," said I. "You wait till, one fine day, I walk into your house in Baghdad and tell you that I have got it." "Then," said Edwards, laughing, "I will send for the kawas' trusty tulwar, smack your kneeling form severely, and give you the order, 'Rise, Sir Walter Henderson, Knight of the Golden Girdle.'" "Scoffing sceptic," said I, "likewise sceptical scoffer--but here comes Haroun, and bubbling over with news, I can see. Well, sheik, what have you got to tell us?" "Something that will amuse you in these dull times," said he. "Last night some Shammar were disturbed in the camp while trying to steal our horses, and they succeeded in getting away. Of course, we thought that they were the same men who had stolen our other horses here on the occasion that you will remember. Some of my men pursued at once, and they have just now returned with three men and their horses, which they succeeded in capturing two hours from here. Last time we lost two horses; now we have got three, so we are the better by one, and two of them are of a good breed. Come and see them." No sooner did I see the captured horses than I recognised two out of the three as the property of Faris, and as the beasts that he and I had ridden on our visit to the seer. The horses were tied to the pegs of the Governor's tent, and the three Shammar, bound hand and foot, lay close by, awaiting sentence. I looked furtively at Haroun, wondering if he could possibly know anything, and my fear increased when I saw him shake out the contents of my own saddle-bags. There was my long-lost brush and comb, tooth-brush, underclothing, and various precious odds and ends, and I longed to seize them all up in my arms, carry them off, and purr over my old friends. Yet, I had to be most circumspect, and I dreaded lest Edwards should unwittingly give me away. A glance, however, told me that he quite understood the state of affairs. Then my discomfiture was further increased by Haroun calling to Ali Khan to look at the things, when the two turned over everything, while we explained their use. "Some unfortunate fellow-countryman of ours," said Edwards, "must have been robbed by these scoundrels." "So it seems," said Ali Khan, "but what I would like to know is what all you Englishmen are doing in the desert; is your country going to appropriate Arabia, as it has done, they tell me, nearly all the rest of the world." He was in a good humour, and I saw that he was only chaffing us; so I laughingly told him that when England conquered the country, he should be proclaimed Sultan of Arabia, which appeared to please him a good deal, for he forthwith made us a present of the Ingleezee's stolen property. "It's an ill wind, and so forth," murmured Edwards, as we bore away our treasures in triumph. "Lucky for you that Faris is not here; for after this you would never be able to induce him to believe that you were not a real live magician." "To tell you the truth," said I, "I am beginning to think that I _am_. But my conscience is troubling me again; I wonder if they will slaughter those three wretched thieves. I have a kind of fellow-feeling for them. I think I shall go and intercede for them." "Much better not," said Edwards. "It might only lead to complications; besides, as I said before, we really must try to be fatalists." "Yes, I know," I answered, "but perhaps it has been written in the fate of those men that a foreigner shall save their necks. Of course it was vile and wicked of them to try and steal the Governor's horses, and it certainly was more vile and more wicked of them to steal the horses that Faris and I had left in the ruins; but, after all, did I not myself steal a horse and sundry water-skins?" However, I thought that for once I would act on my own initiative, so while my companion was taking a siesta I slipped away and found Haroun, who was just going to take the thieves before the Governor. I asked him what sentence he thought they would receive, and was told that it was doubtful, but I was glad to hear that, in any case, it would not be death. Out of curiosity I went to the Governor's tent to hear him dispose of the prisoners, and I was much impressed with the trouble he took to arrive at all the facts. Haroun explained to me aside that if they were found guilty of attempting to steal from friends of their tribe, they would have their right hands cut off; otherwise they would be kept as prisoners until their tribe ransomed them, the ransom going to the men who had caught them. The trial took an immense time, but in the end Haroun proclaimed all Shammar to be his enemies, as his own tribe was a branch of the Aeniza; and Ali Khan declared that they had attempted to steal from their enemies, and would therefore remain prisoners until ransomed by their people. The next question was the amount of the ransom, and how their tribe was to be informed that they were prisoners. The Bedouins pleaded poverty, but finally suggested that if one of them were allowed to go and interview the members of the tribe, the necessary amount might be forthcoming. This course Haroun refused to allow, explaining to the Governor that it would undoubtedly lead to a powerful band of Shammar attacking the caravan, rescuing the prisoners, and probably looting everything. It was, therefore, arranged that the men should accompany us to Meshed Ali, from which place they should be permitted to communicate with their tribe. The day after this, we started on the last week of the march to Meshed Ali, and we soon learned that a prisoner's lot was no pleasant one. Each morning the wretched thieves were brought out, with their legs and hands tied, and placed on the backs of camels; and at the end of the day's march, three grave-like holes were dug in the ground for their reception. In these they were laid, with hands tied, legs chained to pegs, and their twisted hair fastened to other pegs on either side of their heads. Neither was this all, for, in order to render escape quite impossible, sticks were laid across the graves, and on them were piled up as many weighty articles of baggage as were thought necessary, only one small breathing-hole being left over the face. I remonstrated with Haroun on this harsh treatment, but he declared that it was the invariable custom, and that they did not really mind it. On the third day's march one of the prisoners was taken ill, and Edwards was asked to go and see him. "Now's your chance," said I, "tell the Governor that they have all three got symptoms of small-pox or something, and had better be turned adrift. The poor devils have had quite enough punishment for a crime which, in this land, is really no crime at all." "I will see what I can manage," said Edwards, as he went off. When he returned later on, he said that his courage had failed him at the last moment. He had quite made up his mind to act on my suggestion, but he was afraid that Ali Khan or Haroun might know the symptoms of small-pox, and so find him out. He thought, however, that by judicious questioning he might discover what the two chiefs knew of the disease, and if he found that they knew nothing, then, the next day, he would settle with his conscience whether humanity or honesty should have the first place. "The unfortunate man," said Edwards, "has dysentery, and is as weak as a cat. I have done this much for him: I went to Haroun and told him, without mentioning what was actually the matter, that the prisoner was very ill, and unless properly attended to might die at any moment. I pointed out that if he remained in that prison-hole he would certainly be dead before morning. Haroun, at first, went off on the old fate tack, and said he could not interfere; but when I told him that I would go and interview the Governor, he gave me leave to do what I thought best about the man. Well, the long and the short of it is that, if you do not mind, I am going to give the invalid a shakedown for the night in our tent." "Of course I do not mind," said I. "I thought you would not," said Edwards, "and I arranged with Haroun that, as soon as it was dark, he should come and help us bring the man over here. The only condition he made was that I would be responsible that he was handed over, dead or alive, in the morning, before we march." Great was the astonishment of the Shammar when we took him out of his hole, and conveyed him to our tent; and when Edwards explained to him that he was to remain with us for the night, so that he might be looked after, he almost wept with gratitude. He willingly promised that he would not betray our trust in him by attempting to escape, and he swore that, if he ever recovered his health and freedom, he would find a means of repaying us for our kindness. Little did we imagine that we were entertaining unawares, if not actually an angel, a man who, before long, would influence our every action. CHAPTER XVI. RESCUE. So ill was the unfortunate prisoner, that Edwards insisted that during the next day's march he should ride unfettered and in comparative comfort on a camel. He stood the journey well, and on reaching camp he was no worse than he had been at starting in the morning. Again he was consigned to our care and accommodated in our tent. We were now within four days' ride of Meshed Ali, and the Governor (as we still called him) decided that, before entering the town, it would be necessary to send forward messengers, with presents to the notables, requesting an asylum, and asking permission to rent suitable quarters. This, we learned, might take some considerable time, and in the meanwhile the _kafila_ was to halt and prepare for the entry into the Holy City. This delay was most annoying to Edwards and myself, for having returned, as it were, to the outskirts of civilisation, we were anxious to take an affectionate farewell of our friends, to whom we could be no longer of any assistance, and get away on our own business. Edwards, of course, wished to return to Baghdad as soon as possible; and I was equally desirous of seeking out Faris, with a view to learning if he had discovered anything about the Golden Girdle. "I have been thinking," said Edwards, "that we might clear out from here. I do not see any use in going on with Ali Khan to Meshed Ali. Our presence cannot make much difference, and I do not suppose that he and Haroun really care whether we see them all the way to the town or not. They will not want a doctor any longer, and they know that as soon as we reach Meshed Ali we shall continue the journey to Baghdad." "I quite agree," said I; "the only thing is that we must not do anything to wound the feelings either of Ali Khan or of Haroun. I am still haunted by the idea that it was entirely through us that the poor old Governor came to grief, and he has been a perfect brick about it. Just think what it all means to him." "Of one thing," said Edwards, "you may be certain. Directly I get back to Baghdad, I will induce the Consul-General to espouse his cause, and I will do my utmost to persuade him to worry the Turkish authorities to death, or at any rate until they have seen justice done to Ali Khan. If they choose, they can easily give Hayil a slap on the face, and reinstate Ali Khan at Adiba, that is to say if the town has not been destroyed." "Well," said I, "shall we go and suggest that we would like to go off to Baghdad at once, without waiting to go to Meshed Ali?" "We cannot tackle the business to-night," said Edwards. "It is too late now; I expect they have all turned in; but we will see about it in the morning. We have not yet settled what we are going to do about this feeble prisoner and his two friends." "Perhaps," I suggested, "they will let them go as our guides." "Not they," said Edwards. "Each of them means a bit of money--a ransom of a hundred camels for the lot, at least." "There is nothing for it then," said I, "but the small-pox yarn." "But I told Haroun to-day that I thought the sick man was ever so much better," remarked Edwards. Just then we noticed that our patient was sitting up on his rugs in the corner of the tent, and gazing at us intently. "Do you want anything?" asked Edwards. "Yes, Beg," said the Shammar, "I want to speak to you. I am so much better, thanks to your care, that I can now talk." "Probably you wish," said Edwards, "to ask me to let you escape. If that is what you want, I must tell you at once that, although I would gladly see you and the others go free, it cannot be, for I have promised that you shall not escape." "That does not trouble me," said the Bedouin, "since I have friends in Meshed Ali, and as soon as I reach the place, we shall be ransomed." "Then what is it that you wish to say?" asked Edwards. "I have travelled," said the man, "for several days now with you two Ingleezee; and, without your knowledge, I have watched all your actions. You are both kind and good men, but neither of you is the man whom we were seeking when we entered your camp by the marsh and were captured as supposed stealers of horses. We had no intention of taking horses or anything from any man, but we had heard that there were two Ingleezee travelling with the caravan, and we thought that one of them would be the man with whom we have a blood feud. We knew that two Ingleezee had come to the desert, because we found, at the ruins of Katib, the horse and saddle-bags of one of them, and had actually seen him. The other we know well, and for him have dared much, but only to be deceived, to be cheated, robbed, insulted, and even murdered. There must have been three of you. What have you done with the other?" "According to you," said Edwards, "there should be four, that is two besides my friend here and myself. There is the man with whom you are so anxious to settle accounts, and there is the man whose horse you say you found at the ruins of Katib." "No," said the Shammar, turning his eyes on me, "only three. The horse that we took at the ruins belonged to your friend." "How do you know this?" I asked, thrown off my guard by the suddenness with which the statement had been made. "Thus," he replied; "I met with an accident at the ruins, and was lying alone among the stones, not ten paces from the spot where you had left your horse, when you and that Faris of the Jelas came by, and I laughed when I saw that my friends had taken your horses and left you to walk. But of this I have spoken to no man outside of my own tribe." I now began to feel uncomfortable, for, as I said to myself, if this man were to disclose what he knew to Ali Khan, I should be in a very awkward predicament. Here was evidence that I and Faris, deprived of our horses, had been seen walking away from the ruins towards the marsh, just at the very time that Ali Khan's horses had been stolen, and I was quite sure that any Arab of ordinary intelligence would be able to put two and two together. "Why did you not tell this to your captors when you were taken?" I asked. "Because," said the man, "they would not have believed me. But when I felt very ill, some days back, I was on the point of disclosing everything. Then you came to succour me, and since that time I have been filled with gratitude towards you both--so much so, that even if I were now to be in peril of my life, I would hold my peace concerning what I saw at those ruins, unless it should be your wish that I should speak." "What harm would it do my friend," asked Edwards, "were you to proclaim that you saw him at Katib? The ruins are free to all." "Even so," said the Shammar, "but we in the desert know all things. News travels fast. We have heard that Faris did not enter the Jelas encampment on foot, but riding a horse stolen from this self-same Governor of Adiba, then encamped by the marsh at no great distance from Katib. Another horse was stolen at the same time. By whom was it stolen?" He looked at me, and smiled; but I did not reply at once to his question. I was convinced that he was trying to drive a bargain; that in return for his silence he was to be given his liberty; and I felt that he had got me up into a corner, with power to do much as he pleased with me. At first I thought I would bluff him; then I remembered a piece of advice that Faris once gave me, which was to the effect that one might humbug a townsman with success, but that with a true Bedouin, honesty would be found to be the best policy. "What matter does it make," said I, "by whom the horse was stolen? The man who stole it required it. The man who lost it could well do without it. So we will say no more on that point. But tell me of this third Ingleezee whom you know so well, and whose blood you wish to shed." "Whence he came," said the Bedouin, "I cannot tell you, but our sheik, after a visit to Kerbela, brought him back with him to our tents. Since that time, I and all the men of the tribe have had misfortunes. Sheik Abbas was slain in battle by your cruel friend Faris; his nephew, even he who became sheik at the death of Abbas, disappeared at Katib with two trusty companions. We doubt not that they were murdered by a shaitan who dwelt in the ruins. I and ten others--all that remained of our family--went to Katib to find them, but our search was fruitless." "So, in revenge," said I, "you slew the shaitan, otherwise Raspul, Priest of the Goddess Sophana." "How know you?" asked the man. "How I know matters not," I answered. "But I know it, and, furthermore, I know that you stole from his dead body that golden belt, which undoubtedly has proved as great a curse to you as it has to all men who have touched it." "Since you know these things," said he, "you and Faris must have watched us from some hiding-place." "True," said I. "Then you saw all?" "We saw you break in the roof of the temple, and kill Raspul; and we saw a man descend by a rope." The Shammar opened his eyes wide, drew a deep breath, and sighed. "Come now," said I, "tell me what happened to you afterwards." "There were eleven of us," said he, "and that Ingleezee. As we fled from the ruins, my horse tripped and rolled over with me, leaving me with an injured leg, and galloping loose after the others. It was then that I lay among the stones for many hours, and after a time I saw you and Faris go by. Next day three of my friends came back to fetch me, and we went together to the place where they had left the Ingleezee and the others. All had disappeared. We found the horses' hoof marks, and we followed them up. They were galloping fast, and though we rode rapidly we could not overtake them. At length, after several days, we found the body of one of our friends, lying in the desert. He had been shot by a bullet from the Ingleezee's pistol. Farther on, we came on another of our men, who had also been shot, but was not yet dead; and from him, before he died, we learned all that had occurred. How the Ingleezee had seized that serpent belt, refusing to pay anything that he had promised; how he had ridden away with it; how my people had pursued him; and how when they were overtaking him, he turned upon them and shot them with his pistol. But that was not all the evil that he did; for as we journeyed on, we overtook the rest of the men in a _wadi_, four of them had been wounded, three, as it proved, mortally, and the others had abandoned farther pursuit, in order to attend to their friends. Then we all bound ourselves by an oath that we would not rest again in our tents until we had buried our knives in the body of that Ingleezee. Whither he escaped we could never discover, for shortly afterwards a great sand-storm blew over us, and we were unable to again find the footprints of his horse. It may be that he perished in the storm, but we continued to search for him in all directions. After some weeks, we heard that two Ingleezee were living at Adiba, and I and my two companions started for that place; but, before we had gone very far, we met some Bedouins who told us that the town had been captured by Hayil, and that the Governor and the two Ingleezee were fleeing in our direction. So we halted near the marsh of the great lake, and the rest you are acquainted with. But when I am again free, I shall continue the search for your countryman, and one day, if it please Allah, I shall see him die." I had purposely refrained from interrupting the Shammar as he told his tale, though I frequently wished to break in and ask questions. Now, however, I could satisfy my curiosity. "What manner of man," I asked, "is that Ingleezee?" "A fat man," was the reply, "and dark, not of a red colour like you two." "Are you sure that he is an Englishman? May he not be a native of some other country of Europe?" "That I cannot say. I know nothing of the distinctions between the inhabitants of one country and of another. I only know that he is a European." "Did you not know," I asked, "why he came with your sheik from Kerbela?" "At first, we were told that he came to see the desert, as Europeans do sometimes. Then, one day, Sheik Abbas called us together and told us that the seer at Katib possessed a gold belt, which the Ingleezee desired to buy; that he would give 5000 kerans for it, and that two of us should go and ask Raspul to sell it. So I and another went to the ruins, and interviewed the seer. He told us that he had no belt, but afterwards he brought it and showed it to us, and expressed his willingness to part with it. We arranged with him that the price should be 2000 kerans, so that we might all share with Sheik Abbas the other 3000, and he agreed to bring the belt to a certain spot near Babil on a certain day. Proudly, we returned to our tents, and told the sheik what we had done, and the Ingleezee, on hearing it, gave each of us some gold money as bakhshish." "But," I inquired, "had the Ingleezee 5000 kerans with him, so that he might purchase the belt?" "No," said the Bedouin, "he had only a little money, but a Jew in Kerbela had told our sheik that, if the Ingleezee wrote on a piece of paper the amount of any sum that he required, then Yusuf Mersina, the Baghdad merchant, would pay it. So the Ingleezee wrote down 5000 kerans and gave the paper to the sheik, and it was agreed that when Raspul delivered over the belt, Sheik Abbas should take it and the paper to Baghdad, and receive the money, and we were to ride with the Ingleezee to Bussorah." "Why was not the Ingleezee to take the belt?" I asked. "Because Sheik Abbas would not let it go out of his possession until he received the money, since he was to be responsible to the seer for the payment of the 2000 kerans." "I understand," said I. "But tell me, did the seer bring the belt to the appointed place?" "No," said the man, "a curse on him! We waited for him for three hours: in his stead came your Faris; and Sheik Abbas fell at his hands. Then the Ingleezee spoke to Sheik Ahmed, and said that if he procured the belt he would give 5000 kerans. Ahmed went to Katib to see Raspul, taking with him two men; and those three we have never seen since. It was thus that the rest of us went to the ruins, and carried off the belt, hoping to obtain the 5000 kerans from the Ingleezee. But my friends tell me that he took the belt and sewed it up in his cloak, and when they demanded the money, he told them that he had already paid Sheik Abbas 5000 kerans, and that he could pay no more. It was then that he rode away, as I have already related." The man was so exhausted by talking, that Edwards now insisted on his taking a draught and going to sleep. We ourselves sat up for some time, discussing matters, and trying to unravel the mystery of the stranger who had defeated me over the Golden Girdle. As we worked it out, the whole thing seemed clear enough. Some foreigner knew as much as I did about the Girdle, and had somehow learned that it was in existence above ground. He had apparently discovered this from someone at Kerbela, who had handed him over to the Shammar. The German note which we had read was, of course, his order for the payment of the 5000 kerans to Sheik Abbas. The courage of the man astounded us; he made up his mind to annex the Girdle; to keep it, he had made free use of his revolver, and though I did not admire his bloodthirsty methods, it was a bitter thing to me to have to acknowledge that I was not in the running with such a man. "I am afraid it is all up with the prize now, George," I said. "Yes, I am afraid so," said Edwards. "But we will get back to Baghdad, and put the screw on this Yusuf Mersina, until he divulges the name of the villain." "That will not help much," I said. "He has probably reached Bussorah long ago, and is half way to Europe by now." "A wire will stop him at Karachi, or Aden, or somewhere, and have him arrested for murdering Turkish subjects," said Edwards. "That would not be very sporting," I replied. "I expect the best thing will be to say nothing of what we have heard." We were both soon asleep, and of what actually happened after that, and when it happened, I have no knowledge. All I can say is that at some time in the night I was aroused by a slight rustling noise in the tent, and before I was half awake I felt myself being smothered by something like a rug being held over my face. Thinking that I was suffering from nightmare, I kicked and struggled, and wondered when I was going to wake up, but the comforting feeling that it was only a dream never came. Instead of it, several hands seemed to hold me down, and presently, as I still struggled, they gripped me harder and harder, and I found that my legs and arms were being bound with ropes. Then suddenly, fingers passed across my face, under the rug; my mouth was prised open, and, before I could utter a sound, a great wooden gag was thrust between my teeth, and secured by a string behind my neck. In this state, and in total darkness, I was left for a few minutes; then two men quietly lifted me up, and carried me outside the tent, away into the black night, at a jog-trot One man had his arms round my knees, while the other supported my shoulders; and I soon found that by no amount of struggling could I free myself. After travelling in this uncomfortable manner for, it may have been, half a mile, I was deposited on the ground, and a moment later was hoisted on to the back of a squatting camel, and secured with ropes to one side of a pannier-like framework. What weight on the other side balanced mine I could not see, as, although there was a certain amount of light from the stars, the great hump of the beast blocked my view. Several men held on to me as the camel was made to rise, and it was as well; for otherwise, in all probability, I should have had many broken bones. A lurch backwards, a lurch forwards, and a final lurch sideways, brought me high above the ground; then came a frantic plunge, and I knew that the "ship of the desert" had set sail. CHAPTER XVII. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. The pace was rapid, and the motion painful in the extreme. So uncomfortable was I, that I found it quite impossible to collect my thoughts, and I could not understand why I was being subjected to this hideous torture. My bones ached all over, my body was becoming numbed, and the gag in my mouth almost choked me. Yet I was powerless to do anything, except gaze upwards at the stars, which appeared to swish wildly backwards and forwards, as if attempting to fall in with the gait of the camel. Was I another Mazeppa? Was I to be thus carried about the desert until death came to my relief? Had all this been brought about by the goddess Sophana, wrathful at my desire to possess her sacred girdle? Such thoughts passed rapidly through my brain, and became jumbled up with countless other thoughts. I lost consciousness, and regained it only to find the same eternal condition of affairs, to hear the same thud of the camel's feet, and to feel the same dipping plunge, as the legs on my side of the beast flew forward. At last, I felt that I could stand it no longer, and I prayed fervently that I might die before I went mad. I thought that my prayer was about to be answered; I thought that I was dying, when suddenly I heard shouting, and, without any warning, the camel's legs appeared to scatter in all directions. The "ship of the desert" had cast anchor, and so severe was the shock to my feeble body, that every atom of breath was knocked out of it. When I recovered, I found myself lying in a delightfully shady grove of date trees, my arms and legs free, and a saddle-bag supporting my head. I looked listlessly around, and saw a few camels and horses, and, at a little distance, a group of Arabs squatting round a fire, and eating their food. I turned over, and looked on the other side, and there, to my surprise and delight, I saw George Edwards lying peacefully asleep, within a yard of me. I tried to speak, but my jaw was stiff, and my tongue would not move; so I sank back, and, utterly exhausted, dropped off to sleep again. When next I awoke, Edwards was sitting by my side, and our Shammar patient was holding a vessel of water to my parched lips. How I drank! And, as I drank, new life seemed to enter into me. [Illustration: "WHEN NEXT I AWOKE EDWARDS WAS SITTING BY MY SIDE."] "If this is a dream, George," I remarked, "it is the most beastly nightmare that I have ever assisted at." "It is no dream, old chap," he said. "It is a stern reality. Thank goodness that it is over." "What has been going on, then?" I asked. "I have just been hearing about it from our sick friend here," said Edwards. "Unbeknown to him, his pals planned a rescue, and it seems that they had been watching us for days. They managed to bring away all three of the supposed horse-thieves, as well as their three horses and two others, so they did pretty well." "Why did they bother to bring _us_?" I asked. "They have apologised most humbly," said Edwards, "but they say that it was absolutely necessary that Ali Khan should be induced to believe that we had assisted in the escape of the prisoners." "Rather rough," said I, "that we should be made the scape-goats, considering all the trouble you took about the sick man. Nice sort of Englishmen old Ali Khan will think us, eating of his salt and accepting his hospitality, and then assisting to rob him of his lawful prisoners and his horses." "I know," said Edwards; "but we will look up Ali Khan some day, and set matters right. How are you feeling after that awful jolting?" "Limp," I answered, "disgustingly limp. Were you also trussed up on the side of a camel?" "Much like yourself," said he. "I was on the same beast as yourself--only that mountain of a hump between us. But I did not discover it until I was taken down. I expect we shall be stiff for days." Then we talked over all that had occurred, and I found that our experiences had been very similar, except that our kidnappers very nearly did for Edwards by keeping the cloth too tight over his face while they were tying him up. In fact, he had no recollection of anything until he felt the cold air rushing across his face, as the camel bore him along. We congratulated each other on having weathered the tempestuous voyage, and we actually laughed over it--so ludicrous did it seem, now that it was all over. According to what Edwards had heard from the men, we must have come sixty or seventy miles straight on end, as they were afraid of being followed; and how our sick man had survived the journey we could not understand. There did not, however, seem to be much the matter with him, and while we were talking he appeared on the scene, bringing us some food. "We were just wondering, Daud," said Edwards, addressing him, "why you are alive. Surely you must be feeling ill after the long ride." "Lord," answered the Bedouin, "it is good to be once more free in the desert. It was the confinement that was killing me." Naturally anxious to find out what was in store for us, we set to work to cross-question our friend, while we ate the food which he had brought. We learned that he and his two fellow-prisoners knew nothing of the proposed rescue until it was an accomplished fact. Their rescuers had never been able to communicate with them, although they had entered the camp on more than one night, and had discovered how everything was situated. Then they formed their plan, which was certainly a bold one. Originally, the party had consisted of no more than six men, but not daring to attempt the rescue with so few, the chief went off and secured the services of ten of his kinsmen; and to each of the sixteen was allotted a separate task. That they were all men to be trusted to carry through a desperate enterprise the chief knew well; for he was aware that if the courage of one man failed, the plan would be wrecked. He himself and three others were to remain at some distance from the camp, in charge of two camels and the horses of the party; five men were to capture the horses; three to release the two prisoners from their holes in the ground; and four to carry off ourselves and the man lying sick in our tent. Nothing was left to chance; each man knew exactly where he had to go, and each had sworn that if he were detected in the act of performing his part, he would do all in his power to induce his captors to believe that he was a thief who had entered the camp alone. Everything worked without a hitch, and our friend was delighted at the brilliant success. "I am sorry," he said, as he concluded his story, "that it should have been necessary to put you, my two kind friends, to so much discomfort, but you may be sure that I will ever look after your welfare, and when you shall have accomplished that for which the chief brought you away, then you shall take your horses, and we will see you to within a safe distance of Baghdad." "I thought," said Edwards, "that you said that we were carried off, so that Ali Khan might be deceived about your rescue." "That was so," replied the Arab, "and that was what the chief of the party at first told me. He has since given me a second reason; but he will come presently to pay his respects to you, and will then explain everything." It was not long before the promised visit was paid, and our visitor, who was accompanied by nearly all the members of the party, delighted us by his urbanity--if such a term can be used of a real child of the desert. He was frank and open in his speech, and he told us that he and his men felt greatly honoured by having us with them; that he hoped that we had not suffered much bodily pain by our long ride; and that we would not want for anything while we remained their guests. Then he shook each of us warmly by the hand; smiled on us; and, before we realised that he had told us nothing, walked away. We were on the point of calling after him to stay and explain matters, when Daud, our sick man, whispered to us to have patience; the chief, he said, could not speak fully before all his men, but he would return later, when the camp had settled down for the night. So we possessed our souls in patience, and spent the remaining hour or so of daylight in making ourselves comfortable in the little wigwam that had been erected for us. Soon after dark, Daud returned with the chief, who brought with him his long pipe, whereby we knew that the sitting was to be of considerable duration. His conversation was delightful, and he discussed nearly everything under the sun; but, to our intense annoyance, kept away from the only topic which for the time being was of interest to us. He recounted deeds of personal valour, and told us of his many encounters with the Aeniza; he dilated on the pleasures of Baghdad; and described the fanaticism of the pilgrims who visit the Holy Shrine at Kerbela each year; and I verily believe that he would have left us in ignorance of the future, had I not summoned up courage to put a direct question to him. "Tell us now, sheik," I said, "how we can be of service to you. We are willing to assist you in any way that we can, but my friend is eager to return to his duties at Baghdad as soon as it shall be convenient to you." "Dear me," said he, "I had almost forgotten the object of my visit, so pleasant have I found your company. But now that you have recalled me to myself, we will discuss business." Long and earnestly did he then speak, and he gave us a full explanation for his having carried us off from Ali Khan's camp. There were three reasons. The first was, as Daud had told us, in order to deceive Ali Khan, and so prevent him from having a cause of everlasting feud with the Shammar tribesmen. As matters stood, it was his hope that Ali Khan would think that Edwards and I had released the three prisoners, and had assisted in the theft of the five horses, for them and ourselves to ride. The second reason was that the sheik knew that Daud was ill and might require the attention of a doctor; he knew that one of us was a doctor, but being uncertain which, had thought it advisable to bring both of us. But the third reason was the most important, and doubtless the real cause of our having been kidnapped. "From my friend Daud," continued the sheik, "I have learned much information concerning you. From him also you have learned many things, and you know of your mysterious fellow-countryman, as well as of his evil deeds. You know also of the gold belt which he has with him, and for which he promised to pay 5000 kerans. But of more recent events neither you nor Daud have heard." Then he related how he and his men had come to know that the "ill-born Ingleezee," as he styled him, had taken refuge with two Jews who lived in a hovel close to the Birs Nimroud--the reputed Tower of Babel, a few miles from Hillah. These Jews had always been firm friends of the Shammar, and had helped them out of many difficulties, and for that reason they felt bound to respect the person of the man who had become the _dakhil_, or protected guest, of the Jews. They were thus cheated of their revenge, and the blood feud was at an end. Yet, there was now a hope that the Ingleezee, who was very ill, would be induced to pay them the money for the belt; in fact, he had told the Jews that he would do so, if he should recover sufficiently to reach Baghdad. The long and the short of it was that Edwards was to go and treat the man, so that the Shammar might get their 5000 kerans. We were, we were told, barely twenty-five miles from the spot, and it was proposed that we should rest the next day, starting on the journey at nightfall. We willingly agreed to undertake the work, for we were naturally inquisitive as to the strange individual of whom we had heard such queer tales. Moreover, I saw before me a chance of striking a bargain for the Golden Girdle. I was prepared to pay the Shammar what had been promised, and to give the mysterious foreigner something for himself in addition. I built palatial castles in the air, and continued to build them until long after our host had brought his visit to a close. The Serpent Belt of Sophana lay within measurable distance of my grasp. Two days hence it might be actually mine. Before the week had ended, Edwards and I might be back in Baghdad, when a wire to my uncle announcing my success would make the name of Walter Henderson famous, if not in the world, at any rate in the British Museum. My mother had often told me how, when I was quite a small boy, she had been present, at the Albert Hall, at the reception given to the great Stanley, on his return from the Emin Pasha expedition; and how the Prince of Wales and all London were there to do him honour. I trembled to think what was in store for me. Would I also have to face tier above tier of London society? Would I have to deliver an address, and relate all my experiences? Undoubtedly all these things would happen, and more besides. I should, of course, be commanded to a private audience of the King at Buckingham Palace, so that he might inspect the Girdle, before others had seen it. Then I thought of the endless dinners of various learned societies in London, whereat I should be the guest of the evening. I began to wonder if I could stand it all; or if it would not be better to seek the post of commander-in-chief to Ali Khan, when he should be reinstated at Adiba. So I dreamed on far into the night, and the sleep that followed was unbroken for many hours of the following day. At dusk we prepared for our new journey, and our friend Daud himself brought us our horses, smiling as he told us that the chief presented them to us. I was given the horse that I had ridden to the ruins of Katib with Faris, while Faris's own horse was bestowed on Edwards. "Little did you think," remarked Daud to me, "that you would ever ride this horse again." "We never know," said I, "what is written in our fate." "True," said he; "Allah alone knows." [Illustration: "DAYLIGHT SHOWED US, IN THE FAR DISTANCE, THE MOUND OF THE BIRS NIMROUD"] Then, by the light of a glorious moon, we all rode out across the trackless expanse--a few men ahead, a few on either flank, and others in rear; and thus we continued to ride, Daud and the sheik ever conversing with us, until the moon paled before the rising sun, and daylight showed us, in the far distance, the mound of the Birs Nimroud. CHAPTER XVIII. TRUE FRIENDSHIP. During the heat of the day we halted in a grove, while two men rode on to inform the Jews that an English doctor and his companion were on their way to visit the Ingleezee refugee. Late that night they returned, saying that our arrival would be welcomed by the invalid, who was no better. So, shortly afterwards, we continued our journey, and in the early hours of the morning reached our destination, when the sheik, bidding us remain a few yards away, went on to interview the Jews. He came back almost at once, with the news that the Ingleezee was alone in the hut, as the Jews had left him some hours before. The man was evidently very ill, and wished to see the English doctor as soon as possible, but requested the sheik to keep his Arabs outside the hut. The squalid dwelling which we entered had but one small room, which was badly lighted by an oil lamp standing on the floor. In one corner lay the man whom we had come to succour. Speaking with a feeble voice, he addressed us in English, but with a foreign accent. The voice was familiar to me, but I could not remember ever to have seen the scrubbly-bearded face of the speaker, who was shading his eyes and gazing into my face. "Valter 'Enderson," he said, "you do not recollect poor Fritz Kellner." I stared at him in amazement, and, completely overcome, I could find no words with which to reply. It was a terrible shock to me to see my ever-cheery cabin companion in so desperate a plight, and to think that he and his revolver had played such havoc with the Shammar. I turned away from him almost in horror, while Edwards knelt down and examined him; then, when I had roused myself to a sense of duty, I went across and took his hand. "My poor friend," I said, "how _could_ you have come to this?" "It was that accursed Girdle," said he. "Take my advice, and touch it not; for within it lies a devil incarnate, goading one to madness, and impelling one to do such things as no sane man would dream of doing. But it is a lovely treasure--the most superb piece of workmanship that I have ever handled; and to have been the possessor of it even for a few days was well worth all the hardships that I have endured." "Do you not now possess it?" I asked. "You speak as if it were a thing of the past." "Alas," he replied, "I had to let it go. The Jews who are my hosts heard a few hours ago that a strong party of Aeniza were in search of it, and had discovered that I had it here. They may arrive at any moment; but they will be disappointed, for the Girdle is now being conveyed by the two Jews to a place of safety." No sooner did I hear that we were likely to be visited by Aeniza, than I slipped out of the hut, to warn our people. Day was already breaking, and the Shammar sheik laughed when I told him that the Aeniza were coming. They feared no Aeniza, he said; though, even as he spoke, he motioned to his men to get to their horses; and as I returned to the hut, I saw him lead them away, at a canter, to a hollow in the ground situated half a mile or so from the spot. For a long while Edwards and I sat silently watching the unfortunate German, who now had sunk into a restless sleep. "Can he possibly pull round?" I asked in a whisper. "I should not like to offer an opinion," said Edwards. "I have not overhauled him properly; but, as far as I can make out, he is in an awful state. If I had him in hospital at Baghdad, I might do something for him. Here, without any appliances, I am powerless." "What can we do?" I asked. "We ought to send, or one of us go, into Hillah," said he, "and get our friend the Captain to take the man into his hospital. It cannot be many miles from here, as you will remember that we visited the Tower one morning from Hillah." "I'll go off myself," I said, "if you will stay and look after the man. I daresay the sheik will see me on the way, as he is interested in Kellner's recovery, though I had better not say that the Girdle has got adrift again." The words were hardly out of my mouth before the sound of countless galloping horses broke on our ears; and, rushing to the door, we opened it a couple of inches and peered out. The whole place seemed to be alive with Bedouin horsemen, and before we could secure the door, the two foremost of the party, springing from their horses, had torn it open. We recoiled towards the corner where lay the feeble Kellner, who, either in a state of delirium, or from force of habit, sat up and snatched his revolver from under his pillow. Edwards, however, seized his wrist, as his finger touched the trigger, and the bullet buried itself in the roof. But the report of the pistol was the signal for a general assault on the hut; we ourselves were quickly overpowered, and the whole place was levelled to the ground almost before we knew what had happened. Then, above the din, I heard a voice which to me was music. It was the rallying shout of the great Faris; there was no mistaking it; and, a second later, my hand grasped his, and Sedjur and Edwards simultaneously recognised each other. "So it is you," said Faris, after he had recovered from his first surprise, "whom I have been hunting for so long. How did you succeed in carrying off that serpent belt?" "I have it not," I answered. "I have never seen it since that horrible night when Raspul was killed." "But they told me," said Faris, "that an Ingleezee had secured it, and had ridden with it to this spot." "That may have been true," I replied, "yet----" I broke off suddenly, remembering then for the first time that our Shammar friends were lying in ambush close by, ready to fall on the Aeniza. I was in a dilemma, and I could see that Edwards had also forgotten everything, in his joy at meeting Faris and Sedjur again. To betray the Shammar, I felt, would be base in the extreme. To allow them to surprise the Aeniza would be still more base. Bloodshed must be avoided at all costs. I knew that the mere handful of men of which the Shammar party consisted, would stand no chance against the hundred or more Aeniza who were with Faris; I felt convinced, also, that, however great the risk, the Shammar sheik would not hesitate to attack. All this passed through my mind in the space of a minute, and within that minute I had also decided on the course I would pursue. "Sheik Faris," I said, and I spoke rapidly, "I am well acquainted with your generosity. Grant me a favour." "To you, magician," he answered, laughing, "I will grant anything you ask, knowing, as I do, that you possess the power to take it, whether I grant it or not." "Then," said I, "bid your men mount at once. A score of Shammar lay concealed over yonder. They are my friends, and I ask of you that there shall be no bloodshed." "You are certainly taxing my generosity," said he, "but, though I do not pretend to be a Hatim Tai, your friends shall be shown the road to safety." Collecting his men, and leading them out, Faris rode towards the spot which I had pointed out to him while I watched anxiously to see what would happen I had not to wait long, however; for, before the Aeniza had gone a few yards, I saw, to my intense relief, that even the Shammar were aware that discretion is the better part of valour, and were in full flight across the desert. Faris pursued only to such a distance as to lead his foes to believe that he was in earnest, and then, recalling his men, brought them back to the shadow of the Birs Nimroud. What astonished the sheik more than anything was the recovery of his own two horses, which we had lost at the ruins of Katib; and, as Edwards had foretold long before, he ascribed it to my dealings with magic. "One thing is certain," said Faris, after he had heard all our adventures, "and that is that we cannot remain here. Hillah is too near, and the Turkis are in a restless state just now. Our tents are but four days' journey away; our riding camels we can reach to-night; the Jews who have made away with your heart's desire we shall yet reckon with; so you and the good Hakim shall come once again to the Jelas tents, and we will start as soon as possible." "But what shall we do with the sick stranger?" I asked. "Leave him to the vultures," was the curt reply. "Great sheik," I said reprovingly, "that was not spoken out of the heart of Faris-ibn-Feyzul. What if the Englishman who found your wounded Sedjur had uttered such words?" "Then what do you wish to do with him?" asked Faris. "You say that he is too ill to ride, and we must move quickly." Edwards and I consulted, and, much against my will, I felt bound to act as he advised. We could not abandon Kellner; to take him away into the desert would probably kill him; moreover, since Edwards had no medicines with him, he could do little or nothing for the ailing German, even if the journey did not prove fatal. On the other hand, Hillah lay only a few miles away, and the Turkish hospital there was well-equipped. So we decided that Kellner must be conveyed to Hillah, and as, of course, the Aeniza would not go near the place, we two would have to accompany him. Now came the difficulty; to walk was out of the question, Kellner had no horse, and the horses which we had been riding belonged to Faris, who, however, was in possession of the two horses which we had brought with us from Baghdad. In the end, we agreed to lay the matter before the sheik, and trust to his generosity to help us. At first he was greatly disappointed at the thought that we proposed to leave him, as he had intended to give us a grand reception at his headquarters, and he had hoped that we would have travelled with his people when they moved to their winter grazing grounds in the Hamad. He argued with us about the folly of abandoning our search for the Girdle, after all that we had passed through, and when there was every hope of our obtaining it, but finding that our minds were made up, and that no words of his would make us change them, he accepted the inevitable, and acted in a far more noble manner than we could have expected. "You shall have your wish," said he, "and some day you will again visit the Jelas tents, where you will always be truly welcome. I shall send away to their camp all my men save six, who, with Sedjur and myself, will ride with you this night to the very walls of the town. There we shall leave you ere day dawns, when we can gallop away out of danger, and overtake our camels on the way to the tents." How grateful we felt to the great man for this fresh mark of friendship we found it difficult to convey to him in words, and Kellner, on hearing the news that within twenty-four hours he would be lodged safely in the hospital at Hillah, sobbed with joy. The glittering spears of the Aeniza soon passed away over the distant sky-line, and our small party, lying in a sand hollow, awaited the fall of night. Almost before it was dark, we set out on what Edwards and I felt was our return to the world. It was a slow journey, for we moved at a walk, two of the Bedouins on foot carrying Kellner, who was found to be incapable of sitting on a horse. But the distance was not great, and, soon after midnight, we saw the walls of Hillah outlined against the starlit sky. Faris led us silently to a small date garden, in the corner of which was a hut, where dwelt an old man, who, he told us, was his friend--or, more correctly, his paid spy. Entering the hut, the sheik soon found the owner, sleeping within the doorway, and a conversation of some length followed. Then a candle was lighted in the inner room, and we were informed that we could stay there for the remainder of the night. Making Kellner as comfortable as was possible in a corner of the room, we received our last instructions from Faris. As soon as the gates of the town were open, the old man would go and interview the doctor at the hospital, and relate how three Europeans had found their way during the night to his house, and that one of them was very ill. In all probability, a Turkish guard would then be sent out to fetch us in, after which it would be for us to act as circumstances dictated. More than that the sheik regretted that he could not arrange. We thanked him profusely for what he had done for us, and I promised that, if it were ever possible, I would come to the desert again and pay him a visit. He made us a present of the two horses, saying that we might require them to reach Baghdad; and then, to my delight, he lifted up his cloak, and unfastened my chamois-leather belt from his waist. "I have worn it for safety," said he, "ever since I returned to my tent from our ride to the ruins. Your other goods, and those of the Hakim, I will watch over until we meet again." "And should we not come again," I answered, "then keep the things in remembrance of us. There is little of value." "The money in your belt, O magician," continued Faris, laughing as he handed it to me, "still remains untouched. Thus again does your magic recover your long-lost goods. Would that it had brought you Queen Sophana's Serpent Belt also? But I will find it for you. I will yet prove that I am worthy of the reward of the great Shahzadi's shoe. Return to Baghdad, and rest there until a message calls you to the desert. I say no more. Be patient. Allah is great." Gripping our hands in silence, the sheik and Sedjur parted from us with unfeigned grief, and strode out into the darkness. A moment later we heard a muffled word of command, followed by a clatter of hoofs, and the party had gone. Sleep was out of the question. The day's work had been full of incident, and a dubious morrow was before us. We had much to think over, and many things to discuss; so, leaving the exhausted Kellner asleep, we went outside, and sat among the palm trees. "George," said I, "we are in the last lap. It is a straight run home now." "Yes," he replied, "unless something goes wrong. Personally, I am not altogether sorry, except for your disappointment." "I suppose the best thing we can do," I remarked, "will be to get away to Baghdad as soon as possible." "Of course," said Edwards. "What else can we do?" "Why, slip back to Faris," I answered, "and have another try for the Golden Girdle." "Believe me," said Edwards, "you will do no good with the thing except through our German friend. He has fought hard for it, and you may rest assured that he was not fool enough to part with it without being perfectly certain that he would find it again. Besides, have you not grasped the fact that it belongs to him. He got it in much the same way as you meant to get it." "Not quite," said I, "for he did not play fair with the Shammar who helped him to get it. If he had paid them what he promised, then I should certainly agree that he had every right to the Girdle." "Splitting hairs," said Edwards. "Judging by what we have seen of desert methods, he who possesses a thing considers himself its rightful owner--until he loses it. If I were you, I should wait until Kellner recovers, and then try and come to terms with him." "I believe you are right, George," I replied. "But, to tell you the honest truth, I have rather lost faith in the gentleman. In fact, since this morning my dull wits have been sharpened, and, if I am not very much mistaken, the German 'shadowed' me all the way from Marseilles to Baghdad, and got out of me all the information that he required. It makes me positively sick when I think of it." "Never mind," said Edwards, consolingly, "it was not your fault. One cannot go through life in a perpetual state of suspicion of everyone. You have still got something up your sleeve; for, when you tell your story, the world will not count Kellner as much of a hero." For some reason Edwards and I were both in the lowest spirits. I, for my part, had every cause for being depressed; I had had enough pleasant and unpleasant experiences to last an ordinary man for his lifetime; my labours had borne no fruit; I should return to Baghdad without having effected anything, and, in all probability, my absence would have caused grave anxiety to my parents. But, perhaps, what troubled me most was the knowledge that I had been such a fool as to be taken in by Kellner. Edwards, on the other hand, had, to my mind, very little to complain of. He had seen more of the desert than almost any European had ever done, had come through everything without a scratch, and was as fit as he had been at starting. We had been living a free life for so long, that now that there was the immediate prospect of our having to conform to the conventionalities of civilisation, neither of us relished the idea of the change. That was what was the matter with us; and I believe that if I had argued with my companion for a little longer, he would have agreed to leave Kellner to the old man, and have set out with me in search of Faris. But I restrained my desire to influence Edwards one way or the other, for my conscience told me that it was our duty to look after our invalid. We talked spasmodically until the stems of the date trees gradually began to stand out against the increasing light in the heavens. Then, when day had come, the old Arab set out on his mission, while we returned to the hut to keep the German company. Thus we waited, it may have been for a couple of hours, occasionally going outside to see if the expected relief was coming; and at last we saw a party of soldiers riding towards us, accompanied by men carrying a stretcher. CHAPTER XIX. IN CLOVER. "Gentlemen," said the Turkish officer commanding the party, as he drew up his men in front of the hut, and addressed us in French, "my instructions are to have the man who is ill removed to the military hospital, and to request that you will consider yourselves as my prisoners, and accompany me to the barracks." We told him that, of course, we should obey any orders that he gave us, and at the same time asked him if he knew who we were. To this he replied that his orders forbade him to converse with us on any subject whatever, and he begged us to understand that, disagreeable as his duty was, he was bound to carry out his instructions to the letter. There was nothing more to be said, and though we were permitted to see that Kellner was comfortably settled on the stretcher, we were afterwards ordered to mount our horses, and ride, like real prisoners, in the midst of the guard. As we entered the town we soon saw that our capture had been noised abroad; crowds of Arabs had assembled in the streets to witness our arrival; but it was evident, from the remarks that we overheard, that there was a good deal of speculation as to what it all meant. Until that moment, I had not considered what queer-looking figures we must be, and when I looked at Edwards and then at my own clothes, I almost laughed aloud. Each of us wore dirty and ragged Arab garments; our hair was long and unkempt, and our beards were thick and stubbly. That we were respectable Englishmen no one would have guessed. Even our own mothers would have failed to recognise us. In due course we reached the barrack gate and were admitted, when we found ourselves within a large quadrangle, where numbers of conscripts were being drilled. Here we were ordered to dismount, and, our horses having been led away, we were conducted to a house at the far end of the quadrangle and shown into a well-appointed room, when the officer told us that we were to remain there until visited by the Commandant. As soon as we were alone, Edwards and I looked at one another, and burst out laughing. "We are a jolly looking couple," said I. "Just what I was thinking," said Edwards. "What do you suppose is going to happen to us?" I asked. "Oh, nothing much," he replied. "As soon as we have proved our identity, things will be all right. They seem to have a great many more troops here than when last we were in the place. I wonder if our old friend, the Captain who showed us round last time, is still here." While we were talking, the door was suddenly thrown open, and the Commandant himself was ushered in. He was a stout and pleasant-looking old gentleman, with a merry twinkle in his eye, and no sooner did he see us than he broke into a guffaw, at the same time holding out his hand to each of us in turn. "Pardon my laughing," said he, "but, for the life of me, I could not help it. We will have you washed, and cleaned, and put into respectable clothes, before you are taken before the Governor. In the meanwhile, now that we have got you safe inside the barracks, if you like to give me your word that you will not leave them, I shall be glad if you will become my guests." At first we thought that he was amusing himself at our expense, but he appeared to be in earnest, so we accepted his proffered hospitality, and were soon enjoying the luxuries of really good coffee and a cigarette. "How long, Effendi, have you been in Hillah?" I asked, for the sake of something to say. "Barely two weeks," he replied. "We came up with reinforcements for this place and Meshed Ali, as trouble was expected from the desert." "Some of the tribes in revolt, I suppose," said I. "Yes," replied the Commandant, smiling, "but when I have heard you two gentlemen cross-examined by His Excellency, I shall know more about what has been going on. Now I will give you a piece of advice: when you are asked questions, answer straightforwardly, and tell all you know. You will save us all a vast amount of trouble, and you will not do yourselves any harm. Of course we have spies everywhere, but we cannot rely on them entirely, and in any case the views and opinions of two intelligent Englishmen will be of more value to us than the information supplied by a hundred Bedouin spies. The Governor is to interview you this afternoon, and I have no doubt that, before that takes place, you would like the services of a barber, and would wish to have a bath, and some European clothes. I daresay we shall be able to provide them for you." We were delighted with the turn of events, and agreed to help the Governor with any information that we were able to give, and we jumped at the suggestion of cleaning ourselves up. So calling an orderly, the Commandant told him to conduct us to the bath. There a real surprise awaited us, for no sooner did we enter the room than we saw Edwards's Persian servant boy, busying himself with towels and soap. "What, Aziz!" gasped Edwards, gazing at him in blank astonishment. "How, in heaven's name, did you get here?" "Hoozoor," answered the lad, beaming with joy at the sight of his long-lost master, "I was ordered some days back, to pack clothes for your highness and the other sahib, and to leave Baghdad with the dragoman and some zaptiehs, and to come to Hillah. I suffered much on the road from fear of robbers, who were reported to be numerous, but, praise be to Allah, we arrived here safely." "Where is Dimitri Sahib?" asked Edwards. "He journeyed a few days since to Meshed Ali," said Aziz, "saying that he went to meet you, and would return with you here." Then we plied the boy with questions, in the attempt to discover what rumour had said about us, but we could get no coherent story out of him. From what we could gather, at first we were supposed to have been murdered; but, after a time, a report came that we had turned Mohammedans, and were living with the people of some distant desert town. But he did not appear to know very much, and he harked back continuously to what was evidently the most important thing in the world, viz., that he, Aziz, had braved the perils of the journey from Baghdad to Hillah--in his eyes as great an event as a pilgrimage to Mecca. We forgave him, however, for his inability to provide us with news, chiefly because of the skill that he had displayed in his selection of the clothes which he thought we would require. He had forgotten nothing; and it was a real delight to us, after we had passed through the hands of the barber and revelled in our baths, to get into true British suits again. Our toilet completed, we returned, with the patient orderly who had been waiting for us, to our quarters, where we found the Commandant and several other officers ready to accompany us to the Governor's audience. The Commandant looked us up and down with apparent satisfaction, and then we all marched off. Whether we were still supposed to be prisoners I could not make out; at any rate, we walked along by the side of the Commandant, and conversed with him as if we were his oldest friends, until we reached our destination when everyone suddenly assumed an official air. A verbatim report of what took place at the great interview which followed I shall not attempt to give. I doubt if any shorthand writer could have done justice to it, for it was what may be described as unconventional. We were treated by the Governor with the greatest deference, and we were asked innumerable questions on everything connected with the desert and the people whom we had come across. The Aeniza and the Shammar, however, did not interest them much, as they were regarded, like mosquitoes, as necessary evils. What they wanted information about was Adiba and the trouble with Hayil, and on this topic we were considered to be (as indeed we probably were) the best authorities. Between us, we related our experiences with Ali Khan, and gave a graphic description of the bombardment of his town and of his enforced flight, striving to impress upon our listeners that he had been basely betrayed by his Arab doctors, and that the Amir of Hayil had behaved in a most high-handed manner. The dropping of the proverbial pin could have been heard while Edwards gave his account of his treatment of the sick child, and his description of the way in which he had outwitted his rival physicians was received with no little applause. Ali Khan became the hero of the hour, and the tyrant of Hayil was freely cursed. Many and various were the questions asked us about the road to Adiba, about the town itself, and about the strength of its defences, and then we learned that Hayil was in the bad books of the Ottoman Empire, and that the Turkish troops would probably be ordered to conduct Ali Khan back to Adiba. So far we had got on capitally, and had quite enjoyed the interview. Now, however, the conversation took an awkward turn, and the Governor's questions became more or less of a personal nature. "Some four months ago," said our inquisitor, "you two gentlemen were here, in Hillah. You left the town against the wishes of the Captain of Police; he, poor man, is no more, but I possess a document signed by yourselves, and its contents you will probably remember. In it you stated that you determined to visit certain tribes of the desert, even although he warned you that to do so might place himself and his Government in difficulties. What have you to answer on that count?" "Nothing," I replied, "except that we regret to have been the cause of any inconvenience to your Government. We were anxious to visit the Bedouins in their encampments, and we were willing to accept all risk in so doing." "Have you considered," continued the Governor, "what has resulted from your headstrong behaviour? Possibly you may not have given it a thought. Know, then, that had you not cast yourselves adrift in the desert, all this trouble with Adiba and Hayil would never have occurred, and my Government would not now be called upon to expend vast sums of money in restoring order in those outlying provinces. Think again of the misfortunes of Ali Khan and of all his people, driven from their homes into the pitiless desert. Think of those homes, even when the people once more return to them; many destroyed by shells, many burnt to the ground, and all pillaged." We stood before the assembly, with heads hung down, and feeling as uncomfortable as any pair of naughty schoolboys, while our tormentor, who was a word-painter of no mean order, continued to lash us with his tongue. When, at length, he stopped, I took courage and spoke out. "Your Excellency," I said, humbly, "all that you have said, we acknowledge to be true, and your condemnation of us appears to be just. Yet, on more than one occasion, we offered full apologies to our protector, Ali Khan, for the great troubles that we had brought on himself and his people; and not only did he freely forgive us everything, but he even told us that he would not have it otherwise, since he considered that, had we not visited Adiba, his child would have died." "And in return for such generosity," said the Governor, haranguing us again, "you thought it right, when within a few marches of Meshed Ali, to desert your kind host, and not only to desert him, but also to liberate three of his lawful prisoners and to steal five of his horses. Why you should have acted thus we cannot understand." The speaker was now wound up, and refused to allow himself to be interrupted, so we were forced to remain silent and listen to what he had to say. He told us how, when we first disappeared from Hillah, and did not return, our escort had proceeded for some distance into the desert in search of us, but failing to find any trace of us went back to Baghdad with the news that we had surely perished. The British Consul-General then induced the authorities to make inquiries about us, and at last it was reported that we had reached Adiba, and were the guests of Ali Khan. Subsequently came the news of the downfall of Adiba, and that we were with the sheik's party in flight towards Meshed Ali. Naturally it was supposed that we would enter that town with Ali Khan; and the British Consul-General, having been informed of events, despatched his dragoman, Dimitri, to meet us and take us back to Baghdad. As far as he himself was concerned, concluded the Governor, the matter was at an end; he did not wish to intrude in our private affairs, as our Consul-General had agreed to hold a full inquiry into our conduct, which would doubtless form the subject of lengthy negotiations between the two Governments, in all probability ending in the payment of full compensation. "On one point, however," said he, "I am anxious for information: the sick man whom you brought with you. How did you meet with him?" "We found him yesterday," I replied, "close to the Birs Nimroud, and he seemed so ill that we abandoned our intention of journeying to Baghdad, in order to bring the man to your hospital." "He shall be properly attended to," said the Governor, "and for what he has done he will have to account later on." We were not sorry when the call to evening prayer closed the interview, and the Governor, shaking hands with us, consigned us to the care of the Commandant. With the latter we returned to the barracks, and on the way learned that we were to be on parole, until the dragoman should take charge of us. Our restraint was not very irksome, for the Commandant and other officers went out of their way to make themselves agreeable to us, and were evidently proud of having the opportunity of making the acquaintance of men who had penetrated so far into the desert. How much more interested they would have been, if they had known the whole story of our wanderings! That night Edwards and I talked matters over, and I found that he was wretchedly down-hearted about the future. If things were really as bad, he argued, as the Governor had made out, it was all up with him and his appointment. The Consul-General would, of course, refuse to let him return to duty at Baghdad, and though he might possibly be ordered to India to assume medical charge of a native regiment, the chances were that he had already been either cashiered, or removed from the service for absence without leave. "As to you," he said, "you have nothing to lose, since you do not hold any official appointment; and you do not understand what it may mean to me to be thrown on the world, without anything to do." He was so doleful about it all, that he positively made me laugh. "There is always Adiba," I said. "Ali Khan will take you back with him as physician in ordinary, I am sure, if you ask him nicely." But he was not to be comforted; and thinking it advisable to leave him alone, I went outside and paced up and down in the moonlight. While thus occupied, I encountered the Commandant, who had just returned from dining with the Governor, and was coming to see us on important business. I told him that my companion was not feeling well and had already gone to bed; so he unburdened his mind to me. Our escapades had been the subject of discussion at the Governor's dinner party, and the end of it was that the Governor had decided that, as Dimitri had not yet been informed of our arrival at Hillah, we should be sent to Meshed Ali and be handed over to him there. It struck me at once as a somewhat strange proceeding, because Meshed Ali and Baghdad lay on opposite sides of Hillah, and there seemed to be no reason for sending us off on a three days' journey and bringing us back again. But on my remarking on this to the Commandant, I was told that the Governor considered that we should be given the opportunity of renewing our friendship with Ali Khan, and of explaining to him why we had deserted him. We were to start early in the morning, and the Commandant himself would accompany us. I expressed myself as delighted at the idea of a visit to Meshed Ali, and of once again seeing Ali Khan; and after arranging that we would be ready to set out soon after daybreak, I bade the Commandant "good-night," and went off to break the news to Edwards. To my surprise, he seemed quite agreeable to fall in with the new plan, saying that the sooner he met Dimitri, the better pleased he should be, as he was anxious to find out how he stood with the Consul-General. Our ride to Nejf, or Meshed Ali, was a three days' picnic; we had everything that we could want, a large escort, the companionship of the cheery Commandant, the services of a cook who served up excellent dinners, and Edwards's boy, Aziz, to wait upon us. Even Edwards forgot his sorrows, and agreed with me that we were being treated right royally. "I suppose it will all go down in the bill," said he. "What bill?" I asked. "Why, the matter of the compensation to which the Governor referred--the cost of all our evil deeds," said Edwards. "Let us live in the present," said I, "and eat and drink all the good things that we can. What is the use of worrying about the future, and about such a hopeless thing as compensation? When nations begin to discuss compensation, it means thousands, if not millions, of pounds. How do you imagine that anyone is going to squeeze a paltry thousand pounds, or even a hundred pounds, out of two such paupers as you and me? My worldly possessions consist of the fifty golden sovereigns in my salvaged money-belt, and they really belong to my uncle. So away with dull care, and let the future look after itself." "Excellent advice in theory," said Edwards. "However, I will try it for a bit, and will be ever so jovial." "Good man!" said I. "By the way, I wonder how that poor unfortunate Kellner is getting on. Do you suppose we shall be able to take him to Baghdad with us?" "I should think not," said Edwards; "besides, he is much better off where he is. I expect that the man in charge of the hospital knows quite as much about his business as I do, and the long journey to Baghdad would probably throw the patient back, and as likely as not kill him." "Then," said I, "I think I shall try and stay at Hillah for a week or two." "What on earth for?" asked Edwards. "To look after Kellner," I replied. "What possible good do you think you can do him?" "He might want to ease his mind," said I, laughing. "People do have things on their mind sometimes, when they are sick. He might wish to tell me, for instance, what has become of the Golden Girdle." "Still that old, old story," said my companion sadly. "Surely you and your Will-o'-the-wisp have done enough harm already. The words of wisdom which we heard in Hillah the other day do not seem to have made much impression on you." "Water off a duck's back, old man," I replied. "When I have laid Sophana's Serpent Belt at the feet of my uncle, then will I repent of all my sins, and be good for ever afterwards." CHAPTER XX. RE-UNION. We were both quite excited at the idea of meeting Dimitri, and hearing all the news of the world. We had been cut off from everything for more than four months, and had not had a single letter, or a scrap of information of any sort. We speculated as to whether the dragoman would have brought our English letters up with him, and we wondered what sort of a reception the Consul-General would have told him to give us. We could not imagine the obsequious Dimitri being anything but polite, and we knew, of course, that, of himself, he could have no authority over us. We presumed that he had been sent up with an order, or a message, or a letter from the Consul-General, and our presumption proved to be correct. No sooner did we pass through the gate of the town than we met the dragoman, clothed in his best blue serge suit, and wreathed in smiles. "Here we are again, Dimitri," said Edwards, greeting him heartily. "I suppose you thought that we were lost. We are very sorry to have given you this long journey." "I am truly delighted," replied Dimitri, "to see you two gentlemen again, safe and well. The Consul-General ordered me to convey an important letter to you, and to return with you to Baghdad." "Where is the letter?" asked Edwards. "I have it," said the dragoman, "at my lodgings, and I shall hand it to you as soon as I have seen you accommodated in suitable quarters." Having paid his respects to the Commandant, with whom he appeared to have business to discuss, Dimitri came and walked by our sides as we rode through the streets of Nejf, pointing out to us the great golden shrine of Ali, and the other buildings of importance. He told us much news, but, to our great disappointment, we learned that he had brought with him neither letters nor newspapers; and he confided to Edwards that he was afraid that there was trouble in store for us. The next excitement was the Consul-General's letter to Edwards, which was brought to him soon after we had settled down in the room allotted to us. Dismissing Dimitri, with a request that he would come and see us again at sunset, Edwards nervously broke the seal of the letter, and read its contents to himself. I watched his face as he read; at first pale and serious, it presently flushed crimson, and the puckered forehead gradually grew smooth, then came a deep-drawn sigh of relief, and I knew that things were not as bad as Edwards had expected them to be. "Would you like to read it?" asked Edwards, handing me the letter. "It is marked 'Private and confidential,' but I do not suppose that there is any harm in your seeing it. You will not mind his abusing you a bit, I am sure." I took the letter, and read it through. It was of considerable length, and began by severely reprimanding Edwards in strong official terms, after which the Consul-General appeared to have laid aside his wrath, for the remainder of the epistle might have been written by one friend to another. He hoped that we had made good use of our opportunities, and would be able to add to the world's knowledge of the desert. He even expressed his admiration of our pluck in having lived for so long in the wilds; and, except that in one sentence I was alluded to as "that crack-brained treasure-seeker," there was nothing in the letter with which I could quarrel. Towards the end, however, he had evidently read over what he had written, and perhaps repented of having said so much; for he added a postscript, which ran as follows:-- "Do not imagine from the above that I am not annoyed with you both. I am intensely annoyed, and at present I do not see how the matter is going to end. I am unwilling to judge you until I have heard your own explanation. I beg that you will inform Mr Henderson that I request that he will be good enough to accompany you and Mr Dimitri to Baghdad forthwith." "Well," said Edwards, anxiously, when I had finished reading, "what do you think?" "I think," I replied, "that your chief is a gentleman, and, though he may think me a hopeless idiot, you may be quite certain that he will see you through any difficulties that may arise." "I am glad that that is your opinion," said Edwards. "The letter has certainly made me feel happier." "After all," said I, "we have done nothing extraordinarily sinful or foolish. The Turkish Government gave me a _firman_, which was practically a passport to go where I pleased. We were certainly advised by the police captain, poor chap, not to go into the desert from Hillah, but that was only so that he might not get mixed up in a row himself. If he had thought that there was any real harm in our going to visit Faris, he would not have lent us a guide to put us on our way. The one mistake we made was not coming back that first day, when we found that the Turkish police were after Faris. From that moment we were done. We never had a chance of returning until now. And we have returned; what more can they want? There is the whole business, placed comfortably in a nutshell." As I concluded my address, Dimitri knocked at the door, and we were soon informed of the programme that had been arranged for us. Next morning, our friend the Commandant was to pay a state visit to the Governor of Adiba, who was in camp on the other side of the water, and we were to go with him. It now transpired that the object of our having been sent to Nejf was not so much to be handed over to Dimitri, as to be confronted with Ali Khan. The authorities, apparently, had a sort of suspicion that we had not played a square game with Ali Khan, and the Commandant was to investigate the matter. Directly our visit was over, we were to start for Baghdad by the direct route, passing some miles to the west of Hillah, and Dimitri hoped that we should reach our destination within four days. The programme seemed to us a most satisfactory one, for our consciences were quite clear about Ali Khan, whom we felt certain we could convince that our disappearance from his camp had been not only unpremeditated but also undesired by us. I, personally, was a little disappointed that we should not return to Hillah, as I would have liked a talk with Kellner; but, after what the Consul-General had said in his letter, I thought it best to accept the situation, and get back to Baghdad as soon as possible. At an early hour next day we rode out with much pomp and ceremony, round the shores of the Sea of Nejf, to the Adiba encampment, and were met halfway by Haroun and his brave men. He did not recognise us in our European clothes, and doubtless thought that we were two inquisitive Englishmen bent on sight-seeing; while we, fearing to upset arrangements, considered it best to restrain our desire to make ourselves known to him. Ali Khan received the Commandant in front of his tent, and, after the customary compliments had been paid, the latter requested us to come forward and be introduced. "I have brought with me, your Excellency," said the Commandant, addressing Ali Khan, with much solemnity, "two English gentlemen who are desirous of renewing your acquaintance. This one tells me that he was at one time your court physician, the other your chief military adviser." I do not know what Edwards's feelings were, but I, at that moment, would have been quite pleased if the earth had suddenly opened and swallowed me up. The abrupt manner in which we were, so to speak, flung at Ali Khan's head was disagreeable in the extreme, and he himself was so taken aback, that for some little time he could do nothing but stare at us open-mouthed. There was an awful silence, and nobody seemed inclined to break it, until, at last, feeling that I could stand it no longer, and observing that Edwards (as was his wont when things were going unpleasantly) was signing to me to say something, I stepped forward and spoke. "Great sheik," I said, "what the Effendi has said is true. We have come to offer an explanation in connection with a matter which we fear has caused you trouble and pain. We have come to seek your pardon; for I doubt not you have been under the impression that, considering the kindness and hospitality which you always showed to us, we behaved ungratefully and basely towards you, when we deserted your camp some few days ago. Your knowledge of us is not slight, and you must have found it difficult to believe that two men of honour--as you knew us to be--would have released your prisoners, stolen your horses, and deserted you. Yet that is, doubtless, what you did believe, and do, even now, believe. Now, I declare to you, before Allah, that of our own accord we did none of these things." I then proceeded to describe fully and graphically how we had been carried off by the Shammar, and the miserable journey that we had been forced to take. I did not think it necessary, or desirable, to enter into details about Kellner and the Golden Girdle, so I merely said that we had eventually ridden away from the Shammar on two of the horses which had been stolen from his camp, that we had now brought these horses with us, and that we wished to return them to him. I concluded by congratulating him on the prospect of his speedy restoration to his kingdom, and expressed a hope that his little son was still enjoying good health. My speech made an immense impression, not only on Ali Khan, Haroun, and the rest of the Adiba party, but also on the Commandant and his escort; and when I had finished, our two old friends, shaking off all formalities, seized Edwards and myself by the hands, and overwhelmed us with expressions of joy at our safety, and of regret at ever having doubted us. Though pleasant, the _denouement_ was decidedly embarrassing; for the Adiba men crowded round us with offers of congratulation, and we were only saved from being carried off our feet in the frantic rush of enthusiasm by Ali Khan's prompt action in leading us to the inner apartment of his tent, to be welcomed by his wife and their beloved boy. Their delight at again seeing us was most gratifying, and they were truly sorry when they learned that we were not returning with them to Adiba. Ali Khan and his wife did all in their power to persuade us to accompany them; but finding that it was a matter of honour that we should return to Baghdad, they made us promise that, should it ever be possible, we would pay a long visit to Adiba, and see the place settled down again in peace and plenty, as they hoped that it would soon be. The time was all too short, for we had to return to Nejf, and thence ride, some fifteen miles, to the nearest khan before dusk. We therefore prepared to take leave of our friends, and I asked Ali Khan's permission to use his two horses for the return journey to Nejf, promising that we would send them back to his camp by sundown. "Nay," said the sheik, "I have horses enough, and I beg that you will accept them from me. Take them back with you to Baghdad, to remind you of your promise to visit us at Adiba." With expressions of gratitude from both of us, with many handshakes and last words of parting, we at length mounted our horses and joined the escort, which had been long waiting for us. Edwards and I rode in silence for some distance; I fancy that we had similar feelings--a decided lumpiness about the throat. Edwards spoke first. "I had no idea," said he, "that the desert possessed men like Ali Khan. I always thought that all the big rulers were stony-hearted tyrants, who only made themselves agreeable to Europeans for what they could get out of them." "Dear old Ali Khan has not derived much benefit from us," I answered. "On the contrary," said Edwards, "we have been a dead loss to him. And he finishes up by giving us two horses." "These two old horses," said I, "make me laugh. They are becoming rather a stale present. Within the last week they have been given to us no less than three times, first by the Shammar sheik, then by Faris, and now by Ali Khan." "Well," said Edwards, "I hope that this time we shall keep them, and take them safely back to Baghdad." Arrived at our quarters in Nejf, we packed up our belongings, and were off again in half an hour, the Commandant seeing us for about a mile on our road, and then bidding us a friendly farewell. In order to make certain that we should not get lost again, he gave us an escort of twenty irregular cavalry, and I firmly believe, although Dimitri denied it, that they had instructions not to let us out of their sight until we had entered the courtyard of the Residency at Baghdad. At any rate, during our uneventful journey of the next four days, they were always about us, and on reaching the city, their sergeant requested the Consul-General to give him a letter practically amounting to a receipt for us. What the Consul-General said to us, and what we said to him, are things best left untold. Suffice it to say, therefore, that at the conclusion of the interview, we still found ourselves alive. Moreover, on that night, and on many subsequent nights, we were the great man's guests at dinner. After the life I had been leading, the humdrum existence in the city soon began to pall on me. I had, within a few days, seen everything that there was to be seen, and I grew tired of morning and evening canters outside the walls, and of trying to make the round wicker-work _kufas_ go straight up and down the river. I longed to be back in the free desert, and one day, more out of fun than anything else, I suggested to Edwards that we should pay our promised visit to Adiba. He looked at me for a minute, as if he doubted my sanity. "What you want," said he, "is sea air. You will never be quite right until you have taken a voyage." "That does not sound very hospitable," said I, "considering that only yesterday you begged me to stay with you as long as I could." "Yesterday," said Edwards, "I did not know that you were so unwell." "To tell you the honest truth," said I, "I am sick to death of this life, and if Faris does not let me have some news of the Golden Girdle soon, I shall chuck the whole thing and go home." "You do not mean to say," said Edwards, "that you are still building castles in the air." "No," said I, "not in the air, I hope. But if you mean that you want to know whether I am still thinking of Queen Sophana's belt, I will break it to you gently that, much as I love you, George, nothing earthly would have induced me to hang about here for the last six weeks, unless I had been in daily expectation of getting news either from Faris or from Kellner." "Then take my advice," said my friend, "and give it up. Kellner, from what the Turkish doctor wrote to me the other day, is too ill to trouble about anything. Faris, I expect, has got other fish to fry. Besides, I believe he is in mortal terror of that Girdle. In any case, even if you did receive news from the desert, you could not go romping about there again." "Oh, great wet blanket!" I answered, "have you no soul? Wait till I lay out before you, on that very table, the string of twisty-twirly golden serpents!" "I cannot wait so long, old man," said Edwards irritatingly. "Unfortunately, I shall have to die, like other people." "Then I suppose," I said, putting out a feeler, "when I go off on my next hunt, you will let me go alone." "On that point," he replied, "you can be absolutely certain. Nothing that you or anyone else could say would ever persuade me to go on another wild-goose chase with you. Why, the Turks are still saying nasty things about us, and worrying my chief to death." "That," said I, "is all bluster. Hillah's Governor tried it on when he talked so grandly about compensation. I happen to have discovered from Dimitri that there never was, at any time, any idea of compensation. The mistake I made was getting a _firman_. I shall make my next trip without one." "By the way," said Edwards, changing the subject, "did I ever tell you the result of the inquiry after Kellner's Baghdad merchant--I mean the man who, Daud or somebody told us, was going to pay the Shammar for the Girdle?" "No," said I, "the last news I heard was that he had cleared out of this place, bag and baggage, and no one knew what had become of him." "Well," said Edwards, "he has been seen in the bazaar at Kerbela." "Then I suppose that he and Kellner have got some deep scheme in hand again," I said; "but, for the life of me, I cannot fathom it." "Do not bother about it," said Edwards. "Believe me, Kellner has not got a scheme in him at present." * * * * * About a week after this conversation had taken place, though many similar ones had intervened, there fell in the midst of my dull existence a very bomb of excitement, whose sudden explosion well-nigh rent me in twain. CHAPTER XXI. A DESPERATE PLUNGE. Whilst I was living in Baghdad, I used to amuse myself by a daily visit to the bazaar, overhauling the _antikas_ and other wares of the Jew dealers, and to save myself the unpleasantness of being mobbed by a crowd of Arab boys, on these occasions I dressed in simple Persian garments. The shop people, of course, knew who I was, but I mingled with the crowd without attracting attention. On the particular day of which I am writing, I noticed, as I walked about the bazaar, that I was being followed from place to place by a ruffianly-looking Arab, who, whenever I stopped to look at a stall, always seemed to be at my elbow. I began to be a little nervous about him, thinking that possibly he might be a fanatic, who, having returned from a pilgrimage to the Holy Shrines, and having discovered that I was an unbeliever, thought to ensure his entry into Paradise by putting a knife into me. At last I stopped, turned on him suddenly, and asked him what he wanted. He was so taken aback, that without offering a reply, he bolted into the crowd, and disappeared. A little later I left the bazaar, and strolled along the narrow lanes towards Edwards's house. As I was nearing home, I heard footsteps behind, and glancing over my shoulder, saw that my supposed Arab fanatic was running after me. Thinking that I should have to fight, and seeing nobody else about, I stepped back against the wall, and prepared to make the best use of my heavy stick. "Master," said the man, as he drew near, "it is you who were with Sheik Faris in the desert; is it not so?" "Yes," I replied, "I am that man. Why do you follow me about?" "I was told," said he, "that you would be in the bazaar, but I could not be certain that I had found you. I did not recognise you with the hair absent from your face, and in those clothes." "But why are you so anxious to find me?" I asked. "I have come," said the Arab, "from Sheik Faris, who bade me seek you out with all haste, and tell you, in secret, certain words." "What were they?" I inquired, excitedly. "I know not their meaning," he replied, "but the words Sheik Faris spoke to me were these: 'Go tell the Hakim's friend that _snakes which do poison mankind cower before the eye of the magician; that winged snakes drop their wings at the sound of his coming; and that the shoe of a desert-born mare must needs have a desert home_.' Thus spoke Sheik Faris-ibn-Feyzul; I have said it." I knew what it all meant. This was the message which I had eagerly awaited for many weeks. Faris, brave Faris, had secured the Golden Girdle for me, but he evidently intended that I should go and get it. I wondered why he had not sent it. It would, I thought, have simplified matters considerably. "Sheik Faris," I asked, "sent, by you, nothing for me?" "No," answered the man. "Did he not give you any other message?" I inquired. "I was to tell the Beg," said he, "that when the moon rises to-night, three Aeniza, with a spare horse, will be on the western bank of the river, opposite the great ruins of Ctesiphon, and will there await you until daybreak to-morrow. The howl of the hyæna repeated three times will cause them to make known their presence." "It is well," said I, and giving the Arab a keran to spend in the bazaar, I dismissed him. Hurrying home as fast as I was able, with steps as light as air, I bounded up the stairs to break the news to Edwards. He was out, and on the table I found a note addressed to me. I tore it open, and read the hasty pencil scrawl, which ran as follows:-- DEAR WALTER,-- Just had a message from the C.-G., saying he is very ill at Mosul. Has sent the launch down for me. Do not expect me back for at least a week. If I am detained longer, I will drop you a line. Mind you do not start for home before I come back. So long, Yours G. E. * * * * * Calling a servant, I asked when his master had left, and was told that the launch had gone up the river about an hour before. Utterly knocked out of time by this unexpected turn of events, I sank into a chair, and endeavoured to think out the situation. Something had to be done, and done quickly. Nothing should prevent my reaching the rendezvous opposite Ctesiphon that night. On that point I was determined. I would get the Golden Girdle without saying anything to anyone, and with luck I might be able to lay it in front of Edwards on his return from up-river. What a grand surprise it would be for him, and how I should crow over him! After all, it was rather a good thing, I thought, that both Edwards and the Consul-General were away from Baghdad; otherwise they might have interfered with my movements. I was, at anyrate, free to do as I pleased. But how I was to cover the fifty miles to the spot where I was to meet the Aeniza I could not decide. It was already two o'clock; I had about four hours of daylight I could order my horse and say I was going for an afternoon ride, then make straight for Ctesiphon. It was a long journey to accomplish on one horse in four hours, and I had never followed the road before. If I did not succeed in reaching the ruins before dark, I doubted if I should ever reach them, and even if I succeeded, I still had to cross to the opposite bank of the river. I should have to swim it--there was no other means of crossing. I did not like the idea. Then I thought I would cross the river by the Baghdad bridge, and try to find my way to the appointed place by following the right bank of the river. That, however, I abandoned as hopeless, for I was acquainted with no road on that side of the river. My next idea was to hire a _kufa_, and paddle away down stream. It would not be a very great undertaking, as I could certainly cover six or eight miles an hour by simply drifting, which would bring me to my destination well before break of day. There was only one thing against this plan: I was not at all sure that, being at such a little height above the water-level, I should be able to identify landmarks. There would be a good moon, I knew, and I had been to Ctesiphon by water once or twice from Baghdad. It was a risky undertaking, but I did not see what else I could do. All at once a sudden inspiration came to me. I leapt from my chair, rushed across the room, and hunted among my papers for the river steamer time-table. At last I found it, and, as I had hoped, discovered that this was the day that one of the steamers left Baghdad for Bussorah. Nervously I ran my finger along the line to learn the hour of departure, and when my eyes fell on the announcement "4 P.M.," I could have shouted for joy. I had a couple of hours to make arrangements, though there were few to make. Still, certain matters had to be worked out. In the first place, I had qualms of conscience about going off without telling anyone, and I began to think that I had better take Dimitri, the dragoman, into my confidence. But I was afraid to trust him, as I thought that perhaps he would consider it his duty to frustrate my plan. Then I could not make up my mind whether to disguise myself as a native, and take a deck passage; or whether to go on board with a bag, and book first-class to Bussorah. My difficulty was that the captain of the steamer was a well-known member of the small English community in Baghdad, and a personal friend of mine. In either case, whether I shipped as a native or as myself, I should have to slip overboard when approaching Ctesiphon, and swim ashore, and in either case I should have to deceive my friend the captain. I hated the idea; but I came to the conclusion that, as a desperate man, I must bury my conscience for the time being. To fail now would probably be to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime. I would tell as few lies as possible, and trust that some day I might be able to make reparation for my evil doings. My plan matured, I immediately set to work to collect a few odds and ends to fill my bag, fastened it up, called my boy, and sent him down to the steamer with it, at the same time giving him a note for the purser, in which I asked for a cabin to Bussorah. Having taken the first step, I felt easier in my mind, and telling Edwards's servants that I was going for a trip down the river, and should be away for a few days, I strolled leisurely down to the wharf, and went on board the steamer. From that moment I forgot my conscience altogether. I told the captain that, as Edwards had been called away to Mosul, and as I did not care about my own society, I had decided to spend the time in running down to Bussorah. He expressed himself as delighted to have my company, and I settled myself in my cabin, as if I really intended to remain on board for three or four days. We were a little late in getting off, but I knew that an hour or two would not affect my plans, as, even steaming in the dark, we ought to be off Ctesiphon within six hours or so of our departure from the city. There being no other first-class passengers, I dined alone with the captain, and, aware that it might be my last respectable meal for some days, I made the most of it, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Afterwards, we sat long on the upper deck, outside the captain's cabin, discussing many things, and watching the reflections of the bright moon in the river. I began to grow anxious about the time, and a little nervous about the part I was shortly to play. I was a strong swimmer, but even with that knowledge I did not relish the prospect of plunging overboard and making for the shore. I confess that it required every scrap of courage that I possessed, and for a moment my courage almost failed me. "You are very silent," said the captain, after a long pause in the conversation, "are you getting sleepy?" "I suppose I must be," I replied. "I expect it is about time to turn in. Whereabouts are we?" "Getting near Ctesiphon," he answered. "We ought to pass it in about half an hour. I must get on to the bridge, as we are coming to rather a tricky bit of channel." "Then I shall retire to my cabin," said I. We wished each other "Good-night," and I went down the companion to the lower deck. I had previously inspected the situation of everything most carefully. The first-class accommodation was in the stern of the steamer; the saloon in the centre, cabins on either side of the saloon, with a narrow gangway between the cabin doors and the taffrail. My cabin was on the starboard side, and I had only to walk out of the door, take one step, vault the taffrail, and so into the river. In the daylight it seemed quite simple, but now, as the time for action was at hand, I had many misgivings. The steamer had twin screws, and I was afraid that, if I dropped over the side, I should be caught by the screw before I managed to get clear away. I hastened to the stern of the vessel, and examined the water carefully. The screws churned it horribly. Still, I thought that my best chance would be here, as by stepping out on to the anchor, which lay on the extremity of deck, and then diving well away, I might succeed in finding my way into slack water. There was no one about; the captain and the steersman were both on the bridge, and would, of course, be intent on looking ahead. The time was slipping by, and I ran up the companion to get a better view of the country from the upper deck. I thought I recognised the beginning of the bend in the river close to Ctesiphon. I had forgotten about this bend, but now I knew that it would be all in my favour. Certain now of our whereabouts, I dropped down to the lower deck, and made for the anchor. We were well in the bend and only a few yards from the right bank of the river; moreover, the starboard screw was barely revolving. Now or never, I thought, and clenching my teeth, I stretched out my hands, and made a frantic dive in the direction of the land. So close was the steamer to the bank at the moment I left it, that in half a dozen strokes I found my feet touching bottom, and I was soon lying among the bushes, and watching the steamer continuing its way round the bend. I took some minutes to pull myself together; in fact, I sat there looking after the disappearing vessel, until I could see nothing but the smoke rising up from the funnel. Then my nerves began to trouble me. My teeth chattered, and I shivered and shook as if I had a violent attack of ague. I could not make up my mind to move, and I wondered whether I had not made an arrant fool of myself. I had met a perfect stranger in the bazaar, and had come here by his instructions. It was true, that if the man were an impostor, desiring to lure me to this spot with the object of robbing and possibly murdering me, he had worked up his plan with great skill; and I did not think that anyone could have invented the message from Faris. Yet, I did not feel altogether happy about it. Then I thought of what an amount of bother I should give to the captain of the steamer. My absence probably would not be discovered until breakfast time next morning, when, of course, it would be thought that I had fallen overboard accidentally, or had committed suicide. However, I argued with myself that, having taken the fatal plunge, it was useless sitting shivering by the side of the river in a state of inaction; so I got up and struggled through the scrub towards higher ground, eventually reaching a low mound. Here I crouched down, and putting both hands to my mouth, as I had once seen Sheik Faris do, I gave forth a long piercing hyæna call. The whole thing seemed so uncanny, that I shuddered at my own voice. I repeated the howl again, and after a slight interval yet again. I listened intently, and thought that I heard an answering call in the far distance. Presently there came the unmistakable cry a little nearer, and, before many seconds had passed, dismal howls appeared to echo all around me. In my excitement I stood up and shouted, and almost at the same time I noticed that there were men and horses quite close to me. "Where are you?" called out one of the men in Arabic. "Here, on the hillock in front of you," I replied. I waited a little, while one of the men picked his way towards me; and, as he drew near, I called to him, asking if he had come from Sheik Faris. The only reply that I received was a joyous laugh, and the next moment Sedjur stood by my side. That meeting, so unexpected, was well worth all the trouble that it had cost. Life was full of roses once again, and we stood there talking for, I should think, a good half hour. He could not understand how I had come, as he had expected that I would have ridden from Baghdad, and when I told him what I had done, his admiration knew no bounds. "It is good that you arrived so early," said he, at last, "for we can now get well on our journey before daylight comes. I have brought some of our desert clothes for you to wear, as you have done before; and my father has sent you one of Kushki's own sons for you to ride." I thanked him for forgetting nothing; flung my bundle of saturated clothes across my saddle, mounted my horse, and, a true Bedouin in appearance, followed close behind the three long, waving spears. The smell of the desert, after my sojourn in the town, was good indeed; and, though I had had no sleep, and ought to have been dead tired, I felt fresh, and fit for any exertion. I had, of course, asked Sedjur for news of the Golden Girdle, but all that he would say was that his father did not wish the matter discussed until he had seen me; and Sedjur begged that I would not speak about it until we reached the camp. Thus, to my disappointment, I was left, throughout our long ride, in ignorance of the state of affairs. As far as I could judge by the stars, from our starting-point we rode north-west, scarcely ever deviating from our course during that night; and, crossing the pilgrim route from Baghdad to Kerbela some time before there was any sign of dawn, struck the Euphrates, as Sedjur told me, thirty miles or more above the latter town. After fording the river, we kept along the right bank for the remainder of the day, at nightfall halting at a small village, whose inhabitants were old friends of our party, and who did their best to make us comfortable. My prompt answer to his father's summons had evidently made a great impression on Sedjur, who confessed to me, when we talked that night, that he never expected me to come; that, in fact, he had tried to dissuade Faris from sending him on what he considered would be a fruitless mission. "How much farther have we to go?" I asked. "When two more suns have set," said Sedjur, "we should be near the encampment. We shall get on to the Damascus road early to-morrow, and then there will be little difficulty." "That is good news," said I, "for, as you are aware, I cannot ride long distances for many days together." "If I were to tell you," laughed Sedjur, "that we were to ride day and night all the way to Damascus, you would not complain. You forget that you have lived in our tents, and that my father and I know you perhaps better than you know yourself." It was pleasant to think that my friends had such a high opinion of me, though I hoped that they would not try me too severely. I did not mind a long day in the saddle, if it were all straightforward going, but our ride of this day and of the two following days was a perpetual anxiety. There were only four of us, and we had to be continuously on the look-out for prowling bands of hostile tribes. Fighting was out of the question; all that we could do was to avoid everyone whom we saw, and to trust to the speed of our horses, if pursued. But we were particularly fortunate, for only once were we really troubled, and then, though followed for some distance, we showed our pursuers that their horses were no match for ours. Still, always having to be on the _qui vive_, like driving a shying horse, is most tiring work; and I was glad enough when, soon after daylight on the fourth day, Sedjur suddenly shouted to me, "Behold our tents!" CHAPTER XXII. BROTHERS AND CONSPIRATORS. Great was the excitement in the encampment when we were seen to be approaching; some sixty or seventy horsemen, headed by Faris, galloped out to meet us, and wheeling round in front of us, performed a _fantasia_ for my benefit all the way into camp. Then everyone turned out to greet me, and my reception was royal, Faris leading me by the hand to his tent, and paying me the greatest honour. I could see at once that his pleasure at my arrival was genuine; for, as he said, he and I had been in peril together, and had seen stranger things than had any two men of his acquaintance, and though we had met for a few hours outside Hillah, he never had had the opportunity of welcoming me to his tents, since the time of our adventures at the ruins of Katib. He would have it that I had saved his life and that of Sedjur on two occasions, first when I and Edwards gave ourselves up to the Governor of Adiba, and allowed him and his son to escape; and secondly, when at the Birs Nimroud, I had warned him of the Shammar lying in ambush. In vain I tried to persuade him that I had done nothing out of the common; in his eyes I was a hero; and, I think, still a little bit of a magician, though he did not rally me on this point. "Well, now, Sheik of Sheiks," I said, after we had settled down to our pipes in private, "what news of the serpent belt?" "Much," he answered, "and strange." "Have you, then, secured it?" I asked. "Nay!" he replied, "not yet. But it is yours to take when you will." "How so?" said I. "It is a long story," said the sheik, "but I will make it as short as possible. After leaving you that night at Hillah, we returned to our men, and immediately we scoured the whole country, in order to find those two Jews who had carried away the belt, as the sick Ingleezee at the Birs Nimroud had told us. We tracked them to Kerbela, and I sent a message to them with a request that they would meet me at a certain time outside the town, near the bridge, promising them gold for their trouble, well knowing that without some reward they would never come. They kept their appointment--the two of them--thinking that I had intended to compensate them for having destroyed their dwelling at the Birs Nimroud, of which event they had somehow heard. I paid them a little money, and promised them more if they would permit me to see the golden belt which the sick Ingleezee had bidden them carry away. They vouchsafed that they knew nothing of such a thing; but, unwittingly, one of them inquired how much I would give. I replied that if they would sell me the belt I would pay them 2000 kerans. Then the two men incontinently wept and tore their beards, saying that they would willingly have accepted the price I offered, had it not been that they had been robbed of it by a party of Shammar soon after they had left the Birs Nimroud. They told me, when I had paid them a few more kerans, who the Shammar were. It was the same band whose members had stolen the belt from Raspul on that memorable night, and with whom you are well acquainted. So those men are in possession of the twice-stolen treasure, and we know where they have their tents, not five days' journey from this." "Then," said I, overjoyed at the news, "the Golden Girdle is indeed mine. If you will show me the way to the Shammar camp, I shall purchase the belt from them for the value which I know they attach to it. They themselves told me that their reward was to be 5000 kerans." "Why waste this money," said Faris, "when the golden serpents can be had for nothing. Sedjur and I have laid our plans, and, ere half a moon, we shall hand you that which you desire. Then shall the name of Faris-ibn-Feyzul be made known to those who keep the big house wherein lies Shahzadi's shoe. It is a small undertaking to surround and surprise these few Shammar, and, _inshallah_--if God wills, it shall be accomplished." "To obtain it thus, by stratagem and bloodshed," I replied, "would be for me to invoke the curses of all the evil spirits which haunt the world. Know you not, sheik, that these very Shammar extended to me full hospitality? How, then, is it possible for me to agree to your proposals?" "I had forgotten," said the sheik. "Those are difficulties. Can you yourself think of any plan by which they may be removed?" "I shall require time to consider," I replied. "Allow me until to-night." "So be it," said Faris, "and to-night I shall entertain you at a feast. It is a great occasion." Glad of quiet and repose, I lay on the rugs in my tent all the afternoon, and gave myself up to deep thought. That I was bitterly disappointed I need not say. I had fully made up my mind that Faris actually had the Girdle ready to hand over to me. I now learned that it was some two hundred miles away. Truly had Edwards described it as a will-o'-the-wisp. Was I to start again on another interminable ride? It seemed to be my only chance; and yet, when I reached the Shammar tents, I might find that my Golden Girdle had again taken wings. I began to hate the thing; but I had gone through so much in my attempts to obtain it, that I was more than ever determined that it should be mine. So I thought on, and frequently wished that Edwards had been with me, so that I might have had the value of his advice, although I felt that he would have counselled a masterly inactivity, in other words, a retreat to Baghdad. At any rate, I should now have the satisfaction of playing the game off my own bat. At sundown came the supper party, and it certainly was a great affair, all the principal men of the tribe being invited, and the dishes being of the best. But I was quite unprepared for the honour that awaited me at the conclusion of the feast. Faris rose and made a speech, in which he told his guests that the time had come for him to prove to me, his principal guest, in how high esteem he held me. He then spoke at some length of the courage displayed by me on several occasions when in his company, though I noticed that he was careful not to go into details concerning our doings at Katib. He regretted that his friend the Hakim, an equally brave man, was not also present; but he hoped some day to welcome him to the desert. It was now, he went on, his earnest desire that I, the bravest of the brave, should hold out to him, Faris-ibn-Feyzul, a Sheik of the Jelas Aeniza, the hand of eternal friendship. Throughout his long speech I had been hot and uncomfortable; all eyes were riveted on me, and I felt that each pair of eyes could read, in my crimson face, that I was a rank impostor. Yet they greeted their chiefs appeal for eternal friendship with shouts of acclamation, and not knowing exactly what was required of me, I stood up and spoke. Thanking the sheik for the kind words which he had used regarding me, but at the same time proclaiming that he had greatly exaggerated my courage, I declared my willingness, and indeed my desire, that we should ever be friends. "Brothers!" exclaimed Faris. "Brothers!" shouted everyone in chorus. Then I knew what was intended. I and Faris were to swear blood-brotherhood, the highest honour that one man can show to another, and by which we should bind ourselves, so long as we lived, to remain true to each other, to fight for each other if necessary, and never to quarrel. There and then, on the spur of the moment, the ceremony was performed, Sedjur, on my other side, prompting me how to act. All stood up in silence, and to the onlookers the scene must have appeared a solemn and impressive one; for my part, I was so nervous that I scarcely knew what I was doing, though Sedjur instructed me that whatever his father did or said, I was to repeat. Facing one another, the sheik grasped my girdle with his left hand, and I grasped his with mine. Then, with our right hands raised to heaven, we pledged ourselves, I repeating the words which Faris spoke, one by one, and each one many times. We called on God to bear witness; we swore by God, and through God, and we declared ourselves to be brothers to-day, to-morrow, and hereafter. It was no light undertaking, and those present regarded the ceremony with much seriousness, remaining silent for some time after it had been concluded. "Now," said Faris, later on, when the guests had departed, and he, I, and Sedjur were alone, "now, we are true brothers. Praise be to Allah! From this time we have all things in common; should you desire camels, horses, or sheep, take any that I have. Whatsoever is mine is yours, and anything that you ask of me shall be granted." "Great Sheik and Brother," I said, "I know not how to thank you for all the kindness and generosity which you have shown to me. Would that I could repay you but one half. I desire nothing but the one thing of which you know, and with it to return to my own country. This afternoon I spent in devising a plan for becoming possessed of that Golden Girdle, which we two once saw lying before the altar of Sophana, whom Raspul called Goddess Queen. To unfold my plan and ask you to agree to it will be to put your oath of brotherhood to a severe test." "Have I not sworn by Allah?" said the sheik. "Speak on, brother." I then expounded my plan, which was that, in place of my going on what might prove a long and useless journey, we should send to the party of Shammar now in possession of the Girdle, and invite them, as guests, to pay us a visit. As I explained, they were my friends, and they were, therefore, now the friends of Sheik Faris. He saw the argument, and though I am confident that my suggestion was most distasteful to him, he acquiesced without so much as a question. I explained to him my reason for wishing that the Shammar should come to me, rather than that I should go to them: I did not altogether believe in the veracity of the two Jews, who had said that they had been robbed, knowing, as I did, that the Jews of Arabia have reduced lying to a fine art. By persuading the Shammar to come to us, if we should find that the Jews had lied, we should be able to get in touch at once with the latter; whereas if I were to ride away a couple of hundred miles, I should have to come back again before being able to do anything. I was quite certain that if the Shammar had the Girdle, they would sell it to me; for I had been with them long enough to know that they were poor men, and that their sole desire was to obtain Kellner's 5000 kerans. Therefore I proposed that the message which I should send to them should be to the effect that I was anxious once again to see my old friends, and that I would purchase from them the Golden Girdle at the price which Kellner had agreed to give. As Faris said, the negotiations would require fine handling, but Sedjur stepped into the breach, and immediately suggested that he himself should carry the message. He would go with one other, and he was quite convinced that he would succeed in inducing the Shammar to come and see me. The sheik consented, and, moreover, offered to lead the tribe southwards in the direction of the winter pastures, by which Sedjur's return journey would be considerably shortened, and we should be at no greater distance from Kerbela and the two Jews than we now were. I went to bed that night more contented in mind; I still had every chance of obtaining my prize; I should have to pay for it, of course; but that I had long decided would be necessary. If the Shammar had the Girdle, they should have 5000 kerans for it; if the Jews still possessed it, they would doubtless sell it for that sum, and be glad to get the money. The only question that troubled me at all was the position of Kellner. I did not wish to do anything mean or underhand, for he had fought valiantly for the thing, and that he had failed to keep it was only due to his loss of health at the last. So I made a vow that, when I had secured the Girdle and had it safe in Baghdad, I would display the utmost generosity to Kellner, and recompense him handsomely. I felt that then I should be able to afford to be generous. Next morning, Sedjur and his companion set out on their mission, and after they had left, I almost regretted not having accompanied them. The sheik, however, laid himself out to entertain me, and on the following day, the whole tribe commenced its annual migration towards the south. It was an interesting sight, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and I was glad to find that the pace was slow and the day's march consequently short. Thousands of camels and horses moved abreast across the plain, a few horsemen scouting ahead, as an advanced guard, while Faris and I, with a small escort, rode a little in front of the centre of the long line, which extended across country for several miles. There was sport to be had, also; for the sheik did not make these slow marches without his hawks and greyhounds, and many a fast gallop they gave us. The camels and horses were as good as a line of beaters; wolves, foxes, jackals, gazelles, and bustards were frequently turned out of the scrub, and pursued by hound or hawk. For a week or more we travelled in this easy and delightful manner, pitching camp early each evening, and starting again none too early in the morning. At length we reached the spot at which Faris had agreed to wait for Sedjur, and so satisfactorily did the arrangement work, that we had to wait barely twenty-four hours before we had the joy of seeing four horsemen coming into camp. Sedjur's mission had been successful, and with him rode Daud and another of the Shammar. I was not a little astonished at the politeness with which Faris received his old enemies, and welcomed them as the guests of the tribe. They might have been his dearest friends; and the Shammar themselves were evidently well-pleased at their reception. It had been my hope all along that Daud would be one of the guests, as I knew him better than his chief, and I was aware that he was much attached to me; but it grieved me to hear that, some weeks before, the sheik had lost his life in a foray, and that three others had also perished. Daud was now the head of this small family of the Shammar, and he and the man accompanying him were the only survivors of the original party who had been responsible for the death of the seer at Katib. I mentioned this to Faris in private. His reply was typical of the man. "The curse has indeed followed them," said he, softly, "as I was sure that it would. For the murder of Raspul nine lives have been given. His death has been avenged, and the crime expiated. I am sorry for them, for they were daring and brave men." "I have not told you, sheik," I said, "that this Daud and the other man were both at Katib on that night, and were parties to the death of Raspul the seer." "That cannot be helped now," said Faris. "I cursed them, and swore, by Allah, that I would not rest until I had slain them. Yet the laws of hospitality are in the eyes of Allah inviolable, and of greater importance than an oath of vengeance taken in hot blood. I wish my guests no ill, and I trust that the curse of Sophana may not fall upon these two men." It was not long before I approached Daud in the matter of the Golden Girdle, fully expecting that he would show it to me hanging from his waist. But no sooner did I mention it than I realised that my hopes were destined to be dashed to the ground once again. What the two Jews had said was absolutely false. Never had Daud or any of his men set eyes on them since the day that he rode with Edwards and myself to the Birs Nimroud, and had then been forced to retire because of the sudden arrival of Faris and his superior numbers. Certainly, as I had thought probable, the Jews had lied, and undoubtedly with a purpose. I did not altogether blame them, since if they were acting faithfully in Kellner's interests, they were justified in throwing Faris and everyone else off the scent. Faris, however, when I told him all, did not see things in the same light, and declared that he would be even with the Jews who had lied to him. I was beginning to lose heart. I felt that I was no match for Kellner; and when I remembered that the Baghdad merchant, Mersina, who was evidently Kellner's trusty agent, had been tracked to Kerbela, whither also the two Jews had fled with the Girdle, I saw clearly what had happened. Mersina had received it on behalf of Kellner, and had conveyed it to a place of safety, where it would remain until the German was released from hospital, and able to take it away. My sole hope now lay in the possibility of purchasing the Girdle from Kellner--a poor hope, at the best; and I settled that my wisest course would be to return to Baghdad as soon as possible, and endeavour to discuss matters with him. He might still be in hospital at Hillah; if so, I would persuade Edwards that it would be friendly to visit him there. But, a few hours later, my new plan was wrecked. We had assembled--we three, Faris, Daud, and I--for the purpose of deciding if by any means we could discover reliable news of the Golden Girdle. Each of us, though for a different reason, was anxious that it should come into my possession. Faris, who had wealth enough and to spare, had but one desire in the world--to become the owner of the shoe of Shahzadi. Daud had dreams of placing himself on an equal footing with the other sheiks of his tribe, as I had promised him that whenever the Girdle should become mine, I would bestow on him the sum agreed upon by Kellner. As to myself, fame spurred me on to exertion; but I argued with myself that it was not a mere craving for notoriety, so much as an ambition to accomplish that which I had undertaken, with perhaps a wish to be able to prove to Edwards, the sceptic, that there was method in my madness. I opened the debate, telling my friends what I had heard of the merchant, Mersina; how I imagined that he was holding the Girdle until Kellner should claim it, and that, if this were the case, there was nothing to be done, since to dispossess the rightful owner was out of the question. "The words that you have spoken," said Daud, quickly, "are wise and just. Yet no man can assert that the dead have a claim on the goods of this world." "I do not understand you," said I, "I was speaking of the living." "Then," said Daud, "you know not that that Ingleezee is dead?" "Dead!" I replied in astonishment, "why should you think that he has died?" "Because," answered the Bedouin, "I myself saw him lying dead in the hospital at Hillah. I happened to have been in the town in disguise, when my nephew, who sweeps out the hospital for the base-born Turks, informed me of the death of a strange Ingleezee who had come from the desert. He took me to see the dead man, and I saw that it was none other than that same man who had brought ruin to my people. I had sworn to kill him, but of that I have told you. No knife of mine was needed to avenge the death of my many relations. It had pleased Allah to strike him." It seemed to me a dreadful thing that Kellner, of whom, as my cabin-companion, I had the most pleasant recollections, should have thus come to an untimely end, regarded probably by those about him in his last moments as an outcast, if not also as a felon. But his death had changed the whole situation; and though I did not immediately take it all in, my more astute friends saw at once how matters lay. "There is only one thing to be done," said Faris, breaking the silence, "and I am sure that my guest here will agree with me. Come, Daud, do you understand my meaning?" "That, sheik, I cannot say," replied Daud, "but I have my own idea of the only plan by which we can succeed. It is that we immediately seek the Jews, and discover from them truly what they have done with the Girdle." "And after that?" said Faris. "With spear and sword and with horse," answered Daud, his eyes flashing fiercely, "pursuing to the limits of the earth, and sparing no one, until we have accomplished our end." "In this matter," said Faris, "we are one. If you agree, let us swear to be loyal to one another so long as we are fighting for the serpent belt, and until our friend the Beg proclaims that he has no further need of our services." "I agree," said Daud rising, and holding his right hand aloft "By Allah, I swear it!" "By Allah, I swear it!" repeated Faris. Great plans were discussed by the two warriors, who apparently intended to be stopped by nothing; and though I counselled moderation and as little bloodshed as possible, I knew that it would be useless to argue with two men of this description when their blood was up. I therefore contented myself with listening to their projects, hoping that before anything desperate occurred I should have an opportunity of interfering and of preventing unnecessary slaughter. The plan finally decided on, and forthwith set on foot, was, in its initial stage, simple enough. Daud went alone to Kerbela, where, as a mendicant pilgrim from the far interior, he was to display much religious zeal, discover all he could about Mersina and the two other Jews, and remain in the place until he had found out what had become of the precious Girdle. A week passed without any news, and my patience began to be sorely tried. My hosts did all in their power to make the time pass pleasantly. Among other things, Faris told me the story of Shahzadi's shoe, and how Raspul the seer had prophesied: "_War and constant fighting there will be, until the coming of the eight-nailed shoe. Wealth untold cometh to the man whose mare shall carry the iron with which Shahzadi was shod._" At length Daud returned from his reconnaissance. I saw at once that he was a changed man, haggard, and his eyes as if on the look-out for danger. He told us how he had heard of the Girdle from Shustri, a Hindu astrologer of Kerbela. Shustri related that the Baghdad Jew, Mersina, had stolen the Girdle from Kellner and sold it for a large sum to an important sheik bound for Deyr, a long distance up the Euphrates. CHAPTER XXIII. DAUD'S ADVENTURES. Daud confessed to us that he had no very high opinion of the Hindu astrologer. He thought that he was quite capable of lying, if it suited his purpose; and that it was by no means impossible that he was mixed up in the theft of the Golden Girdle. If the latter were the case, the tale of Mersina's flight and subsequent disposal of the stolen property was, of course, an invention, to get Daud well out of the way; and it might be that the astrologer knew that the Girdle was safely deposited somewhere in Kerbela. The Shammar, however, came to the conclusion that, whatever was going on, his line of action was quite clear. He would ride after the sheik who was said to have bought the Girdle, and find out what truth there was in the story. If it proved to be a lie, he would return and tax the astrologer with the telling of it. So, getting his horse at the village, and taking one of the Aeniza with him, he went off in the direction which the sheik's kafila had taken. From information picked up at the khans and villages on his route, he found that it was quite true that the caravan had passed that way a few days previously, but he failed to ascertain anything reliable about Mersina's presence with it. Each day, trying his horse's powers of endurance to the utmost, he rode immense distances, and after a while heard that he was rapidly gaining on the sheik's party. Another long day's ride, and he probably would attain the object of his journey. Starting early to make his final effort, at mid-day he reached a small village, where, he was told, the great caravan had halted three nights before. The Arab with whom he conversed had a strange tale to tell him, and one which, if Daud had not known the reputation possessed by the Golden Girdle, would have seemed incredible. In the middle of the night, said the villager, the whole camp and the village close by were aroused by piercing shrieks from the women's tents, and soon it became known that the sheik's favourite wife had suddenly started up in her sleep, had rushed in a state of frenzy from the tent, and was flying screaming into the desert. The sheik himself and several horsemen immediately went in pursuit and in the course of the night brought back the unfortunate lady, who had apparently lost her reason. More than that the Arab did not know, for the kafila continued its journey in the morning, and the sheik, at its head, rode by the side of the camel which carried the _haudaj_, or sedan saddle, bearing his wife. Later in the evening Daud passed another village, and heard further strange stories of the sheik and his wife; how the latter was raving mad, and was under the impression that snakes were devouring her body; how the sheik had attempted in vain to appease her, and how the mulla had declared her to be possessed of a devil. These tales set Daud thinking, and calling to mind the madness that had seized Kellner when he rode away with the Golden Girdle, and the other curious things which he had heard about its mysterious powers, he felt certain that the sheik had given his wife the precious girdle purchased from Mersina. Rapidly forming his plan, he pressed forward, and before nightfall he found himself approaching the encampment of the sheik. He rode straight up to the sheik's tent, and demanded an immediate interview. This was granted; and Daud, assuming an air of importance, proclaimed that he had been despatched by Shustri, the astrologer of Kerbela, to overtake the sheik, and warn him of the evil that the Golden Girdle was capable of producing. He told him what misfortunes had befallen people who had worn the belt, on which there was undoubtedly a curse, and he pointed out that it was Shustri's opinion that Mersina had committed murder and had stolen the Girdle--acts which in all probability would intensify the curse, causing greater misfortunes than ever to fall on its wearer. The sheik, on hearing this, became as one demented, and acknowledged that he had paid a large sum to Mersina for the Girdle, because his wife had desired to possess it; and that no sooner had she unwrapped it and fastened it round her waist, than she was suddenly taken ill. No one could say what was the cause of her illness, but now it seemed evident, from what Daud had related, that it must have been brought about by the ill-fated Girdle. The sheik, excusing himself, hurried off to his wife's tent, and presently returned with the Golden Girdle itself, which he cast on the floor at Daud's feet. For a moment Daud imagined that the belt lying before him was his to take away, if he had a mind to do so. He stretched out his hand towards it; but the sheik motioned to him to stop, saying that he had conferred with his mulla, with the result that they had determined that this thing of evil should no longer be permitted to harry the inhabitants of the world. The mulla was now consulting the Koran, and would in due course come and make known in what way it would be possible to drive out the evil spirit. For some time Daud sat watching the entwined mass of serpents in front of him, longing to snatch up the coveted belt and fly with it. Yet, brave man as he was, he dared not to make the attempt, and shortly before midnight the mulla came in, to declare what the Koran decreed. Carried on the point of a spear, the evil-working Girdle was to be borne with due ceremony to the Euphrates; plunged three times in its waters; then carried, still aloft on the spear, across the river for a day's ride to the east. Here would be found the dreaded Devil's Well, known to all to be haunted by afreets and evil spirits, and the dwelling-place of countless snakes. Down into the depths of this dry well the accursed Girdle should be cast from the spear-point, and there it would find a resting-place in fitting company, the snakes crawling over their golden brethren, and the afreets and jins playing with them for all time. No man would be found courageous enough to descend into the pit and battle with its inmates. Thus would the world be freed from this great curse. The sheik agreed that the fate which the mulla had interpreted from the Koran for the Girdle was well devised, and regretting that the Jew from whom he had purchased it had left the kafila and had thus escaped being consigned to the well with his stolen wares, he ordered a three days' halt to be proclaimed, while he and a party of chosen men proceeded to convey the Girdle to the Devil's Well. At break of day the party left the encampment, one man riding ahead with the gold belt transfixed to his spear. The sheik and his mulla followed, and behind rode an escort of some twenty horsemen. Daud volunteered to accompany the sheik, explaining that doing so would only entail a slight delay in his return to Kerbela, but the sheik requested that he would go straight back to the town and thank the astrologer Shustri for having sent him with such valuable information. Moreover, he presented Daud with a handsome inlaid knife, as a reward for his services. So the Shammar and his Aeniza companion took leave of the sheik, and rode away to the south, at the same time as the others moved eastwards towards the Euphrates. Daud, crestfallen at what he considered to be his failure, travelled slowly, and, before noon, had covered little ground. He was disgusted with himself at having let slip the opportunity of carrying off the Golden Girdle when it lay at his feet. He argued with himself that it would have been quite feasible to have snatched it up, and, while everyone was in a state of bewilderment, made good his escape into the desert. Now, although he had actually seen it, and had had ample leisure to study the form of each serpent composing it, he had lost it for ever. He doubted not that what the sheik and his mulla had said was true; that the last resting-place of the golden snakes would be impenetrable to man, and that, therefore, there was no chance now that it would ever come into my possession. He had never seen the place, neither had his Aeniza companion, and it was at the latter's suggestion that he decided, a few hours later, that he would endeavour to find it, and satisfy himself, before returning to Faris, that all hope had gone. Towards dusk the two travellers reached a small village, close to the Euphrates, where they intended to spend the night, and try to discover something about the haunted well. Their host knew of it by repute, but said that no one would willingly pass within half a day's journey of it, so evil was the locality supposed to be. From the village it was distant rather more than a long day's ride, and when Daud expressed a desire to see for himself what manner of place it was, the Arab reluctantly agreed that, for a certain sum, he would, on the morrow, show his guests the way thither, but would not journey with them beyond mid-day. Early next morning they set out, crossing the Euphrates on inflated skins, with their horses swimming behind them, and then, striking north-east across the plain, rode rapidly for several hours. At noon their guide said that he must return, but explained to them the direction in which they should proceed, mentioning certain distant landmarks which would assist them to find the way, and warning them that no man had ever been known to spend the night near the well and return alive. Hour after hour the two determined men rode on, picking up the landmarks one by one, and feeling certain of their direction. But the sun was fast sinking, and there were still several landmarks unpassed. Then darkness coming on, they were forced to abandon further progress until daylight should again open up the country to them. Accustomed to sleep anywhere, a night in the desert was no hardship to them, and, much refreshed, they eagerly pushed on at daybreak. The last part of their ride, they were told, would be in the bed of a wadi; then over a ridge; and then the Devil's Well. In an hour or so they reached the wadi, and knew that they were nearing their destination. It was now necessary to make certain that the sheik's party had cleared off; so, casting widely round to the westward, they searched for the marks of the horses, and soon found what they sought. These footprints, they presumed, marked the route taken by the party on going to and returning from the well, so they followed what had become a beaten track, to find themselves, almost at once, on the brink of the dreaded well. It was apparent that the place must at one time have been close to a caravan route, though many years must have elapsed since it contained water. In structure not altogether unlike the wells of the Lady Zobeidé which Daud had often visited when roaming to the south of Meshed Ali, it was deeply excavated, and on three sides lined with massive blocks of stone. The fourth side was more open, and seemed to have had a succession of steps leading gently down to the water's edge. Now, however, the greater part of the masonry had crumbled away; and the steps no longer existed, except that here and there their remains could be occasionally seen. Bushes grew densely in every cleft and on each ledge; so that the precipitous sides of the chasm appeared to be clothed with stunted shrubs. Daud waxed warm as he described the place, and said that from one point it was possible to look sheer down to the bottom, perhaps a hundred feet; and from that spot, he and his friend, lying at full length, had peered into the depths. There they saw a space of some extent, the centre of which was bare and smooth, as if water at times lay there; while all around were strewn heaps of stones, which had rolled down from the walls, with bushes growing between them. The morning sun, shining through the open end, lighted up the whole well, and as Daud gazed down, he could see clearly all that he desired to see. On the bare ground at the bottom was the Golden Girdle, lying unclasped, in a heap, as it had evidently fallen from the spear on which it had been carried; and the mulla's prophecy was even already being fulfilled, for several great snakes were seen coiling and uncoiling themselves close by. For a long while the two men, fascinated by the weird scene below them, continued to look down; then they arose and walked round the edge of the well, surveying it from every point. That no man would ever recover the Girdle they felt satisfied, and cursing the spot and everything connected with it, they decided to leave it as quickly as possible, and return to bring the news to Faris and myself. Riding throughout the remainder of that day and the night that followed, next morning they reached the Euphrates, some miles below the village whence they had started for the well. The river was in flood, and with difficulty they swam their horses across; but at length, only the open desert separated them from our encampment. Forgetting the distance that still remained to be traversed, they had neglected to carry sufficient food and water for the journey, and on the third day they found that they had little of either left. They were now aware that, unless they rode unceasingly and swiftly, they must perish of hunger and thirst, but fortunately they were well mounted, and thus escaped the death that had threatened them. With what excitement we listened to Daud's account of his wanderings can be imagined. We praised him for his pluck, and thanked him for all that he had gone through; but that all our hopes should be thus blighted depressed us deeply. Faris and I talked the matter over for hours in private, and we agreed that until we ourselves had looked into the depths of the well of ill-repute, and had seen that it was impossible to recover the Girdle, we would not rest content. One thing was certain; Daud must guide us to the spot. But he could not undertake such a ride for some days, although, when we spoke to him about it, he was eager to set out at once. Yet we knew that if he broke down, our attempt would prove a failure, and we decided that he should have a week's rest before we put our plans into execution. As Daud's strength returned his enthusiasm increased. He suggested that we should lower a man into the well at the end of a strong rope, and with a spear-point bent in the form of a hook it would be easy to secure the Girdle without actually touching the bottom and risking the peril of snakes. In making our preparations the week passed quickly enough, and the world seemed brighter again. We even went so far as to arrange about the future. As soon as the Girdle was ours, we would ride straight to Baghdad, my friends remaining in hiding near Akarkouf, while I rode on in triumph to the city, and afterwards returned with the reward which I had promised to Daud. As to Shahzadi's shoe, I swore to Faris, as his blood-brother, that he should have it as soon as I could obtain it from England. "Then," said the sheik, smiling, "will all the Aeniza remember the words of Raspul, '_Wealth untold cometh to the man whose mare shall carry the iron with which Shahzadi was shod._'" "And, brother," said I, "if it please Allah, that man shall be none other than Faris-ibn-Feyzul." CHAPTER XXIV. THE DEVIL'S WELL. Never did fishing party go a-fishing for stranger fish or with stranger gear, than did we five men, who rode forth, in the chill of the desert winter's morning, on the first stage of the journey to the Devil's Well. At first, it had been proposed that we should go in foray strength, accompanied by some fifty horsemen; but, later, it was thought best to avoid the display which might arouse suspicion, if we should chance to encounter anyone on the way; and, eventually, the party was restricted to Faris, Sedjur, and myself, with Daud and the Aeniza who had previously been his companion. For three days we followed the route by which Daud had returned from the well; then, turning east, we reached the Euphrates a few miles above Ana. Crossing the river by swimming, we moved north again, and soon hit off Daud's old track, after which all was plain sailing. We had reached the Devil's Well--and no better name could have been bestowed on the awesome spot. Even Faris acknowledged that the sight of the place froze the very marrow in his bones. We wasted no time, however, in discussing our feelings, but set to work at once to discover a means of reaching the bottom. Daud had not exaggerated matters; to clamber down the scarped sides was beyond the powers of man. There was nothing for it but the rope; so we followed our guide to the point of land from which, as he had told us, the Girdle could be seen. Only one man at a time could lie down and look over into the abyss, and we took it in turn to view our quarry. Faris gazed on it; then Sedjur; and lastly I myself. Sedjur demanded to be lowered forthwith by the rope, but each of us had his own views of the situation, and each hoped to be the one to draw forth the prize. It was almost noon before we had formed any definite plan of operations, and the sun no longer lighted up the hollow--in fact, it was not easy to see the Girdle lying below, until one's eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Yet we decided, chiefly by my entreaty, to try the grappling iron, and it was ultimately arranged that each man should be allowed three attempts, after the hooks had been lowered down. Faris was to try his luck first; Daud was to follow; then Sedjur, myself, and the Aeniza in succession. When the others had failed, and my turn arrived, I took my place at the rope end, feeling quite confident of success. With two men sitting on my legs, I hung over the edge, and with both hands grasped the rope. Barely a hundred feet separated me from the Girdle. I could see its outline distinctly, and the grappling hooks within a foot of it. Other snakes, besides the golden ones, I could see also--great, grey, loathsome-looking beasts, and one of them, at the moment, was actually crawling over the hooks and the Girdle. Little had I imagined how difficult it would be to move the grappling iron, so heavy was the great length of rope. My first attempt did no more than just turn the iron, and I saw that all my strength would be needed to jerk the hooks towards the Girdle. I drew in my breath, gave a frantic tug at the rope, and succeeded in making the grapple turn bodily over. But it was farther than ever from the desired object; and my third attempt had no better result. I realised that it was hopeless, and, a sadder but a wiser man, I rose from the ground. Neither did the Aeniza, who last of all manipulated the rope, prove himself a more expert fisherman than the rest of us. "It is useless," said Faris, "to continue thus to play with the matter. Let us get to business, so that we may have done with this place before nightfall. Come, the sun is fast sinking; bring the rope." Now arose a difficulty: each of us was eager to be the one to descend, but Faris began to fasten the rope end to his own body. I remonstrated with him, and maintained that the lightest man of the party should be the one to be lowered down. This was, perhaps, selfishness on my part, as I had every reason to believe that I myself weighed less than anyone else. Sedjur willingly agreed to this, and, as the lightest, claimed the right to the rope end, at which I became indignant, and demanded that Faris should decide between us. Under other circumstances the friendly contest between Sedjur and myself would have been intensely amusing. Neither of us would yield; and at length Faris made us strip and stand before him side by side, so that he might compare the size of our limbs and the amount of flesh on them. Daud also was called in to give an opinion, and in the end the matter was decided in my favour. My heart gave a great bound when I knew that I, with my own hands, was to recover the Golden Girdle, which had given me such an amount of trouble; and, seizing the rope, I soon had it looped and knotted to my liking. I considered myself more or less of an expert at cliff work, since I had spent two nesting seasons with the fowlers at Flamborough Head, and I knew that I had nothing to fear from dizziness. I determined that, so far as I was concerned, there should be no chance of failure. Securing the rope round my waist with a knot which I was certain could not slip, I took the fathom or so that remained, and, passing it down through my legs, knotted it into the waist rope in the middle of my back. The end I then brought up over my shoulder, and fastened off in the front of the waist rope. Thus, when suspended, my arms and legs would be free, and the rope would not cut me unduly anywhere. My friends, seeing that I was no novice with a rope, willingly listened to the instructions that I proceeded to give them about lowering me down and hauling me up again. Faris was to lie flat on the projecting rock, watching me descend, and directing operations. Near the edge of the point, I drove in a spear as firmly as the rocky ground would permit, and, some little distance behind it, I planted another spear. Passing the rope twice round each upright spear, I directed Daud, Sedjur, and the other man to hold the standing part of the rope in both hands, and pay it out gradually, as Faris should instruct them. Then, when all was ready, I took the spear with the boat-hook head in both hands, and was soon hanging in space. Down, down, slowly but surely, I commenced to drop. As I descended, the air grew cold and dank; pigeons, startled by my presence, flew out of the fissures in the rocks, and occasionally a great bat made as if to attack me. Owls, also, I could see blinking on the gnarled bushes, and below, whenever I looked down, there were the snakes. It was not a pleasant experience, and for a moment I almost wished that I had been a heavier man than Sedjur. Faris's head was just visible over the edge of the point, and I could see his hands guiding the rope, which passed over a smooth rock close by the side of his head. As far as possible, I kept my eyes fixed on Faris, signing to him at intervals to lower away, and shouting to him cheerily, from time to time, to assure him that all was going satisfactorily. I began to congratulate myself on the success of my undertaking; I looked down to see how much farther I had to go; another twenty feet, and the Girdle would be within reach of my hook. At that moment, the rope suddenly ran out a yard or more with a rush, and then stopped as suddenly with a jerk, causing me to swing backwards and forwards in a most horrible manner. Instinctively I threw out my boat-hook to the cliff-side nearest to me in order to steady myself, and, to my dismay, I found that it had become fixed in a thick bush. I shouted to Faris to hold fast to the rope, but getting no response, glanced upwards. He had disappeared from his look-out post; and a feeling of utter helplessness took possession of me. I dared not let go my hold on the boat-hook spear, as without it I should be able to do nothing. I was hanging from the rope in mid-air, clasping the centre of the spear-shaft with both hands. Thus I remained for, it may have been, two seconds--not longer, when I gave a sharp pull at the rope to attract the attention of those above. What followed I hardly know. I have a dim recollection of seeing a man come plunging over the edge, mixed up with spears and ropes. I was loose. I clutched the boat-hook in desperation, and felt myself suddenly swing towards the side of the cliff. Then the shaft of the boat-hook dragged through my hands, my body crashed down, and everything became black. Of what happened after that I know nothing. Neither can I say for certain, even now, whether I lay there unconscious for only a few hours, or for more than twenty-four. On opening my eyes at last, I found that it was night, and for some time I could not understand where I was. Then the whole hideous truth dawned on me, and I recalled what I had last seen--the loose rope, the spears, and the falling man. I was, then, down in the well; and I shuddered as I remembered the snakes that I had seen at the bottom. I was afraid to move, but feeling carefully with my hands, I came to the conclusion that I was lying on a ledge, and had not fallen the whole distance to the bottom. Still, the situation was appalling, for unless my friends found some means to rescue me, I saw no possibility of escape. Exhausted, yet fearing to fall asleep, I lay, and prayed for daylight, not knowing whether the night had just begun, or whether it was drawing to a close. I called loudly to Faris, to Sedjur, and to Daud; but each time there came back only the echo of my own voice, mingled with the shrill screams of countless owls. That the place was haunted did not greatly trouble me, for I argued with myself that all the afreets and jins in spirit-land could do no more than kill me, which, perhaps, would be the best thing that could happen. Thus I remained motionless, hoping for dawn, and thinking regretfully over the events of my short life. It seemed pitiful to think that I should have been so near the attainment of all my hopes, and should suddenly have lost everything. Then I tried to find a reason for what had occurred, and I became convinced that it was the result of my own folly, that the rope had kinked up, that Faris had left his spot in order to free it, and that my foolish jerk had pulled him off his feet and hurled him into the depths of the well. His dead body, I thought, must be lying somewhere near me; and I shuddered at the knowledge that I had caused the death of the brave sheik, simply and solely because I had been so obstinately determined to obtain the Golden Girdle. As many another man had done before me, I cursed the thing, and remembered, with bitterness, how Faris had warned me from the first that no good would ever come from it. In the course of time the sky began to show a faint glimmer of light, and I knew that day was breaking. I could make out the shapes of the rocks and the bushes, and I soon saw how everything lay. As I had imagined, I was lying on a narrow ledge, on to which I must have been cast, by the swing of the spear-shaft, as the rope gave way. I looked above me, and there I saw the spear itself, with its boat-hook head fixed in a dense bush, and the end of the shaft not two feet above my face. When I sat up, I could almost reach it with my hands. I raised myself carefully, grasped the spear, and endeavoured to disentangle its hooked head. It resisted all my efforts for some time, but eventually a small branch broke off, and the boat-hook was loose. My next thought was to look for the sheik's body, and, craning over the side of the ledge, I glanced down at the bottom of the well. The sun had now risen, and was shining brightly on the wild scene. Not fifteen feet beneath me glittered the Golden Girdle, and the sight of it caused me to tremble violently. Close by it were one or two snakes, basking in the morning sun. I hastily scanned the ledge whereon I was kneeling, to make certain that other snakes were not there also. I could see none, and I gave a sigh of relief. Again I sought the body of Faris, and presently my eyes fell on a shapeless mass of clothing, lying among the débris of rocks on the opposite side of the well. In my agony, my first impulse was to fling myself on to the rocks below, and so end my miserable existence. But I restrained myself, and involuntarily turned my eyes in the direction of the gruesome corpse. A ray of hope suddenly burst in upon me. The clothes were not those worn by Faris, nor by Sedjur, nor by either of my other friends; they were not the clothes of a Bedouin, but of an Arab townsman. Who or what he was I could not imagine. Half dazed, I sat down and wondered what it all meant. Faris and the others were alive after all; they would shortly come to my rescue; they had probably gone off to obtain another rope. I felt happier. I still lived, and I was certain that Faris, my blood-brother, was not the man to leave me to die. Then a horrible fear came over me as I thought that, perhaps, the sheik had imagined that I had been killed by the fall. Possibly, while I was unconscious, he had called to me, and, receiving no reply, had given me up as dead. If he thought me to be dead, then he would certainly leave the Girdle at rest. These thoughts sent a thrill of horror through me, but at the same time they impelled me to cast about for a means of escape. I roused myself. I would not sit where I was and await death. I would make a fight for life. The resolution made, I became calm and collected--much to my own astonishment. I looked around me. The rope was still secured to my waist, the bulk of it lying at the bottom of the well. I hauled it up and coiled it by my side on the ledge. With the rope and my long boat-hook, I should be able to manage something--at least I hoped so. With the aid of these two things, I could surely work my way upwards from rock to rock, and from bush to bush. I could not endure another night in this Inferno, and I formed my plans rapidly. I raised the boat-hook, and with it grappled the bush above me. I could see that there was another ledge there, and to reach it meant ten feet nearer freedom; but I found that swarming up a smooth bamboo was more than I could manage; so, drawing down the boat-hook, and poising the loose end of the rope on its top, I raised it again, and, after several vain attempts, succeeded in passing the rope round the stem of the bush. Then, inch by inch, I jerked the rope forward until the end returned to my hand, when, knotting it securely, and fixing the head of the boat-hook in the bush, I clambered up the double rope, to reach the narrow ledge in safety. I drew up the boat-hook and the rope, and now that I had accomplished the first step, I no longer despaired. Looking down, while resting after my exertion, I caught sight of the fateful Girdle. It had a dreadful fascination for me. Should I leave it there? Could I possibly obtain it? I shook with excitement at the very idea; and I decided that I would drop down again to my former position on the lower ledge, and see if I could in any way get nearer to the bottom of the well. I hung the boat-hook in the bush, tied the rope to the thickest bough, and slipped down. The situation I found was not by any means hopeless; in fact, to reach a spot overhanging the Girdle, and within spear's length of it, seemed to be perfectly simple. About eight feet below me was a projecting rock, quite large enough to stand on, and from it, I estimated, I could easily touch the golden serpents with my hook. I determined now to run no risk of losing either of the two things on which my life depended. The rope, still looped round the bush above me, I slackened out sufficiently to enable me to reach the rock below, and drawing the long end through the loop that encircled my waist, I made it fast, coiling the remainder round my body, and securing the end to the shaft of the boat-hook. Thus equipped, I descended cautiously, and, in less than a minute, was standing on the rock. Pulling at the portion of the rope to which the boat-hook was fastened, I dragged the latter off the ledge, and soon had it in my hands. My estimate proved correct; the head of the boat-hook could touch the ground a foot or two over and beyond the Golden Girdle. As the iron hooks scraped on the ground, the live snakes hissed and wriggled away among the fallen stones. Skilfully, I gauged the centre of the belt, and passing the boat-hook beneath it, gently raised my hands. But the belt slipped off, and I had to start afresh. The same thing occurred time after time, until at length I balanced it exactly, and slowly and steadily drew it up. As it came nearer and nearer, my knees shook beneath me, and every moment I expected to see it slither to the ground. Another foot and it would be safe. I thrust out one hand and grasped it. In my frantic joy I shouted again and again. I defied the whole host of jins and afreets; I cared not for Shaitan himself. I had won the day. The Golden Girdle was mine! CHAPTER XXV. FOR DEAR LIFE. I drew out my knife, cut off several feet from the rope end, and twisting it round and round the Girdle, tied it with strong knots beneath my garments. Joyously, I climbed to the ledge above me, and then again to the second ledge. There I rested, and studied the cliff above me. It was disappointing; for it rose up sheer for almost twenty feet, and no foothold could I see anywhere. I crept carefully round a slightly projecting rock, and found that a narrow cleft, with perpendicular sides, opened back into the cliff. It seemed as if an earthquake or some subsidence had rent the rocks asunder from the top of the well to the bottom. Down below me, the fissure descended full thirty feet; upwards, perhaps for twice that height, the walls towered to what I imagined was the edge of the well. This was my only chance. I could discover no other possible way of escape from the shelf on which I stood. I wondered if there could be snakes in such a place, but so far I had seen none except at the very bottom. So I dismissed the thought, and began my preparations. I knew that chimney climbing was a special branch of mountaineering. I had seen it done, but I myself had never attempted anything of the kind. Yet, it was no time for hesitating, and now that I had the Girdle round my waist, I felt nervously anxious to get away. Taking off my sandals and tying them round my neck I unwound the loose coils of rope from my body, tied the end to the boat-hook head, and placed the latter, together with the coiled rope, on the rock at the mouth of the fissure. I might want my trusty boat-hook again, so I decided to keep it secured to one end of the rope, the other end of which was attached to my body. It was a simple matter to get athwart the chimney walls, which were here no more than two feet apart, with rough portions of rock projecting a few inches. My back was flat against one wall, my feet against the other, and once I found myself in that position, I did not stop to think. Raising my feet a few inches, and pressing hard with my back and hands, I found my body gradually ascending, with far less difficulty than I had expected. It was, however, laborious work, and at times I despaired of being able to reach the top. The long rope, also, hanging loosely between my legs caused me a good deal of annoyance, as I was ever in doubt as to whether it would run out freely; though I consoled myself with the thought that, if the worst came to the worst, I could cast it off from my body. Hour after hour I continued to work my way upwards. My feet, hands, and back were stiff and sore with the constant strain and rubbing; but as I looked down, I realised how magnificently I had done. I felt that I had become a mere machine--up with the feet, up with the back, and another six inches nearer the world. I forgot hunger and thirst, and I thought only of the streak of blue sky that I could see through the top of my prison chamber. I was desperate, I own, but my heart never failed me; and, as I gained confidence in the security of my wedged-in position, I was able, when I became exhausted, to rest occasionally. At last, I looked up and found that I was nearing the top. Another twelve or fifteen feet, and I should be free. But, alas, I saw that the cleft was widening, and at the top was two or three yards across. Even now, it had become more than three feet wide, and every inch would increase my difficulties. I struggled on a little higher. With the whole of my back flat against one wall and the soles of my feet against the other, my knees were no higher than my waist. I could go on slowly as long as my knees had any bend in them; after that I should be powerless. I stopped, and gazed up again. How near I was to the edge! Six feet--perhaps not as much. Yet, a step higher, and the chimney would be too wide for my legs to span. An old and straggling bush grew on the edge, with branches extended mockingly above me. Could I but reach that bush, I should be safe. But it was well-nigh impossible. I looked down into the depths of the fissure, and I thought of what was before me; how my legs would soon give way, and how my body would bound from side to side, until the final crash finished everything. Then my eyes followed the long, trailing rope, and rested on the tiny boat-hook, far below. I had forgotten its very existence, but the sight of it gave me fresh hope. Pressing with all my strength with feet and back, I began to haul away at the rope. Yard after yard came up, and then I felt a check. I knew that I had taken in all the slack, and had come to the boat-hook. I wondered whether its weight would be too much for me. Gradually and carefully I pulled at it; I could hear it grating over the rock; one pull more and it was free, and swinging against the sides of the chimney. Its weight was little, and hand over hand I gathered in the rope, allowing it to fall down again to one side, until, before very long, the head of the boat-hook struck my knuckles. I passed the shaft upwards between my legs; in trepidation I watched the hook approach the bush, and when I saw that the bamboo was more than long enough, I breathed more freely. I was getting horribly nervous and excited, and I nearly lost my footing in my eagerness to grasp the bush with the hook. I took a pull at myself, and the next moment the boat-hook, with the rope attached to it, was round the solid stem of the bush. But I was not yet free. I knew that I could not climb up the bamboo, and I did not feel equal to climbing up the rope. Before attempting anything, however, I determined to make myself as safe as possible, so, taking up a portion of the rope, I knotted it firmly into the loop round my waist, and encircled the spear-shaft with my arm. I now considered that I was quite secure; a taut rope stretched from my waist to the hook fastened in the bush, and as long as I held the shaft, so as to prevent the chance of its flying upwards when my weight came on the rope, I felt that I could not come to much harm. Even if my exhausted legs gave way, I should still hang from the bush, but I had no intention of relying on this, unless forced to do so. I sat there and rested, easing first one leg and then the other; I wondered whether the bush would be strong enough to bear the strain that I should presently put on it; and I nerved myself for my final effort. Raising my hands as high as possible above my head, I grasped the rope, and, still keeping the long bamboo close to my right hip and between it and my right armpit, I hauled myself upwards. Had the cleft remained the same width all the way to the top, my ascent would have been easy; but when I was within a yard of the bush, it widened suddenly, and before I knew what had happened, my feet had lost their hold, and I was hanging by my hands to the rope. Desperation seized me, and I fancy that the roughness of the rocks helped me; for, with a frantic effort, I pulled myself up the rope, assisted by my toes, which seemed to obtain a cat-like hold on the steep cleft-side. I put out one hand and grasped the thick roots of the bush; I let go the rope, and with the other hand snatched at the nearest branch. A second later, I was lying flat on my back in the open desert, a yard or more from the edge of the well. There I lay, worn out and utterly exhausted, but so fearful was I of falling over the side, that before I collapsed, I had sufficient strength left to cast off the rope from my body, and roll myself away to some distance. Then, I suppose, I must have fainted. The sun was still well up in the heavens when I again opened my eyes. Instinctively, I felt my waist for the Golden Girdle. It was there. I sat up, and looked around; but I could see nothing except desert, and the few bushes near the well mouth. I crawled towards the spot where I had last seen my friends, and there I was astonished to find all our saddle-bags, as we had thrown them from our horses. But the horses had gone. I soon had my mouth to a water-skin, drinking as I had never drunk before; and when I had satisfied my thirst, I turned to the saddle-bags for food. There was plenty and to spare, and I ate heartily. Moreover, I found a pipe and tobacco, and I could have hugged myself with delight. This was indeed a stroke of luck, and I sat and smoked, and thought of all that had occurred. I was blissfully happy, and now, for the first time, I raised my cloak to look at the prize which I had secured for myself. I untied and untwisted the rope, and took the Golden Girdle in my hands. It was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen; but, as I gazed on it in rapture, I remembered its evil reputation. A sickly fear came over me. Should I also go mad from having worn it? Perhaps I was already mad. Perhaps, in my madness, I had leaped into the well, and my companions had fled, in terror, from the spot. Perhaps this was no Golden Girdle after all, but merely a piece of rope. People who are mad, I said to myself, have strange hallucinations. I feared to look long at my treasure; so I rolled the rope about it, and again fastened it round my waist. I had not yet got as far as thinking of the future. I had gained possession of Queen Sophana's Girdle, and that was my sole thought. Still, I knew that sooner or later I should have to decide what I should do next, for, whether I were mad or sane, I had no intention of spending another night in the neighbourhood of the Devil's Well. I could not understand what had happened to Faris and the others, and I could not account for the presence of the stranger's corpse, which I had seen in the well. But, when I stood up and looked about me, I became aware of the fact that, since I had last been there, the ground was much trodden by horses' hoofs. There were the marks of many more horses than our five, and it suddenly flashed across me that my friends had been attacked by a strong party of horsemen, while I was descending into the well, and that they had been forced to take to their horses and get away. It must have been a sudden affair, otherwise Faris would not have left his saddle-bags behind; and the pursuit must have been a swift and long one, since the victors had not returned to loot the saddle-bags. I failed to understand it, and I gave up thinking about it. I had enough to do to arrange for my own salvation. I might have to walk for many days before reaching the Euphrates and without coming across a habitation. I therefore made up my mind to go well provided with food. I would carry a saddle-bag, with food, tobacco and pipe in one end, and, as a balance, I would carry a partly-filled water-skin in the other end. With such a supply I could travel, for a week or more, through the most parched country. I knew approximately whereabouts I was, as Faris had told me, as we rode to the well, that we had reached a point which must be about midway between the two great rivers. So, whether I walked due south, or south-east, I was bound to strike eventually either the Euphrates or the Tigris; and, provided that I did not meet with any roaming Bedouins on the way, I should find villages near whichever river I came to, when, I did not doubt, the Arab peasants would befriend me. In cold blood, such a journey as I proposed to take on foot would have been simple madness; but, as I was situated, there was nothing else to be done. I had to go somewhere, and I naturally decided to return by the way that I had come. I shouldered my saddle-bag and set out on my tramp, without so much as a regret at leaving the spot. As I followed the track of the horses, it occurred to me that I was making a mistake; for, judging by the hoof-prints, my friends had fled in this direction, and had been pursued by the host of horsemen, who in all probability would, some time or another, retrace their steps to the well, in order to look for booty. Thus they might run into me at any moment, when, of course, I should lose everything that I possessed, if not also my life. So afraid was I of such a disaster, now that I had my precious Girdle on my person, that I struck away from the track at once, and even ran, in order to try and get out of sight I now took a south-easterly course, and succeeded in covering a good many miles before sundown. I laughed at the idea of sleep; and knowing how to keep my direction by the stars, I rejoiced in the safety of the darkness, and in the cold night air. Now and again I was obliged to stop and rest, as my legs refused to carry me, and on these occasions I fell asleep as soon as I touched the ground, but usually to wake with a start and push on again. On the following day I walked almost continuously, keeping my eyes on the look-out in all directions, and dreading the appearance of Bedouin horsemen. Twice I saw small parties on the horizon, when I lay as flat as possible on the ground for more than an hour each time, and thus avoided being seen. I was more than pleased with my day's work, and when night came on, I ate, drank, and smoked. I cannot say that I was happy, but I was as happy as, under the circumstances, it was possible to be. That night, in spite of the cold, I slept long and soundly, and when I arose some time before daybreak, though terribly stiff, I felt much refreshed, and ready for another long march. In this manner, always marvelling at my powers of endurance, I walked for four nights and three whole days, with seldom a long rest. Then recurred the old thought that I was mad. Madmen, I said to myself, can perform feats impossible to sane people. No sane man could have lived through all this. Yet, I was still alive. I lighted my pipe, and blessed it as a comforter. I began to think that I was all right after all; and when I had finished smoking, I got up and strode ahead. I had kept a careful mental note of the number of hours (as far as I was able to reckon them) that I walked, and I estimated that I averaged about two miles an hour. When I stopped for a sleep at the end of the fourth night, I totalled up my distance, and calculated that I had covered just over a hundred and thirty miles, which I considered by no means a bad performance. I thought that it might be even a record. Early on the morning of the fourth day, I saw a long line of trees in the distance, and I felt certain that it marked the course of the Tigris. I was right; and within a few hours I was rapidly approaching the great rolling river, with its waters sparkling in the sun. For days I had lived for this moment, and feeling that I was almost done, I staggered along, until I reached the water's edge, when, without troubling to remove my clothes, I walked in up to my chest, and revelled in my bath. After a while I returned to the bank, and, thoroughly refreshed, sat down to gaze on the glorious scene. I could see no village anywhere; but I lay back, contented and happy, and watched the flocks of sand-grouse flying in from the desert for their morning drink. They came in myriads, each taking its mouthful of water, and without resting, returning at once, miles away, to the burning sands. I shuddered when I thought of the pitiless wastes where they had their homes. Never again would I voluntarily go back to the desert. The river to me was life. Why I could not say, unless it was because I knew that somewhere downstream lay Baghdad, where was peace, quiet, and rest. But how was I to reach my goal? I certainly could not walk much farther, and it would be no easy matter to walk along the overgrown banks of the winding river. A boat, or a raft, was what I wanted, but I did not see the prospect of obtaining either. In a book, I argued with myself, when the hero had arrived at the stage at which I had now arrived, he would find logs and ropes and such-like things to his hand, and would construct a raft in no time. Unfortunately, I was not the hero of a book, but a stern reality, and consequently there were no rafting materials anywhere about. My clothes were heavy with water, and I was footsore and weary, but I struggled slowly along the river-side, and prayed for the sight of a village. Presently, on coming round a bend of the river, I saw a solitary fisherman paddling his kufa close inshore. I ran forward and hailed him, but at the sound of my voice he was seized with terror, and, dipping in his paddle, made off as fast as possible. I shouted after him that I was his friend, and that I would pay him handsomely if he would take me in his boat, so after a little he came cautiously back. I could see that he was half afraid and half curious, but my mention of money had impelled him to return and inspect me. "How far is it to the city?" I shouted. "A long way," he replied. "How many days in your boat?" I asked. "A full day and part of a night, without a rest," said he. "Will you take me there?" I inquired, as he drew near. "Impossible," he replied, "I have my fishing to attend to." "But," I said, "I will pay you more money than you can earn by your fishing in a whole year." The boat was now close to me, and without more ado I jumped straight into it. I was determined not to lose this chance, even if I had to throw the fisherman overboard. I knew that my strength was fast going. I might last as far as Baghdad, if I could sit quietly in the boat, but I could walk not another mile. My friend, who, I found, was an old man, was somewhat surprised at my action; but when I explained to him that I was an Ingleezee who had lost his way in the desert, he scented money, and told me that he was willing to do whatever I should wish. "Where is your village?" I asked. "About two hours up stream," he replied. "Well," said I, "you cannot return there now. You must take me to the city first, and when you return with a bag full of kerans, all your friends will be pleased with you." "How many kerans did you say, Beg?" asked the old man. "How many do you want?" I asked. "Twenty," said he, evidently asking twice as much as he expected to get. "Then," said I, "you shall have twenty when we reach the city, and if we pass under the bridge ere the sun has risen to-morrow morning, you shall have thirty." The fisherman's face was radiant with joy at the prospect of such a haul. "When will you start?" he asked. "Now, at once, as quickly as possible," I replied. "It is good," said he, plunging in his paddle with a will, and making the circular tub swing from side to side. We were soon out in the current, and travelling at a fair speed. Never had I been in such a blissful state of contentment and ease, as I lay curled round at the bottom of the boat, with my eyes just looking over the edge. We passed other fishermen, and here and there a village; but the paddler kept to his course, and paid no attention to anything except the business in hand. I was too excited to sleep; moreover, I thoroughly enjoyed the river scene, and delighted in the verdure of the banks, which I found a pleasant relief to my eyes, nearly burnt out of my head by the perpetual glare of the desert. By sunset we had accomplished much; and soon after dusk the old man made known to me that the thirty kerans were as good as his; we should certainly reach the bridge before daylight. Hour after hour of the dark night we continued our voyage; and it was still dark when the Arab ceased paddling, and, turning half round, whispered, "See, the city is at hand." I strained my eyes, and peered into the darkness; before long, I could see the tops of the buildings outlined against the sky; and my heart almost stopped beating. It all seemed too good to be true. Yet, there they were. There could be no mistake. Then I distinctly heard the swish of the water at the bridge, and day was just breaking as we swept under it. All was silent; Baghdad was still sleeping. I knew a landing-place, a little below the Residency, and thither I directed the paddler to take his kufa. A moment later he jumped ashore, and hauled up the boat. It was but a step to Edwards's house, and bidding my friend follow me, I dragged my stiff limbs up the steep pathway. I reached the gateway and hammered on the barred door; but, before it was opened, I dropped senseless to the ground. CHAPTER XXVI A HAVEN OF REST. Of what happened after this I have no recollection whatever, and it was not until many days later that I was in a fit state to be told anything. Then my good friend George Edwards doled out scraps of news in a niggardly manner, and refused to allow me to do much talking. He, however, set my mind at rest on one point. He himself had removed the Golden Girdle from my body, and it had been locked up in the Residency safe. In the course of time I learned everything, and I had much to hear, though not more than I had to tell the Consul-General and Edwards, who, as I became convalescent, spent many hours of each day sitting with me. I had not yet been allowed to see the Girdle, I supposed because my doctor thought that the sight of it might upset me; and he confessed to me afterwards that, for a long time, he had doubted whether the shock that I had evidently received would not permanently affect my reason. Strange as it may seem, I had no immediate wish to see the thing. I felt that I was afraid to look at it. It might not really be what I imagined--the true Golden Girdle of the Great Queen. I asked Edwards to describe it, but he told me that he had hardly examined it, as the Consul-General had locked it up at once, and would not allow it to be taken out of the safe until I should be well enough to inspect it with him. That it was the Golden Girdle, Edwards affirmed, there could be no doubt whatever. He had seen enough to be certain on that point. "What became of the boatman who brought me down here, and saved my life?" I asked. "You have never mentioned him." "Well," said Edwards, "I will tell you all about it. I was sleeping peacefully, when my boy rushed up on to the roof, and nearly upset my bed in his eagerness to wake me. He told me a garbled tale, about two men having come to the door; that one of the men was dead, and that the other man said that the dead man was an Ingleezee whom he had found in the river. So I bolted down, and heard what the old Arab had to say, and then I overhauled you, and you can imagine my astonishment when I eventually discovered who you were. You had been reported as drowned weeks before, we had had courts of inquiry about it all; and had wired and written home to your people. The whole thing was a mystery, especially when I learned that the boatman had found you miles above Baghdad, and you were supposed to have been drowned on the way down to Bussorah. However, as I found that you were not actually dead, I had you carried indoors, and we soon took your clothes off. Then I came across the gold belt, and I knew that you had been at that desperate game again; so I sent off to the Consul-General, asking him to come round as quickly as possible. He nearly had a fit, and it was a long time before he could believe his eyes. After a bit, he went off with the belt and your boatman, and having investigated the matter thoroughly, paid the old man the thirty kerans which he said you had promised him, and gave him another five as bakhshish." "He deserved every penny of it," said I; "for, if it had not been for him, I should never have seen Baghdad again." "There you are right," said Edwards. "You ran things about as close as possible, and you may thank your stars that you tumbled across the fisherman when you did." The next matter of interest which Edwards related to me was the fate of the unfortunate Kellner. I had told him what I had heard from Daud about his death, but I was surprised to hear that Edwards himself had been with Kellner when he died. Just after I was supposed to have been drowned, the Turkish Governor at Hillah had sent word to say that the German in his hospital was thought to be dying, and that he had expressed a wish to see me or Edwards, or both of us if possible. The Consul-General sent Edwards off to Hillah at once, with a small escort, and when he reached the place, he found Kellner still alive, though in a state of collapse. He lived, however, for another three days, during which time Edwards remained with him continuously, and received from his lips his dying confession--for by no other name can it be called. It was a wretched story, and I was really sorry for the poor fellow. As far as daring and pluck went, if anyone deserved to succeed, he certainly did; but, of course, he had been ill-advised. From what he told Edwards--and he was most anxious to tell him all--it seems that he was in the employ of a South African millionaire, who was a great collector, and who, in some way, had got possession of my uncle's secret. Kellner, much to his credit, refused to tell the name of his employer, but he made a clean breast of everything else. As I had imagined when I came across him at the Birs Nimroud, he had been put on to my track from the very beginning, and, when I thought of it all, I was astounded at the cunning of the man. In one way and another he had got an immense amount of information out of me during the voyage, and before we reached Baghdad he had made himself acquainted with the contents of all my papers. In one matter I was greatly interested: Kellner and I had jumped together at the document relating to Shahzadi's shoe; but he had an advantage over me, in that his employer had given him instructions to seek out the Jew Mersina, take him into his confidence, make him his agent, and promise him a large reward. Money was to be no object; the Girdle was to be obtained at any cost. Kellner found Yusuf Mersina the very man for his purpose, a man with a rapid brain, who weighed the pros and cons of everything carefully, and who, having once formed his plans, never hesitated. Now, the Jew had spies and friends all over the country, and as soon as he heard of the paper about Shahzadi's shoe, and the defunct Munshi of Kerbela, he decided to take Kellner to that town, and see what could be discovered there. They were in Kerbela some days before Edwards and I had started from Baghdad; and Mersina went straight to the Hindu astrologer, whom Daud subsequently consulted. Mersina was an old client, and always paid well for information and advice, so the astrologer received him with open arms. He did not, however, altogether like having anything to do with the Golden Girdle, the history of which was well known to him; but, after a time, he confessed that he knew where it was, though, as the secret was his own and his alone, it would require much money to purchase it. In the end, terms were agreed upon: a goodly sum down, and a still larger sum if the Girdle were secured. Kellner was astonished to hear that it was no longer buried, but, as Mersina told him that the astrologer never lied, he was forced to believe what he said. The next step was to open up communications with the Seer of Katib, who, according to the astrologer, possessed the Girdle. He himself had had a quarrel with the seer, and could not, therefore, communicate with him; but there happened to be in Kerbela at that time a Bedouin sheik, who, if paid adequately, would doubtless be able to obtain the Girdle. This sheik was the Shammar Abbas-ibn-Mirshid, and Kellner and Mersina were soon introduced to him. After matters had been satisfactorily arranged, Mersina returned to Baghdad, and Kellner became the guest of Abbas, accompanying him to his temporary camp near Babil. Kellner now confided in Abbas, and told him about me, and how important it was that I should be balked in my attempt to obtain the Girdle, explaining that he thought it quite possible that I might know that Raspul had it. Abbas decided to watch the Baghdad road and to check my progress, but as Kellner refused to allow him to do me any bodily harm, he contented himself with the theft of my money, under the impression that that would be sufficient to delay me. Why he did not wait to see the result Kellner did not say, but, apparently, they thought it best to get away in the direction of the ruins of Katib as quickly as possible. What happened after this I knew, or had guessed correctly. Raspul had agreed to sell the Girdle to Abbas for two thousand kerans, and to bring it to a certain place at a certain time. But Faris upset all their plans by overwhelming the Shammar and killing Abbas. All this Edwards and I had heard from Daud, and Kellner threw very little fresh light on the events that followed. He maintained, however, that when he rode away with the Girdle, he was unaccountable for his actions. He was under the delusion that the Shammar intended to murder him, and when he found himself pursued, he felt bound to defend himself with his revolver. The terrible privations that he underwent from that time until he found himself at the Birs Nimroud put all my own experiences in the shade, and, as I listened to Edwards, I could not help wondering why my luck should have been so good and Kellner's so bad. It would appear that he never heard that Mersina had played him false, and he fully imagined that the Birs Nimroud Jews had taken the Girdle to Mersina, who was to retain it until he arrived to claim it. In proof of this he gave Edwards a note to convey to Mersina, whom he instructed to hand over the Girdle, on payment of a certain sum, for conveyance to the British Museum. He expressed many regrets that I had been drowned, and it pained him to think that I had not lived to receive his apologies for the way in which he had treated me. The pathos of the story made a great impression on me, and I grieved at the thought that Kellner's end had been such a sad one. But Edwards quite restored my spirits by describing how, for a time, armed with Kellner's note, he had sought Mersina, in the full expectation of acquiring the Girdle, and of taking it home to my uncle. "You see," said he, laughing, "I could have made a very good story out of all our adventures in pursuit of it, and everyone would have thought that I was no end of a hero." "Not you, George," said I, "I know you well enough." "I wonder what became of Mersina," said Edwards. "As I told you," said I, "Daud fancied that he had cleared off with his ill-gotten gains, to start afresh in Syria or Egypt. I am rather glad, though, that he let in that scoundrel of an astrologer. He is a bad lot, I am sure. He gave away poor old Raspul, and he tried to give away Mersina to the Turks. But it was a case of the biter bitten that time." "That is all fair enough in this part of the world," said Edwards. "The Turks themselves would give away the astrologer, or anyone else, without a blush, if they thought it to their own advantage to do so. But, as a rule, they find it more profitable to let the various badmashes cut each others' throats." It was a great disappointment to me to find, when I was well enough to think of such things, that all my letters from home, of which I was told there had been a number, had been packed up, with my other belongings, and sent home to my people, directly after I had disappeared from the steamer. I had written very fully to my uncle as soon as Edwards and I had returned from our wanderings, and I had hoped that I should now find answers to my letters; but the only home news that I received was in a note which my mother had written to Edwards. There was nothing much in it, except thanks for the care which he had bestowed on me when we were together in the desert, and a request that he would take the greatest care of my health, and not allow me to run any further risks. Still, even that short letter was something; it was in my mother's handwriting, and it brought me nearer home. Since she had written it, however, she had heard of my death, and all my papers and clothes had probably reached her. But there was just a chance that the telegram announcing my safety might have arrived before my boxes, and I hoped that it had been so. My one thought now was to get home as quickly as possible, but my gaoler damped all my ardour by telling me that he certainly would not let me think of the journey for another month or six weeks. Among my earliest visitors was the captain of the river steamer, who had quite forgiven me for all the trouble that I had been to him, though he warned me that if I ever took passage with him again, he would have me chained to my berth. As I had surmised, my absence from the steamer was not discovered until some hours after I had gone. The steward had brought a cup of tea to my cabin, and finding it empty, and that the bed had not been slept in, went and reported matters to the captain. Then the steamer was searched from stem to stern, and a whole day wasted in sending boats up the river to look for me. At last the search was abandoned, the captain coming to the conclusion that I must have walked overboard in my sleep. He laughed heartily over his story, and though, of course, I apologised most humbly for having deceived him, I inwardly enjoyed the description of his discomfiture. I promised him that I would never willingly jump overboard again, and we remained the best of friends. So the time dragged on, and I began to have a craving to see the Golden Girdle which the Consul-General guarded so jealously. I noticed that none of my visitors ever referred to it, and if I happened to mention it, they promptly changed the subject. I grew suspicious, and one day I suddenly tackled Edwards. "Why is it," I asked, "that you will never speak about my Girdle?" "I am always talking about it," said he. "Not to me," said I. "Is it still safe and sound?" "Perfectly," he replied. "Then I propose," said I, "that we shall have a grand inspection of it." "Not just at present," said Edwards, "I do not think that you are strong enough." "Look here, George," I said, "I believe that you are keeping something from me." "I swear I am not," said he. "Then," said I, "you are under the impression that, if I gaze on the Golden Girdle, something will go wrong with my brain." I saw Edwards colour, and I was convinced that I had hit the nail on the head. But our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a telegram for me. My people had already spent a mint of money in telegraphing congratulations, and in asking almost daily after my health; but the telegram which I now received contained a huge surprise. It was from my uncle, who said that he and my father had decided to come out to Baghdad and bring me home, and that I was to remain until their arrival. They were starting at once, and it was a great joy to me to think that, within five or six weeks, I should be free, and moreover, have no further responsibility for the Girdle, of which my uncle would himself be able to take charge. I now found, after a lengthy talk with my doctor, that he was painfully superstitious about the Girdle; he was evidently afraid that when it was let loose from the safe, something dreadful would happen, and I laughed at his fears. He was greatly relieved at the news that my uncle was coming out, as he did not like the idea of my going off alone with the dreadful serpent belt. "Of course," he said, "you will not think of examining your treasure now, until your uncle arrives." "To tell you the truth," I replied, "I intend to ask the Consul-General this afternoon if it will be convenient to him to hold the inquest on it to-morrow." "Well," said Edwards, "I suppose you will get your own way, as you usually do. Shall I be expected to be present?" "Naturally," said I, "who else will make the post mortem?" That evening I strolled down to the Residency, as I was now allowed to do, and sat among the orange trees talking to the Consul-General who, I discovered, shared my eagerness to inspect the Girdle. He confessed to me that on more than one occasion he had surreptitiously peeped into the safe, but as the belt still had my rope wound round it, he could not satisfy his curiosity to any extent, and he did not like to take off the rope until he had my permission to do so. "Has it ever struck you, sir," I said, "that our friend Edwards is a little bit afraid of it?" "Well, do you know," he replied, "now that you mention it, I believe that he is. I have suggested once or twice that we should ask you to show us your prize, and he has always put me off by saying that he did not think that your nerves were strong enough to stand the strain, as the sight of the Girdle would bring back so many memories." I laughed outright, and vouchsafed that, in my opinion, the person with the shaky nerves was Edwards himself. The words were hardly out of my mouth than I saw the subject of our conversation striding across the courtyard towards us. "You look as if you had something very important to tell us, George," said I. "So I have," he replied. "News that will set you thinking." "I know what it is," I said. "The Golden Girdle has escaped, and you have seen it flying back towards the desert." "I almost wish that I had," said Edwards. "If you talk like that," said the Consul-General, sharply, "I shall have to ship you off on six months sick leave. Your nerves are giving way." When I looked at Edwards's face, I was of the same opinion. CHAPTER XXVII. VISITORS. "I am all right," said Edwards, "but I have just seen someone, and heard something which has upset me a little. Whom do you think I have been talking to, Walter?" he asked, turning to me. "I give it up," said I. "Who was it?" "Well, I will tell you," said Edwards. "I was walking my horse over the bridge, when I met a very smart-looking Persian gentleman on foot, and as I came up to him, to my astonishment he salaamed to me, and addressed me as 'Hakim.' I knew his face, but I could not put a name to it. So I stopped and began to talk to him. He hastily told me to go on across the bridge, and wait for him a little way out in the country, as he did not wish to be seen by the Baghdadis in my company. I now recognised his voice, and glancing round, I made certain that I was right. It was our old friend Sedjur--beautifully disguised. Getting well away from the town, I waited for him, and when he came up, gave him a warm welcome. Then, in reply to my inquiries, he told me what he was doing in Baghdad. He was tracking Yusuf Mersina, who, he said, was supposed to be in Baghdad, with the Golden Girdle in his possession. So far, he had not been able to hear anything of him. I was afraid to tell him a word about your exploits, or that he might ease his mind about the Girdle, because, honest though I believe Sedjur to be, one can never be quite certain what these people are up to. I was going to ask him if he knew that you were alive, when we saw people coming along in the distance, and he begged me to leave him. I did not do so, however, until I had learned from him that his father is also here." "What, my brother Faris?" I exclaimed. "How extraordinary." "Yes," continued Edwards, "and, what is more, they are both coming down to see me to-night. Sedjur said that he knew the Residency, and would drop down in a kufa, so as to be under the wall here as the moon rose. I promised to meet him, and give him protection as long as he was within the precincts of the Residency." "You were making somewhat free of His Majesty's property," laughed the Consul-General. "I am sorry, sir," said Edwards, "but I thought that you would be interested to see these two friends of ours, about whom you have heard so much." "I was only joking," said the Consul-General. "I shall be delighted to welcome them. The moon rises at about eleven o'clock, if I am not mistaken. Do you think that Henderson ought to sit up so late?" "I shall be here, sir," said I, looking defiantly at my medical adviser, "even if I have to go back to bed for another month. I cannot miss seeing Faris and Sedjur." It was therefore arranged that we should dine at 8.30 at the Residency, and afterwards make a night of it. But, in the meanwhile, Edwards marched me back to his house for two or three hours' rest, though, as a matter of fact, he kept me busy talking for most of the time. "What do you imagine that Faris and Sedjur are doing here?" he asked me. "Looking for Mersina, I suppose," I answered. "But I think that they must be on the wrong scent." "I must say," said Edwards, "that I do not like the look of things. If Mersina has come back to Baghdad, you may be certain that he knows that you got the Girdle; and, as likely as not, he is planning a burglary or something of the kind. I do not suppose that Faris and Sedjur are in with him." "In any case," said I, "I do not see that it matters. Mersina cannot burgle the safe." "Perhaps not," said Edwards, "but he might murder or gag the Consul-General in his sleep, and take the key." "You are a fearful alarmist, George," said I. "Do not worry about the matter, until you hear what the Sheik and Sedjur have to tell us. I am quite excited at the prospect of seeing them again, and hearing what happened to them at the Devil's Well, when they let me go." Dinner that night was a dull affair. Edwards was morbidly gloomy; I, if not actually depressed, was thoughtful; and our host altogether failed to enliven us. Afterwards, we sat and smoked in the Consul-General's sanctum, overhanging the river, until the hour for which we waited approached. Then Edwards, looking at his watch, rose, and walked out to the low parapet which bordered the river, to meet the expected Bedouins. A few minutes later the door opened, and Edwards ushered in Faris and Sedjur. My heart gave a leap when I saw them again, but instinctively I stooped over the table with my back towards the door, so that I should not be recognised. As soon as the Consul-General's greeting was over I turned suddenly, and, facing Faris, held out my hand. "Brother," I said, "have you so soon forgotten me?" The look of amazement and joy that came over the faces of father and son I shall never forget, and throughout the long discussion that followed, I constantly observed each of them glancing furtively at me, as if still doubtful whether I were flesh and blood. How we talked! First, I had to give my version of my escape from the well, and so often did they interrupt me with questions, that I was a long time relating all that had happened to me. "And where now is this accursed serpent belt?" asked Faris, when I had concluded. "Locked up securely," answered the Consul-General "and where it now is there will it remain, until I myself take it out." "Marvellous!" said Faris, addressing me. "On more than one occasion, brother, you forbade me to call you 'magician,' yet henceforward shall I call you by no other name. For, of a truth, to have raised yourself from the dead entitles you to that name." "I care little," said I, with a laugh, "how I am called, now that I have accomplished my task. But, tell us of your own adventures. How was it that you let go the rope? And who was the man whom I saw lying dead among the rocks?" "That," said the sheik, "must have been the Jew Jusuf Mersina, and I hurled him there with my own arms." "Then why," I asked, "have you now come to Baghdad to seek him? I do not understand." "Because," said Faris, "we believed that he had not been killed by the fall, but had escaped with the serpent belt, which the astrologer of Kerbela afterwards told us was here in Baghdad. But I will tell you everything, and then you will understand, for you must have thought that I was guilty of the crime of abandoning my brother, whom I had sworn to defend and succour for all time." The sheik, assisted by Sedjur, then related fully all that occurred at the fatal moment when the rope by which I was suspended suddenly gave way. My conjectures were fairly correct. Faris lay watching me slowly descending towards the Girdle, when, without any warning, a wild shout was raised close behind him, and looking back he saw a party of horsemen galloping down on him. The Aeniza who was at the tail of the rope, quickly took a hitch round the rearmost spear, and each man ran to his horse. Faris immediately recognised the leader of his assailants as Mersina, and, throwing his horse's bridle to Sedjur, rushed at him and unhorsed him. The Jew fought tooth and nail, but Faris was too strong for him, and managed to drag him towards the edge of the well. Then it was that the Jew, in desperation, clutched at the spear which held my rope. To Faris's consternation, it flew out of the ground, and my weight immediately carried away the remaining spear and the rope. In his rage at my fate, he lifted Mersina bodily from the ground, and hurled him into the depths below. Turning round, he saw that the others of his party were hotly engaged with their enemies, and keeping them at bay until the sheik should mount his horse. The spears of both Faris and Sedjur had disappeared into the well, so the former, deeming it hopeless to stand and fight, gave the signal to his party to disengage and break away, trusting to the speed of his horses to get clear. This was successfully accomplished, for though the pursuit continued for several hours, Faris and his three followers rapidly out-distanced their pursuers, and during the night made good their escape. Daud, unfortunately, had sustained, during the fight, an ugly spear wound in the thigh, and the severe ride that followed had not improved its condition; consequently, Faris decided to take him to the nearest village by the Euphrates, and leave him there with his old companion, the Aeniza, while the sheik and his son returned to reconnoitre towards the well. Having seen Daud safely deposited in the village, my two friends retraced their steps, and soon discovered that the hostile horsemen had not gone back to the well, but had struck away to the north-west, which seemed to confirm the opinion that Daud had expressed that Mersina's adherents belonged to the kafila of the great sheik who had purchased the Golden Girdle, and had afterwards thrown it into the Devil's Well. When the well was reached, they shouted down into it, and continuously called to me by name, but getting no reply, they concluded that I had been killed by my fall. So they gave me up as lost, and proceeded to gather up their saddle-bags. One, they found, had disappeared, but they thought that it might have been on the back of my horse, which the enemy had captured and carried off. Before leaving, however, curiosity impelled them to look once more at the Golden Girdle, but though they were certain of the exact spot where it had lain, they were unable to see it. Of this, at the time, they thought little, because dusk was already coming on, and they rode all night towards the Euphrates, which they reached next day. At the village they had to wait for some little time, until Daud had recovered sufficiently to travel, when he went to Kerbela, to endeavour to find out from his friend the astrologer if he had heard of the fate of Mersina and the Girdle. The Hindu appeared to know some of the events that had taken place. He knew that the Girdle had been thrown into the well, and he knew that Mersina had taken a party there to try and recover it. Furthermore, he stated that he had discovered, by divination, that the belt of gold had been taken from the well, and was in Baghdad, hinting at the same time that it was with the Jew Mersina. This information Daud had obtained only quite recently, and as soon as Faris and Sedjur heard it, they set out for Baghdad, in search of Mersina and the Girdle, while Daud remained in Kerbela, with the hope of picking up fresh news. "Then you thought," said I, "that I was dead." "We felt certain of it," said Faris, "otherwise I should have remained at the well until I had rescued you." "Why, then," I asked, "since you believed me to be dead, should you have taken any further trouble about Mersina and the Girdle?" "Because," replied the sheik, "I considered that I was responsible for your death, and I intended to come and confess all to the good Hakim. But I was unwilling to do so unless I could bring to him, for presentation to your family, the Great Queen's belt, which had cost you your life. Now that I know that you are alive, and have reaped your reward, I can return to the desert in happiness." "There to await," said I, "the coming of Shahzadi's shoe." "Nay," said the sheik, with a surprised look, "that can never be now; for I failed to carry out my part of the bargain." "Who was it, then," I asked, "who lowered me into the well, from which I recovered the Girdle? Except through you, my brother, I should never have obtained it; and, as Daud will be rewarded by the sum which was promised to him, so also shall Shahzadi's shoe be bestowed on Faris-ibn-Feyzul. Even this day," I continued, "have I sent a message to my friends, who are coming from the big house across the seas to take back Sophana's belt, that they should bring with them the shoe which you desire to possess." The two Bedouins were delighted, and for some minutes continued to pour out volumes of thanks. Then the Consul-General suggested that the hours had slipped by and that soon day would break. Without wishing to hurry the departure of his guests, he thought that they would desire to leave while it was still dark. "When, sheik," he asked, addressing Faris, "do you propose to quit Baghdad?" "We shall leave," replied Faris, "within a few hours. So soon, that is, as we can get our horses and ride away." "But before you go," said the Consul-General, "you would doubtless like to see with your own eyes, and perhaps touch, this great treasure in which you have been so deeply interested. What says our hero? Eh, Henderson?" Observing the eagerness depicted on the sheik's countenance, I readily acquiesced, and the Consul-General took out his keys and walked to the safe in the corner of the room. As he did so, my eyes happened to turn towards Edwards. He was clutching convulsively at his chair, and his face had lost all colour. The key turned in the lock with a sharp click; at the same moment Edwards rose from his chair, and, saying that he did not feel well, walked out of the room into the open air. I was so engrossed with the opening of the safe, that I paid little attention to Edwards's action; and, almost trembling with excitement, I watched the Consul-General lift up the mass of intertwined rope and gold. It was just as I had last seen it, and when it had been placed on the table in front of Faris, I explained that it was thus that I had bound it to my body when first I recovered it from the bottom of the Devil's Well. The Girdle was partly concealed by the rope, and in order that it might be seen the better, I commenced to disentangle it; but I had hardly unwound one turn of the rope than a wild cry from outside electrified us. Dropping the rope and Girdle, I rushed to the door, followed by Faris and Sedjur; for the cry was an unmistakable call for help, and the voice I knew to be that of Edwards. As I crossed the room, I had time to notice that the Consul-General snatched up the Girdle from the table, and, instantly locking it up in the safe, ran after us, to reach the courtyard simultaneously with Sedjur. By the side of the wall above the river, I saw Edwards standing in the moonlight, and looking down into the water. "What is the matter, old chap," I asked, as I ran up to him. "I am afraid it is a bad business," said Edwards, "but it served him right, whoever he is. There he is, down in that kufa." We all looked over the edge of the embankment, and we could see below us, in the dim light, a kufa, with the figure of a man lying across the gunwale, the head and shoulders at the bottom of the boat, and the legs trailing in the water over the side. [Illustration: "WE COULD SEE BELOW US ... THE FIGURE OF A MAN LYING ACROSS THE GUNWALE"] "See that he does not escape," shouted Edwards. "He may not be dead." Quick as thought, Sedjur ran to where his own kufa was fastened, jumped down into it, and soon brought it alongside the other one. Faris and I then assisted to drag the man up and lay him on the ground, while Edwards obtained a lamp from indoors, and made an examination. The man was dead, his skull having been crushed and his neck broken. Death, Edwards declared, must have been instantaneous; and, with some excitement, he told us what had taken place. Feeling faint, he had walked out into the courtyard, and was sitting on one of the seats in the fresh air, when he suddenly saw a figure climb stealthily over the wall from the direction of the river, and creep towards the room where we were seated. Thinking that something was wrong, Edwards rushed across to the intruder, but the man was too quick for him, and fled back to the river-side. Edwards, however, shouting for help, succeeded in cutting him off, and was able to seize, for a second, the end of his cloak as the man leapt over the wall into the river. Whether the fugitive knew that his kufa was immediately below him, and had intended to jump into it, no one can say; but it was evident that the effect of Edwards's temporary hold on his cloak was to throw him off his balance, so that he pitched headlong into the bottom of the boat from a height of some fifteen feet or more. Holding the lamp to the dead man's face, we sought to identify him, and Faris instantly uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Wallah!" said he, "it is Shustri, the astrologer." "Wallah!" exclaimed Sedjur, "and he told Daud that he was going to Damascus." "Without a doubt," said Faris, "he had come here to steal the Serpent Belt; but death overtakes even a man who knows all things, and who can converse with the dead." There were already signs of day, and Faris was anxious to depart. "Twere better," said he "that this man's body should not remain here; for if it became known that such an one had perished in this place, then would it have an evil reputation for all time. We will therefore take the body and the kufa a little way with us, and let them float away in mid-stream, until, if Allah wills, they reach the great Shattu'l Arab." None of us dissented, and within a few minutes we had grasped the hands of our Bedouin friends, and had seen them drop down into their kufa. Then we lowered the body of the Hindu into the other boat, and Sedjur, casting loose its rope, towed it astern, while Faris paddled away from land. We stood watching the two black specks moving across the water, until, in the growing daylight, we saw them part, the one slowly ascending the river, and the other, caught by the current, sweeping down stream, out of sight. CHAPTER XXVIII. MYSTERIES, SOLVED AND UNSOLVED. The adventures of that memorable night laid me low for many a day to come, and Edwards himself suffered a good deal from the shock of having been, as he supposed, the cause of Shustri's death. I argued with him that no blame whatever could possibly attach to him, since the ruffian was evidently up to no good. "There I am convinced that you are right," said Edwards; "for the Consul-General picked up, just outside his study door, the most diabolical looking knife you ever saw." "Did he?" said I. "Then I expect he meant business." "I suppose," said Edwards, after a long silence, "that you are too matter of fact to believe in presentiments." "I do not know," I replied. "They have never bothered me much. But why do you ask?" "Well," said my friend, "I will confess to you, in strict confidence, that when you were brought in here that day, by your weird old Sinbad, and I took the Golden Girdle from your waist, I felt a most extraordinary sensation all over me. I cannot explain what it was like, except that it was very similar to the feeling that I have when a cat is anywhere near, about which you always laugh at me." "My dear George," said I, "I would not dream of laughing at you. But go on." "The curious thing about it," said he, "was that I felt all right directly the Consul-General locked up the Girdle. But I positively dreaded seeing the thing again. It haunted me day and night, but I did not like to mention my fears to anyone." "At any rate," said I, "you did not conceal them very well. I noticed that you looked blue whenever I suggested having a peep at my Girdle. Poor chap, I wish I had known that you had got it so badly. How do you feel now?" "Since last night," said he, "I have become a different being, but I felt pretty ill when the Consul-General unlocked the safe." "I saw you," said I; "and I thought you were going to faint. What was the matter?" "I cannot describe it," said Edwards. "Something seemed to drag me out of my chair, haul me out of the room, and plump me on a bench in the courtyard. My whole body felt as if it were full of pins and needles, darting about in all directions; and this sort of thing continued until the man fell over the wall, when suddenly a delightful feeling of calm spread over me. Now I fear nothing from your Golden Girdle; you might take it out of the safe, and flourish it in front of my face, and I would not move a muscle." I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, thinking that his mind was unhinged, but he appeared to be quite rational, so I concluded that he had suffered from some temporary delusion, and that he had recovered from it. It struck me, however, as certainly most extraordinary that he should have fought shy of the Girdle, and gone outside just in time to frustrate the astrologer's evil designs. Afterwards, we discussed the matter often, but the enigma remained unsolved; for it was difficult for a plain, untutored brain like mine to follow my friend into the intricate regions of telepathy, second sight, and psychology in general, in which things he professed to be a believer. In the end, I formed my own opinion, which I kept to myself: Edwards's fear of the Girdle was superstitious dread, produced by the various stories which he had heard of it; his experiences on the night of Shustri's death amounted to nothing more than that, suffering from the same superstitious dread, he had left the room at a certain moment, which moment happened to have been selected by Shustri for his appearance on the scene. This I put down as a mere coincidence, and whether my opinion was right or wrong, no man will ever be able to decide. That there was reason enough for superstitious dread I freely admit, and surely no one had more cause to dread the sight of the Girdle than had I. As far as I was aware, death had always followed swiftly after its appearance. Raspul the seer, Yusuf Mersina, and Shustri the astrologer, had each and all been killed before my very eyes, and when I reckoned up the deaths that had occurred within my certain knowledge, they appeared to be legion. At times I found myself speculating as to who would be the victim when next the safe was unlocked; but each time such thoughts rose up I banished them from my mind, as unworthy of a man of intelligence. On such matters as these I had plenty of leisure to reflect, as I was on my back for several weeks, and unable to do much more than think and sometimes talk. During this time, however, I succeeded in getting into communication with Sheik Daud; and, through the Indian pilgrim agent at Kerbela, paid him his 5000 kerans. He sent a grateful message of thanks to me, and expressed a hope that some day I would honour him by a visit to his tents. But the most pleasant part of his message was the news that he had sworn a perpetual truce with Faris and Sedjur. The two latter, I learned, had gone away to join their people in the Hamad, where they would remain until the coming of spring, or at any rate until I should let them know that Shahzadi's shoe was waiting for them. Slowly but surely the days and weeks passed. I had received a telegram from Karachi, from my father, who told me that he and my uncle Ambrose had got so far on their journey, and were just leaving for the Persian Gulf. Ten days later, the river steamer panted past the Residency, and Edwards and I were down at the wharf to greet the newcomers. It was a great and glorious occasion, and I was astonished at the change that seemed to have come over my uncle, with his tanned face and his travelling suit taking the place of the colourless cheeks and dingy old black coat to which I was accustomed. In my father I saw little alteration. He was still the smart, soldierly-looking man that he had always been; and looked no older than he did on the day when I had met him at Southampton, on his return from South Africa. "Well, Walter," said my uncle, after we had recovered from the excitement of our first meeting, "is your golden treasure still safe and sound?" "Under lock and key at the Residency," I replied, "and only waiting for your arrival to be properly inspected. The Consul-General will be away until this evening, but he sent all sorts of messages to you, and that there are rooms ready for you in the Residency. Have you brought Shahzadi's shoe?" "Yes," replied my uncle, "but I only got your wire in the nick of time." Later in the day I told the tale of my second and successful hunt; for my people had received no details, but merely the bald telegram that I was alive and had secured the Girdle. That they were astonished at what I had to tell them, I need not say, and the fuss they made over me was quite embarrassing. My uncle, I thought, was somewhat upset by my descriptions of the evil doings of the Girdle, and I could not refrain from amusing myself by watching his face, whilst I enlarged on them. "So," said my father, when I had concluded, "you have not let the terror out of the safe since that night." "No," said I, "we decided that we would restrain our impatience, in order to give you a chance of taking part in the next séance. We thought it would add to your interest in the Girdle, if you could witness a real tragedy." "What a bloodthirsty young villain you are," said my father, with a laugh. "Personally," said I, thinking it time to reassure my uncle, "I am quite certain that nothing dreadful will happen again, and Edwards is of the same opinion. He says that he no longer has the tingly feeling and he has no presentiment of evil, both of which I consider good signs. Moreover, he has elaborated a marvellous theory, though I myself cannot follow it. He has worked it out by what he calls the "Law of the Three _plus_ Five, equals Eight," and he argues something like this:--Raspul was killed with the Golden Girdle in his hand, after having blown up Three Shammar. Remember the number 3. Then when Kellner fled with the Girdle and was pursued, he shot Five Shammar. Remember the number 5, and the total 8. Now we begin with 3 again, the two Birs Nimroud Jews and Yusuf Mersina; then four Shammar of the original party which stole the Girdle, _plus_ Kellner, equals 5. Hence, we have two groups of 3 _plus_ 5 equals 8----" "Heavens alive!" interrupted my father, "are you going on with this much longer?" "Only a little more," said I, laughing, "but it is really interesting. Edwards has spent a deal of time over it. Listen to his deductions. He places the dead Raspul at one end of the Golden Girdle, and the dead Shustri at the other end; and he maintains that as Raspul had directly and indirectly caused the deaths of 8 men; so when Shustri had directly or indirectly caused the deaths of a similar number, then the chain had to be completed by his own death." "With all due deference to the brain power of your worthy friend," said my father, "I have never heard such a lot of rubbish in my life. I should say that he required looking after. Is he all right otherwise?" "Perfectly," said I. "But you have not heard quite all. We now go back to the famous mare Shahzadi--the heroine of the shoe. You remember the eight nail-holes. Well, because Shahzadi cast that eight-nailed shoe, the Golden Girdle came into Raspul's possession, and gave him the mystic number 8." "And what about the numbers 3 and 5?" asked my uncle, who was listening with all seriousness. "The doctor seems to have forgotten his 3 _plus_ 5." "I know," said I. "I attacked him about that, but was told politely that I was dull of comprehension. Edwards explained it away by saying that originally Shahzadi's shoe, of course, had 3 nail-holes on either side, and if they had drilled the two new holes on the same side, then his theory would have been proved undeniably. We should have had the 3 _plus_ 5 equals 8. As things are, he considers that the mare's hoof probably would not stand having 5 nails on one side, and so they had to equalise the number." "Most ingenious!" said my father, "though a trifle weak. But your friend thinks that the evil spirit which was in the Girdle has now flown, does he not?" "Yes," said I, "he is almost certain on that point, but he suggests that, as there may possibly be what he terms 'a metallic sympathy' between the Golden Girdle and the iron horse-shoe, it would be advisable to lay up the shoe in the safe with the Girdle." "Pooh!" said my father. "Is not the safe itself made of iron? That should have settled the Girdle long ago, but apparently it did not." "Not at all," said my uncle, to my astonishment, "it is not the same thing. In my opinion, the doctor has reason on his side. We all know that the ancients had a firm belief in the magical powers of iron, and we all know something of the luck of a horse-shoe. At any rate, whether there is anything in it or not, I shall uphold the doctor in his opinions, and shall ask the Consul-General to place the shoe in the safe, as soon as I meet him." Thus it came about that, within a couple of hours, Shahzadi's shoe joined the Golden Girdle in its iron prison. Possibly they had never been so close before; yet it was but sixty years since only the height of Shahzadi's withers separated them. Could the one have related to the other its experiences during those six decades, the story would have been well worth writing down, and much more interesting than my own insignificant adventures. Edwards was overjoyed when I told him what my uncle had done, and at dinner that night he was quite light-hearted and gay. After dinner came the great séance, whereat the death-dealing belt of serpents was to be let loose among us. It was held in the Consul-General's study, in the middle of which had been placed, for the occasion, a bare table--the dissecting table, as Edwards jocosely termed it; and when the Consul-General unlocked the safe, I think that more than one of us expected something desperate to happen. But nothing extraordinary occurred, and everyone craned forward, as I unrolled the rope, and left the Girdle lying at full length on the table. My uncle, as he took it in his hands and examined it, could not restrain his delight, and, trembling visibly, he pronounced it to be the most glorious and beautiful treasure that it had ever been his good fortune to handle; even my father, who cared little for such things, was deeply impressed; while I myself regretted none of the troubles that it had cost me. I felt that I had not lived in vain. We were each allowed to take it up and gaze on it for a while, and then it was handed back to my uncle, for his more careful scrutiny. "Egyptian," he said, "without a doubt, and of great age. Possibly a present from an Egyptian king to Queen Sophana, or to one of her ancestors. It is impossible, of course, to decide these matters until we have it at the Museum, with other things to refer to. But, Walter, I promise you that it will be found to be the most priceless work of art that has ever been brought to light. I know of nothing that can approach it in workmanship." He then went on to discuss each detail of the Girdle, and as, on this occasion and on several subsequent ones when he examined it again, I acted in my old capacity of secretary and took shorthand notes of all that he said, I am able to give a faithful description of the far-famed belt of the Great Queen. In length it was a trifle more than thirty inches; in depth it averaged five inches, widening in the centre to almost seven inches. The twelve snakes which composed it were twisted around one another in various contortions; the heads of four of them formed the clasp, their bodies intertwined with those of the snakes behind them; while the heads of the eight other snakes projected, at regular intervals, a little distance beyond either edge of the Girdle. In the centre, the bodies of two snakes were coiled, so as to resemble a circular brooch, some seven inches in diameter. The delicacy of the workmanship can be understood when I say that the body of each reptile was fashioned out of hundreds of tiny scales, invisibly connected; and when one lifted the belt up at any point, the remainder of it hung limp and quivering. So, also, when placed on the table, the whole thing appeared to be alive, until each restless scale had settled down. But this was not all; for the scales were so arranged that when the Girdle lay flat and open, they closed tightly on each other; yet, as soon as the Girdle was formed into a circle and clasped, the scales on the inner side opened slightly. This peculiarity, we soon discovered, was not unintentional. At my uncle's request, I, one day, fastened the Girdle round my waist, and found that in removing it, it caught in my clothes; then I fastened it next to my skin, when I immediately felt an extraordinary sensation of pricking. We examined the belt again most carefully, and at once became convinced that we had fathomed the mystery of the evil results which we had heard followed the wearing of the Girdle. It was quite evident to me that people, and especially superstitious people, on clasping on the belt and feeling the sharp prickles, would be capable of doing almost anything. This was a most interesting discovery, and, at one fell swoop, it abolished half the magic supposed to be contained in Sophana's Girdle. To my uncle, however, perhaps the greatest interest was the head of each snake. The eyes were precious stones, and the crown of the head was set with a large stone, in all cases beautifully engraved. The four heads which constituted the clasp were all similar, having small ruby eyes, and on the crown a square of jade upon which was engraved the magic figures, 1, 8, 1, 1 in hieroglyphics. "Ah!" exclaimed my uncle, "the demon number. Our friend the doctor knows something of it." "It is as I thought," said Edwards excitedly. "So, Walter, you can no longer scoff. I was right. The 3 and the 8 entered into all my calculations, as you will remember, and there are the mystic numbers at the beginning and at the end of the Golden Girdle. And was it a mere coincidence that Shahzadi's shoe had at first 3 nail-holes on either side, and then 8 nail-holes altogether?" The heads of the two snakes coiled in the centre had amethysts for eyes, and each was crowned with a square of lapis-lazuli, engraved with the figure of Isis. The six other heads were set with different stones, the eyes being of sapphire, topaz, emerald, garnet, crystal, and cornelian; while the crown stones consisted of circular, oval, or heart-shaped bloodstone, chalcedony, hæmatite, jasper, onyx, and agate. On each of these large stones were engraved magical formulæ, and a figure; the figures representing Osiris, Serapis, Horus, a human-headed lion, a human-headed hawk, and a lion-headed serpent. Considering the age of the Girdle, and the vicissitudes through which it had passed, it was in a marvellous state of preservation. One or two of the stones had gone from the snakes' eyes, two of the larger stones were cracked, and here and there the bodies of the snakes were a trifle dented. With these exceptions there was little amiss with it; and when my uncle and I had cleaned it, it looked really beautiful. For days we could talk of little else, and each day we had it brought out from the safe, to examine some particular part. It was photographed from every point of view; careful drawings were made of it; and impressions of each of the stones were taken; but all such things were returned to the safe, each time, to remain with the original, until we should remove the Girdle and everything connected with it, on leaving for England. My uncle refused to allow any description of it to be sent home, as it was his desire that the Girdle itself, in all its glory, should be allowed to burst on the astonished gaze of his _confrères_, without any previous warning. CHAPTER XXIX. A PROPHECY FULFILLED. It was not long before my uncle made known to me the real reason for his journey to the East. The description that I had sent home of the Temple of Sophana had, as he told me, caused the smouldering fire within him to break into flame, and he decided that he was not too old to do something in the world of discovery. The report of my death, however, was a great shock to him, and extinguished the flame of his ambitions. Then, when he heard of my success, he no longer hesitated, but persuaded my father to accompany him, and set out at once. It was therefore, I found, not so much the Golden Girdle that had impelled him to come to Baghdad, as his craving to visit the ruins of Katib, and see with his own eyes what no other European, except myself, had seen. That I should wish to go with him was only natural; but it was not to be, as Edwards declared that I was wholly unfit for such an undertaking. In due course all arrangements were made; and, at my suggestion, Faris was communicated with, and asked to conduct my father and uncle to the ruins. But it was nearly a month before everything was settled. In the end, Faris agreed to meet the party at the Birs Nimroud on a certain day, and to bring with him a sufficient escort of Aeniza. There he was to receive from my uncle the much coveted shoe of Shahzadi, and he promised to be responsible for the safety of the relatives of his "brother the magician" until he brought them back again to the Birs Nimroud. In my opinion, no expedition ever started under more favourable circumstances, and it was with many heart-burnings that, after seeing the two adventurers and their zaptiehs a few miles on the road, I turned back, and returned with Edwards to Baghdad. "It is rather sickening," said I, "to be out of this. I must say I should have liked to have had a look at the temple in cold blood." "Be content," said Edwards, "with what you have already seen and done. Your constitution has been pretty well undermined as it is, and if you are not ever so careful, you will shatter it altogether." "It will be a trifle dull," said I, "idling about this place until they come back." "They will not be very long, I fancy," said Edwards. "The professor promised to waste no time, as he is most anxious to get home with the Girdle. I am to go on six months' leave by the same boat, so we will have merry times. In the meanwhile, I have got a job for you, and if you undertake it, you will not be bored by idleness." "What is it?" I asked. "Nothing very exciting, I expect." "Perhaps not quite up to your standard of excitement," said my friend, "but I told your father that I would do my level best to persuade you to carry out his wishes. All you have to do is to take pen, ink, and paper, and put together the story of your wanderings in search of the Golden Girdle." "How deadly uninteresting," said I, with a groan. Yet, as the time went on, and I found myself unable to do much riding or take other hard exercise, I began to jot down notes and headings on the paper which Edwards, each day, thrust obtrusively before me; and, at length, I came to the conclusion that such a treasure as the Golden Girdle was indeed worthy of having its history put on record. So I set to work with a will, full of misgivings of my ability to describe the queer things that I had seen and heard in the desert; and, each morning, sitting at my window, overlooking the mighty waters of the Tigris, I added a few sheets to the fast-growing pile. While thus engaged, I received the first news of the wanderers, contained in a long letter from my father. It was written at Hillah, and finished as the camp was being struck at the Birs Nimroud. Edwards and I read it with intense interest, and both of us blushed when we came to passages dealing with the good names which we had left behind us; for many were the nice things that my father told me he had heard, not only from the Aeniza, but also from the Turkish officials at Hillah. There he had met the cheery old Commandant, who had recently returned from reinstating Ali Khan at Adiba. In the eyes of Ali Khan and his people, we were, the Commandant affirmed, the greatest heroes that Arabia had yet known, and if ever we revisited Adiba, our welcome would be magnificent. At the Birs Nimroud, Faris, Sedjur, two hundred horsemen, and many camels were found waiting, and immediately on his arrival, my uncle presented the sheik, in the presence of his men, with the shoe of Shahzadi, the Aeniza displaying extraordinary enthusiasm on the occasion. "We are just off," concluded my father, "and Sheik Faris is capering around on little Kushki, with the prized shoe dangling from her neck--the two of them as proud as peacocks." [Illustration: "THE TWO OF THEM AS PROUD AS PEACOCKS"] After this, we received no further news for some time. Then came the first letter from the ruins, my uncle having arranged that his zaptiehs, whom he had left at Hillah, should act as despatch riders, the Aeniza carrying his letters from Katib to a small village on the Sea of Njef, whence the zaptiehs rode on with them to Hillah and Baghdad. When this first letter was written, the party had been only three days in camp near the ruins, and the temple itself had not then been explored, although my uncle had looked down into it from the gap in the roof. The whole time had been occupied in a thorough examination of the outer chamber, with its ramification of passages, of which my father had made several elaborate plan-drawings. Faris and I had been right in thinking that there was only the one chamber, and that the various passages always led back to it, except, of course, the one by which we had originally entered, by way of the steps. Apparently, this form of building was not unknown to my uncle, who, however, had never actually seen anything of the kind, and was delighted with what he had now observed. With the drawings were numerous rubbings from glazed bricks, paper mouldings from carvings, copies of inscriptions, and a few photographic films, which I was to develop. All such things I had been instructed to place in the great safe with the treasured Girdle, and before long the collection began to swell to vast proportions. Soon, the desert despatches came in regularly once a week, and each one was more bulky than the last, until the safe would hold no more, and cupboards had to be set apart to receive the accumulating mass of papers. Knowing what I did of my uncle's life at the British Museum, I trembled to think of what he was laying up for his old age. Neither did I relish the idea that he would probably persuade me to assist him in unravelling the threads of all his discoveries. With considerable impatience I awaited the letter which should tell me that the explorers had reached the temple of the queen-goddess, and, when it came, I was relieved to learn that my uncle was in no way disappointed. In fact, it was evident that he was in the seventh heaven of joy, and had no intention of leaving the place until he had overhauled every nook and corner. They had entered the temple, as Faris and I had done, by the tunnelled way, and had found everything just as we had left it. Our tower of escape still stood against the side wall; Raspul's corpse, shrivelled and dried up, lay on the bench on which we had placed it, and the image, or statue, of Sophana looked down serenely on the débris scattered around her feet. No man had been near the place since that awful night, for Faris said that the tribes had become aware of the murder of the seer in his temple, and knowing that his corpse still remained unburied, feared to visit the spot. Even his own Aeniza refused to pitch their camp nearer than a mile from the ruins. The rosary of the seer had been found, but beyond saying that the beads composing it were highly interesting, my uncle did not enter into details. In thus describing the events of my last days in the City of the Caliphs, I have found it impossible to refrain from mentioning the great things that my father and uncle were doing, whilst I remained, an unwilling prisoner, at the base of operations. These matters, however, are so intimately connected with my quest of the Golden Girdle, that I do not think that any apology for their introduction into my story is needed. Still, I hesitate to forestall my uncle's own account of his wonderful discoveries, which, I have little doubt, when made known to the world, will be found to rival those of the early Babylonian explorers; and with the exception of quoting from one more of his letters, I shall throw no further light on his doings. The letter in question arrived after I had been without news for a fortnight, and just as I had made up my mind that something was amiss. I had, indeed, gone so far as to suggest to Edwards that he and I should start off for Hillah, and thence try to reach Katib. Many were the papers which accompanied my uncle's letter, which, though written in great haste, was of considerable length. It opened with instructions about the new bundle of papers, and more particularly about the negatives sent for development; then it disclosed information which made my heart thump and my fingers twitch with nervous excitement. The contents of his letter, said my uncle, were on no account whatever to be revealed to anyone, except to Edwards, and to him only on the condition that he swore to keep the secret. This is what he wrote:-- "I could not send in news last week, as we were much too busy to think of anything beyond the work in hand. How sorry we are that you were not with us to share our triumph; for triumph it assuredly is! We have had, Walter, the most astounding stroke of luck. The temple itself and its extraordinary surroundings have given me the greatest joy, and had the beautiful statue of the goddess been the only thing that I could remove, I should have been more than satisfied. Yet we have found other things, and your father, whose greed is terrible, is in ecstasies over our undreamt-of success. "You will remember the small chamber, into which, as Sheik Faris tells me, the Seer retired to change his clothes. That was his private dwelling-room, and we found little of interest in it until, about ten days ago, on sounding the walls, I thought that one of them rang hollow. I examined it more carefully, and after a while I discovered a tiny metal knob, similar to the one on the wall door by which we had gained access to the temple. I held my finger on it, and the wall began to move. Then in my eagerness I pushed it with my shoulder, to find myself at the entrance to a large and dark dungeon. I have no time now to describe fully what that dungeon contained, and I cannot say whether it was the store-house of Raspul, or of many generations of priests. But whoever amassed the wealth that lay therein cannot have acquired it honestly in one lifetime, nor yet in twenty, and for what purpose it should have been kept there is incomprehensible. There were wooden boxes filled with gold mohurs, Turkish gold coins, English sovereigns, and even 'spade' guineas; the wood of the boxes in many instances crumbled away with age, and the coins trickling through. Of silver coins there were pagodas, kerans, rupees, and money from almost every country, piled in great heaps in the corners of the chamber. Not a little rare and antique jewellery also, and gems cut, uncut, and engraved; besides pearls representing the produce of Bahrein for a decade or more. I do not attempt to estimate the value of our find, though your father talks of six figures. The intrinsic value is to me nothing. I have as much of this world's goods as I wish for. Your father will, of course, take his share; my share will be divided equally between yourself and your friend the doctor; while the share which belongs by right to Sheik Faris, he refuses to take, and he desires me to say that he gives it all to his 'brother the magician,' to whom it will be of greater use than to himself. "Ever since we made this wondrous discovery, we have been engaged day and night in packing the treasure, only our three selves and Sedjur being in the secret. The Aeniza, who refused to enter the ruins, are aware that we intend to remove portions of the temple and other parts of the ruins, and so that they shall not suspect the nature of the loads which the camels will take away, we have sewn up the gold and other valuables in small pieces of camel cloth, binding fragments of stones around each package. The statue of the goddess we hope to bring away also; but it is doubtful if there are sufficient camels to carry all the silver. However, we can well spare some of it. "Sheik Faris has arranged that, in order to avoid all difficulties with the Turkish authorities, he will convey everything across the desert, to a certain small bay in the Gulf, not far from Kuwait, where, he tells me, we shall be able to hire large boats used for shipping smuggled horses, and so get the goods on board our steamer, without any trouble. He and a hundred and fifty horsemen start with the camels to-morrow night; and we, accompanied by Sedjur and fifty men, return at the same time towards Hillah, where we shall pick up the zaptiehs, and ere many days we shall be with you again in Baghdad. "We must leave Bussorah in the steamer which departs next Monday three weeks, so that we may be off the appointed place at the time at which Faris calculates to arrive there. He assures me that there can be no possibility of failure on his part; for he says that the man who carries Shahzadi's shoe can never fail! "I can write no more now, as there are still many things to be seen to. It would be well if you were to prepare to leave Baghdad shortly after our arrival. I have every confidence in the noble and generous Faris, whom I hold in the highest esteem. He is now seated in my tent, and bids me remind you of the prophecy of Raspul: _Wealth untold cometh to the man whose mare shall carry the iron with which Shahzadi was shod!_" "And also," said Edwards, "to the man who recovered the Golden Girdle of the Great Queen." 
28072	----	A HISTORY OF ART IN CHALDÆA & ASSYRIA FROM THE FRENCH OF GEORGES PERROT, PROFESSOR IN THE FACULTY OF LETTERS, PARIS; MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE, AND CHARLES CHIPIEZ. ILLUSTRATED WITH FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY-TWO ENGRAVINGS IN THE TEXT AND FIFTEEN STEEL AND COLOURED PLATES. _IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I._ TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY WALTER ARMSTRONG, B.A., Oxon., AUTHOR OF "ALFRED STEVENS," ETC. [Illustration] London: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Limited. New York: A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON. 1884. London: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL. PREFACE. In face of the cordial reception given to the first two volumes of MM. Perrot and Chipiez's History of Ancient Art, any words of introduction from me to this second instalment would be presumptuous. On my own part, however, I may be allowed to express my gratitude for the approval vouchsafed to my humble share in the introduction of the History of Art in Ancient Egypt to a new public, and to hope that nothing may be found in the following pages to change that approval into blame. W. A. _October 10, 1883._ CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THE GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF CHALDÆO-ASSYRIAN CIVILIZATION. PAGE § 1. Situation and Boundaries of Chaldæa and Assyria 1-8 § 2. Nature in the Basin of the Euphrates and Tigris 8-13 § 3. The Primitive Elements of the Population 13-21 § 4. The Wedges 21-33 § 5. The History of Chaldæa and Assyria 33-55 § 6. The Chaldæan Religion 55-89 § 7. The People and Government 89-113 CHAPTER II. THE PRINCIPLES AND GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF CHALDÆO-ASSYRIAN ARCHITECTURE. § 1. Materials 114-126 § 2. The General Principles of Form 126-146 § 3. Construction 146-200 § 4. The Column 200-221 § 5. The Arch 221-236 § 6. Secondary Forms 236-260 § 7. Decoration 260-311 § 8. On the Orientation of Buildings and Foundation Ceremonies 311-322 § 9. Mechanical Resources 322-326 § 10. On the Graphic Processes Employed in the Representations of Buildings 327-334 CHAPTER III. FUNERARY ARCHITECTURE. § 1. Chaldæan and Assyrian Notions as to a Future Life 335-355 § 2. The Chaldæan Tomb 355-363 CHAPTER IV. RELIGIOUS ARCHITECTURE. § 1. Attempts to Restore the Principal Types 364-382 § 2. Ruins of Staged Towers 382-391 § 3. Subordinate Types of the Temple 391-398 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PLATES. I. Babil _To face page_ 154 II. Rectangular Chaldæan temple 370 III. Square double-ramped Chaldæan temple 378 IV. Square Assyrian temple 380 FIG. PAGE 1. Brick from Erech 24 2. Fragment of an inscription engraved upon the back of a statue from Tello 25 3. Seal of Ourkam 38 4. Genius in the attitude of adoration 42 5. Assurbanipal at the chase 45 6. Demons 61 7. Demons 62 8. Eagle-headed divinity 63 9. Anou or Dagon 64 10. Stone of Merodach-Baladan I 73 11. Assyrian cylinder 74 12. Assyrian cylinder 74 13. Gods carried in procession 75 14. Gods carried in procession 76 15. Statue of Nebo 81 16. Terra-cotta statuette 83 17. A Chaldæan cylinder 84 18. The winged globe 87 19. The winged globe with human figure 87 20. Chaldæan cylinder 95 21. Chaldæan cylinder 95 22. The King Sargon and his Grand Vizier 97 23. The suite of Sargon 99 24. The suite of Sargon 101 25. Fragment of a bas-relief in alabaster 105 26. Bas-relief of Tiglath Pileser II 106 27. Feast of Assurbanipal 107 28. Feast of Assurbanipal 108 29. Offerings to a god 109 30. Convoy of prisoners 111 31. Convoy of prisoners 112 32. Babylonian brick 118 33. Brick from Khorsabad 119 34. Temple 128 35. Tell-Ede, in Lower Chaldæa 129 36. Haman, in Lower Chaldæa 131 37. Babil, at Babylon 135 38. A fortress 138 39. View of a town and its palaces 140 40. House in Kurdistan 141 41. Temple on the bank of a river, Khorsabad 142 42. Temple in a royal park, Kouyundjik 143 43. View of a group of buildings, Kouyundjik 145 44. Plan of angle, Khorsabad 147 45. Section of wall through AB in Fig. 44 147 46. Elevation of wall, Khorsabad 148 47. Section in perspective through the south-western part of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad 149 48. Temple at Mugheir 154 49. Upper part of the drainage arrangements of a mound 159 50. Present state of one of the city gates, Khorsabad 161 51. Fortress; from the Balawat gates, in the British Museum 164 52. The palace at Firouz-Abad 170 53. The palace at Sarbistan 170 54. Section through the palace at Sarbistan 171 55. Restoration of a hall in the harem at Khorsabad 174 56. Royal tent, Kouyundjik 175 57. Tent, Kouyundjik 175 58. Interior of a Yezidi house 178 59. Fortress 180 60. Crude brick construction 181 61. Armenian "lantern" 183 62-65. Terra-cotta cylinders in elevation, section and plan 184 66. Outside staircases in the ruins of Abou-Sharein 191 67. Interior of the royal tent 193 68. Tabernacle; from the Balawat gates 194 69. The seal of Sennacherib 196 70. Type of open architecture in Assyria 197 71. Homage to _Samas_ or _Shamas_ 203 72. Sheath of a cedar-wood mast, bronze 205 73. Interior of a house supported by wooden pillars; from the gates of Balawat 206 74. Assyrian capital, in perspective 207 75. Capital; from a small temple 209 76. View of a palace 210 77. Capital; from a small temple 212 78. Capital 212 79. Chaldæan tabernacle 212 80. Ivory plaque found at Nimroud 212 81. The _Tree of Life_ 213 82. Ornamental base, in limestone 214 83. Model of a base, side view 215 84. The same, seen from in front 215 85. Winged Sphinx carrying the base of a column 216 86. Façade of an Assyrian building 216 87, 88. Bases of columns 217 89. Tomb-chamber at Mugheir 222 90. Interior of a chamber in the harem of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad 225 91. Return round the angle of an archivolt in one of the gates of Dour-Saryoukin 227 92. Drain at Khorsabad, with pointed arch 229 93. Sewer at Khorsabad, with semicircular vault 232 94. Sewer at Khorsabad, with elliptical vault 233 95. Decorated lintel 238 96. Sill of a door, from Khorsabad 240 97. Bronze foot, from the Balawat gates, and its socket 243 98, 99. Assyrian mouldings. Section and elevation 245 100. Façade of a ruined building at Warka 246 101. Decoration of one of the harem gates, at Khorsabad 247 102. View of an angle of the _Observatory_ at Khorsabad 249 103. Lateral façade of the palace at Firouz-Abad 251 104. Battlements from an Assyrian palace 251 105. Battlements from the Khorsabad _Observatory_ 252 106. Battlements of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad 255 107. Altar 255 108. Altar in the Louvre 256 109. Altar in the British Museum 257 110. Stele from Khorsabad 258 111. The obelisk of Shalmaneser II. in the British Museum 258 112. Rock-cut stele from Kouyundjik 259 113. Fragment from Babylon 263 114. Human-headed lion 267 115. Bas-relief with several registers 269 116. Ornament painted upon plaster 275 117. Ornament painted upon plaster 275 118. Ornament painted upon plaster 276 119. Plan and elevation of part of a façade at Warka 278 120. Cone with coloured base 279 121, 122. Rosettes in glazed pottery 290 123. Detail of enamelled archivolt 291 124. Detail of enamelled archivolt 292 125. Enamelled brick in the British Museum 293 126. Ornament upon enamelled brick 294 127. Fragment of a glazed brick 295 128. Fragment of a glazed brick 297 129. Ivory tablet in the British Museum 301 130. Fragment of an ivory tablet 301 131. Threshold from Kouyundjik 303 132. Rosette 304 133. Bouquet of flowers and buds 305 134. Painted border 306 135. Fragment of a threshold 306 136. Door ornament 307 137. Palmette 308 138. Goats and palmette 308 139. Winged bulls and palmette 309 140. Stag upon a palmette 310 141. Winged bull upon a rosette 311 142. Stag, palmette, and rosette 311 143. Plan of a temple at Mugheir 312 144. Plan of the town and palace of Sargon at Khorsabad 313 145. General plan of the remains at Nimroud 314 146. Bronze statuette 316 147. Bronze statuette 317 148. Bronze statuette 318 149. Terra-cotta cone 319 150. Terra-cotta cylinder 320 151. The transport of a bull 324 152. Putting a bull in place 326 153. Chaldæan plan 327 154. Assyrian plan; from the Balawat gates in the British Museum 329 155. Plan and section of a fortress 329 156. Plan, section, and elevation of a fortified city 330 157. Plan and elevation of a fortified city 331 158. Fortress with its defenders 333 159, 160. Vases 342 161. Plaque of chiselled bronze. Obverse 350 162. Plaque of chiselled bronze. Reverse 351 163. Tomb at Mugheir 357 164. Tomb at Mugheir 358 165. Tomb at Mugheir 358 166. Tomb, or coffin, at Mugheir 359 167. Map of the ruins of Mugheir 362 168. View of the Birs-Nimroud 367 169-171. Longitudinal section, plan, and horizontal section of the rectangular type of Chaldæan temple 370 172. Map of Warka, with its ruins 371 173. Type of square, single-ramped Chaldæan temple 375 174-176. Transverse section, plan, and horizontal section of a square, single-ramped, Chaldæan temple 377 177-179. Transverse section, plan, and horizontal section of a square, double-ramped Chaldæan temple 378 180-182. Square Assyrian temple. Longitudinal section, horizontal section, and plan 380 183. Map of the ruins of Babylon 383 184. Actual condition of the so-called _Observatory_, at Khorsabad 387 185. The _Observatory_, restored. Elevation 388 186. The _Observatory_, restored. Plan 389 187. The _Observatory_. Transverse section through A B 390 188. Plan of a small temple at Nimroud 393 189. Plan of a small temple at Nimroud 393 190. Temple with triangular pediment 394 TAIL-PIECES, &c. Lion's head, gold (French National Library) _Title-page_ Lion's head, glazed earthenware (Louvre) 113 Two rabbits' heads, ivory (Louvre) 334 Cow's head, ivory (British Museum) 363 Eagle, from a bas-relief (British Museum) 398 A HISTORY OF ART IN CHALDÆA AND ASSYRIA CHAPTER I. THE GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF CHALDÆO-ASSYRIAN CIVILIZATION. § 1.--_Situation and Boundaries of Chaldæa and Assyria._ The primitive civilization of Chaldæa, like that of Egypt, was cradled in the lower districts of a great alluvial basin, in which the soil was stolen from the sea by long continued deposits of river mud. In the valley of the Tigris and Euphrates, as in that of the Nile, it was in the great plains near the ocean that the inhabitants first emerged from barbarism and organized a civil life. As the ages passed away, this culture slowly mounted the streams, and, as Memphis was older by many centuries than Thebes, in dignity if not in actual existence, so Ur and Larsam were older than Babylon, and Babylon than Nineveh. The manners and beliefs, the arts and the written characters of Egypt were carried into the farthest recesses of Ethiopia, partly by commerce but still more by military invasion; so too Chaldaic civilization made itself felt at vast distances from its birthplace, even in the cold valleys and snowy plateaux of Armenia, in districts which are separated by ten degrees of latitude from the burning shores where the fish god Oannes showed himself to the rude fathers of the race, and taught them "such things as contribute to the softening of life."[1] In Egypt progressive development took place from north to south, while in Chaldæa its direction was reversed. The apparent contrast is, however, but a resemblance the more. The orientation, if such a term may be used, of the two basins, is in opposite directions, but in each the spread of religion with its rites and symbols, of written characters with their adaptation to different languages, and of all those arts and processes which, when taken together, make up what we call civilization, advanced from the seaboard to the river springs. In these two countries the conscience of man seems to have been first awakened to his innate power of bettering his own condition by well directed observation, by the elaboration of laws, and by forethought for the future. Between Egypt on the one hand, and Chaldæa with that Assyria which was no more than its offshoot and prolongation, on the other, there are strong analogies, as will be clearly seen in the course of our study, but there are also differences that are not less appreciable. Professor Rawlinson shows this very clearly in a page of descriptive geography which he will allow us to quote as it stands. It will not be the last of our borrowings from his excellent work, _The Five Great Monarchies of the Ancient Eastern World_, a book that has done so much to popularize the discoveries of modern scholars.[2] "The broad belt of desert which traverses the eastern hemisphere, in a general direction from west to east (or, speaking more exactly, of W.S.W. to N.E.E.) reaching from the Atlantic on the one hand nearly to the Yellow Sea on the other, is interrupted about its centre by a strip of rich vegetation, which at once breaks the continuity of the arid region, and serves also to mark the point where the desert changes its character from that of a plain at a low level to that of an elevated plateau or table-land. West of the favoured district, the Arabian and African wastes are seas of land seldom raised much above, often sinking below the level of the ocean; while east of the same, in Persia, Kerman, Seistan, Chinese Tartary, and Mongolia, the desert consists of a series of plateaux, having from 3,000 to nearly 10,000 feet of elevation. The green and fertile region which is thus interposed between the 'highland' and 'lowland' deserts,[3] participates, curiously enough, in both characters. Where the belt of sand is intersected by the valley of the Nile, no marked change of elevation occurs; and the continuous low desert is merely interrupted by a few miles of green and cultivable surface, the whole of which is just as smooth and as flat as the waste on either side of it. But it is otherwise at the more eastern interruption. Then the verdant and productive country divides itself into two tracts, running parallel to each other, of which the western presents features, not unlike those that characterize the Nile valley, but on a far larger scale; while the eastern is a lofty mountain region, consisting for the most part of five or six parallel ranges, and mounting in many places far above the level of perpetual snow. "It is with the western or plain tract that we are here concerned. Between the outer limits of the Syro-Arabian desert and the foot of the great mountain range of Kurdistan and Luristan intervenes a territory long famous in the world's history, and the chief site of three out of the five empires of whose history, geography, and antiquities, it is proposed to treat in the present volumes. Known to the Jews as Aram-Naharaim, or 'Syria of the two rivers'; to the Greeks and Romans as Mesopotamia, or 'the between-river country'; to the Arabs as Al-Jezireh, or 'the island,' this district has always taken its name from the streams which constitute its most striking feature, and to which, in fact, it owes its existence. If it were not for the two great rivers--the Tigris and Euphrates--with their tributaries, the more northern part of the Mesopotamian lowland would in no respect differ from the Syro-Arabian desert on which it adjoins, and which, in latitude, elevation, and general geological character, it exactly resembles. Towards the south the importance of the rivers is still greater; for of Lower Mesopotamia it may be said, with more truth than of Egypt,[4] that it is 'an acquired land,' the actual 'gift' of the two streams which wash it on either side; being as it is, entirely a recent formation--a deposit which the streams have made in the shallow waters of a gulf into which they have flowed for many ages.[5] "The division, which has here forced itself upon our notice, between the Upper and the Lower Mesopotamian country, is one very necessary to engage our attention in connection with ancient Chaldæa. There is no reason to think that the term Chaldæa had at any time the extensive signification of Mesopotamia, much less that it applied to the entire flat country between the desert and the mountains. Chaldæa was not the whole, but a part, of the great Mesopotamian plain; which was ample enough to contain within it three or four considerable monarchies. According to the combined testimony of geographers and historians,[6] Chaldæa lay towards the south, for it bordered upon the Persian Gulf, and towards the west, for it adjoined Arabia. If we are called upon to fix more accurately its boundaries, which, like those of most countries without strong natural frontiers, suffered many fluctuations, we are perhaps entitled to say that the Persian Gulf on the south, the Tigris on the east, the Arabian desert on the west, and the limit between Upper and Lower Mesopotamia on the north, formed the natural bounds, which were never greatly exceeded, and never much infringed upon. These boundaries are for the most part tolerably clear, though the northern only is invariable. Natural causes, hereafter to be mentioned more particularly, are perpetually varying the course of the Tigris, the shore of the Persian Gulf and the line of demarcation between the sands of Arabia and the verdure of the Euphrates valley. But nature has set a permanent mark, half way down the Mesopotamian lowland, by a difference of a geological structure, which is very conspicuous. Near Hit on the Euphrates, and a little below Samarah on the Tigris,[7] the traveller who descends the streams, bids adieu to a somewhat waving and slightly elevated plain of secondary formation, and enters on the dead flat and low level of the new alluvium. The line thus formed is marked and invariable; it constitutes the only natural division between the upper and lower portions of the valley; and both probability and history point to it as the actual boundary between Chaldæa and her northern neighbour."[8] Whether the two States had independent and separate life, or whether, as in after years, one of the two had, by its political and military superiority reduced the other to the condition of a vassal, the line of demarcation was constant, a line traced in the first instance by nature and rendered more rigid and ineffaceable by historical developments. Even when Chaldæa became nominally a mere province of Assyria, the two nationalities remained distinct. Chaldæa was older than Assyria. The centres of her civil life were the cities built upon the alluvial lands between the thirty-first and thirty-third degree of latitude. The most famous of these cities was Babylon. Those whom we call Assyrians, a people who rose to power and glory at a much more recent date, drew the seeds of their civilization from their more precocious neighbour. These expressions, Assyria and Chaldæa, are now employed in a sense far more precise than they ever had in antiquity. For Herodotus Babylonia was a mere district of Assyria;[9] in his time both States were comprised in the Persian Empire, and had no distinct existence of their own. Pliny calls the whole of Mesopotamia Assyria.[10] Strabo carries the western frontier of Assyria as far as Syria.[11] To us these variations are of small importance. The geographical and historical nomenclature of the ancients was never clearly defined. It was always more or less of a floating quantity, especially for those countries which to Herodotus or Diodorus, to Pliny or to Tacitus, were dimly perceptible on the extreme limits of their horizon. It would, however, be easy to show that in assigning a more definite value to the terms in question--a proceeding in which we have the countenance of nearly every modern historian--we do not detach them from their original acceptation; at most we give them more constancy and precision than the colloquial language of the Greeks and Romans demanded.[12] The expressions _Khasdim_ and _Chaldæi_ were used in the Bible and by classic authors mainly to denote the inhabitants of Babylon and its neighbourhood; and we find Strabo attaching with precision the name _Aturia_, which is nothing but a variant upon Assyria, to that district watered and bounded by the Tigris in which Nineveh was situated.[13] Our only aim is to adopt, once for all, such terms as may be easily understood by our readers, and may render all confusion impossible between the two kingdoms, between the people of the north and those of the south. In order to define Assyria exactly we should have to determine its frontiers, and that we can only do approximately. As the nation grew its territory extended in certain directions. To the east, however, where the formidable rampart of the Zagros forbade all progress, no such extension took place. Those lofty and precipitous chains which we now call the mountains of Kurdistan, were only to be crossed in two or three places, and by passes which during their few months of freedom from snow and floods gave access to the high-lying plains of Media. These narrow defiles might well be traversed by an army in a summer campaign, but neither dwellings nor cultivated lands could invade such a district with success; at most they could take possession of the few spots of fertile soil which lay at the mouth of the lateral valleys; such, for example, was the plain of Arbeles which was watered by the great Zab before its junction with the Tigris. Towards the south there was no natural barrier, but in that direction all development was hindered by the density of the Chaldee population which was thickly spread over the country above Babylon and about the numerous towns and villages which looked towards that city as their capital. To the north, on the other hand, the wide terraces which mounted like steps from the plains of Mesopotamia to the mountains of Armenia offered an ample field for expansion. To the west there was still more room. Little by little rural and urban life overflowed the valley of the Tigris into that of the Chaboras or Khabour, the principal affluent of the Euphrates, until at last it reached the banks of the great western river itself. In all Northern Mesopotamia, between the hills of the Sinjar and the last slopes of Mount Masius, the Assyrians encountered only nomad tribes whom they could drive when they chose into the Syrian desert. Over all that region the remains of artificial mounds have been found which must at one time have been the sites of palaces and cities. In some cases the gullies cut in their flanks by the rain discover broken walls and fragments of sculpture whose style is that of the Ninevitish monuments.[14] In the course of their victorious career the Assyrians annexed several other states, such as Syria and Chaldæa, Cappadocia and Armenia, but those countries were never more than external dependencies, than conquered provinces. Taking Assyria proper at its greatest development, we may say that it comprised Northern Mesopotamia and the territories which faced it from the other bank of the Tigris and lay between the stream and the lower slopes of the mountains. The heart of the country was the district lying along both sides of the river between the thirty-fifth and thirty-seventh degree of latitude, and the forty-first and forty-second degree of longitude, east. The three or four cities which rose successively to be capitals of Assyria were all in that region, and are now represented by the ruins of Khorsabad, of Kouyundjik with Nebbi-Younas, of Nimroud, and of Kaleh-Shergat. One of these places corresponds to _Ninos_, as the Greeks call it, or Nineveh, the famous city which classic writers as well as Jewish prophets looked upon as the centre of Assyrian history. To give some idea of the relative dimensions of these two states Rawlinson compares the surface of Assyria to that of Great Britain, while that of Chaldæa must, he says, have been equal in extent to the kingdom of Denmark.[15] This latter comparison seems below the mark, when, compass in hand, we attempt to verify it upon a modern map. The discrepancy is caused by the continual encroachments upon the sea made by the alluvial deposits from the two great rivers. Careful observations and calculations have shown that the coast line must have been from forty to forty-five leagues farther north than it is at present when the ancestors of the Chaldees first appeared upon the scene.[16] Instead of flowing together as they do now to form what is called the _Shat-el-Arab_, the Tigris and Euphrates then fell into the sea at points some twenty leagues apart in a gulf which extended eastwards as far as the last spurs thrown out by the mountains of Iran, and westwards to the foot of the sandy heights which terminate the plateau of Arabia. "The whole lower part of the valley has thus been made, since the commencement of the present geological period, by deposits from the Tigris, the Euphrates, and such minor streams as the Adhem, the Gyndes, the Choaspes, streams which, after having long enjoyed an independent existence and having contributed to drive back the waters into which they fell, have ended by becoming mere feeders of the Tigris."[17] We see, therefore, that when Chaldæa received its first inhabitants it was sensibly smaller than it is to-day, as the district of which Bassorah is now the capital and the whole delta of the Shat-el-Arab were not yet in existence. NOTES: [1] BEROSUS, fragment No. 1, in the _Essai de Commentaire sur les Fragments cosmogoniques de Bérose d'après les Textes cunéiformes et les Monuments de l'Art Asiatique_ of FRANÇOIS LENORMANT (Maisonneuve, 1871, 8vo.). [2] _The Five Great Monarchies of the Ancient Eastern World; or, The History, Geography, and Antiquities of Chaldæa, Assyria, Babylon, Media, and Persia. Collected and Illustrated from Ancient and Modern Sources_, by GEORGE RAWLINSON. Fourth edition, 3 vols., 8vo., with Maps and Illustrations (Murray, 1879). [3] HUMBOLDT, _Aspects of Nature_, vol. i. pp. 77, 78.--R. [4] HERODOTUS, ii. 5. [5] LOFTUS'S _Chaldæa and Susiana_, p. 282.--R. [6] See STRABO, xvi. 1, § 6; PLINY, H.N. vi. 28; PTOLEMY, v. 20; BEROSUS, pp. 28, 29.--R. [7] Ross came to the end of the alluvium and the commencement of the secondary formation in lat. 34°, long. 44° (_Journal of Geographical Society_, vol. ix. p. 446). Similarly, Captain Lynch found the bed of the Tigris change from pebbles to mere alluvium near Khan Iholigch, a little above its confluence with the Aahun (_Ib._ p. 472). For the point where the Euphrates enters on the alluvium, see Fraser's _Assyria and Mesopotamia_, p. 27.--R. [8] RAWLINSON. _The Five Great Monarchies_, &c., vol. i., pp. 1-4. As to the name and boundaries of Chaldæa, see also GUIGNAUT, _La Chaldée et les Chaldéens_, in the _Encyclopédie Moderne_, vol. viii. [9] HERODOTUS, i. 106, 192; iii. 92. [10] PLINY, _Nat. Hist._ vi. 26. [11] STRABO, xvi. i. § 1. [12] _Genesis_ xi. 28 and 31; _Isaiah_ xlvii. 1; xiii. 19, &c.; DIODORUS ii. 17; PLINY, _Nat. Hist._ vi. 26; the Greek translators of the Bible rendered the Hebrew term Khasdim by Chaldaioi; both forms seem to be derived from the same primitive word. [13] STRABO, xvi. i. 1, 2, 3. [14] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. i. pp. 312, 315; _Discoveries_, p. 245. [15] RAWLINSON, _Five Great Monarchies_, vol. i. pp. 4, 5. [16] LOFTUS, in the _Journal of the Geographical Society_, vol. xxvi. p. 142; _Ib._, Sir HENRY RAWLINSON, vol. xxvii. p. 186. [17] MASPERO, _Histoire Ancienne des Peuples de l'Orient_, p. 137. § 2.--_Nature in the Basin of the Euphrates and Tigris._ The inundation of the Nile gives renewed life every year to those plains of Egypt which it has slowly formed, and so it is with the Tigris and Euphrates. Lower Mesopotamia is entirely their creation, and if the time were to come when their vivifying streams were no longer to irrigate its surface, it would very soon be changed into a monotonous and melancholy desert. It hardly ever rains in Chaldæa.[18] There are a few showers at the changes of the season, and, in winter, a few days of heavy rain. During the summer, for long months together, the sky remains inexorably blue while the temperature is hot and parching. In winter, clouds are almost as rare; but winds often play violently over the great tracts of unbroken country. When these blow from the south they soon lose their warmth and humidity at the contact of a soil which, but a short while ago, was at the bottom of the sea, and is, therefore, in many places still strongly impregnated with salt which acts as a refrigerant.[19] Again, when the north wind comes down from the snowy summits of Armenia or Kurdistan, it is already cold enough, so that, during the months of December and January, it often happens that the mercury falls below freezing point, even in Babylonia. At daybreak the waters of the marshes are sometimes covered with a thin layer of ice, and the wind increases the effect of the low temperature. Loftus tells us that he has seen the Arabs of his escort fall benumbed from their saddles in the early morning.[20] It is, then, upon the streams, and upon them alone, that the soil has to depend for its fertility; all those lands to which they never reach are doomed to barrenness and death. It is fortunate for the prosperity of the country through which they flow, that the Tigris and Euphrates swell and rise annually from their beds, not indeed like the Nile, almost on a stated day, but ever in the same season, about the commencement of spring. Without these periodical floods many parts of the plain of Mesopotamia would be beyond the reach of irrigation, but their regular occurrence allows water to be stored in sufficient quantities for use during the months of drought. To obtain the full advantage of this precious capital, the inhabitants must, however, take more care and expend more labour than is necessary in Egypt. The rise of the Euphrates and of the Tigris is neither so slow nor so regular as that of the Nile. The waters do not spread so gently over the soil, neither do they stay upon it so long;[21] since they have been abandoned to themselves as they are at present, a great part of them are lost, and, far from rendering a service to agriculture, they turn vast regions into dangerous hot-beds of infection. It was to the west of the double basin that the untoward effects of the territorial conformation were chiefly felt. The valley of the Euphrates is not like that of the Nile, a canal hollowed out between two clearly marked banks. From the northern boundary of the alluvial plain to the southern, the slope is very slight, while from east to west, from the plains of Mesopotamia to the foot of the Arabian plateau, there is also an inclination. When the river is in flood the right bank no longer exists. Where it is not raised and defended by dykes, the waters flow over it at more than one point. They spread through large breaches into a sort of hollow where they form wide marshes, such as those which stretch in these days from the country west of the ruins of Babylon almost to the Persian Gulf. In the parching heat of the summer months the mud blackens, cracks, and exhales miasmic vapours, so that a long acclimatization, like that of the Arabs, is necessary before one can live in the region. Some of these Arabs live in forests of reeds like those represented in the Assyrian bas-reliefs.[22] Their huts of mud and rushes rise upon a low island in the marshes; and all communication with neighbouring tribes and with the town in which they sell the product of their rice-fields, is carried on by boats. The brakes are more impenetrable than the thickest underwood, but the natives have cut alleys through them, along which they impel their large flat-bottomed _teradas_ with poles.[23] Sometimes a sudden rise of the river will raise the level of these generally stagnant waters by a yard or two, and during the night the huts and their inhabitants, men and animals together, will be sent adrift. Two or three villages have been destroyed in this fashion amid the complete indifference of the authorities. The tithe-farmer may be trusted to see that the survivors pay the taxes due from their less fortunate neighbours. The masters of the country could, if they chose, do much to render the country more healthy, more fertile, more capable of supporting a numerous population. They might direct the course of the annual floods, and save their excess. When the land was managed by a proprietory possessing intelligence, energy, and foresight, it had, especially in minor details, a grace and picturesque beauty of its own. When every foot of land was carefully cultivated, when the two great streams were thoroughly kept in hand, their banks and those of the numerous canals intersecting the plains were overhung with palms. The eye fell with pleasure upon the tall trunks with their waving plumes, upon the bouquets of broad leaves with their centre of yellow dates; upon the cereals and other useful and ornamental plants growing under their gentle shade, and forming a carpet for the rich and sumptuous vegetation above. Around the villages perched upon their mounds the orchards spread far and wide, carrying the scent of their orange trees into the surrounding country, and presenting, with their masses of sombre foliage studded with golden fruit, a picture of which the eye could never grow weary. No long series of military disasters was required to destroy all this charm; fifty years, or, at most, a century, of bad administration was enough.[24] Set a score of Turkish pachas to work, one after the other, men such as those whom contemporary travellers have encountered at Mossoul and Bagdad; with the help of their underlings they will soon have done more harm than the marches and conflicts of armies. There is no force more surely and completely destructive than a government which is at once idle, ignorant, and corrupt. With the exception of the narrow districts around a few towns and villages, where small groups of population have retained something of their former energy and diligence, Mesopotamia is now, during the greater part of the year, given over to sterility and desolation. As it is almost entirely covered with a deep layer of vegetable earth, the spring clothes even its most abandoned solitudes with a luxuriant growth of herbs and flowers. Horses and cattle sink to their bellies in the perfumed leafage,[25] but after the month of May the herbage withers and becomes discoloured; the dried stems split and crack under foot, and all verdure disappears except from the river-banks and marshes. Upon these wave the feathery fronds of the tamarisk, and in the stagnant or slowly moving water which fills all the depressions of the soil, aquatic plants, water-lilies, rushes, papyrus, and gigantic reeds spring up in dense masses, and make the low-lying country look like a vast prairie, whose native freshness even the sun at its zenith has no power to destroy. Everywhere else nature is as dreary in its monotony as the vast sandy deserts which border the country on the west. In one place the yellow soil is covered with a dried, almost calcined, stubble; in another, with a grey dust which rises in clouds before the slightest breeze; in the neighbourhood of the ancient townships it has received a reddish hue from the quantity of broken and pulverized brick with which it is mixed. These colours vary in different places, but from Mount Masius to the shores of the Persian Gulf, from the Euphrates to the Tigris, the traveller is met almost constantly by the one melancholy sight--of a country spreading out before him to the horizon, in which neglect has gone on until the region which the biblical tradition represents as the cradle of the human race has been rendered incapable of supporting human life.[26] The physiognomy of Mesopotamia has then been profoundly modified since the fall of the ancient civilization. By the indolence of man it has lost its adornments, or rather its vesture, in the ample drapery of waving palms and standing corn that excited the admiration of Herodotus.[27] But the general characteristics and leading contours of the landscape remain what they were. Restore in thought one of those Babylonian structures whose lofty ruins now serve as observatories for the explorer or passing traveller. Suppose yourself, in the days of Nebuchadnezzar, seated upon the summit of the temple of Bel, some hundred or hundred and twenty yards above the level of the plain. At such a height the smiling and picturesque details which were formerly so plentiful and are now so rare, would not be appreciated. The domed surfaces of the woods would seem flat, the varied cultivation, the changing colours of the fields and pastures would hardly be distinguished. You would be struck then, as you are struck to-day, by the extent and uniformity of the vast plain which stretches away to all the points of the compass. In Assyria, except towards the south where the two rivers begin to draw in towards each other, the plains are varied by gentle undulations. As the traveller approaches the northern and eastern frontiers, chains of hills, and even snowy peaks, loom before him. In Chaldæa there is nothing of the kind. The only accidents of the ground are those due to human industry; the dead level stretches away as far as the eye can follow it, and, like the sea, melts into the sky at the horizon. NOTES: [18] HERODOTUS, i. 193: Hê de gê tôn Assuriôn huetai men oligôi. [19] LOFTUS, _Susiana and Chaldæa_, i. vol. 8vo. 1857, London, p. 73. [20] LOFTUS, _Susiana and Chaldæa_, p. 73; LAYARD, _Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon_, p. 146 (i. vol. 8vo. 1853). [21] HERODOTUS, exaggerates this difference, but it is a real one. "The plant," he says, "is nourished and the ears formed by means of irrigation from the river. For this river does not, as in Egypt, overflow the cornlands of its own accord, but is spread over them by the hand or by the help of engines," i. 193. [Our quotations are from Prof. Rawlinson's _Herodotus_ (4 vols. 8vo. 1875; Murray); Ed.] The inundations of the Tigris and Euphrates do not play so important a _rôle_ in the lives of the inhabitants of Mesopotamia, as that of the Nile in those of the Egyptians. [22] LAYARD, _A Second Series of the Monuments of Nineveh_, plate 27 (London, oblong folio, 1853). [23] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 551-556; LOFTUS, _Chaldæa and Susiana_, chap. x. [24] LAYARD (_Discoveries_, pp. 467, 468 and 475) tells us what the Turks "have made of two of the finest rivers in the world, one of which is navigable for 850 miles from its mouth, and the other for 600 miles." [25] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. i. p. 78 (1849). "Flowers of every hue enamelled the meadows; not thinly scattered over the grass as in northern climes, but in such thick and gathering clusters that the whole plain seemed a patch-work of many colours. The dogs as they returned from hunting, issued from the long grass dyed red, yellow, or blue, according to the flowers through which they had last forced their way." [26] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. ii. pp. 68-75. [27] HERODOTUS, i. 193. "Of all the countries that we know, there is none which is so fruitful in grain. It makes no pretension indeed, of growing the fig, the olive, the vine, or any other trees of the kind; but in grain it is so fruitful as to yield commonly two hundredfold, and when the production is greatest, even three hundredfold. The blade of the wheat plant and barley is often four fingers in breadth. As for millet and the sesame, I shall not say to what height they grow, though within my own knowledge; for I am not ignorant that what I have already written concerning the fruitfulness of Babylonia, must seem incredible to those who have never visited the country.... Palm trees grow in great numbers over the whole of the flat country, mostly of the kind that bears fruit, and this fruit supplies them with bread, wine, and honey." § 3.--_The Primitive Elements of the Population._ The two great factors of all life and of all vegetable production are water and warmth, so that of the two great divisions of the country we have just described, the more southern must have been the first inhabited, or at least, the first to invite and aid its inhabitants to make trial of civilization. In the north the two great rivers are far apart. The vast spaces which separate them include many districts which have always been, and must ever be, very difficult of irrigation, and consequently of cultivation. In the south, on the other hand, below the thirty-fourth degree of latitude, the Tigris and Euphrates approach each other until a day's march will carry the traveller from one to the other; and for a distance of some eighty leagues, ending but little short of the point of junction, their beds are almost parallel. In spite of the heat, which is, of course, greater than in northern Mesopotamia, nothing is easier than to carry the blessings of irrigation over the whole of such a region. When the water in the rivers and canals is low, it can be raised by the aid of simple machines, similar in principle to those we described in speaking of Egypt.[28] It is here, therefore, that we must look for the scene of the first attempts in Asia to pass from the anxious and uncertain life of the fisherman, the hunter, or the nomad shepherd, to that of the sedentary husbandman, rooted to the soil by the pains he has taken to improve its capabilities, and by the homestead he has reared at the border of his fields. In the tenth and eleventh chapters of Genesis we have an echo of the earliest traditions preserved by the Semitic race of their distant origin. "And it came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there."[29] The _land_ of SHINAR is the Hebrew name of what we call Chaldæa. There is no room for mistake. When the sacred writer wishes to tell us the origin of human society, he transports us into Lower Mesopotamia. It is there that he causes the posterity of Noah to build the first great city, Babel, the prototype of the Babylon of history; it is there that he tells us the confusion of tongues was accomplished, and that the common centre existed from which men spread themselves over the whole surface of the earth, to become different nations. The oldest cities known to the collector of these traditions were those of Chaldæa, of the region bordering on the Persian Gulf. "And Cush begat Nimrod: he began to be a mighty one in the earth. "He was a mighty hunter before the Lord: wherefore it is said, '_Even as Nimrod, the mighty hunter before the Lord_.' "And the beginning of his kingdom was Babel, and Erech, and Accad, and Calneh, in the land of Shinar. "Out of that land went forth Asshur, and builded Nineveh, and the city Rehoboth, and Calah, "And Resen between Nineveh and Calah: the same is a great city."[30] These statements have been confirmed by the architectural and other remains found in Mesopotamia. Inscriptions from which fresh secrets are wrested day by day; ruins of buildings whose dates are to be approximately divined from their plans, their structure, and their decorations; statues, statuettes, bas-reliefs, and all the various _débris_ of a great civilization, when studied with the industrious ardour which distinguishes modern science, enable the critic to realize the vast antiquity of those Chaldæan cities, in which legend and history are so curiously mingled. Even before they could decipher their meaning Assyriologists had compared, from the palæographic point of view, the different varieties of the written character known as _cuneiform_--a character which lent itself for some two thousand years, to the notation of the five or six successive languages, at least, in which the inhabitants of Western Asia expressed their thoughts. These wedge-shaped characters are found in their most primitive and undeveloped forms in the mounds dotted over the southern districts of Mesopotamia, in company with the earliest signs of those types which are especially characteristic of the architecture, ornamentation, and plastic figuration of Assyria. There is another particular in which the monumental records and the biblical tradition are in accord. During those obscure centuries that saw the work sketched out from which the civilization of the Tigris and Euphrates basin was, in time, to be developed, the Chaldæan population was not homogeneous; the country was inhabited by tribes who had neither a common origin nor a common language. This we are told in Genesis. The earliest chiefs to build cities in Shinar are there personified in the person of Nimrod, who is the son of Cush, and the grandson of Ham. He and his people must be placed, therefore, in the same family as the Ethiopians, the Egyptians, and the Libyans, the Canaanites and the Phoenicians.[31] A little lower down in the same genealogical table we find attached to the posterity of Shem that Asshur who, as we are told in the verses quoted above, left the plains of Shinar in order to found Nineveh in the upper country.[32] So, too, it was from Ur of the Chaldees that Terah, another descendant of Shem, and, through Abraham, the ancestor of the Jewish people, came up into Canaan.[33] The world has, unhappily, lost the work of Berosus, the Babylonish priest, who, under the Seleucidæ, did for Chaldæa what Manetho was doing almost at the same moment for Egypt.[34] Berosus compiled the history of Chaldæa from the national chronicles and traditions. The loss of his work is still more to be lamented than that of Manetho. The wedges may never, perhaps, be read with as much certainty as the hieroglyphs; the remains of Chaldæo-Assyrian antiquity are much less copious and well preserved than those of the Egyptian civilization, while the gap in the existing documents are more frequent and of a different character. And yet much precious information, especially in these latter days, has been drawn from those fragments of his work which have come down to us. In one of these we find the following evidence as to the mixture of races: "At first there were at Babylon a great number of men belonging to the different nationalities that colonized Chaldæa."[35] How far did that diversity go? The terms used by Berosus are vague enough, while the Hebraic tradition seems to have preserved the memory of only two races who lived one after the other in Chaldæa, namely, the Kushites and the Shemites. And may not these groups, though distinct, have been more closely connected than the Jews were willing to admit? We know how bitterly the Jews hated those Canaanitish races against whom they waged their long and destructive wars; and it is possible that, in order to mark the separation between themselves and their abhorred enemies, they may have shut their eyes to the exaggeration of the distance between the two peoples. More than one historian is inclined to believe that the Kushites and Shemites were less distantly related than the Hebrew writers pretend. Almost every day criticism discovers new points of resemblance between the Jews before the captivity and certain of their neighbours, such as the Phoenicians. Almost the same language was spoken by each; each had the same arts and the same symbols, while many rites and customs were common to both. Baal and Moloch were adored in Judah and Israel as well as in Tyre and Sidon. This is not the proper place to discuss such a question, but, whatever view we may take of it, it seems that the researches of Assyriologists have led to the following conclusion: That primitive Chaldæa received and retained various ethnic elements upon its fertile soil; that those elements in time became fused together, and that, even in the beginning, the diversities that distinguished them one from another were less marked than a literal acceptance of the tenth chapter of Genesis might lead us to believe. We cannot here undertake to explain all the conjectures to which this point has given rise. We are without some, at least, of the qualifications necessary for the due appreciation of the proofs, or rather of the probabilities, which are relied on by the exponents of this or that hypothesis. We must refer curious readers to the works of contemporary Assyriologists; or they may, if they will, find all the chief facts brought together in the writings of MM. Maspero and François Lenormant, whom we shall often have occasion to quote.[36] We shall be content with giving, in as few words as possible, the theory which appears at present to be generally admitted. There is no doubt as to the presence in Chaldæa of the Kushite tribes. It is the Kushites, as represented by Nimrod, who are mentioned in Genesis before any of the others; a piece of evidence which is indirectly confirmed by the nomenclature of the Greek writers. They often employed the terms Kissaioi and Kissioi to denote the peoples who belonged to this very part of Asia,[37] terms under which it is easy to recognize imperfect transliterations of a name that began its last syllable in the Semitic tongues with the sound we render by _sh_. As the Greeks had no letters corresponding to our _h_ and _j_, they had to do the best they could with breathings. Their descendants had to make the same shifts when they became subject to the Turks, and had to express every word of their conqueror's language without possessing any signs for those sounds of _sh_ and _j_ in which it abounded. The same vocable is preserved to our day in the name borne by one of the provinces of Persia, Khouzistan. The objection that the Kissaioi or Kissioi of the classic writers and poets were placed in Susiana rather than in Chaldæa will no longer be made. Susiana borders upon Chaldæa and belongs, like it, to the basin of the Tigris. There is no natural frontier between the two countries, which were closely connected both in peace and war. On the other hand, the name of Ethiopians, often applied by the same authors to the dwellers upon the Persian Gulf and the Sea of Oman, recalls the relationship which attached the Kushites of Asia to those of Africa in the Hebrew genealogies. We have still stronger reasons of the same kind for affirming that the Shemites or Semites occupied an important place in Chaldæa from the very beginning. Linguistic knowledge here comes to the aid of the biblical narrative and confirms its ethnographical data. The language in which most of our cuneiform inscriptions are written, the language, that is, that we call Assyrian, is closely allied to the Hebrew. Towards the period of the second Chaldee Empire, another dialect of the same family, the Aramaic, seems to have been in common use from one end of Mesopotamia to the other. A comparative study of the rites and religious beliefs of the Semitic races would lead us to the same result. Finally, there is something very significant in the facility with which classic writers confuse such terms as Chaldæans, Assyrians, and Syrians; it would seem that they recognized but one people between the Isthmus of Suez on the south and the Taurus on the north, between the seaboard of Phoenicia on the west and the table lands of Iran in the east. In our day the dominant language over the whole of the vast extent of territory which is inclosed by those boundaries is Arabic, as it was Syriac during the early centuries of our era, and Aramaic under the Persians and the successors of Alexander. From the commencement of historic times the Semitic element has never ceased to play the chief _rôle_ from one end of that region to the other. For Syria proper, its pre-eminence is attested by a number of facts which leave no room for doubt. Travellers and historians classed the inhabitants of Mesopotamia with those of Phoenicia and Palestine, because, to their unaccustomed ears, the differences between their languages were hardly perceptible, while their personal characteristics were practically identical. Such affinities and resemblances are only to be explained by a common origin, though the point of junction may have been distant. It has also been asserted that an Aryan element helped to compose the population of primitive Chaldæa, that sister tribes to those of India and Persia, Armenia and Asia Minor furnished their contingents to the mixed population of Shinar. Some have even declared that a time came when those tribes obtained the chief power. It may have been so, but the evidence upon which the hypothesis rests is very slight. Granting that the Aryans did settle in Chaldæa, they were certainly far less numerous than the other colonists, and were so rapidly absorbed into the ranks of the majority that neither history nor language has preserved any sensible trace of their existence. We may therefore leave them out of the argument until fresh evidence is forthcoming. But the students of the inscriptions had another, and, if we accept the theories of MM. Oppert and François Lenormant, a better-founded, surprise in store for us. It seemed improbable that science would ever succeed in mounting beyond those remote tribes, the immediate descendants of Kush and Shem, who occupied Chaldæa at the dawn of history; they formed, to all appearance, the most distant background, the deepest stratum, to which the historian could hope to penetrate; and yet, when the most ancient epigraphic texts began to yield up their secrets, the interpreters were confronted, as they assure us, with this startling fact: the earliest language spoken, or, at least, written, in that country, belonged neither to the Aryan nor to the Semitic family, nor even to those African languages among which the ancient idiom of Egypt has sometimes been placed; it was, in an extreme degree, what we now call an _agglutinative language_. By its grammatical system and by some elements of its vocabulary it suggests a comparison with Finnish, Turkish, and kindred tongues. Other indications, such as the social and religious conditions revealed by the texts, have combined with these characteristics to convince our Assyriologists that the first dwellers in Chaldæa--the first, that is, who made any attempt at civilization--were Turanians, were part of that great family of peoples who still inhabit the north of Europe and Asia, from the marshes of the Baltic to the banks of the Amoor and the shores of the Pacific Ocean.[38] The languages of all those peoples, though various enough, had certain features in common. No one of them reached the delicate and complex mechanism of internal and terminal inflexion; they were guiltless of the subtle processes by which Aryans and Semites expressed the finest shades of thought, and, by declining the substantive and conjugating the verb, subordinated the secondary to the principal idea; they did not understand how to unite, in an intimate and organic fashion, the root to its qualifications and determinatives, to the adjectives and phrases which give colour to a word, and indicate the precise _rôle_ it has to play in the sentence in which it is used. These languages resemble each other chiefly in their lacunæ. Compare them in the dictionaries and they seem very different, especially if we take two, such as Finnish and Chinese, that are separated by the whole width of a continent. It is the same with their physical types. Certain tribes whom we place in the Turanian group have all the distinctive characteristics of the white races. Others are hardly to be distinguished from the yellow nations. Between these two extremes there are numerous varieties which carry us, without any abrupt transition, from the most perfect European to the most complete Chinese type.[39] In the Aryan family the ties of blood are perceptible even between the most divergent branches. By a comparative study of their languages, traditions, and religious conceptions, it has been proved that the Hindoos upon the Ganges, the Germans on the Rhine, and the Celts upon the Loire, are all offshoots of a single stem. Among the Turanians the connections between one race and another are only perceptible in the case of tribes living in close neighbourhood to one another, who have had mutual relations over a long course of years. In such a case the natural affinities are easily seen, and a family of peoples can be established with certainty. The classification is less definitely marked and clearly divided than that of the Aryan and Semitic families; but, nevertheless, it has a real value for the historian.[40] According to the doctrine which now seems most widely accepted, it was from the crowded ranks of the immense army which peopled the north that the tribes who first attempted a civilized life in the plains of Shinar and the fertile slopes between the mountains and the left bank of the Tigris, were thrown off. It is thought that these tribes already possessed a national constitution, a religion, and a system of legislation, the art of writing and the most essential industries, when they first took possession of the lands in question.[41] A tradition still current among the eastern Turks puts the cradle of the race in the valleys of the Altaï, north of the plateau of Pamir.[42] Whether the emigrants into Chaldæa brought the rudiments of their civilization with them, or whether their inventive faculties were only stirred to action after their settlement in that fertile land, is of slight importance. In any case we may say that they were the first to put the soil into cultivation, and to found industrious and stationary communities along the banks of its two great rivers. Once settled in Chaldæa, they called themselves, according to M. Oppert, the people of SUMER, a title which is continually associated with that of "the people of ACCAD" in the inscriptions.[43] NOTES: [28] _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. p. 15 (London, 1883, Chapman and Hall). Upon the Chaldæan _chadoufs_ see LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 109, 110. [29] _Genesis_ xi. 2. [30] _Genesis_ x. 8-12. [31] _Genesis_ x. 6-20. [32] _Genesis_ x. 22: "The children of Shem." [33] _Genesis_ xi. 27-32. [34] In his paper upon the _Date des Écrits qui portent les Noms de Bérose et de Manéthou_ (Hachette, 8vo. 1873), M. ERNEST HAVET has attempted to show that neither of those writers, at least as they are presented in the fragments which have come down to us, deserve the credence which is generally accorded to them. The paper is the production of a vigorous and independent intellect, and there are many observations which should be carefully weighed, but we do not believe that, as a whole, its hypercritical conclusions have any chance of being adopted. All recent progress in Egyptology and Assyriology goes to prove that the fragments in question contain much authentic and precious information, in spite of the carelessness with which they were transcribed, often at second and third hand, by abbreviators of the _basse époque_. [35] See § 2 of Fragment 1. of BEROSUS, in the _Fragmenta Historicorum Græcorum_ of CH. MÜLLER (_Bibliothèque Grecque-Latine_ of Didot), vol. ii. p. 496; En de tê Babulôni polu plêthos anthrôpôn genesthai alloethnôn katoikêsantôn tên Chaldaian. [36] Gaston MASPERO, _Histoire ancienne des Peuples de l'Orient_, liv. ii. ch. iv. _La Chaldée_. François LENORMANT, _Manuel d'Histoire ancienne de l'Orient_, liv. iv. ch. i. (3rd edition). [37] The principal texts in which these terms are to be met with are brought together in the _Wörterbuch der griechischen Eigennamen_ of PAPE (3rd edition), under the words Kissia, Kissioi, Kossaioi. [38] A single voice, that of M. Halévy, is now raised to combat this opinion. He denies that there is need to search for any language but a Semitic one in the oldest of the Chaldæan inscriptions. According to him, the writing under which a Turanian idiom is said to lurk, is no more than a variation upon the Assyrian fashion of noting words, than an early form of writing which owed its preservation to the quasi-sacred character imparted by its extreme antiquity. We have no intention of discussing his thesis in these pages; we must refer those who are interested in the problem to M. HALÉVY'S dissertation in the _Journal Asiatique_ for June 1874: _Observations critiques sur les prétendus Touraniens de la Babylonie_. M. Stanislas Guyard shares the ideas of M. Halévy, to whom his accurate knowledge and fine critical powers afford no little support. [39] MASPERO, _Histoire ancienne_, p. 134. Upon the etymology of _Turanians_ see MAX MÜLLER'S _Science of Language_, 2nd edition, p. 300, _et seq._ Upon the constituent characteristics of the Turanian group of races and languages other pages of the same work may be consulted.... The distinction between Turan and Iran is to be found in the literature of ancient Persia, but its importance became greater in the Middle Ages, as may be seen by reference to the great epic of Firdusi, the _Shah-Nameh_. The kings of Iran and Turan are there represented as implacable enemies. It was from the Persian tradition that Professor Müller borrowed the term which is now generally used to denote those northern races of Asia that are neither Aryans nor Semites. [40] This family is sometimes called _Ural-Altaïc_, a term formed in similar fashion to that of _Indo-Germanic_, which has now been deposed by the term Aryan. It is made up of the names of two mountain chains which seem to mark out the space over which its tribes were spread. Like the word _Indo-Germanic_, it made pretensions to exactitude which were only partially justified. [41] This is the opinion of M. OPPERT. He was led to the conclusion that their writing was invented in a more northern climate than that of Chaldæa, by a close study of its characters. There is one sign representing a bear, an animal which does not exist in Chaldæa, while the lions which were to be found there in such numbers had to be denoted by paraphrase, they were called _great dogs_. The palm tree had no sign of its own. See in the _Journal Asiatique_ for 1875, p. 466, a note to an answer to M. Halévy entitled _Summérien ou rien_. [42] MASPERO, _Histoire ancienne_, p. 135. [43] These much disputed terms, Sumer and Accad, are, according to MM. Halévy and Guyard, nothing but the geographical titles of two districts of Lower Chaldæa. § 4.--_The Wedges._ The writing of Chaldæa, like that of Egypt, was, in the beginning, no more than the abridged and conventionalized representation of familiar objects. The principle was identical with that of the Egyptian hieroglyphs and of the oldest Chinese characters. There are no texts extant in which images are exclusively used,[44] but we can point to a few where the ideograms have preserved their primitive forms sufficiently to enable us to recognize their origin with certainty. Among those Assyrian syllabaries which have been so helpful in the decipherment of the wedges, there is one tablet where the primitive form of each symbol is placed opposite the group of strokes which had the same value in after ages.[45] This tablet is, however, quite exceptional, and, as a rule, the cuneiform characters cannot thus be traced to their primitive form. But well-ascertained and independent facts allow us to come to certain conclusions which even this scanty evidence is enough to confirm. In inventing the process of writing and bringing it to perfection, the human intellect worked on the same lines among the Turanians of Chaldæa as it did everywhere else. The point of departure and the early stages have been the same for all peoples, although some have stopped half-way and others when three-fourths of the journey were complete. The supreme discovery which should crown the effort is the attribution of a special sign to each of the elementary articulations of the human voice. This final object, an object towards which the most gifted nations of antiquity were working for so many centuries, was just missed by the Egyptians. They were, we may say, wrecked in port, and the glory of creating the alphabet that men will use as long as they think and write was reserved for the Phoenicians. Even when their civilization was at its height the Babylonians never came so near to alphabetism as the Egyptians. This is not the place for an inquiry into the reasons of their failure, nor even for an explanation how signs with a phonetic value forced themselves in among the ideograms, and became gradually more and more important. Our interest in the two kinds of writing is of a different nature; we have to learn and explain their influence upon the plastic arts in the countries where they were used. In our attempt to define the style of Egyptian sculpture and to give reasons for its peculiar characteristics, we felt obliged to attribute great importance to the habits of eye and hand suggested and confirmed by the cutting and painting of the hieroglyphs. In their monumental inscriptions, if nowhere else, the symbols of the Egyptian system retained their concrete imagery to the end; and the images, though abridged and simplified, never lost their resemblance;[46] and if it is necessary to know something more than the particular animal or thing which they represent before we can get at their meaning, that is only because in most cases they had a metaphorical or even a purely phonetic signification as well as their ideographic one. For the most part, however, it is easy to recognize their origin, and in this they differ greatly from the symbols of the first Chaldæan alphabet. In the very oldest documents there are certain ideograms that, when we are warned, remind us of the natural objects from which their forms have been taken, but the connection is slight and difficult of apprehension. Even in the case of those characters whose forms most clearly suggest their true figurative origin, it would have been impossible to assign its prototype to each without the help of later texts, where, with more or less modification, they formed parts of sentences whose general significance was known. Finally, the Assyrian syllabaries have preserved the meaning of signs, that, so far as we can judge, would otherwise have been stumbling-blocks even to the wise men of Nineveh when they were confronted with such ancient inscriptions as those whose fragments are still found among the ruins of Lower Chaldæa. Even in the remote days that saw the most venerable of these inscriptions cut, the images upon which their forms were based had been rendered almost unrecognizable by a curious habit, or caprice, which is unique in history. Writing had not yet become entirely _cuneiform_, it had not yet adopted those triangular strokes which are called sometimes nails, sometimes arrow-heads, and sometimes wedges, as the exclusive constituents of its character. If we examine the tablets recovered by Mr. Loftus from the ruins of Warka, the ancient Erech (Fig. 1), or the inscriptions upon the diorite statues found at Tello by M. de Sarzec (Fig. 2), we shall find that in the distant period from which those writings date, most of the characters had what we may call an unbroken trace.[47] This trace, like that of the hieroglyphs, would have been well fitted for the succinct imitation of natural objects but for a rigid exclusion of those curves of which nature is so fond. This exclusion is complete, all the lines are straight, and cut one another at various angles. The horror of a curve is pushed so far that even the sun, which is represented by a circle in Egyptian and other ideographic systems, is here a lozenge. [Illustration: FIG. 1.--Brick from Erech.] It is very unlikely that even the oldest of these texts show us Chaldæan writing in its earliest stage. Analogy would lead us to think that these figures must at one time have been more directly imitative. However that may have been, the image must have been very imperfect from the day that the rectilinear trace came into general use. Figures must then have rapidly degenerated into conventional signs. Those who used them could no longer pretend to actually represent the objects they wished to denote. They must have been content to suggest their ideas by means of a character whose value had been determined by usage. This transformation would be accelerated by certain habits which forced themselves upon the people as soon as they were finally established in the land of Shinar. [Illustration: FIG. 2.--Fragment of an inscription engraved upon the back of a statue from Tello. Louvre. (Length 10-1/4 inches.)] We are told that there are certain expressions in the Assyrian language which lead to the belief that the earliest writing was on the bark of trees, that it offered the first surface to the scribe in those distant northern regions from which the early inhabitants of Chaldæa were emigrants. It is certain that the dwellers in that vast alluvial plain were compelled by the very nature of the soil to use clay for many purposes to which no other civilization has put it. In Mesopotamia, as in the valley of the Nile, the inhabitants had but to stoop to pick up an excellent modelling clay, fine in texture and close grained--a clay which had been detached from the mountain sides by the two great rivers, and deposited in inexhaustible quantities over the whole width of the double valley. We shall see hereafter what an important part bricks, crude, fired, and enamelled, played in the construction and decoration of Chaldæan buildings. It was the same material that received most of their writing. Clay offered a combination of facility with durability which no other material could equal. While soft and wet it readily took the shape of any figure impressed upon it. The deftly-handled tool could engrave characters upon its yielding surface almost as fast as the reed could trace them upon papyrus, and much more rapidly than the chisel could cut them in wood. Again, in its final condition as solid terra-cotta, it offered a chance of duration far beyond that of either wood or papyrus. Once safely through the kiln it had nothing to fear short of deliberate destruction. The message intrusted to a terra-cotta slab or cylinder could only be finally lost by the reduction of the latter to powder. At _Hillah_, the town which now occupies a corner of the vast space once covered by the streets of Babylon, bricks are found built into the walls to this day, upon which the Assyrian scholar may read as he runs the royal style and titles of Nebuchadnezzar.[48] As civilization progressed, the dwellers upon the Persian Gulf felt an ever-increasing attraction towards the art of writing. It afforded a medium of communication with distant points, and a bond of connection between one generation and another; by its means the son could profit by the accumulated experience of the father. The slab of terra-cotta was the most obvious material for its reception. It cost almost nothing, while such an elaborate substance as the papyrus of Egypt can never have been very cheap. It lent itself kindly to the service demanded of it, and the writer who had confided his thoughts to its surface had only to fire it for an hour or two to secure them a kind of eternity. This latter precaution did not require any very lengthy journey; brick kilns must have blazed day and night from one end of Chaldæa to another. If we consider for a moment the properties of the material, and examine the remains which have come down to us, we shall understand at once what writing was certain to become under the triple impulse of a desire to write much, to write fast, and to use clay as we moderns use paper. Suppose oneself compelled to trace upon clay figures whose lines necessitated continual changes of direction; at each angle or curve it would be necessary to turn the hand, and with it the tool, because the clay surface, however tender it might be, would still afford a certain amount of resistance. Such resistance would hardly be an obstacle, but it would in some degree diminish the speed with which the tool could be driven. Now, as soon as writing comes into common use, most of those who employ it in the ordinary matters of life have no time to waste. It is important that all hindrances to rapid work should be avoided. The designs of the old writing with their strokes sometimes broken, sometimes continuous, sometimes thick, and sometimes thin, wearied the writer and took much time, and at last it came about that the clay was attacked in a number of short, clear-cut triangular strokes each similar in form to its fellow. As these little depressions had all the same depth and the same shape, and as the hand had neither to change its pressure nor to shift its position, it arrived with practice at an extreme rapidity of execution. Some have asserted that the instrument with which these marks were made has been found among the Mesopotamian ruins. It is, we are told, a small style in bone or ivory with a bevelled triangular point.[49] And yet when we look with attention at these terra-cotta inscriptions, we fall to doubting whether the hollow marks of which they are composed could have been made by such a point. There is no sign of those scratches which we should expect to find left by a sharp instrument in its process of cutting out and removing part of the clay. The general appearance of the surface leads us rather to think that the strokes were made by thrusting some instrument with a sharp ridge like the corner of a flat rule, into the clay, and that nothing was taken away as in the case of wood or marble, but an impression made by driving back the earth into itself.[50] However this may be, the first element of the cuneiform writing was a hollow incision made by a single movement of the hand, and of a form which may be compared to a greatly elongated triangle. These triangles were sometimes horizontal, sometimes vertical, sometimes oblique, and when arranged in more or less complex groups, could easily furnish all the necessary symbols. In early ages, the elements of some of these ideographic or phonetic signs--signs which afterwards became mere complex groups of wedges--were so arranged as to suggest the primitive forms--that is, the more or less roughly blocked out images--from which they had originally sprung. The _fish_ may easily be recognized in the following group [Illustration]: while the character that stands for the _sun_, [Illustration], reminds us of the lozenge which was the primitive sign for that luminary. In the two symbols [Illustration] and [Illustration], we may, with a little good will, recognize a _shovel_ with its handle, and an _ear_. But even in the oldest texts the instances in which the primitive types are still recognizable are very few; the wedge has in nearly every case completely transfigured, and, so to speak, decomposed, their original features. This is the case even in what is called the Sumerian system itself, and when its signs and processes were borrowed by other nations, the tendency to abandon figuration was of course still more marked. It has now been clearly proved that the wedges have served the turn of at least four languages beside that of the people who devised them, and that in passing from one people to another their groups never lost the phonetic value assigned to them by their first inventors.[51] In the absence of this extended employment all attempts to decipher the wedges would have been condemned to almost certain failure from the first, but as soon as its existence had been placed beyond doubt, there was every reason to count upon success. It allowed the words of a text to be transliterated into phonetic characters, and that being done, to discover their meaning was but an affair of time, patience, and method. * * * * * We see then, that the system of signs invented by the first inhabitants of Chaldæa had a vogue similar to that which attended the alphabet of the Phoenicians in the Mediterranean basin. For all the peoples of Western Asia it was a powerful agent of progress and civilization. We can understand, therefore, how it was that the wedge, the essential element of all those groups which make up cuneiform writing, became for the Assyrian one of the holy symbols of the divine intelligence. Upon the stone called the _Caillou Michaud_, from the name of its discoverer, it is shown standing upon an altar and receiving the prayers and homage of a priest.[52] It deserved all the respect it received; thanks to it the Babylonian genius was able to rough out and hand down to posterity the science from which Greece was to profit so largely. And yet, in spite of all the services it had rendered, this form of writing fell into disuse towards the commencement of our era; it was supplanted even in the country of its origin by alphabets derived from that of the Phoenicians.[53] It had one grave defect: its phonetic signs always represented syllables. No one of the wedge-using communities made that decisive step in advance of which the honour belongs to the Phoenicians alone. No one of them carried the analysis of language so far as to reduce the syllable to its elements, and to distinguish the consonant, mute by itself, from the vowel upon which it depends, if we may say so, for an active life. All those races who have not borrowed their alphabet _en bloc_ from their neighbours or predecessors but have invented it for themselves, began with the imitation of objects. At first we have a mere outline, made to gratify some special want.[54] The more these figures were repeated, the more they tended towards a single stereotyped form, and that an epitomized and conventional one. They were only signs, so that it was not in the least necessary to painfully reproduce every feature of the original model, as if the latter were copied for its plastic beauty. As time passed on, writing and drawing won separate existences; but at first they were not to be distinguished one from the other, the latter was but a use of the former, and, in a sense, we may even say that writing was the first and simplest of the plastic arts. In Egypt this art remained more faithful to its origin than elsewhere. Even when it had attained the highest development it ever reached in that country, and was on the point of crowning its achievements by the invention of a true alphabet, it continued to reproduce the general shapes and contours of objects. The hieroglyphs were truly a system of writing by which all the sounds of the language could be noted and almost reduced to their final elements; but they were also, up to their last day, a system of design in which the characteristic features of genera and species, if not of individuals, were carefully distinguished. Was it the same in Chaldæa? Had the methods, and what we may call the style of the national writing, any appreciable influence upon the plastic arts, upon the fashion in which living nature was understood and reproduced? We do not think it had, and the reason of the difference is not far to seek. The very oldest of the ideographic signs of Chaldæa are much farther removed from the objects upon which they were based than the Egyptian hieroglyphs; and when the wedge became the primary element of all the characters, the scribe ceased to give even the most distant hint of the real forms of the things signified. Throughout the period which saw those powerful empires flourishing in Mesopotamia whose creations were admired and copied by all the peoples of Western Asia, the more or less complex groups and arrangements of the cuneiform writing, to whatever language applied, had no aim but to represent sometimes whole words, sometimes the syllables of which those words were composed. Under such conditions it seems unlikely that the forms of the written characters can have contributed much to form the style of artists who dealt with the figures of men and animals. We may say that the sculptors and painters of Chaldæa were not, like those of Egypt, the scholars of the scribes. And yet there is a certain analogy between the handling of the inscriptions and that of the bas-reliefs. It is doubtless in the nature of the materials employed that we must look for the final explanation of this similarity, but it is none the less true that writing was a much earlier and a much more general art than sculpture. The Chaldæan artist must have carried out his modelling with a play of hand and tool learnt in cutting texts upon clay, and still more, upon stone. The same chisel-stroke is found in both; very sure, very deep, and a little harsh. However this may be, we cannot embark upon the history of Art in Chaldæa without saying a word upon her graphic system. If there be one proof more important than another of the great part played by the Chaldæans in the ancient world, it is the success of their writing, and its diffusion as far as the shores of the Euxine and the eastern islands of the Mediterranean. Some cuneiform texts have lately been discovered in Cappadocia, the language of which is that of the country,[55] and the most recent discoveries point to the conclusion that the Cypriots borrowed from Babylonia the symbols by which the words of the Greek dialect spoken in their island were noted.[56] We have yet to visit more than one famous country. In our voyage across the plains where antique civilization was sketched out and started on its long journey to maturity, we shall, whenever we cross the frontiers of a new people, begin by turning our attention for a space to their inscriptions; and wherever we are met by those characters which are found in their oldest shapes in the texts from Lower Chaldæa, there we shall surely find plastic forms and motives whose primitive types are to be traced in the remains of Chaldæan art. A man's writing will often tell us where his early days were passed and under what masters his youthful intellect received the bent that only death can take away. NOTES: [44] We are told that there is an inscription at Susa of this character. It has been examined but not as yet reproduced. We can, therefore, make no use of it. See François LENORMANT, _Manuel d'Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 156. [45] M. LENORMANT reproduces this tablet in his _Histoire ancienne de l'Orient_ (9th edition, vol. i. p. 420). The whole of the last chapter in this volume should be carefully studied. It is well illustrated, and written with admirable clearness. The same theories and discoveries are explained at greater length in the introduction to M. LENORMANT'S great work entitled _Essai sur la Propagation de l'Alphabet phenicien_, of which but one volume has as yet appeared (Maisonneuve, 8vo., 1872). At the very commencement of his investigations M. OPPERT had called attention to the curious forms presented by certain characters in the oldest inscriptions. See _Expédition scientifique de Mésopotamie_, vol. ii. pp. 62, 3, notably the paragraph entitled _Origine Hiéroglyphique de l'Écriture anarienne_. The texts upon which the remarks of MM. Oppert and Lenormant were mainly founded were published under the title of _Early Inscriptions from Chaldæa_ in the invaluable work of Sir Henry RAWLINSON (_A Selection from the Historical Inscriptions of Chaldæa, Assyria, and Babylonia_, prepared for publication by Major-General Sir Henry Rawlinson, assisted by Edwin Norris, British Museum, folio, 1861). [46] See the _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. pp. 350-3 (?). [47] This peculiarity is still more conspicuous in the engraved limestone pavement which was discovered in the same place, but the fragments are so mutilated as to be unfit for reproduction here. [48] LAYARD, _Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon_, p. 506. [49] OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique de Mésopotamie_, vol. ii. pp. 62, 3. [50] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. ii. p. 180. [51] A list of these languages, and a condensed but lucid explanation of the researches which have led to the more or less complete decipherment of the different groups of texts will be found in the _Manuel de l'Histoire ancienne de l'Orient_ of LENORMANT, 3rd edition, vol. ii. pp. 153, &c.--"Several languages--we know of five up to the present moment--have given the same phonetic value to these symbols. It is clear, however, that a single nation must have invented the system," OPPERT, _Journal Asiatique_, 1875, p. 474. M. Oppert has given an interesting account of the mode of decipherment in the _Introduction_ and in _Chapter 1._ of the first volume of his _Expédition scientifique de Mésopotamie_. [52] A reproduction of this stone will be found farther on. The detail in question is engraved in LAYARD'S _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. ii. p. 181. [53] The latest cuneiform inscription we possess dates from the time of Domitian. It has been published by M. OPPERT, _Mélanges d'Archéologie égyptienne et assyrienne_, vol. i. p. 23 (Vieweg, 1873, 4to.). Some very long ones, from the time of the Seleucidæ and the early Arsacidæ, have been discovered. [54] Hence the name _pictography_ which some scholars apply to this primitive form of writing. The term is clear enough, but unluckily it is ill composed: it is a hybrid of Greek and Latin, which is sufficient to prevent its acceptance by us. [55] See the _Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archæology_, twelfth session, 1881-2. [56] See MICHEL BRÉAL, _Le Déchiffrement des Inscriptions cypriotes_ (_Journal des Savants_, August and September, 1877). In the last page of his article, M. Bréal, while fully admitting the objections, asserts that it is "difficult to avoid recognizing the general resemblance (difficile de méconnaître la ressemblance générale)." He refers us to the paper of Herr DEECKE, entitled _Der Ursprung der Kyprischen Sylbenschrift, eine palæographische Untersuchung_, Strasbourg, 1877. Another hypothesis has been lately started, and an attempt made to affiliate the Cypriot syllabary to the as yet little understood hieroglyphic system of the Hittites. See a paper by Professor A. H. SAYCE, _A Forgotten Empire in Asia Minor_, in No. 608 of _Fraser's Magazine_. § 5.--_The History of Chaldæa and Assyria._ We cannot here attempt even to epitomize the history of those great empires that succeeded one another in Mesopotamia down to the period of the Persian conquest. Until quite lately their history was hardly more than a tissue of tales and legends behind which it was difficult to catch a glimpse of the few seriously attested facts, of the few people who were more than shadows, and of the dynasties whose sequence could be established. The foreground was taken up by fabulous creatures like Ninus and Semiramis, compounded by the lively imagination of the Greeks of features taken from several of the building and conquering sovereigns of Babylon and Nineveh. So, in the case of Egypt, was forged the image of that great Sesostris who looms so large in the pages of the Greek historians and combines many Pharaohs of the chief Theban dynasties in his own person. The romantic tales of Ctesias were united by Rollin and his emulators with other statements of perhaps still more doubtful value. The book of Daniel was freely drawn upon, and yet it is certain that it was not written until the year which saw the death of Antiochus Epiphanes. The book of Daniel is polemical, not historical; the Babylon in which its scene is laid is a Babylon of the imagination; the writer chose it as the best framework for his lessons to the Israelites, and for the menaces he wished to pour out upon their enemies.[57] Better materials are to be found in other parts of the Bible, in _Kings_, in the _Chronicles_, and in the older prophets. But it would be an ungrateful task for the critic to attempt to work out an harmonious result from evidence so various both in origin and value. The most skilful would fail in the endeavour. With such materials it would be impossible to arrive at any coherent result that would be, we do not say true, but probable. The discovery of Nineveh, the exploration of the ruins in Chaldæa, and the decipherment of the cuneiform inscriptions, have changed all this, although much of the detail has yet to be filled in, especially so far as the earlier periods are concerned. We are now able to trace the leading lines, to mark the principal divisions, in a word, to put together the skeleton of a future history. We are no longer ignorant of the origin of Babylonish civilization nor of the directions in which it spread; we can grasp both the strong differences and the close bonds of connection between Assyria and Chaldæa, and understand the swing of the pendulum that in the course of two thousand years shifted the political centre of the country backwards and forwards from Babylon to Nineveh, while from the mountains of Armenia to the Persian Gulf, beliefs, manners, arts, spoken dialects, and written characters, preserved so many striking resemblances as to put their common origin beyond a doubt. Not a year passes but the discovery of fresh documents and the process of translation allows us to retouch and complete the story. MM. Maspero and Lenormant have placed it before us as shaped by their most recent studies, and we shall take them for our guide in a rapid indication of the ruling character and approximate duration of each of those periods into which the twenty centuries of development may be divided. We shall then have some fixed points by which to guide our steps in the vast region whose monuments we are about to explore. So that if we say that a certain fragment belongs to the _first_ or _second Chaldæan Empire_, our readers will know, not perhaps its exact date, but at least its relative age, and all risk of confusing the time of Ourkam or Hammourabi with that of Nebuchadnezzar will be avoided. * * * * * When we attempt to mount the stream of history and to pierce the mists which become ever thicker as we near its source, what is it that we see? We see the lower part of the basin through which the twin rivers make their way, entirely occupied by tribes of various origin and blood whose ethnic characteristics we have endeavoured to point out. These mixed populations are divided by the Tigris into two distinct groups. These groups often came into violent collision, and in spite of mutual relations kept up through a long series of years, the line of demarcation between them ever remained distinct. Towards the east, in the plain which borders the river, and upon the terraces which rise one above the other up to the plateau of Iran, we have the country called by the Greeks Susiana, and by the Hebrews the kingdom of Elam. West of the Tigris, in Mesopotamia, the first Chaldæan Empire is slowly taking shape. The eastern state, that of which Susa was the capital, was, at intermittent periods, a great military power, and more than once poured its hosts, not only over Babylonia, but over the Syrian provinces to the west of the Euphrates. But in these momentary successes, nevertheless, the part played by this state was, on the whole, a subordinate one. It spent itself in bloody conflicts with the Mesopotamian empires, to which it became subject in the end, while at no time does it appear to have done anything to advance civilization either by isolated inventions or by general perseverance in the ways of progress. We know very little of its internal history, and nothing to speak of about its religion and government, its manners and laws; but the few monuments which have been discovered suffice to prove that its art had no independent existence, that it was never anything better than a secondary form of Chaldæan art, a branch broken off from the parent stem. We are better, or, rather, less ill, informed, in the case of the first Chaldee Empire. The fragments of Berosus give us some knowledge of its beginnings, so far, at least, as the story was preserved in the national traditions, and the remains by which tradition can be tested and corrected are more numerous than in the case of Susiana. The chronicles on which Berosus based his work began with a divine dynasty, which was succeeded by a human dynasty of fabulous duration. These legendary sovereigns, like the patriarchs of the Bible, each lived for many centuries, and to them, as well as to the gods who preceded them, certain myths were attached of which we find traces in the surviving monuments. Such myths were the fish god, Oannes, and the Chaldaic deluge with its Noah, Xisouthros.[58] This double period, with its immoderate duration, corresponds to those dark and confused ages during which the intellect of man was absorbed in the constant and painful struggle against nature, during which he had no leisure either to take note of time or to count the generations as they passed. After this long succession of gods and heroes, Berosus gives what he calls a _Medic_ dynasty, in which, it has been thought, the memory of some period of Aryan supremacy has survived. In any case, we have serious reasons for thinking that the third of the dynasties of Berosus, with its eleven kings, was of Susian origin. Without speaking of other indications which have been ingeniously grouped by modern criticism, a direct confirmation of this hypothesis is to be found in the evidence of the Bible. In the latter we find Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, master of the whole basin of the Tigris and Euphrates in the time of Abraham. Among his vassals were Amraphel, king of Shinar, and Arioch, king of Ellasar, the two principal cities of Assyria.[59] All doubts upon this point have been banished since the texts in which Assurbanipal, the last of the Ninevite conquerors, vaunts his exploits, have been deciphered. In two of these inscriptions he tells us how he took Susa 1,635 years after Chedornakhounta, king of Elam, had conquered Babylon; he found, he says, in that city sacred statues which had been carried off from Erech by the king of Elam. He brought them back again to Chaldæa and re-established them in the sanctuary from which they had been violently removed.[60] Assurbanipal took Susa in 660. All antiquity declares that the Babylonians and the Syrians had a taste for chronology at a very early period. This is proved by the eponymous system of the Assyrians, a system much to be preferred to the Egyptian habit of dating their monuments with the year of the current reign only.[61] Moreover, have not the ancients perpetuated the fame of the astronomical tables drawn up by the Chaldæans and founded upon observations dating back to a very remote epoch? Such tables could not have been made without a strict count of time. We have, then, no reason to doubt the figure named by Assurbanipal, and his chronicle may be taken to give the oldest date in the history of Chaldæa, B.C. 2,295, as the year of the Susian conquest. The Elamite dynasty was succeeded, according to Berosus, by a native Chaldæan dynasty. Berosus--and his dates are held in great respect--places the appearance of this new royal family in 2,047, giving it forty-nine sovereigns and 458 years of duration. We are thus brought down to the conquest of Mesopotamia by the Egyptian Pharaohs of the eighteenth dynasty. The names of the Chaldæan princes have been transcribed by those Byzantine chroniclers to whom we owe the few and short fragments of Berosus that are still extant. On the other hand, inscriptions dug up upon the sites of the Chaldæan cities have furnished us with fifty royal names which may, it is thought, be ascribed to the period whose chief divisions we have just laid down. Assyriologists have classed them as well as they could--from the more or less archaic characters of their language and writing, from the elements of which the proper names are composed, and from the relationships which some of the texts show to have existed between one prince and another--but they are still far from establishing a continuous series such as those that have been arranged for the Pharaohs even of the Ancient Empire. Interruptions are frequent, and their extent is beyond our power even to guess. Primitive Chaldæa has unluckily left behind it no document like the list of Manetho to help us in the arrangement of the royal names with which the monuments are studded. We do not even know how the earliest royal name upon the inscriptions should be read; it is more to avoid speaking of him by a paraphrase than for any other reason that the name Ourkam has been assigned to the prince whose traces are to be found sprinkled over the ruins of most of the southern cities. The characters of the texts stamped upon bricks recovered from buildings erected by him, have, as all Assyriologists know, a peculiar physiognomy of their own. Ourkam is the Menes of Chaldæa, and his date is put long before that Susian conquest of which we have spoken above. The seals of Ourkam (see Fig. 3) and of his son Ilgi[62] have been found. The name of the latter occurs almost as often as that of his father among the ruins of Southern Chaldæa. [Illustration: FIG. 3.--Seal of Ourkam.] The oldest cities of Lower Chaldæa date from this remote epoch, namely, Ur, now _Mugheir_ or the _bituminous_, Urukh now _Warka_, Larsam (_Senkerch_), Nipour (_Niffer_), Sippara, Borsippa, Babylon, &c. Ur, on the right bank of the Euphrates and near its ancient mouth, seems to have been the first capital of the country and its chief commercial centre in those early times. The premiership of Babylon as a holy city and seat of royalty cannot have been established until much later. The whole country between Hillah and Bassorah is now little removed from a desert. Here and there rise a few tents or reed huts belonging to the Montefik Arabs, a tribe of savage nomads and the terror of travellers. Europeans have succeeded in exploring that inhospitable country only under exceptional circumstances.[63] And yet it was there, between two or three thousand years before our era, that the intermingling of ideas and races took place which gave birth to the civilization of Chaldæa. In order to find a king to whom we can give a probable date we have to come down as far as Ismi-Dagan, who should figure in the fourth dynasty of Berosus. Tiglath-Pileser the First, who reigned in Assyria at the end of the twelfth century, has left us an official document in which he recounts how he had restored in Ellasar (now _Kaleh-Shergat_), a temple of Oannes founded by Ismi-Dagan seven hundred years before. We are led therefore to place the latter king about 1800.[64] We learn at the same time that Assyria was inhabited, in the days of Ismi-Dagan, by a people who borrowed their gods from Chaldæa, and were dependents of the sovereign of the latter country. It was in fact upon the shores of the Persian Gulf, far enough from Assyria, that Oannes made his first revelation, and it is at Ur in the same region that the names of Ismi-Dagan and of his sons Goun-goun and Samsibin are to be found stamped upon the bricks. We may, therefore, look upon their epoch as that in which the first Chaldee Empire reached its apogee. It then embraced all Mesopotamia, from the slopes of Mount Zagros to the out-fall of the two great rivers. The sovereigns of Chaldæa, like the Pharaohs of Egypt, toiled with intelligence and unremitting perseverance to develop the resources of the vast domain of which they found themselves masters. They set on foot great public works whose memory survives here and there, to this day. From the moment when the first colonists, of whatever race, appeared in the country, they must have set about regulating the water courses; they must have taken measures to profit by the floods to form reserves, and to utilize the natural fall of the land, slight though it was, for the distribution of the fertilizing liquid. The first groups of agriculturists were established in the immediate neighbourhood of the Tigris and Euphrates, where nothing more was required for the irrigation of the fields than a few channels cut through the banks of the stream, but when the time arrived for the settlement of the regions at some distance from both rivers, more elaborate measures had to be taken; a systematic plan had to be devised and carried out by concerted action. That the kings of Chaldæa were quite equal to the task thus laid upon them is proved by the inscriptions of HAMMOURABI, one of the successors of Ismi-Dagan, which have been translated and commented upon by M. Joachim Ménant.[65] The canal to which this king boasts of having given his name, the _Nahar-Hammourabi_, was called in later days the royal canal, _Nahar-Malcha_. Herodotus saw and admired it, its good condition was an object of care to the king himself, and we know that it was considerably repaired by Nebuchadnezzar. It may be compared to a main artery; smaller vessels flowed from it right and left, throwing off in their turn still smaller branches, and ending in those capillaries which carried refreshment to the roots of each thirsty palm. Even in our day the traveller in the province of Bagdad may follow one of these ancient beds for an hour or two without turning to the right or the left, and their banks, though greatly broken in many places, still rise above the surrounding soil and afford a welcome causeway for the voyager across the marshy plains.[66] All these apparent accidents of the ground are vestiges left by the great hydraulic works of that Chaldee Empire which began to loom through the shadows of the past some twenty years ago, and has gradually been taking form ever since. When civilization makes up its mind to re-enter upon that country, nothing more will be needed for the re-awakening in it of life and reproductive energy, than the restoration of the great works undertaken by the contemporaries of Abraham and Jacob. * * * * * According to all appearance it was the Egyptian conquest about sixteen centuries B.C., that led to the partition of Mesopotamia. Vassals of Thothmes and Rameses, called by Berosus the "Arab kings," sat upon the throne of Babylon. The tribes of Upper Mesopotamia were farther from Egypt, and their chiefs found it easier to preserve their independence. At first each city had its own prince, but in time one of these petty kingdoms absorbed the rest, and Nineveh became the capital of an united Assyria. As the years passed away the frontiers of the nation thus constituted were pushed gradually southwards until all Mesopotamia was brought under one sceptre. This consummation appears to have been complete by the end of the fourteenth century, at which period Egypt, enfeebled and rolled back upon herself, ceased to make her influence felt upon the Euphrates. Even then Babylon kept her own kings, but they had sunk to be little more than hereditary satraps receiving investiture from Nineveh. Over and over again Babylon attempted to shake off the yoke of her neighbour; but down to the seventh century her revolts were always suppressed, and the Assyrian supremacy re-established after more or less desperate conflicts. During nearly half a century, from about 1060 to 1020 B.C., Babylon seems to have recovered the upper hand. The victories of her princes put an end to what is called the FIRST ASSYRIAN EMPIRE. But after one or two generations a new family mounted the northern throne, and, toiling energetically for a century or so to establish the grandeur of the monarchy, founded the SECOND ASSYRIAN EMPIRE. The upper country regained its ascendency by the help of military institutions whose details now escape us, although their results may be traced throughout the later history of Assyria. From the tenth century onwards the effects of these institutions become visible in expeditions made by the armies of Assyria, now to the shores of the Persian Gulf or the Caspian, and now through the mountains of Armenia into the plains of Cappadocia, or across the Syrian desert to the Lebanon and the coast cities of Phoenicia. The first princes whose figured monuments--in contradistinction to mere inscriptions--have come down to us, belonged to those days. The oldest of all was ASSURNAZIRPAL, whose residence was at CALACH (_Nimroud_). The bas-reliefs with which his palace was decorated are now in the Louvre and the British Museum, most of them in the latter.[67] They may be recognized at once by the band of inscription which passes across the figures and reproduces one text again and again (Fig. 4). To Assurnazirpal's son SHALMANESER III. belongs the obelisk of basalt which also stands in the British Museum. Its four faces are adorned with reliefs and with a running commentary engraved with extreme care.[68] [Illustration: FIG. 4.--Genius in the attitude of adoration. From the North-west Palace at Nimroud. Louvre. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] Shalmaneser was an intrepid man of war. The inscriptions on his obelisk recall the events of thirty-one campaigns waged against the neighbouring peoples under the leadership of the king himself. He was always victorious, but the nations whom he crushed never accepted defeat. As soon as his back was well turned they flew to arms, and again drew him from his repose in the great palace which he had built at Calach, close to that of his father.[69] Under the immediate successors of Shalmaneser the Assyrian _prestige_ was maintained at a high level by dint of the same lavish bloodshed and truculent energy; but towards the eighth century it began to decline. There was then a period of languor and decadence, some echo of which, and of its accompanying disasters, seems to have been embodied by the Greeks in the romantic tale of Sardanapalus. No shadow of confirmation for the story of a first destruction of Nineveh is to be found in the inscriptions, and, in the middle of the same century, we again find the Assyrian arms triumphant under the leadership of TIGLATH PILESER II., a king modelled after the great warriors of the earlier days. This prince seems to have carried his victorious arms as far east as the Indus, and west as the frontiers of Egypt. And yet it was only under his second successor, SARYOUKIN, or, to give him his popular name, SARGON, the founder of a new dynasty, that Syria, with the exception of Tyre, was brought into complete submission after a great victory over the Egyptians (721-704).[70] In the intervals of his campaigns Sargon built the town and palace which have been discovered at Khorsabad, _Dour-Saryoukin_, or the "town of Sargon." His son SENNACHERIB equalled him both as a soldier and as a builder. He began by crushing the rebels of Elam and Chaldæa with unflinching severity; in his anger he almost exterminated the inhabitants of Babylon, the perennial seat of revolt; but, on the other hand, he repaired and restored Nineveh. Most of his predecessors had been absentees from the capital, and had neglected its buildings. They had preferred to place their own habitations where they could escape from the crowd and the dangers it implied. But Sennacherib was of another mind. He chose a site well within the city for the magnificent palace which Mr. Layard has been the means of restoring to the world. This building is now known as _Kouyundjik_, from the name of the village perched upon the mound within which the buildings of Sennacherib were hidden.[71] Sennacherib rebuilt the walls, the towers, and the quays of Nineveh at the same time, so that the capital, which had never ceased to be the strongest and most populous city of the empire, again became the residence of the king--a distinction which it was to preserve until the fast approaching date of its final destruction. The son of Sennacherib, ESARHADDON, and his grandson, ASSURBANIPAL, pushed the adventures and conquests of the Assyrian arms still farther. They subdued the whole north of Arabia, and invaded Egypt more than once. They took and retook Memphis and Thebes, and divided the whole valley of the Nile, from the Ethiopian frontier to the sea, into a number of vassal principalities, whose submission was insured by the weakness and mutual jealousies of their lords. Ever prompt in revolt, Babylon again exposed itself to sack, and Susiana, which had helped the insurrection, was pillaged, ravaged, and so utterly crushed that it was on the point of disappearing for ever from the scene as an independent state. There was a moment when the great Semitic Empire founded by the Sargonides touched even the Ægæan, for Gyges, king of Lydia, finding himself menaced by the Cimmerians, did homage to Assurbanipal, and sued for help against those foes to all civilization.[72] [Illustration: FIG. 5.--Assurbanipal at the chase. Kouyundjik. British Museum. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] Like their ancestors, these great soldiers were also great builders. In one of his inscriptions Esarhaddon boasts of having built ten palaces and thirty-six temples in Assyria and Chaldæa.[73] Some traces of one of these palaces have been found within the _enceinte_ of Nineveh, at Nebbi-Younas; but it was chiefly upon Nimroud that Esarhaddon left marks of his magnificence. The palace called the South-western Palace, in consequence of its position in the mound, was commenced by him. It was never finished, but in plan it was more grandiose than any other of the royal dwellings. Had it been complete it would have included the largest hall ever provided by an Assyrian architect for the pomps of the Ninevitish court. Assurbanipal was cruel in victory and indefatigable in the chase. Judging from his bas-reliefs he was as proud of the lions he killed by hundreds in his hunts, as of the men massacred by thousands in his wars and military promenades, or of the captives driven before him, like herds of helpless cattle, from one end of Asia to the other. He appears also to have been a patron of literature and the arts. It was under his auspices that the collection of inscribed terra-cotta tablettes was made in the palace at Kouyundjik,[74] of which so many fragments have now been recovered. He ordered the transcription of several ancient texts which had been first cut, many centuries before, at Ur of the Chaldees. In fact, he collected that royal library whose remains, damaged by time though they be, are yet among the most valued treasures of the British Museum. Documents of many kinds are to be found among them: comparative vocabularies, lists of divinities with their distinguishing epithets, chronological lists of kings and eponymous heroes, grammars, histories, tables of astronomical observations, scientific works of various descriptions, &c., &c. These tablets were classified according to subject and arranged in several rooms of the upper story, so that they suffered much in the fall of the floors and roofs. Very few are quite uninjured but in many cases the pieces have been successfully put together. When first discovered these broken remains covered the floors of the buried palace to the depth of about two feet.[75] The building was no less remarkable for the richness and beauty of its bas-reliefs. We shall have occasion to reproduce more than one of the hunting scenes which are there represented, and of which we give a first illustration on the opposite page. Some remains of another palace built by the same prince have been discovered in the mound of Nebbi-Younas. Never had the empire seemed more strong and flourishing than now, and yet it was close to its fall. The Sargonids understood fighting and pillage, but they made no continuous effort to unite the various peoples whom they successfully conquered and trampled underfoot. The Assyrians have been compared to the Romans, and in some respects the parallel is good. They showed a Roman energy in the conduct of their incessant struggles, and the soldiers who brought victory so often to the standards of the Sennacheribs and Shalmanesers must have been in their time, as the legions of the consuls and dictators were in later years, the best troops in Asia: they were better armed, better disciplined, and better led than those of neighbouring states, more used to fatigue, to long marches and rapid evolutions. The brilliance of their success and its long duration are thus explained, for the chiefs of the empire never seem to have had the faintest suspicion of the adroit policy which was afterwards to bind so many conquered peoples to the Roman sceptre. The first necessity for civilized man is security: the hope, or rather the certainty, of enjoying the fruits of his own industry in peace. When this certainty is assured to him he quickly pardons and forgets the injuries he has suffered. This fact has been continually ignored by Oriental conquerors and by Assyrian conquerors more than any others. The Egyptians and Persians appear now and then to have succeeded in reconciling their subject races, and in softening their mutual hatreds by paying some attention to their political wants. But the Assyrians reckoned entirely upon terror. And yet one generation was often enough to obliterate the memory of the most cruel disasters. Sons did not learn from the experience of their fathers, and, although dispersed and decimated times without number, the enemies of Assyria never acquiesced in defeat. In the subjection imposed upon them they panted for revenge, and while paying their tributes they counted the hours and followed with watchful eye every movement of their master. Let him be carried into any distant province, or engaged in lengthened hostilities, and they at once flew to their arms. If the prince were fighting in Armenia, or on the borders of the Caspian, Chaldæa and Susiana would rise against him: if disputing the Nile Valley with the Ethiopians, Syria would revolt in his rear and the insurrection would spread across the plains of Asia with the rapidity of a prairie fire. Thus no question received a final settlement. On the morrow of the hardest won victory the fight had to begin anew. The strongest and bravest exhausted themselves at such a game. Each campaign left gaps in the ranks of the governing and fighting classes, and in time, their apparent privilege became the most crushing of burdens. The same burden has for a century past been slowly destroying the dominant race in modern Turkey. Its members occupy nearly all the official posts, but they have to supply the army as well. Since the custom of recruiting the latter with the children of Christians, separated from their families in infancy and converted to Islamism has been abandoned, the military population has decreased year by year. One or two more wars like the last and the Ottoman race will be extinct. Losses in battle were then a chief cause of decadence in a state which failed to discipline its subject peoples and to incorporate them in its armies. A further explanation is to be found in the lassitude and exhaustion which must in time overtake the most warlike princes, the bravest generals, and the most highly tempered of conquering races. A few years of relaxed watchfulness, an indolent and soft-hearted sovereign, are enough to let loose all the pent up forces of insubordination and to unite them into one formidable effort. We thus see that, in many respects, nothing could be more precarious than the prosperity of that Assyria whose insolent triumphs had so often astonished the world since the accession of Sargon. The first shock came from the north. About the year 632 all western Asia was suddenly overrun by the barbarians whom the Greeks called the Cimmerian Scythians. With an _élan_ that nothing could resist, they spread themselves over the country lying between the shores of the Caspian and the Persian Gulf; they even menaced the frontiers of Egypt. The open towns were pillaged and destroyed, the fields and agricultural villages ruthlessly laid waste. Thanks to the height and thickness of their defending walls Nineveh, Babylon, and a few other cities escaped a sack, but Mesopotamia as a whole suffered cruelly. The dwellers in its vast plains had no inaccessible summits or hidden valleys to which they could retreat until the wave of destruction had passed on. At the end of a few years the loot-laden Scythians withdrew into those steppes of central Asia whence their descendants were again, some six centuries later, to menace the existence of civilization; and they left Assyria and Chaldæa half stripped of their inhabitants behind them. The work begun by the Scythians was finished by the Medes. These were Aryan tribes, long subject to the Assyrians, who had begun to constitute themselves a nation in the first half of the seventh century, and, under the leadership of CYAXARES, the real founder of their power, had already attacked Nineveh after the death of Assurbanipal. This invasion brought on a kind of forced truce, but when the Medes had compelled the Scythians to retreat to their deserts by the bold stroke which Herodotus admires so much, they quickly resumed the offensive[76]. We cannot follow all the fluctuations of the conflict; the information left by the early historians is vague and contradictory, and we have no cuneiform inscriptions to help us out. After the fall of Nineveh cylinders of clay and alabaster slabs were no longer covered with wedges by the Assyrian scribes. They had recounted their victories and conquests at length, but not one among them, so far as we know, cared to retrace the dismal history of final defeat. All that we can guess is that the last sovereign of Nineveh fell before a coalition in which Media and Chaldæa played the chief parts[77]. NABOPOLASSAR, the general to whom he confided the defence of Babylon, entered into an alliance with Cyaxares. ASSUREDILANI shut himself up in his capital, where he resisted as long as he could, and finally set fire to his palace and allowed himself to be burned alive rather than fall living into the hands of his enemies (625 B.C.). Nineveh, "the dwelling of the lions," "the bloody city," saw its last day; "Nineveh is laid waste," says the prophet Nahum, "who will bemoan her?"[78] The modern historian will feel more pity for Assyria than the Jewish poet, the sincere interpreter of a national hatred which was fostered by frequent and cruel wounds to the national pride. We can forgive Nineveh much, because she wrote so much and built so much, because she covered so much clay with her arrow-heads, and so many walls with her carved reliefs. We forgive her because to the ruins of her palaces and the broken fragments of her sculpture we owe most of our present knowledge of the great civilization which once filled the basin of the Tigris and Euphrates. The kings of Assyria went on building palaces up to the last moment. Each reign added to the series of royal dwellings in which every chamber was filled with inscriptions and living figures. Some of these structures were raised in Nineveh itself, some in the neighbouring cities. At the south-east angle of the mound at Nimroud, the remains of a palace begun by Assuredilani have been excavated. Its construction had been interrupted by the Medes and Scythians, for it was left unfinished. Its proposed area was very small. The rooms were narrow and ill arranged, and their walls were decorated at foot with slabs of bare limestone instead of sculptured alabaster. Above the plinth thus formed they were covered with roughly executed paintings upon plaster, instead of with enamelled bricks. Both plan and decoration show evidence of haste and disquiet. The act of sovereignty had to be done, but all certainty of the morrow had vanished. From the moment in which Assyrian sculpture touched its highest point in the reign of Assurbanipal, the material resources of the kingdom and the supply of skilled workmen had slowly but constantly diminished.[79] Nineveh destroyed, the empire of which it was the capital vanished with it. The new Babylonian empire, the Empires of the Medes and of the Persians followed each other with such rapidity that the Assyrian heroes and their prowess might well have been forgotten. The feeble recollections they left in men's minds became tinged with the colours of romance. The Greeks took pleasure in the fable of Sardanapalus: they developed it into a moral tale with elaborate conceits and telling contrasts, but they did not invent it from the foundation. The first hint of it must have been given by legends of the fall and destruction of Nineveh current in the cities of Ecbatana, Susa, and Babylon when Ctesias was within their walls. * * * * * After the obliteration of Nineveh the Medes and Chaldæans divided western Asia between them. A family alliance was concluded between Nabopolassar and Cyaxares at the moment of concerting the attack which was to have such a brilliant success, and either in consequence of that alliance or for some unknown motive, the two nations remained good friends after their common victory. The Medes kept Assyria, and extended themselves to the north, over the whole country between the Caspian and the Black Sea. They would have carried their frontiers to the Ægæan but for the existence of the Lydian monarchy, which arrested them on the left bank of the Halys. To the south of these regions the SECOND CHALDÆAN EMPIRE took shape (625-536 B.C.). It made no effort to expand eastwards over that plateau of Iran where the Aryan element, as represented by the Medes and soon afterwards by the Persians, had acquired an ever-increasing preponderance, but it pretended to the sovereignty of Egypt and Syria. In the former country, however, the Saite princes had rekindled the national spirit, and the frontiers were held successfully against the invaders. It was otherwise with the Jewish people. Sargon had taken Samaria and put an end to the Israelitish kingdom; that of Judah was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar. Thanks to its insular position, Tyre escaped the lot of Jerusalem, but the rest of Phoenicia and all northern Syria were subdued by Babylon. In all this region the Semitic element had long been encroaching upon those other elements which had preceded and been associated with it at the commencement. In all Mesopotamia only one tongue was spoken and written, the tongue we now know as _Assyrian_, but should call _Assyro-Chaldæan_. The differences of dialect between north and south were of little importance, and the language in question is that of the inscriptions in both countries. Another change requires to be mentioned. Our readers will remember the names of Ur, Erech, and many other cities which played a great part in the early history of the country, and were all capitals in turn. Babylon, however, in time acquired an unquestioned supremacy over them all. The residence of the Assyrian viceroys during the supremacy of the northern kingdom, it became the metropolis of the new empire after the fall of Nineveh. Without having lost either their population or their prosperity, the other cities sunk to the condition of provincial towns. For some hundred years Babylon had been cruelly ill-treated by the Assyrians, and never-ending revolts had been the consequence. Nabopolassar began the work of restoration, and his son NEBUCHADNEZZAR, the real hero of the Second Chaldee Empire, carried it on with ardour during the whole of his long reign. "He restored the canals which united the Tigris to the Euphrates above Babylon; he rebuilt the bridge which gave a means of communication between the two halves of the city; he repaired the great reservoirs in which the early kings had caught and stored the superfluous waters of the Euphrates during the annual inundation. Upon these works his prisoners of war, Syrians and Egyptians, Jews and Arabs, were employed in vast numbers. The great wall of Babylon was set up anew; so was the temple of Nebo at Borsippa; the reservoir at Sippara, the royal canal, and a part at least of Lake Pallacopas, were excavated; Kouti, Sippara, Borsippa, Babel, rose upon their own ruins. Nebuchadnezzar was to Chaldæa what Rameses II. was to Egypt, and there is not a place in Babylon or about it where his name and the signs of his marvellous activity cannot be found."[80] Nebuchadnezzar reigned forty-three years (604-561), and left Babylon the largest and finest city of Asia. After his death the decadence was rapid. A few years saw several kings succeed one another upon the throne, while a revolution was being accomplished upon the plateau of Iran which was destined to be fatal to Chaldæa. The supremacy in that region passed from the feeble and exhausted Medes into the hands of the Persians, another people of the same stock. The latter were a tribe of mountaineers teeming with native energy, and their strength had been systematically organized by a young and valiant chief, in whom they had full confidence because he had given them confidence in themselves. CYRUS began by leading them to the conquest of Media, Assyria, and Asia Minor, and by forcing the nations who dwelt between the southern confines of Persia and the mountains of Upper India to acknowledge his supremacy. Finally, he collected his forces for an attack upon Chaldæa, and, in 536, Babylon fell before his arms. * * * * * And yet Babylon did not disappear from history in a day; she was not destroyed, like Nineveh, by a single blow. Cyrus does not appear to have injured her. She remained, under the Persian kings, one of the chief cities of the empire. But she did not give up her habit of revolting whenever she had a chance, and DARIUS, the son of Hystaspes, tired of besieging her, ended by dismantling her fortifications, while XERXES went farther, and pillaged her temples. But the chief buildings remained standing. Towards the middle of the fifth century they excited the admiration of Herodotus, and, fifty years later, that of Ctesias. Strabo, on the other hand, found the place almost a desert.[81] Babylon had been ruined by the foundation of Seleucia, on the Tigris, at a distance of rather more than thirty miles from the ancient capital. Struck by the beauty of its monuments and the advantages of its site, ALEXANDER projected the restoration of Babylon, and proposed to make it his habitual residence; but he died before his intention could be carried out, and SELEUCUS NICATOR preferred to build a town which should be called after himself, and should at least perpetuate his name. The new city had as many as six hundred thousand inhabitants. Under the Parthians Ctesiphon succeeded to Seleucia, to be replaced in its turn by Bagdad, the Arab metropolis of the caliphs. This latest comer upon the scene would have equalled its predecessors in magnificence had the routes of commerce not changed so greatly since the commencement of the modern era, and, above all, had the Turks not been masters of the country. There can be no doubt that the next generation will see the civilization of the West repossess itself of the fertile plains in which it was born and nursed, and a railway carried from the shores of the Mediterranean to those of the Persian Gulf. Such a road would be the most direct route from Europe to India, and its construction would awake Chaldæa to the feverish activity of our modern life. Peopled, irrigated, and tilled into her remotest corners, she would again become as prolific as of old. Her station upon the wayside would soon change her towns into cities as populous as those of Nebuchadnezzar, and we may even guess that her importance in the future would reduce her past to insignificance, and would make her capital such a Babylon as the world has not yet seen. NOTES: [57] TH. NOELDEKE, _Histoire littéraire de l'ancien Testament_, French version. See chapter vii. [58] This account of the fabulous origin of civilization in Chaldæa and Assyria will be found in the second book of BEROSUS. See _Fragmenta Historicorum Græcorum_ of Ch. MÜLLER, vol. i. fr. 4, 13. Book i. is consecrated to the cosmogony, Book iii. to the Second Chaldee Empire. [59] _Genesis_ xiv. [60] F. LENORMANT, _Manuel de l'Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 24. SMITH (_Assyrian Discoveries_, p. 224) puts the capture of Susa in 645, and thus arrives at the date 2280 B.C. [61] LENORMANT, _Manuel de l'Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 65, gives an account of the system under which special magistrates gave their name to each year, and of the lists which have been preserved. [62] This was lately found at Bagdad after long being supposed to be lost. It is now in the British Museum. [63] It was visited under the best conditions, and has been best described by W. KENNETH LOFTUS who was in it from 1849 to 1852. Attached as geologist to the English mission, commanded by Colonel, afterwards General Sir Fenwick Williams of Kars, which was charged with the delimitation of the Turco-Persian frontier, he was accompanied by sufficient escorts and could stay wherever he pleased. He was an ardent traveller and excellent observer, and science experienced a real loss in his death. The only work which he has left behind him may still be read with pleasure and profit, namely, _Travels and Researches in Chaldæa and Susiana, with an Account of Excavations at Warka, the "Ereich" of Nimrod, and Shúsh, "Shushan the palace" of Esther_, 8vo, London: 1857. The articles contributed by J. E. TAYLOR, English vice-consul at Bassorah, to vol. xv. of the _Journal of the Asiatic Society_ (1855), may also be read with advantage. He passed over the same ground, and also made excavations at certain points in Lower Chaldæa which were passed over by Mr. Loftus. Finally, M. de Sarzec, the French consul at Bassorah, to whom we owe the curious series of Chaldæan objects which have lately increased the riches of the Louvre, was enabled to explore the same region through the friendship of a powerful Arab chief. It is much to be desired that he should give us a complete account of his sojourn and of the searches he carried on. [64] LENORMANT, _Manuel de l'Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 30. [65] J. MÉNANT, _Inscriptions de Hammourabi, Roi de Babylone_; 1863, Paris. These inscriptions are the oldest documents in phonetic character that have come down to us. See OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. p. 267. [66] KER PORTER, _Travels in Georgia, Persia_, etc., 4to., vol. ii. p. 390. LAYARD, _Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon_, p. 535. "Alexander, after he had transferred the seat of his empire to the east, so fully understood the importance of these great works that he ordered them to be cleansed and repaired and superintended the work in person, steering his boat with his own hands through the channels." [67] This palace was the one called the _North-western Palace_. [68] LAYARD, _The Monuments of Nineveh, from Drawings made on the spot, Illustrated in one Hundred Plates_ (large folio, London: 1849), plates 53-56. [69] It is now called the _Central Palace at Nimroud_. [70] The chief work upon this period, the most brilliant and the best known in Assyrian history, is the _Faites de Sargon_ of MM. OPPERT and MÉNANT (Paris: 1865). [71] The palace occupied the whole of the south-western angle of the mound. [72] MASPERO (_Histoire ancienne_, p. 431) refers us to the authors by whom the inscription, in which these relations between the kings of Lydia and Assyria are recounted, was translated and explained. The chief of these is George SMITH, who, in his _History of Assurbanipal_, has brought together and commented upon the different texts from which we learn the facts of this brilliant reign. The early death of this young scholar can never be too much regretted. In spite of his comparative youth he added much to our knowledge of Assyria, and, moreover, to him belongs the credit of having recognized the true character of the Cypriot alphabet. [73] RAWLINSON, _The Five Great Monarchies_, vol. ii. p. 196. [74] The _Northern Palace_. [75] This library has always attracted the attention of Assyriologists, and the best preserved of its texts have been published at various times under the supervision of Sir Henry RAWLINSON and George SMITH. These texts have been translated into English, French, and German, and much discussed by the scholars of all three nations. The reader may also consult the small volume contributed by M. J. MÉNANT to the _Bibliothèque oriental elzévirienne_ under the title: _La Bibliothèque du Palais de Ninive_. 1 vol. 18mo., 1880 Ernest Leroux. [76] HERODOTUS, i. 106. [77] HERODOTUS (i. 106) alludes to this capital event only in a word or two, in which he promises to give a more complete account of the whole matter in another work--en heteroisi logoisi--doubtless in that _History of Assyria_ ("Assurioi logoi" i. 184) which was either never written or soon lost. Diodorus, who gives circumstantial details both of the coalition and the siege, dates it a century too early, changes all the names, and mixes up many fables with his recital (ii. 23-28). In forming a just idea of the catastrophe and of its date we have to depend chiefly upon the lost historians, such as Abydenus and Alexander Polyhistor, fragments of whose works have been preserved for us by Eusebius and Georgius Syncellus. See RAWLINSON, _The Five Great Monarchies_, etc., vol. ii. pp. 221-232. [78] _Nahum_ ii. 11; iii. 1, 7. [79] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. ii. pp. 38-39. _Discoveries_, p. 655. [80] MASPERO, _Histoire ancienne_, p. 506. [81] STRABO, xvi. i. 5. § 6.--_The Chaldæan Religion._ We know much less about the religion of Chaldæa than about that of Egypt. The religious monuments of Mesopotamia are much fewer than those of the Nile valley, and their significance is less clear. Their series are neither so varied nor so complete as those of the earlier civilization. Certain orders of subjects are repeated to satiety, while others, which would be more interesting, are completely absent. It is in funerary inscriptions that the heart of man, touched by the mystery of the tomb, lays bare its aspirations with the greatest frankness and simplicity. Moved by the desire to escape annihilation on the one hand and posthumous sufferings on the other, it is there that he addresses his most ardent appeals to the supreme power, and allows us to arrive at a clear understanding of his ideas as to the action, the character, and the power of the divinity. At Memphis, Abydos, and Thebes, documents of this kind have been found in thousands, the figures accompanying them serving as commentaries upon their text, and helping us to clear up all doubts as to their nature. We thus have voices speaking from the depths of every Egyptian tomb; but the Chaldæan sepulchre is mute. It has neither inscriptions, nor bas-reliefs, nor paintings. No Assyrian burial-place has yet been found. Dedications, phrases of homage to this or that divinity, the names and distinguishing epithets of the gods, all these have been met with in Mesopotamia; sometimes _in situ_, as artistic decorations, sometimes in engraved fragments of unknown origin. We may say the same of the different divine types. Sometimes we find them in monumental sculpture, more often on those seals which we call _cylinders_. But how obscure, incomplete, and poor such documents are in comparison with the long pages of hieroglyphs in which the Pharaohs address their gods or make them speak for themselves! How infinitely inferior in expression and significance to the vast pictures which cover the walls of the Theban temples and bring all the persons of the Egyptian pantheon before us in their turn! What hope is there that excavations in Chaldæa and Assyria will ever provide us with such remains as those groups of statues which fill our museums, in which the effigy of a single god is repeated hundreds of times with every variation of type, pose, and attribute given to it by the Egyptian theosophy? On the one hand, what abundance, we may say what super-abundance; on the other, what poverty, what gaping breaches in the chain of material history! Among the gods and genii, whose names have come down to us, how few there are whose images we can surely point to; and, again, what a small number of figures we have upon which we can put a name without fear of error! To write the history of these beliefs is a difficult task, not only because the _idols_, as they would once have been called, are few, and the Chaldæo-Assyrian inscriptions historical and narrative rather than religious and dogmatic, but also because the interpretation of the texts, especially of the most ancient, is much less advanced than that of the hieroglyphs. When documents in the old language, or at least written in the primitive ideographic characters, are attacked, the process is one of divination rather than of translation in the strict sense of the word. Another difficulty has to be noticed; classic literature does little or nothing to help us in filling up these voids and dissipating the obscurities they cause. The Greeks were guilty of many errors when they attempted to understand and describe foreign religions, but their relations with the Egyptians and Phoenicians were so prolonged, and, towards the end, so intimate, that at last they did succeed in grasping some of the doctrine taught in the sanctuaries of Heliopolis and Thebes, of Byblos and Hierapolis. With their lively intellects they could hardly frequent the temples, examine the sacred images, and question the priests as to the national rites and ceremonies without discovering at least a part of the truth. It was not so with Chaldæa. Babylon was too far off. Until the time of Alexander's conquests the boldest travellers did no more than glance into its streets and monumental buildings, and by that time Nineveh had long ceased to exist. It was only under the first of the Seleucidæ, when a Macedonian kingdom was established in the centre of Mesopotamia, that the curiosity of the Greeks led them to make inquiries similar to those they had pursued for some three centuries in the valley of the Nile. We cannot doubt that this desire for information arose among the followers of those princes themselves; many of them were very intelligent men; and when Berosus determined to write his history in Greek, he may have wished to answer the questions asked in his hearing by the Greek writers and philosophers; by those Alexandrians who were not all at Alexandria. Unfortunately, nearly the whole of his work has been lost. At the end of a century and a half Babylon shook off Hellenism, and Mesopotamia fell into the hands of the Parthians. These people affected, in some degree, the poetry and arts of Greece, but at bottom they were nothing more than Oriental barbarians. Their capital, Ctesiphon, seems never to have attracted learned men, nor ever to have been a seat of those inquiries into the past of the older races in which the cultured cities of the Greek world took so great a pleasure. When Rome became the heir of Greece and the perpetuator of her traditions, we may believe that, under Trajan, she set about establishing herself in the country; but she soon found it necessary to withdraw within the Euphrates, and it was her loss when the Parthians fell from power to be succeeded in the lordship of Mesopotamia by the Sassanids.[82] We see, then, that, with the exception of one short period, Chaldæa was what the Greeks called a barbarous country after the fall of its native royalty, and that it will help us little in our endeavour to grasp the nature and extent of its religious beliefs. The last of the Athenian philosophers, Damascius, has certainly left us some information as to the Babylonish deities which seems to have been taken from authentic sources.[83] This, together with a few fragments from the work of Berosus, is all that Hellenic tradition has handed down to us. There is nothing here which can be even remotely compared to the treatises upon Isis and Osiris and the Goddess of Syria preserved under the names of PLUTARCH and LUCIAN. But we cannot enter upon the discussion of Chaldæan art without making an effort to describe the gist of the national religion and its principal personages. In every country the highest function of art is to translate the religious conceptions of its people into visible forms. The architect, the sculptor, the painter, each in his own fashion, carries out this idea; the first by the dimensions he gives to his temples, by their plan, and by the decoration of their walls; the second and third by their choice of feature, expression and attribute for the images in which the gods become visible to the people. The clearness and precision with which this embodiment of an idea is carried out will depend upon the natural aptitudes of the race and the assistance it receives from the capabilities of the materials at hand. Plastic creations, from their very nature, must always be inferior to the thought they are meant to express; by no means can they go beyond it. This truth is nowhere more striking than in the art of Greece. Fortunately we are there able to see how a single theme is treated, in the first place, in poetry,--the interpreter of the popular beliefs,--and afterwards in art; we can discover how Phidias and Praxiteles, to speak only of sculptors, treated the types created by Homer and Hesiod. In the case of Chaldæa we have no such opportunity. She has left us neither monuments of sacerdotal theology like those we have inherited in such countless numbers from Egypt, nor the brilliant imagery in which the odes and epics of the Greeks sketched the personalities of the gods. But even in Chaldæa art was closely united with religion, and, in spite of the difficulty of the task, the historian of art must endeavour to pierce the shadows that obscure the question, and discover the bond of union between the two. Thanks to the more recently deciphered texts, we do know something of the religious rites and beliefs of the oldest nation that inhabited Mesopotamia and left its trace in history. Whether we call them Accads or Sumirs, or by both names at once, we know that to them the whole universe was peopled by a vast crowd of spirits, some dwelling in the depths of the earth, some in the sea, while others floated on the wind and lighted in the sky the fires of the day and night.[84] As, among men, some are good and some bad, so among these spirits some were beneficent and others the reverse, while a third class was helpful or mischievous according as it was propitiated by offerings or irritated by neglect. The great thing was to know how to command the services of the spirits when they were required. The employment of certain gestures, sounds, and articulate words had a mysterious but irresistible effect upon these invisible beings. How the effect was produced no one asked, but that it was produced no one doubted. The highest of the sciences was magic, for it held the threads by which the denizens of the invisible world were controlled; the master of the earth was the sorcerer who could compel them to obey him by a nod, a form of words, or an incantation. We can form some idea of the practical results of such a system from what we know of the manners and social condition of those Turanian races in Asiatic Russia who profess what is called _chamanism_, and from the condition of most of the negro tribes and Polynesian islanders. Among all these people, who still remain in a mental condition from which the rest of the species has long escaped, we find the highest places occupied by priest-magicians. Now and then popular fury makes them pay cruelly for the ill-success of their conjurations, but as a rule their persons and the illimitable power ascribed to them inspire nothing but abject fear. Fear is, indeed, the ruling sentiment in all religions in which a belief in spirits finds a place. A man can never be sure that, in spite of all his precautions, he has not incurred the displeasure of such exacting and capricious masters. Some condition of the bargain which is being perpetually driven with protectors who give nothing for nothing, may have been unwittingly omitted. "The spirits and their worshippers are equally selfish. As a general rule, the mischievous spirits receive more homage than the good ones; those who are believed to live close at hand are more dreaded than those at a distance; those to whom some special _rôle_ is assigned are considered more important than spirits with a wider but less definite authority."[85] There were, of course, moments when men turned with gratitude towards the hidden benefactor to whom they believed themselves indebted for some unhoped-for cure or unexpected success, when joy and confidence moved their hearts at the thought of the efficacious protection they had secured against future ills; but such moments were few and short. The habitual feeling was one of disquietude, we might almost say of terror, so that when the imagination endeavoured to give concrete forms to the beings in question, it figured them rather as objects of fear than love. The day arrived for art to attempt the material realization of the dreams which until then had been dimly seen in sleep or in the still more confused visions of the waking hours, and for this hideous and threatening features were naturally chosen. It is thus that the numerous figures of demons found in Chaldæa and Assyria, sometimes in the bas-reliefs, sometimes in the shape of small bronzes and terra-cottas, are accounted for. A human body is crowned with the head of an angry lion, with dog's ears and a horse's mane; the hands brandish long poignards, the feet are replaced by those of a bird of prey, the extended claws seeming to grasp the soil (Fig. 6). The gestures vary; the right arm is sometimes stretched downwards at full length, sometimes bent at the elbow, but the combination of forms, the character of the figure and its intention is always the same. We shall encounter this type again when we come to speak of Cappadocia. [Illustration: FIG. 6.--Demons; from the palace of Assurbanipal at Kouyundjik. British Museum. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] This belief in spirits is the second phase that the primitive religion, which we studied in Egypt under the name of _fetishism_ or _animism_, has to pass through.[86] In the beginning mere existence is confounded with life. All things are credited with a soul like that felt by man within himself. Such lifeless objects as stones and mountains, trees and rivers, are worshipped; so too are both useful and noxious animals.[87] Childish as it seems to us the worship of spirits is at least an advance upon this. It presupposes a certain power of reflection and abstraction by which men were led to conclude that intelligence and will are not necessarily bound up with a body that can be seen and touched. Life has been mobilized, if we may use such a phrase, and thus we arrive at _polydemonism_; by which we mean the theory that partitions the government of the world among a crowd of genii, who, though often at war among themselves, are always more powerful than man, and may do him much harm unless he succeeds in winning their help and good will. [Illustration: FIG. 7.--Demons. Louvre.] The worship of stars is but one form of this religious conception. The great luminaries of night and day were of course invested with life and power by men who felt themselves in such complete dependence upon them. [Illustration: FIG. 8.--Eagle-headed divinity, from Nimroud. Louvre. Alabaster. Height forty inches. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] So far as we can judge, the primitive form of fetishism left but feeble traces in the religion of civilized Chaldæa and Assyria. The signs are few of that worship of sacred stones which played such an important part among the Semites of the west, and even among the Greeks,[88] neither can we find that either fear or gratitude ever led to the worship of animals, the docile helpers or the redoubtable enemies of man, in the same degree as it did in Egypt. And yet Chaldæa and Assyria followed the example of Egypt in mixing up the forms of men with those of animals in their sacred statues. This we know both from the texts and the figured monuments. But it was not only in the budding art of a primitive population that such combinations were employed, and it was not only the inferior genii that were represented in such singular fashion. When, by the development of religion, the capricious and unruly multitude of spirits had been placed under the supremacy of a small number of superior beings, these, whom we may call the sovereign gods, were often figured with the heads of lions or eagles (see Fig. 8). Before any of these images had been found we already knew from Berosus what the deity was like by whom the first germs of art and letters had been sown upon the earth. "He had the whole body of a fish, but beneath his fish's head he had another head [that of a man], while human feet appeared below his fish's tail. He had also the voice of a man, and his images are yet to be found."[89] More than one sculptural type has been found answering to this description (see Fig. 9). [Illustration: FIG. 9.--Anou or Dagon. Nimroud. Layard, _Discoveries_, p. 350.] Why did art, in creating divine types, give such prominence to features borrowed from the lower animals? Was it impelled by mere inability to distinguish, by varieties of feature, form and attitude, between the different gods created by the imagination? Or must we look upon the attribution to this or that deity, of forms borrowed from the bull, the lion, or the eagle, as a deliberate act of symbolism, meant to suggest that the gods in question had the qualities of the animals of which their persons were partly made up? In order to arrive at a just conclusion we must, of course, take account both of the resistance of the material and of the facilities which a transparent system of allegory would give to the artist in the working out of his thought; we must also admit perhaps that the national intelligence had been prepared to look for and admire such combinations. It may have been predisposed towards them by the habits of admiration for the patient strength of the draught-ox and the destructive vigour of the eagle and the lion contracted during a long series of years. Both historical analogy and the examination of sculptured types lead us to think that the tribes of Mesopotamia passed through the same religious phases as those of the Nile valley, but it would appear that the most primitive beliefs were less long-lived in Chaldæa than in Egypt, and that they were engraved less deeply upon the heart of the nation. The belief in sorcery never died out in Chaldæa; up to the very last days of antiquity it never lost its empire at least over the lower orders of the people. As time passed on the priests joined the practice of astrology to that of magic. How the transition took place may readily be understood. The magician began by seeking for incantations sufficiently powerful to compel not only the vulgar crowd of genii to obedience, but also those who, in the shape of stars great and small, inhabited the celestial spaces and revealed themselves to man by the brilliance of their fires. Supposing him to be well skilled in his art his success would be beyond doubt so far as his clients were concerned. Many centuries after the birth of this singular delusion even the Greeks and Romans did not refuse to believe that magic formulæ had sometimes the powers claimed for them. "Incantation," cries an abandoned lover in Virgil, "may bring down the very moon from the sky:" "_Carmina vel cælo possunt deducere lunam._"[90] Although simple minds allowed themselves to believe that such prodigies were not quite impossible, skilled men could not have failed to see that in spite of the appeals addressed to them by priests and magicians, neither sun nor moon had ever quitted their place in the firmament or interrupted their daily course. As the hope of influencing the action of the stars died away, the wish to study their motions grew stronger. In the glorious nights of Chaldæa the splendour of the sky stirred the curiosity as well as the admiration of mankind, and the purity of the air made observation easy. Here and there, in the more thickly inhabited and best irrigated parts of the plain, gentle mists floated over the earth at certain periods, but they were no real hindrance to observation. To escape them but a slight elevation above the plain was required. Let the observer raise himself a few feet above the tallest palm trees, and no cloud interposed to prevent his eyes from travelling from the fires that blazed in the zenith to the paler stars that lay clustered upon the horizon. There were no accidents of the ground by which the astronomer could lift himself above the smoke of cities or the mists hanging over the lakes and canals, and to make up for their absence the massive and many-storied towers which men began to construct as soon as they understood how to make bricks and set them, must soon have come into use. These towers were built upon artificial mounds which were in themselves higher than the highest house or palm. The platforms on their summits gave therefore the most favourable conditions possible for the interrogation of the heavens before the invention of the telescope.[91] Thanks to the climate and to these great observatories which rose very early in Chaldæan history all over the plain, the skies could be read like an open book; and the Chaldæans were fond of such reading, because it afforded them, as they thought, a sure means of predicting the future. They had no great belief in the power of their most formidable conjurations to affect the majestic regularity of the heavenly movements--a regularity which must have impressed each generation more strongly than the last, as it compared its own experience with the registered observations of those that had gone before it. But they could not persuade themselves that the powerful genii who guided those great bodies on their unending voyage could be indifferent to the destinies of man, and that there was no bond of union, no mysterious connection, between him and them. They pretended to discover this hidden bond. When a child uttered its first cry, an intimate relation, they declared, was established between the new life and some one of the countless bodies that people space. The impassive star, they said, governed the life and fortune of the mortal who, perhaps, ignorantly looked upon himself as his own master and the master of some of those about him. The future of each man was decided by the character of the star that presided at his birth, and according to the position occupied by it in the sky at the time of any important action of his life, that action would be fortunate in its issue or the reverse.[92] These statements contain the germ of all the future developments of astrology. Among all civilized peoples this imaginary science has at last fallen from its former repute. From the remotest antiquity down to the end of the sixteenth century, and, in some places, to a much later date, it enjoyed a rare power and prestige. Traces of these are yet to be found in more than one familiar expression recalling the beliefs and ideas that took shape in the plains of Mesopotamia long before the palaces of Babylon and Nineveh were raised upon the banks of its two great rivers. Astrology could not fail to smooth the way for astronomy, its successor. In order to profit by the indications of the stars, it was necessary to foresee the positions they would occupy in the sky on a given day or hour. There are many undertakings which succeed only when they are carefully matured. If some great risk is to be run, it is not of much use to receive the advice and warnings of the stars at the last moment, when the decisive step has, perhaps, been made, and no retreat is possible. It would then be too late to think about the chances of success, and a sudden withdrawal from an action already begun or an equally sudden acceptance of a task for which no sufficient preparation had been made, would be the too frequent result. There was only one mode of escaping such a danger or embarrassment as this, and that was, first, to arrive by repeated observation at an exact knowledge of the route followed by the stars across the sky, and of the rapidity of their march; secondly, to distinguish them one from another, to know each by its own name, to recognize its physiognomy, character, and habits. The first duty of the astrologer was to prepare such an inventory, and to discover the principle of these movements; then, and then only, would he be in a position to give a satisfactory answer to one asking where any particular star would be at the end of any specified number of days, weeks, or months. Thanks to such information, his client could fix upon some happy conjunction of the heavenly bodies, or at least avoid a moment when their influence would be on the side of disaster. In every undertaking of any importance the most favourable hour could be selected long before by the person chiefly concerned, the hour in which his star would be in the best quarter of the sky and in the most propitious relations with its neighbours. The phenomena produced in Chaldæa by these studies have been repeated more than once in the history of civilization; they embody one of those surprises to which humanity owes much of its progress. The final object of all this patient research was never reached, because the relations upon which a belief in its feasibility was based were absolutely chimerical, but as a compensation, the accessory and preliminary knowledge, the mere means to a futile end, have been of incalculable value. Thus, in order to give an imposing and apparently solid basis to their astrological doctrines, the Chaldæans invented such a numeration as would permit really intricate computations to be made. By the aid of this system they sketched out all the great theories of astronomy at a very early age. In the course of a few centuries, they carried that science to a point never reached by the Egyptians.[93] The chief difficulty in the way of a complete explanation of the Chaldæan system of arithmetic lies in the interpretation of the symbols which served it for ciphers, which is all the greater as it would seem that they had several different ways of writing a single number. In some cases the notation varied according to the purpose of the calculation. A mathematician used one system for his own studies, and another for documents which had to be read by the public. The doubts attending the question are gradually being resolved, however, by the combined efforts of Assyriologists and mathematicians. At the beginning of their civilization the Chaldæans did as other peoples have done when they have become dissatisfied with that mere rough opposition of unity to plurality which is enough for savage races, and have attempted to establish the series of numbers and to define their properties. "They also began by counting on their fingers, by _fives_ and _tens_, or in other words by units of _five_; later on they adopted a notation by _sixes_ and _twelves_ as an improvement upon the primitive system, in which the chief element, the _ten_, could be divided neither into three nor four equal parts."[94] Two regular series were thus formed, one in units of six, the other in units of five. Their commonest terms were, of course, those that occur in both series. We know from the Greek writers that the Chaldæans counted time by _sosses_ of sixty, by _ners_ of 600, and by _sars_ of 3,600, years, and these terms were not reserved for time, they were employed for all kinds of quantities. The _sosse_ could be looked at either as _five twelves_ or _six tens_. So, too, with the _ner_ (600) which represents _six hundreds_, or a _sosse_ of _tens_, or _ten sosses_ or _fifty twelves_. The _sar_ may be analysed in a similar fashion. A system of numeration was thus established which may be looked at from a double point of view; in the first place from its _sexagesimal_ base, which certainly adapts itself to various requirements with greater ease than any other;[95] in the second from the extreme facility with which not only addition, but all kinds of complex calculations may be made by its use.[96] With but two symbols, one for the units, the other for the tens, every number could be expressed by attending to a rule of position like that governing our written numeration; at each step to the left, a single sign, the vertical _wedge_, increased sixty-fold in value; the tens were placed beside it, and a blank in this or that column answered to our zero. Founded upon a sexagesimal numeration, the metrical system of Babylon and Nineveh was "the most scientific of all those known and practised by the ancients: until the elaboration of the French metrical system, it was the only one whose every part was scientifically co-ordinated, and of which the fundamental conception was the natural development of all measures of superficies, of capacity, or of weight, from one single unit of length, a conception which was adopted as a starting point by the French commission of weights and measures." The cubit of 525 millimetres was the base of the whole system.[97] We shall not here attempt to explain how the other measures--itinerary, agrarian, of capacity, of weight--were derived from the cubit; to call attention to the traces left in our nomenclature by the duodecimal or sexagesimal system of the Babylonians, even after the complete triumph of the decimal system, is sufficient for our purposes. It is used for instance in the division of the circle into degrees, minutes, and seconds, in the division of the year into months, and of the day into hours and their fractions. This convenient, exact, and highly developed system of arithmetic and metrology enabled the Chaldæans to make good use of their observations, and to extract from them a connected astronomical doctrine. They began by registering the phenomena. They laid out a map of the heavens and recognized the difference between fixed stars and those movable bodies the Greeks called planets--among the latter they naturally included the sun and the moon, the most conspicuous of them all both in size and motion, whose courses were the first to be studied and described. The apparent march of the sun through the crowded ranks of the celestial army was defined, and its successive stages marked by those twelve constellations which are still called the _Signs of the Zodiac_. In time even these observations were excelled, and it now appears certain that the Chaldæans recognized the annual displacement of the equinoctial point upon the ecliptic, a discovery that is generally attributed to the Greek astronomers. But, like Hipparchus, they made faults of calculation in consequence of the defects of their instruments.[98] It was the same with the moon. They succeeded in determining its mean daily movements, and when they had established a period of two hundred and twenty-three lunations, they contrived to foretell its eclipses. Eclipses of the sun presented greater difficulties, and the Chaldæans were content with noting their occurrence. They were acquainted with the solar year of three hundred and sixty-five days and a quarter; they used it in their astronomical calculations; but their religious and civil year was one composed of twelve lunar months, alternately full and short, that is, of twenty-nine and thirty days respectively. The lunar and solar years were brought into agreement by an intercalary cycle of eight years.[99] The assertion of the philosopher Simplicius has been called in question for very plausible reasons. Simplicius declares, upon the faith of Porphyrius, that Callisthenes sent from Babylon to his uncle Aristotle, a copy of Chaldæan observations dating back as far as 1903 years before the entry of Alexander into Mesopotamia, that is, to more than twenty-two centuries before our era.[100] However this may be, all ancient writers are agreed in admitting that the Chaldæans had begun to observe and record astronomical phenomena long before the Egyptians;[101] moreover the remains of those clay tablets have been found in various parts of Chaldæa and Assyria upon which, as Pliny tells us upon the authority of the Greek astronomer Epigenes, the Chaldæans had inscribed and preserved the astronomical observations of seven hundred and eighty thousand years.[102] We need not dwell upon the enormity of this figure; it matters little whether it is due to the mistakes of a copyist or to the vanity of the Chaldæans, and the too ready credulity of the Greeks; the important point is the existence of the astronomical tablets, and those Epigenes himself saw. The library of Assurbanipal at Nineveh included catalogues of stellary and planetary observations, among others the times of Venus, Jupiter and Mars, and the phases of the moon, for every day in the month.[103] Tablets have also been recently discovered giving the arrangement of the stars in the sky for each season and explaining the rule to be followed in the insertion of the intercalary months. Finally, a fragment of an Assyrian planisphere has been found in the palace of Sennacherib.[104] Even if classic authors had been silent on the subject, and all the original documents had disappeared, we might have divined from the appearance of the figured monuments alone, how greatly the Chaldæans honoured the stars and how much study and research they devoted to them; we might have guessed that they lived with their eyes fixed upon the firmament and upon the sources of light. Look at the steles that bear royal effigies, at the representations upon contracts and other documents of that kind (see Fig. 10), at the cylindrical or conical seals which have gravitated in thousands into our museums (Figs. 11 and 12); you will see a personage adoring a star, still oftener you will find the sun's disk and the crescent moon figured upon the field, with, perhaps, one or several stars. These images are only omitted upon reliefs that are purely narrative and historical, like most of those in the Assyrian palaces. Everywhere else, upon every object and in every scene having a religious and sacred character, a place is reserved for the symbols in question, if we may call them so. Their presence is evidence of the homage rendered by the Chaldæans to the stars, and of the faith they placed in their supposed revelations. Further evidence to the same effect is given by the ancient writing, in which the ideogram for _king_ was a star. "The imaginations of the Egyptians were mainly impressed by the daily and annual circlings of the sun. In that body they saw the most imposing manifestation of the Deity and the clearest exemplification of the laws that govern the world; to it, therefore they turned for their personifications of the divine power."[105] The attention of the Chaldæans, on the other hand, was not so absorbed, and, so to speak, lost, in the contemplation of a single star, superior though it was to all others in its power for good or ill, and in its incomparable splendour. They watched the sky with a curiosity too lively and too intelligent to permit of a willing sacrifice of all the stars to one. _Samas_, the sun, and _Sin_, the moon-god, played an important _rôle_ in their religion and theology, but it does not appear that the gods of the other five planets were inferior to them in rank. If we accept the parallels established by the Greeks and Romans, these were _Adar_ (Saturn), _Merodach_ (Jupiter), _Nergal_ (Mars), _Istar_ (Venus), and _Nebo_ (Mercury). [Illustration: FIG. 10.--Stone of Merodach-Baladan I. (Smith's _Assyrian Discoveries_).] The chief atmospheric phenomena were also personified; of this we may give one example. All travellers in Chaldæa agree in their descriptions of those sudden storms which burst on the country from a clear sky, especially towards the commencement of summer. Without a single premonitory symptom, a huge, black water-spout advances from some point on the horizon, its flanks shooting lightnings and thunder. In a few minutes it reaches the traveller and wraps him in its black vapours; the sand-laden wind blinds him, the rain pours upon him in solid sheets; but he has hardly realized his position before the storm is past and the sun is again shining in the blue depths above. But for torn and overthrown tents and trees uprooted or struck by the electric fluid, a stranger to the country might almost believe himself to have been the sport of a dream.[106] [Illustration: FIG. 11.--Assyrian Cylinder, in the National Library, Paris. Jasper.] [Illustration: FIG. 12.--Assyrian Cylinder, in the National Library, Paris. Serpentine.] The force and suddenness of these visitations could hardly fail to impress the imagination of a people exposed to them, and it is not surprising that Mesopotamia had its god of storms and thunder. He, Raman, it is, perhaps, who is figured in the bas-relief from Nimroud reproduced below (Figs. 13 and 14),[107] in which a god appears bearing an axe in his right hand, and, in his left, a kind of faggot, whose significance might have escaped us but for the light thrown upon it by classic sculpture. The latter no doubt borrowed a well-known form from the east, and the object in question is nothing less than the thunderbolt given by Greek artists to their Zeus. [Illustration: FIG. 13.--Gods carried in procession; from Layard's _Monuments of Nineveh_, first series, pl. 65.] It was this adoration of the stars and planets that led by degrees to what we call polytheism. Man partitioned those terrible powers of nature of which he felt himself the sport, between a vast number of agents, between crowds of genii upon whose mercies he thought himself dependent, and whom he did his best to propitiate by gifts and to compel by magic. Little by little, intelligence perfected that work of abstraction and simplification by which all races but those who have stuck fast in the conceptions of their infancy have arrived at a single conclusion. Without ceasing to believe in the existence of genii, they invented the gods, a race of beings far more powerful, not only than short-lived man, but even than the confused army of demons, of those beings who enjoyed the control of not a few of the mysterious agencies whose apparent conflict and final accord are the causes of the life, movement, and equilibrium of the world. [Illustration: FIG. 14.--Gods carried in procession; from Layard's _Monuments of Nineveh_, first series, pl. 65.] When the intellect had arrived at this doctrine, calmness and serenity fell upon it. Each deity became a person with certain well-defined powers and attributes, a person who could not escape the apprehension and the appeals of mankind with the facility of the changing and fantastic crowd of demons. His dwelling-place could be pointed out to the faithful, whether it were in his own peculiar star, among the eternal snows upon the summits of the distant mountains, or near at hand, in the temple built for him by his worshippers. Such a deity could be approached like a sovereign whose honour and interest are bound up with his word. So long as by prayer, and still more by sacrifices, the conditions were observed on the suppliant's side, the god, invisible though he was, would do his duty and protect those with whom he had entered into an unwritten contract. But in order to establish this mutual relationship between gods and men, it was necessary that the former should be brought within reach of the latter. With the development of the religious sentiment and of definite and clear ideas as to the gods, the plastic faculty was called upon for greater efforts than it had before made. Something beside grimacing and monstrous images of genii was asked from it. Figures were demanded which should embody something of the nobility and majesty attributed to the eternal masters of the world. The divine effigy was the incarnation of the deity, was one of the forms in which he manifested himself, it was, as the Egyptians would say, one of his _doubles_. Such an effigy was required to afford a worthy frame for the supreme dignity of the god, and the house built by man's hands in which he condescended to dwell had to be such that its superior magnificence should distinguish it at a glance from the comparatively humble dwellings in which mortals passed their short and fugitive lives. It was thus that the temples and statues of the gods took form when the various deities began to be clearly distinguished from one another, and, by a process of mental condensation, to acquire a certain amount of consistence and solidity. The Chaldæan temples, unlike those of Egypt and Greece, have succumbed to time, and the ancient texts in which they are described are short and obscure. Their ruins are little more than shapeless heaps of _débris_. In endeavouring to arrive at a clear understanding of the Chaldæan notions as to the gods, we are unable to study, as we did elsewhere, the forms of their religious edifices, with their plans, dimensions, and the instructive variety of decorative symbols and figures with which the sanctuary and its dependencies were overspread. On the other hand a sufficient number of figures of the gods have come down to us. They abound upon small objects, such as cylinders, engraved stones, cones, scarabæi, the bezels of rings, terra-cotta tablets and statuettes. They are also found, though less frequently, among the _débris_ of monumental sculpture, in the bas-reliefs of the Ninevite palaces, and even among certain figures in the round which have been recovered from the ruins of these latter buildings. We can therefore easily find out the particular attributes given by the artist as the interpreter of the national beliefs to those gods whose visible bodies it was his office to create; we can see what choice and combination of forms he thought best fitted to solve the problem presented to him. But as yet we are not in a position to put a name to each even of the figures that recur most frequently. In the case of Egypt there is no such difficulty: when we encounter the image of one of her gods upon the walls of a temple or in the cases of a museum, we can say without hesitation, "This is Osiris or Ptah," as the case may be, "Amen or Horus, Isis, Sekhet, or Hathor." It is not so with Chaldæa. Figures are there often found uninscribed, and even when an inscription is present it not seldom offers difficulties of interpretation which have not yet been cleared up; for the divine names are usually ideograms. Only a few have been identified beyond all doubt, those namely of which we have Hebrew or Greek transcriptions, preserving for us the real Chaldæan original; Ilou, Bel, Nisroch, Beltis, Istar, are examples of this. Hence it results that Assyriologists often feel no little embarrassment when they are asked to point out upon the monuments the figures even of those gods of whose names they are the least doubtful. The Assyrians and Chaldæans, like other nations of antiquity, had what we should now call their _figured mythology_, but we are still imperfectly acquainted with it. Even for those whom we may call the most exalted personages of the Chaldæan Olympus, scholars have hardly succeeded in illustrating the texts by the monuments and explaining the monuments by the texts; and we are yet far from being able to institute a perpetual and standard comparison as we have done in the case of Egypt and still more in that of Greece, between the divine types as they appear in religious formulæ and in the national poetry, and the same types when embodied by the imagination of the artist. A long time may elapse before a mythological gallery for Chaldæa, in which all the important members of the Mesopotamian pantheon shall take their places and be known by the names they bore in their own day, can be formed, but even now the principles upon which they were represented by art may be stated. The images of the various gods were built up in great part by the aid of combinations similar to those made use of in realizing the minor demons. A natural bent towards such a method of interpretation was perhaps inherited from the days in which the _naïve_ adoration of all those animals which help or hurt mankind formed a part of the national worship; again, certain animals were, by their shapes and constitution, better fitted than others to personify this or that quality which, in its fulness, was considered divine. It was natural, therefore, that the artist should, in those early days, have indicated the powers of a deity by forms borrowed from the strongest, the most beautiful, or the most formidable of animals. Nothing could suggest the instantaneous swiftness of a god better than the spreading wings of an eagle or vulture, or his destructive and irresistible power better than their beaks and talons, the horns and dewlap of the bull, or the mane and claws of the lion. The sculptor had, therefore, a good reason for employing these forms and many others offered to him by the fauna of the regions he inhabited. He introduced them into his work with skill and decision, and obtained composite types by their aid which we may compare to those of Egypt. But there were some differences which deserve to be remembered. The human face received more consideration from the Mesopotamian sculptors than from those of Egypt. Except in the sphinxes and in two or three less important types the Egyptians, as our readers will remember, crowned a human body with the head of a snake, a lion, or a crocodile, an ibis or a hawk, and sometimes of a clumsy beast like the hippopotamus,[108] and their figures are dominated and characterized by the heads thus given to them. At Babylon and Nineveh the case is reversed. Animals' heads are only found, as a rule, upon the shoulders of those figures which are looked upon by common consent as genii rather than gods. In the latter a contrary arrangement prevails. They may have, like Dagon, a fish's tail hanging down their backs, or, like the colossal guardians of the king's palace, the body and limbs of a lion or bull with the wings of an eagle, but the head is that of a man and the sculptor has given it all the beauty he could compass. To this, we believe, there is but one exception--the eagle-headed god to whom Assyriologists have assigned the name of Nisroch. He seems to have occupied a high place among the Mesopotamian divinities (Fig. 8). But the difference between the two systems does not end here. There are a few deities, such as Ptah, Osiris, and Amen, to whom the Egyptians gave a human form in its simple entirety; but even in such cases it was not reproduced in its native elegance and nobility. The extremities of Ptah and Osiris were enveloped in a kind of sheath, which made their figures look more like mummies than beings with the power of life and motion. It was not so in Chaldæa, as we shall see if we examine the procedure of the Mesopotamian artist when he had to figure the greater gods, those in whom the highest efforts of mental abstraction found concrete expression. Take, for instance, Nebo, the god of intelligence and prophecy, and Istar, the personification of the earth's fertility, of its power of creation and destruction and its inexhaustible energy. Nebo stands upright, his head covered with a horned tiara: his ample beard is gathered into three rows of close curls: he wears a long robe falling straight to the ground (Fig. 16). As for Istar, she is a young woman, nude, large-hipped, and pressing her breasts with her hands (Fig. 15). The awkwardness and rudeness which to some extent characterizes these figures is due to the inexperience of the artist; his intentions were good, but his skill was hardly equal to giving them full effect. His Nebo was meant to be as majestic as a king or high priest; his Istar is the spouse, the mother, the nurse; she is the goddess "who," as the inscriptions say,[109] "rejoices mankind," who, when fertilized by love, assures the duration and perpetuity of the species. It was this method of interpretation that was in later years to lead to those great creations of Greek art whose beauty is still the wonder of mankind. Between these Chaldæan figures and those of the Greek sculptors the difference was one of degree. The anthropomorphism of the Chaldees was franker than that of the Egyptians, and so far the art of Chaldæa was an advance upon that of Egypt, although it was excelled by the latter in executive qualities. The method to which it had committed itself, the diligent and passionate study of the human figure, was the royal road to all excellence in the plastic arts. [Illustration: FIG. 15.--Statue of Nebo; from Nimroud. British Museum. Calcareous stone. Height 6 feet 5 inches.] But our present business is to discover this people's real conceptions of its gods and to get a clear idea of their characteristic qualities. We shall not attempt, therefore, to show how most of them belonged to one of those divine triads which are to be found, it is believed, in Chaldæa as well as in Egypt: we shall not ask how these triads were subordinated, first, one to another, and secondly, to a single supreme being, who, in Mesopotamia as elsewhere, was in time perceived more or less clearly and placed at the head of the divine hierarchy. These triads are nearly always found in polytheistic religions, and that for sufficiently obvious reasons. [Illustration: FIG. 16.--Terra-cotta Statuette; from Heuzey's _Figurines antiques du Musée du Louvre_.] The most simple relationship offered by the organic world to the mind of man is the relationship of the sexes, their contrast, and the necessity for their union. Wherever religious conceptions spring up gods and goddesses are created together. All the forces divined by human intelligence are doubled into two persons, closely united, the one the complement of the other. The one has the active, the other the passive _rôle_. Egypt, Chaldæa, Greece, all had these divine couples; Apsou, or, as Damascius calls him, Apason and Tauthé; Anou and Antou, the Anaïtis of the Greek writers; Bel and Belit, or Beltu, perhaps the Greek Mylitta; Samas, the sun, and Allat, the queen of the dead; Merodach (or Marduk) and Zarpanit, a goddess mother who protected unborn infants and presided at births; Nabou and Nana; Assur and Istar; Dumouzi and Istar. Precise details as to the status of these divinities are still wanting. Several among them seem to have been at one time endowed with a distinct individuality, and at other periods to have been almost indistinguishable from some other deity. They were without the distinct features and attributes of the inhabitants of Olympus, but we are left in no doubt as to the binary divisions of which we have been speaking. The attraction of desire and the union of the sexes leads to the birth of the child; with the appearance of the latter the family is complete, and, with it, the type upon which the triple classification of the gods was founded. But even when we attempt to trace the composition of a single group and to assign his proper place to each of its members, the embarrassment is great. We find a single god sometimes filling, to all appearance, the _rôle_ of husband and father, and sometimes that of the son; or a single goddess acting at different times as the wife and daughter of one and the same god. Some of these apparent contradictions must be referred to the want of certainty in our interpretation of the inscriptions, some to the floating quality of the conceptions to which they relate. It may never, perhaps, be possible to make out a complete list, or one which shall not be obnoxious to criticism on other grounds; moreover, the historian of art has no need to enter into any such discussion, or to give the details of a nomenclature as to which Assyriologists themselves have many doubts. It suffices that he should point out the multiplicity of couples and triads, the extreme diversity of deities, and thus indicate a reason for the very peculiar aspect of the cylinders and engraved stones of Chaldæa, for the complex forms of the gods, and for the multitude of varied symbols which encumber the fields of her sculptured reliefs. Some of the figures that crowd these narrow surfaces are so fantastic that they astonish the eye as much as they pique the curiosity (see Fig. 17). [Illustration: FIG. 17.--A Chaldæan Cylinder: from Ménant's _La Bible et les Cylindres Chaldéens_.] The number of divine types and the consequent difficulties of classification are increased, as in Egypt, by the fact that every important town had its local deities, deities who were its own peculiar gods. In the course of so many centuries and so many successive displacements of the political centre of gravity, the order of precedence of the Mesopotamian gods was often changed. The dominant city promoted its own gods over the heads of their fellows and modified for a time which might be long or short, the comparative importance of the Chaldæan divinities. Sin, the moon god, headed the list during the supremacy of Ur, Samas during that of Larsam. With the rise of Assyria its national god, Assur, doubtless a supreme god of the heavens, acquired an uncontested pre-eminence. It was in his name that the Assyrians subdued all Asia and shed such torrents of blood. Their wars were the wars of Assur; they were undertaken to extend his empire and to glorify his name. Hence the extreme rigour, the hideous cruelty, of the punishments inflicted by the king on his rebellious subjects; he was punishing heretics and apostates.[110] In the religious effusions of Mesopotamia, we sometimes find an accent of exalted piety recalling the tone of the Hebrew scriptures; but it does not appear that the monotheistic idea towards which they were ever tending, but without actually reaching it and becoming penetrated by its truth, had ever acquired sufficient consistence to stimulate the Chaldæan artist to the creation of a type superior in beauty and nobility to those of gods in the second rank. The fact that the idea did exist is to be inferred from the use of certain terms rather than from any mention of it in theological forms or embodiment in the plastic arts. At Nineveh, Assur was certainly looked upon as the greatest of the gods, if not as the only god. Idols captured from conquered nations were sometimes restored to their worshippers, but not before they had been engraved with the words, "_To the glory of Assur_." Assur was always placed at the head of the divine lists. He is thought to be descended from Anou or Sin: but he was raised to such a height by his adoption as the national deity, that it became impossible to trace in him the distinguishing characteristics of his primary condition as a god of nature; he became, like the Jehovah of the Israelites, a god superior to nature. His attributes were of a very general kind, and were all more or less derived from his dignity as chief leader and father, as master of legions and as president in the assemblies of the gods. He was regarded as the supreme arbiter, as the granter of victory and of the spoils of victory, as the god of justice, as the terror of evil doers and the protector of the just. The great god of the Assyrians was, of course, the god of battles, the director of armies, and in that capacity, the spouse of Istar, who was no less warlike than himself. His name was often used, in the plural, to signify the gods in general, as that of Istar was used for the goddesses. No myth has come down to us in which he plays the principal part, a fact which is to be accounted for by his comparatively late arrival at a position of abstract supremacy.[111] In the Babylon of the second Chaldee empire there was, it would seem, a double embodiment of the divine superiority, in Merodach, the warrior god, the god of royalty, and Nebo the god of science and inspiration. In Chaldæa the power of the priests and learned men did not yield before that of the monarch. And yet a certain latent and instinctive monotheism may be traced in its complex religion. There were, indeed, many gods, but one was raised above all the others, and, whether they turned to Merodach or Nebo, the kings loved to style themselves the worshippers of the "Lord of Lords," _Bel Beli_.[112] Like Assur at Nineveh, this supreme deity was sometimes called, by abbreviation, _Ilou_, or god, a term which was employed, with slight variants, by every nation speaking a Semitic tongue.[113] But in spite of their aspirations and the august _rôle_ assigned to their Merodach, their Nebo, and their Assur, Chaldæa and Assyria succeeded no better than Egypt in giving a fit embodiment to the sovereign moderator of the universe, to the king and common parent of gods and men. Their art was without the skill and power required for the creation of an image which should be worthy of the mental idea. Neither the temples of Nineveh nor those of Babylon had an Olympian Jove. Assur came nearer to the acquisition of a supreme and unique godhead than any of his rivals, but we do not know with any certainty what features were his in plastic representations. Some have recognized him in a group which often occurs on the historic bas-reliefs and cylinders, here floating over a field of battle, there introduced into some scene of adoration. You are at once struck by the similarity of the group in question to one of the commonest of Egyptian symbols--the winged globe on the cornice of almost every temple in the Nile valley. Long before they had penetrated as conquerors to Thebes and Memphis, the Assyrians may have found this motive repeated a thousand times upon the ivories, the jewels, the various objects of luxury which Phoenician merchants carried from the ports of the Delta to distribute over every neighbouring country.[114] [Illustration: FIG. 18.--The winged globe; from Layard.] The Assyrians appropriated the emblem in question, sometimes with hardly a modification upon its Egyptian form (Fig. 18), but more often with an alteration of some significance. In the centre of the symbol and between the outspread wings, appears a ring, and, within it, the figure of a man draped in flowing robes and covered with a tiara. He is upright, in some cases his right hand is raised as if in prayer, while his left grasps a strong bow (Fig. 19); in others he is stretching his bow and about to launch a triple-headed arrow, which can be nothing but a thunderbolt. [Illustration: FIG. 19.--The winged globe with human figure; from Layard.] The meaning attached to this plastic group by the Assyrians is made clear to us by the important place it held in the religious imagery of the Aryans of Media and Persia. These people, the last born of the ancient Asiatic world, borrowed nearly the whole of their artistic motives from their predecessors; they only modified their significance when the difference between their religious notions and those of the inventors required it. Now, we find this symbol upon the rocks of Behistan and Persepolis, where, according to texts the meaning of which is beyond a doubt, it represents Ahura-Mazda. The name has changed, but we may fairly conclude that the idea and intention remained the same. Both in Mesopotamia and in Iran this group was meant to embody the notion of a supreme being, the master of the universe, the clement and faithful protector of the chosen race by whom his images were multiplied to infinity. * * * * * In this rapid analysis of the beliefs held by the dwellers on the Tigris and Euphrates, we have made no attempt to discriminate between Chaldæa and Assyria. To one who looks rather to similarities than to differences, the two peoples, brothers in blood and language, had, in fact, but one religion between them. We possess several lists of the Assyrian gods and goddesses, and when we compare them we find that they differ one from the other both in the names and numbers of the deities inscribed upon them; but, with the exception of Assur, they contain no name which does not also belong to Chaldæa. Nothing could be more natural. Chaldæa was the mother-country of the Assyrians, and the intimate relations between the two never ceased for a day. Even when their enmity was most embittered they could not dispense the one with the other. Babylon was always a kind of holy city for the kings of Assyria; those among them who chastised the rebellious Chaldæans with the greatest severity, made it a point of honour to sacrifice to their gods and to keep their temples in repair. It was in Babylon, at Borsippa, and in the old cities near the coast, that the priests chiefly dwelt by whom the early myths had been preserved and the doctrines elaborated to which the inhabitants of Mesopotamia owed the superiority of their civilization. The Assyrians invented nothing. Assur himself seems only to have been a secondary form of some Chaldæan divinity, a parvenu carried to the highest place by the energy and good fortune of the warlike people whose patron he was, and maintained there until the final destruction of their capital city. When Nineveh fell, Assur fell with her, while those gods who were worshipped in common by the people of the north and those of the south long preserved their names, their fame, and the sanctity of their altars. The religion of Nineveh differed from that of Babylon, however, in minor particulars, to which attention has already been called.[115] A single system of theology is differently understood by men whose manner and intellectual bent are distinct. Rites seem to have been more voluptuous and sensual at Babylon than at Nineveh; it was at the former city that Herodotus saw those religious prostitutions that astonished him by their immorality.[116] The Assyrian tendency to monotheism provoked a kind of fanaticism of which no trace is to be found in Chaldæa. The Ninevite conquerors set themselves to extend the worship of their great national god; they sacrificed by hecatombs the presumptuous enemies who blasphemed the name of Assur. The sacrifice of chastity was in favour at Babylon, that of life seemed to the Assyrians a more effectual offering. A soldier people, they were hardened by the strife of centuries, by the perpetual hardships of the battlefield, by the never-ending conflicts in which they took delight. Their religious conceptions were, therefore, narrower and more stern, their rites more cruel than those of their southern neighbours. The civilization of Babylon was more refined, men gave themselves more leisure for thought and enjoyment; their manners were less rude, their ideas less rigid and conservative; they were more inclined towards intellectual analysis and speculation. So that when we find traces of the beliefs and useful arts of Mesopotamia on the coasts, and even among the isles, of the Ægæan, the honour of them must be given to Babylon rather than to Nineveh. NOTES: [82] The _History of the Assyrians and Medes_, which EUSEBIUS (_Préparation évangélique_, 1, 12, and 41) attributes to the writer whom he calls ABYDENUS, dates perhaps from the period when the Roman Empire turned its attention to the basin of the Euphrates and attempted to regain possession of it. The few extant fragments of this author have been collected in Ch. MÜLLER'S _Fragmenta Historicorum Græcorum_, vol. iv. p. 279. We know nothing as to when he lived, but he wrote in the Ionian dialect, as did ARRIAN in his book on India, and it would seem difficult to put him later than the second century. It is probable that his undertaking belonged to that movement towards research which began in the reign of Augustus and was prolonged to the last years of the Antonines. [83] Damaskiou diadochou aporiai kai luseis peri tôn prôtôn archôn (edition published by Kopp, Frankfort-on-the-Main, 1826, 8vo), ch. 125. Ch. Émile RUELLE, _Le Philosophe Damascius; Étude sur sa Vie et ses Ouvrages, suivie de neuf Morceaux inédits, Extraits du Traité des premiers Principes et traduits en Latin_ (in the _Revue archéologique_, 1861), fragments i. and ix. [84] On this subject the reader should consult M. Fr. LENORMANT'S _La Magie chez les Chaldéens et les Origines Accadiennes_, Paris: 1874, 8vo. The English translation, dated 1877, or, still better, the German version published at Jena in 1878 (_Die Magie und Wahrsagekunst der Chaldæer_, 8vo), will be found more useful than the French original. Both are, in fact, new editions, with fresh information. [85] TIELE, _Manuel de l'Histoire des Religions_ (Leroux, 1880, 8vo). In our explanation of the Chaldæo-Assyrian religions we shall follow this excellent guide, supplementing it by information taken from another work by the same author, _Histoire comparée des anciennes Religions de l'Égypte et des Peuples Sémitiques_--both from the Dutch. [86] _A History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. pp. 47-57. [87] At Erzeroum Mr. LAYARD heard of some Kurdish tribes to the south-west of that place who, he was told, "are still idolatrous, worshipping venerable oaks, great trees, huge solitary rocks, and other grand features of nature." _Discoveries_, p. 9. [88] François LENORMANT, _Les Bétyles_ (extracted from the _Revue de l'Histoire des Religions_, p. 12):--"The cuneiform inscriptions mention the seven black stones worshipped in the principal temple of Urukh in Chaldæa, which personify the seven planets." In the same paper a vast number of facts are brought together which show how widely spread this worship was in Syria and Arabia, and with what persistence it maintained itself, at least until the preaching of Islamism. It would be easy to show that it still subsists in the popular superstitions. As to this worship among the Greeks, see also the paper by M. HEUZEY, entitled, _La Pierre sacrée d'Antibes_ (_Mémoires de la Société des Antiquaires de France_, 1874, p. 99). [89] BEROSUS, fragment 1. § 3. in the _Fragmenta Historicorum Græcorum_ of CH. MÜLLER, vol. ii. p. 496. [90] VIRGIL, _Bucolics_, viii. 69. See in the edition of Benoist (Hatchette, 8vo, 1876) passages cited from Horace and Ovid, which prove that the superstition in question was then sufficiently widespread to enable poets to make use of it without too great a violation of probability. [91] This was very clearly seen by the ancients. It could not be put better than by Cicero: "Principio Assyrii, propter planitiem magnitudinemque regionum quas incolebant, cum cælum ex omni parte patens et apertum intuerentur, trajectiones motusque stellarum observaverunt."--_De Divinatione_, i. 1, 2. [92] "Chaldæi ... diuturnâ observatione siderum scientiam putantur effecisse, ut prædeci posset quid cuique eventurum et quo quisque fato natus esset."--CICERO, _De Divinatione_, i. 1, 2. [93] This has been clearly shown by LAPLACE in the _Précis de l'Histoire de l'Astronomie_, which forms the fifth book of his _Exposition du Système du Monde_ (fifth edition). He gives a _résumé_ of what he believes to have been the chief results obtained by the Chaldæan astronomers (pp. 12-14 in the separate issue of the _Précis_ 1821, 8vo). It would now, perhaps, be possible, thanks to recent discoveries, to give more precise and circumstantial details than those of Laplace. [94] AURÈS, _Essai sur le Système métrique assyrien_, p. 10 (in the _Recueil de Travaux relatifs à la Philologie et à l'Archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes_, vol. iii. Vieweg, 4to, 1881). We refer those who are interested in these questions to this excellent paper, of which but the first part has as yet been published (1882). All previous works upon the subject are there quoted and discussed. [95] "Sixty may be divided by any divisor of ten or twelve. Of all numbers that could be chosen as an invariable denominator for fractions, it has most divisors."--FR. LENORMANT, _Manuel d'Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 177, third edition. [96] AURÈS, _Sur le Système métrique assyrien_, p. 16. A terra-cotta tablet, discovered in Lower Chaldæa among the ruins of Larsam, and believed with good reason to be very ancient, bears a list of the squares of the fractionary numbers between 1/60 2 and 60/60 2, or 1/60, calculated with perfect accuracy (LENORMANT, _Manuel_, &c. vol. ii. p. 37). See also SAYCE, _Babylonian Augury by means of Geometrical Figures_, in the _Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archæology_, vol. iv. p. 302. [97] LENORMANT, _Manuel_, &c. vol. ii. p. 177, third edition. [98] _Ibid._ p. 37. [99] LENORMANT, _Manuel_, vol. ii. pp. 175, 178, 180. G. SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_ (London, 1876, 8vo), pp. 451, 452. RAWLINSON, _Ancient Monarchies_, vol. i. pp. 100, 101, fourth edition. We know that the _Astronomical Canon_ of Ptolemy begins with the accession of a king of Babylon named Nabonassar, in 747 B.C. M. Fr. LENORMANT thinks that the date in question was chosen by the Alexandrian philosopher because it coincided with the substitution, by that prince, of the solar for the lunar year. Astronomical observations would thus have become much easier to use, while those registered under the ancient system could only be employed after long and difficult calculations. A reason is thus given for Ptolemy's contentment with so comparatively modern a date. (_Essai sur les Fragments cosmogoniques de Bérose_, pp. 192-197.) [100] See the paper by M. T. H. MARTIN, of Rennes, _Sur les Observations astronomiques envoyées, dit on, de Babylone en Grèce par Callisthène_, Paris, 1863. [101] The texts to this effect will be found collected in the essay of M. Martin. We shall be content here with quoting a phrase from Cicero which expresses the general opinion: "Chaldæi cognitione siderum sollertiaque ingeniorum antecellunt." _De Divinatione_, i. 91. [102] PLINY, _Natural History_, vii. 57, 3. The manuscripts give 720, but the whole context proves that figure to be far too low, neither does it accord with the writer's thought, or with the other statements which he brings together with the aim of showing that the invention of letters may be traced to a very remote epoch. The copyists have certainly omitted an M after the DCCXX. Sillig, following Perizonius has introduced this correction into his text. [103] LENORMANT, _Manuel_, &c. vol. ii. p. 175. [104] G. SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, p. 407. [105] LENORMANT, _Manuel_, &c. vol. ii. p. 181. [106] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. i. p. 124. These storms hardly last an hour. [107] Some Assyriologists believe this to represent Merodach. [108] _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. pp. 56, 57, and figs. 39-45. [109] RAWLINSON, _The Five Great Monarchies_, &c. vol. i. p. 139. [110] TIELE, _Histoire comparée des anciennes Religions de l'Égypte et des Peuples Sémitiques_, translated by Collins, p. 222. The first volume of an English translation, by James Ballingal, has been published in Trübner's Oriental Series.--ED. [111] _Ibid._ p. 224. [112] TIELE, _Histoire_, &c. p. 237. [113] Hence the name Babylon, which has been handed down to us, slightly modified, by classic tradition. The true Chaldæan form is _Bab-Ilou_, literally "The Gate of God." [114] _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. pp. 399-400 and figs. 311-313. [115] TIELE, _Manuel_, &c. pp. 77, 78. [116] HERODOTUS, i. 99. § 7.--_The People and Government._ We have already explained how it is that the religions of Chaldæa and Assyria are less well known to us than that of Egypt; the insufficiency of our knowledge of the political and social organization of the two kingdoms is to be explained by the same reasons. The inscriptions, prolix enough on some subjects, hardly touch on others that would be much more interesting, and, moreover, their interpretation is full of difficulty. The Greek travellers knew nothing of Nineveh, while their visits to Babylon were paid in its years of decadence. They seem to have been chiefly struck with the sort of sacerdotal caste to which they gave the name of Chaldaioi. The origin of this priestly corps has been much discussed. Some see in it the descendants and heirs of the primitive population, of those whom they believe to have been Turanians; others believe them to have been Semitic immigrants, coming from the north and bringing with them arts and doctrines of which they constituted themselves the guardians and expounders in the new country. We are hardly qualified to take part in the controversy. It is certain, on the one hand, that the influence of these quasi-clergy began to make itself felt at a remote period in the national history, and, on the other, that they had become, like the population that bowed before them, Semitic both in race and language at a very early date. The idiom employed by the Chaldæans belongs to the same family of languages as Arabic, Hebrew, and Aramæan; their gods are to be found, with slight modifications of name and attributes, from Yemen in the south to the north of Syria and as far west as the table-land of Cappadocia. It is, no doubt, upon the authority of Ctesias, his favourite guide in matters of oriental history, that Diodorus talks of the _Chaldæans_. Ctesias may have seen them at Babylon, in the exercise of their functions, in the time of Artaxerxes Mnemon. "The Chaldæans," writes the historian, "are the most ancient Babylonians ... (and) hold the same station and dignity in the commonwealth as the Egyptian priests do in Egypt; for, being deputed to divine offices, they spend all their time in the study of philosophy, and are especially famous for the art of astrology. They are mightily given to divination, and foretell future events, and employ themselves either by purifications, sacrifices, or other enchantments to avert evils, or procure good fortune and success. They are skilful, likewise, in the art of divination by the flying of birds, and interpreting of dreams and prodigies; and are reputed as the oracles (in declaring what will come to pass) by their exact and diligent viewing of the entrails of the sacrifices. But they attain not to this knowledge in the same manner as the Greeks; for the Chaldæans learn it by tradition from their ancestors, the son from the father, who are all in the meantime free from all other public offices and attendances; and because their parents are their tutors, they both learn everything without envy, and rely with more confidence upon the truth of what is taught them; and being trained up in this learning from their very childhood, they become most famous philosophers, being at the age most capable of learning."[117] Centuries were required for the growth of such a corporation and for the firm establishment of its power upon a well-knit system of rites and doctrines. The institutions described by Ctesias would hardly show any sensible change from those in force in the same country before the Persian conquests. In their double character of priests and astrologers the Chaldæans would enjoy an almost boundless influence over both kings and private individuals; the general belief in their powers of divination made them in a sense the masters and arbiters of every destiny. Under the national kings "members of their caste led the national armies and occupied all the chief posts in the kingdom." The royal houses that succeeded one another at Babylon sprang from their ranks both in the days of vassalage to Assyria and in those of full independence. Their hierarchy was headed by an archimagus; we do not know his title in the national language, but we do know that, after the king, he was the chief person in the empire. He accompanied the sovereign wherever he went, even to the wars, in order to regulate his actions according to the rules of his art and the indications of the heavens. When the king died and his successor was not on the spot to assume the reins of government, the archimagus was regent during the interregnum, as, for instance, between the death of Nabopolassar and the accession of Nebuchadnezzar.[118] The almost theocratic character of this régime had both its advantages and its inconveniences. These priests were the savants of their time. The honours that were paid to them must have had their effect in stimulating intellectual culture and material well being, but, on the other hand, the constant intervention of a sacerdotal body in public affairs could not but do something to enfeeble the military spirit and the energy and responsibility of the commanders. Not that the priests were less penetrated by the national sentiment than their fellow countrymen. Proud of their ancient traditions and of the superiority of their science, they added contempt to the detestation they felt for a foreign master, whether he came from Babylon or Susa. The priests were the ringleaders in those risings against Assyria, and, in later years, against Persia, which cost Babylon so dearly. Once only was the success they promised achieved, and that was in the time of Nabopolassar, when Nineveh was exhausted by its long succession of wars and victories. On every other occasion the upper hand remained with races less instructed, indeed, and less refined, but among whom the power concentrated in the hands of the sovereign had been utilized to drive all the vital forces of the kingdom into the practice of war and preparation for it. On the other hand, Babylon enjoyed certain elements of prosperity and guarantees of a long national existence which were wanting to those rivals under whose yoke she had more than once to pass. The ruling classes in Chaldæa were quicker in intellect and far better educated than elsewhere. Their country lent itself to a wide and well-organised system of cultivation better than the hilly districts of Assyria or the narrow valleys and sterile plains of Iran. Communication was more prompt and easy than among the terraces which rise one above another from the left bank of the Euphrates up to the high lands of Persia and Media: in order to pass from one of these terraces to another, the bare rock has to be climbed in a fashion that brings no little danger to the traveller and his patient beasts of burden.[119] In Chaldæa, on the other hand, the proximity of the two rivers to each other, and the perfect horizontality of the soil, make the work of irrigation very easy. The agriculturists were not exposed to the danger of a complete failure of crops, a misfortune which overtook the upper regions of Mesopotamia often enough. There the Euphrates and Tigris are wide apart, and the land between them is far from being a dead level. Many districts had to depend almost entirely upon the rainfall for irrigation. Again, when it was a question of journeying from one city to another or transporting the produce of the fields, the Chaldæan could choose between the land routes that lay along the banks of the canals, or the waterways that intersected each other over the whole surface of the country. In these days the journey between Bagdad and Bassorah, a distance of some three hundred miles, involves a long detour to the east along the foot of the mountains, in order to avoid impassable marshes and bands of wandering Arabs devoted to murder and pillage. The flat country is infested with mounted brigands who strip unprotected travellers, but in ancient times it swarmed with traffic, every road was encumbered with the movements of merchandise and the march of caravans, the fields were crossed in every direction by canals, and the tall sails of the boats that moved between their banks rose over the waving crops as they do to-day in the deltas of the Meuse and the Rhine, for Chaldæa was a southern Holland. The incomparable situation of Babylon was sure to lead to great industrial and commercial activity in spite of any shortcomings in her rulers. She stood in the centre of a marvellously fertile region, between upper and western Asia. Two great rivers were at her doors, bringing her, without cost or effort, the products of their upper basins, while, on the other hand, they placed her in easy communication with the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean. The merchants of Babylon had communication with the people of the Levant by easy and well-worn roads crossing the fords of the middle Euphrates. Less direct roads farther to the north were used nearly as much. Some of these traversed the Cilician passes, crossed the Amanus and Taurus into the plateau of Asia Minor, and ended at the coasts of the Ægæan and the Euxine; others passed through Assyria into Media, and through the Caspian passes up to the central plateau of Asia and into distant Bactria, whence easy passes led down into the upper valley of the Indus. Babylon was thus an _entrepôt_ for caravans both from the east and west, and for navigators coming from the ports of Africa, Arabia, and India. There are, if we may use the expression, natural capitals and capitals that are artificial. The sites of the first are determined by the configuration of the earth. When they perish it is but a temporary death, to be followed by a life often more full and brilliant than the first. The second owe their prosperity to the caprice of a sovereign, or to political combinations that pass away and leave no trace. Thebes and Nineveh were artificial cities; both have disappeared and left behind them nothing but their ruins; they have been replaced only by villages and unimportant towns. On the other hand, Memphis lives again in Cairo, and, when the depopulation of Babylon was complete, Seleucia and Ctesiphon, Kouffa and Bagdad sprang up to carry on her work. The centre of a refined civilization and of wide-stretching commercial relations, Babylon could not have been without an original art, and one marked with the peculiar characteristics of the national genius. Unhappily, the materials at her command were far inferior to those of which the Egyptians and Greeks could dispose. From this it has resulted that, on the one hand, her productions never passed a certain level of excellence, and, on the other, that they have been ill preserved. The Babylonians were not among those happy peoples whose artists could exercise their tools upon the one material that gives birth to great sculptors and great architects--a stone soft enough to yield kindly to the chisel, but hard enough to preserve to eternity the suggestive forms impressed upon it by the hand of man. Our knowledge, therefore, of Chaldæan art will bear no comparison with what we have discovered as to the art of Egypt and Greece, of Etruria and Rome. So far as we can form a judgment from the remains that have come down to us, it was an art much less varied and comprehensive than that of Egypt. The tombs of Memphis and Thebes, with their pictured walls, reflect, as in a faithful mirror, the most interesting and most amusing of all spectacles, the daily life of the oldest of all civilized societies. In Chaldæa there is nothing of the kind. The Chaldæan tomb gives us, by its arrangement and furnishing, glimpses of a faith similar at bottom to that of Egypt, but we find nothing parallel to the representations of daily work and pleasure which fill the mastabas and the Theban sepulchres; there is nothing that can be compared to those animated forms and images that play over again on the tomb walls the long drama of a hundred acts whose first performance occupied so many centuries and filled a stage stretching from the swamps of the Delta to the cataracts of Syene. We are more especially grateful to these funerary scenes for handing down to us, in a safe niche in the temple of the arts, those poor and humble folk who count for so little in this world where they bear the heaviest burdens, who depend for remembrance after death upon the services they render to the great. We shall search in vain among the scanty remnants of Babylonian sculpture for the attitude, gestures, and features of the laborious workmen upon whom the prosperity of the country was built. We shall find neither the tradesmen and artisans of the towns, nor the agriculturists who cultivated the fields and gave them the water for which they never ceased to thirst. No hint is given of those fishermen of the Persian Gulf who lived entirely, according to Herodotus, upon dried fish ground to powder and made into a kind of cake.[120] The naive, picturesque, and anecdotic illustrations of common life, which are so plentiful in Egypt, are almost completely wanting to the art of Chaldæa. On the other hand, we find, as we might have expected from what we know of Chaldæan society, continual traces of the sacerdotal spirit, and of the great part played by the king with the help and under the tutelage of the priesthood. Upon the walls of palaces, temples, and towns, on the statuettes of bronze and terra-cotta which were buried under the thresholds of buildings and placed as votive offerings in the temples, upon cylinders and engraved stones, we find only complex and varied emblems, fantastic and symbolic forms, attitudes suggestive of worship and sacrifice (Figs. 20 and 21), images of gods, goddesses, and secondary genii, princes surrounded with royal pomp and offering their homage to the deity. Hence a certain poverty and monotony and the want of recuperative power inseparable from an absorbed contemplation of sacred types and of a transcendental world. [Illustration: FIG. 20.--Chaldæan Cylinder.] [Illustration: FIG. 21.--Chaldæan Cylinder; from the British Museum.[121]] Assyrian society was different in many respects from that of Chaldæa. The same gods, no doubt, were adored in both countries, and their worship involved a highly-placed priesthood; but at Nineveh the royal power rested on the army, and the initiative and independence of the sovereign were much greater than in the case of Babylon. Assyria was a military monarchy in the fullest sense of the word. Almost as often as the spring came round the king led his invincible legions to the conquest of new subjects for Assur. He traversed deserts, crossed trackless mountain chains, and plunged into forests full of hidden dangers. He destroyed the walls and towers of hostile cities, in spite of the rain of arrows, stones, and boiling pitch that poured upon himself and his hosts; he was at once the skilful captain and the valiant soldier, he planned the attack and never spared himself in the _mêlée_. First in danger, he was the first in honour. In person he implored the good will of the god for whom he braved so many dangers, in person he thanked him for success and presented to him the spoils of the conquered enemy. If he was not deified, like the Pharaohs, either alive or after his death, he was the vicar of Assur upon earth, the interpreter of his decrees and their executor, his lieutenant and pontif, and the recipient of his confidences.[122] There was no room by the side of this armed high priest for a sacerdotal caste at all equal to him in prestige. The power and glory of the king grew with every successive victory, and in the vast empire of the Sargonids, the highest places were filled by men whom the monarch associated with himself in the never-ending work of conquest and repression. First of all came a kind of grand vizier, the _Tartan_, or commander-in-chief of the royal armies. This is the personage we so often find in the bas-reliefs facing the king and standing in an attitude at once dignified and respectful (see Fig. 22). Next came the great officers of the palace, the _ministers_ as we should call them in modern parlance, and the governors of conquered provinces. Eunuchs were charged with the supervision of the harem and, as in the modern East, occupied high places at court. They may be recognized in the bas-reliefs, where they are grouped about the king, by their round, beardless faces (see Figs. 23 and 24). The _Kislar-Aga_ is, in the Constantinople of to-day what more than one of these personages must have been in Nineveh. Read the account given by Plutarch, on the authority of Ctesias, of the murderous and perfidious intrigues that stained the palace of Susa in the time of Artaxerxes-Mnemon. You will then have some idea of the part, at once obscure and preponderant, that the more intelligent among these miserable creatures were able to play in the households of the great conquerors and unwearied hunters by whom the palaces at Khorsabad, Kouyundjik, and Nimroud, were successively occupied. [Illustration: FIG. 22.--The King Sargon and his Grand Vizier. Bas-relief from Khorsabad; in the Louvre. Alabaster. Height 116 inches. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] [Illustration: FIG. 23.--The suite of Sargon, _continued_. Bas-relief from Khorsabad; in the Louvre. Alabaster. Height 90 inches. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] [Illustration: FIG. 24.--The suite of Sargon, _continued_. Bas-relief from Khorsabad. Alabaster. Height 97 inches. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] All these military officers and administrators, these priests of the different gods, and the domestics who were often the most powerful of all, looked to the hand of the king himself and depended upon no other master. Courage and military talent must have been the surest roads to advancement, but sometimes, as under the Arab caliphs and the Ottoman sultans, the caprice of the sovereign would lead him to raise a man from the lowest ranks to the highest dignities of the state. The _régime_ of Assyria may be described in the words applied to that of Russia, it was despotism tempered with assassination. "And it came to pass, as he (Sennacherib) was worshipping in the house of Nisroch his god, that Adrammelech and Sharezer his sons smote him with the sword: and they escaped into the land of Armenia. And Esarhaddon his son reigned in his stead."[123] Sennacherib's father, Sargon, perished in the same fashion. These murders were, perhaps, the revenge for some outrage or punishment imprudently inflicted in a moment of anger; but however that may have been, neither in the one case nor the other did they hinder the legitimate heir from succeeding his father. Sennacherib replaced Sargon, and Esarhaddon Sennacherib. The Assyrian supremacy was only supported by the constant presence, at the head of the army, of a king ready for every eventuality; a few weeks of anarchy or interregnum would have thrown the whole empire into confusion; the royal power was the keystone of the arch, the element upon which depended the stability of a colossal edifice subjected to various strains. In such a society, art could hardly have had a mission other than the glorification of a power without limit and without control--a power to which alone the Assyrians had to look for a continuance of their dearly-won supremacy. The architect, the sculptor, and the painter, exhausted the resources of their arts, the one in building a palace for the prince on a high mound raised to dominate the surrounding plain, the others in decorating it when built and multiplying the images of its almost divine inhabitant. The exploits of the sovereign, his great and never-ending achievements as a conqueror and destroyer of monsters, as pontif of Assur and the founder of palaces and cities--such are the themes to which Assyrian sculpture devoted itself for many centuries, taking them up and varying them in countless ways, and that, apparently, without any fear that he for whom the whole work was intended would ever grow weary of the repetition. Such themes presuppose the actual occurrence of the events represented and the artists' realization either from personal observation or from descriptions. This gives rise to a very sensible difference between Chaldæan sculpture and that of Assyria, so far at least as the latter is to be studied in the decorations of a palace. In those characteristics and qualities of execution which permit of a definition, the style is no doubt the same as in Chaldæa. The artists of Babylon and those of Nineveh were pupils in one school--they saw nature with the same eyes; the same features interested and attracted the attention of both; they had the same prejudices and the same conventions. The symbols and combinations of forms we have noticed as proper to Chaldæan art are here also; scenes of invocation to gods and genii; ornamental groups and motives. An instance of the latter is to be found in the rich embroidery with which the robes of the Assyrian kings are covered.[124] Finally, we must remember that all Assyrian art was not included in the adornment of the palace. Before a complete and definite judgment can be formed upon it the monuments of religious and industrial art should be passed under review, but, unhappily, no temple interior, and a very small number of objects of domestic luxury and daily use, have come down to us. These gaps are to be regretted, but we must not forget that the bas-reliefs were ordered by the king, that the thousands of figures they contain were introduced for the sake of giving _éclat_ to the power, the valour, and the genius of the sovereign, and that the best artists of which Assyria could boast were doubtless entrusted with their execution. Under the reserves thus laid down we may, then, devote ourselves to the study of the Ninevite sculptures that fill the museums of London and Paris; we may consider them the strongest and most original creations of Assyrian art. [Illustration: FIG. 25.--Fragment of a bas-relief in alabaster. Louvre. Height 23 inches. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] Now the sculpture upon the alabaster slabs with which the palace walls of Shalmaneser and Sargon, of Sennacherib and Assurbanipal, were covered, confines itself mainly to marches, combats, and sieves, it is more _realistic_ than the sculpture of Chaldæa, a country that had done less, especially upon fields of battle, but had invented more and done more thinking than its bellicose rival. We owe no small debt of gratitude to the swordsmen of Assyria, in spite of the blood they shed and the horrible cruelties they committed and delighted in seeing commemorated in the figured histories of their reigns. The works entrusted to their artists have left us precious documents and the elements for a restoration of a vanished world. Philologists may take their time over the decipherment of the texts inscribed on the reliefs, but the great people of prey who, for at least four centuries, pillaged all Asia without themselves becoming softened by the possession of so much accumulated wealth, live, henceforward, in the long series of pictures recovered for the world by Layard and Botta. The stern conquerors reappear, armed, helmeted, and cuirassed, as they passed before the trembling nations thirty centuries ago. They are short of stature, but vigorous and sturdy, with an exceptional muscular development. They were, no doubt, prepared for their military duties from infancy by some system of gymnastic exercises, such as have been practised by other nations of soldiers. Their noses are high and hooked, their eyes large, their features as a whole strongly Semitic (see Fig. 25). [Illustration: FIG. 26.--Bas-relief of Tiglath Pileser II.; from Nimroud. British Museum. Height 44 inches. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] [Illustration: FIG. 27.--Feast of Assurbanipal; from Kouyundjik. British Museum. Height 20-3/4 inches. No. 1, The servants of the feast.] [Illustration: FIG. 28.--Feast of Assurbanipal, _continued_. No. 2, The king and queen at table. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] The moral character of the people is shown with no less clearness. The ferocity they preserved amid all the luxurious appliances of their civilization is commemorated. Atrocities of every kind find a place in the reliefs. Among the prisoners of war the most fortunate are those led by a cord passed through their lips. Others are mutilated, crucified, flayed alive. Tiglath Pileser II. is shown to us besieging a city, before whose walls he has impaled three prisoners taken from the defenders (see Fig. 26). Elsewhere we find scribes counting over heaps of heads before paying the price for them.[125] When these had come from the shoulders of important enemies they were carried in procession and treasured as honourable trophies. In one relief we find Assurbanipal, after his return to Nineveh from the subjugation of the southern rebels, lying upon a luxurious couch in the garden of his harem and sharing a sumptuous meal with a favoured wife. Birds are singing in the trees, an attendant touches the harp, flowers and palms fill the background, while a head, the head of the Elamite king, whom Assurbanipal conquered and captured in his last campaign, hangs from a tree near the right[126] of the scene (see Figs. 27 and 28). The princes who took pleasure in these horrors were scrupulous in their piety. We find numberless representations of them in attitudes of profound respect before their gods, and sometimes they bring victims and libations in their hands (see Fig. 29). Thus, without any help from the inscriptions, we may divine from the sculptures alone what strange contrasts were presented by the Assyrian character--a character at once sanguinary and voluptuous, brutal and refined, mystical and truculent. [Illustration: FIG. 29.--Offerings to a god; Alabaster relief. Louvre. Height 10 feet. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] It is not only by what it says, it is by what it leaves untold, by what it forgets to tell, that art has left us such a sincere account of this singular nation. The king and his lieutenants, his ministers and household officers, the veterans who formed the strength of his legions and the young men from whom their numbers were recruited, did not constitute the whole of the Assyrian nation. There were also the tillers of the soil, the followers of those countless trades implied by a civilized society--the peasants, artisans, and merchants of every kind, who fed, clothed, and equipped the armies; the men who carried on the useful but modest work without which the fighting machine must soon have come to a standstill. And yet they are entirely absent from the sculptures in which the artist seems to have included everything that to him seemed worthy of interest. We meet them here and there, but only by accident. They may be descried now and then in the background of some scene of war, acting as labourers or in some other humble capacity. Otherwise the sculptor ignored their existence. They were not soldiers, which was much as to say they were nothing. Can any other instance be cited of an art so well endowed entirely suppressing what we should call the civil element of life? Neither do we find women in the bas-reliefs: that in which the queen of Assurbanipal occurs is quite unique in its way. Except in scenes representing the capture of a town and the carrying off of its inhabitants as prisoners of war, females are almost entirely wanting. On those occasions we sometimes find them carried on mules or in chariots (see Figs. 30 and 31). In certain bas-reliefs of Assurbanipal, treating of his campaign against Susa, women are playing the tambourine and singing the king's praises. But all these are exceptions. Woman, whose grace and beauty were so keenly felt by the Egyptians, is almost completely absent from the sculpture of Assyria. [Illustration: FIG. 30.--Convoy of prisoners. Kouyundjik. From Layard.] By thus limiting its scope, sculpture condemned itself to much repetition and to a uniformity not far removed from sameness; but its very silences are eloquent upon the inhuman originality of a system to which Assyria owed both the splendour of her military successes and the finality of her fall. The great entrenched camp, of which Nineveh was the centre, once forced; the veteran ranks, in which constant war, and war without quarter, had made such wide gaps, once broken, nothing remained of the true Assyria but the ignorant masses of a second-class state to whom a change of masters had little meaning, and a few vast buildings doomed soon to disappear under their own ruins. [Illustration: FIG. 31.--Convoy of prisoners. Kouyundjik. From Layard.] When we have completed our examination of Assyrian sculpture, so rich in some respects, so poor in others, we shall understand the rapidity with which silence and oblivion overtook so much glory and power; we shall understand how some two centuries after the victory of Nabopolassar and the final triumph of Babylon and her allies, Xenophon and his Greeks could mount the Tigris and gaze upon the still formidable walls of the deserted cities of Mespila and Larissa without even hearing the name of Nineveh pronounced. Eager for knowledge as they were, they passed over the ground without suspecting that the dust thrown up by their feet had once been a city famous and feared over all Asia, and that the capital of an empire hardly less great than that of the Artaxerxes whom they had faced at Cunaxa, had once covered the ground where they stood. NOTES: [117] DIODORUS, ii. 29. [118] Fr. LENORMANT, _Manuel de l'Histoire ancienne de l'Orient_, vol. ii. p. 252. [119] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches in Chaldæa and Susiana_, p. 309. The Greeks gave the appropriate name of klimakes to those stepped roads that lead from the valley and the sea coast to the high plains of Persia. [120] HERODOTUS, i. 200. A similar article of food is in extensive use at the present day in the western islands of Scotland, and upon other distant coasts where the soil is poor.--ED. [121] Upon the subject of this cylinder, in which George Smith wished to recognize a representation of Adam and Eve tempted by the serpent, see M. JOACHIM MÉNANT'S paper entitled, _La Bible et les Cylindres Chaldéens_ (Paris, 1880, Maisonneuve, 8vo). M. Ménant makes short work of this forced interpretation and of several similar delusions which were beginning to win some acceptance. [122] Upon the sacred functions of the king, see LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 474. [123] 2 Kings xix. 37. [124] LAYARD, _The Monuments of Nineveh_ (folio, 1849), plates 43-50. [125] LAYARD, _A Second Series of the Monuments of Nineveh_ (folio, 1853), plates 26 and 27. The scribes in question seem to be writing upon rolls of leather. [126] Throughout this work the words "right" and "left" refer to the right and left of the cuts, _not_ of the reader. By this system alone can confusion be avoided in describing statues and compositions with figures.--ED. [Illustration] CHAPTER II. THE PRINCIPLES AND GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF ASSYRO-CHALDÆAN ARCHITECTURE. § 1.--_Materials._ Chaldæa was the cradle of the civilization, and consequently of the art, whose characteristics we have to define. Now the soil of Chaldæa to a great depth beneath the surface is a fine loose earth, similar to that of the Nile Delta. At a few points only on the plain, and that near the Persian Gulf, are there some rocky eminences, the remains of ancient islands which the gradual encroachment of the two great rivers has joined to the mainland of Asia. Their importance is so slight that we may fairly ignore their existence and assert generally that Chaldæa has no stone. Like all great rivers, the Tigris and Euphrates in the upper and middle parts of their courses carry down pieces of rock from their native mountains, but after they enter upon the alluvial ground near the boundary between Assyria and Chaldæa their streams become sluggish, and these heavy bodies sink to the bottom and become embedded in the soil; the water no longer carries on with it anything but the minute particles which with the passage of centuries form immense banks of clay. In the whole distance between Bagdad and the sea you may take a spade, and, turn up the soil wherever you please, you will not find a stone as big as a nut. In this absence of a natural stone something had to be found to take its place, and the artificial material we call brick was invented. The human intellect refuses to give up the contest with nature before the first obstacles that seem to bar its progress; if it cannot brush them aside it turns their flank. The least accident is often enough to suggest the desired expedient. The origin of almost all the great discoveries that are studded over the history of civilization may be traced to some lucky chance. The first inhabitants of Chaldæa fashioned rude kitchens for the cooking of their simple food out of moist and plastic clay, the fires of reed and broken wood lighted on these simple hearths reddened and hardened the clay till it became like rock. Some bystander more observant than the rest noted the change and became the father of ceramics. We use the word in its widest, in its etymological sense. _Ceramics_ is the art of fashioning clay and burning it in the fire so as to obtain constructive materials, domestic utensils, or objects of luxury and ornament.[127] Even before the first brick or pottery kiln was erected it must have been recognized that in a climate like that of Chaldæa the soil when dried in the sun was well fitted for certain uses. Among the _débris_ left by the earliest pioneers of civilization we find the remains of vases which seem to have been dried only in the sun. But porous and friable pottery like this could only be used for a few purposes, and it was finally renounced as soon as the art of firing the earth, first in the hot ashes of the domestic hearth, and afterwards in the searching flames of the close oven, was discovered. It was otherwise with brick. The desiccation produced by the almost vertical sun of Mesopotamia allowed it to be used with safety and advantage in certain parts of a building. In that condition it is called crude brick, to distinguish it from the harder material due to the direct heat of wood fires. In any case the clay destined for use as a building material was subject to a first preparation that never varied. It was freed from such foreign bodies as might have found their way into it, and, as in Egypt, it was afterwards mixed with chopped or rather pulverized straw, a proceeding which was thought to give it greater body and resistance. It was then mixed with water in the proportions that experience dictated, and kneaded by foot in wide and shallow basins.[128] The brickmakers of Mossoul go through the same process to this day. As soon as the clay was sufficiently kneaded, it was shaped in almost square moulds. In size these moulds surpassed even those of Egypt: their surfaces were from 15-1/4 to 15-1/2 inches square, and their thickness was from 2 to 4 inches.[129] It would seem that these artificial blocks were given this extravagant size to make up for the absence of stone properly speaking; the only limit of size seems to have been that imposed by difficulties of manufacture and handling. Crude brick never becomes hard enough to resist the action of water. In Greek history we read how Agesipolis, King of Sparta, when besieging Mantinea, directed the stream of the Ophis along the foot of its walls of unburnt brick, and so caused them to crumble away. Cimon, son of Miltiades, attacked the defences of Eion, on the Strymon, in the same fashion. When desiccation was carried far enough, such materials could be used, in interiors at least, so as to fulfil the same functions as stone or burnt brick. Vitruvius tells us that the magistrates who had charge of building operations at Utica would not allow brick to be used until it was five years old.[130] It would seem that neither in Chaldæa nor still less in Assyria was any such lengthy restriction imposed. It is only by exception that crude bricks of which the desiccation has been carried to the farthest possible point have been found in the palaces of Nineveh; almost the only instance we can give is afforded by the bricks composing the arches of the palace doorways at Khorsabad. They are rectangular, and into the wedge-shaped intervals between their faces a softer clay has been poured to fill up the joints.[131] As a rule things were done in a much less patient fashion. At the end of a few days, or perhaps weeks, as soon, in fact, as the bricks were dry and firm enough to be easily handled, they were carried on to the ground and laid while still soft. This we know from the evidence of M. Place, who cut many exploring shafts through the massive Assyrian buildings, and could judge of the condition in which the bricks had been put in place by the appearance of his excavations. From top to bottom their sides showed a plain and uniform surface; not the slightest sign of joints was to be found. Some might think that the bricks, instead of being actually soft, were first dried in the sun and then, when they came to be used, that each was dipped in water so as to give it a momentary wetness before being laid in its place. M. Place repels any such hypothesis. He points out that, had the Assyrian bricklayers proceeded in that fashion, each joint would be distinguishable by a rather darker tint than the rest of the wall. There is nothing of the kind in fact. The only things that prove his excavations to have been made through brick and not through a mass of earth beaten solid with the rammer are, in the first place, that the substance cut is very homogeneous and much more dense than it would have been had it not been kneaded and pressed in the moulds; and, secondly, that the horizontal courses are here and there to be distinguished from each other by their differences of tint.[132] The art of burning brick dates, in the case of Chaldæa, from a very remote epoch. No tradition subsisted of a period when it was not practised. After the deluge, when men wished to build a city and a tower which should reach to heaven, "they said to one another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them throughly; and they had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar."[133] The Babylonian bricks were, as a rule, one Chaldæan foot (rather more than an English foot) square. Their colour varies in different buildings from a dark red to a light yellow,[134] but they are always well burnt and of excellent quality. Nearly all of them bear an inscription to the following effect: "Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, restorer of the pyramid and the tower, eldest son of Nabopolassar, King of Babylon, I." In laying the brick the face bearing this inscription was turned downwards. The characters were impressed on the soft clay with a stamp. More than forty varieties have already been discovered, implying the existence of as many stamps (see Fig. 32). In Assyria these inscriptions were sometimes stamped, sometimes engraved with the hand (Fig. 33). Most of the bricks are regular in shape, with parallel and rectangular faces, but a few wedge-shaped ones have been found, both in Chaldæa and Assyria. These must have been made for building arches or vaults. Their obliquity varies according to their destined places in the curve.[135] The body of the enamelled bricks differs from that of the ordinary kind. It is softer and more friable, appearing to be scarcely burnt.[136] This difference, at which M. Place was so much surprised, had its reason. The makers understood that their enamel colours when vitrified would penetrate deeper into and be more closely incorporated with the material upon which they were placed were the latter not so completely hardened. [Illustration: FIG. 32.--Babylonian brick; from the Louvre. 16 inches square on face, and 4 inches thick.] Crude brick, burnt brick, and brick enamelled, those were the only materials at the command of the architect, in the cities, at least, of Chaldæa. A few fragments of basalt and diorite have certainly been found in their ruins, especially at Tello, recently excavated by M. de Sarzec; but we can easily tell from the appearance of these blocks that they played a very subordinate part in the buildings into which they were introduced. Some of them seem to have been employed as a kind of decoration in relief upon the brick walls; others, and those the most numerous, appear to have been used in the principal entrances to buildings. Upon one face a semicircular hollow or socket may be noticed, in which the foot of the bronze pivots, or rather the pivot shod and faced with bronze, upon which the heavy timber doors and their casings of metal were hung, had to turn. The marks of the consequent friction are still clearly visible.[137] The dimensions of these stones are never great, and it is easy to see that their employment for building purposes was always of the most restricted nature. They had indeed to be brought from a great distance. The towns upon the Persian Gulf might get them from Arabia.[138] Babylon and Nineveh must have drawn them from the upper valleys of the Tigris and Euphrates.[139] But quarrying and transport involved an expenditure that prevented any thought of bringing these volcanic rocks into common use. [Illustration: FIG. 33.--Brick from Khorsabad; Louvre. 12-2/3 inches square, and 4-4/5 inches thick.] Compared with the towns of the lower Euphrates, Babylon was not far from mountains whence, by means of canals and rivers, she might have easily obtained a limestone of good quality. Even in these days, when commerce and industry have fallen so low in those regions, the gypseous alabaster from the neighbourhood of Mossoul is transported in no unimportant quantities as far as Bagdad. It is used for lining baths and those _serdabs_ to which the people retreat in summer.[140] The remains of the great capital show no trace of dressed stone. And yet it was used during the second empire in some of the great public works undertaken by Nabopolassar and more especially by Nebuchadnezzar. Herodotus, who saw Babylon, declares this in the most formal manner in his description of the bridge which then united, for the first time, the two banks of the Euphrates. While the river was bordered by quays of burnt brick, the bridge, says the historian, "was built of very large stones, bound together with iron clamps embedded in lead."[141] That, however, was but one exception, and it was necessitated by the very nature of the work to be carried out. No cement was to be had which could resist the action of water for an indefinite period and maintain the coherence of brickwork subjected to its unsleeping attacks. In order to obtain piers capable of withstanding the current during the great floods, it was better too to use blocks of considerable weight, which could be held together by metal tenons or clasps. It was but at rare intervals that buildings had to be erected in which the habits of ages had to be thus abandoned. Why is it that such works have perished and left no sign? The question may be easily answered. When the ruins of Babylon began to be used as an open quarry, the stone buildings must have been the first to disappear. This material, precious by its rarity and in greater request than any other, was used again and again until no trace of its original destination or of the buildings in which it was found remained. In Assyria long chains of hills traversed the plain and stretched here and there as far as the borders of the two rivers, besides which the last buttresses of the mountains of Kurdistan came very near the left bank of the Tigris. These hills all contained limestone. Two sorts were found: one fine, hard, close grained, and a little shelly, the other softer and more friable. For the decoration of his monumental doorways and the lining of his richest apartments, the architect chose and committed to the sculptor those fine slabs of gypseous alabaster of which so many examples are to be seen in the Louvre and British Museum. In the plains gypsum serves as a base or foundation for the wide banks of clay that spread over the country, and are much less thick than in the south of Chaldæa. Alabaster is there to be met with in great quantities, often but little below the surface of the soil.[142] It is a sulphate of chalk, gray in colour, soft and yet susceptible of polish. But it has many defects; it breaks easily and deteriorates rapidly on exposure to the air. The Assyrians, however, did not fear to use it in great masses, as witness the bulls in the Louvre and British Museum. Before removal these carved man-headed animals weighed some thirty-five tons, and some of those remaining at Khorsabad and Kouyundjik are still larger. In Assyria as in Chaldæa the dark and hard volcanic rocks have only been found in a few isolated fragments. They were used by the statuary and ornamentist rather than by the architect, and we cannot say for certain where they got them. We know, however, that basalt and other rocks of that kind were found in the upper valleys of the streams that flowed into the two great rivers.[143] The Assyrian architect had therefore only to stretch out his hand to win stone of a sufficiently varied nature from the soil of his own country or the flanks of its mountains. It was, of course, mediocre in quality but it had powers of resistance that fitted it for use in certain positions. At the first glance it is difficult to understand why so little use was made of it. But in truth stone was for the Assyrian no more than an accessory and complementary material; the bodies of his structures were never composed of it; it was mainly confined to plinths, pavements, and the internal linings of walls. In spite of its apparent singularity this determined exclusion is to be easily explained. The Assyrian invented nothing. His language and his writing, his religion and his science, came from Chaldæa, and so did his art. When the kings of Resen, of Calech, and Nineveh, took it into their heads to build palaces, they imported architects, painters, and sculptors, from the southern kingdom. Why, it may be asked, did those artists remain so faithful to the traditions in which they had grown up when they found themselves planted among such different surroundings? The answer is, that nothing is more tenacious of life than those professional habits that are transmitted from one generation to another by the practical teaching of more or less close corporations, besides which we must remember that the Chaldæan methods were excellently well fitted for the satisfaction of those impatient princes at whose orders the works were undertaken. For the quarrying, dressing, and fixing of stone, a special and rather tedious education was required. The manufacture and laying of bricks was comparatively easy. A few weeks were sufficient to learn all that was to be learnt about the kneading and moulding of the earth, its desiccation in the sun or burning in the kiln. Provided that experienced men were forthcoming to superintend the latter operation, millions of good bricks could be made in the year.[144] All this required no lengthy apprenticeship. Their arrangement in horizontal courses or grouping at stated intervals, into those lines of battlements with which every wall was crowned, was done by the men of the _corvée_. Certain parts of the building, such as arches and vaults, required more care and skill, and were left, no doubt, to experienced masons and bricklayers, but, with these exceptions, the whole work could be confided to the first-comers, to those armies of captives whom we see in the bas-reliefs labouring in chained gangs like convicts. Working in this fashion, even the most formidable works could be completed with singular rapidity. In Assyria, as in Chaldæa, a prince was no sooner seated firmly upon the throne than his architects set about erecting a palace which should be entirely his own. He had no wish that any name but his should be read upon its walls, or that they should display any deeds of valour but those due to his own prowess. In the life of constant war and adventure led by these conquering sovereigns, speed was everything, for they could never be sure of the morrow. That considerations like these counted for much in the determination of the Assyrian architects to follow a system that the abundance of durable materials invited them to cast aside can hardly be doubted. They did not dare to rouse the displeasure of masters who disliked to wait; they preferred rather to sacrifice the honour and glory to be won by the erection of solid and picturesque buildings than to use the slowly worked materials in which alone they could be carried out. Assyria was in all respects better provided than Chaldæa. Nature itself seemed to invite her to throw off her too docile spirit of imitation and to create an art of her own. Her possession of stone was not her only advantage over her southern neighbour, she had timber also; at least the Ninevite architect had to go a much shorter distance than his Babylonian rival in order to find it. From the summits of the lofty mounds, at whose feet he established his workshops, he could catch a distant view of mountain chains, whose valleys were clothed with forests of oak and beech, pine and cypress. There was nothing of the kind within reach of Lower Mesopotamia. The nearest mountains, those which ran parallel to the left bank of the Tigris but at a considerable distance, were more naked, even in ancient times, than those of Kurdistan and Armenia. From one side of the plain to the other there were no trees but the palm and the poplar from which timbers of any length could be cut. The soft and fibrous date-palm furnishes one of the worst kinds of wood in the world; the poplar, though more useful, is not much less brittle and light. From materials like these no system of carpentry could be developed that should allow great spaces to be covered and great heights to be reached. When Nineveh and, after her, Babylon, had conquered all Western Asia, she drew, like Egypt before her, upon the forests of Lebanon. There she obtained the beams and planks for the ceilings and doors of her sumptuous palaces.[145] The employment, however, of these excellent woods must always have been rare and exceptional. Moreover, other habits had become confirmed. When these new resources were put at the disposition of architecture, the art was too old and too closely wedded to its traditional methods to accept their aid. In the use of wood, as in that of brick, Assyria neglected to make the best of the advantages assured to her by her situation and her natural products. If Chaldæa was ill-provided with stone and timber, she had every facility for procuring the useful and precious metals. They were not, of course, to be found in her alluvial plains, but metals are easy of transport, especially to a country whose commerce has the command of navigable highways. The industrial centres in which they are manufactured are often separated by great distances from the regions where they are won from the earth. But to procure the more indispensable among them the dwellers upon the Tigris and Euphrates had no great distance to cover. The southern slopes of Zagros, three or four days' journey from Nineveh, furnished iron, copper, lead, and silver in abundance. Mines are still worked in Kurdistan, or, at least, have been worked in very recent times, which supply these metals in abundance. The traces of abandoned workings may be recognized even by the hasty and unlearned traveller, and a skilful engineer would, no doubt, make further discoveries.[146] Mr. Layard was unable to learn that any gold had been won in our days; but from objects found in the excavations, from inscriptions in which the Assyrians boast of their wealth and prodigality, from Egyptian texts in which the details of tributes paid by the Roten-nou, that is by the people of Syria and Mesopotamia, are given, it is clear that in the great days of Nineveh and Babylon those capitals possessed a vast quantity of gold, and employed it in a host of different ways. In the course of several centuries of war, victory, and pillage, princes, officers, and soldiers had amassed enormous wealth by the simple process of stripping the nations of Western Asia of every object of value they possessed. These accumulations were continually added to, in the case of Babylon, by the active commerce she carried on with the mineral-producing countries, such as the Caucasus, Bactriana, India, and Egypt. There are some architectures--that of the Greeks for example--that preserve a rare nobility even when deprived of their metal ornaments and polychromatic decoration. The architects of Babylon and Nineveh were differently situated. Deprived of metals some of their finest effects would have been impossible. The latter could be used at will in flexible threads or long, narrow bands, which could be nailed or riveted on to wood or brick. They may be beaten with the hammer, shaped by the chisel, or engraved by the burin; their surfaces may be either dead or polished; the variety of shades of which they are capable, and the brilliance of their reflections, are among the most valuable resources of the decorator, and the colouring principles they contain provide the painter and enameller with some of his richest and most solid tones. In Chaldæa the architect was condemned by the _force majeure_ of circumstances to employ little more than crude or burnt brick and bad timber; in Assyria he voluntarily condemned himself to the limitations they imposed. By the skilful and intelligent use of metals, he managed to overcome the resulting disadvantages in some degree, and to mask under a sumptuous decoration of gold, silver, and bronze, the deficiencies inherent in the material of which his buildings were mainly composed. NOTES: [127] G. CURTIUS is of opinion that the word keramos, and consequently its derivatives (kerameus, kerameia, kerameikê, &c.,) springs rather from a root CRA, expressive of the idea to _cook_, than from the word kerannumi, to mix, knead (_Grundzüge der Griechischen Etymologie_, p. 147, 5th edition). [128] See _Nahum_ iii. 14. [129] Even these dimensions were sometimes passed. The Louvre possesses an Assyrian brick rather more than 17-1/2 inches square. See DE LONGPERIER, _Notice des Antiquités Assyriennes_ (3rd edition, 1854, 12mo), No. 44. [130] VITRUVIUS, 1. ii. ch. 3. [131] PLACE, _Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol. i. p. 225. The vault of the gallery discovered by LAYARD in the centre of the tower that occupied a part of the mound of Nimroud was constructed in the same fashion. _Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon_, p. 126. [132] PLACE, _Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol. i. pp. 211-224. [133] _Genesis_ xi. 3. [134] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 506 and 531. [135] See, for Chaldæa, LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, p. 133; and for Assyria, PLACE, _Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol. i. p. 250, and vol. ii. plates 38 and 39. As an example of the varieties of section presented by these bricks, we may cite those found by M. de Sarzec in the ruins of Tello, which belonged to a circular pillar. This pillar was composed of circular bricks, placed in horizontal courses round a centre of the same material. Elsewhere triangular bricks, which must have formed the angles of buildings have been found. TAYLOR, _Notes on the Ruins of Mugheir_ (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 266). At Abou-Sharein, this same traveller found convex-sided bricks (_Journal_, &c., vol. xv. p. 409). [136] PLACE, _Ninive_, &c., vol. i. p. 233. [137] Some of these fragments are in the Louvre. They are placed on the ground in the Assyrian Gallery. Their forms are too irregular to be fitted for reproduction here. But for the hollow in question, one might suppose them to be mere shapeless boulders. LAYARD noticed similar remains among the ruins of Babylon, _Discoveries_, &c., p. 528. [138] M. OPPERT is even inclined to think that some of them came from the peninsula of Sinai and the eastern shores of Egypt (_Revue Archéologique_, vol. xlii. p. 272). The formation of the Arabian hills is not yet very well known, and we are not in a position to say for certain whence these rocks may have come. It seems probable however, that they might have been obtained from certain districts of Arabia, from which they could be carried without too great an effort to within reach of the canals fed by the Euphrates, or of some port trading with the Persian Gulf. [139] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, &c., p. 528. [140] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 116. [141] HERODOTUS, i. 186. DIODORUS (ii. viii. 2), quoting Ctesias, speaks in almost the same terms of this stone bridge, which he attributes to Semiramis. [142] BOTTA, _Monuments de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 3. [143] In the valley of the Khabour, the chief affluent of the Euphrates, LAYARD found volcanoes whose activity seemed only to have been extinguished at a very recent epoch. Long streams of lava projected from their sides into the plain. _Discoveries_, p. 307. [144] As for the simple and rapid nature of the process by which crude bricks are manufactured to the present day in Persia, see TEXIER, _L'Arménie et la Perse_, vol. ii. p. 64. [145] As to the employment in Assyria of cedar from the Lebanon, see FRANÇOIS LENORMANT, _Histoire Ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 191, and an inscription of Sennacherib, translated by OPPERT, _Les Sargonides_, pp. 52, 53. Its use in Babylon is proved by several passages of the great text known as the _Inscription of London_, in which Nebuchadnezzar recounts the great works he had caused to be carried out in his capital (LENORMANT, _Histoire_, vol. ii. pp. 228 and 233). We find this phrase among others, "I used in the chamber of oracles the largest of the trees transported from the summits of Lebanon." LAYARD (_Discoveries_, pp. 356-7) tells us that one evening during the Nimroud excavations, his labourers lighted a fire to dry themselves after a storm, which they fed with timbers taken from the ruins. The smell of burning cedar, a perfume which so many Greek and Latin poets have praised (_urit odoratam nocturna in lumina cedrum_, VIRGIL, _Æneid_, vii. 13), apprised him of what was going on. In the British Museum (Nimroud Gallery, Case A), fragments of recovered joists may be seen. They are in such good preservation that they might be shaped and polished anew, so as to again bring out the markings and the fine dark-yellow tone which contributed not a little to make the wood so precious. It was sought both for its agreeable appearance and its known solidity; and experience has proved that the popular opinion which declared it incorruptible had some foundation. [146] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. p. 223, and vol. ii. pp. 415-418. § 2.--_The General Principles of Form._ If in our fancy we strip the buildings of Chaldæa and Assyria of all their accessories, if we take from them their surface ornament and the salience of their roofs, the bare edifice that remains is what geometricians call a _rectangular parallelopiped_. Of all the types created by this architecture, the only one of which we still possess a few fairly well preserved examples is that of the palace. It is therefore the best known of them all, and the first to excite attention and study. Now, upon the artificial mound, the wide terrace, over which its imposing mass is spread, the palace may be likened to a huge box whose faces are all either horizontal or vertical (Plate V.). Even in the many-storied temples, whose general aspect is modified of course to a great extent by their height, the same element may be traced. We have endeavoured to restore some of these by collating the descriptions of the ancient writers with the remains that still exist in many parts of Mesopotamia (Plates II., III., and IV.). Their general form may be described as the box to which we have compared the palace repeated several times in vertical succession, each box being rather smaller than the one below it. By these means their builders proposed to give them an elevation approaching the marvellous. The system was in some respects similar to that of the pyramid, but the re-entering angles at each story gave them a very different appearance, at least to one regarding them from a short distance. Only now and then do we find any inclination like that of the sides of a pyramid, and in those cases it applies to bases alone (Plate IV.). As a rule the walls or external surfaces are perpendicular to their foundations. We may, perhaps, explain the complete absence from Chaldæa of a system of construction that was so universal in Egypt by the differences of climate and of the materials used. Doubtless it rains less in Mesopotamia than even in Italy or Greece. But rain is not, as in Upper Egypt, an almost unknown phenomenon. The changes of the seasons are ushered in by storms of rain that amount to little less than deluges.[147] Upon sloping walls of dressed stone these torrents could beat without causing any great damage, but where brick was used the inconveniences of such a slope would soon be felt. Water does not fall so fast upon a slope as upon a perpendicular wall, and a surface made up of comparatively thin bricks has many more joints than one in which stones of any considerable size are employed. As a rule the external faces of all important buildings were revetted with very hard and well burnt bricks. But the rain, driven by the wind, might easily penetrate through the joints and spread at will through the core of mere sun-dried bricks within. The verticality of Assyrian and Chaldæan walls was necessary, therefore, for their preservation. Without it the thin covering of burnt brick would have been unable to do its proper work of protecting the softer material within, and the sudden storms by which the plains were now and again half drowned, would have been far more hurtful than they were. The Chaldæan palace, like the Egyptian temple, sought mainly for lateral development. Its extent far surpassed its elevation, and horizontal lines predominated in its general physiognomy. There was here a latent harmony between the architecture of nature and that of man, between the great plains of Mesopotamia, with their distant horizons, and the long walls, broken only by their crenellated summits, of the temples and palaces. There must, however, have been a certain want of relief, of visibility, in edifices conceived on such lines and built in such a country. This latter defect was obvious to the Mesopotamians themselves, who raised the dwellings of their gods and kings upon an artificial mound with a carefully paved summit.[148] Upon this summit the structure properly speaking rested, so that, in Chaldæa, the foundations of a great building instead of being, as elsewhere, sunk beneath the soil, stand so high above it that the ground line of the palace or temple to which they belong rises above the plain to a height that leaves the roofs of ordinary houses and even the summits of the tallest palms far below. This arrangement gave a clearer salience and a more imposing mass to structures which would otherwise, on account of their monotony of line and the vast excess of their horizontal over their vertical development, have had but little effect. [Illustration: FIG. 34.--Temple; from a Kouyundjik bas-relief. Rawlinson, vol. i. p. 314.] Such an arrangement would appear superfluous in the case of those towers in the shape of stepped pyramids, whose summits could be carried above the plain to any fanciful height by the simple process of adding story to story. But the Mesopotamian constructor went upon the same system as in the case of his palaces. It was well in any case to interpose a dense, firm, and dry mass between the wet and often shifting soil and the building, and to afford a base which by its size and solidity should protect the great accumulation of material that was to be placed upon it from injury through any settling in the foundations. Moreover, the paved esplanade had its place in the general economy. It formed a spacious court about the temple, a sacred _temenos_ as the Greeks would have called it, a _haram_ as a modern Oriental would say. It could be peopled with statues and decorated with mystic emblems; religious processions could be marshalled within its bounds. [Illustration: FIG. 35.--Tell-Ede, in Lower Chaldæa. From Rawlinson's _Five Great Monarchies_.] The general, we may almost say the invariable, rule in Mesopotamia was that every structure of a certain importance should be thus borne on an artificial hill. An examination of the ruins themselves and of the monuments figured upon the bas-reliefs shows us that these substructures did not always have the same form. Their faces were sometimes vertical, sometimes inclined; sometimes again they presented a gentle outward curve (see Fig. 34); but these purely external differences did not affect the principle. In all the river basins of Mesopotamia, whether of the Euphrates, the Tigris, or the smallest affluents of the Persian Gulf, whenever you see one of these _tells_, or isolated mounds, standing above the general surface of the plain, you may be sure that if you drive a trench into it you will come upon those courses of crude brick that proclaim its artificial origin. Rounded by natural disintegration and scarred by the rain torrents, such a hillock is apt to deceive the thoughtless or ignorant traveller, but an instructed explorer knows at a glance that many centuries ago it bore on its summit a temple, a fortress, or some royal or lordly habitation (Fig. 35). The distinguishing feature of the staged towers is their striving after the greatest possible elevation. It is true that neither from Herodotus nor Diodorus do we get any definite statements as to the height of the most famous of these monuments, the temple of Belus at Babylon;[149] Strabo alone talks of a stade (616 feet), and it may be asked on what authority he gives that measurement, which has been freely treated as an exaggeration. In any case we may test it to a certain extent by examining the largest and best preserved of the artificial hills of which we have spoken,[150] and we must remember that all the writers of antiquity are unanimous in asserting its prodigious height.[151] We run small risk of exaggeration, therefore, in saying that some of these Chaldæan temples were much taller than the highest of the Gizeh Pyramids. Their general physiognomy was the reverse of that of the Mesopotamian palaces, but it was no less the result of the natural configuration of the country. Their architect sought to find his effect in contrast; he endeavoured to impress the spectator by the strong, not to say violent, opposition between their soaring lines and the infinite horizon of the plain. Such towers erected in a hilly country like Greece would have looked much smaller. There, they would have had for close neighbours sometimes high mountains and always boldly contoured hills and rocks; however far up into the skies their summits might be carried, they would still be dominated on one side or the other. Involuntarily the eye demands from nature the same scale of proportions as are suggested by the works of man. Where these are chiefly remarkable for their height, much of their effect will be destroyed by the proximity of such hills as Acrocorinthus or Lycabettus, to say nothing of Taygetus or Parnassus. It is quite otherwise when the surface of the country stretches away on every side with the continuity and flatness of a lake. In these days none of the great buildings to which we have been alluding have preserved more than a half of their original height;[152] all that remains is a formless mass encumbered with heaps of _débris_ at its foot, and yet, as every traveller in the country has remarked, these ruined monuments have an extraordinary effect upon the general appearance of the country. They give an impression of far greater height than they really possess (Fig. 36). At certain hours of the day, we are told, this illusion is very strong: in the early morning when the base of the mound is lost in circling vapours and its summit alone stands up into the clear sky above and receives the first rays of the sun; and in the evening, when the whole mass rises in solid shadow against the red and gold of the western sky. At these times it is easy to comprehend the ideas by which the Chaldæan architect was animated when he created the type of these many-storied towers and scattered them with such profusion over the whole face of the country. The chief want of his land was the picturesque variety given by accidents of the ground to its nearest neighbours, a want he endeavoured to conceal by substituting these pyramidal temples, these lofty pagodas, as we are tempted to call them, for the gentle slopes and craggy peaks that are so plentiful beyond the borders of Chaldæa. By their conspicuous elevation, and the enormous expenditure of labour they implied, they were meant to break the uniformity of the great plains that lay about them; at the same time, they would astonish contemporary travellers and even that remote posterity for whom no more than a shapeless heap of ruins would be left. They would do more than all the writings of all the historians to celebrate the power and genius of the race that dared thus to correct and complete the work of nature. [Illustration: FIG. 36.--Haman, in Lower Chaldæa. From Loftus.] When the king and his architect had finished one of these structures, they might calculate upon an infinite duration for it without any great presumption, and that partly because Chaldæan art, even when most ambitious and enterprising, never made use of any but the simplest means. The arch was in more frequent use than in Egypt, but it hardly seems to have been employed in buildings to which any great height was to be given. Scarcely a trace of it is to be discovered either in the parts preserved of these structures or in their sculptured representations. None of those light and graceful methods of construction that charm and excite the eye, but must be paid for by a certain loss of stability, are to be found here. Straight lines are the inflexible rule. The few arches that may be discovered in the interior exercise no thrust, surrounded as they are on every side by weighty masses. In theory the equilibrium is perfect; and if, as the event has proved, the conditions of stability, or at least of duration, were less favourable than in the pyramids at Memphis or in the temples at Thebes, the fault lies with the inherent vices of the material used and with the comparatively unfavourable climate. * * * * * In the absence of stone the Chaldæan builder was shut off from many of the most convenient methods of covering, and therefore of multiplying, voids. Speaking generally, we may say that he employed neither _piers_, nor _columns_, nor those beams of limestone, sandstone, or granite, which we know as _architraves_; he was, therefore, ignorant of the _portico_, and never found himself driven by artistic necessities to those ingenious, delicate, and learned efforts of invention by which the Egyptians and Greeks arrived at what we call _orders_. This term is well understood. By it we mean supports of which the principal parts, base, shaft, and capital, have certain constant and closely defined mutual relations. Like a zoological species, each order has a distinctive character and personal physiognomy of its own. An art that is deprived of such a resource is condemned to a real inferiority. It may cover every surface with the luxury of a sumptuous decoration, but, in spite of all its efforts, a secret poverty, a want of genius and invention, will be visible in its creations. The varied arrangements of the portico suggested the _hypostyle hall_, with all the picturesque developments it has undergone at the hands of the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, and the people of modern Europe. In their ignorance of the pier and column, the Chaldæans were unable to give their buildings those spacious galleries and chambers which delight the eye while they diminish the actual mass of a building. Their towers were artificial mountains, almost as solid and massive from base to summit as the natural hills from which their lines were taken.[153] A few small apartments were contrived within them, near their outer edges, that might fairly be compared to caves hollowed in the face of a cliff. The weight upon the lower stories and the substructure was therefore enormous, even to the point of threatening destruction by sheer pulverisation. The whole interior was composed of crude brick, and if, as is generally supposed, those bricks were put in place before the process of desiccation was complete, the shrinkage resulting from its continuance must have had a bad effect upon the structure as a whole, especially as the position of the courses and the more or less favourable aspects of the different external faces must have caused a certain inequality in the rate at which that operation went on. The resistance would not be the same at all points, and settlements would occur by which the equilibrium of the upper stages might be compromised and the destruction of the whole building prepared. Another danger lay in the violence of the sudden storms and the diluvial character of the winter rains. Doubtless the outsides of the walls were faced with well burnt bricks, carefully set, and often coated with an impenetrable enamel; but an inclined plane of a more or less gentle gradient wound from base to summit to give access to the latter. When a storm burst upon one of these towers, this plane became in a moment the bed of a torrent, for its outer edge would, of course, be protected by a low wall. The water would pour like a river over the sloping pavement and strike violently against each angle. Whether it were allowed to flow over the edges of the inclined plane or, as seems more probable, directed in its course so as to sweep it from top to bottom, it must in either case have caused damage requiring continual watchfulness and frequent repairs. If this watchfulness were remitted for an instant, some of the external burnt and enamelled bricks might become detached and leave a gap through which the water could penetrate to the soft core within, and set up a process of disintegration which would become more actively mischievous with every year that passed. The present appearance of these ruins is thus, to a great extent, to be explained. Travellers in the country agree in describing them as irregular mounds, deeply seamed by the rains; and the sides against which the storms and waterspouts that devastate Mesopotamia would chiefly spend their force are those on which the damage is most conspicuous (see Fig. 37). Even in antique times these buildings had suffered greatly. In Egypt, when the supreme power had passed, after one of those periods of decay that were by no means infrequent in her long career, into the hands of an energetic race of princes like those of the eighteenth or twenty-sixth dynasties, all traces of damage done to the public monuments by neglect or violence were rapidly effaced. The pyramids could take care of themselves. They had seen the plains at their feet covered again and again with hordes of barbarians, and yet had lost not an inch of their height or a stone of their polished cuirass. Even in the temples the setting up of a few fallen columns, the reworking of a few bas-reliefs, the restoration of a painting here and there, was all that was necessary to bring back their former splendour. [Illustration: FIG. 37.--Babil, at Babylon. From Oppert.] In Chaldæa the work undertaken by Nabopolassar and his dynasty was far more arduous. He had to rebuild nearly all the civil and religious buildings from their foundations, to undertake, as we know from more than one text, a general reconstruction.[154] A new Babylon was reared from the ground. Little of her former monuments remained but their foundations and materials. Temples richer than the first rose upon the lofty mounds, and, for the sake of speed, were often built of the old bricks, upon which appeared the names of forgotten kings. Nothing was neglected, no expense was spared by which the solidity of the new buildings could be increased, and yet, five or six centuries afterwards, nothing was left but ruins. Herodotus seems to have seen the great temple of Bel while it was still practically intact, but Diodorus speaks of it as an edifice "which time had caused to fall,"[155] and he adds that "writers are not in accord in what they say about this temple, so that it is impossible for us to make sure what its real dimensions were." It would seem, therefore, that the upper stories had fallen long before the age of Augustus. Even Ctesias, perhaps, who is Diodorus's constant guide in all that he writes on the subject of Chaldæa and Assyria, never saw the monument in its integrity. In any case, the building was a complete ruin in the time of Strabo. "The tomb of Belus," says that accurate and well-informed geographer, "is now destroyed."[156] Strabo, like Diodorus, attributes the destruction of these buildings partly to time, partly to the avenging violence of the Persians, who, irritated by the never-ending revolts of Babylon, ruined the proudest and most famous of her temples as a punishment. That the sanctuary was pillaged by the Persians under Xerxes, as Strabo affirms, is probable enough, but we have some difficulty in believing that they troubled themselves to destroy the building itself.[157] The effort would have been too great, and, in view of the slow but sure action of the elements upon its substance, it would have been labour thrown away. The destruction of an Egyptian monument required a desperate and long continued attack, it had to be deliberately murdered, if we may use such a phrase, but the buildings of Mesopotamia, with their thin cuirasses of burnt brick and their soft bodies, required the care of an architect to keep them standing, we might say of a doctor to keep them alive, to watch over them day by day, and to stop every wound through which the weather could reach their vulnerable parts. Abandoned to themselves they would soon have died, and died natural deaths. Materials and a system of construction such as those we have described could only result, in a close style of architecture, in a style in which the voids bore but a very small proportion to the solids. And such a style was well suited to the climate. In the long and burning summers of Mesopotamia the inhabitants freely exchanged light for coolness. With few and narrow openings and thick walls the temperature of their dwellings could be kept far lower than that of the torrid atmosphere without.[158] Thus we find in the Ninevite palaces outer walls of from fifteen to five-and-twenty feet in thickness. It would have been very difficult to contrive windows through such masses as that, and they would when made have given but a feeble light. The difficulty was frankly met by discarding the use of any openings but the doors and skylights cut in the roofs. The window proper was almost unknown. We can hardly point to an instance of its use, either among Assyrian or Chaldæan remains, or in the representations of them in the bas-reliefs. Here and there we find openings in the upper stories of towers, but they are loop-holes rather than windows (Fig. 38).[159] [Illustration: FIG. 38.--A Fortress. From Layard.] At first we are inclined to pity kings shut up within such blind walls as these. But we must not be betrayed into believing that they took no measures to enjoy the evening breeze, or to cast their eyes over the broad plains at their feet, over the cities that lay under the shadows of the lofty mounds upon which their palaces were built. At certain times of the year and day they would retire within the shelter of their thickest walls and roofs; just as at the present moment the inhabitants of Mossoul, Bassorah, and Bagdad, take refuge within their _serdabs_ as soon as the sun is a little high in the heavens, and stay there until the approach of evening.[160] When the heat was less suffocating the courtyards would be pleasant, with their encircling porticoes sustaining a light covering inclined towards the centre, an arrangement required by the climate, and one which is to be found both at Pompeii and in the Arab houses of Damascus, and is sure to have been adopted by the inhabitants of ancient Chaldæa. Additional space was given by the wide esplanades in front of the doors, and by the flat roofs, upon which sleep was often more successfully wooed than in the rooms below. And sometimes the pleasures given by refreshing breezes, cool shadows, and a distant prospect could be all enjoyed together, for in a certain bas-relief that seems to represent one of those great buildings of which we possess the ruins, we see an open arcade--a _loggia_ as it would be called in Italy--rise above the roof for the whole length of the façade (Fig. 39).[161] There are houses in the neighbourhood of Mossoul in which a similar arrangement is to be met with, as we may see from Mr. Layard's sketch of a house in a village of Kurdistan inhabited by Nestorians (Fig. 40). It includes a modified kind of portico, the pillars of which are suggested or rather demanded by the necessity for supporting the ceiling. [Illustration: FIG. 39.--View of a Town and its Palaces. Kouyundjik. From Layard.] Supposing such an arrangement to have obtained in Mesopotamia, of what material were the piers or columns composed? Had they been of stone their remains would surely have been found among the ruins; but no such things have ever come to light, so we may conclude that they were of timber or brick; the roof, at least, must have been wood. The joints may have been covered with protecting plates of metal by which their duration was assured. We have a curious example of the use of these bronze sheaths in the remains of gilded palm-trees found by M. Place in front of the _harem_ at Khorsabad. He there encountered a cedar trunk lying upon the ground and incased in a brass coat on which all the roughnesses of cedar bark were imitated. The leaves of doors were also protected by metallic bands, which were often decorated with bas-reliefs. [Illustration: FIG. 40.--House in Kurdistan; from Layard.] Must we conclude that stone columns were unknown in Chaldæa and Assyria? As for Chaldæa, we have no positive information in the matter, but we know that she had no building stone of her own. The Chaldæan sculptor might indeed import a few blocks of diorite or basalt, either from Arabia, Egypt, or the valleys of Mount Zagros, for use in statues which would justify such expense; but the architect must have been restricted to the use of material close at hand. In Assyria limestone was always within reach, and yet the Assyrians never succeeded in freeing themselves from traditional methods sufficiently to make the column play a part similar to that assigned to it by the peoples of Egypt and Greece. Their habits, and especially the habit of respect for the practices and traditions of Chaldæa, were too strong for them. Their use of the column, though often tasteful and happy, is never without a certain timidity. One is inclined to think they had an inkling of the possibilities latent in it, but that they lacked the courage necessary to give it full play in the interiors and upon the façades of their large palaces and towers. In the bas-reliefs we find columns used in the kiosques built upon the river banks (Fig. 41), and in the pavilions or chapels studded over the royal gardens (Fig. 42). The excavations, moreover, have yielded pedestals and capitals which, rare as they are, have a double claim to our regard. The situations in which they have been discovered seem to show that columns were sometimes used in front of doorways, to support porches or covered ways extending to the full limits of the esplanade; secondly, their forms themselves are interesting. Close study will convince us that, when copied by neighbouring peoples who made frequent and general use of stone supports, they might well have exercised an influence that was felt as far as the Ægæan, and had something to do with one of the fairest creations of Greek art. We thus catch side glimpses of the column, as it were, in small buildings, in the porches before the principal doors of palaces, and in the open galleries with which some of the latter buildings were crowned (Fig. 39). In all these cases it is nothing but a more or less elegant accessory; we might if we pleased give a sufficiently full description of Mesopotamian architecture without hinting at its existence. [Illustration: FIG. 41.--Temple on the bank of a river, Khorsabad; from Botta.] We cannot say the same of the arch, which played a much more important _rôle_ than it did in Egypt. There it was banished, as we have seen, to the secondary parts of an edifice. It hardly entered into the composition of the nobler class of buildings; it was used mainly in store-rooms built near the temples, in the gateways through the outer walls of tombs, and in underground cellars and passages.[162] In Mesopotamia, on the other hand, the arch is one of the real constituent elements of the national architecture. [Illustration: FIG. 42.--Temple in a Royal Park, Kouyundjik; from the British Museum.] That the Chaldæan architects were early led to the invention of the arch is easily understood. They were unable to support the upper parts of their walls, their ceilings or their roofs, upon beams of stone or timber, and they had to devise some other means of arriving at the desired result. This means was not matured all at once. With most peoples the first stage consisted probably in those corbels or off-sets by which the width of the space to be covered was reduced course by course, till a junction was effected at the top; and sometimes this early stage may have been dispensed with. In some cases, the workman who had to cover a narrow void with small units of construction may, in trying them in various positions and combinations, have hit upon the real principle of the arch. This principle must everywhere have been discovered more or less accidentally; in one place the accident may have come sooner than in another, and here it may have been turned to more profit than there. We shall have to describe and explain these differences at each stage of our journey through the art history of antiquity, but we may at once state the general law that our studies and comparisons will bring to light. The arch was soonest discovered and most invariably employed by those builders who found themselves condemned, by the geological formation of their country, to the employment of the smallest units. The Chaldæans were among those builders, and they made frequent use of the arch. They built no long arcades with piers or columns for supports, like those of the Romans, and that simply because such structures would have been contrary to the general principles of their architecture. They made no use, as we have already explained, of those isolated supports whose employment resulted in the hypostyle halls of Egypt and Persia, in the naves of Greek temples and Latin basilicas. The want of stone put any such arrangement out of the question. We have, then, no reason to believe that their arches ever rested upon piers or upon the solid parts of walls freely pierced for the admission of light. The type from which the modern east has evolved so many fine mosques and churches was unknown in Chaldæa. In every building of which we possess either the remains or the figured representation the archivolts rest upon thick and solid walls. Under these conditions the vault was supreme in certain parts of the building. Its use was there so constant as to have almost the character of an unvarying law. Every palace was pierced in its substructure by drains that carried the rain water and the general waste from the large population by which it was inhabited down into the neighbouring river, and nearly all these drains were vaulted. And it must not be supposed that the architect deliberately hid his vaults and arches, or that he only used them in those parts of his buildings where they were concealed and lost in their surroundings; they occur, also, upon the most careful and elaborate façades. The gates of cities, of palaces and temples, of most buildings, in fact, that have any monumental character, are crowned by an arch, the curve of which is accentuated by a brilliantly coloured soffit. This arch is continued as a barrel vault for the whole length of the passage leading into the interior, and these passages are sometimes very long. Vaults would also, in all probability, have been found over those narrow chambers that are so numerous in Assyrian palaces were it not for the universal ruin that has overtaken their superstructures. Finally, certain square rooms have been discovered which must have been covered with vaults in the shape of more or less flattened domes. [Illustration: FIG. 43.--View of a group of buildings; Kouyundjik; from Layard.] We must here call attention to the importance of a bas-relief belonging to the curious series of carved pictures in which Sennacherib caused the erection of his palace at Nineveh to be commemorated. Look well at this group of buildings, which seems to rise upon a platform at the foot of a hill shaded with cypresses and fruit-laden vines (see Fig. 43). The buildings on the right have flat roofs, those on the left, and they seem the most important, have, some hemispherical cupolas, and some tall domes approaching cones in shape. These same forms are still in use over all that country, not only for public buildings like baths and mosques, but even here and there for the humblest domestic structures. Travellers have been often surprised at encountering, in many of the villages of Upper Syria and Mesopotamia, peasants' houses with sugar-loaf roofs like these.[163] We need not here go further into details upon this point. In these general and introductory remarks we have endeavoured to point out as concisely as possible how the salient characteristics of Assyrian architecture are to be explained by the configuration of the country, by the nature of the materials at hand, and by the climate with which the architect had to reckon. It was to these conditions that the originality of the system was due; that the solids were so greatly in excess over the voids, and the lateral over the vertical measurements of a building. In this latter respect the buildings of Mesopotamia leave those of all other countries, even of Egypt, far behind. They were carried, too, to an extraordinary height without any effort to give the upper part greater lightness than the substructure; both were equally solid and massive. Finally, the nature of the elements of which Mesopotamian architects could dispose was such that the desire for elegance and beauty had to be satisfied by a superficial system of decoration, by paint and carved slabs laid on to the surface of the walls. Beauty unadorned was beyond their reach, and their works may be compared to women whose attractions lie in the richness of their dress and the multitude of their jewels. NOTES: [147] OPPERT (_Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. p. 86) gives a description of one of these storms that he encountered in the neighbourhood of Bagdad on the 26th of May. [148] LAYARD, _Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. ii. p. 119. When one of these mounds is attacked from the top, the excavators must work downwards until they come to this paved platform. As soon as it is reached no greater depth need be attempted; all attention is then given to driving lateral trenches in every direction. In Assyria the mass of crude bricks sometimes rests upon a core of rock which has been utilized to save time and labour (LAYARD, _Discoveries_, &c., p. 219). [149] See HERODOTUS, i. 181-184; and DIODORUS, ii. 9. [150] By such means M. OPPERT arrives at a height of 250 Babylonian feet, or about 262 feet English for the monument now represented by the mound in the neighbourhood of Babylon known as Birs-Nimroud. _Expédition scientifique de Mésopotamie_, vol. i. pp. 205-209, and plate 8. [151] Homologeitai d' hupsêlon gegenêsthai kath' huperbolên.--DIODORUS, ii. 9, 4. [152] The mound called Babil on the site of Babylon (Plate I. and Fig. 37) is now about 135 feet high, but the Birs-Nimroud, the highest of these ruins, has still an elevation of not less than 220 feet (LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 495). [153] See LAYARD'S account of his excavation in the interior of the pyramidal ruin occupying a part of the platform which now surmounts the mound of Nimroud. From two sides trenches were cut to the centre; neither of them encountered a void of any kind (_Nineveh and its Remains_, vol. ii. p. 107). At a later period further trenches were cut and the rest of the building explored (_Discoveries_, pp. 123-129). The only void of which any trace could be found was a narrow, vaulted gallery, about 100 feet long, 6 wide, and 12 high. It was closed at both ends, and appeared never to have had any means of access from without. [154] See LENORMANT, _Histoire Ancienne_, vol. ii. pp. 228 and 233. Translations of several texts in which these restorations are spoken of are here given. [155] tou kataskeuasmatos dia tou chronou diapeptôkotos (ii. 9, 4). [156] STRABO, xvi. 5. [157] DIODORUS, after describing the treasures of the temple, confines himself to saying generally, "all this was afterwards spoiled by the king of Persia" (ii. 9, 19). [158] According to the personal experience of M. Place, the ancient arrangements were more suited to the climate of this country than the modern ones that have taken their place. The overpowering heat from which the inhabitants of modern Mossoul suffer so greatly is largely owing to the unintelligent employment of stone and plaster in the construction of dwellings. During his stay in that town the thermometer sometimes rose, in his apartments, to 51° Centigrade (90° Fahrenheit). The mean temperature of a summer's day was from 40° to 42° Centigrade (from 72° to about 76° Fahrenheit). [159] See LAYARD, _Monuments of Nineveh_, 2nd series, plates 21 and 40. [160] The _serdab_ is a kind of cellar, the walls and floor of which are drenched periodically with water, which, by its evaporation, lowers the temperature by several degrees. [161] The town represented on the sculptured slab here reproduced is not Assyrian but Phoenician; it affords data, however, which may be legitimately used in the restoration of the upper part of an Assyrian palace. We can hardly believe that the Mesopotamian artists, in illustrating the wars of the Assyrian kings, copied servilely the real features of the conquered towns. They had no sketches by "special artists" to guide their chisels. They were told that a successful campaign had been fought in the marshes of the lower Euphrates, or in some country covered with forests of date trees, and these they had no difficulty in representing because they had examples before their eyes; so too, when buildings were in question, we may fairly conclude that they borrowed their motives from the architecture with which they were familiar. [162] See the _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. pp. 77-84. [163] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 112; GEO. SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, p. 341. § 3.--_Construction._ As might have been expected nothing that can be called a structure of dressed stone has been discovered in Chaldæa;[164] in Assyria alone have some examples been found. Of these the most interesting, and the most carefully studied and described are the walls of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad. Even there stone was only employed to case the walls in which the mound was inclosed--a cuirass of large blocks carefully dressed and fixed seemed to give solidity to the mass, and at the same time we know by the arrangement of the blocks that the outward appearance of the wall was by no means lost sight of. All those of a single course were of one height but of different depths and widths, and the arrangement followed a regular order like that shown in Fig. 46. Their external face was carefully dressed.[165] [Illustration: FIG. 44.--Plan of angle, Khorsabad; from Place.] [Illustration: FIG. 45.--Section of wall through AB in Fig. 44; from Place.] The courses consist, on plan, of "stretchers" and "headers." We borrow from Place the plan of an angle (Fig. 44), a section (Fig. 45), and an elevation (Fig. 46). Courses are always horizontal and joints properly bound. The freestone blocks at the foot of the wall are very large. The stretchers are six feet eight inches thick, the same wide, and nine feet long. They weigh about twenty-three tons. It is astonishing to find the Assyrians, who were very rapid builders, choosing such heavy and unmanageable materials. The supporting wall became gradually thinner towards the top, each course being slightly set back from the one below it on the inner face (see Fig. 45). This arrangement is general with these retaining-walls. The average diminution is from seven to ten feet at the base, to from three to six at the top. The constructor showed no less skill in the use he made of his stretchers and headers. They not only gave him an opportunity of safely diminishing the weight of his structure and economising his materials, they afforded a ready means of adapting his wall exactly to the work it had to do. The headers penetrated farther into the crude mass within than the stretchers, and gave to the junction of the two surfaces a solidity similar to that derived by a wall from its through stones or perpenders. [Illustration: FIG. 46.--Elevation of wall, Khorsabad; from Place.] In describing this wall, M. Place also calls attention to the care with which the angles are built. "The first course," he says, "is composed of three 'headers' with their shortest side outwards and their length engaged in the mass behind. Two of these stones lie parallel to each other, the third crosses their inner extremities."[166] Thanks to this ingenious arrangement, the weakest and most exposed part of the wall is capable of resisting any attack. The surface in contact with the core of crude brick was only roughly dressed, by which means additional cohesion was given to the junction of the two materials; but the other sides were carefully worked and squared and fixed in place by simple juxtaposition. The architect calculated upon sufficient solidity being given by the mere weight of the stones and the perfection of their surfaces.[167] [Illustration: FIG. 47.--Section in perspective through the south-western part of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad; compiled from Place.] The total height of this Khorsabad wall was sixty feet--nine feet for the foundations, forty-six for the retaining-wall, and five for the parapet, for the wall did not stop at the level of the roofs. A row of battlements was thought necessary both as a slight fortification and as an ornament.[168] These were finished at the top with open crenellations in brick, along the base of which ran apparently a frieze of painted rosettes. A reference to our Fig. 47 will explain all these arrangements better than words. It is a bird's-eye view in perspective of the south-western part of the palace. The vertical sections on the right of the engraving show how the stones were bonded to the crude brick. The crenellations are omitted here, but they may be seen in place on the left. The great size of the stones and the regularity of the masonry, the height of the wall and the long line of battlements with which it was crowned, the contrast between the brilliant whiteness of its main surface and the bright colours of the painted frieze that, we have supposed, defined its summit--all this made up a composition simple enough, but by no means devoid of beauty and grandeur. In the _enceinte_ surrounding the town, stone was also employed, but in a rather different fashion. It was used to give strength to the foot of the wall, which consisted of a limestone plinth nearly four feet high, surmounted by a mass of crude brick, rising to a total height of about forty-four feet. Its thickness was eighty feet. The bed of stone upon which the brick rested was made up of two retaining walls with a core of rubble. In the former, large blocks, carefully dressed and fixed, were used; in the latter, pieces of broken stone thrown together pell-mell, except towards the top, where they were so placed as to present a smooth surface, upon which the first courses of brick could safely rest.[169] When Xenophon crossed Assyria with the "ten thousand," he noticed this method of constructing city walls, but in all the _enceintes_ that attracted his attention, the height of the plinth was much greater than that of Khorsabad. At Larissa it was twenty, and at Mespila fifty feet, or respectively a fifth and a third of the total height of the walls.[170] These figures can only be looked upon as approximate. The Greeks did not amuse themselves, we may be sure, with measuring the monuments they encountered on their march, even if Tissaphernes gave them time. But we may fairly conclude from this evidence that in some of the Assyrian town-walls the proportion between the plinth and the superstructure was very different from what it is in the only example that has come down to us. At Khorsabad, then, stone played a much more important part in the palace wall than in that of the town, but even in the latter position it is used with skill and in no inconsiderable quantity; on the other hand, it is only employed in the interior of the palace for paving, for lining walls, for the bases, shafts and capitals of columns, and such minor purposes. In the only palace that has been completely excavated, that of Sargon at Khorsabad, everything is built of brick. Layard alone speaks of a stone-built chamber in the palace of Sennacherib at Kouyundjik, but he gives no details. It would seem as if the Assyrians were content with showing themselves passed-masters in the art of dressing and fixing stone, and, that proof given, had never cared to make use of the material in the main structures of their buildings. Like the Chaldæans, they preferred brick, into the management of which, however, they introduced certain modifications of their own. The crude brick of Nineveh and its neighbourhood was used while damp, and, when put in place, did not greatly differ from pisé.[171] Spread out in wide horizontal courses, the slabs of soft clay adhered one to another by their plasticity, through the effect of the water with which they were impregnated and that of the pressure exercised by the courses above.[172] The building was thus, in effect, nothing but a single huge block. Take it as a whole, put aside certain parts, such as the doorways and drains, that were constructed on rather different principles, shut your eyes to the merely decorative additions, and you will have a huge mass of kneaded earth which might have been shaped by giants in a colossal mould. The masons of Babylon and of other southern cities made a much more extensive use of burnt brick than those of the north. In Assyria the masses of pisé have as a rule no other covering than the slabs of alabaster and limestone, and above, a thin layer of stucco. In Chaldæa the crude walls of the houses and towers were cuirassed with those excellent burnt bricks which the inhabitants of Bagdad and Hillah carry off to this day for use in their modern habitations.[173] The crude bricks used behind this protecting epidermis have not lost their individuality, as at Nineveh they seem to have been used only after complete dessication. They are of course much more friable than those burnt in the kiln; when they are deprived of their cuirass and exposed to the weather they return slowly to the condition of dust, and their remains are seen in the sloping mounds that hide the foot of every ancient ruin (see Fig. 48), and yet if you penetrate into the interior of a mass built of these bricks, you will easily distinguish the courses, and in some instances the bricks have sufficient solidity to allow of their being moved and detached one from another. They are, in fact, bricks, and not pisé. But in Chaldæa, as in Assyria, the mounds upon which the great buildings were raised are not always of crude brick. They are sometimes made by inclosing a large space by four brick walls, and filling it with earth and the various _débris_ left by previous buildings.[174] Our remarks upon construction must be understood as applying to the buildings themselves, and not to the artificial hills upon which they stood. [Illustration: FIG. 48.--Temple at Mugheir; from Loftus.] The Assyrians seem never to have used anything analogous to our mortar or cement in fixing their materials. On the comparatively rare occasions when they employed stone they were content with dressing their blocks with great care and putting them in absolute juxtaposition with one another. When they used crude brick, sufficient adherence was insured by the moisture left in the clay, and by its natural properties. Even when they used burnt or well dried bricks they took no great care to give them a cohesion that would last, ordinary clay mixed with water and a little straw, was their only cement.[175] Even in our own day the masons and bricklayers of Mossoul and Bagdad are content with the same simple materials, and their structures have no great solidity in consequence. In Chaldæa, at least in certain times and at certain places, construction was more careful. In the ruin known as _Babil_, a ruin that represents one of the principal monuments of ancient Babylon, there is nothing between the bricks but earth that must have been placed there in the condition of mud.[176] These bricks may be detached almost without effort. It is quite otherwise with the two other ruins in the same neighbourhood, called respectively _Kasr_ and _Birs-Nimroud_. Their bricks are held together by an excellent mortar of lime, and cannot be separated without breaking.[177] Elsewhere, at Mugheir for instance, the mortar is composed of lime and ashes.[178] [Illustration: PLATE I. BABYLON FROM AN UNPUBLISHED DRAWING BY FELIX THOMAS.] Finally, the soil of Mesopotamia furnished, and still furnishes, a kind of natural mortar in the bituminous fountains that spring through the soil at more than one point between Mossoul and Bagdad.[179] It is hardly ever used in these days except in boatbuilding, for coating the planks and caulking. In ancient times its employment was very general in the more carefully constructed buildings, and, as it was found neither in Greece nor Syria, it made a great impression upon travellers from those countries. They noted it as one of the characteristics of Chaldæan civilization. In the Biblical account of the Tower of Babel we are told: "They had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar."[180] Herodotus lays stress upon the same detail in his description of the way in which the walls of Babylon were built: "As they dug the ditches they converted the excavated earth into bricks, and when they had enough, they burnt them in the kiln. Finally, for mortar they used hot bitumen, and at every thirty courses of bricks they put a layer of reeds interlaced."[181] Those walls have long ago disappeared. For many centuries their ruins afforded building materials for the inhabitants of the cities that have succeeded each other upon and around the site of ancient Babylon, and now their lines are only to be faintly traced in slight undulations of the ground, which are here and there hardly distinguishable from the banks that bordered the canals. But in those deserts of Lower Chaldæa, where the nomad tent is now almost the only dwelling, structures have been found but little damaged, in which layers of reeds placed at certain intervals among the bricks may be easily distinguished. As a rule three or four layers are strewn one upon the other, the rushes in one being at right angles to those above and below it. Here and there the stalks may still be seen standing out from the wall.[182] Fragments of bitumen are everywhere to be picked up among the _débris_ about these buildings, upon which it must have been used for mortar. It never seems to have been employed, however, over the whole of a building, but only in those parts where more than the ordinary cohesive power was required. Thus, at Warka, in the ruin called _Bouvariia_, the buttresses that stand out from the main building are of large burnt bricks set in thick beds of bitumen, the whole forming such a solid body that a pickaxe has great difficulty in making any impression upon it.[183] Travellers have also found traces of the same use of bitumen in the ruins of Babylon. It seems to have been in less frequent employment in Assyria. It has there been found only under the two layers of bricks that constitute the ordinary pavement of roofs, courts, and chambers. The architect no doubt introduced this coat of asphalte for two purposes--partly to give solidity to the pavement, partly to keep down the wet and to force the water in the soil to flow off through its appointed channels. A layer of the same kind was also spread under the drains.[184] In spite of all their precautions time and experience compelled the inhabitants of Mesopotamia to recognize the danger of crude brick as a building material; they endeavoured, therefore, to supplement its strength with huge buttresses. Wherever the ruins have still preserved some of their shape, we can trace, almost without exception, the presence of these supports, and, as a rule, they are better and more carefully built than the structures whose walls they sustain. Their existence has been affirmed by every traveller who has explored the ruins of Chaldæa,[185] and in Assyria they are also to be found, especially in front of the fine retaining wall that helps to support the platform on which the palace of Sargon was built.[186] The architect counted upon the weight of his building, and upon these ponderous buttresses, to give it a firm foundation and to maintain the equilibrium of its materials. As a rule there were no foundations, as we understand the word. At _Abou-Sharein_, in Chaldæa, the monument described by Taylor and the brick pavement that surrounds it are both placed upon the sand.[187] Botta noticed something of the same kind in connection with the palace walls at Khorsabad: "They rest," he says, "upon the very bricks of the mound without the intervention of any plinth or other kind of solid foundation, so that here and there they have sunk below the original level of the platform upon which they are placed."[188] This was not due to negligence, for in other respects these structures betray a painstaking desire to insure the stability of the work, and no little skill in the selection of means. Thus the Chaldæan architect pierced his crude brick masses with numerous narrow tunnels, or ventilating pipes, through which the warm and desiccating air of a Mesopotamian summer could be brought into contact with every part, and the slight remains of moisture still left in the bricks when fixed could be gradually carried off. These shafts have been found in the ruins of Babylon and of other Chaldæan cities.[189] Nothing of the kind has been discovered in Assyria, and for a very simple reason. It would have been impossible to preserve them in the soft paste, the kind of pisé, we have described. Another thing that had to be carefully provided for was the discharge of the rain water which, unless it had proper channels of escape, would filter through the cracks and crevices of the brick and set up a rapid process of disintegration. In the Assyrian palaces we find, therefore, that the pavements of the flat roofs of the courtyards and open halls had a decided slope, and that the rain water was thus conducted to scuppers, through which it fell into runnels communicating with a main drain, from which it was finally discharged into the nearest river. It rained less in Chaldæa than in Assyria. But we may fairly conclude that the Chaldæan architects were as careful as their northern rivals to provide such safeguards as those we have described; but their buildings are now in such a condition that no definite traces of them are to be distinguished. On the other hand, the ruins in Lower Chaldæa prove that even in the most ancient times the constructor had then the same object in view; but the means of which he made use were much more simple, although contrived with no little ingenuity. We shall here epitomize what we have learnt from one of those few observers to whom we owe all our knowledge of the earliest Chaldæan civilization. Mr. J. E. Taylor, British vice-consul at Bassorah, explored not a few of the mounds in the immediate neighbourhood of the Persian Gulf which mark the sites of the burying places belonging to the most ancient cities of Chaldæa. The summits of these mounds are paved with burnt brick; their mass consists of heaped up coffins separated from one another by divisions of the same material. To insure the preservation of the bodies and of the objects buried with them liquids of every kind had to be provided with a ready means of escape. The structures were pierced, therefore, with a vast number of vertical drains. Long conduits of terra-cotta (see Fig. 49) stretched from the paved summit, upon which they opened with very narrow mouths, to the base. They were composed of tubes, each about two feet long and eighteen inches in diameter. In some cases there are as many as forty of these one upon another. They are held together by thin coats of bitumen, and in order to give them greater strength their sides are slightly concave. Their interiors are filled in with fragments of broken pottery, which gave considerable support while they in no way hindered the passage of the water. These potsherds are even placed around the outsides of the tubes, so that the latter are nowhere in contact with the brick; they have a certain amount of play, and with the tubes which they encase they form a series of shafts, like chimneys, measuring about four feet square. Every precaution was taken to carry off the water left by the storms. They were not contented with the small opening at the head of each tube. The whole of its dome-shaped top was pierced with small holes, that made it a kind of cullender. Either through this or through the interstices of the potsherd packing, all the moisture that escaped the central opening would find a safe passage to the level of the ground, whence, no doubt, it would be carried off to the streams in conduits now hidden by the mass of _débris_ round the foot of every mound. [Illustration: FIG. 49.--Upper part of the drainage arrangements of a mound.] That these arrangements were well adapted to their purpose has been proved by the result. Thanks to the drains we have described, these sepulchral mounds have remained perfectly dry to the present day. Not only the coffins, with the objects in metal or terra-cotta they contained, but even the skeletons themselves have been preserved intact. A touch will reduce the latter to powder, but on the first opening of their coffins they look as if time had had no effect upon their substance.[190] By these details we may see how far the art of the constructor was pushed in the early centuries of the Chaldæan monarchy. They excite a strong desire in us to discover the internal arrangements of his buildings, the method by which access was given or forbidden to those chambers of the Babylonian temples and houses whose magnificence has been celebrated by every writer that saw them before their ruin. Unhappily nothing has come down to us of the monuments of Chaldæa, and especially of those of Babylon, but their basements and the central masses of the staged towers. The Assyrian palaces are indeed in a better state of preservation, but even in their case we ask many questions to which no certain answer is forthcoming. The great difficulty in all our researches and attempts at restoration, is caused by the complete absence of any satisfactory evidence as to the nature of the roofs that covered rooms, either small or large. In most cases the walls are only standing to a height of from ten to fifteen feet;[191] in no instance has a wall with its summit still in place been discovered. The cut on the opposite page (Fig. 50) gives a fair idea of what a Ninevite building looks like after the excavators have finished their work. It is a view in perspective of one of the gates of Sargon's city: the walls are eighty-eight feet thick, to which the buttresses add another ten feet; their average height is from about twenty-five to thirty feet, high enough to allow the archway by which the city was entered to remain intact. This is quite an exception. In no part of the palace is there anything to correspond to this happy find of M. Place--any evidence by which we can decide the forms of Assyrian doorways. The walls are always from about twelve to twenty-eight feet in thickness (see Fig. 46.) Rooms are rectangular, sometimes square, but more often so long as to be galleries rather than rooms in the ordinary sense of the word. The way in which these rooms were covered in has been much discussed. Sir Henry Layard believes only in flat roofs, similar to those of modern houses in Mossoul and the neighbouring villages. He tells us that he never came upon the slightest trace of a vault, while in almost every room that he excavated he found wood ashes and carbonized timber.[192] He is convinced that the destruction of several of these buildings was due in the first instance to fire. Several pieces of sculpture, those from the palace of Sennacherib, for instance, may be quoted, which when found were black with soot. They look like castings in relief that have been long fixed at the back of a fire-place. Long and narrow rooms may have been roofed with beams of palm or poplar resting upon the summits of the walls. As for the large halls, in the centre they would be open to the sky, while around the opening would run a portico, similar to that of a Roman atrium, whose sloping roof would protect the reliefs with which the walls were ornamented.[193] [Illustration: FIG. 50.--Present state of one of the city gates, Khorsabad. Perspective compiled from Place's plans and elevations.] As to this, however, doubt had already been expressed by an attentive and judicial observer like Loftus; who thought that the arch had played a very important part in the architecture of Mesopotamia.[194] As he very justly remarked, the conditions were rather different from those that obtained in the maritime and mountainous provinces of Persia; there was no breeze from the gulf or from the summits of snowy mountains, to which every facility for blowing through their houses and cooling their heated chambers had to be given; the problem to be solved was how best to oppose an impenetrable shield against a daily and long continued heat that would otherwise have been unbearable. Now it is clear that a vault with its great powers of resistance would have been far better fitted to support a roof whose thickness should be in some reasonable proportion to the massive walls, than a ceiling of bad timber. In our day the mosques, the baths, and many of the private houses of Mossoul and Bagdad have dome-shaped roofs. Without going as far as Mesopotamia, the traveller in Syria may see how intelligently, even in the least important towns, the native builder has employed a small dome built upon a square, to obtain a strong and solid dwelling entirely suited to the climate, a dwelling that should be warm in winter and cool in summer. We must also point out that the state in which the interiors of rooms are found by explorers, is more consistent with the hypothesis of a domed roof than with any other. They are covered to a depth of from fifteen to twenty feet with heaps of _débris_, reaching up to the top of the walls, so far as the latter remain standing.[195] This rubbish consists of brick-earth mixed with broken bricks, and pieces of stucco. Granting wooden roofs, how is such an accumulation to be accounted for? Roofs supported by beams laid across from one wall to the other, could never have safely upheld any great weight. They must have been thin and comparatively useless as a defence against the sun of Mesopotamia. On the other hand if we assume that vaults of pisé were the chosen coverings, all the rest follows easily. They could support the flat roof with ease, and the whole upper structure could be made of sufficient thickness to exclude both the heat and the rain, while the present appearance of the ruins is naturally accounted for. Those who have lived in the East, those, even, who have extended a visit to Athens as far as Eleusis or Megara, must have stretched themselves, more than once, under the stars, and, on the flat roofs of their temporary resting-places, sought that rest that was not to be found in the hot and narrow chambers within. They must then have noticed, as I have more than once, a large stone cylinder in one corner. In Greece and Asia Minor, it will be in most cases a "drum" from some antique column, or a funerary _cippus_, abstracted by the peasantry from some neighbouring ruin. This morsel of Paros or Pentelic has to perform the office of a roller. When some heavy fall of rain by wetting and softening the upper surface of the terrace, gives an opportunity for repairing the ravages of a long drought, the stone is taken backwards and forwards over the yielding pisé. It closes the cracks, kills the weeds that if left to themselves would soon transform the roof into a field, and makes the surface as firm as a threshing-floor. The roofs of Assyrian buildings must have required the same kind of treatment, and we know that in the present day it is actually practised. M. Place mentions rollers of limestone, weighing from two to three hundredweight, pierced at each end with a square hole into which wooden spindles were inserted to facilitate their management.[196] A certain number of these rollers were found within the chambers, into which they must have fallen with the roofs. As soon as the terraces ceased to receive the care necessary for keeping down the weeds and shrubs and keeping out the water, the process of disintegration must have been rapid. The rains would soon convert cracks into gaping breaches, and at the end of a few years, every storm would bring down a part of the roof. A century would be enough to destroy the vaults, and with them the upper parts of the walls to which they were closely allied by the skill of the constructor. The disappearance of the archivolts and the great heaps of _débris_ are thus accounted for. The roof materials were too soft, however, to damage in their fall the figures in high relief or in the round that decorated the chambers beneath, or the carved slabs with which their walls were lined. In spreading itself about these sculptures and burying them out of sight and memory, the soft clay served posterity more efficiently than the most careful of packers. Among the first observers to suspect the truth as to the use of the vault in Mesopotamia, were Eugène Flandin, who helped Botta to excavate the palace of Sargon,[197] and Felix Thomas,[198] the colleague of M. Place. The reasons by which M. Thomas was led to the conclusion that the rooms in the Ninevite palaces were vaulted, are thus given by M. Place, who may be considered his mouthpiece.[199] He does not deny that some of the Khorsabad reliefs bear the marks of fire, but he affirms, and that after the experience of four digging campaigns, that the conflagration was much less general than might be supposed from the statements of some travellers. He failed to discover the slightest trace of fire in the hundred and eighty-four rooms and twenty-eight courts that he excavated. The marvellous preservation of the reliefs in many of the halls is inconsistent, in his opinion, with the supposition that the palace was destroyed by fire; and if we renounce that supposition the mere action of time is insufficient to account for the disappearance of such an extent of timber roofing, for here and there, especially near the doorways, pieces of broken beams and door panels have been found. "The wood is not all in such condition as the incorruptible cedar of the gilded palm-trees, but wherever it certainly existed, traces of it may be pointed out. In advanced decomposition it is no more consistent than powder, it may be picked up and thrown aside, leaving a faithful cast of the beam or post to which it belonged in the more tenacious clay." [Illustration: FIG. 51.--Fortress; from the Balawat gates, in the British Museum.] All this, however, was but negative evidence. The real solution of the problem was first positively suggested by the discovery of vaults in place, in the drains and water channels, and in the city gates. The bas-reliefs in which towns or fortresses are represented also support the belief that great use was made of arched openings in Assyria, and the countries in its neighbourhood (see Fig. 51). As soon as it is proved that the Assyrians understood the principle of the arch, why should it any longer be denied that they made use of it to cover their chambers? It is obvious that a vault would afford a much better support for the weight above than any timber roof. In the course of the explorations, a probable conjecture was changed into complete certainty. The very vaults for which inductive reasoning had shown the necessity were found, if not in place, at least in a fragmentary condition, and in the very rooms to which they had afforded a cover--and here we must quote the words of the explorers themselves. In the most deeply buried quarters of the building, the excavations were carried on by means of horizontal tunnels or shafts. "I was often obliged," says M. Place, "to drive trenches from one side of the rooms to another in order to get a clear idea of their shape and arrangement. On these occasions we often met with certain hard facts, for which, at the time, we could give no explanation. These facts were blocks of clay whose under sides were hollowed segmentally and covered with a coat of stucco. These fragments were found sometimes a few feet from the walls, sometimes near the middle of the rooms. At first I was thoroughly perplexed to account for them. Our trenches followed scrupulously the inner surfaces of the walls, which were easily recognizable by their stucco when they had no lining of carved slabs. What then were we to make of these arched blocks, also coated with stucco, but found in the centre of the rooms and far away from the walls? Such signs were not to be disregarded in an exploration where everything was new and might lead to unforeseen results. Wherever a trace of stucco appeared I followed it up carefully. Little by little the earth under and about the stuccoed blocks was cleared away, and then we found ourselves confronted by what looked like the entrance to an arched cellar. Here and there these portions of vaulting were many feet in length, from four to six in span, and three or four from the crown of the arch to the level upon which it rested. At the first glance the appearance of a vault was complete, and I thought I was about to penetrate into a cellar where some interesting find might await me. But on farther examination this pleasant delusion was dispelled. The pretended cellar came to an abrupt end, and declared itself to be no more than a section of vaulting that had quitted its proper place.... The evidence thus obtained was rendered still more conclusive by the discovery on the under side of several fragments of paintings which had evidently been intended for the decoration of a ceiling."[200] It is clear that these curvilinear and frescoed blocks were fragments of a tunnel vault that had fallen in; and their existence explains the great thickness given by the Assyrian constructor not only to his outer walls, but to those that divided room from room. The thinnest of the latter are hardly less than ten feet, while here and there they are as much as fifteen or sixteen. As for the outer walls they sometimes reach a thickness of from five and twenty to thirty feet.[201] The climate is insufficient to account for the existence of such walls as these. In the case of the outer walls such a reason might be thought, by stretching a point, to justify their extravagant measurements, but with the simple partitions of the interior, it is quite another thing. This apparent anomaly disappears, however, if we admit the existence of vaults and the necessity for meeting the enormous thrust they set up. With such a material as clay, the requisite solidity, could only be given by increasing the mass until its thickness was sometimes greater than the diameter of the chambers it inclosed. M. Place lays great stress upon the disproportion between the length and width of many of the apartments. There are few of which the greater diameter is not at least double the lesser, and in many cases it is four, five, and even seven times as great. He comes to the conclusion that these curious proportions were forced on the Assyrians by the nature of the materials at their disposal. Such an arrangement must have been destructive to architectural effect as well as inconvenient, but a clay vault could not have any great span, and its abutments must perforce have been kept within a reasonable distance of each other. Taken by itself, this argument has, perhaps, hardly as much force as M. Place is inclined to give it. Doubtless the predilection for an exaggerated parallelogram agrees very well with the theory that the vault was in constant use by Mesopotamian architects, but it might be quoted with equal reason by the supporters of the opposite hypothesis, that of the timber roof. Our best reason for accepting all these pieces of evidence as corroborative of the view taken by MM. Flandin, Loftus, Place, and Thomas is, in the first place, the incontestable fact that the entrances to the town of Khorsabad were passages roofed with barrel vaults; secondly, the presence amid the debris of the fragmentary arches above described; thirdly, the depth of the mass of broken earth within the walls of each chamber; finally, the singular thickness of the walls, which is only to be satisfactorily explained by the supposition that the architect had to provide solid abutments for arches that had no little weight to carry. It is difficult to say how the Assyrians set about building these arches of crude brick, but long practice enabled their architects to use that unsatisfactory material with a skill of which we had no suspicion before the exhumation of Nineveh. Thanks to its natural qualities and to the experienced knowledge with which it was prepared, their clay was tough and plastic to a degree that astonished the modern explorers on more than one occasion. The arched galleries cut during the excavations--sometimes segmental, sometimes pointed, and often of a considerable height and width--could never have stood in any other kind of earth without strong and numerous supports. And yet M. Place tells us that these very galleries, exactly in the condition in which the mattock left them, "provided lodging for the labourers engaged and their families, and ever since they have served as a refuge for the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages. Workmen and peasants have taken shelter under vaults similar to those of the ancient Assyrians. Sometimes we cut through the accidental accumulations of centuries, where the clay, far from having been carefully put in place, had rather lost many of its original qualities. Even there, however, the roof of our galleries remained suspended without any signs of instability, as if to bear witness that the Assyrian architect knew what he was about when he trusted so much to the virtues of a fictile material."[202] We may refer those who are specially interested in constructive methods to M. Place's account of the curious fashion in which the workmen of Mossoul will build a pointed vault without the help of any of those wooden centerings in use in Europe. In our day, certainly, the masons of Mossoul use stone and mortar, but their example none the less proves that similar results may once have been obtained in different materials.[203] A vault launched into mid-air without any centering, and bearing the workmen who were building it on its unfinished flanks, was a phenomenon calculated to astonish an architect. Taking everything into consideration the clay vaults of Khorsabad are no more surprising than these domes of modern Mossoul.[204] We cannot say for certain that the Assyrian builders made use of domes in addition to the barrel vaults, but all the probabilities are in favour of such an hypothesis. A dome is a peculiar kind of vault used for the covering of square, circular, or polygonal spaces. As for circular and polygonal rooms, none have been found in Assyria, but a few square ones have been disinterred. On the principal façade of Sargon's palace there are two of a fair size, some forty-eight feet each way. Thomas did not believe that a barrel vault was used in these apartments; the span would have been too great. He sought therefore for some method that would be at once well adapted to the special conditions and in harmony with the general system. This he found in the hemispherical dome. All doubts on the subject were taken away, however, by the discovery of the bas-relief (Fig. 43) reproduced on page 145, in which we find a group of buildings roofed, some with spherical vaults, some with elliptical domes approaching a cone in outline. This proves that the Mesopotamian architects were acquainted with different kinds of domes, just as they were with varieties of the barrel vault. It has been guessed that this bas-relief, which is unique in its way, merely represents the brick-kilns used in the construction of the palace of Sennacherib. To this objection there is more than one answer. The Assyrian sculptures we possess represent but a small part of the whole, and each fresh discovery introduces us to forms previously unknown. Moreover, had the sculptor wished to represent the kilns in which the bricks for the palace were burnt, he would have shown the flames coming out at the top. In reliefs of burning towns he never leaves out the flames, and in this case, where they would have served to mark the activity with which the building operations were pushed on, he would certainly not have omitted them. Again, is not the building on the left of the picture obviously a flat-roofed house? If that be so we must believe, before we accept the kiln theory, that the sculptor made a strange departure from the real proportions of the respective buildings. The doorways, too, in the relief are exactly like those of an ordinary house, while they bear no resemblance to the low and narrow openings which have been used at all times for kilns. Why then should we refuse to admit that there were vaults in Nineveh, when Strabo tells us expressly that "all the houses of Babylon were vaulted."[205] Thomas invokes the immemorial custom of the East to support the evidence of this curious relief:--the great church of St. Sophia, the Byzantine churches and the Turkish mosques, all of which had no other roof but a cupola. In all of these he sees nothing but late examples of a characteristic method of construction which had been invented and perfected many centuries before at Babylon and Nineveh. From the monuments with which those two great cities were adorned nothing but the foundations and parts of the walls have come down to our day; but the buildings of a later epoch, of the periods when Seleucia and Ctesiphon enjoyed the heritage of Babylon, have been more fortunate. In the ruins which are acknowledged to be those of the palaces built by the Parthian and Sassanid monarchs, the upper structures are still in existence, and in a more or less well preserved condition. In these the dome arrangement is universal. Sometimes, as at Firouz-Abad (Fig. 52), we find the segment of a sphere; elsewhere, as at Sarbistan (Fig. 53), the cupola is ovoid. Our section of the latter building will give an idea of the internal arrangements of these structures, and will show how the architect contrived to suspend a circular dome over a square apartment.[206] These monuments of an epoch between remote antiquity and the Græco-Roman period were built of brick, like the palaces of Nineveh.[207] The exigencies of the climate remained the same, the habits and requirements of the various royal families that succeeded each other in the country were not sensibly modified, while the Sargonids, the Arsacids and the Sassanids all ruled over one and the same population. [Illustration: FIG. 52.--The Palace at Firouz-Abad; from Flandin and Coste.] [Illustration: FIG. 53.--The palace at Sarbistan; from Flandin and Coste.] The corporations of architects and workmen must have preserved the traditions of their craft from century to century, traditions which had their first rise in the natural capabilities of their materials and in the data of the problem they had to solve. The historian cannot, then, be accused of going beyond the limit of fair induction in arguing from these modern buildings to their remote predecessors. After the conquest of Alexander, the ornamental details, and, still more, the style of the sculptures, must have been affected to a certain extent, first by Greek art and afterwards by that of Rome; but the plans, the internal structure, and the general arrangement of the buildings must have remained the same. [Illustration: FIG. 54.--Section through the palace at Sarbistan; from Flandin and Coste.] There is nothing hazardous or misleading in these arguments from analogy; from the palace of Chosroes to that of Sargon is a legitimate step. Some day, perhaps, we may attempt to pursue the same path in the opposite direction; we may endeavour to show that the survival of these examples and traditions may very well have helped to direct architecture into a new path in the last years of the Roman Empire. We shall then have to speak of a school in Asia Minor whose works have not yet been studied with the attention they deserve. The buildings in question are distinguished chiefly by the important part played in their construction by the vault and the dome resting upon pendentives; certain constructive processes, too, are to be found in them which had never, so far as we can tell, been known or practised in the East. We can hardly believe that the chiefs of the school invented from the foundation a system of construction whose principles were so different from those of the Greeks, or even of the later Romans. They may, indeed, have perfected the system by grafting the column upon it, but it is at least probable that they took it in the first place from those who had practised it from time immemorial, from men who taught them the traditional methods of shortening and facilitating the labour of execution. The boundaries of Asia Minor "march" with those of Mesopotamia, and in the latter every important town had buildings of brick covered with domes. The Romans frequented the Euphrates valley, to which they were taken both by war and commerce; their victories sometimes carried them even as far as Ctesiphon on the Tigris, so that there was no lack of opportunity for the study of Oriental architecture on the very spot where it was born. They could judge of and admire the beauty it certainly possessed when the great buildings of Mesopotamia were still clothed in all the richness of their decoration. The genius of the Greeks had come nigh to exhausting the forms and combinations of the classic style; it was tired of continuous labour in a narrow circle and sighed for fresh worlds to conquer. We can easily understand then, how it would welcome a system which seemed to afford the novelty it sought, which seemed to promise the elements of a new departure that might be developed in many, as yet unknown, directions. If we put ourselves at this point of view we shall see that Isidore and Anthemius, the architects of St. Sophia, were the disciples and perpetuators of the forgotten masters who raised so many millions of bricks into the air at the bidding of Sargon and Nebuchadnezzar.[208] Whatever may be thought of this hypothesis, there seems to be little doubt that the Assyrians knew how to pass from the barrel vault to the hemispherical, and even to the elliptical, cupola. As soon as they had discovered the principle of the vault and found out easy and expeditious methods of setting it up, all the rest followed as a matter of course. Their materials lent themselves as kindly to the construction of a dome as to that of a segmental vault, and promised equal stability in either case. As to their method of passing from the square substructure to the dome we know nothing for certain, but we may guess that the system employed by the Sassanids (see Fig. 54) was a survival from it. It is unlikely that timber centerings were used to sustain the vaults during construction. Timber was rare and bad in Chaldæa and men would have to learn to do without it. M. Choisy has shown--as we have already mentioned--that the Byzantine architects built cupolas of wide span without scaffolding of any kind, each circular course being maintained in place until it was complete by the mere adherence of the mortar.[209] M. Place, too, gives an account of how he saw a few Kurd women build an oven in the shape of a Saracenic dome, with soft clay and without any internal support. Their structure, at the raising of which his lively curiosity led him to assist, was composed of a number of rings, decreasing in diameter as they neared the summit.[210] The domes of crude brick which surmounted many of the Kurd houses were put together in the same fashion, and they were often of considerable size. When asked by M. Place as to how they had learnt to manage brick so skilfully, the oven-builders replied that it was "the custom of the country," and there is no apparent reason why that custom should not date back to a remote antiquity. The Assyrians had recourse to similar means when they built the domes of their great palaces. They too, perhaps, left a day for drying to each circular course, and re-wetted its upper surface when the moment arrived for placing the next.[211] [Illustration: FIG. 55.--Restoration of a hall in the harem at Khorsabad, compiled from Place.] From the existence of domes--which he considers to be almost beyond question--M. Place deduces that of semi-domes, one of which he assigns to the principal chamber of the harem in the palace at Khorsabad (Fig. 55). Feeling, perhaps, that this requires some justification, he finds it in a modern custom, which he thus describes:--"In the towns of this part of the East, the inner court of the harem is, as a rule, terminated at one of its extremities by a vault entirely open at one side, in the form of a huge niche. It is, in fact, the half of a dome sliced in two from top to bottom; the floor, which is elevated a few steps above the pavement of the court, is strewn with carpets and cushions so as to form an open and airy saloon, in which the women are to be found by their visitors at certain hours. This divan is protected from rain by the semi-dome, and from the sun by curtains or mats hung across the arched opening. This arrangement may very well be dictated by ancient tradition. It is well suited to the climate, a consideration which never fails to exercise a decisive influence over architecture."[212] [Illustration: FIG. 56.--Royal Tent, Kouyundjik. British Museum.] [Illustration: FIG. 57.--Tent, Kouyundjik. British Museum.] And yet there would, perhaps, have been room for hesitation had no support to this induction been afforded by the figured monuments; for the inhabitants of the province of Mossoul have deserted the traditions of their ancestors in more than one particular. They have given up the use of crude brick, for instance, so far, at least as the walls of their houses are concerned. They have supplied its place with stone and plaster, hence their dwellings are less fresh and cool than those of their fathers. In such a question the present throws a light upon the past, but the two have distinctive features of their own, even when the physical characteristics of the country have remained the same. The best evidence in favour of the employment of such an arrangement in Assyria is that of the bas-relief. We there not infrequently encounter an object like those figured on this page. Sometimes it is in the midst of what appears to be an entrenched camp, sometimes in a fortified city. Its general aspect, certain minor details, and sometimes an accompanying inscription, permit us to recognize in it the marquee or pavilion of the king.[213] Now the roofs of these structures evidently consist of two semi-domes, unequal in size and separated by an uncovered space. If such an arrangement was found convenient for a portable and temporary dwelling like a tent, why should it not have been applied to the permanent homes both of the king and his people? Arches still standing in the city gates, fragments of vaults found within the chambers of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad, the evidence of the bas-reliefs and the existing methods of building in Mesopotamia--all concur in persuading us that the vault played an important part in the constructions of Assyria, and consequently in those of Chaldæa; but we should not go so far as to say that all the rooms in the palace at Khorsabad and elsewhere were covered with barrel vaults, domes, or semi-domes. Our chosen guides, have, we think, allowed themselves to be a little too absolute in this particular; it is quite possible that by the side of the vaulted chambers there were others with wooden roofs. This conclusion is suggested partly by Sir H. Layard's discovery of considerable quantities of wood ashes in the palaces he excavated, partly by the evidence of ancient texts that wood was often used throughout this region to support the roofs at least of private houses. We may quote, in the first place, some remarks in Strabo's account of Susiana, which the Greek geographer borrowed from one of his original authorities: "In order to prevent the houses from becoming too hot, their roofs are covered with two cubits of earth, the weight of which compels them to make their dwellings long and narrow, because although they had only short beams, they had to have large rooms, so as to avoid being suffocated." This same writer, in speaking of these roofs, describes a singular property of the palm-tree beams. The densest and most solid of them, he says, instead of yielding with age and sinking under the weight they have to support, take a gentle upward curve so as to become better fitted than at first for the support of the heavy roof.[214] The necessity for the presence of a thick roof between the sun and the inside of the rooms is here very clearly affirmed. It will also be noticed that the general form of apartments in Susiana and Assyria did not escape the observer in question. As he saw very clearly, the great disproportion between their length and their width was to be explained as easily by the requirements of a wooden roof as by those of a clay vault. In his attempt to describe Babylon, Strabo says[215]: "In the absence of timber, properly speaking, beams and columns of palm-wood were used in the buildings of Babylonia. These pillars were covered with twisted ropes of rushes, over which several coats of paint were laid. The doors were coated with asphalte. Both doors and houses were very high. We may add that the houses were vaulted, in consequence of the absence of wood.... There were, of course, no tile roofs in countries where it never rains,[216] such as Babylonia, Susiana and Sittacenia." Strabo himself never visited Mesopotamia. This we know from the passage in his introduction, in which he tells us exactly how far his voyages extended, from north to south, and from east to west.[217] When he had to describe Asia from the Taurus to India, he could only do so with the help of passages borrowed from various authors, and in the course of his work it has sometimes happened that he has brought into juxtaposition pieces of information that contradict each other.[218] Something of the kind has happened in the lines we have quoted, in which he first speaks of pillars and timber roofs, and ends by declaring that all the Chaldæan houses were vaulted, although vaults and timber could not exist together. The truth is, in all probability, that one system of covering prevailed here and another there, and that the seeming contradiction in the text is due to hasty editing. We may conclude from it that travellers had reported the existence of both systems, and that each was to be explained by local conditions and the varying supply of materials. The two systems still exist side by side over all Western Asia. From Syria to Kurdistan and the Persian Gulf the hemispherical cupola upon a square substructure continually occurs. The timber roof is hardly less frequent; when the apartment in which it is used is of any considerable size it is carried upon two or three rows of wooden columns. These columns rest upon cubes of stone, and a tablet of the same material is often interposed between them and the beams they support. A sort of rustic order is thus constituted of which the shaft alone is of wood. We reproduce a sketch by Sir H. Layard in which this arrangement is shown. It is taken from a house inhabited by Yezidis,[219] in the district of Upper Mesopotamia called _Sinjar_ (Fig. 58). [Illustration: FIG. 58.--Interior of a Yezidi house; from Layard.] We are inclined to think that both systems were occasionally found in a single building. The tunnel vault and the joisted ceiling were equally well suited to the long galleries of Assyrian palaces. In one room, or suite of rooms, nothing but brick may have been used, while in others wood may have had the preference. Still more probably, one architect may have had a predilection for timber, while another may have preferred clay vaults. In either case the general arrangement, what we may call the spirit of the plan, would remain the same. When wooden roofs were used were they upheld by wooden uprights or by columns of any other material? Botta was at first inclined to say yes to this question, but he did not attempt to conceal that excavation had discovered little to support such an hypothesis.[220] Such pillars, were they of stone, would leave traces among the ruins in the shape of broken columns; were they of burnt bricks (and there could be no question of the crude material), those bricks would be found on the spot they occupied and would easily be recognized by their shape, which, as we have already shown, would have been specially adapted to the work they had to do.[221] The points of junction with the pavement would also be visible. If we contend that they were of wood, like those of the house figured above, we must admit that, at least in the more carefully built houses, such precautions as even the peasants of the Yezidis do not neglect must have been taken, and the timber columns raised upon stone bases which would protect them from the sometimes damp floors. Neither these bases nor any marks of their existence have been found in any of the ruins; and we are therefore led to the conclusion that to search for hypostyle halls in the Assyrian palaces, would be to follow the imagination rather than the reason. If we admit that architects made no use of columns to afford intermediate support to the heavy roofs, we may at first be inclined to believe that wooden ceilings were only used in very narrow apartments, for we can hardly give a length of more than from twenty-four to twenty-seven feet to beams that were called upon to support a thick covering of beaten earth as well as their own weight.[222] Perhaps, however, the skill of their carpenters was equal to increasing the span and rigidity of the beams used by a few simple contrivances. One of these is shown in our Fig. 60, a diagram composed by M. Chipiez to give an idea of the different methods of construction used by, or, at least, at the command of, the Assyrian builder. All the rooms were surmounted by flat roofs, and our horizontal sections show how these roofs were accommodated to the domes or the timber ceilings by which they were supported. On the left of the engraving semicircular vaults are shown, on the right a timbered roof. The arrangement of the latter is taken from an Etruscan tomb at Corneto, where, however, it is carried out in stone.[223] A frame like this could be put together on the spot and offered the means of covering a wider space with the same materials than could be roofed in by a horizontal arrangement. Further back rises one of those domes over square substructures whose existence seems to us so probable. Behind this again opens one of the courts by which so much of the area of the palace was occupied. The composition is completed by a wall with parapet and flanking towers. [Illustration: FIG. 59.--Fortress; from Layard's _Monuments_, 1st Series.] After considering the method employed for roofing the palace apartments, we come naturally to investigate their system of illumination. In view of the extravagant thickness of their walls it is difficult to believe that they made use of such openings as we should call windows. The small loop-holes that appear in some of the bas-reliefs near the summits of towers and fortified walls were mere embrasures, for the purpose of admitting a little air and light to the narrow chambers within which the defenders could find shelter from the missiles of an enemy and could store their own arms and engines of war (see Fig. 59). The walls of Khorsabad even now are everywhere at least ten feet high, and in some parts they are as much as fifteen, twenty, and five-and-twenty feet, an elevation far in excess of a man's stature, and they show no trace of a window. Hence we may at least affirm that windows were not pierced under the same conditions as in modern architecture.[224] [Illustration: FIG. 60.--Crude brick construction; compiled by Charles Chipiez.] And yet the long saloons of the palace with their rich decoration had need of light, which they could only obtain through the doorways and the openings left in the roof. When this was of wood the matter was simple enough, as our diagram (Fig. 60) shows. Botta noticed, during his journey to his post, another arrangement, of which, he thinks, the Assyrians may very well have made use. [Illustration: FIG. 61.--Armenian "Lantern;" from Botta.] "The houses of the Armenian peasantry," he says, "are sunk into the ground, so that their walls stand up but little above the level of the soil. They are lighted by an opening that serves at once for window and chimney, and is placed, as a rule, in the centre of the roof. The timber frame of this opening is often ingeniously arranged (Fig. 61). Four thick beams, but very roughly squared, intersect each other in the middle of the house. Across their angles slighter joists are placed, and this operation is repeated till a small dome, open at the top, for the entrance of light and the escape of smoke, has been erected."[225] [Illustration: FIGS. 62-65.--Terra-cotta cylinders in elevation, section and plan; from Place.] In the case of vaults how are we to suppose that the rooms were lighted? We can hardly imagine that rectangular openings were left in the crown of the arch, such a contrivance would have admitted very little light, while it would have seriously compromised the safety of the structure. According to M. Place the desired result was obtained in more skilful fashion. In several rooms he found terra-cotta cylinders similar to those figured below. These objects, of which he gives a careful description, were about thirteen and a half inches in diameter and ten inches in height. We may refer our readers to the pages of M. Place for a detailed account of the observations by which he was led to conclude that these cylinders were not stored, as if in a warehouse, in the rooms where they were afterwards found, but that they formed an integral part of the roof and shared its ruin. We may say that the evidence he brings forward seems to fairly justify his hypothesis. Penetrating the roof at various points these cylinders would afford a passage for the outer air to the heated chamber within, while a certain quantity of light would be admitted at the same time. The danger arising from the rains could be avoided to a great extent by giving them a slightly oblique direction. To this very day the Turkish bath-houses over the whole of the Levant from Belgrade to Teheran, are almost universally lighted by these small circular openings, which are pierced in great numbers through the low domes, and closed with immovable glasses. Besides which we can point to similar arrangements in houses placed both by their date and character, far nearer to those of Assyria. The Sassanide monuments bear witness that many centuries after the destruction of Nineveh the custom of placing cylinders of terra-cotta in vaults was still practised. In spite of its small scale these circles may be distinguished in the woodcut of the Sarbistan palace which we have borrowed from Coste and Flandin (Fig. 54).[226] These same writers have ascertained that the architects of Chosroes and Noushirwan employed still another method of lighting the rooms over which they built their domes. They gave the latter what is called an "eye," about three feet in diameter, through which the daylight could fall vertically into the room beneath. This is the principle upon which the Pantheon of Agrippa is lighted; the only difference being one of proportion. In Persia, the diameter of the eye was always very small compared to that of the dome. If we are justified in our belief that the constructors of the Parthian and Sassanide palaces were no more than the perpetuators of systems invented by the architects of Nineveh and Babylon, the Assyrian domes also may very well have been opened at the summit in this fashion. In the bas-relief reproduced in our Fig. 42, the two small cupolas are surmounted with caps around a circular opening which must have admitted the light. Moreover, the elaborate system of drainage with which the substructure of an Assyrian palace was honeycombed would allow any rain water to run off as fast as such a hole would admit it.[227] Whatever may be thought of these conjectures, it is certain that the architects of Nineveh--while they did not neglect accessory sources of illumination--counted chiefly upon the doors to give their buildings a sufficient supply of light and air. As M. Place says, when we examine the plans of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad we are as much astonished at the size of the doorways as at the thickness of the walls.[228] "There is not a single doorway, even of the smallest chambers, even of the simple ante-rooms for the use of servants and guards, that is not at least six feet or more wide; most of them are ten feet, and those decorated with sculptures even wider still." In their present ruinous state, it is more difficult to say for certain what their height may have been. Judging, however, from the ruins and from the usual proportions of height and width in the voids of Assyrian buildings, the doors at Khorsabad must have risen to a height of between fifteen and twenty-two feet. "Such measurements are those of exceptionally vast openings, especially when we remember that most of them gave access, not to state apartments, but to rooms used for the most ordinary purposes, store-rooms, ante-rooms, kitchens, serving-rooms of all kinds, and bedrooms. When we find architects who were so reluctant as those of Assyria to cut openings of any kind in their outer walls, using doorways of these extravagant dimensions, we may surely conclude that they were meant to light and ventilate the rooms as well as to facilitate the circulation of their inhabitants."[229] Even in halls, which were lighted at once by a number of circular eyes like those described and by a wide doorway, there would be no excess of illumination, and the rooms of Assyria must, on the whole, have been darker than ours. When we remember the difference in the climates this fact ceases to surprise us. With our often-clouded skies we seldom have too much light, and we give it as wide and as frequent passages as are consistent with the stability of our buildings. The farther north we go the more strongly marked does this tendency become. In Holland, the proportion of voids to solids is much greater than it is on the façade of a Parisian house, and the same tendency may be traced from one end of Europe to the other. But even in Central Europe, as soon as the temperature rises above a certain point, curtains are drawn and jalousies closed, that is, the window is suppressed as far as possible. And is not that enough to suggest a probable reason for the want of windows characteristic of an Oriental dwelling? An explanation has been sometimes sought in the life of the harem and in the desire of eastern sovereigns to withdraw themselves from the eyes of their subjects. The idleness, almost amounting to lethargy, of the present masters of the East has also been much insisted on. What, it is asked, do these men want with light? They neither read nor work, they care nothing for those games of skill or chance which form so large a part of western activity; absolute repose, the repose of sleep or stupefaction, is their ideal of existence.[230] These observations have hardly the force that has been ascribed to them. The harem is not the whole palace, and even in the modern East the _selamlik_, or public part of the house, is very differently arranged from the rooms set apart for the women. The hunting and conquering kings of Assyria lived much in public. They appeared too often at the head of their armies or among the hounds for us to represent them--as the Greek tradition represented Sardanapalus--shut up within blind walls in distant and almost inaccessible chambers. We must guard ourselves against the mistake of seeking analogies too close between the East of to-day and that of the centuries before the Greek civilization. The people who now inhabit those countries are in a state of languor and decay. Life has retired from them; their days are numbered, and the few they have yet to live are passed in a death-like trance. But it was not always thus. The East of antiquity, the East in which man's intellect awoke while it slumbered elsewhere, the East in which that civilization was born and developed whose rich and varied creations we are engaged in studying, was another place. Its inhabitants were strangely industrious and inventive, their intellects were busied with every form of thought, and their activity was expended upon every art of peace and war. We must not delude ourselves into thinking that the Chaldæans, who invented the first methods of science, that the Assyrians, who carried their conquests as far as the shores of the Mediterranean, that those Phoenicians who have been happily called "the English of antiquity," had any great resemblance to the Turks who now reign at Bagdad, Mossoul, and Beyrout. But the climate has not changed, and from it we must demand the key to the characteristic arrangements of Mesopotamian palaces. Even now most of the buildings of Mossoul are only lighted from the door, which is hardly ever shut. Some rooms have no direct means either of lighting or ventilation, and these are the favourite retreats in summer. "I was enabled," says M. Place, "to convince myself personally of this. In the consul's house there were, on one side of the court, three rooms one within the other, of which the first alone was lighted from without, and even this had a covered gallery in front of it, by which the glare was tempered. In the dog-days, when the mid-day sun rendered all work a punishment, the innermost of these three rooms was the only habitable part of the house. The serdabs, or subterranean chambers, are used under the same conditions. They are inconvenient in some ways, but the narrowness of the openings, through which light, and with it heat, can reach their depths, gives them advantages not to be despised."[231] The crude brick walls of ancient Assyria were far thicker than the rubble and plaster ones of modern Mossoul, so that more light could be admitted to the rooms without compromising their freshness. It seems to be proved that in at least the majority of rooms at Khorsabad the architect provided other means of lighting and ventilation besides the doorways, wide and high though the latter were. He pierced the roof with numerous oblique and vertical openings, he left square wells in the timber ceilings, and circular eyes in the domes and vaults. If these were to fulfil their purpose of admitting light and air into the principal rooms, the latter must have had no upper stories to carry. At Mossoul, walls are much thinner than at Nineveh, and interiors are simpler in arrangement and decoration. The twenty or five-and-twenty feet of clay of the Assyrian walls would make it impossible to give sufficient light through the doors alone to the sculptures and paintings with which the rooms were adorned. We cannot doubt that a top light was also required. The rooms of the palaces must, therefore, have succeeded one another in one horizontal plan. Slight differences of level between them were connected by short flights, usually of five carefully-adjusted steps.[232] In spite of all its magnificence the royal dwelling was no more than a huge ground floor. With such methods of construction as those we have described, it would have been very difficult to multiply stories. Neither vaults nor timber ceilings could have carried the enormous masses of earth of which even their partition-walls for the most part consisted, so that the architect would have had no choice but to make his upper chambers identical in size with those of his ground floors. This difficulty he was not, however, called upon to face, because the necessity for providing his halls and corridors with a top light, put an upper floor out of the question. No trace of such a staircase as would have been required to give access to an upper story has been discovered in any of the Assyrian ruins,[233] and yet some means of ascent to the terraced roofs must have been provided, if not for the inhabitants of the chambers below--who are likely, however, to have passed the nights upon them in the hot season--at least for the workmen whose duty it was to keep them in repair. Some parts of the palace, on the other hand, may have been raised much above the level of the rest. Sir Henry Layard found the remains of such chambers in the palace of Assurnazirpal at Nimroud.[234] In the bas-relief from Kouyundjik, reproduced in our Fig. 39, an open gallery may be noticed at a great height above the soil. But neither this gallery nor the chambers discovered at Nimroud form what we should call a "first-floor." Layard did not conduct his excavations like an architect, and he fails to give us such information as we have in the case of Khorsabad, but he tells us that the chambers in question formed the upper part of a sort of tower projecting from one angle of the façade. In the building represented on the Kouyundjik relief, the gallery is also upheld by the main wall, and stands upon its summit. From these observations we may conclude that when the Assyrian architect wished to erect chambers that should have a command over the buildings about them and over the surrounding country, he placed them, not over his ground-floor, but upon solid and independent masses of bricks. The staircase, then, could not have had the internal importance by which it is distinguished in architectural systems that make use of several stories. On the other hand, it must have played a very conspicuous part externally, in front of the outer doors and the façades through which they were pierced. Fortresses, palaces, temples, all the great buildings of Chaldæa and Assyria, were built upon artificial mounds, upon a wide platform that required an easy communication with the plain below. This could only be obtained by long flights of steps or by gently inclined planes. Steps would do for pedestrians, but horses, chariots, and beasts of burden generally would require the last-named contrivance. All who have attempted restorations have copied the arrangement of these stairs and sloping roads from the ruins of Persepolis, where the steps, being cut in the rock itself, are still to be traced. The brick slopes of Mesopotamia must have commenced to disappear on the very day that their custodians first began to neglect their repair. Some confirmation, however, is to be found, even in the buildings themselves, of the hypothesis suggested by their situations. At Abou-Sharein, for instance, in Lower Chaldæa, the staircase figured on the next page (Fig. 66) may be seen at the foot of the building excavated by Mr. Taylor; it gave access to the upper terrace of what seems to have been a temple.[235] Here the steps are no more than about twenty-six inches wide, but this width must often have been greatly surpassed elsewhere. Indeed, in the same building the first story was reached by a staircase about seventy feet long and sixteen wide. The stone steps were twenty-two inches long, thirteen broad, and one foot deep. They were fixed with great care by means of bronze clasps. Unfortunately the explorer gives us neither plan nor elevation of this monumental staircase. [Illustration: FIG. 66.--Outside staircases in the ruins of Abou-Sharein.] Layard believed that, in passing the Mesopotamian mounds, he could often distinguish upon them traces of the flights of steps by which their summits were reached.[236] On the eastern face of the palace of Sennacherib, he says, the remains of the wide slopes by which the palace communicated with the plain were quite visible to him.[237] One of these staircases is figured in a bas-relief from Nimroud; it seems to rise to a line of battlements that form, no doubt, the parapet to a flat terrace behind.[238] Finally, in another relief, the sculptor shows two flights of steps bending round one part of a mound and each coming to an end at a door into the temple on its summit. The curve described by this ramp involved the use of steps, which are given in M. Chipiez's _Restoration_ (Plate IV.). An interesting series of reliefs, brought to England from Kouyundjik, proves that in the palace interiors there were inclined galleries for the use of the servants. The lower edges of the alabaster slabs are cut to the same slope as that of the corridor upon whose walls they were fixed, and their sculptures represent the daily traffic that passed and repassed within those walls.[239] On the one hand, fourteen grooms are leading fourteen horses down to the Tigris to be watered; on the other, servants are mounting with provisions for the royal table in baskets on their heads.[240] The steps of basalt and gypsum, that afford communication between rooms of different levels at Khorsabad, are planned and adjusted with great skill and knowledge.[241] The workmen who built those steps took, we may be sure, all the necessary precautions to prevent men and beasts from slipping on the paved floors of the inclined galleries. These were constructed upon the same plan as the ramps of M. Place's observatory, on which the pavement consists of steps forty inches long, thirty-two inches wide, and less than an inch high. Such steps as these give an inclination of about one in thirty-four, and the ramp on which they were used may be more justly compared to an inclined plane, like that of the Seville Giralda or the Mole of Hadrian, than to a staircase. One might ascend or descend it on horseback without any difficulty.[242] By this example we may see that although the Assyrian builder had no materials at his command equal to those employed by the Greek or Egyptian, he knew how to make ingenious and skilful use of those he had. We should be in a better position to appreciate these qualities of invention and taste had time not entirely deprived us of that part of the work of the Mesopotamian architects in which they were best served by their materials. Assyria, like Egypt, practised construction "by assemblage" as well as the two methods we have already noticed. She had a light form of architecture in which wood and metal played the principal part. As might have been expected, however, all that she achieved in that direction has perished, and the only evidence upon which we can attempt a restoration is that of the sculptured monuments, and they, unhappily, are much less communicative in this respect than those of Egypt. In the paintings of the Theban tombs the kiosks and pavilions of wood and metal are figured in all the variety and vivacity derived from the brilliant colours with which they were adorned. Nothing of the kind is to be found in Mesopotamia. Our only documents are the uncoloured reliefs which, even in the matter of form, are more reticent than we could have wished. But in spite of their simplification these representations allow us to perceive clearly enough the mingled elegance and richness that characterized the structures in question. [Illustration: FIG. 67.--Interior of the Royal Tent; from Layard.] Thus in a bas-relief at Nimroud representing the interior of a fortress, a central place is occupied by a small pavilion generally supposed to represent the royal tent (Fig. 67).[243] The artist could not give a complete representation of it, with all its divisions and the people it contained. He shows only the apartment in which the high-bred horses that drew the royal chariot were groomed and fed. Before the door of the pavilion an eunuch receives a company of prisoners, their hands bound behind them, and a soldier at their elbow. Higher up on the relief the sculptor has figured the god with fish's scales whom we have already encountered (see Fig. 9). To him, perhaps, the king attributed the capture of the fortress that has just fallen into his hands. It is not, however, with an explanation of the scene that we are at present concerned; our business is with the structure of the pavilion itself, with the slender columns and the rich capitals at their summits, with the domed roof, made, no doubt, of several skins sewn together and kept in place by metal weights. The capitals and the two wild goats perched upon the shafts must have been of metal. As for the tall and slender columns themselves, they were doubtless of wood. The chevrons and vertical fillets with which they are decorated may either have been carved in the wood or inlaid in metal. [Illustration: FIG. 68.--Tabernacle; from the Balawat Gates.] The pavilion we have just described was a civil edifice, the temporary resting place of the sovereign. The same materials were employed in the same spirit and with a similar arrangement in the erection of religious tabernacles (see Fig. 68). The illustration on this page is taken from those plates of beaten bronze which are known as the _Gates of Balawat_ and form one of the most precious treasures in the Assyrian Galleries of the British Museum.[244] They represent the victories and military expeditions of Shalmaneser II. In the pavilion that we have abstracted from this long series of reliefs may be recognized the field-chapel of the king. When that cruel but pious conqueror wished to thank Assur for some great success, he could cause a tabernacle like this to be raised in a few minutes even upon the field of battle itself. It is composed of four light columns supporting a canopy of leather which is kept in form by a fringe of heavy weights. Rather above the middle of these columns two rings give an opportunity for a knotted ornament that could also be very quickly arranged, and the brilliant colours of the knots would add notably to the gay appearance of the tabernacle. Under the canopy the king himself is shown standing in an attitude of worship and pouring a libation on the portable altar. The latter is a tripod, probably of bronze, and upon it appears a dish with something in it which is too roughly drawn to be identified. On the right stands a second and smaller tripod with a vessel containing the liquid necessary for the rite. The graphic processes of the Assyrian sculptor were so imperfect that at first we have some difficulty in picturing to ourselves the originals of these representations; in spite of the care devoted to many of their details, the real constitution of these little buildings is not easily grasped. In order to make it quite clear M. Chipiez has restored one of them, using no materials in the restoration but those for which authority is to be found in the bas-reliefs (Fig. 70). M. Chipiez has placed his pavilion upon a salient bastion forming part of a wide esplanade. Two staircases lead up to it, and the wall by which the whole terrace is supported and inclosed is ornamented with those vertical grooves which are such a common motive in Chaldæan architecture. In front of the pavilion, on the balustrade of the staircase, and in the background near a third flight of steps, four isolated columns may be seen, the two former crowned with oval medallions, the two latter with cones. The meaning of these standards--which are copied from the Balawat Gates[245]--is uncertain. In the bas-reliefs in question they are placed before a stele with a rounded top, which is shown at the top of our engraving. This stele bears a figure of the monarch; another one like it is cut upon a cylinder of green feldspar found by Layard close to the principal entrance to Sennacherib's palace (see Fig. 69).[246] Though practically absent from the great brick palaces, the column here played an important and conspicuous part. It furnished elegant and richly decorated supports for canopies of wool that softly rose and fell with the passing breeze. Fair carpets were spread upon the ground beneath, others were suspended to cross beams painted with lively colours, and swept the earth with the long and feathered fringes sewn upon their borders. [Illustration: FIG. 69.--The Seal of Sennacherib. Cylinder of green feldspar in the British Museum.] The difference was great between the massive buildings by which the Mesopotamian plains were dominated, and these light, airy structures which must have risen in great numbers in Chaldæa and Assyria, here on the banks of canals and rivers or in the glades of shady parks, there on the broad esplanades of a temple or in the courts of a royal palace. Between the mountains of clay on the one hand and these graceful tabernacles with their slender supports and gay coverings on the other, the contrast must have been both charming and piquant. Nowhere else do we find the distinction between the house and the tent so strongly marked. The latter must have held, too, a much more important place in the national life than it did either in Egypt or Greece. The monarch spent most of his time either in hunting or fighting, and his court must have followed him to the field. Moreover, when spring covers every meadow with deep herbage and brilliant flowers, an irresistible desire comes over the inhabitants of such countries as Mesopotamia to fly from cities and set up their dwellings amid the scents and verdure of the fields. Again, when the summer heats have dried up the plains and made the streets of a town unbearable, an exodus takes place to the nearest mountains, and life is only to be prized when it can be passed among the breezes from their valleys and the shadows of their forest trees. [Illustration: FIG. 70.--Type of open architecture in Assyria; composed by Charles Chipiez.] Even in our own day the inhabitants of these regions pass from the house to the tent with an ease which seems strange to us. At certain seasons some of the nomad tribes betake themselves within the walls of Bagdad and Mossoul and there set up their long black tents of goats' hair.[247] Judging from the bas-reliefs they did the same even in ancient Assyria; in some of these a few tents may be seen sprinkled over a space inclosed by a line of walls and towers.[248] Abraham and Lot slept in their tents even when they dwelt within the walls of a city.[249] Lot had both his tent and a house at Sodom.[250] Every year the inhabitants of Mossoul and the neighbouring villages turn out in large numbers into the neighbouring country, and, during April and May, re-taste for a time that pastoral life to which a roof is unknown. The centuries have been unable to affect such habits as these, because they were suggested, enforced, and perpetuated by nature herself, by the climate of Mesopotamia; and they have done much to create and develop that light and elegant form of building which we may almost call the architecture of the tent. In these days and in a country into whose remotest corners the decadence has penetrated, the tent is hardly more than a mere shelter; here and there, in the case of a few chiefs less completely ruined than the rest, it still preserves a certain size and elegance, but as a rule all that is demanded of it is to be sufficiently strong and thick to resist the wind, the rain, and the sun. It was otherwise in the rich and civilized society with which we are now concerned. Its arrangement and decoration then called forth inventive powers and a refined taste of which we catch a few glimpses in the bas-reliefs. It gave an opportunity for the employment of forms and motives which could not be used at all, or used in a very restricted fashion, in more solid structures, such as palaces and temples. Of all these that which most closely results from the necessities of wooden or metal construction is the column, and we therefore find that it is in this tent-architecture that it takes on the characteristics that distinguish it from the Egyptian column and give it an originality of its own. NOTES: [164] The remains of stone walls are at least so rare in Lower Mesopotamia that we may disregard their existence. In my researches I have only found mention of a single example. At Abou-Sharein TAYLOR found a building in which an upper story was supported by a mass of crude brick faced with blocks of dressed sandstone. The stones of the lower courses were held together by mortar, those of the upper ones by bitumen. We have no information as to the "bond" or the size of stones used (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 408). The materials for this revetment must have been quarried in one of those rocky hills--islands, perhaps, formerly--with which Lower Chaldæa is sparsely studded. TAYLOR mentions one seven miles west of Mugheir, in the desert that stretches away towards Arabia from the right bank of the Euphrates (_Journal_, &c. vol. xv. p. 460). [165] We shall here give a _résumé_ of M. Place's observations (_Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol. i. pp. 31-34). [166] PLACE, _Ninive_, &c. vol. i. p. [167] _Ibid._ p. 33. [168] In every country in which buildings have been surmounted by flat roofs, this precaution has been taken--"When thou buildest a new house, then thou shalt make a battlement for thy roof, that thou bring not blood upon thine house, if any man fall from thence." (_Deuteronomy_ xxii. 8). See also _Les Monuments en Chaldée, en Assyrie et à Babylon, d'après les récentes découvertes archéologique, avec neuf planches lithographiés_, 8vo, by H. CAVANIOL, published in 1870 by Durand et Pedone-Lauriel. It contains a very good _résumé_, especially in the matter of architecture, of those labours of French and English explorers to which we owe our knowledge of Chaldæa and Assyria. [169] PLACE, _Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol i. p. 64. [170] XENOPHON, _Anabasis_, iii. 4, 7-11. The identity of Larissa and Mespila has been much discussed. Oppert thinks they were Resen and Dour-Saryoukin; others that they were Calech and Nineveh. The question is without importance to our inquiry. In any case the circumference of six parasangs (about 20-1/2 miles) ascribed by the Greek writer to his Mespila can by no means be made to fit Khorsabad. [171] See the _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. p. 113. [172] BOTTA tells us how the courses of crude brick were distinguished one from another at Khorsabad (_Monuments de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 57). [173] Speaking of Hillah, GEORGE SMITH tells us (_Assyrian Discoveries_, p. 62):--"A little to the south rose the town of Hillah, built with the bricks found in the old capital. The natives have established a regular trade in these bricks for building purposes. A number of men are always engaged in digging out the bricks from the ruins, while others convey them to the banks of the Euphrates. There they are packed in rude boats, which float them down to Hillah, and on being landed they are loaded on donkeys and taken to any place where building is in progress. Every day when at Hillah I used to see this work going on as it had gone on for centuries, Babylon thus slowly disappearing without an effort being made to ascertain the dimensions and buildings of the city, or to recover what remains of its monuments. The northern portion of the wall, outside the Babil mound, is the place where the work of destruction is now (1874) most actively going on, and this in some places has totally disappeared." [174] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, &c. p. 110. [175] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 279. "The bricks had no mortar but the mud from which they had been made," says BOTTA (_Monuments de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 30). [176] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, &c. p. 503. [177] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 499 and 506. [178] TAYLOR, _Notes on the Ruins of Mugheir_ (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 261). This mortar is still employed in the country; it is called _kharour_. [179] The most plentiful springs occur at Hit, on the middle Euphrates. They are also found, however, farther north, as at Kaleh-Shergat, near the Tigris. Over a wide stretch of country in that district the bitumen wells up through every crack in the soil (LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 46). As for the bituminous springs of Hammam-Ali, near Mossoul, see PLACE, _Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol. i. p. 236. [180] _Genesis_ xi. 3. [181] HERODOTUS, i. 179. [182] _Warka, its Ruins and Remains_, by W. KENNETH LOFTUS, p. 9. (In the _Transactions of the Royal Society of Literature_, second series, Part I.) According to SIR HENRY RAWLINSON this introduction of layers of reeds or rushes between the courses of brick continued in all this region at least down to the Parthian epoch. Traces of it are to be found in the walls of Seleucia and Ctesiphon (RAWLINSON'S _Herodotus_, vol. i. p. 300 note 1). [183] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, i. p. 169. The abundance of bitumen in the ruins of Mugheir is such that the modern name of the town has sprung from it; the word means the _bituminous_ (TAYLOR, _Notes on the Ruins of Mugheir_). [184] PLACE, _Ninive et l'Assyrie_, vol. i. p. 236; LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 261. [185] LOFTUS, _Warka, its Ruins_, &c. p. 10. [186] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 29 and 248. [187] TAYLOR, _Notes on Abou-Sharein and Tell-el-Lahm_ (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 408). [188] BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 58. [189] NIEBUHR (_Voyage en Arabie_, vol. ii. p. 235) noticed this, and his observations have since been confirmed by many other visitors to the ruins of Babylon. KER PORTER (vol. ii. p. 391) noticed them in the ruins of Al-Heimar. See also TAYLOR on "_Mugheir_," &c. (_Journal_, &c. vol. xv. p. 261). At Birs-Nimroud these conduits are about nine inches high and between five and six wide. They are well shown in the drawing given by FLANDIN and COSTE of this ruin (_Perse ancienne et moderne_, pl. 221. cf. text 1, p. 181). [190] TAYLOR, _Notes on the Ruins of Mugheir_ (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_), vol. xv. pp. 268-269. [191] At Khorsabad the average height of the alabaster lining is about ten feet; above that about three feet of brick wall remains. [192] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. pp. 127 and 350; vol. ii. pp. 40 and 350. As to the traces of fire at Khorsabad, see BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 54. [193] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. pp. 256-264. [194] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, pp. 181-183. [195] This accumulation has sometimes reached a height of about 24 feet. PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 294. [196] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 293-294. [197] E. FLANDIN, _Voyage archéologique à Ninive. 1. L'Architecture assyrienne. 2. La Sculpture assyrienne_ (_Revue des Deux-Mondes_, June 15 and July 1, 1845). [198] For all that concerns this artist, one of the most skilful draughtsmen of our time, see the biographical notice of M. de Girardot:--_Felix Thomas, grand Prix de Rome Architecte, Peintre, Graveur, Sculpteur_ (Nantes, 1875, 8vo.). [199] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 249-269. [200] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 254-255. [201] _Ibid._ p. 246. [202] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 264. [203] _Ibid._ p. 265. RICH made similar observations at Bagdad. He noticed that the masons could mount on the vault a few minutes after each course was completed (_Narrative of a Journey to the Site of Babylon_). [204] M. A. CHOISY, well known by his Essays on _L'Art de bâtir chez les Romains_, shows that the same method was constantly used by the Byzantine architects. See his _Note sur la Construction des Voûtes sans cintrage pendant la Période byzantine_ (_Annales des Ponts et Chausées_, 1876, second period, vol. xii.). See also Mr. FERGUSSON'S account of the erection of a huge stone dome without centering of any kind, by an illiterate Maltese builder, at Mousta, near Valetta (_Handbook of Architecture_, Second Edition, vol. iv. p. 34).--ED. [205] STRABO, xvi. i. 5, Hoi oikoi kamarôtoi pantes dia tên axulian. [206] For a description of these buildings see FLANDIN and COSTE, _Voyage en Perse, Perse ancienne, Text_, pp. 24-27, and 41-43 (6 vols. folio, no date. The voyage in question took place in 1841 and 1842). [207] Brick played, at least, by far the most important part in their construction. The domes and arcades were of well-burnt brick; the straight walls were often built of broken stone, when it was to be had in the neighbourhood. At Ctesiphon, on the other hand, the great building known as the _Takht-i-Khosrou_ is entirely of brick. [208] See M. AUGUSTE CHOISY'S _Note sur la Construction des Voûtes_, &c. p. 14. This exact and penetrating critic shares our belief in these relations between the Chaldæan east and Roman Asia. [209] _Note sur la Construction des Voûtes sans cintrage_, p. 12. [210] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 266-267. [211] As M. CHOISY remarks (_L'Art de bâtir chez les Romains_, p. 80), each horizontal course, being in the form of a ring, would have no tendency to collapse inwards, and a dome circular on plan would demand some means for keeping its shape true rather than a resisting skeleton. [212] _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 131. [213] In both the examples here reproduced the sculptor has indicated the cords by which the canvas walls were kept in place. We find almost the same profile in a bas-relief at Khorsabad (BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, pl. 146), but there it is cut with less decision and there are no cords. Between the two semi-domes the figure of a man rises above the wall to his middle, suggesting the existence of a barbette within. Here the artist may have been figuring a house rather than a tent. [214] STRABO, xv. 3, 10. [215] STRABO, xvi. 1, 5. [216] Keramôi d' ou chrôntai, says Strabo. These words, as Letronne remarked _à propos_ of this passage, combine the ideas of a tiled roof and of one with a ridge. The one notion must be taken with the other; hence we may infer that the Babylonian houses were flat-roofed. [217] STRABO, ii. 5, 11. [218] See M. AMÉDÉE TARDIEU'S reflections upon Strabo's method of work, in his _Géographie de Strabon_ (Hachette, 3 vols, 12mo.), vol. iii. p. 286, note 2. [219] As to this singular people and their religious beliefs, the information contained in the two works of Sir H. LAYARD (_Nineveh_, vol. 1. pp. 270-305, and _Discoveries_, pp. 40-92) will be read with interest. Thanks to special circumstances Sir H. Layard was able to become more intimately acquainted than any other traveller with this much-abused and cruelly persecuted sect. He collected much valuable information upon doctrines which, even after his relation, are not a little obscure and confused. The Yezidis have a peculiar veneration for the evil principle, or Satan; they also seem to worship the sun. Their religion is in fact a conglomeration of various survivals from the different systems that have successively obtained in that part of Asia. They themselves have no clear idea of it as a whole. It would repay study by an archæologist of religions. [220] BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 70. [221] See above, page 118, note 1. [222] Some rooms are as much as thirty feet wide. They would require joists at least thirty-three feet long, a length that can hardly be admitted in view of the very mediocre quality of the wood in common use. [223] _Gailhabaud, Monuments anciens et modernes_, vol. i.; plate entitled _Tombeaux superposés à Corneto_. [224] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 309. In this passage M. Place affirms that Mr. Layard discovered in a room of one of the Ninevite palaces, several openings cut at less than four feet above the floor level. It is, moreover, certain that these openings were included in the original plan of the building, because the reliefs are interrupted so as to leave room for the window without injury to the scenes sculptured upon them; but, adds M. Place, this example is unique, one of those exceptions that help to confirm a rule. We have in vain searched through the two works of Sir Henry Layard for the statement alluded to by M. Place. The English explorer only once mentions windows, and then he says: "Even in the rooms bounded by the outer walls there is not the slightest trace of windows" (_Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 260). [225] BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 73. [226] FLANDIN et COSTE, _Voyage en Perse; Perse ancienne_, plates 28 and 29; and, in the text, page 25. These openings occur in the great Sassanide palace at Ctesiphon, the _Takht-i-Khosrou_ (_ibid._ pl. 216, and text, p. 175). Here the terra-cotta pipes are about eight inches in diameter. According to these writers similar contrivances are still in use in Persia. [227] In the cupola of the palace at Sarbistan (Fig. 54), a window may be perceived in the upper part of the vertical wall, between the pendentives of the dome. Such openings may well have been pierced under Assyrian domes. From many of the illustrations we have given, it will be seen that the Ninevite architects had no objection to windows, provided they could be placed in the upper part of the wall. It is of windows like ours, pierced at a foot or two above the ground, that no examples have been found. [228] PLACE. _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 312-314. [229] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 313. [230] _Ibid._ p. 310 [231] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 311. [232] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 307. [233] See BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 53; _Place_, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 306, 307. [234] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 15. [235] TAYLOR, _Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 409. [236] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 260. [237] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 645-6. [238] LAYARD, _Monuments_, &c., first series, plate 19. This relief is reproduced in PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plate 40, fig. 6. [239] British Museum; Kouyundjik Gallery, Nos. 34-43. See also LAYARD'S _Monuments_, plates 8 and 9.--ED. [240] A second inclined gallery of the same kind was found by LAYARD in another of the Kouyundjik palaces (_Discoveries_, p. 650). [241] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 306, 307. [242] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 140. [243] As to the great size sometimes reached by the tents of the Arab chiefs, and the means employed to divide them into several apartments, see LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 313, and the sketch on page 321. [244] There is a photographic reproduction of these interesting reliefs in the fine publication undertaken by the Society of Biblical Archæology. This work, which is not yet (1883) complete, is entitled _The Bronze Ornaments of the Gates of Balawat_, _Shalmaneser_ II. 859-825, edited, with an introduction, by Samuel BIRCH, with descriptions and translations by Theophilus G. PINCHES, folio, London. The three first parts are before us. The motive reproduced above belongs to the plate marked F, 5. [245] They are to be found on the sheet provisionally numbered B, 1, in the publication above referred to. [246] This cylinder, which is now in the British Museum, was perhaps the actual signet of the king. [247] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 272. [248] LAYARD, _Monuments of Nineveh_, first series, plate 77; second series, plates 24 and 36. [249] _Genesis_, xiii. 12. [250] _Genesis_, xix. § 4.--_The Column._ As Chaldæa, speaking broadly, made no use of stone in its buildings, the stone column or shaft was unknown to its architects; at least not a single fragment of such a thing has been found among the ruins. Here and there cylindrical piers built up of small units seem to have been employed. These are sometimes of specially moulded bricks,[251] sometimes of sandstone fragments supported by a coat of masonry. Time has separated the stones of the latter, and it is now only represented by fragments whose shape betrays their original destination. Taylor, indeed, found one of these piers still in place during his excavations at Abou-Sharein, but his sketch and description are so confused that it is quite useless to reproduce them.[252] On the other hand, Chaldæa preceded Assyria in the art of raising airy structures mainly composed of wood and metal, and by them she was led to the use of slender supports and a decoration in which grace and elegance were the most conspicuous features. We have a proof of this in a curious monument recently acquired by the British Museum. It comes from Abou-Abba, about sixteen miles south-west of Bagdad, and is in a marvellous state of preservation. Abou-Abba has been recognized as the site of the ancient Sippara, one of the oldest of Chaldæan towns. Its sanctuaries, in which the sun-god, Samas, was chiefly adored, always maintained a great importance. The monument in question is a tablet of very close-grained grey stone 11-1/3 inches long 6 inches high and, in the centre, about 3 inches thick. Its thickness increases from top to bottom. The edge is grooved. High up on the obverse there is a bas-relief, beneath this commences a long inscription which is finished on the reverse.[253] Shorter inscriptions are engraved on the field of the relief itself. The whole work--figures, inscriptions, and outer mouldings--is executed with the utmost care. The laborious solicitude with which the smallest details are carried out is to be explained by the destination of this little plaque, namely, the temple in the centre of Sippara in which a triad consisting of Sin, Samas, and Istar was the object of worship.[254] The relief itself--which we reproduce from a cast kindly presented to us by Dr. Birch--occupies rather less than half of the obverse (Fig. 71). It represents a king called Nabou-Abla-Idin, who reigned about 900, doing homage to the sun-god.[255] We shall return to this scene and its composition when the time arrives for treating Chaldæan sculpture. At present we only wish to speak of the pavilion under which the deity is enthroned upon a chair supported by two beings half man and half bull. This kind of tabernacle is bounded, above and at the back of the god, by a wall of which there is nothing to show the exact nature. Its graceful, sinuous line, however, seems to exclude the idea, sufficiently improbable in itself, of a brick vault. It may possibly have been of wood, though it would not be easy to obtain this elegant curve even in that material. But such forms as this are given with the greatest ease in metal, and we are ready to believe that what the artist here meant to represent was a metal frame, which could at need be hidden under a canopy of leather or wool, like those we have already encountered in the Assyrian bas-reliefs (Figs. 67 and 68). The artist has in fact made use of a graphic process common enough with the Egyptians.[256] He has given us a lateral elevation of the tabernacle with the god in profile within it, because his skill was unequal to the task of showing him full front and seated between the two columns of the façade. The single column thus left visible has been represented with great skill and care; the sculptor seems to have taken pleasure in dwelling upon its smallest details. Slender as it is, it must have been of wood. The markings upon it suggest the trunk of a palm, but we may be permitted to doubt whether it was allowed to remain in its natural uncovered state. Even in the climate of Chaldæa a dead tree trunk exposed to the air would have no great durability. Sooner or later the sun, the rain, the changes of temperature, would give a good account of it, and besides, a piece of rough wood could hardly be made to harmonize with the luxury that must assuredly have been lavished by the people of Sippara upon the sanctuary of their greatest divinity. It is probable, therefore, that the wood was overlaid with plates of gilded bronze, fastened on with nails. This hypothesis is confirmed by one of M. Place's discoveries at Khorsabad.[257] There, in front of the Harem, he found several large fragments of a round cedar-wood beam almost as thick as a man's body. It was cased in a bronze sheath, very much oxydized and resembling the scales of a fish in arrangement (Fig. 72). The metal was attached to the wood by a large number of bronze nails. Comparing these remains with certain bas-reliefs in which different kinds of trees appear (Fig. 27) we can easily see that the Ninevite sculptors meant to represent the peculiar roughnesses of palm bark. Their usual methods are modified a little by the requirements of the material and the size of the beam upon which it was used. Each scale was about 4-1/2 inches high, and according to the calculations of M. Place, the whole mast must have been from five-and-thirty to forty feet high. Working for spectators on a lower level and at some distance, the smith thought well to make his details as regular and strongly marked as he could; to each scale or leaf he gave a raised edge to mark its contour and distinguish it from the rest. The general effect was thus obtained by deliberate exaggeration of the relief and by a conventionality that was justified by the conditions of the problem to be solved. [Illustration: FIG. 71.--Homage to _Samas_ or _Shamas_. Tablet from Sippara. Actual size. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] At a little distance from this broken beam M. Place found a leaf of gold which is now in the Louvre; it presents the same ovoid forms as the bronze sheathing, and, moreover, the numerous nail holes show that it was meant to fulfil the same purpose as the bronze plates. The place in which it was found, its dimensions and form, all combine to prove that it was laid upon the bronze as we should lay gold leaf. It bears an inscription in cuneiform characters. [Illustration: FIG. 72.--Sheath of a cedar-wood mast, bronze.] We are inclined to take these plates for models in restoring the columns of the Sippara tabernacle. There is nothing in the richness of this double covering of bronze and gold to cause surprise, as the inscription which covers part of the face and the whole of the back of the tablet is nothing but a long enumeration of the gifts made to the shrine of Samas by the reigning king and his predecessors. This column has both capital and base. The former cannot have been of stone; a heavy block of basalt or even of limestone would be quite out of place in such a situation. As for the base it is hardly more than a repetition of the capital, and must have been of the same material; and that material was metal, the only substance that, when bent by the hand or beaten by the hammer, takes almost of its own motion those graceful curves that we call _volutes_. We believe then in a bronze capital gilded. Under the volutes three rings, or _astragali_, may be seen. By their means the capital was allied to the shaft. The former consisted of two volutes between which appeared a vertical point resembling one of the angles of a triangle. The base is the same except that it has no point, and that the rings are in contact with the ground instead of with the shaft. These volutes may also be perceived on the table in front of the tabernacle, where they support the large disk by which the sun-god is symbolized. [Illustration: FIG. 73.--Interior of a house supported by wooden pillars; from the gates of Balawat. British Museum.] Before quitting this tablet we may point to another difference between the column of Sippara and the shafts of the same material and proportions that we have encountered in the Assyrian bas-reliefs (Figs. 67, 68, and 69). In the latter the column rises above the canopy, which is attached to its shaft by brackets or nails. At Sippara the canopy rests upon the capital itself. The same arrangement may be found in Assyrian representations of these light structures; it will suffice to give one example taken from the gates of Balawat (Fig. 73). Here, too, the proportions of the columns prove them to have been of wood. They do not rise above the entablature. The architrave rests upon them, and, as in Greece and Egypt, its immediate weight is borne by abaci. At present our aim is to prove that Assyria derived from Chaldæa the first idea of those tall and slender columns, the shafts of which were of wood sheathed in metal, and the capitals of the latter material. The graceful and original forms of Chaldæan art would have prepared the way for a columnar architecture in stone, had that material been forthcoming. Babylon, however, saw no such architecture. Her plastic genius never came under the influence that would have led her to import stone from abroad; and the grace and variety of the orders remained unknown to her builders. Like Egypt, Chaldæa gave lessons but received none. The forms of her art are to be explained by the inborn characteristics of her people and the natural conditions among which they found themselves placed. In Assyria these conditions were rather different. The stone column was used there, but used in a timid and hesitating fashion. It never reached the freedom and independence that would have characterized it had it arisen naturally from the demands of construction.[258] [Illustration: FIG. 74.--Assyrian capital, in perspective; compiled from Place.] We only possess one column, or rather one fragment of a column, from Assyria, and that was found by M. Place at Khorsabad (Fig. 74). It is a block of carefully worked and carved limestone about forty inches high, and including both the capital and the upper part of the shaft in its single piece. Such a combination could not long exist in architectonic systems in which the stone column played its true part. It is a survival from the use of wood. Another characteristic feature is the complete absence both from this fragment and from the columns in the sculptured reliefs of vertical lines or divisions of any kind, no trace of a fluted or polygonal shaft has been found.[259] In writing the history of the Egyptian column we explained how the natural desire for as much light as possible led the architects of Beni-Hassan to transform the square pier, first into an octagonal prism, secondly into one with sixteen sides.[260] And to this progressive elaboration of the polyhedric shaft the flutes seemed to us to owe their origin. On the other hand, with tall and slender supports such as those afforded by palm trunks no necessity for reduction and for the shaving of angles would arise, and those flutes whose peculiar section is owing to the desire for a happy play of light and shadow, would never have been thought of. If we imitate a natural timber shaft in stone we have a smooth cylindrical column like that seen in Fig. 74. Again, the shafts of the columns in the bas-reliefs, appear slender in comparison with those of Egypt, or with the doric shafts of the oldest Greek temples (see Fig. 41 and 42). In the fragmentary column from Khorsabad (Fig. 74) we have only a small part of the shaft but if we may judge from the feeble salience of the capital, its proportions must have been slender rather than heavy and massive. Wherever the stone column has been used in buildings of mediocre size, the architect seems to have been driven by some optical necessity to make his angle columns more thickset than the other supports. Thus it was in Assyria, in the little temple at Kouyundjik (Fig. 42), where the outer columns are sensibly thicker than those between them; at Khorsabad (Fig. 41) the same result was obtained by rather different means. The edifice represented in this bas-relief bears no little similarity to certain Egyptian temples and to the Greek temple _in antis_.[261] The strength of these angular piers contrasts happily with the elegance of the columns between them. The latter are widely spaced, and, as in some Egyptian buildings, the architrave is but a horizontal continuation of the corner piers. If we analyse the column and examine its three parts separately we shall be led to similar conclusions. The stone column no doubt bore the architrave upon its capital wherever it was used, and both in Chaldæa and Assyria we find the same arrangement in those light structures which we have classed as belonging to the architecture of the tent (Figs. 70 and 72). The origin of the forms employed in stone buildings is most clearly shewn by the frequent occurrence of the volute, a curvilinear element suggested by the use and peculiar properties of metal. [Illustration: FIG. 75.--Capital; from a small temple.] We find these volutes everywhere, upon shafts of stone and wood indifferently. We are tempted to think, when we examine the details of our Fig. 67, that the first idea of them was taken from the horns of the ibex or the wild goat. The column on the right of this cut bears a fir cone between its volutes, those on the left have small tablets on which are perched the very animals whose heads are armed with these horns. However this may be, the form in question, like all others borrowed from nature by man, was soon modified and developed by art. The curve was prolonged and turned in upon itself. In one of the capitals of the little temple represented at Kouyundjik (Fig. 42), two pairs of these horns may be recognized one above the other (Fig. 75), but nowhere else do we find such an arrangement. Whether the column be of wood, as in the Sippara tablet (Fig. 71), or of stone, as in those buildings in which the weight and solidity of the entablature points decisively to that material (Figs. 41 and 42), we find a volute in universal use that differs but slightly in its general physiognomy from the familiar ornament of the Ionic capital. [Illustration: FIG. 76.--View of a palace; from Layard.] Let us revert for a moment to the country house or palace of which we gave a general view in Fig. 39. We shall there find on the highest part of the building an open loggia supported by small columns many times repeated. We reproduce this part of the relief on a larger scale (Fig. 76), so that its details may be more clearly seen. A very slight familiarity with the graphic processes of the Assyrians is sufficient to inform the reader that the kind of trellis work with which the bed of the relief is covered is significant of a mountainous country. The palace rises on the banks of a river, which is indicated by the sinuous lines in the right lower corner. The buildings themselves--which are dominated here and there by the round tops of trees, planted, we may suppose, in the inner courts--stand upon mounds at various heights above the plain. The lowest of these look like isolated structures, such as the advanced works of a fortress. Next comes a line of towers, and then the artificial hill crowned by the palace properly speaking. The façade of the latter is flanked by tall and salient towers, across whose summits runs the open gallery to which we have referred.[262] This is supported by numerous columns which must by their general arrangement and spacing, have been of wood. The gallery consisted, in all probability, of a platform upheld by trunks of trees, either squared or left in the rough and surmounted by capitals sheathed in beaten bronze. The volute is here quite simple in shape; elsewhere we find it doubled, as it were, so that four volutes occur between the astragali and the abacus (Figs. 42 and 77).[263] In other examples, again, it is elongated upwards until it takes a shape differing but little from the acanthus leaves of the Corinthian capital (Fig. 78).[264] This volute is found all over Assyria and Chaldæa. It decorates the angles of the small temple represented on the stone known as Lord Aberdeen's Black Stone (Fig. 79). It occurs also on many of the ivories, but these, perhaps, are for the most part Phoenician. But in any case the Assyrians made constant use of it in the decoration of their furniture. In an ivory plaque, of which the British Museum possesses several examples, we find a man standing and grasping a lotus stem in his left hand (Fig. 80). This stem rests upon a support which bears a strong resemblance to the Sippara capital (Fig. 71); it has two volutes separated by a sharp point. The fondness of the Assyrians for these particular curves is also betrayed in that religious and symbolic device which has been sometimes called the _Tree of Life_. Some day, perhaps, the exact significance of this emblem may be explained, we are content to point out the variety and happy arrangement of the sinuous lines which surround and enframe the richly decorated pilaster that acts as its stem. We gave one specimen of this tree in Fig. 8; we now give another (Fig. 81). The astragali, the ibex horns and the volutes, may all be easily recognized here. [Illustration: FIG. 77.--Capital; from a small temple.] [Illustration: FIG. 78.--Capital.] [Illustration: FIG. 79.--Chaldæan tabernacle.] [Illustration: FIG. 80.--Ivory plaque found at Nimroud. Actual size. British Museum.] The only stone capital that has come down to us has, indeed, no volutes (Fig. 74) but it is characterized by the same taste for flowing lines and rounded forms. Its general section is that of a cyma reversa surmounted by a flattened torus, and its appearance that of a vase decorated with curvilinear and geometrical tracery. There is both originality and beauty in the contours of the profile and the arrangement of the tracery; the section as a whole is not unlike that of the inverted bell-shaped capitals at Karnak.[265] [Illustration: FIG. 81.--_The Tree of Life_; from Layard.] This type must have been in frequent use, as we find it repeated in four bases found still in place in front of the palace of Sennacherib by Sir Henry Layard. They were of limestone and rested upon plinths and a pavement of the same material (Fig. 82).[266] In these the design of the ornament is a little more complicated than the festoon on the Khorsabad capital, but the principle is the same and both objects belong to one narrow class. We again encounter this same base with its opposing curves in a curious monument discovered at Kouyundjik by Mr. George Smith.[267] This is a small and carefully executed model, in yellowstone, of a winged human-headed bull, supporting on his back a vase or base similar in design to that figured above. This little object must have served as a model for the carvers engaged upon the palace walls. We shall not here stop to examine the attributes and ornaments of the bull, they are well shown in our Figs. 83 and 84, and their types are known by many other examples. Our aim is to show that we have rightly described the uses to which it was put. These might have remained obscure but for the discovery, in the south-western palace at Nimroud, of a pair of winged sphinxes, calcined by fire but still in their places between two huge lions at one of the doors. Before their contours disappeared--and they rapidly crumbled away upon contact with the air--Layard had time to make a drawing of the one that had suffered least (Fig. 85). In his description he says that between the two wings was a sort of plateau, "intended to carry the base of a column."[268] [Illustration: FIG. 82.--Ornamented base, in limestone.] Surprised at not finding any trace of the column itself, he gives out another conjecture: that these sphinxes were altars upon which offerings to the gods, or presents to the king were placed. This hypothesis encounters many objections. We may easily account for the disappearance of the column by supposing it to have been of wood. If it was stone, it may have been carried off for use as a roller by the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages, before that part of the building to which it belonged was so completely engulfed and hidden by the ruins as it afterwards became.[269] Moreover we can point to a certain number of Assyrian altars, and their shapes are very different from this. [Illustration: FIG. 83.--Model of a base, side view. Actual size.] [Illustration: FIG. 84.--The same, seen from in front.] Finally, all our doubts are removed by a bas-relief from the palace of Assurbanipal, which is now in the British Museum (Fig. 86). The upper part of this carved picture is destroyed, but enough remains to show that it reproduced the façade of some richly decorated building. Four columns supported on the backs of so many lions, and two flat pilasters upheld in the same fashion by winged griffins, may readily be distinguished. That these griffins are not repeated on the left of the relief, is due perhaps to the haste or laziness of the sculptor. He may have thought he had done enough when he had shown once for all how these pedestals were composed. However this may have been, the lions in this relief play exactly the same _rôle_ as that attributed by us to the little model found by George Smith, and to the winged sphinx discovered by Sir Henry Layard before one of the doors at Nimroud. A base in the form of a vase or cushion is inserted between the back of the animal and the bottom of the shaft. In the pilaster--if we may believe that the artist took no liberties with fact--the junction is direct without the interposition of any ornamental motive. [Illustration: FIG. 85.--Winged Sphinx carrying the base of a column; from Layard.] [Illustration: FIG. 86.--Façade of an Assyrian building; from a bas-relief in the British Museum. Height 10 inches.] In what M. Place calls the state doorways (_portes ornées_) of Khorsabad, the arches spring from the backs of the great mitred bulls that guard the entrance.[270] But, whether the columns rose from the backs of animals real or fantastic, they always seem to have had a base. Almost the only instance of its absence is in the open gallery in Fig. 76, and there, perhaps, they are hidden by a balustrade. Everywhere else we find a more or less ornamental member interposed between the shaft and the ground. At Khorsabad (Fig. 41) it is a simple torus (Fig. 87), at Kouyundjik (Fig. 42) it is a kind of cushion (Fig. 88), which we find represented in not a few of the bas-reliefs. The curves bear a distant resemblance to the volutes of a capital; above this base appears a ring or astragal, the origin of which may be easily guessed. The original timber column, the newly felled tree that was set up to support the roof of a tent or a house, must have been placed upon a block of stone or wood, to which it was joined, in some degree, by hollowing out the latter and setting the foot of the timber beam in the hollow, and then hiding the junction by those reed bands that, as travellers tell us, were still used for the same purpose in the last years of Babylon.[271] In time a ring of metal would take the place of the reeds, and when stone columns came to be used, a feature which was at first a necessity, or, at least, a useful expedient and a guarantee of duration and solidity, came at last to be simply an ornament. [Illustration: FIGS. 87, 88.--Bases of columns; from the bas-reliefs.] * * * * * We have now studied the Assyrian column as a whole and in detail. Most of its features seem to us to be survivals from the methods and processes of what we have called the architecture of the tent. The stone column had no place in those structures of crude brick of which the real national architecture of Mesopotamia consisted; it was not at home there; the surrounding conditions were unfavourable to its development. And yet, in time, it did, as we have seen, put in a rare appearance, at least in the case of that one of the two sister nations by which a sufficient supply of stone could be obtained, but even then it filled an ornamental and auxiliary rather than a vital function. Its remains are only to be found by patient search, and even in the bas-reliefs its representations are few and far between. By making diligent use of these two channels of information archæology has succeeded in demonstrating the existence of the Assyrian column and describing its forms, but at the same time it has been compelled to recognize how narrow was its use, especially in the great structures on which Mesopotamian builders lavished all the resources of their art. In those it was employed mainly for the decoration of outbuildings, and it will be well to inquire how it acquitted itself of such a task. * * * * * The column seems to have been introduced in those gateways to which the Assyrian architect attached so much importance.[272] Read carefully Sir Henry Layard's description of his discovery of two sphinxes upon one of the façades of the south-western palace at Kouyundjik (Fig. 83); he gives no plan of the passage where he found them, but his narrative[273] suggests the existence of some kind of porch in front of the large opening. It must have been upheld by a pair of columns on the backs of the two sphinxes, and may have consisted of one of those wooden canopies which are so common in the modern architecture of the East.[274] We are inclined to recognize a pent house of this kind, but of more complicated construction in the Kouyundjik bas-relief figured above (Fig. 83). No door is shown, but that, perhaps, is due to the sculptor's inability to suggest a void, or the two central perpendicular lines may have been joined by a horizontal one on the upper part of the relief, which is lost, and thus a doorway indicated; it would then have a couple of pilasters and a couple of columns on each flank. In classic architecture we find nothing that can be compared with this curious notion of placing columns and pilasters on the backs of real or imaginary animals, on a lion, a winged bull, or a sphinx. In the modern East, however, it is still done. The throne of the Shah, at Teheran, is supported by columns which, in their turn, stand on the backs of lions. Singularly enough the same idea found favour with European architects in the middle ages, who often made use of it in the porches of their Christian cathedrals.[275] Hence, the old formula often found in judicial documents, _sedente inter leones_,--sitting between the lions--which, was used of episcopal judgments delivered in the church porch. In Italy, in buildings of the Lombardic style, these lions are to be found in great numbers and in this same situation. At Modena there is one in the south porch of the cathedral that strongly reminded me by its style and handling of the figures now existing in Cappadocia, of the lion at Euiuk, for example; in both instances it is extended on the ground with its fore paws laid upon some beast it has caught.[276] We could hardly name a motive more dear to Oriental art than this. Between the predilections of the modern East and those of Assyria and Chaldæa there are many such analogies. We shall not try to explain them; we shall be content with pointing them out as they present themselves. Various facts observed by Sir Henry Layard and the late George Smith, show that the column was often employed to form covered alleys stretching from a door to the edge of the platform, doubtless to the landings on which the stepped or inclined approaches to the palace came to an end. Sir Henry Layard[277] found four bases of limestone (Fig. 82) on the north side of Sennacherib's palace. They were in couples, one couple close to the palace wall, the other in a line with it but some eight-and-twenty yards farther from the building. In each pair the distance from centre to centre was 9 feet 3 inches. With such a width the covered way may very well have been roofed with wood, a hypothesis which is supported by the discovery, at the same point, of the remains of crude brick walls. The columns would mark in all likelihood the two extremities of the passage. As for the other conjecture thrown out by the explorer, it seems to us to be much less probable. He asks whether these bases may not have been the pedestals of statues. Many Assyrian statues have been found together with their pedestals, and these are always simple in the extreme and without any kind of ornament. Moreover, the statues themselves were made rather to be set up against a wall than to pass an independent existence in an open courtyard. Moreover, George Smith saw two of these bases in place at one of the entrances to the palace of Assurbanipal. Unfortunately he gives no drawing and his description is wanting in clearness, but he seems to have noticed the traces left by a cylindrical shaft on the upper surface of one base; his expression, "a flat circle to receive the column," evidently means that the latter was sunk into the substance of the base.[278] Here, no doubt was the end of a gallery, like that in front of Sennacherib's palace. There must in all probability have been other remains of these columns besides those noticed by the English explorer, but at Khorsabad alone were the excavations superintended by a professional architect, there alone were they watched by the trained eye of a man capable of giving its true meaning and value to every detail of a ruinous building. At Nimroud, at Kouyundjik, at Nebbi-Younas, many interesting traces of ancient arrangements may have been obliterated in the course of the excavations without those who stood by having the least suspicion of their significance. We might perhaps, if it were worth while, come upon further representations of columns on engraved stones, on ivories, and bronzes,[279] but upon such small objects forms are indicated in a very summary fashion, and, besides, they would be nothing more than curtailed repetitions of motives shown in more detail and upon a larger scale elsewhere. Our readers may fairly judge, from the examples we have placed before them, of the appearance of those columns of wood and metal, which the Chaldæans used in the light and graceful tabernacles figured for us on the relief from Sippara, and of the more durable stone supports of the Assyrians. Long habit and an excessive respect for tradition, hindered the latter from turning the column to its fullest use. They stopped half way. They employed the feature with such timidity that we can point to nothing that can be called an Assyrian order. They produced nothing to compare with the rich and varied colonnades that we admired in the hypostyle halls of Egypt. And yet we cannot say that they showed any lack of originality or invention in their choice of decorations for the bases and capitals of their columns. Their favourite motive seems to have been the volute, to which, however, they gave an endless variety. They used it, no doubt, in many ways that now escape us, and by applying it now to this purpose and now to that, and sometimes with the happiest results, they accumulated an amount of experience as to the value of those graceful curves which was of great value to their successors. Who those successors were and how they carried to perfection a form which had its origin on the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates, will be shown in the course of our history. NOTES: [251] See above, p. 118, note 1. [252] TAYLOR, _Notes on Abou-Sharein, and Tell-el-Lahm_, (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 404).--ED. [253] This inscription is published in full in the _Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia_, vol. v. part ii. [254] The names of these three deities are furnished by the inscription which runs beneath the canopy of the pavilion (see Fig. 71). [255] The disk upon the table is enough by itself to betray the identity of the god, but as if to render assurance doubly sure, the artist has taken the trouble to cut on the bed of the relief under the three small figures, an inscription which has been thus translated by MM. OPPERT and MÉNANT: "Image of the Sun, the Great Lord, who dwells in the temple of Bit-para, in the city of Sippara." [256] See our _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. chap. 1, § 1. [257] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 120-122, and vol. iii. plate 73. [258] In this connection Sir H. LAYARD makes an observation to which the attention of the artist should be drawn. Whenever pictures of _Belshazzar's Feast_ and the _Last Night of Babylon_ are painted massive Egyptian pillars are introduced: nothing could be more contrary to the facts (_Discoveries_, p. 581). [259] M. PLACE, indeed, encountered an octagonal column on the mound of Karamles, but the general character of the objects found in that excavation led him to conclude positively that the column in question was a relic from the Parthian or Sassanide epoch (_Ninive_, vol. ii. pp. 169, 170). [260] _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. p. 95. [261] _Ibid._ vol. i. p. 397, fig. 230; and vol. ii. p. 105, fig. 84. [262] The profiles of the capitals in this gallery led Sir H. LAYARD to speak of "small pillars with capitals in the form of the Ionic volute" (_Discoveries_, p. 119) (?). [263] A similar arrangement of volutes may be found on the rough columns engraved upon one of the ivory plaques found at Nimroud (LAYARD, _Monuments_, &c., first series, plate 88, fig. 3). [264] We reproduce this capital from RAWLINSON'S _Five Great Monarchies_ (vol. i. p. 333); but we should have liked to be able to refer either to the relief in which it occurs, or to the original design which must have been made in the case of those slabs which had to be left at Nineveh. We have succeeded in finding neither the relief nor the drawing, so that we cannot guarantee the fidelity of the image. [265] See _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. p. 120, fig. 95. [266] LAYARD forgets to give the height of this base: he is content to tell us that its greatest diameter is 2 feet 7 inches, and its smallest 11-1/2 inches. This latter measurement must have been taken at the junction with the shaft (_Discoveries_, p. 590). [267] George SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, sixth edition, 8vo. 1876, p. 431. [268] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. p. 349, at a little distance the explorer found the bodies of two lions placed back to back, which seemed to have formed a pedestal of the same kind. Their heads were wanting, and the whole group had suffered so much from fire, that it was impossible either to carry it off or to make a satisfactory drawing from it (_ibid._ p. 351). [269] This suggestion seems inconsistent with the state of the ruin at the spot where the discovery was made. Sir Henry Layard describes these sphinxes as buried in charcoal, and so calcined by the fire that they fell into minute fragments soon after exposure to the air. Anything carried on their backs must have fallen at the time of the conflagration, and, if a stone column, it would have been found under the charcoal.--ED. [270] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plate 11. [271] STRABO, xvi. 1, 5. [272] Thomas has placed one of these porches in his restoration of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad. It is supported by two columns, and serves to mark one of the entrances to the harem. (PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plate 37 _bis_.) [273] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. pp. 349, 350. [274] Numerous examples are figured in COSTE and FLANDIN'S _Perse Moderne_, plates 3, 7, 9, 26, 27, 54, &c. They cast a wide shadow in front of the doorways, and sometimes run along the whole length of the façade. Some little support to M. Perrot's theory is afforded by a circumstance on which Layard dwells strongly in the passage referred to above, namely, that the sphinxes were found buried over their heads in charcoal, which may very well have been the remains of such a porch; its quantity seems too great for those of a ceiling.--ED. [275] This coincidence struck Professor Rawlinson, who compares one of these Assyrian columns to a column in the porch of the Cathedral of Trent. He reproduces them both in his _Five Great Monarchies_, vol. i. p. 313. [276] See PERROT and GUILLAUME, _Exploration archéologique de la Galatie_, vol. ii. pl. 57. [277] _Discoveries_, p. 590. [278] GEORGE SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, p. 431. [279] One curious example of this is figured in the work of M. CHIPIEZ, _Histoire critique de l'Origine et de la Formation des Ordres grecs_, p. 20. See also LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 444, where a bas-relief from the palace of Sennacherib is figured, upon which appears a coffer supported by a foot in the shape of a column, which ends in a regular volute. § 5.--_The Arch._ In the preceding pages we have determined the _rôle_ played by the column in Assyria, and have explained that in spite of the care and taste lavished upon some of its details, it never rose above the rank of a secondary and subordinate member. There is nothing, then, to surprise us in the fact that the Assyrian architect never placed his arches or vaults upon columns or piers; he seems never to have had a glimpse of the great possibilities such a procedure involved, a procedure from which upon the very soil of the East, his remote descendants were to evolve the architecture of the Byzantine church and the Arab mosque. His archivolts and the pendentives of his vaults always rest upon thick walls, and yet almost every variety of the simple arch or tunnel-vault are to be found among the ruins of his buildings. * * * * * [Illustration: FIG. 89.--Tomb-chamber at Mugheir; from Taylor.] Like all the other forms of Assyrian architecture the arch was invented in Chaldæa. The use of small sized materials must have led to its early discovery in that country. But the only arches now standing occur in the better preserved monuments of Assyria. On the other hand the tombs of Lower Chaldæa furnish more than one example of that false, corbelled or off-set vault, that we have already encountered in Egypt.[280] The chamber figured below is taken from the necropolis of Mugheir, formerly "Ur of the Chaldees." It is built of crude brick bound with mud. The vault is supported by walls sloping upwards and outwards like those of a modern tunnel (Fig. 89).[281] Such a method of construction is only adapted to buildings of small dimensions; it could not be used for chambers with wide roofs, or where any great weight was to be upheld. The arches upon which, according to both Strabo and Diodorus,[282] the hanging gardens of Babylon were supported, must have been real centred arches. As to whether they were of pisé, like those of Khorsabad, the Greek writers tell us nothing. From what we know of the habits of the Chaldæan builder we may conclude that they were true arches with voussoirs either of bricks burnt in the kiln, or so well dried that they were almost as hard and durable as those that had passed through the fire. This conjecture is confirmed by the fact that the structures in question lasted till the Macedonian conquest. Strabo and Diodorus speak of the great temple of Bel as so ruinous that its original height could not be guessed, even approximatively. It was otherwise with the hanging gardens. Of these they give the measurements, on plan, of the platforms and piers, together with their heights, and the heights of the arches. We should find it difficult to explain the preciseness of these measurements and their agreement one with another, unless we supposed that both writers had some exact authority, such as one of the companions or historians of Alexander, to refer to. The kings of Persia lived at Babylon for a part of the year. These princes may well have been indifferent to the preservation of the national fanes, they may even have hastened their destruction, as Xerxes is said to have done, in order to punish and humiliate the rebellious Babylonians. But in their own interest they would see that proper care was taken of those hanging gardens by which their stay in the city would be rendered more pleasant than it would otherwise have been, from whose lofty platforms their watchful eyes could roam over the city and the adjoining plain, and follow the course of the great river until it disappeared on the south amid groves of waving palm. After the rise of Seleucia and Ctesiphon, however, the gardens would rapidly hasten to decay, but they must have been solidly built in the first instance to last as long as they did. The pisé vaults of the Ninevite palaces could never have stood so well. In spite of the layers of lead and bitumen which, as Diodorus tells us, were spread upon their terraces, the summer rains must in time have found their way into their walls and set up a process of disintegration which could have but one end. Real brick with good mortar could alone resist such influences, and those, no doubt, were the materials used in the Babylonian gardens. If their substructures should ever be found and laid open, we have little doubt that arches as carefully built as those of the Assyrian ruins will be brought to light. The gateways of the town built by Sargon at the foot of his palace mound were roofed with semicircular vaults.[283] In order to study their construction more closely, M. Place demolished one of these arches piece by piece, the one numbered three on his plan.[284] It was already condemned to destruction by the necessity for carrying off its sculptures. The total height from pavement to keystone, was twenty-four feet six inches, from the centre of the keystone to the springing of the arch itself was eight feet, the total width of the opening, measured at the feet of the caryatides, was fourteen feet four inches. The bricks had not been burnt in a kiln but they had been subjected to a prolonged desiccation. The system of construction was as simple as possible. The perpendicular side walls passed into the vault without any preparation, and the arch when complete had no inward projection and no structural ornament but the inner faces of the carefully placed voussoirs; as all the bricks were of the same size and shape something more than their slightly trapezoidal form was required to keep them in place, and a softer clay was used to bind them together. With the addition of this rude cement each brick became a long and narrow wedge and determined the curve of the vault in which it was placed. Some idea of the appearance of this triple arch may be formed from the illustration we have compiled from M. Thomas's elevation of an alcove in one of the harem apartments at Khorsabad (Fig. 90). This vault is not in existence, but its component parts were found among the ruins of Sargon's palace.[285] [Illustration: FIG. 90.--Interior of a chamber in the harem of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad; compiled from Place.] There is one detail in the decoration of these doorways that should be carefully noted. Wherever the architect makes use of a round-headed opening he reinforces its outlines with a kind of semicircular frieze, to which brilliant colours or bold reliefs would give no little decorative value. In what M. Place calls _portes ornées_, this ornamental archivolt is of enamelled bricks, in the subordinate entrances it is distinguished from the rest of the wall merely by its salience. In neither case, however, does it end in any kind of impost, it returns horizontally without the arch and forms an ornament along a line corresponding to the spring of the vault within. We give an example of this peculiarly Assyrian arrangement from one of the gateways at Dour-Saryoukin (Fig. 91). Nothing like it is to be found, so far as we know, among the buildings of any other ancient people. [Illustration: FIG. 91.--Return round the angle of an archivolt in one of the gates of Dour-Saryoukin; compiled from Place.] From the point of view of the special study on which we are now busy, the inhabited and visible part of an Assyrian building is less interesting than those channels hidden in the substructures which acted as drains. These channels existed in all the palaces. Layard encountered them at Nimroud and Kouyundjik,[286] but it was at Khorsabad that they were found in the best condition and most carefully studied.[287] We shall make use chiefly of the observations of MM. Place and Thomas in our explanation of a curious system of sewers that does, perhaps, more honour to the Ninevite builder than any other part of his work. Every detail of their construction is full of interest,--the general arrangement, the choice of materials and the various methods of vaulting brought into play. In nearly all the rooms there is an opening in the middle of the pavement towards which the rest of the floor has a gentle slope. It is a round hole cut through the centre of a square stone set among the bricks and leading to a circular brick conduit. In the first specimen described by M. Place, this descending pipe is five feet four inches deep, and rather more than eleven inches in diameter. It leads into an almost horizontal conduit with a similar section and of the same materials. This latter channel is gently inclined through the whole of its length; it terminates in the main drain of which the cut on the next page gives a section in perspective (Fig. 92).[288] The floor of this sewer was formed of large limestone slabs overpassing the inside width of the channel by several inches. By this means the internal joints were reduced to a minimum, and a further precaution was taken by placing the slabs in a bath of asphalte, which was also used to coat the oblique channels and the foot of the vertical pipe. The low perpendicular walls upon which the vault was to be placed were built upon the outer edge of these wide slabs. They were of four-inch bricks, carefully laid. The most remarkable thing about this drain is the construction of the vault. The bricks composing it are trapezoidal in shape, two of their edges being slightly rounded, the one concave, the other convex. The radius of this curve varies with each brick, being governed by its destined place in the vault. These bricks go therefore in pairs, and as there are four courses of bricks on each side of the vault, four separate and different moulds would be required, besides a fifth, for a brick of which we shall presently have to speak. The four narrow sides of these bricks differ sensibly one from another. The two curved faces being at different distances from the centre, are of unequal lengths, while, as the lower oblique edge is some inches below the upper in the curve, these two edges have different directions. In their disinclination to use stone voussoirs, the Assyrian builders here found themselves compelled to mould bricks of very complicated form, and the way in which they accomplished their task speaks volumes for their skill. [Illustration: FIG. 92.--Drain at Khorsabad, with pointed arch. Section in perspective.] If we cast a glance at our Fig. 92 the first thing that strikes us is the absence of a keystone to the vault. The two rows of voussoirs that are in full view thrust against each other only by a single sharp edge; there is no keystone between them. In the row immediately behind, however, there is a stone (imperfectly seen in our illustration) that seems to play the part of a key. Thus we find that only at each alternate vertical course was the arch of burnt and moulded brick complete. The openings left at the summits of the other courses must have been filled in in some way, and, in fact, the line of voids which ran along the top of the extrados was filled in with brick earth, beaten tight and forming the best of keys. So that the vault was completed and consolidated by the same material as that used to make its channel impervious to water.[289] This vault has another strange singularity which at first is very surprising. The whole structure has a sensible inclination in the direction of its length, suggesting that some accident had happened to it in course of erection. Such an explanation must be rejected, however, because at the moment of discovery the whole arrangement was uninjured, and, moreover, the filling of clay must have rendered any movement of the kind impossible. M. Place's explanation seems the best. He thinks the slope was given merely to facilitate the work of the bricklayers. The first course of voussoirs would be sloped in this fashion, and would rest upon some mass of crude brick in the centre of the building. The bricks of the second course would lean against it, and their weight would be brought in to add cohesion and solidity to the whole structure instead of being entirely occupied in adding to the perpendicular thrust, while the ease with which they could be placed without an internal support would be much increased. Assisted by this simple expedient, two bricklayers with their labourers could build the vault at a very rapid rate. We may believe that the notion of building in this way would never have occurred to the Assyrian architects but for their habit of dispensing with timber centres. This slope had an effect upon the arrangement of the bricks which should be noticed. In all other vaults, such as those of the city gates, the units are laid upon their longest sides, and a vertical section shows their shortest diameters. Here, on the other hand, the bricks stand on their edges, and their largest surfaces are in contact, on each side, with the next vertical course. If the full benefit of the natural cohesion between one brick and another was to be obtained, this method of laying them was absolutely necessary. Internally, the drain we have been studying was four feet eight inches high from the floor to the crown of the vault. Its width was three feet nine inches, and its general slope very slight. It may be followed for a total length of about 220 feet, after which falls of earth have carried away the arch and the whole northern part of the esplanade, so that no trace of the mouth by which it opened on the plain can be traced. The other sewer described by M. Place may be more summarily dismissed. In spite of their drawings and minute descriptions, explorers have not yet succeeded in explaining the eccentricities of construction it presents. It has two channels, one above the other, which are similar neither in slope nor section. Moreover this double sewer is abruptly interrupted in the middle of the artificial mound through which it runs. Must we believe that it was never finished or used? We shall not attempt to answer this question, but shall content ourselves with pointing to the similarities between this tunnel and the last described. The same large stone slabs upon a layer of bitumen, the same inclination of the body of the vault, the same bricks formed in different moulds according to their place in the vault, are found in each. Our Fig. 93 shows the two channels and their position one above the other. The pavement of the terrace, which consists of a double bed of large bricks, rests upon the extrados of the upper channel. This vault is semicircular; it has three voussoirs on each side, which, with the key, make seven in each vertical course. But in consequence either of an error in measurement or of a mistake in calculating the shrinking of the bricks, there was a gap between the third voussoir on the right and the key. This gap was filled in by the insertion of a stone cut into the shape of a wedge. But for this fault--which, however, had no appreciable effect upon its solidity--the vault would be perfect.[290] The narrow triangular opening of the lower channel may be seen below it. The semicircular vault gradually and insensibly changes into an elliptical one. The side walls become lower, at each yard their height is diminished by the thickness of a brick, and finally they disappear about the middle of the total length. At the point shown in our Fig. 94 the arch has lost its supports and rests directly upon the pavement of the channel. Its ellipse is composed of eight voussoirs, four on each side, and a key with a small wedge-shaped stone voussoir on each side of it. Between the two points shown in our Figs. 93 and 94 the upper and lower sewers have become one, the vaulted roof of the first and the paved floor of the second being continued in a single tunnel. At the point where this tunnel comes to a sudden end it is closed by a wall, through which two small openings are pierced to serve as outlets for the sewer within (Fig. 94). [Illustration: FIG. 93.--Sewer at Khorsabad, with semicircular vault; compiled from Place.] At different points on the Khorsabad mound, M. Place found other sewers, some with depressed, some with basket-handle vaults, while, at Nimroud, channels were discovered which were square in section and covered with large slabs of limestone.[291] The Assyrian architects seem, however, to have had a decided preference for the vault in such a situation. They expected it to give greater solidity, and in that they were not mistaken. The vaults of burnt brick, though set without cement, have remained unshaken and close in their joints, and the sewers they inclose are the only voids that have remained clear in the ruins of the buildings to which they belong. [Illustration: FIG. 94.--Sewer at Khorsabad, with elliptical vault; compiled from Place.] We may, perhaps, be accused of dwelling too minutely upon these Assyrian vaults. We have done so because there is no question more interesting or more novel in the whole history of architecture than the true origin of the keyed vault and the different uses to which it has been put. Ottfried Müller looked upon the Etruscans as the inventors of the vault; he believed that the Greek builders learnt the secret from the early inhabitants of Italy,[292] and that the arches of the Roman _Cloaca Maxima_ built by the Tuscan architects of the Tarquins, were the oldest that had come down to us from antiquity. The archæological discoveries of the last fifty years have singularly falsified his opinion and given an age to the vault never before suspected. Even in the days of the Ancient Empire the Egyptians seem to have understood its principle; in any case the architects of Amenophis, of Thothmes, of Rameses, made frequent and skilful use of it long before the Ninevite palaces in which we have found it were erected.[293] But the possession of stones of enormous size enabled the Egyptians to dispense to a great extent with the arch, and we need not be surprised, therefore, that they failed to give it anything like its full development. They kept it in the background, and while using it when necessary in their tombs, in the outbuildings of their temples, in their private dwellings and warehouses, they never made it a conspicuous element of their architectural system. They may well be admired for the majesty of their colonnades and the magnificence of their hypostyle halls, but not for the construction of their vaults, for the imitation of which, moreover, they gave little opportunity. In Chaldæa and Assyria the conditions were different. Supposing the architecture of those two countries to be yet entire, should we find in it vaults rivalling in age the arch in a tomb at Abydos which Mariette attributes to the sixth dynasty?[294] Probably not. So far as we can judge, Chaldæan civilization does not date from so remote a past as that of Egypt, but it appears certain that the principles of the vault were discovered and put in practice by the Chaldees long before the comparatively modern times in which the segmental and pointed arches of Nineveh were erected. The latter alone are preserved because they have been hidden during all these centuries under the heaped-up ruins of the buildings to which they belonged, while those of Chaldæa have been carried away piece by piece, and their materials used again and again by the modern population of Mesopotamia. In spite, however, of the absence of such direct evidence, we may affirm without fear that the Chaldæan architects soon discovered the principle of the arch, and used it at least in its simplest and least complex forms. We are led to these conclusions not only by their restriction to small units of construction--a restriction which is sure, sooner or later, to lead to the discovery in question--but also by induction from the monuments we have just been studying. The arches under the hanging gardens of Babylon, the vaults of the sewers and gateways, the domes that covered the great square chambers in the Ninevite palaces--all these were derived, we may be sure, from the ancient civilization. We cannot believe that such consummate skill in the management of a difficult matter was arrived at in a day. The purely empiric knowledge of statics it implies could only have been accumulated by a long series of more or less happy experiments. Thus only can we explain the ease with which the Assyrian builder surmounted difficulties some of which would have puzzled a modern architect, such as the pisé vaults erected over spacious galleries without any kind of centering, and the domes over square chambers, for which some system of pendentives--that is, of arches or other intermediate forces--by which the base of the cupola could be allied to the top of the supporting wall, must have been contrived. The accurate calculation of forces between the thrust of the vaults and the strength of the retaining walls, the dexterity with which the curves employed are varied and carried insensibly one into the other, the skill with which the artificial materials are prepared for their appointed office, are also surprising. By careful moulding and manipulation the Assyrian builder made his brick voussoirs as well fitted for their work as the cut stone of our day. Each brick had its own shape and size, so that it was assigned in advance a particular place in the vault and its own part in assuring the final stability of the building. In all this we cannot avoid seeing the results of a patient and long-continued process of experiment and education carried on through many centuries in all the workshops of Mesopotamia. The art of building vaults with small units of construction was, then, carried farther in Mesopotamia than in Egypt; it was there more frankly developed; it was there forced with greater success to supply the place of stone and timber. It was in fact more of an indigenous art in the valley of the Tigris and Euphrates than anywhere else, more inspired by the permanent and unchanging conditions of the country--in a word, more national. In these days the historian sets himself with devotion to follow in all its involutions the long chain of thought and effort by which man has been led from his primitive barbarism to the well-being of modern civilization, and to his domination--every day more complete and more intelligent--over the minor forces of nature. It is the duty of criticism, as its methods gradually perfect themselves, to add daily to its perspicacity and powers of observation, and to lessen as much as possible the occasions, still so numerous, when the thread of evidence breaks in its hands and the true relations of facts to each other become obscured. Even yet we cannot say for certain to which nation of the ancient world the invention of the arch belongs. In those remote ages the principle may have been discovered more than once or twice in different and distant countries whose inhabitants were busied over the same task. We have no reason to believe that Chaldæa learnt the secret from Egypt, or Etruria from the East. It is none the less true, however, that the unknown architects of Babylon and Nineveh made full use of it at an earlier date and in more intelligent fashion than any of their rivals. To them must be given the credit of being the masters and art-ancestors of the men who built the Pantheon and the Church of Saint Sophia, Santa Maria del Fiore, and Saint Peter's in Rome, and more especially of those great modern engineers to whom the principle of the arch has been a chief element in their success. NOTES: [280] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. p. 82. [281] This chamber is 7 feet long, 3 feet 7 inches wide, and 5 feet high. TAYLOR, _Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 272. [282] STRABO, xvi. 1, 5. DIODORUS, ii. 10. [283] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 170-182 and 256-259, vol. iii. plates 9-18. [284] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plate 2. [285] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 128. [286] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. p. 134; vol. ii. pp. 79 and 261. _Discoveries_, pp. 162-165. [287] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 269-280 and plates 38 and 39. [288] We have endeavoured to combine M. Thomas's longitudinal elevation, vertical section, and transverse section (PLACE, _Ninive_, plate 38), in our single cut. [289] The same process was employed at Nimroud in a drain or water channel, of which LAYARD gives a sketch (_Discoveries_, p. 164). In connection with these vaults we must remember that a pointed arch has no key properly speaking; the top stone is merely a joint. It looks as if the Assyrian architect had a kind of instinctive appreciation of the fact. [290] The slope, the height, and the width of this channel are not the same throughout. In some places it is wide enough to allow two men to walk abreast in it. [291] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. p. 79. [292] OTTFRIED MÜLLER, _Handbuch der Archäologie der Kunst_, § 107 and 168 (3rd edition). [293] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. p. 112, and vol. ii. chap. ii. § 4. [294] _Ibid._ vol. ii. fig. 44. § 6.--_Secondary Forms._ (_Doors, windows, steles, altars, obelisks, mouldings._) We have been obliged to dwell at length on the arch and the column because those two elements of construction are of the greatest importance to all who wish to gain a true idea of Mesopotamian art and of its influence upon neighbouring peoples and over subsequent developments of architecture. On the other hand we shall have very little to say upon what, in speaking of Egyptian art, we called _secondary forms_.[295] We have already had occasion to speak of some of these, such as windows and doors. We have explained how the nature of his materials and the heat of the climate led the architect to practically suppress the former, while, on the other hand, he gave extravagant dimensions to the latter. It was to the door that the rooms had mainly to look for the light and air, with which they could not entirely dispense. We have now to give a few details as to the fashion in which these large openings were set in the walls that enframed them. As for salient decorative members--or mouldings, to give them their right name--their list is very short. We shall, however, find them in some variety in a series of little monuments that deserve, perhaps, more attention than they have yet received--we mean altars, steles, and those objects to which the name of _obelisks_ has, with some inaccuracy, been given. Some of these objects have no little grace of their own, and serve to prove that what the Chaldæans and Assyrians lacked was neither taste nor invention, but the encouragement that the possession of a kindly material would have given to their genius. Doorways seem to have been generally crowned with a brick archivolt; round-headed doors occur oftener than any others on the bas-reliefs, but rectangular examples are not wanting (see Fig. 43). In the latter case the lintel must have been of wood, metal, or stone. Naturally the bronze and timber lintels have disappeared, while in but a single instance have the explorers found one of stone, namely that discovered by George Smith at the entrance to a hall in the palace of Sennacherib (Fig. 95). It consists of a block of richly carved limestone. Its sculptures are now much worn, but their motives and firm execution may still be admired. Two winged dragons, with long necks folded like that of a swan, face each other, the narrow space between them being occupied by a large two-handled vase. Above these there is a band of carved foliage, the details of which are lost in the shadow cast by a projecting cornice along the top of the lintel.[296] The necklace round the throat of the right-hand dragon should be noticed. It is surprising that stone lintels are so rare, especially as the corresponding piece, if we may call it so, namely, the sill or threshold, was generally of limestone or alabaster, at least in the more important and more richly-decorated rooms. [Illustration: FIG. 95.--Decorated lintel, 6 feel long and 10 inches high. British Museum.] The exploration of the Assyrian palaces has brought three systems of flooring to light--beaten earth, brick pavements, and pavements of limestone slabs.[297] In the palace of Sargon nearly every chamber, except those of the harem, had a floor of beaten earth, like that in a modern fellah's house. Even the halls in which the painted and sculptured decoration was most sumptuous were no exceptions to this rule. There is nothing in this, however, to surprise those who have lived in the East; like the Turks, Arabs, and Persians of our own time, the Chaldæans and Assyrians were shod, except when fighting or hunting, with those _babooshes_ or sandals that are so often figured in the bas-reliefs. These must have been taken off, as they are to-day, before entering a temple, a palace, or a harem. Moses was required to take off his shoes before approaching the burning bush, because the place on which he stood was holy ground. In the houses of their gods, in those of their kings and rich men, the floor would be covered with those rich carpets and mats that from one end of the East to the other conceal from sight the floors of white wood or beaten earth. In summer the mats are fresh and grateful to the bare feet, in the winter the carpets are soft and warm. The floors themselves are hardly ever seen, so that we need feel no surprise at their being left without ornament. So, too, was it in all probability in the palaces of Sargon and of other kings, and in the sacred buildings. Elsewhere, however, we find a pavement constructed with the most scrupulous care, and consisting of three distinct parts,--two layers of large bricks with a thick bed of sand interposed between them. The lower course of bricks is set in a bed of bitumen which separates it from the earth and prevents any dampness passing either up or down. This system of paving was used in most of the harem chambers at Khorsabad as well as in the open courts and upon the terraces. Lastly, in certain rooms of the seraglio and harem, in a few of the courts, in the vestibules, before the gates of the city, and in paths across wide open spaces, a limestone pavement has been found. Wherever this pavement exists, the stones are of the same kind and placed in the same manner. The limestone is exactly similar to that in the retaining walls described on page 147. The stones are often more than three feet square, and from two feet six inches to two feet ten inches thick. Their shape is not that of a regular solid; it is more like a reversed cone, the base forming the pavement and the narrow end being buried in the ground. These stones are simply placed side by side without the use of mortar or cement of any kind, but their weight and peculiar shape gave a singular durability to the pavement for which they were used. Most of the sills belong to this class. And in Assyria where doorways were several yards deep and two or three wide, these sills were in reality the pavements of passages or even chambers.[298] The materials for these pavements were always different from those of the floors on each side of them. In the entrances to the brick-paved courts large stones were used; in the passages between rooms floored with beaten earth bricks were introduced. The stone thresholds were mostly alabaster like the sculptured slabs upon the chamber walls. As a rule they were of a single piece, the great extent of surface, sometimes as much as ten or eleven square yards, notwithstanding. In the entries flanked by the winged bulls the sills were carved with inscriptions, which were comparatively rare elsewhere. Sometimes we find a rich and elaborate ornamentation in place of the wedges; it is made up of geometrical forms and conventional foliage and flowers; the figures of men and animals are never introduced. Such an arrangement was in better taste than the mosaic thresholds of the Romans where men were shown in pictures destined to be trodden under foot. The Assyrian carver doubtless took his designs from the carpets in the adjoining chambers. [Illustration: FIG. 96.--Sill of a door, from Khorsabad. Louvre. Length 40 inches. Drawn by Bourgoin.[299]] A good idea of these designs may be formed from the slab figured below. The centre is occupied by a number of interlacing circles, betraying no little skill on the part of the ornamentist. The "knop and flower" border of alternately closed and shut lotus flowers is separated from the centre by a band of rosettes. The whole is distinguished by thought and a severe taste. The indented corners, where the pivots of the doors were placed, and the slot for the lower bolt of the door near the centre, should be noticed. These details prove that in this instance the door was a double one. In other cases the absence of the slot and the presence of only one pivot hole show that single doors were also used.[300] The doors always opened inwards, being folded back either against the sides of the entry itself or against the walls of the chamber. Many of these sills or thresholds show no sign of a pivot at either corner, whence we may conclude that many of the openings were left without doors, and could only have been closed by those suspended carpets or mats of which such ready use is made in hot countries. In very magnificent buildings metal thresholds sometimes replaced those of stone or brick. In the British Museum there is a huge bronze sill that was found in a ruined temple at Borsippa, by Mr. Rassam. Its extreme length is sixty inches, its width twenty, and its thickness about three and a half inches. It bears an inscription of Nebuchadnezzar the arrangement of which proves that the sill when complete had double its present length, or about ten feet. Its upper surface is decorated with large rosettes within square borders. We need hardly say that it is a solid casting, and that its weight is, therefore, by no means trifling. The workmen who put in place and those who cast it must both have thoroughly understood what they were about. Even now, we are told, the latter operation would be attended by some difficulty.[301] The founders who produced this casting could have no difficulty over the other parts of the door-case, and we have no reason to doubt the statement of Herodotus, who thus ends his account of how the walls of Babylon were built: "The walls had a hundred gates, all of bronze; their jambs and lintels were of the same material."[302] These lintels and jambs must have been, like the Borsippa threshold, of massive bronze, or they would soon have been crushed by the weight they had to support. On the other hand, had doors themselves been entirely of that metal it would have been very difficult if not impossible to swing them upon their hinges, especially in the case of city gates like those just referred to. It is probable, then, that they were of timber, covered and concealed by plates of bronze. Herodotus indeed narrates what he saw, like a truthful and intelligent witness, but he was not an archæologist, and it did not occur to him when he entered the famous city which formed the goal of his travels, to feel the shining metal and find out how much of it was solid and how much a mere armour for a softer substance behind. From fragments found at Khorsabad, M. Place had already divined that the Assyrians covered the planks of their doors with bronze plates, but all doubts on the point have been removed by a recent discovery, which has proved once for all that art profited in the end by what at first was nothing more than a protection against weather and other causes of deterioration. In 1878 Mr. Hormuzd Rassam, the fellow traveller of Sir Henry Layard, found in the course of his excavations in Assyria for the British Museum, some metallic bands covered with _repoussé_ reliefs and bearing the name of Shalmaneser III. (895-825). The site of this discovery was Balawat, an artificial mound about fifteen miles to the east of Mossoul.[303] As soon as these bands had been examined in London by competent archæologists, they were recognized as having belonged to the leaves of a wooden door, which must have been nearly twenty-seven feet high and about three inches thick. This latter dimension has been deduced from the length of the nails used to keep the bands in place. At one end these bands were bent with the hammer round the pivot to which each half of the door was attached. These pivots, judging from the bronze feet into which they were "stepped," were about twelve inches in diameter. It is easy to see from their shape how these feet were fixed and how they did their work (Fig. 97). The point of the cone was let into a hollow socket prepared for it in a block cut from the hardest stone that could be found. Such a material would resist friction better and take a higher polish than brick, so that it was at once more durable and less holding. Sockets of flint, basalt, trachyte, and other volcanic rocks have been found in great numbers both in Assyria and Chaldæa.[304] Instances of the use of brick in this situation are not wanting,[305] however, and now and then the greenish marks left by the prolonged contact of metal have been discovered in the hollows of these sockets.[306] [Illustration: FIG. 97.--Bronze foot from the Balawat gates and its socket.[307] British Museum.] More than one method was in use for fixing the pivots of the doors and enabling them to turn easily. Sir Henry Layard brought from Nimroud four heavy bronze rings which must have been used to supplement these hollow sockets.[308] In one way or another bronze occupied a very important place in the door architecture of the Assyrians. In those cases where it neither supplied the door-case nor ornamented its leaves, it was at least used to fix the latter and to enable them to turn. In Assyrian façades doors had much greater importance than in those architectural styles in which walls are broken up by numerous openings. Their great size, their rich and varied ornamentation, the important figures in high relief with which the walls about them were adorned, the solemn tints of bronze lighted up here and there by the glory of gold, the lively colours of the enamelled bricks that formed their archivolts, and finally the contrast between the bare and gleaming walls on either side and their depths of shadow--all these combined to give accent to the doorways and to afford that relief to the monotony of the walls of which they stood in so great a need. For Assyrian mouldings are even poorer than those of Egypt. The softness of crude brick, the brittle hardness of burnt brick, are neither of them well disposed towards those delicate curves by which a skilful architect contrives to break the sameness of a façade, and to give the play of light and shadow which make up the beauty of a Greek or Florentine cornice. The only mouldings encountered in Assyria have been found on a few buildings or parts of buildings in which stone was employed. We may quote as an instance the retaining wall of the small, isolated structure excavated by Botta towards the western angle of the Khorsabad mound, and by him believed to be a temple.[309] The wall in question is built of a hardish grey limestone, the blocks being laid alternately as stretchers and headers. The wall is complete with plinth, die and cornice (Figs. 98 and 99). The latter is a true cornice, composed of a small torus or bead, a scotia, and a fillet. The elements are the same as those of the Egyptian cornice, except in the profile of the hollow member, which is here a _scotia_ and in Egypt a _cavetto_, to speak the language of modern architects. The Egyptian moulding is at once bolder and more simple, while the vertical grooves cut upon its surface give it a rich and furnished aspect that its Assyrian rival is without.[310] We have another example of Assyrian mouldings on the winged sphinx found by Layard at Nimroud (Fig. 85)--the sphinx, that is, that bore a column on its back. In section this moulding may be compared to a large _scotia_ divided into two _cavettos_ by a _torus_. Its effect is not happy. The Assyrians had too little experience in stone-cutting to enable them to choose the most satisfactory proportions and profiles for mouldings. We may also point to the entablatures upon the small pavilions reproduced in our Figs. 41 and 42. They are greatly wanting in elegance; in one especially--that shown in Fig. 42--the superstructure is very heavy in proportion to the little temple itself and its columns. [Illustration: FIGS. 98, 99.--Assyrian mouldings. Section and elevation; from Botta.] The only moulding, if we may call it so, borrowed by Assyria from Chaldæa, and employed commonly in both countries, is a brick one. Loftus was the first to point it out. He discovered it in the ruined building, doubtless an ancient temple, in the neighbourhood of Warka, and called by the natives _Wuswas_. This is his description:--"Upon the lower portion of the building are groups of seven half-columns repeated seven times--the rudest perhaps which were ever reared, but built of moulded semicircular bricks, and securely bonded to the wall. The entire absence of cornice, capital, base or diminution of shafts, so characteristic of other columnar architecture, and the peculiar and original disposition of each group in rows like palm logs, suggest the type from which they sprang."[311] With his usual penetration, Loftus divines and explains the origin of these forms. The idea must have been suggested, he thinks, by the palm trunks that were used set closely together in timber constructions, or at regular intervals in mud walls. In either case half of their thickness would be visible externally, and would naturally provoke imitation from architects in search of ornament for the bald faces of their clay structures.[312] [Illustration: FIG. 100.--Façade of a ruined building at Warka; from Loftus.] As to the effect thus obtained, the rough sketch given by Loftus hardly enables us to decide (see Fig. 100). From Assyria, however, come better materials for a judgment. We there often find these perpendicular ribs, generally in groups of seven, in buildings that have been carefully studied and illustrated upon a sufficient scale. We give an example from one of the harem gates at Khorsabad (Fig. 101), by which we may see at once that an ornamental motive of no little value was afforded by these huge vertical reeds with their play of alternate light and shadow, and the happy contrast they set up between themselves and the brilliant hues of the painted walls and enamelled bricks. The whole had a certain elegant richness that can hardly be appreciated without the restoration, in every line and hue, of the original composition. Both at Warka and in the Khorsabad harem, these vertical ribs are accompanied by another ornament which may, perhaps, have been in even more frequent use. We mean those long perpendicular grooves, rectangular in section, with which Assyrian and Chaldæan walls were seamed. In the harem wall these grooves flank the group of vertical reeds right and left, dividing each of the angle piers into two quasi-pilasters. At Warka they appear in the higher part of the façade, above the groups of semi-columns. They serve to mark out a series of panels, of which only the lower parts have been preserved. The missing parts of the decoration may easily be supplied by a little study of the Assyrian remains. The four sides of the building at Khorsabad, called by M. Place the _Observatory_, are decorated uniformly in this fashion. The general effect may be gathered from our restoration of one angle. The architect was not content with decorating his wall with these grooves alone; he divided it into alternate compartments, the one salient, the next set back, and upon these compartments he ploughed the long lines of his decoration. These changes of surface helped greatly to produce the varied play of light and shadow upon which the architect depended for relief to the bare masses of his walls. The most ordinary workmen could be trusted to carry out a decoration that consisted merely in repeating, at certain measured intervals, as simple a form as can be imagined, and, in the language of art as in that of rhetoric, there is no figure more effective in its proper place than repetition. [Illustration: FIG. 101.--Decoration of one of the harem gates, at Khorsabad; compiled from Place.] The necessity for something to break the monotony of the brick architecture was generally and permanently felt, and in those Parthian and Sassanide periods in which, as we have said, the traditions of the old Chaldæan school were continued, we find the panel replaced by wall arcades in which the arches are divided from each other by tall pilasters. In general principle and intention the two methods of decoration are identical. The Egyptian architect had recourse to the same motive, first, in the tombs of the Ancient Empire for the decoration of the chamber walls in the mastabas; secondly, for the relief of great brick surfaces. The resemblance to the Mesopotamian work is sometimes very great.[313] We have explained this form by one of the transpositions so frequent in the history of architecture, namely, a conveyance of motives from carpentry to brickwork and masonry.[314] In the former the openings left in the skeleton are gradually filled in, and these additions, by the very nature of their materials, most frequently take the form of panels. The grooves that define the panels in brick or stone buildings represent the intervals left by the carpenter between his planks and beams. They could also be obtained very easily upon the smooth face of beams brought into close contact, either by means of the gouge or some other instrument capable of cutting into the wood. We may safely assert that in Chaldæa and Assyria, as in Egypt, it was with carpentry that the motive in question originated. On the other hand, if there be a form that results directly from the system of construction on which it is used, that form is the crenellation with which, apparently, every building in Mesopotamia was crowned.[315] [Illustration: FIG. 102.--View of an angle of the observatory at Khorsabad; compiled from Place.] The Assyrian brickwork in which so many vast undertakings were carried out consists of units all of one dimension, and bonded by the simple alternation of their joints. Supposing a lower course to consist of two entire bricks, the one above it would be one whole brick flanked on either side by a half brick. An Assyrian wall or building consists of the infinite repetition of this single figure. Each whole brick lies upon the joint between two others, and every perpendicular wall, including parapet or battlement, is raised upon this system. [Illustration: FIG. 103.--Lateral façade of the palace at Firouz-Abad; from Flandin and Coste.] [Illustration: FIG. 104.--Battlements from an Assyrian palace.] Far from being modified by the crenellations, this bond regulates their form, dimensions, and distribution. The crenellations of the palace walls consist of two rectangular masses, of unequal size, placed one upon the other. The lower is two bricks'-length, or about thirty-two inches, wide, and the thickness of three bricks, or about fourteen inches, high. The upper mass equals the lower in height, while its width is the length of a single brick, or sixteen inches. The total height of the battlement, between twenty-eight and twenty-nine inches, is thus divided into two masses, one of which is twice the size of the other (see Fig. 104). The battlements are all the same, and between each pair is a void which is nothing but the space a battlement upside down would occupy. Fill this space with the necessary bricks, and a section of wall would be restored identical in bond with that below the battlements, with the one exception that the highest block of the battlement, being only one brick wide, is formed by laying three whole bricks one upon the other.[316] The crenellations we have been describing are those upon the retaining walls of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad. Those of the _Observatory_ are slightly different in that they are three stories high instead of two (Fig. 105). The lowest is three bricks wide, the second three, the topmost two. They are each three bricks high. Why were these battlements given a height beyond those of the royal palace? That question may be easily answered. The crenellations of the observatory were destined for a much more lofty situation than those of the palace. The base of the former monument rose about 144 feet above the summit of the artificial hill upon which it was placed; the total elevation was about 190 feet, a height at which ordinary battlements, especially when for the most part they had nothing but the face of the higher stories to be relieved against, would be practically invisible. [Illustration: FIG. 105.--Battlements from the Khorsabad _Observatory_.] Whether composed of two or three stages this battlement was always inscribed within an isosceles triangle; in fact, when a third story was added, the height and the width at the base increased in the same proportions. M. Place lays great stress upon this triangle. He makes it cut the upper angles of each of the superimposed rectangles, as we have done in our Figs. 104 and 105, and he points out how such a process gives an outline similar to that of a palisade cut into points at its summit, a precaution that is often taken to render the escalade of such an obstacle more difficult, and M. Place is inclined to think that the idea of these crenellations was suggested by those of a wooden palisade, a succession of rectangles being substituted for a triangle in order to meet the special conditions of the new material. To us, however, it hardly appears necessary to go back to the details of wooden construction to account for these forms. We find no sign of M. Place's spiked palisades in the bas-reliefs. The inclosures of the Mesopotamian fields must have consisted of palm trunks and strong reeds; planks were hardly to be cut from the trees of the country. Moreover, the mason and bricklayer saw the forms of these battlements repeated by their hand every instant. Whenever they began a fresh course the first brick they placed upon the joint between two units of the course below was the first step towards a battlement. The decoration obtained by the use of these battlements was not a survival from a previous form, it was a natural consequence from the fundamental principle of Assyrian construction. It has been thought that some of the buildings represented on the bas-reliefs have triangular denticulation in place of the battlements figured on the last page;[317] and there are, in fact, instances in the reliefs of walls denticulated like a palisade (see Fig. 38), but these must not, we think, be taken literally. In most cases the chisel has been at the trouble to show the real shapes of the battlements (Fig. 42), but in some instances, as in this, it has been content to suggest them by a series of zig-zags. Here and there we may point out a picture in stone which forms a transition between the two shapes, in Fig. 41 for example. Such an abbreviation explains itself. It is, in fact, nothing more than an imitation of the real appearance of the rectangular battlements when seen from a distance.[318] The architect was not content with the mere play of light and shade afforded by these battlements. He gave them a slight salience over the façade and a polychromatic decoration. About three feet below the base of the crenellations the face of the wall was brought forward an inch or two, so that the battlements themselves, and some eight or ten courses of bricks below them, overhung the façade by that distance, forming a kind of rudimentary cornice (see Fig. 106). In very elaborate buildings enamelled bricks were inserted between the battlements and this cornice. These were decorated with white rosettes of different sizes upon a blue ground. The explorers of Khorsabad encountered numberless fragments of these bricks and some whole ones in the heaps of rubbish at the foot of the external walls. Their situation proved that they had come from the top of the walls, and on the whole we may accept the restoration of M. Thomas, which we borrow from the work of M. Place, as sufficiently justified (Fig. 106).[319] This method of crowning a wall may seem poor when compared to the Greek cornice, or even to that of Egypt, but in view of the materials with which he had to work, it does honour to the architect. The long band of shadow near the summit of the façade, the bands of brilliantly coloured ornament above it, and the rich play of light and shade among the battlements, the whole relieved against the brilliant blue of an Eastern sky, must have had a fine effect. The uniformity from which it suffered was a defect common to Mesopotamian architecture as a whole, and one inseparable from the absence or comparative disuse of stone. But in the details we have been studying we find yet another illustration of the skill with which these people corrected, if we may so phrase it, the vices of matter, and by a frank use of their materials and insistence upon those horizontal and perpendicular lines which they were best fitted to give, evolved from it an architecture that proved them to have possessed a real genius for art. [Illustration: FIG. 106.--Battlements of Sargon's palace at Khorsabad; compiled from Place.] The Assyrians seem to have been so pleased with these crenellations that they placed them upon such small things as steles and altars. In one of the Kouyundjik reliefs (Fig. 42) there is a small object--a pavilion or altar, its exact character is not very clearly shown--which is thus crowned. Another example is to be found in a bas-relief from Khorsabad (Fig. 107). [Illustration: FIG. 107.--Altar; from Rawlinson.] We are thus brought to the subject of altars. These are sufficiently varied in form. In the Kouyundjik bas-relief (Fig. 42) we find those shapes at the four angles which were copied by the peoples of the Mediterranean, and led to the expression, "the horns of the altar." In the Khorsabad relief (Fig. 107) the salience of these horns is less marked. On the other hand, the die or dado below them is fluted. Another altar brought from Khorsabad to the Louvre is quite different in shape (Fig. 108). It is triangular on plan. Above a plinth with a gentle salience rises the altar itself, supported at each angle by the paw of a lion. The table is circular, and decorated round the edge with cuneiform characters. [Illustration: FIG. 108.--Altar in the Louvre. Height 32 inches.[320]] A third type is to be found in an altar from Nimroud, now in the British Museum (Fig. 109); it dates from the reign of Rammanu-nirari, who appears to have lived in the first half of the eighth century before our era.[321] The rolls at each end of this altar are very curious and seem to be the prototype of a form with which the Græco-Roman sarcophagi have made us familiar. [Illustration: FIG. 109.--Altar in the British Museum. Height 22 inches, length at base 22 inches.] The various kinds of steles are also very interesting. The most remarkable of all is one discovered at Khorsabad by M. Place (Fig. 100). The shaft is composed of a series of perpendicular bands alternately flat and concave, exactly similar to the flutes of the Ionic order. The summit is crowned by a plume of palm leaves rising from a double scroll, like two consoles placed horizontally and head to head. The grace and slenderness of this stele are in strong contrast to the usually short and heavy forms affected by the Assyrian architects, especially when they worked in stone. It is difficult to say what its destination may have been. It was discovered lying in the centre of an outer court surrounded by offices and other subordinate buildings; it has neither figure nor inscription.[322] The base was quite rough and shapeless, and must have been sunk into the soil of the court, so that the flutes began at the level of the pavement. M. Place suggests that it may have been a _milliarium_, from which all the roads of the empire were measured. We do not know that there is a single fact to support such an unnecessary guess. The stele of which we have been speaking is unique, but of another peculiarly Assyrian type there is no lack of examples, namely, of that to which the name _obelisk_ has, with some want of discrimination, been applied. The Assyrian monoliths so styled are much shorter in their proportions than the lofty "needles" of Egypt, while their summits, instead of ending in a sharp pyramidion, are "stepped" and crowned with a narrow plateau. (Fig. 111.) These monoliths were never very imposing in size, the tallest is hardly more than ten feet high. [Illustration: FIG. 110.--Stele from Khorsabad. Plan and elevation; from Place.] [Illustration: FIG. 111.--The obelisk of Shalmaneser II. in the British Museum.[323] Height 78 inches. Drawn by Bourgoin.] Whatever name we choose to give to these objects, there can be no doubt as to their purpose. They are commemorative monuments, upon which both writer and sculptor have been employed to celebrate the glory of the sovereign. A long inscription covers the base of the shaft, while the upper part of each face is divided into five pictures, the narrow bands between them bearing short legends descriptive of the scenes represented. It was, of course, important that such figured panegyrics should be afforded the best possible chance of immortality; and we find that most of these obelisks are composed of the hardest rocks. Of the four examples in the British Museum, three are of basalt and one only of limestone. [Illustration: FIG. 112.--Rock-cut Stele from Kouyundjik. British Museum.] Another type of stele in frequent employment was that with an arched top and inclosing an image of the king. It is often represented on the bas-reliefs[324] (Fig. 42), and not a few examples of it are in our museums. When we come to speak of Assyrian sculpture we shall have to reproduce some of them. We find a motive of the same kind, but more ornate and complicated, in the bas-relief from Kouyundjik figured above (Fig. 112). A hunting scene is carved on a wall of rock at the top of a hill. A lion attacks the king's chariot from behind; the king is about to pierce his head with an arrow while the charioteer leans over the horses and seems to moderate the determination with which they fly.[325] The sculpture is surrounded by a frame arched at the top and inclosed by an architrave with battlemented cornice. The whole forms a happily conceived little monument; it is probable that it was originally accompanied by an explanatory inscription. This analysis of what we have called secondary forms has shown how great was the loss of the Chaldæan architect and of his too docile Assyrian pupil, in being deprived--by circumstances on the one hand and want of inclination on the other--of such a material as stone. Without it they could make use of none of those variations of plan and other contrivances of the same kind by which the skilful architect suggests the internal arrangement of his structures on their façades. For such purposes he had to turn to those constituents of his art to which we shall devote our next section. NOTES: [295] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. ch. ii. [296] GEORGE SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, pp. 146, 308, 429. This lintel has been fixed over the south doorway into the Kouyundjik Gallery of the British Museum. When examined in place, the running ornament in the hollow of the cornice will be easily recognized--in spite of the mutilation of its upper edge--as made up of a modified form of the palmette motive, which had its origin in the fan-shaped head of the date palm. The eight plumes of which the ornament consists are each formed of three large leaves or loops and two small pendant ones, the latter affording a means of connecting each plume with those next to it.--ED. [297] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 295-302. [298] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 302, 303. [299] Two much better examples of this same work may be seen in the Assyrian basement-room of the British Museum.--ED. [300] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 314. [301] We here quote the opinion of Mr. Ready, the well-known director of the museum workshops. In April, 1882, he had examined this curious monument, which is now placed in the public galleries close to the Balawat gates. [302] HERODOTUS, ii. 179: Pylai de enestasi perix tou teicheos hekaton, chalkeai pasa kai stathmoi te kai huperthuma hôsautôs. [303] An account of the discovery and a short description of the remains, will be found in an article by Mr. Theo. G. PINCHES, published in the _Transactions of the Society of Biblical Archæology_, and entitled: _The Bronze Gates discovered by Mr. Rassam at Balawat_ (vol. vii. part i. pp. 83-118). The sculptured bronze from these gates is not all, however, in the British Museum. Mr. Rassam's workmen succeeded in appropriating a certain number in the course of the excavations, and thus M. Gustave Schlumberger has become possessed of a few pieces, while others of much greater importance have come into the hands of M. de Clercq. M. F. LENORMANT has published in the _Gazette Archéologique_ (1878) a description of the pieces belonging to M. Schlumberger, with two plates in heliogravure. We have already referred to the great work which is now in course of publication by the _Society of Biblical Archæology_; it will put an exact reproduction of this interesting monument in the hands of Assyriologists and those interested in the history of art. We shall return to these gates when we come to treat of sculpture. [304] A number of sockets found by M. de Sarzec in the ruins of Tello are now deposited in the Louvre. M. PLACE found some at Khorsabad (_Ninive_, vol. i. p. 314), and Sir Henry LAYARD on the sites of the towns in Upper Mesopotamia (_Discoveries_, p. 242). The British Museum has a considerable number found in various places. [305] In the same case as the Balawat gates there is a brick, which has obviously been used for this purpose. [306] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 314. [307] In the British Museum there are some smaller bronze objects of the same kind from the palace of Sennacherib. Others were found by M. PLACE in the palace of Sargon (_Ninive_, plate 70, fig. 6), so that they must have been in frequent use. [308] LAYARD (_Discoveries_, p. 163) gives a sketch of one of these objects. Its internal diameter is about five inches, and its weight 6 lbs. 3-3/4 oz. These rings are now in the British Museum. [309] BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. pp. 53-55. [310] BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, plates 149 and 150. See also LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 131, and FERGUSSON, _History of Architecture_, vol. i. p. 185 (2nd edition). [311] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, p. 175. [312] M. Place offers a similar explanation of the engaged columns that were found in many parts of the palace at Khorsabad (_Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 50). He has brought together in a single plate all the examples of pilasters and half columns that he encountered in that edifice. Similar attempts to imitate the characteristic features of a log house are found in many of the most ancient Egyptian tombs. See _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. p. 62 and fig. 37. [313] See, for instance, in _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. figs. 123, 124, 201, and in vol. ii. pp. 55-64, and figs. 35-37 and 139. [314] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. p. 117. [315] We here give a résumé of M. PLACE'S observations on this point. He made a careful study of these crenellations. _Ninive_, vol. ii. pp. 53-57. [316] See M. PLACE'S diagrams, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 54. [317] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 53. [318] M. Perrot dismisses the evidence of those who believe in a palisade origin of the Assyrian battlements in what is, perhaps, rather too summary a fashion. The fact is that the great majority of the crenellated buildings in the reliefs have triangular battlements, while the theory that they are merely a hasty way of representing the stepped crenellations is to some extent discredited by their frequent occurrence side by side with the latter on the same relief. The Balawat gates, for instance, contain some nine or ten examples of the triangular, and four or five of the stepped, shape. In the series of sculptured slabs representing the siege of a city by Assurnazirpal (10 to 15 in the Kouyundjik gallery at the British Museum), there are examples of both forms, and in more than one instance the triangular battlements are decorated with lines and rosettes--similar in principle to those shown above in fig. 106--that can hardly be reconciled with the notion that their form is the result of haste on the part of the artist. In the Assyrian Basement Room in the British Museum there is an interesting bas-relief representing Assyrian soldiers busy with the demolition of a fortified wall, probably of some city just taken. The air is thick with the materials thrown down from its summit, among them a great number of planks or beams, which seem to suggest that timber was freely employed in the upper works of an Assyrian wall. If this was so, the pointed battlements in the reliefs may very well represent those in which timber was used, and the stepped ones their brick imitations. Both forms were used as decorations in places where no real battlements could have existed, as, for instance, on the tent of Sennacherib, in the well-known bas-relief of the siege of Lachish (see fig. 56).--ED. [319] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 85. [320] There is an altar almost exactly similar to this in the British Museum. It was found in front of the temple of the War God, Nimroud.--ED. [321] Upon some other monuments brought from the same place by Mr. Hormuzd Rassam, and also exhibited in the Nimroud central saloon, we may read by the side of Rammanu-nirari's name that of his spouse Sammuramat, who seems to have been associated with him in the government, and to have been the recipient of particular honours. The name of this princess has caused some to recognize in her the fabulous Semiramis of the Greek writers. In consequence of facts that have escaped us she may well have furnished the first idea for the romantic legends whose echo has come down to our times. [322] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 96; vol. ii. pp. 71-73. [323] Besides the obelisk of Shalmaneser II., which is in a marvellous state of preservation, the British Museum possesses three other objects of the same kind. Two of these were made for Assurnazirpal; the third, the most ancient of all, dates from the time of Tiglath Pileser I.; unhappily only fragments of it remain. [324] See also BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. i. plate 64. We here find an instance of one of these arched steles erected before a fortress. [325] ?--ED. § 7.--_Decoration._ Mesopotamia was no exception to the general rule that decoration is governed by construction. To take only one example, and that from an art we have already studied, the Egyptian temple was entirely of stone, and its decoration formed a part of the very substance of what we may call the flesh and blood of the edifice. The elements of that rich and brilliant decoration are furnished by those mouldings which make up in vigour what they lack in variety, by the slight relief or the hardly perceptible intaglio of the shadowless figures cut by the sculptor in stone, and covered by the painter with the liveliest colours. This sumptuous decoration, covering every external and internal surface, may no more be detached from it than the skin of an animal may be detached from its muscles. The union is even more intimate in this case, the adherence more complete. So long as the Egyptian walls remain standing, the blocks of limestone, sandstone, or granite of which they are composed, can never be entirely freed from the images, that is, from the expression of the thoughts, cut upon them by the men of forty centuries ago. In Assyria the case was different. There buildings were of brick, each unit being in the vast majority of cases a repetition of its neighbour. In very few instances were the bricks of special shapes, and the buildings in which they were used could only be decorated by attached ornament, similar in principle to the mats and hangings we spread over the floors and walls that we wish to hide. This result they obtained in one of two ways; they either cased their walls in stone, an expensive and laborious process, or they covered them with a decoration of many colours. As soon as stone came into use, it must have offered an irresistible temptation to the chisel of the sculptor and the ornamentist; and so we nearly always find it decorated with carvings. Sometimes, as in the lintel and thresholds described above (Figs. 95 and 96), the motives are purely ornamental. Elsewhere, in the gates of the Assyrian palaces, and in the plinths of the walls that surround their courts and halls, we find both figures in the round and in low relief. In a future chapter we shall attempt to define the style of these works and to determine their merit. For the present we must be content with pointing out the part played by sculpture in the general system of decoration. In Chaldæa sculpture must have played a very feeble part in the _ensemble_ of a building, stone was too costly in consequence of the distance it had to be carried. From the ruins of Chaldæa no colossi, like those which flanked the entrances of the Ninevite palaces, none of those long inscriptions upon alabaster slabs which have been of such value for the student of Assyrian history, have been brought. This latter material and all the facilities it offered to the sculptor was apparently entirely neglected by the Chaldæans. In Lower Mesopotamia the hard volcanic rocks were chiefly used. They were preferred, no doubt, for their durability, but they were little fitted for the execution of figures of any size, and especially was it impossible to think of using them for such historic bas-reliefs as those upon which the Assyrians marshalled hundreds, or rather thousands, of busy figures. Chaldæan doorways may, however, have been sometimes flanked with lions and bulls,[326] we are indeed tempted to assign to such a position one monument which has been described by travellers, namely, the lion both Rich and Layard saw half buried in the huge ruin at Babylon called the _Kasr_.[327] It is larger than life. It stands upon a plinth, with its paws upon the figure of a struggling man. There is a circular hole in its jaw bigger than a man's fist. The workmanship is rough; so too, perhaps, is that of the basalt lion seen by Loftus at Abou-Sharein. This latter is about fifty-four inches high and its original place may very well have been before one of the doorways of the building.[328] Of all animal forms, that of the lion was the first to afford materials for decorative composition of any value, and even after all the centuries that have passed, the lion has not lost his vogue in the East. We might, if we chose, multiply examples of this persistence, but we shall be content with quoting one. In the centre of Asia Minor, at the village of Angora, in which I passed three months of the year 1861, I encountered these lions at every turn. A short distance off, in the village of Kalaba, there was a fountain of Turkish construction in which a lion, quite similar in style to those of Assyria, had been inserted.[329] In the court of a mosque there was a lion in the round, a remarkable work by some Græco-Roman sculptor.[330] There and in other towns of Asia Minor, lions from the Seljukian period are by no means rare, and even now they are made in considerable numbers. After the labours of the day we sometimes passed the evenings in the villas of the rich Greek merchants, which were nearly all on the east of the town. Most of these houses were of recent construction, and were filled with mirrors, fine carpets, and engravings. In front of the house, and in the centre of a large paved and trellised court, there were fountains, sometimes ornamented with considerable taste, in which, on great occasions, a slender jet of water would give coolness to the air. The angles of nearly every one of these fountains were marked with small white marble lions, heavy and awkward in shape, but nevertheless considered at Angora to be the last word of art. They are imported from Constantinople together with the basins of the fountains. In spite of all this, however, some doubts may be felt as to the destination of the lions found among the Chaldæan ruins. The only monument there discovered which seems to have certainly belonged to an architectural decoration is one found by Sir Henry Layard in his too soon interrupted explorations in the Kasr. It is a fragment of a limestone slab from the casing of a façade (Fig. 113). The upper parts of two male figures support a broken entablature beneath which the name of some divinity is cut.[331] The chief interest of this fragment lies in the further evidence it affords of a close connection between the arts of Chaldæa and those of Babylon. There is nothing either in the costume or features of these individuals that may not be found in Assyria. The tiara with its plumes and rosettes, the crimped hair and beard, the baton with its large hilt, are all common to both countries, while the latter object is to be found on the rocks of Bavian and as far north as the sculptures of Cappadocia. [Illustration: FIG. 113.--Fragment from Babylon. British Museum. Height 11 inches, width 9 inches.] A study of those reliefs in which nothing but purely ornamental motives are treated, leads us to exactly the same conclusion. Take for instance the great bronze threshold from Borsippa, of which we have already spoken; the rosettes placed at intervals along its tread are identical with those encountered in such numbers in Assyria. In the extreme rarity of stone in his part of the world the Chaldæan architect seems to have practically reserved it for isolated statues, for votive bas-reliefs, for objects of an iconic or religious character, but nevertheless, we have sufficient evidence to prove that such decorative sculpture as found a place in the Chaldæan buildings, did not sensibly differ from that to which Assyria has accustomed us. From all that we have said as to the distribution of stone, it will be understood that we must turn to Assyria to obtain a clear idea of the measures by which buildings of crude brick were rendered more sightly by ornament in the harder material. We can hardly imagine an Assyrian palace without those series of bas-reliefs which now line the walls of our museums much in the same fashion as they covered those of Sargon's and Sennacherib's palaces, and yet it is unlikely that in the beginning the Assyrian palaces had these carved walls. The casing of stone and alabaster must have been originally employed for more utilitarian purposes--to hide the grey and friable material within, to protect it from damage, and to offer a surface to the eye which should at least be inoffensive. The upper parts of the walls would be covered with a coat of stucco, which could be renewed whenever necessary, but for the lower part, for all that was within reach of the crowds that frequented the public halls of the seraglio, who passed through its gates or those of the city itself, some more efficient protection would be required. The constructor was thus led to encase the lower parts of his walls in a cuirass of stone imposed upon their brick cores. The slabs of which he made use for this purpose varied between three and ten feet in height, and between six and fifteen in width. Their average thickness was about eight inches. The way in which these slabs were fixed is hardly worthy of such clever builders, and, in fact, the Assyrians seem to have never succeeded in mastering the difficulties inherent in the association of two heterogeneous materials. The slabs were of gypsum or limestone, the wall of pisé, materials which are not to be easily combined. The Assyrians contented themselves with simply placing the one against the other. No trace of any tie is to be found. A "tooth" has been given to the inner faces of the slabs by seaming them in every direction with the chisel, and, perhaps, some plastic substance may at the last moment have been introduced between them and the soft clay, but no trace of any other contrivance for keeping the two materials together has been found. After the general mass of the building--its clay walls and vaults--were complete, a different class of workmen was brought in to line its chambers and complete their decoration. The crude brick would by that time have become dry, and no longer in a condition to adapt itself to the roughnesses of the alabaster slabs. The liquid clay, like that of an earthenware "body," wets and softens the surface of the brick while it enters into every hollow of the stone and so allies the one with the other. We recommend this conjecture to those who may undertake any future excavation in Assyria. It lies with them to confirm or refute it. However this may have been, the constructor made use of more than one method of giving greater solidity to his walls as a whole. His slabs were not only let into each other at the angles, in some chambers there were squared angle pieces of a diameter great enough to allow them to sink more deeply into the crude brick behind, and thus to offer steady points of support in each corner. Finally the separate slabs were held together at the top by leaden dovetails like the metal clamps used to attach coping stones to each other. Such precautions were rendered comparatively useless by the fact that the whole work was faulty at the base. Halls and chambers had no solid foundation or pavement, so that the heavy slabs of their decoration rested upon a shifting soil, quite incapable of carrying them without flinching. In many places they sank some inches into the ground, the soft earth behind pushing them forward, and in their fall the row to which they belonged was inevitably involved. The excavators have again and again found whole lines of bas-reliefs that appeared to have fallen together. Such an accident is a thing for posterity to rejoice over. Prone upon a soft and yielding soil the works of the sculptor are better protected than when standing erect, their upper parts clear, perhaps, of the ruin that covers their feet, and exposed to the weather at least, and, too often, to the brutality of an ignorant population. Such defects are sufficient to prove that these slabs were never meant to carry any great weight; far from affording a support to the wall behind, they required one to help them in maintaining their own equilibrium. On the other hand they protected it, as we have said above, from too rapid deterioration. At Khorsabad this stone casing is in very bad condition at many points, in the halls and passages of the outbuildings and in the courtyards adjoining the city gates for instance.[332] There the stones are only smoothed down, and their obvious purpose is merely to protect the crude brick within. The purely architectural origin of this system of casing is thus clearly shown. But the presence of these slabs set upright against the wall offered a temptation to the ambitious architect that he was not likely to resist. The limestone and alabaster of which they were composed afforded both a kindly surface for the chisel, and a certain guarantee of duration for the forms it struck out. In every Assyrian palace we may see that the king, its builder, had a double object in view, the glorification of the gods, and the transmission to posterity of his own image and the memory of his reign. To these ends the architect called in the sculptor, under whose hands the rudely dressed slabs took the historic forms with which we are familiar. Of all parts of the palace the doorways were most exposed to injury from the shocks of traffic, and we find their more solid plinths surmounted by higher and thicker slabs than are to be found elsewhere. These slabs are carved with the images of protecting divinities. Huge winged and man-headed bulls (Plate X)[333] or lions (Fig. 114), the speaking symbols of force and thought, met the approaching visitor. Sometimes a lion, reproducing with singular energy the features of the real beast, was substituted for the human-headed variety (Plate VIII).[334] These guardians of the gate always had the front part of their bodies salient in some degree from the general line of the wall. The head and breast, at least, were outside the arch. Right and left of the passage were very thick slabs, also carved into the form of winged bulls in profile, and accompanied by protecting genii. These latter divinities are sometimes grave and noble in mien, obviously benevolent (Figs. 8 and 29), sometimes hideous in face, and violent in gesture. In the latter case they are meant to frighten the profane or the hostile away from the dwelling they guard (Figs. 6 and 7). All these figures are in much higher relief than the sculptures in the inner chambers. [Illustration: FIG. 114.--Human-headed lion. Nimroud; from Layard.] All this shows that the sculptor thoroughly understood how to make the best of his opportunities when he was once called in to ornament those massive door-frames and slabs which at first were no more than additional supports for the building to which they were applied. He varied the shapes of these blocks according to their destined sites, and increased their size so as to give gigantic proportions to his man-headed bulls and lions. Some of the winged bulls are from sixteen to seventeen feet high.[335] In spite of the labour expended upon the carving and putting in place of these huge figures, they are extremely numerous, hardly less so, indeed, than the Osiride piers of Egypt.[336] In the palace of Sargon at Khorsabad, twenty-six pairs have been counted; in that of Sennacherib at Kouyundjik, there were ten upon a single façade.[337] In those passages, halls, and courtyards, whose destination justified such a luxury, the sculptor utilized the stone lining of the walls with equal skill, but in a slightly different spirit. The figures on the façade had to be seen from a great distance, and were exposed to the full light of the Mesopotamian sun, so that their colossal proportions and the varied boldness of their relief had an obvious justification. The sculptures in the interior were smaller in scale and were strictly _bas-reliefs_. With the shortening of the distance from which they could be examined, their scale was made to conform more closely to the real stature of human beings. In some very spacious halls a few of the figures are larger than life, while in the narrowest galleries they become very small, the alabaster slabs being divided into two stories or more (see Fig. 115).[338] There is another singularity to be noticed _apropos_ of these sculptures. The themes treated outside are very different from those inside the palaces. The figures in the former position are religious and supernatural, those in the interior historical and anecdotic. There is much variety in the details of these narrative sculptures, but their main theme is always the glorification, and, in a sense, the biography of the sovereign. [Illustration: FIG. 115.--Bas-relief with several registers. Width 38 inches. Louvre. Drawn by Bourgoin.] In the Egyptian temple the figures which form its _illumination_ are spread indifferently over the whole surface of the walls. In a Greek temple, on the other hand, sculpture was confined with rare exceptions to the upper part of the building, to the pediments chiefly, and the frieze. The Assyrian method was neither that of the Egyptians nor that of the Greeks. At Nineveh, the sculptor did not, as in Egypt, sow his figures broadcast over the whole length and breadth of the building, neither did he raise them, as in Greece, above the heads of the crowd; he marshalled them upon the lowest part of a wall, upon its plinth. Their feet touched the soil, their eyes were on a level with those that looked at them; we might say that they formed an endless procession round every hall and chamber. The reasons for such an arrangement are to be sought for, not in any æsthetic tendency of the Assyrian artist, but in the simple fact that only in the stone cuirass, within which the lower parts of the brick walls were shut up, could he find the kindly material for his chisel. Nowhere else in the whole building could the stone, without which his art was powerless, be introduced. But as the lateral development of Assyrian buildings was great, so too was the field offered to the Assyrian sculptor. It has been calculated that the sculptured slabs found in the palace of Sargon would, if placed in a row, cover a distance of nearly a mile and a half. Their superficies is equal to about an acre and a half. By this it will be seen that sculpture played an important part in the decoration of an Assyrian palace, but as it was confined to the lower part of the walls, some other method had to be invented for ornamenting those surfaces on which the chisel could not be used. In Chaldæa, where there was so little stone, it was practically the whole building that had to be thus contrived for. In both countries the problem was solved in the same fashion--by the extensive use of enamelled brick and painted stucco, and the elaboration of a rich, elegant, and withal original system of polychromy. Explorers are unanimous in the opinion that neither burnt nor sun-dried brick was ever left without something to cover its nakedness. It was always hidden and protected by a coat of stucco.[339] At Nineveh, according to M. Place, this stucco was formed by an intimate mixture of burnt chalk with plaster, by which a sort of white gum was made that adhered very tightly to the clay wall.[340] Its peculiar consistence did not permit of its being spread with a brush; a trowel or board must have been used. The thickness of this cement was never more than one or two millimetres.[341] Its cohesive force was so great that in spite of its thinness it acted as an efficient protector. It has often been found in excellent condition, both upon flat and curved surfaces, upon the walls of courtyards and chambers, on the under sides of vaults, wherever in fact a stone casing did not supply its place. It would seem that some buildings had no outward ornament beyond the brilliant whiteness of this stucco, the effect of which may be seen at the present day in the whitewashed houses of the East. The glare of such a wall was happily contrasted with the soft verdure that sometimes grew about it, and the dark blue of the sky against which its summit was relieved. Such a contrast gives importance and accent to the smallest building, as painters who treat the landscapes of the South thoroughly understand. We have reason to believe, however, that as a rule the white stucco served as a background and support to other colours. No Chaldæan interiors have come down to us, while the exteriors are in such bad preservation that we can hardly form any true judgment of the colours and designs with which they were once adorned. But in the case of Assyria we know pretty well how the decorator understood his business, and it is probable that, like his colleagues, the architect and the sculptor, he was content to perpetuate the traditions of his Chaldæan masters. In certain cases the decorator makes use of wide unbroken tints. This is the simplest way of using colour. In the palace of Sargon, for instance, wherever the sculptured slabs are absent we find a plinth painted black in distemper. These plinths are from two to nearly four feet high, according to the extent of the courts or chambers in which they occur. The object of such a dado is clear; it was to protect the lower part of the wall, if not against deliberate violence, at least against dirt. A white stucco in such a position would soon have been disfigured by spots and various marks which would be invisible on a black background. Moreover, the contrast between the plinth and the white wall above it must have had a certain decorative effect.[342] This coloured dado is to be found even in places to which it seems quite unsuited. At Khorsabad, for instance, it runs across the foot of those semicircular pilasters we noticed in one of the harem chambers (Fig. 101). These pilasters stand upon a plinth between three and four feet high, so that any contact with the dirt of the floor need not have been feared. The existence of the dado in such a position is to be accounted for by supposing that the decorator considered it as the regular ornament for the bottom of a wall. It is more difficult to understand why the alcoves believed by MM. Place and Thomas to have been bedrooms were in each case painted with this same band of black.[343] The most curious example of the employment of unbroken tints to which we can point, is in the case of M. Place's observatory. The stages of that building were each about twenty feet high, and each was painted a colour of its own; the first was white, the second black, the third red, the fourth white. When the excavations were made, these tints were still easily visible. The building seems originally to have had seven stages, and the three upper ones must certainly have been coloured on the same principle as those below them. In his restoration, Thomas makes the fifth vermilion, the sixth a silver grey, while he gilds the seventh and last.[344] In this choice and arrangement of tints there is nothing arbitrary. It is founded on the description given by Herodotus of Ecbatana, the capital of the Medes. "The Medes ... built the city now called Agbatana, the walls of which are of great size and strength, rising in circles one within the other. The plan of the place is, that each of the walls should out-top the one beyond it by the battlements. The nature of the ground, which is a gentle hill, favours this arrangement in some degree, but it was mainly effected by art. The number of the circles is seven, the royal palace and the treasuries standing within the last. The circuit of the outer wall is very nearly the same with that of Athens. Of this wall the battlements are white, of the next black, of the third scarlet, of the fourth blue, of the fifth orange; all these are coloured with paint. The two last have their battlements coated respectively with silver and gold."[345] Between the series of colours found upon the ruin in question and the list here given by Herodotus there is, so far as they go, an identity which cannot be due to chance. The Medes and Persians invented nothing; their whole art was no more than an eastern offshoot from that of Mesopotamia. It was in Chaldæa that the number seven first received an exceptional and quasi sacred character. Our week of seven days is a result from the early worship of the five great planets and of the sun and moon. There were also the seven colours of the rainbow. From such indications as these the early architects of Assyria must have determined the number of stages to be given to a religious building; they also regulated the order of the colours, each one of which was consecrated by tradition to one of those great heavenly bodies. We can easily understand how the silver white of the penultimate stage was chosen to symbolize the moon, while the glory of the gold upon the upper story recalled that of the noonday sun. Thus must we figure the tower with seven stages which Nebuchadnezzar boasted of having restored in more than its early magnificence. These arrangements of coloured bands had a double value. Each tint had a symbolic and traditional signification of its own, and the series formed by the seven was, so to speak, a phrase in the national theology, an appeal to the imagination, and a confession of piety. At the same time the chief divisions of the monument were strongly marked, and the eye was attracted to their number and significance, while the building as a whole was more imposing and majestic than if its colour had been a uniform white from base to summit. The colours must have been frequently renewed. In the interior, where the temperature was not subject to violent changes, where there was neither rain nor scorching sun, the architect made use of painting in distemper to reinforce the decoration in his more luxurious chambers. Unfortunately these frescoes are now represented by nothing but a few fragments. In the course of the excavations numerous instances of their use were encountered, but in almost every case exposure to the air was rapidly destructive of their tints, and even of their substance. They occurred chiefly in the rooms whose walls were lined in their lower parts with sculptured slabs. By dint of infinite painstaking M. Place succeeded in copying a few fragments of these paintings.[346] According to the examples thus preserved for us, human figures were mingled with purely ornamental motives such as plumes, fillets, and rosettes. The colours here used were black, green, red, and yellow, to which may be added a fifth in the white of the plaster ground upon which they were laid. Flesh tints were expressed by leaving this white uncoloured. [Illustration: FIG. 116.--Ornament painted upon plaster; from Layard.] [Illustration: FIG. 117.--Ornament painted upon plaster; from Layard.] Several fragments of these painted decorations have also been preserved by Sir Henry Layard. The simplest of them all is a broad yellow band edged on each side by a line of alternately red and blue chevrons separated from each other by white lines. Down the centre of the yellow band there is a row of blue and white rosettes (Fig. 116). Another example in which the same colours are employed is at once more complex and more elegant (see Fig. 117). Finally, in a third fragment, a slightly simplified version of this latter motive serves as a lower border to a frieze upon which two bulls face each other, their white bodies being divided from the yellow ground by a thick black line. The battlements at the top are dark blue (Fig. 118). An idea of the tints used in this decoration may be obtained from Fig. 2 of our plate xiv. [Illustration: FIG. 118.--Ornament painted upon plaster; from Layard.] It was upon the upper parts of walls where they were beyond the reach of accidental injury that these painted decorations were placed. M. Place had reason to think that they were also used on the under-sides of vaults. In rooms in which a richer and more permanent kind of ornament was unnecessary, paint alone was used for decoration. In several chambers cleared by George Smith at Nimroud, that explorer found horizontal bands of colour, alternately red, green, and yellow, and where the stone casing of the lower walls was not sculptured, these stripes were continued over its surface.[347] The artist to whom the execution of this work was intrusted must have arranged so that his tints were in harmony with those placed by another brush on many details of the sculptured slabs. We shall discuss the question of polychromy in Assyrian sculpture at a future opportunity; at present we are content with observing that the effect of the reliefs was strengthened here and there by the use of colour. The beard, the hair, and the eyebrows were tinted black; such things as the fringes of robes, baldricks, flowers held in the hand, were coloured blue and red. The gaiety thus given brought a room into harmony, and prevented the cool grey of the alabaster slabs from presenting a disagreeable contrast with the brilliant tones spread over the roofs and upper walls. We might thus restore the interior of an Assyrian apartment and arrive at a whole, some elements of which would be certainly authentic and others at least very probable. The efforts hitherto made in this direction leave much to be desired, and give many an opportunity to the fault-finding critic; and that because their makers have failed to completely master the spirit of Mesopotamian architecture as shown in its remaining fragments.[348] It would be much less easy, it would in fact be foolhardy, to attempt the restoration of a hall from a Babylonian palace. Our information is quite insufficient for such a task. We may affirm, however, that where the architect had no stone to speak of, the decorations must have had a somewhat different character from those in which that invaluable material was freely used. The general tendencies of both countries must have been the same, but between Nineveh and Babylon, still more between the capital of Assyria and the towns of Lower Chaldæa, there were differences of which now and then we may succeed in catching a glance. Compelled to trust almost entirely to clay, the artist of Chaldæa must have turned his attention to colour as a decoration much more exclusively than his Assyrian rival. His preoccupation with this one idea is betrayed very curiously in the façade of one of those ruined buildings at Warka which Loftus has studied and described.[349] We borrow his plan and elevation of the detail to which we refer (Fig. 119). [Illustration: FIG. 119.--Plan and elevation of part of a façade at Warka; from Loftus.] In the first place the reader will recognize those semicircular pilasters or gigantic reeds to which we have already alluded as strongly characteristic of Chaldæan architecture, and one of the most certain signs of its origin. The chevrons, the spiral lines and lozenges of the coloured decoration with which the semi-columns, and the salient buttress by which they are divided into two groups, are covered, should be curiously noticed. The ornament varies with each structural division. Loftus, however, was chiefly struck by the process used to build up the design. The whole face of the wall is composed of terra-cotta cones (Fig. 120) engaged in a mortar composed of mud mixed with chopped straw. The bases of these cones are turned outwards and form the surface of the wall. Some preserve the natural colour of the terra-cotta, a dark yellow, others have been dipped--before fixing no doubt--in baths of red and black colouring matter. By the aid of these three tints an effect has been obtained that, according to Loftus, is far from being disagreeable. The process may be compared to that of mosaic, cones of terra-cotta being substituted for little cubes of coloured stone or glass.[350] [Illustration: FIG. 120.--Cone with coloured base; from Loftus.] Upon the same site M. Loftus found traces of a still more singular decoration. A mass of crude brick had its horizontal courses divided from each other by earthenware vases laid so that their open mouths were flush with the face of the wall. Three courses of these vases were placed one upon another, and the curious ornament thus made was repeated three times in the piece of wall left standing. The vases were from ten to fifteen inches long externally, but inside they were never more than ten inches deep, so that their conical bases were solid.[351] The dark shadows of their open mouths afforded a strong contrast with the white plaster which covered the brickwork about them. The consequent play of light and shadow unrelieved by colour was pleasing enough. In spite, however, of their thick walls, these vases could hardly resist successfully the weight of the bricks above and the various disintegrating influences set up by their contraction in drying. Most of the vases were broken when Loftus saw them, though still in place. Cone mosaics and the insertion of vases among the bricks afforded after all but a poor opportunity to the decorative architect. Had the builders of Chaldæa possessed no more efficient means than these of obtaining beauty, their structures would hardly have imposed themselves as models upon their rich and powerful neighbours of Assyria so completely as they did. Some process was required which should not restrict the decorator to the curves and straight lines of the simpler geometrical figures, which should allow him to make use of motives furnished by the animal and vegetable kingdom, by man and those fanciful creations of man's intellect that resulted from his attempts to figure the gods. We can hardly doubt that the Chaldæans, like their northern neighbours, made frequent use of paint in the decoration of the wide plaster walls that offered such a tempting surface to the brush. No fragment of such work has come down to us, but we have every reason to believe that the arrangement of motives and the choice of lines were the same as in Assyria. We may look upon the mural paintings in the Ninevite palaces as copies preserving for us the leading characteristics of their Chaldæan originals. Even in Chaldæa, which had a drier climate than Assyria, paintings in distemper could not have had any very long life on external walls. They had not to do with the sky of Upper Egypt where years pass away without the fall of a single shower. Some means of fixing colour so that it should not be washed away by the first rain was sought, and it was found in the invention of enamel, in the coating of the bricks with a coloured material that when passed with them through the fire would be vitrified and would sink to some extent into their substance. A brick thus coated could never lose its colour; the latter became insoluble, and so intimately combined with the block to which it was attached that one could hardly be destroyed without the other. Sir H. Layard tells us that many fragments of brick found in the Kasr were covered with a thick glaze, the colours of which had in no way suffered with time. Fragments of ornaments and figures could be distinguished on some of them. The colours most often found were a very brilliant blue, red, dark yellow, white, and black.[352] We have again to look to the Assyrian ruins for information as to the way in which these enamelled bricks were composed into pictures. No explorer has found anything in the remains of a Chaldæan city that can be compared to the archivolt of enamelled bricks discovered by M. Place over one of the gateways of the city founded by Sargon.[353] We can hardly doubt however that the art of the enameller was discovered in Chaldæa and thence transported into Assyria. Everything combines to give us that assurance, an examination of the ruins in Mesopotamia and of the objects brought from them as well as the explicit statements of the ancients. Every traveller tells that there is not a ruin at Babylon in which hundreds of these enamelled bricks may not be picked up, and they are to be found elsewhere in Chaldæa.[354] A certain number of fragments are now in the British Museum and the Louvre with indications upon them leaving no doubt as to whence they came.[355] As for the blocks of the same kind coming from Nineveh and its neighbourhood they are very numerous in our collections. It is easy therefore to compare the products of Chaldæan workshops with those of Assyrian origin. The comparison is not to the advantage of the latter. The enamel on the Babylonian bricks is very thick and solid; it adheres strongly to the clay, and even when brought to our comparatively humid climates it preserves its brilliancy. It is not so with bricks from Khorsabad and Nimroud, which rapidly tarnish and become dull when withdrawn from the earth that protected them for so many centuries. Their firing does not seem to have been sufficiently prolonged.[356] Necessity is the mother of invention, the proverb says. If there be any country in which clay has been compelled to do all that lay in its power it must surely be that in which there was no other material for the construction and decoration of buildings. The results obtained by the enameller were pretty much the same in Assyria and Chaldæa, and we are inclined to look upon the older of the two nations as the inventor of the process, especially as it could hardly have done without it so well as its younger rival, and in this opinion we are confirmed by the superior quality of the Babylonian enamel. It is possible that there may be some truth in the assertion that most of the glazed bricks that have come down to us belonged to the restorations of Nebuchadnezzar; but even supposing that to be so, they show a technical skill so consummate and sure of itself that it must then have been very far removed from its infancy. The fatherland of the enameller is Southern Mesopotamia and especially Babylonia, where enamelled bricks seem to have been used in extraordinary quantities. The wall of Dour-Saryoukin, the town built by Sargon, has been found intact for a considerable part of its height. As in the retaining wall of the palace, coloured brick has there been used with extreme discretion. It is found only over the arches of the principal doors and, perhaps, in the form of rosettes at the springing of the battlements. The remainder of the great breadths of crude brick was coated with white plaster.[357] It was otherwise at Babylon. Ctesias, who lived there for a time, thus describes the palace on the right bank of the Euphrates: "In the interior of the first line of circumvallation Semiramis constructed another on a circular plan, upon which there are all kinds of animals stamped on the bricks while still unburnt; nature is imitated in these figures by the employment of colours[358].... The third wall, that in the middle, was twenty stades round ... on its towers and their curtain-walls every sort of animal might be seen imitated according to all the rules of art, both as to their form and colour. The whole represented the chase of various animals, the latter being more than four cubits (high)--in the middle Semiramis on horseback letting fly an arrow against a panther and, on one side, her husband Ninus at close quarters with a lion, which he strikes with his lance."[359] Diodorus attributes all these buildings to his fabulous Semiramis. He was mistaken. It was the palace built by Nebuchadnezzar that he had before him; his eyes rested upon the works of those sovereigns of the second Chaldee empire who presided at a real art renaissance--at the re-awakening of a civilization that was never more brilliant than in the years immediately preceding its fall. The historian's mistake is of little importance here. We are mainly interested in the fact that he actually saw the walls of which he speaks and saw them covered with pictures, the material for which was furnished by enamelled brick. These bricks must have been manufactured in no small quantity to permit of decorations in which there were figures nearly six feet high.[360] We may form some idea of this frieze of animals from one in the palace of Sargon at the foot of the wall on each side of the harem doorway (plate xv.).[361] As for the hunting incidents, we may imagine what they were like from the Assyrian sculptures (Fig. 5). At Babylon as at Nineveh the palette of the enameller was very restricted. Figures were as a rule yellow and white relieved against a blue ground. Touches of black were used to give accent to certain details, such as the hair and beard, or to define a contour. The surface of the brick was not always left smooth; in some cases it shows hollow lines in which certain colours were placed when required to mark distinctive or complementary features. As a rule motives were modelled in relief upon the ground, so that they were distinguished by a gentle salience as well as by colour, a contrivance that increased their solidity and effect.[362] This may be observed on the Babylonian bricks brought to Europe by M. Delaporte, consul-general for France at Bagdad. They are now in the Louvre. On one we see the three white petals belonging to one of those Marguerite-shaped flowers that artists have used in such profusion in painted and sculptured decoration (Figs. 22, 25, 96, 116, 117). Another is the fragment of a wing, and must have entered into the composition of one of those winged genii that are hardly less numerous in Assyrian decoration (Figs. 4, 8, and 29). Upon a third you may recognize the trunk of a palm-tree and on a fourth the sinuous lines that edge a drapery.[363] M. de Longperier calculated from the dimensions of this latter fragment that the figure to which it belonged must have been four cubits high, exactly the height assigned by Ctesias to the figures in the groups seen by him when he visited the palace of the ancient kings.[364] M. Oppert also mentions fragments which had formed part of similar important compositions. Yellow scales separated from one another by black lines, reminded him of the conventional figure under which the Assyrians represented hills or mountains; on others he found fragments of trees, on others blue undulations, significant, no doubt, of water; on others, again, parts of animals--the foot of a horse, the mane and tail of a lion. A thick, black line upon a blue ground may have stood for the lance of a hunter. Upon one fragment a human eye, looking full to the front, might be recognized.[365] We might be tempted to think that in these remains M. Oppert saw all that was left of the pictures which excited the admiration of Ctesias. Inscriptions in big letters obtained by the same process accompanied and explained the pictures. The characters were white on a blue ground. M. Oppert brought together some fifteen of these monumental texts, but he did not find a single fragment upon which there was more than one letter. The inscriptions were meant to be legible at a considerable distance, for the letters were from two to three inches high. In later days Arab architects followed the example thus set and pressed the elegant forms of the cufic alphabet into their service with the happiest skill.[366] For the composition of one of these figures of men or animals a large number of units was required, and in order that it might preserve its fidelity it was necessary not only that the separate pieces should exactly coincide but that they should be fixed and fitted with extreme nicety. At Babylon they were attached to the wall with bitumen. On the posterior surface of several enamelled bricks in the Louvre a thick coat of this substance may be seen; it has preserved an impression of all the roughnesses on the surface of the crude mass to which it was applied. It is impossible to decide whether this natural mortar was allowed to fill the joints between one enamelled square and another or not. None of these bricks have been found in place, and none, so far as we know, unbroken. The coat at the back may have rendered the adherence so complete that no further precaution was necessary. In Assyria, so far at least as Khorsabad is concerned, they were content with less trouble. The bricks forming the enamelled archivolt of which we have spoken are attached to the wall with a mortar in which there is but little adhesive power.[367] It offered no resistance when M. Place stripped the archway in order that he might enrich his own country with the spoils of Sargon. But for an accident that sent his boats to the bottom of the Tigris not far from Bassorah this beautiful gateway would have been rebuilt in Paris.[368] To fit all these squares into their proper places was a delicate operation, but it was rendered easy by long practice. Signs, or rather numbers, for the guidance of the workmen, have been noticed upon the uncovered faces of the crude brick walls.[369] Still more skill was required for the proper distribution of a figure over the bricks by whose apposition it was to be created. No retouches were possible, because the bricks were painted before firing. The least negligence would be punished by the interruption of the contours, or by their malformation through a failure of junction between a line upon one brick and its continuation on the next. There was but one way to prevent such mistakes, and that was by preparing in advance what we should call a cartoon. On this the proposed design would be traced over a network of squares representing the junctions of the bricks. The bricks were then shaped, modelled, and numbered; each was painted according to the cartoon with its due proportion of ground or figure as the case might be, and marked with the same number as that on the corresponding square in the drawing.[370] The colour was laid separately on each brick; this is proved by the existence on their edges of pigment that has overflowed from the face and been fired at the same time as the rest. Thus were manufactured those enamelled bricks upon which the modern visitor to the ruins of Babylon walks at every step. Broken, ground almost to powder as they are, they suffice to show how far the art of enamelling was pushed in those remote days, and how great an industry it must have been. We can have no doubt that colours fixed in the fire must have formed the chief element in the decoration of the buildings of Nebuchadnezzar, of that Babylon whose insolent prosperity so impressed the imagination and provoked the anger of the Jewish prophets. It was to paintings of this kind that Ezekiel alluded when he reproved Jerusalem under the name of Aholiba for its infidelity and its adoption of foreign superstitions: "For when she saw men portrayed upon the wall, the images of the Chaldæans portrayed with vermilion, girded with girdles upon their loins, exceeding in dyed attire upon their heads, all of them princes to look to, after the manner of the Babylonians of Chaldæa, the land of their nativity."[371] The "paintings in the temple of Belos," described by Berosus, were in all probability carried out in the same way. They decorated the walls of the great temple of Bel Merodach at Babylon, where "all kinds of marvellous monsters with the greatest variety in their forms" were to be seen.[372] We see therefore, that both by sacred and profane writers is the important part played by these paintings in the palaces and temples of the capital affirmed. And Ctesias, who is not content with allusions, but enters into minute details, tells us how the work was executed, and how its durability was guaranteed. The modern buildings of Persia give us some idea as to the appearance of those of Babylon. No doubt the plan of a mosque differs entirely from that of a temple of Marduk or Nebo, but the principle of the decoration was the same. If the wand of an enchanter could restore the principal buildings of Babylon we should, perhaps, find more than one to which the following description of the great mosque of Ispahan might be applied with the change of a word here and there: "Every part of the building without exception is covered with enamelled bricks. Their ground is blue, upon which elegant flowers and sentences taken from the Koran are traced in white. The cupola is blue, decorated with shields and arabesques. One can hardly imagine the effect produced by such a building on an European accustomed to the dull uniformity of our colourless buildings; he is filled with an admiring surprise that no words can express."[373] If we should set about making such a comparison, the principal difference to be noticed would be that arising out of the prohibitions of the Koran. The Persian potter had to content himself with the resources of pure ornament, resources upon which he drew with an exquisite skill that forbids us to regret the absence of men and animals from his work. The coloured surfaces of the Babylonian buildings must have had more variety than those of the great mosque at Ispahan or the green mosque at Broussa. But the same groups and the same personages were constantly repeated in the same attitudes and tints, so that their general character must have been purely decorative. Even when they were combined into something approaching a scene, care was taken to guard, by conventionality of treatment and the frequent repetition of familiar types and groups, against its attracting to itself the attention that properly belonged to the composition of which it formed a part. The artist was chiefly occupied with the general effect. His aim was to give a certain rhythm to a succession of traditional forms whose order and arrangement never greatly varied, to fill the wide surfaces of his architecture with contrasts and harmonies of colour that should delight the eye and prevent its fatigue. Were the colours as soft and harmonious as we now see them in those buildings of Persia and Asia Minor that will themselves soon be little more than ruins? It is difficult to answer this question from the very small fragments we possess of the coloured decorations of the Babylonian temples and palaces, but the conditions have remained the same; the wants to be satisfied and the processes employed a century ago were identical with those of Babylon and Nineveh; architect and painter were confronted by the same dazzling sun, and, so far as we can tell, taste has not sensibly changed over the whole of the vast extent of country that stretches from the frontiers of Syria to the eastern boundaries of the plateau of Iran. New peoples, new religions, and new territorial divisions have been introduced, but industrial habits have remained; in spite of political revolutions the workman has transmitted the secrets of his trade to his sons and grandsons. Oriental art is now threatened with death at the hands of Western competition. Thanks to its machines Europe floods the most distant markets with productions cheaper than those turned out by the native workman, and the native workman, discouraged and doubtful of himself, turns to the clumsy imitation of the West, and loses his hold of the art he understood so well. Traditions have become greatly weakened during the last half century, but in the few places where they still preserve their old vitality they may surely be taken as representative of the arts and industries of many centuries ago, and as the lineal descendants of those early products of civilization on which we are attempting to cast new light. If, as everything leads us to believe, the colours and patterns worked by the women of Khorassan and Kurdistan on their rugs and carpets are identical with those on the hangings in the palaces of Sargon, of Nebuchadnezzar, and of Darius, why should we not allow that the tints that now delight us on the mosques of Teheran and Ispahan, of Nicæa and Broussa, are identical with those employed by the Chaldæan potter? There is no doubt that both had a strong predilection for blue--for the marvellous colour that dyed the most beautiful flower of their fields, that glowed on their distant mountains, in their lakes, in the sea, and in the profound azure of an almost cloudless sky. Nature seems to have chosen blue for the background of her changing pictures, and like the artists of modern Persia those of antique Mesopotamia understood the value of the hint thus given. In the fragments of Babylonian tiles brought home by travellers blue is the dominant colour; and blue furnishes the background for those two compositions in enamelled brick that have been found _in situ_. The blue of Babylon seems however to have had more body and to have been darker in shade than that of the Khorsabad tiles. We have already referred to this inferiority in the Assyrian enamel. It may be explained by the fact that the Assyrian architect looked to sculpture for his most sumptuous effects; he used polychromatic decoration only for subordinate parts of his work, and he would therefore be contented with less careful execution than that required by his Babylonian rival. The glazed tiles of Assyria were not, as in Chaldæa, quasi bas-reliefs. Their tints were put on flat; the only exception to this being in the case of those rosettes that were made in such extraordinary numbers for use on the upper parts of walls and round doorways; in these the small central boss is modelled in low relief (see Figs. 121 and 122). [Illustration: FIGS. 121, 122.--Rosettes in glazed pottery. Louvre.] These glazed bricks were chiefly used by the Assyrian architect upon doorways and in their immediate neighbourhood.[374] M. Place found the decoration of one of the city gates at Khorsabad almost intact.[375] The enamel is laid upon one edge of the bricks, which are on the average three inches and a half thick. Figures are relieved in yellow, and rosettes in white against the blue ground. A band of green marks the lower edge of the tiara.[376] The same motives and the same figures were repeated for the whole length of the band. The figures are winged genii in different postures of worship and sacrifice. They bear in their hands those metal seals and pine cones that we so often encounter in the bas-reliefs. Distributed about the entrance these genii seem to be the protectors of the city, they are beneficent images, their gesture is a prayer, a promise, a benediction. On each side of the arch, at its springing, there is one of greater stature than his companions (Fig. 123). His face is turned towards the vaulted passage. Upon the curve of the archivolt smaller figures face one another in couples; each couple is divided from its neighbours by rosettes (Fig. 124). [Illustration: FIG. 123.--Detail of enamelled archivolt. Khorsabad. From Place.] The other composition is to be found on a plinth in the doorway of the harem at Khorsabad. This plinth was about twenty-three feet long, and rather more than three feet high. Its ornament was repeated on both sides of the doorway.[377] It consisted of a lion, an eagle, a bull, and a plough (Plate XV). Upon the returning angles the king appears, standing, on the one side with his head bare, on the other covered with a tiara. The background is blue, as in the city gates; green was only used for the leaves of the tree, in which some have recognized a fig-tree. [Illustration: FIG. 124.--Detail from enamelled archivolt. Khorsabad. From Place.] In these two examples the decoration is of an extreme simplicity; the figures are not engaged in any common action; there is, in fact, no picture. The artist sometimes appears to have been more ambitious. Thus Layard found at Nimroud the remains of a decoration in which the painter had apparently attempted to rival the sculptor: he had represented a battle scene analogous to those we find in such plenty in the bas-reliefs.[378] A similar motive may be found in a better preserved fragment belonging to the same structure (Plate XIV, Fig. 1).[379] A single brick bears four personages, a god, whose arms only are left, the king, his patera in hand, offering a libation, an eunuch with bow and quiver, and finally an officer with a lance. George Smith also found a fragment of the same kind at Nimroud (see Fig. 125). It shows the figure of a soldier, from the knees upwards, armed with bow and lance, and standing by the wheel of a chariot. Above his head are the remains of an inscription which must have been continued on the next brick. The word _warriors_ may still be deciphered.[380] This figure may have formed part of some attempt on the part of the decorator to narrate in colour some of the exploits of the king for whom the palace was built. [Illustration: FIG. 125.--Enamelled brick in the British Museum.] There is a difference between such fragments as this and the glazed tiles of the Khorsabad gates. In the latter the enamelled edges of several bricks were required to make a single figure. In the bricks from Nimroud on the other hand, whole figures are painted on their surface, and in fact a single brick had several figures upon it which were, therefore, on a much smaller scale. A decoration in which figures were some two and three feet high, was well suited for use in lofty situations where those restricted to the surface of a single brick would have been hardly visible. The latter must, then, have been fixed on the lower parts of the wall, but as none of them have yet been found in place we cannot say positively that it was so. Such representations were, moreover, quite exceptional. Most of the pieces of glazed brick that have been found in the ruins show nothing but the remains of figures and motives ornamental rather than historical in their general character.[381] Besides the rosettes of which we have had occasion to speak so often we encounter at every step a spiral ornament the design of which remains without much modification, while a certain variety is given to its general effect by changing the arrangement of its colours. In the example reproduced in Fig. 126 large black disks, like eyes, are embraced by a double spiral in which blue and yellow alternate.[382] [Illustration: FIG. 126.--Ornament upon enamelled brick. British Museum.] There is one curious class of glazed tiles in which this motive continually reappears. These tiles are thinner than the ordinary brick. Their shape is sometimes square but with their sides slightly concave (Fig. 127), sometimes circular, in the form of a quoit (Fig. 128). In each case similar designs are employed, flowers, palmettes, &c. These are carried out in black upon a white ground and arranged symmetrically about a round hole in the middle of the tile. These things must have been manufactured for some special purpose, and the name of Assurnazirpal, that may be read upon our first fragment (Fig. 127), shows that they belonged to some great work of decoration whose main object was to glorify the name of that sovereign. It has been guessed that they formed centres for a coffered ceiling, and there is nothing to negative the conjecture. The opening in the centre may have been filled with a boss of bronze or silver gilt. As we have already shown, appliqué work of this kind played a great part in Assyrian decoration; doors were covered with it and there are many signs that both in Chaldæa and Assyria many other surfaces were protected in the same fashion. [Illustration: FIG. 127.--Fragment of a glazed brick. Width 14 inches. British Museum.] [Illustration: FIG. 128.--Fragment of a glazed brick. Diameter 17 inches. British Museum.] After the careful examination of its ruins Taylor came to the conclusion that the upper story of a staged tower at Abou-Sharein had gilt walls. He found a great number of small and very thin gold plates upon the plateau that formed the summit of the building, and with them the gilded nails with which they had been fixed.[383] In his life of _Apollonius of Tyana_, Philostratus gives a description of Babylon that appears taken from authentic sources, and he notices this employment of metal. "The palaces of the King of Babylon are covered with bronze which makes them glitter at a distance; the chambers of the women, the chambers of the men and the porticoes are decorated with silver, with beaten and even with massive gold instead of pictures."[384] Herodotus speaks of the silvered and gilded battlements of Ecbatana[385] and at Khorsabad cedar masts incased in gilded bronze were found,[386] while traces of gold have been found on some crude bricks at Nimroud.[387] Seeing that metal was thus used to cover wide surfaces, and that, as we shall have occasion to show, the forms of sculpture, of furniture, and of the arts allied to them in Mesopotamia, prove that the inhabitants of that region were singularly skilled in the manipulation of metal, whether with the chisel or the hammer, the above conjecture may very well be true; the sheen of the polished surface would be in excellent harmony with the enamelled faïence about it. It has been suggested that some of the carved ivories may have been used to ornament the coffers. This suggestion in itself seems specious enough, but I failed to discover a single ivory in the rich collection of the British Museum whose shape would have fitted the openings in the tiles.[388] It is certain, however, that ivory was used in the ornamentation of buildings. "I incrusted," says Nebuchadnezzar, "the door-posts, the lintel, and threshold of the place of repose with ivory." The small rectangular plaques with which several cases and many drawers are filled in the British Museum may very well have been used for the decoration of doors, and the panels of ceilings and wainscots. They were so numerous, especially in the palace of Assurnazirpal at Nimroud, that we cannot believe them all to have come off small and movable pieces of furniture. We are confirmed in this idea by the fact that none of these ivories are unique or isolated works of art. In spite of the care and taste expended on their execution they were in no sense gems treasured for their rarity and value; they were the products of an active manufactory delivering its types in series, we might almost say in dozens. The more elegant and finished among them are represented three, four, and five times over in the select case in the British Museum. We may safely say that the examples preserved of any one model are by no means all that were made; in fact, in the drawers in which the smaller fragments are preserved, we noticed the remains of more than one piece which had once been similar to the more perfect specimens exhibited to the public. Thus there are in the Museum four replicas of the little work shown in our Fig. 129.[389] The head of a woman, full face, and with an Egyptian head-dress, is enframed in a narrow window and looks over a balcony formed of columns with the curious capitals already noticed on page 211. Beside these four more or less complete examples, the Museum possesses several detached heads (Fig. 130) which once, no doubt, belonged to similar compositions. [Illustration: FIG. 129.--Ivory tablet in the British Museum. Drawn by Saint-Elme Gautier.] The beauty of the ivory surface was often enhanced by the insertion of coloured enamels and lapis-lazuli in the hollows of the tablet. Traces of this inlay may be seen on many of the Museum ivories, especially on those recently brought from Van, in Armenia. The tablets also show traces of gilding. [Illustration: FIG. 130.--Fragment of an ivory tablet.] All this proves that the Mesopotamian decorator had no contemptible resources for the ornamentation of his panelled walls and coffered ceilings. These chiselled, enamelled, and gilded ivories must have been set in frames of cedar or cypress. The Assyrian texts bear witness in more than one place to the use of those fine materials, and the Hebrew writers make frequent allusion to the luxurious carpentry imitated by their own princes in the temple at Jerusalem.[390] In one of his invectives against Nineveh Zephaniah cries: "Desolation shall be in the thresholds: for he shall uncover the cedar work."[391] The more we enter into detail the richer and more varied does the decoration of these buildings appear. In our day the great ruins are sad and monotonous enough. The rain of many centuries has washed away their paint; their ornaments of metal and faïence, of ivory and cedar, have fallen from the walls; the hand of man has combined with the slow action of time to reduce them to their elements, and nothing of their original beauty remains but here and there a fragment or a hint of colour. And yet when we bring these scanty vestiges together we find that enough is left to give the taste and invention of the Assyrian ornamentist a very high place in our respect. That artist was richly endowed with the power of inventing happy combinations of lines, and of varying his motives without losing sight for an instant of his original theme. We may show this very clearly by a more careful study of two motives already encountered, the rosette, and the running ornament which is known in its countless modifications as the "knop and flower pattern." These two motives are united in those great thresholds which have been found now and then in such marvellous preservation. They also occur in certain bas-reliefs representing architectural decorations, so that we are in possession of all the documents required for the formation of a true idea of their varied beauties. In the Assyrian Basement Room of the British Museum there is a fine slab of gypsum of which we reproduce one corner in our Fig. 131.[392] Besides the daisy shaped rosette which is so conspicuous, there is one of more elaborate design which we reproduce on a larger scale and from another example in our Fig. 132. It is inclosed in a square frame adorned with chevrons. This frame with the rosette it incloses may be taken as giving some idea of the ceiling panels or coffers. [Illustration: FIG. 131.--Threshold from Kouyundjik. From Layard.] In this rosette it should be noticed that beyond the double festoon about the central star appears the same alternation of bud and flower as in the straight border. That flower has been recognized as the Egyptian lotus, but Layard believes its type to have been furnished, perhaps, by a scarlet tulip which is very common towards the beginning of spring in Mesopotamia.[393] We ourselves believe rather in the imitation of a motive from the stuffs, the jewels, the furniture, and the pottery that Mesopotamia drew from Egypt at a very early date through the intermediary of the Phoenicians. The Phoenicians themselves appropriated the same motive and introduced it with their own manufactures not only into Mesopotamia but into every country washed by the Mediterranean. Our conjecture is to some extent confirmed by an observation of Sir H. Layard's. This lotus flower is only to be found, he says, in the most recent of Assyrian monuments, in those, namely, that date from the eighth and seventh centuries B.C., centuries during which the Assyrian kings more than once invaded Phoenicia and occupied Egypt.[394] In the more ancient bas-reliefs flowers with a very different aspect--copied in all probability directly from nature--are alone to be found. Of these some idea may be formed from the adjoining cut. It reproduces a bouquet held in the hand of a winged genius in the palace of Assurnazirpal (Fig. 133). [Illustration: FIG. 132.--Rosette.] The lotus flower is to be found moreover in monuments much older than those of the Sargonids, but that does not in any way disprove the hypothesis of a direct plagiarism. The commercial relations between the valleys of the Nile and the Euphrates date from a much more remote epoch, and about the commencement of the eighteenth dynasty the Egyptians seem to have occupied in force the basin of the Khabour, the principal affluent of the Euphrates. Layard found many traces of their passage over and sojourn in that district, among them a series of scarabs, many of which bore the superscription of Thothmes III.[395] So that the points of contact were numerous enough, and the mutual intercourse sufficiently intimate and prolonged, to account for the assimilation by Mesopotamian artists of a motive taken from the flora of Egypt and to be seen on almost every object imported from the Nile valley. This imitation appears all the more probable as in the paintings of Theban tombs dating from a much more remote period than the oldest Ninevite remains, the pattern with its alternate bud and flower is complete. Many examples may be found in the plates of Prisse d'Avennes' great work;[396] one is reproduced in our Fig. 134. [Illustration: FIG. 133.--Bouquet of flowers and buds; from Layard.] [Illustration: FIG. 134.--Painted border; from Thebes, after Prisse.] The Assyrians borrowed their motive from Egypt, but they gave it more than Egyptian perfection. They gave it the definitive shapes that even Greece did not disdain to copy. In the Egyptian frieze the cones and flowers are disjointed; their isolation is unsatisfactory both to the eye and the reason. In the Assyrian pattern they are attached to a continuous undulating stem whose sinuous lines add greatly to the elegance of the composition. The distinctive characters of the bud and flower are also very well marked by the Assyrian artists. The closed petals of the one the open ones of the other and the divisions of the calix are indicated in a fashion that happily combines truth with convention. In our Fig. 135 we reproduce, on a larger scale, a part of the slab already illustrated at page 240, so that the merits of its workmanship may be better appreciated. [Illustration: FIG. 135.--Fragment of a threshold; from Khorsabad. Louvre. Drawn by Bourgoin.] [Illustration: FIG. 136.--Door ornament; from Kouyundjik. After Rawlinson.] The painter also made use of this motive. In a bas-relief from the palace of Assurbanipal we find the round-headed doorway illustrated in Fig. 136. Its rich decoration must have been carried out in glazed bricks, similar to those discovered by M. Place on one of the gates of Khorsabad. Here, however, the figures of supernatural beings are replaced by rosettes and by two lines of the knop and flower ornament. [Illustration: FIG. 137.--Palmette; from Layard.] [Illustration: FIG. 138.--Goats and palmette; from Layard.] Vegetable forms brought luck to the Assyrian decorator. Even after taking a motive from a foreign style of ornament he understood, so to speak, how to naturalize a plant and to make its forms expressive of his own individuality. Our only difficulty is to make a choice among the numerous illustrations of his inventive fertility; we shall confine ourselves to reproducing the designs embroidered upon the royal robes of Assurnazirpal. We need hardly say that these robes do not now exist, but the Ninevite sculptor copied them in soft alabaster with an infinite patience that does him honour. He has preserved for us every detail with the exception of colour. The lotus is not to be found in this embroidery; its place is taken by the palmette or tuft of leaves (Fig. 137), through which appear stems bending with the weight of the buds they bear. Animals, real and imaginary, are skilfully mingled with the fan-shaped palmettes; in one place we find two goats (Fig. 138), in another two winged bulls (Fig. 139). Bulls and goats are both alike on their knees before the palmette, which seems to suggest that the latter is an abridged representation of that sacred tree which we have already encountered and will encounter again in the bas-reliefs, where it is surrounded by scenes of adoration and sacrifice. This motive has the double advantage of awakening religious feeling in the spectators, and of provoking a momentary elegance of line and movement in the two pairs of animals. On the other hand we can hardly explain the motive represented in our Figs. 140 and 141--a motive already met with in the figured architecture of the bas-reliefs and in the glazed tiles--by anything but an artistic caprice. In some cases the rosette and the palmette are introduced in a single picture (142). [Illustration: FIG. 139.--Winged bulls and palmette; from Layard.] We have ventured to supplement the scanty remains of architectural decoration by these illustrations from another art, because all Babylonian ornament, whether for carpets, hangings, or draperies, for works in beaten metal, in paint or enamelled faïence, is governed by the same spirit and marked by the same taste. In every form impressed upon matter by the ancient inhabitants of Mesopotamia the same symbols, the same types, and the same motives are repeated to infinity. The examples we have brought together suffice to show the principal characteristics of that decoration. It had doubtless one great defect, it was too easily separated from the building to which it belonged; it was fragile, apt to fall, and therefore unlikely to have any very long duration. But the architect was not to blame for that. The defect in question was consequent on the poverty of the material with which he had to work. Given the conditions under which he laboured, and we cannot deny that he showed great skill in making the best of them. He understood how to contrast wide unbroken surfaces with certain important parts of his _ensemble_, such as cornices, plinths, and especially doorways. Upon these he concentrated the efforts of the painter and sculptor; upon these he lavished all the hues of the Assyrian palette, and embellished them with the carved figures of men and gods, of kings and genii, of all the countless multitudes who had fought and died for Assyria and its divine protector, the unconquered and unconquerable Assur. [Illustration: FIG. 140.--Stag upon a palmette; from Layard.] [Illustration: FIG. 141.--Winged bull upon a rosette; from Layard.] If, not content with this general view of Assyrian decoration, we enter into it in detail, we shall find its economy most judiciously arranged and understood. When the sculptor set himself to carve the slabs that enframe a door or those that protect the lower parts of a wall, he sought to render what he saw or imagined as precisely and definitely as possible. He went to nature for inspiration even when he carved imaginary beings, and copied her, in fragments perhaps, but with a loyal and vigorous sincerity. Everywhere, except in certain pictures with a strictly limited function, he obeyed an imagination over which a sure judgment kept unsleeping watch. His polychromatic decorations fulfilled their purpose of amusing and delighting the eye without ever attempting to deceive it. Such is and must always be the true principle of ornament, and the decorators of the great buildings of Babylon and Nineveh seem to have thoroughly understood that it was so; their rich and fertile fancy is governed, in every instance to which we can point, with unfailing tact, and to them must be given the credit of having invented not a few of the motives that may yet be traced in the art of the Medes and Persians, in that of the Syrians, the Phoenicians, the peoples of Asia Minor, and above all in that of the Greeks--those unrivalled masters who gave immortality to every artistic combination that they chose to adopt. [Illustration: FIG. 142.--Stag, palmette, and rosette; from Layard.] NOTES: [326] The cuneiform texts mention the "two bulls at the door of the temple E-schakil," the famous staged tower of Babylon. Fr. LENORMANT, _Les Origines de l'Histoire_, vol. i. p. 114 (2nd edition, 1880). [327] RICH, _Narrative of a Journey to the Site of Babylon in 1811, and a Memoir on the Ruins_, p. 64. LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 507. According to Rich, this lion was of grey granite; according to Layard, of black basalt. [328] LOFTUS says nothing of this lion in those _Travels and Researches_ which we have so often quoted. It was, perhaps, on a later occasion that he found it. We came upon it in a collection of original sketches and manuscript notes (_Drawings in Babylonia by W. K. Loftus and H. Churchill_) in the custody of the keeper of Oriental antiquities at the British Museum. We have to express our acknowledgments to Dr. Birch for permission to make use of this valuable collection. [329] PERROT, GUILLAUME ET DELBET, _Exploration archéologique de la Galatie_, vol. ii. pl. 32. [330] _Exploration archéologique_, vol. ii. pl. 11. [331] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 508. [332] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. pp. 68-70. [333] This character of a tutelary divinity that we attribute to the winged bull is indicated in the clearest manner in the cuneiform texts: "In this palace," says Esarhaddon, "the _sedi_ and _lamassi_ (the Assyrian names for these colossi) are propitious, are the guardians of my royal promenade and the rejoicers of my heart, may they ever watch over the palace and never quit its walls." And again: "I caused doors to be made in cypress, which has a good smell, and I had them adorned with gold and silver and fixed in the doorways. Right and left of those doorways I caused _sedi_ and _lamassi_ of stone to be set up, they are placed there to repulse the wicked." (ST. GUYARD, _Bulletin de la Religion assyrienne_, in the _Revue de l'Histoire des Religions_, vol. i. p. 43, note.) [334] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii, plate 21. [335] Those in the Louvre are fourteen feet high; the tallest pair in the British Museum are about the same. [336] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. pt. ii. p. 92, fig. 70. [337] On the subject of these winged bulls see Fr. LENORMANT, _Les Origines de l'Histoire_, vol. i. chap. 3. [338] The bas-relief here reproduced comes from the palace of Assurbanipal at Kouyundjik. In the fragment now in the Louvre there are three stories, but the upper story, being an exact repetition of that immediately below it, has been omitted in our engraving. [339] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, p. 176. LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 529, 651. BOTTA, _Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 44. In the book of Daniel the hand that traces the warning words upon the walls of Belshazzar's palace traces them "_upon the plaster of the wall_" (DANIEL v. 5). [340] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 77. [341] At Warka, however, LOFTUS found in the building he calls _Wuswas_ a layer of plaster which was from two to four inches thick. (_Travels_, p. 176.) [342] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. pp. 77, 78. [343] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plate 25. [344] _Ibid._ vol. i. pp. 141-146; vol. ii. pp. 79, 80; vol. iii. plates 36 and 37. [345] HERODOTUS (Rawlinson's translation), i. 98. [346] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plate 32. [347] G. SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, pp. 77, 78. LAYARD (_Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 130) also says that some rooms had no other decoration. [348] In writing thus we allude chiefly to the restorations given by Mr. James Fergusson in _The Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis Restored_ (1 vol. 8vo. Murray), a work that was launched upon the world at far too early a date, namely, in 1851. Sir H., then Mr., LAYARD, had not yet published his second narrative (_Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon_) nor the second series of _Monuments of Nineveh_, neither had the great work of MM. Place and Thomas on the palace of Sargon (a work to which we owe so much new and authentic information) appeared. In Mr. Fergusson's restorations the column is freely used and the vault excluded, so that in many respects his work seems to us to be purely fanciful, and yet it is implicitly accepted by English writers to this day. Professor RAWLINSON, while criticising Mr. Fergusson in his text (_The Five Great Monarchies_, vol. i. p. 303, note 6), reproduces his restoration of the great court at Khorsabad, in which a colonnade is introduced upon the principle of the hypostyle halls of Persepolis. Professor Rawlinson would, perhaps, have been better advised had he refrained from thus popularizing a vision which, as he himself very justly declares, is quite alien to the genius of Assyrian architecture. [349] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, pp. 187-189. [350] LOFTUS thinks that the process was very common, at least in Lower Chaldæa. He found cones imbedded in mortar at several other points in the Warka ruins, but the example we have reproduced is the only one in which well-marked designs could still be clearly traced. TAYLOR saw cones of the same kind at Abou-Sharein. They had no inscriptions, and their bases were black (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 411). They formed in all probability parts of a decoration similar to that described by Loftus. In Egypt we find cones of terra-cotta crowning the façades of certain Theban tombs (RHIND, _Thebes, its Tombs and their Tenants_, p. 136). Decoratively they seem allied to the cones of Warka, but the religious formulæ they bear connects them rather with the cones found by M. de Sarzec at Tello, which bear commemorative inscriptions. To these we shall return at a later page. [351] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, pp. 190, 191 [352] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 607. Rich also bears witness to the abundance of these remains in his _Journey to the Ruins of Babylon_. See also OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. p. 143. [353] A French traveller of the last century, DE BEAUCHAMP (he was consul at Bagdad), heard an Arab workman and contractor describe a room he had found in the Kasr, the walls of which were lined with enamelled bricks. Upon one wall, he said, there was a cow with the sun and moon above it. His story must, at least, have been founded on truth. No motive occurs oftener in the Chaldæan monuments than a bull and the twin stars of the day and night. (See RENNELL, _History of Herodotus_, p. 367.) [354] LOFTUS collected some fragments of these enamelled bricks at Warka, "similar to those found," he says, "at Babylon in the ruins of the Kasr" (_Travels and Researches_, p. 185). TAYLOR also tells us that he found numerous fragments of brick enamelled blue at Mugheir (_Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv. p. 262). [355] The most interesting of these fragments, those that allow the subject of which they formed a part to be still divined, have been published by M. DE LONGPERIER, _Musée Napoléon III._ plate iv. [356] I examined at the British Museum the originals of the glazed bricks reproduced by Layard in his first series of _Monuments_, some of which we have copied in our plates xiii. and xiv. The outlines of the ornament are now hardly more than distinguishable, while the colour is no more than a pale reflection. [357] LOFTUS believes that the external faces of Assyrian walls were not, as a rule, cased in enamelled bricks. He disengaged three sides of the northern palace at Kouyundjik without finding any traces of polychromatic decoration. (_Travels and Researches_, p. 397. note.) [358] Kath' hon en ômais eti tais plinthois dietetupôto thêria, pantodapa tê tôn chrômatôn philotechnia tên alêtheian apomimoumena (DIODORUS, ii. 8, 4.) Diodorus expressly declares that he borrows this description from Ctesias (hôs Ktêsias phêsin), _ibid._ 5. [359] Enêsan de en tois purgois kai teichesi zôa pantodapa philotechnôs tois te chrômasi kai tois tôn tupôn apomimasi kataskeuasmena. (DIODORUS, ii. 8, 6.) [360] Pantoiôn thêriôn ... hôn êsan ta megethê pleion ê pêchôn tettarôn. Four cubits was equal to about five feet eight inches. At Khorsabad the tallest of the genii on the coloured tiles at the door are only 32 inches high; others are not more than two feet. [361] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plates 24 and 31. [362] "The painting," says M. OPPERT, "was applied to a kind of roughly blocked-out relief." (_Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. p. 144.) [363] De Longperier, _Musée Napoléon III._, plate iv. [364] This palace was then inhabited for a part of the year by the Achemenid princes, of whom Ctesias was both the guest and physician. [365] OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. pp. 143, 144. [366] Two of these enamelled letters are in the Louvre. See also upon this subject, PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 86. I have also seen some in the collection of M. Piot. [367] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 236. [368] Only two rafts arrived at Bassorah; eight left Mossoul, so that only about a fourth of the antiquities collected reached their destination in safety. The cases with the objects despatched by the Babylonian mission, that is by MM. Fresnel, Oppert, and Thomas, were included in the same disaster. But for this the Assyrian collections of the Louvre would be less inferior than they are to those of the British Museum. [369] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 253. [370] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 253. These marks were recognized upon many fragments found at Babylon by MM. Oppert and Thomas (OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. pp. 143, 144). LOFTUS has transcribed and published a certain number of marks of the same kind which he found upon glazed bricks from the palace at Suza. These are sometimes cut in the brick with a point, sometimes painted with enamel like that on the face. (_Travels and Researches_, p. 398.) [371] EZEKIEL xxiii. 14, 15. [372] BEROSUS, fragment i. § 4, in vol. ii. of the _Fragmenta Historicorum Græcorum_ of Ch. MÜLLER. [373] TEXIER, _Armenie et Perse_, vol. ii. p. 134. In the same work the details of the magnificent decoration upon the mosque of the Sunnites at Tauris (which afforded a model for that at Ispahan) will be found reproduced in their original colours. It is strange that this art of enamelled faïence, after being preserved so long, should so recently have become extinct in the East. "At the commencement of the last century," says M. TEXIER (vol. ii. p. 138), "the art of enamelling bricks was no less prosperous in Persia than in the time of Shah-Abbas, the builder of the great mosque at Ispahan (1587-1629); but now the art is completely extinct, and in spite of my desire to visit a factory where I might see the work in progress, there was not one to be found from one end of Ispahan to the other." According to the information I gathered in Asia Minor, it was also towards the beginning of the present century that the workshops of Nicæa and Nicomedia, in which the fine enamelled tiles on the mosques at Broussa were made, were finally closed. In these _fabriques_ the plaques which have been found in such abundance for some twenty years past in Rhodes and other islands of the Archipelago were also manufactured. [The manufacture of these glazed tiles is by no means extinct in India, however. At many centres in Sindh and the Punjab, glazed tiles almost exactly similar to those on the mosque at Ispahan, so far as colours and ornamental motives are concerned, are made in great numbers and used for the same purposes as in Persia and ancient Mesopotamia. There is a tradition in India that the art was brought from China, through Persia, by the soldiers of Gingiz-Khan, but a study of the tiles themselves is enough to show that they are a survival from the art manufactures of Babylon and Nineveh. For detailed information on the history and processes used in the manufacture of these tiles, see Sir George BIRDWOOD'S _Industrial Arts of India_, part ii. pp. 304-310, 321, and 330; also Mr. DRURY FORTNUM'S report on the Sindh pottery in the International Exhibition of 1871.--ED.] [374] Sir H. LAYARD noticed this at the very beginning of his explorations: "Between the bulls and the lions forming the entrances in different parts of the palace were invariably found a large collection of baked bricks, elaborately painted with figures of animals and flowers, and with cuneiform characters" (_Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 13). [375] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 234; vol. iii. plates 9 and 17. [376] _Ibid._ vol. iii. plate 14. We should have reproduced this composition in colour had the size of our page allowed us to do so on a proper scale. M. Place was unable to give it all even in a double-page plate of his huge folio. [377] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii. plates 23-31. [378] Layard, _Monuments_, 2nd series, plates 53, 54. Elsewhere (_Discoveries_, pp. 166-168) Layard has given a catalogue and summary description of all these fragments, of which only a part were reproduced in the plates of his great collection. [379] _Ibid._ plate 55. [380] GEO. SMITH, _Assyrian Discoveries_, p. 79. [381] Botta gives examples of some of these bricks (_Monument de Ninive_, plates 155, 156). Among the motives there reproduced there is one that we have already seen in the bas-reliefs (fig. 67). It is a goat standing in the collected attitude he would take on a point of rock. The head of the ibex is also a not uncommon motive (LAYARD, _Monuments_, first series, plate 87, fig. 2; see also BOTTA). [382] Fig. 1 of our Plate XIV. reproduces the same design, but with a more simple colouration. [383] J. E. TAYLOR, _Notes on Abou-Sharein_, p. 407 (in the _Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, vol. xv.). [384] PHILOSTRATUS, _Life of Apollonius_, i. 25. Cf. DIONYSIUS PERIEGETES, who says of Semiramis (v. 1007, 1008): autar ep' akropolêi megan domon eisato Bêlôi chrusôi t' êd' elephanti kai agurôi askêsasa. [385] HERODOTUS, i. 98. [386] See above, p. 202. [387] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 264, note 1. Frequent allusions to this use of metal are to be found in the wedges. In M. LENORMANT'S translation of the London inscription (_Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 233, 3rd edition) in which Nebuchadnezzar enumerates the great works he had done at Borsippa, I find the following words: "I have covered the roof of Nebo's place of repose with gold. The beams of the door before the oracles have been overlaid with silver ... the pivot of the door into the woman's chamber I have covered with silver." [388] Among the fragments of tiles brought from Nimroud by Mr. George Smith, and now in the British Museum, there are two like those reproduced above, to which bosses or knobs of the same material--glazed earthenware--are attached. The necks of these bosses are pierced with holes apparently to receive the chain of a hanging lamp, and are surrounded at their base with inscriptions of Assurnazirpal stating that they formed part of the decoration of a temple at Calah.--ED. [389] The size of our engraving is slightly above that of the object itself. [390] 1 _Kings_ vi. 15; vii. 3. [391] ZEPHANIAH ii. 14. [392] The design consists entirely in the symmetrical repetition of the details here given. [In this engraving the actual design of the pavement has been somewhat simplified. Between the knop and flower that forms the outer border and the rosettes there is a band of ornament consisting of the symmetrical repetition of the palmette motive with rudimentary volutes, much as it occurs round the outside of the tree of life figured on page 213. In another detail our cut differs slightly from the original. In the latter there is no corner piece; the border runs entirely across the end, and the side borders are stopped against it.--ED.] [393] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 184, note. [394] LAYARD, _Nineveh_. vol. ii. p. 212, note. [395] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 281. [396] PRISSE D'AVENNES, _Histoire de l'Art égyptien d'après les Monuments_ (2 vols folio): see the plates entitled _Couronnements et Frises fleuronnés_. § 8.--_On the Orientation of Buildings and Foundation Ceremonies._ The inhabitants of Mesopotamia were so much impressed by celestial phenomena, and believed so firmly in the influence of the stars over human destiny, that they were sure to establish some connection between those heavenly bodies and the arrangement of their edifices. All the buildings of Chaldæa and Assyria are orientated; the principle is everywhere observed, but it is not always understood in the same fashion. [Illustration: FIG. 143.--Plan of a temple at Mugheir; from Loftus.] Mesopotamian buildings were always rectangular and often square on plan, and it is sometimes the angles and sometimes the centres of each face that are directed to the four cardinal points. It will easily be understood that the former system was generally preferred. The façades were of such extent that their direction to a certain point of the horizon was not evident, while salient angles, on the other hand, had all the precision of an astronomical calculation; and this the earliest architects of the Chaldees thoroughly understood. Some of the buildings examined by Loftus and Taylor on the lower Euphrates may have been restored, more or less, by Nebuchadnezzar and his successors, but it is generally acknowledged that the lower and less easily injured parts of most of these buildings date from the very beginnings of that civilization, and were constructed by the princes of the early empire. Now both at Warka and at Mugheir one corner of a building is always turned towards the true north.[397] An instance of this may be given in the little building at Mugheir in which the lower parts of a temple have been recognized (Fig. 143). The same arrangement is to be found in the palace excavated by M. de Sarzec at Tello.[398] [Illustration: FIG. 144.--Plan of the town and palace of Sargon at Khorsabad; from Place.] Most of the Assyrian architects did likewise. See for example the plan of Sargon's city, Dour-Saryoukin (Fig. 144). Its circumvallation incloses an almost exact square, the diagonals of which point to the north, south, east and west respectively.[399] In the large scale plans that we shall give farther on of the palace and of some of its parts it will be seen that the parallelograms of which that building was composed also had their angles turned to the four cardinal points. It was the same with the structures sprinkled over the summit of the vast mound of Kouyundjik, in the centre of what once was Nineveh. [Illustration: FIG. 145.--General plan of the remains at Nimroud; from Layard. 1, 2, 3 Trenches, 4 Central palace, 5 Tombs, 6 South-eastern edifice, 7 South-western palace, 8 North-western palace, 9 High pyramidal mound.] On the other hand in those ruins at Nimroud that have been identified with the ancient Calah, it is the sides of the mound and of the buildings upon it that face the four cardinal points (Fig. 145). The plan given by Layard of the square staged tower disengaged in his last digging campaign at the north-western angle of the mound shows this more clearly.[400] Nearly half the northern side is occupied by the salient circular mass that is such a conspicuous object to one looking at the mound from the plain. We do not know what caused this deviation from the traditional custom; a reason should perhaps be sought in the configuration of the ground, and in the course here followed by the river which then bathed the foot of the artificial hill upon which stood the royal dwellings of the Tiglath-Pilesers and Assurnazirpals. The first of these two methods of orientation had the advantage of establishing a more exact and well defined relation between the disposition of the building and those celestial points to which a peculiar importance was attached. It must also be remembered that such an arrangement gave a more agreeable dwelling than the other. No façade being turned directly to the north there was none entirely deprived of sunlight, while at the same time there was none that faced due south. The sun as it ran its daily course would light for a time each face in turn. The religious ideas that led to orientation are revealed in other details, in the time chosen for commencing the foundations of temples or palaces, and in certain rites that were accomplished afterwards--doubtless with the help of the priesthood--in order to place the building under the protection of the gods and to interest them in its duration. There were ceremonies analogous to those now practised when we lay foundation stones. In the Chaldee system the first stone, the seed from which the rest of the edifice was to spring, was an angle stone, under or in which were deposited inscribed plaques. These contained the name of the founder, together with prayers to the gods and imprecations on all who should menace the stability of the building. This custom dated from the very beginning of Chaldæan civilization, as is proved by a curious text translated by M. Oppert.[401] It was discovered at Sippara and dates from the time of Nabounid, one of the last kings of Babylon. Many centuries before the reign of that prince a temple raised to the sun by Sagaraktyas, of the first dynasty, had been destroyed, and its foundations were traditionally said to inclose the sacred tablets of Xisouthros, who has been identified with the Noah of the Bible. Nabounid recounts the unsuccessful efforts that had been made before his time to recover possession of the precious deposit. Two kings of Babylon, Kourigalzou and Nebuchadnezzar, and one king of Assyria, Esarhaddon, had made the attempt and failed. One of the three had commemorated his failure in an inscription to the following effect: "I have searched for the angle stone of the temple of Ulbar but I have not found it." Finally Nabounid took up the quest. After one check caused by an inundation he renewed the search with ardour; he employed his army upon it, and at last, after digging to a great depth, he came to the angle-stone: "Thus," he says, "have I recovered the name and date of Sagaraktyas." [Illustration: FIG. 146.--Bronze statuette. 8-1/4 inches high. Louvre.] In the ruins of the ancient royal city recovered by M. de Sarzec at Tello the traces of similar precautions have everywhere been found. In the middle of the great mass of ruins whose plan we are still awaiting, "I found," says M. de Sarzec, "at a depth of hardly 30 centimetres (one foot English) below the original level of the soil four cubical masses consisting of large bricks cemented with bitumen, and measuring about 80 centimetres across each face. In the centre of each cube there was a cavity 27 centimetres long by 12 wide and 35 deep. In each case this hollow contained a small bronze statuette packed, as it were, in an impalpable dust. In one cavity the statuette was that of a kneeling man (Fig. 146), in another of a standing woman (Fig. 147), in another of a bull (Fig. 148). At the feet of each statue there were two stone tablets, set in most cases in the bitumen with which the cavity was lined. One of these tablets was black, the other white. It was upon the black as a rule that a cuneiform inscription similar, or nearly so, to the inscriptions on the statuettes was found."[402] Abridgments of the same commemorative and devotional form of words are found upon those cones of terra-cotta that were discovered in such numbers among the foundations and in the interstices of the structure (Fig. 149).[403] [Illustration: FIG. 147.--Bronze statuette. 8-1/4 inches high. Louvre.] The Mesopotamian builder was not satisfied with relying upon talismans built into the lower part of a building or strewn under the pavements. Taylor ascertained at Mugheir and Loftus at Sinkara that engraved cylinders were built into the four angles of the upper stories. A brick had been omitted, leaving a small niche in which they were set up on end.[404] Profiting by the hint thus given Sir Henry Rawlinson excavated the angles of one of the terraces of the Birs-Nimroud at Babylon, and to the astonishment of his workmen he found the terra-cotta cylinders upon which the reconstruction of the temple by Nebuchadnezzar is narrated exactly at the point where he told them to dig.[405] These little tubs are called cylinders--a not very happy title. As some of them are about three feet high (Fig. 150) they can take commemorative inscriptions of vastly greater length than those cut upon small hard-stone cylinders. Some of these inscriptions have as many as a hundred lines very finely engraved. Many precious specimens dating from the times of Nebuchadnezzar and his successors have been found in the ruins of Babylon.[406] [Illustration: FIG. 148.--Bronze statuette. 10 inches high. Louvre.] Thus from the beginning to the end of Chaldæan civilization the custom was preserved of consecrating a building by hiding in its substance objects to which a divine type and an engraved text gave both a talismanic and a commemorative value. As might be supposed the same usage was followed in Assyria. In the palace of Assurnazirpal at Nimroud, Sir Henry Layard found some alabaster tablets with inscriptions on both their faces hidden behind the colossal lions at one of the doorways.[407] The British Museum also possesses a series of small figures found at Nimroud but in a comparatively modern building, the palace of Esarhaddon. They have each two pairs of wings, one pair raised, the other depressed. They had been strewn in the sand under the threshold of one of the doors. [Illustration: FIG. 149.--Terra-cotta cone. Height 6 inches. Louvre.] It was at Khorsabad, however, that the observations were made which have most clearly shown the importance attached to this ceremony of consecration. M. Oppert tells us that during the summer of 1854, "M. Place disinterred from the foundations of Khorsabad a stone case in which were five inscriptions on five different materials, gold, silver, antimony, copper and lead. Of these five tablets he brought away four. The leaden one was too heavy to be carried off at once, and it was despatched to Bassorah on the rafts with the bulk of the collection, whose fate it shared." The other four tablets are in the Louvre. Their text is almost identical. M. Oppert gives a translation of it.[408] According to his rendering, the inscription--in which the king speaks throughout in the first person--ends with this imprecation: "May the great lord Assur destroy from the face of this country the name and race of him who shall injure the works of my hand, or who shall carry off my treasure!" A little higher up, where Sargon recounts the founding of the palace, occurs a phrase which M. Oppert translates: "The people threw their amulets." What Sargon meant by this the excavations of M. Place have shown. In the foundations of the town walls, and especially in the beds of sand between the bases of the sculptured bulls that guard the doorways, he found hundreds of small objects, such as cylinders, cones, and terra-cotta statuettes. The most curious of these are now deposited in the Louvre. The numbers and the character of these things prove that a great number of the people must have assisted at the ceremony of consecration. [Illustration: FIG. 150.--Terra-cotta cylinder. One-third of actual size; from Place.] Several of these amulets were not without value either for their material or their workmanship, but the great majority were of the roughest kind, some being merely shells or stones with a hole through them, which must have belonged to the poorest class of the community. In many cases their proper use could be easily divined; the holes with which they were pierced and other marks of wear showed them to be personal amulets.[409] Those present at the ceremony of consecrating the foundations must have detached them from the cords by which they were suspended, and thrown them, upon the utterance of some propitiatory formula by the priests, into the sand about to be covered with the first large slabs of alabaster. The terra-cotta cylinders were in no less frequent use in Assyria than in Chaldæa. M. Place found no less than fourteen still in place in niches of the harem walls at Khorsabad. The long inscription they bore contained circumstantial details of the construction of both town and palace. Like that on the metal tablets, it ended with a malediction on all who should dare to raise their hands against the work of Sargon.[410] As for the cylinders hidden in each angle of a building, none, we believe, have as yet been found in Assyria; perhaps because no search or an inefficient search has been made for them. We have dwelt at some length upon the orientation of buildings, upon the importance attached to their angle stones, and upon the precautions taken to place an edifice under the protection of the gods, and to preserve the name of its founder from oblivion. We can point to no stronger evidence than that furnished by these proceedings as a whole, of the high civilization to which the people of Chaldæa and Assyria had attained at a very early date. The temple and palace did not spread themselves out upon the soil at the word of a capricious and individual fancy; a constant will governed the arrangement of its plan, solemn rites inaugurated its construction and recommended its welfare to the gods. The texts tell us nothing about the architects, who raised so many noble monuments; we know neither their names, nor their social condition, but we can divine from their works that they had strongly established traditions, and that they could look back upon a solid and careful education for their profession. As to whether they formed one of those close corporations in which the secrets of a trade are handed down from generation to generation of their members, or whether they belonged to the sacerdotal caste, we do not know. We are inclined to the latter supposition in some degree by the profoundly religious character of the ceremonies that accompanied the inception of a building, and by the accounts left by the ancients of those priests whom they called _the Chaldæans_. It was to these Chaldæans that Mesopotamian society owed all it knew of scientific methods and modes of thought, and it is, perhaps, fair to suppose that they turned to the practice of the arts those intellects which they had cultivated above their fellows. Architecture especially requires something more than manual skill, practice, and natural genius. When it is carried so far as it was in Chaldæa it demands a certain amount of science, and the priests who by right of their intellectual superiority held such an important place in the state, may well have contrived to gain a monopoly as architects to the king. In their persons alone would the scientific knowledge required for such work be combined with the power to accomplish those sacred rites which gave to the commencement of a new building the character of a contract between man and his deity. NOTES: [397] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, p. 171. [398] _Les Fouilles de Chaldée, communication d'une Lettre de M. de Sarzec par M. Léon Heuzey_, § 2 (_Revue archéologique_, November, 1881). [399] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 17, 18. BOTTA had previously made the same observation (_Monument de Ninive_, vol. v. p. 25). [400] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, plan 2, p. 123. [401] OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique de Mésopotamie_, vol. i. p. 273. [402] _Les Fouilles de Chaldée, communication d'une Lettre de M. de Sarzec_, by M. Léon HEUZEY (_Revue archéologique_, November, 1881). [403] As to the notions attached to these cones, whether sprinkled about the foundations of a building, set up in certain sanctuaries, or carried upon the person, an article published by M. LEDRAIN, _à propos_ of an agate cone recently added to the collections of the Louvre, may be read with advantage. Its full title is _Une Page de Mythologie sémitique_ (_la Philosophie positive, Revue_, 14th year, 1882, pp. 209-213). [404] Taylor, _Notes on the Ruins of Mugheir_ (_Journal_, &c. vol. xv., pp. 263, 264). LOFTUS, _Travels_, &c. p. 247. [405] See the _Athenæum_ for January 20, 1855 (No. 1421), p. 84. "After two months' excavation Colonel Rawlinson was summoned to the work by the information that ... a wall had been found and laid bare to a distance of 190 feet, and that it turned off at right angles at each end, to be apparently carried all round the mound, forming a square of about twenty-seven feet in height, surmounted by a platform. He immediately rode to the excavation, examined the spot, where he found the workmen quite discouraged and hopeless, having laboured long and found nothing. He was now, however, well aware of these facts, and at once pointed out the spot, near the corner, where the bricks should be removed. In half an hour a small hollow was found, from which he immediately directed the head workman to 'bring out the commemorative cylinder'--a command which, to the wonder and bewilderment of the people, was immediately obeyed; and a cylinder covered with inscriptions was drawn out from its hiding-place of twenty-four centuries, as fresh as when deposited there by the hands, probably, of Nebuchadnezzar himself! The Colonel added in a note that the fame of his magical power had flown to Bagdad, and that he was besieged with applications for the loan of his wonderful instrument to be used in the discovery of hidden treasures!" [406] Among these we may mention the Philips cylinder, from which, in speaking of the great works carried out by Nebuchadnezzar, LENORMANT gives long extracts in his _Manuel d'Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. pp. 233 and 235. [407] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. p. 115, and vol. ii. p. 91. [408] OPPERT, _Expédition en Mésopotamie_, vol. ii. pp. 343-351. [409] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. p. 188. [410] OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. pp. 354 _et seq._ § 9.--_Mechanical Resources._ The Chaldæans and Assyrians were never called upon to transport such enormous masses as some of the Egyptian monoliths, such as the obelisks and the two great colossi at Thebes. But the stone bulls that decorated the palaces of Nineveh were no light weight, and it was not without difficulty that the modern explorers succeeded in conveying them to the borders of the Tigris and loading them on the rafts upon which they began their long journeys to Paris and London. In moving such objects from place to place the Assyrians, like the Egyptians, had no secret beyond that of patience, and the unflinching use of human arms and shoulders in unstinted number.[411] We know this from monuments in which the details of the operation are figured even more clearly and with more pictorial power than in the bas-relief at El-Bercheh, which has served to make us acquainted with the methods employed in taking an Egyptian colossus from the quarry to its site. In Mesopotamia, as in Egypt, there were waterways that could be used at any season for the transport of heavy masses. Quarries were made as near the banks of the Euphrates and Tigris as possible, and when a stone monster had to be carried to a town situated at some distance from both those rivers the canals by which the country was intersected in every direction supplied their place. Going down stream, and especially in flood time, no means of propulsion were required; the course of the boats or rafts was directed by means of heavy oars like those still used by the boatmen who navigate the Tigris in _keleks_, or rafts, supported on inflated hides; in ascending the streams towing was called into play, as we know from one of the Kouyundjik bas-reliefs.[412] In this the stone in course of transport is oblong in shape and is placed upon a wide flat boat, beyond which it extends both at the stern and the bows. It is securely fastened with pieces of wood held together by strong pins. There are three tow ropes, two fastened to the stone itself and the third to the bow of the boat. The towers pull upon these cables by means of smaller cords passed round the shoulders of each and spliced to the main ropes; by such means they could bring far more weight to bear than if they had been content to hold the cable in their hands, as in Egypt. The bas-relief in question is mutilated, but we may guess that a hundred men were attached to each cable, which would make three hundred in all obeying the single will of the superintending engineer who is perched upon the stone and directing their movements. On each flank of the gang march overseers armed with swords and rattans that would be quick to descend on the back and loins of any shirker. More than one instance of such punishment may be seen on the bas-relief reproduced in part in our Fig. 151. In its lower division two or three of these slave-drivers may be seen with their hands raised against the workmen; in one case the latter sinks to the ground beneath the blows rained upon him. The way in which the whole series of operations is represented in this Kouyundjik relief is most curious. High up in the field we often find the king himself, standing in his chariot and urging on the work. The whole occupies several of Layard's large plates. We can only reproduce the central group, which is the most interesting to the student of engineering in ancient Mesopotamia. [Illustration: FIG. 151.--The transport of a bull. Height of the slab, 7 feet 3 inches; British Museum.] The block of alabaster that we saw a moment ago on a boat towed by hundreds of human arms has been delivered to the sculptors and has put on, under their hands, the rough form of a mitred, human-headed bull. It will be completed after being put in place; the last touches of the chisel and the brush will then be given to it; but the heaviest part of the work is already done and the block has lost much of its original size and weight. Firmly packed with timber, the bull lies upon its side upon a sledge which is curved in front like a boat, or a modern sleigh. Two cables are fastened to its prow and two to its stern. The engineer is again seated upon the stone and claps his hands to give the time, but now he is accompanied by three soldiers who appear to support his authority by voice and gesture. In order to prevent friction and to facilitate the movement of the sledge, rollers are thrust beneath its runners as they progress. Before the huge mass will start, however, the straining cords and muscles have to be helped by a thrust from behind. This is given by means of a huge lever, upon which a number of men pull with all their weight, while its curved foot is engaged under the sledge. A workman is occupied with the reinforcement of the fulcrum by thrusting a wedge in between its upper surface and the lower edge of the lever. When everything is ready a signal will be given, the men behind will throw their weight upon the lever, the sledge will rise a little, the ropes will strain and tighten, and the heavy mass will glide forward upon the greased rollers until arms and legs give out and an interval for rest is called, to be followed presently by a repetition of the same process. Every precaution is taken to minimize the effect of any accident that may take place in the course of the operation. Behind the sledge spare ropes and levers are carried, some upon men's backs, others on small handcarts. There are also a number of workmen carrying rollers. We shall only refer to one more of these reliefs and that the one with which the series appears to close (Fig. 152). This carved picture has been thought, not without reason, to represent the erection of the bull[413] in its destined place. After its slow but uninterrupted march the huge monster has arrived upon the plateau where it has been awaited. By one great final effort it has been dragged up an inclined plane to the summit of the mound and has been set upon its feet. Nothing remains to be done but to pull and thrust it into its place against the doorway it has to guard and ornament. The same sledge, the same rollers, the same lever, the same precautions against accident are to be recognized here as in the last picture. The only difference is in the position of the statue itself. Standing upright like this it is much more liable to injury than when prone on its flank. New safeguards have therefore been introduced. It is packed under its belly with squares of wood and inclosed in scaffolding to prevent dangerous vibration. Additional precautions against this latter danger are provided by gangs of men who walk at each side and hold, some ropes fastened to the uprights of the scaffolding, others long forked poles engaged under its horizontal pieces. By these means equilibrium could be restored after any extra oscillation on the part of the sledge and its burden. All these manoeuvres are remarkable for the skill and prodigality with which human strength was employed; of all the scientific tools invented to economise effort and to shorten the duration of a task, the only one they seem ever to have used was the most simple of all, the lever, an instrument that must have been invented over and over again wherever men tried to lift masses of stone or wood from the ground. Its discovery must, in fact, have taken place long before the commencement of what we call civilization, although its theory was first expounded by the Greek mathematicians. [Illustration: FIG. 152.--Putting a bull in place; from Layard.] In a relief in the palace of Assurnazirpal at Nimroud, there is a pulley exactly similar to those often seen over a modern well.[414] A cord runs over it and supports a bucket. There is no evidence that the Assyrians employed such a contrivance for any purpose but the raising of water. We cannot say that they used it to lift heavy weights, but the fact that they understood its principle puts them slightly above the Egyptians as engineers. NOTES: [411] As to the simplicity of Egyptian engineering, see the _History of Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. p. 72, and fig. 43. [412] See LAYARD, _Monuments_, 2nd series, plate ii. The same author gives a detailed description of this picture in his _Discoveries_, pp. 104-106. [413] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 112. [414] LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 32. § 10.--_On the Graphic Processes Employed in the Representations of Buildings._ The Chaldæans and Assyrians knew as little of perspective as they did of mechanics. When they had to figure a building and its contents, or a landscape background, they could not resist the temptation of combining many things which could not be seen from a single standpoint. Like the painters and sculptors of Thebes they mixed up in the most naive fashion those graphic processes that we keep carefully apart. All that they cared about was to be understood. We need not here reproduce the observations we made on this subject in the corresponding chapter of Egyptian Art;[415] it will suffice to give a few examples of the simultaneous employment by Ninevite sculptors of contradictory systems. [Illustration: FIG. 153.--Chaldæan plan. Louvre.] It is not difficult to cite examples of things that may, with some little ingenuity, be brought within the definition of a plan. The most curious and strongly marked of these is furnished by one of the most ancient monuments that have come down to us; we mean a statue found at Tello in Lower Chaldæa by M. de Sarzec. It represents a personage seated and holding on his knees an engraved tablet on which two or three different things are represented (Fig. 153). On the right there is one of those styles with which letters or images were cut in the soft clay, at the bottom of the tablet there is a scale which we know from another monument of the same kind to have been originally 10.8 inches in length, _i.e._ the Babylonian half-cubit or span. By far the larger part of the field, however, is occupied by an irregular figure in which the trace of a fortified wall may be easily recognized. When these monuments were first brought to France this statue was supposed to be that of an architect. When the inscriptions were interpreted, however, this opinion had to be modified in some degree. They were found to contain the same royal title as the other figure of similar style and material discovered by M. de Sarzec on the same spot, the title, namely, of the individual whom archæologists have at present agreed to call Gudea.[416] It therefore seems to represent that prince in the character of an architect, as the constructor of the building in which his statues were placed as a sacred deposit. Must we take it to be the plan of his royal city as a whole, or only of his palace? It is difficult to answer this question, especially while no precise information has been obtained from the inscriptions, whose interpretation presents many difficulties. There can, however, be no doubt that the engraver has given us a plan according to his lights of a wall strengthened by flanking towers, of which those with the boldest salience guard the six passages into the interior. We find a still more simple plan upon an Assyrian monument of much later date, namely, upon the armour of beaten bronze that formerly protected the gates of Balawat. In this example (Fig. 154) the doorways, the angles, and the centres of the two longer curtains are strengthened by towers. [Illustration: FIG. 154.--Assyrian plan; from the Balawat gates in the British Museum.] [Illustration: FIG. 155.--Plan and section of a fortress; from Layard.] The way in which the sculptor has endeavoured to suggest the crenellations shows that these plans are not drawn on the same principal as ours; there is no section taken at the junction with the soil or at a determined height; the draughtsman in all probability wished to give an idea of the height of the flanking towers. His representation is an ideal _projection_ similar to those of which we find so many examples in Egypt, only that here we have the towers laid flat outside the fortification to which they belong in such a fashion that their summits are as far as possible from the centre of the structure. We shall see this better in another plan of the same kind in which the details are more carefully made out (Fig. 155). It comes from a bas-relief, on which a circular fortress, divided into four equal parts by walls radiating from its centre, is portrayed. In this relief we find another favourite process of the Egyptians employed, namely, that in which a vertical section is combined with a projection, so that the interior of the building and its arrangements may be laid open to the spectator. In this instance we can see what is passing in the four principal chambers of the castle. In each chamber one or two persons are occupied over what appear to be religious rites. [Illustration: FIG. 156.--Plan, section, and elevation of a fortified city; from Layard.] In another Nimroud bas-relief we find a still greater variety of processes used upon a single work (Fig. 156). The picture shows the king enthroned in the centre of a fortified city which he has just captured. Prisoners are being brought before him; his victorious troops have erected their tents in the city itself. Beside these tents three houses of unequal size represent the dwellings of the conquered. The _enceinte_ with its towers is projected on the soil in the fashion above noticed; a longitudinal section lays bare the interiors of the tents and shows us the soldiers at their various occupations. As for the houses, they are represented by their principal façades, which are drawn in elevation. [Illustration: FIG. 157.--Plan and elevation of a fortified city; from Layard.] When he had to deal with more complicated images, as in the reliefs at Kouyundjik representing the conquests and expeditions of Assurbanipal, the artist modified his processes at will so as to combine in the narrow space at his disposal all the information that he thought fit to give. See for instance the relief in which the Assyrians celebrate their capture of Madaktu, an important city of Susiana, by a sort of triumph (Fig. 157). The town itself, with its towered walls and its suburbs in which every house is sheltered by a date tree, is figured in the centre. At the top and sides the walls are projected outwards from the city; at the bottom they are thrown inwards in order, no doubt, to leave room for the tops of the date trees. Moreover, the sculptor had to find room for a large building on the right of his fortification. This is, apparently, the palace of the king. Guarded by a barbican and surrounded by trees it rises upon its artificial mound some little distance in front of the city. The artist also wished to show that palace and city were protected by a winding river teeming with fish, into which fell a narrower stream in the neighbourhood of the palace. If he had projected the walls of the palace and its barbican in the same way as those of the other buildings he would either have had to encroach upon his streams and to hide their junction or to divert their course. In order to avoid this he made use of several points of view, and laid his two chief structures on the ground in such a fashion that they form an oblique angle with the rest of the buildings. The result thus obtained looks strange to us, but it fulfilled his purpose; it gave a clear idea of how the various buildings were situated with respect to each other and it reproduced with fidelity the topographical features of the conquered country. The chief desire of the sculptor was to be understood. That governing thought can nowhere be more clearly traced than in one of the reliefs dealing with the exploits of Sennacherib.[417] Here he had to explain that in order to penetrate into a mountainous country like Armenia, the king had been compelled to follow the bed of a torrent between high wooded banks. In the middle of the picture we see the king in his chariot, followed by horsemen and foot soldiers marching in the water. Towards the summit of the relief, the heights that overhang the stream are represented by the usual network. But how to represent the wooded mountains on this side of the water? The artist has readily solved the question, according to his lights, by showing the near mountains and their trees upside down, a solution which is quite on all fours, in principle, with the plans above described. The hills are projected on each side of the line made by the torrent, so that it runs along their bases, as it does in fact; but in this case the topsy-turviness of the trees and hills has a very startling effect. The intentions of the artist, however, are perfectly obvious; his process is childish, but it is quite clear. None of these plans or pictures have, any more than those of Egypt, a scale by which the proportions of the objects introduced can be judged. The men, who were more important in the eye of the artist than the buildings, are always taller than the houses and towers. This will be seen still more clearly in the figure we reproduce from the Balawat gates (Fig. 158). It represents a fortress besieged by Shalmaneser II., three people stand upon the roof of the building; if we restore their lower limbs we shall see that their height is equal to that of the castle itself.[418] [Illustration: FIG. 158.--Fortress with its defenders; from the Balawat gates.] This short examination of the spirit and principles of Assyrian figuration was necessary in order to prevent embarrassment and doubt in speaking of the architectural designs and other things of the same kind that we may find reproduced in the bas-reliefs. Unless we had thoroughly understood the system of which the sculptors made use, we should have been unable to base our restorations upon their works in any important degree; and, besides, if there be one touchstone more sure than another by which we may determine the plastic genius of a people, it is the ingenuity, or the want of it, shown in the contrivance of means to make lines represent the thickness of bodies and the distances of various planes. In this matter Chaldæa and Assyria remained, like Egypt, in the infancy of art. They were even excelled by the Egyptians, who showed more taste and continuity in the management of their processes than their Eastern rivals. Nothing so absurd is to be found in the sculptures of the Nile valley as these hills and trees turned upside down, and we shall presently see that a like superiority is shown in the way figures are brought together in the bas-reliefs. In our second volume on Egyptian art we drew attention to some Theban sculptures in which a vague suspicion of the true laws of perspective seemed to be struggling to light. The attempt to apply them to the composition of certain groups was real, though timid. Nothing of the kind is to be found in Assyrian sculpture. The Mesopotamian artist never seems for a moment to have doubted the virtues of his own method, a method which consisted in placing the numerous figures, whose position in a space of more or less depth he wished to suggest, one above another on the field of his relief. He trusted, in fact, to the intelligence of the spectator, and took but little pains to help the latter in making sense of the images put before him. NOTES: [415] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. ii. chapter i. § 1. [416] M. J. HALÉVY disputes this reading of the word. As we are unable to discuss the question, we must refer our readers to his observations (_Les Monuments Chaldéens et la Question de Sumir et d'Accad_) in the _Comptes rendus de l'Académie des Inscriptions_, 1882, p. 107. M. Halévy believes it should be read as the name of the prince Nabou or Nebo. The question is only of secondary importance, but M. Halévy enlarges its scope by reopening the whole matter of debate between himself and M. Oppert as to the true character of what Assyriologists call the Sumerian language and written character. The _Comptes rendus_ only gives a summary of the paper. The same volume contains a _résumé_ of M. Oppert's reply (1882, p. 123: _Inscriptions de Gudéa_, et seq). [417] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 341. [418] The same disproportion between men and buildings is to be found in many other reliefs (see figs. 39, 43, and 60). [Illustration] CHAPTER III. FUNERARY ARCHITECTURE. § 1.--_Chaldæan and Assyrian Notions as to a Future Life._ Of the remains that have come down to us from ancient Egypt the oldest, the most important in some respects, and beyond dispute the most numerous, are the sepulchres. Of the two lives of the Egyptian, that of which we know the most is his posthumous life--the life he led in the shadows of that carefully-hidden subterranean dwelling that he called his "good abode." While in every other country bodies after a few years are nothing but a few handfuls of dust, in Egypt they creep out in thousands to the light of day, from grottoes in the flanks of the mountains, from pits sunk through the desert sand and from hollows in the sand itself. They rise accompanied by long inscriptions that speak for them, and make us sharers in their joys and sorrows, in their religious beliefs and in the promises in which they placed their hopes when their eyes were about to close for ever. A peculiarity of which Egypt offers the only instance is thus explained. The house of the Memphite citizen and the palace of the king himself, can only now be restored by hints culled from the reliefs and inscriptions--hints which sometimes lend themselves to more than one interpretation, while the tombs of Egypt are known to us in every detail of structure and arrangement. In more than one instance they have come down to us with their equipment of epitaphs and inscribed prayers, of pictures carved and painted on the walls and all the luxury of their sepulchral furniture, exactly in fact as they were left when their doors were shut upon their silent tenants so many centuries ago.[419] We are far indeed from being able to say this of Assyria and Chaldæa. In those countries it is the palace, the habitation of the sovereign, that has survived in the best condition, and from it we may imagine what the houses of private people were like; but we know hardly anything of their tombs. Chaldæan tombs have been discovered in these latter years, but they are anonymous and mute. We do not possess a single funerary inscription dating from the days when the two nations who divided Mesopotamia between them were still their own masters. The arrangements of the nameless tombs in lower Chaldæa are extremely simple and their furnishing very poor, if we compare them with the sepulchres in the Egyptian cemeteries. As for Assyrian burying-places, none have yet been discovered. Tombs have certainly been found at Nimroud, at Kouyundjik, at Khorsabad, and in all the mounds in the neighbourhood of Mossoul, but never among or below the Assyrian remains. They are always in the mass of earth and various _débris_ that has accumulated over the ruins of the Assyrian palaces, which is enough to show that they date from a time posterior to the fall of the Mesopotamian Empires. Any doubts that may have lingered on this point have been removed by the character of the objects found, which are never older than the Seleucidæ or the Parthians, and sometimes date even from the Roman epoch.[420] What then did the Assyrians do with their dead? No one has attacked this question more vigorously than Sir Henry Layard. In his attempt to answer it he explored the whole district of Mossoul, but without result; he pointed out the interest of the inquiry to all his collaborators, he talked about it to the more intelligent among his workmen, and promised a reward to whoever should first show him an Assyrian grave. He found nothing, however, and neither Loftus, Place, nor Rassam have been more successful. Neither texts nor monuments help us to fill up the gap. The excavations of M. de Sarzec have indeed brought to light the fragments of an Assyrian stele in which a funerary scene is represented, but unfortunately its meaning is by no means clear.[421] I cannot point to an Assyrian relief in which the same theme is treated. Among so many battle pictures we do not find a single scene analogous to those so often repeated in the pictures and sculptures of Greece. The death and burial of an Assyrian warrior gave a theme to no Assyrian sculptor. It would appear that the national pride revolted from any confession that Assyrians could be killed like other men. All the corpses in the countless battlefields are those of enemies, who are sometimes mutilated and beheaded.[422] These despised bodies were left to rot where they fell, and to feed the crows and vultures;[423] but it is impossible to believe that the Assyrians paid no honours to the bodies of their princes, their nobles, and their relations, and some texts recently discovered make distinct allusions to funerary rites.[424] We can hardly agree to the suggestions of M. Place, who asks whether it is not possible that the Assyrians committed their corpses to the river, like the modern Hindoos, or to birds of prey, like the Guebres.[425] Usages so entirely out of harmony with the customs of other ancient nations would certainly have been noticed by contemporary writers, either Greek or Hebrew. In any case some allusion to them would survive in Assyrian literature, but no hint of the kind is to be found. But after we have rejected those hypotheses the question is no nearer to solution than before; we are still confronted by the remarkable fact that the Assyrians so managed to hide their dead that no trace of them has ever been discovered. A conjecture offered by Loftus is the most inviting.[426] He reminds us that although cemeteries are entirely absent from Assyria, Chaldæa is full of them. Between Niffer and Mugheir each mound is a necropolis. The Assyrians knew that Chaldæa was the birthplace of their race and they looked upon it as a sacred territory. We find the Ninevite kings, even when they were hardest upon their rebellious subjects in the south, holding it as a point of honour to preserve and restore the temples of Babylon and to worship there in royal pomp. Perhaps the Assyrians, or rather those among them who could afford the expenses of the journey, had their dead transferred to the graveyards of Lower Chaldæa. The latter country, or, at least, a certain portion of it, would thus be a kind of holy-land where those Semites whose earliest traditions were connected with its soil would think themselves assured of a more tranquil repose and of protection from more benignant deities. The soil of Assyria itself would receive none but the corpses of those slaves and paupers who, counting for nothing in their lives, would be buried when dead in the first convenient corner, without epitaph or sepulchral furnishing. This hypothesis would explain two things that need explanation--the absence from Assyria of such tombs as are found in every other country of the Ancient World, and the great size of the Chaldæan cemeteries. Both Loftus and Taylor received the same impression, that the assemblages of coffins, still huge in spite of the numbers that have been destroyed during the last twenty centuries, can never have been due entirely to the second and third rate cities in whose neighbourhood they occur. Piled one upon another they form mounds covering wide spaces of ground, and so high that they may be seen for many miles across the plain.[427] This district must have been the common cemetery of Chaldæa and perhaps of Assyria; the dead of Babylon must have been conveyed there. Is it too much to suppose that by means of rivers and canals those of Nineveh may have been taken there too? Was it not in exactly that fashion that mummies were carried by thousands from one end of the Nile valley to the other, to the places where they had to rejoin there ancestors?[428] But we need not go back to Ancient Egypt to find examples of corpses making long journeys in order to reach some great national burying-place. Loftus received the first hint of his suggestion from what he himself saw at Nedjef and at Kerbela, where he met funeral processions more than once on the roads of Irak-Arabi. From every town in Persia the bodies of Shiite Mussulmans, who desire to repose near the mortal remains of Ali and his son, are transported after death into Mesopotamia.[429] According to Loftus the cemetery of Nedjef alone, that by which the mosque known as _Meched-Ali_ is surrounded, receives the bodies of from five to eight thousand Persians every year. Now the journey between Nineveh and Calah and the plains of Lower Chaldæa was far easier than it is now--considering especially the state of the roads--between Tauris, Ispahan, and Teheran, on the one hand and Nedjef on the other. The transit from Assyria to Chaldæa could be made, like that of the Egyptian mummy, entirely by water, that is to say, very cheaply, very easily, and very rapidly. We are brought up, however, by one objection. Although as a rule subject to the Assyrians, the Chaldæans were from the eleventh to the seventh century before our era in a constant state of revolt against their northern neighbours; they struggled hard for their independence and waged long and bloody wars with the masters of Nineveh. Can the Assyrian kings have dared to confide their mortal remains to sepulchres in the midst of a people who had shown themselves so hostile to their domination? Must they not have trembled for the security of tombs surrounded by a rebellious and angry populace? And the furious conflicts that we find narrated in the Assyrian inscriptions, must they not often have interrupted the transport of bodies and compelled them to wait without sepulture for months and even years? Further explorations and the decipherment of the texts will one day solve the problem. Meanwhile we must attempt to determine the nature of Chaldæo-Assyrian beliefs as to a future life. We shall get no help from Herodotus. Intending to describe the manners and customs of the Chaldæans in a special work that he either never wrote or that has been lost,[430] he treated Mesopotamia in much less ample fashion than Egypt, in his history. All that he leaves us on the subject we are now studying is this passing remark, "The Babylonians put their dead in honey, and their funerary lamentations are very like those of the Egyptians."[431] Happily we have the Chaldæan cemeteries and the sculptured monuments of Assyria to which we can turn for information. The funerary writings of the Egyptians allow us to read their hearts as an open book. We know that the men who lived in the days of the ancient empire looked upon the posthumous life as a simple continuation of life in the sun. They believed it to be governed by the same wants, but capable of infinite prolongation so long as those wants were supplied. And so they placed their dead in tombs where they were surrounded by such things as they required when alive, especially by meat and drink. Finally, they endeavoured to ensure them the enjoyment of these things to the utmost limit of time by preserving their bodies against dissolution. If these were to fall into dust the day after they entered upon their new abode, the provisions and furniture with which it was stocked would be of no use. The Chaldæans kept a similar object before them. They neglected nothing to secure the body against the action of damp, in the first place by making the sides of their vaults and the coffins themselves water-tight, secondly, by providing for the rapid escape of rain water from the cemetery,[432] and, finally, if they did not push the art of embalming so far as the Egyptians, they entered upon the same path. The bodies we find in the oldest tombs are imperfect mummies compared with those of Egypt, but the skeleton, at least, is nearly always in an excellent state of preservation; it is only when handled that it tumbles into dust. In the more spacious tombs the body lies upon a mat, with its head upon a cushion. In most cases the remains of bandages and linen cloths were found about it. Mats, cushions, and bandages had all been treated with bitumen. A small terra-cotta model in the British Museum shows a dead man thus stowed in his coffin; his hands are folded on his breast, and round the whole lower part of the body the bands that gave him the appearance of a mummy may be traced. The funerary furniture is far from being as rich and varied as it is in the tombs of Egypt and Etruria, but the same idea has governed the choice of objects in both cases. When the corpse is that of a man we find at his side the cylinder which served him as seal, his arms, arrow heads of flint or bronze, and the remains of the staff he carried in his hand.[433] In a woman's tomb the body has jewels on its neck, its wrists and ankles; jewels are strewn about the tomb and placed on the lid of the coffin. Among other toilet matters have been found small glass bottles, fragments of a bouquet, and cakes of the black pigment which the women of the East still employ to lengthen their eyebrows and enhance their blackness.[434] [Illustration: FIGS. 159, 160.--Vases; from Warka. British Museum.] The vases which are always present in well-preserved tombs, show the ideas of the Mesopotamians on death more clearly than anything else. Upon the palm of one hand or behind the head is placed a cup, sometimes of bronze, oftener of terra-cotta. From it the dead man can help himself to the water or fermented liquors with which the great clay jars that are spread over the floor of his grave are filled (Figs. 159 and 160). Near these also we find shallow bowls or saucers, used no doubt as plates for holding food. Date-stones, chicken and fish bones are also present in great numbers. In one tomb the snout of a swordfish has been found, in another a wild boar's skull. It would seem too that the idea of adding imitation viands to real ones occurred to the Chaldæans as well as to the Egyptians.[435] From one grave opened by Taylor four ducks carved in stone were taken. The sepulchres in which the objects we have been mentioning were found, are the most ancient in Chaldæa--on this all the explorers are agreed. Their situation in the lowest part of the funerary mounds, the aspect of the characters engraved upon the cylinders and the style of the things they contained, all go to prove their age. In similar tombs discovered by M. de Sarzec at Sirtella, in the same region, a tablet of stone and a bronze statuette, differing in no important particular from those deposited in foundation stones, were found. The texts engraved upon them leave no doubt as to their great antiquity.[436] It is then to the early Chaldæan monarchy that we must assign these tombs, which so clearly betray ideas and beliefs practically identical with those that find their freest expression in the mastabas of the ancient Egyptian Empire. In Mesopotamia, as in Egypt, the human intellect arrived with the lapse of time at something beyond this childish and primitive belief. Men did not, however, repel it altogether as false and ridiculous; they continued to cherish it at the bottom of their hearts, and to allow it to impose certain lines of action upon them which otherwise could hardly be explained or justified. As in Egypt, and in later years in Greece, a new and more abstract conception was imposed upon the first. Logically, the second theory was the negation of its predecessor, but where imagination and sentiment play the principal _rôle_, such contradictions are lost sight of. We have elsewhere[437] traced the process by which the imagination was led to sketch out a new explanation of the mystery of death. As man's experience increased, and his faculty for observation became more powerful, he had to make a greater mental effort before he could believe in the immortality of the body, and in a life prolonged to infinity in the darkness of the tomb. In order to satisfy the craving for perpetuity, a something was imagined, we can hardly say what, a shade, an _imago_, that detached itself from the body at the moment of death, and took itself off with the lightness of a bird. A great space, with no definite size, shape, or situation, in which these shades of the departed could meet each other and enjoy greater freedom than in the tomb, was added to the first conception. This less material belief was better adapted than the first to the moral instincts of humanity. A material and organic existence passed in the grave dealt out the same fate to good and bad alike. On the other hand, nothing was more easy than to divide the kingdom of the shades into two compartments, into two distinct domains, and to place in one those whose conduct had been deserving of reward; in the other, those whose crimes and vices had been insufficiently punished upon earth. It is not to the Chaldæan sepulchres that we owe our knowledge that the Semites of Mesopotamia followed in the footsteps of the Egyptians, when they found themselves in face of the problem of life and death; it is to the literature of the Assyrians. Among those tablets of terra-cotta from the library of Assurbanipal that are now preserved in the British Museum, George Smith discovered, in 1873, a mythological document in which the descent of Istar to the infernal regions in search of her lover Tammouz is recounted. Of this he gives a first translation, which is already out of date. Since his discovery was announced, the most learned Assyriologists have made a study of the document, and now even those among them who most seldom think alike, are in agreement as to its meaning except in a few unimportant particulars.[438] No doubt remains as to the general significance of the piece; we may even compare it with other documents from the same library in which there is much to confirm and complete its contents. Even if there were no evidence to the contrary, we might safely affirm that the first conception was not effaced from the minds of the Assyrians by the second. M. Halévy has translated an Assyrian text, whose meaning he thus epitomizes: "What becomes of the individual deposited in a tomb? A curious passage in one of the 'books' from the library of Assurbanipal answers this question, indirectly, indeed, but without any ambiguity. After death the vital and indestructible principle, the incorporeal spirit, is disengaged from the body; it is called in Assyrian _ékimmou_ or _égimmou_.... The _ékimmou_ inhabits the tomb and reposes upon the bed (_zalalu_) of the corpse. If well treated by the children of the defunct, he becomes their protector; if not, their evil genius and scourge. The greatest misfortune that can befall a man is to be deprived of burial. In such a case his spirit, deprived of a resting-place and of the funerary libations, leads a wandering and miserable existence; he is exposed to all kinds of ill-treatment at the hands of his fellow spirits, who show him no mercy." Here we find certain elements of that primitive belief that would escape us in a mere examination of the Chaldæan tombs. We see how they understood the connection between the living and the dead, and why they so passionately desired to receive due sepulture. These ideas and sentiments are identical with those which M. Fustel de Coulanges has analysed so deeply in his _Cité antique_. They subsisted in all their strength in Assyria, and must have had all the consequences, all the social effects that they had elsewhere, and yet we find mentioned a home for the dead, a joyless country in which they could assemble in their countless numbers; as Egypt had its _Ament_ and Greece her _Hades_, so Chaldæa and Assyria had their hell, their place of departed ghosts. We know from the narrative of Istar that they looked upon it as an immense building, situated in the centre of the earth and bounded on every side by the great river whose waters bathe the foundations of the world. This country of the dead is called the "land where one sees nothing" (_mat la namari_), or the "land whence one does not return" (_mat la tayarti_). The government of the country is in the hands of Nergal, the god of war, and his spouse Allat, the sister of Astarte. The house is surrounded by seven strong walls. In each wall there is a single door, which is fastened by a bolt as soon as a new comer has entered. Each door is kept by an incorruptible guardian. We cannot quote the whole of the story; we give, however, a few lines in which the chief features of the Assyrian conception is most clearly shown. Istar speaks:-- Let me return [toward the house], * * * * * [Toward] the house in which Irkalla lives, In which the evening has no morning, [Towards the country] whence there is no return, [Whose inhabitants,] deprived of light, [Have dust for food] and mud to nourish them, A tunic and wings for vesture, [Who see no day,] who sit in the shadows, [In the house] into which I must enter, [They live there,] (once) the wearers of crowns, [The wearers] of crowns who governed the world in ancient days, Of whom Bel and Anou have perpetuated the names and memory. There too stand the foundations of the earth, the meeting of the mighty waters, In the palace of dust into which I must come, Live the prince and the noble, Live the king and the strong man, Live the guardians of the depths of the great gods, Live Ner and Etana. A long dialogue follows between Istar and the guardian of the gate, by which we find that there was a rigorous law compelling all who came to strip themselves of their clothes before they could enter. In spite of her resistance, Istar herself was obliged to submit to this law. From other texts we learn that the entrance to these infernal regions was situated at the foot of the "northern mountain," a sort of Assyrian Olympus. According to the fragment above quoted the condition of the dead was truly piteous; they had no food but dust and mud; their dwelling is sometimes called _bit-edi_, the "house of solitude," because in the life of misery and privation they lead no one takes any thought for others, his only care is to relieve his own troubles. Consequently there are no families nor any social or common life. The conscience protested against the injustice of confounding with the crowd those mortals who had distinguished themselves when alive by their exploits or virtues. Thus we find in a recently copied passage from the great epic of Izdubar, the Assyrian Hercules, that valiant soldiers--those no doubt who had fallen in the "Wars of Assur"--were rewarded for their prowess. As soon as they entered the shadow kingdom they were stretched upon a soft couch and surrounded by their relations. Their father and mother supported the head the enemy's sword had wounded, their wives stood beside them and waited on them with zeal and tenderness. They were refreshed and had their strength restored by the pure water of life. The idea of a final reward is expressed in still more unmistakable accents in a religious song of which two fragments have come down to us. The poet celebrates the felicity of the just taking his food with the gods and become a god himself:-- Wash thy hands, purify thy hands, The gods, thine elders, will wash and purify their hands; Eat the pure nourishment in the pure disks, Drink the pure water from the pure vases; Prepare to enjoy the peace of the just! * * * * * They have brought their pure water, Anat, the great spouse of Anou, Has held thee in her sacred arms; Iaou has transferred thee into a holy place; He has transferred thee from his sacred hands; He has transferred thee into the midst of honey and fat, He has poured magic water into thy mouth, And the virtue of the water has opened thy mouth. * * * * * As to where this paradise was placed we have no certain information. It could hardly have been a mere separate district of that abode of shades that is painted in such sombre colours. We must suppose that it was open to the sunlight; it was perhaps on one of the slopes of the _Northern Mountain_, in the neighbourhood of the luminous summit on which the gods and goddesses had their home. The idea of a reward for the just carries as its corollary that of a punishment for the unjust, but in spite of the logical connection between the two notions, we cannot affirm that the Elysium of these Semites had a Tartarus by its side. No allusion to such a place has been found in any of the texts already translated. On the other hand, we find some evidence that the Assyrians believed in the resurrection of the dead. Marduk and his spouse Zarpanitu often bear the title of "those who make the dead live again" (_muballith_ or _muballithat miti_ or _mituti_). The same epithet is sometimes given to other deities, especially to Istar. As yet we do not know when and under what conditions renewed life was to be granted. We need hardly add that the ideas that find expression in the Assyrian texts were by no means peculiar to the northern people. All Assyriologists agree that in everything connected with the intellect, the Assyrians invented nothing; they did nothing but adapt and imitate, translate and copy from the more prolific Chaldæans, who furnished as it were the bread upon which their minds were nourished. It is the Chaldee intellect that we study when we question the texts from the library of Assurbanipal. Other passages in these terra-cotta books help to complete and illustrate those from which we have, as it were, gained a first glimpse of the Assyrian Under-world; but we shall never, in all probability, know it as we already know that of the Egyptians. This is partly, perhaps, because it was less complex, and partly because the fascination it exercised over the mind of man was not so great. History contains no mention of a people more preoccupied with the affairs of the grave than the Egyptians. Doubtless the Chaldæans had to give a certain amount of their attention to the same problem, and we know that it was resolved in the same sense and by the same sequence of beliefs both on the banks of the Euphrates and on those of the Nile; but other questions were more attractive to the peoples of Mesopotamia. Their curiosity was roused chiefly by the phenomena of the skies, by the complicated phantasmagoria offered nightly in the depths above. These they set themselves to observe with patience and exactitude, and it is to the habits thus formed that they, in part at least, owed their scientific superiority and the honour they derive from the incontestable fact that they have furnished to modern civilization elements more useful and more readily assimilated than any other great people of the remote past. And yet the Semites of Chaldæa were not without myths relating to the abode of departed souls of which some features may be grasped. In order to get a better comprehension of them, we must not only look to the discovery and translation of new texts, but to the intelligent study of figured representations. At least this seems to be the lesson of a curious monument recently discovered.[439] People may differ as to the significance of this or that detail, but no one will deny that the plaque is religious and funerary in its general character, and that, whatever may have been its purpose, it is as a whole connected with the memory and worship of the dead, and therefore that this is the place for such remarks as we have to make upon it. The object in question is a bronze plaque, sculptured on both faces, which Péretié acquired at Hama in Northern Syria. The dealer from whom he bought it declared that it came into his hands from a peasant of Palmyra. As to where the latter found it we know nothing. In any case the oasis of Tadmor was a dependency of Mesopotamia as long as the power of the Chaldæan and Assyrian monarchies lasted, and the characteristic features of the work in question are entirely Assyrian. In that respect neither Péretié nor Clermont-Ganneau made any mistake. This plaque is a tall rectangle in shape. At its two upper angles there are salient rings or staples, apparently meant to receive a cord or chain. At the bottom it has a slight ledge, suggesting that it stood upon its base and was suspended at the same time. However this may have been, it should be carefully noticed that both of its faces were meant to be seen. The face we call the obverse is entirely occupied by the body of a fantastic quadruped, partly chiselled in slight relief, partly engraved. This monster is upright on his hind feet; his back is turned to the spectator, while the lower part of his body is seen almost in profile. He clings with his two fore feet to the upper edge of the plaque, and looks over it as over a wall. His fore paws and his head are modelled in the round. He has four wings; two large ones with imbricated feathers grow from his shoulders, while a smaller pair are visible beneath them. This arrangement we have already encountered in undoubted Assyrian monuments (see Figs. 8, 29, and 123). If we turn the plaque, we find ourselves face to face with the beast. His skull is depressed, his features hideous, his grinning jaws wrinkled like those of a lion or panther. His feline character is enforced by his formidable claws. The body, lithe and lean as that of a leopard, is covered with a reticulated marking. His upturned tail nearly touches his loins, while another detail of his person exactly reproduces the contours of a snake.[440] The hind feet are those of a bird-of-prey. [Illustration: FIG. 161.--Plaque of chiselled bronze. Obverse. From the _Revue archéologique_.] We must now describe the reverse of this singular monument (Fig. 162). In the first place its upper edge is surmounted by the claws and face of the beast just described, which thus dominates, as it were, the scenes depicted below. These scenes are divided by horizontal bands into four divisions, and those divisions are by no means arbitrary; they show us what the sculptor thought as to the four regions into which the Assyrian universe was divided. Those regions are the _heavens_, the _atmosphere_, the _earth_, and _hell_ or _hades_. The highest division is the narrowest of all. It only contains the stars and a few other symbols grouped almost exactly as we find them on not a few monuments of Mesopotamia.[441] The non-sidereal emblems in this division are, no doubt, the attributes of gods who live beside the stars in the depths of the firmament. [Illustration: FIG. 162.--Plaque of chiselled bronze. Reverse.] In the second division we find seven animal-headed personages passing from right to left. We need not stop to describe their appearance or gesture; we have already encountered them at Nineveh mounting guard at the palace gates (Figs. 6 and 7); they belong to the class of demons who, according to circumstances, are alternately the plagues and protectors of mankind. The place they occupy represents a middle region between heaven and earth, namely, the atmosphere, which was believed to be entirely peopled by these genii. The third division contains a funerary scene by which we are at once transported to earth. On the right there is a standard or candelabrum, and on the left a group of three figures. One of these appears to be a man, the other two have lions' heads and resemble the genii of the division above. The most important group, however, is the one in the middle. A man swathed in a kind of shroud is stretched on a bed, at the head and foot of which appear two of those personages, half man and half fish, in which the Oannes of Berosus has been recognized (Figs. 9 and 67).[442] The figure on the bed must be that of a corpse wrapped in those linen bandages of which so many fragments have been found in the tombs of Lower Chaldæa. The two fish-like gods brandish something over the corpse which appears, so far as it can be made out, to be a flower or bunch of grass. Their gesture appears to be one of benediction, like that of a modern priest with the holy-water-sprinkler. The lowest division is by far the most roomy of the four. It evidently represents the regions under the earth, and both its size and the complication of its arrangements show us that it was, in the opinion of the artist, more important than either of the three above it. The whole of its lower part is occupied by five fishes all swimming in one direction, a conventional symbol always employed by Assyrian artists to represent a river. The left bank is indicated by a raised line running from one side of the plaque to the other. On this bank towards the left of the relief there are two shrubs or reeds above which appears a group of objects whose character is not easily made out. Are they ideographic signs or funeral offerings? The latter more likely. At any rate we may distinguish vases, bottles, a small box or comb and especially the foot of a horse drawn with great precision. At the other end of this division a hideous monster advances on the river bank. Its semi-bestial, semi-human head is flat and scarred, with a broad upturned nose and a mouth reaching to the ears. The upper part of its body is that of a man, although its skin is seamed all over with short vertical lines meant to indicate hairs. One arm is raised and the other lowered, like those of the genii in the second division. His tail is upturned, his feet are those of a bird, and his wings show over his left shoulder. On the whole, the resemblance between this figure and the nondescript beast on the obverse of the plaque is so great that we are tempted to think that they both represent the same being. Upon the river and in the centre of this division a scene is going forward that takes up more than a third of the whole field. It is no doubt the main subject. A small boat glides down the stream, its poop adorned with the head of a quadruped, its prow with that of a bird. In this boat there is a horse, seen in profile and with its right fore leg bent at the knee. The attitude of this animal, which seems born down by a crushing weight, is to be explained by the rest of the composition. The poor quadruped bears on his back, in fact, the body of a gigantic and formidable divinity, who makes use of him not in the orthodox fashion but merely as a kind of pedestal; his or rather her right knee rests upon the horse's back while her left foot--which is that of a bird-of-prey--grasps the animal's head. The legs of this strange monster are human, and so is her body, but here, as in the personage walking by the river side, we find the short scratches that denote hair; her head is that of a lioness. For although her sex may appear doubtful to some it is difficult to explain the action of the two lion-cubs that spring towards her breasts otherwise than by M. Clermont-Ganneau's supposition that they are eager for nourishment. The bosom attacked by the two cubs is seen from in front, but the head above it is in profile, and so high that it rises above the line that divides this lower division from the one immediately above it. The jaws are open, that is to say they grin in harmony with those of the monster looking over the top of the plaque, with the genii of the third division and that of the river bank. All this, however, was insufficient to satisfy the artist's desire for a terror-striking effect, and in each hand of the goddess he has placed a long serpent which hangs vertically downwards, and shows by its curves that it is struggling in her grip. Between the limbs of the goddess and the horse's mane there is something that bears a vague resemblance to a scorpion. We cannot pretend to notice every detail of this curious monument as their explanation would lead us too far, and, with all the care we could give them, we should still have to leave some unexplained. We shall be satisfied with pointing out those features of the composition whose meaning seems to be clear. In the first place the division of the field into four zones should be noticed; it coincides with what we know of the Assyrian mode of dividing the universe among the powers of heaven, the demons, mankind, and the dead. The chief incident of the third zone shows us that, like the Egyptians, the Assyrians wished to assure themselves of the protection of some benevolent deity after death. In the Nile valley that protector was Osiris, in Mesopotamia Anou, Oannes, or Dagon, the fish god to whom man owed the advantages of civilization in this world and his safety in the next. The kingdom of shadows, into which he had to descend after death, was peopled with monstrous shapes, to give some idea of which sculptors had gone far afield among the wild beasts of the earth, and had brought together attributes and weapons that nature never combines in a single animal, such as the claws of the scorpion, the wings and talons of the eagle, the coils of the serpent, the mane and muzzle of the great carnivora. The conception which governs all this is similar to that of which we see the expression in those Theban tombs where the dead man prosecutes his voyage along the streams of Ament, and runs the gauntlet of the grimacing demons who would seize and destroy him but for the shielding presence of Osiris. And the resemblance is continued in the details. The boat is shaped like the Egyptian boats;[443] the river may be compared to the subterranean Nile of the Theban tombs, while it reminds us of the Styx and Acheron of the Grecian Hades. We remember too the line of the chant we have quoted: "There too stand the foundations of the earth, the meeting of the mighty waters." Certain obscure points that still exist in connection with the Chaldæo-Assyrian _inferno_ and with the personages by whom it is peopled, will, no doubt, be removed as the study of the remains progresses. We have been satisfied for the moment to explain, with the help of previous explorers, the notions of the Semites of Mesopotamia upon death and a second life, and to show that they did not differ sensibly from those of the Egyptians or of any other ancient people whose ideas are sufficiently known to us. NOTES: [419] See _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. chapter 3. [420] Upon the tombs found at Nimroud see LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. i. pp. 17-19 and p. 352; vol. ii. pp. 37, 38. Some funerary urns discovered at Khorsabad are figured in BOTTA, _Monument_, &c. plate 165. There is one necropolis in Assyria that, in the employment of terra-cotta coffins, resembles the graveyards of Chaldæa; it is that of Kaleh-Shergat, which has long been under process of rifling by the Arabs, who find cylinders, engraved stones, and jewels among its graves. PLACE judges from the appearance of the coffins and other objects found that this necropolis dates from the Parthian times (_Ninive_, vol. ii. pp. 183-185). LAYARD is of the same opinion (_Nineveh_, vol. ii. pp. 58, 154, 155). Mr. Rassam found tombs at Kouyundjik, but much too late to be Assyrian (LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, p. 198, note). Loftus found some bones in a roughly-built vault some seventeen feet below the level of the south-eastern palace at Nimroud, but he acknowledges he saw nothing to lead him to assign these remains to the Assyrian epoch more than to any other (_Travels and Researches_, p. 198). Layard was disposed to see in the long and narrow gallery cleared by him at Nimroud (in the middle of the staged tower that rises at the north-western corner of the mound) a sepulchral vault in which the body of a king must once have been deposited (_Discoveries_, pp. 126, 128), but he confesses that he found nothing in it, neither human remains nor any trace of sepulchral furniture. His conjecture is therefore entirely in the air, and he himself only puts it forth under all reserve. The difficulty of this inquiry is increased by the fact that the people of different religions by whom the Assyrians were succeeded always chose by preference to bury their dead at high levels. Even in our own day it is, as a rule, upon the heights studded over the plains that Christians, Mussulmans, and Yezidis establish their cemeteries; and these have become grave obstacles to the explorer in consequence of the natural disinclination on the part of the peasantry to disturb what may be the ashes of their ancestors. BENNDORF (_Gesichtshelme_, plate xiv. figs. 1 and 2) reproduces two golden masks similar to those found at Mycenæ, which were found, the one at Kouyundjik, the other at some unknown point in the same district; he mentions (pp. 66, 67) a third discovery of the same kind. But the character of the objects found with these masks seems clearly to show that the tombs from which they were taken were at least as late as the Seleucidæ, if not as the Roman emperors (Cf. HOFFMANN, in the _Archäologische Zeitung_ for 1878, pp. 25-27). [421] When we come to speak of Chaldæan sculpture, we shall give a reproduction of this relief. We cannot make much use of it in the present inquiry, because its meaning is so obscure. The stone is broken, and the imperfections of the design are such that we can hardly tell what the artist meant to represent. The two figures with baskets on their heads for instance--are they bringing funeral offerings, or covering with earth the heaped-up corpses on which they mount? [422] LAYARD, _Monuments_, 1st series, plates 14, 21, 26, 57, 64, &c. [423] In more than one battle scene do we find these birds floating over the heads of the combatants (LAYARD, _Monuments_, 1st series, plates 18, 22, 26, &c). We may also refer to the curious monument from Tell-lôh, in which vultures carrying off human heads and limbs in the clouds are represented. For an engraving of it see our chapter on Chaldæan sculpture. [424] See an article published by M. J. HALÉVY in the _Revue archéologique_, vol. xliv. p. 44, under the title: _L'Immortalité de l'Âme chez les Peuples sémitiques_. [425] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 184. [426] LOFTUS, _Travels and Researches_, pp. 198, 199. [427] LOFTUS especially speaks strongly upon this point (_Travels_, &c. p. 199). "By far the most important of these sepulchral cities is Warka, where the enormous accumulation of human remains proves that it was a peculiarly sacred spot, and that it was so esteemed for many centuries. It is difficult to convey anything like a correct notion of the piles upon piles of human relics which there utterly astound the beholder. Excepting only the triangular space between the three principal ruins, the whole remainder of the platform, the whole space between the walls, and an unknown extent of desert beyond them, are everywhere filled with the bones and sepulchres of the dead. There is probably no other site in the world which can compare with Warka in this respect; even the tombs of Ancient Thebes do not contain such an aggregate amount of mortality. From its foundation by Urukh until finally abandoned by the Parthians--a period of probably 2,500 years--Warka appears to have been a sacred burial-place!" [428] See the curious paper of M. E. LE BLANT entitled: _Tables égyptiennes à Inscriptions grecques_ (_Revue archéologique_, 1874). [429] In his sixth and seventh chapters LOFTUS gives a very interesting account of his visits to the sanctuaries of Nedjef and Kerbela. [430] The work he alludes to as his Assurioi logoi (i. 184). [431] HERODOTUS, i. 198. [432] See above, pp. 158-9 and fig. 49. The details that here follow are borrowed from the narrations of those who have explored the sepulchral mounds of lower Chaldæa. Perhaps the most important of these relations is that of Mr. J. E. TAYLOR, to which we have already referred so often (_Notes on the Ruins of Mugheir_, to which may be added his _Notes on Abou-Sharein and Tell-el-Lahm_, p. 413, in the same volume of the _Journal_). Cf. LOFTUS's eighteenth chapter (_Travels_, &c. p. 198) and the pages in LAYARD's _Discoveries_, from 556 to 561. [433] "Each of the Babylonians," says HERODOTUS (i. 195), "carries a seal and a walking-stick carved at the top into the form of an apple, a rose, a lily, an eagle, or something similar, for it is not their habit to use a stick without an ornament." [434] LOFTUS, _Travels_, p. 212. [435] See _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. p. 145, note 3. [436] _Les Fouilles de Chaldée, communication d'une Lettre de M. de Sarzec_, par LÉON HEUZEY, § 1 (in the _Revue archéologique_ for November, 1881). [437] _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. pp. 127 _et seq._ [438] M. OPPERT has translated this text in full in a work entitled: _L'Immortalité de l'Âme chez les Chaldéens_ (_Annales de philosophie chrétienne_, vol. viii. 1884), and he has reproduced his version with a few modifications of detail in _Fragments Mythologiques_ (Quantin, 1881, 18mo). M. HALÉVY has given long extracts from the same document in an article in the _Revue des Études Juives_ (October-December, 1881), entitled: _Les Inscriptions peintes de Citium_, § 2; he has returned to the same subject in an article in the _Revue archéologique_ (July, 1882), _L'Immortalité de l'Âme chez les Peuples sémitiques_. We reproduce his translation as the most recent. Herr SCHRADER has devoted a whole book to the translation and explanation of this same myth (_Die Hoellenfahrt der Istar_, Giessen, 1874). [439] See M. CLERMONT-GANNEAU'S _L'Enfer assyrien_, first part (_Revue archéologique_ vol. xxxviii. and plate xxv.). The second article, which should have contained the explanation of this little monument, has never appeared, to the great regret of all who appreciate the knowledge and penetration of that learned writer at their proper value. The first article is nothing but a detailed description, which we abridge. Certain doubts were expressed at the time of its publication as to the authenticity of this object; nothing, however, has happened to confirm them. Both in composition and execution it is excellent. M. Péretié, moreover, was not one to be easily deceived. M. Clermont-Ganneau described and illustrated this bronze plate from photographs, but since his paper appeared he has again visited the East and seen and handled the original. [440] M. CLERMONT-GANNEAU reminds us that this peculiarity is repeated in a monster on one of the Nimroud reliefs (see LAYARD, _Monuments_, series ii. plate 3). [441] See above, p. 72, and Figs. 3, 10, 11, 12. See also the notes to M. Clermont-Ganneau's article. He has no difficulty in showing how general was the use of these emblems. [442] See page 65. [443] Compare Figs. 23, 31, and especially 159 and 209 of _Art in Ancient Egypt_, vol. i. § 2.--_The Chaldæan Tomb._ The principle of the Chaldæan sepulchre was similar to that of the Egyptian mastaba or hypogeum; it had to supply the same wants and to render the same services; the task imposed upon the architect was in each case governed by the same general idea. Why then have we found nothing in Mesopotamia that may be compared, even at the most respectful distance, with the splendid tomb-houses of the Theban necropolis, nor even with those of Phoenicia, Asia Minor, or Etruria? The reason for the difference is easily told; it is to be found in the nature and configuration of the country itself. There were no mountains in whose sides tomb-chambers could be cut, and in the loose permeable soil of the plain it would have been practically impossible to establish pits that should be at once spacious and durable. We shall find, no doubt, in almost every country, sepulchres constructed above the soil like palaces and temples. In Egypt we have already encountered the pyramid, but even there the tomb-chamber is in most cases cut in the rock itself, and the huge mass of stone above it is nothing more than a sort of colossal lid. Funerary architecture is not content, like that of civil or religious buildings, to borrow its materials from the rock; it cuts and chisels the living rock itself. In every country the first idea that seems to occur to man, when he has the mortal remains of his own people to make away with, is to confide them to the earth. In mountainous countries rock is everywhere near the soil and rises through it here and there, especially on the slopes of the hills. It is as a rule both soft enough to be easily cut with a proper tool, and hard enough, or at least sufficiently capable of hardening when exposed to the air, faithfully to preserve any form that may be given to it. As soon as man emerged from barbarism and conceived the desire to carry with him into the next world the goods he had enjoyed in this, the hastily cut hole of the savage became first an ample chamber and then a collection of chambers. It became a richly furnished habitation, a real palace. But even then the features that distinguish a house of the living from one of the dead were carefully preserved. The largest of the tombs in the Biban-el-Molouk is no more than the development of the primitive grave. As for those tombs in which the sepulchral chamber is above the ground, as in the famous Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, they are merely brilliant exceptions, embodiments of princely caprice or architectural ambition. Funerary architecture is, in virtue of its destination, a subterranean architecture, an architecture of the rock. The countries in which it has been managed with the greatest power and originality are those whose soil lent itself most kindly to the work of excavation. The limestone and sandstone chains of the Nile valley, the abrupt flanks of Persian ravines, of Cappadocian and Lycian hillsides, and the rocky slopes of Greece and Etruria, were excellently fitted for the work of the funerary architect. If the civilization of the Mesopotamian Semites had originated in the country above Nineveh, at the foot of those hills in which the Tigris has its springs, the fathers of the people would perhaps have cut tomb chambers like those of Egypt in the soft gypsum, and, in later years, their descendants, instead of breaking entirely with the traditions of the past would have raised _tumuli_ in the plains and constructed within them brick chambers to take the place of vaults cut in the living rock. Chaldæa would then have been dotted over with sepulchral mounds like those with which the steppes of central Russia are covered. Nothing of the kind has as yet been discovered; none of the _tells_ or mounds of sun-dried bricks have yet been identified as tombs, and that is because, as we have seen, the course of civilization was from south to north; the first impulse came from the shores of the Persian Gulf, from the people inhabiting alluvial plains consisting merely of sand and broken stone. From the very first hour these people had to compel clay, kneaded and dried in the sun or the brick kiln, to render the services which are demanded from stone elsewhere. They were content therefore with entombing their dead either in small brick vaults, under large terra-cotta covers, or in coffins of the latter material. The tomb chamber illustrated in our Fig. 89 may be taken as a type. It is five feet high by seven feet long, and three feet seven inches wide. The vault is closed at the top by a single row of bricks and at each end by a double wall of the same material. There are no doors. The tombs once shut must have been inaccessible. The structure was put together with such care that neither dust nor water could get within it. Some of these graves, and among them this particular one, inclosed only one skeleton. Taylor found fourteen clay vases in it, not to mention other objects such as a walking stick, rings, cylinders, and bronze cups. Besides these there was a gold waist-band about an inch wide, showing it to be the grave of a rich man. In other tombs as many as three, four, and even eleven skeletons were found. In these the brick under the head and the bronze cup in the hand were sometimes missing, but the water jars were always there. [Illustration: FIG. 163.--Tomb at Mugheir; from Taylor.] In other parts of the same cemetery the dead instead of being placed in a vault were laid upon an area paved with large well burnt bricks and covered with a huge terra-cotta lid. These lids were in several pieces, joined together with reeds soaked in bitumen. We give a section (Fig. 163) and elevation (Fig. 164) of one of these peculiar sepulchres. The whole was about seven feet long, three high, and three wide. The body of the lid is formed of several rings decreasing in thickness with their distance from the ground. The top is an oval plateau divided into eight symmetrical compartments by flat bands. The skeleton always lies on its side, generally the left, the limbs being drawn up as shown in the engraving (163). Taylor gives a complete list of the objects found in this tomb together with notes as to their exact position. [Illustration: FIG. 164.--Tomb at Mugheir; from Taylor.] [Illustration: FIG. 165.--Tomb at Mugheir; from Taylor.] Sometimes the covering is more simple in construction and has a domed top (Fig. 165). Elsewhere in the same necropolis numerous examples of a still more elementary form of burial were discovered. The skeletons of children were found between two hollow plates, and full grown bodies in a kind of double vase into which they could only have been thrust with some difficulty and that after being doubled up. Still more often coffins were of the form shown in our Fig. 166. The diameter of these cylindrical jars was about two feet. The joint between them was sealed with bitumen. At one end there was a hole to allow the gases generated by decomposition to escape. None of these coffins contained more than one skeleton, but narrow as they were room had been found for the vases and dishes. These were mostly of earthenware, but a few of bronze were also encountered. Each coffin held an arrow-head of the latter material, while the feet and hands of the skeleton were adorned with iron rings. In several cases the remains of gold ornaments, of sculptured ivories and engraved shells, were discovered. [Illustration: FIG. 166.--Tomb, or coffin, at Mugheir; from Taylor.] Finally the fashion seems to have changed, and a more elegant form of coffin to have come into use. It was still of terra-cotta, but its surface was covered with a rich glaze originally blue but now mostly of a dark green. Here and there, on the parts shielded best from the atmosphere, the blue has preserved its colour. The general shape of these coffins is that of a shoe or slipper; the oval opening through which the body was introduced has a grooved edge for the adjustment of the lid. The small hole for the escape of gas is at the narrow end. This type seems to date from the last centuries of antiquity rather than from the time of the Chaldæan Empire; its examples are found close to the surface of the cemeteries, whence we may fairly conclude that they were the last accessions. It is still more significant that the images stamped upon the panels with which the lids are decorated have little to remind us of the bas-reliefs of Assyria and Chaldæa, and it is not until we turn to the medals of the Parthians and Sassanids that we find anything to which they can be readily compared.[444] In the cemeteries of Lower Chaldæa the various receptacles for human dust that we have described are heaped vertically one upon another, so that with the passage of time they have formed huge mounds covering vast spaces and rising conspicuously above the plain (see Fig. 167, letter c). Loftus tells us that at Warka he dug trenches between thirty and forty feet deep without reaching the lowest stratum of sepulchres. There was no apparent order in their arrangement. Sometimes brick divisions were found for a certain length, as if used to separate the tombs of one family from those of another. A layer of fine dust, spread evenly by the winds from the desert, separated the coffins. Terra-cotta cones inscribed with prayers had been thrown into the interstices. Sometimes, as at Mugheir, the mound thus formed is surmounted by a paved platform upon which open the drains that traverse the mass.[445] In most cases these mounds have been turned over in all their upper parts by the Arabs. It is probable that in ancient days each of these huge cemeteries had priests and superintendents told off to watch over them, to assign his place to each new comer, and to levy fees like those paid in our day to the mollahs attached to the Mosques of Nedjef and Kerbela. They guarded the integrity of the mound, and when it had reached the regulation height, caused it to be paved and finally closed. In none of these cemeteries has any tomb been discovered that by its size, richness, or isolation, proclaimed itself the burial place of royalty, and yet the sovereigns of Mesopotamia must have had something analogous to the vast and magnificent sepulchres of the Egyptian kings. Their tombs must at least have been larger and more splendid than those of private individuals. In the case of Susiana we know that it was so through an inscription of Assurbanipal. The Assyrian king gives a narrative of his campaign. He tells us how his soldiers penetrated into the sacred forests and set fire to them, and then to show more clearly with how stern a vengeance he had visited the revolted Elamites, he added: "The tombs both of their ancient and their modern kings, of those kings who did not fear Assur and Istar, my lords, and had troubled the kings, my fathers, I threw them down, I demolished them, I let in the light of the sun upon them, then I carried away their corpses into Assyria. I left their shades without sepulture and deprived them of the offerings of those who owed them libations."[446] If the Elamite dynasty had its royal necropolis near Susa, in which funerary rites were celebrated down to the moment of the Assyrian conquest, it could hardly have been otherwise with the powerful and pious monarchies of Chaldæa. History has in fact preserved a few traditions of the royal sepulchres of that country. Herodotus mentions the tomb of that Queen Nitocris to whom he attributes so many great works;[447] it is supposed that she was an Egyptian princess and the wife of Nabopolassar. According to the historian she caused a sepulchral chamber to be constructed for herself in the walls of Babylon, above one of the principal gates. So far as the terms of the inscription are concerned he may have been hoaxed by the native dragomans, but there is nothing to rouse our scepticism in the fact of a tomb having been contrived in the thickness of the wall. At Sinkara Loftus discovered two corbel-vaulted tombs imbedded in a mass of masonry which had apparently served as basement to a temple rebuilt by Nebuchadnezzar.[448] Some of the Babylonian princes, however, were buried in that part of the Chaldæan territory that was inclosed by the Euphrates and Tigris and contained most of the cemeteries of which we have been speaking. According to Arrian, Alexander, on his way back from Lake Pallacopas, passed close to the tomb of one of the ancient kings, "They say," adds the historian, "that most of the former kings of Assyria were buried among the lakes and swamps."[449] [Illustration: FIG. 167.--Map of the ruins of Mugheir; from Taylor. H, H, H, H, circumference of 2,946 yards; _a_, platform of house; _b_, pavement at edge of platform; _c_, tomb mound; _d, e, g, h, k, l, m_, points at which excavations were made; _f, f, f, f_, comparatively open space with very low mounds; _n, n_, graves; _o_, the great two-storied ruin.] Loftus suggests that these royal tombs should be sought at Warka, but he found no ruin to which any such character could be certainly assigned. The only mention of a royal Assyrian tomb in history is of a kind that tells us nothing. "Semiramis," says Diodorus, "buried Ninus within the boundary walls of the palace, she raised a mound of extraordinary size over his tomb; Ctesias says it was nine stades high and ten wide. The town stretching to the middle of the plain, near the Euphrates,[450] the funerary mound was conspicuous at many stades' distance like an acropolis; they tell me that it still exists although Nineveh was overthrown by the Medes when they destroyed the Assyrian empire." The exaggerations in which Ctesias indulged may here be recognized. It is impossible to take seriously statements which make the tomb of Ninus some 5,500 feet high and 6,100 in diameter. The history of Ninus and Semiramis as Ctesias tells it, is no more than a romantic tale like those of the _Shah-Nameh_. All that we may surely gather from the passage in question is that, at the time of Ctesias, and perhaps a little later, the remains of a great staged-tower were to be seen among the ruins of Nineveh. The popular imagination had dubbed this the tomb of Ninus, just as one of the great heaps of debris that now mark the site is called the tomb of Jonah. All that has hitherto been recovered in the way of Mesopotamian tomb architecture is of little importance so far as beauty is concerned, and we may perhaps be blamed for dwelling upon these remains at such length in a history of art. But we had our reasons for endeavouring to reunite and interpret the scanty facts by which some light is thrown on the subject. Of all the creations of man, his tomb is that, perhaps, which enables us to penetrate farthest into his inner self; there is no work of his hands into which he puts more of his true soul, in which he speaks more naively and with a more complete acknowledgment of his real beliefs and the bases of his hopes. To pass over the Chaldæan tomb in silence because it is a mediocre work of art would be to turn a blind eye to the whole of one side of the life of a great people, a people whose _rôle_ in the development of the ancient civilization was such as to demand that we should leave no stone unturned to make ourselves masters of their every thought. NOTES: [444] LOFTUS, _Travels_, &c., pp. 203-4. The British Museum possesses several fine specimens of these glazed-ware coffins. The details given by LOFTUS (chapter xx.), upon the necropolis of Sinkara may be read with interest. [445] See above, p. 158, and fig. 49. [446] M. Stanislas GUYARD published a translation of this passage in the _Journal asiatique_, for May-June, 1880, p. 514; some terms which had remained doubtful, were explained by M. AMIAUD, in the same journal for August-September, 1881, p. 237. [447] HERODOTUS, i. 187. [448] LOFTUS, _Travels_, &c., pp. 248-9. [449] ARRIAN, _Anabasis_, vii. 22. [450] DIODORUS, ii. 7, 1-2. [Illustration] CHAPTER IV. RELIGIOUS ARCHITECTURE. § 1.--_Attempts to restore the Principal Types._ In spite of all our researches we have not succeeded in finding in the whole of Mesopotamia a real sepulchre, a tomb on which the talent of the architect has been lavished as well as the structural skill of the builder. The Chaldæans and Assyrians made greater efforts when they had to honour a god than when they were called upon to provide a lodging for their dead. Of all the structures they raised, their temples seem to have been the most ambitious in height and in grandeur of proportion though not in extent of ground covered. This the classic writers tell us, and their assertions are confirmed in more than one particular by documents written in the Assyrian language. We can also check their statements to some extent by the study of the monuments themselves or rather of their somewhat scanty remains. We shall seek in vain for ruins that may be compared to those of the Egyptian sanctuaries. The nature of the materials employed in the valley of the Euphrates made the degradation of a building and the obliteration of its lines far more rapid than elsewhere. And yet in many cases the almost formless aspect of structures once so greatly admired, does not prevent those who know how to crossexamine them from restoring many of their former arrangements; and both in the bas-reliefs and in some very small monuments we find certain sculptured sketches that have been recognized as representing temples. These sketches are very imperfect and very much abridged: the ruins themselves are confused; of the Greek and Assyrian texts some are short and vague, others excite our scepticism. Without wishing to deny the value of the methods employed or the importance of the results obtained, we can hardly believe that the certainty with which technical terms are translated is well founded. There are some of these terms which if they occurred in a Greek inscription would cause no little embarrassment by their purely special character, and that even to one who might unite in his single person the qualifications of a Greek scholar with those of an architect or sculptor. We hope, though we hardly expect to see our hope realized, that some day a Mesopotamian temple may be found in good preservation. Until then we cannot give to our restorations of such buildings anything approaching the accuracy or completeness so easily attained when the great religious edifices of Greece or Egypt are in question. We find none of those well defined elements, those clear and precise pieces of information which elsewhere allow us to obliterate the injuries worked by time and human enemies. The foot of every wall is heaped about with such formless masses of brick and brick dust, that it is almost impossible to make full explorations or to take exact measurements. One must be content with an approximation to the truth. With the one exception of the staged tower at Khorsabad, we shall not attempt to give a single restoration in the proper sense of the word. Not that we mean to say that the different temple models given in our Plates II., III., and IV., and in our Fig. 173, are creations of our fancy. No one of the four pretends to reconstruct one famous building more than another. They are abstract types, each representing, in its general features, one of the varieties into which Assyro-Chaldæan temples may be divided. The arrangements in which the originality of each type consists were only fixed by M. Chipiez after long researches. In each case he has taken for his point of departure either a Greek or Assyrian text, a sculptured relief, or facts gleaned by the examination of original sites; in most cases he has been able to supplement and correct the information gained from one of these sources by that from another. He has thus entered into the spirit of Mesopotamian architecture, and restored the chief forms it put on in its religious buildings according to time and district. He cannot say that all the details figured were found united, as they may be here, on a single building; but they are not inventions, no one of them is without authority, and the use to which they are put has been decided by the examination of actual remains. We may say the same of proportions. These are the result of study and of the collation of one ruin and one piece of evidence with another; they have not been taken from any single building. Finally there were certain details, such as the trace and elevation of the ramps, that were full of difficulty. M. Chipiez arrived at the solution finally adopted by an inductive process, by carefully weighing the obvious conditions of the problem and choosing those arrangements by which its requirements seemed most simply and conveniently met. In virtue of their general character M. Chipiez's restorations reach a high degree of probability. They may be compared, if we may use the expression, to those triumphs of historical synthesis in which no attempt is made to narrate events as they occurred and in all their details, but in which a whole people lives, and the character of a whole century is summed up, in a picture whose every line and colour is borrowed from reality.[451] In spite of their apparent variety, all the buildings we shall describe in the present chapter may be referred to a single fundamental type. They are each formed of several cubic masses superimposed one upon another and diminishing in volume in proportion to their height in the monument. We have already explained how such a system came to be adopted.[452] It was determined by the limitations of the only material at the architect's disposal, and it had at least this advantage, that it enabled him to relieve the monotony of the Chaldæan plains with artificial mountains whose vast size and boldness of line were calculated to impress the minds of the people, and to give them a great idea of their master's power and of the majesty of the deities in whose honour they were raised. [Illustration: FIG. 168.--View of the Birs Nimroud; after Felix Thomas.] Mesopotamia was covered, then, by buildings resembling a stepped pyramid in their general outlines. We find them in the reliefs (Fig. 10), and in the oldest cities we can frequently recognize the confused ruins of their two or three lower stories. Our only doubt is connected with the possible use of these buildings, the _zigguratts_ of the Assyrian texts. We shall not here stop to recapitulate the evidence in favour of their religious character; it will suffice to quote the description given by Herodotus of the temple of Bel or Belus at Babylon. As to whether the ruins of that building are to be identified with _Babil_ (Fig. 37) or the _Birs-Nimroud_ (Fig. 168) we shall inquire presently. This is the description of Herodotus:-- "In the other (fortress) was the sacred precinct of Jupiter Belus, a square inclosure two furlongs each way with gates of solid brass; which was also remaining in my time. In the middle of the precinct there was a tower of solid masonry, a furlong in length and breadth, upon which was raised a second tower, and on that a third, and so on up to eight. The ascent to the top is on the outside, by a path which winds round all the towers. When one is about half way up one finds a resting-place and seats, where persons are wont to sit some time on their way to the summit. On the topmost tower there is a spacious temple, and inside the temple stands a couch of unusual size, richly adorned with a golden table by its side. There is no statue of any kind set up in the place nor is the chamber occupied of nights by any one but a single native woman.... Below in the same precinct there is a second temple, in which is a sitting figure of Jupiter all of gold ... outside the temple are two altars."[453] This description is, of course, very short; it omits many details that we should have wished to find in it; but like nearly all the descriptions of Herodotus it is very clear. The old historian saw well, and his mind retained what he saw. From his recital it is plain that this was the finest of the Babylonian temples, and that even when partly ruinous, under the successors of Alexander, its colossal dimensions were yet able to astonish foreign visitors. We may, then, take it as the type of the Chaldæan temple, as the finest religious building in the first city of Mesopotamia. Nebuchadnezzar reconstructed it and made it higher and richer in its ornamentation than before, but he kept to the ancient foundations and made no change in the general character of the plan. In this single edifice were gathered up all the threads of a long tradition; it was, as it were, the supreme effort, the last word of the national art: and Herodotus declares plainly that it was a staged tower. Such an assertion puts the matter beyond a doubt, and enables us to point to the staged tower as the form chosen by these people and made use of throughout their civilization for the buildings raised in honour of their gods. And having dismissed this fundamental question we have now to give a rapid description of the principal varieties of the type as they have been established by M. Chipiez. And as we go on we shall point out the authorities for each restoration; whether the ruins themselves, the inscribed texts, or the sculptured reliefs. [Illustration: FIGS. 169-171.--Longitudinal section, plan and horizontal section of the rectangular type of Chaldæan temple.] In the first line we must place the RECTANGULAR CHALDÆAN TEMPLE (Plate II. and Figs. 169, 170, and 171). We have put it first because the remains from which it has been reconstructed have all been found in Lower Chaldæa, that is, amongst the oldest of the Chaldæan cities. As we learn from the texts, these temples were repaired under the last kings of Babylon, and it was their antiquity that made them dear both to the people and their kings. We may believe, therefore, that in restoring them care was taken to preserve their ancient features. It would be the upper part of their retaining walls that required renewal, and these would be rebuilt on their ancient foundations. Here and there the latter exist even at the present day, and the names of the earliest Chaldæan princes may be read upon their bricks.[454] [Illustration: PLATE II. RECTANGULAR CHALDÆAN TEMPLE Restored by Ch. Chipiez.] The remains studied by Messrs. Taylor and Loftus at Warka (Fig. 172), Abou-Sharein, and Mugheir have furnished the chief elements for our restoration, which bears a strong resemblance to the ruin at Warka called Bouvariia (A on the map), and one still stronger to that temple at Mugheir whose present state is shown in our Figs. 48 and 143. This first type is characterized by the form of its lower, and the situation of its upper, stages. The latter are not placed in the centre of the platform on which they stand; they are thrown back much nearer to one of the two shorter sides than to the other, so that the building has a front and a back. The front is almost entirely taken up with wide staircases.[455] The staircase leading from the first story to the second must alone have been concealed in the interior of the building, an arrangement which avoided the necessity for breaking up the ample solidity of that imposing stage (see Plate II.). [Illustration: FIG. 172.--Map of Warka with its ruins; from Loftus. A, Bouvariia; B, Wuswas; C, ruin from the Parthian epoch; D, building decorated with coloured cones (see page 279).] The surroundings of the temple in our plate--the background of slightly undulating plain, the houses similar to those found by Taylor and Loftus, in which they discovered vaulted passages traversing the thickness of the walls[456]--are, of course, purely imaginary. The temple itself, like the palace at Khorsabad, was raised on a vast platform upon which the city walls abutted. This platform was reached by wide flights of steps.[457] Lateral ramps led to a second platform, inclosed on every side, with which the sacred part of the building, the Haram, began. We have already spoken of the panelled ornament with which the great, flat surfaces of its walls were relieved.[458] The lowest stage of the temple was provided with buttresses like those that still exist in the temple of Mugheir (Fig. 43). A high, rectangular plinth--decorated in our restoration with glazed faïence[459]--was interposed between the first and second stage.[460] A rectangular chapel decorated, in all probability, with metal plaques and glazed polychromatic bricks, crowned the whole. Traces of this chapel have been found at Mugheir, and the wealth of its decoration is attested by many pieces of evidence.[461] At Abou-Sharein also there are vestiges of a small and richly ornamented sanctuary crowning the second stage of a ruin whose aspect now bears a distinct resemblance to that of the temple at Mugheir. The triple row of crenellations we have given to this sanctuary or chapel was suggested by the altars and obelisks (Fig. 107 and 111). Here, as at Nineveh, these battlements must have been the one universal finish to the walls. The use to which we have put them is quite in harmony with the spirit of Mesopotamian architecture, but there is no direct evidence of their presence in these buildings. In this particular our restoration is conjectural. A glance at our longitudinal section (Fig. 169) will show that we have left the main body of this great mass of sun-dried brick absolutely solid. It was in vain that, at Mugheir, trenches and shafts were cut through the flanks of the ruin, not a sign of any apartment or void of the most elementary kind was found.[462] This Mugheir temple rises hardly more than fifty feet above the level of the plain. The restoration by M. Chipiez, for which it furnished the elements, shows a height of 135 feet; judging from the proportions of its remains the building can hardly have been higher than that. But it is certain that many temples reached a far greater height, otherwise their size could not have made any great impression upon travellers who had seen the Egyptian pyramids. Even now the Birs-Nimroud, which has been undergoing for so many centuries a continual process of diminution, rises no less than 235 feet above the surrounding country,[463] and Strabo, the only Greek author who says anything precise as to the height of the greatest of the Babylonian monuments, writes thus: "This monument, which was, they say, overthrown by Xerxes, was a square pyramid of burnt brick, one stade (606-3/4 feet) high, and one stade in diameter."[464] The arrangement by which such a height could be most easily reached would be the superposition of square masses one upon another, each mass being centrally placed on the upper surface of the one below it. The weight would be more equally divided and the risks of settlement more slight than in any other system. Of this type M. Chipiez has restored two varieties. We shall first describe the simpler of the two, which we may call the SQUARE SINGLE-RAMPED CHALDÆAN TEMPLE (Figs. 173, 174, 175, 176). The principal elements for this restoration have been taken from the staged tower at Khorsabad known as the _Observatory_, but M. Chipiez has expanded its dimensions until they almost reach those ascribed to the temple of Bel by Strabo. Moreover, he had to decide a delicate question which the discovery of the Khorsabad _Observatory_, where only the four lower stages remained, had done nothing to solve, namely the plan and inclination of the ramp. In M. Thomas's restoration of the Khorsabad tower, the last section of the ramp at the top, is parallel to that at the bottom, and the crowning platform is not exactly upon the central axis of the building.[465] In M. Chipiez's restoration the top platform is in the centre, like those below it, and the upper end of his ramp is vertically over the spot where it leaves the ground. This result has been obtained by a peculiar arrangement of the inclined plane which must have been known to the Mesopotamian architects, seeing how great was their practice and how desirable, in their eyes, was the symmetrical aspect which it alone could give. We have suggested the varied colours of the different stages by changes of tone in our engraving. In spite of the words of Herodotus M. Chipiez has only given his tower seven stages, because that number seems to have been sacred and traditional, and Herodotus may very well have counted the plinth or the terminal chapel in the eight mentioned in his description. Bearing in mind a passage in Diodorus--"At the summit Semiramis placed three statues of beaten gold, Zeus, Hera, and Rhea"[466]--we have crowned its apex with such a group. The phrase of Herodotus, "Below ... there is a second temple," has led us to introduce chapels contrived in the interior of the mass and opening on the ramp at the fifth and sixth stories. There is nothing to forbid the idea that such chambers were much more numerous than this, and opened, sometimes on one, sometimes on another, of the four faces. [Illustration: FIG. 173.--Type of square, single-ramped Chaldæan temple. Compiled by Ch. Chipiez.] The buildings at the lower part of our engraving are imaginary, but they are by no means improbable. Among them may be distinguished the wide flights of steps and inclined planes by which the platform on which the temple stood was reached.[467] At the foot of the temple on the right of the engraving there is a palace, on the left two obelisk-shaped steles and a small temple of a type to be presently described. Behind the tower stretch away the waters of a lake. Nebuchadnezzar, in one of his inscriptions, speaks of surrounding the temple he had built with a lake. [Illustration: FIGS. 174-176.--Transverse section, plan, and horizontal section of a square, single-ramped, Chaldæan Temple.] [Illustration: FIGS. 177-179.--Transverse section, plan, and horizontal section of a square, double-ramped Chaldæan Temple.] In seeking to vary the effect produced by these external ramps, the idea of a more complicated arrangement than the one last noticed may have occurred to the Chaldees. This M. Chipiez has embodied in his restoration of a SQUARE DOUBLE-RAMPED CHALDÆAN TEMPLE (Plate III. and Figs. 177, 178, and 179). As in the last model, there are seven stages, each stage being square on plan, but the difference consists in the use of two ramps leading from base to summit. Each of these keeps to its own side of the building, only approaching the other on the front and back façades at the fourth, fifth, and sixth stages (see Plate III). In order that the building as a whole should have a symmetrical and monumental appearance, it was necessary that all its seven stages--with the exception of the first, to which a rather different _rôle_ was assigned--should be of equal height. But their length and width differed in proportion to their height in the building. The continual shortening of the distance within which the incline had to be packed, would, if we suppose each ramp confined to one side of the tower, have required the slope to become steeper with each story. Such a want of parallelism would have been very ugly, and there was but one means of avoiding it, and that was to continue the ramps nearly to the centre of the front at the fourth and sixth stages, and to the centre of the posterior façade at the fifth. The advantages of such an arrangement are obvious. Banished mostly to the flanks the double ramp left four stages clear both at front and back, providing an ample promenade. On the other three it showed itself just sufficiently to "furnish" the building and diversify its aspect without in any way encumbering it. The whole structure terminated in a chapel placed on the central axis of the tower, and surmounted by a cupola. The inscriptions mention the dome covered with leaves of chiselled gold which crowned at Babylon that temple "to the foundations of the earth" which was restored by Nebuchadnezzar.[468] [Illustration: PLATE III. CHALDÆAN TEMPLE SQUARE ON PLAN AND WITH DOUBLE RAMP Restored by Ch. Chipiez.] In these texts another sanctuary included in the same building and placed half way between the base and summit is mentioned. This was the sepulchral chamber of Bel-Merodach in which his oracle was consulted; in M. Chipiez's restoration the entrance to this sanctuary is placed in the middle of the fifth story. The vast esplanade about the base of the temple was suggested by the description of Herodotus. It is borne by two colossal plinths flanked and retained by buttresses. In our plate the lower of these two plinths is only hinted at in the two bottom corners. In the distance behind the temple itself may be seen one of those embattled walls which divided Babylon into so many fortresses, and, still farther away, another group of large buildings surrounded by a wall and the ordinary houses of the city. This double-ramped type is at once the most beautiful and the most workmanlike of those offered by these staged towers. With a single ramp we get a tower whose four faces are repetitions of each other, but here we have a true façade, on which a happy contrast is established between the unbroken stages and those upon which the ramps appear--between oblique lines and lines parallel with the soil. The building gains in repose and solidity, and its true scale becomes more evident than when the eye is led insensibly from base to summit by a monotonous spiral. [Illustration: FIGS. 180-182.--Square Assyrian temple. Longitudinal section, horizontal section and plan.] We cannot positively affirm that the architects of Mesopotamia understood and made use of the system just described; there is no positive evidence on the point.[469] It contains, however, nothing but a logical development from the premises, nothing but what is in perfect keeping with Mesopotamian habits, nothing that involves difficulties of execution or construction beyond those over which we know them to have triumphed. Besides, we have proofs that they were not content to go on servilely reproducing one and the same type for twenty centuries; their temples were not all shaped in the same mould. The type of the Mugheir temple differed sensibly from that of the Khorsabad _Observatory_. One of the Kouyundjik sculptures reveals a curious variant of the traditional theme, so far as Assyria was concerned, in an arrangement of the staged tower that we should never have suspected but for the survival of this relief (Fig. 34). The picture in question is no doubt very much abridged and far from true to the proportions of the original, but yet it has furnished M. Chipiez with the elements of a restoration in which conjecture has had very little to say. This we have called the SQUARE ASSYRIAN TEMPLE (see Plate IV. and Figs. 180-182). [Illustration: PLATE IV. SQUARE ASSYRIAN TEMPLE Restored by Ch. Chipiez.] According to the relief the tower itself rises upon a dome-shaped mound in front of which there are a large doorway and two curved ramps. From all that we know of Assyrian buildings of this kind we may be sure that the original of the picture was so placed. The form of the mound may be described as reproducing the extrados of a depressed arch. This is the only form on which flights of steps with a curve similar to that here shown could be constructed. The design of the steps in our plate corresponds exactly to that indicated more roughly by the sculptor; no other means of affording convenient access to the base of the tower--at least outside the mound--could have been contrived. Two doors were pierced at the head of the steps through the large panels with which the lower stage of the tower itself was decorated, and from that point, so far as we can tell from the relief, the ascent was continued by means of internal staircases. The sculptor has only shown three stages, but--unless the absence of anything above has been caused by the mutilation of the slab--we may suppose that he has voluntarily suppressed a fourth.[470] In any case the third story is too large to have formed the apex of the tower. The general proportions suggest at least one more stage for the support of the usual chapel. The latter we have restored as a timber structure covered with metal plates, skins, or coloured planks. The three stages immediately below the chapel we have decorated with painted imitations of panels, carried out either in fresco or glazed brick. As for the internal arrangements we know very little. The great doorway with which the mound itself is prefaced in the relief must have led to some apartment worthy of its size and importance; we have therefore pierced the mass in our section with a suite of several chambers. At the second story another doorway occurs; it is much smaller and more simple, and the chamber to which it led must have been comparatively unimportant. In our Fig. 180 it is restored as the approach to the internal staircase. In order to vary the framework of our restorations and to show Assyrian architecture in as many aspects as possible, we have placed this temple within a fortified wall, like that of Khorsabad. Within a kind of bastion towards the left of the plate we have introduced one of those small temples of which remains have been found at Khorsabad and Nimroud. The walls of the town form a continuation of those about the temple. In front of the principal entrance to the sacred inclosure we have set up a commemorative stele. * * * * * Aided by these restorations we hope to have given a clearer and more vivid idea of Chaldæan art than if we had confined ourselves to describing the scanty remains of their religious buildings. We have now to give a rapid review of those existing ruins whose former purposes and arrangements may still to a certain extent be traced. NOTES: [451] These restorations of the principal types of Chaldæan temples were exhibited by M. CHIPIEZ in the Salon of 1879, under the title _Tours à Étages de la Chaldée et de l'Assyrie_. [452] Chapter II. § 2. [453] HERODOTUS, i, 181-3, Rawlinson's version. By Jupiter, or rather Zeus, we must understand Bel-Merodach. Diodorus calls the god of the temple Zeus Belus. [454] LOFTUS, _Travels_, &c., p. 131. See also TAYLOR's papers in vol. xv. of the _Royal Asiatic Society's Journal_. [455] LOFTUS, (p. 129). "It rather struck me, however, from the gradual inclination from top to base, that a grand staircase of the same width as the upper story, occupied this side of the structure." [456] LOFTUS, _Travels_, &c., p. 133. [457] At Warka, around the ruin called _Wuswas_ by the Arabs, LOFTUS traced the plan of these great courtyards and platforms (_Travels_, p. 171). [458] See above, p. 246, figs. 100 and 102. [459] Numerous pieces of glazed tile were found in these ruins. [460] The idea of this plinth was suggested to M. Chipiez by a remark made on page 129 of LOFTUS's _Travels_: "Between the stories is a gradual stepped incline about seven feet in perpendicular height, which may however, be accidental, and arise from the destruction of the upper part of the lower story." [461] See TAYLOR, _Journal_, &c., pp. 264-5. [462] LOFTUS, _Travels_, p. 130. It was the same with the _Observatory_ at Khorsabad. [463] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, p. 495. [464] The authorities made use of by Strabo for his description of Babylon, all lived in the time of Alexander and his successors; no one of them could have seen the temple intact and measured its height. Founded upon tradition or upon the inspection of the remains, the figure given by the geographer can only be approximate. I should think it is probably an exaggeration. [465] See PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. iii, plate 37. [466] DIODORUS, ii, 9, 5. [467] These courts must have been at certain times of the day the meeting place of large numbers of the population, like the courtyards of a modern mosque. Shops in which religious emblems and other _objèts-de-piété_ were sold would stand about them, just as in the present day the traveller finds a regular fair in the courtyard of the mosque _Meshed-Ali_. Among the commodities that change hands in such places, white doves are very common (LOFTUS, _Travels_, p. 53). In this perhaps, we may recognize the survival of a pagan rite, the sacrifice of a dove to the Babylonian Istar, the Phoenician Astarte, and the Grecian Aphrodite. It was in the courtyards of one of these temples that those sacred prostitutions of which HERODOTUS speaks, took place (i. 199). The great extent of the inclosures is readily explained by the crowds they were then required to accommodate. [468] "I undertook in Bit-Saggatu," says the king, "the restoration of the chamber of Merodach; I gave to its cupola the form of a lily, and I covered it with chiselled gold, so that it shone like the day," London inscription, translated by M. Fr. LENORMANT, in his _Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. pp. 228-229. See also a text of Philostratus in his life of _Apollonius of Tyana_, (i. 25). The sophist who seems to have founded his description of Babylon on good information, speaks of a "great brick edifice plated with bronze, which had a dome representing the firmament and shining with gold and sapphires." [469] The idea has also occurred to M. OPPERT of restricting the ramp to two sides of the tower, to the exclusion of the others (_Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. p. 209); but so far as we understand his system--which he has not illustrated with any figure--he does not double his incline, he merely alternates its side at each stage, so that part of it would be on the north-west, part on the south-west face of his tower. [470] The original of this relief has not been brought to Europe. We are therefore unable to decide whether Layard's draughtsman has accurately represented its condition or not. § 2.--_Ruins of Staged Towers._ In describing the first of our four types we had occasion to point to the buildings at Warka and Mugheir, which enabled us to restore what may be called the Lower Chaldæan form of temple. The mounds formed by the remains of those buildings had not been touched for thousands of years, they had entirely escaped such disturbance as the ruins of Babylon have undergone for so many centuries at the hand of the builders of Bagdad and Hillah; and it is probable that explorations carried on methodically and with intelligent patience would give most interesting results. If, for instance, the foundations of all walls were systematically cleared, we should be enabled to restore with absolute certainty the plans of the buildings to which they belonged. To the monuments discovered by the English explorers we must now add a find made by M. de Sarzec at Tello, of which, however, full details have yet to be furnished.[471] We take the following from the too short letter that was read to the Academy of Inscriptions on the 2nd of December 1881. "Finally, it was in that part of the building marked H that opens upon the court B that I found the curious structure of which I spoke to you. This solid mass of burnt brick and bitumen, with diminishing terraces rising one above the other, reminds us of those Chaldæo-Babylonian structures whose probable object was to afford a refuge to the inhabitants from the swarms of insects and burning winds that devastate these regions for nine months of the year." Here, we believe, M. de Sarzec is in error; the only refuges against the inflamed breath of the desert were the _serdabs_, the subterranean chambers with their scanty light and moistened walls, and the dark apartments of Assyrian palaces with their walls of prodigious thickness. The great terraces erected at such a vast expenditure of labour were not undertaken merely to escape the mosquitoes; we may take M. de Sarzec's words, however, as a proof that at Sirtella as in all the towns of Lower Chaldæa, the remains of a building with several stories or stages are to be recognized. [Illustration: FIG. 183.--Map of the ruins of Babylon; from Oppert.] The ruins on the site of Babylon may be divided into four principal groups, each forming small hills that are visible for many miles round; they are designated on the annexed map by the names under which they are commonly known. These are, in their order from north to south, _Babil_, _El-Kasr_ (or _Mudjelibeh_) and _Tell-Amran_, on the left bank; on the right bank the most conspicuous of them all, the _Birs-Nimroud_.[472] Most of those who have studied the topography of Babylon are disposed to see in the Kasr and in Tell-Amran the remains of a vast palace, or rather of several palaces, built by different kings, and those of the famous hanging gardens; while in Babil (Plate I. and Fig. 37) and the Birs Nimroud (Fig. 168) they agree to recognize all that is left of the two chief religious buildings of Babylon. Babil would be the oldest of them all--the _Bit-Saggatu_ or "temple of the foundations of the earth" which stood in the very centre of the royal city and was admired and described by Herodotus. The Birs-Nimroud would correspond to the no less celebrated temple of Borsippa, the _Bit-Zida_, the "temple of the planets and of the seven spheres." At Babil no explorations have thrown the least light upon the disposition of the building. In the whole of its huge mass, which rises to a height of some 130 feet above the plain, no trace of the separate cubes or of their dimensions is to be found. All the restorations that have been made are purely imaginary. At Birs-Nimroud the excavations of Sir Henry Rawlinson in 1854 were by no means fruitless but, unhappily, we are without any detailed account of their results. So far as we have been told, it would appear that the existence of at least six of the seven stages had been ascertained and the monument, which, according to Sir Henry Rawlinson's measurements, is now 153 feet high; can have lost but little of its original height. We can hardly believe however, that the violence of man and the storms of so many centuries have done so little damage.[473] It seems to be more clearly proved that, in shape, the temple belonged to the class we have described under the head of THE RECTANGULAR CHALDÆAN TEMPLE.[474] The axis of the temple, the vertical line upon which the centre of the terminal chapel must have been placed, was not at an equal distance from the north-western and south-eastern sides, so that the building had its gentlest slope--taking it as a whole--towards the south-east.[475] On that side the cubical blocks of which it was composed were so placed as to leave much wider steps than on the north-west. The temple therefore had a true façade, in front of which propylæa, like the one introduced in our restoration from the ruins at Mugheir, were placed. The difference consists in the fact that here the stages are square on plan. The lowest stage was 273 feet each way; it rested upon a platform of sun-dried brick which rose but a few feet above the level of the plain. Supposing these measurements to be exact they suggest a building which was nothing extraordinary either in height or mass. The dimensions furnished by Rich and Ker-Porter are much greater. Both of these speak of a base a stade, or about 606 feet, square, which would give a circumference of no less than 2,424 feet--not much less than half a mile. In any case the temple now represented by Babil must have been the larger of the two. M. Oppert mentions 180 metres, or about 600 feet, as one diameter of the present rather irregular mass. That would still be inferior to the Pyramid of Cheops, which is 764 feet square at the base, and yet the diameter of 600 feet for Babil is, no doubt, in excess of its original dimensions. The accumulation of rubbish must have enlarged its base in every direction. It seems clear, therefore, that the great structures of Chaldæa were inferior to the largest of the royal tombs of Egypt, both in height and lateral extent. We do not know how far the subsidiary buildings by which the staged towers are surrounded and supplemented in our plates may have extended, but it is difficult to believe that their number or importance could have made the ensemble to which they belonged a rival to Karnak, or even to Luxor. If we may judge from the texts and the existing ruins, the religious buildings of Assyria were smaller than those of Chaldæa. When the Ten Thousand traversed the valley of the Tigris in their famous retreat, they passed close to a large abandoned city, which Xenophon calls Larissa. As to whether his Larissa was Calah (Nimroud), or Nineveh (Kouyundjik), we need not now inquire, but his short description of a staged tower is of great interest: "Near this town," he says, "there was a stone pyramid two plethra (about 203 feet) high; each side of its base was one plethron in length."[476] The tower cleared by Layard at Nimroud is perhaps the very one seen by Xenophon.[477] The Greek soldier speaks of a stone pyramid while the Nimroud tower is of brick, but the whole of its substructure is cased with the finer material to a height of nearly twenty-four feet, which is quite enough to account for Xenophon's statement. As for his dimensions, they should not be taken too literally. In their rapid and anxious march the Greek commanders had no time to wield the plumb-line or the measuring-chain; they must have trusted mainly to their eyes in arriving at a notion of the true size of the buildings by which their attention was attracted. The tower at Nimroud must have been about 150 feet square, measured along its plinth; the present height of the mound is 141 feet, and nothing above the first stage now exists. As Layard remarks, one or two stories more must be taken into the account, and they would easily make up an original elevation of from 200 to 240 feet, or about that of the Larissa tower. Xenophon made use of the word pyramid because his language furnished him with no term more accurate. Like the true pyramid, the staged tower diminished gradually from base to summit, and there can be no doubt as to the real character of the building seen by the Greeks, as may be gathered from their leader's statement, that the "barbarians from the neighbouring villages took refuge upon it in great numbers." Such buildings as the pyramids of Egypt and Ethiopia could have afforded no refuge of the kind. A few could stand upon their summits, supposing them to have lost their capstones, but it would require the wide ramps and terraces of the staged tower to afford a foothold for the population of several villages.[478] Nothing but the first two stages, or rather the plinth and the first stage, now remain at Nimroud of what must have been the chief temple of Calah. There is no trace either of the ramp or of the colours with which the different stories were ornamented. The Khorsabad tower discovered by Place is more interesting and much more instructive as to the arrangement and constitution of these buildings.[479] [Illustration: FIG. 184.--Actual condition of the so-called _Observatory_, at Khorsabad; from Place.] This tower was previously hidden under a mass of _débris_, which gave it a conical form like that at Nimroud. Botta had already noticed its existence, but he failed to guess its real character, which, indeed, was only divined by Place when his explorations were far advanced. As soon as all doubt was removed as to the real character of the monument, M. Place took every care to preserve all that might yet exist of it, and our Fig. 184 shows the state of the building after the excavations were complete. Three whole stages and part of a fourth (to say nothing of the plinth) were still in existence. The face of each stage was ornamented with vertical grooves, repeating horizontally the elevation of the Assyrian stepped battlements (Fig. 102); the coloured stucco, varying in hue from one stage to another, was still in place, and confirmed the assertions of Herodotus as to the traditional sequence of tints.[480] The external ramp, with its pavement of burnt brick and its crenellated parapet, was also found.[481] At its base the first stage described upon the soil a square of about 143 feet each way. Each of the three complete stages was twenty feet three inches high. Upon such data M. Thomas had no difficulty in restoring the whole building. Evidently the fourth story could not have been the original apex, as it would have been strange indeed, if, when all the rest of the Khorsabad palace had lost its upper works, the sun-dried bricks of the _Observatory_ alone had resisted the agents of destruction. Moreover the materials of the higher stories still exist in the 40,000 cubic yards of rubbish which cover the surrounding platform to an average depth of about ten feet. [Illustration: FIG. 185.--The _Observatory_ restored. Elevation.] How many stages were there? Struck by the importance of the number seven in Assyrian architecture, M. Thomas fixed upon that number. Even at Khorsabad itself the figure continually crops up. The city walls had seven gates. One of the commonest of the ornamental motives found upon the external and internal walls of the Harem is the band of seven half columns illustrated on page 247. Herodotus tells us of the seven different colours used on the concentric walls of Ecbatana. Finally, in assigning seven stories to the building we get a total elevation of 140 feet, which corresponds so closely to the 143 feet of the base that we may take the two as identical, and account for the slight difference between them, amounting only to about three inches for each story, by the difficulty in taking correct measurements on a ruined structure of sun-dried brick. And we should remember that Strabo tells us in a passage already quoted that the height of the great temple at Babylon was equal to its shorter diameter, an arrangement that may to some extent have been prescribed by custom. [Illustration: FIG. 186.--The _Observatory_ restored. Plan.] So far then as its main features are concerned, we may look upon the restoration we borrow from M. Place's work as perfectly authentic (Figs. 185 and 186). Our section (Fig. 187) is meant to show that no trace of any internal chamber or void of the smallest kind was discovered by the French explorers. It is, however, quite possible that such chambers were contrived in the upper stories, but we have no evidence of their existence. We may say the same of the resting-places mentioned by Herodotus in his description of the temple of Belus. But supposing that edifice to have had seven stages, its ramp must have been about a thousand yards long, and it is likely enough that halting places were provided on such a long ascent. [Illustration: FIG. 187.--The _Observatory_. Transverse section through AB.] It is not until we come to discuss the object of such a building that we feel compelled to part company with MM. Place and Thomas. They are inclined to believe that it was an observatory rather than a temple, and under that title they have described it. Although we have made use of the name thus given we do not think it has been justified. There is nothing, says M. Place, among the ruins at Khorsabad to show that the tower ever bore any chapel or tabernacle upon its apex. But according to their own hypothesis it has lost its three highest stories, so why should they expect to find any vestige of such a chapel, seeing that it must have been the first thing to disappear? There is absolutely nothing to negative the idea that it may have been of wood, in which case its total disappearance would not be surprising, even after the platform had been thoroughly explored; and that is far from being the case at present. Moreover there is some little evidence that the purpose of the pyramid was religious. Two stone altars were found in its neighbourhood. Whether they came from its summit or from the esplanade, they justify us in believing the _Observatory_ to have been a temple. We are confirmed in this belief by the similarity--which M. Place himself points out--between it and the chief monuments of Babylon, as described by Herodotus. It seems to be incontestable that Chaldæa adopted this form for the largest and most sumptuous of her temples, and why should we suppose the Assyrians to have broken with that tradition and to have devoted to a different use buildings planned and constructed on the same principle? It is true that tablets have been found in the royal archives at Kouyundjik upon which reports as to the condition of the heavens are recorded for the guidance of the king,[482] but there is nothing in these so far as they have been deciphered to show that the observations were taken from the summit of a _zigguratt_. It is, however, very probable that the astronomers availed themselves of such a height above the plain in order to escape from floating vapours and to gain a wider horizon. The platform of the Khorsabad tower must have had a superficial extent of about 180 square yards. There may have been a chapel or tabernacle in the centre, and yet plenty of space for the astrologers to do their work at their ease. We do not wish to deny, therefore, that this tower and other monuments of the same kind may have been used as observatories, but we believe that in Assyria, as in Chaldæa, their primary object was a religious one--that they were raised so far above the dwellings of man, even of the king himself, in order to do honour to the gods whose sanctuaries were to crown their summits.[483] NOTES: [471] See _Les Fouilles de Chaldée_ in the _Revue archéologique_ for November, 1881. M. de Sarzec refers us in his paper to a plan which has not yet been laid before the Academy. We regret very much that its publication should have been so long delayed, as we have been prevented from making as much use as we should have wished of M. de Sarzec's architectural discoveries. [472] The clearest and most precise information upon the topography of Babylon is to be found in Professor RAWLINSON's essay on that subject in the second volume of his translation of HERODOTUS (p. 570, in the third edition). [473] In making his calculations, Professor RAWLINSON has certainly forgotten to take into account the pier or section of wall that still stands upright upon the surface of the mound (OPPERT, _Expédition scientifique_, vol. i. pp. 260, _et seq._). It is clearly shown in our figure--Sir Henry LAYARD leaves us in no doubt on this score: "The Birs-Nimroud rises to a height of 198 feet, and has on its summit a compact mass of brickwork thirty-seven feet high by twenty-eight broad, the whole being thus 235 feet in perpendicular height," _Discoveries_, p. 495. LAYARD says, however, that the dimensions here given were taken from RICH, as he had no time to take measurements during his hurried visit. ED. [474] _Discoveries_, p. 495. [475] We take these details from Professor RAWLINSON's essay on the topography of Babylon. [476] XENOPHON, _Anabasis_, iii, 4, 9. [477] LAYARD, _Discoveries_, pp. 126-128, and map 2. [478] At Kaleh Shergat, where the site of an important, but as yet unidentified Assyrian city has been recognized, there is a conical mound, recalling in its general aspect the Nimroud tower, which must contain all that is left of a _zigguratt_; but no deep excavations have yet been made in it (LAYARD, _Nineveh_, vol. ii. p. 61). [479] PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 147-148, and plates 36-37. [480] See above, pp. 272-274. [481] We have already mentioned the size of its steps; see page 192. The gradient for the first stage was about one in twenty. In the upper stages it must have been far steeper, as the circumference of the stages was much less, while their height remained the same. It never became very abrupt however, as supposing that the original number of stories was seven, the gradient would not be more than about one in fourteen close to the summit. [482] LENORMANT, _Histoire ancienne_, vol. ii. p. 200 (3rd edition). [483] The position occupied by this staged tower in the plan of the royal palace at Khorsabad suggests that perhaps neither of the two explanations of its purpose here alluded to is the true one. It is placed immediately outside the Harem wall--and as to the identity of the Harem there can be no doubt--in such a way that any one ascending it must have had an uninterrupted view into the numerous courts of the women's apartments. Such a possibility seems inconsistent with the numerous precautions taken to secure the privacy of that part of the palace (see Vol. II. Chapter I. § 2). Perhaps the real solution of the difficulty is to be found in a suggestion made, but only to be cast aside, by Mr. FERGUSSON, that this Khorsabad _zigguratt_ was, in fact, a private oratory for the exclusive use of Sargon himself (_History of Architecture_, vol. i. p. 173).--ED. § 3.--_Subordinate Types of the Temple._ Side by side with these pyramidal temples the Assyrians seem to have placed others of a less ambitious kind, dedicated, no doubt, to deities of the second rank. The great staged towers, whose height and mass implied an effort that could not be often repeated, were devoted to the worship of the great national gods. Botta believed that he had discovered a temple of this smaller kind in the building from which we borrowed the example of an Assyrian moulding reproduced in our Figs. 98 and 99. This edifice is remarkable, not only for its cornice, but also because it is built of limestone and decorated with sculptures carved from slabs of basalt, the only things of the kind that have been discovered in the Khorsabad ruins. The general arrangements are unlike those of any other part of the palace. Unfortunately the building is in a very bad condition. Even its plan can only be restored in part. Thomas is inclined to see in it rather a throne room, or divan, as it would be called in the modern East, than a temple. The few bas-reliefs which may be certainly recognized as having belonged to it are not religious in their character; they represent hunting scenes, battles and prisoners bringing tribute. Although Thomas's restoration is, as he himself confesses, entirely conjectural, we have no serious motive for pronouncing the building to have been a temple.[484] [Illustration: FIG. 188.--Plan of a small temple at Nimroud; from Layard.] [Illustration: FIG. 189.--Plan of a small temple at Nimroud; from Layard.] On the other hand, Layard seems to have had good reasons for recognizing small temples in the structures he cleared near the great staged tower at Nimroud.[485] The more important of the two was actually touching that tower (Fig. 188). The character of the building is at once betrayed by the nature of its sculptures, which are religious rather than historical--figures of gods and genii, scenes of adoration and mystic theology. And it was not without a purpose that it was put into close juxtaposition with a _zigguratt_, an arrangement that proves it to have formed a part of a collection of buildings consecrated, by the prince whose dwelling covered the rest of the platform, to the gods in whose protection he placed his trust. The second and smaller temple stands about thirty yards to the east on the very edge of the artificial mound (Fig. 189). An altar with three feet carved in the shape of lion's paws was found in front of the entrance.[486] There were no bas-reliefs: the decorations were carried out in paint. The number of rooms was less, but their general arrangement was similar to that of the larger building. The chief feature of both was a large hall (_e_ in the first plan, _c_ in the second) with a square niche at one of its extremities (_f_ in the first plan, _d_ in the second). This niche was paved with a single slab of alabaster, of considerable size and covered upon both faces with a long inscription describing in detail the reign of the prince by whom the temple was consecrated. In the larger of the two buildings the slab in question was twenty-three feet four inches long and seventeen feet eight inches wide; its thickness was twelve inches. Upon it stood, in all probability, the statue of the god. The niche must, in fact, have been the _secos_, or sanctuary properly speaking. The large oblong hall was the _naos_ or _cella_. In the larger temple its length was forty-six feet seven inches. It was preceded by a _pronaos_ or vestibule (Fig. 188, _c_). We have no evidence as to the purpose of the chamber marked _g_ in our plan. It has a direct entrance of its own from the outside (_h_). The small temple is rather less complicated. Two doorways (_b_ and _f_) lead immediately into the principal hall or naos. A small chamber (_e_) behind the sanctuary was, perhaps, a kind of storeroom or sacristy. It should be noticed that in the little temple the doors into the naos were so placed that the image in the sanctuary could not be seen from without.[487] In both buildings the doors were flanked by winged lions or bulls, like those of the royal palaces. The walls of the larger temple were decorated with glazed bricks. [Illustration: FIG. 190.--Temple with triangular pediment; from Botta.] These temples of the second class lent themselves to a great variety of forms. Some of them had their façades crowned by a triangular pediment, like those of the Greek temples (Fig. 190). It is true that the Khorsabad relief whence we copy this peculiar arrangement deals with the capture of an Armenian city, Mousasir, called in the narrative of Sargon's conquests "the dwelling of the god Haldia,"[488] whose temple must be here figured by the sculptor. Must we believe that the artist has given his temple a form unfamiliar to himself in deference to the accounts of those who had taken part in the campaign? Is it not more probable that he copied some model which would be recognized by every spectator as that of a temple, from its frequent occurrence in the neighbourhood of the very palace on whose decoration he was at work? We are inclined to say yes to the latter question. But even if we look upon this relief as a faithful sketch from an Armenian temple we shall still believe that it reproduces a type not unknown to Assyrian art. Everything combines to prove that the inhabitants of the mountainous countries situated to the east and north of Assyria had no original and well-marked civilization of their own during any part of the period with which we are now concerned. Just as Ethiopia borrowed everything from Egypt, so the Medes and Armenians drew both their arts and their written character from Chaldæa, by way of Assyria. All the objects found in the neighbourhood of Lake Van are purely Assyrian in character, and no question is raised as to the fitness of their place in our museums side by side with objects from Nimroud and Khorsabad. It is, however, of little importance whether the temple shown in our woodcut was or was not copied from nature; if there were such buildings in Armenia it was because similar ones had previously existed in Assyria, from which the architects of the semi-barbarous people, who were in turn the enemies, the vassals and the subjects of the Ninevite monarchs, had borrowed their leading features. Moreover, we find one of the most characteristic features of Assyrian architecture occurring in this Armenian monument. The entrance is flanked by lions similar to those which guard the temples at Nimroud.[489] The other features of the composition are quite new to us. In front of the temple two large vases are supported on tripods, of bronze no doubt. They contained the water required for purifications; we shall encounter them again in Syria. They remind us of the "molten sea" of Solomon's temple. The temple stands upon a high plinth, to which access must have been given by steps omitted by the sculptor. At each side of the door stands a lance-headed pole, indicating, perhaps, that the temple was dedicated to a god of war. In front of these lances stand two people in attitudes of adoration; statues, perhaps, or figures in relief. The façade is formed of pilasters divided horizontally by narrow bands; upon these pilasters, and on the wall between them, hang shields or targets, that accord well with the lances flanking the entrance. From two of the pilasters on the left of the doorway lions' heads and shoulders seem to issue; these, too, may be taken as symbolical of the bellicose disposition of the god to whom the building was dedicated. The pediment with which the façade is crowned is rather low in its proportions. Its tympanum is filled with a kind of reticulated ornament made up of small lozenges or meshes. There is nothing to throw light upon the internal arrangements, but by the aid of this carved sketch the façade may be easily restored, save, of course, in the matter of size, at which we can only guess. The type is chiefly interesting on account of its analogy with the Greek temple. We have already drawn attention to similar points of likeness in the small buildings in which the column plays such an important part (Figs. 41 and 42). We have seen that some of those little structures resemble the Egyptian temples, others the Greek temple _in antis_.[490] For the sake of completeness we may also mention the pavilion we find so often in the Chaldæan monuments (Fig. 79). It is crowned with the horned mitre we are accustomed to see upon the heads of the winged bulls. Our interest has been awakened in these little chapels chiefly on account of the decorative forms of which they afford such early examples. It is not to them that we must look for the distinctive features of Mesopotamian temple architecture. These we must find in the _staged tower_ or _zigguratt_. Why is it that the whole of those monuments, with the single exception of the so-called _Observatory_ of Khorsabad, are now mere heaps of formless dust, fulfilling to the letter the biblical prophecies as to the fate of Nineveh and Babylon? One traveller tells us how when he approached the Birs-Nimroud he saw wolves stretched upon its slopes and basking in the sun. Before they would lazily rise and make up their minds to decamp, the Arabs of his escort had to ride forward shouting and shaking their lances. NOTES: [484] See PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. i. pp. 149-151, and vol. ii. pp. 6-7, and 36-42. This building is at the western angle of the area occupied by the Khorsabad ruins (vol. iii. plate 3). The restoration will be found in the plate numbered 37 _bis_. [485] _Discoveries_, &c., pp. 348-357, 359-362; and _Monuments_, &c., second series, plate 5. [486] This is now in the British Museum.--ED. [487] The doors are so arranged that in neither temple can the naos be seen by one standing outside the building.--ED. [488] This expedition took place in the eighth year of Sargon's reign. The passage in which the chief events are recounted, will be found in the long and important inscription translated by M. OPPERT, under the title: _Annales de Sargon_ (PLACE, _Ninive_, vol. ii. p. 313). [489] The sculptor has only introduced one; the other he has left for the imagination of the spectator to fill in. [490] Page 142. § 4.--_Comparison between the Chaldæan Temple and that of Egypt._ Although the ancients called them both by the same name, there are more points of difference than of resemblance between the Egyptian pyramids and the staged towers of Chaldæa. On the borders of the Nile we have the true pyramid, the solid which bears that name in geometry. In Mesopotamia we have a series of rectangular prisms placed one upon the other. At a distance the gradual diminution of their size may give a pyramidal appearance to the mass of which they form a part, but their walls are vertical. Finally the contrast between the purposes of the two buildings is still greater. The Egyptian pyramid is a tomb; its enormous mass is no more than a monstrous development of the stone envelope to which the sarcophagus was committed. No means were provided for reaching the summit, and its height had, so to speak, no _raison d'être_ or practical utility. In spite of all the art lavished upon it a pyramid was hardly a building in the proper sense of the word--it was a mere heap of building materials. It was quite otherwise with the _zigguratt_, whose terminal platform supported a richly-decorated sanctuary. Astronomers could make use of it for observing the heavens under better conditions than were possible below; chapels were also cut in the flanks of its lower stages, so that a convenient means of approach to every story from top to bottom was absolutely required. This necessity brought in its train the varied arrangements of ramp and terrace of which we have endeavoured to give an idea in our restorations. If we give rein to our imagination and allow it for a moment to restore their crenellated parapets to the ramps and terraces; if we set up the resting-places, rebuild the chapels and pavilions and replace the statues; if we cover the sanctuary with its vesture of bronze and gold, and the whole edifice with the surface decoration to which the sun of Mesopotamia gave its fullest value, we shall then understand how far superior, as an architectonic conception, the Chaldæan _zigguratt_ was to the Egyptian pyramid. With its smooth and naked face the latter was in some degree an inorganic mass, as lifeless as the corpse it crushed with its preposterous weight. The division of the former into stages had a latent rhythm that was strongly attractive; the eye followed with no little pleasure the winding slope which, by its easy gradient, seemed to invite the traveller to mount to the lofty summit, where, in the extent and beauty of the view he would find so rich a reward for the gentle fatigues of the ascent. But we must not forget that the _zigguratt_ was a temple, and that it is to the temples of Thebes that we must compare it. In such a comparison Egypt regains all its superiority. How cold and poor a show the towers of Chaldæa and Assyria make beside the colonnades of the Ramesseum, of Luxor, of Karnak! In the one case the only possible varieties are those caused by changes in the position and proportions of the stages, in the slope and arrangement of the ramps. In the other, what infinite combinations of courts, pylons, and porticoes, what an ever changing play of light, shadow, and form among the groves of pictured columns! What a contrast between the Assyrian sanctuaries lighted only from the door and by the yellow glare of torches, and the mysterious twilight of the Egyptian halls, where the deep shadows were broken here and there by some wandering ray of sunshine shooting downwards from holes contrived in the solid roof, and making some brilliant picture of Ptah or Amen stand out against the surrounding gloom. But the Chaldæans might, perhaps would, have equalled the Egyptians had their country been as rich in stone as the Nile valley; their taste and instinct for grandeur was no less, and the religious sentiment was as lively and exalted with the worshippers of Assur and Marduk as with those of Osiris and Amen-Ra. The inferiority of their religious architecture was due to the natural formation of their country, which restricted them almost entirely to the use of a fictile material. [Illustration] END OF VOL. I. LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL, E.C.